Chapter Text
Crowley had been having a nice night.
"C'mon, guys," he said, raising his hands and backing his way slowly out of the alley, back towards the main street. "It wasn't my fault that your investments didn't pay off."
"It is your fault when you're the one who tanked the company," Hastur growled, stalking closer, clutching his knife.
Crowley barely managed to stop himself from scoffing. If he could tank entire companies on his own, he'd be in a very different place than he is now. "Listen, Hastur, I don't want trouble. If Lucian hears–"
"Lucian isn't here right now, is he?" Ligur chimed in. "Now, come on, Crawly. You've got a penance to pay."
Hastur lunged, and Crowley yelped, dodging to the side and nearly slamming into the opening door of one of the businesses along the alley.
"What is going on here?" a calm voice demanded, and Crowley spun to see who’d spoken.
The figure was soft and round, and the light from the shop behind him– some sort of bookshop, Crowley thought, based on the shelves– made his white hair look almost golden.
Hastur took advantage of the distraction to grab Crowley’s arms and pin them behind him, and Crowley hissed, tugging against his hold.
“Don’t worry about him,” Ligur said to the interloper, his voice dripping in menace. “Just go back inside and we’ll leave you alone.”
“I don’t think I shall,” the man said, folding his hands primly in front of him and walking towards Hastur, and Crowley fought not to groan. He could handle Hastur and Ligur on his own, but if he had to protect some idiotic Good Samaritan in a bloody waistcoat–
“I’m giving you one last chance to go back inside and forget about all of this,” said Ligur, pulling his own knife out of his belt.
The mystery man ignored him, walking over to where Hastur still had Crowley’s arms pinned. Up close, he looked slightly younger than Crowley had thought originally– actually, probably about Crowley’s age, despite the white hair.
His eyes were blue, bright and clear, and there was a strange sort of steel in them.
“Let him go,” the man said, his voice just as steely as his glare.
“Don’t–“ Crowley began.
Then Ligur lunged.
The man’s head snapped around, and he caught Ligur’s knife arm in one hand, holding him completely still.
Ligur cursed loudly. He brought his other hand up for a hit, but the man just stepped to the side, using Ligur’s own momentum to throw him into the alley wall. He landed with a crack and a yelp of pain.
“Shit…” Hastur breathed.
“I suggest,” the man said, his voice icy as he turned his gaze towards Hastur once more, “that you let him go. Your friend can still walk, but if you leave him there, I’m not sure for how much longer that will be true.”
“Fucking hell,” Hastur said, letting go of Crowley and running over to Ligur’s side. “Fucking psychopath. You can have him.”
He dragged Ligur upright, and together they staggered away. There was blood on Ligur’s face, and his eyes weren’t focusing.
“My dear, are you alright?” the man asked, taking a half a step closer to Crowley, his hands worrying together in front of him.
"M'fine," Crowley mumbled, shaking out his wrist briefly before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for the assist."
"I would hardly call it that," the man said. "Are you at all hurt?"
“Nah,” Crowley said, shrugging and making his way back out onto the main street. To his surprise, the man came over to stand beside him, prim and upright, his hands clasped in front of him.
"You the owner?" Crowley asked, jerking his head towards the door.
"I am. My name is Aziraphale Fell," he said, and then he held his hand out and smiled, and Crowley felt as though he'd just been punched in the stomach.
Fuck, he looks like a bloody angel, Crowley thought, and then he forced the thought aside as violently as he could, taking the man's– Aziraphale's– hand and shaking it. "Aziraphale, huh?”
“Religious parents, I’m afraid,” said Aziraphale, shrugging and folding his hands in front of him once more.
”Heh. I can understand that. I’m Crowley."
"Crowley," Aziraphale said, like he was trying it out, and something in Crowley's chest clenched. "It's very nice to meet you. I do wish it could have been under better circumstances, though. Are you sure they didn’t manage to do any damage before I distracted them?"
"Nope," Crowley said, flashing Aziraphale a smile and then determinedly looking away. "Your timing was perfect. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “I, um. I served in Afghanistan, for a little while.”
There was silence for a brief moment, and Crowley noticed that Aziraphale was bracing himself, as though waiting for more questions about his time abroad. Crowley recognized that look– it was the same one he tended to wear whenever careers came up in conversation.
