Title: Forget-me-not
Author: gothikmaus
Fandom: Good Omens (TV)
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Category: Romance, angst, humour, 5+1 things
Summary: How many times will he have to do this before he learns to keep his fucking mouth shut? Or: Five times they erased each other's memory after accidentally confessing their love, plus one time they didn't.
A/N: Fic written for the following Good Omens Kink Meme prompt:
Aziraphale/Crowley; Memory Erasure, Crack
They are two big anxious idiots, so whenever they accidentally confessed to each other they erased that from the other's memory. Like, it's a back and forth thing and they both had no idea they both confessed to each other throughout history. Nothing bad comes of it cause they only erased a few minutes of memories. Just, gimme them being fueled by one brain cell.
Link to original prompt on DW.
Carnival outfit inspired by this amazing fanart.
Good Omens is © Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
The first time it happens, the Plague is raging all over Europe. It's so bad both Aziraphale and Crowley think it may be Pestilence warming up for Armageddon, but neither has received any news from their respective offices, so they keep their doubts to themselves. Better let sleeping dogs lie.
They bump into each other in a small tavern in the English countryside: Aziraphale has just finished blessing a family mourning the death of a loved one; Crowley had to tempt the local squire.
"Are you absolutely sure this isn't God being mad with the locals again?" the demon asks, already on his way to getting sloshed on brown ale.
"I... Er. Don't think so?" The angel is not quite as drunk, but he's reached the 'pleasantly tipsy' stage and a slight slur is starting to creep into his speech. "I mean, I would have received a memo at least."
"Whatever. As long as She doesn't start drowning kids again."
"Anyway, I'm sure something good will come out of this."
"Oh, yeah? Like what? Rats will finally become the dominant species on the planet? I've always liked the little guys, very smart and resilient."
Aziraphale frowns.
"No. Art, for instance. Literature. I heard an Italian author is working on a collection of novellas set in Florence: ten young people take shelter against the plague in a secluded villa and tell each other tales every day to keep themselves entertained. Such an original idea, I'd love to get my hands on it when it's published. Maybe some English writer could do something similar? They could set the story here, Canterbury is quite a lovely village."
Crowley shakes his head and smiles despite himself.
"See, angel? This is why I love you: you can find the positive side even in the middle of such a catastrophe."
It takes him a couple of seconds to realise what he's just said. As soon as he does, he feels the colour drain from his face.
"You... You what?"
He acts on impulse: he presses the tips of index and middle finger against the centre of Aziraphale's forehead, blue eyes glazing over as Crowley wipes the last minute from the angel's memory. His hand is shaking as he slowly pulls it back. He's not completely sure the process worked, it's the first time he's tried it on an angel.
Aziraphale's eyes focus again and he blinks a few times.
"I'm sorry, you were saying?"
"I said only an angel could find the positive side in the middle of a catastrophe," Crowley replies, sounding much calmer than he actually feels.
"Well, yes. It might look like it's an awful thing, but I'm sure it's all part of the..."
"Don't," the demon growls. "Just don't."
Aziraphale lifts an eyebrow but doesn't comment, taking another sip of his beer instead.
As the conversation flows and the angel seems to be completely oblivious of what has just happened, Crowley slowly starts to relax again. He can't believe he slipped like that, he's always so careful. He blames his faux pas on the dreadful overall situation: first The Great Famine, then the seemingly endless war between England and France and now this bloody plague. Hell is fucking jubilant, of course, and everyone's complimenting him on a series of outstanding results (hunger turned even the meekest, most pious people into ferocious cannibals; the war feels like it could go on for at least a hundred years and the plague is decimating Europe's population, leaving the few survivors miserable and hopeless). But the truth is, the former serpent of Eden didn't have to lift a finger: bad weather, rat fleas and human ambition were more than enough to devastate a whole continent.
Crowley chugs the rest of his ale and orders another one. He really hates the 14th century.
*****
The second time it happens, Carnival is in full swing. Aziraphale is standing on a balcony, enjoying the sight of narrow streets and canals, the sky a kaleidoscope of gold, orange and pink. He sighs happily and pops a pastry into his mouth.
"Fancy seeing you here, angel."
