Work Text:
It had been a long day in Wuhan. The strange new virus was spreading rapidly and the authorities were talking about placing the country on lockdown. Crowley had lurked about as the humans argued and blundered. He didn’t like to interfere, but he knew his performance on this assignment was being watched closely. He’d done his part, whispering in an ear here to go without a mask, there not to bother with hand washing. He caused an unstoppable itch on a nurse’s nose, and she pulled her mask down and scratched her face with a gloved hand. He felt a bit squirmy about it, but he had a job to do, after all.
Back in London, he walked through the bustling streets to Aziraphale’s bookshop. The sidewalks were filled with people hurryling home to warm dinners, or picking up last minute supplies for supper.
He was planning to try his hand at a frittata. It was always a challenge to cook for Aziraphale, who was a vegetarian. He stopped and bought a good bottle of wine. When he sauntered by the flower lady’s stand, he couldn’t resist stopping for a bouquet. She had some lovely roses that stood out hot pink and voluptuous, in the chilly January evening.
“Bless you kind sir,” she croaked as he plucked the flowers from their jam jar and handed her a ten pound note. “Buying for someone special?”
“Erm…..” Crowley said, suddenly self conscious.
“Love is a tricky thing,” she commented with a toothless grin.
“It is, isn’t it,” agreed Crowley.
“Good luck with it then,” she said as he hurried away, He pulled his coat closer against the chilly mist. The blue scarf that Aziraphale had given him for Christmas was snug against his neck. He was looking forward to the comfort of a cozy dinner and the pleasures of the angel’s bed.
But when he got to Aziraphale’s, the flat was dark.
“No mind,“ thought Crowley. He let himself in. Not that Aziraphale had given him a key. But Crowley didn’t need a key to enter where he wanted. One of the advantages of being a demon. He puttered about the dark flat, turning on the lamps. He put the flowers in water. He opened the wine, started frying onions for the frittata.
Crowley did enjoy cooking - more, it seemed as time went on. He had developed a bit of a fetish for kitchenware stores, with their gleaming, sleekly designed utensils, their clever solutions for mundane problems. What really was the best device for grating ginger, peeling garlic, squeezing lemons? Gradually, his purchases appeared in Aziraphale’s old fashioned, minimally equipped kitchen. Aziraphale preferred to eat out.
He had no idea where Aziraphale had got to but figured he’d be home soon enough.
But he wasn’t.
One hour passed, then two. The frittata sat golden and perfect in the oven. Crowley hunkered down by the fire and finished the wine. The flowers took on a decidedly droopy look.
By the time he heard the angel’s tread on the stairs he was pacing the flat restlessly and little tendrils of smoke were coming out of his ears. He heard the jangle of keys, the turning of the lock. Aziraphale entered looking rosy and pleased with himself. A little jealous worm started gnawing at the base of Crowley’s brain.
He knew that look.
“Hello,” Aziraphale sang out. “Let yourself in, I see.” He went over to the fire and rubbed his hands. ”Brr! It's getting cold out! A winter storm blowing in. My, that smells good! What did you make?”
“Aziraphale,” said Crowley. “Where were you?”
“Where was I? I had a date.”
“A date.” There was a buzzing in Crowley’s ears, like a thousand flies.
“Yes. Lovely young bloke. Very sensitive. He needed a bit of cheering up and I….”
“Did you shag him?” Crowley interrupted.
“Well…..yes.” Aziraphale looked suddenly wary. “Yes I did.I just thought he needed that extra bit of kindness and I…”
“Aziraphale,” Crowley cut him off.
“Yes?”
Crowley walked to the window and looked out. It was late. A few stray people hurried home, their backs hunched against the cold. “I thought we had an understanding,” he said.
“An understanding,” said Aziraphale.
“We’ve been together almost every night for months.”
“Yes, except when we’ve been on assignment.”
“Yes… except then…But the point…. The point is…”
“What is the point, Crowley?” There was a hot,ungodly flash of anger in Aziraphale’s eyes.
“I thought - I assumed - I was wrong, clearly, but I assumed we were being, you know, exclusive.”