“Had this place long, then?" Crowley asked, desperate to keep the conversation going, no matter how forced.
Aziraphale smiled gratefully. "Oh, yes, nearly twelve years now.”
“Twelve years?” Crowley asked. “You must have been young, then, when you got it.”
“Not as young as all that,” Aziraphale said, glancing down. “I was twenty-five.”
"Huh," Crowley said, looking Aziraphale up and down. That meant he was Crowley’s age, nearly exactly. "Funny I haven't seen you, then, I come this way pretty often."
"Oh, I don't get out much," Aziraphale said, glancing away from Crowley. "Bit… bit of a homebody."
"Do you live here, then?" Crowley asked. Then he silently cursed himself. "Sorry. Weird question. You don't have to answer."
"No, it's quite alright," Aziraphale said, smiling again, and that stupid thing in Crowley's chest clenched again. "There is a flat above the shop, but I mostly use it for storage. My ride home should be here just about any minute now, though I’m sure I could delay him if you need help getting home.”
"Gotcha," Crowley said. "Hastur and Ligur are probably at the hospital by now, so I should be good.”
Aziraphale frowned. "You knew them?"
"Sort of," Crowley said, shrugging. He really didn't want to get into it, especially not here.
Aziraphale pursed his lips slightly, but didn't push.
"Right," Crowley said. "Thanks again for the distraction. I suppose I'll get out of your hair now."
"Oh, I've still got a few minutes," Aziraphale said, “i-if you… I mean, if you'd rather– you don’t have to…"
Crowley blinked. He wanted…? "I mean… few more minutes can't hurt, either. 'Specially with my guardian angel so close."
Aziraphale blushed, and that stupid thing in Crowley's chest clenched again. God, he really was pretty, wasn't he? "Oh, I wouldn't go that far."
Crowley grinned. "Seriously. You did save my skin back there. Literally, probably, what with the knives and all."
"I had noticed that," Aziraphale said. "Are they always like that?"
"Pretty much," Crowley said.
"Oh, dear," Aziraphale said. "I'm so very sorry to hear that."
"Meh, s'life," Crowley shrugged.
"Well, if you ever need another distraction, I'd be happy to provide one.”
Crowley grinned again. "Like I said. Guardian angel."
Aziraphale laughed. "Oh, hush."
There was silence between them for a moment, broken only by the slightly-subdued sounds of London at midnight, but this time it was almost… comfortable. Gentle and warm and oddly safe.
Then a drop of rain landed on Crowley's head, and he glanced up, glaring as powerfully as he could manage at the sky before sidling to the side a little bit, trying to place as much of himself as he could under the shop's siding and definitely not noticing how he was now close enough to Aziraphale that their shoulders were nearly brushing.
"Oh, dear," Aziraphale murmured, and then he– he shrugged off his coat, and held it up over Crowley's head, shielding him from the quickly-worsening storm.
Crowley blinked over at him, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening near-comically behind his classes as the rain started to fall harder. Aziraphale was– he was– he–
The man, the angel, looked over at Crowley, a soft smile spreading across his face, raindrops landing in his hair as he transferred the coat into Crowley's grip.
"Don't want you getting all wet," he said, as though that could possibly explain this.
"Guardian angel," Crowley repeated, grinning, and Aziraphale laughed, bright and cheerful.
Something very, very warm was building in Crowley's stomach and spreading slowly throughout his whole body, and he forced it back, desperately hoping that whatever it was wasn't showing on his face. Fuck. He couldn't afford to feel like this. He was a professional, he had shit to do, he couldn't–
“Um,” Aziraphale said, “I don’t mean to be… I don’t mean to be rude, and you’re more than welcome to ignore me entirely, if you’d like, but…”
“Spit it out, angel,” Crowley said, more than a little nervous about what he could be asking.
Aziraphale blushed slightly at the nickname, then asked, “Um… your glasses. It’s just… it’s rather late for sunglasses, and I was wondering– I’m sorry, I’m being rude, I’m sure–“
“No,” Crowley said. “No, you’re not. They’re prescription. I’ve got… y’know. More eye conditions than doctors know what to do with. This is the result.”
“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “May I… no, I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous, ignore me.”
“What?” Crowley asked, genuinely confused now.
