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It didn't take long after the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't before Aziraphale and Crowley came to the mutual decision to leave London. Too often, they found themselves flinching, looking around expectantly, keeping their eyes peeled for known enemies.
“My dear, what would you say if I suggest we retire?” Aziraphale asked one day, his hands folded primly, his chin nestled in his fingers. He gazed across the table at his husband.
The demon that Hell rejected gazed back thoughtfully. “What, you mean retire to the countryside? Where?” he asked, although something told him he already knew the answer.
“I gave some thought to...Tadfield?
Crowley groaned, “I knew you were going to say that! Can't we just forget about that place?”
“Seemed a friendly spot to me. And we can do what we always intended and keep an eye on the Antichrist.” The not-quite-Fallen angel grinned with his eyebrows raised hopefully, his expression expectant.
Crowley drawled some meaningless stammering babble, gesturing vaguely in the air with his eyebrows exasperatedly raised. “Ugh...yeah, okay.”
Aziraphale lit up immediately, actually clapping his hands together with pleasure. “Oh! Excellent! Thank you! And, of course, Adam Young isn't the only person there we know. There's Mr. Pulsifer and Miss Device. We're invited to their wedding, anyway, so this will only help matters. We'll already be in the neighborhood.” He smiled his sparkling smile and reached across to touch his husband's hand.
“Great, so we won't be the only weirdos in town. Good to know. So, when do you suggest we go? And what's to become of your bookshop?”
“I thought we could take it with us. Tadfield could use a good bookshop, I'm sure. It would give us an honest face for the locals.”
Crowley blew air between his lips. “If you could actually bear to sell anything! You'd be more conspicuous there than you are here in that respect. I love that this is your haven, that it's a store in name only, in the hypothetical sense. You can get away with that in London. You can get away with most anything in London! Look, I get why you want to go. I've felt it, too. It...doesn't feel mine anymore,” he confessed sadly. “I wouldn't have done anything differently, I don't regret our actions, but...'slike in Lord of the Rings, right? Frodo saves the Shire but can't stay there.”
“I thought you didn't read books,” Aziraphale accused with a puzzled look. Honestly, he was impressed that he had managed such an appropriate analogy.
“Saw the movies,” Crowley gruffly explained, waving the subject away like a moth. “But yeah...I know how you feel, that this place doesn't belong to us anymore. So, time to move on. I know it would be hard, you've had this bookshop for the last two hundred years.”
Aziraphale looked up and around his beloved shop with a heavy sigh. “I suppose...if we set up down there, I could bear to part with some books. As long as I kept a rotation. Keep up appearances without losing my entire collection.” He huffed, annoyed that he had to compromise his standards.
Within a week, in the village of Tadfield, a large, antique bookshop appeared in the night on the corner of their two main business streets. It was the tallest building in town by far, and yet no one seemed sure if it had always been there or not. A.Z. Fell & Co., Booksellers seemed to have always been a part of the town when anyone thought about it too much. Its proprietors seemed strange at first, before they, too, were absorbed into the collective subconscious as having always been there. That last bit took quite a bit of work to wrangle.
Aziraphale slumped down wearily into his favorite chair while Crowley sprawled lazily across the sofa. His yellow eyes stared in impressed wonder at his husband. “You really brought the whole damn building. Of course you would.”
“Well...?” the angel sighed breathlessly, shrugging. “We're here, aren't we? Accepted members of the community, no less. More than I could have hoped for.” Still, despite his confident tone, he was clearly exhausted. Crowley opened a bottle of wine and poured him a good glassful. Aziraphale took a long, fortifying sip and tilted his head back contentedly. “Thank you. You're so good to me.” He gave the remainder a posh little swirl, sniff, and then—gulp!
Crowley grinned, filling his own glass. “Shut up,” he chuckled. Then, he patted the cushion next to him invitingly. Aziraphale obeyed and snuggled up next to him a second later. Crowley kissed his forehead, nuzzling him contentedly. He held his wineglass in his left hand while caressing Aziraphale's soft figure with his right. They moaned cozily together with gentle, quiet pleasure. “God—Satan--Somebody, you're beautiful,” Crowley breathed. “So beautiful!”
Aziraphale blushed at the praise, feeling it warm him right down to his toes. He brushed his nose against Crowley's, then kissed and nuzzled his forehead. “Mmm, so are you.”
