Aziraphale didn't sleep. He preferred to read as there were really too many books to keep up with now. Independent publishing had probably been some mixture of Heaven and Hell's influences as some of the most creative and absolute worst dregs could be found anywhere now, and the angel was too stubborn to put something down once he began. Even the worst works held some small value somewhere.
Crowley, however, did sleep. He'd grown fond of his naps over the centuries and Aziraphale was just fine miracling his eyes to adjust to the darkness of whoever's bedroom had been selected for the night so Crowley could sleep.
He enjoyed laying beside him, warmth flooding the side the demon pressed up against. Sometimes a hand would reach out so Aziraphale would take it and hold. Sometimes his brow would wrinkle, so Aziraphale would smooth the sleepy worries with gentle strokes. Sometimes he'd mumble in his sleep and Aziraphale would murmur back. And sometimes Aziraphale just liked to stroke his hair. The fiery strands had been all manner of things throughout the centuries. Short bobs, long curls, feathery fluff - whatever suited the times and the form Crowley chose for his body, the pronouns he picked up as flippantly as he tossed them aside again.
The differences had always been exciting. He'd never known what he would see the next time he saw the demon his heart had steadily begun to be lost to. He still found Crowley exciting, though their respective sides had been left behind so they could form their own ages earlier. He knew every inch of the demon beside him, no matter how he looked, yet was still exhilarated by his mere presence. He brought out in Aziraphale the best and worst and everything in between. Aziraphale liked to believe he did the same for Crowley.
And every single morning, he got his proof. Though the nights changed, the mornings were the same.
Long legs would shift, warm skin brushing Aziraphale's pajama pants. His toes would point a little, back arching in a slow stretch, his fingers would flex, and his golden, serpentine eyes would start to move behind his eyelids.
Then they'd lift. Slow and sleepy, Aziraphale always the first thing Crowley saw. In that hazy moment between sleep and wakefulness, Aziraphale would see it all. He saw the joy waking up beside him inspired every single day. It shone brighter than the stars his demon had had a hand in creating, but never as bright as what came after the joy.
The love Crowley gifted him every morning was warm and sleepy and true, uninhibited by the years of pretending to be enemies. It was pure and without strings. It was ageless, timeless. It had the energy of a bolt of lightning, but the tenderness of a butterfly wing against one's cheek.
And then Crowley would close his eyes again, roll onto his back with a yawn, and stretch out his entire body. "Good morning, angel. Good book this time?"
When his eyes would open next, they'd have something else (amusement or derision or whatever else Aziraphale's book choice inspired), but it never mattered. He'd seen the love. He'd seen Crowley's soul. And he would defy Heaven and Hell again and again to keep on seeing it.
What Gabriel and Sandalphon hadn't known was that there really was pornography in the back of Aziraphale's bookshop. It would have mortified him to no end had anyone ever found out, so Crowley was always an inch or two away from whispering it in some human's ear when he happened to drop by during open hours. It was impossible for even him to keep track of Aziraphale's ridiculous schedule.
It was his fault the books and magazines - the Kama Sutra he'd helped write and first editions of the earliest Playboys, for example - were back there to begin with. The first had been the Kama Sutra, a set of scrolls with Vātsyāyana's signature at the bottom. It'd shock Crowley to find that Aziraphale had read every word since he'd presented it as a sex guide and not the romance guide it actually was.
Between the author, time period, and location of its writing, it was based strongly in the Hindu faith. So Crowley had let the author do most of it. He wasn't a writer, after all. He barely liked to read, but he'd had a lot of fun helping. Demonstrating here and there. He was pretty sure he'd been a woman then, but really didn't know. It didn't matter. His gender was what he felt like it was. He was a demon. Not that Aziraphale couldn't change either. He just never had. Other angels had. Michael, Uriel - they'd gone back and forth a few times. Michael had been both when they'd kicked Lucifer in his face and straight to Hell.
Honestly, he was glad to see humans finally getting with the program. People were just people. They should be allowed to explore themselves and, in Crowley's opinion, each other. Aziraphale would probably disagree with that bit.
