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“Peas in a pod,” the Doctor hears Crowley say, almost to himself, as Aziraphale sits back down next to him. “That’s what there are always two of.”
As she rejoins the Doctor, Rose puts her hand in his again. His whole body sings with relief; bless that angel of a man and whatever he said to her, because she seems, for now, to have forgiven him for his cowardice. Her storm-gray eyes are kind, as they always are; he wonders if he deserves that kindness, as he always does.
“Come on,” he says, pulling her close with one hand and pointing up at the sky with another. “It’s almost time.”
***
A story about choosing your face wisely.