“Oof! Angel, you're going to make me spill!” Crowley protested, trying to keep his wine from dribbling. He amended it the best way he knew how, by taking long gulps of it between kisses. When it was empty, he set it safely on the coffee table and slid fluidly into Aziraphale's lap, brushing their foreheads together and hungrily kissing him. It was a rare moment, when the world was especially kind to these two celestial misfits, allowing them to simply be together, to love each other, without worry darkening their door.
Over the next few weeks, curious townspeople would enter into the strange bookshop to browse. As part of his compromise, Aziraphale made an effort not to intentionally drive people away from his establishment. Some would simply stay and chat, it was nice. He found he rather enjoyed establishing a familiar relationship with various faces of the village. One sharp-eyed man, a Mr. R.P. Tyler, poked in to sniff around, as if he were certain that nothing good could come of a book store. Crowley was on hand at the time, fortunately, and the local busybody beat a hasty retreat. Fortunately, nobody in the village believed his outlandish story of demonic creatures haunting the antique bookshop, but he swore he saw a man with the face of some fearsome, hellish creature! He'd barely been able to keep upright as he ran from the starling beast!
Aziraphale admonished him for that trick, but both celestial-infernal beings got a good laugh from it later.
Not all of their guests were unwelcome, however. The day after they arrived, Anathema Device and her fiance, Newt Pulsifer, were strolling through town when they noticed the new edifice. They were the only people in town to recognize it as being out of place, and the owners.
The bell over the door jangled cheerily, alerting Aziraphale to visitors into his domain. He set down the book he was reading and made his way to the front of the shop. His annoyed demeanor vanished instantly when he saw a familiar face!
“Miss Device! Hello! I was hoping we'd run into you! So nice of you to stop by!”
“Anathema, please,” she requested, stepping farther into the shop and looking around in amazement. Only she could really understand that it was miracled here. She remembered what he had done for her broken arm, and her bike, despite the fact that she had been too dazed at the time to articulate it. She had just been glad to escape that collision unharmed.
“Anathema,” Aziraphale corrected himself, still looking very pleased to see her. He wasn't sure why. They'd only spent a handful of moments in each other's company, but he felt strangely connected to her. Perhaps preventing the Apocalypse was one of those special things that a group of disparate people couldn't share without becoming friends of some sort. “And Mr. Pulsifer. Good to see you as well.” He finally seemed to take note of his second guest. Truth be told, Newt often found himself to be easily overlooked.
“Mr...Fell?”
With a sparkling smile, Aziraphale corrected him, “Mr. Crowley-Fell,” and thrust out his hand for them to see his ring. “We finally tied the knot. Just two months ago.”
“Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations!” Anathema cooed happily. “I'm so happy for you! Isn't that sweet, Newt?”
“Uh, yeah...that's...great,” Newt stammered awkwardly. He was the sort of person who would get all in a tizzy over writing the right thing in a company birthday card at work. “Good...good for you.”
“And when's your blessed day?” Aziraphale asked, brushing off Newt's awkward attempt at congratulations. “It's coming up, isn't it?”
“It is! We wanted to get married close to Christmas, since my mom will be flying out for either occasion anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”
“And the church will already be decorated,” Newt added practically.
Aziraphale strode over to the door and flipped the Open sign to Closed and drew the shade. “Let's retire to the parlor, if you like,” he suggested as he ducked into the kitchenette to make tea. Anathema and Newt exchanged a look and a shrug. Newt especially seemed instinctively willing to being led around. His whirlwind romance with Anathema Device had been sanctioned by Fate and a 400 year old witch. Not that he objected, of course! He already felt happier and more at home with her here in Tadfield than he ever did before. She saw something more in him than other people did, and it had been very nearly love at first sight.
The two humans seated themselves comfortably, and a moment later Aziraphale returned. “I don't know where Crowley's got to, but I can only hope he's not making too much trouble already. The last thing we need is to attract undue attention.” He set the tea tray down on the table and poured everyone a cup. “So, you said your mother is flying over for the wedding. Any other family coming? Your father?”
Anathema shook her head with downcast look. “I never knew my father. Mom told me about him, but she didn't know him long. He was a one-night stand.”
“Oh. I'm sorry,” the angel looked completely wrong-footed, he held his cup frozen inches over its saucer, but he looked like he'd forgotten all about it.
“Don't be. It's no big deal. It was in the book. I used to wish I could've known him, but then I figure it's better this way. If I never met him, I can't really miss him. Better this than him leaving when I was six or something.”
Aziraphale nodded, finally remembering to drink his tea. “Yes, very good, my dear. Very healthy philosophy.”
