Archive of Our Own

A rickety blue Reliant Robin came darting into the roaring traffic of Berkeley Street, London, seeming as much like a small frightened animal as the day it’d exchanged the city for a small Oxfordshire village and mistakenly thought life was going to be kinder to it from now on. It practically fled into that rarest of sanctuaries – a vacant parking space in a Mayfair main street – and fell silent with a last relieved sputter.

The little car’s owner fondly patted the steering wheel, ever the optimist. “That went well.”

“As well as could be expected,” said his partner, the last true witch in England. Not of England, mind; Anathema Device hailed from Malibu, California, and had been back there twice in the last year on family business. Despite having grown up there and Malibu priding itself on vastly sunnier weather forecasts, Anathema had elected to stay in England, even opening her own little store of spiritualia. She’d felt up for a fresh start that was entirely her own, and preferred to look forward rather than back. Also, all she generally had to do for a sunny afternoon nowadays was make sure a certain boy from her village was in a sunny mood, and that usually wasn’t very hard at all.

She left the car, smiling a little at the way it looked in uptown London. Dick Turpin stuck out like a sore thumb, but she liked that about it. Just as she liked the look of her boyfriend, even though his formal attire seemed to feel as awkward on him as he evidently felt in it. Still, Newt wore an easy smile as they linked arms. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Together, they turned to the intersection behind them, and the massive, ornately decorated building beyond it. Illuminated letters above the covered entrance proclaimed it the Ritz Hotel, Restaurant and Club.

“I kind of… hadn’t expected this of them,” Newt remarked, marveling as they entered the hotel’s lavish and already densely populated lobby, all gold leaf and chandeliers, marble pillars and crimson carpets. “I mean, I suppose they’ve seen their fair share of glamour, being around kings and emperors, but…” They moved to one of the high tables with their elaborate floral centerpieces, snagging a drink and some frilly, sugary appetizers as they went. Newt wouldn’t have been able to put names to either.

“Hm, yes. You’d think at least Aziraphale would be put off by the history of this place,” Anathema mused, wondering at the potential origins of the gold, marble and crystal, deciding all that tainted worldliness couldn’t possibly be befitting of a literal Angel of the Lord to spend much time around – but then again, Aziraphale was no longer of Heaven, and his fellow angels hadn’t been that pure to begin with anyway.

“Exactly. And Crowley always seemed more of a Hard Rock Cafe kind of guy.”

Anathema chuckled, thinking this was a very apt comparison as both were more concerned with looking cool than actually rocking, hard or otherwise. “Well, they have a history of their own here. I guess we ought to enjoy catching a glimpse of – oh!” The witch barely set her drink down in time before being throttled by a vibrantly dressed woman with flaming ginger curls. “Oh my, you made it! It’s so good to see you again, dears!”

“Hello, Tracy,” Newt managed, his chin jammed into the former Jezebel’s shoulder in a stranglehold of a hug. Anathema graciously unentangled herself. “Likewise, Madame.”

Behind the retired medium was Shadwell, toting the Thundergun of Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple on his shoulder, lovingly polished to a mirror sheen and looking far more natural on him than his dusty, rumpled suit. Newt gave a fond smile and moved over to his old Sergeant.

“Ay, laddie. Life treating you right these days?”

“Rather, sir. Tadfield town hall is lovely. No computers, it’s all on paper.”

“Good, good,” the old witchfinder approved. “Keep it that way. Nice an’ uncorruptible, paper.” He glanced at Anathema, who promptly broke eye contact with Tracy to glare back. Shadwell swallowed and nodded back. “Good day, miss.”^[1] Anathema cracked a smile in reply.

“You reckon those two could’ve made the journey a little easier on us,” Tracy was giggling. “It was a fright just coming into town. You forget what city life is like when you retire, mark my words. Oh, goodness, you both look wonderful.” She smoothed out Anathema’s dark, starry dress, her face positively alight under her colourful makeup.

“Not too bad yourself,” the young witch smiled, admiring the former medium’s eclectic assortment of gauzy scarves and wildly patterned and sequined dress. Tracy usually dressed a bit more conventionally in day-to-day life nowadays, but when the occasion called for it, she didn’t so much step up as well as fling herself up the entire staircase.

Right. The occasion…

“Newt! Anathema!”

The young witch whipped around. Four small figures and a yapping little dog came darting through the throng of people chatting in the lobby, rudely tripping up some of them as they went, and before she knew it Anathema was grinning.

Adam and the Them all wore tailored suits, all of them slightly askew save for Pepper’s, who wore hers with the cutthroat attitude of any veteran businesswoman. All four had worn flowers on their lapels, but those had now all been woven into Adam’s curly hair like a pale crown. They were all bouncing in place like perpetuum mobiles set in motion by excitement and sugar, borne testament to by the brightly coloured and chocolaty smudges on Brian’s face. Tracy immediately fussed over him with a handkerchief, while also loudly admiring the others. Pepper and Wensleydale cornered Shadwell and demanded to know all about the Thundergun, which was instantly and proudly lowered and displayed. Adam quickly escaped all of them, practically skipping over to Anathema with Dog at his heels. “The fellowship is complete,” he grinned, ruffling the fur of the only pet allowed^[2].

“The coven of the airstrip,” she smirked back.

“Ooh, that’s even better. But isn’t covens just witches?”

“Aren’t we all in service to occult forces, today?”

The young Antichrist pondered this. “Well, we are arrangin’ what’s supposed to be the best day of a demon’s life. Then again, I reckon the angel evens things out.” He hesitated. “An’ I don’t know. Best day of their lives? Isn’t that something that’s just, you know… supposed to happen, without plannin’?”

“Oh, I don’t think we should worry about that.” Anathema briefly squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t think anything could make today any less than perfect for them.”

Yes. Today was a very special day indeed, at once the most supernaturally charged and yet the most human of occasions.

If she was honest, Anathema didn’t fully see the merit of marriage herself. She personally wanted to wait at least a bit longer for it. She knew Newt was the one for her, because she had decided this herself and because he shared the sentiment (which was all much lovelier than Agnes’ rather limited predictions had always led her to expect). She just wanted to enjoy that for a while before following another expected, predestined path.

But the angel and the demon?

A little over a year ago at Tadfield Airbase, Anathema Device had not at all been shaken by the Apocalypse happening all around her. Angels, demons and Horsepeople had behaved exactly as foretold, coming and going without her batting much of an eye at them, and even the Devil himself hadn’t gotten much of a reaction out of her^[3]. But seeing those two, seeing their auras, and then figuring out they weren’t yet an item? Now that’d been the hard thing to wrap one’s brain around.

She’d have given them a stern talking to herself if they hadn’t resolved the matter a mere day later, as soon as they were free from their superiors. Just as well. The sheer intensity of their pining had been a right eyesore to her Sight.

After having spent six thousand years at a pace slower than actual glaciers, she’d been impressed to hear they’d proposed to one another only one year into their official relationship. Then again, their requited love wasn’t any less intense than the yearning that’d come before, and not any less unbearable to her third eye either. Anathema wouldn’t make the mistake of Looking again, much to Aziraphale’s scrambled apologies and Crowley’s smirking amusement to the enforced privacy.

After a year of keeping in contact with and getting to know the angel and demon that’d chosen humanity over all else – except perhaps eachother, but Crowley seemed perfectly happy on Earth nowadays and not inclined to drag Aziraphale out to space anymore – she’d been flattered and happy to have been chosen as Aziraphale’s maid of honour. Even if Shadwell was the angel’s best man, too. Newt and Tracy would stand by Crowley, and it couldn’t feel more right to have the misfits that’d saved the world by complete accident together again like this.

She only hoped the celestial pair would remain the only supernatural influence here today.

The celestial pair in question were upstairs in a lavish suite reserved just for them, glowing with happiness, anticipation and nerves, and unwilling to change into their formal attire and lose sight of eachother until the last possible moment.

