Chapter Text
The year is 2001. Or, more precisely, it’s the end of 2001. December 31st. New Year’s Eve. Nearly six thousand years have passed since the creation of the world, and nearly eighteen years will pass before the supposed end of it. But no one on Earth knows that, yet, so it’s probably best not to worry about it.
Aziraphale has much bigger things to worry about right now. He’s in quite the pickle. The same pickle he’s gotten himself into every year since modern celebrations of the New Year started growing larger and more ferocious. He’s hungry, and every single restaurant in London is packed. Even trying to order take out is impossible because everyone else in the entire country is also ordering take out. So he has to scour the city for somewhere that will take his order. And before you ask, yes, this is easier than cooking himself something. Anything is easier than cooking when you don’t have a kitchen.
He just wishes he would remember to make reservations beforehand. You can only miracle yourself dinner so many times before you get a memo from upstairs telling you to knock it off.
Thus, he scours.
It hasn’t been winter for very long, so it’s impossible to make a statement for the whole of it, but so far, it’s been underwhelming. Cold, but not as cold as it could be. Snowy, but not as snowy as it could be. Aziraphale, bundled against the weather for no other reason than to keep up appearances, strolls down the street, marveling once again at how quickly the sun sets in the winter. He’s been on Earth for just about as long as it’s existed, and he knows more about it than any human could, but still, this planet will never cease to amaze him. He breathes out a white cloud of steam, watching as it slowly dissipates. It’s the little things that charm him. The tiny quirks of life. Of humanity. God made everything and everyone in Her image, so why shouldn’t he enjoy it? He, of all people, places, things, and ideas, should appreciate it the most, because he understands the value of everything this world has to offer.
Which includes, among other things, delicious meals. Meals he knows other people are enjoying based on the amalgam of pleasant smells wafting through the air. If his stomach could growl, it would, and with a new persistence, he strolls on, determined to secure one of those meals for himself. Hopefully before the New Year officially arrives.
After several failed attempts, he stumbles into a cozy little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that, at first glance, might have been mistaken for some kind of sport’s bar or gentlemen’s lounge. Thankfully, in his desperation, he read the establishment’s sign carefully to confirm that it is, indeed, a place that serves food and only food. No funny business.
The interior is much warmer than the outside world, likely thanks to the lit fireplace in one of the far corners. None of the furniture matches, and the presence of both mounted taxidermy animal heads and brightly colored abstract paintings makes it difficult to determine the “theme” of the restaurant. But maybe, in a really post-modern way, that’s the point.
Compared to every other place he’s tried, this one is relatively empty. A few handfuls of people, many of them couples, sit at the mismatched tables with their mismatched chairs and mismatched cutlery, eating entrees that look impeccably well put together. Even fewer people sit at the bar, but that’s mostly because the bar has fewer seats. Light conversation floats throughout the air, and every so often a burst of laughter will rise above the quiet clinking of glass and silverware.
It smells a bit musty in that way old (and often damp) things do, but Aziraphale hardly notices. It’s a smell he’s gotten used to after hoarding rare books for the last couple centuries. (Although, he will brag that he’s kept his books in such good condition that none of them have any fraction of water damage.)
The host, standing at a small podium right by the door, nods at Aziraphale and says, “Table for one, sir?”
Aziraphale smiles and begins to remove his extra layers. “Yes, please, thank you--”
That’s when he spots her. Sipping scotch at the bar in a black pantsuit and heels so sharp they could cut a man’s throat. And maybe they have. Golden straps shaped like snakes slither up her ankles, matching the bracelets that peek out from under her sleeves. Her hair is long and auburn. It looks effortlessly windswept like she just stepped out of a beach photoshoot. Her lipstick is charcoal black, her jawline is cut from stone, and she couldn’t have better cheekbones if she tried. She’s terrifying in every sense of the word. Not the kind of person Aziraphale would normally associate with. But there’s something strikingly familiar about her.
And he’s only ever known one person to wear such perfectly circular retro sunglasses.
“Crowley?”
He says the name loud enough for the host to give him an odd look, but the woman doesn’t respond. Either she didn’t hear, or she’s not who he thinks she is.
But what are the odds?
He takes a few more steps toward her, fully disengaging from the host, awkwardly holding his scarf and extra coat, and when he’s within speaking distance he says, a bit louder, “Crowley? Is that you?”
The woman’s posture stiffens, and her grip on her drink tightens, but she doesn’t turn to face him. She just keeps staring at the dirty little TV behind the bar playing news coverage of the New Year around the world. For a moment, Aziraphale wonders if he’s got it all wrong. What if he’s wrong, and he’s making some poor stranger uncomfortable?