He almost chokes on the sweet. Crowley is standing right behind him, chin resting on his shoulder. The angel takes a step forward and turns round. The demon is grinning at him, the top half of his face hidden behind a black mask. Black lace is partially covering his serpentine eyes and two little horns seem to protrude from his forehead.
"Are you disguised as a demon?"
"I thought I was being very clever, hidden in plain sight and all that. Looks like I wasn't the only one."
"Er."
Aziraphale is holding a white mask in front of his face, stylised wings with multiple eyes adorning its sides. A pair of white wings is also stuck to his back, more eyes completing the look.
"I didn't know you had an assignment here," Crowley eventually says, saving the angel from further embarrassment.
"Oh, I'm not here on official business. I've heard a lot about the Venice Carnival and wanted to see it with my own eyes."
"Ah, yes, the fantastic period of utter depravity leading to Lent. I still can't believe it's actually endorsed by the Church."
"Now, depravity is a strong word."
"I took part in a ball last night. At least three women were flashing their ankles and calves to anyone who asked. A priest was there too and he looked like he was enjoying himself quite a lot."
"What are you doing here anyway?" Aziraphale asks, trying to change the subject. Crowley can see right through him, but decides to let it slide.
"I was sent to tempt a young man, a certain Giacomo Casanova. But let me tell you, he didn't even need the slightest encouragement."
"I've heard of him, bit of a troublemaker."
"Nah, that's what old, boring people say. He's an adventurer! He's full of life! I like the bloke, he's going places."
"He's a... Libertine," Aziraphale adds in a whisper.
"He's just spreading the love! Aren't you angels supposed to be all about love?"
"That's different!" Aziraphale sputters, sounding affronted. "We are full of divine love."
"And you love all of God's creatures."
"Precisely."
"That's exactly what he does! He doesn't discriminate: tall, short, blond, dark-haired..."
Aziraphale lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother talking to you."
Crowley grins.
"Because you love me."
"Yes," the angel replies, sounding resigned.
He immediately covers his mouth with both hands and looks up at Crowley. The demon is staring at him, yellow eyes huge behind the black lace of his mask. Aziraphale swiftly moves forward and grabs Crowley's face with both hands. The demon gasps, eyes fluttering closed. Aziraphale really hopes it will work, he has never erased a demon's memory before. He just needs to make sure he doesn't take out too much. After a few seconds, he lets go of Crowley's face and goes back to where he was standing. By the time Crowley opens his eyes again, Aziraphale has already put on his best annoyed expression.
"Are you quite done singing that fornicator's praises?"
"You're no fun," the demons whines. "And here I was, thinking of inviting you to a lovely little coffee house I saw on the way here. But maybe that's not a morally acceptable activity?"
Aziraphale feels himself relax. Perhaps it did work.
"As long as there's no fornication involved."
"That, I cannot guarantee. It is Carnival after all: everything is allowed."
"In that case I would just have to come along and make sure no questionable acts are taking place, wouldn't I?"
Crowley grins and takes a bow.
"After you, mighty angel."
*****
The third times it happens, they have just had their first real fight. Crowley's furious, pacing his living room and muttering to himself angrily.
"That bloody... Stupid... Self-righteous... I can't believe I cut my nap short to talk to him, I was about to set a new record. But it's my fault. What was I expecting? That he would just hand it to me with a little ribbon on top? Here, Crowley," he adds, mocking Aziraphale's tone. "Have this most precious holy water. Oh, no need to thank me, dear, you know I'd do anything for you."
"I don't sound like that."
Crowley whips around and finds Aziraphale standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to check on you. You seemed quite upset, I was worried you might do something reckless."
"Like what, rob a church?"
Aziraphale sighs.
"Crowley, please..."
"No. One favour, Aziraphale. I ask you just one single favour in six thousand bloody years and you refuse."
"How can I give you something that could wipe you out of existence? It wouldn't be just discorporation, Crowley: you'd be gone. Forever."
"And that's precisely why I need it!"
Aziraphale bites into his lower lip and shakes his head.
"I'm sorry, Crowley. I can't."
Crowley is exhausted. He doesn't even have the strength to be angry any more. He sits down at his writing desk and takes his head in his hands.
