Good omens 2.5

Memories of a demon

The angel holds his aching stomach and sobs into the floor. He doesn't care about what work needs to be done. It isn't long before he's out of tears, though. His body physically won't make anymore. Aziraphale lays there just another minute, thinking of the lost opportunities.

Aziraphale had loved the demon forever. They were the only constant in an ever changing world. He figures that he realized that it was love in 1941. He thinks back on all their years together. They had their ups and downs but Aziraphale can't think of a single bad time for the life of him.

I'm going to miss that smile so very much. I remember when you created the stars and how you beamed as brightly. No matter what you say, Crowley, the name might have changed but that smile is the same. Aziraphale sits up and wipes the tears, snot, and, slobber from his face. You always could make me smile as well. So very funny, even when you weren't trying to be. A weak smile forms on the angel's face. I'll never let you go, my love.

It's time to get off the floor. Aziraphale isn't ready to go back yet. He's never been inside Crowley's apartment before so he decides to look around.

There's and empty closet and an empty bathroom. Outside of the destroyed living area you would have figured it was a staged house. There's one last door off the hall.

It's a bedroom. It would have that same exhibit-like feel if not for a box thrown lazily on the bed. The box looked like it had seen its days and it's contents have spilled out on the bed. It's Crowley's stuff.

Zira walks over a picks up one of the shirts. He buries his face into it, breathing in the familiar smell. It's so bitter sweet. Aziraphale pockets the bottle of cologne. Something glints from inside the box. It's a flower cased in resin. As soon as Aziraphale touches it he gets the rush of a memory but it isn't his own. It's Crowley's.

*
Crowley holds the door open for Aziraphale as they walk out of The Windmill Theater. Crowley feels intense fear but he doesn't look it. It can be felt, though, on the inside there's extreme worry. It has to do with hell. He appears cool as a cucumber though. He watches Aziraphale closely. The emotion shifts from fear to sorrow. It feels like grief.

There's a group of soldiers hanging around in the street. They have some girls with them. One lady leaves the group to approach Aziraphale. Crowley hangs back but sees that she gives him a bouquet of wild flowers. Crowley is overwhelmed with joy as his angel returns, beaming that radiant smile.

"Look Crowley! Aren't they just beautiful?"

"Way too nice for the performance we put on," the demon suppresses a smile. The flowers are very beautiful, though. They're blue and white.

Aziraphale reaches into the bouquet and pulls out a single, small yellow flower. He offers it to Crowley, "look at this one. It's the same shade as your eyes."

Crowley takes the flower and inspects it closely, appearing unamused, "more or less I suppose."

Zira smiles at him before turning to leave, "I'm starving! I know just the place for us to go." Crowley rolls the flower's stem between his fingers before slipping it into his coat pocket. He swells with a feeling that can only be described as love.
*

Aziraphale vaguely remembers this interaction. He remembers the night well. How could he not? But he's almost certain he saw Crowley toss the flower. He must have kept it, though. Zira can't believe Crowley held onto it all these years. He'll take that with him as well.

A tear rolls down his cheek. It's time to go, now. Outside the sun is just over the horizon. Aziraphale thinks that there will never really be sunshine again. Or starlight.

***
Okay, oh my god. I knew I wanted to have Aziraphale find a sentimental token but had trouble figuring out what. I really love what I came up with and I hope you do too!