Actions

Work Header

I've Had No Love Like Your Love

Chapter Text

 

 

Anthony was getting worried. He’d been trying to reach Aziraphale all day and was getting no response. He’d called a few too many times to maintain his own dignity, but, Aziraphle didn’t have an answerphone did he? If he were out for a walk, or taking a nap or something along those lines, he’d have no way of knowing Anthony had called him five times. 

 

At first, Anthony couldn’t imagine why Aziraphale would be home and wouldn’t pick up. It made no sense, and so it didn’t present itself as a possibility until it was five pm, and his shift at the spa had ended an hour before. Slowly, but surely, the idea that maybe Aziraphale was avoiding him began to creep with icy fingers through his brain. What could he have done wrong? Perhaps the picture he took of Aziraphale before leaving him this morning had been a bit too clingy? Perhaps he’d done something wrong when they’d made love? Aziraphale had seemed more than enthusiastic at the time, and yet, one never really knew, did one? 

 

By six o’clock, another thought had made its way into his mind. What if something had happened to Aziraphale? Perhaps he’d fallen off the ladder in his shop and had broken something. Perhaps he couldn’t make his way to the phone. 

 

That was it. He’d head over there straightway and make sure his angel was safe and sound. He couldn’t be faulted for being a bit worried could he? It had been several hours and several phone calls, and he’d gotten no response. He prayed it wouldn’t come off as too pushy or desperate to drive over to the shop without an invite, but damn it all, he needed to see Aziraphale, to reassure himself that everything was OK. This silence was a sharp departure from the Aziraphale he’d known before today. The man with the soft, affectionate voice who always answered his phone whenever he could, chirping a sweet “A. Z Fell and Co. Booksellers. How may I be of assistance?” as he did so. It melted Anthony’s heart to hear that cute greeting in Aziraphale’s proper little voice every time he called during business hours. And now? Nothing. Just the ring-ring of the line with no answer at all.

 

Anthony got in his car and drove swiftly (even for him) to the shop. He parked in the first spot he could find and rushed to the door, finding the closed sign displayed in the window, the shades pulled down. He felt a thrill of fear, despite the fact that Aziraphale often closed up at this time of night. It meant that he’d likely been home for at least the last two or three of Anthony’s calls. He found the doors locked and knocked politely. When this garnered no response, he knocked again, a little louder. Then louder still. “Aziraphale!” he called, his mouth as close to the crack in the door as he could get, hoping to project his voice into the shop so that Aziraphale could hear. “It’s me! Anthony! Open up!”

 

He jumped in surprise when a few seconds later, he heard Aziraphale’s muffled voice come through the door in response. The man must have been standing nearby when he’d called out. 

 

“Hello Anthony. So sorry. I have the flu. Don’t want to get you sick.” His voice sounded a bit rough and low. But something in the tone made Anthony press further. 

 

“Come on now. You won’t get me sick. I promise to keep my hands to myself. Just open the door so I can say a proper hello.” He heard the note of pleading in his own voice and mentally kicked himself over it. 

 

“Oh that wouldn’t be prudent dearest.” Was that fear Anthony detected beneath Aziraphale’s words? “I have unpleasant substances coming out of every orifice in my body. It’s simply horrifying. I’d hate myself if I got you sick. Don’t want to risk it you see.” 

 

Something in Aziraphale’s tone made Anthony doubt that he was telling the truth. He sounded unsettled. Shaken. Gone was the warm flirtation Anthony had grown accustomed to so quickly. 

 

“Oh. Well. If you insist” Anthony replied, crestfallen, wanting to tell Aziraphale that he’d gladly subject himself to the plague if it would get him a glimpse of his lover’s face right at this moment. Something about this whole situation felt off. “What can I get you? Soup? Medicine? Some take out? Whatever you need, angel.”

 

“Oh Anthony, thank you my darling. I don’t need anything. Just sleep.” There, there was a glimmer of the warmth Anthony was missing, underneath the stiff tone in Aziraphale’s muffled voice through the door. “I’ll call you later. Maybe a couple of days from now. Mind how you go!”

 

“Alright angel. Feel better soon.” Anthony reluctantly walked back to his car and got in, feeling unsettled and rejected for some nagging reason he couldn’t place. He drove home slower than usual, distracted and worried by the lack of connection. Even if Aziraphale were sick, it felt strange that he’d refused to open the door. Maybe Anthony was simply being paranoid. He should back off and give Aziraphale space to just feel bad and heal on his own. Maybe check back in a couple of days.

 

He went home and showered, preparing to spend an evening watching some sappy movie on Netflix, maybe toke a little weed, try to relax and forget about Aziraphale not wanting to see him. He wished for probably the thousandth time since meeting the lovely, antiquated man, that he had convinced Aziraphale to purchase a mobile phone. If he had, he could be texting Aziraphale right now. Sending him supportive little messages and stupid stickers of sick puppy dogs with cartoon themometers in their mouths. He marveled at how thoughts of Aziraphale being sick caused strong urges inside Anthony to mother him. He longed to bring Aziraphale chicken broth and warm blankets, to spend far too much money on over the counter flu medicine, to maybe rub his feet or put a cold cloth to his brow. He silently admonished himself for being such a  hopeless softy where the other man was concerned, and stalked off to water his plants. 

