CHAPTER 3

Three weeks; it had been three weeks since Aziraphale had seen hide or hair of Crowley. There was an emptiness in Aziraphale, that had once been filled by the demon; now it was a gaping wound that ached to be filled, else it bleed dry. For the first two days, all the angel could do was cry on and off, mourning the loss. Then, Aziraphale had tried phoning Crowley to explain himself daily, begging the man to just give him a chance, that everything would be fine, just please try, but his pleas went unanswered, going straight to the answering machine. Nothing seemed to be working to get through to the demon. Aziraphale was so despondent that he hadn't even left the shop to eat or drink (not that he needed to); every time he had thought of leaving, he would think of Crowley calling him back, and be unable to drag himself outside.

One day, a little over a week in, he thought he had glimpsed the demon's striking hair colour through the window, and his heart momentarily soared, but when he went to check, it was just a random human. Twice more this happened, leaving Aziraphale feeling crushed after each time. After that, he stopped looking out the windows.

A week and a half in, Aziraphale started drinking to help drown the pain; it dulled it to a throbbing ache, much better than the searing agony it was. At first, he drank only as much as necessary to get tipsy, but soon started to increase the amount, since it quickly became not enough, till every night he was getting drunk. When he would sober up, the anguish would come crashing down again, stronger than before. Finally, it had led to him deciding that he was just going to stay inebriated and blast the consequences; if it helped lessen the suffering he was feeling, he was willing to do just about anything.

Aziraphale was completely sloshed when the phone rang; he had just finished selling a first edition (thankfully he had had two copies of that one), he was so intoxicated. His heart leapt at the noise; maybe it was Crowley. The last two times it had rung, it had just been people wanting to buy one of his first editions, which he had promptly ignored.

Tripping over himself, once, then twice, Aziraphale finally reached the phone and answered. "Crowley, izat you?" he slurred.

"Yes, angel, it's me," Crowley confirmed, before asking, "Are you drunk?"

"I believe the right term is 'absolutely wrecked'," Aziraphale giggled.

"It's 'absolutely smashed'," corrected Crowley. "Just how much have you had, and when was the last time you sobered up?"

Pausing, Aziraphale tried to recall how much he had to drink but couldn't; at least he knew it had been two days since he was last sober. "Not sure and a couple of days," he replied.

"Good Lord Aziraphale," Crowley groaned. "At least do me the favour and sober up now."

"I should rather think not," Aziraphale protested. Though hearing from the demon had eased him some, the anguish was still too fresh; he could not bear the rejection he was expecting while sober.

"Fine then," snarled Crowley. "Have it your way. I called to let you know that I'm still willing to look after the Anti-Christ with you, but we can't do… that again."

The open wound in Aziraphale wept at that; they could be together, but not together. Now that he had had a taste of Crowley, he didn't know if he could go back to the way things were before. How could he tempt the demon?

That was it! Aziraphale had to tempt Crowley. What better way to get him, than by using his own tactics against him?

"Well then, let me tempt you, Crowley," Aziraphale coaxed as enticingly as possible.

"Really?" Crowley snorted. "You're going to tempt me? Okay then angel, what have you got?"

Aziraphale was pleasantly stunned that he had piqued Crowley's interest, at least, but didn't know how to tempt the demon just yet; he hadn't thought that far ahead. Quickly, he wracked his brain for ideas that would help him build the kind of relationship he wanted with Crowley. 'What activity was it that human couples did again that involved kissing and touching?' Aziraphale thought. 'Courting? No, that's too old. Wooing? Still not quite right. Oh yes that's right… dating!'

"Go on a date with me?" Aziraphale ventured, praying that for once, he had used the correct terminology.

"A date, angel? You really want to go on a date with me?" Crowley queried.

"Yes, of course really," Aziraphale laughed softly, grateful he had gotten it right. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

"And you'll be sober during this 'date'?" asked Crowley skeptically.

"I'll even sober up now, if it will help convince you," Aziraphale conceded, finally allowing himself to have some hope for their future.

"Yes, yes, if you sober up now, I'll go on a date with you," Crowley promised.

