Chapter Text
He would forget. Aziraphale was sure he would forget. Crowley’s lingering lips wouldn’t haunt him forever, he was convinced. Or at least he was trying to convince himself. Forever was a long time, surely even an angel could forget things. Once he’d become accustomed to being back in Heaven, his mind would be occupied with other things and no longer be troubled with blasphemous thoughts about damning God and leaving the Up behind to be with a demon. Aziraphale’s heart constantly screamed at him to turn on his heel and run back to earth, but his brain told him to stay. (Not that his brain was the one to usually make decisions. A not so small part of his heart also told him that Crowley wouldn’t want him back anyway, but Aziraphale was not about to admit that.)
Heaven hadn’t changed at all since Aziraphale had last visited. Same old plain whiteness, same old boring angels. The dull conversations with the other archangels didn’t exactly make it easier to not miss his bookshop and his neighbors. Impossible to even get coffee up there.
The first thing Aziraphale had done upon arrival, was putting up a small box outside his office.
“What is that supposed to be?”, Uriel had asked sternly.
“A suggestion box”, Aziraphale had answered with a hopeful smile. When Uriel only continued to blankly stare at him, he added, “If you ever have questions or something to say about the way I run things, you can leave a note for me here. Anonymously even.” The irritated expression on Uriel’s face had made it very clear that they still didn’t understand Aziraphale’s intentions, but were also not interested enough to further press the subject. There had only been one note in the box so far and it had read: SUGGESTION: REMOVE THE SUGGESTION BOX.
Without doubt the trickiest thing about being the Chief Executor of the Second Coming when you don’t want it to actually happen, is convincing the other angels that you do, in fact, want it to happen. Of course it helps a little that angels are not predestined to ask questions, something they have in common with demons, but ever since Gabriel had bluntly refused to carry out the Great Plan, even the angels had become a little wary. Countless times Aziraphale had tried to softly stir them away from their plan to resurrect Jesus, in another direction where the earth and all its inhabitants would not be harmed, but so far they seemed like they hadn’t even took notice of his efforts. None of them payed him any attention, they just continued to discuss strategies.
The main reason why they hadn’t already started the Second Coming was that they didn’t know where Hell stood on the matter. Obviously, the Up still wanted their war and they didn’t want to risk losing it, because they weren’t prepared. More than once the other archangels had proposed Aziraphale to ask his contact about the situation in the Down. They meant Crowley of course. How could they know about their parting, about the things that had been said and the ones that hadn’t. How could they know about any of it, how could they understand that Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s relationship had changed fundamentally in a way most celestial beings would never think possible. What had happened in those faithful minutes in the bookshop had been six-thousand years in the making and still been so sudden and astonishingly human, that a big part of Aziraphale still couldn’t fully believe it. So how could they? And although Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to follow their request and look for the demon in question, he told them he didn’t know where Crowley was, that he had gone into hiding after Shax had become Grand Duke of Hell.
“We found the demon Crowley”, Saraqael announced at another one of the archangels’ meetings. Aziraphale desperately tried to scramble together some kind of neutral expression at the news and somehow managed to not blurt out a strangled “Where?!”. He hadn’t even known the others were actively searching for Crowley. A sinking feeling overcame him at the thought. “The demon was spotted leaving the Supreme Archangel’s former residence, the bookshop. He seems to check in on it every few weeks. He then drove his vehicle up to Edinburgh where he appears to have settled at the Royal Observatory.” Crowley had been in his bookshop, to check on it. Treacherous hope filled Aziraphale.
“Now that we know where Crowley is, I’m sure our Supreme Archangel will not have any trouble getting into contact with him, will he?”, Michael looked at Aziraphale sharply and he knew he wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of this one.
“Surely not, I will be on my way in an instance”, Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. How on earth would he approach Crowley after their falling-out? And how would he explain to him that Heaven had sent him, that he needed his help? Would he even listen?
Nervously, Aziraphale stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would bring him down to earth. He had debated going directly to Edinburgh, but this whole thing was to good of an excuse to spend some days at his old bookshop and he needed time to think about what to say anyway, so he had decided to go to London and wait for Crowley there. The first steps on earthly ground felt more like coming home than the elevator to Heaven ever had. Slowly breathing in the chilly city air, the angel walked across the street towards his shop. Almost religiously, he touched the wooden frame before opening the door. Light flooded the room, the smell of books welcoming Aziraphale like a familiar embrace. He never wanted to leave again and his heart started to ache at the thought.
