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Aziraphale had always enjoyed classical music. He could be found on a lazy morning or afternoon thumbing through a book he has read at least fifty times before with some variant of Bach or Tchaikovsky playing on his worn gramophone. That’s why the letter had surprised Crowley so much.
This particular Friday in 1986 started like any other. Crowley was getting ready to enjoy a day alone in his flat. The plants needed a good startling and who else was going to sit on the uncomfortable furniture and look stoic.
These weeks alone had become a bit of a habit lately. He hadn’t seen- well he has been having all this time to himself since the ‘60s without much of a change in schedule. Sure, he had the odd night out with Lance Corporal Shadwell, but that was mostly to discuss donations for the witchfinder army if anything. When he was particularly bored he would walk through the various night clubs, causing trouble with the late-night crowd.
He was about to throw a fit about the state of a ficus that looked to be on the brink of treason when there was a knock at his door. He cautiously walked towards the sound. Why would someone be calling at his door on a perfectly good afternoon like today? He had so much to do!
He quickly sorted through the options:
It couldn’t be someone from Hell. Six thousand years was nearly up but not quite. Unless they had found out about The Arrangement…
That can’t be it either. He hasn’t seen the Angel since, well, for a long time. Crowley could still sense that he was still on Earth and that was all the reassurance he needed. Or so he told himself.
Crowley swallowed his nerves like a shot of whiskey and looked through the peephole. To his surprise, the only thing awaiting him was disappointment. No one was there to entertain him, to curse him or otherwise. He opened the door and saw an envelope on the mat outside. Anthony J. Crowley was written neatly in cursive on the front. He opened it and read it’s contents:
Dear Anthony,
I hope things are well. I’m trust your plants that you’re ever so fond of are growing splendidly. I’m sure that the nightlife of the 1980s is also treating you kindly. We haven’t spoken in a while and I’ve felt rather guilty about how I left things with you. It’s just not our time I suppose.
(Crowley remembered the words Aziraphale left him with and shuddered. You go too fast for me. He’s right of course. It’s not their time. It may never be. That’s no reason to leave him for so long with not so much as a single phone call to check-in, however. He sighed and continued reading.)
Regardless, I heard through the grapevine that you are a fan of that group Queen? Oh, I do hope I got the band right or this would all be rather embarrassing. In this envelope, you will find a ticket to their concert today at Wembley Stadium. If you would like to go alone I completely understand. Otherwise, I also have a ticket and will be waiting at our usual spot at St. James. Absolutely no pressure, but it would be lovely to see you again.
Sincerely,
A.Z. Fell
Keeping up appearances was something Aziraphale was good at. Addressing the letter to Anthony and signing with the last name Fell was one of the ways he did this. Much like eating or sleeping. Plus if the head offices intercepted their letters they could easily cover their identities. Crowley chuckled at Aziraphale’s mannerisms and his dedication to humanity before he suddenly remembered: the ticket!
Sure enough, there was a ticket in the envelope that said:
Queen Wembley Stadium
Friday 11, July 1986.
Gates open at 2 p.m
Concert starts approx. 4 p.m
Crowley felt a blush come on his cheeks which he quickly willed away. How could he have known that Queen was his favorite band? He then glanced at his watch, it was already about three in the afternoon. He stole a quick glance at himself in the mirror and walked out the door.
----
Aziraphale stood at the edge of the pond in St. James Park. He brought some bread along to feed the ducks. It was the perfect activity to distract him from the endless possibilities the day might bring. Well almost perfect.
What if Crowley doesn’t like Queen? What if he came out of politeness alone or what if he came because he wants to be friends again? A worse thought struck him:
What if he never came at all?
His thoughts were interrupted by a circa 1920s Bentley pulling up, blasting what he could only assume was Queen. He beamed when he saw the car and the demon he longed to see in the driver's seat.
“Come on then, angel!” Crowley shouted over the music. “We’re going to be late for the concert!”
Aziraphale blushed and ran to get into the Bentley. The car seemed to have missed him as the engine rumbled a bit once he was settled in the passenger's seat.
“I never took you for a rock fan, angel, what have I missed?” Crowley teased. The car jumped as he took off towards Wembley.
