Summer Omens: Day 30 (on AO3 here if you prefer)
That night in 2010, Aziraphale watched them study the stars from across the garden.
“You’d call that the Big Dipper,” Nanny answered, following Warlock’s pointed finger up to the sky, “but here, we call it the Plough.”
“That’s Arcturus. See how bright it is?”
Nanny gave him a smile and shifted him to her other hip. Wishing he could walk over and join them, knowing he shouldn’t, Aziraphale leaned forward in the chair outside the door of his quarters. They had to pretend – couldn’t be seen together too often, even just by Warlock, or word would spread through the staff and, the next thing they knew, their jobs would be on the line – but Crowley had taken to finding creative excuses to spend time in the gardens with the child. Even though it meant enduring yet another level of surveillance, he would not have traded the chance to see her every day for the world: and he shouldn’t have to, if all went as planned.
“Arcturus is up in the sky, dear. Far, far away from Earth. Though not as far as many of the other stars.”
She laughed, and across the darkened field, Aziraphale laughed, too. “Go to the stars?” He could have sworn her eyes flickered over to his face. Her smile held back secrets. “We’d need very strong wings for that, my love.” She pulled him closer to her. “Time for bed. Perhaps you can dream yourself up a pair.” She lingered a moment, taking one last look at the night sky before heading back toward the house.
As the shadows swallowed her figure, he thought: if there were a place where no one was watching, where no one cared how close they stood or how often they talked or how brightly his eyes lit up when Crowley entered any room, perhaps that place was somewhere off among the stars. Perhaps, some day, they’d go dare to go there.
That night in 2018, Aziraphale stood a foot from him on his balcony, head tilted up. Clouds whispered their way across the night sky, thin enough that the stars could peek through them. “You should try to sleep,” he said gently. Even he felt tired from the whirlwind of the past few days. “Don’t need to deprive yourself on my account.”
“I could never sleep like this. Too wired.” Crowley rubbed his eyes, smearing the soot that had stuck to his face. Aziraphale wanted to miracle his skin clean with a touch of his fingertips, but he doubted Crowley would let him. “And it’s almost morning anyway.”
Was it really? In the night’s fatigued silences and wild brainstorming, in between the practices and briefings – “Beez hates it when I make small talk”; “Gabriel will have heard about the possession by now, no need to hide it”; “the one with the scaly fish face is Dagon" – he had completely lost track of the time. He checked his pocket watch: 4:37. He knew he should suggest they switch corporations once more, go their separate ways before the sunrise, but he so desperately wanted to remain in Crowley’s orbit that he couldn’t force out the words. “Aren’t the stars lovely tonight?” he managed instead.
Something sharp (anger or regret or pain, he couldn’t tell) flashed in Crowley’s eyes. Afraid it would return and settle there, Aziraphale turned his gaze to the sky, nerves ragged, heart beating too fast. The sky was beginning to lighten; it was almost time. Will this even work? The stars blinked silently, offering no wisdom or comfort. One cluster of them, he wasn’t sure which, must be Alpha Centauri. If we make it through whatever they have planned for us, he promised Crowley silently, you’ll see why staying put was worth it. And I’ll spend eternity apologizing for not trusting you enough to go anyway, the second you asked me to.
“We should get a move on,” Crowley said, holding out his hand. “Ready?”
With a fragile smile, he answered, “as I’ll ever be,” and grasped Crowley’s hand.
That night in 2029, Aziraphale laid next to him, hand in his hand, fingers laced together. Around them, crickets sang and the cool night wind rustled the branches of their orchard. They had reached the tipping point of August, when the world teeters between seasons, warning you to breathe in and savor the last floral wisps of summertime before they fade to fallen leaves.
“Six!” he called excitedly, pointing at the trail of a shooting star.
“Missed it,” Crowley grumbled. “I’m beginning to think you’re stretching the truth.”
“You’re the one who turned it into a competition, dear. I’d be perfectly content sharing the stars with you.”
“But where’s the fun in that?”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, knowing it was far too dark for Crowley to notice. “And what does the winner get as his reward?”
“Dunno. Whatever he wants? Four!” he shouted, making Aziraphale flinch. “Sorry,” he laughed. “I’m catching up. Watch out.”
Turning his attention back to the sky, he wondered what he’d request when he won. Whatever he wants. Studying the stars in their garden, with Crowley’s shoulder pressed against his, he searched for something he wanted that he didn’t already possess and came up stunningly empty.
Not too long ago, he had seen betrayal and rejection – “we can run away together” – written in these stars, been haunted by what he had done. Tonight, he read only tranquility in their gentle blinking. Twice now, they had fought to keep this peaceful world. The second time, they had fought as one, wiser and stronger than before. Twice, they had won. For any mistakes Aziraphale had made in their past, he knew he was forgiven. He glanced down at his reminder of this gift: the golden band on his finger.
“I thought we were supposed to share everything now,” he said playfully. “That’s what Anathema and Newt promised in their vows, remember?”
“You want to share everything, do you? Your quill collection?”
He hesitated. “If you’re careful, I don’t see why not.”
“Well… They wouldn’t fit you properly. And they’re not–”
“And your books? Even the first editions?”
“Alright.” Crowley’s shoulders shook from muffled laughter. A grin spread across his face. “Fine, forget it. You called my bluff. You know me too well, I’m afraid.”
“Nah, just the right amount to– Five!”
“And seven! I saw it too.”
Aziraphale rolled onto his side and stared down at Crowley. “I most definitely did.”
“Cheater,” Crowley said as he lifted his head up for a kiss. “If you win, what’ll you ask for?”
“I already have everything I could ever want,” he said softly. “I have you.” He watched his words sink in, the way Crowley still looked surprised by them despite all the ways Aziraphale had confessed his love over the years, and then he leaned down and kissed him tenderly. He ran his fingers through long red curls. “I mean it.”
“But that’s no fun,” Crowley whispered with a smirk.
“Fine. I want you to figure out where that awful draft in our bedroom comes from and make it stop. Is that more fun for you?”
Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, Crowley pulled him close. “I take it back. I’m your prize. All you could ever want. Such a sweet sentiment.”
“Now you’re just avoiding–” He was interrupted by Crowley’s lips on his.
Above them, the stars burned and died and burst to life light-years away from where they lay. Another shooting star streaked across the sky, but neither of them noticed. On that late-summer night, as fireflies danced in the garden around them, Crowley and Aziraphale turned their attention away from the escape of the heavens, toward one another and the life they had made together, right there on Earth.
(Previous days: sand / ice cream / burn / camp / grass / pride / bloom / sunset / freckles / sweat / festival / snooze / lavender / lightning / relax / garden / road trip / berries / independence / solstice / trail / melting / firefly / petrichor / ice / dandelion / marshmallow / swim / fireworks)
