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Crowley blinked awake rather suddenly with a singular, almost primal thought.
Tea. He needed tea.
It was an urge he’d acquired ever since moving in with Aziraphale, the daily habit making an impression on his physiology to the point of dependence, though it was always so much better when the angel made it. Made with love, he’d always say, as he handed Crowley the cup along with a kiss on his cheek. It had only been seven months since Armageddidn’t, but a lot had changed in that time.
The demon rolled over languidly in the sheets he’d wrapped himself in through out the night. Aziraphale was facing away from him, so he pressed a hand to the angel’s shoulder blade, reassuring himself that he was solid. Some days he couldn’t believe his luck, after so long, of finally having a pair of warm, sturdy arms wrapped around him, especially on nights when metaphorical demons danced menacingly through his sleep. Not that it was very good dancing.
He ran a hand down Aziraphale’s bare back, memorizing every inch of soft, freckle-kissed skin. The angel groaned in his sleep, whether in response to the touch or to his dreams. Crowley pressed his lips to his angel’s warm shoulder, not trying very hard to make sure Aziraphale didn’t wake up, but the angel kept sleeping.
An overwhelming need to get the kettle boiling drove Crowley to his feet, taking the sheet around his shoulders with him, as Aziraphale was left with only his bum covered by their disarrayed comforter. He snaked slowly to the kitchen, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he dodged potted plants on the way. He was still slightly sore from their more-rambunctious-than-usual romp last night, but he smiled with satisfaction at the feeling. The memory of the feeling.
It was a quiet morning. Not that it was actually quiet though, London was never truly silent. But there was a peace in the morning fog, sunlight meekly filtering through, which gave one a sense that all was well in the word. In the cluttered, cozy kitchen, Crowley peered out of the window at England’s sorry excuse for a sunrise, noticing the early traffic of bicycles and cars. He could feel it had rained last night, though he had been too busy to notice, the air heavy with dew, large puddles pockmarking the dark street. More rain was due for later on today, he could feel it in the air, which was a shame seeing as they were supposed to be making their way down to Tadfield that afternoon for a late lunch out with Anathema.
Both beings, celestial and occult, had taken an interest in the mad American woman with the bicycle, to the point that she often called upon them for advice or company nowadays. She found them interesting, and they her, though Crowley found it particularly unbearable when she and Aziraphale went on bibliophobic rants. She and the demon had stricken up a particularly unlikely friendship as she expressed interest in his practices, trouble-making and otherwise, while he took up a detached air of fascination while sauntering about her garden, promising techniques and texts on rose bush trimming in particular next time they were round.
The kettle began to steam with a feeble squeal which Crowley stifled, rooting for Aziraphale’s favourite mug beside the sink, grabbing any old chipped ceramic for himself. Far too much sugar went into Crowley’s, and a precise drip of cream into Aziraphale’s, just enough to turn the colour to a dark ochre. The demon tripped on his sheet with a cursed hiss as he made his way back to the bedroom, righting himself with a minor miracle and a cough of embarrassment. He was glad only a few spider plants and succulents lined the hall; the hostas would have never let him live it down.
His nose bumped Aziraphale’s cheek as he kissed him.
“Tea, love”, he muttered gently, voice a little raspy. The angel blinked awake, eyes a stormy blue in the dim light of the morning. Aziraphale took the tea gratefully as he sat up, craning his neck upwards. Crowley smiled into another kiss, letting his hand rest on snowy golden curls.
“How long have you been up?” The angel’s voice was husky with sleep, something that made a delightful shudder travel up the demon’s spine.
Crowley shrugged in his bed sheet cloak. “Not long.” Aziraphale smiled, patting the bed beside him, noticing with some embarrassment that he wasn’t completely covered by the duvet, something of little relevance considering the only other being in the room was the man-shaped one he had shagged into next Tuesday a short while ago.
“Our lunch’ll be rained out, no doubt”, Crowely said as he slid under the covers, laying on his back and resting his mug on his chest. “Bike girl wanted to try that cafe in town. With the patio?”
“They do have the most lovely quiche”, Aziraphale admitted with remorse, subconsciously lifting the duvet to cover his chest a little. “It wouldn’t hurt you to use her actual name, you know. Seeing as it is a rather nice one.” He caught himself when Crowley put a hand on the arm holding the covers to his chest, lowering it slightly at his touch.
“She doesn’t care. Name’s aren’t what matters, Angel”, Crowley said wisely, craning his neck ridiculously to sip his tea while remaining lying down. Aziraphale rolled his eyes slightly.
“You’ve certainly put effort into yours over the years, haven’t you?” Crowley shrugged with a ‘point taken’ look, sipping his tea again. The angel caught the sideways glance of serpentine eyes and the pink tinge to his ears. He ran a hand over Crowley’s forehead, through the red hair, bringing his hand around to rest on his cheek.
