Rating: G
Warnings: Mild angst, frustration, slashy non-slash
Coupling: Crowley-crushing
Disclaimer: Not mine. Gneil and Pterry's.
Notes: I've been trying to overcome my writer's block, and thought rehashing my view of the Crowley/Aziraphale couple would help me get back into the swing of things. ^-^; Short, lots of Tomo-stretching-her-vocabulary. XD
~Tomo Trillions
knivesnomiko.pitas.com
~~~~
Aziraphale was left standing on his feet, empty-headed, as his mind burst out into every direction, shock and awe leaving him nothing but a shell for a few very slow-moving moments. Everything moved slowly, especially time... He watched, somewhat detachedly, as his demonic counterpart squirmed within his private thoughts, embarrassed and nervous with the confession that had just slipped past his lips.
Love. A beautiful thing, were it reciprocated, a trying, strange and unusual pinnacle of sensations and perfection and emotion - love, the ultimate caring, the ultimate kindness, the ultimately most profound gift God had given humanity.
Aziraphale remembered the first lovers, yes, he had stayed guard over their sleeping faces and watched them breath, off beat, together. Silently, he had stood admiring the way his Father had constructed to beings that fit against one another so perfectly in the dusky twilight, his sword on his back, forgotton. The angel had witnessed peasant families circled around their Bibles, artists attempting to capture the shift and movement of two dancers together - he'd seen kings fall for their lovers, and lovers elavated to the status of kings. He knew love when he saw it.
The demon shifted again, looking as close to mortified as a demon could get, and Aziraphale mused that indeed, he did appear to be in love.
Or believe he was so in love that the emotion had become a reality.
The angel's eyes were soft and confused as he studied Crowley's pale face, the way his fingers twitched across his chest, arms folded. The demon was looking away, studying something else entirely, as Aziraphale wrestled with the idea. Love. From a demon. Towards an angel.
Surely that was a most precious thing! For Crowley to feel love, he was slowly returning to God, surely. Surely.
Yet...it did not feel quite so holy.
Love was something the angel had never given thought to, because it was always, always there. It always had been. Between them had been first a few terse words, then slowly, conversation: and now they were so friendly, closer than either had ever been to another being. Love was the only word the angel could summon up to describe such emotions.
He knew, however, despite his angelic origins and appropriately naive mindset , Crowley did not mean the sort of love that permanantly permeated the angel's state of being.
"Crowley," the angel began to speak, nervous in this new territory. "I'm... I'm not sure you quite know what you mean."
But Crowley did know.
He meant the selective, suspicious, sexual sort of love. He meant the love that overpowered a being, pulled their mind towards itself, the love that was inescapable for most human beings. Human beings, but not angels.
"Ah, angel, but I do."
Aziraphale felt his heart sink into his stomach as the demon turned his head. Love, to an angel, was life itself. Love to Aziraphale was not a strange thing, it was unavoidable - he loved deeply, he loved often, he loved everything.
The greedy stranger that paused to pick up a coin from the gutters, the selfish corperate leader behind the long wooden table, the old woman snipping roses so that new buds might grow - they were equally worthy of love. Aziraphale could not help it.
Yes, even the stubborn, headstrong demonic 'young man', with flashing snake-eyes and a charming grin was included on the list of beings to be cared for. He had been for at least six thousand years, when they had first met, Aziraphale had loved him and had loved him ever since.
But....
"Crowley... I don't feel for you like that." Aziraphale's expression was pleading, his eyes begging his opposite to understand. "I mean, I do love you - but I don't love you. I can't."
How could he love one more than all the others? Would that be fair to the world of people that depending on him for so many little things they never realized? He couldn't. An angel could no more single out one being more worthy of love than he could sin - it was not the same method, but had the same end.
Oh, he did love Crowley. He loved the way his eyes rolled, slitted and golden, when he was exasperated. He loved the slick movements as he withdrew his sunglasses and smiled, usually a greedy, pale smile, but a smile none the less. The way he drove the Bentley, cheerfully keeping up conversation - Aziraphale had always loved Crowley, as he had always loved everything.
The blonde paled slightly, Crowley looked wounded, he did not understand.
"I'm sorry," whispered Aziraphale. And he was. He was sorry that Crowley had felt it necessary to say such a thing, to throw his feelings out into the open - it was obvious that he had read Aziraphale's affection as something he wanted it to be, rather than what it was - just that. Affection, nothing more. Crowley was...well, not exactly a good person, but he... well...
'He deserves the chance to love someone. That someone simply can't be me.' Aziraphale shook his head, pressing his fingers together behind his back.
The demon took a stumbling step backwards at the words that struck him like a physical blow, blinking rapidly as if his eyes stung. "I...see," Crowley managed, his voice strangely creaky. Aziraphale wanted to explain, but doubted the words would have any affect - the demon seemed oddly afflicted, licking his lips and staring about for an escapre route. "Well. I'm just...going now."
"Crowley - "
Crowley disappeared out the door, leaving the angel with a soft sigh of wings spreading high and wide, before he was gone.
He thought perhaps a cup of tea would settle his nerves, and moved to the kitchen, his thin fingers automatically following the ritual of teatime, even so late in the evening.
As he poured his cup, Aziraphale found that he was trembling.