Good Omens: War Times (Aziraphale x Crowley)

Chapter One: Double Agent

London, 1941

Two people strolled into the A. Z. Fell & Co. Bookshop and Aziraphale froze with a sudden dreadful terror. His heart all but leaped from his chest at the mere sight of them. It had happened before; he could recognize them now. It had taken some time to pinpoint their distinctions, but he knew them all too well. The slightly jutted out chin, the strait-laced shoulders, and the fierce smile plastered on their lips, all brimming with confidence like they had caught the scent of prey in the air. He could almost smell the reek of greed emanating from their tailored suits. They were the worst of the worst; the beasts that roamed the planet always hungry for more, and always willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted.

Book buyers.

Today, it was a woman, not quite into her thirties, with a scarlet suit and perfectly pinned dark hair. Her eyes gave her away. They flashed with an unending determination. Someone had told her, Aziraphale thought with bitter regret. Someone had told her that he had whatever book she was after.

The man beside her was a stockier build with broad shoulders and lean hips. His jaw held a hint of stubble as though he liked a bit of gruff on purpose. Something about him sent the angel's nerves on edge, not quite alarmed, but perhaps something akin to the natural order. Like when one predator makes eye contact with another. He didn't like the man at all.

The pair made their way over to him by the counter. Aziraphale had just finished updating his catalog with his newest additions he'd purchased from an auction. He adored his new Mary Shelley novel, signed copy, of course.

His hands pressed over the open book as though they had just caught him with his pants down and he was attempting to cover his decency. The man smirked at him and removed his dark fedora, revealing slick black hair. "I take it you are the owner of this establishment."

Aziraphale snorted. He would not give up his darlings without a proper fight. "Oh, no, not me. I'm actually the owner of an elite gentleman's club just down the way. But, I often come here in my downtime to pilfer through these books and cause their owner a great deal of grief and frustration."

The man actually laughed at that. Perhaps, Aziraphale was being a bit tetchy. The man did have a rather pleasant voice.

The woman gave a small cough and smiled at him. "I do apologize, sir. My name is Rose Montgomery, and this is my associate Mr. Anguis."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow at them before snapping his book closed. "No first name for you?" He flicked his gaze at the man, then removed his round spectacles and placed them on the counter.

"Malcolm Anguis. Or, just Anguis, if you like."

Rose extended her hand out. "It really is quite a pleasure to meet you. We've heard all about the fascinating book collector of SoHo. You really have a truly remarkable reputation."

Aziraphale grimaced and slid the catalog onto a shelf below the counter. "Please, I doubt I have anything quite as extraordinary as that."

"I've heard," Anguis drawled, tapping his fingers on the edge of the wooden counter, "that your powers to come by rare books are almost divine. We could really use someone like that, with such a rare gift."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at that. Whoever was spreading such rumors around about him was going to get a good tongue-lashing next time they met, he suspected the origin of his grief came from a particular wily serpent. But it had been decades since they last spoke, and it hadn't ended well. He couldn't help the way his brows knitted together with concern when he thought of him. They really had a rather nasty fight when they had last spoken. And, if Aziraphale were being honest with himself, he wished he could apologize, not for caring about him getting discorporated, of course, but for...other words, accusations.

"You all right?" Anguis stood, staring at him with one of his eyebrows raised. A bit of what could have been concern played across his face. Aziraphale didn't think he would've been the type for worrying over others.

The angel forced away his past uncertainties. He didn't need his concern for Crowley distracting him while crafty book buyers had slunk into his bookshop. "Fine, thank you. Just wondering what size book to whack over the head of the dolt spreading such rumors about me."

Rose chuckled at him and placed a hand on his arm. "Oh, such a charmer. I had no idea the owner of such a beautiful shop had such a witty way with words."

Aziraphale returned her smile. "Oh, well. You know. Read enough, and the words have a way of seeping into one's life. They are quite wonderful like that. So, um, I doubt you came here for a bit of witty banter. How may I help you?"

Rose nodded to her associate, appearing excited that they were moving on to business. Yet, it made Aziraphale's stomach sour at the thought. "Well," she began, "We are actually here on behalf of British Military Intelligence."

"Oh." Aziraphale had not been expecting that. He hoped he could help without, of course, selling them anything. It would probably take a miracle.

"We need your help, Mr. Fell." Rose gave him a near pleading look. "There is a group of undercover Nazis here in London. We believe they were sent here to procure a list of books to take back to Germany. We also believe they will be in contact with you soon as your reputation is well known, even in the underground."

"Oh, dear." Aziraphale hadn't thought of that either. He'd rather hoped to stay out of any war business unless Heaven requested it.

Anguis tilted his head at him. His jovial air shifted to something much more severe. "There's a good chance they'll be dropping by your shop sometime this week. If you're alright with it, we need you to play along and let us know what they are after specifically."

Aziraphale brightened at the prospect. "So," he licked his lips. His eyes beamed with nearly uncontrollable glee. "You're saying, you, you want me to be a spy?" He wiggled on the spot, bringing his hands to clasp in front of his chest. "Like in those thrilling action novels? Do I get to wear a suit? Perhaps a dashing hat for effect. Oh! Do I get a code name? I'd rather like the name Nightingale, or perhaps, something like that."

Rose placed a hand on the counter between them. Her smile had been replaced with a lip line of worry. "Mr. Fell, this really is a serious matter. This isn't like in those storybooks at all. There could be rather serious and dangerous consequences should you agree to help us."

Anguis nodded at his associate. "This isn't something to take lightly. You can't go into it thinking it's like a bloody spy book, or you'll get yourself killed."

Aziraphale deflated as he realized the truth of their words. He would still help them, of course. But what did it matter if he got himself discorporated? "It's not like," he swallowed away the hurt that threatened to bubble up from his throat. "It's not like I have anyone that would be upset by it, if something did happen to me, not anymore at least."

Rose gave him a sympathetic smile. "We've all lost someone. That's the unfortunate thing about war."

Anguis shifted, glancing out the storefront windows. "Sorry to hear that. Did they mean a lot to you?"

Aziraphale lowered his hands and clenched the edge of the desk with his fists. He didn't want to admit it to them, but it was none the less true. He could only ignore his rising grief and pang in his heart for so long. If years hadn't gone by, then perhaps he could've lied and said they weren't even friends, or even that he really didn't care. But he had lost too many tears to those lies to find the energy to speak them.

"He meant the world to me."