From the back of the shop Aziraphale heard footsteps approaching. For a brief moment excitement flowed through him, but he soon recognized Muriel’s way of walking rather than Crowley’s. They looked at him with surprise, before a big smile spread across their face.
“Oh, Mr Fell, I thought you were a customer for a second there. You’ve been gone for some time, what are you doing here?” Aziraphale explained what could be explained and then excused himself quickly to check on his books, grabbing one from his to-read-pile and settling down in his favourite chair. Home. He was home and he felt that fact more than ever before. Only one thing was missing and no matter how much the angel had looked forward to reading a book again, his thoughts couldn’t seem to focus, but instead kept circling back to a certain pair of yellow eyes.
Crowley was determined to drive from Edinburgh to London in under four hours, no matter how much the Bentley didn’t want to go over the speed limit anymore. He didn’t know why he still bothered to check on the damned bookshop anyway, so at least he wanted it to be over quick. He tried to convince himself that he wanted to look after Muriel, that he missed the lively heart of the city or something like that, but even his excuses sounded pathetic. Fact was, that he couldn’t quite let go just yet and he hated himself for it. After all he was a demon from Hell, he shouldn’t feel like this, he shouldn’t feel anything at all and least of all sentimental. But he couldn’t help it, so he parked the Bentley in front of Nina’s coffee shop and stepped out onto the dimly lit street.
The bookshop was dark and the sign at the door read “Closed”. Crowley opened the door anyway and entered, not caring about waking Muriel. They hadn’t discovered the human concept of sleeping yet.
“Muriel, where the hell are you?”, the demon grumbled. A faint light shone from the back room and ready to lecture the junior angel on not using the fireplace, he made his way through the shop. Nothing in the world could have prepared Crowley for the emotions that swept over him, as he saw who was staring at him with big eyes from the other side of the room. Aziraphale was sitting in a cushioned chair, open book in hands, the light of an electric candle painting the side of his face bright orange.
“Oh fuck, no”, Crowley blurted out, his voice betraying him by trembling. This couldn’t be happening, not like this, not now. He stumbled backwards, he was already halfway to the door when Aziraphale called his name. His voice sounded choked, pleading, unbelievably soft and Crowley almost wanted to run back and take him in his arms. Satan’s sake, he really was pathetic. But his hesitance gave the angel enough time to catch up with him and grab his arm.
“Crowley. Crowley, look at me, please.” He was glad he hadn’t taken off his sunglasses as he turned to face Aziraphale.
“What do you want, angel?”, Crowley spit out, poison dripping off the last word. Hurt flashed across Aziraphale’s features, clearly visible even in the dark. Good, thought the demon, let it hurt.
“I need your help.” Of course he did. Of course he wouldn’t come back to apologize, he still thought he had made the right decision. Crowley was only a demon, valuable to the Great Plan, nothing more. He motioned to turn back to the door, but Aziraphale wouldn’t let go of his arm. “Please.”
“Why on earth would I ever want to help you again? You made a choice, Aziraphale.” The angel’s name rolled off his tongue too smoothly for his own liking. Crowley did not dare look into those tear-filled blue eyes for he knew he would drown in them. Finally, he ripped his arm free from Aziraphale’s grip and fled outside, the angel quick on his heels.
“If you don’t care about any of this anymore, why did you look after the bookshop?”, Aziraphale called after him. Crowley stopped dead in the middle of the street. The angel bumped into him, realizing too late that Crowley had jerked to a halt. They were dangerously close as the demon turned around to face Aziraphale. The question had caught him off guard and rage battled the urge to tell him the truth.
“I was only checking in on Muriel. Someone had to.” Rage lost, but truth didn’t win, it was misery that formed his well practiced excuse. Crowley’s eyes wandered off into the distance, looking for something, anything, to fix on that wasn’t Aziraphale’s face floating too close to his.
“Well, and they say demons don’t have hearts.” The tone of Aziraphale’s voice was almost playful, the tiniest grin on his face. The angel really thought he was being funny, really thought he could see right through him. Crowley stared at him, a bitter taste in his mouth. When he didn’t smile back, Aziraphale had the dignity to look embarrassed.
“Oh, we do have hearts, believe me, I learned that the hard way”, Crowley said harshly. The angel still tried to keep up a nice demeanour, still tried to stir them back to the way they had behaved around each other prior to his return to Heaven.
“What do you mean? How?”, Aziraphale asked before he could stop himself.
“You broke mine”, Crowley said flatly, drowned of all emotion. He looked at Aziraphale one last time before striding over to his Bentley and driving off into the night.