Anathema smiled, brightening a bit. “Mom told me all she knew about him. He sounded nice, smart. Really cute, she said,” she added with a titter. “She says I have his eyes, his smile. So it's like she got to keep parts of him forever to remember him by.”
“Must've been one handsome devil,” Aziraphale offered.
The witch nodded with a mischievous grin, warming to the topic. “Depends on taste. She told me he reminded her of the librarian on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She apparently had a crush on him back then.”
“I've never had a one-night stand before,” Newt says, awkwardly shuffling into the conversation.
There was a long, thoughtful pause before Aziraphale confessed. “I did...once.”
Just at that moment, the door swung open and Crowley sauntered in. He appeared completely unsurprised to find his husband entertaining guests. He took a long, satisfying sniff. “Mmm, something smells good. Lust, touch of jealousy...a low-simmered bitterness, perhaps? What's the gossip today?”
“Aziraphale was about to tell us about one of his conquests,” Anathema informed him, settling back, looking a trifle displeased. She'd really thought better of the angel. He was an angel, after all! Angels don't go running around seducing women and disappearing before dawn!
“It was just the once, I never even...indulged again after that until Crowley.”
“Don't tell me, you banged Juliet from the Globe theater,” Crowley sneered playfully, giving him a friendly shove as he sat down with him. “I know she fancied you.”
“N-no! Wait, she did? Ahem...This was...fairly recent. I was in America, shopping for rare books, in 199...7? I'd gotten a possible dealer's contact information and was acting on it. It was really just an excuse to get out and about. It had been thirty years since I last saw Crowley and...the worry was affecting me. I needed a change of scenery. So, there I was, in this cramped, dusty antique shop, sorting through volumes--”
“No, no, don't tell me! You both went to grab the same book! Your hands brushed, your eyes met...” Crowley laughed as he painted a picture of the cliché.
Aziraphale glared. “No,” he denied simply, firmly. “I heard a voice one aisle over. She was muttering over a book she was reading, and laughing just about every other page. I made my way over to see what was so funny. She was almost breathless from holding it in! Then, I got close enough to see: she was reading Mother Shipton's book of prophesy!
“'Didn't exactly hit the nail on the head, did she?' I asked. She looked around at me. I must've given her a fright. Then, she smiled and shook her head. 'Not by a long shot,' she said. Well, one thing led to another, we got talking, got friendly...I took her out for coffee and pastries.”
“You're so predictable,” Crowley groused, feeling a slight prodding of jealousy.
“We exchanged aliases. Much safer back then, we thought. She called herself Maria, so naturally I told her to call me--”
The demon cackled, “Captain?”
“Crowley, I'm warning you, interrupt me one more time at your own risk! And no, I went by Tony.”
“West Side Story,” Anathema whispered helpfully to Newt, who looked like he wasn't quite in on this conversation. “Like Romeo and Juliet, but set in 1950s New York. With ballet.”
“Anyway, the next thing I knew, she was walking me to her home and leading me up the stairs. I admit I was...curious. I'd heard that sexual activities can have soothing effects on humans. I wondered if it would help me forget my troubles for a moment. She was quite the charming young lady, and she seemed to need some of the same comfort that night. Anyway, that's all. Two ships passing in the night. I've thought about her after, sent the odd little miracle her way now and then to make sure she was all right.”
Even Anathema had to smile at that, her disapproval of the angel's history abated. It sounded as though he had been just as much the seduced as the seducer. Two people sharing a moment together. “That's...kind of sweet,” she admitted. “Look, I think we'd better get going, but you two are both welcome at our house any time. I mean, we saved the world together, that has to make us something.” They stood, Anathema took Newt's arm with a warm smile, and they left. Even Crowley noticed that Anathema looked at her fiance the same way that Aziraphale looked at him. He gave their upcoming marriage good odds on that alone.
“Well, wasn't that touching,” Aziraphale sighed contently as he started clearing up. “It's nice to have neighbors we're already acquainted with, isn't it? At least we don't have to hide things from them, they've seen everything already.”
Crowley sprawled, looking glad to no longer have to share the sofa with their human friends. “Yeah, I s'pose. I never knew that about you, Aziraphale.”
The accused chortled, “Well, I told you on our honeymoon I'd been with someone before you. Honestly, I wish you'd been my first.”
“Yeah, well, I was your second,” he grinned, satisfied with at least that. “And I didn't mean that, I meant...I wouldn't have thought you'd be the sort of person to be charmed by a pair of pretty eyes.”
“I'm an angel, as you well know. I'm a being of love. You might say that for that one night, I loved her.”