“I have always liked the name Anthony, though.” A devilish smile flashed in the low light of dawn.
“Lying’s a sin, Angel”, Crowley warned in a sing song voice, pride intact once more.
“Only a venial one. Snakes are known to be rather sensitive, but not excellent drivers. And we need some way to get to lunch. Sometimes, white lies are necessary.” Crowley reacted with cobra-like speed which only frightened Aziraphale with its suddenness. A minor miracle found their mugs on the nightstand instead of spilled on the sheets as Crowley whipped around, straddling the angel while pressing an arm to his chest. Aziraphale looked up at him from the pillow with bemusement thinly-veiled by a disgruntled brow, as Crowley smirked cheekily. The demon’s weight was slight, but Aziraphale let himself be held there.
“Really, dear boy”, the angel said, voice low with feigned disapproval.
“What other lies have you told me, Angel?”, Crowley said, all teasing fangs and glowing eyes. He dipped down to whisper in his ear, forked tongue tracing along his lobe. “Anything last night that you didn’t truly mean?” Something in the angel’s being switched, not his aura, but something on another plane of reality moved involuntarily. The lithe demon was easy to flip over, tangled hopelessly in the sheet as he was. It wasn’t until they had switched positions and Crowley was staring up into grey-green-blue eyes filled with hunger that he realized it had been Aziraphale’s wings.
“No”, he said simply, voice taut with restrained power reverberating in a different realm of existence. “I meant every word.” Crowley felt heat flood his cheeks at the angel’s sudden sincerity, heart pounding hard under his love’s forearm.
“Nnggh, uh…good”, the demon squeaked. Ethereal light faded from the angel’s being, eyes softening to their usual grey-green, his outline softening, his weight softening against Crowley, dissolving against him, back as the Aziraphale who wore tiny, ridiculous spectacles and wooly jumpers. The Aziraphale who Crowley loved. His heart stopped fluttering as he leaned into the angel’s mouth. Their kiss was solid and deep and old in a way that you wouldn’t be able to understand unless, of course, you were six thousand years old and had seen six thousand years of beautiful and terrible things on Earth which made moments like these worth more than every second of the time before them.
Aziraphale pulled back from their kiss to see Crowley’s pupils blown wide, panting a little for air he didn’t need.
“I was kidding, Angel”, he managed, and Aziraphale softened further, if possible.
“I know, my dear. But if there’s one thing I won’t allow you to doubt is how much I care for you.”
“Right. Me too”, Crowley said lamely, as collectedly as he could manage. Aziraphale kissed his forehead before rolling off of him, realizing once again that he was still stark naked and miracling his boxers on with a disapproving mutter and flushed cheeks. Crowley watched him reach for his mug, heating it up to a good drinking temperature again before the angel had grabbed the handle.
“I’ve been thinking”, Crowley announced, sounding as though he’d just thought of it for the first time. “I’ve been thinking that we should get a cottage eventually. Rather, sooner than later. I, for one, am not getting any younger.”
“What brought this on?”, Aziraphale asked, turning on him and Crowley was surprised by the panic in his eyes.
“Just a thought, really”, Crowley said, trying to keep his voice casual. “You hate the customers and it’s not exactly like I have to cause trouble any more. The country could be nice, I think. Less people, more room for a garden, or something like that…” He trailed off uncertainly as he noticed the set of Aziraphale’s jaw, how he was staring ahead, having completely forgotten the tea mug gripped tightly in his hands.
Aziraphale’s words from fifty two years ago echoed in his head. You go too fast for me, Crowley.
Fuck, Crowley thought, his own eyes widening in fear as he desperately tried to backpedal.
“N-no rush, though. We don’t have to do anything straight away, I mean, technically, we’ve got forever to do whatever you want.” He swallowed the nervous titter rising in his throat. “What ever you’re comfortable with.” His eyes scanned Aziraphale nervously in hopes of any sign that his words had deescalated the angel’s reaction, but he could see no change in his body language.
“Right”, the angel said presently, trying desperately to sweep the situation under the rug. “Best get dressed.” He got to his feet and left the bedroom quickly, leaving Crowley frozen, kneeling on the bed in his undistinguished toga and anxiety rising in his chest.
If there was one thing Crowley could count on when it came to Aziraphale, it was his dedication to routine. Turning the demon into a tea granny in a matter of months was concrete proof of that. But this morning was different as Crowley got dressed alone, struggling into his skinny jeans like any normal person would, as he was already nearing their mutually agreed upon daily limit of three minor miracles. And it wasn’t even ten o’clock.