But Crowley forgot, as most did when thinking of angels, that Aziraphale had been there before marriage. Before Crowley when it came to the garden. And, well, someone had needed to tell Adam and Eve how exactly they were going to populate the Earth. Was it a subject he was comfortable with? No. Had he told Adam and Eve to be good to each other, been the first being on Earth to say the word "foreplay," and to always ask consent? Yes.
Crowley probably hadn't thought of that. He probably thought that sex had just happened and Aziraphale had been none the wiser. The angel had given them privacy, yes, but he'd been aware. Over the centuries he'd never done anything with someone personally, but he was well aware of the mechanics. Sexless was more about gender than the actions, though Aziraphale only had interest in one other being.
But Crowley didn't know that. He just knew that Aziraphale had gasped in shock when he'd brought in Playboy. "You should keep it in your shop."
"Absolutely not!"
"Aw, c'mon. It'll go great with the Kama Sutra. There aren't just pictures. There are articles too."
"Crowley, I would prefer not to put such things on my shelves. This is a bookshop!"
"Put it in the back, then. Every shop puts smut in the back."
"No."
"Guess I'll burn it, then."
"You'll what?"
"I don't need it," Crowley reminded him, holding up a finger that lit up like a match.
Aziraphale had snatched the magazine away and scurried into the back with a huff. No one was going to burn reading material in front of him, even the smutty kind. So for Crowley, the porn in the back was a kind of joke. He'd be shocked to learn that Aziraphale had read the articles.
He'd also be shocked to learn that the Georgette Heyer book he'd brought in one day as a joke had been memorized. Aziraphale didn't memorize many books. He read too much, but her books were among the ones he read cover to cover, again and again. It was a miracle they hadn't fallen apart yet, though he had a set of First Editions upstairs in his extremely private collection.
He was shocked when Aziraphale climbed into his lap one day and ground down like he knew exactly what he was doing. He would never admit to the breathy whimper that had escaped him or the stutter that followed. "A-Aziraphale-"
Lips trailed down his neck as if he'd done this a thousand times before. And, at this point, Crowley had done it to Aziraphale a few dozen times but this was new. He always stopped, pulled back before things got too intense for his angel. So what the hell was happening?
"Yes, Crowley?"
"I- What are you doing?"
Aziraphale smiled at him, just barely holding back a laugh. "The tempting."
Pepper huffed, on her toes between Brian and the uncertain Wensleydale. They were peering into the window of Adam’s house, watching the strangers they only vaguely remembered from the military base. The whole day was vague for them, growing worse as time went. If they hadn’t had each other to share the memories with, the whole thing would’ve been gone already.
”‘Course not,“ Brian replied. "It’s just a nickname. Like mum calls dad 'darling’ all the time.”
Pepper huffed again. “He’s obviously an angel. They both must be.”
Wensleydale actually turned his head to gape at her. “Actually, that seems very impossible. Angels don’t wear black.”
“That’s a stereotype.”
“I reckon angels can wear what they want,” Brian piped up. “But I don’t think they’re angels.”
“Who?” a voice asked.
The Them whirled, all delighted to see their leader. Pepper stepped forward first. “They’re disagreeing with me.”
“We weren’t disagreeing exactly,” Wensleydale tried. “But we’re not sure if those two men are angels or not.”
Adam joined them at the window, peering in. They all watched the man who only introduced himself as Aziraphale take a sip of tea and nod as Arthur spoke. He looked as if no one had ever said anything more interesting before. Standing behind him was Crowley, a possessive or protective hand on his shoulder. “Well, they both have wings.”
Them looked in, studying them closely. “I don’t see any wings,” was Pepper’s haughty response.
“Maybe they’re small,” Brian offered, always willing to give Adam the benefit of the doubt.
“They’re not. They just hide them.”
“How would you hide something like wings?” Wensleydale wondered.
“With magic.” Adam smiled, sure of it. His memories would never fade.
“Anyway, what are they doing here?” Pepper cupped her hands around her eyes like binoculars as if that would let her see better.
“They want to tutor me.”