Crowley was pacing and gnawing at his nails, wildly alternating between a wide grin and a worried scowl. His left hand kept wandering to his right, where he’d worn Aziraphale’s golden ring for the past months, already missing both its physical feel and the ethereal light it’d emanated. A black snake lay coiled tightly around his neck, dark scales glittering with silvery stars.

“Do calm down, dear,” Aziraphale spoke from the window, where he was spying on the arriving guests. “It’ll all be quite alright.” But the golden light flaring around his hair was anything but calm, utterly betraying him, and plain as day to the demon.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Crowley broke off his pacing and joined the angel, entwining their hands. Aziraphale’s was trembling as the demon pressed a kiss to his wrist, the tongue of his snake flicking out to mirror the gesture. “And I’m supposed to be the paranoid one.” He met the angel’s bright eyes. “You’re… ssure, are you?” he asked quietly, the slightest hint of a hiss creeping into his voice. “Completely sure?”

He’d asked it many times over the course of the past few months, as they’d filled them with miracles together to make every preparation go smoothly, aligning every timetable, getting everything right just so. Perhaps they’d overdone it. Crowley suspected they had, and yet he’d found himself unable to stop planning, to stop fussing, to stop forcing time to race towards this day. And yet he’d kept asking Aziraphale every so often; are you sure? Do you really? Do you want to go this far?

The answer had been the same each and every time, spoken with the same calm confidence and love, never mind trembling hands and shaky smiles, and so it was now. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Aziraphale smiled. And like always, Crowley knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he meant it.

Because they may have made it official between the two of them, with their first kiss in Berkeley Square just a block away, with the more intimate understanding of one another that’d followed, with their engagement, over and over again. But they wanted to make it as official as it got the human way, too. If, in the future, humanity would cook up new ways to do so, they’d follow suit as well, because love was an active thing, and the human ways held the most meaning for them. No matter what Heaven or Hell might think.

Aziraphale’s fingers were still trembling, Crowley noticed. “It’s one hell of a statement,” he grinned, failing to mask his anxiety.

“One we’ve both wanted to make for far too long. Let them notice.” The defiance in Aziraphale’s eyes was beauty to behold. “I’m not afraid anymore.” He cupped Crowley’s face, caressing the snake with his thumb. “You did that, darling.”

How had it come to this? Six thousand years ago, a demon had fallen for an angel faster than he ever could’ve plummeted from Heaven. For six thousand years he’d been inching closer, while the angel had turned away and balked and declined, reducing him to a crawl slower than anything Hell could’ve sentenced him to. But when, in the end, the very last barrier had dropped away and Aziraphale had finally confirmed what Crowley had really always known – that this blessed, damned, maddening, glorious feeling was mutual – Crowley had gotten so used to holding back that now he was the slow one, and the angel was the one racing ahead and occasionally flashing back a dazzling, beaming grin.

Crowley wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to it. He was completely and utterly certain he didn’t want to.

Aziraphale was grinning now, a fragile, wobbly, overjoyed thing. He took Crowley’s hands between his own. “I want this. In the words of Freddy Mercury, we’ll… we’ll fucking do it, darling. Together.” He blushed at the profanity, and Crowley physically felt every bone in his body dissolve into jelly. “I love you,” he managed. “Stars, I love you.”

“Save it for the ceremony,” the angel murmured, smoothing warm hands up his arms and only barely holding back from kissing him. Crowley nodded, his eyes overbright and mistrustful of his voice. They turned to the window together in an attempt at distraction; their guests were slowly trickling in.

They had pondered keeping it between the two of them and the ones who knew them best, the ones who truly knew what they were; the ones who’d been present at the airstrip two years ago. But there were more humans in their lives at this point, people they’d encountered outside of the confines of their assigned roles. Crowley might dislike the ugliest bits of humanity, and Aziraphale might dislike having customers forced upon him in the context of Touching People’s Lives and Doing Good^[4], but everything besides that…

“Ah, there’s mister Shimizu and his family,” the angel beamed, pointing out the owners of his favourite sushi restaurant. They knew him in half of Soho’s eateries, now it was his turn to give back^[5]. “And isn’t that miss Demery from the garden centre? I do believe she’s copied your style, dear.”

“Nah, she always dresses that well,” Crowley chuckled, peering down at the little old Welsh lady in her impeccable, gleaming black dress. The first time he’d met her, meticulously growing and selling the hardiest plants in London, he’d been fairly certain she was a demon sent to keep an eye on him. He’d quickly learned she was far sharper than anything Downstairs could deal out, however.

They’d both continuously made human acquaintances and even friends during their time on Earth, separate from one another while living their forcibly sequestered lives, and all of them had been delighted and intrigued to meet the other and hear about their upcoming marriage. And the angel and demon, for their part, were more than up to inviting them all, even if that meant being Anthony and Ezra to some of them today. After all, they wouldn’t even be getting married the human way without humanity’s influence.

Crowleys’s gaze wandered. “Angel, look.” He gestured with his chin, indicating the procession of exceptionally serious-looking black cars coming up to the hotel. “He really came, the little hellraiser.”

“Warlock! Oh, how wonderful to see him again.” The angel brightly scanned the people leaving the cars, recognizing several secret service agents from their time at the Dowlings’ estate. “Charles, Raymond, Toby. Good to see him still on, he was quite shell-shocked last time we saw him. Ah, there they are, Harriet and the lad.”

“Getting tall, he is.” Crowley attempted to sound nonchalant, but one did not simply raise and subsequently tutor a child for eleven years without forming a decidedly undemonic bond.

“No Thaddeus,” the angel remarked.

“Had you expected any different? No loss there.” Crowley’s eyes wandered on, and he was just about to point out one Mary Hodges, formerly Loquacious, and a gaggle of her fellow former Satanists coming in when a sharp, hot pain suddenly and rudely stabbed him in the chest. “…Ow.”

He was already reaching into his jacket to find the source when he suddenly realized, his eyes widening and his words piling up in a chain collision in his throat. “Aziraphale.” He pulled out a small amulet, a little black stone on a golden chain. The sigil engraved on it was white-hot and hissing furiously.

Two winters ago, the amulet had been a Christmas gift from Anathema. It detected occult entities, gradually heating up as they approached. Crowley always carried it on his person, if only to prevent it from burning through anything as it detected him.

It was never a good sign when it detected anyone else.

Aziraphale had turned wide eyes on him, then on the street, feverishly scanning for anything amiss. Then he let out a small gasp.

“Crowley.” He lay a hand on the demon’s arm, redirecting his attention. “It seems our, um, relatives are attending after all.”

They were two; two figures, one on each side of the street, moving along purposefully and fated to meet in the middle at the entrance to the Ritz. One was dressed in an ill-fitting ash-grey tuxedo, falling loosely around their stick-thin body, their wild hair spiked as though desperate to get away from their angular face. The other wore a gentle smile and a powder blue suit, perfectly tailored and elegant, his thick dark curls gleaming in very locally brightened sunlight.

Crowley and Aziraphale stared at eachother in alarm and mounting dismay. They knew both of them.

One had blown up a city block and tried to discorporate Crowley two winters ago. The other had attempted to spread good will in London the following spring, by convincing people life on this Earth didn’t matter as much as joining Heaven afterward. Both Crowley and Aziraphale recalled smiles that either bared too many teeth or didn’t spell joy at all. They recalled the Principality Nithael and the self-styled Bringer of the Burning Sky, Xaphan; the angel and demon that’d been sent to replace them as London’s overseers, only to be swiftly rebuffed by the angel and demon that’d charged themselves as the city’s protectors.

They’d known all too well those encounters hadn’t been the last they’d seen of Heaven and Hell, but today was the worst possible moment for a rematch.

Crowley had instinctively bared his teeth in a snarl of disgust. Aziraphale’s whole demeanor had crumpled up in something very much resembling defeat. He opened his mouth to speak, but was then silenced by a knock on their door.