He frets over this silently until he notices something underneath her hair. A small, winding pattern etched into the side of her face. That’s when he becomes certain that she absolutely did hear him.
She’s just trying very hard to pretend she didn’t.
He can’t fathom why. They didn’t leave each other on bad terms the last time they spoke. Granted, the last time they spoke, she wasn’t a she, but he doesn’t see why that would change anything. Perplexed, forgetful of his hunger, and suddenly empty-handed, he comes up directly beside her and says, “Crowley, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but--"
Finally, she looks at him and snaps, “Would you keep your voice down? Just broadcast that name to the whole bloody world, why don’t you?”
The low rumble of her voice sends a small shock down his spine. This catches him off guard because a woman’s voice has never elicited such a response from him. Then again, he thinks, this is Crowley, and Crowley is the only one who’s ever been able to do that in the first place.
“What?” he says, quieter this time. He takes a seat on the stool next to hers and leans in so their conversation can be more hushed. “What are you talking about? And what are you doing? I’ve never seen you so…” he grapples for something to say and ends up motioning vaguely toward her body.
This makes her snort. “So what? Woman-shaped?”
“Yes, exactly! Woman-shaped.” He nods to himself. “Not that that’s a bad thing, not at all, it’s just… new.”
“I suppose it is new,” she says. She downs the rest of her scotch and turns to face him. Some of the annoyance has left her expression. Not all of it, but some. At the very least, she’s more relaxed than she was a moment ago. Raising an arm, she waves two fingers at the bartender, thanking him when he brings two more glasses of alcohol and whisks the empty one away. She keeps one for herself and pushes the other toward Aziraphale, who looks at it, but doesn’t take it.
“Go on,” she says.
“Not until you explain to me what’s going on.”
She groans, her head lolling back. “You’re still on that? I thought we’d moved on from it.”
“Moved on from it? We haven’t talked about it all!” He narrows his eyes. “Why are you so dodgy? What sorts of evil plans do you have in the works, Crow--”
Her hand shoots up to press one finger against his lips. He quiets immediately, face reddening.
“Shut up with that name,” she hisses. “You have no idea who could be listening.”
He nods slowly, slightly distracted by the warmth of her skin. So much warmer than his. Always has been.
When she thinks he understands, she takes her hand away and says, “If you want an explanation, you’re gonna have to stop calling me that.”
He gathers enough of his wits to be a little indignant. “Then what am I to call you?”
“Tonya.”
“Tonya,” he echoes. He says it slowly, considering the way each syllable feels in his mouth. She stares back at him like she’s waiting for his verdict, so he nods a bit and says, “It’s nice. Ah, pretty.”
Seemingly satisfied, Tonya exhales and takes a sip of her drink. “Alright. Where to begin?”
“The beginning?” Aziraphale offers.
Tonya gives him a look, and he realizes she meant the question rhetorically. In an attempt to save face, he clears his throat and waits for her to continue.
And after a small pause, she does.
“If we’re talking from the very beginning,” she says, “I started taking this shape a few decades ago, in the late sixties. Wasn’t long after you’d… well, you remember.”
Aziraphale does. He remembers very well. Yet another thing to speak in hushed tones about. Yet another moment tied up in confusion, frustration, and some sort of hard to taste but lingering bitter-sweetness. He risked everything he had to get that holy water. He put every ounce of his trust into the demon to use it responsibly. And then he said the one sentence he’s never been able to forget:
“You go to fast for me, Crowley.”
That sentence haunts him. It’s stayed with him, tirelessly, every moment since he said it, and he’s never been able to shake it off. How could he? It’s the most up front he’s ever been about his feelings. It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to a confession, but, as usual, all the things he really wanted to say got caught in his throat, all snagged on sadness and anxiety because any proper declaration of his feelings, he’s sure, would ultimately lead to their deaths. Not discorporations. Deaths. And he couldn’t let that happen to Crowley. Or Tonya. As much as he wishes he could keep up with them, as much as he wants to run up and take them into his arms and never let them stray away from him again, it’s better that they stay apart. He’d rather live and admire them from afar than die and never see them again.
Although, he can tell from the way Tonya clenches her jaw that she feels much differently than he does.
“Anyway,” she says, “I’d blocked out a lot of my schedule for that heist, so after cancelling it I had a lot of free time on my hands. I was a bit bored, a bit restless, had a lot of extra energy, so I decided, hey, why not reinvent my entire image for a day? That sounds fun, right? So, without much of a plan in mind, I just started experimenting. Went through loads of hairstyles and outfits, tons of them, really, but nothing felt quite right until I got the idea that maybe my whole form was off. That’s when I thought, y’know, I’ve never tried looking like a woman before. Maybe I should. Could be fun. And, as I found out, it was! Sometimes I go to bars, or restaurants, or other public places, and I just go about my business. I once went to the beach in a bikini, if you can believe it, and I loved it. It’s so fun. Looking like this and acting like this, it’s unbelievably fun. And comfortable. And… right.”