“My dear, you know I’m not. I just thought that you might enjoy it. I must say it is a miracle I got good quality tickets this late,”
“Oh really? Must have broken the bank now, hm?” Crowley chuckled, joined by Aziraphale. They both realized something at that moment: how much they missed this.
----
Aziraphale was right about the tickets being good. They had the perfect view of the stage, high enough so they weren’t standing in a mosh pit, but not sitting behind someone awfully tall either. Just perfect.
Queen had started playing right after they got into their seats. If he was being honest, Aziraphale didn’t watch a moment of the concert. He spent the setlist watching Crowley instead. He watched the way his face went to an expression of sheer awe when he watched the lead vocalist (who’s name he learned was Freddie Mercury) belt and prance about the stage. How he sang along to every word with accuracy. How he responded to Mr. Mercury’s calls to the audience. He beamed as he saw Crowley filled with a genuine feeling of love. He wasn’t sure when the last time was Crowley felt that, it must have been long ago.
Of course, he convinced Crowley that he also just couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle. He didn’t have to know what spectacle he was actually looking at. It didn’t matter. Crowley was happy, which made Aziraphale happier.
----
The apocalypse was over. Not that it had happened but its beginning had ended. It had been a couple of weeks since Adam had ignited and diffused the box of TNT that would have destroyed the world, but all was mostly back to normal now.
Aziraphale relaxed on a well-loved chair in his bookshop, perusing The Great Gatsby again. It had always been one of his favorites, he adored the glitz and glam of the 1920s. Just when he was thinking about pausing to put on an old classical record, Crowley burst through the doors of the bookshop.
This had become somewhat of a routine since the two had saved life as they knew it. Aziraphale would choose a good book from the stacked shelves, fix himself a well-deserved cup of tea, and finally relax when his favorite demon would run into the shop with promises of an adventure. Usually involving lunch. Aziraphale wasn’t one to turn away such a handsome offer (from such a handsome demon he might add, but that’s not important.)
“Aziraphale, I’ve been thinking,” Crowley started. He closed the door and flipped the sign that indicated that the shop was ‘most definitely closed.’
“Whatever about, my dear boy?”
“I’ve just, well, we never talked about what happened,” Crowley skillfully skirted about the subject he was trying to discuss. This was of no help to Aziraphale, who had been through so much with the demon that trying to pinpoint the specific event wasn’t an easy task.
“My dear, you’re going to have to be a tad more precise, please sit,” Aziraphale gestured to the sofa. Crowley decided to stay standing.
“When you told me that I go too fast, we never had a chance to talk about it,” Crowley said, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Of course, Aziraphale knew exactly what he was referring to. That night in 1967 when he gave Crowley the thermos of holy water. It scared him deeply. He didn’t want to think that he was giving Crowley the equivalent of poison. The thought had always lingered, however. He spent what must have been years pouring over their history together, scouring for any evidence of, well anything that would have led to asking for holy water of all things.
“What is there to say, it’s over now,” Aziraphale said, cutting through the silence. He couldn’t look up at Crowley, not even if he tried. He was scared to lose him that’s why he had distanced himself. But that was long ago! There wasn’t a reason to talk about it anymore, why would he bring it up now?
“Why did you say that and waltz away for a couple of decades? Not a phone call, not a letter, not even a telegram delivered by bloody carrier pigeon!” Crowley yelled, not so much at Aziraphale, more just at the empty air of the shop. “All I had was a sense that you were alright. I was sure you wanted nothing to do with me and that after a millennium of friendship we were through!”
Aziraphale was genuinely stunned, He couldn’t stand up, much less respond in coherent sentences. He’d never seen Crowley genuinely angry at him before.
“And don’t you come back at me with that ‘we weren’t friends back then’ bullshit! Just because I’m a lowly, immoral demon and you’re a perfect angel who has never indulged in the debauchery of sin doesn’t mean that we weren’t there for each other! I’ve known you since the garden, angel!”
Crowley seethed with heat until he finally looked toward Aziraphale. He had tears welling up in his eyes and his usual content demeanor was rustled with one of despair.
