Work Text:
It was curiosity — the sheer wish to know, that very same drive that had gotten Crawly (and, more recently, the humans) into trouble many times before, yet still refused to be crushed or expunged — that first drew Crawly up the wall to speak to the fair-haired guardian angel he had sighted standing there.
Of course, the curiosity was tempered by wariness. A healthy amount of fear, a low simmer of anticipatory annoyance, an inevitable instinct to distrust given their respective roles and circumstances. But still, above all else, urging him on and forward, was the interest, the inquiring impulse, and the inescapable yearning for answers.
Didn’t you have a flaming sword?
And when Crawly got the answer he sought, stammered and defensive and utterly unexpected , the fascination only intensified.
I gave it away.
What kind of angel gave away his divinely issued weapon, apparently out of nothing but a sense of sympathy for the very humans who had just fallen from Heavenly favor? What kind of angel then followed that improbable action up by talking to, even going so far as to accept reassurance from, a demon? What sort of angel had a luminous smile which warmed a demon’s heart rather than smiting him?
And if such strangeness could be true of this angel, if he would do such things… then what else might there be to find out?
Crawly’s interest was piqued.
~ ~ ~
Over time, the fear would fade; the distrust would vanish; and the annoyance, while remaining, would take on a distinct undertone of affection.
The curiosity, though, would never disappear.
Crowley learned Aziraphale. Discovered the angel’s quirks, recognized his tells, shared his secrets, even as he gradually let his own walls down for Aziraphale to learn him in return.
At first, he was simply waiting for his curiosity to be sufficiently sated that he could move on. Angels were not supposed to be interesting; doubtless, he would find out everything there was to know soon enough.
Except that for every answer Crowley got, there was a fresh question to follow it up with. For every new insight he made into Aziraphale’s nature, there was something else to wonder about. For every depth of the angel’s personality of which he caught a tantalizing glimpse, there was another yet to plumb.
A thousand years; two thousand; six thousand; and, someday, more even than that. That first seed of fascination, blossoming into the entrenched urge to know Aziraphale more, better, truer… it continued to grow, over the many centuries. It shifted. Deepened. Evolved. Strengthened. Settled, an ever more permanent piece of Crowley’s heart.
In place of the initial wariness of fear and distrust, in combination with the lasting and deep-rooted curiosity, other emotions took hold. Slowly but surely, they sprouted. Admiration; trust; caring; eventually, something that could be approximately described as raw, heartfelt adoration.
And so, once again — more gradually this time, yet no less irrevocably than before — Crowley fell for asking questions.
Only this time, there was a soft landing.