Ineffable Omens (Crowley x Aziraphale)

Hidden Affections

 Aziraphale liked a good warm shower to clear his head, but this one didn't help at all. He was just as confused as before. He got dressed back into his usual getup. He ruffled his hair with his towel to dry it as he exited the bathroom. "You know, I've been thinking," he said as he stepped into the kitchen, expecting to see his friend still sitting there, but he was gone, his eggs and bacon untouched. Aziraphale frantically scanned the rest of Crowley's place, and then assuming the worst, visited every church in the whole of London, followed by every church in England. No sign of the demon. He narrowed his search and worked with the police to locate Crowley's Bentley, but no results came up. Aziraphale hung up posters and flyers with a number to call if anyone had any information. He hung up pictures of Crowley's face all over the city. He even went international and tried to use social media. He created a facebook page and an instagram and a youtube channel and a Grindr (he hadn't known what it was when he got it, the poor fellow. He struggled for days to uninstall it until he finally threw the phone away.)

Aziraphale never gave up the search, even though logic said Crowley had probably already finished the job, the he had gotten his hands on some holy water and was ... gone. But Aziraphale couldn't believe it. Things just didn't make sense. If Crowley was gone, where was the Bentley? Why had no one seen him? He had to be out there somewhere, and Aziraphale was going to find him. He couldn't be dead. Aziraphale knew it was a fool's errand. If Crowley wasn't dead, he would have shown himself by now, but Aziraphale refused to believe he was gone. It hurt even more that the alternative meant Crowley was hiding from him.

Aziraphale checked in on his apartment regularly, hoping one day he'd come in to see Crowley lounging on one of his thrones or yelling at his plants. Aziraphale had been looking after his plants in the demon's absence. He watered them and gave them fertilizer when necessary. More importantly, he gave them love and some psychiatric help. The poor fellers all had anxiety, so even though the plants couldn't respond, Aziraphale talked to them to help them work through their anxiety. They quickly became not only the most beautiful plants, but also the happiest.

Aziraphale would call Crowley on occasion, for two reasons. The first was simply to hear his voice recording on the answering machine, for although he hated to admit it, Aziraphale missed the poor demon. The second reason was because each time he called, he hoped more than anything that maybe, just maybe, the demon would actually pick up. It was pointless, but he kept leaving messages to that old answering machine.

"Hey Crowley, it's me Aziraphale again. Just, you know, wondering if you're home yet. It's been bloody uninteresting without you. So, uh, if you get this, just give me a ring. I'm right here."

Aziraphale kept up the search for five years, and would keep it up much longer if he had to.

Meanwhile, Crowley was living a comfortable life in downtown Manhattan. It wasn't a good life, necessarily. It was simple. He lived ... normally. But it wasn't the same without Aziraphale. He didn't get as much joy out of his little temptations—even the big ones. Besides, he had to stay away from big temptations because if Aziraphale caught wind of his work, he would certainly come and find him. Aziraphale knew him so well, and any temptation larger than gluing pennies to the sidewalk would have his trademark flair. Even too many glued pennies in one spot would lead Aziraphale right to him. He knew because Aziraphale had taken that as a tactic, knowing it to be one of Crowley's favorite bits of demon work. He had a whole big map drawn up and he stuck pins everywhere glued pennies were found. He was figuring out a trail, too, and had gotten quite close to finding Crowley, so the demon decided to quit the penny gig for a year.

Crowley kept his eye on Aziraphale, though. He needed to make sure his friend was okay. He hated the way his friend was hurting because of him. He performed little miracles here and there to make Aziraphale's life easier. Whatever he could find to help his friend. They were mostly, little, unnoticeable things. When Aziraphale went to bake, Crowley would work a little miracle and make the oven heat up faster. When he saw Aziraphale sometimes struggling to reach the top shelf, he miracled the stepstool an inch higher. He even sent in strangers to donate new books to Aziraphale's collection. He made sure to find Aziraphale's favorite books and send them to him, without Aziraphale having any knowledge whatsoever.

Five years apart wasn't necessarily that long compared to the 6,000 years they had been alive, but Crowley missed his friend dearly. He knew he had done what he did for good reason, or what he thought was a good reason, at least. He hated to see his friend in such pain. He didn't want to reveal himself to Aziraphale, knowing if he were to come face-to-face with the angel again, if Aziraphale gave him that look, Crowley would never leave.

So Crowley found another way to let the angel know he was alive, slowly so that the angel wouldn't be half as mad when the realization hit. Every month or two, he'd donate anonymously another one of Aziraphale's favorite books. At first, they were books Aziraphale already owned but which Crowley knew he treasured. Then he started donating books that were new to Aziraphale's collections, starting with a few random books of prophecy that were sometimes 100% inaccurate, and then moving into various books that Aziraphale had always wanted to get his hands on. He got down to books that Aziraphale had very specifically on several occasions told Crowley he had wanted. In the final book, he signed a small C on the inside of the back cover. He placed it on Aziraphale's doorstep during the night, and disappeared in the shadows.

Aziraphale was not an idiot to Crowley's plan. He thought he was an idiot for thinking that maybe all of these books came from him, but the more specific they got, it became obvious to Aziraphale there was only one person they could have come from. He thought he was stupid for hoping like that, but his suspicions were confirmed when he found the C signed in the latest book.

Aziraphale was angry—more than angry, and despite not wanting to foul his new favorite book, he scrawled an angry note all along the inside of the back cover and left it out on his doorstep for Crowley to find.

Dear Crowley,

You lying bastard, you son of a bitch, you low-grade demon scum! How could you? I know you're out there and you obviously know I've been looking for you. Well I'm done looking. It's been six years, and I'm tired of your games. I'm tired of you treating me like garbage! So tomorrow I'll be at our meeting spot for fifteen minutes and fifteen minutes only. Two in the afternoon, be there. Don't be late. One last chance, or we're through. Forever. I don't think you want that.

I hate your guts,

One seriously pissed off angel