Chapter Text
1630 Padua
From inside the roof of the Basilica of St Anthony, Aziraphale offered the archangels a quick smile before leaving. He thought his report had gone over rather well, but it could be tricky to tell, especially with Uriel, they would have made an excellent poker player if they had the opportunity and inclination.
It had been a particularly useful discovery of his, that miracles in Heaven didn’t send out shockwaves that others could detect. It made sense, of course, Heaven was made of them, it was where he drew his power from. But when he’d seen Michael summon Holy water and had realised that he hadn’t felt the rush of a miracle, it had set off an idea.
Right before he left, just as he was about to cross the boundary that would return him to Earth, he clicked his fingers and a carefully sealed letter disappeared from his drawstring purse. Satisfied, he crossed the boundary.
He made his way back to the university over the Ponte di San Lorenzo, a bridge that the Romans had built, though under a different name. Aziraphale could remember them building it, thought it was beginning to fall into both disrepair and the Medoacus river.
On the bridge, looking out over the river with his mind beyond the clouds, was an old man. The man, dressed in scholars’ robes, looked up as he heard Aziraphale’s footsteps on the bridge.
“Signor Fallé, I trust your business went well,” he said.
“As well as one can hope,” Aziraphale replied, deliberately vague.
“Ah, well, I should be returning to my book,” the man said, standing up straighter now that he was contemplating moving.
“That would probably be wise,” Aziraphale agreed, “Did you just come out here to take a break?”
“Yes, I’m tired of writing. There is nothing I can say that will get me out of this situation. Either I tell the truth and am condemned, or I lie and have to live with myself.” The man sighed, examining his ink-splattered hands.
Aziraphale looked at him with a mixture of pity and respect. “Tell me about it,” he said, “I won’t condemn you, and the words won’t be written down to be used as evidence against you.”
“Again? Signor Fallé, surely you are bored of my lectures by now. Surely your books are more interesting than the stars and the planets?” The man smiled at him.
“My books will still be there when you are done,” Aziraphale replied, settling next to the man on the bridge.
He enjoyed all of Signor Galilei’s lectures. As a Principality, a guardian, he had not had a whole lot to do with the creation of the universe. And since time hadn’t really existed back then, he wasn’t sure how much from Before he remembered. He enjoyed Her creation, certainly. But he had not given much thought regarding how it had come to be. Before Margaret of England, before the 14th Century, he’d simply enjoyed that it was, and gave thanks to Her where he could. But he could still hear Crowley saying “I made that one. I made so many stars. I wonder if they’ll be the last thing I ever make.”
He told himself that his interest in Galileo’s theories about the universe was purely academic. As if he didn’t thoroughly enjoy the human’s company and as if he couldn’t hear Crowley’s sad whisper in his head.
* * *
Dear C,
Thank you for the recommendation, you were quite right, the Oca in onto was far better at that Inn. Shame it’s so much further away from the university, but it was certainly worth the added travel time.
Padua continues to be interesting, one of the former students will be releasing a treatise soon looking at the differences between geocentrism and heliocentrism. It has already caused quite an uproar, as you can no doubt imagine, even the Pope has gotten involved.
Should you arrive in Padua before your next report is due, I can always be found at the university library.
Sincerely,
A
Crowley hoped that Hell hadn’t noticed how reliable he’d suddenly gotten at handing his reports in on time. It was stupid, really, but every time he snapped his fingers and got a letter sent to Aziraphale he’d feel this heady rush and before he knew it, he was addicted.
He knew it wasn’t worth the risk of being caught by Hell. The Arrangement was bad enough but letters? A friendship with the enemy? That was beyond idiotic. And beyond that, it wasn’t enough. He felt like garbage even admitting that to himself: it was Aziraphale, perfect, stupid, wonderful Aziraphale. Who cares if it’s enough? Anything was more than he deserved. He’d take what he could get.
So, like an idiot, he kept going, taking the shortcut through Hell to Padua.
The university of Padua cut an imposing figure, the silhouette of a palace standing proud against the sunset. Crowley, seemingly unmoved by this, entered.
Libraries, regardless of shape, size, and population, always meet certain criteria: The smell of old and new books, as well as a little something else unique to libraries; and the fact that the specific thing one is looking for will be impossible to find, but gems that one didn’t even know to look for will be easily found. These are the fundamental facts of libraries.
Unfortunately, this meant that Crowley, who was looking for Aziraphale, struggled to find him. But Aziraphale, who was not in search of Crowley, found him in the same way one might find a hidden book on the exact topic they need. He excused himself from Galileo and walked over to the lost demon.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Crowley replied, feeling like he was about to be attacked by books from all directions.
“Oh, it is, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said, either unaware of Crowley’s sarcasm, or choosing to ignore it. “But I think I know somewhere you’d prefer.”
Aziraphale lead Crowley outside and around to a domed building some distance away from the rest of them.
“An observatory?” Crowley asked, surprised.
