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Crowley laughed and threw back the last sip of wine in his glass. “For the last time, angel, navels do not count as a human orifice.”
“But they do at one point, right? Before birth? That must count for something.”
“I heard humans’ skulls fuse together after they’re born, angel. Anything is possible with humans. That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Fine, then did we say seven or eight? Or ten? I never know how many this body is supposed to have and I certainly might have guessed horribly wrong the last time we, er…”
“No one will smite you for saying ‘fucked.’”
Aziraphale shot him an exasperated look. “Right, ah, when we last—knew each other. These bodies can be so fussy.”
Crowley scoffed. “But you’ve also got, y’know, wings upon wings upon wings, covered in eyes when you want them to be. I’m sure a few extra holes in your human body would pale in comparison. And besides, I didn’t notice anything unusual.”
“I remember you being a bit preoccupied, my dear.”
Crowley’s cheeks flushed. “I s’ppose.”
Aziraphale smiled at the demon over his wine glass, quiet for a moment. Then he said softly, “I love you.”
Crowley rose to his feet, heart fluttering like it had the first time they’d said it. “Love you, too,” he mumbled, planting a kiss into the top of Aziraphale’s curls as he passed behind the sofa. “More wine?”
His voice drifted back to Aziraphale as he made his way to the kitchen. “Ah, I’ll just bring the bottle.”
“Actually, dear,” Aziraphale called after him, “Might you fancy a drive? Just an hour or two. You know, get out of London for a bit.”
Crowley’s reply came as a sobering grunt.
Aziraphale laughed to himself and followed suit. Then he waved a hand, cleaning the wine glasses and returning them to the cupboard, and headed toward the door. Crowley wasn’t far behind, grabbing his dark glasses from the table on the way.
“Do you really need those at night?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley walked down the hallway toward where he stood by the front door.
Crowley could see just fine at night, even with his glasses, but he knew that Aziraphale knew that and he also knew that wasn’t what the angel was asking. He placed them on the small entryway table. “Fine, I’ll leave them here.”
The drive out of London was especially quick with so few other drivers on the road, given the time of night. Before long, the clipped lawns of the suburbs gave way to rolling hillsides of long wild grasses. Small country houses and barns rushed past intermittently, each nestled among a patchwork of fences that separated horses, cows, and sheep. The dashed line down the center of the road zipped past the car in droning rhythm. The sky was perfectly clear and in the darkness of the new moon, the stars spread across the black expanse like pinpricks in the fabric of the world.
The gentle rumble of the Bentley settled into the recesses of Aziraphale’s mind and he let his thoughts wander. He reached a hand out the window and felt the air rush past it, remembering what it felt like to fly unbidden among the new stars and planets, before the advent of evil or the creation of Hell, before Crowley was Crowley and in many ways, before Aziraphale was Aziraphale. He shivered. He had been told for so long that that time had been perfect, ideal, and that everything that came after was worse, a great Fall of humanity and of many of Heaven’s angels. Yes, it sparked the dispersion of evil and wrongdoing, but that wasn’t the whole story, Aziraphale thought. How could we possibly have known what good looked like before there existed anything with which to compare it?
His mind wandered back to being cornered outside his bookshop by Uriel, Sandalphon, and Michael. You think too much, Uriel had accused. That Heaven believed free thought alone was a sin was proof enough he wouldn’t have lasted there—thinking for himself was a strength and not a weakness, he had learned. He had Crowley to thank for that.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at the demon and smiled. “Can we listen to music?”
“Sure,” Crowley said, glancing to Aziraphale’s side of the car, “but I only have Queen CDs in the glovebox.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “Does the radio work?”
“Sometimes.”
Aziraphale turned it on and twisted the tuning dial. “Know any stations with softer music?”
Crowley furrowed his brow. “I think 98.2 plays quiet acoustic songs.”
One song was fading into another when Aziraphale found the station. Plucked guitar notes and sparse drum beats peppered the night air that flowed through the car. Crowley bent his elbow out the window and took a long glance to his right, out into the distance. The hills rolled past the car like waves, their long grasses gleaming blue-green in the faint starlight. Freshly-baled hay and gasoline tinged the cool night air that wove in and out of the open windows and ruffled Crowley’s hair, sinking him into a reflective calm. He glanced at Aziraphale, contentment drawing his lips into a faint smile. The angel was gazing out the passenger window, one leg folded under him and hands placed in his lap. The breeze tugged at his curls and his shoulders rose and fell slightly with his long breaths.
The lyrics of the song playing filtered through Crowley’s mind. It was a love song, one that described the singer’s love as things in nature: a river, a valley, a rainstorm. It seemed to Crowley that this song could be about him and Aziraphale—then again, all songs about love and such seem like that when one is so deeply in love. Crowley shifted in the driver’s seat slightly, silently reveling in the lyrics and fully feeling the scope of his love for the angel. Who would have thought: the Serpent of Eden and the Angel of the Eastern Gate, so in love that it nearly killed them.
