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“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, did you know?”
A few bottles into the evening, the words are a bit slurred, but Crowley realizes their importance as soon as they are uttered by the being he loves most in this world. They are words he’s hoped to hear for almost four thousand years, give or take a few hundred.
From the start, he’d been intrigued by the angel who had given away his sword. Aziraphale’s love is pure, real, nothing like what most of heaven’s inhabitants ascribe to. He’s a bit selfish, and a hedonist to be sure, but he is also the brightest part of Crowley’s very long life, the star he looks to when he is lost and wants to find home. He’s the star and the home. But with Aziraphale trying to toe the party line for so long, Crowley had given up hope that the angel would return his sentiments, at least out loud. He knows, has known for at least a thousand years, that Aziraphale loves him in a way that’s different from the way he loves all of God’s creations, but he’d mostly lost faith that he will ever hear that sentiment out loud. And he’s decided he’s fine with it. He still gets to enjoy his best friend’s company, and that’s worth so much.
But here’s Aziraphale now, saying these words, though he’s deep in his cups, so who knows how much truth they hold. Crowley decides to sober up, and moments later he can sit without leaning against the sofa arm.
“How do you mean?” he asks carefully. He refuses to hope just yet. But oh, how he wants to.
“I tried not to believe it for so long, that you’re my best friend,” Aziraphale says, nodding in that very serious way drunk people do. “You would do anything for me, and I’d do anything for you. I learned that during the …”
Crowley tries not to find it endearing how such a bibliophile loses his words when drunk. “Week from Hell?” he supplies helpfully.
“Yes. That one.” Aziraphale points emphatically at him. “I like that we can finish each other’s … sa- sandwiches.”
“Don’t you mean sentences?”
“Oh, yes, I reckon that too. But I have finished your sandwich on more than one occasion. And cakes. And … lots of other things. I like that.” His demeanor shifts, and he glares at Crowley. “I’m onto you, you wily serpent. You order things, take a few bites, then let me pilfer the rest. It’s naughty of you to tempt an angel so.”
The left side of Crowley’s mouth decides to smile, and the right side soon joins it. If he was the type to use the word ‘adorable,’ he would think that Aziraphale was exactly that, just now.[1]
“I reckon I can’t help myself,” Crowley finally says. “You enjoy food so much. I like seeing you happy.”
“And this is why I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Even though that could be thousands and thousands and thousands of years from now. In fact, I dearly hope it’s many more than that.”
“Angel, that’s very sweet, but we’ve been drinking for a while, are you sure–”
“As if I don’t know my own mind, backwards and forwards and soaked in wine. Really, Crowley. I’ll prove it.” Moments later, he wrinkles his nose and smacks his lips as he always does after sobering up. It does leave a terrible aftertaste. Sort of like licorice and rotten grapes. He gives Crowley a haughty look.[2] “See?”
Crowley raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, too afraid to ask.
Aziraphale sighs and looks more put-upon than when the Oxford English dictionary came out with its last two editions. The first one was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Crowley has never got up the nerve to even mention the online version.
“My dear. I know I’ve been slow to catch up, but you can’t imagine I’d want anything else at this point. I helped you raise the—albeit wrong—Antichrist. I refused to fight on Heaven’s side when Armageddon was looming. I possessed a human to make sure I could get back to you. This isn’t some game.”
Crowley shrugs as he looks down at his lap. He knows these things, but he still worries. What would an angel such as Aziraphale want with a demon like him? “We were the only full-time Earthly agents for each of our sides–”
“They aren’t our sides anymore,” Aziraphale mutters, which does raise Crowley’s spirits just a bit.
Pushing his sunglasses up off his face, he continues. “Maybe you only think you feel close to me because I was your only option, if you wanted company that would last longer than a few decades. Just because I’m here and fit in with my former side as poorly as you do yours doesn’t mean–”
“But it does!” Aziraphale replies emphatically. “We could have met that single time in the garden, and then never talked again. We could have each stayed a few steps away from humanity and earthly things, away from each other. It’s what I’m sure each of our very former sides would have expected from us, when they assigned us to Earth. We were meant to observe humanity, up close yes, but we weren’t meant to get involved. But we both did. We both fell in love with everything earthly and human. And we also love each other because of that, because neither of us could be coldly distant with humans or with each other.” He pauses, brow wrinkled, then continues. “If I hadn’t given away my sword, back in the beginning, would you have bothered to talk to me again?”
Crowley doesn’t even have to think about it. Aziraphale’s bending of the rules that first time had been what Crowley has hung his hopes on ever since then. He knows what the angel could be, if given a big enough kick in the arse. And he’s kept coming back to him, waiting for that day to come.
“No,” Crowley admits quietly. “If you’d had been like any of the others … I wouldn’t have.” His chest hurts, thinking about not having Aziraphale to share the last six thousand years with, even if they’d rarely talked for the first four thousand or so, and given that he’d only figured out his feelings after the first two. Just knowing that a slightly roguish angel was out there was enough to give him hope.
“And if you hadn’t admitted your worry about doing the right thing by temping Eve to eat the apple, I wouldn’t have given you the time of day if we’d ever met again. Talking to you then, I felt like, for the first time, I had someone who was like me. And I hate that it’s taken me so long to admit that we’re on the same side. But we are the same. And we’re also very different. And I think that’s a wonderful recipe for a more long-term relationship, don’t you?”
Crowley isn’t sure if he wants to even question anything, worried that if he asks, Aziraphale will realize they aren’t as good together as he’s just claimed. But Crowley is nothing if not a questioner. “How exactly do you mean ‘together’?”
Aziraphale frowns. “What do you mean?”