“You poured your angelic love into and over her,” Crowley purred wickedly, still chuckling about the sweet innocence of his husband's first time. He sat down and helped himself to some tea. “Do you think she could've caught on that you weren't human?”
“She didn't have to,” he answered. “I told her.”
Crowley spit out his tea in a spluttering mist. “You what??”
Blustering defensively, and wiping himself off with a large handkerchief, Aziraphale marshaled his thoughts. “Well, she asked! Not that, exactly, but, safety first, you know?”
“She asked if you had any STI's and so you told her you were an angel?!”
“Well, yes, when you put it that way. It's not like I could have passed anything to her.”
With a knowing smirk, Crowley thought of something. “Oh, you could've passed something to her. I know angels can't breed other angels, but they can manage humans. Unlikely, I know, but it could have happened.”
“Yes...well..I'm done talking about it. I'm starting to be sorry I even brought it up.”
It was several weeks later that Aziraphale thought to take Anathema up on her offer of hospitality. It was a brisk autumn day, the leaves were all red and gold. Even without the Antichrist affecting the area with perfect weather, nature still managed it on her own sometimes. Aziraphale gave a friendly wave at passers-by as he made his way to Jasmine Cottage. There was no real object in mind, but it just occurred to him that it might be nice to drop in. Newt answered the door and let him in, but raised a cautioning finger to his lips and pointed into the next room, where Anathema was having a video chat with her mother.
“We can't wait to have you. You're going to love the village. It took a while to settle in, but I think this might be where we'll stay.”
“Oh, I'm glad. And don't you worry about losing Agnes's book. It served its purpose. Now, I suppose we'll have to learn to live like everyone else.”
“No prophesies to guide us. I think we'll be fine,” Anathema agreed. Suddenly, she saw her mother's face grow drawn with shock. She looked over her shoulder and saw Aziraphale peering curiously in. “Oh, hi. Come on in! Mom, this is my friend, Aziraphale. We helped save the world together.”
“Maria!” he gasped, his eyes and mouth wide open. They stared at each other through the screen. Aziraphale advanced uncertainly. “Is that really you? Oh! Well, isn't this serendipitous.”
The woman on the screen looked equally surprised. “Anathema, how the hell did you track down your father?!”
“My father...” Anathema looked from the screen back to her friend several times. “My father?” The two of them just stared at each other. It was hard to tell who looked more shocked. They looked each other up and down like they'd never seen each other before, trying to absorb this strange new context to view each other in. “He was your one-night stand?! You seducedhim?!”
But the elder Ms. Device didn't pay her daughter's distress any mind. “Agnes said that I would. It was so I could have you. Now, Tony, come closer. I just need to look at you. Wow...you look exactly the same!”
Anathema felt called upon to tell her mother a thing or two about their mutual friend, “Yeah, well, Mom, you might not believe this but he's...he's an angel.”
She waved that away as if it were nothing, “I know that, mi amore. But honestly, Tony...you look like you haven't even changed your clothes!”
“You knew he was an angel? He just...you just...”
“Well, it was the 90s,” Aziraphale put in. “Couldn't be too careful. She said if we were going to go any further, we ought to tell each other our important details, so we did.”
“He was so sweet. I'll never forget. I'd never met a kinder man. So soft and gentle. I remember feeling...just surrounded by love. To be honest, I think he liked cuddling better than the--”
“Mom!”
Aziraphale looked mortified, his cheeks burning red. “Thank you, my dear. Oh, good lord,” he whispered gratefully to Anathema.
“Be right back,” the older woman excused herself with a sly grin and stepped off-screen for a moment. There was a rummaging sound as she hunted for something. Aziraphale and Anathema still couldn't take their eyes off each other. They both looked afraid to touch each other, but greatly desired to. A moment later, Ms. Device reappeared on the screen and opened a large scrapbook. “Ah! Here they are! I hope you don't mind that I kept them.” And she held up a handful of his white feathers.
“Oh! No, I don't mind in the slightest.” He clearly recalled spreading his wings for her, after telling her what he was. Naturally, she didn't believe him until he proved it to her. When he did, she was awestruck! After, as they lay sleepily together, he draped his wings across them both, stray feathers scattered over the covers. He remembered being stunned by the exercise, asking breathlessly if that was what was supposed to happen, and if she'd enjoyed it.
“I told Anathema when she was young that there was an angel looking after us,” she smiled, sliding the feathers between her fingers before putting them away again. “It's good to see you again.”
“So hang on...What does this make me?” Anathema asked.