Another song faded in, its opening notes soulful and ardent in a way that left the previous songs wanting. The first verse began, and once again, it was desirous like a love song and Crowley couldn’t help but apply it to himself and Aziraphale.
The chorus began.
Honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago.
Discomfort stirred in the back of Crowley’s mind, brought up with the thought of his angelic past reflected in Aziraphale. He brushed it aside—coincidence that his unusual situation matched the lyrics. The singer must have had something else in mind, being human and all.
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.
Crowley felt his heart drop into his stomach. The singer hadn’t had something else in mind. He gripped the steering wheel, fingers itching to change the station. But he wouldn’t know what to change it to and didn’t want to show that it bothered him—and he felt an overpowering morbid curiosity to listen to the end.
The second verse played and Crowley heard it fully this time, understood it. A horrible chill settled into his skin and he clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes focused on the road. He suddenly felt dirty, lowly like the snake he was, a being personally cursed by God.
The chorus played again.
Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know.
A long-repressed image flashed behind his eyes: the white arches of Heaven growing smaller and smaller above him as he plummeted into fire. It had been the last view he’d had of Heaven for six thousand years, until he returned in Aziraphale’s place. It was the last thing he’d seen before waking up in scorching pain, so excruciating that he could taste it in all its icy finality.
He remembered the blur that was his time in Hell before being sent to live on Earth, felt again the bewilderment and despair and heartache, all so unbecoming of a demon. The rejection he faced even from the other demons. The subsequent isolation, both from around him and self-imposed. He remembered that day, standing on the wall of Eden right beside the reflection of what he could have been—could have stayed had he not made that one stupid mistake. He felt his throat tighten in indignation at being a victim of association and nothing more. Why couldn’t he have just kept his distance when those angels had been so prideful? He recalled the bargaining stage of grief and how his had stretched more than a thousand years—and still reared its head every now and again.
And what was so wrong with asking questions, anyway? Irresolvable frustration burned in the corners of his eyes, making the road and hillside go blurry. It wasn’t like he’d caused any pain by wanting to know. And who were the authorities of Heaven to criminalize the simple asking of questions? If their holier-than-thou hierarchy could be brought down by a mere question here and there, then it deserved to be, Crowley thought angrily. And besides all they’d done to him, he’d had to watch for thousands of years as Heaven abused the angel he loved, kept him believing lies that turned him against Crowley and from which he was only now beginning to heal. Crowley clenched his jaw, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes. Eyes yellow as the sulfur pits of Hell, a constant reminder of injustice all the way up the celestial ladder.
He cursed inwardly. If only he’d brought his glasses from his flat or hadn’t misplaced the pair he kept in the Bentley. He couldn’t let Aziraphale see this; these feelings were for him to deal with on his own. He couldn’t burden the angel with things that would only upset him.
The song ended.
He chanced a glimpse of Aziraphale. The angel’s head was turned partway in his direction and the look on his face said, was that song about what I think it was about? Crowley shook his head the slightest bit, grinding his teeth and willing the tears back from the edge but, as though on cue, a single tear rolled down his left cheek.
Aziraphale’s voice was very quiet. “Crowley?”
“Don’t, angel.” That second word caught painfully in his throat.
Aziraphale turned off the radio. “I can’t not say anything. Will you talk to me? Please?”
His voice had that entreating edge that tugged at Crowley’s heart and he knew he wouldn’t be able to deny the request if he met the angel’s gaze. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, brow furrowed and lips pursed.
“’M fine. It’ll pass.” Crowley’s mumble was punctuated with another tear slipping traitorously from the corner of his eye.
“Dear, would you please pull over? You don’t look fine.” He placed a hand on Crowley’s thigh.
Crowley knew that the fact that he was fully responsible for controlling a vehicle currently traveling ninety-five miles per hour down a narrow two-lane road was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into tears. But the gentle weight of Aziraphale’s hand drew an involuntary glance from the demon, who realized he was about to process some serious emotions whether he wanted to or not. He slowed the car and pulled off the road onto a stretch of gravel that crunched under the tires.
The car ground to a halt. Crowley put the car in park and brought his hands down between his knees. He sniffed wetly, shoulders hunched forward, refusing to look at the angel.
Silence settled into the empty space in the car. Aziraphale had removed his hand from Crowley’s thigh and clasped his hands in his lap. He made no attempt to move toward Crowley again, instead staring downward with a wry expression. Softly he said, “I suppose we’ve never really broached the subject, Falling and all.” He paused and wrung his hands, seeming unsure of what to say. “Strange, isn’t it,” he remarked weakly, “we resolved six thousand years of tension between us and still haven’t ever discussed…”
He exhaled. “I suppose it’s the one thing older than anything between us.”
Crowley would have scoffed if he could have. Instead he swiped at his watery eyes and let the angel continue. Aziraphale shifted in his seat to face Crowley. “We don’t have to talk about it. I won’t force it. I just…well, there seems to be…a lot going on that you’ve never mentioned, and I—well, if you want to talk, I’ll always be here.”
