An Ineffable History

such wide abysses now of space and land between us

Soho, England, 1967

Aziraphale twisted the sign on the window of the shop to "closed" the moment he set foot in the shop, rubbing his hand through his hair as he closed his eyes.

"You go too fast for me, Crowley."

That hadn't quite been what he had meant to say: I'm trying, but I can't quite keep up with you. I love you so much it hurts, and I cannot imagine living in a world without you.

He had heard rumor of Crowley's little heist, of course he had, despite what Crowley may occasionally say, Aziraphale was not an idiot. Robbing a church, well, there was only one thing Crowley would want from there, the one thing Aziraphale had refused to give him. But going to humans for help? Preposterous. Knowing them they would mess it up somehow, leave a single drop of water on a container and Crowley- damned, lovely fool- would be gone. Truly gone. And Aziraphale- he couldn't risk that. So he did the last thing he thought he would ever do: he gave Crowley the holy water. Surely Crowley must have figured it out then, that Aziraphale would do almost anything for him. He had offered Aziraphale a ride- "anywhere you want to go." Aziraphale had been so tempted to say yes, to go away with Crowley and let himself imagine that they weren't on opposite sides, that heaven wouldn't destroy Crowley if they knew what was happening. So he had stopped, pulled back, stepped out of the car and walked back to the shop, berating himself internally the entire way there.

He sat down in his favorite armchair and poured himself a glass of wine. His brain was being horribly unpleasant and was spinning images of Crowley being too curious and opening the thermos, a single drop of water falling onto his hand and sending his very essence back to the ether.

Suddenly there was a rather loud banging on his door.

"We're closed!" Aziraphale yelled. Honestly, could people not read signs?

"Zira! Please!"

Aziraphale froze. There were very few, very specific people who ever called him that. He rushed to the door and opened it, practically pulling the two young men inside as he closed the door quickly behind him, ushering them away from the windows and into the rows of bookshelves where they wouldn't be seen. Aziraphale turned to the two men, who were clutching each other tightly.

Principalities as a whole were made to be guardians. And while Aziraphale's job (broadly speaking) was to protect the humans from demonic temptation, but over the centuries he had found a specific type of human that he was naturally inclined to protect. The ones who loved others like them, even though the world nowadays might tell them that their love was a sin, that their mere existence was an insult unto God. Really, where the humans had come up with that idea Aziraphale had no clue. Aziraphale had always tried to protect them when he could; make sure the men at his club were out of danger, that those two girls who lived down the street from him could live together without suspicions being cast upon them. Aziraphale was not blind to the irony of how similar it was to his own situation, but that only made him want to work harder.

He had also, unintentionally, earned a reputation. Aziraphale knew how he dressed, how he spoke. Knew what people thought when they first met him. But the glares he faced were more than worth the hidden smiles people would give him when they passed on the streets. The smiles that conveyed a silent respect and You're like me. I see you. The longer he stayed in Soho, the more of "his" people began to flock there. Many of them were aware that if they ever needed help with anything (other than buying a book), Mr. Fell, or Zira as some of the younger men had begun to call him, would be there.

This was not the first time these two particular young men had come running to the shop like this.

"What did you do this time?" Aziraphale whispered, glaring slightly at Orion, the young man's dark hair and green eyes normally made him look handsome in a devil-may-care sort of way, but now all of his usual bravado was gone, replaced by pure fear as he clutched Robbie's arm, his fair-haired counterpart standing perfectly still.