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elphenfan · 5 years

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Nesting (Good Omens) 4/?

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I

He pushed forward, past the angel and towards the shop door, ready to confront the cowardly bastard that had hurt his angel before he could run off back to Heaven and tell him just how he was supposed to treat someone as unique as Aziraphale. If that telling needed to be somewhat physical, or even very much so, to get the point across, then that was okay, too.

In the anger he felt towards the interloping angel and the protectiveness and caring he felt towards Aziraphale, he completely forgot that confronting a Heaven-tied angel rather than the wonderfully earthbound one he was friends with, in the shop owned by said friend wasn’t the best of ideas, to put it mildly.

He was just about to push open the door when he was halted by Aziraphale’s hand on his arm. The pain of not being the one the nest was for flared up again at the gesture, the reminder that he wasn’t allowed in, wasn’t meant to see the nest now that it was either done or close to being done. If the angel was there, he wasn’t supposed to see them.

For a moment, he again considered ignoring the unspoken ask. To go in and find out, once and for all, no matter how it would affect him. Even if the shop was empty, which he had a growing if not entirely certain feeling it was, he was looking for clues, wasn’t he?

But if the nest had been rejected, then there wasn’t any need for him to gather further clues. What would he be gathering them for?

He didn’t know that it had been rejected, though, did he? That was merely what he’d presumed, he realised, when he’d seen Aziraphale looking downcast coming out of the shop, which he still did, as a matter of fact.

What else would he look downcast about? Worry that it wasn’t good enough? That would make sense but…

Feeling suddenly rebellious for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he grabbed the door handle and started to push down. Aziraphale tensed up hard at that, a choked little noise escaping his lips as his fingers flexed where they were gripping Crowley’s jacket, but he didn’t stop him.

That tension brought Crowley back down, though, and sent his fears rushing back in. He couldn’t face it. When it came down to it, he was still terrified, both of what he would find and how Aziraphale would react. If his reaction just now was anything to go by, it was hardly going to be anything good.

He turned around so quickly he almost spun, dislodging the hand on his arm in the process.

“Tell you what,” he said, aiming for a light if not exactly cheery tone and thinking that he managed it, “there’s this little tapas restaurant I passed by earlier that looked quite nice. I think I owe you some lunch from last time. Or we could get them to deliver, of course.”

A complicated emotion, one so composite that it resembled those pictures made up of a lot of other pictures, passed over the angel’s face before it disappeared into a more neutral expression. Crowley still managed to clock it, though, and his heart did an odd contraction.

“Oh. No, I think I’d like to go – and I’d love to hear about Russia. Oh, it’s been ages since I was there last…which writer was it I met?”

“Tolstoy, wasn’t it?” Crowley remembered Aziraphale telling him about that trip and had showed off the little snuff box he’d acquired after he’d done the blessing he’d been sent to perform. Apparently, it was a Fabergé, whatever that meant.

The angel looked slightly thoughtful. “Not sure whether it was him or Chekhov.”

“Pretty sure you said Tolstoy at the time, and I didn’t get much chance to be sociable this time.”

To be honest, he had holed himself up when he wasn’t ‘on the job’, just trying to cope with his heart and his thoughts going around in circles so much it resembled a merry-go-round, except it was the opposite of merry. A miserable-go-round, as it were.

“That’s a shame. Would you…could I be the one to treat you for a change?”

That odd hesitation and questioning again, as though they hadn’t done this a hundred times before. Probably closer to a few thousand times, all told, and Aziraphale hadn’t ever had to ask like that. It was ridiculous.

Was that who the other angel was turning the blond into? A nervous, uncertain mess? But otherwise, he seemed his normal self. He certainly had when he’d been to Crowley’s flat? Mostly, anyway. Somewhat.

Apropos of that, however…

“You did treat me recently, remember? The hamper was quite delicious. The contents, that is.”

The angel lit up at that. “Oh, good. But that was an apology, my dear, not a treat. That’s quite different.”

