Fandom: Good Omens
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: Teen
Length: 2,348 words
Written for: fan_flashworks challenge #275: Cloud
Notes: I use she/her pronouns for Crowley during the time at the Dowling Estate.
The title comes from Byron’s poem ‘Darkness’
Summary: Four times Crowley is filled with longing and one time he’s filled with joy
Originally Posted: September 9, 2019
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The sky is already half dark when Crowley sees the angel. Aziraphale stands by himself off to the side. The humans wander aimlessly, all exhibiting various degrees of panic as the sun slowly disappears in the middle of the day.
This isn't Crowley's first solar eclipse. From the look on his face, it isn't the angel's either. He closes the distance between them. "Aziraphale."
The angel turns and looks at him. "Crawley." A smile begins to cross his face before he seems to think better of it and his expression turns neutral. "Are you here for the eclipse?"
Crowley's already decided he's changing his name, but he's not ready to share it yet."Obviously, you?"
"Well, yes. I'm supposed to make sure things don't get too out of hand. Their first eclipse and all."
Crowley nods and smiles.
The angel fiddles with the fabric of his tunic. "Are you here to..."
Crowley raises an eyebrow."Make sure things do get out of hand? Yes."
"Ah..."
"Don't worry, I only plan to watch. I like a good eclipse."
"They are stunning, aren't they?" The angel smiles.
"Stunning, yes," Crowley says.
They stand together as the sun goes dark and Crowley feels something brush against his fingers. He looks down and sees the angel's hand closing around his own. His breath catches.
"To blend in," the angel says quietly.
Crowley looks around and sees that many of the humans hold hands while others cling to each other more desperately, fear and awe all over their faces.
The angel's hand is warm and soft. Crowley swallows down emotions he hasn't felt in a very long time. Love, longing and hope. He can't believe the angel is actually deigning to touch him, a demon. He knew this one was different, but it surprises him how much. They hold hands for two minutes and seven seconds. The angel's hand slips away once the sun begins to escape the darkness and Crowley does his best to hide his disappointment.
It's raining again, or still. It's hard to keep track. The summer has been, well, it hasn't been summer at all. It's getting on Crowley's nerves and he's seriously thinking about setting off on a trip in search for better weather. Except something is holding him back. Or someone.
He spots the angel near the water. There aren't any ducks around that he can see, not a lot of people out and about either. It's cold, wet and darker than it should be for this time of day. Aziraphale looks nice and dry under a very large umbrella. Crowley had forgotten about umbrellas. He stands under a tree and watches. He needs to figure things out, to find a way to make it safe, for both of them. He needs some sort of protection. Something, he doesn't know what. One of these days they're going to get caught and Hell doesn't give simple reprimands or second chances. If he gets caught having allied himself with an angel, they'll drop him in some dark pit for all of eternity, maybe something even worse.
He could stop. He could just walk away and do his job alone like he was supposed to. He doesn't want to, but it would make things simpler and safer. Not just for him, but for Aziraphale too. He could turn away now, leave the park, go someplace else and never see him again. The very thought makes him ache down to his very essence. He doesn't want to turn away. He doesn't want to leave. He's not sure he wants to do any of this without Aziraphale. They may not see each other all that often, but the moments they share are everything to him.
When the angel looks like he may leave Crowley makes his way over to him. "Hello, Aziraphale."
"Crowley! --oh you're all wet. Where's your umbrella, dear boy?"
"Forgot it."
"Well, come on --" Aziraphale gestures next to him and the demon sidles closer as the angel shifts the umbrella so it covers the both of them. "Dreadful weather. There doesn't seem to be any end to this rain." The angel pouts. It's kind of adorable.
"Do you think there's anything -- you know--?"
"Unnatural about it?"
"Yeah."
Aziraphale shakes his head. "No, as far as I can tell it's just weather."
"That's what I figured, just wanted to be sure." Crowley shivers. He hates the cold. "I don't like this."
