II.
"You can stay at my place. If you like."
"I don't think my side would like that."
"You don't have a side anymore."
xXxXx
Staying with Crowley was… interesting. To say the least.
The flat was interesting.
The meagre but rare and exclusive décor, and the less than lived-in feel, was interesting.
And the plants. Aziraphale had never seen such wonderfully luscious plants.
Crowley had simply sneered at them and there had been a terrified rustle of leafs.
The angel had carefully explored his temporary living space, this new kind of arrangement – no capital a – and Crowley had let him, though he had, without wanting to, hovered around. Like awaiting judgement.
Aziraphale had never really been to his counterpart's place before. He knew where Crowley lived, of course. He had been outside the very modern, glass and steel building. It was cold, cool, all sharp lines and distance. It was expensive, exclusive, with little character of old.
He had never ventured inside, though.
Now he had.
Ventured inside.
And it was a new experience.
Aziraphale was all for new experiences. He loved them. He had immersed himself in humanity, wanted to experience this world, this Earth, and all its small wonders. He had always learned, studied, questioned, and documented. He collected books, scrolls, papers, encyclopedic knowledge, preserving and expanding it.
Now here was a new kind of new experience: a demon's flat. His demon's flat.
And it wasn't really all that demonic. There was the darkness, yes, but there was also a lot of light. The walls were high, higher than should physically be possible in such a place. And the skylight let in the natural light that also fed the plants.
"This is… really nice…"
Crowley huffed and closed the door after them. He slipped out of his black jacket, revealing the skin tight black shirt underneath. If Aziraphale didn't know any better, and did he really?, he could almost think of Crowley's behavior as a cover for being nervous.
Every move was… controlled. Sometimes aborted. Steps halting. Jerking forward only to stop and do something else. He was still wearing his shades.
"The plants are magnificent," Aziraphale tried.
"They're no-good slackers who are too slow to grasp onto the concept of no leaf spots, growing without crooked stems and flowering when they are bloody supposed to!"
"Oh. Right."
Crowley muttered to himself and the plants shuffled out of his immediate line of glare. He stalked over to where a bottle of scotch sat. He studied the label and pulled a face. His aura fluctuated, blustering more than actually being demonic, then settled around him like a black cape.
Yes, nervousness. For some odd reason.
Aziraphale smiled a little uncertainly at him, then continued his exploration, hands clasped together, moving around.
He didn't expect something bad to happen. Yes, Crowley was a demon. It should be troublesome to be in a demon's, well, den, but this was Crowley. His de… demonic, well, not so much… more troublesome… counterpart. The entity who had helped save Creation. Everything Aziraphale treasured and loved.
The demon who had actually actively pushed, coerced, begged, pleaded and downright cursed Aziraphale into helping him, because he enjoyed Earth as well.
The demon who had been aghast at God's plan of the Flood, who had been shocked to hear that the Good Guys could simply stand by as children were killed in an unnecessary temper tantrum.
The demon who wouldn't kill a child, even if that child was the Anti-Christ.
The demon who had stood by his side, against Lucifer himself.
No, Aziraphale didn't feel threatened, in danger, or bad. Actually, what he sensed was rather positive.
Until he caught a whiff of something different.
xXxXx
The stain of holiness on the ground hadn't been interesting. It had been alarming. It had shaken Aziraphale to his very core.
"Crowley, what…? What did you do?!"
It got him a shrug as the demon slouched against the wall. "Self-defense."
The angel anxiously stared at the remains, felt the divinity, and he knew that this area, still soaked in holiness, was dangerous for the demon. Like walking on consecrated ground.
Crowley gave it a wide berth anyway, almost instinctively.
"Angel, don't fret," came the lazy drawl.
"Don't fret! Don't fret?! This is Holy Water, Crowley!"
"I know."
"I blessed it personally."
"And I know."
"And it's now in the very ground you walk on!"
"I know, angel. I very much know."
He glared at the other being, but it glanced off the demon as usual. Well, maybe never usual. Crowley wasn't truly immune to Aziraphale's glares and the angel saw it in a twitch of a finger, in the thinning of the other's mouth.
"What did you do?"
"Like I said: self-defense."
"Can I… may I… ask who?" Aziraphale asked haltingly.
Another shrug, but there was a different kind of tension there. "Duke of Hell. Ligur. Nasty bastard."
"Ah."
"Brought it upon himself. It was either him or me."
"I…see… I'd rather much prefer it was him."
"So do I, angel," was the light quip, but the tone was all wrong. There was a rough sliver of emotions there, something Aziraphale was unprepared for to understand or interpret.
And Crowley disappeared somewhere in the labyrinthine flat.
xXxXx
The topic was dropped.
Never forgotten, though.
Aziraphale did his best to undo the damage done by the Holy water without using too obvious miracles, but it did little good. Or bad.
It was always there.
Crowley avoided it.
Aziraphale stared at the invisible spot, feeling reminiscent of Lady Macbeth. His brows twitched a little.
There was no danger of Crowley seriously injuring himself, being permanently hurt or disfigured, but it held a certain menace.
It made Aziraphale, an angel used to such blessed things, incredibly nervous and even more anxious than he already was.
Yes, the demon was resilient. Tough. A true bastard, yes. But he was also too proud to admit to needing help, and Aziraphale was clueless as to how to offer that help in any other way than he already was.
The worry about Crowley's health and existence were always on his mind, so he continued with scrubbing the spot as clean of divinity as he could.
