Chapter Text
(Y'ALL!! This chapter now has GORGEOUS art by thelasthomelyurl (AO3 link, here's the tumblr link)--read all the way to the end for this lovely treat!!)
Text conversation, Crowley’s phone, December 25, 2019
3:30pm (London time)
Kami the Nerd: <Merry Christmas!!!>
You: <Who the Heaven tells a demon Merry Christmas???>
Kami the Nerd: <Oh right, you’re in the UK. HAPPY Christmas!>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <Aziraphale says I have to tell you thank you, we’re having a lovely holiday and we hope you are too.>
Kami the Nerd: <Did you get the mug for him???>
You: <Of course I got the mug for him, I’m a demon, we run most of Amazon>
(Aziraphale was currently drinking peppermint cocoa from a Not Today Satan mug. Well, strictly speaking, he was letting the peppermint cocoa get cold while he debated over where to display the handmade ornament bought from a breakfast café in Atlanta that specialized in Southern classics and also new favorites.)
3:35pm
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <You said you were getting the portraits framed for Xmas, send me a pic!>
You: <Merry Christmas to you too>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Who tells a demon Merry Christmas???>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <Aziraphale says I have to tell you the portraits are “quite simply lovely,” and we hope you’re having a delightful holiday>
You: <image sent>
(The portraits were framed together in the back room of the bookshop, an angel and a demon gazing at each other across the millennia, one golds and creams and whites, one greens and reds and blacks. Aziraphale said it made the whole room feel steeped in love. Crowley said it made him itch, and tried unsuccessfully to limit his staring at it to times when Aziraphale wasn’t looking.)
3:40pm
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Did you schedule that nail appointment yet? Tell Aziraphale I said Merry Christmas.>
You: <What, I don’t get a Merry Christmas???>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Did you schedule the nail appointment???>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <it’s on the 28th>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Good. Merry Christmas!>
You: <Who tells a demon Merry Christmas???>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <Aziraphale says I have to tell you that we hope you and your family are having a wonderful holiday, to tell your grandmother (again) that the tamales were scrumptious, and that no we haven’t found any in England that are remotely close to as good>
3:45pm
You: <Merry Christmas>
Professor KC: <Who tells a witch Merry Christmas???>
You: <Aziraphale said I had to>
Professor KC: <Since you’re in England, shouldn’t it be HAPPY Christmas?>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <How’s your mom doing with the grant application?>
Professor KC: <She’s in full deadline mode. Wouldn’t eat or sleep if her grad student and I didn’t make her.>
You: <Aziraphale says “oh dear” and wants me to express concern that our “little scheme” may have resulted in an unsatisfactory Christmas for you>
Professor KC: <Tell him that A) I don’t celebrate Christmas, B) He worries too much, and C) I’m going over to Reya’s in a few minutes for Christmas lunch, Maya’s this evening for Christmas dinner, and Kami’s tomorrow for day-after-Christmas brunch.>
You: <A) I’m sure Kami knows that’s called Boxing Day, B) Aziraphale is very relieved, and C) Don’t go summoning anything if you get bored between all the not-celebrating>
Professor KC: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <happy solstice or whatever>
Professor KC: <Thanks, happy whatever to you too>
(The “little scheme” involved a grant that had abruptly become available, strikingly well-suited to Kasey’s mother’s area of anthropological expertise, that would require travel to the Oxfordshire area for some weeks in the summer to study certain suddenly-unearthed artifacts. Coincidentally, an independent pre-university study course in “Occult and Prophetic Literature” would also become available at that time in the nearby village of Tadfield. Aziraphale was perhaps a little too excited about helping Anathema develop a syllabus.)
8:00pm
You: <btw, Aziraphale thinks it’s a good idea for you to practice occult-style Latin or whatever before this summer>
Professor KC: <I don’t actually have any occult-style Latin lying around, since you took the book, remember?>
You: <image sent>
You: <Here’s a sample. Something to look at if you get bored before brunch tomorrow.>
Professor KC: <That’s…an interesting choice. Was that sample your idea?>
You: <Me? Course not. I don’t read Latin, remember?>
(The book in question was currently resting on Crowley’s legs, which were resting on Aziraphale’s lap. The rest of Crowley was sprawled down the length of the couch in the back room. Aziraphale sipped his cocoa primly as he peered through his spectacles and continued to make his way through the book. “Very clever, sending pictures through the telephone lines,” he mused. “Was that one of yours or one of ours?”)