“Well, then…yeah, sure you can. You don’t need to ask, angel. We’ve done this before, you know.”

The atmosphere seemed to have been restored to its normal state, but it was easy enough for the demon to tell that it was mainly on a surface level.

Still, Crowley would cling to that for the moment, especially the endearment that he knew was bestowed on others, too, but which he still cherished every time it was directed at him.

What happened to making the birdbrain pay? Gathering clues? To getting answers once and for all? The voice that asked in his mind was harsh and slightly mocking.

Aziraphale’s pain was what happened, and the tension which must’ve been fear at Crowley seeing the nest. He wasn’t as ready to deal with that as he thought he’d been.

So yes, it was cowardly, but he…well, at least he could admit it to himself – and it was for Aziraphale’s benefit, too.

You’re just scared of him rejecting you.

He was. Oh, Satan, he was.

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They ended up going to a matinee instead of the tapas bar. The angel said that he’d heard it’d gotten rather good reviews and he hadn’t had a chance to see it yet. Crowley pointed out that they had seen it before; it was Hamlet, for crying out loud. They were there at the first performance, which was rather a dud.

Aziraphale had argued that he ought to be pleased at a job well done and the way his eyes had shone for just a moment at that had shut up any protestation Crowley might’ve had. They had been for show in any case; Crowley was just grateful to spend more time together.

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A change of plans was in order.

If he was going to get clues, he would do it while Aziraphale was asleep or out of the bookshop. That way, he wouldn’t upset him – if he was careful, he wouldn’t leave any clue that he’d been there, scent or otherwise – and he could get his answers, hopefully without alerting the other angel afterwards, either, and through them, Heaven.

The problem was that the blond wasn’t out of the bookshop much these days, not if he could help it, and it wasn’t as though they needed to sleep. Aziraphale may have a bedroom, though the demon had never seen it, but that would likely be for the comfort of a big bed to lie and read in rather than sleeping.

Would he use it for sleeping in now, though, or would he still be reading but doing so while resting against another body rather than the –

Which meant that he’d hear Crowley or otherwise notice that he was there the moment he slipped into the shop, whether that was through the front door or some other ways. Just because he tended to use the door for both Aziraphale’s sake and so as not to draw attention from humans didn’t mean he didn’t have other ways in.

Unless Aziraphale had blocked them, of course, which he had done once or twice when he’d found them because really, Crowley, must you do it like that, what’s wrong with the door?

But the point was that he would notice if he was in, as it were, and do so long before Crowley would have a chance to find out anything. Not only would that spoil what he was after, it would be worse than ignoring him earlier and pushing past into the shop, with a corresponding reaction.

That only left the possibility to go explore while he was out on some job or other. One which would preferably take him some time to reach and get back from, too, as that would provide Crowley with enough time to properly investigate and put everything back where it had been so Aziraphale would be none the wiser when he did return.

In itself, that might not be a big problem to overcome. Factor in that he was, if the nest hadn’t yet been presented to the intended recipient, never mind accepted, on borrowed time to get it done before that happened and it became a significantly larger issue. Especially seeing as it had been a while since Aziraphale had last been sent out, at least as far as Crowley had picked up on.

Having to bide his time while having a deadline that was unknown to him and may come to pass while he was unaware was unexpectedly nerve wracking, which didn’t help his overall state of mind.

However, he had an unexpected windfall not too long after, which still managed to seem a long time to him, given that invisible deadline hanging over him.

Aziraphale hadn’t exactly said it outright but it wasn’t exactly difficult to work out that he had to go somewhere and wasn’t happy about having to go.

To be honest, though, Crowley couldn’t say the angel had exactly come off as happy lately, something which both worried him immensely and sent his anger towards the unknown rival skyrocketing, if it was even possible for it to rise further. How unfit were they to not notice that the angel they cared for wasn’t happy in the first place? Not to mention that they’d then also failed to try and remedy that, which became particularly egregious if they were the cause of it.

