"Well, goodnight, my dear." Another of those awkward silences, in which they sat there, as if barely three hands breaths of leather between them was some kind of insuperable distance, and waited for one of them to say something or do to break the weight of sixty centuries.
"Night, angel." Crowley took in a breath, as if gathering courage, and Aziraphale froze, hand on the door, waiting for the words. "Walk you to the door?"
It was on the tip of Aziraphale's tongue to say something snippety about being an angel with full enough powers that he could walk a few metres to his own door in perfect safety. Fortunately, he had given himself a firm enough talking to the night before about self-sabotage that he swallowed the words. "Please," he said instead, and he could feel how shy his smile was, as if this was some kind of stranger.
Crowley's smile wasn't shy at all, it was relieved and radiant, and really this was ridiculous, but Aziraphale's own smile increased anyway. "Good. I have something important to ask you."
He made a nervous show of unlocking the door. It was late, but he didn't sleep and Crowley didn't need to and there was absolutely no reason not to invite him in. Instead he turned in the doorway, door unlocked but still closed, and Crowley was standing very close, looking at him with such a deep, fascinated, snake-like stare that he dropped the keys.
Crowley bent and picked them up, pressing them into his hand, his cool skin whispering over Aziraphale's own.
"Thank you, dear boy," Aziraphale said, and then because he was embarrassed, asked, "What was it you wanted to ask me?"
"Oh. Yeah." Crowley shuffled his feet, looking surprisingly boyish. "Come to New York with me tomorrow?"
Aziraphale blinked. "Why?"
"To see how Warlock is doing," Crowley said, as if that was obvious.
"Warlock?" He blinked again, and Crowley looked annoyed.
"Yeah, Warlock. Remember him? We raised him for eleven years, or did you forget about him the moment you saw Adam Young? I know Warlock isn't the Antichrist or anything, but that should be an advantage from your point of view. Don't you care how he is doing after being dragged off to Megiddo?" Crowley was definitely looking nasty now, absolutely like a pissed-off demon, and the whole thing was going so differently to how Aziraphale expected that he didn't quite know how to respond.
Unfortunately what came out of his mouth was, "You were the one who suggested killing the boy."
"It wasn't personal." Crowley took off his dark glasses, apparently the better to glare at him. "He's still our kid."
"B-but, Crowley, he's not our kid," Aziraphale said helplessly, wondering if Crowley was going insane or if he was.
"You're a terrible father for an angel," Crowley said, accusingly. "I'm a demon, and I make a far better mother."
"We're not his parents! Warlock has two perfectly good parents of his own!"
"Fine!"
They glared at each other for a moment, still crammed together in the doorframe. Then Crowley leaned forward suddenly, and dropped a kiss on Aziraphale's cheek, a hairsbreadth from the corner of his mouth, and swung back to the car before Aziraphale could react.
"Pick you up at lunchtime," he said. "The plane tickets are booked for the evening." He opened the car door and slid inside
"I don't believe you. You never book anything," Aziraphale called after him, hearing his laughter as the door slammed.
YOU ARE READING
Never Explain Anything: A Crowley/Aziraphale Good Omens fanfic
Fanfiction"Oh. Yeah." Crowley shuffled his feet, looking surprisingly boyish. "Come to New York with me tomorrow?" Aziraphale blinked. "Why?" "To see how Warlock is doing," Crowley said, as if that was obvious. "Warlock?" He blinked again, and Crowley looked...