“In what?"
Adam shrugged. "Dunno.” He was also pretty sure that was a lie. They probably wanted to teach him more about his own magic, but he thought he was being perfectly careful with it. “They’re nice, though.”
“Right. D'you think angels wear black?” Brian asked. “Wensleydale said they don’t.”
“I dunno. Mr. Aziraphale’s wearing tartan. Dunno how many angels wear that.”
“See?” Pepper insisted. “Angels can wear whatever they want.”
“Yeah,” Adam agreed. “But even if Mr. Crowley’s something technically bad, he’s still pretty good.”
The Them accepted this as fact, nodding.
“D'you reckon they’re married?” Brian asked.
They all watched Aziraphale lay his hand on Crowley’s and look up at something he said, his smile bright and sunny. Angelic, they all decided.
“I bet they are,” Adam decided.
“If Mr. Crowley isn’t an angel, is he a demon?” Pepper wondered.
“My dad says demons don’t exist.”
“If angels do, demons must,” Pepper argued, unimpressed by Wensleydale’s dad and his lofty opinions. “I think an angel and a demon can get married.”
“These ones can,” Adam insisted, but kept his magic from surfacing. They didn’t need his help.
“Adam,” Wensleydale started, remembering something, “aren’t you actually supposed to stay inside?"
"Mum said I could take Dog for a walk around the village, but he decided he’d run to our hideout. We’ll have to get him.”
Smiles flashed, bright and excited, and the four ran off and left the objects of their curiosity be for a while. Aziraphale’s hand stayed on Crowley’s long after it was necessary. Neither angel nor demon minded.
Crowley would never say it aloud as he wasn't particularly fond of reading, but he knew every book Aziraphale had in his shop. He'd been there before it had opened, the day it had, and many, many, many days and nights besides. He'd helped Aziraphale rearrange the shelves, finding it both frustrating and adorable that an angel would expend his energy on doing so without the magic they both had at their fingertips.
So the new section, right near the front to discourage anyone from wandering too far, caught his attention immediately. The covers weren't stately or stoic, but colorful and bright. There were actual softcovers mixed with hard. He'd only been in the States three days for a bit of mischief, including a rock concert he'd ended up feeling a bit lonely at, so how could this have happened?
Why?
"Hello!" The cheerful voice made him look up, and he watched the angel's hands flutter before he clasped them together and his lips curve. "Crowley! Hello, my dear. How have you been?"
"Fine. Like normal." Missed you. He didn't say that. He tipped his head towards the new section. "What's all this?"
"Oh, a children's section! A few weeks ago, I read an article in the paper that said children aren't reading as they used to. Dreadful, I thought, so I purchased a few things called comic books and some, ah, graphic novels. They just came in, so I did this up just after you left."
Crowley arched a brow while Aziraphale showed off the new shelves, nothing too high to escape a child's reach. "Any takers?"
"Yes, actually. The only difficulty is that I've had to keep a few regular hours. I've sold seven books to children or those seeking gifts for children, but three of mine have been sold to adults. Three books in two and a half days. If not for the children, I'd stop."
He was adorable. "I'm sure they'd be very disappointed."
"Yes. There was actually a graphic novel version of the Bible. I thought I'd show you. It's vastly incorrect. They have the devil himself as the snake in Eden."
Crowley's brows lifted, lips forming something between a fond smile and a smirk at Aziraphale's obvious insult. "I'm flattered."
"Oh, you would be." Aziraphale tutted, turning away to lead Crowley to the back. The demon smiled to himself as he followed. He really was too good sometimes.
The question reverberated through the room like a gunshot, shattering the demon's mood entirely. He'd been ready to fall asleep, half-dozing and only the tiniest bit drunk on Aziraphale's couch.
"Wot?"
"Your favorite memory. You must have one, surely."
Crowley set his empty pilsner down on the floor with a soft clink. "Why d'you wanna know that?"
"Well, we know so much about one another already. I was only pondering what I didn't know."