"I don't think anyone does. I heard that the harvests are failing all over the country -- all the darkness -- and the cold, it's very distressing."
"And the rain that won't stop," Crowley adds.
"That too -- It is nice to see you, though."
Crowley looks over at the angel, he's fiddling with his waistcoat with his free hand.
"Yeah, you too, angel."
The sky is grey, it's mind-bogglingly cold, and it's been snowing for days. Crowley doesn't like any of it. Sleep is failing him and there's only one place he wants to be. Exactly where he shouldn't. It's a bad idea. He doesn't even have an excuse, he just wants to see the idiot. He wants to be reminded that there's at least one thing in this world that means something. One thing that makes this existence worthwhile.
The roads are impassable; the snowdrifts, ridiculous and while he could probably miracle the Bentley through it all, it seems like a bad idea. So, he leaves her home and makes his way to the bookshop on foot. Yeah, he's smart like that.
Crowley is frozen all the way through by the time he turns up outside Aziraphale's door. This is stupid, what is he even supposed to say? 'Hey Angel, I was feeling lonely and missed you something terrible -- so here I am, let me in.' Yeah, no. So, he stands in front of the door like an idiot, doing nothing. Barely anyone is out on the streets and the power seems to be out again. Crowley knows the angel is in there, he can sense him. That and the flickering candlelight coming from inside are a dead giveaway. Oh, bugger this. He pulls a hand out of his pocket and knocks on the door.
"We're closed," comes the angel's voice from inside.
Crowley still doesn't understand why Aziraphale bothers having a bookshop if he doesn't want to sell any books. Why not just buy a big house and fill it with books? No need to worry about customers then. "It's me, angel."
"Crowley?"
"Yeah." Who else would be stupid enough to be out in this weather? "Let me in, it's cold out here."
The door opens and the angel looks surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"
Crowley stutters something incomprehensible.
"Oh, you're practically frozen stiff." The angel steps away from the door. "Come in, come in."
Crowley stays where he is. This was a stupid idea, he's about to turn around and leave when the angel grabs his wrist and pulls him inside. He stands there just inside the door as Aziraphale peels off his wet coat and hat. "You should probably leave your shoes by the door."
Crowley toes the sodden shoes off as the angel pulls a blanket out of nowhere and drapes it over his shoulders while pulling him further into the shop. "No, angel, I'll get snow all over your floor," he protested.
"Never you mind that." The angel drags him into the back and gently pushes him down to the sofa. "Stay here while I get you some cocoa."
Crowley's not really all that big on cocoa, but he doesn't have it in him to refuse his angel anything at the moment, especially when he's being so damn kind.
Aziraphale returns with a warm mug and another blanket. "Here you go, my dear."
The heat feels so good in his frozen hands. He blows on the cocoa and takes a sip. It's -- good. "You spiked the cocoa?"
"Well, it is you, and you do seem like you need it."
Crowley swallows a 'thank you' and nods. "It's good."
The angel sits down next to him and covers the both of them with the second blanket. Crowley almost drops his cup. Aziraphale never sits on the sofa, at least not when he's around. "Come on, scoot closer, you need to warm up." Crowley does as Aziraphale says and moves closer until his thigh is touching the angel's. He closes his eyes and takes another sip of his drink. He lets the angel fuss over him while he finishes his cocoa. When he's done, the angel takes the mug from him and places it on the table.
Crowley doesn't resist when he pulls him down so he's resting his head in the angel's lap. He doesn't try to stop the tears when they start to fall, his sunglasses will hide them. He shouldn't have come. He's not sorry though. He wants this too much. He's not sure if being this close to what he wants hurts more than never getting a taste at all, he just knows that it does hurt. Exquisitely. He doesn't fight it when he feels himself drifting off to sleep, the angel's fingers tangled in his hair.
