Note: This fic is inspired by selected sections of Tennyson's "In Memorium." The title of every chapter and some sentences will be direct allusions to the poem. For the most part, these will probably be separate episodes and continuity is as continuity does. This and future chapters may be construed as slash. I don't own "In Memorium" or Good Omens.
Confessions of a Wasted Youth
Aziraphale was gone. He was alone. Crowley walked across the wooden floor, leaving shoeprints behind him in the dust. "No..." he ran his fingers along one of the shelves. "Angel..." Angels couldn't die, he knew, but they'd been together on this Earth so long that discorporation was a lot more than inconvenient. "Lord..." he muttered. He took in a sharp breath. The word made his tongue sting. "I... loved him." The words were painful to admit, painful to admit aloud.
Crowley fell to his knees, but for him, it might as well have been descension into Hell, and this cold empty shop eternal flames. "What was it like?" He asked the winter air, "What was it like, angel? Was it real?" How he had longed to ask his friend this question, but never could voice the words. He never had to. Aziraphale had been the proof that Crowley's distant memories of Heaven were more than dreams. The angel was his faith. Could a demon have faith?
A slow, stammered prayer issued from Crowley's mouth, and he almost expected steam to follow. "Lord," he choked out, "forgive me for my foolishness. Forgive me for my grief." Could a demon be forgiven? Crowley's breath caught in his throat. He wished he could ask to be made mortal, for man could have faith, man could be forgiven, man could find Heaven... where Aziraphale was... what precious gifts these mortals did not know they had. "Forgive my grief. I know our time together is limited, but..." but what? There was no polite way to say it. He could only offer graceless confession. "I want my friend back."
But why should Aziraphale be returned for Crowley's sake? "You are greater than us, Lord, though we mocked thee, and now we are lost in darkness... I am lost." He faltered. "Forgive what seem'd my sin in me. Forgive what I have done. I was young. Forgive me that I didn't take the advice of someone older, someone wiser..." Crowley spoke faster, "I've learned so much since then. I've helped people," His voice got louder, "and I didn't mean to fall," and softer, "I didn't understand what I could lose," and dissolved altogether. And what had he lost? His friend, his angel, his promise that the world contained some sweetness, something fair.
All Crowley wanted was to be with him. But where was the sweetness and fairness in that? What influence did he have on Aziraphale, Crowley wondered. He stammered and started again. "Forgive me for my foolishness. Aziraphale lives in thee. I love him all the more for it. For he is worthy to be loved, and he is worthy to be loved by more than me. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. I am a child compared to you. I know not what I say." But he did. He said everything that could prevent him from saying what he really wanted to say, what he wanted to say every time this happened, that Aziraphale should stay in Heaven, where it was better, where he belonged.
"A... Ame..." He couldn't finish.