Forget Me Not

I don't know you

Although Crowley doesn't sleep most nights he still operates fine. When he does sleep, though, he can sleep for several days at a time. Anthony falls asleep after watch shopping on Saturday morning and doesn't get out of bed until Monday.

If there was ever a time to hate mornings this was the time. He could've slept another day but no. He has to go to work. Crowley takes his time waking up and getting ready. Easy to say, he didn't make it to the pre-work meeting.

Today is one of those days where his mood doesn't increases throughout. He started the day in a sour mood and kept it with him. Crowley does his best to stay to himself.

Staying to yourself doesn't include customers, though. They don't really feel like real people, just walking pay checks. Crowley starts off rusty and fumbles the woman looking for a Mercedes. The day is not going well at all.

Crowley takes a long lunch and goes to St. James park to feed the ducks. This always puts him in a better mood. It's a little after 1 when he gets back and he's determined that the day's going to go better. It isn't 15 minutes later that a 60-some year old man walks in with a woman who could be his granddaughter. Discreetly Rory and Crowley flip a coin for it. Crowley seems to always win coin-tosses.

Crowley rushes to greet them, "hi, welcome in! My name's Anthony Crowley but you can call me Tony if you'd like." He wears a devilish smile. The old man introduces himself as Mr. Sinclair and his fiancé as Chloe. Even from those minor interactions Anthony is calculating how to make this sale.

He thinks the best sell will come from subtly patronizing him. "So are we just looking today?" Crowley knows this man has the means to buy but that's not the game.

Mr. Sinclair plays along perfectly, "I'm looking for something for my honey. I'm definitely going to be buying, the question is just if it'll be from you."

Crowley smiles politely, "well let's see what we can do. Your fiancé deserve luxury and that's just what we pride ourselves on here at St. James!"

Half an hour later Crowley's gotten the future Mrs. Sinclair set on an Aston Martin with all the bells and whistles. Mr. Sinclair can't back down. Like fish in a barrel, he thinks as he leads her to the conclusion that rear privacy glass is a must.

A voice calls Crowley's name from across the lot. It isn't his first name or nickname. It isn't even Mr. Crowley. The man addresses him solely as "Crowley."

Anthony turns to see who's calling him. No one ever addresses him by his last name. A man in a long coat that's been out of style for a century walks his way. He's smiling ear to ear.

As he approaches, he speaks in a loving but urgent manner. "Oh, thank goodness! I've been looking for you everywhere," he speaks directly at Anthony as if they were alone. The stranger glides right into Crowley's personal bubble, causing him to step way back.

Crowley glances him up and down as he continues to speak, apparently unaware of his audience's astonishment. "I went by your flat and the doorman said that no one by your description had lived there in years!" Crowley is too shocked to say anything. The man finally takes notice to the stunned look on his counterpart's face. His lively demeanor falls. "Oh, Crowley, I know I've messed up and I'm terribly sorry. You have every right to be furious with me but right now I need your help," he says in a beseeching voice. His expression is so pain-stricken that it leaves Crowley speechless, more-so than he already was.

It's Mr. Sinclair that speaks. He clears his throat, "excuse me! We're in the middle of something here."

The strange man gives him a nasty look and says, "very well, you're quite excused."

This brings Crowley back to his senses. He remembers the massive commission he just racked up. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I'm not sure who you are but this is a place of business and you're being rude and disruptive." He then turns to Mr. Sinclair and his fiancé and places a hand to his chest, "sir, ma'am, I apologize for this- whatever this is. I don't know this man."

The peculiar man furrows his brow and speaks in a heavier tone, "Crowley! I-"

Crowley puts his hand out to stop the man from speaking further. "You- would you give me just a moment to take care of this?" He turns to the interruption, "sir," he says in an aggressive manner, "if you'd come with me."

Crowley leads the stranger to the edge of the lot. He wants the man gone so he can finish his sale but also is overcome with curiosity.

"Crowley, what are you doing?" The unwelcome guest places a hand on Crowley's elbow as they march away from the store.

Crowley jerks his arm away and whips around to look at the man. He puts his arm out to ward off the stranger. "How- who are you you? Stop acting like you know me." Crowley inhales sharply, "You need to leave."

"Quit being silly. It's me," he puts on a small nervous smile, "it's Aziraphale."

Crowley knows that name. It was too odd to forget. It's what the kid at the bookshop said. "I'm not sure what sort of con you and that book clerk are trying to pull but I'm not buying it. Think I'll trust you cause you know my last name?" His fists are balled but really he feels so scared. He's worried that he might be visibly shaking, "and if you or that- that kid ever contact me again... I'll- you need to leave."

Aziraphale wears a pleading expression, "Crowley, please. You know me and I know you." He thinks for a second, "Anthony, you know me. It's me, Aziraphale!" His voice threatens to break.

Crowley does not know this person but something inside him wishes that he did. His heart is beating quickly. Warm familiarity wafts off this Aziraphale person. His soft features and pale eyes feel inviting and safe but Crowley still feels fear. Could these people be from one of those missing parts? I don't know him but he knows me. No! Im not crazy.

Anthony feels his lip quiver. He isn't afraid of what's in front of him, but what inside of him. "I don't know you," he says quietly.

Aziraphale doesn't know what to make of all of this. He begins to reach up to touch Crowley's arm but he pulls away as soon as the hand comes towards him. "Who did this to you?" Aziraphale asks more to himself than Crowley. "Where's your memory, Crowley?"

My memory? How does he know? There's buzzing in Anthony's ears. He thinks he's going to have a panic attack. "You need to leave. Now," Crowley takes several steps back before saying quietly, "leave me alone," then turning and rushing back to the dealership.

Crowley arrives to find the Sinclairs waiting, annoyed, inside. At first he walks right past them. "Oh yeah," he says to himself. "Sir, ma'am," Crowley puts his hands together as if praying, "I'm so terribly sorry about this, I'm going to have to have another associate finish your sale. Just a-"

Crowley's legs feel weak as he moves to Rory's desk. "Hey," his voice is shaky, "I- uh- need you to take this sale. It's um- it's," there are other things on his mind. He finally gets out, "it's the DBX for Mr. Sinclair. Full package."

By the time Rory processed what he said Crowley's got his keys and is introducing him to the customer. "This is Rory Iverson, he's going to finish you up." With that Crowley is out the door, pale-skinned and shaky.

***
Finally we get to see Aziraphale! Okay, I hope you guys are enjoying the fic and thank you for reading!