I apparently needed to get this out of my system more than I thought, writing it and posting it - thanks to @tlou15 for the encouragement and help. Take this for the first try that it is, please, and Iâm sorry for any faults.
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He came upon it entirely by accident, hidden away where you would never think to look.
If it had been out in the open where heâd be able to see it immediately, he wouldâve â it would have suffered the same fate as the rest of the things that had gone overboard when heâdâŠ
When he had let go of Ed.
There was no Ed, now. No Edward, either. Nothing of the sort. There was barely Blackbeard. All there was in the world now was the Kraken.
As it needed to be.
No, as it should be.
He ought to have known better than to â
Enough.
He had thought heâd been successful in throwing it all out. Every little scrap that might possibly remind him of â
Yet somehow, this had escaped his notice.
So far.
His hand tightened on the container even as he stared at it. Trying to hide it from view? Pretend that it wasnât there?
As though that would help. It was right there, in his hand, somehow still here.
Nothing that couldnât be fixed, of course. All he had to do was drop it over the side of the ship. Then it would all beâŠ
Except it wouldnât.
He paused, almost against his own will.
Wouldnât it?
Despite himself, despite all his efforts, and he did try to fight it, his mind flashed back to the time when he had first tasted this.
âTry this.â
He closed his eyes.
That only brought the images back. Images that he would haveâŠthat he did not need to be reminded of. That went for all of it but especially those little moments where heâŠ
âItâs the best.â
His eyes squeezed tighter and so did his hand. Not tight enough to crush it, though.
Unfortunately.
There was still â
âShipâs stores are loaded with it. Had to get rid of some gunpowder, but I think it was the right move.â
There was nothing in his eyes. Nothing at all. Why would there be? There was no reason for there to be anything at all.
He was the Kraken, of course he didnât â it was absurd that he should â
Shipâs stores are loaded with it.
Loaded with it.
Loaded.
How had he â they must have missed that, too. Or they hadnât checked. Why would the crew check the stores?
If they did, why would they care about something like that?
Wouldnât that mean that they had in fact already thrown it out to make room for gunpowder?
Yes. Of course, it did.
Had he not better make sure, then?
No. He was not â he was going nowhere near it. Wasnât his â they could take care of it. If they hadnât thrown it out already, they could do so now.
It was wasting precious space.
Once heâd set them on it â one of the few remaining original crew of the Revenge for the simple reason theyâd know where it was â he retreated back to the captainâs cabin.
It was only when he went to reach for something as he sat down that he realised he was still carrying something.
The remains of something, that was.
He stared at his hand as he opened it, watching the remains of the small container stick to his hand while the remnants of marmalade dripped down over his palm and off his wrist.
RemnantsâŠremainsâŠ
The broken remains of something that had once been whole. That had once held meaning.
Once held something precious and cherished.
His throat tightened and he saw that his hand trembled. Just the slightest bit, mind, but it didâŠ
He could smell it. Smell the sticky, sweet but not too sweet â
âSome damn good marmalade.â
Fuck. No.
No!
Heâd got rid of it. He was rid of it. Rid of it all. There was not â he was â he wasnât â that part was gone. It no longer existed and as far as he was concerned,
Stede was gone and so was Ed.
Gone and not coming back.
It was over, and nothing he could say or think would â
Stop!
This was nothing more than a reminder of how much of a fool heâd been.
With a snarl, he threw the broken container onto the floor and stamped on it. Then stamped again and again. And again.
All it did was smear it more, break it more. He didnât care. It just had to disappear. One way or another.
Why did it have to surface? Why couldnât it have remained hidden from view? Or been thrown overboard with the rest of it?
There was â he could not have â
Once he had shed it, he had no wish to beâŠbeâŠ
He stared at his hand.
By rights, he ought to have wiped it on the nearest surface or just on anything at all. Preferably on something he could throw away so he wouldnât have the least remains left of it, but â but heâd already ruined that.
The cabin was going to smell of it for a while.
Not if he threw something else on it.
It could be got rid of.
Just as the droplets and globs of marmalade that clung to his hand could.
Easily.
So, if it was that easy, why was he staring at it, not doing anything?
Why was he not�
He held his hand close to his chest and bent his head, his hair hiding his features. There was not the least bit of noise but there was the most minute shaking of shouldersâŠ
Just as well that heâd locked the door.
Especially as he heard the door being banged on.
He ignored it.
It didnât matter.
Nothing mattered any longer.
Nothing at all.
Nothing would ever matter again.
If he thought he could try and dictate what Blackbeard, what the Kraken didâŠ
Well, there was another nine toes to go, wasnât there?
I just need somewhere to post this so it can get out of my head, sorry for popping up out of nowhere, Iâll be gone again in a moment.
I want so, so, *so* very bad to write fic for OFMD but I am far too scared to do so. Which is stupid, because Iâve written so much for different fandoms over the years, but I canât help think that I am not at all equipped to write any of it. But the desire to write wonât go away.
Inspired by a âpromptâ off pinterest. I meant for this to be a oneshot and then...I wrote a lot because...me. So as not to make the one person asking wait for too long, weâll do this in chapters.
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It happenedâŠwhen he least expected it.
Of course, that would imply that he, at some level, however infinitesimally small it might be, had expected it, and he could say that he hadnât expected it at all with conviction and complete honesty.
How could he, after all? It wasnât the sort of thing you ran into.
Ran into. Quite literally. How very droll.
The fact of the matter was that he had indeed quite physically run into it. Alright, so perhaps he had walked rather than run but that was rather beside the point, he would have thought. He had still walked straight into it, literally and metaphorically, and he hadnât known what had hit him.
There. Had he managed to express enough modern idioms for it to get across sufficiently?
At least, he didnât know until much later, and then he had known quite a lot of things all at once. The story about how all of that unfolded goes something like this, give or take a few details omitted or changed slightly.
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Aziraphale hummed to himself as he walked, feeling in a particular good mood.
Of course, he had been in a general sort of good mood for some time at this point in time. It was hard not to be, considering. Even when Crowley treated the bookshop as his personal bedroom and went to sleep in the oddest of places. If it had at least been limited to horizontal places, thenâŠ
To be honest, though, that was something of a bonus. It meant that people who saw him were more likely to shun the bookshop and to tell their friends as well, and it gave Aziraphale more of an excuse to keep the shop shut so as not to disturb the sleeping demon.
Not that he needed extra excuses, of course.
But the addition of Crowley as a more or less permanent resident in the shop and in his life was enough to warrant a good mood whatever happened. No matter what mood he was in, what the overlaying mood was, as it were, the underlying mood was always one of contentment and happiness.
The foundation, you might say. Unassailable and unshakable.
Well, nearly.
If there was one fly in the ointment, to borrow an expression, then it was that â
No. That was not an issue and certainly no fly. He had asked about it and had got an answer. The fact that it might not be the answer he wouldâve liked to hear did not mean it was an issue or a problem. Not at all, and he ought to be ashamed that he could as much as conceive the notion.
What he had was far more than he couldâve asked for, in any case, and he could not say he wasnât over the moon with all that he had gained afterâŠafter That Saturday. What they had gained.
That had and would always far outstrip anything else.
One thing that he particularly enjoyed was getting to do small things for the demon, whether he noticed them or not. If he did notice them, though, he would splutter and bluster and try to keep his composure. To keep cool, as Aziraphale believed heâd put it, though the blond was at a loss to see what the point was. Then again, he always had struggled with seeing that sort of thing, though he knew it mattered to Crowley.
Interestingly, though, no matter how much bluster and reaction there had or hadnât been, Crowley had never given the things back or put a stop to them, and so Aziraphale had carried on with them.
It had got to a point by now that the angel would from time to time announce that he would be going out to get one or do one of those little things, leaving the demon ample opportunity to protest or outright stop him if that were what he desired.
So far, there hadnât been so much as a peep or a movement against, and so Aziraphale had carried on. Not everything was broadcast, obviously, though. There had to be some small opportunities for surprises.
Right now, for instance, heâd gone off to find something that Crowley particularly enjoyed eating but which was only available for a short period of time. It had taken a bit of time to find the best place, or even somewhere that made them, but he had managed it and now, with a bit of time taken out to gather a few extra goodies for the both of them, he was on his way home.
Home.
Home where a demon was waiting for him still. For a given value of waiting, that was. When heâd left him, heâd been snoozing quite happily, stretched out in an impossible position over the back of the sofa that ought to have resulted in him napping on the floor instead.
Not that that stopped the ginger when he felt like sleeping, of course.
Aziraphale felt his lips spread into a smile. Oh, he could hardly wait to get back and surprise his demon with his find.
Perhaps he would wake him with the scent of what heâd bought, which ought to count as a very lovely way to wake up. It was certainly strong enough and enticing enough for his own eyelids to flutter and his mouth to water a little. Perhaps more than a little but then, he had had the scent wafting on the entire scent home, which was getting relatively close now.
As in, he was in general area of Soho, though there was still some way to walk before he reached the part of Soho that was home. He had chosen to go a different direction than normal, as it was a better route for where he had finally managed to locate the thing heâd been after for Crowley.
The fact that it ought to have stopped wafting any kind of scent let alone one of just-come-out-of-the-oven was a minor matter which â
Aziraphaleâs thoughts derailed quite suddenly and strongly. Came to a halt, as it were, though that too was somewhat failing to encapsulate the full impact of what he felt.
It wasnât horrible. If anything, it was the exact opposite, to the point that it threatened to overwhelm and overpower him.
He staggered backwards for a few steps before recovering enough to stop and get himself upright. Well, mostly upright, at any rate, and he had to shoot an arm out to steady himself.
The people around him shot him odd looks but, as he didnât seem to be in any danger, most continued past, with a few levelling a disapproving glance at him. One small man in a grey suit and a mac did come over to see whether he was alright, though, and he managed to smile and reassure him.
What he said to make the other believe him enough that he went away, he had absolutely idea. The important point was that he didnât ask any further questions and left him, without calling for an ambulance or something similar.
Not that it wasnât kind of him to check, of course, not to mention picking up the items the blond had dropped and making sure they were all in one piece, miraculously. That was undeniable, and he did his best to make sure that the man was left feeling his help was appreciated.
It was merely thatâŠwell, how could he possibly explain what the problem was?
To say that he had walked straight into a wall of â of love, quite frankly, would not be conducive to getting the man to leave. If anything, it was likely to have a different kind of car called.
Nevertheless, that was the truth of the matter.
Aziraphale had walked straight and true into a wall of love, with much the same impact and effect as a silent era movie star slamming into a pane of glass. He dared to suspect theyâd had the same severely smarting face from it, though whether they had the tinkling in their nose and lips were something he wouldnât speculate on.
He looked up and now that he was aware of what he was looking for, he could see it shimmering at the edge of his vision, a softness that sharpened at the same time as it blurred.
But that sort of visual representation of it wasâŠthat did not happen with any kind of love. And no, it had nothing to do with the size of the love. It might be the smallest of loves that showed the brightest and strongest. The truest, as it were.
There were certainly loves that were large and brash and yet were more cobweb-fine and just as hole-riddled as could be. Without substance, in other words.
For the most part, large or small, the love present at any given point was something that was felt rather than seen.
This, though? This wasâŠgoodness, there was little wonder that heâd walked into it as if it were a physical object, smarting face and staggering and all.
To be perfectly honest, he was astonished at the fact that people seemed to pass through it as though it was nothing of importance or didnât exist at all.
Granted, he was a being of love and therefore was able to sense instances of it where humans would see or feel nothing at all, not even where one wouldâve thought theyâd feel it. It was often quite wonderful, sometimes it was unsettling and on rare occasions, it was crushing and depressing.
That being said, this wasâŠthis was of a kind that he wouldâve thought everyone would sense. Would run smack into, in fact, to borrow another phrase, and yet, they not only passed through it, but did so as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
As if it werenât there at all, in fact.
Something so extraordinary as that and they couldnât sense it? Even with the factor that this was London, it was more, or less as the case may be, than he wouldâve ever expected from people.
How could they be so ignorant of it? It did not seem possible â oh.
No, they werenât ignorant of it. They just werenât aware of it.
That was to say, while they werenât consciously aware of what was happening, quite a few of them had bodies that were and there was a lightness to their step and a softness to their expression that he would be willing to bet â were he not firmly against betting on general, angelic principle, that was â hadnât been there when theyâd stepped into the sphere.
Aziraphale, his arms slightly haphazardly full of the things heâd dropped or almost dropped and had been given back a bit too quickly, tried to move forward to give a further inspection.
He moved much more slowly and carefully than before so as to be sure he didnât walk into anything. His nose was quite loud in its protests on that score.
A small part of him felt it really was most unfair that he should be hurt by something like that, in particular when humans passed through without any issue.
Then again, they didnât get the full impact of it either, so he supposed it was a trade-off.
As he neared, the feeling of it intensified and he had to be careful he didnât stagger again. It was just as potent as when heâd first bumped into it, it showed no sign of dissipating or even diminishing and as far as he could tell, it was very large indeed. So large that he couldnât have said where its epicentre was.
Which was odd in itself. Large or small, to locate where a particular love came from was no effort at all for him, even though sometimes it really wouldâve been nicer not to know. Normally, it was, at any rate. But this?
Stranger still was its strength. This was evidently the edge of it, which he could see with his very eyes, and yet, there was no indication that it was in terms of strength. Put another way, if this was the edge of it, presumably where it was the weakest, then he was almost afraid to know the strength of it at its epicentre.
Who could possibly be emanating a love as strong as that? It was almost of divine proportions, or so he wouldâve said if he wasnât more than aware that that didnât mean much, or at least didnât mean what it ought to mean.
He involuntarily looked upwards as he thought that but there didnât seem to be anyone who had heard anything or otherwise taken notice. Or perhaps they were pointedly ignoring whatever they heard from him at this point in time. It amounted to the same thing, so he wasnât going to complain.
As heâd looked up, heâd failed to see that someone was in a hurry. So much in a hurry, in fact, that they didnât care where they went and certainly not where they were supposed to be.
Which meant that theyâd mounted the pavement to now come barrelling down it, the pistons of their legs going as though the engine had to supply twice the intended capacity, without regard to where they might have to go through, or who, for that matter.
Including an apparently middle-aged man in a rather fastidious, old-fashioned suit and coat with his arms full, who happened to be standing straight in its path.
People around him were jumping and shouting. Someone was even pulling at his sleeve to try and get him out of the way in time. Unfortunately, there was no time, and in only a few more moments, bicycle and pedestrian would collide.
Only, it didnât.
To the gaping bystanders, something rather miraculous happened; the bicycle swerved at the last moment, avoiding hitting the blond man by fractions of an inch, whereupon the wheel went on with its curve, so much so that it turned into something of a pirouette.
When it came to a halt, the cyclist was not only still on the bike but was standing, to his utter surprise and bewilderment, on top of the saddle, one foot resting on the saddle while the rest of his body stretched out in a rather graceful ballet pose, despite his suit not being made for that kind of manoeuvre at all.
He had never been to the ballet and wouldnât have known one pose from another, let alone been able to perform one and yet, here he was. Not only was he doing it, he was holding it, and he felt an almost unbearable urge to go and practice, perhaps take up lessons.
Then reality seemed to return to him. More specifically, he became aware of all the people who were gaping at him and then of what heâd been doing before heâdâŠoh.
He flushed a nice burgundy colour and scrambled down. Someone took his hand and he involuntarily pirouetted. The colour in his cheeks turned almost plum. However, he didnât stop.
âThat does remind me, itâs been ages since Iâve been at the ballet,â he could hear someone mutter as they went past.
The cyclist, whose name was Bryan, because there is always someone who has to spice up even the most straightforward of names, thought there was something familiar about the outfit and the shape of the head as they went past but couldnât place it.
In any case, they were past him before he had a chance to give them a proper scrutiny. The last thing he heard before the constant turning made him too dizzy to focus on anything was something along the lines of, âI wonder if I could persuade Crowley to go with me this time.â
For years afterwards, he was not only a ballet devotee, practising and dragging his wife with him to performances, but he kept having the feeling heâd been incredibly lucky in escaping something. Something which wouldâve had dire consequences, for more than just himself.
As for Aziraphale, though he wasnât as shaken as he possibly ought to have been, it had brought home to him that he couldnât stand there gawping forever. He had a demon to return to.
While he walked, he got so wrapped up in his thoughts that heâŠnot forgot the love that was all around him at this point, not quite. It was only that he didnât notice when he stepped into it nor how natural it seemed once he stepped into it. Almost as if it disappeared from his conscious mind entirely once he was in its sphere.
Almost as if it were so familiar to him it slipped in and settled around him, entirely unnoticed and right.
I have no clever things to say, except, I hope you made it through, and may this year be better for everyone even if itâs only in some small way.
One thing I might ask is that you try to take a moment to show your care to the person next to you but also to the artists whose work you consume.
A like, a kudos, anything. It doesnât take much but it can mean so much, especially when youâre stuck at home, still. Alone. In a void because Let the artist, any artist, know they arenât screaming into the void. Even if it wasnât your very favourite piece, if you liked it...let them know.
It would mean the world to them.
...did that make sense? Sorry, happy new year, though
So, Iâm sitting here, so knackered I feel physically ill, having written like a mad to catch up after a tough day and all I can think is that Iâve failed somehow for only managing to write 1900 words today instead of what I wanted to write. That I should make myself stay up to write more even though everything is spinning.
Thereâs something beautiful about writing smut (and a first of a type for me, too) to the tune of Ride of the Valkyries. Something entirely appropriate about it, somehow.
This is going up literally as Iâve finished writing it. Itâs not betaâed or anything.
For @tlou15 who replied to my request for prompts with:Â âI would like to see Aziraphale and Crowley going to the country side to have night flying datesâ. Took me an embarrassing second to realise it wasnât anything to do with fruits.
And yes, itâs titled after the song. Do listen to it while reading this, if you like.
The car that had pulled up on the other side of the road from the bookshop was quite the familiar sight in the area and so was its owner. So was the ownerâs reaction if you touched or even made mention of anything the car did and consequently, no one made a peep of comment about the fact that the car was idling and had been for at least half an hour.
Of course, it shouldâve been fine, seeing as the engine had never seen a drop of petrol since it had been bought â the petrol bought in the sixties by its owner had been given to some youth who was protesting something or other, it was hard to keep track of them all at the time.
Somehow, though, despite the fact that it drove purely because its owner expected it to rather than having any combustion happening in its engine, it also put out quite the cloud of exhaust, whether it was idling or not, because its owner expected it to.
Right now, it put out even more than it usually did, and one might wonder if it was in response to said owner and his mood.
The owner who sat inside, in the driverâs seat, a bundle of energy that could only be called nervous.
Why would he be nervous, it might be asked and rightly so, perhaps. After all, heâd walked the earth for actual millennia, seen just about every permutation of evil, and good, that humanity could muster, and been instrumental in causing a few of them, on both sides. Heâd been friends with his hereditary enemy for roughly as long and heâd gone up against Heaven and Hell themselves with said enemy in a bid to avert Armageddon.
Which theyâd accomplished, too, somehow, though he had a pretty clear idea that without the presence of such a clever, sensible and entirely human Antichrist, all due to a previous cock-up, they wouldâve been, well, buggered, screwed, fucked. Take your pick, or they mightâve gone for them all.
The point was that considering all of that, it was very strange that he was nervous about this. Not that heâd been precisely calm through the averted apocalypse, especially not when this very same car had burst into flame and heâd had to struggle to keep it together, both metaphorically and quite literally. But the point remained even so.
When you looked at him, there could be no other words for it, at least if you knew what to look for, knowing better than to confuse the small, suppressed gestures for impatience or annoyance, and especially if you knew the reason he was letting his car idle outside a particular Soho bookshop.
He was going on a date. They were going on a date, Aziraphale and him. Together. The two of them.
Just the two of them. On a date.
Theyâd been to dinner before, of course. Lunches, too, even a few breakfasts. Gone to the theatre, been to more than a few concerts as well as a few operas.
So what if Crowley happened to like operas?
The point was that theyâd done quite a lot of things that could be considered dates already and heâd got through them easily enough.
Relatively easily, at least, but, wellâŠ
So, why was he so nervous about this one? It wasnât even the first time after theyâd averted the end of the world and things had changed. All in all, things should just be as they always were.
There was no denying he was nervous, though. Of course, that didnât mean he was going to admit it out loud or even acknowledge it to himself.
If he did, the culprit might be that he had called it a date, when heâd asked Aziraphale a week or two ago. Not left it open to interpretation as such or alluded more or less obliquely to it that way.
No, heâd come right out and asked, one day after much consideration, at least that was what he called it, and had caused Aziraphale to pause in his work.
âDate?â heâd asked as heâd started up working again, and though he was hardly the one to keep current, to say the least, he had understood it had nothing to do with the fruit mostly eaten around Christmas, for whatever reason, and everything to do with two people going out.
âYeah. Date. You and me,â Crowley had clarified, just be sure, casual as anything. Heâd even leant against a bookshelf as heâd said it. âI was thinking a drive out into the countryside, just take in the scenic route. Maybe have a picnic.â
Heâd dropped the reference in there, wondering whether Aziraphale would pick up on it or not. Expecting that he wouldnât, hoping that he would.
Judging from the way that the angel had almost dropped a book heâd been putting back on the shelf, it seemed likely that he had.
A, a picnic,â heâd echoed. Heâd stared into the shelf for a moment that was very long, or felt it, and Crowley had wondered whether heâd outright decline or just ignore that something had been said at all.
Then heâd turned around, a smile on his face that was bright and delighted, with just a hint, the demon had thought, of nervousness in there.
âA picnic sounds utterly delightful, my dear, I would love to,â heâd said and that had been that.
Well, no, not quite that. Thereâd been the practicalities of when and where and such, of course, as well as convincing Aziraphale that he wouldnât be in charge of catering.
The angel seemed to have taken that to mean they were buying a hamper from a place somewhere, possibly local, to take out into a field or something similar.
TheyâŠwerenât.
Crowley glanced at the hamper stashed underneath the backseat, tucked away so that hopefully, Aziraphale wouldnât spot it when he entered the car. Heâd spent the last week sourcing everything good he could think of to take.
Then heâd spent some time sifting through those to actually make it fit into a hamper. Of course, there were miracles to sort such things out â bigger on the inside, hah, what would you need with bigger when you could have infinite? â and it wasnât as though he didnât want to spoil the angelâŠ
But that was just it, wasnât it? To spoil him properly, and to show that this was a date rather than merely one of their usual meetings, he needed something else. Something more. Something picked among the best of the best.
Something to show the angel just how much he meant to Crowley.
Not that he hadnât shown him before, of course, in his own way. But now that he wasnât merely not prevented from doing it but actively allowed to, as much as he liked, almost, he wasnât going to pass up any opportunity he was given.
Of course, there was something else about this meeting in particular, apart from it being their officially labelled âdateâ, but, wellâŠthat was â
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the passenger door opening. For a moment, he stiffened, worried about the hamper being discovered. Then his brain kicked in to inform him that what heâd heard was the front passenger door, not the back.
âHello, dear,â an oh, so familiar and achingly beloved chimed as the car dipped with the weight when he got in.
âAziraphale,â he acknowledged, his expression not changing an iota.
Then he glanced down, thinking he saw something, and sure enough, there was a smallâŠnot exactly hamper but certainly a basket in the otherâs lap.
âThought I said you werenât in charge of the food,â he said, turning his attention back to face ahead. The car began to move, without him ever doing something as silly as pushing the pedals. Heâd never thought heâd need them and therefore, he didnât.
Oh, this isnât â this is just a little something extra that I found,â Aziraphale said, somewhatâŠwell, not exactly shiftily but slightly evasively, at least. âThought it would be perfect for a picnic. I will say, though, that Iâve never had a dinner picnic rather than a lunch one before.â
Something new, then,â Crowley said as he turned out into traffic, metaphorically almost flooring the accelerator.
Aziraphale let out a gasp at that, sharp and high, and shot out a hand to try and grab onto something, anything for a steadying grip. He found it and his knuckles turned just a little whiter.
âCrowley!â he protested, loudly.
âWhat?â the demon asked, feigning innocence as he took a corner fast enough that he wouldâve done a handbrake turn without a handbrake if he hadnât been in control of the car.
âYou donât have to go this fast!â
âAw, come on, angel, itâs no fun if youâre only going at the speed limit.â He accelerated just a tad more, to underline the point.
Speeding is one thing, endangering the pedestrians is â Crowley!â
âWhat?â
âYou hit that cyclist!â
âI didnât. I missed him by three quarters of an inch. That he went tumbling anyway, thatâs not my fault, is it?â
It â âAziraphale looked over to him, then stopped speaking and sighed, heavily. âOh, it doesnât matter what I say, does it? Or you might make it worse, just to spite me.â
âNever to spite you. JustâŠwind you up a little, maybe.â
âReally,â Aziraphale said, and the word really felt orphaned without the disapproving cluck afterwards that shouldâve been there. Probably was in the expression, though, if Crowley turned to look.
He didnât.
They made it out of inner London without any issue and really, in rather record time, to boot. So what if Crowley scared the life out of four cops, a criminal in the process of being arrested, a banker and two telephone salespersons on their way to work.
âYou havenât told me where weâre going,â Aziraphale commented after theyâd made it out of the city altogether. He was looking out the window as he spoke, as though trying to guess just by what they passed.
Crowley hadnât and there was a good reason for that. Well, perhaps not a good one, but a reason, anyway.
âYouâll see,â was all he said out loud about it.
Heâd thought that as they left London, his nerves would calm at least a bit and heâd relax back into their normal chat and to be fair, it had. But the moment that the blond had asked, it had spiked right up again.
Was it too much? Too little? It would be too little, wouldnât it? Or just plain stupid. Definitely plain stupid and Aziraphale would think so. He might even outright refuse to do it.
Not the picnic. The day Aziraphale outright refused food like thatâŠthat day Crowley would be sure the world had indeed ended â or someone else was trying to impersonate Aziraphale, and doing a really bad job it, too.
A hand landed gently on his knee. Just on his knee, well within the area that could be considered perfectly acceptable, even respectable.
They still didnât touch a great deal, at least not by Crowleyâs standards â or perhaps those were just fervent wishes â and when they did, it was not uncommon for it to stay at that perfectly respectable stage.
But the important point was that they did touch now, freely if not frequently, and there was a sense that said touching was allowed.
They could if they wanted to and do it as much as they wanted to, as well. The question might then be â why didnât they?
To be fair to them, it hadnât been that long since That Saturday, relatively speaking. Half a year, a bit more. Just about the time where the south of England was getting to be fairly warm again, by the standards of old Blighty, anyway, and might reasonably be expected to have a relatively lovely, if not exactly warm, night out like this.
To have gone from not touching at all, even actively avoiding it so as to be sure not to go anywhere they shouldnât, over six millennia to this rather comfortable touching, infrequent or not, within a span of a little over six months wasâŠquite an achievement, Crowley would say.
Not that he wouldnât be thrilled with me, and practically melted whenever they ended up in a cuddle session, often because Crowley was an octopus rather than a snake when he was in a bed, sleeping or not, and Aziraphale was sitting, or sometimes even lying, beside him.
That wasnât to say the angel was an unwilling or passive participant in the sessions, far from it. He just did it in his own way.
Such as touching his hand to a knee.
It helped that he left it there, too. Obviously.
âMy dear, it is getting rather late forâŠwell, if weâre to call in somewhere and buy something to eat, theyâd beâŠwell, it would be rather rude to expect them to keep their kitchens open for us.â
âAs if you havenât done that several times over the years, angel, and thatâs putting it kindly,â Crowley countered, looking over at the other.
Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye didnât work with the blinkers, for lack of a better term, that he had on his current set of sunglasses, as the most he saw there were disjointed colours through a metal mesh. If he turned his head a little, it seemed to give him the same effect, though, as well as being able to see the other.
âWell, I...â Aziraphale said, not quite spluttering but achieving something to that effect. âI may have, once or twice over the years, but IâŠthat isâŠwell, youâre allowed to mend a bad habit, arenât you?â
ââCourse. Just find it interesting that the time you decide to mend it is the time when itâs not you whoâs in charge of the food, for once.â
Again, he wasnât looking fully at the otherâs face as he spoke, but he still managed to clock the way Aziraphaleâs face fell. Not completely but quite a bit, showing that he understood what Crowley was saying and what he was implying as well.
âI didnât â oh, good grief, Iâve put my foot in it, havenât I?â
âJust a bit.â
âThat wasnât what I meant, dear, and I apologise.â
He didnât say anything more but then, what really was there to add? Further words wouldnât change anything or make it more sincere. The sincerity was more than evident in the angelâs almost always very expressive voice.
Nor was Crowley about to say that it was okay because it wasnât. It was only a minor thing, that was true, but it still mattered. That said, he wasnât going to ignore it, either.
âAccepted,â he said instead, quietly, and felt the hand on his knee squeeze slightly in understanding and thankfulness.
He laid his own hand over it, covering it completely. He still thrilled in his heart at being able to do this, and he also had to admit that his nerves had quietened some more.
They sped along into the afternoon that was turning into early evening, and quite a bright one with a clear sky that could be appreciated better without obstructions, if that was your cup of tea, along narrower roads and increasingly more picturesque landscapes, heading for the destination that Crowley had in mind.
It wasnât Lower Tadfield.
Even though there might certainly be reasons to go to Lower Tadfield, such as the general feel of love that Aziraphale still claimed or the people theyâd met that still lived there, it wasnât his intention to go there.
For what he wanted to do, he needed somewhere a little moreâŠout of the way. Or at least, seeing as the south of England wasnât exactly sparsely populated, as a rule, he needed somewhere where there was no Antichrist about that might show up to ask what they were doing.
He wanted a bit of privacy. That wasnât too much to ask, was it?
 ........................................................................................
It was that special time of evening just before the sun decided it was done for the day. They had only just pulled in somewhere, where the nearest town was a mile or two away all around, there were no nearby farms or obstructing woods. Just pleasant landscape all around the vantage point that Crowley had picked.
Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat, looked around him, clearly not finding what he was expecting to see.
âCrowley â âhe began, sounding just a little bitâŠconcerned, perhaps, but the demon interrupted him before he could get further.
âI said Iâd take care of the food, Aziraphale,â he said as the car shut off, âand I have, so donât worry about it.â
With that, seeing as it was obviously on his mind and heâd need to bring it, instead of getting out of the car, he reached behind him and down. With a flexibility that ought to have been difficult, at the very least, grabbed hold of the hamper and pulled it around, holding it up at the same time.
If he was a little bit pointed about it, so what?
âOh.â Aziraphale looked more than a little embarrassed. He looked down at his lap, his fingers twiddling on the handle of the basket heâd brought. âIt seems that I might not be able to eat the food, seeing as I keep putting my foot in my mouth.â
Itâs fine.â
âItâs not fine, itâs â Crowley!â
Aziraphale called out his name because the demon had got out of the car with his usual speed and dexterity, despite being hampered by a lidded wicker basket.
Come on,â he called just before the door shut behind him, sauntering his way towards a lovely looking spot that would give them quite the perfect view, around and, not unimportantly, up.
He heard the passenger shut and presumed the other was about to join him. While he wouldâve liked to walk up there with Aziraphaleâs hand in his, he also wanted to find the perfect spot himself, without being interrupted.
That and get his suddenly galloping nerves reined back in a little, of course, if he could.
As he spread the blanket â more of a duvet style of thing, with a few extra things added on, because just because youâd decided to dine outside on the ground didnât mean you had to be uncomfortable, did it? â out on the ground, he picked up that Aziraphale had stopped moving.
He straightened back up and turned to look, a part of him just a little bit worried about why.
What he found was Aziraphale stopped, basket in hand, looking out over the area which, Crowley had to admit, they had a very good view of from up here. Both of the landscape and the sun setting over it, not a cloud in the sky to obstruct it.
âStrikes you, doesnât it?â he said as Crowley sauntered up close to him, hands in his pockets. âEven though youâve seen it unimaginably many times before, it can still be as beautiful as that very first time it happened.â
âEvery time since, really,â Crowley commented. âEither none are beautiful, or they all are.â
âTrue,â Aziraphale agreed, voice and smile soft.
They stood for a few moments, just watching it, taking it in. Enjoying it and each other.
Then the ginger walked back towards the blanket, which now quite mysteriously was packed with just about everything heâd brought. Equally strangely, there was still room for the two of them to sit on it, though not with their legs, despite the spread that could only be described as âabundantâ.
He sat down, his heart in his throat, hoping heâd got it at least somewhat right.
Which really was stupid. This, at least, he knew heâd got right. Not only had he possibly got every type of picnic-appropriate thing put out on the blanket, and then some, but he knew his angel well at this point and knew that something of quality, food or not, that was made for him was bound to be approved of.
Had he thought about it, he wouldâve likely realised that it was almost certainly the nerves from what he had planned for after their âlightâ dinner that were bleeding over into this.
Aziraphale joined him, sitting himself down opposite, where Crowley had made room for him. Just like they always did. Well, almost always. At least, there was space between them wherever they sat. It had got to be less in the last half a year but well, with everything else, he didnât want to overdo it.
It was probably, no, unquestionably being overly cautious but at the time, he didnât see it as such.
Only this time, while the blond did sit where heâd been given a space, it seemed that it was somehow much closer to the ginger than what heâd intended, what heâd made room for, while the spread remained unaltered.
Crowley wasnât about to complain, he just...heâd thought that with this being so different from what theyâd done before, with no concert or play to distract them and not a drop of alcohol drunk between them yet, on an actual date, Aziraphale might find it one thing too many, one step too close to also be sitting as close as theyâd done on many occasions now.
Apparently not, though, if not just the fact that heâd sat himself down where he had but the ease with which heâd done it, no hesitation, as well as the smile still on his face.
One might think that the smile was because of the food but as blue eyes were meeting yellow through tinted glasses, it seemed unlikely.
For a long moment, he sat there, immobile. Then he reached across and again placed his hand on top of Crowleyâs.
âThank you,â he said, and there was more packed into that small sentence than the ginger had expected. It felt like he was being thanked for more than just the spread or even the picnic.
âYouâre welcome,â he managed to reply, smiling in turn. He was purely smiling, though, not colouring. Not in the slightest. âGo on, then. Eat some. Itâs not show food.â
It does look absolutely scrumptious I have to say,â Aziraphale enthused as he looked it over. He put one or two things carefully on the plate beside him, then picked up a jar of something to examine it. âI didnât know there was anywhere that sold a hamper like this.â
âThere isnât.â
The angel looked up from the jar, realisation dawning.