Text conversation, Crowley’s phone, January 1, 2020
3:30pm (London time)
Kami the Nerd: <Happy New Year! So…my dad was saying something yesterday at supper that I think was going to be a homophobic joke, and instead he had a coughing fit?>
You: <Sounds like he got what he deserved>
Kami the Nerd: <It…kinda looked like what the truth lock did to you?>
You: <Fascinating>
Kami the Nerd: <What did you do?????>
You: <Aziraphale says to tell you we wish you a lovely New Year, and that while he hopes your father is physically well, he is very pleased that he wasn’t able to complete whatever he was trying to say, and he hopes that he very soon...nm, can’t keep up w him, basically that your dad gets his head out of his...he says I can’t say that word, but u know what I mean>
Kami the Nerd: <What did AZIRAPHALE do???????>
You: <No idea what you’re talking about. Coughing fits—not really our style. Specially not from across the bloody ocean. Sounds more occult to me.>
Kami the Nerd: <OMG>
Kami the Nerd: <What did KASEY do????????>
You: <I wouldn’t call attention to it if I were you>
Kami the Nerd: <OMG>
You: <Aziraphale would like to know how the weather is in Atlanta this New Year’s Day, and whether you have any plans?>
Kami the Nerd: <eyeroll emoji>
Kami the Nerd: <Fine>
Kami the Nerd: <Tell him it’s raining, and Maya’s doing a Doctor Who marathon with me!!>
Kami the Nerd: <That’s a TV show>
You: <From the 60s? 70s maybe. Fellow with a lot of teeth?>
Kami the Nerd: <The modern version, silly. You should watch it. Pretty sure Aziraphale would like the 10th Doctor.>
3:34pm
You: <Latin practice coming along, then?>
Professor KC: <thumbs-up emoji>
5:15pm
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Send me a pic of your nails!>
You: <Happy New Year to you too>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Do demons say Happy New Year?>
You: <Demons can say whatever they like.>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <image sent>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <thumbs-up emoji>
7:00pm
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Do demons say Happy New Year?>
You: <demons can say whatever they like>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <eyeroll emoji>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Happy New Year!>
You: <How’s the marathon?>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Not bad>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <I’m in it for the company, really>
You: <Know the feeling>
You: <Have you kissed her yet?>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Nosy.>
You: <Yep. Probably part of a demon’s job description.>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <She kissed me, actually>
You: <thumbs-up emoji>
(After that, Aziraphale confiscated Crowley’s phone for the night.)
Text conversation, Crowley’s phone, January 25, 2020
11:30pm (London time)
Kami the Nerd: <So…my mom asked me yesterday night if Maya and I are dating??? Like, she wasn’t mad?? Just kind of…careful?>
You: <Sorry it’s taking so long>
Kami the Nerd: <Long????? It hasn’t even been two months!!!!>
You: <Aziraphale says he’s very pleased to hear about her progress but apologizes for the lengthy process. He doesn’t usually do this sort of thing remotely, he prefers the in-person touch.>
Kami the Nerd: <I figured it would take a few years tbh>
You: <YEARS??? Have a little faith!!!>
Kami the Nerd: <Telling me to have faith in a demon has gotta be a textbook example of some kind of irony>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <I meant in Aziraphale>
Kami the Nerd: <Don't be silly, I have faith in you too.>
You: <Uh>
You: <Sure>
You: <So how’s your dad doing?>
Kami the Nerd: <Still has his head up his ass mostly>
You: <Language!>
You: <shocked emoji>
Kami the Nerd: <eyeroll emoji>
Kami the Nerd: <Shouldn’t you be ENCOURAGING bad language?>
You: <There’s an angel next to me!>
Kami the Nerd: <Sorry, Aziraphale!>
You: <Aziraphale says that you should feel free to express yourself in whatever terms you like about this topic, and he hopes you don’t feel the need to apologize for any language you feel is necessary to do so.>
Kami the Nerd: <Thanks, Aziraphale!>
You: <You’re very welcome, my dear.>
You: <He said to tell you that>
Kami the Nerd: <Yeah, I got that>
You: <Keep sending Kasey that info she asked for>
1:35pm
Professor KC: <Reporting in on Operation Study Hall.>
You: <Heard about Subject A’s progress?>
Professor KC: <Yep. Subject B is still moving slowly, though.>
You: <We’ve heard.>
Professor KC: <But, negative verbal habits, as evidenced by coughing fits, continue to decrease. There was one over the last 7 days. That’s down from an early high of 5 in Week 1.>
You: <Considering that your intervention has only been in place for a month, I suppose that’s good.>
Professor KC: <From a scientific perspective, we’d get clearer data if we just did one intervention at a time. Aziraphale’s intervention may have had a greater impact on Subject A because of differences in the subjects’ reading habits, which means it’s hard to tell whether Subject A was more responsive to MY intervention or was simply more heavily influenced by the literature she was exposed to.>
