“the taste of dried-up hopes” 2/3
Aziraphale can't quite believe what he's seeing at first, when the shadows mold themselves into a lithe, lanky figure at the other end of the church, hopping and jumping like a bead of water on a hot griddle. He knows immediately who it is, of course; he could never mistake that silhouette. He just can't bring himself to believe that this is actually happening.
He feels the weight of all the years between them suddenly lift, and oh, it's not until this moment that he realizes just how heavy they've been. It's been eighty years since their fight, and he'd started to give up hope of ever seeing the demon again. He'd thought it was over between them. And yet--
Despite all Aziraphale's cruel words, Crowley came for him. Unasked, unexpected, he's come to the rescue yet again.
Hope rises in his throat, bright and sweet after the sharp pain of Rose's betrayal. Perhaps-- just perhaps-- he's gotten his backup after all.
Aziraphale catches himself, then. No, no. He's being foolish. Crowley is not here for a rescue, surely. Crowley is a demon, after all, and terrible deeds are afoot, tonight. Surely Aziraphale has only been caught in the other half of this betrayal, and Crowley is only here for these Nazi conspirators.
They haven't spoken in decades. After everything he said... Aziraphale knows better than to expect forgiveness. There's no reason Crowley should be here for him. Likely it's just an unfortunate coincidence.
Only, Crowley looks at him as if he's gone mad when he says as much, and his tone is insulted. I just didn't want to see you embarrassed.
It's too much. He can't think about what it means, that Crowley came here for him, even after all this time, just to spare him embarrassment. The hope in his chest that he's done his best to tamp down flares back to life, and he shivers at the strength of it. It's too much, too fast; his heart aches with the taste of all the possibilities he'd given up on, that suddenly seem once again within reach.
It's a relief to return his focus to the humans, to have Crowley ask him for a favor in return. A welcome distraction from the way his heart swells in his chest.
He reaches out with his power, easily finding the bomb that's hurtling down towards them, and raises a shield around himself and Crowley, just in time. The earth shakes underneath them, and the world disappears for a moment in the roar of the explosion and the terrible crash of the walls collapsing in around them. When the air clears again, there's nothing left but the two of them standing in a wide swath of smoking rubble.
And then-- oh, and then--
Crowley walks away from him, picking his way through the rubble, and all Aziraphale can do is stare after him, stunned and speechless. He can feel the weight of the leather bag in his hand, rough and worn, but it doesn't feel quite real. Nothing feels quite real. It's as if they've stepped outside of time, into their own private universe. Someplace beyond the boundaries of their opposing sides, where all the rules and limitations that have always kept them apart can no longer touch them.
The books. Crowley saved the books. It's an impossible kindness, and impossible to mistake for anything but what it really is: a declaration, so loud and clear that even Aziraphale's doubting heart can't mistake it.
Crowley loves him. And he-- oh. He loves Crowley, too; utterly and completely.
He has been so very, very foolish.
