Chapter Text
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” Aziraphale spoke, attempting to smile politely as his gaze flitted nervously from Gabriel to Michael.
He stood before them quite unexpectedly. A mere few moments ago, he had been in Ireland doing a spot of heavenly intervention on account of a young single mother, and suddenly he was whisked away to head office. He wasn’t due to give his report for another week.
“Let me dumb it down for you then.” Gabriel sighed exaggeratedly, his violet eyes rolling heavily towards the ceiling while Michael smirked silently at his side. “You are being transferred to Soho, London. There is a demon there causing a bit of a ruckus. Too many successful temptations, numbers falling below acceptable levels, blah blah blah. You will go to Soho where we have set you up with a boring little shop. You will meet this demon Crowley and ‘befriend him’” Gabriel inserted actual fingers quotes here, “and you will compromise him.”
“I see,” Aziraphale stated, even though he most certainly didn’t. “Just to clarify, Soho, London? I’ve always been told, explicitly, to stay out of London. In fact, that is the one city I’ve never been permitted to work in.” He explained nervously. He tried to smile but it somehow sat strangely on his lips, and he swallowed it with some discomfort instead.
“Well now it’s the only city you’re permitted to work in!” Gabriel chuffed, smiling brightly and blankly, through clenched teeth.
“Right. Excellent. I’ve always wanted to see London!” He managed, sliding a hand down his waistcoat as he straightened his shoulders. “One more question, if I may, what exactly do you mean by compromise?”
“We want him dead.” Michael drawled, their smirk unwavering. Aziraphale swallowed uncomfortably again.
“Yes, exactly, we want him dead. Not discorporated. We want him gone. Wiped out. Ended. Permanently. Like, forever.” Gabriel added, with his fixed smile.
“Ah. I, um. Well. I’ve never killed anything before. I’m, well, I’m not sure I can.” Aziraphale managed, the shock of their words causing a cold sweat to break over his corporate form.
“Whether you do it, or you compromise him enough to make Hell doubt his loyalties, we don’t care. We just want him dead. Make it happen, Principality Aziraphale.” Gabriel ordered, his smile beginning to fall out of place as his face twitched. He and Michael began to turn from him.
“Why me?” Aziraphale blurted, before he could be dismissed.
“Why you? I’m afraid that’s classified. The order came from The Top.” Michael droned, staring at their nails instead of Aziraphale.
“The Top? You mean…?” Aziraphale whispered, glancing up at the ceiling uselessly, with awe.
“Yes, classified. Get to work, Principality!” Gabriel sneered.
Before he could say anything else on the subject, or any subject for that matter, Aziraphale had the unpleasant sensation of being ripped from the Heavenly plane and launched back down to Earth. Though not back towards Ireland, but towards London. Soho, to be precise.
He had been moved with such force that upon landing he wasn’t even able to remain on his feet. The impact had left him dazed, aching, and a bit… smoking. Groaning, he pulled himself slowly from the concrete, grimacing at the smell of singed feathers, and opened his eyes to… darkness. Complete, utter, blackness. For one frightening moment, he thought they had thrown him a bit too far.
The noise of traffic slowly breathed its way into his ears, and Aziraphale found the good sense to look around. It was night and quite late, he thought, and he was sitting on the wet cement in a dirty alley way. Sighing unhappily at the state of his clothes, Aziraphale pulled himself stiffly to his feet and tried to gather his wits. On instinct born of many years posing as a human, he began patting down his pockets. Eventually triumphant, he produced a wallet. Inside was a new ID- A.Z. Fell, really, no imagination at all -a hand full of credit cards, a bit more cash than he was used to- uncharastically nice of them -and one business card. His own, in fact. It read; A.Z. Fell, Collector of Rare Books and Antiquities, Soho, London . Along with his exact address.
Aziraphale glanced around and, having no clue where he currently was and unable to find any useful landmarks, stowed his wallet away in his pocket once again. He straightened his scorched and damp clothes and set off towards the busy street at the end of the alley. Unfortunately though, it seemed Heaven intended for him to have a rough start.
He had scarcely taken seven steps when a trio of large drunken men came stumbling into his alley, loudly searching for a place to piss. Aziraphale paused, debating whether he should duck behind a bin and wait them out. The decision was quickly taken out of his hands.
“Oi! You, desk monkey!” One of them shouted.
Desk monkey??