âMy dearâŠâ he said softly, and it really shouldnât be allowed to pack that much into just two words. Especially not when it wasnât clear just what exactly was meant.
Oh, the understanding and the gratefulness were both clear enough but as for the rest of itâŠ
The poor demon had to swallow and had to remind himself not to wet his lips.
âEat,â Crowley said, glad of his glasses that hid his eyes looking just about anywhere else because he couldnât right now.
He reached out and grabbed something without looking and brought it to his lips. Due to sheer luck, it was something that could be eaten as was and he bit into the scotch egg without relish. Or any other type of condiment, really.
Aziraphale looked at him for an achingly long moment, then smiled and began to fill his plate.
So did Crowley after heâd finished off the scotch egg. Though they as supernatural beings didnât get hungry and eating was more of Aziraphaleâs indulgence than his, he found himself piling more on the plate than he normally would â that he didnât eat as much as the angel didnât mean he didnât eat at all â and what was more, digging into at least most of it.
That seemed to delight Aziraphale for some reason and he placed the occasional morsel from his own plate over on Crowleyâs, who in turn made sure to pick up the offered treat as the next thing he ate.
By and by, the food Crowley had brought was eaten, between comments, big and small and completely irrelevant, and discussions, laughter and the occasional touch that was no less meaningful or appreciated for not being constant.
As they ate and talked, they also watched the sun disappear completely beneath the horizon, gradually calling back its tendrils of colour, who darkened as they ran, and the bolder ones even changed colours altogether.
Behind them came night, this time rolling in slowly and majestically rather than jumping and skipping along or racing as if it had got out of bed too late and was in a hurry to reach its destination.
They were even lucky enough to have a few stars come out as night-time came.
As they became visible, Crowley shifted where he sat, feeling a sense of unease creep up on him, but not for the reason that Aziraphale evidently thought, judging by the way he clutched the hand wrapped around his and tried to gently run his thumb back and forth over the patch of skin it touched.
It would be a guess but given what they were looking at, it didnât seem that big an assumption to make; that Aziraphale was worried he was uneasy being âconfrontedâ, as it were, by evidence of his life Before.
Crowley wasnât going to deny that he did think about it at times or that he wasnât affected by them, both positively and negatively, much as he didnât want it to.
At the same time, not only hadnât he been the sole builder of stars â the paperwork alone on managing all that wouldâve caused anyone to Fall, he felt â and consequently werenât necessarily responsible for what he could see on any given night, heâd watched the night sky so many times over the millennia thatâŠ
Well, it hadnât stopped hurting, but it had dulled, in a way, and become at the very least something he could look at and even contemplate without feeling small and lost, let alone outright pained.
That said, he appreciated both the consideration and the gesture on the angelâs part.
No, the unease, the nerves, were to do with the realisation that they were nearing the end of the meal and therefore also nearing the next step in the plan. The plan which he still wasnât sure how the other would react to.
Could he just put it off a little bit longer?
Well, yes, of course. He could put it off for eternity, if thatâs what he wanted. If he was honest with himself, however, and stripped away the fear and nerves that were doing at least part of the thinking for him, then he knew that he didnât want to. It hadnât been a sudden impulse or idea, after all, but something he had wanted for a long, long time.
Putting it off for just a little bit longer wasnât going to change anything, either. Not the issue and not how he felt about it. If anything, it was in all likelihood only going to exacerbate the matter.
Procrastination was the thief of time, yes, but it didnât even have the decency to leave a solution or a better feeling about it all behind.
It might be shot down and not happen but if he chickened out like this, it wasnât going to happen anyway.
With all of that in mind, he took a deep, unnecessary breath and, not entirely intentionally, squeezed the hand in his.
He could do this. More importantly, he was going to do it.
Aziraphale looked at him, puzzled but evidently willing to wait for an explanation, even as he then stood up, keeping hold of the hand in his.
The ginger, after taking another breath, then tugged at the hand in question. Aziraphale followed his request and stood up as well, a little less fluidly than the noodle that was the demon but with a surprising amount of grace, nevertheless.
Once they were both upright, Crowley tugged again and led the other a little way away from the blanket.
The question in blue eyes grew larger still.
Crowley?â he asked, evidently hoping for an explanation.
IâŠehmâŠâ
No. No hesitation, no more second guessing. The worst that could happen was that Aziraphale said no and even if he did, he would do it kindly and with understanding rather than judgment.
It was Aziraphale, after all.
For all that he could be a bit of a bastard, Crowley not only loved him the more for it, he was never a bastard around such things.
âI wasnât only planning to go all the way out here for a picnic,â he said, speaking calmly and at a normal pace, both of which was a bit of a surprise.
He mightâve expected the blond to make a comment but all he got was a patient, yet expectant expression and a small smile.
âI was actually planning, well, hoping that we couldâŠcould maybe, if youâreâŠâ
Bless it, when did his tongue become a knot? Or rather, a positive jumble knot. Spit it out already.
âIf you donât mind, Iâd like to go flying. Together.â
The angel didnât seem to react to that and for a split second, Crowley was unsure of whether heâd heard him. But he mustâve done, as he then noticed the blue eyes slowly but surely widening, possibly as realisation dawned.
It was on the tip of the forked tongue to take it back, to somehow annul it. He stopped himself, however. If he was going to do it, then he was going to go the whole way. Even if he ended up being the only one up in the sky.
The possibility that Aziraphale didnât know what he meant was remote. There really werenât many, if any, other ways you could interpret those words, were there?
Another deep breath and he made a further decision; he was going to go up there, whether the angel was going to join him or not.
You might not be able to claim that half a year was a long time since theyâd last been âlet outâ, not in the context of their lives, but even so, heâd felt an itch in his shoulders ever since that day on the airbase tarmac.
And it would be good, not just to stretch them on the ground but flex the muscles of them, too, let them do they were intended to do for once.
He closed his eyes and let out a long, drawn-out breath of relief as he let go of something inside of him and felt the wings unfurl behind and around him with a silent roar.
It occurred to him, then, somewhat and perhaps unwisely belatedly, that maybe Aziraphaleâs reaction had something to do with a fear, residual or not, that they would be spotted. Not by humans, that could be fixed. By upstairs or downstairs.
That conclusion seemed born out by the fact that the blue eyes had somehow only grown wider as they looked at him.
If they were going to strike them down, though, they wouldâve done so already, surely? Quite apart from what they had already put them through, what with the trials and everything, theyâd had plenty of opportunities in the last half a year.
Going for a flight wasnât going to piss them off more than the rest of what theyâd done so far, or so heâd thought when heâd contemplated it himself.
âCrowleyâŠâ
There was quite the evident amount of concern and apprehension in that one syllable, or so the demon wouldâve said.
He sighed, heavily. There was convincing and then there was coercion or simply pushing someone into doing something they really didnât want to do. He had no intention of doing either, not when it came to Aziraphale and their time together, much as it was sending small cracks through his heart.
They would mend, though. It was fine.
It was fine.
He let go of the hand in his, reluctantly but nevertheless, he did it. If he was going to do this on his own, he wasnât going to drag the other with him, not even a little.
âYou donât have to if you donât want to, angel, or if you donât feel safe going up. I can go up myself, itâd probably be safer â â
Before he could get any further, he was interrupted by the angel unfolding his own wings with an equally inaudible clamour.
There were certain benefits to being a demon. One of them was excellent night vision and so he could easily see the angel standing before him, wings spread out on either side before they came to rest, much like his own.
Without the threat of impending doom and obliteration, for the entire planet as well as them, looming over him, over them both, he had the opportunity to take in the shape of his friend and partner, with his wings, and the sight took his breath away.
Oh, to see those wings beat as they brought the angel up into the air properly and then stretch out as he glided across the night sky, occasionally pushing down with force yet still with grace to stay up.
If ever heâd been in doubt that heâd had a fantasy about seeing that, it evaporated at that moment. Not that that meant anything, really, at least in this particular context.
âI donât believe I ever said I didnât want to,â Aziraphale said. âNor imply it, either.â
âYour silence was pretty telling,â Crowley countered, with just the merest hint of sharpness to his voice.
âPerhaps so, but that doesnât mean it was indicative of the thing you assumed,â Aziraphale returned, with an equal hint of sharpness.
Then he paused, swallowed, and his voice softened when he spoke again.
âWith that said, I do see how it wouldnât necessarily come across as it formed in my brain, and that a silence can leave some very unfortunate implications in its wake that mere words very often, and for that, I honestly do apologise.â
He grabbed hold of the hand that had only just left his, gripping it even firmer than before.
Crowley expected him to say something more. Perhaps explain his reasoning for not feeling like he could go up there. Which wouldnât gel with him having let his wings out but perhaps his had been itching same as the gingerâs and this had, if nothing else seemed a good opportunity.
What he did not expect was what he got; Aziraphale not saying a word as he took a step backwards, then another while still trying to keep hold of Crowleyâs hand.
As the demon didnât move, however, since he didnât feel like he ought to, given what the other was trying to do, that proved impossible, even when they both stretched.
Crowley frowned, puzzled but hopeful. Was that â did that mean that â?
When Aziraphale closed his eyes and drew a deep, but quick breath, it seemed more likely and when air slammed into him and flowed around him as the large wings pushed it down with force and the distance wasnât quite great enough, Crowley could no longer be in any doubt.
He watched, something constricting his throat, as Aziraphale rose into the air, born aloft by his wings that a certain subset of humans would unquestionably point out were entirely impossible; that with their size and construction they shouldnât be able to carry something the rough shape and weight of a fully grown human.
Impossible included other such small titbits as being immortal and performing actual, honest-to-opposition miracles, whether benign or malignant, too, and they managed both of those well enough, didnât they?
To be perfectly fair, it was probably at least a little more graceful to Crowleyâs biased gaze than reality would record, but that hardly mattered.
What mattered was that it was happening and for that, he could have swayed like a kite that refused to pick up wind as it was run along to make it fly and Crowley would still have found it beautiful.
That wasnât to say it was inelegant, regardless of the body shape of the angel. Just a, a little rusty, perhaps. Like something that you once excelled at but havenât touched in long enough that not just your brain, but your body needs a moment or two to tap into what the dickens this was all about again.
Once that seemed to come back to him, he visibly relaxed. How exactly that was visible, given, well, everything, was something best left to someone with demonic night vision and very intimate, though not sexual, knowledge of the body in question.
Then, another thing happened that Crowley hadnât expected and certainly wasnât prepared for. Rather than hold his hand out for the ginger to take as he rose himself, Aziraphale instead grabbed the hand heâd been trying to hold onto earlier.
He didnât pull or anything like it that would make the demon destabilise or otherwise risk staggering and stumbling, though, just held on as he waited, his wings beating a slow but steady rhythm, keeping him afloat in the air.
Crowley shouldâve been up there to join him immediately, he knew. He wanted to, too, without a question, and he wouldâve done, as well, if notâŠ
If not for the tiny little issue that his body seemed to have shut down for its holidays and the front desk wasnât taking any calls at the time.
This was notâŠ
He had been so bloody nervous about all of this ever since he had first formulated it in his mind and suggested going on a date; heâd gone from being hopeful and sometimes even confident back to being a nervous wreck to then thinking in entirely defeatist terms about it and then swung back around to hopeful and start it all over again. Sometimes itâd switch up the order, of course, but otherwise, it had stayed.
All of that, over and over in his mind since Aziraphale had said yes to the date, and this was the result?
It wasnât that he wasâŠno, that wasnât right. He was complaining, he just didnât have any right to complain. Not when things had turned out more or less just like heâd hoped for, and he was more than fine with avoiding drama.
Drama when it was someone else could be interesting, might even fuel a tarnishing of a soul somewhere â he was a demon, heâd had a job to do â but drama when he himself was involved? No, thank you. Heâd had more than enough of that in his life, he was going to avoid any further instances.
He guessed there was just the slightest sense ofâŠanti-climax to things panning out like this.
Or perhaps anti-climax was the wrong word. Maybe it was more accurate to say that it felt like it was going too well and that it would come crashing down on him, if not right now then in not very long.
OrâŠoh, he didnât know. It was too much, all too much to contemplate at once. It wouldnât change anything, either, but that wasnât the same as easily being able to push it out of his mind.
The hand that wasnât already gripping his was extended towards him.
He looked at it, followed the line of the arm all the way until his eyes met those of Aziraphale. The ones that were smiling so softly, so warmly.
So lovingly.
There was no other word for it.
That broke through not just the thoughts thronging in his mind and making the start of an absolute racket, but his momentary stupor.
Right.
Pushing aside the small thought that it ought to have been him whoâd asked Aziraphale like this, not the other way around, as petty and irrelevant in the circumstances, he grabbed the proffered hand without further hesitation.
Thankfully, pushing his wings down wasnât something that required a whole lot of thought. Not none at all, mind, and he ran the risk of wobbling as much or even more than the angel in front of him. But he would gladly take that if it meant that he got to experience this.
He was in the air before he knew it, the hands in his gripping firmly. It certainly wasnât him that was holding on tightly to the hands of the angel. Most definitely not.
Aziraphale didnât say anything, not even when Crowley accidentally pulled a little higher than heâd intended in one go.
Only when the demon felt like he had it all under control â and he wasnât as foolish as to let go before he was sure he had it under his control â did he let goâŠof one hand.
The whole reason heâd wanted this wasnât for him to faff about on his own, now was it? One might argue âtricksâ but if that was what Crowley was after, he had plenty of things he could show off to his angel â and they were things that only he could do, too.
Hardly a competition, was it?
He changed the grip on the hand in his, just enough that it was much more secure. That and, well, interlacing your fingers always felt very comforting and, well, romantic.
It was a good thing that angels didnât have excellent night vision as well, because it spared him from having his slightly reddened cheeks exposed. What light might be left from the disappeared sun was not enough to illuminate the demonâs face, thankfully.
His hand was squeezed gently and Aziraphaleâs smile only broadened.
Shall we, then?â the angel asked, and Crowley nodded, ignoring the moisture in his eyes.
Despite it being Aziraphale who had got off the ground first, as it were, he let it be Crowley who took the lead on moving forward, beating his wings once, twice as he looked across the expanse of fields, trees and a small smattering of houses that constituted the nearest village, which included both a post office and a pub, and beyond.
All stretched out below them and around them, ready to be seen.
Not because he never had, though it had been a while since heâd last been on any flight, on his own or assisted by machines. That wasnât the point.
The point was that he was going to see them with Aziraphale.
That made the difference. All the difference in the world, really.
He thought he saw something glow in the far distance and figured that that would be a good thing to start heading for. Not the final destination, of course, just the pointer to head for right now.
Taking a deep breath, he then set off, his grip on Aziraphaleâs hand very firm, warm, a little sweaty and just about perfect.
There was the slightest of tugs in their clasped hands at that, but the angel kept pace with him almost immediately and despite the fact that they shouldâve crashed right into each other, flying so close and on a line, nothing happened.
For a little while, they just sailed across the sky, floating in the air, in silence that was only theirs.
Crowley closed his eyes without meaning to, unable to help exhilarating in the sheer excitement and utter joy of being up here, letting his wings out to stretch and flex their muscles. The wind in his face, the sting in his lungs, the rushing through his feathers, the power underneath his wings as they rose a little.
Apart from those small noises right beside him, the almost deafening silence of everything around him, the everyday humdrum noises of an evening that hadnât realised it had become night far too small to be heard up where they were.
All of it coming together to form something that was altogether so much more than the sum of its parts.
Something that was magical.
But it was only so because it was focused through the spectacular, unique prism that was his angel. Without Aziraphale, none of this wouldâve meant even a fraction as much, if anything at all.
Speaking of that, he thought that maybe, if he concentrated on the right muscles and such, he could change the angle and maybe just â
Aziraphale, caught up in his own enjoyment, it seemed, mustâve felt the hand in his loosen. But even so, he let out an inaudible but visible gasp as he watched the demon suddenly fly beneath him, keeping perfect pace with him as they sailed on through the gathering night, his wings beating steadily.
Blue eyes slid across the entirety of the body beneath him and Crowley couldnât help but spread out his arms as well, grinning just a little cockily.
Alright, so perhaps showing off wasnât purely for when there were serpentine tricks to perform. Sue him.
Actually, thatâŠnah. Heâd got better things to do. Especially now.
Such as flying up above the other and circling all the around him, ending up right back where heâd started, but with a bigger grin than heâd had before.
Aziraphaleâs mouth clearly said âshow-offâ, judging by the careful, somewhat exaggerated movements of lips, but despite the distance and despite the darkness around them, Crowley had no trouble seeing the warmth shining in the eyes that he knew so well.
He rose again but only so much that he was in front of Aziraphale, hovering high above the ground.
Luckily, the angel mustâve expected something like that to happen, as he slowed immediately before stopping completely, and thereby avoided crashing straight into the other.
Crowley flew in close and grabbed hold of both plump hands. He brought him up a little and then tugged, moving as he did so. The grin that now threatened to take over his face had nothing to do with cockiness and everything to with unadulterated joy and delight.
Aziraphale followed him, a smiling frown on his features as he didnât quite understand what the ginger was getting at.
That soon became a laugh of delight as he caught on and moved with the demon, faster and faster as they spun round and round, like a celestial round-about, with the added benefit that they werenât going to fall off and if they became dizzy from it all, it was easily fixable.
They were both laughing like idiots the entire time.
When they finally stopped, Crowley felt just the slightest bit dizzy, but he also felt outright giddy and joyous and the fact that his feelings were reflected on his most beloved face in the whole world. The entire universe, really.
Part of him wondered whether they ought to call it a night. Whether Aziraphale would want to call it a night, after everything.
Did Crowley want to call it a night? No, not at all. Not ever.
âŠAnd still have begged for moreâŠ
He had no idea where that had come from. No, actually, he did, with music accompanying it and everything. He just didnât want to acknowledge it, that wasnât the same thing.
Despite that, he couldnât deny that he shared the sentiment, even as he tried to bury the wretched song deep where it might never resurface.
He did want it to go on all night, at the very least, if not longer. It wasnât as though they were exactly hindered by the limits of other creatures with the ability to fly, was it?
On the other hand, though, he did recognise that a large part of the magic lay in it being such a limited time.
To extend it beyond the night would not only mean that theyâd have to perform quite hefty miracles not to be spotted by anyone â as it was now, even with the clear sky they were flying in, they would, if they were spotted at all, be seen as weird birds or possible odd hang-glidersâŠoh, werenât humans simply wonderful? â it would take away from the night.
From their date.
Which wasnât what he wanted at all.
So, instead he could make the most of what he had, make it as memorable an experience as possible.
That did not mean that all it could be was showing off for Aziraphale.
He flew a little closer, with the intention of asking whether the angel wanted to make a swooping dive with him.
Before he got the chance to more than open his mouth, however, he was in for a shock that almost sent him crashing out of the sky; Aziraphale closed what distance remained between them and kissed him.
It wasnât a short kiss nor a chaste one, either of which he wouldâve expected from Aziraphale, if heâd expected anything at all. Which he hadnât, mainly because he hadnât dared to entertain even the glimmerings of such a thought. To do more was to only set himself up for unneeded disappointment, or so heâd thought.
This nowâŠ
This told an entirely different story, though, didnât it? As well as saying that maybe heâd got it wrong. Possibly not entirely but quite significantly wrong, even so.
Quickly, he pressed back, as enthusiastically as he could without risking the other toppling over. His hands let go of the otherâs as their tongues met, but though heâd intended to wrap the hands around the back of Aziraphaleâs neck, only one managed that.
The other settled itself under and over the angelâs jaw, cupping it and allowing his thumb to brush across the entirety of the cheek, paying special attention to the cheekbone and the corner of an eye where it seemed as though some moisture had gathered.
It was him that pulled back after a small eternity, his eyes opening slowlyâŠwhich was entirely lost on the other, seeing as heâd retained his sunglasses for the trip into the air.
âWell, thatâŠâ
âShush,â Aziraphale said, without opening his own eyes. He placed a finger on Crowleyâs lips for emphasis, even though they were definitely close enough to hear each other now. âDonât go ruining it. Not yet.â
The demon let out a sharply indignant noise at that and pulled back a little further.
Ruining it! The bloody nerve of it â as though he would!
Then the angel did open his eyes and there was nothing but warmth and love in them, no anger or annoyance at all.
Well, to say that it was all that was in them was perhaps not quite trueâŠ
âYou bastard,â Crowley murmured when he cottoned on, the downward pull of his lips transforming into a broad grin in an instant. âYou â â
âAt your service, my dear, always and ever,â Aziraphale smiled back. After a moment, he asked, âShall we head back, then?â
Crowley was about to say âyesâ â because just because they were headed back didnât mean they had to take the straight route â when he spotted something flashing through the night.
âNot yet,â he said, his grin a positive beam now. âCome on, I want to try something!â
And whatâs that?â Aziraphale asked.
Crowley didnât answer, just grabbed the otherâs hand and headed down.
That was to say, he dove down, in a swoop that was a bit too vertical for any kind of comfort. Nevertheless, Aziraphale followed him, keeping hold of his hand throughout and staying right beside him.
Down they flew, down and down and forward as well, until they were right above what Crowley had spotted; a train, though sadly not a steam train, moving through the night with a speed that was quite seductive and almost lent it a sort of grace as it sped across the rails.
They kept pace with it for a while, just because they could.
Once or twice, Crowley dropped down to look in on the passengers, which rather startled at least a few. There was one who merely waved to him, but as that was a child, with a sibling beside it who just frowned and stared, he had no compunction with waving right back to them before shooting back upwards, with perhaps more speed than he rightly needed.
When he emerged back up above the train, he looked around.
His heart seized when he at first saw absolutely nothing, not even a hint of angel as he looked.
Just as he was about to call out for him, however, strangled and, admittedly, desperate, his eyes caught on a mass of white. A familiar and incredibly welcome mass of white.
He dropped a foot or two out of sheer relief before he flew over to where Aziraphale was. Where he had sat himself down.
On top of the moving train. He was cross-legged but somehow managed to look as prim and proper as he always did when he had something moreâŠchair-like with a seat to perch on instead.
Crowley alighted on the roof himself.
âWhat the heavenâs possessed you to sit yourself down on top of a moving train?â he asked once he had.
Aziraphale looked entirely innocent. âYou were the one who wanted to follow it along like a couple of gulls trailing a ship.â
Gull? Gull? He wasnât a bleeding gull!
What he said out loud was something else, though. âAnd you went along with me, which you didnât have to if you didnât want to.â
âOf course, I had to, donât be silly,â the angel said, but his sniffy attitude was rather undermined by the way he reached across to grab Crowleyâs hand again. The ginger definitely felt like he could get used to that happening far more often.
âWhatâs more and much more important, I wanted to,â Aziraphale added, a smile creeping back into his expression. âI just felt that while you flitted about scaring the life out of innocent passengers, I might as well get a bit of rest out of it.â
âAs though you get tired â and isnât it your job to stop me from doing things like that, anyway?â
The flight had lessened some tension between them, which had been more needed than Crowley had been aware of beforehand, and it was nice to just bicker back and forth a little.
That and the kiss had helped significantly in that regard, obviously.
âScaring passengers is not very nice at all and even a bit juvenile but it hardly counts as evil, my dear, and certainly not something that needs thwarting.â The smile turned just the slightest bit mischievous. âBesides, I thought that we had retired. I believe you were rather adamant on that score.â
âMe? It was your idea.â Crowley wasnât going to be goaded by something like âjuvenileâ.
âNo, I am entirely certain it was yours, dearest, and you wonât persuade me otherwise.â
Crowley opened his mouth to argue, got as far as the first half of a syllable before he gave it up in mild disgust, turning it into a mocking grimace.
It only made the angel smile broader.
They stayed on the train for a few more miles, just taking in the scenery. As the first, faint but distinguishable glow of predawn began to suffuse the darkness around them, they looked to the landscape around them.
Then they looked at each other.
With a deep breath, their wings pushed down in unison as they set off, with surprisingly little issue for either of them, their timing meaning that they only just missed the tunnel the train was about to hurtle through at top speed.
They flew quietly but happily through the countryside, going past a town that mightâve qualified as a city, a few towns, quite a few villages and a whole lot of landscape, none of which looked remotely familiar to Crowley, who excused himself with the fact that it had been dark when theyâd set out, completely ignoring the night vision, and besides, didnât it all look the same?
He wasnât worried, though. Not in the slightest. After all, heâd left his car in loads of places over the years and heâd always been able to find it.
It had always been in fine condition, too â and if he returned now and found that it wasnât, for whatever reason, then he would make the little punks whoâd so much as thought to damage it or even take it regret the day they had ever been conceived.
And if Aziraphale made any comment, he would ask, innocently, about if someone hurt his books.
He squeezed the hand in his, unable to fight the beaming smile of utter joy on his face as they flew back towards the car, the angel taking the lead this time.
For a first date, it had been almost, definitely entirely perfect. Every other date from now on certainly had a lot to live up.
âŠWell, then. He liked a challenge.
 .............................................................
The car turned out to be fine.
When they finally located it about a mile or two away from where their picnic blanket still lay, undisturbed. Mostly fine, at least.
Aziraphale never asked where Crowley went one afternoon about a week later, which he had spent polishing and pampering his car despite the fact that he could and had fixed it completely with one single glare at the dents and scratches, and the demon never volunteered the information.
It was better and easier for both parties that way, and there was no need to spoil the mood.
Not when they had had such a beautiful trip out of it.
Aziraphale was already planning for another âdateâ, one which he hoped could do the first one proper justice.
-------------
Hope you like and it even remotely lives up to what you hoped itâd be.
I would, quite honestly, adore some prompts for either Sherlock or Good Omens. Not too angsty, as this whole mess is driving me up the wall as is, but please...PLEASE, Iâd like something to write thatâll get my mind off it all.
So it was the angel who ended up tugging the demon into the room and guided him onto the bed, which really shouldnât be able to fit in, either, what with its good size and all but well, when youâre already fiddling with reality, why shouldnât you at least do a proper job of it?
Once Crowley was sitting down, Aziraphale paused.
âHow do youâŠhow would you like this to go?â he asked, and Crowley almost laughed.
It sounded as though he was asking for something entirely more intimate than just sharing a bed and the funny part was that Aziraphale would likely be utterly unaware of the fact. But Crowley didnât laugh because he understood the reason for the question â and he didnât want to be misunderstood, either. Theyâd had more than enough of that already, hadnât they?
So, instead, he quirked his lips in a small smile. âWhatever way youâre comfortable with, angel. Didnât really have anything planned, just wanted to have you be there next to me.â
There was a light frown on Aziraphaleâs forehead at that. âBut surely, you would need more than me just sitting beside you while you sleep.â
In the back of his mind, Crowley couldnât help but notice he didnât say âuntil you fall asleepâ, despite the ginger having given him that option quite explicitly.
The rest of him focused on answering. âIf thatâs what youâre â âhe began but he was interrupted.
âNo, not what Iâm comfortable with, Crowley. This isnât about me.â
Crowley opened his mouth to protest that it bloody well was, but then Aziraphale continued. âItâs about both of us but mainly itâs about you. Youâre the one who sleeps, who has the experience and know what helps.â
He thought â did he think that it was because Crowley needed help sleeping? The demon whoâd slept his way through most of a century would need help to sleep?
 Perhaps he thinks that with all that has gone before and what youâve just discussed, you might not particularly want to sleep on your own right now.
HeâŠcouldnât really argue with that, could he? It was a fair point even if it was mainly speculation.
Well, there was a way to make it less than speculation.
âAngel, you â do you think that I want you here because I need you? No, not like that. I meant, that I need someone to be beside me to feel safe enough to sleep and no other reason?â
Aziraphale didnât immediately answer which was something of an answer on its own.
âWellâŠyes,â he admitted. âItâs not as though youâveâŠnot in the time weâveâŠâ
âI havenât exactly been sleeping much if at all in that time.â
He only realised that could be construed as confirmation after the words had left his mouth, and so, cursing himself a little, he hastened to add, âDoesnât mean that thatâs the reason I want you here. I just want you here, sharing a bed, because, well, like I said, I very much want to know what it feels like to have you next to me when I sleep. Itâs not a case of need, itâs a case of want, okay?â
Crowley hoped that the unspoken âitâs not an obligation, just a wishâ was nevertheless heard.
Aziraphale blinked, his mouth a little âoâ of understanding.
âOh. Well, thatâsâŠâ He trailed off and didnât look as if he would say anything more, though.
Crowley looked at him for a moment, head tilted a little. Then, with the thought that he would be needing that nap regardless, he started to shrug out of his jacket. It would be easier to just miracle it off, if he didnât want to sleep in it, but he somehow didnât think that him suddenly sitting in his underwear, possibly with a t-shirt too, would go down so well with Aziraphale, mostly because of theâŠwell, shock to the system, as it were.
He laid it down carefully on top of a stack of books.
When he got to his shirt, though, a plump hand stopped him after the first few buttons.
He looked up into green, worried eyes.
âWhat is it? Would you â should I keep it on?â
âWhat? Oh. No. Not â well, thatâs entirely up to you.â
âEverything canât be up to me, you know. Thatâs hardly fair.â A small pause then a deep sigh. âI shouldnât have dragged you up here.â
The other hand went swiftly to his cheek. âYou did not drag me. I am just â I admit Iâm a bit out of my depth on what the protocol is on all this and â â
âProtocol? Thereâs no protocol.â
Aziraphale huffed a breath and his nose wrinkled ever so slightly. âOf course, there is. There always is with such things. If nothing else, then what you would want.â
âI said. Whatever it takes to have you be in the bed at the same time as â â
He didnât get time to finish his sentence. Or rather, he cut himself off, unintentionally, his attention diverted quite thoroughly.
It was diverted by Aziraphale straightening up in one go and, at the same time, starting to undo his bowtie, which came off with an annoying speed and ease, considering that he likely wouldnât have had it off for a century or something like that. Then he started to unbutton his shirt from the top, despite the obvious fact that it would make more sense to start at the waistcoat first.
This flashed by in Crowleyâs mind rather fast, the main part of his brain stuck on the fact that Aziraphale was, as far as he could tell, in the process of undressing for him.
Likely that was because he was mimicking what Crowley had been doing before heâd stopped him and he wasnât aware of the possible implications of that in a bedroom but still, the poor gingerâs mind boggled a little. More than a little.
âAngelâŠyou donât have toâŠâ
âI know. Youâve said, dear,â Aziraphale said, an apology in his tone and in his smile as his hands stilled momentarily. âBut I want to. It sounds nice. No,â he amended, âpardon me. It sounds wonderful and I would love to.â
And with that, he started unbuttoning again. Crowley stared for a moment, then scrambled to undo the buttons on his own shirt, flinging it off once open. He toed off his shoes quickly then halted when he got to his jeans. Would that be going too far? But sleeping in his jeansâŠwell, he might as well have stayed fully clothed, then.
In his focus to get his own kit off, he hadnât paid too much attention to the angel, which might be just as well. If he had, he might have gotten stuck halfway through opening the shirt.
There was a vest underneath the waistcoat and shirt, because of course there was. Even so, to see Aziraphale standing in front of him in nothing but his trousers and his vest, his bowtie, shirt and waistcoat all lying neatly over one arm while the jacket hung carefully from a finger, undoubtedly so nothing would be damaged, that wasâŠquite more of a sight than heâd expected.
Not that he didnât like it. Quite the opposite, and that was sort of the problem.
He licked his lips once before he could stop himself. Then he managed to pull himself together and say, âEhm, what about trousers?â
âWhat about them?â It seemed a genuine question, as though Aziraphale didnât understand what he was being asked.
âDo you want them on or off?â Well, that came out more suggestive than heâd intended but thankfully, he couldnât see any real indication that Aziraphale had caught onto that. Better not risk it by elaborating, though.
âFor sleeping? Well, I would think it would be better to have them off, in case of creases.â
Creases? Of all things, creases?
âYeah, definitely,â Crowley said, somehow managing to sound completely normal. He decided not to press on whether Aziraphale meant only his own or Crowleyâs as well. Taking a deep breath through his nose and then another, he achieved some genuine calm as he then wiggled out of his jeans.
He didnât clock that green eyes watched him do it. All he noticed when he looked back up from his task was that Aziraphale was now sans trousers â he vaguely noted everything was neatly folded on a new, small table, the feathers lying delicately on top in a protective gossamer-fine sleeve that would undoubtedly be impossible to damage â but in underwear that managed to not only cover him halfway down the thigh but look comfortable without looking baggy or otherwise silly.
In fact, at that sight, Crowley had to take another deep breath to calm himself down.
His angel really was stunning, from head to toe and inside out. But the fact that he hadnât seen Aziraphale, normally wrapped in so many layers and covered â he had over the years missed just the sight of a bare arm or exposed throat as the angel only seemed to gain in layers as the centuries rolled on â in this little clothing before wasâŠwell, it was all he could do not to just stare and stare, with eyes as wide as the proverbial saucers, not sure he would he would ever be able to drink his fill.
Heâd taken his sunglasses off without consciously noticing it and had dumped them on top of the jacket on the bookstack. Or at least somewhere in the vicinity thereof. He could miracle some new ones on.
But he had to focus somewhere else, if only because he honestly did feel like he needed some sleep, after everything, and he needed to collect himself a little more. Which was not possible if he kept looking, that was for certain.
He scooted backwards up the bed quickly and then wiggled down beneath the covers, his gaze directed down at the bed and then the covers. Aziraphale remained where he was, seemingly at loose ends as to what he ought to do now.
The short break had allowed Crowley to regain some composure again but so as not to risk it before he was absolutely certain, he didnât look anywhere near Aziraphale.
However, that only lasted until the angel asked, quietly, âCrowley, didâŠdid I do something wrong?â
Wait, what?
His head snapped back up, entirely on its own, to look at the other.
âWhat? No!â he exclaimed, eyes wide, eyebrows drawn together and mouth open. âNo, not at all. Why do you even say that?â
âBecause you wouldnât look at me,â Aziraphale explained, frowning a little himself but in a way that denoted sadness rather than anger. He waved a hand down over himself. âI thoughtâŠI thought that this was how you were supposed to do it but now you look as though you would rather â â
âStop right there,â Crowley interrupted, his incredulity and slight indignation warring with internal cursing at himself as he almost glared at the blond, who looked right back at him. âI âwould not ratherâ anything. I justâŠâ
Well, he might as well get it out there rather than lie or evade. Experience would seem to suggest that worked out better for him, however much it hurt. Even so, it wasnât easy to keep his gaze from flickering, though that was as much out of embarrassment as anything.
