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The bookshop is restored, but it doesn’t have the same comforting warmth to it. Instead of warmth, Crowley feels the heat of flames and the ice-cold feeling of grief gripping his heart. He can’t stand to stay in the bookshop for more than an hour. Crowley gets restless, his glasses clad eyes shoot from one surface to another, desperately trying to reassure himself that all was fine now. It wasn’t fine. What he’d seen in the shop haunted him, and it showed.
Aziraphale notices instantly and adjusts. He spends more time out with Crowley out in the park and little hole in the wall restaurants during the day and returns to Crowley’s Mayfair flat for the night. When Crowley wakes from another fit of smokey nightmares, the angel is there to offer a one-armed embrace and continues his reading out loud knowing full well that his demon won’t be fit to rest anytime soon.
It’s not easy at first, but they talk about it: the fire, the apocalypse that wasn’t, Aziraphale’s brief confrontation in heaven, their trials.
“May I ask what causes it?”
“Causes what angel?”
“The panic, my dear. I want to know what causes you to go into a frenzy when you step into the shop.”
“...”
The demon paused and thought that “The shop” sounded strange. Before this new set up, Aziraphale had always referred to his personal collection with “my” attached to it.
“Is it the books? I’ll be rid of them if that’s the root.”
Crowley pulled away from the other so fast it gave him vertigo.
“You like your books, why would you ever throw them in the bin?”
“If it will sooth your nightmares, then I will.”
“Why? I’ve seen how protective you are of them, never sold a single one in centuries. You love those books, even if they were the problem, why do that for me?”
Aziraphale thought for a moment. He wanted to confess his capital L love for the demon in his arms but decided against it. Feelings and confessions can come later; now was time for communication and healing.
“Because I care about you, dear. I want to see you thrive. If I can help you find some sense of calm, I’ll do everything in my power to do it.”
“Oh.”
Crowley didn’t say much else that night, opting instead, to cuddle against Aziraphale’s side and listen to “The Importance of Being Earnest.” It wasn’t until they had gotten out of bed and were sipping cocoa in the demon’s sparse living room that Crowley answers.
“It’s your bookshop in general and fire. Those are the things that get to me.”
“Thank you, my dear. You’re doing a g- an exceptional job.”
“Why? With what?”
“You’re doing well by communicating what’s troubling you. You have been feeling less than cheery lately. You are vulnerable, and yet you still trust me enough to let me in. I'm proud of you for talking, for healing, and honored to have your trust. Thank you for that.”
Crowley doesn’t respond with words. He doesn’t have to.
He answers with the way his breathing changes and bottom lip shakes ever so slightly. This and the way his body trembles when he wraps his arms around Aziraphale says it all.
When Aziraphale mentions wanting a change of scenery one day, both are surprised when they find an ad in the mail from some distant valley by the ocean.
A farmhouse didn’t seem bad. There would be plenty of space for Crowley’s plants, and Aziraphale could have a place made for his books. They could even raise some animals! All in all, the farmhouse in the valley of some tiny town sounded splendid. It’s not exactly a cottage in the Southern Downs, but both feel that it’s high time they leave England and start the rest of their lives together.