Doing All Right * * *
Doing All Right
by Edmondia Dantes

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not making money. What a sad life I've got. Speaking of sad, this is the companion piece to Headlong, only from Crowley's point of view. Slashy. Very slashy.

* * *


Yes.  He had been very very stupid.  Downright moronic.  What a fool.


Stupid stupid stupid him.  Stupid him for feeling this way, stupid him for doing something about it, and stupid stupid him for feeling so helpless and hopeless now.


And the worst part was, it hadn't even been planned.  It had started oh-so-innocently - but then, nearly everything did where his angel was concerned.

Just another night spent in Zira's company, just another night of laughter and happiness and getting completely plastered.

It had been good wine.  Quite tasty.  Yes.  And old.  Decidedly yummy.

And, stupid him, he'd gone and gotten himself roaring drunk.  And his angel had done the same.  That had been nice.  Warm fuzziness, a delightedly blurred mind, and his angel all nice and giddy and pretty in the low lighting.

So he'd been stupid, but it wasn't entirely his fault.  It was partly Aziraphale's fault.  He had been the one smiling that smile - that mellow, relaxed, beautiful smile, thhe one that made Crowley's knees liquefy and his brain turn to mush.  And if that weren't enough, he'd been draped lazily across Crowley's couch, long legs splayed comfortably over the side, chin cupped elegantly in one hand, wineglass clasped loosely in the other.  And his pale bangs had been drifting lazily over his forehead and teasing his brilliant eyes.

Yes.  It was 'Zira's fault for being all pretty and wonderful and alluring and innocent and stuff.

But he was still stupid for initiating the tickling match.  That had been the silly product of a twisted mind that slyly suggested that this was a completely innocuous and fun way to get close to that vision of loveliness and purity that was giggling and hiccuping at the same time.

So they'd wound up on the ground in a mass of arms and legs and feathers, laughing and tickling and acting like small children.  It had been fun.  They'd discovered that their wings were incredibly sensitive, and had managed to tumble head over feet in a desperate attempt to make the other burst out laughing.  Yes, it had been better than fun.  Wonderful.  Amazing.  Perfect.

And somewhere along the way he'd gotten tangled against his angel, fingers caught in Aziraphale's honey hair, and he'd just gaped for a moment, struck by the reality of his situation.

Sprawled next to his darling angel on the floor, slim arms wrapped around him, bright blue eyes and petal-soft lips not an inch away, warm and comfortable and with a tingly feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Wow.  'Zira was very comfy.  And warm.  And gorgeous.  And soft.  His hair smelled clean.  And summery.  And nice.  And perfect.

Then he'd done something really, really, really stupid.  He'd gone and kissed his angel.

And stupid Aziraphale had gone and kissed him back.

His memory went a bit hazy after that.  He remembered deep, fruit-flavored kisses, hungry and smoldering, the sleek caress of feathers against his skin, and the shy, seeking touch of delicate fingers drifting across his chest.  That had been better than nice, better than wonderful, better than anything.

And somewhere in the middle of all that niceness, somewhere between heaven and hell, he had done the stupidest thing of all.

"'Zira..." he mumbled against his angel's neck, pausing in the midst of laying soft kisses against that fair skin, "'Zira, I love you."

Aziraphale abruptly stiffened, the flush draining from his porcelain skin.  His big blue eyes, so sparkling a moment before, went completely blank.

Crowley blinked, startled out of his happy giddy state, and stared at Aziraphale in shock.

"'Zira?" he questioned, pulling gently away from his angel.

He caught his breath in a gasp as he went tumbling against the couch.  His sweet, innocent angel had shoved him?  "'Zira..." he breathed, watching the angel stagger to his feet, wings spread to aid his balance.

For a moment, all was silent.  Crowley's heart had somehow gotten stuck in his throat, and the other was standing so still he might have been a statue.  What had happened?

Then Aziraphale gave a shuddering sob, turned, and fled out the door, not bothering to even cinch in his wings.

He wasn't aware of what he was doing until he found himself hanging uselessly out of the doorway and plaintively wailing, "Aziraphale!"

Silence and the night were the only reply.

His angel was gone.

Had run away.  From him.

After he'd finally managed to put into words what he had felt for who knew how long.  After he'd spilled his soul to the one person he thought understood him - he had thought... hoped...  But no.

Aziraphale didn't love him back.

His angel didn't love him.


Crowley crumpled to the ground and sobbed, wrapping his wings protectively around himself.

Aziraphale - his Aziraphale, his wonderful, beautiful, gentle Aziraphale - had run away.

Stupid him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid him.

How could he have been such an idiot?


He cried for a very long time afterwards, curled up in a miserable ball on the floor for hours.

And even as he picked himself up, scrubbed vainly at his eyes, even as he made his clumsy way over to the phone, even as he punched in the numbers with a trembling hand, even through all of this his head was spinning and his throat was dry and he knew he was going to barf.  So this was what heartbreak tasted like.

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists against the pain.  So stupid.

When the soft tones of the answering machine picked up, he nearly burst into tears again.

But instead he took in an unsteady breath and questioned hesitantly, "Aziraphale?"



Stupid, stupid, stupid him.

"Angel, please... please..."

So very, very stupid.

* * *


Back to 'Headlong'
On to 'Under Pressure'
Back to Micellaneous Fanfic
Back to Fanfic
Back Home