“I was so scared, Crowley,” he said, tears falling in earnest now, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “I was scared of you.”
Crowley stiffened. He’s never seen the angel so upset, not even after he told him about the bookshop burning or when his favorite sushi restaurant had gone out of business for reasons he couldn’t seem to miracle away. Aziraphale’s eyes were full of guilt and regret. He turned away, unable to bear looking into them any longer.
“Crowley, I was scared for you,” Aziraphale pleaded.
Crowley didn’t budge. He felt the need to turn around. To hold the angel in his arms and tell him that it would all be alright, that he didn’t mean to upset him like this. But he didn’t. He stood facing the other way as Aziraphale struggled to find the words to say.
“Do you know why I said it?” Not that he expected any response, of course, he paused anyway. “Because it was true. I was terrified of what you were planning, Crowley. How was I to know that you weren’t planning to harm yourself? If you were planning to get it from an outside source, well that’s only another element of danger.
“I spent years, dissecting each interaction we had, every choice you made, to try to find anything that could be linked to you, you know, wanting to-”
Aziraphale didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Crowley understood what he meant and he felt awful.
“I didn’t want to be too attached to you if you went through with it. All of that aside, heaven and hell didn’t want us to be close anyway, and I was very loyal. Then again, I suppose I couldn’t bear life without you in it. Voila, Wembley ‘86,” Aziraphale said, chuckling through tears. He stood up and began walking towards the back of the shop when the demon’s voice stopped him.
“I’m so sorry, angel,” Crowley turned around and enveloped Aziraphale in a warm hug.
“As I said before, dear, it’s all over now,” he replied, still in Crowley’s embrace. “Just know that I’m never going anywhere again.”
“I was hoping you’d say something like that,”
The two were standing in the middle of the bookshop holding each other. It was as if they let go the other would phase away and disappear forever. The only problem was that whatever Aziraphale was trying to tell Crowley was getting mumbled into his chest. That’s simply not a polite way to carry on a conversation. They separated just enough that they could talk, but they were still close enough to hold each other's arms in their own.
“Hey, Crowley?”
“Yes, angel?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while now,” the Angel said, smiling up at the Demon. There was a twinkle in his eye that was a refreshing change from the tears that dwelled there just moments before.
“What is it?” Crowley smiled. A smile that was genuine, one that he reserved for Aziraphale. He had a soft spot, not that he would mention that to anyone.
“I’m in love with you, I think. No, I’m sure. In the time I’ve known you, I could always expect you to be at my side at any sign of trouble. No consequence was too big for you to step in and help me. Not only that, there’s a part of you, a bigger part than you tell yourself, that is good. That part of you is worried about children’s safety, saved the world from ending, and looked out for me. I love you, Crowley. I’m sorry I took so long to say it,”
It was Crowley’s turn to cry now. He looked at the Angel he held in his arms and took in all the words he was staying instead of the usual brushing off.
“How- how long have you known?” he asked, trying his best not to choke on his words.
“Since you saved me from those Nazis in 1941. You walked on consecrated ground for me. I mean, you’ve done a lot for me up until then and I’ve always liked you, of course cause what’s not to like you’re amaz-”
Crowley cut off Aziraphale’s rambling with a kiss. It was quick, short, a peck really. This still caught him off guard, though, and Aziraphale blushed like mad.
“How long have you known then?” Aziraphale beamed.
“I think I have for a long, long time. I realized it when I ran into your bookshop and I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t sense you anywhere. Angel, you were just gone and it was my fault for hanging up and-”
It was Aziraphale who cut him off this time. He simply held him closer.
“I’m here now, and I’m planning on keeping it that way,” Aziraphale pulled back a bit, to look at Crowley’s face properly, and pulled him in for a kiss. This one was longer and much more passionate than before. Let’s just say it was an advantage they technically don’t have to breathe.
They ended up on Aziraphale’s worn sofa, Crowley laying on top of the angel and playing with his hair. The light peaking through the blinds of the shop was beginning to dwindle and time seemed to stand still and accelerate all at once.
“I love you, you wily old serpent,”
“I love you too, my angel,”