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The sound of flapping wings isn’t unfamiliar as such, but Crowley looks up anyway, because something about it is different. Putting down the book in his hand on the ground beside him, he eyes the snow white pigeon landing by his feet.
“Hello there, little fella, you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere?”
Unusual colour aside, the pigeon looks like the ones used for sending messages — but since no one knows where Crowley is, it can’t be meant for him.
Cooing, the bird struts closer, circling Crowley’s leg. He’s surprised to realise that its eyes are blue. Odd.
“Alright, I’ll bite.”
It’s with practised care that Crowley picks it up, feeling a fleeting tinge of nostalgia as he removes the note strapped to the pigeon’s leg. Living this close to nature as he does now is satisfying, but sometimes he misses it. Actually touching them, working with them every day. He doesn’t miss other people, but he misses the animals.
He carefully lets go of the bird again. “You know what, I think I still have some seeds in my pocket.” It’s a habit from old he hasn’t been able to shake — not that he has actually tried. He dumps the bird seeds he can find on the ground, smiling when he sees the pigeon happily start munching on them. “That hungry, huh?”
Unfolding the slip of paper, Crowley doesn’t know what to think of what he finds inside.
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to receive an invitation to the prestigious ball hosted by the Honourable Sir Gabriel Archer of Haven. Please respond within a fortnight for more information.
“What the…” Furrowing his brow, Crowley glares at the pigeon as if this is its fault. “What kind of nonsense is this?” Crumpling the note, he shoves it into his pocket. “At least your job is done, bird. No one has to know you found the wrong person.”
It’s funny, because the pigeon looks up and it almost looks like it understands him. It tilts its head to the side, coos, and then takes off.
Five minutes after Crowley has resumed his book, all thoughts of the pigeon and its note are gone from his mind.
Until it returns, seven days later.
This time, it finds him as he’s sitting outside his cottage, landing on a rock a few feet away.
“You again, huh?”
The message attached to the bird this time is similar to the last one.
Dear Winner, we are still waiting for your response to our previous message! Don’t miss out on an exclusive invitation to the Honourable Sir Gabriel Archer of Haven’s ball, send your reply today!
“Like hell I will.” Crowley doesn’t miss the balls or the banquets — on the contrary. “Hungry again, bird?” he says, rising.
The pigeon is still wandering around outside when Crowley comes back with seeds and a small bowl of water. It gobbles up the food and drinks the water greedily, causing Crowley to wonder if its owner is neglecting it — even if its plump figure speaks of the opposite. Once the last seed is eaten, it flies away again.
“Bye, bird.”
Expecting to never see the pigeon again, Crowley stops dead in his tracks when he finds it waiting for him as he walks out the door the next day.
“Again? Please tell me you have something more interesting for me this time.” His suspicions are confirmed when he reads the latest note, which turns out to be almost identical to the last one. “This is getting ridiculous. I knew that Archer was a wanker, but this is on another level.” The pigeon trots up to him, looking up at him almost expectantly. “Right. Sorry, gorgeous, I almost forgot.”
The pigeon is slow eating this time, stopping a few times to coo at Crowley.
“Not up to your standards, gorgeous?” Crowley chuckles. “Had I known I would be getting such posh company I would’ve gotten the fancy seeds last time I was in town.”
It’s strange, but it feels like the pigeon is actually listening. Or perhaps Crowley just misses someone to talk to. Either way, he’s grateful for the temporary company.
Which doesn’t stop him from cursing out loud when his new friend comes back after lunchtime the next day.
“It’s nice to see you, bird, but I’m getting tired of these messages.” It’s a reminder of his old life he’d rather not have. “Not that that’s something you can control, of course.”
It’s still a mystery why the pigeon is coming to him again and again, but he can’t pretend that he cares; there's not much he can do about it and he likes the brief intermission. As the pigeon continues to bring him similar notes the following days, Crowley starts to wonder if the bird has intentionally chosen to fly to him instead of the intended recipient.
The day before the ball is supposed to take place, the pigeon stays with Crowley long after the last seed has been eaten. “You know, I think I’ll actually miss you after this, gorgeous. The messages, not so much, but I have enjoyed your silent company.” On a whim, Crowley holds out his hand. To his delight, the pigeon doesn’t hesitate, immediately flying up to perch on his wrist. “You really are a clever one, aren’t you? I would keep you if I could, but this is no place for you. And considering how beautiful and special you are, they’ll probably come looking for you sooner or later.”