“Human,” Aziraphale answered simply. “Absolutely, entirely human. It might have helped your occult gifts, but don't worry. You aren't anything funny.”
“Uh, hey, Mom I'm going to call you back later.”
“I'm sure you have plenty of catching-up to do,” her mother agreed wisely. “Thank you, Tony, for giving me a daughter. You see? You got to be part of the prophesy, too! Now, be good to her,” she warned ominously before the screen went blank.
The two of them simply stared at each other. “You didn't know?” Anathema asked. Previously, she would have assumed that angels knew everything. That was before she met and befriended this highly imperfect ethereal creature. He was certainly the most human angel she could have ever imagined.
Aziraphale shook his head. “I...felt something...something...” he repeated wistfully, trying to put a name to it. It wasn't exactly a bond. Even he wasn't sentimental enough to suggest that their souls recognized each other. Still, even when Anathema was just “the mad American with the bicycle” he had felt the urge to help her, to keep her safe. Whether that simply equated to his naturally compassionate soul, some inborn angelic quality, or him answering the silent connection from father to daughter was still unclear.
Anathema must have felt something, too, because the next second, she sprang at him in a hug. He hugged back tightly and stroked her hair. His silvery wings sprang out of their own accord and enveloped them. Anathema gasped, staring. The feathers her mother had saved were a bright, luminous white. These...
“They're a bit different now,” Aziraphale answered her unasked question, almost apologetically. “I'm not as pure as I once was.”
“They're beautiful! Can...may I...touch?” She whispered the last word, sounding enthralled.
He smiled, looking very pleased. “Yes, you may.” He'd only known her as his daughter for a few minutes, but it felt vastly important to him that she not think badly of his impure state. Then, he surprised her by brushing his forehead against hers. This sent a soft, fluttering spark right down in their souls. Anathema gasped, her eyes wide. It was like receiving a lifetime of a father's love, she felt it pour over her, warming her, binding them...and she intuitively recognized the gesture as a token of affection between angels. They both let out nervous chuckles, then she reached a hand up and stroked his smooth wing. The smaller, fluffy feathers near the topmost arch, the long, smooth primaries, the downy soft layer underneath...all pearly silver, like summer rain.
“They're so soft,” Anathema sighed. Then, as if one fact crowded out all others, “I have a dad! Oh, I have a dad!”
Aziraphale opened his wings back up and released her. Still, they stared at each other! “I...I am so proud of you, my dear. I'm sorry I wasn't there, that I simply couldn't allow your mother to keep me. I couldn't. Look, if there's ever anything you need, and I mean anything, don't hesitate to come to me. All right? I so want to be...something to you. I know it's awfully late to be a father, but...Oh! I'm so happy right now! I love you, my daughter.” He gave her another forehead nuzzle as he wept happy tears.
A few feathers scattered to the floor as he swept his wings back in. Anathema bent down and picked them up, looking at him with a silent question in her eyes. “Uh, yes, you can keep them if you want. But I hope you won't need them to remember me by.”
“There you are, angel!” Crowley's voice cut in over them. “Pulsifer here found me and said you came round and were having a really weird visit in here. What's going on?”
Glad that he hadn't barged in a moment earlier and gotten the entirely wrong idea, Aziraphale looked over and just pointed wordlessly to Anathema. “It's...it's her! You were right! That, um, nice lady I met at the book store. I did pass 'something' to her that night. Miss Device—Anathema, I mean—she's my...I'm her...”
Crowley looked between them and raised his sunglasses. “Oh. Wow, yeah, I see it now. Just like her mother told her. Eyes, smile...you even wear the same stupid glasses. No surprise there, when you think about it. You're both nerds. Look, are you coming home, or are you gonna be here a while?”
Aziraphale looked between his husband and his daughter. “I'd better be off. This has been...remarkable. You're welcome any time. I'll see you later.”
“Sure. I'll see you. Look...this is going to sound silly, but...is it all right if I call you Dad? Or...something else if you prefer?” Anathema looked hesitant, worried that this might be too sudden.
Crowley groused and rolled his eyes at the sentimentality they were slopping everywhere. He tapped his bare wrist, as if they had a schedule to keep.
“I think 'Dad' would do nicely,” Aziraphale answered with a light, fluttering laugh. “And you can even add an 'Evil Stepfather', too, into the bargain.” He nudged Crowley teasingly with his eyes at full sparkle.
“Yeah, yeah,” the demon grumbled, but secretly touched at the inclusion. “It's all very sweet. Let's get home, angel.”