âI just wasnât prepared, thatâs all,â he said, his voice lowered.
âPrepared? For what, dear?â The sadness in the voice and face had been replaced, almost fully, with concern and warmth. Aziraphale sat himself down on the bed, on the edge right beside the demon, keeping eye contact.
âFor you. In soâŠlittle, I mean.â He waved a hand to indicate what he meant. âItâs, ah, itâs a really good look on you, though. Incredibly good.â He licked his lips unconsciously.
Earnestness pushed embarrassment aside for the moment as he complimented the other. That was easy, somehow, and something of a balm to his mind, too, in that he could now say, openly, the things that heâd noticed, contemplated and then studiously kept inside his mind before, sometimes having to bite on his tongue to achieve it.
This was one area where he wasnât careful or tentative in his approach; his angel deserved so many more compliments. Crowley could never hope to make up for the thousands of years that heâd held his tongue, certain it wouldnât be welcome, but he would try his bloody best, regardless.
When the words registered, Aziraphaleâs eyes widened a little. Then colour started to steal over his cheeks rapidly. He did not, however, try to deny or dismiss the compliment. Thankfully.
âWell, nowâŠthatâsâŠâ He smiled a small, pleased, touched smile, his eyes flickering down momentarily. A beat, then another. âThank you.â
Crowley couldnât help but smile in turn even as he blinked in the ray that was Aziraphaleâs smiles. Then he yawned huge and wide and quite unbidden, which was odd, not to mention ludicrous.
Aziraphaleâs smile widened a little. âI think, dear, that we had better get you tucked in.â
âI donât need âtucking inâ, Iâm not a child,â Crowley protested as he cut another yawn short, more than a little indignant at the suggestion. âAnd you donât sleep, why do you even know that expression?â
âI do have ears, you know, and I have been on this earth for a while,â Aziraphale replied, the primness ruined by the continued warmth in his eyes.
That warmth turned speculative for a moment. Then Crowley nearly swallowed his tongue â it might be impossible for humans to actually swallow and choke on their own tongue but none of them had a tongue with qualities quite like his, did they? â as the angel rose and turned around in the same movement, crawling up on the bed and over Crowley to get to the other side of him. Something the demon hadnât at all considered when heâd moved up onto the bed proper but which he definitely should have.
âAziraphale!â he protested, more out of startled surprise than anything.
The angel was now on the other side, under the covers instead of on top of them, at least, sitting as though heâd made himself ready for high tea rather than sitting in his underwear beside a demon in a similar state of undress. And all they were going to do was sleep.
Not that Crowley had any designs in that regard. Well, perhaps he did have aâŠthought or two in that direction, but it wasnât something for now or the foreseeable future. Slow was perfect. Slow kept things from shattering. Even if it never happened, that would be fine, too.
It didnât need to for him to have everything he wanted.
That didnât mean he was averse, of course, or that he didnât appreciate getting to appreciate the view, as it were, and, well, the sudden closeness had shattered whatever little measure of composure he had managed to gain and hold onto.
The blond frowned. âCrowley, I am trying to do the right thing in the circumstances youâve given me, but you do â â
âNot that! You crawled over me.â
ââŠYes? How else do you propose I should get to this side of the bed when you took the outside?â
âOh, I donât know, you couldâve asked me to move my legs!â
A pause where Aziraphale blinked once, twice. âOh. Yes, of course. I didnât think of that. Of course, I should have thought of that. My apologies.â
âŠBuggering blasting fuck, would he ever learn to clam his mouth shut when it really shouldnât talk?
He reached out and grabbed hold of the plump hand that had begun to pull a little at the sheet underneath it, interlacing his fingers with the angelâs.
âNo, you werenât in the wrong at all. I should be the one to apologise,â he said.
âYou apologise too much as it is,â Aziraphale muttered under his breath and it was evident that he didnât intend for Crowley to hear so he pretended that he hadnât.
Instead, he turned over onto his side. It unfortunately meant he had to disentangle their fingers to lean on that arm instead as the hand propped up his chin.
The movement made the pendant heâd had around his neck in a chain swing back and forth before it settled against his chest.
Technically speaking, it was probably too large to be called a pendant, though on the other hand, that never seemed to have stopped any human. In any case, he didnât care whether it was or not. It could be the size of a bleeding sundial and he wouldâve logged it around with him with joy.
The thing was, the pendant was entirely transparent because what mattered what not so much the pendant on its own but rather its role in protecting its cargo. It was also made of entirely clear quartz crystal of high quality for that very same reason, as heâd feared that glass would prove far too fragile.
Inside was the feather he had chosen from Aziraphaleâs wing after some more prodding. It wasnât so much that he had needed more convincing, it was more a case of needing a bit of time to deliberate. Because whatever Aziraphale said, there would be symbolism to tangle with whichever feather he picked, and even if the only ones who would ever see them would be the two of them, he wanted to give off the right signal.
So, he had chosen not just one but two feathers, a pair of coverts, though one of them was a primary covert and one was a secondary. Aziraphale had smiled at that but he had also looked a little odd and sad. So Crowley had explained that well, yeah, of course there was the symbolism of a pair of coverts, but it was more, and there he had coloured just a little, that it was the two of them together, different and yet the same, hence a primary and secondary â and had nothing to do with one being lesser â and the angel hadnât argued with that, his expression turned loving.
Crowley had intended to keep it even by plucking one from each wing, but Aziraphale had insisted that he take from the same wing, whichâŠwell, made its own kind of sense and symbolism.
Now they nestled against his chest, encased in their crystal prison and safe from any possible damage, well, of the everyday, non-supernatural sort, at least. Each time he felt it move against his skin, he felt internal warmth that had nothing to do with Hell.
There was very little decoration to the rest of the pendant. He had considered doing something more elaborate â Aziraphale had suggested a jeweller to do such an skill-based, delicate job, but Crowley did not want anyone else touching the feathers, even encased as they were â but thought that it would detract from what was important about the pendant and he did not want that.
Aziraphale saw it dangle gently, his gaze drawn to it as the chain clinked and settled and his whole face lit up. He had seen it before, of course, not least when Crowley had made it and showed it off, but one can be just as amazed and touched by something on subsequent views as one was initially. Now he focused on it, reaching out to carefully touch it, as though it would break if he was even the slightest bit rough.
Crowley let him.
The angel then slid his fingers up to grasp at the chain and Crowley ducked his head as best he could in his current position so it would come off easier.
Once it was off, Aziraphale moved and stretched, the process watched by the still reclining demon with appreciative eyes, to place it on top of Crowleyâs clothes, being as careful then as heâd been earlier.
âI couldâve left it on, you know,â Crowley commented as the angel settled back against the headboard. âI wonât damage them. That was sort of the point of the whole crystal thing.â
âOh, I know that. That wasnât my point.â
âWhat was your point then?â
âThat it might get uncomfortable to have on you when trying to sleep.â
âItâs not as though I havenât been sleeping in uncomfortable places before.â Not because he needed to sleep but even when you could choose whether you slept or not, humanity had relatively speaking been sleeping rough until very recently.
âPerhaps so. I, on the other hand, have not.â
Crowley frowned at him. Then it clicked.
âBut you â you said youâd just be sitting there.â It wasnât meant to be accusatory and he didnât think that it came out that way. He hoped, anyway, because he was more than fine with having just that. When he had said he wanted Aziraphale there, heâd meant it.
âAs I recall, dear,â Aziraphale said, with a smile that had just the edge of impishness to it, so faint that Crowley was almost certain it was a trick of the light, âyou were the one who said that, not me. The most you can accuse me of is not contradicting you.â
âBut youâve never â I thought you wouldnât be comfortable with it.â
The impishness left the smile instantly and was replaced with kind concern.
âOh, Crowley,â he said, his head tilting in the way that it did when his kindness shone through. âI am sorry. We really do keep missing each other, donât we? Communications-wise, I mean.â
âIâŠyeah, I suppose we do. What did you have â â
He didnât finish his sentence because his focus was hijacked by Aziraphale laying down himself and, far more importantly, scooting himself over to Crowley. There was a moment where the ginger didnât really know where the other intended to go or what he himself should do.
Then a hand came up to cradle the back of his neck where it became skull and guided him towards the blond. He put up no resistance to it and found his head guided to rest on Aziraphaleâs shoulder, cheek against it. As soon as it came to rest, he found the remainder of his body following suit, moving up right close.
He didnât wrap himself around the other, though, still uncertain of just how much would be welcome and not wanting to go too fast or do the wrong thing.
Then he felt the angelâs head turn slightly and felt lips press against the shell of his ear. It was just a small peck, really, but the tenderness of it did something complicated but light to his heart.
This time, instead of waiting for Aziraphale to move and thereby say it was okay, Crowley took a breath and made a decision on his own, taking the small risk; he moved his arm up and around to hug the soft waist of his love, hand splaying out on his back. One leg he slid between the two thicker ones and the other arm he slid underneath the other, that hand carding itself into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. That had quickly become one of his favourite things to touch and so he wasnât going to miss the opportunity to do so.
Aziraphale hummed at that, a pleased little noise that oddly enough reverberated through the other. Not that Crowley could find it in himself to complain, far from it.
GoodâŠopposition, that felt good. If he had thought sleeping was pleasant before, having not merely a body but that of his angel to rest on, feel his softness and his warmth surround him beneath the covers, being able to turn his head and breathe the scent of him inâŠ
He would be hard pressed to be able to top that in terms of sleeping arrangements and for a moment worried that from now on, he would struggle to find rest on his own.
Even as he thought that, though, he could feel sleep starting to drag him down, the pure comfort and love surrounding him sending him down with a speed that he hadnât anticipated.
He couldnât bring himself to care, though. This was goodâŠso goodâŠoh, yesâŠ
As new nestmates, there's a few things that need to be navigated for Crowley and Aziraphale, even though so many things are the same. One of them is the ritual of grooming that is done between nestmates.
Nothing had changed. Well, obviously, things had changed, quite significantly, even; they were now nestmates, honest-to-goodness nestmates, and there was no changing that. Theyâd promised themselves and each other that. No matter what happened, they would not give up on each other.
That being said, neither of them could help feeling apprehensive, to put it incredibly mildly. This wasnât a case of a pair of teenagers disobeying their parents by being together. Well, perhaps there was an element of that, what with the role of Heaven and Hell and everything, but the penalty was rather more severe. It was like comparing a lighter to a star. Technically, they were both burning, but beyond that, there wasnât much to compare with.
But as the days became weeks, and there still wasnât so much as an increase in assignments or the amount of paperwork they had to deal with, Crowley couldnât help feeling a sense of relief â while simultaneously feeling even more tense.
This couldnât be right. They had to know. Somehow, they would have to know, so why wasnât anything happening?
Another part of his brain argued that well, theyâd kept their Arrangement a secret for almost a thousand years by this point, without either side suspecting a single thing. If they had, neither of them wouldâve been able to carry on as they had, they knew that.
Why then, knowing that, did he suddenly bestow the powers above, or below, the accolade of observatory skills they had never yet exhibited? When they could be fobbed off with a well-placed memo why did he then think that they would instantly suss out that Aziraphale and he had become nestmates?
Unfortunately, he could answer his own question, at least to some extent. To the extent that explained why he was afraid, anyway.
What they had managed toâŠwell, yes, fool them with was about what they did. The jobs theyâd been sent to do, which none of the other angels or demons really had much track with. Not in the way that Aziraphale and Crowley had, in any case, nor to the extent. It was always easier to lie to someone who only had the vaguest idea at best of what the truth actually were.
When it came to something like this, howeverâŠthis was about what they were, not what they did, and he couldnât help the tendril of fear that on something like that, at the very least Heaven would be much more on the ball. It did, after all, split the focus of the angels that were involved in the nesting, on who and what they should love. In theory, anyway, as angels tended to fail to live up to their own brief, as it was.
Which in turn brought him back to the thought, the question of why the Almighty had created Her servants with such a handicap as that, in the sense of their intended, purported purpose.
He brought it up to Aziraphale, more than once and increasingly animated each time he mentioned it. It wasnât helped by the fact that the angel didnât seem as worried about the whole thing, despite the fact ofâŠwell, everything, really. He listened but didnât make any comments or even any plans as to how they could deal.
At long last, after heâd asked flat out why he wasnât worried, Aziraphale sighed heavily, put down the books that heâd been cataloguing â why he bothered when everything was neatly organised, even if it was to a system that only he knew and understood, was beyond the ginger â and pulled Crowley close.
âI am worried,â he said, quietly. âVery much so.â
âThen why the bleeding blazes have you been acting as though it doesnât matter, or you arenât bothered by it?â Crowley demanded, his arm waving animatedly in its gesticulation.
Aziraphale, surprisingly in the demonâs opinion, didnât pause or falter. âBecause I would be helping neither of us, but especially not you, if I were also to panic.â
âPanicking? Who says Iâm panicking?â Crowleyâs gesticulation was almost flailing at this point, mainly hampered by their closeness. âIâm not panicking, thatâs absurd!â
âOf course not.â
âWhy would I be panicking?â
âBecause youâre understandably terrified of what they will do if they ever find out what we have done.â
âThey will not merely send rude notes, thatâs for bloody sure.â
âDestruction by rude note, that will certainly be novel.â
Aziraphale!â
The angel gave a small smile, which was warm but showing hints of both genuine worry and fear but also that inner core of steel. âI know how youâre feeling, dear. Honestly, I do. Donât mistake me. But tell meâŠwhat other precautions can we take than what we are taking right now?â
He brought a hand up to caress a defined cheek gently, then cup the side of the jaw, thumb continuing to brush across the cheek. Crowley instinctively leaned into the contact, savouring it as he continued to look at his angel. He didnât answer, though, because he had no answer to give. That was one of the problems, wasnât it?
Silence reigned for a few long moments.
Then, very quietly âWould you want us toâŠdivorce, for instance? Cease being nestmates?â
The words, the very suggestion that they would possibly stop being nestmates made Crowley snap for breath hard, his heart feeling as though it had just suffered an actual, physical punch. He wouldâve shouted ânoâ instantly and at the top of his lungs, if only heâd had the breath for it.
Aziraphale seemed to have been ready for the reaction, in a sense at least, as he made sure to steady his demon when his knees buckled a little.
Long-fingered hands came up to grasp hold of softened shoulders, hard and almost digging, as if that would somehow prevent him from leaving.
âNo, I didnât think so, either. Nor do I. As weâve discussed before, I would never want to lose you as a nestmate. Apart from the option of returning to how we were, however â and even that is not a guarantee they wonât detect either of us areâŠdivorced, as it were â I quite honestly cannot see what we can do about it.â
Crowley, still trying to get his breath back and stop the panic that had exploded inside, didnât answer. He just moved somehow even closer and bent his neck so that he could rest his forehead against the angelâs shoulder, between his hand and where shoulder became neck.
Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the shape of his nestmate, as if to further ensure he wouldnât go anywhere, no matter what happened.
âPlease donât leave,â Crowley said, his voice a little muffled from where his mouth was situated but nevertheless, it was insistent and Aziraphale heard him quite clearly.
âI wonât, dearest, I wonât. Never. I promise.â He turned his head and pressed his lips to the flaming red hair. âI hope you wonât, either.â
Crowley shook his head as though he was trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn wasp in his ear.
âIn that light, I think all we can do is carry on as we always have and if things do turn southâŠthen weâll have to take it from there.â
Strictly speaking, theyâd discussed that before as well but even so, it was a relief to the demon to have it confirmed.
Perhaps it was remnants of the unreality of it all, the sheer beauty and utter joy that went with their change in status and all that that had entailed for them, and the subsequent pure fear and dread that this was somehow indeed too good to be true. God could still be pulling the most massive prank on him.
What was it heâd read somewhere? âAll this good fortune, all this fierce joy ⊠it was wrong. Surely the universe could not allow this amount of happiness in one man, not without presenting a bill. Somewhere a big wave was cresting, and when it broke over his head it would wash everything awayâ?
Something along those lines, and didnât it feel incredibly apt in the circumstances, even if he was a demon rather than a man?
Wait, hang on. Why could he remember something heâd read? When the heaven had he actually read, anyway? Maybe Aziraphale had read it aloud to him, as he sometimes did with books he truly loved and wanted to share. Crowley would never have his love of books, not even close to it, but he did enjoy the audiobook experience when it was tailored specifically to him by a very specific narrator.
So maybe it had come from there, a quiet evening where they just got to enjoy the otherâs company.
Wherever it had come from, though, it had stuck and he couldnât help but feel its aptness, perfectly summing up how he was feeling, even in the midst of his Paradise-on-Earth â which was infinitely better than the original, in his opinion, whose only benefit had been a fortunate meeting.
He tried not to let it take over his thoughts and, more importantly, not to let it show. Seeing as it tied into not only his fears and worries about the potential punishment from their headquarters but to all the negative and self-deprecating thoughts which heâd had prior to the two of them becoming nestmates about the impossibility of just that thing, it became a significantly more difficult prospect, even as he felt the relief from Aziraphaleâs words.
The fact that he had his face hidden from view wasnât much of a comfort.
But Aziraphale only held him tighter, turning his head to plant kisses on every part of Crowleyâs head that he could reach, gently, lovingly. Being the anchor that he needed without saying a word.
Eventually, though he wouldnât have thought he would, Crowley began to feel calmer. Not entirely so, the thoughts were still present, but in that silent interlude, he managed toâŠnot so much push it into the background as pen it in and quieten it to a low murmur. Corral it into something manageable rather than outright banish it, helped by the words that Aziraphale had spoken and the reassuring calm that exuded from his body.
âSorry,â he muttered as he straightened up. He didnât try to otherwise put distance between them, though, and Aziraphale didnât make him.
âNo need to apologise. Itâs a very legitimate fear to harbour.â
Crowley paused then came to a quick conclusion as he looked at the otherâs face. âAnd youâre putting on a brave face for my sake.â
âI am not.â
âYou are. Thatâs why youâre that calm about it.â
âI told you, I am not, neither that calm or putting on a brave face for you. I would not lie to you like that, dear.â
âYou would.â It was an accusation, but it lacked any bite, the void of that filled with concern. âYou would if you thought you were protecting me by doing it.â
Aziraphale opened his mouth, presumably to protest, then closed it.
âYes, I suppose that is a very valid point,â he said after a few but long moments of silence, voice quiet. âBut I promise you that that was not my intention. I wonât hide from you, Crowley. Not anymore, not on purpose. I cannot control everything, but I will try and wonât put protection over honesty. Okay?â
âYeah. Yeah, okay.â That he could believe, that he could lean against to face things, to rely on as his rock. Well, as part of the rock that was his angel, really, when it came down to it. Softness, love and chub concealing a steel core. âSorry about â â
He was silenced by a kiss. âShush now. No need for that. Not now nor ever. I understand.â
Crowley regarded Aziraphale for a moment. Then, his heart full of warmth now, the murmur of his fears very low indeed, he said, earnest and heartfelt, looking into the warm green eyes, âI love you, angel. I love you.â
The beam he got from saying that out loud was one that beat every other iteration of Aziraphaleâs arsenal of smiles, all of which were wonderful on their own, and still did a number on his heart in the best possible way. He hoped that would never ever change.
âI love you, too, my dearest,â Aziraphale returned. âNothing will ever change that.â
Crowley touched their foreheads together after stealing another kiss, saying âthank youâ without speaking the words. It seemed to get through to the other just fine.
They stayed like that for quite some time and then Crowley decided that it was time for bed.
Aziraphale protested that it was far too early to go to bed, quite apart from the fact that neither of them needed to sleep. Crowley ignored him.
Sleeping was one of his favourite things in the world and now that he had the option to do so with his angel â and his fears about what Heaven and Hell was going to do to them had been soothed enough that he wasnât a nervous ball too tense to fall asleep anymore â he wasnât going to pass it up.
Well, he had up until now, in a sense, he would have to admit. But thereâd been other things for him, for them, to do and to explore with their changed circumstances, apart from the worry about whole being found out business.
Six millennia is a long time to wait and, for Crowleyâs part pine, and even if Aziraphale had only become aware of his feelings very recently, comparatively speaking, heâd assured the demon more than once that it was more a case of realising what had been there for a very long time, it crystallising inside his mind in that moment rather than being born.
Given that, this change was new and fragile and oh so precious to them both and they were handling it delicately in terms of what theyâd done since, as though it would shatter if they charged ahead.
Perhaps that was what heâd meant when heâd thought that nothing had changed. Theyâd thrust themselves into this whole other plane, as it were, of being nestmates rather than âonlyâ friends all at once. That was enough of a change to settle into, especially for being who could well regard a century ago as recent. There was no need for a radical change in behaviour or routines on top of that, not straight away, and so it felt safer, perhaps, to take it slowly.
There might be someone whoâd point out that a lot of what theyâd done, how theyâd interacted for the last millennia or so, at least, could qualify on their own as dating and so it would only make sense that things might not feel that different, if different at all.
Nesting and consequently becoming nestmates were on quite another level compared to human dating, however, even if it wasnât immediately visible by the standards that humans set for themselves. But Aziraphale and Crowley knew that it was there, and it resonated between them like the echoes ofâŠwell, the harp that the angels didnât play.
Not to mention, of course, the little things, such as the touches, including kisses, and the general closeness and openness they now enjoyed. Being more explicit about the little gestures and tokens of love that they had hid from each other before.
And there were the feathers. In the bookshop, yes, on display but hidden so that they wouldnât be inadvertently snatched by some customer Aziraphale somehow hadnât managed to keep out of the shop, which would just beâŠno, that didnât bear thinking about, either.
But there were also the ones that they carried with them. Which ought to be beyond stupid to do if they wanted to remain hidden if not for the fact that other angels, fallen or otherwise, would be able to detect the bond, for lack of a better term, they now had regardless.
And it was wonderful, Crowley had to admit, to be able to be parted from Aziraphale â and they were not joined at the hip, thank someone for that, and they never would be, however much they cherished the otherâs company â and still carry a physical reminder of him that was part of him. It certainly beat what humans came up with, such as jewellery out of teeth and hair. JustâŠwhy?
Now, thoughâŠnow he couldnât help the want, the need for a bit of sleep and to have Aziraphale be there with him. Not for anything intimate or the like, justâŠbeing there.
The angel kept protesting all the way up the stairs to the smallâŠwell, to call it a flat was a tad overly generous, really, seeing as it was actually just a small set of rooms that had come with the building back when Aziraphale had bought it. What they had been intended for wasnât clear, but it had been used for extra storage by the blond. That was, until Crowley had seen it one day after, well, and had miracled a bed up there.
Aziraphale had protested then, too, that there was no need for it, and it would only be in the way and where on earth did all his books go, really, Crowley, you canât just â
And heâd shut up when the demon had pointed upwards to see the books neatly stacked all the way around the wall and underneath the ceiling. That heâd have to employ a bit of, well, trickery, to make more room than there actually was, it was certainly worth it.
Heâd used it once or twice on his own since then, the smell of old books practically part of his nasal make-up at that point, but now he got to experience it with Aziraphale there.
The angel protested one more time when they made it up the stairs, though Crowley noted that he hadnât made any proper attempts to pull out of his grasp or just stop.
âCrowley, this is ridiculous,â he tried, sounding only slightly exasperated. âWe cannot go to bed at this hour, there are things I need to do. Iâm not going to waste time â â
The demon looked at him, then, and his expression shut the angel up.
âIâm not asking you to stay for a long time or anything,â Crowley said, voice quiet. âI just want you to be there while I fall asleep, thatâs all. Iâd like to know what it feels like.â He couldnât deny that âwaste timeâ had hurt, just a little, even though he knew Aziraphale hadnât meant it like that.
The guilty expression had already started to form as he closed his mouth and realised what heâd said, but now it took over the soft face. âOh. When you put it like that, thenâŠâ
He hesitated, then bit his lip. âOh, good lord, I am an arse, arenât I? I didnât even think of that and I shouldâve known â of course Iâll stay with you, dear.â
Crowley frowned. âYouâre not an arse.â It was hardly his fault Crowley hadnât made himself clear or that it hurt to hear him phrase it like he had, done entirely unintentionally.
âIâm afraid I am. I shouldâve known better, in both regards, and I do apologise.â He squeezed the hand gripping his. âWill you let me make it up to you?â
Part of Crowley wanted to say, âthereâs nothing to make up forâ, while another wanted to ask how he would, and a third, albeit small part, wanted to make a smart-arse comment.
Instead, for once, his brain and body were clever enough to make him purely give a nod.
The apologetic but grateful smile from Aziraphale started to melt what little hurt was left.
Was the boy really âtoo normalâ? He did certainly seem to be rather within a normal range for a child in his situation but Aziraphale had, in all the time theyâd been watching over him, always brushed it off as just being successful at what theyâd set out to do.
Lately, though, he had begun to have his doubts. They were small ones, barely enough to grasp hold of, but they were there.
Of course, it hadnât exactly helped that Crowley had voiced the concern a few times, too. Aziraphale wouldnât say that that had been the only factor, but it had come up in the last few years.
Years in which he had been fairlyâŠoccupied, too. Not only had they had their âundercoverâ guardianships, theyâd had to deal with some of their regular duties, too, for what it was worth, and convince both Heaven and Hell that they were doing an excellent job swaying the boy in their direction.
On top of that, there was the very definite worry of what theyâd do if it didnât work out and he did come into his power, after all. There were only a few years left to go now and they hadnât come up with anything. The one time heâd dared to mention anything, Crowley hadnât really given much of an answer, had he?
Oh, and of course Aziraphaleâs own personal fear of being found out.
It shouldâve lessened over the years, as it had before theyâd become nanny and gardener. But that had been with less contact in general and certainly without the addition of those oddities which persisted and so, he found that it had stayed roughly at that spike, that peak of fear throughout.
Nor did it help that Warlock had, with the directness that only a child could employ, asked one day, when the boy had beenâŠeight? SevenâŠwhether he and Nanny were special friends.
Heâd said no, of course, and asked, as kindly as he could â he was going for calmly as well but wasnât quite as certain on whether he managed that or not â what had given Warlock that idea, seeing as they werenât friends. They were just both employees of the Dowling family.
It had hurt more than a little to say that they werenât friends, even though he was, technically speaking, not referring to himself or to Crowley. Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis wasnât supposed to know each other, were they? They had no reason to. On the other hand, they had worked in the same house for a few years now, it wouldnât be odd for the boy to assume or for them to at least be acquaintances, which a child would as likely interpret as friends.
Aziraphale then suddenly had the fervent hope that Warlock wouldnât bring that back to his nanny. But in the very likely, almost certain, scenario that he would, given everything, then he wouldâŠoh, good grief! He was determined to make it worse on himself, wasnât he?
He would have to get hold of Crowley before â no, he would have to have the talk with Warlock first. Find a way to mitigate it so that what the boy would bring back, if anything, wouldnât hurt the demon. There was no need for that. Not now, nor ever, really.
The angel opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Warlock answered the question heâd posed.
âBecause Iâve seen you,â he said, and Aziraphale had to tell himself to remain calm, that that didnât mean anything, necessarily. And when exactly did he become this much of a nervous person?
âOh, yes?â he said, his tone carefully without inflection.
âYeah. And you were telling Nanny off and you donât do that unless you know each other.â
âI may, ah, have had a word with her.â And here he was meant to instil virtues into the boy, not allow him to witness anything like that. He got enough of that from his parents, after all, whenever both of them were home, at least. âYou can do that when youâreâŠwell, when you are acquaintances as well as when you are friends.â
There. That wasâŠwas that any good? What he would hopefully go away with was the last part, not least because âacquaintancesâ was a bit of a long word for a seven-year old. Then again, that might be why it would stick in his mind.
Perhaps, at least, Crowley would understand better, then, or at least ask quietly.
Warlock was still frowning, though, his little face quite serious. âBut Brother Francis, you said that you mustnât tell other people off like that. That youâre not supposed to say mean things to others because that hurts them. Thatâs not loving.â
âI...ah.â Had he said that? He mustâve, he supposed, but the details of the memory eluded him at the moment, which was a bit unfortunate in the circumstances. âThat is quite true, young master Warlock. But as I said, it wasnât a telling off. It was â â
âA discussion that got a wee bit animated, thatâs all,â came a voice from behind them and Aziraphale did not jump at the sound of it. He did not. Nor did his heart leap into his throat.
âNanny!â Warlock exclaimed, getting up from where heâd been sitting.
He ran over to her and she bent and picked him up with ease. She didnât swing him around or other such nonsense, but she did hug him to her for a moment before she set him back down.
âHello, dearie,â she said and there was warmth in that voice that Aziraphale wouldnât have expected to hear prior to their âemploymentâ here. âAnd how is my little hell-spawn? Have you been good while Nanny went shopping?â
âYes!â he said, in the hope that heâd then get some of her boiled sweets. He mostly liked the candy his father got shipped from the states, but he made an exception for her sweets. They were always his favourite.
âHave you now? Well, thatâs a bit of a disappointment.â
âBut NannyâŠ!â Even though it could hardly be the first time something like that had happened, he sounded a little confused and significantly put out.
âHas he been good, Brother Francis?â Ashtoreth asked, looking up from Warlockâs confused and disappointed yet still hopeful face to look directly, in as much as you could tell from behind the sunglasses, at Aziraphale.
The angel was not expecting being addressed like that in the situation, which didnât involve him apart from Crowley interrupting him earlier, and certainly not in front of the child. Nor did he anticipate being drawn into the discussion, if one could call it that.
What was he even meant to answer? âGoodâ by whose standards? And wasnât he meant to go against whatever Nanny Ashtoreth said, just on principle?
âOh, yes,â he ended up saying, somehow managing a smile, the buckteeth assisting him in that regard. âYoung master Warlock has been quite inquisitive.â
He didnât say anything else, leaving it up to the demon to interpret further if he wanted to.
âOh, he has, has he?â Ashtoreth said, turning her attention back to Warlock, who nodded. âWell, now, thatâs certainly a different matter altogether. Asking questions is always a worthy endeavour, I should say. âNow, letâs see what a good boy might get for his efforts.â
She reached into a pocket that had previously been entirely flat and pulled out two cellophane-wrapped spheres that mightâve been brown.
âThere you go, dear,â she said, and Warlock took them both, unwrapped them and plopped them both in his mouth.
Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest but closed it again immediately. That really wasnât his to comment on, was it?
âNow run along, pet, Iâll be with you in two shakes, okay?â Ashtoreth said and Warlock nodded, happily sucking on the sweets as he ran off.
âHeâs going to break his teeth on those one of these days,â Aziraphale commented vaguely as he looked at the boy.
âOnly his baby teeth. But wouldnât that be a sight, the Prince of Darkness with a chipped front tooth.â
âReally.â The huffy indignance was a lovely, shielding relief to employ sometimes, even if the respite was brief.
âJust a joke, just a joke.â
Aziraphale felt and heard more than he saw the other sit down beside him on the step heâd been occupying for a bit, the soft rustle of lining against the outer fabric oddlyâŠsensuous, despite its connotations.
What was also still a bit peculiar was having the conversations they usually had, including the quibbling which Warlock mustâve overheard at some point, when Crowley employed his Nanny voice.
A part of the angel couldnât help noticing, too, that once again the demon had sat himself down closer than he used to. Not close enough to cause offense, especially seeing as they were portraying a male and a female, or suggest something, but enough that Aziraphale noticed.
âWhat exactly were the two of you talking about?â Crowley asked in a low voice, after a moment or two, and it was Crowleyâs voice, the soft burr and light brogue of Nanny gone for the moment.
âI thought you heard. Since you answered it for me.â
âWhat? Oh. No, not really. I was just going off what you said about âtelling offâ. Figured that was a fairly safe bet, really.â
âAh.â
âSoâŠwhat was it?â
Should he say? But Crowley could always just go and ask Warlock and if he needed to, bribe him with sweets or other things. Sometimes he had the suspicion that the demon was using âhellish influencingâ as a gateway to spoil the kid. Then again, the full expression was to âspoil someone rottenâ, wasnât it?
âWarlock seems to be under the impression that we areâŠspecial friends.â To just say âfriendsâ instead would bring him right back into the problem heâd thought about earlier.
He risked looking over at Crowley, some small part of his mind unhelpfully informing him of how good that style of hair looked on his friend, with or without the hat.
What he saw there wasnât what heâd expected. He hadnât explicitly had any mental picture, but he mightâve suspected a small smirk or a raised eyebrow or similar. It would certainly fit.
He was also quiet for a bit longer than Aziraphale was entirely comfortable with, his fears flaring up again. The fears were flamed a bit, too, by the way the bony knee stretched the fabric of the skirt where they sat bent and the desire to touch.
Good Lord, when and how had it got this bad?
âHe got that from the way you told me off?â
âI have not âtold you offâ. I may have had a word or two with you, as I explained to Warlock, which is not the â â
âAnd from that, he jumped straight to âspecial friendsâ?â Crowley repeated, neatly interrupting Aziraphale.
âApparently, yes.â Good thing Brother Francis was a bit ruddier in his complexion than Aziraphale himself. It made it easier to hide the redness in his cheeks.
âWell, thenâŠâ It might just be Aziraphale analysing but those two words suddenly felt more than a bit loaded.
âCrowley â âhe began, trying to halt what the other might already be thinking. To mitigate potential harm. He didnât realise that heâd said the wrong name out loud.
Now there was just the quirk of a smile that mightâve been a smirk or mightâve been something else.
âSpecial friends, eh?â the ginger said. Aziraphale tried again but was once more interrupted. âSuppose thatâs not a bad description, all things considered.â
There was that oddity in the voice again. It really was starting to be something the blond dreaded even as he simultaneously cherished it, mainly because he didnât know why it was there.
âWell, yes, but thatâs â you do realise what is actually â â
âLook who youâre asking. âCourse I realise, angel. Itâs not as though itâs â but Warlock wonât see it that way. Heâs only eight.â
âI thought he was seven.â
âBirthday last month, remember.â
Not really, actually. âOh. Yes. Of course.â Something else struck him, then, which took his focus. âIt really is very soon, isnât it?â
âThree years to go? Yeah, it is.â
There was a pause that went on for a while. âHave we done enough do you think?â
Crowley sighed. âI donât know, angel. I donât know. Wish I did. I hope we have. But thereâs not much else we can do, is there? Except, well, the permanent solution. Which I am not personally advertising for.â
âNo. Not that itâll be much of a permanent solution, either. Another eleven years, at most.â Which really was as much as they could hope for, too, if they succeeded, wasnât it? No, surely not. He couldnât bring himself to believe that. Another pause. âWell, I suppose then all we can do is hope what weâre doing will work. He certainly seems balanced.â
âAnd observant, too, it seems. Well, then, best get back to work.â And in that one sentence, Crowley once again became Nanny Ashtoreth, her voice softening and the burr and brogue returning. She rose from the seat with manicured hands resting on her thighs for support, all grace.