Talking about it would be the healthy thing to do, Crowley knew, would allow for emotional healing or whatever human psychologists were on about these days. But he’d gotten this far and been mostly okay. Then again it was Aziraphale who’d offered to listen. Crowley raised his head and looked the angel in the eye. His trust in Aziraphale would be enough.
He let out a defeated sigh and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I get tired of being a demon sometimes, you know. The constant reminders of Falling, being unredeemable—not to mention the added bonus I got, being personally cursed by God. Y’know, crawling on my stomach, eating dirt, the whole deal.”
Aziraphale said nothing but gave a small nod of sympathy.
“And falling was so bloody painful,” Crowley said with a wince, flexing his shoulders. “Every so often I’ll get a muscle cramp that burns the same way Falling did. Or I’ll dream about it.” Tears welled in his eyes again and he wiped them away angrily. “It wasn’t fucking fair. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I got the same punishment as the ones who’d committed the real sins, y’know, pride and whatnot.
“And as much as I replay that choice in my head, to spend an afternoon with Lucifer and all, I still go back and forth whether I’d’ve had a better life if I hadn’t fallen. ‘Course, it was pretty much best-case scenario being sent to Earth and meeting you, but what if I hadn’t? What if I’d stayed in Hell all this time? Or Heaven? It’d have been a sodding awful existence either way, Heaven or Hell, and that doesn’t seem right.” He paused for a breath, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. The look in the angel’s eyes was deeply empathetic—Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley was talking about and was living proof that he wouldn’t have been happy in Heaven either.
Crowley pressed on for fear that his emotional front would build itself back up if he stopped talking for too long. “I didn’t get on with the other demons any more than I had with the angels, and I was even more isolated because of what had just happened. And I remember feeling heartbroken, really truly like there was nothing left for me in the universe. Except the stars. But that only hurt more because I couldn’t visit them anymore from Hell. And demons aren’t supposed to feel heartbreak—”
His voice cracked and he sniffled. “So I—I felt just as broken as a demon as I had felt as an angel. Like I was so bad at being both that there was nothing in the universe I could be good at. Nowhere I’d really fit.
“And then they finally sent me to Earth to tempt the humans, and the first real conversation I had was with an angel. Y’know”—he fixed his gaze downward—“you were the first angel I’d seen since the Fall. Looking at you was like looking into my own past and—and seeing what I could have been.” He forced the last few words out before tears began to run down his face in earnest. “I’m so lucky it—it was you they sent,” he faltered, “and not s—some other angel.”
Aziraphale knitted his brow. “But—but you seemed so nonchalant when we met all those years ago.”
“Of course I didn’t show you all this, angel. I wanted you to like me.”
Aziraphale’s heart ached. He wondered how long Crowley had deemed himself unlikeable—and unloveable, he would venture. It seemed the angel wasn’t the only one still healing.
Crowley fought against shaking breaths for a few moments before he could speak again. “And then I had to watch as Heaven treated you so horribly for six thousand years, poisoned you against me when I loved you so much and couldn’t do anything—”
His voice hitched as he bit back a sob. Aziraphale reached across the car and took the demon’s hands in his own, pained understanding etched across his face. “But you didn’t do nothing, my dear. You were there all that time, the one person I could count on, and you were so patient with me, steering me in the right direction while still letting me settle things at my own pace.”
Crowley was silent for a long moment. When he spoke his voice was very quiet. “I still worry about corrupting you. Making you Fall.”
Aziraphale took a breath to object but Crowley added quickly, “And I know there’s the whole ‘going native’ thing, and we might no longer be exactly what we were all those years ago, but”—he released one of Aziraphale’s hands and pulled at the skin of his own arm to stress his point—“I’m still made of, you know, demon. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I caused you as much pain as Falling caused me.”
Aziraphale gave a gentle smile and took his hand again. “My love, given all that’s happened between us, especially the things we’ve done since the world didn’t end, I’d be surprised to learn that the Almighty has a line I’ve yet to cross. I’ve lied to Her, disobeyed Her orders, cut ties with Heaven—I’ve fucked a demon, for goodness’ sake.”
Crowley let out a laugh through his tears. Aziraphale continued, “I’m not worried about Falling. And more than that, I’m not afraid to Fall. Like you said, I think my life here would be fairly similar either way. And I will always find a way back to you. As long as we have each other, I think we’ll be okay.”
Crowley dug around for an objection, a counterargument, another problem to toss up—and came up empty. Maybe those human psychologists were onto something, he thought grudgingly. He had drawn the trauma and fear out of his own mind and into the space he and Aziraphale shared, and they seemed now reduced from their world-ending enormity, slipping back into the background noise of his everyday stream of thoughts. They would return, Crowley knew, but things would turn out alright. Aziraphale had said so.
Crowley closed his mouth and nodded simply. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.
Aziraphale leaned across the car and hugged the demon as tightly as he could. “Thank you, my dear,” he said into Crowley’s shoulder, “for trusting me and telling me what you’re going through.” He planted a kiss on the top of Crowley’s head, grateful that he was able to say his next words given recent events.
“Let’s go home.”