Chapter Text
Aziraphale’s hand was shaking. There was a lot to take in at that moment, the flurry of activity in the preceding moments would take some time to pick apart, and yet Aziraphale could only seem to stare at his own hand. His right one, to be exact, the one that he wore his ring on. It was trembling, like an anxious energy altogether different from anything he had ever experienced before had possessed it.
It was interesting, he thought, how such a simple touch could affect his corporation so intensely. Before, he had never really given much thought to the reactions his corporation had to contact – he didn’t need to. Up in heaven, all that existed were formalities, curt handshakes that seemed to say “I am acknowledging the official business matter we are about to discuss.” That was it. That was all he knew.
Why would he know any different? How could he? Nobody had ever had any reason to touch him – he kept to himself and the other residents of Soho to theirs. And that was that.
It was for this reason, this isolation that Aziraphale lived in, that when Crowley had innocently reached across the gap between them to clasp the angel’s hand in a moment of laughter, he had frozen up. It wasn’t that he had tried to, or even that he had wanted to, it just… happened.
Moments before, they had both been enjoying yet another bottle of wine (a wonderful red he had picked up in Rome, Aziraphale remembered vaguely) in the back corner of the bookshop, and had been discussing… what was it? Ah, he remembered. The new café that had opened up a couple blocks away. He had made some comment about their menu, their décor, something, and the already tipsy demon had burst out in laughter, teasing him for his strong opinions about such a trivial matter. It was not, Aziraphale had gone to snap, a trivial matter, but before he had been able to open his mouth the demon had absentmindedly reached over to his armrest and put his hand atop the angel’s own.
It was a simple gesture, possibly even involuntary, but as the pair locked eyes all of Crowley’s joyfulness seemed to dissipate. Aziraphale had stared back, his body rigid, adrenaline pumping into his system. His hand felt as if it were on fire, unaccustomed to the sensation it was currently experiencing. Eventually, Crowley had pulled his hand away. Considering how well Crowley could read the angel, it was probably only after a couple seconds, but it felt like an eternity. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was by no means a pleasant one either. It was just… just wrong. Crowley was too gentle, too caring, and as his hand had touched the angel’s he felt as if all of that were pouring into his corporation, filling him with emotions he didn’t have the capacity to process.
He had been vaguely aware that Crowley was stammering a string of apologies, but all Aziraphale could do was stare fixatedly on a spot on the bookcase behind him, his head spinning and his hand shaking. He should have said something, he realized all too late, as before he could even begin to put words to what was happening to him Crowley had sat up straight, snapped his fingers, and, of all things, turned into a snake.
If Aziraphale had been speechless before, he was absolutely and totally dumbstruck then. It had been ages since he had seen the demon in his serpentine form, and he had honestly forgotten what he looked like. The man who had been in front of him was now a rapidly-uncurling coil of shining black scales on the rug below them, a result of an anxious impulse.
Aziraphale couldn’t move as he watched Crowley make a beeline for the door, leaving behind his jacket and hat, and disappearing onto the dark street. And that was that.
So there he was. Still without words, still without answers, and now without the demon. Finally managing to relieve his corporation of some of the tension, he fell back into his chair and turned his attention back to his trembling hand. Goodness, he wasn’t sure what to do. The heat had long since faded, and left in its wake a deep chill, like the absence of something he hadn’t even known was there. He wanted relief from it, he wanted the warm feeling back. But that feeling came with Crowley, and with Crowley’s touch came all that guilt, all that darkness, all the feelings that the angel seemed to have every single blasted time the pair was close. After the bus ride back from Tadfield, after the convent, after the bombing of the church, after Rome, after Mesopotamia, all the way back to the moments that the pair had stood on the wall of Eden, watching Adam and Eve disappear on the horizon as the first raindrops fell. Every single time, he was overwhelmed with a swirling mixture of emotions dominated by love, and followed shortly after with crippling self-hatred.
Because, Aziraphale thought trembling even harder, he wasn’t sure what he was experiencing was love. In heaven, the angels loved one another – they made it known that their jobs were to care for one another, and to never doubt it. That was love. The bright light, the civil conversation, the smiling faces, that was heaven and heaven was love.
So why did it feel wrong? Why, every single time he was called to heaven, did he feel so out of place, so unnatural? And why, why, every blasted time he was with the demon did he get that feeling. It was a feeling that he would never say aloud, especially not around the other angels. It felt different from heaven, like it was something bad that he should be washed of. Something too organic, too human, too deep. He knew feelings like this were wrong – they were below him, reserved for humans, not for the ethereal.