Sobering up was normally an uncomfortable experience, even in the best of circumstances; these were definitely less than ideal. Apparently, it seemed the more you had consumed before sobering up, the longer it took, also the worse the after-effects were. This is how come Aziraphale ended up on his ass, having fallen to the floor, the phone still clutched in his hand, as the most terrible taste filtered through his mouth, though at least his head was clear; even the ache deep down wasn't so bad anymore, but that may have had something to do with the demon agreeing to go out with him.

"There, I'm sober now, though that was more awful than usual," Aziraphale admitted, standing up again.

"Yeah, the longer you leave it, the worse it gets," Crowley stated, as though he should have known this fact.

"Ugh," groaned Aziraphale, the horrendous taste still stuck on his tongue.

"Don't worry angel," Crowley said knowingly. "It wears off in about an hour. Now, about that date…?"

"What about it, Crowley?"

"Well, what are your ideas? Got a time set, got a plan?"

"Um…," Aziraphale started. ' I really need to think things through before I open my mouth.'

"Don't tell me you don't have anything?" Crowley grumbled.

"I never said anything of the sort," Aziraphale protested, thinking quick. "Meet me at four o'clock a week from today."

"But what are we doing?" pressed Crowley. "It's all well and good to have a date and time set, but I need to know what we're doing, so I can be ready."

"Well…," stalled Aziraphale. 'What did people do on dates?' he wondered. 'Besides the whole physical contact thing, obviously. Didn't they go out for food and maybe a walk after? Wait, a picnic would be perfect for that, and we never have been on one.'

"We are going on a picnic dinner, and then going for a small excursion afterwards," Aziraphale proudly proclaimed.

"Well, all right then angel," Crowley replied. "Only I'm going to ask one small favour then."

"What?" questioned Aziraphale rather snappily; he was getting tired of all the run around he was dealing with in this conversation.

"Well, just, if we're going out, I'd really like it if you changed clothes," Crowley confessed. "Not that I have anything against what you usually wear; it's just been ages since I've seen you in something else."

"You want me to dress up for our date?" asked Aziraphale, a little taken aback at the proposal. "And just what on Earth do you want me to dress in?"

"Something modern, yet casual," Crowley supplied. "Like denim jeans and a T-shirt."

"Only if you wear similar clothes," Aziraphale countered; he was not going to go out looking like that alone.

"Of course," Crowley consented. "But please don't just miracle in an outfit either; go buy one so it fits properly."

"You mean go clothes shopping?" Aziraphale gulped. "But I haven't done that in- "

"Ages, I know," finished Crowley. "But remember the last time you miracled an outfit, and it didn't fit right, and you complained after not even a half hour of being in them?"

How could Aziraphale have forgotten; the last time he had miracled in clothes, they had chafed terribly, leaving a rash in a rather embarrassing area. After that, he swore never to do it again, hence why he was still wearing the same clothes all these years later; that and his dislike of clothes shopping in general. Torn, he debated about denying Crowley his request and sparing himself the fate or going out of his way and comfort zone to please the demon. Sighing, knowing which one he was going to choose, he said, "Fine, I shall go out for clothes; I hope this is worth it though."

"Oh, it will be, angel," Crowley reassured Aziraphale. "Now, I have things to do, so ciao."

"Goodbye Crowley," Aziraphale managed to answer, before the end of the line went out, leaving him with a dial tone and the thought, 'What on Earth have I gotten myself into?'