“Fancy a bit of change for a poor lad, such as meself?” The man asked, leering at him. His bad luck seemed to be spreading rather quickly, as Poor Drunken Lad’s friends also noticed him and joined in.
“Yeah, I’ve seemed to have lost me wallet. Spot me a tenner?” Poor Drunken Lad Number Two chuckled greasily.
“Why yes, of course. Let me just get my wallet, just a moment…” Aziraphale offered, hands shaking just a bit as he pulled the leather back out of his pocket. The Drunken Trio, apparently not expecting his immediate cooperation, glanced at each other stupidly.
“Actually, make that fifty for me.” Poor Drunken Lad Number Three ordered, with much less mirth, upon seeing the wad of bills bulging from Aziraphale’s wallet.
On second thought, perhaps offering to pay them wasn’t such a grand idea.
Aziraphale was struggling with whether to hand over all of the cash in his possession in hopes that the Trio would leave him alone, when a separate voice rang out from the alley entrance.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?”
That was the moment. The moment that Aziraphale should have known, should have recognized, somewhere deep within him. That voice, slightly lisping, bringing images that Aziraphale didn’t quite understand. A soft smile, widening to show sharp teeth. Bright white light, with such warmth. Air gliding beneath his wings, as easy as silk. Movement so fluid it could have been dancing. A long, slender hand reaching up towards the sun. A flash of amber eyes, full of such intense longing . Such love.
All of it gone as quickly as it had come. So quickly that Aziraphale couldn’t comprehend or save the images, the emotions. They swept from his mind as though the breeze had simply blown them away.
“Nothin’ ta see here. Just chatting with a friend.” Poor Drunken Lad Number One offered, clapping his meaty hand down on Aziraphale’s shoulder unexpectedly. The poor angel, who had just been so thoroughly discombobulated by feelings he didn’t understand, wasn’t expecting the sudden weight. His body, already weak from his less than gentle return to earth, plummeted and hit the ground for the second time in less than ten minutes.
As Aziraphale cracked his head on the pavement for the second time, he managed to remain conscious just long enough to process a rather angry shout, some quick motion, and a tangling of many bodies. Then all was dark.
Aziraphale woke with a long, drawn out groan. His body ached, he felt bruised and sore all over. His first reaction was to grimace and reach a hand up to his head, prodding gently at a rather impressive knot on the side of his skull. He turned his head to the side, feeling a satisfying crack in his neck, and pressed the lump into the mattress, sighing at the combined pain and pleasure. The silk smelled strangely… familiar. He was quite certain he had never inhaled this particular scent, but still. He turned more of his body, sighing into the mattress as he chased the scent, determined to identify-
Wait a moment. Mattress. He was on someone’s bed.
Aziraphale blinked himself very suddenly wide awake. The bedroom was unfamiliar, obviously. Made up of stormy grey walls and dark mahogany floors, with a large four poster bed in the center space. It was all very minimalist, something you would find in some posh magazine. Certainly not a room anyone actually lived in. But the smell on the red silk sheets was unmistakable. Someone slept here.
His body’s aches forgotten, Aziraphale slid carefully off of the bed, glancing around uneasily. The room was definitely empty, save for himself. The door was slightly ajar, and there was a soft rhythmic thudding sound in the air. He crept to the door and peered out, but saw nothing except a bare hallway with the same dark walls and floors, ending beyond to a brighter room that he couldn't make out.
Being an angel, Aziraphale could have easily removed himself from the strange room and even out of the building, but something stayed his hand. Curiosity, perhaps. He slipped from the room and padded silently down the hall, vaguely realizing that whoever had brought him here had removed his shoes, and peered cautiously into the room beyond.
It was rather beautiful. Minimalistic decor once again, a spotless and gleaming kitchen looking down over a wide living space with bare black leather couches, a glossy black piano, and more lush green houseplants than Aziraphale had ever seen. He may have entered into the Garden of Eden itself, if the Garden had suddenly begun sprouting modern decor alongside the plants. The far wall was nothing but glass from floor to ceiling, overlooking the London nightlife. The gentle thrumming sound still hummed in the air, it’s source still unseen. The space was devoid of any people though, so Aziraphale slowly made his way into the room, searching for something that would give him an idea about his enigmatic host. The plants seemed to glow happily as he stepped passed them, their lush leaves clinging to his coat sleeves.
As Aziraphale stood fretting about in the middle of the room, the sound of a door opening and sharp words swept over him.