A way to continue the conversation, to stretch out the visit. He didn't need to, Crowley mused. They were on their side now. He didn't have to run home to his flat on the off-chance that someone might broadcast a new message through Aziraphale's ancient radio or his old computer. He didn't have to rush out because angels were coming to check on Aziraphale's progress or reprimand him or whatever else.
No angels, no demons beyond the two of them. It was all Crowley had ever wanted, and it had only happened once in six thousand years. That, he supposed, was his favorite memory.
"Canada."
"My dear, that's a country."
Crowley's lips quirked. "The second World War had just ended. Do you remember? It was the first time you ever sought me out. I was always finding you, especially after you opened this place, but that day..."
"It was after those terrible things fell on Japan. Why on Earth would that be-"
"No, no, no. You asked me for the whole memory and that includes build-up. You sought me out and you were upset because-"
"Heaven gave me a commendation," he murmured. "All those... Those non-Christians who'd been taken care of so instantaneously, and the nuclear technology was so incredible, they thought..."
Crowley's smile gentled, faded even as he sat up a little straighter. "Come sit, angel." There was a moment of hesitation, but Aziraphale rose from his perch and came to Crowley's side. "I got a commendation too, remember? It was so massive both sides thought it had to be us. I thought you'd found me because you wanted to blame me. You normally did."
"Oh, dearest, I-"
Crowley hushed him, hand falling to his knee for the most gentle of squeezes. "I never blamed you for it, angel. You always believed me when I told you things weren't my doing. But you didn't blame me for those bombs in Japan."
"You were... You were at the camps," Aziraphale murmured, looking down at the hand that stayed on his leg. "Performing miracles that would've gotten you killed had Hell known."
"Yeah, well, I got a commendation for those so-called camps too. I wanted to drink and sleep away the rest of the decade. Never seen anything like that before or since. But..." He waved a hand. "Anyway, you came to me and you were so upset. Like you just... really needed someone and you came to me. We went to Canada."
"Oh, yes. You tempted me with poutine. Such a messy dish."
"You loved it."
"I did." He hadn't had it since. It brought back dangerous memories. "You were so..."
"You can say it, angel. Go ahead and insult me."
He smiled indulgently. "You were so very kind."
"Right." His hand left the angel's knee to carefully slip around his waist, hand hovering until Aziraphale gave him the tiniest of nods. "Three whole days, we had to ourselves. Both sides were giving us a rest for the, ah, job well done. And we took it, just us high in the Canadian mountains with poutine, and every guest who was supposed to come miraculously got trips elsewhere and a full refund."
"That's why it was so empty? We barely saw any staff."
"You didn't know?"
"I'd assumed it wasn't a popular spot. Oh, my dear..."
Crowley shrugged, using the motion to encourage Aziraphale to lean against him the way he'd done in Canada decades before. They'd had separate rooms, but Crowley had miracled a door between them the first day. Aziraphale had "accidentally" left it open that night, and Crowley had finally just snuck into bed with him on the third. Aziraphale had set his book down and they'd talked. Talked and reminisced, smiled and laughed, scoffed and rolled their eyes at all the things they'd seen both together and apart over the centuries.
Then Hell had sent Crowley a message through the in-room radio the next day, fresh orders, and the spell had been shattered. Aziraphale, the good angel he was, had been reminded that they were on opposite sides, and the trip had ended.
"That's my favorite memory, love. That third night. Just the two of us, like right now."
Love. Aziraphale closed his eyes, let the word shimmer through him. He could feel it in the air, tightly controlled as if he was afraid to let too much out at once, and Aziraphale felt his heart quiver like something out of one of the romance novels he was so fond of.
"I fell in love with you during that war," Aziraphale admitted, feeling it leap into the air around them before it was leashed back down. He pressed a hand to his own chest, fascinated to feel it so close to him. How long had Crowley been hiding all of that? "That time in Canada only confirmed it. It frightened me very much, you know. We were on opposite sides and hereditary enemies and-"
"An angel and a demon," Crowley sighed, free hand waving dismissively. "Should never work."