“May I see them?” Aziraphale blurted out. Then he flushed red. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean– you’re well within your rights to say no, I didn’t mean to– I’m sorry–“
“No, no, s’alright,” Crowley said. “I just… are you sure?”
“I would never want to make you–“
“Not that,” said Crowley, shaking his head and noticing as he did that Aziraphale’s shirt was soaking through.
He tore his eyes away determinedly, clearing his throat. “They just… they tend to scare people.”
“I sincerely doubt that they’ll manage to frighten me,” said Aziraphale, smiling gently. “I promise, I’ve seen worse than your eyes.”
Crowley desperately wanted to ask after that, to dissect the aching sadness in Aziraphale’s voice, but he didn’t want to pry. Instead, he shifted so he was holding up the jacket in one hand and pulled his sunglasses off, then looked back over to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, his voice soft and his gaze locked with Crowley’s. “Oh, they’re–“
“Snake eyes, I know,” said Crowley, shoving his glasses back on and looking away.
“I was going to say lovely,” said Aziraphale, his voice still just as soft. “I’ve never seen that colour before.”
Crowley looked back over at him, positive he was making fun– but his gaze was just as earnest as it had been before.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “For showing me.”
“Ngk.” Crowley wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Yeah. Um. S’no problem.”
Silence fell, gentle but heavy, and that stupid warm thing in Crowley’s chest seemed to expand to fill it. God fucking dammit, this was going to be a–
A car pulled up, and the window rolled down to reveal a very handsome man sitting in the driver's seat, with a positively chiseled jaw, perfectly-coiffed brown hair and an utterly impeccable suit.
"Get over here before you get all soaked, sunshine!" the man called, his accent American and his voice obnoxiously cheerful.
"That's my ride," Aziraphale said, rather unnecessarily, smiling apologetically at Crowley. "I, um. It was nice to meet you."
Then he hurried off, clambering into the car and closing the door behind him, and was gone before Crowley could say anything about the coat.
That's all right, he thought, still huddled underneath it as he hurried back towards his flat– he had a meeting with Lucian tomorrow evening, and needed all the rest he could get before that. Just means I'll need to go back to the shop and give it back. That's it, though. Not like I can hang around there. Not like he'd like a lowlife like me hanging around, anyhow. Just giving the coat back. That's all. That is it.
The warm thing in Crowley's chest twisted, and Crowley cursed under his breath as he ran.
###
Aziraphale stared out of the window after Crowley for as long as he could without having to twist his body to do it.
"Who was that?" Gabriel asked, an odd undercurrent in his voice.
Aziraphale jumped slightly. "Oh! Nobody. He just… there were some men about to attack him, and I stopped them. That's all."
"Hm," Gabriel said, frowning. "He was pretty handsome, wasn't he?"
"I hadn't noticed," Aziraphale lied.
"What was his name again?"
"I didn't ask." Something in Aziraphale's stomach twisted at the lying, as it always did, but he knew better than to admit that they'd had a proper conversation.
"You gave him your jacket."
"I didn't want him to get soaked, dear."
"No, instead you decided to ruin my seats."
Aziraphale shifted slightly, blushing. "Oh– oh, dear, I, um–"
"Hey," Gabriel said, stopping at a light and turning to face Aziraphale more fully. "I'm just concerned. You know how gullible you can be, I'd hate for someone to take advantage of that."
"I know, and I appreciate your concern, but you really don't need to worry."
"I always worry about you." Gabriel flashed Aziraphale a broad smile, then faced front again. "That's my job, isn't it?"
Aziraphale smiled back, even though his partner couldn't see him. "How was work today, darling? Any progress on your case?"
"Oh, it was incredible! You'd never believe how stupid the other side is. Or, well, you might, but I was shocked, I'll tell you."
Gabriel chatted on about his current case for the rest of the drive, some fairly-standard corporate lawsuit only made interesting by the opposition's incompetence, and Aziraphale let his mind wander. He hoped that Crowley would be safe going home, and that Hastur and Ligur wouldn't manage to find him again. Aziraphale knew of them, though he hadn’t had the misfortune of meeting them before– they worked for Gabriel’s largest rival for control of London, a man named Lucian Sterling. If Crowley knew them...