“Angel?”, he called tentatively into the kitchen, giving the succulents a glare which would remind them to keep quiet if they knew what was good for them. He was simultaneously relieved and heartbroken to find Aziraphale pushing at bacon on the cooktop; the angel always let Crowley revel in the joy of cooking for him, particularly on what should have been a quiet morning like this. Aziraphale caught his look and almost sheepishly turned back to the cooktop.
“Sorry, dear. Didn’t want to bother you. Silly when you don’t even eat most mornings.” Crowley tried to figure out why the last statement felt like a knife in his gut.
“I’ve gotten better”, he pouted quietly, leaning against the counter.
“No bother.” There was a long silence which would have been uncomfortable if they hadn’t known each other for several hundred centuries. Crowley subconsciously crossed his arms.
“I shouldn’t have said that, love. I don’t want you to think I’m-.” Aziraphale gripped his arm as he passed by with his plate.
“It’s alright, dear. No need to discuss it any further.” He squeezed his elbow in a way which should have been comforting, but came off as tense and forced. Crowley hovered for moment, uncertain as he watched the angel eating at the table, before turning on his heel.
Unlike his angel, Crowley was a creature of change. He’d taken to the habit of changing his clothing whenever he was uncomfortable, like a snake whose skin was becoming too restrictive. Black jeans were changed for dark wash, his long sleeve was replaced with a soft, navy t-shirt. He then stood numbly in front of his closet for about ten minutes before pulling on a black leather jacket which was a little too big for his lanky frame. There wasn’t much to be done with his hair. He wanted to grow it out again, but felt now wasn’t the time to ask Aziraphale’s opinion on the matter. The angel interrupted his thoughts as he called from the kitchen.
“Dear, I wanted to visit some of the shops, get a few things, before heading to Anathema’s. Let’s get a wiggle on, shall we?” Crowley sneered quietly at the angel’s particular choice of words. Some memories were still far too fresh.
“Yep. Be right there.” He snatched his shades from the top of his chest of drawers. “Don’t fuck this up any further”, he muttered to his reflection.
*****
Clouds rolled heavily over London and the electricity in the air made Crowley’s skin tingle unpleasantly. His angel seemed unaffected by the weather as he chattered on about what he was looking for in this one new shop, seemingly having forgotten about their earlier incident. Or maybe he was trying desperately to forget about the conversation completely. Crowley wondered if he was dwelling on it too much as he fiddled with the knob on the radio. When Freddie Mercury had no advice to offer, he turned the volume down again.
“This is the place, just up here”, Aziraphale pointed. The Bentley rolled to a stop in the parking spot, the passenger door opened and closed, and the angel looked back in confusion when Crowley wasn’t following him out of the car.
“Aren’t you coming in, dear?”
“Got a call to make”, Crowley lied, voice remaining passive. Aziraphale hid his disappointment poorly as he straightened.
“Oh, well…I won’t be long, then.” Crowley watched him walk around the car with remorse bubbling in his chest.
“Idiot”, he snarled at himself as he watched his angel’s back disappear into the shop two doors down. “You’re overreacting. Get out of the car.” Crowley didn’t obey himself. “Get out of the blasted car, you great, stinking moron. Do you really think distancing yourself from him is gonna help?” A passerby noticed him arguing with himself and Crowley presented them with a set of fangs to run from. The act somehow drove his hand to the door handle and he found himself sauntering vaguely into a shop of perfumey bath soaps and essential oils. His snake senses were driving him up the wall, ignoring his watering eyes as he weaved his way to his rightful place at Aziraphale’s side.
“Angel-.”
“Crowley!” The angel jumped slightly as he turned around, shifting nervously as he didn’t quite make eye contact with the demon. “You surprised me, dear. Finished your call?” Yeah, Aziraphale was definitely overcompensating to try and force a speck of normality. The demon’s snake eyes scanned bottles of scandalously pink bubble bath.
“Er, yeah. Adam had a history project, something or other. Wanted me to help him with a question”, he replied, though they both knew that neither of them had been paying much attention to worldly news or significant events in the past millennia. In bleak comparison to their conversation that morning, Crowley hated the taste of the lie on his tongue. Or was that the thick scent of artificial lavender?
*****
The bakery wasn’t much different, Crowley following his angel around like a thin shadow while Aziraphale picked up several loaves for themselves and Anathema. The owner raised a brow as Crowley sulked by the sourdough while Aziraphale paid, used to seeing the shorter man on his companion’s lanky arm, beaming like a small sun as they selected their baked goods for the week. The demon raised a defiant brow in turn, daring the man to make a comment. Make my day, bread boy, he thought, contemplating whether he should give him a flash of serpentine eyes. His heart simply wasn’t in it, though, as he trailed his angel back out on to the sidewalk.