You: <Aziraphale says that, while he appreciates your scientific-mindedness, he is willing to sacrifice scientific control in this case "in order to facilitate your friends’ happiness, mental well-being, and, well, love.">
Professor KC: <I know, I know, I’m not actually saying we should go slower just for the science.>
Professor KC: <eyeroll emoji>
Professor KC: <I’m actually wondering how we can get Subject B greater exposure to positive influences, since your media intervention and my intervention are primarily negative. Reading isn’t really his leisure activity of choice.>
You: <Aziraphale is wringing his hands a bit and going on about how he can’t MAKE a human make the right decision, they have to CHOOSE the better option, etc.>
Professor KC: <I’m sure he is. Tell him A) To stop worrying so much, B) I have some more human interventions in mind, and C) I’m always up for more occult Latin practice if he finds anything else in that book that might be relevant.>
You: <A) He hasn’t stopped worrying for 6 millennia, but I’ll pass the message along, B) Keep us posted on the human intervention progress, and C) He hasn’t found anything without the risk of…unfortunate side effects, but we’ll keep you posted>
Text conversation, Crowley’s phone, January 26, 2020
8:45pm (London time)
You: <How’s the portfoling coming?>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <It’s coming>
You: <Aziraphale says he sends his warmest encouragement, and wants to express his confidence that whatever you create will be truly lovely>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Thanks, Aziraphale! You’re a sweetheart!>
You: <Hey, I’m a sweetheart too!>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <eyeroll emoji>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <You’d probably throw up if I called you a sweetheart>
You: <That’s not the point>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Hey, all the scholarship submission portfolios are going to be displayed in an art show in May. Y’all should come.>
You: <Crossing the Atlantic for an art show? That’s a little extreme for an angel who barely ever leaves his bookshop, but I’ll see what he thinks>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Trust me, y’all should come. Besides, he crossed the Atlantic for BREAKFAST.>
You: <Well, that’s not surprising. He once crossed the Channel and nearly got himself guillotined for crepes.>
(“Crowley,” Aziraphale said a few minutes later, in a tone that meant he was overthinking something, “you know I didn’t cross the Atlantic for breakfast, don’t you?”
Crowley, finding their place in Doctor Who Season 3, blinked at him. “Course, angel. You didn’t even know breakfast was an option at that point.”
“No—well, yes, that’s true, I suppose.” Aziraphale still looked bothered. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant—well. I crossed the Atlantic for you, my dear.”
“Ehnnngk,” Crowley replied, articulately. “I—y-yeah. I know that, angel.”
“Good,” said Aziraphale with a little nod, and snuggled against Crowley’s side.
“But you did cross the Channel for crepes,” Crowley pointed out.
“Mmm,” Aziraphale said primly, his head against Crowley’s shoulder, where Crowley couldn’t see his face.
“You did; I was there!”
“Mmm-hm. You were indeed.”
“Angel.” Crowley could feel the smugness radiating off of him. “Angel!” He pulled away enough to see his expression. “You really are a bastard,” he said, impressed.
Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, my dear.” He patted Crowley’s thigh. “Are we going to watch the show or not?”)
Text conversation, Crowley’s phone, February 1, 2020
9:00pm (London time)
You: <I’m going to literally die and it’s your fault>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <There is zero chance that any of that sentence is true>
You: <Aziraphale liked your nail polish kit and now he’s making his own kit>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <I’m not seeing a problem>
You: <Imagine Aziraphale saying “My dear, I think the one called ‘Tootti Frootti Booty’ is a lovely shade”>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Laughing emoji>
You: <Yesterday he found one called Let Me See Your Bong. Listening to Aziraphale say “Let Me See Your Bong” is actually literally fatal.>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <More laughing emojis>
You: <And THEN he had to describe it, and I quote, “It’s—what is that lovely word the children are using? Ah yes, ‘trippy.’”>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Even more laughing emojis>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <I bet you invented inappropriate nail polish names>
You: …
Reya5Stripes4Life: <YOU DID DIDNT YOU>
You: …
You: <Might have given someone a nudge in that direction at some point>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <so many laughing emojis>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <So what color are your nails right now? Send me a pic>
You: <It’s called Bling of Fire>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Send me a pic>
You: <Imagine Aziraphale saying “Bling of Fire.” Repeatedly. My lungs still aren’t working right.>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <SEND ME A PIC U DORK>
You: <image sent>
(“Crowley, you simply must come see this shade,” called Aziraphale. “It’s called ‘Baby Got Smack.’ Charming, don’t you think?”