Crowley watched him with an expression that shifted from bemused to exasperated to something entirely. He clamped down on the latter.
Firmly.
xXxXx xXxXx xXxXx
Aside from the obvious, very divine area in the otherwise rather neutral flat, nothing changed about the place. Or the building. Or the street. There was no influx of niceness, friendly chatter, flowers blooming, sniffles and coughs dying down. Rats and pigeons were abound, though they were wise enough to avoid going anywhere near Crowley's place. People bickered and fought, there were car horns honking, yelling and threats, the usual hubbub.
There was no general feeling of… angel.
"Just what do you think you're doing, angel?" Crowley demanded.
Aziraphale looked up from the newspaper. "Doing? I am not doing anything. What are you talking about?"
"That. Just that!" The demon gestured sharply at the world around them.
They were in the only street café near his place. One of those American chain stores popping up everywhere, with fancy, overpriced drinks, trying to attract the cool and hip crowd.
And it was crowded, but as usual they had gotten a table. One patron was demanding his bill be adjusted because he hadn't eaten that slice of cake. It had only been a small coffee. Another was typing away on his phone, sexting his mistress as his wife was near-by and looking at expensive sandwiches with artistic names and stickers like 'eco' or 'vegan' all over the display.
Aziraphale's brows knitted together and he surveyed their surroundings. "I… don't follow?"
Crowley blew out a breath, staring at him as if Aziraphale was a particularly stubborn and very stupid child.
"You're holding back."
Aziraphale blinked.
Another general gesture. "The whole angelic stuff. You're keeping it in. With an effort. Lots of effort. You feel wrapped up tighter than a steel ball, angel."
"Oh."
"It's wrong."
"I… didn't think you'd notice."
Crowley leaned forward in a flash, startling the angel into nearly dropping the newspaper. Snake eyes glared at him.
"You didn't think I'd notice? Notice you not… radiating?!"
"Uhm, yes?" was the rather meek reply.
Crowley's mouth opened, then snapped shut again. Finally he shot up from his chair and stalked off.
"Oh. Oh my," Aziraphale murmured and hurried after his best friend. "Crowley, please…"
"How stupid do you think I am?" the demon demanded furiously.
People moved out of his way without knowing why, without even knowing he was there. They simply felt the sudden need to be somewhere else.
Aziraphale gave them apologetic looks.
"I don't think you are stupid, my friend. I just didn't want to… change things… where you live?"
Crowley did a full stop, so sudden that Aziraphale nearly crashed into him. He rounded on the angel and his hands clenched and unclenched.
"So you change yourself?!"
"Uhm."
"Don't."
And with that Crowley was off again, heading God knew where. Aziraphale stood there, people moving effortlessly around him, not seeing the principality in their midst.
Don't. Don't change?
Be himself?
"Oh," he murmured and tugged the newspaper under one arm. "Oh!"
xXxXx
Living together was strangely… normal and… familiar. They fell into a rhythm. It was new, but somehow also a routine. They had known each other for so long, knew the other's quirks, mannerism, preferences.
It should have been a clue. A bright, obvious, 'look at me here I am' clue. Neon bright. And flashing. Probably animated and with sound, too.
Aziraphale was clueless.
Crowley wasn't, but he wouldn't touch the subject with a pair of Hellfire-forged tongues.
Too much made sense. Too much added up. Too much complemented the other, swaying back and forth, meshing together.
Aziraphale rarely if ever slept. He used the spare room to accumulate books to read. He talked to the plants, much to Crowley's growing chagrin and upset. The buggers were starting to preen! He would have a bloody time getting them back into shape after his angel had moved out.
And wasn't that a thought that had him want to tear out his feathers and never think it again…
Crowley loved sleeping, but he didn't really eat. Drinking was more up his alley.
So he made his angel breakfast as he enjoyed insanely strong, black coffee that some ingenious human had invented. It was fittingly named Death Wish and shared cupboard space with another lovely brand called Insomnia. Crowley loved the taste. Not that it did anything to or for him. It was a brief zing, a shock to the system that was quickly gone, but he enjoyed it.
Aziraphale delighted over breakfast. His eyes lit up, his mouth curled into that bright, loving smile, and Crowley had to fight down his own smile of delight.
"Where did you get crepes?" the angel asked as he primly tugged the napkin into his collar. "They are marvelously heavenly!"
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses at the gesture and refilled his mug a third time.
"Just eat, angel," he grumbled.
Another exasperated look and Crowley sank deeper into the chair, mumbling unintelligibly.
He would have a look around for some brioche tomorrow. And there was a new French café not far from here. He would drop by and see what selections they offered.
Yes, his angel enjoyed human food. He enjoyed life. Humanity. Earth.
Crowley would never say it out loud, but he did enjoy humanity, too.
And Earth. He liked it here.
It was why he had saved it. It was why he had coerced, tempted and downright bribed and blackmailed Aziraphale into helping him. He didn't want to be anywhere else – unless the angel was in the other place with him. Armageddon would have been the end of everything, except Heaven and Hell, and Anthony J. Crowley couldn't imagine life in Hell anymore.
It meant a life without Aziraphale.
He enjoyed Aziraphale most of all. That one of a kind angel, so different, so unique in a way Crowley couldn't begin to describe, and so… so very much Aziraphale.
Yes, he enjoyed him.
In a very undemonic way.
Gulping down the scalding hot coffee, the demon was glad his counterpart was busy perusing the newspaper.
tbc...