After Crowley had left in the Bentley, he drove mechanically to his flat, the jolts from Aziraphale's touch still lingering on his body; he couldn't get his head to stop replaying every second of that all to brief, but exquisite kiss. It sent a tremor right to his soul, causing him to become aroused again. By the time he had stormed up to his flat, he was overwhelmed with emotions and a raging hard-on. Entering, he immediately went to the bathroom; this called for a cold shower. Turning on the water, Crowley stripped down manually, enjoying the freeing nature of it. Then, he stepped under the flow of water, shivering at the chilliness. Standing there, he tried to let his thoughts drift to unpleasant topics, but they kept creeping back to how Aziraphale had entwined his fingers in his hair, how he had moaned at the kiss, how he had run his tongue over Crowley's lips, and even with the cold, he couldn't get his erection down. Knowing he shouldn't, he couldn't stop himself from reaching down and wrapping a hand around his rigid member, imagining how things could have gone if they had been different. He thought of himself claiming Aziraphale's mouth with his tongue, pressing his throbbing erection against the angel's thigh, hearing the gasp it elicited. Still palming himself, he further envisioned himself grabbing the angel through his trousers, rubbing, creating a gentle friction, as he felt him pulse and throb, growing hard against his touch. With a shudder, Crowley came at the image, basking in the relief, before his guilt and shame caught up with him. Why did he always have to do this? How could he even think of such things, especially after having just denied himself and Aziraphale those very things? Crowley stood for a long time in the shower, the icy water mixing with his hot tears, as he cried for what he could never have.

Two days later, as he lounged in his office chair, the phone rang. Having no desire to deal with anyone, least of all Aziraphale, if it was him, he let it go. When it went to the answering machine, it was indeed the angel, telling him that everything would be fine, just give it a shot, and don't do this, don't leave him.

'Well, I already left,' Crowley thought, as the message ended. 'And there's no way I'm going back.'

But as the days went by, with Aziraphale phoning, his pleas becoming increasingly more desperate, doubt started to grow in him. Had he really done the right thing by rejecting the angel, by rejecting his own feelings, or had he caused more suffering than was strictly necessary for the both of them? 'I could at least still see him, even if it's only to stop Armageddon,' Crowley decided. ' If it helps bridge the gap that's fallen between us, and we can go back to how things were, then all the better.'

Instead, he dallied, hanging out in his flat, watching the Golden Girls on repeat or sleeping; he didn't think he could talk to the angel, let alone see him yet. Then, one day Aziraphale called drunk, and it tore at Crowley to know he was at least partially responsible.

'I'll call him soon,' Crowley promised himself. 'I'm just not quite ready yet, and at least he'll be sober then.'

That night, Crowley dreamt that he went over to the bookshop looking for the angel. The door was unlocked but showed the closed sign. Entering the building, he could see nothing amiss, other than a clearly neglected lunch, though he could feel something was wrong; the air felt different than usual. Crowley proceeded further into the shop, hoping to see any indication that Aziraphale was there, and had just gotten distracted reading a book. When he had scoured the store and turned up nothing, he willed himself to the angel's side, but unlike normal, nothing happened. Starting to panic now, he spun in a circle, yelling for Aziraphale, praying for the angel to show himself. Nothing happened, though he spotted something odd by the table that had the food on it. Approaching it, he noticed that the chair appeared scorched, and a lone feather, tinted the lightest shade of grey, lay on the floor. Fear lurched through him, as the implication that Aziraphale had fallen hit him, wrenching out a raw wail from the depths of his soul, as he fell to his knees.

Waking with a strangled scream, Crowley sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, chest heaving, mind racing. He could still feel the panic and despair he had felt in the dream, lingering, pulsing through him with each heartbeat. Trying to shake the dread that something was wrong away, he looked at the time; it was just after noon, he had overslept. Dragging himself out of bed, Crowley trudged to the phone, determined to make sure that Aziraphale was all right. Picking up the phone, he dialled and waited while it rang.

He was just about ready to give up and head over to the shop in person, when it stopped ringing and Aziraphale's voice came through. "Crowley, izat you?"

"Yes, angel, it's me," Crowley nearly sighed with relief; Aziraphale was okay, but…, "Are you drunk?"

"I believe the right phrase is 'absolutely wrecked'," Aziraphale chuckled.

"It's 'absolutely smashed'," corrected Crowley automatically. Still concerned, he asked, "Just how much have you had, and when was the last time you sobered up anyway?"

After too long a pause, Aziraphale answered with, "Not sure and a couple of days."

"Good Lord, angel," Crowley whined. Apparently, he had been right to worry about Aziraphale; he was far too close to accidently discorporating himself though alcohol consumption. "At least do me the favour and sober up now."