But Aziraphale halted her progress by, well, almost touching her. He didnât dare close that last bit of distance, what with his track record.
She looked down at him, a question on her half-hidden face.
âI hope that â I donât think I got it across properly to, to Warlock that weâre â â
âOh.â There was a pause at that, one that was just slightly too long for Aziraphaleâs liking, as well as tooâŠfrozen in its stillness, unnaturally so. He tried to fill it, both to explain himself better and to combat that awful, sucking silence. It didnât help, either, that the âohâ had sounded as though some insight had just come to Crowley and it was not one that was pleasant.
âI may have â âAziraphale began again, genuinely trying, but he was interrupted.
âOh. Well. Donât you worry about it. Iâm sure that whatever you said that he will understand what wasâŠmeant.â
There was something odd, if not decidedly strange, to the altered voice now. Something that had nothing to do with the temporary alteration and was not anywhere near that hopeful, optimistic undertone that had left him so baffled and uncertain.
Instead, it came across as though something had frozen. Had crystallised into something that would break or at the very least crackle precariously if you put a foot wrong and it stifled the air between them and locked up Aziraphaleâs throat.
Nevertheless, he tried to reach out, both through his hand and through his voice.
âCrowley!â he called to the already retreating figure, for the moment completely forgetting that he wasnât supposed to be calling the other by that name while they were âundercoverâ. His hand, still outstretched, reached out further.
The tall, slim figure didnât halt this time or turn around. Didnât as much as turn her head to acknowledge that heâd been heard. She just continued to walk, quite gracefully even with the speed of the step, over the terrace and back into the house.
Aziraphale stared at her, his eyes wide, his heart pounding in his chest.
Just what had he done? How had he managed to end up right where he had tried so hard not to be? Where he had actually thought that he had managed to get himself out of and just wanted to make sure that he had. And now look at it all.
He felt like burying his face in his hands. At the very least.
What he did was rise up from where he sat slowly, go over to where heâd been working on a bed of roses. Or were they dahlias? He forgot.
It didnât matter in any case because by the time he was done with them and had gotten himself at least somewhat back into a semblance of âtogetherâ, there was a group of very sad, very short stems and a lot of mangled flowers on the ground.
Feeling even worse, he quickly miracled them back into a good and, more importantly, alive state.
He considered then and there tending his resignation, regardless of whether Crowley would still be there as Nanny. But he realised it for the dramatic reaction that it would be as well as actually letting all the work heâd done so far with young Warlock go to waste and let the demons have an edge on it all, swaying him back towards evilâŠehm, the Hell-side of things, anyway.
No, he couldnât do that. If nothing else, he had a duty.
Actually, if he wanted to get technical about it, he had a duty to do more to stop Crowley entirely, not just thwart him from time to time when it was convenient. He had a duty to inform Heaven of the whereabouts of the Antichrist, to help them get an edge on the whole debacle. But he tried very hard not to think about that.
However he felt about it all, though, no matter what he had gotten himself into by ill thought out words and deeds, he could not quit on all of this. He would have to see it through, no matter what he might have to suffer through in the meantime.
It was all for the good of the world, after all. What was his pain in comparison to all of that?
It wasnât something that he wouldâve thought to look for and to be perfectly honest, in the abundance of items â it wasnât clutter because that word implied that it wasnât something you desired to have, nor necessarily the items in said clutter, neither of which applied for the bookshop â it took him quite a while to notice.
Or at least, he presumed that it took him a while to notice.
He certainly hadnât left Crowley alone for long enough that he could put all of it up without Aziraphale noticing at least something.
Then again, he was talking about a demon, and one with the ability to stop time. That said skill hadnât affected Aziraphale when heâd done it didnât entail that it couldnât â or that it hadnât, come to that. How was Aziraphale to know? It wasnât as though anyone else had given any indication that they knew that was what had happened once time started up again, after all.
Good grief, what he might have managed to do while heâd suspended â
ThatâŠwasnât a thought to be thought, really, not without falling down a particularly unpleasant rabbit hole and Aziraphale mentally backed away from that so fast he left metaphorical skid marks.
Leaving that whole mess aside, though, it did seem more likely that he had in fact sneaked it in little by little, piece by piece. Probably heâd made a point of doing it like that, just because he could â and because he could grow a little bit bored sometimes now that neither of them had any assignments.
Free time is all very well, and Aziraphale knew that neither of them wanted to go back to how itâd been before, but even the best holiday loses a bit of its lustre when you realise itâs the permanent solution rather than a finite break away from normalcy. Mundanity sets in.
Mostly theyâd found ways around it and to be perfectly honest, it seemed like a lot of what Crowley did hadnât changed from before. He even admitted as much, though he claimed that it was done for his own sake and not anything to do with Hell.
Aziraphale believed him on that and to be fair, he did also help the angel out with various things, to an extent that he wouldnât have previously. Or perhaps more precisely, that neither of them had dared just in case someone somewhere would sense that something was off. Which was probably putting it very mildly, all things considered.
This, thoughâŠ
This was not what he would have ever expected of Anthony J. Crowley, a demon who changed his name not once but twice. Three times if you thought about what his name pre-fall mightâve been which Aziraphale studiously did not, as it was none of his business and wouldnât change a thing about how he felt about his dearest demon.
The point, however, was that for someone like Crowley, who cared about how he presented himself, at least in terms of appearance, to even think about doing this, to be seen carrying these kinds of, well, baubles, really, out in public.
Some of them were small, admittedly, but with those non-existent pockets he had on both his jacket and his trousers, there wasnât anywhere to hide them, and you wouldnât catch Crowley dead with a bag or similar.
Of course, there was the possibility that he had a pocket that served as a sort of, what he believed someone had once described to him as a TARDIS â theyâd shown him a picture of a police box, of all things, which made no sense â which was apparently bigger on the inside.
That possibility seemed remote, though â and if it did exist, then he would have to ask, as nicely as possible, whether Crowley mightnât employ that on his bookshop.
But that brought him back to the point; that Crowley, and it could only really be him, had put up not one but several ornaments, baubles and decorations all over the bookshop, from the tiniest little snowflake in wrought silver to quite the conspicuousâŠwas that a tomte? Nisse? Something along those lines, at least, and it wasnât the only one, either.
In fact, once he began actively to search for them, Aziraphale found scores of them and that wasnât even hyperbole. They seemed to be absolutely everywhere, all of them hidden yet visible and in quite some ingenious places, too, even if he wasnât certain he wanted to admit that to Crowley.
For instance, one hung from the top of an eight feet tall Canterbury revolving bookcase while another was wrapped around the leg of one round table he had. A third one he found hidden underneath a hat and scarf on the hat stand that he couldnât remember who had left it, though a half-formed image of a white-bearded, small man in black swam past in his mind like a brown fish in a muddy pond.
He ought to look into that and bring it back to its owner, really.
The immediate issue, however, was not merely that Crowley had apparently taken it into his head to go around and pick up things to then scatter around the bookshop, for a very odd hunt for Aziraphale to go on â one he didnât even tell him heâd begun or that he was supposed to do but why else put them up? â but that he had chosen Christmas decorations, of all things.
It made no sense at all.
To have him put anything â the fact that it was in the bookshop was not a mystery as it was where they spent most of their time now, at least the time together, which amounted to the same thing â remotely Christmas related up wasâŠdid it even have any equivalent?
Aziraphale certainly couldnât think of one.
There was another one. Placed carefully, too, across the collection of âJust Williamâ books that Adam had gifted him with when heâd rebuilt the bookshop for him, was a red-and-white paper garland.
He picked it up before he quite knew what he was doing, letting it run between his fingers but carefully, so that none of the links would be damaged.
Was it some sort of prank? Mockery â no, not mockery. He knew Crowley wouldnât do that. Not to Aziraphale, at least, not like that. If he had any such inclinations, surely, he wouldâve done so already, wouldnât he?
Then again, that applied to whatever this was, too, didnât it? It wasnât as though he hadnât been in the bookshop before. Heâd even been there on a relatively regular basis, though not anything like what was the case now, of course.
But did that â that didnât mean heâd actually been doing this for years and heâd just gotten more blatant about it now, did it? Surely, the angel hadnât been that blind to it. Had he?
No, he didâŠhe did move the books around occasionally, just for a change of scenery or whatever was in vogue for him at the time. And, of course, whenever he couldnât manage to keep customers out, which was rare, they would have the temerity to remove books from their shelves and not put them back right.
So, he would have noticed if there had suddenly been a nutcracker, a silk bauble or a miniature straw goat in amongst the shelves as heâd tidied up, moved around and set things right. They hadnât been there.
That meant this, whatever âthisâ was, had been something that heâd cooked up this year in particular. The first one after the end of the world became a bit more world without end, as it wereâŠat least for the time being, as long as Heaven and Hell wasnât going toâŠbut best not to think about that, either, really.
They would deal with that when and as it came. Planning for things didnât seem to be their forte, after all.
It was the first year, the first Christmas after theyâd left their respective sides for their own and had allowed themselves â though even Aziraphale could admit, freely if self-consciously, that it had been mainly him whoâd done the allowing, as Crowley hadnât had the same sort of hiccups that he had, not even close â to be as close to each other as they wanted.
SoâŠif this wasnât some kind of elaborate prank, and possibly even if it was, there would be a reason for it. Well, obviously there was, but one that stretched a bit deeper. Something that the demon wanted to communicate to the angel, a message that he tried to get across, through a gesture rather than words.
He could, of course, just ask Crowley.
It would seem the obvious solution but there was the factor that if he took it the wrong way, or any way at all if it wasnât intentional, then Crowley was as likely to clam up about the whole thing as he was to explain, depending on how vulnerable he felt. Heâd gotten better about it, much better, in fact, but that didnât translate into him never clamming up.
If Aziraphale was very unlucky, he might actually walk out of the shop and he wouldnât see him for a few weeks, at the very least, and wouldnât answer the angelâs calls, either.
That had never been palatable. It wasnât that they didnât see each other, because they were used to that, but that he was deliberately being ignored which hurt â and he tried hard not to think about their fight in Victorian times and Crowleyâs unresponsiveness when heâd tried to reach out.
The fact that he later discovered it had been because the ginger had gone home to sleepâŠthat didnât help as much as he thought it would have.
Heâd have to figure it out, though, somehow, and do it relatively soon, as it wasnât long until Christmas, where after it seemed more than likely that he would miracle it all away in one go, if Aziraphale didnât get it in time and then there would be no evidence that it had ever been there.
Which was more heart-breaking a thought than he could rightly explain.
Besides, if his dearest had decided to do something for him, or something that had some sort of meaning, then the least he could do was try to understand it. Try to work with him, as it were. And honestly, it was rather sweet, even if some of the items wereâŠwellâŠ
Over the next few days, he stewed over the problem â while also trying to catch the other in the act of smuggling something in, as he did indeed, now that he was looking for them, find more and more little things scattered all over the entire shop.
Not that heâd confront him about it then and there because catching him off-guard like that rarely if ever yielded good results.
If he was going to confront him about it, ask him what he was doing and why, and it increasingly seemed like he was, since the other ways heâd come up with to solve it ran far too close to the risk of Crowley clamming up in defence, then he was going to do it in an atmosphere that wasâŠgood. Gentle and understanding.
Perhaps a bottle of wine between them, or two, really, just some time to relax, thenâŠbring it up. Not casually, that had too much potential to come off wrong, but quietly, perhaps. Make it a compliment first because eclectic though it was, he found that the demon did have quite the knack for knowing where to put each and every ornament he brought.
Not just in terms of them not being immediately visible, either, though that was a definite factor, too, but in what fitted with the feel of the shop and the rest of the decorations. Something which he wouldnât have expected, if he was being entirely honest, but sent him into rather a cheery mood, even towards would-be, all they would ever be, customers.
But yes, that couldâŠthat could work. Hopefully. It was the best solution he could come up with, or at least the one that offered the least opportunities for Crowley to back out, clam up or for Aziraphale himself to make a mess of things, something which seemed equally likely, he was a little ashamed to admit.
He debated with himself whether he ought to invite Crowley over, sort of more officially, as it were. In the end, though, he decided against it; it might not only tip his hand early and put the demon on guard, at the very least, which wasnât what he wanted at all, it ran the risk of Aziraphale overthinking it all.
Well, more than he already did. Just because youâre aware youâre doing something doesnât necessarily entail you can stop it.
So, instead, perhaps it was better to get ready for it but let the moment be decided more in the circumstances. Something like that, so long as he managed it before Christmas.
As he set about arranging things for a pleasant evening, well even more pleasant, such as stocking up on good wine from various excellent wine merchants throughout the city, finding an entire larderâs worth of little gourmet items, too good for a Fortnum & Mason hamper and other such little things, he did actually, quite unintendedly, see one ornament get smuggled in.
How he hadnât spotted all the others, he had no idea. Not if this was how it had been carried in the other times. Though most likely, it was not, and he was just catching the moment Crowley brought it out from wherever he had in fact hidden it.
It was an ornament, of metal, judging by glint â the angel was hidden behind a bookshelf and looked out through a small gap so he couldnât see all that much â but it wasnât just that. It was a star, meant to hang from the ceiling and remind people of that one particular star.
Something overtlyâŠpertinent, to Jesus, thatâŠthat was a bit more than the rest of it, wasnât it? Good grief, the goat had its origin in Norse mythology, but thereâd been no angels, no nativity scenes, nothing of the sort. Which had made sense to the real-life angel, all things considered, so why would heâŠ?
And as though that wasnât enough, Crowley, after having a quick look around which made Aziraphale pull back a little so as not to be spotted, seemed to find somewhere good andâŠnot all that hidden. Hanging it, through a quick snap of his fingers, from one of the pillars that held up the gallery was hardly inconspicuous, was it?
On the other hand, would Aziraphale have noticed it if he hadnât been made aware of the practice? Come to that, would he have spotted it, up there where there was no reason to look, if he hadnât seen the ginger place it? He rather suspected not.
Curious and more curious.
âŠJust because he appreciated it books, fiction and non-fiction, immensely did not entail that he had to share the poor grammar of a girl of seven.
He had to admit, though, that the star looked quite beautiful, glinting down at them as Crowley turned and called for Aziraphale, who waited a moment or two, perhaps three, to step out from where heâd been all along, trying to give the impression that he had been further away than he had been.
If Crowley noticed anything, he didnât say. Instead, the moment he spotted him, he proclaimed that he was there to take Aziraphale to lunch, so would he hurry up already? Well, that and he gave him a grin that could charm the Pope to a dance of the seven veils.
It certainly worked its magic on AziraphaleâŠthough he had to say, his clothes stayed on.
 ---------------------------------------------------------------------
He didnât notice it until it was all over and done with, but the day he ended up asking the question was, in fact, Christmas Eve. Or rather, the day of Christmas Eve.
To be honest, though, he shouldâve clocked it before, and rather early on, too. Not so much for the general mass of people on the move that occurred outside his windows, partly because they didnât change much in numbers regardless of the season and partly because he never took notice of such things.
But the fact that Crowley showed up rather early in the day, when they hadnât made any actual plans â though they would categorise themselves as a couple now, insofar as they felt human labels needed to apply to them, they did not, in fact, spend all their time together, not just yet â and in a good mood too, rather than the sliding scale of grumpiness he often exhibited during the colder months shouldâve been a clue.
Pointing out that if he was cold, he could always just miracle a coat into existence to fit with the rest of the outfit, whatever that might be at the given moment, just earned Aziraphale a raise of eyebrows, possible a slight snort, but no actual explanation or excuse.
That said, there was something incredible endearing about the way the aquiline nose reddened when it was cold and Aziraphale had always secretly relished a chance to see it happen. Perhaps, one day, he would be brave enough to press his own nose to it or even, just possibly, press a kiss to it instead.
Another clue should be the fact that the demon didnât show up emptyhanded and that what heâd brought was something fit for the occasion, in the sense that it was mulled wine of a German bent, if Aziraphale was any judge, a whole heap of mince pies and a panettone.
It wasnât a store-bought panettone, either, but one from that little Italian bakery over inâŠbut that couldnât be right. Aziraphale had been round there two days before, to get hold of just that particular cake, as they really were the best in the whole of England.
Theyâd been sold out.
The owner had apologised profusely and while Aziraphale had been understanding, that still didnât bring him a panettone, did it?
Somehow, Crowley had managed to get hold of one, though, and it was probably best not to ask how, lest he wanted to spend time admonishing the other for whatever it turned out to be.
What he did want to ask was why, because it did seemâŠwell, not suspicious but perhaps too coincidental to be true?
There was certainly something in the way Crowley also didnât just slink over to the nearest piece of furniture meant for sitting in that he then proceeded to treat as some sort of table with himself as the tablecloth, but actually helped to unpack and set up, and not with a miracle, either.
But perhaps he was just in a good mood today. There neednât to be anything else to it. Even so, Aziraphale would like to know. Not knowing led the way to uncertainty and speculation, at least for the blond.
Each in its own time, though. Perhaps he could ask when he asked about the rest or maybe the time would come later or even sooner. He didnât know.
For now, he would enjoy this day theyâd clearly both intended to spend together, judging by not just the amount of food Crowley had brought but what kinds.
âYouâre spoiling me, my dear,â he said, gushing slightly as he opened more boxes, with quite a few different languages spread between them, than what heâd initially thought the other had been carrying.
He really would have to check that jacket for interdimensional pockets. The trousers were a no-go; when he couldnât even get his hands in, fitting a pocket dimension, aha, in there seemed unlikely.
âOh, goodness, what are these? Truffles? They look delicious.â
âCaramel balls covered in chocolate, found them in one of those little shops that sell high-end foreign stuff,â Crowley said, shrugging as though it was nothing. âThese here are called marzipan potatoes, theyâre German. Theyâre pretty good.â
When he saw Aziraphaleâs expression, he said, âHey, I eat. I enjoy food. I just donât take every opportunity I can to enjoy it.â He softened his voice and smiled, even if it only lasted for a moment. âEach to their own, though.â
The rest of his expression said a lot, though, and Aziraphale smiled in turn, understanding.
He picked up the GlĂŒhwein and poured it out in two glasses, the liquid just the right temperature when it hit the glasses in question, a warmth itâd retain until theyâd finished drinking. Once full, he handed one glass to Crowley, who took it and sipped from it immediately.
Aziraphale joined him and had to admit that though it was hardly any great wine in itself, but the addition of spices and such, similar but different from the English mulled wine, made it quite nice, on its own merit. Well, it was festive and appropriate, at least.
âNo changing it,â Crowley said, looking at him over the rim of his own glass, his eyebrows suggesting a challenge and a smirk.
âI wouldnât dream â â
âYou would, and you have before. The point of it is not to upgrade it to your liking but to enjoy whatâs there. Disregarding their heritage or something.â He took another sip.
âOh, yes, because youâre terribly concerned about the heritage of â â
âI made sure humanity as a whole still had one, didnât I?â Crowley interrupted, but without much bite.
Aziraphale smiled, apologetic, moving closer to the other. Not touching him but it was a close enough thing.
âItâs lovely, dear, thank you,â he said, his eyes and smile warm. âNow, Iâve found a few treats of my own that I havenât had a chance to try out yet, perhaps youâd be kind enough to help me sort through them to find whatâs worth keeping.â
Crowley opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Aziraphale took the opportunity to put one of the things heâd found and had laid out, into it. Thankfully, the ginger didnât spit it out.
âYouâre going to fatten me up,â he accused when his mouth was empty.
Aziraphale wasnât going to fall for it. âYou havenât changed one bit in six millennia, youâre hardly going to start now.â
âAnd you donât think thatâs taken an awful lot of work?â
âNo, I do not. In fact, I know for certain that it hasnât because I am in the same position, despite my âgluttonous waysâ.â He looked down at the assembly of edible luxuries spread out on the round table and sighed. âOh, bother. I shouldâve moved the table to the back before I put the things on it.â
Crowley gave him a look at that, snapped his fingers and then let himself fall backwards onto the sofa. Which was right behind him.
It had been moved into the bookshop itself rather than the other way around, which made sense.
Aziraphale blinked then shook his head and went to join him, though he chose to sit rather than sprawl, pulling the table the last foot over to them.
âShow-off,â he said, fondly.
âFor you, angel? Always.â
The grin at that as well as the words did funny things to Aziraphaleâs insides. Though honestly, to say that was like saying the sun rose each morning. True but also so everyday that mentioning hardly seemed worth the effort and yet so essential that to live without seemed impossible.
He settled into the sofa, glass still in hand, and listened to Crowley start in on a tall tale of something or other, enjoying their relatively newfound closeness, both physical and metaphorical.
In the pleasantness of it all, he almost forgot what heâd meant to ask. Heâd certainly forgot to check for where Crowley might have stashed another ornament or bauble or whatever it was that heâd found to put up that day.
 ---------------------------------------------------------------
By the time he remembered that he meant to ask about it all, that that was at least part of the reason heâd gathered all of this in the first place, he was well on his way to being decidedly drunk.
Theyâd finished the glĂŒhwein, the whole bottle, without any attempts at tampering, and had then moved onto some of the wines Aziraphale had gathered.
Heâd also managed to get Crowley to eat at least his fair share, and perhaps a bit more than that, of what theyâd consumed so far of the goodies theyâd brought. Though the demon couldnât really gain weight, he hadnât yet dealt with the amounts consumed and so his belly strained against the confines of his shirt, something which was rather adorable to look at. Not that heâd appreciate being told that, of course.
The angel himself was sitting a bit more sprawled himself now, hands folded over his stomach, looking up at the room around him.
It really was quite the feature, he had to admit. Livened the place up in, in a way, put it in the festive spirit, and was quite elegantly done, all things considered, though that should hardly be surprising, given the look of Crowleyâs flat.
Not that heâd have done it himself; it was things to move whenever he wanted to read something, things that could fall and possibly break which would then have to be cleaned up.
Of course, it might be argued that he did have the snuffboxes and other such items, but they werenât put in front of the books like impromptu guardians, now were they?
He smiled, softly.
âItâs very pretty,â he said, the sentence coming across as very much a non-sequitur to anyone outside his head. Which was everyone. Thankfully. ExceptâŠwellâŠ
But seeing as he was tipsy â not drunk, decidedly not drunk, he knew the difference perfectly well, thank-you-ever-so-many â it didnât come as much of a surprise, to neither him nor the equally inebriated Crowley. He seemed as inebriated, anyway.
âIs it?â the ginger asked, not moving a muscle from where he was draped across the piece of furniture, gazing, or more accurately staring, upwards.
âIt is,â he insisted, lifting his head, with only a bit of difficulty, to focus on the other, who wasnât looking back at him. In the circumstances, that might be just as well. âNot what I would have thought about, but Iâm glad to have it.â
âThatâs good. I mean, really good. Iâm glad to hear it, I mean, obviously. ThatâsâŠhang on.â Crowleyâs head lolled to the side to face Aziraphale. Heâd lost hisâŠno, heâd actively taken his sunglasses off shortly after sitting down and yellow eyes tried hard to focus. âWhat are we talking about?â
Aziraphale blinked a few times, then frowned.
What were they talking about?
âŠOh. Yes.
Oh.
âTheâŠthe decorations,â Aziraphale said and wished, suddenly, that he was either not inebriated at all or positively sloshed. Either could be arranged, but he had a suspicion that that wouldnât actually solve the problem. A problem that he had to solve, that he had actively arranged all of this to ask about.
So, he ploughed on, despite his sudden nerves. He turned his gaze away from the other, though, just to be able to do it.
âYouâve done quite the beautiful job of it,â he continued, figuring, hoping, that to continue with the, honest, compliments would be the right way to go about it, âand Iâm sorry that it took me so long to notice.â
He expected Crowley to stiffen and thought he felt his demon do just that, despite the distance between them. For a moment, he thought about stopping, about backing out of it before he dug himself into a very unfortunate hole.
But there had to be a reason for it, whether deep or shallow, one that surely, Crowley couldnât expect Aziraphale to think about â once he discovered it but best not to get into all of that right then â and wellâŠwasnât it better to get out there and talk about it?
Not necessarily but he shouldnât dwell on things like.
He reached out and took one of them, a small snow globe, from where it had been hidden between two stacks of books on another table and shook it.
âI just donât quiteâŠI admit, I donât quite understand why you decided to hide them like this, though,â he said, keeping his eyes locked on the falling âsnowâ. âWhy go to all the trouble of finding such pretty and unique little things, and they really are, and then hide them away? Come to that, I have not figured out why youâve decided to decorate in the first place.â
If he was going to ask, he might as well ask it all in one go. Have it over with in one fell swoop, as it were.
There was silence from the other end of the sofa, something which didnât exactly help his nervousness.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
He swallowed as he watched the last flakes fall.
âI mean, itâs not as though itâs something Iâve ever known you to do before, either, though of course you might have in your own flat, I have not seen that. I suppose Iâve just made an assumption, which I know isnâtâŠbut I just canât figure out why youâŠand to say that itâs because youâre a demon is true, of course, for a given value of true, but even so, itâs not fair of me to â â
He hadnât realised heâd begun rambling just a little when a hand reached out and grabbed his knee, then squeezed it gently.
The gesture was small, but it was enough to stop him speaking. Not only that, he looked over at the other.
âThatâs what youâre worried about? Thatâs why youâve been stealing nervous glances at me all day?â Crowley asked and he sounded neither offended or hurt or anything else that signalled his walls were about to slam up in self-defence. Which was good, obviously, butâŠ
âWell, yes, I â â
âItâs not that difficult to work out.â
Blue eyes flickered down and away. âIt is to me, my dear.â
âThatâs because you overthink things all the time.â
That made him look back up, a small smile on his lips. âHullo pot.â
He was also still touching Aziraphaleâs knee and for a couple who had yet to progress to much touching, it felt significant.
âYouâre right, though; a demon isnât supposed to decorate or celebrate. Not even when itâs commercial or secular or even Pagan, which isâŠbut anyway, itâs not like theyâre going to check now, is it? I figured that with âour sideâ, I could do it if I wanted to. Which I do. It looks nice.â
He looked out across the room at that and the pleasure in it was plain to see, as was the pride. Aziraphaleâs heart swelled further to see his dearestâs happiness.
There were still a few questions that he wanted answers to, though.
âBut why do it here and not at your own flat â â
âWho says I havenât?â
Aziraphale inclined his head in acknowledgement. âStill, that leaves the question of why you kept it hidden from me, and kept them hidden, too.â
âI didnât keep them that hidden.â
âHidden enough and you didnât tell me. Not that you need to get my approval, thatâs not what I mean. I justâŠI supposed Iâve worried you were afraid of what Iâd say.â
That made Crowley sit bolt upright and turn fully towards the blond. He let go of the knee but immediately grabbed Aziraphaleâs hand, pulling it away from the snow globe he still held.
The angel immediately grabbed in turn, squeezing a little.
âNo, of course not. I put the first one up and thought youâd spot it immediately. When you didnât, IâŠwell, I wanted to see how long it took before you did and well, it wasâŠit was fun to hide them.â
Crowley smirked just a little. âYou ought to move your things more often, angel.â
âI move them often enough.â To be honest, though, the indignation was a very minor ingredient in the stew of his emotions, dwarfed by the sheer joy and cosiness that surrounded the moment.
Especially seeing as theyâd both moved themselves, unintentionally, he was sure, close enough that they were touching, sides pressed lightly against each other.
âOnly one more question,â he asked after a little while had passed. âWhy Christmas themed decorations? You couldâve picked anything to put up and yet, you picked that which is in season.â He took a breath and got to the crux of that question. âSeeing as itâs holy, I wouldnât have thought it had your interest, regardless of sides.â
Crowley shrugged but there was warmth in his golden eyes, though also more than a hint of sadness.
âCelebrating the birth of a bright young man who made the mistake of saying people ought to be kind to each other? Donât see anything wrong with that. Especially not with all the ways humans have added onto it since.â
Aziraphale couldnât help his smile at that and he squeezed the hand in his, hard. âNext year, though, perhaps youâd allow me to help you put them up?â
The demon blinked, his eyes widening. Then he nodded, several times in rapid succession.
Aziraphale brought the hand he was holding up to his chest, his smile a rival to a small sun. âThen thatâs settled.â
âI actually do have one more thing I wanted to put up,â Crowley said, rather quietly, after a while had passed in comfortable, warm, golden silence. âBeen saving it, actually, forâŠbut I wasnât sure whether youâd want it or not, so I didnât.â
âDid that bother you with the rest of them?â Aziraphale asked. He felt justified in the question but at the same time, he felt a little guilty.
The demon shook his head, seemingly not bothered, at least by the question. âNo, but thatâsâŠthis is a bit moreâŠâ Crowley made a face, fidgeted and coloured ever so slightly all at once, which was more adorable than it had any right to be.
âWhat is it, dear?â
âNghk,â was all that Crowley managed to say, his mouth forming noises that mightâve had words in their ancestry in the same way that every European is related to Charlemagne.
Aziraphale took the hand that he wasnât already holding.
âYou can tell me.â
âYeah, of course I can. I know that, itâs justâŠâ
The angel chose not to prod further, instead waiting for the other to be ready to say it.
Which took a little but eventually, he managed to say it.
Or rather, show it.
He snapped his fingers but there wasnât immediately anything to show for it.
Then he pointed upwards, to â
Oh.
âOh. That.â
âYeahâŠâ
Well, then, no better time for trying out new traditions than Christmas, was there? And the rest of their lives, too, come to it.
And perhaps, just this one, doing it rather than saying it would be quite the good option.
So, gathering his courage, he leaned forward to close the gap between them, kissing Crowley softly on the lips, pouring his heart into it.
Crowley returned it immediately, one hand disentangling itself to instead cup Aziraphaleâs jaw.
When they parted, they stared at each other, their eyes shiny but not from alcohol.
Then they went in for another kiss, longer and somehow even sweeter while evening fell outside the window.
When they eventually separated for longer than a moment or two, it was more appropriate to call it morning than evening or even night.
The last part might seem like a very odd thing to say, except that it wasnât really. It was Aziraphale wrestling a bit of control back from his run-away and traitorous mouth but more than that, it was a promise both to the sleeping demon and to himself.
A promise that despite, or perhaps because of, this momentary lapse in judgment, Aziraphale would never do anything that would jeopardise their current relationship, and especially not when it came to their respective upstairs.
His love wouldnât waver, he knew that by this point. Too much had happened in the time theyâd known each other, and even in the face of all of that, including the threat from both Heaven and Hell, it had never disappeared or even faded. But nor could he allow it to come between them.
That promise was the last thing he said, however, his mouth clamping quite audibly shut as he finally managed to regain control.
Anger and incredulity at what had just occurred and why it had was pushed into the background for the moment in the silent panic of watching out for any indication that Crowley was in actual fact awake despite everything that said he was still fast asleep or that he had heard any of it.
Green eyes scanned over the defined features, then did it again then once more.
There was nothing. Of course, snakes were known to be able to lie completely still for long periods of time, werenât they? They didnât need to be asleep for that to happen, either.
But heâs not entirely a snake, is he? Heâs a fallen angel, first of all, then a snake demon. So, it doesnât have to follow that what they can do, he can as well, and he does look as though heâs fast asleep. God knows that Iâve seen him drunk and consequently asleep enough times to know his face when heâs out like a light.
Even so, the stakes were significantly higher here than theyâd ever been, at least between the two of them, werenât they? This could cause severe and permanent damage between them, after all.
The anger was slowly seeping its way back in between the cracks of the panic, aided by the alcohol forcefully leaving his body now, though it was almost purely anger towards himself.
Why had he started to touch the ginger? Never mind that, really, at least in the face of why on earth he had suddenly started to talk about this? Why would he ever bare his heart like that? It made absolutely no sense and he couldnât blame it on the alcohol, not entirely, as much as he wanted to.
His eyes scanned over the otherâs face again, and yet again saw no indication that he was aware of where he was, much less that something had been said or what that something was.
Please let that be the case. Please, just let him be as deeply asleep as he appears to be. Let me not have ruined it all in one fell swoop. Please.
âCrowley,â he called again, softly, as one final attempt. He considered removing the sunglasses for a better look, to be sure one way or the other. But that wouldnât necessarily give him a clearer answer and itâd run the risk of consequently waking the other up.
So, as there was still nothing, except perhaps for a slight further opening of his mouth, Aziraphale let out the softest, most unobtrusive yet longest of sighs. For all its smallness, however, it was heavily laced with relief.
Now all he had to do was somehow manoeuvre himself out from underneath the lanky body and lay him out on the sofa as though heâd been sleeping on that all along. But that shouldnât be much of a problem. Heâd done that before, after all, and the residual heat of his body on the seat would help convince the demonâs body that itâd been lying on that all along.
It took a bit more effort than usual, mostly because he was even more hyperaware of everything he did and how it might give the whole thing away.
Eventually, though, he managed to do it and clear his normal seat without sending any book tumbling to the floor, which he was rather proud of. With the way the evening had gone, it would just figure that heâd sent them crashing â and they were quite rare and precious books, too. But no, there was no papery carnage to be had this time.
He even found a blanket to drape over the sleeping figure and had managed to settle himself down in his own armchair with a book in one hand and a careful cup of tea, as he hadnât been able to face a cup of hot cocoa right then, in the other.
In fact, so long passed before Crowley began to stir that Aziraphale had managed to not just pretend to read but actually become engrossed in what he was reading. That wasnât to say heâd managed to push the whole incident out of his mind, because he was absolutely certain that the day that he managed that would be the same day he actually got hold of âThe Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutterâ.
Crowley woke with a serious of small noises that mightâve been annoying to others but which Aziraphale normally found rather endearing. This time, however, he didnât hear them and didnât otherwise notice the motions the snake went through as he woke up.
He did clock the somewhat mussy-sounding, searching call of his name, though, and couldnât help the small extra beat of his heart at the thought that the first thing out of Crowleyâs mouth when he woke was his name, even if it was probably merely because heâd fallen asleep in his bookshop and didnât know where the other was.