“What else?”, Crowley said, more shortly than he meant to. He looked up at the dark sky, expecting to feel rain drops at any moment. Aziraphale eyed him testily as he consulted his list.
“Florist’s next”, he replied. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his shades, but he knew Aziraphale had seen it.
“She’s got live plants and a pretty alright garden. Why go round spending money on dead ones to give her?”, Crowley interrogated, though he could care less about money. Aziraphale sniffed, brow lowering in the way the Crowley hated when it as aimed at him.
“Because we’re her guests and it’s what decent people do. Why don’t you go get some wine for ‘bike girl’, as you so eloquently call her”, Aziraphale snipped, showing he could be short too if he wanted. “Something nice.”
“When have I ever had bad taste, Angel?”, Crowley called as they parted ways, though he didn’t expect a reply from the cream coat swishing angrily in the pre-storm breeze, watching as he disappeared into the florist’s before Crowley turned the corner. He suddenly felt very alone. He hated this, hated himself. Why couldn't you have just kept your stupid mouth shut? Keep that in mind next time you have a bright idea, you stupid snake. The words hurt as he thought them, but he deserved it, he figured. He bought the wine, nicer than he’d usually get for sharing with anyone other than Aziraphale, but he felt better as he knicked a small bottle of gin on his way out. Hiding himself from view in plain sight, he downed all of the gin in one long draught, seeing as he didn’t need to breathe and all, though he figured he could have done it even if he were human. He met Aziraphale on the pavement in front of the Bentley, the alcohol still beginning to hit his senses, blurring the bewildered ache in his chest a little.
“Got your dead flowers, Zira?”, he asked patronizingly. The angel ignored his childish jab as they got into the car.
“Best head over to Tadfield. Anathema called and said lunch will be ready in about an hour.” Crowley was about to make a wry comment about Aziraphale figuring out how to work his cell phone, but was interrupted by a gin-flavoured belch rising in his throat, which he swallowed. No need for the angel to know he'd just inhaled a bottle of alcohol due to their...what ever happened that morning. He nodded the car into motion and narrowly missed a pedestrian before he’d even reached fifty miles an hour.
“Be careful”, Aziraphale snapped, or as close to snapping as Aziraphale would allow himself.
What should have taken at least an hour, was reduced to half that on account of some speeding on Crowley’s part, and possibly a minor miracle, his third that day, on Aziraphale’s. Still, it was an almost excruciating thirty minutes as Crowley blasted the radio, reminding Crowley who his best friend was and how he was treating him (blast you, Freddie), cheap gin flowing through his veins and making the world seem darker than it was. No, that was the storm clouds. He felt compelled to take his shades off, as he often did around Aziraphale now, but demons could see in the dark, and this particular demon didn’t want to let his shields down right now.
Lavender Cottage was the epitome of serenity until the glossy Bentley roared up, depositing a frazzled angel and a boozy demon outside the front gate. Anathema was at the door, like she’d known they’d cut the drive from Soho to Tadfield in half, immediately noticing how Crowley was skulking several feet behind the angel, instead of plastered to his side as usual.
“Mr. Fell”, she teased, inhaling the heady scent of the white lilies he handed her. “You shouldn’t have.” He positively beamed at her and it was as though the storm clouds had suddenly parted. She looked up to check before backing inside. “Come on in, you two.” She leaned out when Crowley didn’t follow, watching as he craned his neck up at the sky, daring the clouds to rain on him.
“Get inside, Crowley. It’s gonna rain soon.” He frowned at her, but obliged, and, as usual, she didn’t mind when he stalked into the sitting room without removing his jacket or shades. She understood shields better than most people. Aziraphale prattled on about how good the salmon in the oven smelled, and maybe it was good luck after all that their lunch on the restaurant patio was rained out. Anathema took the compliment graciously as she offered them both tea, watching as Crowley stalked between rooms from her view in the kitchen.
“Those snowcap roses still not behaving, are they?”, he accused as he wandered into the kitchen, now frowning at the ceiling. Aziraphale gave him a look from where he was seated primly at the table, and Anathema watched as they both realized Crowley was making a show of ignoring him.
“Not really. I did everything the book said, but they’re being stubborn. Maybe you can yell them into submission after lunch, hmm?” Crowley looked at her like she’d just uncovered his deepest, darkest secret. No one knew about how he yelled at his plants except Aziraphale. He threw an accusatory glance at the angel, who looked as innocent as ever. Anathema continued chopping thyme at the counter.
“Well, I’m going to go wash up, and maybe I’ll give you a hand, hmm?”, Aziraphale told more than suggested as he left the kitchen more hurriedly than he probably meant to.