"It shouldn't, no, but I daresay it does. For us and our side." Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked up, quietly awed by the depths in those serpentine eyes and how every layer was his and his alone. He smiled, accepting that look as a return of his own declaration. Crowley would share more in time. They had all of it ahead of them now.
He wouldn't call them an obsession. Certainly not. He knew exactly what they looked like. He'd been the first to see what they looked like in the light of day. He'd been the first to see what they looked like under cloudy skies, under the shade of an outstretched wing. He knew what they looked like amused, surprised, enthralled. He knew the mischievous glint they'd get right before a temptation or some minor wickedness was performed, just as he knew the difference between the two. He also knew the sheen of displeasure, horror, shock.
Aziraphale knew them all and he... Well, he wasn't obsessed. He just missed them. As the years had passed, the dark lenses had grown in size and so had grown in coverage. Long gone were the days where serpentine eyes and minor miracles would be looked upon as worth worship. Polytheism was out of fashion now and an ever-changing wheel of "normalcy" was expected.
There were too many genuinely talented street musicians for minor miracles to hold any sort of reverence and, sadly, golden snake eyes hadn't been normal in centuries. Millenia, if he was being honest. They weren't even normal to Aziraphale, frankly, but that had never mattered. Not once. They were special. They were Crowley's.
And there they were, the gold lighting up his bookshop. It was a rare light in them as he sprawled over Aziraphale's loveseat, contentment. He'd seen it quite a bit in recent months whilst their side had been taking shape, but only in the quirk of his smile and the way his brow would soften, the way he'd fallen asleep on just that loveseat no less than three times because it was safe. They were safe to exist, to be, and it was amusement now.
Aziraphale blinked, following Crowley's gaze to the two wine glasses in his hands. Or they had been wine glasses. A faint pink dusted his cheeks as he took in the freshly miracled champagne flutes. "Oh."
"Celebrating something, angel?"
"No. Well- well, no. It was an accident."
Lanky legs unfolded from the loveseat, Crowley crossing to him to take one of the flutes. Aziraphale stayed quite happily trapped in golden eyes. He would never, in any way, ask that Crowley sacrifice comfort and stop wearing his sunglasses, but he'd enjoy every moment wherein he could see Crowley himself and not a reflection of his own image, distorted and shadowed.
"Didn't change the whole bottle, did you?"
"Hm? Oh!" Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, pleased to see the bottle of lovely rosé they were supposed to be enjoying was still in its place. "No. I'll repour."
"S'fine, angel. What got you happy enough to accidentally swap for champagne?"
"Nothing." Oh, yes, amusement he knew well. It was so close to mischief, they may as well have been the same, especially when his lips curled just so. He made quite the picture, his demon.
"Angel," he purred, and there was the glint.
"Stop that. You won't tempt me, you wily old serpent."
"It's not a temptation if I'm goading you into something righteous. Honesty is not a sin, last I checked."
"You have that look in your eyes, so stop."
"Maybe I should put the shades back on."
"No!" he exclaimed, surprising them both. Aziraphale quickly cleared his throat. "I mean, ah... That's hardly necessary."
"That's what did it?"
"Oh, no."
"My eyes?"
"Please stop."
"You've seen those trillions of times!"
Aziraphale gulped from his flute, letting the bubbles explode pleasantly over his tongue as a way to buy himself time from this embarrassment. He didn't swallow or answer until Crowley cupped his chin and tipped his head back, brows arched over his eyes. No temptation, no amusement, just patient curiosity.
"Not recently. Not until you're already drunk. Which I certainly don't hold against you in any way. Your sunglasses are quite thoroughly your style, and I do appreciate them. And if they make you comfortable, I could hardly begrudge-"
"I forget they're on my face," he admitted, interrupted the tidal wave of explanation.
There was a beat. "Pardon?"
Crowley smiled. "I forget I'm wearing the shades, angel. They only provide actual shade when they're supposed to. Inside, they know better. When I'm drunk, they just stop cooperating."
"Ah."
"Did you think I wasn't comfortable showing my eyes to you?"
"I had thought that perhaps... Well..."