Aziraphale forcibly shoved that thought away. He didn’t expect to see that coat returned, which was slightly unfortunate, as it had been one of his favorites, but he could hardly imagine Crowley coming back. After all, to do that, he'd have to choose to see Aziraphale again, and Aziraphale knew exactly how likely that scenario was, no matter how much he might hope–
"Earth to Aziraphale," Gabriel said, and Aziraphale jerked himself out of his reverie.
"Sorry, dear, I, um… zoned out, I suppose," Aziraphale said.
Gabriel frowned. "You alright? Do you need to take a day or two off?"
"No, no, of course not," Aziraphale said, waving his hand airily. "I'm perfectly fine. Just… distracted."
Gabriel's frown deepened. "It wasn't the redhead, was it? Did he do something?"
"Not at all," Aziraphale said. "Let's head in, shall we? I'll get dinner started, and you can relax."
At that, Gabriel's frown lessened, though he still didn't look entirely reassured. "Right. Sounds good. By the way, the rest of the team is coming over for dinner tomorrow, so make sure you don't forget to go shopping, yeah?"
Aziraphale nodded, forcing a smile. Oh, to do the shopping, he'd need to close the shop early, and then of course he had to actually prepare the food, and then sit through a dinner with the other three members of Gabriel's team…
Ah, well. Such was life, wasn't it? And it was hardly as though Gabriel could take time out of his schedule to do such things.
The rest of the evening passed much as it always did, though when Aziraphale finally climbed into bed, long after Gabriel had fallen asleep, he found his mind wandering once more to his encounter at closing time.
I hope he comes back, he thought, and he hardly had time to scold himself for it before he was falling asleep, to dream of soft red curls and warm golden eyes.
###
Crowley almost didn’t find the place again– it looked significantly dingier in the daytime. But “A. Z. Fell and Co.” was clearly written above the windows, and the sign on the door said “open”, and so Crowley gripped the coat a little tighter and pushed the door open.
Inside, the shop was almost deserted. Aziraphale was standing at the front counter, and he turned at the jingling of the bell.
“Hey,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale’s face split into a beaming grin. “Crowley! I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“I wanted to bring this back,” Crowley said, holding the coat out. “And, um. Say thanks. Again.”
“Don’t mention it, my dear,” Aziraphale said, bustling over to take the coat from Crowley, rewarding him with another beaming smile on the way. “I do hope you managed to get home safely?”
“Yep,” Crowley said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, there was… I was good.” He paused, then took a chance. “My boss told me Ligur’s still in hospital, apparently. He’s got a concussion.”
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, hanging the coat up on a coatrack by the door. “I hope he recovers. And that he’s learned his lesson, though I suppose that those types rarely do.”
“Got a lot of experience with that?” Crowley asked, leaning against one of the side tables and raising an eyebrow.
Aziraphale blushed. “Not– not really. I just. I do think that… well, it takes a certain sort to attack someone with a knife in a dark alley, doesn’t it?”
The laugh escaped before Crowley could stop it. “You’re not wrong about that, angel.”
Aziraphale’s blush deepened as he smiled.
Crowley felt a sudden rush of bravery overwhelm him, and before he could stop himself, he said, “It’s about one. D’you… wanna grab some lunch?”
Instantly, Aziraphale’s face fell. “Oh. Oh, oh, I– I’m so sorry, I– I’m actually– I have a boyfriend–”
Shit. Fuck. Of course he does. He’s perfect, of course he’s taken. “That– that’s alright, I didn’t– I didn’t mean as a date or anything. Just– just friends. Pay you back, y’know? I still owe you one for the– for the assist. I’ll pay.”
Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment, and Crowley began cursing himself internally. Bless it, how did he manage to fuck this up so quickly, why did he–
“All right,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley blinked. “Wait. Really?”
“I mean, you don’t have to pay me back,” said Aziraphale quickly. “I was happy to help, I hate seeing people hurt– but. If you’d like to go for lunch, as friends, I could– could probably close up for an hour or so.”
Relieve crashed over Crowley like a wave on the beach, and he grinned. “Awesome. Well. Name the place, angel.”
“Oh, no, if you’re to pay I wouldn’t want–“ Aziraphale demurred, bustling around the register, which honestly looked so old-fashioned that Crowley was stunned it functioned.
“Don’t worry about money, that’s not a problem. Where would you like to go?”
Aziraphale pursed his lips for a moment, then asked, “How would you feel about sushi?”