"Then leave. I'll just go back to sleep, maybe by the time I wake up again I won't need it any more because the world would have already ended."
"Crowley..."
The demon doesn't reply. He feels the faint trace of ethereal power as the angel disappears, leaving him alone at last. His shoulders slump and he groans into his palms. He tries hard to stay angry with Aziraphale, but the more he thinks about his worried expression, the more guilty he feels.
"Great, just fucking great. I can't even be mad with him. Isn't Wrath supposed to be a sin? Pathetic." He sighs. "This is what I get for falling in love with an angel."
He hears a soft thump and looks up. Aziraphale is standing in the middle of the room, staring at him with a comically shocked expression.
"I... Forgot my hat."
The hat in question is lying on the floor next to the angel's right foot, completely forgotten. Crowley is on his feet in an instant. Aziraphale's eyes are impossibly wide as the demon grabs his head with both hands, thumbs pressed firmly against his temples. His pupils glaze over, just like they did more than five hundred years earlier, and Crowley has to look away.
When he's confident every trace of his unintentional confession has been removed from the angel's mind, he hurries back to his desk.
Aziraphale blinks back to consciousness, looking lost at first. He opens and closes his hands, as if expecting to hold something in them.
"I... Er. Forgot something."
"Your hat?" Crowley asks, looking pointedly at the floor near the angel's feet.
Aziraphale glances down.
"Ah, yes. Thank you, old boy."
He leans down and picks it up, running his fingertips nervously along the brim.
"I'll, er, be on my way then."
Crowley doesn't speak.
"Right."
Aziraphale gathers his angelic power and casts one last quick glance in Crowley's direction.
"Do be careful. Please."
The demons doesn't say a word.
*****
The fourth time it happens, they are standing among the debris of a bombed church, smoke slowly dissipating as the fire dies down, leaving only a few scattered flames flickering in the darkness of the London night. Crowley isn't hopping comically from foot to foot any more, because the place is no longer consecrated ground: it's just a heap stone and dust, chunks of cracked marble and burnt wood lying all around them. Aziraphale is clutching a leather bag full of books to his chest and his mouth opens of its own accord.
"I love you."
It's barely a whisper, but Crowley stops dead in his tracks. He turns around and looks straight at him. The angel can feel the golden eyes burn behind the sunglasses.
"What did you say?"
He panics. He briskly closes the distance separating them, heart threatening to hammer its way out of his chest, and raises a hand to the side of Crowley's face, the other one still gripping the bag handle tightly. The demon's eyes are hidden behind black lenses, but Aziraphale can see his thin lips parting slightly, his shoulders relaxing. The angel screws his eyes shut as he removes every trace of his confession from Crowley's mind.
He can't believe he's doing this again. And it's even worse this time: it's not just a slip of the tongue like that time in Venice; he has actually said the words. For almost two hundred years he's carefully avoided thinking about that little incident, dismissing it as meaningless: the demon had simply caught him off guard and he had answered without thinking. He's an angel, he loves everyone by default. He had probably overreacted when he had erased Crowley's memory, but what was done was done, no point in dwelling on it.
But this is different: when Crowley handed him the bag with the books, Aziraphale felt so completely, unmistakeably and devastatingly full of love, he just couldn't help himself.
When he's done, he takes a few steps back and waits. The demon closes his mouth and straighten his shoulders, tilting his head to the side as if trying to get rid of a crick.
"I'm sorry, my ears are still ringing from the explosion. What did you say?"
"I said I owe you. Not only did you save me from discorporation and an awful lot of paperwork, you also thought of the books. That was very kind of you."
"Cut it out," he grunts and starts to walk away.
Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief.
"Oi, angel! You coming?"
He puts on his sooty hat and follows him.
*****
The fifth time it happens, they're sitting in the Bentley, the bright neon lights flashing outside painting the Soho night with broad strokes of hot pink, burnt orange and acid green. Crowley is gingerly holding a tartan Thermos full of holy water, yellow eyes wide behind his round sunglasses. He can't believe Aziraphale finally caved in. He's actually quite touched. The least he can do is offer him a lift, but the angel is being particularly stubborn and keeps refusing.