Amusement came right back, but it held a deep well of fondness. It held more, the sweet tendrils so clear when his eyes were bare and they drew Aziraphale like a moth to flame. "I just forget, angel. If you want to see my eyes, you only have to remind me to take them off. Or," he added, knowing his angel well, "I'll just make a better effort to recall. Alright?"
"Yes. Yes, I believe that's very fair."
Aziraphale beamed as their glasses clinked together, their mutual understanding as pleasing as the look in Crowley's eyes. It, too, was a reflection of himself, though not at all distorted or shadowed. It was quite pleasing, actually.
Featuring: One of my many many ideas on when Aziraphale was created and how he and Crowley fit into the whole Fall thing.
----
He'd had stranger thoughts, in his opinion. He gazed skyward or, more accurately, Heavenward, and considered the errant thought. It was very possible. It would certainly explain why he hadn't Fallen and why Crowley didn't quite carry his demonic nature as strongly as the rest did. Why he was allowed a bit of kindness and why Aziraphale was allowed a bit of...
Well, Crowley had called a bit of a bastard but Aziraphale preferred to think he had a touch of mischief.
In any case, his conclusions helped him with an issue he'd been ignoring since the beginning but had truly been grappling with since the Second World War. He, an angel, loved a demon. And part of him had been waiting to Fall ever since. He'd waited for the cracks to form, for his wings to blacken with char.
And yet...
And yet.
"Seen something we should be worried about, angel?" Crowley's eyes narrowed. "It is you, isn't it?"
"Yes, my dear, of course. I was merely contemplating."
There was a moment, Crowley staring at him as if trying to see through him. He even pulled down his glasses. Aziraphale merely smiled at him. He had nothing to hide. "Right," Crowley finally said, dropping onto the bench. It was more of a sprawl, really, the way he took over the entire space as if someone would dare join them.
Aziraphale inched closer until his shoe touched Crowley's boot. Crowley shifted a little, his only sign of surprise, and the angel's small smile warmed. "What were you contemplating, then?" Crowley demanded. Had Aziraphale not known him so well, he never would've noticed the slight gruffness of his tone.
"The ineffable plan."
That snapped Crowley out of it. He groaned. "Come on, Aziraphale. I thought we weren't gonna talk about that anymore."
Aziraphale lifted his brows. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"The fact that I don't wanna talk about it anymore."
"Oh... Pish-posh."
"'Pish-posh?'" he echoed incredulously.
"It means-"
"I know what it bloody means. Don't say it to me. You always talk like-" He stopped dead when Aziraphale simply laid a finger over his lips. It took a full three seconds - Aziraphale counted each of them - for Crowley to lean back in shock. "That- Aziraphale, that was actually rude."
"Yes, it was. It did seem a bit necessary, though." Instead of sitting back up and placing his hand in his lap, Aziraphale laid it on Crowley's leg. "I've also learned that a bit of... temptation is necessary. Now and again."
"Ngk."
Wonderful. Aziraphale smiled brightly. "You know I didn't come into being after the Fall, don't you?"
It was another three seconds. "Wot?"
"I know you and I never met. I didn't meet any of the angels until afterwards. God said I was an angel, gave me all the details I suspect She gave to everyone when they were created, and then said I was to go to Eden. She only said that I must stay until She called me back up. She would have a gift for me."
He paused, waiting to see if Crowley was actually paying attention or still focusing on the fact that the angel was touching his thigh. "The flaming sword," he said, solving that mystery.
"Precisely. I did stay as I was told. I watched the sign go up on the very tree you complained about when we first met and I found a nice spot of dust when asked. It became Adam, you see, and I was quite proud of that. I still am even though God rather quickly decided She should make a better model using some spare piece of Adam and then Eve was born. I enjoyed them very much, you know."
"I know. What's this got to do with the insufferable plan?"
"It-" Aziraphale sighed at him. "Ineffable."
"It can be both."
"Now don't go around poking fun at the Almighty."
"Poking fun at you."
Aziraphale decided to ignore that. "Now whilst I was in Eden, I began to hear the battle. The humans couldn't go over the wall, as you know, but I liked to walk it at night. I've always enjoyed looking at the stars."
