The Angel's Curse

How It Should Have Went

Crowley didn't move. Adam went to stand by him, Dog following cautiously and giving Aziraphale and Essie a wide berth. The little hellhound didn't much like angels.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at Essie. She got his meaning and went to sit down on the sofa next to where Anathema stood. Anathema herself followed suit, lowering herself onto the cushions beside her.

"If you think I'm going to listen to a single word that whore has to say, you are sorely mistaken," hissed Crowley hotly, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Essie grinned broadly at him.

Adam caught Aziraphale's gaze. The boy's eyes said, "He's serious. There's no way you're gonna get him to listen to what she says, so you're gonna have to tell him yourself."

Aziraphale blinked, for a moment a bit confused as to how Adam's eyes had communicated those words into his mind, then realized that he was right. There was no way Crowley would hear Essie out.

Aziraphale waded through the slog of tension that filled the room, grabbed Crowley by the elbow, and yanked him unceremoniously into the back room. The door slammed shut behind them.

Everyone watched silently. Then Anathema said quietly to Essie, "It's a whole... thing with those two. I'm sure Aziraphale will get through to him."

Essie only glanced at her with a raised eyebrow in return. She turned her green gaze to Adam, fascinated. "You're the Antichrist, then?"

Adam shrugged. "Sort of?"

The tension turned to awkwardness as Essie was at a loss for any response more substantial than a nod.

After a bit, Dog went over to sniff at a pile of books. As he did, there was a few thumps from the back room.

"What was that?" asked Anathema.

"I wouldn't worry about it," replied Essie with a sly tone. "I think it just means that they got through to each other."

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"Angel--" Crowley protested as Aziraphale kicked the door shut with his heel.

"Shut your mouth," snapped Aziraphale shortly, stunning the demon into silence. "Listen to me and listen closely, boy, because I am only going to say it once."

He jerked at his bowtie pointedly, then without further ado marched purposefully up to Crowley, seized the lapels of his leather jacket, and shoved him roughly against the wall. He reflected that it was remarkably satisfying to switch places, and then did what Crowley should have done during that so-called intimate moment in Tadfield Manor, what Aziraphale had wanted him to do, had even expected him to do, but they had been interrupted.

Crowley just stood there for a few seconds, in danger of short circuiting again. Then he recovered himself, and returned it passionately. His eyes fell closed, and Aziraphale felt his hands grab his face and neck, pulling him in.

They would have stayed there like that for as long as they both needed, but quite frankly that might have been centuries, and there was little time to spare as it were. Aziraphale bowed his head, breaking away, and took Crowley's hand from his face. Both were trembling a little.

"Angel, I'm sorry," whispered the demon.

Aziraphale looked up at him. "And I forgive you. Always, I forgive you. It wasn't your fault."

Crowley's head snapped up. "What d'you mean, not my fault? She tempted me, I gave in! How's it not my fault?"

Aziraphale gazed at him a moment, then led him by the hand to a sofa crammed in a corner of the back room. "I'm going to explain it to you," he said. "This goes much deeper than you think. It seems we are going to have to stop Armageddon again."