âTake your glasses off, youâll be able to see everything much better,â he said, not looking up from the page. Studiously so, one might say. He didnât need to see the lanky body slowly wake up and not just because he knew well enough what it looked like.
âDonât want to. Far too bright as is,â answered Crowley, a slight hiss to his voice. However, he didnât sound quite as drunk or even as hung-over as one would expect with the amount of alcohol heâd downed. Or perhaps it was more that he didnât sound as tired as he ought to, given the fact that heâd only just woken up.
Aziraphale didnât notice that.
âWell, if you will drink that muchâŠâ he chided as he turned a page. He conveniently forgot to say anything about how much they normally drank or how much he himself had consumed.
The ginger, however, didnât.
âYou drank more than I did!â Crowley said and whether that was protest, accusation or indignation wasnât at all clear. âAnd you had booze in your dessert!â
That last part definitely was accusation. Heâd sat himself up at that, the blond could tell by the creak of the sofa and the soft noise of the blanket shifting.
âThat hardly counts. Youâre supposed to have alcohol in a trifle, it really isnât a proper trifle without it.â
Aziraphale still didnât look up from where he was reading his book. At least, ostensibly he was reading it. In reality, heâd stopped being engrossed in its plot and not purely because he had to carry on a conversation with Crowley at the same time. He could multitask in such matters rather well after so much practice. That he chose to block out the rest of the world to focus on his reading was another matter entirely.
Just because he was no longer engrossed didnât mean he was going to look up, however. He was quite content where he was, thank you ever so much. Ahem.
âBut you picked one that had kirsch in the trifle and the cherries on top were soaked in it, too.â
That he was almost entirely coherent now Aziraphale wasnât surprised by. Heâd undoubtedly pushed both tiredness and hangover out with a small miracle or whatever was the demonic equivalent.
But it was nice to fall into something as ordinary as their normal chat, even in its good-natured quibbling form, and he grabbed at it gratefully, in the hope that if he worked hard and kept things bottled up and under mental lock and key far better than he had â preferably, he never got drunk around Crowley again, either â then things could continue like this between them forever. Which would be all that he could wish for, really.
âAnd as I recall, you stole most of those cherries, one of them off my very fork.â
The smirk the demon had had when heâd done it, too â and the fact that it was a small smirk hadnât diminished it in the slightest, either.
At long last, he managed to turn a page. Now just to remember what the last paragraph on the previous page had been about. Something aboutâŠaboutâŠ
His view of the page was suddenly obscured by locks of shoulder length red hair. Then the rest of his vision was filled up with the visage of Crowley who was rather too close for comfort. Especially as he was at the perfect closeness for a kiss.
Aziraphale immediately reared his head back a fair bit and did it quickly.
In the back of his mind was the thought that it was good his panic to keep from overstepping â and why was it suddenly so constantly difficult to refrain from that when it wasnât even as though it was a recent development, even by their standards? â could look as though he was just shocked at Crowley disrespecting personal space.
âYou still drank more than me,â drawled Crowley, as though that somehow concluded the argument.
âWell, then I guess what we can conclude from that is that I hold my alcohol far better than you do,â Aziraphale replied, a tad sniffilly, trying hard to ignore the desire toâŠwell, so much, really, it was hard to keep track of.
But Crowley only grinned.
âHah! As if. You forget that I know you, angel, and I rememberâŠâ He paused, at first just frowning. Then it became his whole face that scrunched up for a beat, two.
âExcuse me,â he said around a noise that mightâve been a suppressed burp.
âReally,â Aziraphale said, sounding for all the world like a mildly scandalised housewife from the fifties. But then, Crowley did excuse himself, that was, well, something.
âYour blessed cherries,â Crowley said, stifling another one. âTrying to make a run for it. Oh, SatanâŠâ
He pulled away, looking genuinely uncomfortable, one hand finding the lower half of his abdomen â calling it a stomach or belly seemed almost wrong when it was rarely anything but concave â while the other stayed in the vicinity of his mouth.
Concerned, Aziraphale closed his book and put it away.
Then he handed Crowley a glass.
The demon stared at him for moment but took the glass without comment and downed its contents.
Without question, either, Aziraphale realised a little belatedly. He couldâve filled that to the brim with holy water â not that he ever would, mind! Just the thought of it was abominable and made his insides churn and writhe. What had been in the glass was water and something to calm the stomach whatever ailed it. But the point was that he could have done it, and Crowley wouldâve drunk it, without hesitation or question.
His heart was beating painfully in his chest as he watched Crowley let out a sigh of relief, the pain not entirely bad.
This. This right here, the trust in him, the inclusion, the care and all the rest. Wasnât this worth the heartache, the troubles and the pining?
It wasnât long after that, about a year or so, that Crowley got his assignment to deliver the Antichrist to his foster parents and the countdown to Armageddon officially began.
Well, technically, of course, that countdown had begun the moment Earth had been created, really, but the home straight, as it were, had arrived and as always in such circumstances where youâre mainly sure you didnât want to reach what lay at the end of the countdown, time seemed to pass just a bit faster.
At the same time, though, the fact that it all ticked down to an endpoint, the endpoint, you might say, made things take on a new importance along with the urgency, and thus it felt slower, somehow. As if the world was being run at eight-tenth of its normal speed. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
The fact that they were trying to prevent it from happening at all didnât make much of a difference in that scenario, unfortunately.
What it did do, however, was push Aziraphaleâs fears about what heâd done and whether heâd made a complete mess of everything into at least a modicum of background.
Having the demon somewhere in the world, safe and sound even if Aziraphale would never see him again because of what heâd revealed, however inadvertently, was preferable to have him discorporated or outright destroyed through Heavenly means when the battle, the war finally arrived.
Even in the scenario where it was Hell who won the war â and Aziraphale couldnât help feeling awful and terribly guilty for even contemplating that possibility, because he shouldnât â there was no guarantee heâd be safe or even come out of it alive.
No, preventing Armageddon hadâŠfurther benefits than making sure the Earth and its inhabitants didnât perish in the struggle between Heaven and Hell to see who was, ultimately, the deserved victor.
But the fact that itâd been pushed into the background in favour, if such it could be called, of more worldly concerns did not equal that they were gone or even that they would stay in the background. Of course not.
The first time they surfaced was while they were both âemployedâ by the Dowlings to look after little Warlock.
He had feared that it would happen sooner, to be perfectly honest.
When they had, in their attempt to cope with the fact that the End of the World had gone from some nebulous future point to an actual, concrete time of roughly eleven years from then, begun to drink, Aziraphale had a few extra issues to deal with. Such as the panic over drinking with Crowley again and the determination that nothing would pass his lips, never mind allow either of them to fall asleep. The fear that being drunk would loosen their tongues, too, and that either would let something slip that they shouldnât.
Even so, the drink was very much needed in light of what heâd learned, and he couldnât help the almost copious amount that he downed.
Thankfully, though their talk was decidedly drunken and just a bit silly despite the seriousness of the situation, there was no mention or even hint of Aziraphaleâs confession. As for the risk of falling asleep drunk, that was thankfully taken care of by his need to sober up in order to cope with what they were talking about. And Crowley following suit, of course. Most definitely.
In the intervening five years, until Warlock was, they felt, old enough to have a nanny that could also function as a governess and could teach him thoroughly, they saw each other, yes, to find out whether there were any more murmurings from below or above and keep notes on how the ambassador and his wife was handling their little hell-spawn.
Granted, they did also go out to purely enjoy themselves sometimes. Aziraphale wasnât quite able to enjoy it all as he normally did, at least not for the first two or three years, but after nothing seemed to come of it, he began to relax just a little.
And they were busy with other stuff, too. Impending Armageddon ought really to either speed every activity on earth up as things needed to be wrapped up and everything made ready for the rush or come to a grinding halt as there was no longer much point to try and enact anything. It would be like ordering a buffet option five minutes before closing.
But looking after the Antichrist, balancing out the influences, that brought them into closerâŠnot exactly contact, as there wasnât too much reason for a nanny and a gardener to interact, but certainly proximity and for a longer period than they ever had. They even did interact from time to time. Of course, they were careful to keep their talk strictly professional, well, mainly, and most certainly didnât discuss the nature of their little charge while either Warlock or his parents could overhear.
Sometimes, however, Aziraphale thought there was an odd cadence to Crowleyâs voice when they talked that was new. It was only occasionally but it happened while in-character as Ashtoreth and Brother Francis â and well, he would have to admit that the slight burr in the softened nanny-voice wasâŠquite lovely â as well as when they otherwise met up and regardless of the circumstance, Aziraphale was still able to detect it.
The oddity mainly came from it seeming to be, of all things, something like optimism, like hope. It wasnât exactly beaming but it was there, a soupçon infused in many other expressions and tones. Which would make sense if it related to how things seemed to be working, that the heavenly influences really were balancing out the hellish ones, which seemed to the blessed case, rendering the child wonderfully normal.
Crowley had voiced the thought that perhaps he was too normal a few times already but Aziraphale had resolutely pushed the idea aside.
Though he could admit he was hardly an expert, Aziraphale didnât think the optimism and hope was to do with their apparent success. It felt unrelated to it, among other things because it appeared at occasions and in conversations that had nothing to do with the little boy they were looking after.
It wasnât only that, either. If it had been purely that, Aziraphale mightâve been able to write it off. As what exactly, he wasnât sure and didnât dare examine, in case that it crumbled before him, when he thought that it was in fact solely that.
What was in addition was the occasional long stare from equally long distances that seemed incredibly thoughtful for the demonâs normal range, visible through the sunglasses, and didnât stop when the blond caught it. Not immediately, anyway, as if Crowley didnât mind being caught watching. Once or twice there was even just the hint of a smile, highlighted by bright lipstick when nannying, that hadnât even a hint of a smirk in it.
There was also the fact that he sat himself closer than heâd done before or moved so that he was almost, almost touching the blond without quite getting there and even that sometimes, very rarely, Crowley would open his mouth when thereâd been silence between them, and start to ask a question, only to seemingly think the better of it and shut his mouth, then often enough start talking about something else entirely. Sometimes he wouldnât get further than a noise before he clammed up.
That last part was in itself not really odd but in conjunction with the other things and the fact that they were all rather new additionsâŠ
Whatever the actual reason for it, it made the angelâs fear that something mustâve gotten through to the demon of that confession while he slept despite everything, and he was telling him that he knew ratchet right back up.
Aziraphaleâs hands bunched into fists against his thighs as he sat in his chair in the bookshop one evening and contemplated it. He wasnât exactly keen on doing it, but heâd put it off for a long while by that point and it was starting to affect him.
But no. No, that didnât make any sense. Why would he wait this long to start giving him hints if heâd remembered all along? Or perhaps a better question, if heâd only just remembered or pieced something together, was why he was hinting at it in the first place? Why not confront him outright? It wasnât as though Crowley could ever be termed as âshyâ, was it?
It was simply Aziraphaleâs paranoia doing the talking and nothing more. Yes, that was it.
However, that left the question of why heâd then been doing all of those things. What other possible explanation could there be? It was hard, to say the least, to think of any that would fit the criteria.
You could always ask Crowley, an inner voice suggested. Be the one who confronts him.
Oh, yes, and how would that look? âCrowley, I believe you keep doing this and that and so on, little things that add up to something else, I feel. Itâs not that I donât trust you, but I cannot help but be worried and slightly unsettled.â
Yes, thatâd just work outright marvellously, wouldnât it?
Especially seeing as âunsettledâ only worked as something not completely horrible, coming from an angel to a demon, when it was used in the context of Aziraphaleâs fears and worries. Which was exactly what he was trying to hide.
Using other words wouldnât work much better either, he felt, because he was, implicitly or explicitly, saying that he was keeping Crowley under observation and monitoring their conversations and for what?
No, there was a number of reasons why that could be construed wrongly. Nor was it as though he was likely to get a good explanation or even an explanation at all out of it. Even if that was the case, the risk to reward was quite disproportionate.
What should he do instead, then?
Oh, he didnât know!
His closed hands slid down his thighs then back up in frustrated fear and apprehension.
Why had he done it? No amount of alcohol or even the combination of Crowleyâs presence in his lap and copious amounts of alcohol should be capable of sending his guard down so fully as that. He should have known better. Shouldâve been able to stop his mouth â and his hand!
That was another issue.
In comparison to six millennia, five years was, well, the blink of an eye, really, if even that much. Add to that that Aziraphale had, when the circumstances were right â whether that was by his choice or not was another matter â quite the crystal, almost eidetic memory, and you ended up in a situation where certain moments still felt as though they had only just happened.
Perhaps it was also the fact that it hadnât been some random person heâd touched. It was Crowley.
Yes. That most certainly made a lot of, if not all the difference.
But he could still feel at least a phantom of that cheek underneath his fingers, the thick, red hair between them and it made him ache, in more ways than one.
That brought him back to the question of why heâd done it. Heâd known that it was a bad idea from the off, had always managed to curtail any inclinations to take it where he so wanted but couldnât take back.
The worst part wasâŠhe had no answer. Not a one.
Even after spending what felt like hours on it, he was getting nowhere except feeling further sense of misery about it all.
Then he sighed deeply and got up from his chair.
He would have to be back at the Dowling house in just a few hours, in full smiling buck-toothed ensemble and with a disposition to match as he nudged the actual hell-spawn towards something moreâŠdivine, and he did have some actual work to do before then.
Right. Slip back into who he was meant to play â and that wasnât purely the gardener persona, either.
Crowley was drunk. To be fair, so was Aziraphale and to be even more fair, he was probably more drunk than the demon was but despite what one might assume, it was the angel who was holding his liquor better. Not by a whole lot, that was true enough, but he would take what he could get.
It helped that they also handled it a little bit differently.
Oh, they were both prone to talking a lot more when sloshed and have pretty long, rambling conversations that ranged from the simplest of topics to the deepest philosophical musings. Usually they were quite the eclectic mix of the two, with most things in between, too.
Crowley was more prone to gesticulating when plastered than Aziraphale was but apart from that, he was also moreâŠnot handsy â surprisingly, neither of them had touched the other much over the ages theyâd known each other, not even when the opportunity had presented itself â but moreâŠflexible. Prone to give into his serpentine nature and not just in terms of occasionally hissing.
Not to put too fine a point on it, Crowley would, if he didnât think to sober up before he got to that point, end up sprawling across the nearest surface he could find. In most cases that would be the sofa, as he seemed to prefer it whenever he came around to the bookshop. If they were drinking at a restaurant or similar, he would choose the table or another patron, though Aziraphale had wised up to that after a few disastrous incidents and could now gauge, more or less, when the other was just about getting to that point.
All of that would be fine, for a given value of fine when it came to his escapades at various establishments, if he didnât often as not then fall asleep wherever heâd decided to flop down onto. That was a staple of being drunk, after all, but Aziraphale would have thought that only needed to apply to human beings, not supernatural ones. At least, he would if he hadnât known Crowley so well at this point.
This again might not have been a problem on its own if not for the small but significant fact that very, very occasionally, to the point that the blond could count the occurrences on one hand, the nearest surface wasnât a sofa, a chair, a table or even the floor.
No, sometimes the nearest surface a drunk demon could find to drape himself across for comfort and an eventual snooze wasâŠwell, quite frankly, it was Aziraphale himself.
Which, once more, like a series of dominos that might be ten feet tall but would only just about touch each other, wouldnât have been an issue on its own. One might even argue that out of all the drunk idiots one could have sprawled across you, a handsome demon who weighed surprisingly little given his height was not among even the top twenty worst people. Especially given that when he did snore, it wasnât deep and resonant, but a hiccupping, hissing version that was honestly incredibly adorable.
There was one problem, though, which started the series of dominos falling, and that was what brought the angel to his issue. Or more accurately, it showcased why he was the issue.
See, rather than merely tolerating it or even liking it in an âI put up with your antics because youâre my friendâ kind of way â the angel didnât dare admit that he considered them friends out loud, just in case someone heard who shouldnât â Aziraphale had found that he very much liked it.
After all, it gave him a chance to be close to Crowley in a way that he couldnât while they were both awake. They were closer when they were drunk in general but that was first of all a very different kind of closeness and secondly, as Aziraphale was also drunk, he didnât get to experience it as he wouldâve wished for.
When the demon was asleep â not passed out, he got sleepy before he just shut down, which was, given his occult nature, quite the fascinating thing to see happen â however, it was not just a time for the angel to sober up, it was one for him to get a good, uninterrupted look at the other.
Of course, he could do that when he was merely sleeping on the sofa as well, or the floor for that matter, provided that he wasnât face-down, obviously. But there was something else to it when the lanky body was draped across him, something which had helped, in as much as he felt he could use the term, solidify the feelings that had grown inside of him forâŠhe wasnât even sure how long, really.
He knew his heart had done something strange inside his chest for at least the last half a millennium. Probably longer, a lot longer, and he just hadnât noticed the way his heart had always warmed, and his face had lit up at the sight of the demon.
One might question how he would know his face had lit up but after inhabiting the same corporation for a millennium or two, you became rather intimately and inherently aware of every twist and turn your corporation was capable of, including the facial ones. Not to the point where you could necessarily control it, of course, but you were certainly more aware of just what the different ticks and twists meant. Besides, it wasnât as though it was the most subtle of expressions, was it?
It had also helped that theyâd seen so much more of each other in the last roughly two thousand years in comparison to earlier millennia, to the point that one might even call it an escalation. One which Aziraphale was quite pleased with, he had to admit. Extraordinarily so, as a matter of fact.
The point of it, though, was that what he felt for the demon now could really only be described as âloveâ. It was ridiculous and silly, not to mention wrong and just about the biggest taboo he as an angel could break.
Not that he wasnât breaking some quite significant rules just by associating with Crowley in the first place, without even going into the Arrangement. But that was still like comparing running a street scam to swindling an entire company out of every asset it could possibly have. Both were crimes but one was decidedly more severe and far-reaching in its consequences than the other.
It was an encompassing kind of love, too, that went beyond what he should be feeling for the entirety of the worldâŠbut it ought to exclude demons? Then again, Heaven didnât honestly fulfil that brief very well itself either, did it?
But the love he held for Crowley was not purely one kind or the other. It was, to borrow from the Greek descriptions, as much storge and philia as it was Eros, with a good dose of pragma and really, not as much to do with agape as one would expect from an angel, ignoring the earlier thought.
The fact that Eros had snuck in there at all, not to mention how large a part of was possibly the one that had startled, if not outright shocked, him the most. After all, that was the part that was most antithetical to the whole concept of being ethereal, wasnât it? Not that that was necessarily saying a whole lot, but the point was that Eros was what he had never expected to feel.
If he was going to feel it for anyone, though, it would not only make the most sense, if not the only sense, for it to be his demon, there was nobody he would rather feel it for. His opposite number, his hereditary enemy, and yet, there was so much more they had in common than split them.
However, he wasnât going to admit that out loud. Mostly that was in fear that someone somewhere would hear or otherwise detect it and that it would then put either or both of them into jeopardy, which was much more dangerous than, say, a sharply worded note.
For that same reason he wasnât going to admit to anyone but himself that he was in love with his friend. Or at least, he told himself that was the reason and the only reason.
In reality, however, he wasnât just scared of what his superiors would say. Perhaps it was actually more truthful to say that they were the lesser of the two entities he was scared of finding out about his feelings.
What didnât help was that he didnât even know how Crowley would react. Oh, he would be rejected, he was certain about that. But in what way and to what extent that rejection would come, however, that was something he did not know at all and would rather not speculate on if he could help it. All that accomplished was to make him sad and even more scared than heâd been before.
So, no, he was not going to let on that he not only harboured feelings for his friend but that they werenât entirely angel pure, either. No matter how much he wanted to or how it sometimes hurt to have to conceal them. Pretend, even, sometimes that he was very conflicted and uncertain of whether they were doing the right thing associating.
That last part was done as much to keep himself in check and remind himself of what he stood to lose if he should slip up.
Thankfully for him, heâd worked out relatively quickly that if he pushed away, just a little, carefully so, then Crowley would not be offended but would bounce right back. He would sometimes even get a little bit closer, both physically and metaphorically, than heâd been before, which delighted the angel each and every time, and so he had to watch that he didnât overdo it.
He would take what he had, however little it might be in the grand scheme of things, over losing his demon, either through meddling from above or below or because Crowley couldnât cope with Aziraphaleâs feelings.
Which brought him to his current predicament.
All of the dominoes seemed to have lined themselves up tonight, as Crowley had decided to hit the bottles heâd brought from the restaurant theyâd been at, quite hard and by the time heâd gotten through all of them, with admittedly some help from Aziraphale, he was beyond sozzled and consequently, more overly cooked noodle than occult being stuffed in a human body.
Aziraphale had, perhaps inadvisably given the situation, elected to sit himself on the sofa rather than his chair as he normally did. In hindsight, he wouldâve wished that heâd moved the books stacked momentarily there to his desk but at the time, he didnât feel he had the coordination.
Besides, where had been the problem in sitting at one end of the sofa while Crowley lounged across the rest?
Except he shouldâve known better. It would become a problem, roughly around the time when the ginger apparently decided that it was a much better idea to sprawl horizontally than something approaching vertically.
It happened in the middle of a sentence, too; half of it was delivered gesturing enthusiastically, then a pause, and then Aziraphale found himself with a lap full of lanky body. He wasnât sure whether it was a blessing or not that it was the torso laying across his thighs, since it did mean that Crowleyâs face was rather close.
There was silence for a few long moments after that, the half-finished sentence left to drift away into nothing.
âHullo, angel,â the demon finally grinned, the lopsided nature of his smile having nothing to with his position. The grin, as most other smiles, smirks, grins and similar from Crowley, did funny things to Aziraphaleâs insides.
âCrowley, what are you â?â
But it was too late; Crowley was asleep. As his sunglasses so neatly obscured his eyes, the way Aziraphale was able to tell that he was had more to do with the tension in the lanky body releasing just a little but felt more due to where he lay. Well, that and the grin had become a somewhat slackly open mouth, though thankfully there was no snoring. That was a bit of a clue, too.
The angel stared at him, trying to get his bearings on what had happened, or more accurately why he hadnât clocked that Crowley was as drunk as he was â pissed was probably the better word, though Aziraphale most certainly wasnât going to say it out loud â and would be liable to fall asleep.
It didnât help him that he wasnât exactly sober himself. Sloshed was probably the more accurate word, but only slightly, heâd argue. That was probably also why he had made the, in hindsight, stupid decision to sit himself that closely to the other. It certainly hadnât been in the hope that he would experience this.
Had it?
No, it hadnât.
Yes, so heâd known that theyâd been drinking, and theyâd come back here to do some more drinking. But that did not equal that this would be the outcome and he hadnât planned for it.
Nor had he hoped for it because heâŠhe was never ready for it and as much as some part of him thrilled to the contact he had with the other, one which he didnât ever otherwise get and certainly not to this extent â he simply didnât dare when they were both sober â what took up much more of his mind was the fright that he would overstep somewhere.
That he would touch Crowley, perhaps stroke his cheek or touch his hair and, far more importantly, would have serious difficulty stopping himself continuing to touch him.
But the alcohol mustâve been a bit more potent in him than he wouldâve expected it or have unlocked the last bit of something inside of him, because before he was quite aware of what he was doing, his fingers had in fact reached out to trail gently over a cheek. Oh, it was quite splendidly soft, despite the impression that it would be at least a little bit rough.
Crowley mumbled something but didnât wake. However, his head turned into the unintended caress.
That simple gesture made Aziraphale retract his hand at once. Or rather, it should have done and in more sober circumstances, it probably would have done. Possibly.
Now, however, it seemed to have a mind of his own as it trailed further up and just about into the hair line.
There he did manage to stop it and even pull it away entirely, much as he had to struggle to.
He should wake Crowley up. Shake him awake and tell him to sober up, for God â for goodnessâ sake.
And have you ever done that the other times heâs fallen asleep on you?
Well, no. He couldnât say that he had. What he had done was slide himself out from underneath the lanky body as gently and carefully as he possibly could so that he wouldnât wake Crowley. Not that was likely, given how deeply he appeared to be asleep but even if he didnât feel anything, Aziraphale couldnât bring himself to manhandle the other. There was no need to, so why do it?
One might argue that he could as well just sit and wait for the demon to wake up on his own accord, perhaps miracle a book into his hands if needed. But not only was Crowley quite the master in sleeping when he had a mind to, such as when heâd been entirely too plastered and hadnât bothered sobering up before falling asleep, if he woke up and found that he was lying in Aziraphaleâs lap, well...
Then he would undoubtedly turn it into some sort of joke or gently teasing quip and Aziraphale wouldnât be able to cope with the sheer embarrassment and awkwardness. Granted, awkward was almost stitched into the very backbone of the country he had lived in for so much of the last millennium, at least, but even soâŠ
Whatever the case, the angel would have some explaining to do and he wasnât at all sure that he would be able to do so, and certainly not in a way that wouldnât leave him somewhat compromised, because why would he allow Crowley to use him as a pillow and mattress while he slept? What possible explanation could he come up with that was remotely plausible?
Except for the truth which would land him right in the whole horrid mess of being rejected. Unquestionably.
So, better all around if he managed to get out of it before there was a risk of Crowley waking up andâŠand ruining it.
Right. Yes. Best get on with it, hadnât he? No need to dawdle, after all, it would only further the risk.
He tried to get up. Truly, he did. But by the time heâd wrestled enough control of his limbs back from the alcohol in his body â he would later wonder why exactly he hadnât just sobered up at that point and come up with no real answer â not to mention his courage and determination, Crowley turned. Not a lot but just about enough so that he could push his face a little into the soft roundness that was Aziraphaleâs stomach. His nose, certainly, and was that â that was surely not a hand against his belly, was it?
Struggling to accept what he thought he felt, he looked down and sure enough, though it wasnât easy to see in the gloom created there, long fingers was splayed gently against the curve of the stomach.
âCrowleyâŠ?â he asked, wondering, with a not inconsiderable amount of flashing panic, whether his friend had woken up or was at least aware of his surroundings.
He got no answer, at least none that would definitely indicate that the other was awake. All he got was a muffled huff of breath that mightâve been a contented, sleepy hum or mightâve been something else entirely.
âCrowley, please!â Aziraphale asked, half-hoping that Crowley was awake and more than half-terrified of the same thing.
Nothing. Not even a breath this time.
The sunglasses were digging into the flesh of the stomach of the blond, though, just a little. But Aziraphale had other things on his mind and wouldnât notice until he later felt and found the indents.
Bit by bit as nothing happened, Aziraphale managed to relax again.
The scare shouldâve sobered him up and to be honest, it mainly did so.
He wasnât quite prepared to admit that, however. Not then and not later because that would bring into question just what he said and did next.
Perhaps not quite next. He did sit for a while, trying to gather himself again. Then he tried to think of a way that would allow him to move the lithe body from him without manhandling him. It should be possible, even in the position they were now in, and yet he was struggling to think of one.
Or maybe that was just because he still felt shaky himself, not helped by the way Crowley would occasionally shift or hum, as though he couldnât be in a more comfortable position. Which was flattering, really, even Aziraphale could admit that, even if it wasnât exactly helpful.
As he sat there, however, instead of gathering himself, he could feel his nerves tick steadily upwards, despite his best efforts and he could only feel incredibly grateful that he wasnâtâŠsuffering the issue that humans males might if the object of their desire had planted themselves right in their laps for an extended period of time.
What should he do?
Calm his nerves. That was what he needed. Something to calm him down and make this much easier to handle. Yes. Definitely.
Heâd reached for the nearest wine glass, which was his own recently discarded one on the side table next to him and was mysteriously full to almost the brim by the time he brought it to his lips, before he was fully aware of what heâd done.
The liquid went down fast, probably too fast, and it reacted very effectively, not to mention quickly, with the alcohol not yet out of his system.
Even so, though the glass was empty before it left his lips, he filled it again and down another one.
By that point, the nerves had very successfully been dulled if not entirely anesthetised, or even outright killed. But it had also brought back another problem; his limbs felt significantly heavier and more unresponsive than before.
To make matters worse, if that was possible, Crowley had turned back to lie on his back. His hand oddly enough stayed put but his face was once again free for Aziraphale to see and his heart skipped a beat again at the sight of it. More than one beat, actually.
He looked soâŠpeaceful. So content and relaxed in a way that was almost unfathomable when he was awake. Vulnerable, perhaps, though that felt odd to say about someone whoâd survived through so much of human history and been witness to many of its most horrid parts. Of course, so had Aziraphale, but though he knew that humanity was far more capable of thinking up horrid things than demons ever could be, he hadnât been in the front row seat to that many of them. Crowley had and yetâŠ
And yet he was still here, still working, still making his way through eternity as best as he could, with an attitude that nothing could touch him or bother him.
Now, thoughâŠit wouldnât be right to say that he looked younger because he hadnât changed a bit in six thousand years, neither of them had, but he certainly looked more, yes, vulnerable.
And that vulnerability should be protected. Should be cherished, really, much like the rest of him. Told how beautiful and wonderful he was, not to mention the rest of it.
Aziraphaleâs traitorous hand had once more reached out, despite the otherwise continued heaviness and unresponsiveness of his limbs, and it was now sliding its fingers through the fiery hair.
He would later blame the wine entirely for what happened then, but he knew in his heart that he couldnât entirely blame it on that, however much he wished to.
His fingers slid through the hair again, relishing in the thick softness of the strands against his fingers. Then his mouth decided to betray him, too.
âCrowley,â he murmured. âDearest Crowley, if only you knew. No, that doesnâtâŠbut if only you could understand â and they would, too. How could anyone know you for any length of time, much less as long as I have had that privilege, and not fall for you?â
What on earth was he saying? Oh, no. No, no, no, no! That couldnât be happening, it just couldnât. Any moment now, yellow eyes would open, and he would be up to the tip of his wings in sh â manure.
As if that wasnât bad enough, it seemed that his mouth wasnât done and he was along for the ride, whether he wanted to or not.
âI know I couldnât. I shouldnât have, I know that, too, and not just because they wouldnât approve. But I did, longer ago than I knew, and now I cannot help my love for you. You are funny and kind, no matter what you say, but you are also beautiful, and I find myself longing to know how your lips feel against my own or your fingers feel in my hair. But Iâm so grateful we get to spend so much time together now, and I would rather be missing a wing, or both, than have to bear to lose you. So, I guess all I can have is this moment. I love you, my dearest, and I hope you will never know this.â
It was an incredibly legitimate question to ask, considering, and it wasnât as though it was posed in a way that could be called accusatory at all. In fact, it sounded as though it was a genuine question.
Even so, it hit Crowley like a bucket of ice water to the face, assisted by the realisation that opened and cascaded, or possibly more accurately snowballed, inside of his mind.
The realisation that he had managed to miss and misinterpret a vast amount, if not all, of the things that Aziraphale had done since Crowley had first discovered that heâd started toâŠwell, to nest, really, there was no need to call it anything else now.
All of those changes had been for Crowleyâs sake, not anybody elseâs and certainly not for what had turned out to be an entirely fictional rival. The one heâd been angry with forâŠfor so many reasons, that had been nobody but himself.
He was the one who hadnât accepted the nest, had in fact run from it, even if he had physically walked, and not just the once, either. Because he couldnât face the rejection, yes, the knowledge that his angel was in love with someone but how could Aziraphale be expected to know that? To him, it mustâve felt like he had put himself out there and Crowley hadâŠheâd basically rejected Aziraphale, hadnât he?
Why on earth hadnât the angel reacted to that? No wonder heâd looked downcast and dejected but he shouldâve been screaming â or had given up. That wouldâve been the logical thing to do.
But he hadnât given up, had he? Unlike the demon, who hadnât even had the courage to keep his attempts at nesting up for Aziraphale to see, the angel had not just kept it up, he had made alterations to it in an effort to make it more to the perceived taste of his intended.
Alterations which, Crowley further realised with a sinking heart, hadnât been to appeal to an angel used to heavenly aesthetics but to mimic the style he had at his flat. The lack of clutter, the general streamlining of the interior, the gold ornamentation, the look and feel of the sofa and pillows. For crying out loud, there were marble surfaces and pot plants! How the fuck had he managed to miss that significance?
Furthermore, those alterations had come about after Aziraphale had been to his flat andâŠoh, bugger, the poor angel mustâve thought that he needed to change it to appeal to the demon. That he had to change something so essential about himself as what his bookshop looked like in order to make his nest a worthy prospect to present to Crowley.
No wonder, then, that heâd made comment about trying to get it right but that he thought he mightâve gone off in the wrong direction.
Crowleyâs heart sank further, twisting as it did so. All of that, that effort and dedication and persistent hope and he had failed to pick up on any of it. Nor had he properly realised until now, when it was brought up directly and not when he shouldâve done, when Aziraphale had confessed that the nest was for him, that heâd been harbouring wrong assumptions and what those assumptions had wrought on his beloved.
He had, in fact, completely failed his angel and his earnest attempt, all because he was scared, terrified, of losing his angel.
Satan, he was an idiot, wasnât he? A cosmos-class one, to boot.
His hands found their way back to the blondâs back and he grabbed onto the jacket, fingers digging into the fabric as he tried to pull Aziraphale closer. Meanwhile, he buried his face in the otherâs front, both to reassure himself that he was actually there and to keep from seeing the angelâs expression.
âCrowley?â Aziraphale asked, confused and concerned about the reaction to a question. âIâŠwas that the wrong question to ask?â
Crowley shook his head, against the waistcoat as he tried to pull the other closer still, feeling tears, of anger with himself as well as hurt and guilt, prickle. He didnât want to, certain heâd make things worse, but he knew he needed to say something, to apologise.
âIâm so sorry,â he said, his words muffled against the fabric. Wait, that wouldnât do. If he was going to apologise, it wasnât going to be unclear. Theyâd had enough misunderstandings as it was, hadnât they?
Slowly, reluctantly, he raised his head back up to look Aziraphale in the eye. He didnât let go of his hold, though, nor did he move his wings back. He couldnât.
âIâm sorry Iâm such an idiot,â he said. âI shouldâve realised that you wouldnât be interested in someone up thereâŠbut it seemed the only possible explanation for why you were nesting all of a sudden.â
No, that was making excuses, wasnât it?
His gaze flickered down, his nerves faltering. âI couldnât believe it because it didnât make sense that youâd choose me, butâŠâ He had to fight to keep his breathing under control, ââŠbut I still shouldâve seen the truth, though, sooner or later, and I didnât, not at any point. You made it bloody obvious, didnât you? And all I could see was further evidence that someone else had managed what I have always wished for. I couldnât even spot that I was in the wrong and apologise for it when you said that it was forâŠfor me, I just ploughed on like a complete moron!â
âOh, CrowleyâŠâ the angel sighed after a moment or two of horrible silence.