The angel was nothing if not polite, no matter the circumstances. He stammered, but only briefly. “Um, come – come in?”

The door was cracked open by their master of ceremonies; a good-natured woman dressed in tasteful silver-grey, short curls of the same hue gracing her head. “Is everything in order, gentlemen? Everything downstairs is going according to schedule, so you can rest easy on that.”

Crowley, having been just coherent enough to conjure up his glasses and dispel his snake, opened and closed his mouth a few times, fish-like, eyes flicking back to the window. Aziraphale was quicker to find his voice, prim and proper and only trembling ever so slightly, if one knew what to listen for. “Ah, there is just the one thing, Frances. It seems two unexpected guests have invited themselves. Could you perhaps be so kind as to send them up to us?”

“Yess,” Crowley hissed, nodding as a hint of fighting spirit crept into his expression. “Let us sort them out.”

“Oh, dear me,” Frances tutted. “Of course. I’ll be right up.”

Not everyone noticed as the two newcomers entered the Ritz lobby, but Anathema Device wasn’t just anyone. She immediately lowered her flute of champagne^[6] and stared, unabashedly; anyone with an aura that weird was unlikely to be offended, she was fairly sure.

It was simultaneously the worst and best thing to be able to safely say she knew what she was looking at. The worst because it spelled trouble, and the best because she still loved getting things right and knowing exactly where she stood. Where she stood, right at this moment, was in a building with not one, but two of Hell’s demons, as well as two of Heaven’s angels.

Newt had noticed the flip in her mood rightaway, touching a gentle hand to her shoulder and following her gaze as she swiveled. “Those two?” he inquired. “What’s wrong?”

“Not wrong per se,” she heard herself say. “Just… let’s say some of the grooms’ family seems to have invited themselves.”

“Their... family?” Newt stood on tiptoe to follow the duo over the heads of the other guests as they moved on, soon intercepted and escorted by the peppy silver-haired master of ceremonies. “You mean... Oh dear.”

“The one in blue looks like sunlight,” Anathema remarked, her voice far too airy to match what she felt. “Bright and impartial, made to have pretty and unquestioning things sprout up around him. The other one, in grey, looks like a smoking ruin. Can barely see anything through that darkness.”

“Did Crowley and Aziraphale ever feel like that?”

“No,” she replied. “Never. Not to me.”

“Should… should we be worried?”

Anathema met her boyfriend’s eye. “I don’t think it'll make any difference. Let me... let me find Adam.”

“Why is he here? Why are they both here now?” Aziraphale fretted, pacing to and fro through the suite, gesticulating frantically. “Uriel themself told me Heaven wanted nothing more to do with us!”

“Yes, but Heaven liess,” Crowley hissed. He rose from his seat in one fluid motion, seemingly pouring all his barely-suppressed rage and underlying fear into it. “I was a fool to think we’d ever be rid of them – well, maybe not a complete fool –” He reached into his jacket, pulling out something that had Aziraphale widening his eyes. “I did bring this. Angel, bless it.”

Aziraphale eyed the plant mister with reproach. “I will do nothing of the sort! Crowley, I will not have holy mist just hanging in the air willy-nilly –”

“Angel –”

“– and I’m quite certain it won’t be necessary to kill anybody!”

Crowley pointed at the window. “That demon’s ssspecialty,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “is hellfire. They were the first to forge it from holy fire in the process of Falling. And if you think I’m trigger-happy…”

“Yes, but maybe they’re not here to destroy us. Head Office wouldn’t send those two for that, now would they,” Aziraphale attempted to reason, turning on Crowley with wide, too-hopeful eyes. Bargaining, Crowley thought. A step up from denial, it’s a start. “Nithael isn’t – isn’t an Archangel, not by any means,” the angel went on. “Xaphan isn’t a Duke. If they wanted us destroyed, Gabriel and Beelzebub would be here personally, wouldn’t they? Why do you think they aren’t?”

Crowley, to his own exasperation, found himself giving this a bit of throught. Why only send flunkies? “Might be scared we’d humiliate them again,” the demon chuckled. He flashed a brief grin; more of a fleeting, overly-toothy grimace, but it was there, and Aziraphale gave a little smile in reply. There was the blustery demon he knew. “They might be,” he agreed. “We did give them a run for their money.”

“After all that, yeah… More their style to do the humiliating themselves, innit? Rissk a lower-ranking pair in facing us, the demon of holy water and the hellfire angel…”

The angel nodded. “Do you reckon we could simply… send them on their way?”

“Oh, I’d love nothing more, angel, but you know they’ll be back.”

“I just don’t want to make a fuss,” Aziraphale ventured, slightly apologetically. “Not here. Not now.”

“No room for flaming weaponry at a wedding, eh,” Crowley chuckled, smiling in earnest now. “Pity.” It’d been quite a sight, seeing Aziraphale chase Nithael off last time, even if the angel had later regretted his righteous fury and even sent an apology Upwards.

“I’d rather there wasn’t. And no hellfire whirlwinds or barrages of holy water, either,” Aziraphale gently chided the demon, wearing a small smile of admiration of his own thinking back to that New Year’s Eve.

“Oi, no fair. Xaphan brought the fire, and you bombarded them with the water, remember?” Crowley’s eyes were shining behind his glasses. “Such beautiful overkill, angel –”

A knock on the door, and Crowley’s next words died in his throat. His eyes remained fixed on Aziraphale’s, and the angel’s on him. “Come in,” Aziraphale spoke without shifting his gaze.

The door opened, and Frances ushered in an all-too familiar duo. Crowley nodded to her in thanks.

“Close it behind you,” Aziraphale uttered coolly, drawing himself up to his full height. He was still the shortest in the room, now more noticeably so. Still, his fellow Principality Nithael obliged, shutting them all into the suite together. Around them, shadows grew deeper and sunlight brighter, upping both visible contrast and tangible tension as the silence stretched on.

I’m not locked in here with you, Crowley found himself thinking. You’re locked in here with me…

A hand snuck into his. Silly old serpent, Aziraphale uttered back, a glowing ripple between their minds. Neither of us are much good with smiting, but I was the one created for it and you'd best leave the ugly business to me.

Ugly business is my middle name, angel. Crowley lifted his chin, seizing the first word before Aziraphale could sputter^[7]. “What’re you here for, then? Brought some more kindling for a pretty bonfire? Come to pray for us?” Aziraphale’s hand tightened in his. “We’re kind of in the middle of something you weren’t invited to for a very good reason. In other words, and I mean this with the greatest possible animosity, fuck off.”

“We’re not here to do you any harm,” Nithael spoke, emanating a calming aura that managed to effortlessly get under Crowley’s skin and grate at everything underneath. “Be not afraid –”

“Yeah, got it. We had enough of that last time, thanks.”

“You look different,” said Xaphan, their eyes already reverting to their regular solid black, glittering with facets. A spindly hand tapped their chin in thought. “You smell different. Something’s off about you, serpent. More so than usual.”

Crowley briefly let go of Aziraphale to roll up a sleeve, showing off the freckles on his hands and arms, reveling in the knowledge his cheeks were dusted with them as well. “You mean these?” He manifested a few scales, his freckles turning to silver stars glittering on the black. “Can’t hang out with divinity without being touched by it. Didn’t find myself minding too much,” he smirked.

Nithael sucked in a sharp breath. That, coupled with the gentle woosh of displaced reality, told Crowley that Aziraphale had taken out his wings. Silver streaked through white there as it did through black with him.

The other Principality had clasped a perfect hand to his mouth. “You – what did you do?”

Aziraphale primly folded his hands behind his back, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Exactly as we wanted to. You should try it sometime.” A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he heard Crowley’s splutter of delight, but the angel was quick to snap back to attention and the matter at hand. “So, um. Who sent you? Why are you here, exactly?”