And then he drops the bomb.
"What the hell?"
Aziraphale turns to him, startled.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard perfectly. What the hell is thatsupposed to mean?"
The angel has the decency to look embarrassed.
"You know I'm not a big fan of your driving," he mutters, studiously not looking at him.
"And we both know this is not about my driving."
"Crowley..."
"I just want to do something for you in return. Why do you have to be so difficult?"
"And why do you have to be so insistent?"
"Because I love you, dammit!"
Crowley is so surprised by his own accidental admission he almost drops the Thermos. For an endless second, he's tempted to leave things as they are, his feelings brutally out in the open, to see how Aziraphale will react. But then he catches the angel's expression, a sorrowful combination of longing and regret, and his heart gives a painful squeeze.
He can't do this to him. He reaches across the car seat and touches Aziraphale's forehead, just like he did the first time, hundreds of years earlier. How many times will he have to do this before he learns to keep his fucking mouth shut?
He's not even sure how much he has actually removed by the time he withdraws his hand. He sits in silence, holy water clutched to his chest, and waits for Aziraphale to come round. When the blue eyes focus on him again, a bittersweet smile slowly spreads across the angel's face.
"Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz."
Crowley gives it one last, desperate try, because that's just how he is.
"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go."
Aziraphale's expression only grows sadder.
"You go too fast for me, Crowley."
The demon doesn't comment this time and watches in silence as the angel gets off the car.
*****
And then it doesn't happen. The world hasn't ended and they're on their way to have lunch at the Ritz. Aziraphale is so happy and full of love he's afraid he may actually burst, leaving only a handful of white angelic feathers fluttering down on the pavement in his place. He can't hold back, not any more.
"Crowley," he says, gently grabbing the demon's wrist. "Before we go, there's something I need to tell you."
Crowley stops and turns towards him. He glances down at their hands and the angel lets go, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
"Well, where should I start... For quite a while now I've wanted... That is to say, I would like... You know, when I said I didn't like you, I didn't really mean it, but... I never dared before, what with Heaven and Hell and the whole Apocalypse thing and-"
Crowley takes the angel's face in his hands and kisses him square on the mouth, effectively putting a stop to his ramblings. Aziraphale gasps in surprise but relaxes immediately, moaning happily as he winds his arms around the demon's shoulders.
"Sorry, you were saying?" Crowley asks, barely an inch separating their faces.
Aziraphale can feel a huge smile tugging at his lips and presses his face against the side of Crowley's neck, hugging him tighter.
"I love you," he whispers, and feels the demon shiver against him.
"Aziraphale, do you have any idea how long I've waited to hear those words?"
The angel sighs.
"Oh, my dear, I've wanted to tell you so many times, but I couldn't. And when I actually did, I couldn't even let you remember."
Crowley's hands, which have been stroking slowly up and down Aziraphale's back, suddenly stop.
"You what?"
"Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry, but I had to," Aziraphale rushes to explain, pulling back just enough so they can look at each other. "I was not supposed to feel like that about you; at least, that was what I believed at the time. But the words just slipped out, I couldn't help it. I thought if I just removed that tiny bit of information from your mind, things could go on as if nothing ever happened." He pauses, a sad little smile curving his mouth. "But that didn't really work."
Crowley doesn't speak. He just looks at him, an inscrutable expression on his face. Aziraphale really hopes he didn't ruin everything before things even started. But he couldn't keep that secret any longer, it wouldn't be fair.
"So, you've told me you love me before..."
Aziraphale gives a tiny nod. "Twice."
Crowley's eyebrows rise up in an almost comical way. "Twice. But I don't remember any of that. So you... What, erased my memory?"
Aziraphale nods again, hanging his head in shame.
"I'm truly, terribly sorry, my dear. If I thought there could be any other way, I would never-"
For the second time that day, Crowley bursts out laughing. It's a bright, rich sound and his whole body is shaking with wave after wave of laughter.
"We're the biggest idiots on earth," he eventually says once he's able to speak normally again.
Aziraphale frowns at him, confused.
"You're not mad with me?"
"Oh, angel." Crowley kisses him again. "You have no idea."
-----
March 2020