“Everything’s pretty much done, Azira-. Oh, whatever.” She studied Crowley who was frowning at the herbs on the counter. “If you guys are having a spat, you could have cancelled. I wouldn’t have minded.” Crowley snorted.
“You kidding? You think Ang-Aziraphale could ever bare the embarrassment of cancelling plans? Lunch plans, at that?” Anathema smiled, wiping at a strand of hair that had escaped her bun.
“But the embarrassment of quarrelling like children at said lunch plans? No problem, right?” Crowley’s eyes met hers and she noticed how he’d let his shades slide down his nose a bit so she could see a sliver of yellow.
“Sorry”, he said, gruffly, sincerely. He quickly tucked her disobedient hair back into her hair tie just as she was contemplating washing her lemony hands to do just that.
“Is it anything I can help with? Give some advice, maybe?” The demon made an incomprehensible noise, shrugging.
“I just - suggested we get a cottage someday. ‘Stead of being holed up in that old bookshop forever. I mean, I didn’t say it like that. Just-“, he looked around searchingly. “Seeing this place, it’s nice, cosy, sort of place Zira’d like, room for a garden if you like that sort of thing.” He waved his hand vaguely and Anathema smirked.
“He didn’t react so well?” Crowley shrugged, hands in his jean pockets that were barely pockets.
“Got all quiet, like a spooked deer or somethin’. I didn’t think he’d react like that.” He traced the grain in the wood countertop. “Thought he’d like it.” Anathema resisted the urge to pat his arm comfortingly, though it would have just made them both feel more awkward than necessary.
“You probably just surprised him, is all. He’s very set in his ways, you know that. Maybe gently mention it again a week from now and he’ll probably have warmed up by then.” Something in the demon brightened a bit, but he shrugged noncommittally.
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
“The garden’s looking lovely, dear.” The pet name usually reserved for him jabbed Crowley in the chest as Aziraphale bustled back into the kitchen in a bundle of light and warmth.
“Thanks. It’s mostly Crowley’s help that’s turned it around, though. I’ve never been much for gardening.” The angel stopped himself from catching Crowley’s eye, swallowing uncomfortably instead.
“Might I give you a hand with the table, dear?” Again, it was like a knife to the heart. Was he doing it on purpose? Anathema noticed how pale the demon looked.
“Sure. I wouldn’t usually let guests help out, but I know you won’t be happy until I do.” Aziraphale looked taken a back and paused on his way to the cupboard.
“I don’t mean to be difficult, I was-.”
“I’m teasing”, Anathema stopped him. “I love having you guys here.” She sent a meaningful glance between the two which actually drew Aziraphale’s eyes up to the demon for a second. He diverted his gaze just as quickly.
“Wine with lunch? We brought a Pinot Noir, I think…”, he glanced at the bottle Crowley had brought in. “Yes. Unless you’re opposed to midday drinking.”
“You know I’m not.” Their movements became almost therapeutically in synch as Anathema put the food on serving plates and the angel set the table. Crowley watched while leaning against the wall, wanting to help, but it was so much easier to hold the wall up.
Lunch went pleasantly, baked salmon and red wine dulling the sharp edges, Aziraphale devoting most of his attention to Anathema and praising her cooking, though he gave a small smile while passing Crowley the asparagus. Crowley felt as though he were having an existential crisis, staring at the asparagus, wondering how’d they’d come this far and were almost back to square one in terms of comfort and the wary cold shoulder. He sat quietly, a gouging hole in his chest, drinking more wine than he should have, but nobody said anything.
*****
“Have you been in contact with Newt lately?”, Aziraphale asked casually and pleasantly, raising his brows over his wine glass. Anathema paused in the middle of dissecting a stalk of asparagus. She and the newly appointed Witch-finder had made their way apart just as Crowley and Aziraphale had been finding their way together. After dating for three months, they’d slipped back apart over the course of a few weeks before Anathema came straight out with it (poor choice of words) for reasons Crowley knew and Aziraphale could guess.
“Met him in the pub the other day, actually.” She paused again, frowning at her fish, her eyebrows knitting in that sideways way they did. “He’s, uh…worse off than me, but better than he was a few months ago.” Everyone delicately ignored her awkward choice of words. “So, baby steps for everyone, I guess.” She sipped at her wine, Aziraphale giving a comforting nod.
“That’s good. Glad to hear he’s…well. As long as everyone’s happy in the end, that’s all that matters.”
“Understandable ‘f he’s heartbroken f’r a bit”, Crowley slurred, the first time he'd spoken since he’d drank more than half the bottle of wine.
“Yes, of course”, the angel replied tersely. “But he’ll be back on his feet, soon enough. Good as new.”
