Chapter Text
Aziraphale stared at his reflection and studied the face staring back. It was new, a face and body he has yet to get used to. After inhabiting one for 6000 years and more, one tends to miss it for the first few years.
Its still those first few years.
It didn't help either that this body was much younger, groomed and styled so differently from his personal taste. Aziraphale's pale eyes fell upon his new-ish nose and new-ish lips, his light blonde hair cut, colored, styled and gel-ed into what his hairstylist called a "razor-textured angled long-bang shaggy", which was a actually just nifty way of saying side-parting his somewhat wavy hair and making it look messy and not-so-messy at the same time. He absently rubbed his chin and longed for his old close cropped curls that were neat and didn't need such excessive maintenance.
Vanity.
He had cried vanity when Up Above suddenly gave him his new assignment on Earth. Vanity and as many of the Seven Deadly sins he tried to name in the two seconds he was able to speak - which wasn't too many under the circumstances.
"We have decided your new assignment on Earth, Aziraphale. Heaven needs a way to endear itself to the youth. Times are a-changing, and we must proceed with more... aggressive means. Your guise as a book collector is of no longer use."
The Metatron had said, and Aziraphale then, even in his incredulity, heard the amusement in its voice.
"Its about time we put that angelic voice of yours to good use."
Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked away from the mirror. The door to his spacious dressing room swung open and a tall man walked in. He was dressed in a tailored white suit and a lightly colored turtleneck. His hair was dark, and carefully combed. Aziraphale eyed the other, noted the terrible gold jewelry, but said nothing about the matter.
"Azira, baby!" he gave the angel a hearty pat on the shoulder "What's taking so long? Those posters aren't gonna sign themselves you know."
"Maybe not tonight Gabriel." Aziraphale replied primly. He winced, "I really hate - er, dislike the camera-weilding throng."
Gabriel smiled, "The paparazzi photographer humans? Nonsense. We got it covered. You'll be fine." He walked idly to one of Aziraphale's desk drawers and fished out a book. He looked at it for a while and dropped it back. It was old and yellowing, and he caught Aziraphale watching it carefully. Gabriel leveled his eyes on the angel, "You wouldn't want to break those young girls hearts, do you?"
Aziraphale visibly cringed, if there was anyone who knew how to play on his guilt-strings it would be Gabriel.
And Crowley.
"Alright, fine then. Why didn't they pick you instead Gabriel? This really is more your kind of - er - gig." he said, the unfamiliar modern word rolling unwanted off his tongue. He stood up and smoothed out his tailored white coat. It was crisp, and cleanly cut, but oh how he missed his old comfortable tweed coats and tartan scarves.
"Nah. Not my thing. Didn't anyone tell you? I almost died of stage fright when I had to do that annunciation assignment. I'm more of the backstage kind of guy."
Aziraphale had to stop his eyes from rolling. "Er, right." He shook his head and checked the sky blue polo-shirt underneath the coat as the archangel ushered him out of the room.
"We're doing God's work. Lighten up."
Aziraphale sighed. "Of course." He didn't lighten up, and allowed himself to be led out. He mentally braced himself at the thought of the coming onslaught. Oh how he despised his current existence. It will be a circus out there, and not the kind he particularly liked.
It was a circus alright. It was a circus every night. Aziraphale signed posters and CDs (he still can't over the fact his face was on each and every one of them) and posed for pictures with the hundreds of adoring fan-girls and fan-boys that lined up. He kept a pleasant smile plastered on his face and did his best to be genuinely interested with whatever each one had to say. He often wondered how human celebrities did this on a regular basis. He was an angel, he needed no sleep or drink, and yet he was drained to the core.
Aziraphale stepped into his new flat and the door locked itself behind him. He didn't bother to turn on the lights as he took off his coat and shuffled out his sneakers (he had to admit though, he liked wearing those) and padded barefoot on his lush white carpet towards the kitchen. He flicked on the lights. It was all steel and shine, made of sleek black marble lines and stark white walls.
Aziraphale grabbed a waiting kettle and began to fill it with water. They had let him keep his books, but he so missed his old bookshop in London. He longed for his old kitchenette and battered arm chair. He missed his grocer and the ability to walk unknown in a crowd without needing to 'miracle' it. He missed the ducks at St. James, he missed their old park bench, and those long walks with...
He sighed inwardly, and set the kettle on the electric stove. He missed Crowley. He missed the demon barging in on him and insisting that they go out or see some new film 'documentary' Crowley knew Aziraphale would hate. At least his present flat kind of reminded him of Crowley. It was not so different from the demon's home, and the angel was sure Crowley would have liked New York.
Aziraphale waited for the water to boil, lost in his thoughts.
"So, how was the meet-and-greet tonight?"
"Insufferable." Aziraphale answered absentmindedly then jumped - almost practically jumped out of his human body and then some. He turned to the voice, "Crowley?!"
"Were you expecting anyone else?" Crowley said slyly, leaning on the door frame leading into the kitchen. He drank in Aziraphale's new countenance, noting with great interest that the angel was wearing jeans and a tight blue shirt. "You look different, angel. Real different. Can't say I like it yet, but I'll get used to it." he chuckled. "You sound different too. Nice American accent."
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Aziraphale nervously looked around, he must have been so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't even sense the demonic aura. That could have been fatal for him. Dangerous.
"Wow. Nice to see you too, angel."
Aziraphale shook his head, "No, no. You can't be here. What if Gabriel finds out you're here?!" he hissed.
"Oh Gabriel? The twat gave me your address."