“I don’t care if his poor little granny has rectal cancer, I still want my damn fender by tomorrow, or I swear to Someone I will hunt him down and he’ll wish rectal cancer was the leasssst of his worries!” The last was finished with a hiss and final jab at his phone screen, before angrily tossing his keys into clattering mess on the kitchen counter.
He was still heaving sourly and hadn’t yet noticed Aziraphale, luckily for him, as Aziraphale felt as though he had hit the ground for the third time that evening.
He was, quite honestly, the most beautiful creature the angel had ever seen. Long and languid, made up of sharp angles from the tips of his italian shoes to the shoulders of his expensively tailored black three piece suit, with long curly hair the color of burnt copper. Even his nose was long and a bit pointy, home to perfectly round sunglasses that hid his eyes from Aziraphale’s view. Never had he looked upon a human form and been so immediately enthralled.
Then it got even better , because this lovely creature turned and noticed Aziraphale and smiled at him.
“Ah, hello! You’re awake, excellent. Feeling alright? You took a bit of a nasty tumble back there.” The lovely creature said, slipping his phone into his pocket and- good Lord how does it fit in there, those trousers are so tight -before coming to stand in front of him. Impossibly, he was even more beautiful up close.
“Ah, yes, fine, thank you. Sorry but, rectal cancer?” Aziraphale blundered helplessly, internally cursing himself.
“Nothing to worry about. Some unfortunate pedestrian walked out in front of my car and bent up my bumper a bit, and I’m having to order a new one. Apparently they’re on back order.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are they okay?”
“Oh yes, it’s fine. It’s a 1926, great year. Rather hard to find parts for though.”
“Well, I meant the pedestrian.”
“Oh, who cares? Anyway, how are you doing? Alright there?” The lovely creature asked again, his expressive eyebrows darting down nearly beneath the frames of his sunglasses as he frowned at the lump on the side of Aziraphale’s head.
“Yes, I am quite alright.” Aziraphale chuckled helplessly, unwillingly enamoured.
“Can I get you anything? Paracetamol? A glass of wine? Tea? I don’t have any food but I can order in.”
“Oh, I do appreciate the offer. But no, thank you. I think I should be getting back to…ah…” Aziraphale fumbled for his wallet once again, which still had his cash, fancy that. “Back to my shop, this one here.” Aziraphale handed the lovely creature his business card.
“You sure you’re alright there? Can’t remember your own address?” He chuckled, before glancing down at the card. “Oh! You’re my new neighbor! Strange place to open a bookshop, this part of town, Mr Fell.” He grinned charmingly, before handing the card back. Aziraphale was careful not to touch his beautifully long fingers.
“Yes, well. New to town, and all that. So my shop is….?”
“Oh directly across the street, yeah. Pretty convenient. I’ll walk you down. You sure I can’t get you anything first?” The perfect specimen asked again, pausing mid turn.
“Thank you, but it’s really unnecessary.”
“Alright.” He shrugged easily, “Your shoes are by the door.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled and padded carefully around him to the door and slipped into his familiar brown oxfords.
The elevator ride down was silent, and intensely uncomfortable. Serpentine in his grace, this enigmatic man somewhat spawled against the mirrored wall as they moved slowly down, his gaze hidden from Aziraphale. He wanted to look at him so badly, wanted to study those sharp angles, imagine sliding his fingers through red curls, gently pull the black frames from his face. He probably had the most beautiful eyes.
Impossible, of course. Aziraphale had barely been on his new assignment for one night and he was already getting sidetracked. He needed to focus.
“Here we are,” His host offered as the elevator slowed to a stop after twelve floors. It opened to a beautiful marble lobby, and the rhythmic thudding sound was a bit more prominent. “Your shop is directly across the street. Can’t miss it. Watch your step.”
Aziraphale turned to thank this beautiful man, who had remained in the elevator, his slender hand holding the doors ajar.
“I can’t thank you enough… oh dear, I didn’t get your name.” He added, unable to stop himself. One of his worst habits, indulgence.
“Anthony J. Crowley, lovely to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again very soon.” Crowley answered, sharp teeth bared in a dangerous grin. He removed his hand from the doors, and they began to slide closed. “Good evening, angel.”
Aziraphale couldn’t control his shock, his mouth open in what most certainly couldn’t have been a very attractive expression, and he watched the doors close on Crowley’s beautiful smirking face.
Oh, no. I am in such trouble.