“I hope he and I can be friends eventually”, Anathema said, trying to steer the conversation away from where it was going.
“Oh, I’m sure he’d love that”, Crowley snarled sarcastically in a way his subconscious knew sober Crowley would regret. “Have his nose rubbed in it like a dog who’s pissed on the rug.”
“Now, there’s no need for such language”, the angel reprimanded, visibly upset, but not in the way Crowley would have thought.
“That’s fuckin’ rich comin’ from you”, Crowley drawled, already beating himself up.
“That’s enough, both of you”, Anathema said sternly, in that deathly calm voice she had sometimes. “Quit using my breakup as an ugly metaphor for whatever you’re going through.” Her confidentiality was lost on Crowley’s wine-addled brain. Aziraphale looked truly ashamed and the demon only wished he had enough grace to do the same.
“Now, if you can resolve it in the living room, please go do so so we can finish lunch. If not, let’s finish lunch like civilized people and then you two can leave and be as broody and sniping at each other as you want.” Both man-shaped beings shut up as way of an answer, Aziraphale picking his fork back up quietly.
“I’m terribly sorry, my dear.” Crowley was about to open his mouth in response when he realized the angel hadn’t been speaking to him.
“It’s okay”, Anathema responded, catching Crowley’s gape-mouthed betrayal. “I hate seeing you two fight, mostly.”
“Who said anything about fighting?” The devil had his tongue now and Crowley wasn’t getting it back. “We weren’t fighting, that’s just how we are, how we’ve always been. Nothin’s gonna change it ‘cause he”, he pointed belligerently at Aziraphale. “He is always gonna be too afraid ‘bout what Upstairs thinks, n’ never give damn ‘bout what I think. ‘Cause I think I love him, n’ always have, but that just isn’t fucking enough, is it?” He staggered from the table rather gracefully, giving Anathema a sloppy, two-fingered salute and left the kitchen in two strides. The front door slammed shut.
Aziraphale met Anathema’s eyes and she shooed him off tiredly, but good-naturedly. “Go get your stupid, drunk demon before he wraps the Bentley around a tree.”
“I’m so sorry, dear”, he said, grabbing his coat from the rack. “We’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
The heavens had opened sometime between the middle and abrupt end of their lunch, sending a cascade of thick raindrops pelting onto Aziraphale’s head and shoulders the second he stepped outside. Crowley was a lanky blur ducking into the Bentley. The angel raced after him, wishing he had his wings to cover himself.
“Crowley for He- for goodness sake, what do you think you’re doing storming out like that?” Aziraphale closed the car door shut behind himself, turning to look at Crowley who looked very sober. “Did you sober up? Good grief, I’ll have to tell Anathema not to drink-.”
“I didn’t sober up.” Crowley’s voice was gravelly, strained. “Why are you coming?” Aziraphale blinked.
“Well, you’re obviously leaving, so I-.”
“You obviously don’t want to go anywhere with me, so why would you get in the car?” The angel felt his chest clench in a mixture of anxiety and regret. His head was spinning as he suppressed his natural reflex to reach out for Crowley’s hand.
“Of course I do, dear. I’ve been going places with you for six thousand years. Why would I stop now?”
“The cottage-“, Crowley sobbed, but he couldn’t finish. The Bentley lurched into motion, rain pattering hard against the hood as it barrelled down the lane, accelerating much faster than a car its age should be able to. Not for the first or last time, Aziraphale wished there was a grab handle, instead gripping the seat as they careened down the dirt road, the vintage car taking sharp turns that it shouldn’t have been able to make.
“Crowley! You’re drunk, you idiot! Slow down, at least!”
The demon paid him no heed and might have pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder. He wasn’t sure whether the wet streaks on his face were tears or rain, and Aziraphale was too preoccupied to notice. They went over something, a small bump in the road, the rain coming down too hard to see much and Aziraphale prayed that it had been a rock.
“Anthony Crowley, you will stop this car right now! Where in Heaven’s name do you think we’ll get new bodies if we’re discorporated now?!” This made Crowley ease up on the gas, reason breaking through the clouded subconscious of his gin and wine-soaked mind. The Bentley slid to a halt on some country road outside of Tadfield; the rain was too heavy to see much else besides the shrubbery on either side of what wasn’t much more than a dirt path.
“There now”, Aziraphale said shakily, smoothing his vest out in a form of self comfort more than anything. He hated raising his voice. Especially to Crowley. The demon didn’t give him the chance to say anything else before lurching out of the driver’s seat, hair soaked through instantaneously. “Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice followed after him weakly, but the door was closed shut on his words. The angel sighed, considering his options before relenting and opening his own door, exposing himself to the downpour.