Nithael stepped forward, nothing but sincere concern in his eyes. He made to touch a hand to Aziraphale’s shoulder, but then thought better of it. “There’ve been some… disturbing reports about you from Upstairs as well as Downstairs, as it turns out.” He glanced back at Xaphan. “We were sent to find out exactly what is going on. We’ve… both come merely to observe.” His eyes lingered on Xaphan again. “No threats here.”

“Yeah, right,” Crowley grumbled. “That’s the Bringer of the Burning Sky. I’m surprised we’ve all stil got eyebrows –”

“Have you got any idea,” the other demon hissed, “what you cost me that day, serpent? When you forced me back Down emptyhanded?”

Crowley shrugged, unable to keep a slight grin at bay. “Eh, safe to say I’ve got an inkling of what they’d do. Didn’t think torture could get to you, though.”

“They took me off the Department of Infernal Flame. They took my fire! They took all I had!” The demon’s voice took on a rasp like bits of flint grinding together, but there was no sizzle to it. “They took all I was!” Smoke rose from the seams of their ash-grey suit, but without so much as a spark to light it.

Crowley beheld his furious fellow demon for a moment, face impassive, eyes cool behind his sunglasses. Then he let out a snicker. “So, let me get this straight. One could say…”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “Dearest, no.”

“…you were fired?” Snake fangs bared themselves in an uncontrollable grin as Xaphan’s literal fuming worsened. Aziraphale gently nudged his demon’s shoulder. “Crowley, don’t make fun.”

The demon turned to him. “They don’t have hellfire! Angel, you’re the most fiery one here now!”

Aziraphale blinked, remembering he was supposed to be the angel that breathed hellfire. “…Oh. Yes, I suppose I am, really.”

Xaphan let out a furious growl, but then Nithael stepped forward. “Be that as it may, it’s not why we’re here. I… did hear the reports, and I did wonder as I visited you myself earlier, but…”

Crowley lifted his chin, instantly snapped out of his giddy relief. “But what?”

“You actually…”

“What?”

“You actually want to be around one another? You merged essences? An angel and a demon?” The Principality’s dark eyes were wide, full of incredulity. Both Aziraphale and Crowley quickly matched that look, the demon even shifting his glasses to his forehead. “What, that wasn’t obvious earlier? What’d you think we were, remote acquaintances?”

“We thought,” Xaphan started, “you messed up Armageddon because you wanted to wiggle free of your orders, both of you. Out of some misguided desire to be like humans, I suppose, I’ve never made an effort to understand them. We thought you worked together because of that. But you stuck together afterwards.” They shuddered. “No one understood, Up or Down. We still don’t. What are you playing at? What exactly is this… this thing between you?”

Aziraphale stared. He was vaguely aware he might even be gawking. Then he erupted. “Love!” he exclaimed, so loudly and abruptly even Crowley jumped. “Love for eachother, love for Earth, love that’s had six thousand years to grow!”

“Impossible,” Xaphan snapped. “Demons don’t love.”

“You sure seem broken up about that spark of yours,” Crowley retorted.

Aziraphale had stilled for a moment, realizing something. “Nithael,” he spoke, turning to his fellow angel. “You truly can’t tell? You don’t sense it?”

Nithael froze for the briefest instant. “I. I suppose I needed to… recalibrate. To being on Earth once again.”

“That different from Heaven, hm?” Aziraphale remarked, a pity in his voice Nithael clearly wasn’t about to spend words on. “Aziraphale,” he started, speaking carefully as if to a dangerous madman. “Six thousand years is nothing. A blip on the face of eternity.”

“Not here! It’s literally all the time there’s ever been – you should’ve seen it, the growth, the changes, the things they dream up, and us growing and changing right along with it –” The angel stilled himself, took a deep breath. By his side, Crowley’s eyes were fully yellow and gleaming with adoration. “But, well. That’s just it, isn’t it. You couldn’t imagine. And you haven’t seen it, so how could you.”

“I’ve been to Earth,” Nithael retorted, a smidge of indignation cracking through flawless serenity. “I helped fashion the Garden’s many flowers, and coming back later I saw how they were used to express all sorts of –”

“That was the Victorian era, Nithael, two hundred years ago. Another blip, I know,” Aziraphale soothed as the other angel made to speak again, “but I don’t believe you’ve seen much else. We were made to love Creation, were we not?”

“Yes, but not the Enemy!”

“Last I checked, we Fallen were also Her Creation,” Crowley smirked. “Also, I find myself still standing here, unharmed. And them, besides.” He jerked his chin at Xaphan. Nithael sputtered. “Only because… because I still hope for you!”

“So you’re expecting us to change? What, to Rise?” Crowley inquired. Xaphan scoffed. “Not likely. The other way around is far more plausible. Falling is so easy, Principality.” It wasn't completely clear which Principality this was directed at, and Crowley immediately bristled.

“Crowley is not my enemy,” Aziraphale interjected before this could spiral anywhere. “We were both cast out onto neutral ground, effectively made human, weren’t we? Head Office can’t touch us. Doesn't even want to, I recall.”

“There was only a… morbid sort of interest, a disgusted curiosity,” Xaphan hesitantly agreed. “Which I’m starting to share. Love, you say? How’s that even work?”

“We’re getting married,” Crowley blurted out, somewhat choked, as if the words were too precious to part with in this company. His eyes were burning, and he looked fully prepared to deal accordingly with any ridicule as it might present itself.

“A human ceremony? Why? You may still be on Earth, but you don’t have to blend in anymore – there’s no need to play at being human any longer.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. Playing at being human. That’s what Head Office had assumed they’d both been doing those six thousand years, and perhaps they’d been partly right – it had been the excuse they’d both given for indulging themselves, here and there. Ultimately, of course, they’d both just fallen in love with all the clever things and customs humans had invented for themselves. Planning a wedding in human fashion had been entirely too much fun. Too much, Aziraphale decided, to let it be spoiled by the commentary of the likes of these. If they didn’t understand, well…

The angel drew himself up resolutely, straightening his waistcoat. “You say you were ordered to observe,” he started. “By all means, do so. Report back to Head Office.” As he turned to Crowley, the demon’s eyes were wary, his pupils hair-thin slits. “Angel…”

Aziraphale took his hand. Trust me?

Ngh. Quite the demand, love. Crowley’s jaw worked, as if sharpening his teeth without opening his mouth. But… always.

A small squeeze. Thank you. Aziraphale looked up. “This… isn’t something that can be easily explained. It’s indeed something rather human. We went native, if you recall.”

“Gabriel keeps using that phrasing, yes.”

“So does Lord Beelzebub.”

“You’re welcome to stay and see, be our guest,” the angel offered. “You might understand. After all, we learned, and it only took a blip.”

“But if you touch a hair on any human’s head…” Crowley warned, wiggling his plant mister and unable to keep a brief grin at bay as Xaphan jolted. “Yes, yes,” the other demon flapped. “Angelic hellfire, your holy water. I don’t know why you don’t just destroy us now, to be honest.”

“Well,” Aziraphale smiled. “Perhaps, by the end of this day, we’ll have shown you why we don’t destroy matters or people that pose no threat to us?”

“Perhaps,” Nithael graciously allowed, nodding as he moved towards the door. Xaphan merely growled, slinking out after him.

Crowley glared at Aziraphale. “This better not blow up in our faces.”

“They say they’ve only come for reconnaissance. They haven’t the imagination to lie, and Head Office doesn’t have the imagination to lie to them. Right?” The angel gave a sunny smile. “And if they want to see, well… let’s give them what they want. Let’s see how they like it.”

“Of course they wouldn’t understand,” Crowley grumbled. “As Above, so Below, everything worth anything is only found on Earth…”

Aziraphale took his hands, picking up on the depth of emotion in the spaces between words. “And we discovered all of it here, and showing we did so is, after all, the reason we’re doing this in the first place, isn’t it?”