"I know that too."
Aziraphale squeezed his thigh to say two very important things: 1) You know me very well, my dear, and I like that about you, and 2) Shut. Up. "As I was saying, I heard the battle. I was very concerned, obviously. There were only my fellow angels, God, and these two humans about. Not counting the animals. But I did as I'd been told. I stayed in the garden and I waited to be called. I didn't want to leave Adam and Eve behind. They were so... innocent, then. Naive, really. I didn't want them to be hurt.
"Finally, I was called back up. I finally met the other angels and, to be perfectly honest, I was shocked to find I didn't like them. Not one of them."
Crowley cocked his head. "Even then? You always acted as if you liked them."
"It was the right thing to do. We were all angels. God had yet to tell me about the Fall. But the others did. Michael especially. Adored bragging how they'd kicked Lucifer right in the face and sent him and his followers down beneath the Earth. It was a new place called Hell."
Crowley sucked his teeth. "Right. I remember that. Uriel blinded him and Gabriel yelled something stupid. Then Michael swoops down and there y'are. War's over. Everyone fell hard and I just... Well, I didn't have much choice. I was going anyway. Knew that."
"That's something I wondered. Did you fight in the war?"
Crowley wrinkled his nose. "No. Why would I want to go and do something stupid like that? I watched from a respectable distance. Not my fault all my friends were on the losing side, but down I went anyway."
"Were you told to?"
Brow furrowing, Crowley stared at him. "I just told you all my friends were on the losing side. Not my friends anymore, obviously. Lucifer became a right tosser the moment he changed his name to Satan and all the rest decided to get their revenge or whatever. I was never really down for it."
"Crowley, please, were you told to Fall?"
"Not in so many words, no. It was just kind of expected. I'd asked the same questions that started the fighting even if I didn't participate in that bit. All the angels were prats and the now-demons were just as bad suddenly. I didn't care about the humans up here, but being in the middle seemed a lot better than being in Hell."
"So would you say... that you made the choice of your own Free Will? Just as I've discovered that I gave my sword away of my own Free Will? Twice now, mind you. I've chosen Earth over Heaven twice. And I haven't Fallen."
Crowley sneered. "Right. Yeah. Look a bit more smug about it."
"No, my dear, you don't understand. When we were created, what were we told about Free Will?"
Crowley let out a long-suffering sigh as if he was tired of talking about the past. Aziraphale didn't blame him, but he did inch a little closer. Their knees touched. "We were told we didn't have it. What's the point of-?"
"But don't we?"
"Don't we what?"
"Have Free Will. I suppose as a demon, you could say that your lot stole Free Will and that's why you fell."
"Well, duh."
"No, no, no. Pay attention, Crowley. I am not a Fallen Angel."
"I know that. Stop rubbin' it in, you..." Aziraphale saw the moment it clicked, Crowley tipping his glasses down to give him that narrow-eyed stare again. "You think angels were designed with Free Will, then told we didn't have it. You think God planned the bloody Fall?"
"Well, you can't very well have good without evil. And, I think, you can't live a very full life without the knowledge of both."
"They should've eaten the apple."
"They were always supposed to eat the apple, my dear. You're my apple."
Crowley sucked in a sharp breath. "S'cuse me?"
Aziraphale scooted closer. Crowley had to adjust his legs so their sides could press flush together. "Out of all the intelligent beings in Heaven and Earth, you and I and the humans didn't fight. You took your Free Will and made a responsible decision and then you came to the garden and did the right thing. You've always done the right thing by me. Haven't you?"
Crowley grunted. Aziraphale decided it was an agreement. "There, you see? You're my apple. When I received the sword, God said 'Beware the snake in the garden.' I've been bewaring ever since, but... Well, what did you say on the wall? Not very subtle. Yes. I suppose I am very much slower than you are in some things, Crowley, and this very much appears to be one of them. But I've decided I should take a bite."
Oh, wait, no, that sounded- "A metaphorical one, I mean. I- I'm not actually going to bite you."
"Why not?"