She takes a moment to drink, and Aziraphale notices she seems slightly breathless. Then, he realizes he’s quite a bit breathless himself. Tonya hasn’t noticed, though. She’s off in her own little world right now.
“I mean, it doesn’t feel right all the time. I don’t like to be woman-shaped all the time, but some of the time, it’s really nice, and I like it a lot. Just existing like this makes me feel good,” she says. Her cheeks are rosy. It could be the alcohol, but it’s probably not. And Aziraphale can’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, but it seems like she isn’t looking straight at him. “And, another perk I’ve noticed is that when I’m in this shape, Hell doesn’t contact me.”
Aziraphale breaks out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in. “What?”
“I know!” Tonya exclaims, almost slapping the bar but thinking better of it. “And I mean, to be fair, I try really hard to avoid points of contact when I’m in this shape, like my flat, and my car.” A shadow of longing passes over her face. “But it’s not like those are the only ways they can reach me, right? And I’ve never heard a thing from them. Not a word. Zip. Nada. I was confused until I realized something: No one expects reports from me. They expect reports from a male-shaped version of me. So as long as I look like a woman, it feels like I’m… Free. It feels like I can walk around and do whatever I want because I’m free. No one demands anything of me. No temptations. No blessings. I get to exercise free will, so instead of being a demon pretending to be a human, I can pretend I actually am a human, if that makes any sense. Cuz humans don’t have to worry about the powers that be unless they really want to. They just get to exist and make whatever choices they want, good or bad. It’s exhilarating. I’ve actually been tossing around the idea of getting another little flat to hang around in when I’m in this shape, just to have somewhere to stay long term if I feel like it, but I digress.”
Digress she does, but Aziraphale is so struck he doesn’t notice. He can’t completely understand what she’s talking about, as he’s never taken any shape other than his current one, but he can sympathize. He can certainly sympathize. “Is that so?”
She nods. “Maybe it’s all a bit ridiculous, but--”
“No!” Aziraphale interjects. She looks at him in surprise, and he continues, “It’s not ridiculous. Maybe dangerous, maybe very dangerous, but… You’re sure Hell has no idea?”
“Mostly sure. Ninety-five percent sure.”
“Alright.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath, holds it, then exhales slowly. “And this truly makes you happy?”
Her expression softens considerably. “It does.”
“Then I support you.”
The silence that spreads between them is warm and sweet as maple syrup on fresh pancakes. Tonya smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile born of something other than sarcasm or bitterness, and for that, Aziraphale is thankful. He smiles back, and finally, he takes a sip of his drink.
Then Tonya asks, “What are you doing out here, anyway? A bit far from home, aren’t you?”
“Ah, yes, I suppose I am,” he says. “See, I was looking for somewhere to eat.”
She raises an eyebrow. “On New Year’s Eve?”
Aziraphale pouts. “The date snuck up on me.”
“Maybe you should invest in a planner. Or a calendar.”
“I have a calendar!”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, you haven’t been over in a while.”
The corner of Tonya’s mouth twists downward. Aziraphale worries he’s brought up a sore subject, but to his surprise, Tonya says, “We’ll have to fix that, then, won’t we?”
Aziraphale stammers for a moment before nodding. “Ah, yes. Yes, we will.”
“But before that,” she says, standing up, “you must still be hungry. How about some dinner? My treat.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask--”
“Angel,” she says, and Aziraphale melts.
“Well, alright… Thank you, Cr--” He catches himself just in time. “I mean, Tonya. Thank you, Tonya.”
She just about grins.
“It’s my pleasure, anyway,” she says. After placing some money on the bar to pay for their drinks, she motions for Aziraphale to follow her toward the dining section. “At least this way I'll have someone to kiss at midnight.”
Aziraphale, who had been trying to finish the rest of his drink, chokes and flushes scarlet. He can’t tell whether or not she’s joking.
He also can’t tell whether or not he wants her to be joking.
They sit at a table for two after that, dining and chatting in that easy way they’ve always been able to. And as they do, Aziraphale’s mind begins to wander. He thinks over everything Tonya described, and he wonders what it must feel like to live like that, to live free from the pressures of heavenly appearance. Of course he loves Heaven. Of course he has very strong faith in Heaven. But what would it be like to live a day out of sight?
What would it be like to live a day in a different shape?
These thoughts float listlessly around in his mind for the rest of the night, all throughout dinner, and dessert, and second dessert, and three glasses of wine, and the walk back to his book shop, and the several hours he and Tonya spend there, well past midnight and everything it has to offer.