Crowley stilled, then stared. “…Well, technically. Technically, yeah.” He gave a rare blink, as if in reaction to some angelic glow only he could see. “But it’s all so blasted fragile, angel. We’re getting married and those two could just bugger it all to – ngk – somewhere –”

“But what else is new, dearest? Oh, perhaps they were sent to make us nervous, ruin this day. But we won’t let them.” The angel smiled, and it was at once the most fragile and the most indestructible thing Crowley had ever seen. He flashed his feathers for the briefest moment, and silver caught the light. “We’re doing this together, and nothing could possibly ruin it for me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no. Nothing in our way.” Crowley swallowed, only adding to the swirling in his stomach. “Alright. Let’s get this party started.” He blinked again. “Let’s… let’s get dressed, then, shall we?” he croaked.

“Let’s,” Aziraphale uttered, beaming with the exact same amount of nerves.

“There,” Anathema pointed, straining to see over the heads of the other guests and straining even more to point something out to someone too small to do the same. “There, that’s them.”

Somehow, despite being decidedly too short to see anything, Adam Young gave a serene nod and strode forward, Dog following obediently. He had no trouble whatsoever moving through the chatting crowd, people moving aside without even looking at him, and he soon reached the two most senior beings in the room.

“Hi,” said the Antichrist, to the surprise and mild terror of the angel and demon. “You’re Nithael and Xaphan, right?”

“You know us, do you, young Lord?” the demon cautiously ventured, eyes flicking between the Young beast and the lesser beast. “Humble wretch like me? Feather duster like him?”

“I know all about the two of you.” Adam gave a crooked grin as Newt and Anathema hovered behind him, torn between seeing him as a child to protect and an Antichrist to hide behind^[8]. “I reckon you’re about to see something more interesting than you thought you might. An’ I think you don’t actually mind bein’ here all that much either.”

“You are no longer the Morningstar’s son,” Nithael spoke hesitantly.

“But you still remember I used to be. ‘Sides, I’m still Adam.” There was not a twinge of scarlet fire to the lad’s eyes, and somehow that was the chilling bit. Both Nithael and Xaphan wisely tiptoed around the sensation. “Now that Aziraphale’s… mentioned it, I am sensing a lot of love,” the angel remarked. “All around here.”

“How nice for you,” the demon rasped. “I’m sensing a lot of fear, especially from those two up there.”

“Well,” Adam said mildly, “that’s sort of the point, you see. Being afraid but still doin’ stuff.”

“It’s not the fear I usually sense when I’m up here,” Xaphan mused. “Is this what they call ‘nerves’?”

“It’s not love of the Almighty, either. More of a general… love for the sake of itself…”

“Sounds about right,” said Adam, distractedly looking around to where his friends were waving at him, trying to get his attention for something vastly more important than the agents of God and Satan. The boy instantly brightened as he got their meaning. “Come on, you two, it’s starting!”

“What is?”

“Come on, come on! Let’s go into the garden!”

It was starting, as it’d once ended, in a garden.

It wasn’t the Garden of Eden by any means. The bit of Green Park the Ritz had annexed^[9] and turned into seating and pretty scenery for exclusive enjoyment had not been designed by the Lord Herself. Still, it was as lovely as it got, and might have a little more in common with the original Garden than it’d probably get credit for.

A garden is a question, Aziraphale had once mused. What does paradise look like if one can create it for oneself?

This particular paradise looked like a meadow of lush grass, sheltered from the world by shrubbery and trees, and positively silly with flowers. Someone appeared to have scared every rhodondendron, hawthorn and magnolia into flowering simultaneously even if that meant flowering slightly off schedule, and someone else had taken care of a many-hued plethora of floral decorations, framing the silvery satin aisle runner and garlanding everything else – even the inexplicably present black Bentley sitting near the wrought-iron gate to Green Park. And as the Principality Nithael took a seat in between his spindly Enemy and the portly man he’d gathered to be Aziraphale’s favorite baker, he found he could read them, their shapes and colours speaking to him as clearly and coherently as any passion-born Victorian bouquet.

His fellow angel apparently knew as much about flower language as he did. Nithael found himself bombarded and almost overwhelmed by the floral messages, even aside from the sensation of love growing stronger every moment. Jasmine, orange blossom and myrtle; eternal love and happy marriage. Forsythia, chrysanthemum and purple carnations; anticipation, truth and a resounding ‘yes’, even before it could be said in words. Nithael briefly touched a hand to his forehead. “I didn’t think it was possible for an angel to feel this, express this,” he muttered. “This… much.”

“You guys are all about love,” Xaphan hissed. “Fuck’s sake, I hear you ran a flower shop when you were up here.”

“Angelic love’s supposed to be more of a general, all-encompassing sense of… oh, nevermind.” Nithael could hardly focus, not with all of this swirling in the air; the sweet scent of the flowers, the pure anticipation.

He didn’t have to sit in it for long. Soon after everyone had taken their seats, music started playing from the Bentley, perfectly clear and without any visible cue; the warm voice of the late, great F. Mercury, soon accompanied by the jaunty snapping of fingers.

It’s a kind of magic
It’s a kind of magic…

The first to emerge from the Ritz’ Great Hall into the garden and traipse down the aisle were Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale, tossing around flower petals with varying amounts of force, but all with cheeky grins. On their heels came a tall, slim figure.

Crowley had clearly never planned to walk down the aisle, but he wasn’t exactly sauntering either. He was strutting, bouncing, half-dancing after the kids, all of it as weightless as if he’d taken out his wings to aid him. He was snapping his fingers, turning to people and making finger guns, eliciting smiles and a few whoops. He wore a wide grin growing wider in response, with teeth just a bit too sharp to be completely human. Luckily, only a small group was actually in the know, but they knew what to look for and they knew what it meant for Crowley to subtly lose focus on his shape. Anathema found herself cracking an endeared smile; the demon was the very picture of cool, but also steadily losing it.

One dream, one soul
One prize, one goal
One golden glance at what should be
It’s a kind of magic

What Crowley wasn’t wearing was his usual attire. Gone was all his trademark black; today the demon was dressed in spotless white from head to heel, even down to his shoes. The snowy sleekness of his sharp modern suit was only broken by a pale pink apple blossom on his lapel, and a black and starrily glittering tie that suddenly looked very familiar to both Nithael and Xaphan as the demon passed them by. It shifted, and stuck out a little forked tongue at them.

The bell that rings inside your mind
Is challenging the doors of time

Frances, the master of ceremonies, awaited him at the flower-garlanded arbor with a gentle smile. Crowley suddenly seemed torn between being in a hurry to get there and not appearing as though he was, his steps landing slightly off-kilter.

The waiting seems eternity
The day will dawn of sanity

Still, he managed to get where he was headed, both his demeanor and face heating up. He was still grinning at the Them and making a quick quip to Frances, and his stance was still loose as a slumbering python, but it’d become apparent there was nothing left to do but wait for Aziraphale. And while he had more experience doing that than he cared to dwell on, the last of it was proving to be nigh unbearable.

This flame that burns inside of me
I’m hearing secret harmonies…

And then suddenly those harmonies were no longer secret but clearly audible, as the Bentley changed its tune to a new melody, a new song.

Open up your mind and let me step inside
Rest your weary head and let your heart decide
It’s so easy, when you know the rules

Crowley thought of the talk they’d had, deciding they’d switch up the order in which they’d both once stepped into a church and walked down that other aisle, because Aziraphale had insisted he should get to feel what it was like to see the other arrive. Oh, he was feeling it alright.

All you have to do is fall in love

As he glimpsed movement from the Great Hall, the grass around his feet may or may not have ended up slightly singed. No one needed to know; the affected stalks immediately hid away, trembling.

Play the game, everybody play the game of love

Aziraphale came accompanied by two boys of exactly the same age.