Crowley choked on his wine.)
Text conversation, Crowley’s phone, February 14, 2020
7:45pm (London time)
Kami the Nerd: <Happy Valentine’s Day!>
You: <Saint Valentine was beaten, beheaded, secretly buried, and secretly un-buried, and you humans celebrate by giving each other flowers and chocolate.>
Kami the Nerd: <eyeroll emoji>
Kami the Nerd: <You got that from a meme.>
You: <I invented memes!>
Kami the Nerd: <Really?>
You: <A little. I got a commendation for it, anyway.>
Kami the Nerd: <What did you get Aziraphale?>
You: <Nosy.>
Kami the Nerd: <I’m a 16-year-old girl, it’s in the job description.>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <flowers and chocolate>
You: <What did you get Maya?>
Kami the Nerd: <A book>
You: <How romantic>
Kami the Nerd: <Shut up. It’s an art thing. She’s wanted it for a long time.>
You: <Aziraphale says to tell you it sounds like a lovely gift, and we wish you a delightful Valentine’s Day, with whatever chocolates you like best.>
Kami the Nerd: <Thanks, Aziraphale! You’re a sweetheart! So are you, Crowley.>
You: <Yuck, I’m a demon, not a sweetheart!>
Kami the Nerd: <Whatever. Btw, my dad found out his new favorite newscaster is a lesbian, and it’s kind of blowing his mind.>
You: <That’s interesting.>
Kami the Nerd: <Yep! Also, y’all have to come to Maya’s art show in May!>
8:05pm
You: <Happy Valentine’s Day>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Didn’t St. Valentine get beaten up and beheaded and like secretly buried or something? And we celebrate by giving each other flowers and chocolate?>
You: <You got that from a meme>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <eyeroll emoji>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <I bet you invented memes>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <What did you get Aziraphale?>
You: <Nosy>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <I’m a 16-year-old girl; it’s in the job description>
You: <A book>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <How romantic>
You: <It is if you’ve met him. Which you have. What did you get Kami?>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <I did a sketch of her dog and her cat>
You: <Well that’s not fair, I can’t even make fun of that.>
You: <Aziraphale says that sounds simply beautiful, and we wish you a lovely Valentine’s Day with flowers or chocolate of your choice.>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Thanks Aziraphale! Happy Valentine’s Day to you too!>
You: <I don’t get a Happy Valentine’s Day???>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Oh shut up. Btw, Kami’s mom got her dad one of those books that Aziraphale…whatever Aziraphale did. She told him it’s so he can understand some cousin or someone better, but I’m pretty sure she’s low-key joined the conspiracy.>
You: <Good for her.>
Maya DRAWZZZZ: <Happy Valentine’s Day!>
8:35pm
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Did you get Aziraphale the nail polish???>
You: <Did I mention that I’m going to die and it’s your fault?>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <So he liked it?>
You: <I just finished doing his nails in “Not-That-Kind-of-Whipped Cream”>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <I’m sure he doesn’t know what that means>
You: <OH YES HE DOES>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Laughing emojis>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <What did he do yours in?>
You: <I don’t want to talk about it>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <YES YOU DOOOO>
You: <It’s “Devil With No Blue Dress On”>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <D’awww, you two are so romantic! Send me a pic>
You: <eyeroll emoji>
You: <image sent>
You: <btw, I heard you’re dating Alex now>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Nosy>
You: <send me a pic>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <image sent>
You: <Aziraphale says that you’re a very handsome couple, and we wish you a wonderful Valentine’s Day, and that even if the original Saint Valentine was treated poorly, that’s no reason to avoid celebrating love in the present. And he says I have to tell you thank you very kindly for the nail polish suggestions.>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Thanks, Happy V-Day! Hey, y’all need to come to the art show in May!>
You: <Oh we’re coming. Wouldn’t miss it.>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Be sure you stay long enough to come over for supper again. My grandma wants to see you. I think she has a crush on Aziraphale.>
You: <HE’S TAKEN>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Don’t worry; so’s she. She just wants to feed him tamales and listen to him talk in “that nice old-fashioned Spanish”>
