If you haven't watched Around the world in 80 days with David, or if you simply don't want to get your heart broken by a Fogg x Crowley comparison, you should maybe scroll past this.
Oh, you're still here? Good.
Imagine this: It's been a few months since Aziraphale left. Crowley has been spending them drinking and sleeping away the days, ever since the second the angel disappeared from his eyes.
He hasn't been in contact with anyone, ignoring Muriel's attempts to get him out of there.
And he won't talk about it. He can't talk about it.
So, one day, Muriel stops by his flat to check up on him, finds him deliriously drunk, slumped over at the feet of his couch, probably fell during his attempt to grab another bottle and couldn't possibly get back up.
He's slurring, his hair a mess, his clothes rumpled. He must have at some point ripped his shirt open, maybe in despair or simple overheating, because Muriel could see his now bare chest, bracketed by his shirt, but there were buttons scattered around him.
Muriel hurries over to his side, grabs his hands and tries to get his attention.
"Mister Crowley?" They take his hand in theirs and give it a firm squeeze. "Please, Mister Crowley?" The demon won't look at them. "Crowley?!" They say, unintentionally in a similar way Aziraphale used to call out his name when he was worried.
His eyes slowly open and attempt to focus on the blurry, blindingly white image in front of him. Muriel repeats his name, and Crowley finally speaks.
"Aziraphale...?" His eyes are as open as he could get them, but the image is fuzzy as ever. Still, there's only one person his unimaginably drunk brain wants to see, so that's what he sees.
"No, it's me, Muriel," they try and correct him, but he doesn't seem to be able to listen. Or even care.
"My darling Aziraphale, you came back! I always knew you would." A couple of tears escape the demon's eyes, his glasses nowhere to be seen to cover them up as usual. "I always knew," he repeats, his voice breaking. "Well, no, I didn't know, but I hoped." He attempts to squeeze the warm hand still holding his. "I dreamed," comes a whisper.
"Mister Crowley-" Muriel attempts again, but gets interrupted once again.
Crowley brings their joined hands on his naked chest. "Feel my heart, Aziraphale," he whines his name. "It's always been yours. Waiting for you." He's properly crying now, sobs escape his mouth but there's also a faint smile there. "Now you're finally here, I can tell you everything!"
Muriel couldn't stand interrupting him again, he was smiling. Clearly, his own brain was deceiving him, but he was smiling.
He told them, thinking it was Aziraphale, about his travels. His blessings, when he was doing Aziraphale's job. And then he told them about his blessings, when he definitely wasn't doing Aziraphale's job.
"I saved a young boy's life!"
"That's wonderful," Muriel cooed.
"I just want you to be proud of me," Crowley admitted. "Just once." He looked them in the eyes, or tried to, anyway. "You see, angel, I've been alone for such a very long time. You were right to go. To leave me."
Muriel wanted to stop him, comfort him, tell him he was wrong. But he didn't seem to want to hear anything they had to say. So they remained silent.
"I could never have been good enough for you, I think you knew that from the start." His voice was now raw with emotion, no more whining. It was as if he was numb to those things he was saying. Like he'd accepted them. "I think we both knew."
With that, he closed his eyes and went to sleep. Soon, soft snores started coming from his mouth, replacing the heartbreaking sobs.
Around the world in 80 days, 2021. Episode 4.
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