This time when he says goodbye, Crowley feels almost a bit wistful, wondering if he’s made a mistake.
A notion that persists when no white pigeon comes to visit him the next day. He knows it’s for the best — and it’s not as if he could force it to stay — but he finds that he misses his feathered companion.
Three days later, Crowley is sitting in his favourite clearing when he hears a familiar sound. Surprised and unexpectedly happy, he holds out his hand again, smiling when his pigeon lands to sit on it.
“What kind of message could you have for me now that the ball is over?” Blue eyes blink at him. “Is that wanker having some other kind of party this time?” Crowley scans its legs twice. No note is attached to either of them. “You sneaky bugger, have you run away from home?”
They have a one-sided conversation for an hour or so while his new friend eats out of his hand. Even as the palm is empty, it stays, seemingly listening as Crowley talks to it.
In the end, the pigeon leaves him again, but over the following week, it comes back every other day, remaining in Crowley’s company for a few hours before returning to whatever place it has come from.
Just before it's about to leave this time — Crowley can read the signs now, seeing the pigeon becoming more restless — Crowley turns more serious.
“Hey gorgeous, I’m not sure if you actually understand me, but if you do, you need to stay away for a while this time.” Crowley hates how one careless trip through the woods those months ago has changed his life forever, but there is nothing he can do but adapt. “I’m probably harmless to you during the day, but I don’t want to risk it. Okay? Stay away for at least a week.”
He doesn’t actually think the pigeon understands but it would be reckless not to warn it if it does. It’s perhaps odd to have a bird for a companion, but Crowley doesn’t want to lose this peculiar friendships.
The moon reaps its sacrifice two nights later. The cage Crowley built for himself is a solid and well crafted one, filling its purpose even as he throws himself at the bars in a frantic and feral need to escape. To hunt. It always exhausts him, leaving him ferociously hungry in the few hours when he dares to leave his confinement.
He steps outside in the sun, stark naked, and it is with dread he finds his friend waiting for him.
“You shouldn’t be here, bird, I could harm you.” The need clawing in his guts is fortunately not directed at the pigeon, but he’s still a danger. “As you can see, I have no seeds to offer. If you promise to leave now, I’ll give you double the amount next time.” He lifts a hand to wave it away, but it instead takes the opportunity to use him for a perch. Crowley sighs. “I don’t want to lose you, gorgeous.” Something wild and desperate guiding his actions, he lifts it closer and presses a kiss to the side of its head. “Please, friend. The last thing I want is to hurt you, and I’m not entirely my own self right now.”
Its blue eyes seem to stare at him for several long moments, and then it takes off.
“Thank you.”
Five days later, the pigeon has yet to return. Crowley is relieved, but he also fears that his last display scared it off for good. He stays outside the entire day, only withdrawing inside his home when it’s too dark to continue reading.
The fire in his hearth is crackling when a knock disturbs the otherwise silent cottage.
Brows furrowing, Crowley opens the door; he has no idea if the person outside is a friend or a foe, but he can defend himself if need be.
“Hello, Crowley.”
Crowley recognises the white-blond man standing outside his door — but he didn’t think this man knew who Crowley is. “How…?” He can’t decide which question to ask first.
“May I come inside? I can explain. All of it.” He holds up a basket. “And I come bringing food. It’s only fair, after all.”
Lost for words — because he can’t think of a single reason why the younger brother of Sir Gabriel Archer would be standing on his doorstep — Crowley takes a step back to let him inside.
“My name is Aziraphale.”
“I know.” Of course he knows. How could the kind and beautiful Aziraphale not have caught his attention when he was still living among other humans? “But I didn’t think you knew who I was.” Crowley may have been nobility at one point, but he had been so below Aziraphale in rank and station it hadn’t occurred to him that he would know his name.
“Of course I know of you. Even before you befriended a pigeon who had seemingly lost its way.”
Blue eyes are staring at him, and Crowley can see something calm and hopeful in them. “…Bird?”
“I liked it better when you called me gorgeous.”
“…How..?”
“Long story very short: Curse, my brother taking advantage of that, me finding you.” Taking a step closer, Aziraphale tentatively places a hand on Crowley’s. “You, fulfilling the curse.” His smile is slow but warm. “A kiss borne out of kindness.”
“Wow.” Ineloquent, check. But can you blame him?
Aziraphale laughs. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll tell you the longer version. But only if you want to, of course.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”