You: <He’s old-fashioned no matter what language he’s talking>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <Ooh, you’re jealous. That’s cute.>
You: <I’m a demon, I’m NOT cute>
Reya5Stripes4Life: <many, many laughing emojis>
9:05pm
Professor KC: <If you send me that meme about Saint Valentine being beheaded, I’ll send your phone a virus.>
You: <Happy V-Day to you too>
Professor KC: <What did Aziraphale get you?>
You: <Flowers.>
Professor KC: <I’m sure that’s not all.>
You: <A record. That’s like a CD, only bigger and made of vinyl>
Professor KC: <Don’t be ridiculous, I know what a record is. What else?>
You: <A picture. You didn’t even ask what I got him.>
Professor KC: <eyeroll emoji>
Professor KC: <Fine, what did you get him?>
You: <Pajamas>
Professor KC: <How romantic>
You: <It is, actually>
Professor KC: <Wait, is that his first set of pajamas?>
You: <It’s his first that aren’t tartan. They’re striped.>
Professor KC: <How daring.>
You: <You’ve met him.>
Professor KC: <Are they flannel?>
You: <Of course they’re flannel.>
Professor KC: <I bet you got him at least five other things.>
You: <I hear Operation Human Option is progressing.>
Professor KC: <Yep. And coughing fits have been at 0 for the past 2 weeks.>
You: <Good to hear. Aziraphale says...actually the same thing as me, for once>
You: <AND he says to have a lovely Valentine’s Day if you choose to celebrate it, and regardless of whether you do, he hopes your weekend is full of the things you like best.>
Professor KC: <Thanks, Aziraphale! Oh, y’all definitely need to come to the art exhibit in May.>
You: <We’re COMING. We promise.>
(The table in the back room held two bottles of wine—they’d each gotten each other wine—and two bouquets that could have been an artist’s subject for a study in contrasts. In fact, they would be soon; Crowley had taken a picture to send to Maya. Aziraphale gently lowered the needle onto a record that he, and nobody else on the planet, would call “bebop.” Propped up nearby was the record’s cover, which was addressed “to A. J. Crowley” and held a number of signatures. He carefully selected a chocolate, picked up his new book, and joined Crowley on the couch, under a newly framed photograph of the Horsehead Nebula.)
May 2020, Atlanta
An angel and a demon meandered through a crowded university exhibit hall.
“She said we’d know which display was hers.” Aziraphale stood on tiptoe in a vain attempt to see more of the room.
“Well, I don’t see how,” Crowley complained. “There’s what, twenty or thirty different kids’ portfoling, portfall…pitfall—big packs of art. How’re we supposed to know which one’s hers? Typical artist, thinking everyone can see the difference between styles or personal influences or whatever it is.”
“My dear, you’ve no idea what a typical artist is like.” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s hand, which was tucked neatly into the crook of his elbow.
Crowley sputtered. “I’ve known at least as many artists as you have! And you’re not the one who’s got the signed Mona Lisa sketch from Leo.”
“But that’s precisely my point, Crowley; Leo was hardly typic—ohhh.”
“Wha—ngk,” said Crowley.
They both came to a halt in the middle of the floor.
“Oh my,” Aziraphale said faintly. “I—I see why she said we’d know which was hers.”
“Uh-huh,” said Crowley.
For a moment, it was like being back in Maya’s basement looking at their memories.
Maya’s submission was called “Lifetimes I’ve Loved You.”
It had seven paintings, each done in a different historical style, but each with the same two figures—one tall, slim, with dark clothing and red hair, the other shorter, rounder, with light-colored clothes and blonde hair.
In six paintings, the two figures never reached each other. In a Roman mosaic, the red-haired one gazed in surprise at the blonde-haired one, who looked away shyly. In a Renaissance style, they were pulled apart by opposing forces in a morality play. In an Impressionist painting, they faced away from each other, both wearing top hats and expressions of mingled anger and grief. In an Art Deco portrait, the blonde-haired figure stared after the red-haired one, reaching an unheeded hand toward his back.
But the seventh—the seventh was done in Maya’s own style, its soft and glowing background showing what Crowley knew to be a breakfast café specializing in Southern classics and also new favorites, decorated with twinkle lights and handmade Christmas ornaments. And in its exquisitely detailed foreground, the red-haired and the blonde-haired figure were joined in a kiss.
Crowley swallowed.
Aziraphale pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes.