The demon squeezed his eyes shut, the threat of tears clearer. âYes, I know! I know! Iâm so sorry. Iâm a colossal idiot that doesnât deserve â â
âThat was not what I meant,â Aziraphale interrupted, his voice gentle even as it was also slightly sharp, at least in part in order to cut through. âLook at me. Please.â
Crowley opened his eyes as he was bid but not immediately.
âI did not say you were, or are, an idiot or moron or whatever else youâve called yourself, nor do I believe that you are.â
âI clearly am!â How the Heaven could Aziraphale say that he wasnât? âI know youâre being kind but thereâs no need to when I can finally see it myself!â
âCrowleyâŠmy dearest, I donât consider you stupid â â
âI hurt you!â The words, while he hadnât quite intended for them to come out, he didnât regret. They were true and he needed to communicate to Aziraphale that he was aware of his blunder. âI didnât mean to, but that doesnât matter. Youâve been â youâve been miserable for weeks and itâs all my fault. Because I was too fucking dumb to see what was right there, even when â â
âAnthony J. Crowley, stop!â
There was that steel again, wielded likeâŠlike the demon imagined he wouldâve wielded his flaming sword back before heâd given it away.
His jaw clacked shut, hard enough that his teeth and jawbone ached.
âThat does matter!â the angel retorted. âIn fact, that is what matters. I cannot deny that I was very much hurt that you didnât seem to like what you saw and have not been able to stem that afterwards, or that Iâve been struggling to understand what Iâd done wrong since you turned away from my first attempt.â
Crowleyâs heart, still in the region of his intestines, twisted horribly. âThere, you see â â
âHowever, that does not equal that I blame you nor that I think you stupid for missing things. You were not to know that it wasnât an attraction that just suddenly manifested and, wellâŠâ He smiled but it was somehow a little off. âItâs not as though Iâve given you much reason to think otherwise, is it?â
âThat doesnât excuse it.â
âTo me, it does, my dearest, as it explains it quite sufficiently and I do not blame you. I never would.â
âBut â â
âDo you blame me?â
The demonâs nose wrinkled as he made a face of incomprehension. âBlame you? What on earth would I blame you for?â
âFor taking so long to see what was inside of me and not mistake it for anything else, never mind gather up the courage to nest for you.â
âNo, of course not! I said earlier, didnât I?â
âThen why canât you extend that same forgiveness to yourself?â
Crowley opened his mouth, to give a clever answer or perhaps merely a retort. Either would do really, but nothing would come out of his mouth.
Aziraphale smiled again, a more genuine one, as he brought his hands up to cup the demonâs face. For a moment, he just stared at Crowley without saying anything and the ginger looked back at him in turn, confused and nervous but somehow managing to hold the gaze.
Then, after his smile had widened and yet softened, the angel leaned forward. Crowley would have thought he meant to kiss him, and it did seem that way. Except that he stopped far too far away to make contact.
âI forgive you,â he said softly, his voice warm and loving. âI do not believe itâs needed but I forgive you.â
âAngelâŠâ
âMy dearest Crowley, you are my beloved and now, at long last, you are my nestmate, too. I will not blame you for making mistakes or wrong but plausible assumptions. Do you understand me?â
âIâŠyeah. I do.â
âGood.â
And with that, he closed the remaining distance between them.
Even though this was only their third kiss â second if you counted the first two as one with a slight pause in between â it felt as natural to slide into it as if this was their thousandth kiss instead.
It started off as just a press of lips against lips and that was perfect lovely. They could take it slow or even keep it at that, if that was what Aziraphale wanted. There was no actual need to take it further. The intimacy was quite strong as it was.
Within the span of only a few minutes, though, the angel pressed his tongue against the seam of Crowleyâs lips. More asking than outright demanding entrance, the demon willingly opened his mouth for the questing tongue, curious to see where and how far the angel would take it and thrilled that he would dare do it at all, considering.
The tongue moved forward slowly, though it seemed as much to be due to a want for slow exploration as hesitation about what he was doing, which made it somehow even better.
Once it reached Crowleyâs own tongue, he no longer sat idly by, though. Instead, he came to meet it, pressing against it and twirling around it. Taking it slow so he could explore thoroughly in turn and just get to enjoy this very first moment between them.
At some point while they kissed, one of Aziraphaleâs hands slid from its place cupping the side of Crowleyâs face, further along until it reached the back of his head, where his fingers slid into the short, soft, thick strands of ginger hair.
There, they didnât exactly tug but they did still somehow wind themselves into whatever locks they could find, which sent signals down into Crowleyâs brain, signals which were very pleasant and just a little distracting.
He didnât stop the kiss, though. It would take a lot more than that to get him to stop at this point, and even then, he wasnât sure he would be willing.
Aziraphale wasnât the greatest of kissers, technically speaking, but he was both trying earnestly and, to his credit, learning quite fast. In any case, it didnât matter; he couldâve been the sloppiest, worst kisser in the world and Crowley wouldnât give a flying fuck.
What mattered was that it was his angel. Everything else could take a flying jump.
His own hands slid, too. One went up to grab at the junction where neck became shoulder, somehow managing to slide its way under not just the jacket but both the waistcoat and the shirt as well. The other slipped down to cup the curve of a plush arse cheek. Not with any ulterior motiveâŠwell, except for the fact that heâd always wondered what it would feel like. To be honest, heâd wondered at the exact shape, too, the angel always managing to somehow cover or otherwise obscure the shape of his butt, either through relatively loose-fitting clothing or a covering jacket or both.
The best chance heâd gotten was when heâd sauntered into the Globe and had seen just what the angel had been wearing. If heâd been a bit slower going around him from behind just to get a better look at it, what of it?
Not that he was focused exclusively on Aziraphaleâs arse. Of course not. That would hardly be fair, for one thing. Actually, heâd wondered what all of him felt and looked like and had formed, heâd thought, a fairly good estimation of it. Heâd had quite a long time to work it out, after all.
When his hand made contact, he realised his estimation didnât hold a candle to the real thing.
Furthermore, much to his consternation, Aziraphale broke the kiss to gasp.
âCrowleyâŠ!â There was a hint of protest in there but no more.
âHmm? Am I not allowed to touch?â He didnât even loosen his grip despite his words.
âOf course, you are, thatâs not the point!â
âWhat is the point, then?â
âThat â that youâre deliberately trying to distract and disrupt me!â
âI wouldnât dream of it, angel. Not when youâre kissing me like that.â
The angel bit his lip. âNow youâre mocking me.â
âTeasing you at best and I meant it.â
Aziraphale still didnât look convinced. âMeant what, precisely?â
âThat I would never stop you kissing me.â
âThen we could be stuck kissing for quite a long time.â
Well, nowâŠthe implications of thatâŠwell. Definitely something to explore at a later point.
âI fail to see the problem,â he said, raising an eyebrow.
The blond giggled a little at that. Then he laid his head down on Crowleyâs shoulder, shifting himself even closer while his wings tucked in further to keep them inside the circle of the demonâs.
âYou know, youâre going to hurt them if you keep that up,â Crowley pointed out.
With them as close as they were, he felt the urge to reach out and touch the otherâs wings again, but he wasnât sure it was a good idea. Not least because they might be as sensitive as his own and for all the kissing and touching, that wasnât really the direction this was headed. Perhaps at a later date it would, maybe, but not now.
Aziraphale turned his head slightly to plant a kiss on a prominent cheekbone. Then he lifted his head back up enough to look the other in at least one yellow yes.
âI wouldâŠI was rather hoping that you would take one,â he said, voice quiet, eyes hopeful.
Take one? One what? Oh. Oh.
But thatâŠ
He turned his head to look more directly at the other, even if they were a bit too close to properly focus. âAngel, are youâŠbut thereâs no need to do that.â
There really wasnât, not from a nesting perspective. Aziraphale had been the one to start nesting, after all, and had placed more than one feather, even though only the one was required, around the nest to signal his intentions â and some other time, the demon needed to go around to take in just what kind of feathers they were. The feathers Crowley had given was a token of reciprocation of the feelings and intentions the nest represented. That heâd gone above and beyond, as it were, was a different matter.
The point was that for Aziraphale to then give one back to Crowley would beâŠa reciprocation of a reciprocation? Something like that, anyway, and it feltâŠnot wrong, per se, it never could feel outright wrong. But it did feel an unnecessary kindness that would also be painful.
âI know there isnât,â Aziraphale answered. He didnât sound hurt, however, nor dejected. In fact, he now had a small smile playing on his lips, which puzzled the demon a little, adding to the pile of confusion, which rather seemed to be the expression of the day.
âWhy are you asking me toâŠto pluck a feather from you, then?â
âBecause I want you to.â
âYeah, I got that. Why?â
âDo I have to have a reason beyond wanting you to?â
âAs itâs painful and unnecessary, yes!â He watched an odd emotion flicker across Aziraphaleâs face. âNo, I didnât â I just meant thatâŠI donât needâŠI do understand. About the nest and everything thatâŠyou know. Thereâs no need for you to be hurt.â
Further, his mind added, quite unhelpfully if truthfully.
Aziraphale, smile coming back, lifted his head up the rest of the way but only so that he could press his forehead against Crowleyâs. A part in the back of the demonâs mind wondered at the amount of touch they were both giving now, as though now, when they had permission, they wanted to touch in as many places as they could.
The rest of him knew that that wasnât exactly it but, in any case, the rest of his mind was otherwise occupied.
Such as with the fact that Aziraphale was willing to pull a feather for him, or have Crowley pull a feather, for no other reason, it seemed, than he wanted to do it. Which didnât make any sense.
âThere is,â the blond said.
âIs what?â Crowley asked, having momentarily lost track.
âIs a need. I want you to pull one, to choose one to take. One that is yours.â
âYouâve already done that.â
Aziraphale shook his head, lightly as their foreheads were still touching.
âNo. I have taken ones for the nest. That is not the same. No, my dear,â he added when he saw Crowleyâs expression shift, âthey were all meant for you. But they were for the nest, for part ofâŠwell, how nesting goes.â
âSo were the feathers I gave you.â
âYes, and then again, no.â
âThey are!â the ginger protested.
âYes, they are. But you chose to give me four. Four different feathers, working together toâŠand they are mine. Mine to keep with me. You wouldnât do that with the ones I put in the nest, would you?â
Guiltily remembering the thought heâd had about the feather heâd found before Aziraphale had returned, Crowley restrained himself to shaking his head, after pulling back just enough that their foreheads were separated. He wouldnât really take it, especially not now when he knew who the nest was made for. Feathers for the nest were supposed to stay in the nest.
Granted, many nesting couples placed the reciprocation feathers in the nest, too, but they were not required to as per the norm and ritual of nesting. Just as often, separate feathers would be given to the nesting angel for them and for to be placed in the nest alongside the original ones, signalling their new status.
âNo, I didnât think you would. SoâŠit hardly seems fair that I should be the only one who would have that joy.â
Crowley opened his mouth to argue. Then he shut it again as something clicked. Something which almost made his jaw drop again as it sank in.
âTo keep with meâ, Aziraphale had said. With him. Implying, together with the pocket it seemed definite heâd just created for them, that he wanted to keep them on him at all times. Well, âimplyâ with a clue-by-four, really, even for the idiot that the ginger evidently was when it came to these things.
A part of Crowley, and such an intimate part, as well, for angels, fallen or not, that would always be with the angel. Right next to his heart, too, in a specially created pocket that would keep them safe.
In that light, they not only gained even more significance, if that was even possible, it became rather clear, not to mention incredibly heart-warming, why Aziraphale might want to reciprocate.
The thought of having his angelâs feather with him at all times, a tangible reminder of his angel and what they now sharedâŠ
He swallowed around a lump he hadnât been aware had manifested in his throat. It was the good sort, though, if one could put it like that.
âI suppose not,â he managed to get out, his voice somewhere between a croak and a rasp.
âOf course, only if you would â â
âI would,â Crowley interrupted, not giving the uncertainty time to manifest. Theyâd had quite enough of that as it was. His gaze dropped down to where his feathers had disappeared, where they would live from now until forever, and when he lifted it back up to meet green eyes, Aziraphaleâs smile became at once broader and a little bit shy.
âI would love to, angel.â
He slid his hand up the side of the blondâs neck to rest against his cheek, a touch which Aziraphale leaned into immediately.
âPick one for me,â Crowley said after a moment or two had passed but Aziraphale shook his head.
âYou should be the one to pick it, my dear,â he said.
âYou didnât pick the feathers from my wings.â
âNo, but now Iâm asking you to do it for me. Not because I donât want to,â he added. âI would but I would rather that you make the choice.â
âWhy?â Possibly he shouldnât ask, shouldnât rock the boat. But then again, that was always his problem, wasnât it? One of many.
The angel didnât seem fazed, however. âBecause it is your choice.â
The words sank in and then a moment later, so did the implications thereof.
Oh, fuck, Aziraphale.
Eyes wide as he continued to look his angel in the eye, heart full to bursting even though heâd thought it already was and couldnât get any fuller, Crowleyâs hand slipped from the otherâs cheek. It slid down to land on a shoulder which it briefly gripped, as though for anchoring. Then it trailed further down the back, slowly, down to where the fabric of the jacket had somehow moved aside to make room for the wing sprouting from it while staying exactly where it was.
All the while, the hand trembled minutely. It was stupid but he couldnât have helped it if he tried.
When he made tentative contact with the joint of the wing, that tremble only strengthened but he pressed on, spurred on by the look in Aziraphaleâs eyes and the small hitch in his breath.
Oh, and the fact that the wing was, when he continued the path very gently, just about touching, pushed more firmly into his touch, of course. That did help just a bit.
Ignoring the thought heâd had earlier about what reactions touching the angelâs wing would cause, in both Crowley and Aziraphale â he had a purpose now, a reason for it, bless it â the demon trailed his hand further along, not just in terms of the width of the appendage but the length of it, too.
Aziraphale wanted him to choose. To pick the one that he would carry with him always.
For a moment, he felt too overwhelmed to choose. No, it was more than that, really. It was the fact that for the claim, the assertion that it was up to him to choose, not that he didnât believe the sincerity of that, the symbolism of the feathers still remained. It would still speak volumes which feather he picked in turn.
So, he had to get it right.
One might argue that he could pick any, as heâd already shown what he wanted to say through the feathers heâd given the angel. That if it was that important this feather also communicated something, it really ought to be Aziraphale who plucked it, to signal what meaning he wanted Crowley to carry with him rather than leaving it up to the demon to gain his own meaning and importance.
It wasnât a bad point. In fact, it was a very good one, but it was nevertheless trumped, or at least countered, by the point that Crowley was given the choice to pick the feather he wanted to have on him at all times. Then again -
The hesitation didnât go unnoticed by Aziraphale, though. Instead of being uncertain or questioning, however, he seemed to understand immediately this time.
âDonât think about the symbolism,â he said, smiling in understanding. âNot now. Just the one youâd like best.â He stretched the wing, still within the confines of Crowleyâs own circle of feathers, just a little for emphasis.
âI canâtâŠangel, I canât not think about the symbolism. Itâs bloody well wired in. Well, as good as. You might as well not expect me toâŠto not hiss!â
âYou very rarely do.â
âThatâs hardly the point. The point isâŠthe point is that any feather I pick, weâll both inherently know the symbolism of it is and will form assumptions based on it. Doesnât mean I donât get what youâre driving at.â
âDriving at?â
âWith the choice. That I am free to choose. But Iâm not. Not really. I appreciate the thought, though.â He smiled a genuine smile because he honestly did appreciate it.
âCrowley, please. You are. Forget the symbolism.â The demon opened his mouth to argue but the angel ploughed on. âThis isnât about nesting, my dear, it isnât about instinct or symbolism or tradition. This is just you and I, together, making a choice. From now on, itâs just the two of us.â
âEven against Heaven?â This wasnât a case of the words being out of his mouth before he could stop them or even meant as remotely pointed or barbed. It was a genuine question that he wanted, no, needed, to know the answer to.
Why it hadnât occurred to him before now that this was dangerous, what theyâd just done, becoming nestmates despite supposedly being hereditary enemies â of sides that had even less grasp of nuance and grey areas than a recently politically-awakened teen and were capable of the same kind of hyperbolic retribution â he had no idea. It ought to have been flashing in enormous neon lights, surrounded by frantically waving flags, that theyâd be at risk from now on.
Of course, there was the undeniable fact that they had always been at risk from either side for associating or, as Aziraphale had put it back at their falling out in the middle of Victoriaâs reign, fraternising. It was a risk that theyâd worked around for millennia and had, he would say, become rather good at.
This was different, though; it went far beyond their normal interaction. That wasnât to say itâd be immediately detectable by the denizens of Heaven or Hell even if they were to move their arses down or up here, respectively. Not if they were careful.
Even soâŠif either side did find outâŠdestruction would be a blessing in comparison.
He looked to Aziraphale, who he expected to look rather like he felt himself; uncertain and worried to the point of terror as the implications set in.
Instead, he found an expression of determination and steel, not unlike what heâd seen before but significantly clearer and stronger.
âYes. Even against Heaven. And Hell, for that matter. I made that decision when I first became aware that I was nesting, and I am not going to renege on it.â
Crowley felt quite a mixture of feelings at that, the worry and fear didnât go away but pride at his angel flooded in, mixing with the love, and so did a small amount of guilt.
âThen weâll have to be incredibly careful that they donât find out,â he said. âNot exactly known for being understanding, are they?â
Something pained and conflicted flitted across the angelâs features. Despite his determination and decisiveness, it was clear that the decision hadnât come lightly to him, and why would it? It would be going against the side heâd been on for actual aeons. Which would also go a long way to explain why heâd needed time to come to terms with wanting to nest.
The expression was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, however, the steel back in full force.
âThey cannot separate us,â he said.
âThey can destroy us,â Crowley pointed out. âDoesnât mean I would ever want to give this up, mind.â He tightened his hold as the blond simultaneously moved closer.
Aziraphaleâs smile could power the entire city. âNo. Neither do I. Not for anything.â
âTill the end, then?â he asked, the addition âhowever long that might or might not beâ remaining unspoken but nevertheless distinctly heard.
The angel nodded, moving his wings tighter around them still, which the demon reciprocated instantly. âAnd beyond, my dear. No matter what happens.â
âThe two of us.â
That thought alone, that they were now nestmates and that he was Aziraphaleâs as much as the angel was his, in all senses of the word, that was something not just uplifting and warming, but mentally fortifying.
Theyâd make it through. He had no idea how but if either side, or indeed both, did try to separate them or punish them in some way, heâŠwell, heâd picked up a thing or two from human ingenuity over the years, hadnât he? Nothing that couldnât be adapted, really.
âYes,â Aziraphale agreed, still smiling. âThe two of us â and I am certain it will turn out fine.â
âIf youâre about to say anything about ineffable plans, angel â â
âWell, why not?â
âBecause an angel and a demon becoming nestmates is hardly going to be the part of any Plan, divine or ineffable or whatever!â
âYou donât know that.â
âYou donât know that it is, either. Youâre just looking for excuses.â
For a split-second, Aziraphale looked guilty but it was gone so soon Crowley wasnât sure heâd seen it. Then the smile, which had momentarily faltered, returned.
âI choose to believe that She would not have instilled the nesting urge in angels in the first place if She didnât want it utilised, as it were. It is built into us, after all. Itâd be like blaming the architect for putting door in a house.â
âBut you chose to nest for a demon,â the ginger pointed out. âNesting is meant for angels.â
âAnd you are fallen angels. Such a lot was taken from you all when you fell, why not take that as well, if that was the case?â
âWhy not take our wings, then? Remove all the painful reminders, which isnât going to happen, because itâs supposed to be â â
âBut nesting is something positive, isnât it?â Aziraphale interrupted. His smile was tinged with a slight sadness. âHardly painful, at least no more than it is for any angel if itâs rejected by the intended. So why not take that away?â
Crowley blinked. That wasâŠheâd have to concede the point.
âGood point,â he said. âI still donât believe that Heaven or Hellâs going to look at it like that.â
âWell,â Aziraphale said. There was something else to his smile now, just the hint ofâŠsteely devilment? Surely not? âPerhaps not. They havenât found out yet, have they? And if they doâŠas I said, I have no intention of giving you up.â
He touched their foreheads together. âI made my decision, my dear, and I donât regret it.â
âMy nestmate. My beautiful angel,â Crowley said, and he let the deep, all-consuming love for his angel that heâd held inside of himself for so unfathomably long, restrained and contained and yet nurtured, show on his face fully, letting go of all restraints.
He pulled back a little and kissed, not the soft lips, tempting though it was, but instead the nose, lingering and soft. âMy Aziraphale.â
That last sentence, that declaration, simple and short though it was, contained just about everything, really, assisted by his tone of voice.
If the smile before couldâve powered the city, then the smile now could power the entire South Coast, at least, and that paled in comparison with the love shining in those green eyes.
Yes. This was worth risking discorporation or outright destruction for.
Crowley leaned in again, but he was met halfway and the kiss he got had everything poured into it.
Perfect.
--------------------------------------------
I do have a sequel planned and Iâll most likely write one chapter from Aziraphaleâs POV as suggested (so please stay tuned) but otherwise, this is it. A thank you to those whoâve read and especially those that have given feedback! <3
Posting relatively early in the day because otherwise Iâll forget to put it up in time. Happy Halloween, everyone! Something sweet for you that might still rot your teeth. :)
It turned out, when Crowley asked about it afterwards, that it had been Adamâs idea.
He should have known that if it was anyoneâs, it would be Adamâs idea.
It had started ever so innocently, really, a fact which ought to have clued him in straight away that something was fishy enough to be seafood-y.
They had received invitations to a Halloween party, hosted by the Young family â to call them âThe Youngsâ, even in his head, made them sound like a forgotten sixties band and honestly, living through the sixties had been quite enough, thank you.
It had been an actual, physical invitation, too, in an envelope and everything, which was probably just as well, given Aziraphaleâs track record with modern technology. He didnât have an email address or even a computer that could hook up to the internet. Not even a modem, for all that he claimed it was more than enough for what he needed.
To be perfectly honest, Crowley would in hindsight have been quite happy to make sure that the angel didnât receive any invitation at all, physical or digital â his own he couldâve easily deleted or ripped apart, solving the issue before it had time to manifest. Though that would have resulted in an undoubtedly disappointed Antichrist, seeing as heâd sent the invitations special, and a cross angel once he found out what the demon had done â and Crowley was in no doubt that he would find out, sooner or later â so perhaps not.
The question of how exactly Adam had known where to send the invitations, both to Crowleyâs flat and Aziraphaleâs bookshop was easier answered than the why of it. After all, the kid had known enough about them to restore to them what had been lostâŠwith a few tweaks, admittedly, but still. Compared to that, and the rest of it, knowing the addresses of two supernatural being were rather small potato, wasnât it?
No, the why of it was what puzzled Crowley more. It wasnât as though theyâd exactly gotten to know each other that very brief time theyâd spent together. The priorities had sort of been elsewhere, as it were.
Granted, he had said he knew all about them when heâd first noticed them out on the airfield and the demon could easily believe that. But that did not translate to wanting to spend time with them afterwards and especially not inviting them to a dress-up party
Aziraphale seemed slightly confused but mainly delighted when he opened the invitation and saw what it was.
âWell, now, would you look at that?â he said out loud as his eyes scanned the page he was holding.
âWhatâs that?â Crowley asked, sauntering over from where heâd been messing with the order of the books.
He might not be on Hellâs side anymore and didnât need to inconvenience anyone on a small or grand scale, but there were such things as habit. Besides, it got him a grumble from the blond and possibly a stern look, which was more adorable than anything.
âI have been invited to an All Hallowâs Eve party.â
Crowley fitted himself to the back of the blond, resting his chin on the otherâs shoulder, pushing his hand into Aziraphaleâs coat pocket. âHalloween, angel. They call it Halloween these days. Itâs mainly costumes and candy, having a bit of fun. Not very religious at all.â
Bloody hell, imagining Aziraphale turning up expecting quiet reflection or the like and getting a group of kids hyped up on sugar insteadâŠactually, that was a not unamusing thought but no, best not.
âAs I recall, the antics that surround that particular holiday has never been entirelyâŠpure, much as their current iteration, in this country as well as abroad, likes to pretend that it was,â Aziraphale returned, seemingly not bothered at all. âBut then again, it seems like that was the case for any holiday. People will take any excuse for a bit of revelry, wonât they?â
âAnd the rest. Human nature,â Crowley agreed.
There was a pause that seemed to stretch between them. The beginning of a song, half-forgotten but not quite gone, glided its way out of Crowleyâs mouth.
Soul Day, Soul Day, we be come a' souling.
Pray, good people, remember the poor,
And give us a soul cake.
Soul, soul, a soul cake!
Please, good lady, a soul cake!
An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,
Any good thing to make us merry.
Soul, soul, a soul cake!
Pray we for a soul cake!
One for Peter, two for Paul,
And three for Him who made us all.
It wasnât intentional and certainly had no ulterior motives, it just kind of slid out from his memory, all on its own. Out of the corner of his eye, even hampered a little as it was by the metal guard and the position of his head, he could see a pained expression flitter across the angelâs face, and he felt like kicking himself.
âSorry, didnât mean â â
âNo. No, of course, you didnât. That isnât â is that the original song?â
âDunno if there is such a thing, different versions and all, but I think that one is old, at least. Seem to recall it was collected by some bloke, they did that in those times â youâve probably got that somewhere around here.â
Crowley was of the belief that Aziraphale must have pretty much everything ever published stashed onto some shelf somewhere and was unshakeable in it no matter how the blond claimed that the idea was ludicrous.
Aziraphaleâs expression went from pained to thoughtful. âYou know, I do believe I might â what was the manâs name?â
âCanât recall. Holmes? Or Chesterfield? Does it matter?â
âNot really, no.â
The silence returned, but it settled into something moreâŠrelaxed than before as they stood there, looking down at the piece of paper held in plump hands. Crowley did at some point slid his arm around the otherâs waist and Aziraphaleâs hand moved down to cover his.
âThen the ginger asked, âSo?â
âSo what?â
âAre we going?â
âWe?â It might have been hurtful to have Aziraphale question it like that, but Crowley didnât take it as such, among other things because he knew the other and could hear the honest confusion in there.
âYeah, both of us. Look, it says both our names on it.â Crowley pointed with a finger. âMind you, mine does as well.â
âYours? You mean heâs sent it to both of us? Why?â
âDunno. Suppose he wanted to make sure one of us got it.â
âYes. Perhaps so.â Aziraphale smiled softly. âOh, he is rather sweet, isnât he?â
But Crowley was focused on something else. Something that he hadnât clocked on his own, for whatever reason.
âHeâs asking us to come in â in fancy dress?â He didnât splutter. He did not. âUs?â
âWell, guising is the custom for such things, I understand, even nowadays, and we have been quite specifically invited. It would hardly be entering into the spirit of the thing not to do it.â
Crowley made a face at that, which Aziraphale couldnât see.
âWe could always just not go.â
Aziraphale turned his head to look at him. âMost certainly not. We have been invited and we are going. End of discussion.â
âOh, yeah? And you donât wonder why the kid wants to have anything to do with us after the last time he saw us?â
âWe did help.â
Crowley made a noise that mightâve been agreement and mightâve been non-committal. Had they really? He supposed, in a way, though it was undoubtedly Adam doing the heavy lifting, as it were. And his friends, of course, defeating the Four Horsepersons.
âStill doesnât mean heâd want to see us again â and thatâs not even counting the apparent fact that he remembers us, after he said it was best if everyone forgot.â
âHe was the Antichrist.â
âStill is.â
âDidnât he rewrite that?â
Crowleyâs grimace at that quite eloquently expressed âI donât knowâ.
âOf course, he might not have included himself in that,â Aziraphale mused. He then sighed. âWhatever the case, it seems he does remember and does want us to be part of his celebration. Iâd say itâs the least we can do after everything heâs been through, at only eleven.â
âWe didnât make him the Antichrist.â
âNo, but we did have a hand in it all.â A pause. âEven if it was mainly because we got it wrong.â
âEhâŠyeah.â A longer pause. âAlright, fine, weâll go. I am not doing fancy dress, though.â
He said the last part with firmness. With finality. He was not going to dress up like some silly creature either out of history or fantasy. The former kind of lost its appeal when youâd been part of history and as for the latterâŠthat got a bit too close to his real nature, so no thanks.
It was only a few moments afterwards that he noticed Aziraphale hadnât answered beyond a noncommittal hum. In hindsight, that shouldâve worried him, but right then and there, all he did was press a kiss to a soft cheek, which got him a pleased hum.
He then wandered off to finish what heâd started. After that, he figured he would spend an hour or two stretched out on the sofa, just to wind down. Maybe after that, heâd take Aziraphale out for dinner.
Being able to do what he wanted, without having to consider whether Hell would pop up and interrupt himâŠthat was still a novel enough experience that even the smallest things were wonderful.
He didnât notice that Aziraphale, who had brought the invitation with him when he sat down at his desk, was quiet for a long time, worryingly so. Consequently, he didnât see it when something else fell out of the envelope, something that most definitely hadnât been in his.
Had he known what had been on that extra piece of paper, he mightâve been able to intercept what happened. At the very least, he wouldnât have been so unprepared for it, which wouldâve been something, too.
 This was at the end of September. It would be plenty of time until the party at the end of October, even for acquiring some costumes.
Or rather, it would be more than enough if someone wasnât given an idea of what he and his partner could turn up for the party as, an idea that had at first puzzled him. Then, once he had managed to find out what was meant â which meant quite a roundabout search as he had no idea what to search for or where to do it, but in the end he pulled it off â he had been quietly intrigued and delighted at the outcome.
To get that done in such a small amount of time, thoughâŠone was quite elaborate, wasnât it? It was rather nifty, he thought, but it would require a lot of time, he wouldâve thought. Certainly, it would take more time that they had available.
Not that he planned on doing it himself. Good grief, no. He kept his clothes in tip-top condition, that was true, but he did not go around darning them and as for making them, wellâŠhe had always bought his clothes at a tailor or whatever equivalent had been available. That wasnât going to stop now.
He could miracle it into existence, of course. That was a definite option. It was probably the quickest and easiest, too, and would make it much easier to hide it from Crowley until the day came. Indeed, that way he could even miracle it onto him when they were in or getting out of the car as they arrived, leaving the demon with no option but to stick with it, lest he disappoint the ones who saw him in costume.
That would not be fair on him, though â and besides, Aziraphale had other ways he could persuade his demon if need be, didnât he?
And the angel very much wanted to have it made by actual humans. Perhaps he might alter and tweak a few things, especially given he hadnât got the exact measurements of the lanky figure â he had a good eye but didnât know how that translated into sewing terms â but he had not miracled clothes into existence ever before and he was not going to start now.
Well, that didnât necessarily need to be a problem, did it? All he needed to do was apply a littleâŠpersuasion round the right shop or two and Robert was his uncle. Or something.
He gave an excited wiggle where he sat, forgetting entirely that he wasnât alone in the shop.
Whatâs with you?â Crowley asked, looking over at him from his position sprawled across a chair, his head resting more on the ground than the chair. Somehow, the sunglasses stayed on.
âHonestly, dear, chairs are there for a reason. You might sit up properly.â
âDonât see why,â Crowley drawled, stretching where he âsatâ. âAnswer the question.â
âWhat question would that be?â
âYou heard me. You were wiggling. You only do that when youâre excited about something.â There was an edge of suspicion in the voice.
Oh, dear. Iâd best come up with something plausible, hadnât I?
âI thought I would go and try this little Spanish restaurant thatâs just opened, it looks quite simply delicious.â
He mustâve gotten away with it since there was a momentâs silence then a grin from the serpent.
âReally?â he asked as he sat up in one movement that shouldâve made him grasp something for balance. âWell, then, best get going then, hadnât we?â
âOh. Yes. Of course. Thank you.â
âNo need to thank me yet.â The hint of a smugness edging into the grin made Aziraphale huff but then he smiled.
Oh, yes. He had a plan now. All he needed to do was run a little errand once Crowley was busy with something or other. He was sure that if you explained the situation and explained itâŠwell, they would be very receptive to his commission.
They were going to look absolutely, utterly wonderful. He knew it.
He could hardly wait.
 ------------------------------------------
Something was amiss. Seriously amiss and he couldnât figure out why that was.
Not that it was bad. The energy that had vibrated off the angel in the last week or so, halfway through the month of October, was anything but bad, but that was actually what clued him in that something was off.
Of course, Aziraphale was more than allowed to be happy and Crowley was happy in turn when he was, but there was something to this particular happiness that reeked of something being plotted. Something that he thought he was being clever about hiding.
It was in the small but pleased smiles that broke out for seemingly no reason. The twinkle in his eyes at times when he obviously thought Crowley wouldnât catch it. It was decidedly in the small absences that were hidden as errands of some sort or another. Never the same one twice.
He did go out otherwise, of course, with or without Crowley, much as the demon did â however much time they now spent together, it would be a bit too much just yet to be joined at the hips, metaphorically speaking â but the same little air of satisfaction hovered around him whenever he had been on these particular errands. At least once that Crowley saw, he brought something home with him, too, which was decidedly not a book but was squirreled away as quickly as possible.
Crowley waffled on whether to ask him or not and eventually decided that he would.
âWhatâs got you in such a good mood?â
Aziraphale stilled in what he was doing for just a moment. âAm I not allowed to be in a good mood?â he said and though Crowley listened for it, he didnât think he could detect any edge of guilt or self-consciousness.
ââCourse you are. Thatâs not what I meant. Itâs just â nothing specific has happened to cause it so Iâm just wondering what the reason could be.â
The demon got up from where heâd been contorted onto the sofa.
âIs it anything to do with what you brought home the other day?â he asked as he walked up to the other, coming right to the point.
Which turned out to be the wrong move.
Aziraphale stiffened where he stood. Not hugely so but the fact was certainly noticeable to someone whoâd spent as much time around him, however long between it had been, as Crowley and he felt like an idiot for choosing wrong.
Though to be honest, he wouldnât have thought that a question like that would illicit such a reaction. It was just an innocent inquiry, after all, and on something positive, too.