"I should rather think not," Aziraphale haughtily replied. "If you have anything to say to me, you can jolly well tell me when I'm drunk."

"Fine then, have it your way," growled Crowley, unwilling to press the issue at the moment. "I called to let you know that I'm still willing to look after the Anti-Christ with you, but we can't do… that again."

"Well then, let me tempt you, Crowley," Aziraphale practically purred.

"Really? You're going to tempt me?" Crowley laughed, in mild disbelief, but curious none-the-less. "Okay then angel, what have you got?"

An even longer pause than the last one followed, before Aziraphale finally asked hopefully, "Go on a date with me?"

"A date, angel?" Crowley responded, taken aback at the angel's words. "You really want to go on a date with me?"

"Yes, of course really," chortled Aziraphale. "I wouldn't have as if I didn't want to."

"And you'll be sober on this 'date'?" Crowley questioned, hoping to convince the angel to sober up before anything awful could happen.

"I'll even sober up now, if it will help convince you," Aziraphale offered.

"Yes, yes, if you sober up now, I'll go on a date with you," Crowley conceded, partially to get the angel form doing more damage to himself, but also out of genuine curiosity as to where this would lead.

The next thing Crowley heard over the line was a thud and a grunt, followed by the sound of smacking lips, which usually accompanied a trip back to sobriety.

He was just about to ask Aziraphale if he was okay, when the angel grunted, "There, I'm sober now, though that was more awful than usual."

Knowing exactly how the angel felt, Crowley agreed, saying, "Yeah, the longer you leave it, the worse it gets."

"Ugh."

"Don't worry, angel," Crowley reassured Aziraphale. "It will wear off in about an hour. Now about that date…?" He smiled inwardly at the words, secretly gleeful about the prospect.

"What about it, Crowley?" the angel asked, oh so innocently that it almost hurt.

"Well, what are your ideas?" Crowley pressed. "Got a time set, got a plan?"

"Um…," hummed Aziraphale.

"Don't tell me you don't have anything?" complained Crowley.

"I never said anything of the sort," Aziraphale protested vehemently. "Meet me here at four o'clock, a week from now."

Crowley wasn't satisfied with that information alone, and so prodded, "But what are we doing? It's all well and good to have a date and time set, but I need to know what we're doing, so I can be ready."

"Well…," Aziraphale faltered, obviously trying to come up with some sort of plan. Meanwhile, Crowley thought of what he wanted out of this experience; he had never imagined this, being asked out, but now wanted to take full advantage of it to its fullest. Was there something he could get his angel to do?

"We are going on a picnic dinner, followed by a small excursion," Aziraphale declared, finally.

'A picnic, eh,' Crowley thought. 'I know just what to get him to do now.'

"Well, all right then angel. Only I'm going to ask one small favour."

"What?" Aziraphale snapped testily.

Praying his suggestion wasn't about to go tits up, Crowley posited, "Just, if we're going out, I'd really like it if you changed clothes. Not that I have anything against what you usually wear," Crowley fumbled. "It's just been ages since I've seen you in something else."

"You want me to dress up for our date?" Aziraphale asked, sounding reluctant. "And just what on Earth do you want me to dress in?"

"Something modern, yet casual, like denim jeans and a T-shirt," Crowley answered, having thought of the image of the angel dressed as such since jeans became popular.

"Only if you wear similar clothes," complained Aziraphale.

"Of course. But please don't just miracle in an outfit either; go buy one, so it fits properly," Crowley requested.

"You mean go clothes shopping? But I haven't done that in- "

"Ages, I know. But remember the last time you miracled an outfit, and it didn't fit right, and you complained after not even an hour in them?" Crowley coaxed.

A long moment passed, then Aziraphale spoke again. "Fine, I shall go out for clothes; I hope this is worth it though."

"Oh, it will be, angel," Crowley grinned. "Now, I have things to do, so ciao."

He barely heard Aziraphale's parting, "Goodbye Crowley," before he hung up the phone; he was too wrapped up in the knowledge that he had a date with his angel!

'Time to start prepping,' Crowley thought, and set off to work, the dream that had caused him to call in the first place now completely forgotten.