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Two days later, he was beginning to twitch a little. His brain had started to fill in the silence with terrible thoughts. That Aziraphale had reconsidered this whole relationship thing. That Aziraphale had grown tired of him. That Aziraphale was intimidated or put off by his dancing or his sex jokes or his dirty talk in bed. Any number of things cropped up into Anthony’s mind as reasons Aziraphale could be done with him, could be second guessing their connection. He hated this habit of his, of filling in the gaps in communication with negative catastrophic imaginings. It came from having distant parents whose moods shifted unpredictably, leaving him to guess at their motives and desires. 

 

No phone calls for two days now. No visits. No touching, no kissing. Anthony felt the absence of Aziraphale’s touch like a physical pull. He had started vacillating back and forth between convincing himself that Aziraphale was actually quite ill and just needed time to sweat it out, and that Aziraphale wanted to break up with him, simply by disappearing without a word. 

 

He showed up for his shift at the spa that afternoon, a Wednesday, only to find his first client was a familiar, and completely unwelcome face. Gabriel . Gabriel, looking strangely haunted and intense, was next in line to get a massage from him. He took the owner aside privately and asked if perhaps someone else could work on Gabriel, stating that he had some issues with the man, but the owner, Kathleen, had pleaded with him to take Gabriel as a client, saying that the man was very influential and she didn’t want to upset him or put him off. No one else was available right now, and he’d requested Anthony specifically. She promised he didn’t have to work on him a second time. Anthony very grudgingly agreed, and so he lead Gabriel back to the treatment room and closed the door behind them. 

 

“You can drop that scowl off your face, I didn’t come here for a massage,” Gabriel said, the instant they were alone. Anthony was a bit surprised at the sudden change in behavior. The man had been all stiff smiles and fake greetings out in the reception area, and now his face was blank and pale.

 

“OK then, why are you here?” Anthony was in no mood to deal with his new boyfriend’s smarmy ex lover today. Not in the state he was in. 

 

“Look,” Gabriel began, his manner turning surprisingly placating, his hands coming up between them in a protective stance. “By now you must know what happened between Azi and me, and I just want you to know that it wasn’t intentional. I only went over there to talk.” His tone changed abruptly, taking on an element of anger suddenly that had Anthony confused and concerned. “I only wanted to caution you against doing anything too rash. Telling anyone about it wouldn’t be a wise move to make.”

 

Anthony felt all the blood drain from his face and his heartbeat started to pound in his ears. “What are you talking about?” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “What did you do? What happened?”

 

Gabriel rallied quickly and even through his confusion and fear, Anthony could tell the man was a master manipulator. His tone became softer, his face carefully arranged itself into the approximation of a sincere smile. “It was nothing. We just had a little bit of a spat. I just came to tell you that Azi may be upset and may say some things, but before you act rashly, you really should consider all the factors.”

 

“What did you do to him?” Anthony was done with Gabriel’s innocent act. He was done with the man all together. He took a step closer, and Gabriel took a step back, probably seeing the dangerous look in Anthony’s eyes. 

 

“Nothing. Nothing. Just like I said, we had a spat. I just want you to know that I know all about you and your shady dealings and it wouldn’t be wise for you to react too strongly-”

 

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because Anthony had crowded the taller, stronger man against the wall of the treatment room, getting up in his face, rage clouding his good sense as he forced down the urge to physically attack Gabriel. “If you’ve hurt him, if you’ve touched a single, fucking hair on his precious head, I will fucking end you. ” Anthony growled out, not caring that it was probably a completely empty threat. That Gabriel could likely smash him to bits with his massive fists, his longer reach, his thicker musculature and taller stature. Still, Anthony had rage on his side. He had his mother’s Irish blood rushing through his veins and his father’s temper. He was a scrapper and he could do some damage before Gabriel got the drop on him. 

 

“Hey! Hey. Calm down.” Gabriel’s voice was hushed suddenly, embarrassed? Afraid? “We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your job now would we?”

 

“Fuck this job. Fuck your threats. Go ahead and do your worst” Anthony knew his mouth was writing checks he couldn’t cash and didn’t care. “I’ll repeat what I said, you pompous piece of shite. If you’ve harmed him, I will come find you . You’d better stay far away from the both of us from now on if you know what’s good for you.” He finally stood back, wanting Gabriel out of his sight. Wanting to run to Aziraphale’s shop and find out what was really going on. “Get the fuck out of here before I do something that’ll get me fired. Something I’ll enjoy way too much.”

 

The look of surprise and the flicker of fear that flashed across Gabriel’s face was distantly satisfying. Luckily, Gabriel obeyed him and stalked out of the treatment room. Anthony followed him, grabbing his coat and bag of street clothes as he went. He stood by the door and made sure Gabriel was away down the street, watched the man get into his posh black car and drive off. 

 

“I’ve got to go.” he said to the receptionist. “Cancel my appointments. Or rebook them with another therapist. Family emergency.” Before the girl could respond, he was out of the spa like a shot and in his car, gunning the engine as he headed to Aziraphale’s shop.