Warlock had his arms full of a huge bouquet, half comprised of white and blue flowers, half of yellow and red. Nithael gulped seeing and reading it, and Xaphan chuckled for a moment before turning disgusted eyes back to the angel and his companions. The other boy, they knew all too well, and the same went for the dog trotting happily at his heels. Adam only carried a little silvery box. Judging by what the spindly demon sensed was inside, the young Antichrist might be the only one capable of safely holding it.

Aziraphale himself was dressed in a magnificent all-black brocade Victorian suit, coattails and all, also only offset by a pale apple blossom on his lapel. He was wearing a frilly lace cravat stuffed into his collar, and what looked like a brand-new top hat delivered crisp and fresh by time machine. It all suited him as shockingly well as white did Crowley. He was beaming, all but physically so.

This is your life, don’t play hard to get

“What the Heaven is that supposed to mean, angel,” Crowley hissed in something like desperation, inaudible to all but Frances, who stifled a smile. The demon’s eyes were huge and yellow behind his sunglasses.

It’s a free world, all you have to do is fall in love

That, at least, was true. It was now.

Aziraphale took off his hat with a flourish, carrying it under his arm, and Crowley all but lost it.

They’d talked this out, at length even. They had. But nothing in this world or what came after could’ve prepared him for the sight of Aziraphale coming towards him now. He’d been fine just a few moments ago! He had a talent for lounging around on his own looking like he owned the place, bless it. He’d always been okay with making the first move himself over and over again, or at least that’s what he’d always told himself, but after the world didn’t end the angel had turned all that on its head, hadn’t he. Aziraphale had been the one to go in for the kiss, propose bloody marriage, and now just let a poor hapless demon stand here and watch as he approached of his own accord. With another angel and demon and only She knew who else spying in on them, no less. Aziraphale had started making a move, and he’d keep doing so, fearlessly, magnificently. It was just too much.

My game of love has just begun
Love runs from my head down to my toes
My love is pumping through my veins
Driving me insane

“Angel,” Crowley managed to mutter as Aziraphale joined him, flushed and with a smile as wide as it would go, “you’re going to discorporate me. On the spot. Just keel right on over.”

“Oh, dearest, I feel the same,” the angel breathed. “I’m fairly sure my heart’s given out already. Just look at you, you’re shining so bright I might need the shades today –”

“Ngk,” said Crowley. Compliments, the open adoration in Aziraphale’s voice – nope, couldn’t have that. He was woozy enough already. I’m just little old me. What about you? “How’d you manage to look radiant in black?” he hissed under his breath.

“I'm an angel, darling.”

Crowley flashed a toothy grin. “I don't think that's got anything whatsoever to do with it.”

“For what it's worth, I think you pull it off every damn day, my love.”

Bastard. Bastard, he knew exactly what he was doing. Crowley gulped. “Don't – don't, not right now, I'm barely keeping it together as it is –”

“Gentlemen,” spoke a gentle voice, cutting them off with the greatest possible care and perfectly administered anesthesia. “If I may?”

They both turned to Frances in mild surprise. They never expected to inconvenience anyone with their discussions, or bickering, or whatever it was they’d been doing just now, so generally they didn’t. Today was different. Aziraphale nodded first. “Of course.”

Before joining Adam, Dog and their parents on the front row, Warlock had handed the bouquet to the silver-haired master of ceremonies. Frances had placed it on the altar in front of her. “Two halves of a whole,” she smiled. “Neither complete without the other. I gather you’ve been just like these flowers for a long time.” Her voice was soothing, but at the same time commanding of everyone’s attention; humans and celestial beings alike found themselves listening with rapt attention. “You’ve told me you have too much history together to do justice to here and now, but I did gather you are the very epitome of opposites attracting. You, Ezra, long-time owner of an antique bookshop, and you, Anthony, having had so many jobs and businesses all over the country…”

As Frances spoke, Nithael and Xaphan gathered themselves, but only somewhat. Xaphan violently yanked a hand through their unruly hair. “The serpent came in white?!” they snarled quietly, at the same time wondering why they bothered being quiet at all. “Who does he think he is? And the angel in black, too?”

“I thought your side disregarded any conventions long ago,” Nithael muttered back distractedly.

“Well yes, but some things are…”

“Sacred?”

“Don’t you get smart with me.” The demon turned to the angel. “What’re you so upset about? Too much – ugh – love for you to handle?”

“You’ve no idea.” Nithael stared. “Those flowers…”

“Flowers,” the demon gagged. “How could those possibly be unsettling? Fragile bits of kindling.”

“They’ve been used to spell out pure heresy, demon.”

“Ooh, pray tell.”

In the row just ahead of them, Anathema Device was listening to the hissed and muttered discussion with a rapidly cooling sense of anxiety and a mounting sense of both amusement and wonder. She knew what the flowers meant. She’d been there to assist when Aziraphale and Crowley had arranged them with miss Demery, Crowley’s usual plant dealer. The secretive, hidden ways of Victorian flower language were right up both their alleys, and it was a nice allusion for both the Serpent and the Guardian to use the language of the garden itself today, even if none of the humans would get the full picture. Only a select few would get any sort of full picture to begin with, after all.

“Those in Aziraphale’s half – ‘return to happiness’, ‘you’ve made my life complete’, ‘your love is reciprocated’ –”

“Ugh, yes, to be expected.” Xaphan pinched the bridge of their nose, as though Nithael’s mere proximity was giving them a headache. “Do I want to know the serpent’s half?”

“’Love at first sight’, ‘you’re a flame in my heart’, ‘I’m walking on air’…”

“He can’t possibly actually mean that, he’s a demon, and towards an angel –”

“…‘desire for affection returned’…”

Anathema quirked a small, touched smile, just as Newt took her hand and gave a little squeeze. Before them, on both sides of the bouquet in question, Aziraphale and Crowley only had eyes for one another.

“And what you’re sensing around here matches all that?”

“Mhmm. And it does indeed seem to be mutual.”

“No!”

“I’ve had the privilege of knowing you for a little while, planning all this,” Frances smiled at the couple, addressing them each in turn. “I’ve come to care for you both, although surely not as much as you care for one another. It is my sincere honour to join you now. I believe you both wanted to say a few words yourselves, first.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath first, taking Crowley’s hand and looking him in the eye. “There are no secrets between us,” he smiled, “and I’d be hard-pressed to find anything we didn’t already promise one another. I… I found what I really want to say was already put best by an artist.” It was a good thing he was holding on to Crowley; the look in his eyes now was enough to topple the demon. “’For my part,’” the angel tenderly intoned, “’I know nothing with certainty. But the sight of the stars makes me dream.’”

“Van Gogh,” the demon uttered, just ahead of Aziraphale. The angel nodded, smiling. “You do so love his Starry Night.”

“Never could do it justice.” He’d painted dozens of starscapes after turning part of his flat into an art studio – a demon needed a hobby after retirement – but there was something about the way the humans looked at the stars he’d never quite been able to match.

“I beg to differ, my dear. But what I really want to say is… thank you for making me dream.” And Crowley could hear with perfect clarity what Aziraphale wasn’t saying, what he was saying in the spaces between words. He could hear it now, in the light of the angel’s aura whirling underneath his corporeal skin as it mingled with his own darkness, as clearly as if spoken aloud if not more so. Thank you for showing me a world where nothing was certain but us. For leading me to the same freedom you gave humanity. “And thank you for making them dream, too,” the angel added quietly, beaming. Before the apple, there were stars. Even Before, you were already inspiring human curiosity, and I love that about you. Part of me always has, and all of me always will. It’s as timeless as the stars, as timeless as us. “There’s no one I’d rather spend forever with than you.”