Crowley had tried, as much as he could, having to quieten his own inner turmoil, which had roared rather than burned or smouldered ever since he’d first seen the feather, to counteract it and cheer his angel up in any way he could think of and to some extent, it seemed to have worked. But there’d always been a smidgeon of that unhappiness lurking at the edges.

He had wanted to ask but had been afraid of the answer and so could mainly watch his angel and try to make it better.

But even so, it was evident when they talked over the phone one evening that the blond had gotten a job that would take him away from the bookshop. He didn’t say exactly where, which wasn’t unusual, but Crowley surmised from what he did say that it was at the very least outside of London.

Which meant that he would have at least a few hours to work with. That ought to be more than feasible to get the evidence he needed and put everything back just the way it was – and it didn’t matter if Aziraphale went early or late. He did have good night vision, after all.

It likely wouldn’t alter the outcome and it most certainly wouldn’t stop the emotional pain he was going through but at least this meant that he might just get some answers. Something concrete that he could work with.

At least then he’d know.

He told his aching heart that quite firmly. Repeatedly.

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It was dark by the time he made it into the shop.

He’d been loitering somewhere nearby all afternoon, the location picked so he could watch the bookshop without being spotted in turn, waiting for the angel to come out. A small part of him had worried that he’d see Aziraphale being sent off by his intended but the rest of him had reminded it that they’d already established his angel had yet to present the nest in question so it couldn’t be that.

When Aziraphale had finally come out around when twilight became dusk, he’d looked about him, which was odd, as he normally never did. Then he’d almost hurried off in a direction that thankfully didn’t take him past Crowley. Nor did he think he’d spotted him – but had he been looking for him? He didn’t know.

He’d waited another twenty minutes after that to make sure that he wasn’t coming back then had gone up to the doors.

When he’d gotten there, had been about to open the door, he’d hesitated again, that same feeling of nervousness and fear washing over him. What would he find? How far along exactly was the nest? Would there be small tokens of their, as in Aziraphale and the birdbrain, time together? Would more than one feather be placed there? Would –

No. No more speculations. Enough of that. He was here for clues that would provide him the answers he needed, so that he wouldn’t have to speculate. That also meant he couldn’t keep hesitating. He couldn’t let the fear prevent him from finding out, not when he finally had an opportunity to find out without Aziraphale knowing what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. The fact that it had been thoroughly locked was rather irrelevant. If he couldn’t enter somewhere that he wasn’t supposed to be, he would be a very poor demon indeed.

Once inside, his gaze immediately fell to the floor. But of course, there wouldn’t be any feather there. Why would there? It wasn’t exactly a practical place to have it for any length of time, especially not if you still had to pass over that piece of flooring. The thought of accidentally stepping on your own feather after it was no longer attached to you was difficult enough, but when you added in the risk that other people could tread on it, by accident or design, it was little wonder it wasn’t there.

He felt an urge to go search for it immediately but held himself back. That wasn’t the first priority. He’d already seen the feather; he knew it was there. Unless it was the feather belonging to the other angel, which he highly doubted given the circumstances, there were other things he needed to find out about first.

Taking another deep breath, he kept walking forward slowly, trying to take in as much about the room as possible. Simultaneously look at it as though he’d never seen it before and needed to commit every aspect to memory and keep all his memories of visiting the shop in his mind, so he’d be able to tell which pieces were out of place or had changed.

He knew the shop like the back of his hand but then, how often do you really look at the back of your own hand?

And so he began his investigation, his heart in his throat and deep in his stomach at the same time while he did so, keenly aware that what he found might prove what he didn’t want it to. Would almost invariably do so.

The books were the first thing he noticed, as they had been when he’d gotten more than an inkling of what was going on. Many of them had already been arranged in a more visually pleasing manner, spines lined up, colour-coded if possible, the hardbacks with other hardbacks and so on, then but now there was also something else. It was…prettier, too.

Not all the books were in the best condition, which was a hazard of finding first editions and other rare finds. Aziraphale preferred immaculate but would take a book in any state if it was one that he really wanted. Consequently, not all books lined up neatly or was even capable of standing on a shelf without gutting themselves. Add to that the books were stacked, more or less haphazardly, as often as they were properly shelved, and the bookshop normally resembled the cosiest, warmest, and oddest dragon hoard you could ever conceive of.