"What?!"
Crowley was most amused, "How do you think I found you? He said you looked like you could use some cheering up." His mind automatically went through several scenarios of what 'cheering up the angel' could entail - he liked all of them.
Aziraphale finally sighed and took the kettle off the heat. He brought out a jar of cocoa and began carefully measuring out spoonfuls into two cups. "He said that?" Crowley shrugged and watched the angel pour out water for both of them and set out a pot of cream. Some things just never changed.
"I guess its that bad huh?" Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair, trying to get the long bangs out of his eyes. "Even Gabriel thinks I need help." He took a long sip from his winged white cup and Crowley noted its presence happily. It had been a gift many years ago.
The demon slowly walked over and sat at the counter. He couldn't help but notice how Aziraphale looked so much like his old self despite the new body. No wonder the angel had so many fans in the short time he's been out there. His angel's smile was electric, and genuine; his eyes piercing yet kind - no change in bodies can ever change the angelic soul underneath.
Sure, he's seen the CDs and posters and Azira tour adverts on tv, but it was real different seeing the angel's new persona in actuality. For the first time in centuries Crowley equated Aziraphale with the term 'Hot'. "Yeah. I brought something to drink. Thought that would cheer you up." he said as he magically produced a bottle of wine. Chateau Lafitte, one of the angel's favorites.
"Oh Crowley, you shouldn't have." Aziraphale blushed but nonetheless set down his mug to fetch a couple of wine glasses. "Its been a while. Gabriel isn't a very good drinking partner. He hasn't mastered the sobering up part yet."
"I could imagine. How long has he been here?" Crowley said, and followed Aziraphale into the den. He opened the bottle of wine without so much as a thought.
Aziraphale sat down a large plush sofa, and leaned back on an arm rest. "I don't know, maybe 2, 3 years. Just around the time my 'career' started." He handed Crowley a glass and held out his which was immediately filled midway. He took a sip, and distractedly opened a couple of buttons down his shirt. Crowley tried his best not to look too distracted at that small patch of angel chest and took a seat at the other end of the sofa. Aziraphale didn't notice the demon's stare. "So why are you here really? Aside from cheering me up. I asked specifically to be left alone." he said quietly.
"Business. Officially anyway. You know what I mean." he emptied his glass and refilled it quickly. "They want me to keep an eye on you. Your songs are growing popular, kids holding hands instead of making out. Random acts of kindness are through the roof." He blanched, "Charity, Virtue and Chastity levels are at an all time high."
"Ahhh, they're worried are they?" the Principality smiled. He actually felt proud about that.
"They didn't think Heaven could pull it off. Much less have the creativity to think this up. You guys are far too old-fashioned for something like this, no offense. What, with songs like 'Good Samaritan' and 'Lovin is For All Time', I didn't think you'd make it either." Crowley grinned into his wine, "Serve up the cheese and ham, why don't you?"
Aziraphale sipped, and ignored the demon's criticism. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, my dear." he said, letting his old English accent to return. He certainly missed sounding British, he mused.
Crowley leaned forward to pour more wine into Aziraphale's glass. "Must be your new look angel. Its you, but not you. Younger. Never thought I'd see you in denim." he looked thoughtful, gulped down his drink once again and refilled. He knew it was a travesty drinking wine this expensive and old like common fare but he needed to be sloshed for this kind of conversation. "I like the hair."
"Yes. That. Thank you." Aziraphale gave him a mirthless smile. "I find it distracting, and itchy. I miss our old life."
"Me too." the demon said quietly.
"Itchy?"
Crowley raised his eyes and peered over his sunglasses meaningfully.
Aziraphale suddenly understood and blushed, "Oh."
They both fell into a tense silence, words wanting to be said but held in check. It had only been a couple of years since they last saw each other. Ten years since the failed Armageddon. One would think that to a pair of beings who will live til the end of time, 2 years would be but a blink to the eye. Yet to the unlikely couple, it had been too long a time spent apart in the past few centuries.
It was Crowley who broke the silence, "How much longer will this assignment last?"
"I don't know. Another 3, maybe 5 years?" Aziraphale smiled and tried to sound jovial, "Or until they get tired of me. You know how fickle these kids are. One day you're their hero, next you're on those ghastly tabloid magazines."
It was the demons turn to give a half-smile, those tabloids were his invention. "But that's a maybe, angel. 3 years will turn into 5, into 10 then 20. Up to point when they can't explain why you still look so damn young anymore. There's only so many excuses plastic surgery can make, and I know your people aren't very keen on lying."
"Then it'll end Crowley. We know it will end. Just a matter of time I guess." Aziraphale threw a glance at the demon.
"Too long angel." Crowley placed down his glass on the coffee table and slid down the sofa towards the angel. He never was really good with words, the angel knew this, so the demon settled on what he knew well. He brought up a slender finger to Aziraphale's cheek and traced a line down to his chin. Aziraphale trembled, looked away and blushed scarlet.
"You know I can't leave this. No matter how much I want to. I can't." Aziraphale trained his eyes away from Crowley, afraid that his resolve would fail. Oh how he wanted to collapse now into the demon's arms and leave this new existence. To pretend and come home to his bookshop and Crowley would pick him up every night at 8 for dinner. "It is my duty." he said with a faltering voice.
Crowley drew himself up to Aziraphale and pulled the angel into his embrace. "I know." he said, feeling the slim figure relax its frame to his chest. As Aziraphale buried his head into the crook of the demon's shoulder, Crowley sighed, "I'll work it out."