Disclaimer: Good Omens is property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. I own nothing.
So, this started out a little fic about Aziraphale talking nice to Crowley's plants and Crowley telling him to stop it. And then... it kinda got slashy (as things do) and I added bits around it and this is the end result... Also - this is my first (tentative) foray into the world of Good Omens. I'm rather happy with it, but it may be a little OOC. And any feedback would be greatly appreciated, so please review. :) Enjoy!
The End Is Where We Start From
They were stood outside Aziraphale's bookshop in Soho, Crowley's renewed Bentley parked somewhat illegally on the curb behind them. The sun had just set and evening had cast a pleasant coolness throughout the city. It was nice and normal. But neither angel nor demon felt it.
They'd taken a longer trip back on a mutual, silent agreement to savour what could have been lost. Crowley had stuffed a tape (Beethoven's 9th) in and was rewarded with Freddie Mercury telling them that 'friends will be friends right 'til the end'. Neither of them commented on how fitting it was.
"I was going to take the liberty myself," Crowley muttered, nodding towards the renewed bookshop. "But he beat me too it. Adam, I mean." He glanced sideways at Aziraphale and found the angel beaming at him. "Ngh," he said. And he waved a hand in protest before the other could say anything endearing along the lines of 'Oh but Crowley dear, it's the thought that counts... and I told you, I always knew you had some goodness in you.'
Aziraphale didn't say anything, much to Crowley's relief, but continued to beam at him. "Wine?" he suggested and the pair headed indoors.
The bookshop was as Crowley had always remembered. Just as his Bentley was identical, so was Aziraphale's shop. They paused in the entrance and the angel took a moment to savour his surroundings. Crowley had a hard time resisting the smile that resulted at seeing his friend so happy and contented.
"Wine?" the demon interrupted after what he felt was an appropriate amount of time. Aziraphale glanced up from the bookcase he was studying and smiled, somewhat guiltily.
"Of course. I'm sorry." But neither made any effort to move. There was simply a moment of stillness, which allowed the atmosphere to become serious again. And Aziraphale said. "Crowley?"
"Yes Aziraphale?" answered Crowley, who had been expecting something like this.
"We survived." The angel gave a brief smile as though he still couldn't quite believe it. Crowley gave a slight hissing chuckle and the pair locked eyes. They had survived.
And then suddenly, out of nowhere, the demon was lunging towards Aziraphale. Attacking Aziraphale. And yet, not quite...
With inhumane speed (not an unachievable feat for a demon) Crowley leapt upon Aziraphale, closing the gap between them, and pushed him roughly against the closed door of the shop. Then with contrasting gentleness, he brought their lips together, ignoring the surprised squeak the angel uttered. For a few long minutes - or was it years? - Crowley kissed Aziraphale. Every "good" emotion he'd ever felt leeched into the kiss. Worry. Friendship. Fear. Love. And, perhaps most strongly, an overwhelming sense of relief. He ran a hand through the angel's hair, soft and caressing, hoping and willing him to understand.
A car horn interrupted them and Crowley jumped backwards as though he'd experienced an electric shock that actually shocked him. Aziraphale, wide-eyed and blushing, simply regarded him. They'd both stopped breathing (not that they needed to) and the air seemed to descend thickly on them like heavy fog. Then quite quickly, Crowley realised he wasn't ready to deal with this. So, not for the first time, he ran.
And when Aziraphale next blinked, the demon was gone. "Oh fuck."
~ *XX* ~
Crowley was sitting with his head in his hands in his apartment in Mayfair when Aziraphale caught up with him. Standing by the door, the angel shifted uneasily. Crowley only ever disappeared like that when it was an emergency or if he was upset (he always preferred to drive). It was such a rare occurrence that Aziraphale could have counted the total times on his fingers. That thought alone both scared and worried him. Aziraphale gave a slight cough, but Crowley ignored him. He knew Crowley knew he was there and that made it all the more awkward.
Searching for a distraction he moved towards the nearest plants. "Your plants are looking good," he said casually, bending slightly to look at one and whispering a few incoherent words to it. Crowley's head shot up.
"Stop it," he said tightly.
"Pardon?"
"Stop being nice to my plants."
"But..."
"I like them to be terrified," Crowley shrugged. "They grow better when they're under pressure."
Aziraphale frowned. "Are you sure?" And for a moment he was certain their awkwardness had gone, but then Crowley didn't reply and lowered his head again. Suppressing a saddened sigh, Aziraphale walked over to sit beside the demon.
He knew what this was about. He knew it would happen eventually. It wasn't part of the ineffable plan, but he knew it would happen. Six thousand years of enemy-ship and then friendship and then... he knew what would come next. He'd known this for a long time. Not because he was an angel, but because he'd been through it before. Only his morals were slightly higher than a demon's and therefore he'd never acted upon anything. Oh, he'd torn himself to pieces in anguish and confusion (sometime during the nineteenth century when Crowley was asleep), but he'd kept it mostly under control.
"Crowley..." he began hesitantly.
"If you're here to tell me that 'love is love and being a demon doesn't matter' or 'I know what you're going through' then you can bugger off," Crowley said, less harsh and more guilty.
"Er... no?"
Crowley made a sceptical noise. "Just go, angel. Please."
Aziraphale didn't move. He wanted to reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind Crowley's ear, but he didn't quite think that physical contract was best right now. Instead he said, "You can take your glasses off if you like. I don't mind, you know that." When the demon didn't reply, Aziraphale tutted softly. "They suit you, you know. Your eyes, I mean..."
Looking more than surprised, Crowley finally looked up at him and swallowed. "No one's ever said that before."
"No demon's ever been this... close with an angel," countered Aziraphale, who took the risk and reached up to gently pluck the sunglasses off Crowley's face. The piercing yellow eyes squinted in protest and Aziraphale smiled fondly.
"This doesn't change anything," Crowley said, turning away again. "We can't just forget what... I still can't..." he couldn't finish, out of shame or guilt or fear Aziraphale couldn't tell. Then, after running a hand over his face, he forced himself to continue still not looking at the angel. "I was just so worried, Aziraphale. The Apocalypse for one, because I never wanted to lose this world, but... When I found your bookshop burning... I realised I... I never wanted to lose you either." He coughed, embarrassed, then continued in deadpan, risking a glance at the angel. "And that is the single most un-devilish thing I ever said. Congratulations."
But Aziraphale was beaming at him again. "Oh, but that feeling is mutual, my dear Crowley."
"What? Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised. Aziraphale nodded. "That's not just the angel in you talking?"
"No, Crowley."
With sudden growing elation, he said, "Then what... what I did wasn't-"
"No, Crowley."
Aziraphale reached out and lightly cupped Crowley's cheek, brushing a thumb across the high cheekbones he'd always admired and loved. There wasn't a need for any more words. They were both smiling now, as it sunk in. Aziraphale beaming happily and Crowley grinning in a slightly more evil and mischievous way. And as Crowley leaned slowly forward, breathing became unimportant again and was soon forgotten altogether.
Because there is nothing like surviving the Apocalypse and nearly losing each other in the process to bring two people together, whether they are demons or angels or something entirely different.