Not that Crowley minded. Quite the opposite, actually. It was not only extremely comfortable and relaxing to be in for him, despite the fact that he kept his own flat in such a spartan, pristine condition to make it seemly almost unlived in, which in a sense it was, it embodied its owner, which was only right.

Now, though, there wasn’t…all of that cosy clutter was…gone. Everything was shelved as neatly as possible, with the aforementioned visual appeal kept in mind, it seemed. The stacks of paper and general detritus of the TARDIS-like interior – and yes, of course Crowley was aware of that show, though the lanky sod they’d had on for a while had been a bit much – was almost gone.

It was, he supposed, far easier to see what there was, it was prettier and more appealing, at least to a general audience, of which he most certainly wasn’t part. Not when it came to this place or to Aziraphale himself. His own was a different matter altogether.

But to see this all spic and span and organised to within an inch of its life, that was wrong. It would be as if Aziraphale suddenly showed up sporting a completely modern and trendy suit and his hair was slicked back. Which was a mental image that just wouldn’t form in his mind.

Was that what would be next? If this was what his intended liked, would Aziraphale acquiesce to that style all the way through? But he’d always…his style was ornate yet homely, warm and cuddly, such a far cry from what Heaven dwellers wore. This clean, spartan look was more in style with Heaven’s minimalism and it felt horrible. As if what made Aziraphale his angel – the angel that he was and the one the demon knew, that was, not Crowley’s angel, however strong the wish – was being slowly scrubbed off of him to fit in.

But how could that be someone Aziraphale would fall for in the first place? Soft he may be, but he was anything but stupid, whatever he thought of the different sides and their representatives. He would see through somebody putting on a front like that…wouldn’t he? Even if that someone was another angel, people he tended to put more faith, aha, in than he did most anybody else and certainly more than he ought to, in Crowley’s anything but humble opinion.

The demon would say yes to the angel being that perceptive in a heartbeat, of course, and mean it, too. And yet…this whole new look to the shop did rather suggest that he could be swayed under the right circumstances.

Or maybe, just maybe it had more to do with how Aziraphale thought the other angel would like it rather than any real representation of that angel’s desires or wishes. That the blond would be working off of his conception of what he knew Heaven liked, perhaps without being entirely conscious of it.

As soon as he thought it, Crowley found himself clinging to that thought. No, he didn’t want the other angel to take what he’d been pining and wishing for through millennia, of course he bloody well didn’t! But if he had to give him up, at least in terms of a more romantic partner, then he wouldn’t accept anybody who wasn’t absolutely worthy of Aziraphale’s love.

More evidence was needed. Something that would speak of the both of them, together, evidence of what the one nesting so liked about the other. That would give him a better and more nuanced image of who this other angel was or at least, who Aziraphale thought they were.

Further into the bookshop he went, noting gold ornamentation and marble tops on wooden furniture that had definitely not been there previously and…were those pot plants? Why were there plants there, of all things? Who in Satan’s name among the ranks of birdbrains would have an interesting in horticulture?

Anger, in this case infused with indignation, once again wrapped around the hurt and shielded it, allowing him to press forward.

He found another feather and carefully examined it.

Although he hadn’t actually seen Aziraphale with his wings out on display since that fateful day of the Temptation and the First Rain – that occurrence earned its capitalisation and importance alongside ‘temptation’ purely due to the angel’s wing automatically coming up to shield the demon, the enemy, from something as innocent as rain, even if it was the first – he still remembered them quite vividly and knew, from this distance, that it belonged to Aziraphale rather than any other angel, without a shadow of a doubt.

It was tempting to reach out and touch it, to pick it up and pocket it, to keep something that was so personal and, well, intimate, for angels. So incredibly tempting but he managed to resist it, his fingers a few millimetres from it before he caught himself and wrench it away, taking a few steps backwards in the process.

