Hello, here's the next bit.

Many have asked if this story is slash. It's really difficult for me to say. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley has always been a bit complicated for me. I don't really see them as strictly male characters since they are ethereal beings. I see their closeness as something born of the fact that they have evolved into creatures unlike any others. The slightly un-angelic angel and the not so demonic demon. Really, in that sense, Aziraphale and Crowley are alone in this universe except for each other.

This doesn't make me think that there's an automatic sexual desire between the two. But there is a strong bond that has formed that perhaps, in the words of Aziraphale, is ineffable.

But, some more of that will be touched on later. For now, on the w/the show:

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A light drizzle had settled over London, along with an unseasonable humidity that caused a case of bad hair for every inhabitant of the city. Amongst the hurrying crowd of SoHo, a lone black-clad figure made his way through. His hunched shoulders bumped and collided every other few steps with various pedestrians, who mostly ignored such contact out of habit.

Crowley jerked his head to one side as he continued to walk, flicking damp dark strands away from his eyes. He could feel the moisture cling to his normally perfectly sculpted hair, causing it to stick out at various angles. He supposed he could fix all that with a simple gesture. And he could just magic all these pedestrians out of his way. But he felt he had good reason not to.

With each jostle of an arm hitting his and with each tickle of his hair brushing his face, Crowley become more convinced that this was not a dream. He was back on Earth. He was awake and he was back. The demon drank up the reality like a man dying of thirst.

He let his body crash rather forcefully with an elderly woman who was passing by him with her shopping bag. The surprise of the collision caused her to drop the canvas tote and oranges scattered themselves on London's gray sidewalks. Crowley noted the sharp feel of her umbrella on his ribs as she smacked him hard and called him a "bloody blind fool." He walked on, ignoring her furious diatribe while absently ordering the rolling oranges to congregate off to one side to avoid getting trampled on.

He was back. This was not a dream.

++++++++++++++

An hour later, Crowley was reassessing his previous statement as he stared at where Aziraphale's bookshop used to be. Instead of the dour, moldy looking establishment, there now stood an unbearably bright and cheerful computer store that boasted an equally bright sign that read: "Computer Corner!" In the drab London weather, the store seemed to have its own sunlight pouring out of its windows, courtesy of its corporate management. Had it not been standing exactly where Aziraphale's shop should have been, Crowley might have actually taken a liking to it.

Upon entering the store, a worker clad in bright blue shirt bounded up to him, his smile brightly reflecting the bright lights. Some people might have raised a questioning eyebrow at the sight of Crowley. His suit looked as if he had used it as his pajamas for the past month while using the gutters as his bed of choice. His pale face was partially hidden by a pair of chipped sunglasses, badly in need of replacing and scattered hair, badly in need of a comb. But any propensity the worker might have had toward curiosity had been beaten out of him during his Computer Corner! Training Sessions.

"Good day, sir. How may I help you?" inquired the Computer Corner! worker.

Crowley looked over at the far wall where Aziraphale used to have a bookshelf that housed many of his books post-1700. Or at least, he had until Crowley had thrown Lynch into the shelves, bringing most of them down. Now by the far wall was a table that sported several rows of sleek laptops, poised for action.

"Didn't a bookshop used to be here?" asked Crowley. He realized how hoarse his voice sounded from lack of use.

"Bookshop?" asked the worker, blankly.

"Yes, as in a shop that sells books."

"Books."

"Yes," said Crowley, getting irritated. "Those things with paper and words on them? Comes in all sizes?" The demon blinked in surprise when the worker merely laughed at the comment. The glazed look reminded Crowley of those who had lost their souls.

"Hello, can I help?" inquired a new voice. Despite being different in terms of size and gender to the first worker, this Computer Corner! worker's cheerfully blank face made her fairly identical to the first.

"This gentleman wanted to know if we used to be a bookshop," supplied the first worker.

"Bookshop?" asked the second worker, blankly.

"Yes, as in…it was called Mainly Books," said Crowley, hastily before he repeated a conversation. "Old place. Looked very easily flammable. Usually had bad odors coming from it. Owned by…." Crowley searched his mind for a good description of Aziraphale. "Uh…blond man. Tallish…in need of exercise. Usually wore jumpers the color of oat bran and sometimes had on glasses. Not that he needed them," Crowley said after a thought. "He owned the bookshop here…right here…" The demon cast an eye around the well-lit store and looked for the dusty counters and shelves that were all absent. Like their owner.

Crowley's voice trailed off as he thought on what Aziraphale's disappearance meant. If he really wanted to, he could just concentrate and see if he could sense out the angel's location. But would Aziraphale want to be found? And if he did find his counterpart, what would he say to him?

Or rather, what would he say to me?

The thought of what the angel might have to say to him frankly unnerved Crowley a little.

But what was he to do if not find Aziraphale? He had started out wandering throughout London upon his return, but almost automatically he had directed himself to come to the angel's bookshop. Why had he done that? To talk to Aziraphale? He hadn't really had a plan. He just wanted…to be near. To not be alone. But that's exactly what he was right now.

Crowley realized one of the Computer Corner! twins was talking to him. The demon tried to tune out the chattering voice and realized he couldn't do it. Words about their "latest laptop model" and "would he like to see a demonstration?" bounced inside the demon's head with a piercing resonance.

"The G9 model's screen provides an excellent clarity in picture when surfing the internet. All our computers are hooked up so if you'd like to test it out—"

"No," Crowley cut in. He pushed past the workers who maintained the frozen smiles on their faces. As he passed by the various computer monitors that were switched on for display, the demon paused and looked at the bland web pages. He felt an old twitch in his hands as an idea formulated in his mind. It really wasn't his job anymore, but….

As Crowley exited the computer store, all computer and laptop screens simultaneously flickered before displaying 50 identical images of a man in leather chaps and a woman sporting only a leather whip and nothing else.

"Oh, ja! Ja! Das ist gut, mein Mann! Ja! Ja! Ja!"

Several blue-shirted workers rushed to the computers, attempting to terminate the connection the computers had to the German porn site. Strangely, it could not be done. The smiles remained, albeit having now a more desperate, pained shade as customers looked on.

"Ja! Ja! Ich bin Ihr Sklave!!"