Crowley cares nothing for some of the physical intimacies that, by human standards at least, come with a close, emotionally intimate relationship. He’d tried them a couple of times, once in the fourteenth century, because it had been so dreadfully boring with Aziraphale out of the country, and again in 1863, and he refuses to think about his reasons for doing so that time.[3] But he’d found he didn’t care for it. That’s not to say he wouldn’t try to Make an Effort for his angel asked, but he’s all for sloth, so if he can avoid making any sort of effort, capitalized or not, he will.
“I mean … what are your expectations for our relationship?”
“Well, just as I said, to spend our lives together. Perhaps we might relocate to a single building and cohabitate. Though, that might get a little claustrophobic, given our general lifespans. Perhaps the same city block? I just want to be able to pop into whatever room you’re in when I have something I want to tell you. I know you say that new-fangled phone of yours would allow that, but I still don’t trust those things. There are no buttons! How am I meant to work something with no buttons?”
“Angel,” Crowley cuts in. “Back to the topic at hand, if you will?”
“Right, yes. Apologies, my dear. Mostly what I want is to know that we’ll always be there for each other, for as long as this planet lasts, and maybe far beyond that.” He cocks his head in thought for a moment. “And then there’s the physical intimacy.”
Crowley tenses, waiting for it.
“Sometimes I say something, and you just get this look on your face … as if what I’ve said makes you happy. And when you look like that, I just want to hug you, but I know how you worry about your image. But if we were—what do the kids say—life partners, then it would be okay to hug, wouldn’t it? Or hold hands as we walk through the park. Like we did that one time, when we took the bus back from Tadfield.[4] That was nice.” He smiles softly.
“That’s all?”
Aziraphale’s brow wrinkles. “What else … Oh! You’re referring to sex, aren’t you?” He ponders for a moment. “I’ve always assumed that you were too lazy to Make an Effort, and I tend to think I’m the same. I’d much rather read a book. Much less … sticky, that. Or eat a good pudding—which is sticky, but confined in area—oh, do you remember that flan we had in Spain? Far better than sex. I told Oscar that, and he just laughed and called me queer. He was a dear, though.”
Crowley points a finger at Aziraphale in triumph. “I knew it. The way you go on about him, something had to have happened.”
Aziraphale scoffs in that drama queen way he does. “Really, dear boy. What was I meant to do? I hadn’t heard from you in over twenty years! I was bored. And just a little curious. It is very nice, but …” He shrugs. “I think I’ll leave it to the humans, if that’s alright with you.”
“Mmm,” Crowley agrees with a nod. “Happened to me in the fourteenth century. The most boring hundred years ever. I tried everything to stave off the ennui. It didn’t work.”
“Was that when I was in Cyprus? You were quite cross with me for staying away so long, though I did bring you some absolutely divine sweets when I came back.” He waves a hand. “In any case, it’s the twenty-first century we’re discussing now. Do you think … you’d want …”
“To stay by your side for eternity?” Crowley smiles tentatively as a thrill runs through him.
Aziraphale nods, for some reason suddenly looking shy, and his hands fiddle with his cuffs.
“Oh, angel, there’s nothing I’d like more.”
Aziraphale practically glows with happiness, and Crowley loves that he’s made his angel look like that. He scoots to the side a little and pats the sofa cushion next to him. Aziraphale looks confused. Crowley rolls his eyes.
“I believe you asked for more hugging. Get over here.”
“Oh!”
If possible, Aziraphale glows even more. But unlike so many times in the past, instead of hiding behind his sunglasses, Crowley allows his unshaded eyes to drown in the brilliance. Aziraphale wiggles out of his chair and settles in next to Crowley.
“How do we …”
“Come here, angel.” Crowley tries to sound at least a little long-suffering, but he doesn’t think he manages it through his grin. He lifts an arm, and Aziraphale dives in, putting both arms around Crowley’s middle, and laying his head on his shoulder. Crowley rests his own head on the angel’s and lets out the most contented sigh ever.
“Oh, that’s quite nice, isn’t it?” Aziraphale says lowly, and Crowley feels the vibrations in his bones.
“I could get used to it.”
“Always so worried about your reputation,” but it’s said with a fond tone, so Crowley doesn’t protest.
“What would you say to a little holiday?” He murmurs it without moving an inch, happy to stay in the arms of the loveliest angel in all of creation.[5]
“Did you have something in mind?”
“I came across this little bookshop in Sussex once. I think you’d like it. There’s a quaint café just across the street.”
“I think a holiday sounds perfect.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow.”
For now, they’re content to stay just as they are.
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Footnotes
[1] He has in fact used the word ‘adorable’ on one other occasion. In 1972, when he spent some time in the states. He’d answered the door that Halloween to a group of small humans, including a round-faced child with dimples and blond curls dressed as an angel. He’d hastily miracled up some sweets, though he’d previously told himself he wouldn’t support any of this manufactured-not-really-spooky twaddle shilled by the American candy companies. He’d booked a flight back to London the next day. [return]
[2] As only an angel can do. Crowley tried it once in the mirror, but he mostly looked constipated. [return]
[3] It certainly had nothing to do with his need to prove he could ‘fraternize’ as well as a certain drama queen angel. [return]
[4] As if Crowley could forget a single millisecond from the moment Aziraphale had reached for his hand as he sat down in his bus seat until he let go when they exited in London. But because it was never talked about after, Crowley had assumed Aziraphale was ashamed to even need the physical comfort of a demon, even if they were friends. Still, he’d thought it was nice, while it lasted, and he’s treasured the memory ever since. [return]
[5] He’s not the least biased. [return]