He had told himself he wouldn’t leave any sign of having been in the shop gathering clues, and a missing feather would be a sign bent in neon with landing strips going to it from the four corners of the world.

That and he might start to leave it in his flat and pretend that Aziraphale had chosen him, which would be both ludicrous and, quite frankly, worrying, especially if it escalated. It was probably a remote risk, granted, but it was one he couldn’t afford to take.

So, he forced himself away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as far as they’d go, which admittedly wasn’t far, to keep them from reaching out on their own and take.

He could do this.

One thing that did puzzle him a lot – leaving aside the rest of it all for the moment – was why the nest had yet to be accepted and it was clear beyond doubt now that it hadn’t been accepted yet as there was no indication of an angel feather that wasn’t Aziraphale’s own.

It wasn’t as though neither angels nor demons had long transportation times upstairs or downstairs, respectively, even if they didn’t take the immediate route coming down from above through lightning or up from below through the ground.

Plus, it was reasonable to assume that the angel in question would’ve come down to visit Aziraphale – and that was a thought Crowley needed to veer away from almost as soon as he’d thought it or he’d likely start to build upon that picture, which he did not need – at least a few times before the blond had begun to nest. That meant they would know the way, even if they hadn’t been to the shop itself, which seemed doubtful, and they could travel there both easily and quickly.

So, why, after such a relatively long time since he’d seen the feather, never mind when he’d first suspected, had it still not been accepted? It definitely hadn’t been rejected as everything was still there for Crowley to see and the emotions that he’d seen on his angel’s face didn’t match what he expected it to look like had he been rejected. But was Aziraphale still perfecting it? Was it that he hadn’t shown it to his intended – which isn’t you and will never be you, so get over it already – yet because he didn’t feel ready?

But there was hardly anything more that could be done to it! He hadn’t been into every nook and cranny yet, far from it, but as someone who was almost as familiar with the shop as the owner himself, owing to the amount of times he’d been here over the years and the time he’d spent in it when he’d been, he could tell there’d been plenty of changes and additions, even beyond what he’d already spotted.

So, why? What on earth, or Heaven or Hell for that matter, was lacking or wrong or otherwise the matter with this nest since Aziraphale had yet to present it to the angel he’d fallen for this quick and hard? It made absolutely no sense and what was more, it made Crowley worried for his angel. To get to this level of changes and improvements, if that was the kind of stuff you liked, of course, and still not feel confident about the nest…?

His heart clenched hard and painfully but not for his own sake this time.

His angel deserved so much more. He deserved…no, not the world, they had quite enough on their hands as it was just trying to look out for humanity, thank-you-very-much, but whatever was the good equivalent of that.

He was just about to go further into the back and get a proper look at the sofa, to see whether more changes had been made – at least, that was what he told himself – when he heard the door open. At that point, he was quite far away from the front door but despite that, in the silence of the room he could hear the quiet click and rattle of the old door opening.

For a moment, he tensed in the belief that he’d not locked the door, and therefore had a sudden intruder. That’d just figure, wouldn’t it?

Then he inhaled, which made him tense further into outright frozen as he recognised who it was. It didn’t matter that there was distance between him and the door nor that residual traces were everywhere in the shop, he knew that smell as well as he did his own. Better than, possibly.

No. No, no, no, no! It couldn’t be. Not yet. There wasn’t any doubt, but it just couldn’t be. For fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be away for at least several more hours, even if it wasn’t that far out from London. Public transport was never fast nor efficient, that was the whole ruddy point! Crowley had seen to that decades ago.

Though still frozen, Crowley managed to check his watch, his expensive, handcrafted watch, and sure enough, it proclaimed that it wasn’t more than a couple of hours after Aziraphale’s departure. He wasn’t supposed to be back yet!

And yet, sure enough – his heart was in his throat, beating a rhythm that threatened to short out on him any minute as he stood as still as a salt pillar.

“Hello?” that so familiar voice called out. “Is there anyone there? Hello?”

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