The rain was heavy and warm, not unlike when they’d first met, a comparison Aziraphale managed to push out of his head for the time being. After a few moments in the rain, he realized it was much colder and sharper than that day in Eden, watching as Crowley groaned, bracing himself against the car. Newly sober, the demon raised his head, whipping his sunglasses off and regarding his angel across the hood of the Bentley. His eyes were bright yellow in the din of the rain and Aziraphale felt his breath catch a little at the haunted look within them.
“What’d I do?”, Crowley asked, sounding hurt and tired. His clothing, save for his leather jacket, was soaked through, making him look even thinner than usual. “I never wanted you to be upset with me, Angel, I never thought you’d be upset.” This time he was sure of the tears coursing down his face. “I’m sorry. I thought the cottage idea might make you happy. But we can drop it, I don’t ever-.”
“Crowley.” His gaze met Aziraphale’s, his angel also looking smaller and more helpless in the downpour. “I’ve been absolutely miserable to you, none of which you deserve. You had a sweet idea and I did nothing but behave abysmally. I am so sorry, my dear.”
Crowley laid his hands flat on the familiar, smooth curve of the Bentley, watching the rain patter on the glossy, black paint.
“Why, though? I thought you’d like it.” Azirphale’s head titled sympathetically, desperately wishing he could shelter Crowley from the rain, to see his face better, make him feel safer.
“I would like it, really. You’re always so thoughtful that way. And it is nice to think about. We could have our own little place, not have to worry about people, you could have your garden you’ve always wanted, I could take up baking. It would be a well deserved break.”
Crowley shook his head desperately. “I still don’t understand, Angel.”
“You know I don’t like change”, he said, voice soft with reasoning, but with the reassurance that Crowley, if anyone, would understand him. “For goodness sake, I’ve worn this same coat for nearly two hundred years. And despite what you may think, I am well aware that it is out of style, but it’s also comfortable and warm and familiar and I’d rather look a little frumpy than give up any of those things. So, when you say that we’d be selling the bookshop for somewhere different, somewhere without all those memories…then, yes, I suppose I got cold feet about the whole idea.” Realization hit Crowley like an angry mother duck to the shins, something the demon had experienced far more times than he’d ever admit.
“Angel, I wasn’t asking you to sell the bookshop.” His voice was gentle, careful, like he didn’t want to spook the angel any further. “I’d never ask that. For Somebody’s sake, I have memories in that shop, same as you. You know better than anyone, I’ve probably spent more nights just in your backroom than I ever have at my flat.” He paused, a large raindrop dripping off the tip of his nose. “It’s home.”
“Then why would we leave?”, the angel asked desperately, looking around as if suddenly aware of the rain.
Crowley shrugged as though what he said next had no meaning. “‘Cause I want you to be happy. You make me happy all the time, probably the only time I am, really. When I’m with you.” He smiled a little sadly. “But I’ve seen how anxious you are at the bookshop, even in the past year. You’re afraid Gabriel and the rest of the lot are gonna come ‘round for a chat, and rightly so…maybe. So I’d understand if you needed a break, maybe get someone else to run the shop for a while, I dunno.” He shrugged again, looking skywards as if consulting the clouds. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ll actually leave us alone and we won’t have a thing to worry about for the rest of eternity, but unless that’s a guarantee, I know you’re going to be looking over your shoulder in that bookshop for the rest of your days.” He exhaled, exhausted and worn, hair plastered to his head pathetically. “I just know I can’t bear to see you any less than perfectly happy.” He looked up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “What ever you want, Angel.”
Aziraphale rounded the front of the car with cautious and then more confident steps, taking Crowley’s cold hand in his own, squeezing the rain-soaked digits gently. He looked up at him and gripped his elbow as Crowley dipped down slightly, gasping into their kiss. The demon’s mouth was hot compared to his rain-cooled skin and Aziraphale hooked his other arm around Crowley’s waist, pulling him flush to his front. Rain ran down both their faces in rivulets, mixing in with tears so that the demon tasted like wine and salt. Aziraphale pulled back a little, his nose bumping with Crowley’s as he pressed their foreheads together.
“My dear, I’ll change for you. Slowly, but I’ll change.” Crowley smiled bitterly at his choice of words, softened, shifted under his touch and pulled him closer, neck craned over his angel’s shoulder so the rain made it’s way under his collar and down his back in an icy shiver.
“Don’t ever change, love, that’s not what I want.” Aziraphale smiled reassuringly, cupping his cheek.