Aziraphale huffed, unamused by his little smirk. His speech was basically ruined now. May as well just say it. "I love you. And, I think, whether or not I knew it, I always have."
"And, ah, you think that's part of the ineffable plan?"
"I don't know."
"Wot."
He spread his hands, beaming. "I don't know, my dear. It isn't my business to know and it isn't yours. We're here to make choices and take our sides. I've taken Earth's side and, just as importantly, I've taken ours. I don't know the ineffable plan, but I know I love you."
"And you tell me that on a park bench?"
Aziraphale leaned over, kissing his cheek. The lenses on his sunglasses cracked and the angel only smiled. "It's a beautiful day. I thought it would be rather romantic."
"Oh, don't start thinking about romance. We've gotten on just fine without all that."
Aziraphale brought a quick miracle, fixing his sunglasses. "You saved my books from a bomb."
"That- That wasn't romantic. That was-"
"You made Hamlet extremely popular."
"You liked it. It doesn't really matter like-"
"Saved me from a French guillotine."
"What was I supposed to do? Let you get all discorporated?"
He looked like he was going to crawl right over the back of the bench. Aziraphale kissed his cheek again. "Brought me chocolates for my store opening and, even though I don't know how, I do know you were the one who convinced head office to forego my returning to Heaven."
"Well, I- That-"
"That was very sweet of you."
"Stop that," Crowley protested.
"You mischievous darling."
"Oi!"
Aziraphale kissed him again, soundly this time and right on the mouth. Crowley made some sort of indecipherable sound that only made Aziraphale giggle. "I suppose it's good I didn't tell you before the Apocalypse. Your brain seems to have been turned to porridge."
"Mush."
"What?"
"The expression. It's turned to mush."
"Hm. I prefer porridge."
"You would."
They sat silently for a few seconds, Aziraphale smiling as ducks swam across the pond. Clouds continue to roll across the bright blue sky, and Aziraphale's halo stayed intact. He wanted it to.
Crowley's stayed broken because he wanted it to. "I love you too, y'know."
He almost choked on the bourbon, but could’ve and would’ve blamed it on the tobacco smoke in the air. The pub was dimly lit enough to be a safe meeting spot, though, and the food good enough to have turned the brief meeting into a meal together. “You want to do what?”
“Open a bookshop.” Aziraphale smiled brightly across the table after dabbing his lips with a kerchief. “I think it would be lovely to have a permanent place for all of my books. I’ve somehow collected so many, you see.”
Oh, he knew. Aziraphale treated each one like a child, particularly the books of prophecy, but he’d been hoarding volumes ever since the disaster at the library of Alexandria. It was why the idea of him having a shop was so startling. That much constant human interaction on a singular basis and having to part with his precious tombs? It wasn’t merely startling; it was insane. “But you'll sell them.”
“Well.” Aziraphale pursed his lips, not quite looking at Crowley. They were some of his favorite moments, those times where he could watch his mind work. “Preferably not, but if I'm going to have a shop, I should at least give them a sporting chance. The serious buyers will sort themselves out.”
Crowley smiled, slow and small, but his eyes glittered with delight behind his sunglasses. “You’re going to actively discourage them?”
“Now I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale replied, hands moving as if to press the suggestion down. “I only mean that I won’t make it... easy. I’ll complicate things in the shop. I’ve already thought of several wonderful ideas. The organizational system, for one. I- Oh.” He stopped himself, hands fluttering. “Oh, I apologize, my dear fellow. I certainly don’t wish to bore you with the details.”
“No, it’s not boring.” It was mischievous. It was bordering on wicked, even, and Crowley had to know everything. “Tell me.”
“Well... Are you sure?”
“Angel, I’d love to know every detail. I know a thing or two about testing humans too, y’know. If you want some feedback.”
Aziraphale looked down, back up, and his smile returned with a giddy wiggle. All delight over an angel’s wickedness aside, it had been too long since he’d seen this angel be quite so happy about something. It made Crowley tip forward, elbow on table and chin in hand as he listened as if he could possibly get closer to that much joy. All over a bookshop. Well then.