“Not just an observatory, the observatory,” Aziraphale said, still smiling. “This is where Galileo Galilei has been putting together his book on heliocentrism versus geocentrism.” Aziraphale was rather glad he’d gotten all the words right, Italian was a bit more fiddly than Latin.
Crowley just stared at Aziraphale in awe.
“Oh no!” Aziraphale cried, patting down his own scholars’ robes (in unusual white, but people tended not to notice that). “Ordinarily I borrow his key, but I must have forgotten.” Aziraphale looked rather sad.
“He could have miraculously left the door unlocked?” Crowley suggested, having moved closer to Aziraphale as soon as he showed any sign of distress.
“No, if anyone were to find out . . . He’s in enough trouble already,” Aziraphale said, still patting his robes in search of the key.
Crowley looked at the dome thoughtfully and then back against the university. There was some degree of tree cover, he supposed. He put his hands to his temples and surveyed out. Bless it all! One bloody student was looking out from his window, probably contemplating an exam or something.
He waited and waited for the student to close his window and go to bed. Just when he was about to give up, he felt the window shutter close. Perfect.
He tossed Aziraphale a crooked smile, “No one’s watching.”
“Crowley I’m not going to put him at-“
“Not that. I meant this, Angel,” Crowley reached back and spread his wings. It felt good to get them out, like relaxing a muscle he didn’t even know he was flexing. “Come on,” he told Aziraphale, excitement plain for anyone to see.
When Aziraphale unfurled his own wings, as bright as Crowley’s were dark, Crowley had to stop his corporation from breathing for a moment in fear that it would start hyperventilating, they were so beautiful.
But just like in any other situation that ran the risk of becoming sweet and tender, Crowley summoned all his bravado and swept himself into the air. He had to keep reminding himself, that his goal was just to get on top of the dome, not to show off. He managed to keep himself down to only one loop-the-loop.
He patted the dome next to him, a gesture for Aziraphale to join him. Aziraphale flew up elegantly, without showing off like Crowley had. Well, maybe not as much as Crowley had; he still spun slightly, several feet above the spot next to Crowley, before gliding himself down in a sitting position.
Crowley looked over at Aziraphale, his crooked smile still plastered on his face, but more of it was visible now, the flying had knocked his eyeglasses askew. Crowley seemed to freeze a little when he noticed this before straightening them back into position.
“Do you remember?” Aziraphale began, “back at Kinclaven Castle.”
Crowley froze properly this time. He did remember. Vividly. He’d hoped, desperately, that Aziraphale had forgotten about his outburst. But apparently not. He could still remember that dark, destructive feeling that had consumed him as he’d asked, “Why comfort a demon anyway?” Like it was easier for him to make Aziraphale leave than deal with the misery that had consumed him.
“Uh,” he said articulately.
“When you told me you’d helped make the stars,” Aziraphale said, confusing Crowley. That was not the direction he’d expected this to take. He had been preparing for Aziraphale to say something along the lines of “You asked me why I would comfort a demon and I realised there is no good reason so I’m putting an end to all of this. Goodbye.”
“Oh. That,” Crowley said, having quite a bit of trouble forming words in his surprise, “What about that?”
“Well, they’ve been the source of quite a bit of controversy among humans lately, haven’t they?” Aziraphale chortled slightly. “Did you know then, what you were building them for?”
Crowley wasn’t really sure what to say. It had been such a long time since he’d thought about his life before the Fall, and, other than that moment at Kinclaven Castle, he’d never spoken of it. It was too painful to even think about most of the time, like prodding a bleeding wound. Besides, it’s not like he had anyone to talk about it with. He could imagine it, trying to have a heart-to-heart with Ligur, it was laughable. But Aziraphale, Aziraphale wanted to hear it. So perhaps, he could want to tell it, just this once.
“We had no idea,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale hummed softly, “It’s funny, isn’t it: how so much of the universe was made for humanity, whether they know it or not, and here they are all worried because they aren’t at its physical centre?”
Crowley had to laugh at that. “I suppose I could head over to the Vatican and apologise,” he joked, “So sorry your holiness, but when I was making all these stars, I didn’t know that this wet rock was going to be so important, please do us all a favour and get over it.”
That made Aziraphale laugh so hard he slid slightly down the dome, which only made Crowley laugh harder. Aziraphale took some steadying breaths and spoke.
“I’m going to miss it here. It’s been quite nice to get to know Galileo, and to learn so much about the stars and planets. But I’m supposed to go back to London soon, apparently there are a few blessings in order.” He sighed.
Crowley watched Aziraphale look up at the stars, the way the stars reflected the twinkle in his eyes right back at him was almost too much for Crowley. The idea that Aziraphale liked something he’d made this much was intoxicating. He could have pulled out a coin and miracled it into doing what he wanted, but just this once, he thought it might be worth trying something different.
“I’ll get London for you,” Crowley said, “I have to be there soon anyway.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale looked surprised, he’d certainly been expecting a coin toss.
“Yeah, s’no trouble,” Crowley said.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said genuinely.
“S’no trouble,” Crowley repeated both to Aziraphale and the night.