But, as he sat, still trembling with tears beginning to prickle behind his eyes like they did every single time, he knew. Deep down, past all the light from heaven, all the forced smiles, all the barriers he had built around himself to ignore this feeling and keep on with his job, he knew that what he felt was love. In its most pure, untarnished form, he felt love for the demon. He was sure of it.
It was for this reason, Aziraphale reflected with a whimper as he closed his eyes and let the tears fall, that he was in this position. He was trembling from a hatred so powerful, so intense after 6000 years of forcing it upon himself that he couldn’t run after Crowley, he couldn’t apologize, he couldn’t even move. He despised himself for what he felt, and even more for making it this bad. Because, although it was months after the non-pocalypse and he knew that heaven would never bother him again, he was still just as trapped as he had been before. As he always would be.
…
By the time the sun began to peek through the dusty bookshop windows once more, Aziraphale was doing better. The wine glasses that had been left on the table had been miracled back into their place in the back room and, like the dishes from the night before, the angel had cleaned himself up a bit. He hadn’t slept a wink – he rarely did – but he had calmed down. After he had finally stopped his self-indulgent flow of tears, he had decidedly pushed the matter to the back of his mind as he did the time before, and before that. Trying to process it was impossible, and frankly he didn’t want to try. The question of whether he ever would was one he would never consciously address, and he intended to keep it that way.
Aziraphale knew it was best to leave things be, and it was for that reason that he was currently buttoning up his jacket, wrapping a scarf around himself, and had gathered up Crowley’s discarded coat and hat. He didn’t really want to face the demon right now. He knew he would have questions – questions and apologies and sympathy and prodding – and frankly Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was going to say. However, after hours of deliberation during the early morning hours, he had decided that the best course of action would be to just return the demon’s things and keep moving on. Avoiding Crowley would only make things worse.
Stepping out onto the blustery street, Aziraphale pulled the door closed behind him and turned the key. It was an interesting morning – the wind seemed to suggest an incoming storm, and yet the sun shone brightly over the roofs of the buildings around him. It seemed that the weather wasn’t able to make up its mind, and Aziraphale felt he understood.
Setting off down the street, Aziraphale began to rehearse what he would say. ‘Good morning, Crowley! Sorry to intrude, I’m just returning your jacket you left at the bookshop last night. I’m sorry…’
It was a good thing the angel had decided to walk to Crowley’s, as it was becoming clear to him that he wasn’t at all sure what he was going to say. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you?’ ‘…for rejecting you?’ ‘…for going so slow?’ None of those would do, he knew that. ‘Sorry for acting so strange’? No, that would only invite more questions. Before he could come up with a satisfactory apology, Aziraphale was rounding the corner to the demon’s flat.
Goodness, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Did he even have anything to apologize for? He felt terrible for upsetting the demon, but it wasn’t really his fault. Was it? Aziraphale stopped at the door to the building and, sighing, turned the knob.
Walking up the stairs to the flat felt like an eternity – the angel’s heart was pounding in his chest and part of him wanted to just go back to the shop and give himself more time to prepare. However, he steeled himself. He knew that if he let himself go back to the comfort of the shop he would only put off the inevitable conversation and draw even more attention to himself, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was content spending the rest of his days the way they were right now, and didn’t want to jeopardize that.
Finally reaching the flat (it was only two flights of stairs, but it felt much farther), Aziraphale took one more deep breath, and rapped the knocker. Having expected to hear the deep reverberation of the wooden door, he was quite surprised when it swung open with his touch. This was unusual – Crowley was a very private person and was unlikely to just leave his door unlatched. Was something wrong?
Trying to ignore the anxiety beginning to creep into the back of his mind, Aziraphale pushed the door open a smidge and called out.
“Crowley? Are you home? It’s me.”
No response.
The angel stepped into the apartment. All the lights were off, and had it not been for one of Crowley’s many plants being knocked over, there would have been no sign anyone had been in there recently. Aziraphale made his way over to overturned pot and put it upright as his heart rate rose.
“Crowley? Are you here? Are you okay, my dear?”
Still nothing. That wasn’t good. Had someone broken in? Aziraphale made his way into the kitchen adjacent to the office. He had only been in the flat a couple of times, but he knew the general layout. Inching towards the counter, he grabbed a large knife out of the block and turned to face the hallway. He knew he was probably being silly - he was a supernatural being who could do much more damage by himself than with a human knife – but something about having a weapon made him feel a bit safer.