“Exclusive.”
“You shag only me. I shag only you.”
“And why, pray tell, would you want that?” asked Aziraphale.
“I want that, because I’m in love with you, you big stupid ponce.”
A resounding silence met this proclamation
“No need to use offensive language,” said Aziraphale with a sniff.
“Aziraphale did you even hear what I said?” Crowley’s skin had darkened to a purplish grey, and two little horn buds had appeared on his forehead.
“Well yes, I heard it. I’m just not sure what to make of it, that’s all. I mean to say, are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You’re not ill?”
“I don’t get ill, Aziraphale.”
“Perhaps some new ethereal virus. It does happen occasionally. Here, let me feel your forehead.”
“I’m not ill!” Crowley shouted. Little orange flames came out of his nostrils. His eyes glowed feral yellow. Outside, thunder rumbled and a wind whipped the trees furiously.
“All right, all right calm down. How long have you felt this way?”
Crowley went over to the bed and sat down. He put his head in his hands. His forked tail which had erupted out his backside, drooped limply on the floor. “About 500 years.”
“Oh.” A long silence ensued, filled by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. “And you never said anything?”
“I was trying to talk myself out of it,” said the demon miserably.
“I see.”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to be good at this sort of thing.”
“Well…..I usually am, but this is a bit unusual.”
“It's your area, Aziraphale.”
“It is. But I'm afraid this will require some thought. I might have to do some reading - look a few things up.”
“Look a few things up? Really?”
“Well….” The angel squirmed uncomfortably. “It's just that ... I don’t know if I'm really built for ….. Love ...like that. I mean to say - we’re very different, after all, you and I and…”
“You don’t love me.” Crowley sat on the side of the bed and put his head in his hands. The wind and thunder died down and a few desolate raindrops splattered the window.
Aziraphale sat down beside the dejected demon and put a comforting arm around him. His tail hung limply on the ground. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend, my only friend, really. And in bed…. Well, no one makes me feel like you do, no one ever has, not in all of eternity. And … and I like waking up with you every morning, having coffee, reading the paper. I like having you here at the end of the day. You’re right - I’ve been lonely, I can’t deny it. But….”
“But what?” said Crowley in a hollow voice.
“Don’t you see?” said Aziraphale. “What you are proposing would upset the balance.”
“Screw the balance!” said Crowley angrily. “I’m sick of worrying about the balance. I want you in my life Aziraphale. Every day. Every night. I can’t do without it. And I don’t want you going off and shagging anyone else. I’m yours and you're mine. That’s the way it should be. That’s the way I want it. I’m in love with you! And if that throws the balance off well then we’ll just find a new balance. We’ll deal with it.”
Aziraphale got up and stood by the window, looking out on the street. Crowley sat on the bed feeling terrible, filleted open, like a fish. He felt like a snake that had just shed its skin, soft and vulnerable. He was filled with dread. What would he do if Aziraphale rejected him? He wasn’t sure that he could go on.
“500 years?” Aziraphale asked.
“It was after you fell for that Shakespeare bloke so hard, if you must know.”
“Ah.”
“I was….I was jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Green. Filled with envy. I wanted to kill that boy. That Willy Shakespeare. “ Thunder rumbled again outside, and another flame shot from Crowley’s nose.
”I….I never have felt envy,” said Aziraphale softly. “It’s not in my angelic nature.”
“Well, it's a horrible feeling, “said Crowley. “I don’t recommend it. But that was when I knew. You see, in a demon, jealousy is the closest thing we can feel to love. But with you, somehow, I crossed over. I was green with envy, sick with it. I could see how much he meant to you. And in the end, I realized what it meant. I love you, Aziraphale.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Think about it?”
“It's been 500 years, you say? Can I have….a few days?”
Crowley looked at him. “Sure,” he said. “By all means. A few days, a few weeks, a few years. Take all the time you need.” He shook his head sadly. “We have all of eternity, after all.”
Without another word, Crowley stood. He walked to the door and left the flat. The door slammed behind him with a dull thud.
Aziraphale sat for a long time in the empty flat and stared at the door where he had left.