They do so. The Daylight memory that sparked the association is strong, and the very brief flash of the earnest little girl is much less so, but they try to hold onto it. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Pink ribbon in her hair. Not smiling-- serious, holding out her finger to hook into-- into his, because back then it was still "he". It was only a flash, but there are little details to fixate on. Just no context.
Aziraphale can find the context, though it takes a minute of hunting, following the train of thought, and tossing back more malicious memories. It's a little less happy than the last, but it's clearly the right one:
"You have to pinky swear," Becca says soberly. She's all of six years old, and she's very serious about this.
He understands. He's a whole seven and a half, and he's serious about this, too. He has to be a good big brother, especially since their Ma is so sad right now she's not even cussing, and their Pa is mostly not talking to anybody at all. "I swear," he says, letting her take his hand and hook their pinkies together. "I won't go nowheres."
"Me, neither," she says, and shakes their joined hands together. "Swear you'll help take care of Susie and Jeanie, too."
"Aw, Becca," he whines.
"Swear!"
"Okay, okay. I promise." It's the least he can do. Little Toby's gone to the heaven now, or so their Pa said, but even so it feels like nobody's going to be happy again. The least he can do is look after his sisters until his Ma and Pa feel better. Hopefully they feel better.
Like last time, though, the second wanted memory comes with something much less savory right on its heels. The Soldier was half-expecting it, though, and manages to scramble back and out of angellic range before he can get more than a sensation of smoke everywhere, overlaying the smell of death, the sound of sirens growing in the distance, a flash of the metal hand pulling someone small and clearly dead out of a pile of rubble.
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Aziraphale can find the context, though it takes a minute of hunting, following the train of thought, and tossing back more malicious memories. It's a little less happy than the last, but it's clearly the right one:
"You have to pinky swear," Becca says soberly. She's all of six years old, and she's very serious about this.
He understands. He's a whole seven and a half, and he's serious about this, too. He has to be a good big brother, especially since their Ma is so sad right now she's not even cussing, and their Pa is mostly not talking to anybody at all. "I swear," he says, letting her take his hand and hook their pinkies together. "I won't go nowheres."
"Me, neither," she says, and shakes their joined hands together. "Swear you'll help take care of Susie and Jeanie, too."
"Aw, Becca," he whines.
"Swear!"
"Okay, okay. I promise." It's the least he can do. Little Toby's gone to the heaven now, or so their Pa said, but even so it feels like nobody's going to be happy again. The least he can do is look after his sisters until his Ma and Pa feel better. Hopefully they feel better.
Like last time, though, the second wanted memory comes with something much less savory right on its heels. The Soldier was half-expecting it, though, and manages to scramble back and out of angellic range before he can get more than a sensation of smoke everywhere, overlaying the smell of death, the sound of sirens growing in the distance, a flash of the metal hand pulling someone small and clearly dead out of a pile of rubble.