Crowley was dumbstruck, and the very small part of him that wasn’t was panicking. He’d expected to be flustered at this time, he knew himself, but this wasn’t a good time to be tongue-tied. He didn’t seem able to find his tongue at all, or keep it from splitting in his mouth for that matter. He gave a full-body shudder and attempted to compose himself, as the look in Aziraphale’s eyes told him the angel was clear on and very touched by what his words were doing to the demon. Crowley shakily cleared his throat. “I wasn’t made for this,” he chuckled weakly, eliciting a wide smile from the angel and all those watching, among a joint, barely audible ‘no, you weren’t!’ and one glowing yes, you were.

Yes, I was, Crowley agreed. If he was made for anything at all, it was this.

“I, uh. I also have a hu – that is, an artist’s words for you,” he managed. “Wilde really did say it best.” He took Aziraphale’s hands in his own a bit better, leaned in a little closer. “’If you are not too long,’” he spoke softly, with infinite gentleness, “’I will wait here for you all my life.’”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, his eyes welling up but not freeing his hands to do anything about it. “Oh, my dear. I sincerely hope I wasn’t. Too long, that is.”

“You weren’t, angel.” Crowley found himself welling up too, everything but his future husband blurring before his eyes. He found he didn’t mind too much at all.

“The rings, if you would, Adam.” Frances reached out as the angel and demon both composed themselves somewhat, still smiling her enigmatic little smile. The Antichrist happily bounded over with the silvery box. Frances carefully took it, holding it open and offering its twin contents to Crowley and Aziraphale; the lavish golden ring with the winged crest, and the slender black ring shot through with red and silver. Neither of them had been made on Earth. When Aziraphale took the golden ring and Crowley the black, they each fitted a piece of themselves back into place – but not for long.

Amongst the guests, another angel and demon recognized what was going on, widening their eyes as they realized what the rings really were. There was a very minute shift in the air, something trembly that belonged in places both brighter and hotter than this one. Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t look away from one another, but that in itself was telling.

“Dearly beloved,” Frances started in a clear voice, “we are gathered here today to join Ezra Fell and Anthony J. Crowley in marriage.” Her eyes skimmed the guests. “If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Another shiver in the air. Aziraphale furtively glanced Up, Crowley Down – but although their master of ceremonies had just offered an opportunity to speak up, something in her voice didn’t so much discourage doing so as much as render it virtually impossible. As suddenly as it’d come, the tension ebbed away, and before they knew it Aziraphale and Crowley were grinning with something like relief, something resolute and glorious. We’ll fucking do it, darling.

“Ezra, do you take Anthony to be your husband, to have and to hold, to love and honour him, forsaking all others, as long as you both shall live?”

Aziraphale, who’d snapped to attention as soon as Frances had addressed him, now turned a beatific smile to Crowley, the warmest the demon had ever seen – and he’d seen warm, after all. The angel’s voice was much the same, the slight wobble in it only serving to weaken Crowley’s knees to match. “Yes, I do.”

Frances nodded warmly, turning to Crowley. “And Anthony, do you –”

“I do.”^[10] Crowley flashed a snaky grin as Frances raised an eyebrow, not trusting his voice further than those two words.

“Then go right ahead, gentlemen.”

Both the rings and their wearers gave a small shiver as Aziraphale slipped the golden ring onto Crowley’s right hand, and Crowley the black onto Aziraphale’s left. There they sat, each completing the other, both contrasting and complementary; a full day had been a long time to part with them, but now they really were there to stay. Now it was official in both their own and humanity’s terms.

Or at least, it would be once the word was given.

“By the powers vested in me,” Frances spoke, “and witnessed by all to see, I now pronounce you married.” She gave a radiant smile, taking a slight step back. “You may kiss.”

Angel and demon gave a tremulous smile and wrapped their arms around one another, along with something else, something wide and expansive and feathery that wasn’t quite visible to those watching, though it was real enough. After one brief, incredulous moment, eyes slipped shut and lips met.

If one were to ask Anathema about that moment later on, she’d say the bright, blooming world and everything in it had seemed to stutter somehow; like time itself had given a little hiccup. It’d seemed a perfectly chaste kiss, if overjoyed and heartfelt – but once they broke it, Crowley and Aziraphale both seemed rather more flushed and breathless than its duration seemed to warrant, and their hair seemed a bit messier despite both their hands having stayed put around one another. She’d also say she doubted anyone but her had noticed over the thunderous applause, however.

The other two attending celestial beings had certainly taken note of something. They both appeared struck rather speechless by the sheer amount of everything Anathema was wise enough not to open herself up to; it seemed they’d both seen a little more than they’d bargained for.

“Welcome to Earth,” the witch smiled back at them as she, Newt, Shadwell and Tracy were all called forward as the newlyweds’ witnesses, to be the first to offer their congratulations and to sign the marriage certificate. As she did so, Anathema saw Aziraphale and Crowley had already signed themselves, using their human aliases, but also two rather less human signatures; one swanky, serpentine sigil, and one neat copperplate Enochian moniker. She figured this was one of those very rare earthly documents to receive these particular signatures, and probably the best reason to bind oneself with one’s true name.

Then it was all done, and before she knew it Shadwell was shouldering his Thundergun and firing a deafening number of salute shots before throwing an arm around Newt and loudly celebrating the union in what sounded like all the various British accents all throwing a party of their own, and Anathema caught Adam grinning his wide boyish grin and the other, longer-haired lad wiping something away in a manner he must’ve thought was inconspicuous, and then everybody came forward at once to offer their congratulations. Somewhere in the middle of it all, the other angel and demon were pushed closer to her and Newt, and before the witch knew it her boyfriend had closed the rest of the distance. “Why didn’t you object?”

She’d quite forgotten how much braver Newt had gotten once he’d decided he didn’t care how weird life got anymore.

“We’re… just here to observe,” the angel replied, but in a voice like a broken record and with a distracted air very telling of just how much they’d both observed. “On behalf of our superiors, you understand.”

“Well, then,” said Newt, with all the curt politeness of a thoroughly peeved Brit, “I hope you learned something.”

“We’re just on our way to them to sort some things out, actually,” the demon said.

Anathema glanced over at the blissfully unaware duo, currently chatting with one Mary Hodges, formerly Loquacious, who was just shaking Crowley’s hand with a cheeky grin. “Give them some space,” the witch advised, not unkindly. “There’ll be time for… whatever you want to do, later. Just let them be for now.”

Xaphan stared at her, their faintly faceted eyes suddenly far more unsettling than Crowley’s had ever been. But they nodded, and the angel followed suit as they turned on their heel.

Then the cake was brought into the garden, and both Newt and Anathema decided they’d much rather divert their attention to that.

It was a gorgeous, enormous thing, befitting Aziraphale’s love of confectionery and Crowley’s love of drama. The outside was covered in light and dark swirls and strewn with apple blossoms; when it was cut, it was revealed the swirls continued on the inside, too. When Anathema got a slice, she realized with a laugh and no small amount of admiration that it was a perfect mixture of light, airy angel food cake and the much richer, heavier devil food cake^[11]. Aziraphale and Crowley had made sure everyone would get both in every slice, as it ought to be.

“I take it the dark parts represent mr. Crowley, then,” mused Arthur Young, standing nearby, “and the light does mr. Fell? Considering their usual, er… fashion choices?” He hesitated. “Or I suppose now they’re both mr. – say, I don’t think the surnames were sorted out –”

“I reckon it’s the other way round,” Adam remarked, muffled in between rapidly and enthusiastically stuffing his face. He was right, of course. If Crowley was going to eat anything at all it was going to be the lightest, sweetest, most innocent thing out there, while Aziraphale was the one fond of rich, sinful tastes. As in food, so in everything else.

The angel in question had thoroughly enjoyed his cake, but only had eyes for Crowley at the moment. He marveled at the demon’s pristine suit, smoothing his hands over the lapels. “You look truly stunning, my dear. Did you miracle it?”

“Nah,” Crowley smirked. “Bought it.”

“How very ethical of you!”

“I wanted to keep it,” the demon confessed. “Even if I never wear it again. Starting to understand humans’ attachment to their clothing. Although,” he added, unable to resist a jab, “yours, I probably never will.”

