Work Text:
London, 1862
Crowley waited at St. James Park for hours, glaring at the ducks as they swam in circles, occasionally disappearing below the surface with a small splash.
The urchin they’d given the note to had sworn he’d delivered it to the shopkeep of A.Z. Fell and Co., saying the woman in white had given him a puzzled look before she read it.
Now, the comment about the woman filled Crowley with a sense of unease.
In their centuries on Earth, Aziraphale rarely changed their form – like so many other elements of the angel’s corporation, they were comfortable in the body, loathe to give it up. But it wouldn’t be unreasonable for them to change, especially if the bibliophile got some notion that the humans were suspicious that the proprietor of the bookshop never seemed to age.
With a growl, Crowley stalked out of the park, leaning on their cane more than they’d like as they walked. It would be months before the last of Hell’s scars wore off and if Aziraphale noticed, they’d smother the demon with infernal sympathy and tittering about how the arrangement was too risky.
Crowley had spent decades soothing the angel’s ruffled feathers that they were in no danger because of their agreement, boasting that they were too smart and their respective head offices weren’t interested in who was doing the deed, so long as it was done. And if one incident like this derailed the years of hard work they’d put in …
The demon turned down Whickber Street, at least a little relieved to see the cherry wood façade and smart gold letters proclaiming the bookshop. The snakehead cane topper dug into their palm as they leaned heavily on the stick, resting to better hide the limp when they saw Aziraphale.
Crowley inhaled and moved forward and then froze when the door opened and a customer emerged with a brown-wrapped parcel. The human was followed by an angel – undoubtedly celestial but not Aziraphale.
“Fuck,” Crowley swore as they darted around the corner and leaned forward to peer at the angel – Michael.
What the deuce was an Archangel doing manning the shop?
Frantically, Crowley tried to recall the note and if there were any specifics that could get them in trouble.
No, it’d used the simple code Aziraphale had insisted they use, hiding the sender’s identity and their rendezvous location in a cipher the bookkeep had created.
“Excuse me!” somebody called behind them.
Crowley’s lips curled as they turned, glaring at the man who was darting between carriages and horses to cross the street.
“What?” the demon asked crossly.
“Are you Crowley?” he asked, holding up a page neatly torn from a sketchbook. A pencil drawing of the demon filled the page, an incredible likeness to how they’d looked in 1827 – down to the small snake sigil that peeked out through Crowley’s muttonchops.
At the demon’s nod, the man offered a primly folded note, sealed with gold lion stamp.
“We’ve been holding this for about a decade – My boss had almost given up hope of solving that particular mystery,” he said congenially, an affable smile on his face. “We’ve been curious as to what it said.”
Crowley took the note. “Well, it seems like the mystery will have to remain intact,” they replied, tucking it into their pocket.
The man looked disappointed for a second before the weight of Crowley’s gaze settled and then he dashed off, back to the tailor shop so he could peer at the demon through the window.
As the pedestrians of Soho parted around the demon, Crowley unfolded the note.
It took a minute to decipher code, after years of not using it. But when the meaning came to them, Crowley’s fingers tightened on the fine, cream paper.
“C.
Unfortunately, I must end our arrangement – not only because I fear the repercussions on you if discovered, but also because Gabriel has informed me I’ve been promoted.
I wish you could have been there to help me think of a clever story, but I cannot, and must obey.
Watch out for Michael. I doubt they’ll be so easily wooed as I was.
Goodbye, my dear.
A.”
The paper they’d hastily jotted their request on this morning burned in their coat pocket.
No angel.
Aziraphale was gone. Because Heaven had no need of them on Earth with Crowley’s absence. Because Aziraphale had needed them and Crowley hadn’t - couldn’t, the demon reminded themself sharply – help.
With a snarl, Crowley strode down the street.