He opened his mouth toâŠto what, exactly? Ask further questions? Apologise? Pretend that he hadnât asked the question at all and change the subject to something far safer?
Before he had the chance to do any of those things, or even none of them, however, Aziraphale gave a tight, yet wobbly smile, his good mood battered. Crowley still didnât understand why that was, though.
Nor did he understand why a look of uncertainty sprinted lightning-fast across the angelâs features.
I really donât see how thatâs â â
âLetâs go have some lunch,â Crowley blurted out, hoping that Aziraphale would hear the apology and the subject change in that one suggestion without him having to explicitly state it. That would just have beenâŠembarrassing, to say the least.
Aziraphale turned to look at him and for a moment, the demon thought that he might refuse.
Then he nodded and Crowley breathed an unconscious sigh of relief.
As he led his angel out and made sure to treat him to the best running sushi in all of London, he couldnât help but wonder about what exactly that had been all about.
But though Aziraphale clearly didnât want to tell him, Crowley was sure that it was more of a case of not wanting to tell him then than not at all. At least, he hoped so.
He was right, of course.
 -------------------------------------------------------
âNo.â
The word was out of his mouth the moment he saw what had been laid out for him to put on. It came out with the same firmness and finality, for the same reason, that he had initially displayed when theyâd talked about the possibility of costumes.
The costume that was lying in front of him.
âNo,â he repeated. He turned to look at the angel who stood beside it, hands clasped over his middle as usual and with a smile on his lips, but with just a smidgeon of worry and uncertainty lurking in his expression. âI am not wearing this. I said, no costumes.â
âBut we canât go without costumes,â Aziraphale said. âIâve written and said that we would be there â â
âYeah, of course we will.â
Despite what heâd said when theyâd first discussed it, Crowley had no intention of not going. Heâd liked Adam, for as much as heâd seen of him, and if he wanted to see them, at least this once, wellâŠCrowley could do that, no problem.
ââ and you cannot turn up to such a party without a costume. There areâŠâ a muscle twitched somewhere, ââŠconventions to follow, social contracts and so on.â
The ginger pursed his lips and then made a face. âIâll go as annoyed demon, how about that?â
The angel looked a little dejected by still hopeful. âPlease, dear. Itâs only for the one night â and youâll look good in it. I had it made to your measurements.â
âYou what?â Behind darkened glass, the yellow eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot upwards.
Aziraphale made a gesture with his hands which was halfway between waving and wring them. âWell, as near as I could get from personal observation and estimations, of course. I donât know or canât recall the correct terms, but I do recall some practices from the last time I had something made and the dear boy at the tailor was incredibly helpful. He did say it was made easier by the fact that apparently, your measurements are rather close to that of the original actor and that it was a fairly normal suit.â
âYou â you had it made?â
Well, yes?â Aziraphale looked rather puzzled at the question.
âYou â actually had it made? With needle and threat and everything? You didnât miracle it into existence?â
âIf I had, I wouldâve said, wouldnât I?â Aziraphale countered, sounding just a tiny bit sniffy at that.
âBut â why?â
Why go to all that trouble to have it made when he could just snap his fingers and it would be there? He could even miracle straight onto Crowleyâs body, if that was what he wanted.
That felt quite invasive, though, to do that to another supernatural being, let alone your partner, and Crowley knew for a fact, a comforting fact, that Aziraphale would never do that to him. It also proved that for all that Aziraphale had organised for him, he respected his demon.
âBecauseâŠwell, I thought thatâŠâ Now the hands were most definitely wringing together, and an expression of apologetic guilt was on his soft face. It seemed genuine, too. âI suppose I thought that you might be more amenable to the idea ifâŠand I did rather enjoy having it made for you. I even found you some appropriate footwear and glasses.â
He flashed a smile, one that was a little stiff but also flickering. When it faded, he sighed.
âOf course, if the idea is that abominable to you, you shouldnât have to wear it. Iâm sure they will understand if I explain it to them when we get there. I am sorry, dear, I shouldnât have gone over your head like that. I justâŠoh, never mind, it doesnât really matter what I thought, does it?â His gaze flickered down, dejected.
Crowley stared at his partner, not quite comprehending what had just happened.
And what was his objection really? It wasnât as though he would be going as something outlandish or ridiculous, was it? The costume certainly wasnât historical, inasmuch as the suit wasnâtâŠwell, as a product of its supposed time it couldâve been worse. Heaven, heâd worn worse over the years, hadnât he? The collars and lapels of the seventies and the shoulder pads of the eighties â and that wasnât even accounting for the colours. Mustard yellow sprang to mind, as did pastel rainbows.
Compared to that, a blue suit with a red tie and a white shirt was practically mundane and decidedly not historical. Especially not with â were those sneakers? And a long brown coat?
It wasnât fantasy, either, and in fact, he could possible see himself wearing it afterwards with a few alterations, what with the care and work that had obviously gone into the making of it all â and at such a time pressure, too. Crowley didnât know much about tailoring, either, but he did know it took time to make to any kind of good standard, and three weeks or however long since the invitation had arrived wouldnât be nearly enough.
SoâŠAziraphale had, if he had indeed had this made â and why would he lie about it â gone out of his way to ensure that it would be ready for what was essentially a kidsâ party.
All to make one kid happy. A special kid, true, and one that they did rather owe quite a bit, if not everything, really, come to think of it, but still, it was just the one kid. In the grand scheme of things, how much did it matter whether he was disappointed?
But that wasnât how Aziraphale thought of it.
Granted, there was probably something to the idea that he must feel incredibly guilty about trying to get Adam killed. They hadnât discussed it, which was hardly a surprise, but whenever things had veered in that direction, Aziraphaleâs expression had gone strange andâŠpained.
Still, it would pass, as did everything else. Thanks to Adam and his prevention of the Apocalypse, there would be time and place for it to pass. But to Aziraphale, it evidently mattered here and now and so did making up for it, to whatever degree it was possible for him to.
In that light, it certainly made sense why he would in fact go to such trouble for that one kid and in that same light, how could Crowley be that against wearing what basically boiled down to a suit, odd shoes and a long coat?
Wait, hang on â just like that? Thatâs all it takes to make you do a one-eighty on this whole stance? So much for back bone.
As though it was about that. Besides the fact that he had a veryâŠflexible backbone at the best of times, this was about making a, really relatively small, concession to something to make the person he loved happy. If he couldnât do thatâŠ
âOh, give it here,â he grumbled, because there still wasnât any reason to just give over and concede entirely, was there. He reached out and grabbed it off the desk it had been lying on.
Aziraphale looked as though he had guilted him into doing it and felt bad for it. âCrowley, you really donât have to â â
âI know that, donât I? Not as though Iâm deaf or stupid,â he said, still grumbling a little.
Holding up the set of clothes in question, he contemplated whether to bother with undressing and redressing. There would be the charm in that of giving a bit of a show, but it wasnât the time and neither was there time to really get enjoyment out of it, not if they wanted to reach Tadfield without Aziraphale having a nervous breakdown about the speed. So, perhaps not there and then.
Especially not given the fact that it would be the first time he did get undressed in front of the angel, too, and not only shouldnât that be a rush-job to put something else on, he wasnât entirely certain how Aziraphale would react.
No, snapping his fingers was the far better option in this case and so he did, the outfit heâd been wearing now hanging neatly off the thick, wooden hanger in place of the âcostumeâ.
He couldâve altered the outfit when heâd snapped, too, but he honestly hadnât thought of it and was therefore quite surprised to find just how well the whole ensemble fitted him. Perhaps a bit too well, and he suddenly struggled not to think of how it was either a case of him matching the proportions of the âoriginalâ a little too much or Aziraphale having a far better knowledge of his body and measurements than he wouldâve ever credited. Something which was both sweet and a little unsettling, not to mention just a bitâŠhot, to be perfectly honest.
To cover that up, he asked, trying for nonchalant as he looked down at himself, âWho am I even supposed to be?â
He looked back up and wasnât quite prepared for the uncertainty on the otherâs face and the way it melted away into almost a beam of pride and delight.
No, scratch that. He wasnât prepared at all.
âYou look utterly brilliant in that, my dear,â Aziraphale said and the delight was abundantly evident in his voice as well. âFar better than I couldâve ever hoped for. Really embody the part, I think.â
âI â ah, ehm â thank you,â Crowley more or less spluttered, caught off guard by the compliments and the smile that was now unquestionably a beam. He decidedly didnât turn slightly red, though. Most certainly not. He was a demon, he didnât blush.
âWhat am I supposed to be?â he repeated, trying to divert the attention and save himself just a little.
He shoved his hands in the coat pockets and had to admit that it not only felt like genuine craftmanship, they were rather good pockets â and there was something to having his hands actually go properly into said pockets in comparison to his current jeans.
âOh, ah â I thought you wouldâve known. Itâs the Tenth Doctor.â
That rang absolutely no bells with Crowley. Frowning, he picked up his phone from where heâd left it on the table and searched for that name.
Up popped a whole series of photos of the same man, some of them with him in a brown suit and some in the blue he was wearing.
What he focused on more was the rather uncanny resemblance to his own face, though this was far younger-looking than Crowleyâs own had ever been.
He looked back up at Aziraphale, whose beam was now tinged with slightly uncertainty at the corners again.
âHow the heaven did you find someone who looks so much like me? Why this costume, Aziraphale?â
âWell, I was browsing â â
âDonât give me that. Youâd never browse for something like that. Thatâs apparently sci-fi, you could never be bothered.â
âThatâs not true!â Aziraphale looked almost offended. âI have first edition Le Guin and Aasimov and Verne. But yes, alright, it was suggested to me.â
âWho by?â
âBy whom,â the angel corrected, almost automatically, and the resulting grimace from Crowley was as automatic. âBut I thought â well, I didnât know, to be honest. They just suggested it and the description sounded perfect â and you really do look absolutely smashing in it, dear. It really suits you.â
Crowley rolled his eyes. âThat was a seriously awful pun, even by your standards.â
Aziraphale blinked, not comprehending. Then it clicked. âOh. IâŠwell, I didnât intend that. Does that help?â
âNot really.â Crowley paused then decided to take a bit of pity on his poor angel. âIt was a good pick, though. Canât say I wouldâve ever gone for it but as a costume, itâs pretty cool.â
The beam slowly broke through again and the demon would have to admit, if only to himself, that he was a sucker for it.
âGood. Iâm so glad to hear it. Thank you.â There was a pause wherein Aziraphale stood and just, it seemed, took Crowley in. Then he apparently shook himself and gave a nod of decision. âWell, we had better be going then, if weâre to make it in time. It is quite a bit of way to Oxfordshire, isnât it?â
He walked forward, presumably to head out of the shop, but Crowley stopped him when he reached his side, a hand on his arm to prevent him moving further.
âHang on. Whereâs your costume? You canât say that we need to wear costumes and then you weasel out of wearing one yourself.â
âI do not âweaselâ â and you are right, we do need to.â
Crowley gave him a pointed look up and down, raising his eyebrows over his sunglasses. The angel wasnât fazed, though.
âI will put mine on when we get there.â
âUh-huh. Iâm not that stupid, angel.â
Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, a complicated expression on his face that Crowley couldnât decipher, then pulled free and went over to the hat stand where a garment bag hung next to the hat and scarf that had been left by a customer and never retrieved, unfortunately.
He took the garment bag down, the apparent weight of it selling that there was something in there. As the bag was white, because of course it would be white, and very opaque, it was impossible to see what exactly that something was, however.
âThere,â Aziraphale said, folding it over his arm. âDo you see?â
Crowley sauntered over to the other, hands deep in lovely pockets. âAll I see is a heavy bag over your arm, thatâs not conclusive. Why donât you show me?â
He reached out a hand to sneak a peek but Aziraphale moved it out of his immediate reach.
âBecause it is meant to be a surprise.â
âWhat, you gonna dress up like Shakespeare or something? Or a âdemonâ?â the ginger asked, unable to help the slight grin.
âNotâŠno. Youâll see. Now we really do have to hurry if weâre to make it in time.â
âI can just speed up a bit,â Crowley said with a shrug. He would have to hand it to Aziraphale, these clothes really were comfortable.
Yes.â That one word communicated quite a lot.
The blond moved towards the door again then, but Crowley stopped him.
Crowley â â
âJust hold on a second, would you?â he asked.
He planted a kiss on a soft cheek, chaste but lingering. Even so, a faint blush crept across said cheek and its partner.
âOh,â Aziraphale said. When Crowley pulled back, without a word, the angel raised his free hand to touch the cheek in question.
It wasnât that this was the first kiss between the two of them, though all of them had been on similar spots and of a similar chasteness, but it was one of the very few ones Crowley had been the one to instigate. He wouldnât admit it out loud, but though he wanted there to be more, as much as he was happy with this state of affairs, he was scared of âgoing too fastâ and would therefore be happy to stay where they were or move forward at glacial speed that would be acceptable.
Anything that didnât scare off his angel.
He wasnât quite prepared for Aziraphale to then reach out himself, to not just reciprocate the kiss on a bony cheek but to grab Crowleyâs hand with his, pulling it out of its pocket and squeezing it momentarily before letting go.
âWould you be so kind as to pick up the paper bag over on the table?â Aziraphale asked. âI thought weâd better bring a few things, too, justâŠyou know.â
Crowley had to blink at him a time or two for the words to settle in. Then, ignoring the desire to grab the hand again and perhaps interlace their fingers, he nodded quickly and went to retrieve what he was asked for.
When they got out into the car, Aziraphale put the garment bag in the back rather quickly and then settled into the front passenger seat as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He even chatted and smiled as he normally would â and made scared noises and admonishments when Crowley sped up or otherwise ignored road safety rules.
To be honest, it wasnât all because old habits died hard, he was being true to his demonic nature or even because he liked it. All three were true but they werenât the whole truth.
Part of it was that, when he was driving with Aziraphale, he did it because well, it was kind of cute and sometimes the angel would, in his nervousness, reach out to grab something to hold onto and that would be Crowleyâs knee more often than not.
Sadly, the roads were rather clear once they made it out of London and so, while he was free to floor the acceleration, there was nothing to swerve around. Not even a ruddy deer, which was something of a miracle in itself â but not one of ethereal or occult origin, he would hazard.
But despite the seemingly amiable normalcy of the trip and Aziraphaleâs behaviour, there was an edge of nervousness, or at least tension, to the angelâs demeanour, which didnât fit. It wasnât unlike the one heâd had when heâd first showed Crowley his costume but not quite the same.
It was clear, however, that he wasnât intending to divulge and though the demon could needle him, he didnât really want to start off a whole evening of having to be sociable with humans â though the fact that thereâd be kids there did definitely lighten the thought â with Aziraphale being cross with him.
They were in fairly good time when they made it to Tadfield. Aziraphale swore he knew the way to the right house but nevertheless, they ended up driving around a bit, on roads that hadnât been built for the size of a car, or carriage, like the Bentley. Not that it mattered, they got through fine and whatever scratches were on it, Crowley took care of the moment they stepped out.
Once they were out, Aziraphale looked the demon up and down and it was clear he couldnât help the beaming smile, even though the tension hadnât left him.
âYou really ought to have the glasses on,â he said, in a thoughtful tone of voice, âbut I donât think that would be â â
âNah, probably not the brightest of ideas, really. You gonna go in like that?â
âNo, of course not. I said, Iâve got the costume and Iâm going to wear it.â
âDonât see why you didnât put it on before we left,â Crowley remarked in a bit of a drawl, leaning against the parked car opposite the blond. âNot as though it wouldâve taken a lot of time or anything.â
Busy with opening the door to the backseat, Aziraphale didnât answer him. When he re-emerged, he was almost clutching the garment bag to him, which was odd.
âI, ah â why donât you go on in ahead of me, dear?â he asked, in an evident attempt at making it seem light and inconsequential. âIâm sure theyâd like a bit of help with the setting up, if thereâs any left to be done.â
An eyebrow shut upwards, visible over the rim of the sunglasses.
âDo I look like I âhelp with the setting upâ, angel? Since when â â
âNo, I suppose not,â Aziraphale sighed, looking down.
That sent Crowleyâs alarm bells to gently start ringing.
âAngel, what are you â why are you so reluctant to let me see your costume?â he asked, pushing himself off the car. He walked around it, so he came to stand in front of the angel, blocking his path.
âIâm not. I justâŠam a little nervous, I suppose.â
âAbout the costume?â
The blond shook his head, smiling. âAbout the night. Oh, I do hope we wonât mess it up.â
It wasnât terribly convincing, but Crowley decided to let it slide. For now.
He placed another soft, chaste kiss, this time on the angelâs forehead and noted with a continued sense of surprise, not to mention delight, that Aziraphale leant into the contact.
âSee you inside,â the demon said softly, giving the other the out he so clearly wanted. âBut donât disappear on me.â
It was meant as a joke, something light-hearted. What it came out as, however, was something tighter and more strained, despite his efforts. It wasnât helped by the fact that his mind decided to flash through some of the images that had seared themselves into his mind when he had, thankfully only temporarily, indeed lost his best friend.
He tried to keep them under control, keep himself in check and push them back to where theyâd surfaced from, but it was hard, to say the least.
His hand was grabbed again and squeezed, still briefly but longer than when it had been done in the bookshop.
âI promise you I wonât, dear,â Aziraphale said, his own voice soft and warm, but with an edge that said, âI hear you, I understand, and I am sorryâ. âIâll only be a few minutes.â
âRight.â
With that, Crowley strolled towards the front door, expecting it to open for him before he got to it.
It did but that was because someone was on the other side and had, apparently, been waiting for him so they could open the door when he walked up.
That someone was Adam and for some reason, that felt better than it being anybody else but especially Mr. Young himself. Perhaps it was just that Crowley could do without being asked any awkward questions about his profession, just in case that particular bit had somehow survived the last eleven years and whatever wipe of memories Adam had bestowed. Maybe it was something else entirely.
Whatever the case, the demon felt a small sense of relief at seeing the curly-haired pre-teen.
Adam didnât grin or anything, but he did smile a little and, when Crowley got close enough to the light coming from the lamps at the front door, his eyes evidently lit up at the sight of the ginger in his outfit, his eyes moving up and down the length and taking it all in. Which, to be honest, not only removed whatever lingering doubts and degree ofâŠwell, animosity but not quite, that he still held, but also filled Crowley filled some of the pride that Aziraphale had exhibited earlier.
âHi,â Crowley said when he finally made it to the front door. He didnât say anything more, just looked at the kid through his glasses.
Adam didnât seem particularly perturbed by the slightly lacklustre greeting but perhaps he hadnât expected anything else.
âHi,â he replied, hands in his own pockets as he looked up at Crowley. He then tilted his head and body in something of an effort to look past the lanky figure, as if he was trying to catch a glimpse of something.
Then his smile widened and the light in his eyes brightened, visible even in the bad lighting.
Curious, Crowley turned to see who or what had managed to brighten up their young host like that.
Then he had to do a doubletake, sure that what he was seeing was an illusion or at least a trick of the almost-gone light. But no, it was true enough and real enough. Not even pushing his sunglasses up briefly â if Adam saw, it didnât really matter, did it, all things and events considered? â to get a better look unobscured by the dark glasses really did anything to improve matters. Some might argue quite the opposite.
It was someone walking up towards the house. Or rather, it wasnât just someone, though it was hard to recognise him in the, to put it mildly, vastly different outfit. To put it very kindly, too.
The proper word for it wasâŠwhat exactly? Loud, perhaps? Yes, definitely loud. Screaming, even.
If only there had been a theme or a grouping of colours. Even a rainbow flow from one colour to the next wouldâve been something, if it needed to be thatâŠcolourful. But no, it was a kaleidoscopic calamity of a hodgepodge, not at all helped by the fact that they werenât all solid blocks of colour, either. There were patterns in there, including, Crowley squinted to be sureâŠoh, opposition, no, please no.
But yes. It was true. There was unquestionably bloody tartan in there, too, and quite a significant amount, too.
He could admit that he was staring as the angel drew level with him. Aziraphaleâs expression told him that he was aware that Crowley was staring, was conscious and unsure about it but didnât want to let their host know that he was â and there was, too, more than a smidgeon of what Crowley would term pride in there.
The words, the question of âwhat is that?â sprang to his lips but he managed to bite them back before they could leave said lips. It would only make Aziraphale more uncertain and really, in front of the kid wasnât the place to argue about it.
Oddly enough, Adamâs expression didnât alter when the angel came up close. Well, it did but it didnât falter. Instead, it became something close to a grin.
If Crowley didnât know better, he thought he heard the exclamation âwicked!â fall from the boyâs lips as he looked between them, which puzzled him a good deal.
âWell, hello,â Aziraphale said with a smile, looking at Adam rather than at Crowley. âHow lovely to see you again.â
He didnât mention anything about the circumstances in which theyâd met last, which was probably just as well.
âHello,â Adam replied. Then, quite incongruously, or so it seemed to Crowley, he said, âThank you.â
The smile of the blond grew, both in width and in stability. âYou are very welcome. Thank you for inviting us.â
Adam shrugged his shoulders in a sort of noncommittal way, but at the same time he was still smiling. Then the light from the doorway was blocked by a figure, though, to Crowleyâs annoying relief, it was Mrs. Young rather than her husband.
Oh, hello,â she said as she looked between the frankly odd couple on her doorstep and for a moment, the demon wondered whether the invitation theyâd gotten had actually been approved of by either parent. Not that it mattered, really, but it did make navigating this whole affair a bit more trick.
But then she asked, âYouâre a bit early, arenât you?â
âEhm, yes, well, you see â âAziraphale began.
âI asked them to be, Mum,â Adam said, looking up at her, earnest and innocent. âIn case they had trouble getting here.â
âOh. Yes, of course, dear, thatâs quite sensible thinking,â she said, smiling softly. Every inch the parent that Adam ought to have. âWell, do come in, then. Weâre just getting the last things ready â Arthur insists that there ought to be napkins everywhere because theyâre bound to make a mess but, well, isnât that supposed to be part of the fun?â She continued talking as she led the way inside.
Adam followed but turned to look at the two supernatural beings for a moment before smiling again. Then he was distracted by Dog deciding toad-in-the-hole made to resemble fingers poking out through earth was intended for dog food and trying to stave off his father who was not, to say the least, pleased by the turn of events, though he was also somewhat resigned to it at this point.
âShe didnât ask our names,â Aziraphale murmured to Crowley as they followed at a slower pace. âNever as much as questioned it.â
âWhy would she?â Crowley asked, pursing his lips as he spoke. âIf she didnât question why they sent out the invitations â and I checked, there was a stamp on mine â she isnât gonna question us showing up, is she?â
âBut why not ask our names? We could be anybody.â
âReally, angel? In these getups,â he waved a hand between them to indicate their clothes, âare we really going to be random people just showing up?â
He didnât mention that Adam had come out to greet them first, which sort of ensured that they were accepted by his mother. It was rather obvious, wasnât it?
âTechnically, yes, we could be.â
âNow youâre just being pedantic for the sake of it.â
âI am â oh, hello.â
Theyâd reached the living room where three other children were sat waiting, all in their own costumes. Well, to be honest, they were arguing about something or other but then again, the day the Them didnât bicker and argue about something or other, something was very wrong indeed.
Once they saw the two supernatural beings, though, they too lit up.
From one of them â the somewhat larger on whoâd somehow managed to get chocolate smears several place, among others underneath his ear and couldâve done with a good scrubâŠof indeterminate length â came a rather loud and enthusiastic exclamation of âBrilliant!â, accompanied by a huge grin.
From the boy in glasses there was a very serious, contemplative expression behind them, but the smile was undeniable.
The girl soon frowned, though, looking the demon in particular up and down.
âThatâs wrong, though â the Doctor isnât ginger,â she said, her own red hair, which had been tied up in a ponytail, swinging behind her. âAnd he doesnât wear sunglasses.â
âYes, he does,â the boy with the chocolate stains interrupted. âWhen heâs got that flower necklace and the straw hat on.â
âNot just then,â agreed the boy in the glasses, then turned towards the taller boy, âand thatâs called a Leila, Brian, not a flower necklace.â
Crowley could see Aziraphale open his mouth, presumably to correct that it was in fact called a âleiâ, and, catching his eye, shook his head. It didnât really matter what the thing was called and if the boys wanted to bicker, what was the harm?
âWhatever. Thatâs brilliant, though.â The kid grinned even wider, if that was possible.
âWho are you, though?â the smaller boy asked and apparently, he was addressing Aziraphale.
Before the angel had a chance to answer, the girl scoffed, putting her hands on her hips.
âDonât you know anything? Heâs the Doctor too, just an earlier one than him.â With her head, she indicated Crowley. âMy mumâs got a few tapes with him from back when it was on telly.â
âItâs still on telly.â
âNo, itâs on telly again.â
âWhich Doctor is he, then?â
âTheâŠseventh? Or was it sixth?â
âHeâs the sixth.â
That came from Adam, whoâd finally joined them in the living room, Dog in his arms. The former Hellhound was flopped out on his back in the boyâs arms, head twisted around so that it was the right side up and resting again an arm as the dog gazed out at the little assembly.
You wouldnât have guessed that heâd been badly behaved earlier from the look of him, but in the few months since heâd become a Dog rather than a Hound, heâd quite perfected the art of small dog innocence.
âYes. Quite so,â Aziraphale agreed, smiling at the children while trying to avoid Crowleyâs gaze. âI must say, you all have got the most tremendous costumes, too. Have you been out already?â
The children shook their heads. âAdam wanted to wait.â
âOh. Whatever for?â
âYou,â Adam said simply, to both Crowleyâs and Aziraphaleâs surprise, letting Dog down onto the floor. âNow, Dog. Behave.â
The dog obediently sat itself down at his masterâs feet, its head cocked as it took in the odd couple that it recognised. Not purely from the day on the airfield base, though whether Adamâs decree that it was better if people forgot applied to animals as well wasnât clear, especially not when the animalâs origin wasnât quiteâŠearthly.
But though it no longer knew why it should recognise the ethereal and especially the occult creations masquerading as humans, quite apart from their current attire, a flicker of recognition did surface and therefore it growled softly at the nearest of the two, which happened to be Crowley.
The demon decided to hiss in turn, though under his breath.
Aziraphale grabbed his arm to stop him without saying anything as the growl intensified.
Dog. I said, behave.â The change in tone wasnât harsh and probably nobody else wouldâve clocked that it was anything other than a human giving a dog a command. The two supernatural beings, however, both heard a soupçon of power in there that they recognised.
Ah. Well, that answered that question, didnât it? To the extent of knowing that he hadnât made himself entirely human, at least, when heâd rewritten the world. Though to what extent that exception ran, that wasnât clear at all. Which was possible entirely on purpose.
Dogâs growl instantly became an apologetic whine.
Aziraphale squeezed the arm he still held, with more emphasis, and Crowley made himself stop hissing, too.
âWhy would you want to wait forâŠfor us?â Aziraphale asked Adam, sounding genuinely perplexed.
Adam shrugged. âThought itâd be fun.â
âBut why not â your parents.â Aziraphale waved a hand â the hand that wasnât still on the gingerâs arm, something which Crowley most definite was aware of â in the direction of the kitchen. âAny of your parents, really.â
âParents arenât fun,â the girl countered, speaking as though heâd suggested that algebra was exciting. âTheyâre grownups.â
âAs are we,â Crowley pointed out. Far more grownup than any human that had ever lived. Or at least, far older, which as far as many humans were concerned counted as the same thing.
Adam looked at the two of them again for a moment, that penetrating stare he had suggesting he saw and understood far more than a boy of his age should. More than any human should, really, and the angel wasnât entirely sure that was wholly to do with his biological parentage.
âYouâre different,â he said at last. He didnât elaborate further, and the three other kids didnât seem to need an elaboration, either.
For a moment, Crowley was then convinced that Adam had told his little gang about him and Aziraphale and what they were. It would make sense, since it had clearly been demonstrated that what they did when they didnât know something or didnât agree was ask questions and argue, not meekly accept it.
Well, perhaps they werenât meekly doing it but there was nothing to indicate they would challenge Adamâs claim.
On the other hand, though, if they did knowâŠwell, they were unlikely to be scared of them even if they knew but they wouldnât be sitting there, either. Theyâd ask questions, verify theories and exhibit scepticism.
Not adult scepticism, which was prone to a need to reject and mock what didnât gel with their understanding of the world, however wrong it was, but the scepticism of childhood. One which more resembled a need to be sure that the piece they had was for the right puzzle rather than just the right way up, making it fit into the jigsaw they were assembling of the world. Their scepticism was a bit moreâŠnatural, for lack of a better word, and certainly more equal.
But it wasnât here. Not even remotely. Theyâd asked questions about the costumes and if they knew they were an angel and demon, respectively, surely, theyâd have better questions to ask than that?
Though given that it was children, maybe this Doctor character, whoever he was, was more interesting than a literal demon who could snap his fingers and perform miracles, both of the good and the bad kind. After all, just because something wasnât nice didnât mean it wasnât miraculous, did it?
âI know my father wouldnât ever have chosen to wear a costume like that,â the boy in the glasses said and oddly, he didnât seem to be referring to Aziraphaleâs tailor-scrap challenge of an outfit but Crowleyâs. âNot without getting it all wrong.â
âHe got it wrong,â the girl pointed out.
âNo, he didnât, Pepper,â the bespectacled boy said.
âThe Doctor isnât ginger.â
âSo? Just because you picked a costume where the character had the same colour hair as you happen to â â
âEveryone, shut up,â Adam said, mainly calmly but just a tiny bit annoyed.
There was no soupçon ofâŠwell, anything this time, though â Crowley was listening for it, as he was sure Aziraphale was, and could not detect anything at all â just Adam knowing how his group worked and that theyâd listen.
âWeâre going out trick-or-treating now or else we wonât make it back in time,â he said, though he didnât explain what they needed to be in time for, however. He looked down at the pedigree mongrel at his side and smiled. âCome on, boy.â
The Them followed him automatically, keen to see what their leader had planned for them to do now.
One angel and one demon were left behind for the moment. They looked at each other, not quite certain what had just occurred.
âWeâre not going with them, are we?â Crowley asked.
âWould you rather they went out there on their own?â
âItâs a small town, itâs hardly going to be dangerous for them.â
Aziraphale didnât reply verbally. Instead, he just made a face that communicated quite well the sentiment that while that might be the case, he wasnât going to take the chance. Not when the Antichrist still held power.
Crowley grimaced in turn at that, understanding exactly what was meant, and so they followed. It wasnât as though they had other things planned, was it? Who knew, it might even be interesting, if he went about it the right way.
 âSoâŠyou gonna tell me where the fuck you really got this whole idea from?â Crowley said as they stood off to the side, observing the Them as they rang the doorbell on the fifth house since theyâd started their little journey out to trade a look at costumes for sweets.
Mrs. Young had smiled when Adam had said they were going out and wished them good luck. Sheâd even handed out few buckets, though thankfully nothing orange.
As for Mr. Young, heâd considered them all for a few, long moments, then harrumphed â the demon had been a bit surprised, as he hadnât heard someone genuinely do that since at least the 1950s â and said that he expected them to take good care. Crowley presumed he meant Aziraphale and he.
In any case, theyâd been allowed to go out.
âCrowley, language!â Aziraphale scolded in a low hiss, hoping the kids hadnât heard. It was highly unlikely given their distance, quite apart from the fact that at their age, they would have heard someone using swearwords. âAnd I told you that it was suggested to me.â
âYeah, but you never said who did the suggesting. If there are ten professors â â
âDoctors and there are thirteen, apparently.â
âWhichever. If there are thirteen of those, why did you, or whoever suggested it to you, pick these two?â He paused then pursed his lips. âNah, wait, hold on, think I can guess why on yours. Of course, youâd pick the one that was smothered in tartan.â
âTartan is stylish,â Aziraphale claimed but even though it held the same conviction that his assertion on the subject always did, it was more than clear that heâd grown rather less confident, to say the least, about his choice since heâd gotten it. For one thing, he kept fiddling with it and for another, his smile was slightly wavering.
In fact, Crowley could, when he paused to consider it, actually trace a downward trajectory in Aziraphaleâs confidence about his costume each time it had been brought up. It had been somewhat mitigated by the reaction the Them had had to it, especially Adam and his obvious enthusiasm, but even so â
Aziraphale suddenly frowned as he looked over at the children at the door. It had taken some time for it to open and though it shouldâve been a relatively quick thing once it was open, they were still there â and it wasnât because they were being inundated with sweets, either.
In fact, it seemed as though the only thing they were getting a lot of was reprimand.
The angelâs expression, which had been a mixture of hurt, slight embarrassment and just a bit defiant as well, changed almost instantly to one of resolve and indignation â to call it righteous indignation give it the wrong air entirely â as he registered what was going on. Not indignation towards Crowley or the children; his gaze was fixed firmly on the adult in the doorway, gesturing and angry.
âWill you excuse me a moment, Crowley?â he said, straightening up and adjusting the coat with resolution.
âNope,â was the gingerâs answer, which earned him an odd look. âYou donât really think Iâd let you deal with that alone, do you?â
âI am perfectly capable of handling it.â
âNot saying you arenât. Just saying that you wonât be going alone.â
âCrowley â â
But the demon was already walking towards the children. However, he was deliberately walking slowly so that it was easy for the angel to catch up to him. Not that Aziraphale couldnât move fast when he needed to, for all of his softness, but Crowley hoped that the gesture would be appreciated.
When he felt a soft shoulder brush against him, just a little, he couldnât help his smile.
Then a hand reached out again and disappeared down into the coat pocket to grab his hand. This time, though, it did not squeeze and let go almost immediately, and Crowleyâs heart didâŠnot so much a somersault as a short gymnastics routine in his chest.
By the time they reached the kids, the front door was about to be slammed on them.
In an odd way, Crowley was actually impressed that the people living in the house dared to do that, considering. But then again, humans werenât always very good at seeing what was actually in front of them rather than what they expected.
The demon cleared his throat and snapped his fingers and the woman suddenly found that her foot was stuck in the door and that she couldnât pull it away.
She glared at the kids, completely failing to see the couple coming up to join them.
âItâs you, isnât it?â she snapped. âItâs you who done this. Itâs always you, Adam Young. You and your little gang. Always making trouble and bothering people. Not even the common sense to know when you should go away and leave decent people alone.â
âIâm sure they will,â came Aziraphaleâs voice, pleasant and apparently congenial.