The Dowling Estate 4 years before Armageddon
Crowley leans against the wall, sighs, and lights a cigarette. She knows Aziraphale is nearby, she knows his scent anywhere. It's been a long day, the sun already long gone. She blows out a smoke ring and looks up. Too cloudy, she can't see a single star and it smells like rain. Warlock had a bad day at school and Crowley had to do her best to console him while still trying to be a bad influence. It's exhausting. A lot of this nannying gig is exhausting. Hopefully, it would all be worth it in the end, and that it wouldn't actually be the end --
Aziraphale clears his throat. "You do know, those things are bad for you." It isn't a question.
"Need I remind you, I'm a demon? Things that are bad for you are kind of my thing."
"Even so, it's a bad influence on the child."
Crowley raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that exactly why I'm here, angel? To be a bad influence?"
"Yes, rather." The angel looks flustered. It's a good look on him. Thankfully, he was no longer in his ridiculous gardener getup. That was not a good look.
"If it bothers you --"
"It does." He's wringing his hands.
Crowley pinches the end of the cigarette between her fingertips and then makes the whole thing disappear. "Better?"
"The angel smiles."Much, thank you, my dear."
Crowley smoothes her skirt down. "So, what are you doing here, still? Shouldn't you be back at the bookshop by now?" Aziraphale usually left well before she did. There isn't a lot of after-dark gardening work to do.
"I thought I could walk you to your car -- if you'd like." The angel held his arm out. Crowley smiled and linked hers in his.
These years of influencing the boy have been more than she'd hoped. Seeing Aziraphale even a little bit on more days than not, was good, really good. This is what she's fighting for, more time with her angel. They get to the Bentley and Aziraphale lets go of him. Crowley wants more. She doesn't want the night to end here. "Lift home?"
He fiddles with his bowtie. "I shouldn't."
"We could grab a bite on the way -- maybe that little Italian place you like?"
She sees him think about it, weighing all the pros and cons in his mind. "Alright, I could eat."
Crowley smiles. "Get in, angel."
They talk about Warlock, gardening, and what Aziraphale plans to order. The restaurant does a tempting tiramisu. Crowley even has a bite before pushing her plate over to the angel. She likes this too much. This easiness that's developed between them. She wants more of it. She wants an eternity of this; the two of them together.
She drops the angel off at his bookshop and heads to the flat, alone. Even after all this, if they avert the apocalypse, they'll still have to deal with their respective employers. And if they do save the world, it's likely those employers will be none too pleased. She knows Hell will be especially unhappy with her if they find out. Crowley thinks about the holy water in its little tartan thermos tucked away in her safe, and hopes it will be enough.
A warm breeze blows while the sparrows in the trees sing some happy little tune. Crowley hides his smile against the angel's chest. They're laying on a cushy blanket after yet another picnic in their garden. Their garden, their cottage. Theirs. It's beautiful and he feels -- happy.
Aziraphale runs his fingers through Crowley's hair. He's let it grow out, the angel likes it long, says he likes having something to play with. Who is he to deny him, well anything?
"Look at the sky, love."
Crowley turns his head. Several clouds are now in the shape of hearts; cartoony hearts, not the things in people's chests. "What did you do, angel?"
"Me? Influencing the clouds would be a gross misuse of a miracle --," Aziraphale says very seriously right before descending into a fit of giggles.
Crowley kisses the angel's chest. "Yeah, it probably would." Not that it matters these days. No one is keeping track of them anymore, as far as he knows, as far as either of them knows. Crowley kisses his way up to the angel's mouth, he's not laughing anymore. "I like the clouds, angel."
"You're welcome, my dear." Aziraphale wraps his arms around him and flips him over so he can straddle him. Turns out the angel's voracious appetite went well beyond just food.
"Didn't say thank you," Crowley murmurs, wrapping his arms around the angel.
"Well, maybe not yet, but you will." The angel kisses him and everything is perfect. They're finally on their own side.
Ugarit is one of the first solar eclipses that was written down (exactly when it happened is up for debate).
1816 was The Year Without Summer
1947 refers to The Big Snow
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