“There you are!” An American teenager’s voice and a sheet of blonde hair collided with them. Crowley and Aziraphale both rocked backward and then awkwardly patted Kami’s shoulders until she released them from her hug. “Isn’t it great?” she said happily, gesturing at the paintings. “She’s so good.”
“Ah,” said Aziraphale, still looking a bit dazed, “Yes. They’re…goodness.” He paused and drew himself together. “Hello, my dear,” he said, summoning his beaming smile and bestowing it on Kami. “How are you? And where is Miss Maya? We should very much like to see her as well.”
“Oh, the contestants aren’t allowed in. But Reya and Kasey are somewhere”—
Reya and Kasey, on cue, emerged from the crowd. Kasey nodded to both Aziraphale and Crowley. Reya hugged Aziraphale, smirked at Crowley when he demanded to know why he didn’t get a hug, then hugged him also. Conversation ensued, though Aziraphale’s eyes kept straying to the paintings. Crowley’s did too, although he assumed his sunglasses hid this (he was wrong). It was Reya who eventually suggested that the girls leave Crowley and Aziraphale alone with the paintings.
Their trip to Atlanta lasted longer than they expected. It turned out that Kasey and her mother were due to fly to England for the summer of anthropological (and occult) research in just over a week, and Aziraphale suggested that he and Crowley lengthen their stay “so as to accompany them and ease their arrival.” Crowley wasn’t deceived by this; besides tamales at Reya’s, Atlanta held hundreds of new-to-Aziraphale restaurants to sample. This meant that they were still in town when Maya got news that she had won third place in the art scholarship competition (“Third?” Crowley spluttered indignantly, despite Maya’s repeated reassurances that it didn’t matter, since the top five finishers all received scholarships). They even met Kami’s parents, who, to Crowley’s slight disappointment, did not appear to be in need of any additional terrorizing (they spoke a bit awkwardly but very proudly of the accomplishments of “our daughter’s, um, girlfriend—she’s an artist, very talented”).
“Does that mean,” Crowley said in the middle of a lunch (at a place described as “local and delightfully quirky”), “that Maya was taking pictures the entire time Kasey was making us show our memories together?”
“Well, I’ve no idea,” Aziraphale shrugged, savoring a bite of something called “shrimp ‘n’ grits.”
“You’d think we’d have noticed her having her phone out the whole time, wouldn’t we?”
“Hmm,” said Aziraphale. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I certainly wasn’t looking at her at the time.”
“…Ehh,” said Crowley. “Neither was I, now you mention it. Point taken.”
A few months later, London
Crowley sat bolt upright in bed. “Soccer!”
Aziraphale, comfortable beside him in striped pajamas, looked up from his book. Somewhere to his right, a mug of cocoa had long since grown cold. “For Heaven’s sake, Crowley.”
“It’s the American word for football.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Go back to sleep, dear.”
“Mmmmmm,” said Crowley, flopping back down and burrowing his head against the angel’s soft, flannel-clad side. Then he thought better of that and draped himself over Aziraphale more securely, black silk tangling with cream-and-baby-blue stripes. Aziraphale shifted a bit, then Crowley felt fingers run gently through his hair, a delicate kiss dropped on the top of his head.
Crowley, melting, looked up into his face, with what he’d been assured were puppy-dog eyes. Aziraphale pressed his lips together disapprovingly. “You’re distracting me.”
“Mmm-hm.”
Aziraphale sighed again, closed his book and set it down. Soft, warm fingers tilted Crowley’s chin up; soft, warm lips met his.
The kiss lasted long enough for Crowley’s limbs to finish melting. Aziraphale pulled back, the slimmest fraction of an inch between their lips.
“I love you, my dear,” he murmured.
“Mmmmm,” Crowley replied, and closed the distance between them again. “Love you too, angel.”
~fin~
Maya's portfolio (by thelasthomelyurl):
In a Roman mosaic, the red-haired one gazed in surprise at the blonde-haired one, who looked away shyly.
In a Renaissance style, they were pulled apart by opposing forces in a morality play.
In an Impressionist painting, they faced away from each other, both wearing top hats and expressions of mingled anger and grief.
In an Art Deco portrait, the blonde-haired figure stared after the red-haired one, reaching an unheeded hand toward his back.
But the seventh—the seventh was done in Maya’s own style, its soft and glowing background showing what Crowley knew to be a breakfast café specializing in Southern classics and also new favorites, decorated with twinkle lights and handmade Christmas ornaments. And in its exquisitely detailed foreground, the red-haired and the blonde-haired figure were joined in a kiss.