Crowley wasn’t the biggest fan of sushi. He’d eat it, but he’d never really understood the appeal. “Sounds perfect, angel.”
Aziraphale blushed again and beamed at Crowley, who immediately decided that he’d just have to call Aziraphale “angel” as often as possible, if that was the sort of reaction he got when he did.
Crowley led the way to the Bentley, which Aziraphale cooed over briefly– “restored her myself,” Crowley had boasted, “she’s round about ninety years old and runs like new,” and Aziraphale had complimented his work so thoroughly that Crowley had started blushing himself– and Aziraphale provided the directions to his favourite sushi restaurant, which was only a short ride from the bookshop.
When they got there, Crowley let Aziraphale order for the both of them, and focused instead on finding out as much about this man as possible. He was shockingly easy to talk to, and as it turned out, they had similar tastes in wine, theatre, and politicians, which made conversation that much easier. As Aziraphale spoke, he gestured with his hands, making him seem somehow brighter, lighter, and when the food came out, he followed every bite with such a genuine sound of appreciation that Crowley would’ve thought he was being sarcastic if not for his face. He was just… so full of life, so full of enjoyment, that Crowley could feel himself enjoying the world more just thanks to his proximity.
Aziraphale was also funny, something that was making the rest of the restaurant shoot them dark glares every now and again.
“It’s a bookshop! Isn’t the point to sell books?”
“Well, generally speaking, yes, but that was a first-edition Virginia Woolf, and the man wanted to make some sort of horrid arts-and-crafts project out of it!” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “He was quite determined. I ended up having to tell him there was a gas leak in the shop to get him to leave.”
Crowley snorted loudly, drawing another series of glares their way, which he ignored resolutely. “God. That… wow. That’s incredible. How do you keep the shop open, with business practices like that?”
“I do sell some books! And, well, Gabriel– my partner– owns the building,” said Aziraphale. “So I just need to pay utilities and such.”
“Ah,” Crowley said. “And what does Gabriel do?”
“He’s a lawyer,” Aziraphale said. “Corporate law, largely. It’s all rather dull. But that’s quite enough about me, I’ve been a terrible conversationalist, I’m sorry. What do you do, to be able to afford a 1933 Bentley?”
Crowley couldn’t hide his grimace in time. “It’s, um. Complicated.”
“Complicated?” Aziraphale asked, raising an eyebrow. “How so? That is– I mean, if you don’t mind saying.”
Crowley bit his lip, thinking. It would probably be best to have out with it now– he’d hate for Aziraphale to think he’d been lied to, or that Crowley was hiding something. “It’s, um. Mostly… mostly, my job is to rub elbows with the sorts of people who have more money than they know what to do with, and then do what I can to make their lives harder.”
“Hm,” Aziraphale said. “Harder how?”
“Just… y’know. General mischief. Causing bank errors in customer’s favour, uncovering cheating spouses, tempting a politician to take a bribe or two. Nothing– no one ever gets hurt. I don’t hurt people. Never could.”
“Well,” Aziraphale said, “so long as no one is getting hurt… I suppose, high society could stand to be brought down a step or two, couldn’t they?”
Almost despite himself, Crowley felt an incredulous grin spreading across his face. “My thoughts exactly, angel.”
Aziraphale smiled back, and the conversation moved on.
The rest of lunch passed in a bit of a blur of surprisingly good sushi and far better conversation, and all too soon, Crowley found himself pulling up in front of the bookshop and walking Aziraphale to the door.
“Thank you again for all this,” said Aziraphale, beaming up at Crowley as he unlocked the door.
“Don’t thank me,” Crowley said. “Because then I’m gonna have to thank you, and then you’ll thank me again, and we’ll just keep going back and forth and then where will we be?”
Aziraphale laughed again, and Crowley knew with a sudden, sinking certainty that he needed to see this man again.
“I, um,” Crowley said, “I’m usually free around… around this time. If you wanted to… do this again?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You– really? I– I was rather afraid I’d bored you half to death, I– yes. I would love to, if–“
“You couldn’t bore me, angel,” Crowley said honestly. “Mind if I drop by tomorrow?”
“I’d like that very much, I think,” Aziraphale said, smiling.
“Right,” Crowley said, grinning back. “See you, then.”
And then he strode off, clambering back into the Bentley and driving off before he could do something stupid and ruin the moment.
God, he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.