âOnce we actually locate someone decent,â Crowley chimed in. âMight be a struggle here, though.â
That was hardly true. The whole village of Lower Tadfield was almost sickening in its wholesomeness, a relic of a never-was time, quite apart from the aura of love that still emanated from the place, according to Aziraphaleâs comment when theyâd driven down here. But the woman didnât know that and didnât need to know it, either.
âAnd we donât make trouble,â the glasses-wearing kid added. âNot on purpose, anyway â and you canât blame your foot getting stuck on us. Weâve just been standing here.â
âYou did something before then, obviously.â
The angel exchanged a quick, but meaningful glance with the Them, who all looked back solemnly. Then Adam nodded, imperceptibly.
Change of tactics. Understood.
âAnd to what end would they do that, Madam?â Aziraphale then asked, turning his attention back to the woman.
Her head almost swivelled in the direction of his voice, finally seeming to take notice of the odd couple coming to a stop just behind the group of children. Crowley could tell the moment she took them in properly. Not that that was hard, given how she curled her lips, but he had to give her credit; that could as well be because of their, in context, outlandish costumes as the fact that they held hands.
It would just figure that that was more offensive to her.
âExcuse me?â she asked. âWho are you?â
Crowley opened his mouth but Aziraphale got there before he could say anything.
âWeâre AdamâsâŠgodparents.â
Well. There was a thing. It was not what he wouldâve ever suspected heâd say, not after the whole incident with Warlock, but he supposed that they were.
Warlock. Now there was someone they ought to check up on. Or perhaps more accurately, Crowley just wanted toâŠto see how he was doing, really.
Granted, there had been a period of time in which their check-ups had to be somewhat moreâŠsporadic than at the start, as they hadnât stayed nanny and gardener right up until Warlockâs eleventh birthday, but it stillâŠit hadnât quite felt right, after everything, to just abandon him like that.
And Crowley could admit, if only to himself, that he missed the little bugger, too, just a little.
Maybe more than a little.
He thought he felt eyes on him and when he located their owner, it turned out to be Adam. It was only for a moment that their eyes met, but in that moment, Crowley had the distinct sense that the former â was it former? â Antichrist knew exactly what heâd been thinking about.
It was an absurd thought â or rather, it wouldâve been, had it not been for the fact that this wasâŠwell, who it was. In that context, it was almost normal.
Then Adam smiled before he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. The whole incident was over before anyone else registered it.
Was that â had that been a smile of reassurance? It must have been but that wasnât the odd thing. No, what was odd was that the demon actually did feel reassured.
Mentally shaking himself to clear it, he focused back on the scene unfolding in front of him. Where the woman was just about to kick into another gear of haranguing, with an ease that spoke of familiarity.
âWell, as godparents, I must say you couldâve set a far better example than what you have so far. The boy is â â
âA perfectly normal boy of his age,â Aziraphale cut in, calm as anything, smile firmly in place. He ignored the suppressed noise, which was a strange halfway point between a snort and a snigger, from Crowley, âand I do not see how we are anything but positive influences.â
He took a breath he didnât need, the smile turning up just a little, a sharpness and steel to it that only Crowley actually saw but was evidently felt by the woman, judging by her expression.
âYou, however, Madam, are teaching them that what they can expect from the world, from the adults who are supposed to guide them through to their own adulthood, is that you are reprimanded and treated with suspicion on the basis of what appears to be very minor past offenses, all things considered. That there can be no chance of forgiveness for past misdeeds and that you are always doomed to forever play the role that your local community has decided to cast you in.â
Though it was not in any way, shape or form intended towards Crowley, the demon couldnât help but feel it down in his core. Not purely in relation to himself, either, though admittedly that was quite a significant part of it.
He felt his heart stutter and dance as it swelled, something which he wouldâve foresworn, once upon a time, that he would ever experience. But when it came to his interactions with humans and in particular the angel Aziraphale, it seemed that the unlikely or even the impossible was feasible.
Soft hands were placed, carefully, on smaller shoulders, one on Adamâs and the other on Pepperâs. Neither pulled away, facing down the woman with quiet defiance.
For the briefest of moments, something flashed in those green eyes. The smile didnât go away or diminish, which only added to the overall effect.
âEach human being has the potential forâŠfor so incredibly much that itâs almost mind-boggling. Of course, that means it can be scary, even horrifying as well, but that is part of the beauty, isnât it? It is certainly heart-warming, not to mention fortifying, all things considered, and I will not allow your small mind and petty ways to ruin things for these young people.â
All through this, the kids didnât argue or ask questions, though Crowley, as the sort of side-line observer that he currently was, as well as a bit of extra intimidation, for what it was worth, could see that they wanted to. Very much so. But theyâd had an agreement, hadnât they?
Aziraphale wasnât quite done. The woman seemed to wish to be anywhere else, her attempts to pull her foot free starting to get just a little frantic.
âNow, I do suggest you give them the sweets they have, I believe, more than earned. Then go in and try to make something good of your day and your life. It can only improve, canât it?â
She nodded, reached inside for the, rather small, bowl and held it out. The kids took a piece each but Aziraphale reached in and grabbed another eight.
The woman opened her mouth to argue but shut it again the moment she made eye contact with the angel.
âThank you,â he said, his smile cuttingly sunny. âHave a most pleasant evening.â
Crowley discreetly snapped his fingers again and the womanâs foot was free. Heâd managed to time the snap just as she was trying a particularly spirited tug and as a result, she stumbled backwards as she closed the door, the remaining sweets in the bowl describing if not an arch, then at least a quite pretty fountain.
Once the door was closed, the little group looked at each other. Then, as one, they grinned, the mischief sparkling in twelve pairs of eyes, though one set was hard to see.
âRight,â the angel said as he distributed the sweets, then bent to gift Dog a biscuit that couldnât have been in the pocket he pulled it from, âwhere to next?â
 There was a surprising number of houses to go to, considering the size of the village, but neither the kids nor Aziraphale seemed to mind and really, Crowley could admit it was alright. More than alright, but nobody needed to know that.
Regardless, though, it seemed that the blond did spot it.
After theyâd finally exhausted the supply of houses within reasonable walking distance â Aziraphale had vetoed the suggestion that they ride their bikes further out, even when the larger boy, Brian as it turned out, had said it was no problem, they could sit on their luggage carriers, a veto Crowley had at that point wholeheartedly agreed with â they headed back towards the Young house.
âThis has gone over incredibly well,â Aziraphale said quietly as he fell back a little to keep pace with the ginger, a small but evident feeling of delight and satisfaction in his voice and, when Crowley glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, in his expression.
âYeah,â he agreed easily. He moved a little closer to the other, just to feel his warmth. Certainly not so that he could more easily slip his hand back into a plumper one at some later point, just to test whether it was the situation that did it earlier, if nothing else then in terms of duration, or something else. Most definitely not.
âYou had quite a lot of fun, too, I think, my dear.â
âI suppose.â
âSuppose? They were almost besides themselves at your costume at one house â and donât tell me you didnât enjoy that other thing.â
âWhat other thing?â Crowley asked, trying to sound innocent and deliberately failing.
âYou know perfectly well what I mean. The decorations you turned into living beings.â
âIf you donât want a giant spider, then you shouldnât decorate with it.â
Aziraphale gave a slightly beleaguered sigh. âItâs only a mercy it didnât bite anything.â
âIt didnât have any venom in it,â Crowley said after a few moments, only a little begrudgingly. âTheyâd have been getting a rash in funny colours at most â and donât.â
âDonât what?â
âSay anything.â
The angel smiled at that, a soft, warm, quiet smile that nevertheless somehow managed to be a beam, if a concentrated one.
âI wouldnât dream of it,â he said, softly.
Then, putting his hand on the demonâs arm to halt him rather than for a hold, he leaned up the difference in height and planted a kiss, not just on Crowleyâs cheek but on his tattoo. Which shouldnât really make a difference, all things considered, it was a tattoo, after all, not something magical, but even so, Crowley felt the difference the moment the soft lips met his skin.
It feltâŠ
Oh.
A hand then found its way into his as Aziraphale pulled back and this time, he clung to it as though it was a lifeline.
Oh, angel.
They walked on for a while in silence after that, just enjoying each otherâs company.
Once they got back to the house, quite a few other people had turned up in the meantime andâŠwell, it was a party, wasnât it?
Newt and Anathema was there, in costumes of witch and witchfinder and didnât Newt make the cutest witch, along with a few friends and family members, both from Adamâs family as well as the rest of the Them. But though it was crowded and not really his thing, Crowley would have to admit it wasnâtâŠalright, it was quiteâŠalright. Alright?
The fact that Newt actually let out quite the high-pitched noise, flailed a bit and grinned like an idiot when he saw the two supernatural beings in their costumesâŠwell, it was embarrassing. For him, not for Crowley. Why would he be embarrassed about something like that?
He might have suspected that there was something more to his particular costume, just given the number of photos even the most casual search provided. Different photos, too, and they looked relatively recent. By human standards, too, not just in the context of what a millennia-old occult entity might term ârecentâ.
What he hadnât been quite as prepared for was the reception Aziraphaleâs costume got from the adult humans.
Pepperâs mum demonstrated why she still held onto old VHS recordings so that Pepper could know about them, making a noise and gestures much like Newt.
There were also a few questions along the line of âwhy pick that one?â but mostly, the response was positive, with the refrain among the adults mainly being that really, the poor man hadnât had a fair shake of the bag, had he?
More than one person was quite complimentary about the quality of the costume, remarking on the fit and accuracy as well.
By the time they were heading out, quietly so as not to attract attention â even in the most gaudy collection of colours and patterns, Aziraphale knew how not to draw attention when he didnât want it to and Crowley beat him flat on that score â you wouldnât have been able to tell Aziraphale had ever felt embarrassed or unsure about his costume.
His pride was one you could warm your hands on without getting burned and Crowley was proud and delighted on his behalf.
Even so, when theyâd gotten into the car and out of Lower Tadfield, Crowley couldnât help but break the silence, feeling bad.
âSorry,â he said, looking out at the road even though at this time of night, he didnât exactly need to. This was still Lower Tadfield, after all â all that was needed was lashings of treacle. Not that he ever needed to, of course, but that was hardly the point, now was it? The blackness outside the car was quite fascinating to look at, thank you.
He could hear and feel Aziraphale turn in his seat to look at him, even though he was studiously not looking back.
âWhatever are you apologising for, dear?â He could most definitely hear the puzzled frown.
âYou know.â
âIâm afraid I donât.â
âYou do.â
âQuite honestly, I have no idea.â
He was going to make him say it, wasnât he? Bastard. The word was ruined by the fondness it was heavily tinged with. âFor making youâŠfor making you doubt your costume, alright? Feeling miserable about it and stuff and I just made it worse.â
âWhat? Oh.â
âYes, âohâ. I didnât mean to â â
âNo, I know that.â Crowley snorted in disbelief. âI do. And it is quite garish, really, but the moment I saw it, I justâŠwellâŠâ He trailed off though it was hard to categorically decipher the reason.
âYou donât have to justify it, angel. You liked it and thatâs all the justification you need, if you need any at all. I was being a berk and I apologise.â
âYou werenât, dear.â
âJust let me apologise, would you?â Crowley snapped, finally turning his head to look at the other â who looked a little taken aback at the outburst. but then he smiled.
âThank you,â he said, his voice tender. âI suppose I shouldnât have cared what others thought, either, if I liked it.â
âDamn right,â the ginger said, turning his attention back to the road.
âCrowley.â
âWhat? Iâm still a demon, you know â and you know what I mean.â
âI suppose, yes,â Aziraphale agreed with a sigh. His voice was still mainly warm, though.
Then, after a few moments of much more comfortable silence as they wooshed along country lanes and b-roads that would eventually take them back to larger roads and London, Aziraphale spoke again.
âWould youâŠwould you mind terribly if IâŠif I kept the costume?â
Ah. Right then. Nub and crux now, was it? Sort of, anyway.
âNot my decision to make, is it?â
âNo. Itâs not.â There was a bit more certainty back.
âNot as though you havenât worn something equally ludicrous over the years, anyway â that outfit at the Bastille, for one.â
âIâll have you know that that was the height of fashion!â
âTwenty years previous at least, yes,â Crowley said, unable to keep the grin off his face and out of his voice. There it was, that was better. That was more Aziraphale.
Keeping only the one hand on the steering wheel â it wasnât as though he was going to crash into anything, one hand or no hands, was it? â he reached the newly freed hand over and, not hesitating this time, reached over and placed it on a knee. However, he almost immediately slid it up a little to rest on top of a plush thigh.
He thought he heard a small intake of breath at that but didnât pull his hand away.
When he felt a hand cover his gently, caressing the length of bony fingers before plumper ones slotted between them, curling around them.
âThank you, dear.â
âDonât mention it, angel. Should be able to fix my own bloody cock-ups, shouldnât I?â He managed to squeeze the hand in his and the thigh beneath his hand at the same time. âThis alright, though?â
âWe have held hands before.â
âYeah, but not like â you know what I mean!â Crowley said, almost cried in sudden exasperation. He turned his head, willing the Bentley to keep moving them towards home, safely, while he dealt with other things. âThe â the going forward. Escalating things. Just a little. Like â that I can kiss you. Not just on the cheek. Other places. Touch you more. I know I go too fast, but â â
And heâd said too much, hadnât he? Pushed far too far all in one go. âGone too fastâ and now Aziraphale would tense up and backtrack.
Bless it, this was why he kept his mouth shut. Kept cool. He had to not to break over the years.
His hand was lifted, still interlaced with Aziraphaleâs, turned and kissed on the palm, gently, ever so gently.
âIâm sorry,â the angel said, quietly, almost inaudible in the car.
âDonât you apologise. Not after â donât apologise.â
âBut I shouldâve been clearer.â
Let me have this. Donât take it from me.
âAziraphale â âhe began, pleading in his voice. He hadnât noticed the car had stopped.
The angel interrupted. âI would like all of that, and more besides. I justâŠI suppose I wasâŠunable to shift gear, as it were. Scared to, really. But I thought that maybeâŠmaybe if I was in the clothes of someone else, if I could, just a little, that I might have the courage to change. Someone whoâs known for change andâŠadaptability, even when it takes a while for him. Or so I was told. I could, perhaps â â
âAnd then I go and fuck it up.â
Aziraphale, who had been looking down at and fiddling with the ridiculous bow that was the neckpiece, looked up at the demon, eyes wide. âI didnât say that.â
âDidnât need to, did you?â Crowley paused and swallowed. Then he wet his lips. âIâm so sorry. Okay? I shouldâve â â
In a sudden move, Aziraphale leant forward and kissed him. Not on the cheek or the forehead. On the lips.
It was just as chaste and sweet as before, more a press than anything, but even so, Crowley was staring at him, his whole face registering surprise, even despite the glasses.
âI â âAziraphale began as he pulled back. That was about all he got out before he was grabbed by said ludicrous bow and pulled in for a proper kiss.
When they pulled apart, a good long while later, Crowleyâs sunglasses were fogged and Aziraphaleâs cheeks were a lovely shade of red.
Shit! Where the bloody heaven had that come from? Heâd never meant to reveal that, under any circumstances, and yet, the words had just slipped out.
Perhaps he could play it off as though it was just a casual remark, an observation of what others did from time to time. Divert and deflect from the fact of his own unacceptable and discarded attempts.
There was one thing that thankfully popped into his mind, surprising himself somewhat with how far itâd have to have travelled from the depths.
âWell, you know,â he said, trying for nonchalant, âthe first time you try, it might not come out anything like you imagined or you think the recipient would like. I know that when first Lord Beelzebub tried â â
âBeelzebub has never tried making a, a nest!â Aziraphale didnât look horrified or even scandalised but his eyes were almost comically wide at the very idea, the original question pushed out of his mind for the moment, it seemed.
Crowley, whoâd taken his hand from the nape of the otherâs neck with reluctance when theyâd parted, held it up. âAs I live and breathe. We didnât find out until they threw the remnants of it out onto some unsuspecting demon, right smack in the forehead. There was no doubt what theyâd thrown out was for a nest, though, even if it was completely unfit to present to anyone â and nobody found out who they were nesting for.â
He paused as a thought occurred to him. âCome to think of it, I donât know whether they tried again or if they were succesful later on. Huh. ThatâsâŠwellâŠâ
âBeelzebub?â Aziraphale almost spluttered. âThe demon? The Lord of the Flies? Are you telling me that â but they canât!â
âWhy not? Because theyâre a demon?â
It wasnât meant to be needling or pointed, even though that perhaps at another he wouldâve meant it that way. Right now, however, it was just a question, but Aziraphale reacted to it as though it had indeed been a needling.
âNo!â he cried, quickly, almost urgently, his hand in Crowleyâs tightening. âNot at â that was not what I meant at all. Of course demons can nest as well as angels can, if they are so inclined. Of course. But Beelzebub, thatâs â thatâs as unfathomable as thinking of Gabriel nesting for someone or have someone nest for him!â
Crowley would have to agree the point â and then his mind made a connection he wasnât prepared for and had no idea how to handle. In fact, he couldnât help but recoil from it somewhat.
âCrowley? Whatâs the matter?â Aziraphale asked, worried.
âI, ah, eh â canât â it â Gabriel and Beelzebub!â the ginger managed to get out.
His expression was now mirrored in Aziraphaleâs.
âNo!â The tone of voice sounded more scandalised than horrified, though. âYou donât really think â but that, surely â â
âI donât want to think about it,â Crowley exclaimed, emphatically, interrupting the angel, ânot now nor ever. Itâs just mindboggling and â eurgh. But especially not now. Not here.â
He pressed, lightly and carefully, down on the hand underneath his, which in turn pressed on the feathers, to make a point, possibly unnecessary, about the situation.
âNo. Of course. Most definitely not.â
There was emphasis in the last sentence that went beyond Aziraphaleâs normal range but why it was there wasnât entirely clear, at least to Crowley. It did relieve something inside of him, though, a nasty little part, to hear Aziraphale talk about Gabriel that way.
Silence ruled for a bit after that, a comfortable, warm silence that was spent just looking at each other and, for Crowleyâs part, basking in the tangible reality that had only ever been the loveliest castle in the air.
He was just about getting properly settled into that quiet enjoyment when, so quiet that others probably wouldnât have caught it, Aziraphale said something.
âWhen did youâŠhow many nests have you started to build then demolished?â he asked, green eyes scanning Crowleyâs face, as though he needed further confirmation than he could get from the spoken answer itself.
Crap. It hadnât worked! Or perhaps he could still salvage it, somehow. Could he lie? He supposed he could, but not only did he not in any way feel confident Aziraphale would believe him, he didnât want to lie to Aziraphale. Not that he hadnât, because of course, but thisâŠ
This really wasnât worth lying about, was it? It would be embarrassing and he didnât want to butâŠhe would.
âI havenât actually counted how â â he began, then stopped. No, still wrong.
ââŠat least half a dozen, probably more over the centuries,â he corrected himself. Then he swallowed, forcing himself not to look away or try to play it off as nothing.
âAnd how manyâŠâ the angel licked his lip, quite unconsciously, it seemed. âWho were they for?â he asked, his voice somehow even quieter, to the point it almost sounded small.
âŠDid he not know? How could he not â hadnât he figured it out already? At least after Crowley had admitted toâŠwell, everything. Wasnât it then more than obvious?
Though if he was honest with himself, was he really in any position to make that sort of judgment?
âFor you,â he said, voice coming out a little hoarse, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the otherâs face. He wasnât aware that heâd tightened the grip, which had been slackened, on Aziraphaleâs hand considerably. âIâve only ever done it for you, angel. All of them were for you and then they werenât good enough toâŠbut even if they were, I was so scared ofâŠand Iâm sorry. So terribly sorry. I shouldâve told you. Shown you.â
Though it might not make too much sense, he needed to say something, to combat the hurt and slightly dejected expression that had kept lurking behind those warm eyes ever since heâd mentioned heâd made nests, too. He hoped it would explain that it was nothing that Aziraphale had done or hadnât done. It was all down to Crowley and his fears.
It looked at least to some degree as though he had managed to do so. Though the face remained unchanged in expression the emotion lurking in the eyes lessened considerably.
However, he wasnât done yet. He had to make sure that he communicated the next part. âThereâs never been anyone else for me and there never will be. You are my everything.â
He didnât say anything about having mentioned something to that effect earlier, and not only because he didnât really remember it, what with everything else that had happened.
It didnât matter in any case. Heâd say it a thousand times if Aziraphale wanted to hear it, really, or more, and mean it just as much every single time.
Aziraphale stared at him, seeming to have gone completely still.
Crowley wouldâve worried â if heâd had the time.
Before he could, there was another noise as of a flock of birds taking off and the movement of air.
âAziraphaleâŠâ Crowley breathed as he watched them unfold.
His yellow eyes threatened to take over the sclera, as they did when he forgot himself, while looking at the wings he hadnât seen in their full glory â and they were a glory to behold, almost iridescent in their soft whiteness, highlighted perfectly by the glow of the light in the bookshop â sinceâŠwell, really since the same day the angel had last seen his. The day theyâd met.
Six thousand years and they were as beautiful as he remembered them.
So why did Aziraphale look slightly embarrassed? More than slightly, really, and not in a good way, if embarrassment could ever be positive.
âIâm so â I just couldnât keep it in anymore,â he said, and it sounded like an apology, which was both puzzling and ridiculous.
âKeep it â? âCrowley began and his disbelief was clearly audible, âangel, were you â have you been keeping them in check until now?â
He got a nod, slow and reluctant. âYes. Since you said, âI love youâ. Well, longer, really.â
âBut â why?â
Aziraphale didnât answer.
âAziraphale, why would you ever keep them in? Unless â you did lock the door?â
Another nod, emphatic, and Crowley relaxed a bit. âOkay. Right. But why, then?â Surely, if there was one time it would be okay to let them out, it would be for this occasion?
Perhaps he could persuade his angel â his angel! â to have them out occasionally, just for him to gorge himself on, on a both visual and tactile level.
Aziraphale seemed to have a different opinion on the matter.
âBecause theyâreâŠtheyâre not â yours are so exquisite!â
Wait, what? What did that have to do with anything?
âAngel are you seriouslyâŠ?â he said, incredulous to say the least and entirely missing the compliment, as he reached out with his free hand.
At first, he went slowly but the blond tried to pull his wing back out of reach. So instead, to make sure he got a hold on them, the demon shot his hand out and grasped hold of, not a primary as he thought, which was frankly probably just as well, or he mightâve pulled it out unintentionally.
What he got hold of instead was the metacarpal, what would in a human hand be the bones of the hand itself, not the fingers. His grip wasnât hard, not really, but he was out on the edge of the sofa by then and he probably used it unintentionally for balance.
Aziraphale gasped loudly at that and his wing shook. Surprised, and worried that he mightâve caused damage, Crowley let go, but that upset what little equilibrium he had, and he fell off the sofa.
Thankfully, he hit the floor with his knees first and managed to stay upright but before heâd had much chance to really comprehend what had happened â or think on why the heaven he hadnât used his own bloody wings to keep himself upright â warm arms closed around him, underneath his wings, and he realised his torso was sprawled across a lap. His head was pressed into the lovely soft tummy to some extent.
But right then, he couldnât spare the thought for it, since if Aziraphaleâs arms were both around him and he could feel the hands on his back, then where was â
His head snapped up immediately. âWhere -?â
âTheyâre â oh, my goodness, I think â âAziraphale stopped but then he breathed a sigh of relief. âNo, theyâre here. Fell on the floor but I do believe theyâre okay.â
With one hand still on Crowleyâs back, as though wanting to make sure he stayed where he was, he reached down and when he rose back, he held up the four feathers for the demon to see, handling them as though they were made of glass.
There wasnât a vane out of place.
Crowley made a face that he wasnât sure what was, exactly, or was meant to communicate but he hoped that it was something positive. He tried to right himself so he could get back up on the sofa. Being this close to Aziraphaleâs body was doing things that â was such a thing as spontaneous combustion possible for a demon?
The hand still on his back pressed harder for a moment as if to prevent him getting up but it relented almost immediately afterwards, allowing him to sit himself back on the sofa.
âSorry,â Crowley murmured as he did so, with a guilty look at the wing heâd demon-handled, however accidental. âDidnât mean toâŠis it alright?â
âAlright? Is what alright?â
âThe wing! You gasped loudly and the wing shook, I assumed I was gripping it too hard or something! That you were in pain!â
âWhat? Oh. No, thatâs not â Iâm perfectly alright, my dear. I was merelyâŠsurprised. But thank you for the concern.â He gave a smile that looked genuinely grateful.
However, the pause before âsurprisedâ was just a fraction too long to be believable and in any case, it hadnât sounded like a gasp of surprise. Pursuing that line of enquiry, though, didnât seem the right move then and there, so he let it go. For now.
âOh. Okay. Still, sorry for grabbing it like that. I didnât â I just wanted toâŠyour wings are beautiful and beyond lovely, Aziraphale. To look at and to feel. Just like the rest of you.â To be honest, his fingers itched to reach out again and run over the bone, following it from base to tip.
It was a statement of fact and wasnât meant to be leering or even smirking. He couldâve done it like that, of course, but it didnât feel right.
Regardless, it seemed to have shocked the poor angel more than a little.
âCrowley, I â do you really think so?â There was no coyness there but an honest question, which tore at something inside the ginger.
âWell, obviously. Always have, always will.â He couldnât help but raise an eyebrow but at the same time, he was smiling. âIâd be a bloody shite nestmate if I didnât think so, wouldnât I?â
The smile turned suddenly into a full-blown grin. âNestmate. Nestmate.â
âYes, indeed, âAziraphale confirmed, and his beam was back in full force. âWe are. We are, arenât we?â
It was said with wonder in his voice but also something that was wavering and asking for confirmation that this was indeed the case.
Crowley knew exactly how he felt. In an odd way, though, that felt reassuring and made it more real and tangible. He could honestly not see how he would ever believe his imagination would cook up Aziraphale being uncertain and needing confirmation.
Before all of this, he wouldâve said his little fantasy was about as perfect as it could be. Heâd spent literal ages creating, tweaking and replaying it, after all.
Now, thoughâŠnow he knew that even with all the little bits like the misunderstandings, the uncertainties, and the fumbling, both metaphorically and physically, this reality was a hundred times better and more perfect than his fantasy ever could be. It was better because it was reality and it did contain all of those little imperfections.
âWe are,â he confirmed. Reassured. âWe are! Finally!â
The word was out of his mouth before he was aware of it and he blessed himself and his stupid mouth.
âAngel, I didnât â âhe immediately began, trying to fix what heâd messed up, but, decidedly unexpectedly, the blond didnât seem upset.
Putting the feathers which he was still holding down on his own thigh for the moment, Aziraphale gathered Crowleyâs hands in his. Theyâd held hands in various ways a few times by now but even so, it sent a pleasant thrill through the ginger. He hoped that would never ever stop being the case.
âYou can say âfinallyâ when youâve waited â oh, Crowley, I am so sorry â â
âIf you didnât reciprocate, then you didnât,â Crowley cut in.
Heâd come to terms with that a long time ago. That was to say, to as much an extent as he could manage and not factoring in that persistent and resilient hope. Which wasnât a very great extent, to be honest, not at all, but Aziraphale didnât need to know that.
âYouâre not obligated to reciprocate,â he continued. âNever. You canât control your feelings nor should you.â
âWellâŠnoâŠof course not. But you can be better at realising that what you were feeling was indeed what you were feeling, and I failed quite miserably at that.â
âYou got there. Fuckâs sake, you were the one who started the ball rolling on all of this.â
âWell, yes, but â âThere was the definite feeling that if his hands werenât occupied, then heâd be wringing them slightly, ââ oh, how are you so calm about all of this?â
âCalm? Calm? Iâm anything but calm and I keep thinking that at any moment, youâll turn into a three-headed kitten spewing hellfire or something and prove Iâm dreaming.â
That made Aziraphale giggle, the sort of giggle that youâre surprised is coming out of your mouth, often because what was said wasnât that funny.
âWhy a kitten?â he asked when he could make himself stop.
âThat was the part you picked up on?â
âAmong others, yes.â There was a small pause. âCrowley?â
âYes?â
âCould â can I please touch your wings?â
Oh, G-, Sa-, fuck, yes. Please. You donât need to ask, angel, please touch them. Touch them as much as you want as long as you want. I can still feel where you touched them earlier and it has nothing, well, very little, to do with you making my feathers grow back.
âOn one condition.â
âAnd what would that be?â
âThat I can reciprocate, for as long as I want to.â
Aziraphale blushed at that but at the same time, his lips puckered in what could only be described as a smiling pout, something which was utterly adorable.
A plump hand disentangled itself from a bony and reached out slowly, though not hesitantly. Crowley held perfectly still as it came closer, his breath bated. It somehow felt more intimate than the earlier kiss.
It was fingers that touched first, where the middle primary coverts enclosed the radius bone. They moved over said bone as thoughâŠas though they were stroking across the cover of a newly discovered, exceedingly rare book.
A shudder ran through Crowley at that, hard. Not just because of the touch itself, however wonderful it was, but the knowledge that Aziraphale wasnât just touching him, he was treating his wing as he would his most prized possessions in the world.
He felt the nastily lingering, stubbornly clinging uncertainties and doubts melt away in the face of that. What more proof could he possibly want or need?
Oh, how he loved his angel.
Before he knew quite what he was doing, Crowley had grabbed hold of the soft body and pulled him from the chair heâd been sitting in into his lap. Well-manicured hands grabbed hold of bony shoulders for support, even though he couldâve easily used his wings for balance.
That was, one hand grabbed hold. The other held the given feathers, snatched quickly from his thigh and then pressed against his chest.
âCrowley!â Aziraphale protested but there was no heat to it.
âDo that again,â Crowley said, his voice something of a rasp, which initially surprised him. Then it clicked.
Oh. Oh. Of course.
âPlease,â he said.
âCrowley, are you â â
âYes, Iâm sure. Please bloody well touch them again.â He paused and shook himself. He shouldnât be making demands like that. âSorry, that was â â
His sentence caught in a gasped moan as a hand ran from his shoulder down the humerus of the other wing, down over the radius and the metacarpals, all the way to the tip of the phalanges, as gently and reverentially as he had before.
That it wasnât a one-time thing, not the novelty of touching for the first time â it could be argued that it was the first time he touched that much of his wing but that wasnât the same thing at all and didnât really hold water â but, it seemed, something that was the immediate reaction to touching his wings in generalâŠ
That stole his breath. Not that heâd had much of it right now, but the point remained.
âAziraphaleâŠâ he breathed. His hands on the other tightened and he instinctively moved his wing closer, both for getting them within easier touching range and for enclosing the other somewhat. Shielding him. Protecting him.
There was a bit of manoeuvring to it, on both their parts, so as not to knock into the blondâs wings but even though their wings were the same size and not exactly small, they managed it without knocking anything over and actually, with a surprising amount of grace and ease.
What he hadnât expected was that the angel would not just tuck his wings in a bit to assist but would make a sort of counter-cocoon inside the embrace of the demonâs wings, low where Crowleyâs went high.
The hand hadnât been removed from his wing all throughout that, though how it had managed it he had no idea.
Especially not given that the other still held the feathers, pressed against his chest, shielding them in turn.
Slowly, the ginger moved his own hand up, with the intention of taking the feathers from Aziraphale. Not to take them back, though, merely to put them somewhere safe.
The moment Aziraphale saw his hand move towards his chest, though, he pulled away a little.
âNo,â he said. âYou canât â you gave them to me. You canât.â
âYou what?â Then it clicked. âIâm not going to take them back, angel. I just wanted to put them somewhere safe.â
The angel relaxed a bit. âOh. I see. Well, thatâsâŠthat certainly puts it in a different perspective.â
If Crowley then expected to be given the feathers, he was to be disappointed or at least surprised. Instead of placing them in the still outstretched hands, or even reaching out to lay them on the table, Aziraphale chose to switch hands. This was so he could slide the feathers inside the left side of his long jacket where there mightâve been a pocket, or he mightâve created one then and there, as Crowley had never seen him use an inner pocket there before or anywhere else, for that matter. The way the hand moved wasâŠrather tell-tale.
Given that Aziraphale bought his clothes rather than miracle them into existence like Crowley did, which included alterations, the seeming fact that he had miracled something for the feathers, that wasâŠquite something on its own, too. Something which sent a bubble of warmth, the warmth of a hot drink sliding inside a cold body, bursting inside the demonâs heart.
Joining that sensation was the fact that his solution to the problem, which was hardly a problem to start with, was to make a place where they could stay, protected, not just close to him but right above his heart.
If he had worried about not having realised sooner and, possibly, about plucking up courage to show Crowley how he felt, then he was certainly making up for it now and then some.
Compared to that, how could he ever hope toâŠto show the angel the same level of caring and love? He felt it, certainly, and so much more, but how could he show it in a way that didnât seem as though he was merely mimicking the other? Or trying to outdo him, as thoughâŠ
Well, that was the point, wasnât it? It wasnât about who did what, to what extent and at what time, was it?
And in any case, he had something more important to focus on right now, hadnât he?
The hand heâd reached out with still hung in the air as though frozen there, but he started to move it forward again, towards where the feathers had disappeared.
Aziraphale tensed up again at that, though he didnât move this time. When the bony hand settled on top of his over the feathers, he relaxed once more.
âMy nestmate,â he whispered, looking the other straight in the eye. âMy beautiful, loving, perfect Aziraphale is my nestmate.â He allowed his love to shine through in his voice as much as he possibly could.
âFor now, and forever,â Aziraphale replied, his voice very soft in turn but no less loving for that. âAs you are mine, my dearest Crowley.â
âNo matter what Heaven says?â
It might have come across as a pointed or even a needling question. Petty, someone might say. But it wasnât. At least, that wasnât how it was at all meant.
That wasnât to say the angel would take it that way, which Crowley realised a few seconds too late. He opened his mouth to somehow take it back but was stopped by Aziraphaleâs expression.
He wasnât smiling and there was a pained look to his face but at the same time, there was the determination and steel from before.
âYes. No matter what Heaven says.â There was no hesitation in the voice. âOr Hell, for that matter. They do not appreciate what they have had and therefore, they do not deserve it.â
A shiver ran down Crowleyâs spine at that, one of surprise and delight. Well, that was definitely new from Aziraphale. He liked it.
âSame can be said for Heaven,â the demon said. âJust even more so.â
âIf thatâs the case, whyâŠwhy were you then so convinced that I had fallen in love with any one of them up there rather than with you?â Aziraphale asked.