Beginning to make his way down the hallway, Aziraphale had completely forgotten the purpose of his visit. Now, he was only concerned about whether or not Crowley was okay. Reaching the first door, he took a deep breath and pushed it open. It was nothing but a bathroom, empty and dark.
Next door. Closet. Still nothing.
As Aziraphale approached the final door which he deduced was the bedroom, his heart hammered in his chest. His palms had begun to grow sweaty, and he readjusted his grip on the knife’s handle. He was afraid of what he might find. Was Crowley hurt? Was there someone lurking in the apartment? Aziraphale swallowed, and, without letting himself have another thought, pushed the door open.
Nothing. The bed was made neatly, and the shutters were drawn. Aziraphale slowly let his breath out. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. On one hand, no maniac had jumped out to attack him. On the other hand, however, he still hadn’t located the demon and had no answers for the door or the plant.
Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do next. Loosening his grip on the knife, he began to turn around to close the door when something caught his eye. Something black and shiny. Something long and slender. From under the bed protruded what was unmistakably a tail.
Thank goodness. Aziraphale felt the anxiety melt away as he made his way to the bed and knelt down.
“Crowley, my dear, you scared me! Didn’t you hear me? I’m sorry for just barging in, it was just that your door was open and I became rather nervous, you see.”
The tail twitched and pulled itself under the bed skirt. Aziraphale wanted to lift it up, to see Crowley as he spoke, but the demon obviously didn’t return the sentiment.
“I’m sorry, dear. I’ve just come to return your jacket and hat.” The reason for Aziraphale’s visit re-entered his mind. “I’m not upset, not at all my boy.”
Still nothing.
Aziraphale sighed, resigning himself to the difficult conversation he knew he would have to have. “I understand if you are though. Upset, I mean. My behavior last night was unwarranted, and I apologize for that. I believe I just had a few too many drinks and wasn’t quite myself, so I understand if I distressed you, my dear. I truly am sorry.”
This time, the only response the angel received was a soft hiss. He took to mean that Crowley didn’t want to speak, so he slowly stood up and sighed.
“It’s ok if you don’t want to talk right now. I know I’ve overstepped. I’ll see myself out. If you change your mind though, I’ll be at the bookshop.”
Turning, Aziraphale made his way to the door. Before he exited, he took one last glance back at the bed. Nothing.
Walking down the hall and into the kitchen, he picked up Crowley’s jacket and hat from where he had cast them on the counter, and returned the knife to its place. Aziraphale turned towards the door, ready to hang the clothes on a coat rack next to it. Before he reached it, however, he felt something brush over his shoes.
Startled, the angel looked down to see Crowley, still in snake form, rubbing his tail against him as if trying to get his attention.
“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You startled me! You could have just said something, you know.”
Snake-Crowley began to circle around Aziraphale’s feet, his golden eyes locked with the angel's own. This was certainly odd. Was this some sort of taunt? He knew that Crowley was probably upset with him, or at least confused by the events, but he had never done anything like this before.
“Like I said, if you don’t want to talk that’s ok. I’m leaving, I promise. But, please dear, could you be careful? I don’t want to step on you.”
Aziraphale took another couple of steps when he felt a heavy weight hit his leg. Looking down once again, he saw Crowley had his head raised and extended, as if he were trying to knock into the angel.
“Now, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “There really is no need for this sort of behavior! Either transform back and talk to me, or don’t, but please don’t keep trying to trip me! You know it’s childish and I am not in the mood for such things!”
As these words left the angel’s mouth, he feared that they had been too harsh. He expected Crowley to either slither away or to resume his human form and make some sort of witty comeback. What he did not expect, was for Crowley to throw his serpentine body against the angels legs yet again, and to look up at him while shaking his head.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale began angrily, when a thought entered his mind. “Crowley,” he started again, calmer. “Are you ok?”
Snake-Crowley shook his head again, even more vigorously this time, as he coiled his body in front of the angel. Oh. That wasn’t good.
“Are you hurt, my dear?” Aziraphale couldn’t see anything wrong with the demon, other than the fact that he wasn’t exactly, well, a demon.
Crowley shook his head again, but less violently. This was good, at least, he wasn’t hurt. But why wouldn’t he just answer the questions? Aziraphale thought he knew the answer, but it still was difficult for him to get out.
“Crowley, can you not turn back into your human form?”
This was met with another shake of the serpentine head, and Aziraphale’s heart sank.
“Oh. Oh dear.” was all that the angel was able to say.