“We’ll figure it out. But let’s get home now.” Crowley nodded, kissed his forehead. The angel waved his hand slightly so translucent umbrellas hovered over their heads, Crowley snapping his fingers in response so their clothes were dry in an instant. They clambered into the Bentley quietly, their tension dissolving completely. The demon shivered involuntarily, flicking the heater on as Aziraphale shifted across the seat to lean against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to help warm him up. Semi-cold blooded as he was, Crowley found it difficult to maintain body temperature once his core cooled down and was grateful for his angel’s solid, warm presence pressed against him like a miniature sun of his own. He drove just above the speed limit for once as they made their way back to Soho, something Aziraphale noticed with an appreciative kiss on his cheek. The heater was beginning to warm up the interior of the car, also drying Crowley’s hair, something he hadn’t thought of in the moment, only really concerned about saving his leather seats.
“Stop that”, he muttered good-naturedly when Aziraphale started playing with his hair, trying to spike it back up as it dried. “You’re not doing it any good.” Despite his small frown, Crowley was beyond relieved that his world had fallen back into place after a small misunderstanding. The angel smiled teasingly in response, running his hand down to gently cup the back of Crowley’s head instead.
“I like it when you have it styled. It’s getting a tad long at the back, though, isn’t it?” Crowley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to increase the blood flow to them.
“Been thinking ‘bout growing it out. I dunno.” He gave the angel a sidelong glance and saw him practically beaming.
“I think that would look very nice, dear. I’ve always loved when your hair was longer.” Crowley felt his chest lighten and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t help but lean his shoulder into Aziraphale as he gave him a cheeky grin.
“Have you, now?” He could have sworn the angel blushed a little.
“Of course. You look absolutely beautiful no matter what, but it is such a lovely colour.” Crowley felt his own face flush, making sure to keep his eyes on the road. Safety first. At his own comment, Aziraphale began running his fingers through the demon’s russet hair again and, this time, Crowley let him, letting himself lean into the touch.
*****
A week or so passed and a sunny afternoon saw the trio reunited, enjoying their original lunch plans on the open patio of the newest restaurant in Tadfield. Aziraphale treated in order to make it up to both human and demon, bringing Anathema some potted pansies which Crowley insisted he had taken no part in choosing.
Conversation flowed easily as it always did between the three, and Anathema was glad to be able to roll her eyes lovingly again as Crowley fawned over his angel, said angel absolutely delighted by the attention. It was nearing the end of the meal when Aziraphale brought up a proposition, though she could see it was from both of them in the way Crowley had stopped tipping his chair back at a forty-five degree angle. Since she was now searching for new things to fill her time, recently devoid of boyfriend and book of prophecy, the angel offered her the position of co-proprietor of A.Z. Fell and Co., seeing as she had a lifelong interest in books practically ground into her DNA. With Aziraphale’s books, it had always been different. She had the choice to read them; none of his volumes forced themselves upon her life and her very being, and he saw the reverence and care with which she held each and every leather-bound, dust-covered treasure.
She stalled at his offer, face frozen with surprise. She asked him if he was certain that he wanted to make this offer, least of all to her (she had lost the only book in her possession when two consenting bicycle repairmen had driven off with it, after all). Aziraphale assured her that she was the only one he would ever ask, though of course she needn’t feel obligated either way. Anathema looked to Crowley for confirmation, but he only shrugged in a way that said, ‘’S his bookshop.’ She accepted his offer graciously with a wide smile, shaking on it rather formally before she rushed to her feet and threw her arms around the angel’s neck.
“Thank you”, she muttered next to his ear, wondering why her vision was suddenly blurred.
“You’re quite welcome, my dear”, he said, his voice tender as he patted her back. “I know you’ll do the most marvellous job.” She pulled back and managed to blink the dampness out of her eyes.
“I’ll try not to screw it up.” She glanced at Crowley who was peering between them with a hint of jealousy, to which she jokingly opened her arms to him. “Crowley?”
He sneered playfully. “Not a chance, bike girl.”
Things were back to the way they should be, like Aziraphale offering to buy everyone a second helping of dessert before Anathema told him to get another piece of shortcake if he wanted, for Somebody’s sake. Other things would change, though, as the two began to search the area for cottages for sale, often dragging Anathema along for a second viewing when they came to a disagreement about a property. It would take months, Aziraphale was fussy after all, though nowhere near as particular as his demon. Adam would encourage them to move to Tadfield, to which Crowley would tactfully explain in a child-friendly way that he and Aziraphale were sick of people and needed some space from it all. Though she would have enjoyed having them live closer, Anathema also understood their want for time with each other, to figure out what the rest of their lives could look like, away from the memories of what had almost torn them apart. She figured time away from Tadfield would do her good in much the same way, letting her figure out who she was in a bookshop without any prophecies or big plans for the future. She did breathe a sigh of relief, though, when the unlikely couple spread their search to the South Downs, for prophecies often told of such little things, like where an angel and a demon might find a retirement cottage.