Disclaimer: I don't own Good Omens in any of its incarnations. Duh. It'd have 900% more angst otherwise. A. N. For the prompt "Present." Yes, yes, I know, the ending is positively evil, but I am writing this the same day it needs to be published. Forgive me?
Comebacks
Aziraphale could have done without Pestilence's comeback. Yes, fine, the whole world could have done without it. But apparently the old horseman decided that part of the Armageddon't failure was attributable to Pollution's inexperience. Never mind that their old mates, Famine and War, hadn't fared any better against the Them.
Not that Pestilence could really put the Apocalypse back on the road on their own. But the most unfortunate mix of a frustrated, unvanquished horseman and a resurgence of a brand of human idiocy that even Pestilence themselves had thought long gone brought on...well, turn on the news.
Aziraphale had kept busy, of course. Blessings were more necessary than ever. And during lockdown...well, he might be biased, but a bookshop/home is the perfect place to isolate. Especially if you can also miracle yourself a few ingredients when everyone else is baking, too.
Still, abiding by the rules (and as an angel, he really couldn't let anyone give a bad example) had meant no Crowley. For a full year. Then again, his beloved is prone to oversleeping. Aziraphale just hopes that, this time, it won't be quite as extended a nap as in the past. He'd been so delighted over their chance to ignore their respective supervisors for a while...and then, no Crowley, again. Rotten luck. He'd even considered asking Adam for a full minute, but the kid deserved to be a kid. Not a "fix all semi-supernatural messes" employee. Knowing both their sides, the boy would be overworked all the time.
His hopes of Crowley's companionship dashed during "stay local" times, Aziraphale might have gone over and tried to wake him up, true. But he didn't want to risk the disappointment, in case his presence didn't register no matter the efforts. He's an odd mix of reckless and cowardly...and right now, even if he tells himself that he really, really shouldn't be, despondent. There were times when seeing Crowley once a century was a treat. But now – he can't help it. He misses his beloved.
He's reorganizing the books – again – when he hears the door open. And sure, bookshops might be allowed to be open right now, but he's sure he's not been so improvident as to open his.
He turns around – maybe another theft attempt would be a nice distraction from his current mood – and then blinks. In different circumstances, he'd assume an accidental summoning. Because there he is, Crowley, with a hesitant smile and a small, paper package in his hands like an offering. The fragrance wafts inside the shop. Coconut and... "Crowley! The pão de Deus from our favourite bakery in Lisbona?"
"Yep. Apologies, angel. I didn't mean to stay away so long." Aziraphale makes himself frown, because he has to. "You know, international travel is still not on."
"Well, I am a demon." Impervious to illness, including spreading...unless he did so on purpose, and Crowley knows better than that. When no reply comes, he continues, "I read Portugal was green and – I might have been slightly confused over the date. It felt like I'd been asleep for ages anyway."
"I'll put the kettle on." Because there are too many things he wants to say, and he still doesn't know how to handle a good half of them. But his frown is long melted, a too-wide smile in its place. He's just lucky he has enough of a hold on himself that he has not started sprouting random eyes yet.
Crowley follows. He puts his gift down on a table and generally makes himself at home in the back of the shop again. Observing small changes. Draping himself over the sofa, taking up all the space and then some. It might not always be obvious, but Aziraphale loves his 360° field of vision.
Soon after, with tea for both, after Aziraphale's first bite into cloud-soft coconut deliciousness, Crowley asks, "So? Good enough to forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive in the first place." Because it's true. Aziraphale's mood swings are his own trouble. Crowley coped with boredom and unpleasantness the best way he knew how.
"Wrong. But in my defense, I was dreaming of you. Let me tell you..."