“Oh, you old serpent.” Aziraphale glanced down, and let out a small gasp. “Crowley, you’re wearing real shoes!”

“Only for you, angel.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Frances announced, in a gentle voice that still managed to turn everyone’s heads. Crowley and Aziraphale looked up as well. “I do believe it’s time for the couple’s first dance.”

“I do believe it is,” Aziraphale beamed. “Time to put those shoes to use, darling.”

“If I may,” Crowley smiled, offering his hand with all the gallantry he’d made his own during the Middle Ages and Renaissance Italy, and all the serpentine grace that’d been his long before that. Aziraphale couldn’t keep a blush at bay as he took Crowley’s hand and placed his other on the demon’s slender waist.

The Bentley gleefully launched into a new song, and Crowley gave a minute jolt as he recognized it. Aziraphale experienced the same as Freddy’s voice joined the first notes.

Just one year of love
Is better than a lifetime alone
One sentimental moment in your arms
Is like a shooting star right through my heart…

“Oh, the old sap,” Crowley growled softly. Aziraphale smiled against him. “A fine old car right after its owner, dear.”

“Ridiculous angel.”

“Foul fiend.”

It’s always a rainy day without you
I’m a prisoner of love inside you
I’m falling apart all around you…

It wasn’t very hard for those who knew the couple well to pinpoint just when the world vanished for the two of them and they truly became lost in one another, gathering eachother ever closer as they swayed to the song’s gentle rhythm. A peculiar atmosphere bloomed throughout the entire garden as everything seemed to still, and even the less sentimental of the guests were overcome by an overwhelming sense of love seeing the pair of them, unabashedly together, unequivocally joined.

My heart cries out to your heart
I’m lonely, but you can save me
My hand reaches out for your hand
I’m cold, but you light the fire in me

Somewhere in the garden, another angel and demon jolted, as if they suddenly saw, or perhaps understood something they hadn’t before.

And no one ever told me that love would hurt so much
And pain is so close to pleasure
And all I can do is surrender
To your love, just surrender

Soon it became impossible for the two of them to get any closer together; Aziraphale’s face was tucked into the crook of Crowley’s neck, Crowley’s nose rested in Aziraphale’s hair. Their beringed hands were linked, even the rings resting together. It was a picture a long time in the making, but none could deny everything was right where it belonged now.

Just one year of love
Is better than a lifetime alone…

As the final notes slowly died away, the two pulled apart slightly to look at one another. Then Aziraphale came up for a kiss that seemed stolen at first, but very soon turned into freely given and certainly freely enjoyed by the both of them. Then, as the first notes of Don’t Stop Me Now rang out, they seemed to come back to reality somewhat, looking up with wide smiles as Adam and the Them ran in and joined them for the more upbeat song first. “That was really pretty,” Wensleydale admired, “but I know you can go faster than that.”

“Yeah, show us your moves,” Brian grinned. Pepper only briefly looked their way; she was already engaged in a dance-off with Adam, who struggled to keep up. More people soon joined them, and the garden ceremony turned into a party.

I’m gonna go, go, go
There’s no stopping me…

Later, tables and chairs were set up and an elaborate, decadent dinner started early, to be spread out over a leisurely amount of time that befit both Aziraphale’s appreciation of food, and the pace the average snake set for their meal. Later on, they toasted their Châteauneuf-du-Papes, unambiguously to themselves this time, as everyone but a peculiar duo joined in. There was more music, more dancing, more talking, and people who otherwise probably wouldn’t do so started mingling while under the figurative wings of the celestial couple^[12]. Even the aforementioned peculiar duo found themselves roped into it and talking to humans.

“Has anyone ever told you,” the small dark-haired human started, “that you smell of burnt egg?”

Xaphan, Bringer of the Burning Sky, former big deal in the Department of Infernal Flame, blinked faintly faceted eyes and self-consciously adjusted their ash-grey suit. “They haven’t, though that sounds about right.”

“Oh.” Warlock rubbed his nose. That wasn’t how people usually took that. “Hey. I’m sorry for asking, but are you a man or a woman?”

“I’m a demon.”

“No, I mean, what’s in your pants?”

Xaphan blinked again. That wasn’t how humans normally reacted. “Well, legs, mostly.”

Warlock cocked his head and gave a slow nod, eyes gleaming as something seemed to click. “I guess not everything needs to be all black and white, right?”

Xaphan made to reply, but too late; the regular Y-chromosomed male boy-child partly raised by celestial beings had skipped off, inadvertently provided with something more to think about, and having left the demon with something quite similar.

Meanwhile, the Principality Nithael found himself gobsmacked by a casual revelation from another small human. “So if I’m getting this right – you actually wielded the sword? His,” the angel gestured at Aziraphale, next to Crowley at the main table, both getting happily flushed with vintage wine, “his flaming sword?”

“Yeah, it had a really nice balance,” replied Pepper, who was far too busy fending off a yapping Dog to pay much attention to the angel. She gave a sigh of fond exasperation, before yielding and kneeling down for a belly rub. “Held it for a bit, then passed it on to the others.”

“He just let it be… passed around by humans?”

“Mhmm, before he gave it back to humanity for good, save for emergencies. Said it suited us better than it ever did him.” Pepper looked up, eyes suddenly bright. “Speaking of, I thought that ceremony was brilliant! Not at all as gross as the usual traditions! No one giving anybody away, they started out as equals and they’re still equals –”

“Listen here, little girl –”

“– nobody taking anybody’s last name, none of that antiquated property symbolism –”

“– human –”

“– Crowley wore white because he wanted to, none of that purity nonsense, and he said he wanted to wear it again so no capitalist boasting of fortune either – it was all just – love…”

Nithael shut his mouth as Pepper rambled on, finding it was impossible to deter or derail her once she’d found a subject she was passionate about, and she seemed to have found several all tangled together in today’s events. He shut his mouth, and he listened, as he found he didn’t really have other options. He listened, and absently pet Dog as the animal turned his attention to him, getting grass stains on his perfect power blue trousers. And maybe, just maybe, he even learned.

And somewhere at the edge of the garden Adam Young wandered around poking into the artfully arranged bushes with a stick he’d managed to come by by virtue of being a thirteen-year-old boy with a need for one, a half-smile on his face as he looked back at everyone enjoying themselves as late afternoon turned to early evening. Then he looked up, and found he wasn’t alone; Frances, the master of ceremonies, calmly leaned against a tree ahead, shifting her gaze from the party to him with a smile much like his own.

“A good day, this one,” Adam simply said.

“Yes,” Frances agreed. “Yes it is.”

Later still, and night started falling. A soft rain had started falling alongside it, and as everyone had gotten into a good-natured hurry getting their things and then back into the Ritz and to their cars, Crowley had smirked and opened a stylish black umbrella over himself and Aziraphale. The angel, for his part, had merely given a touched smile, rested his arm around the demon’s waist and his head onto his shoulder and left it up to him to keep looking cool. It wasn’t an easy task, but as Crowley found, it was worth it.

“You’ll be able to say we’ve been married for a hundred years, one day,” Aziraphale remarked quietly as they’d seen off most of their guests. “A thousand.”

“Six thousand and more,” Crowley replied, just as quietly.

The angel stilled, heartbreaking wonder in his eyes. “…Dear Lord.”

“Gentlemen.”

Angel and demon both snapped back to reality and turned as Frances came walking up to them, perfectly composed and smiling under a grey umbrella of her own. “I trust everything has been to your liking.”

“It was just marvelous, better than we could’ve hoped for,” Aziraphale beamed, warmly clasping her hand. “We really can’t thank you enough.” Crowley was about to utter his thanks as well, but Frances was too fast for him, taking his hand in turn before he could speak. “Oh, don’t thank me. I merely orchestrated matters into place; you did the most important bit. It was my pleasure to be a witness to such love, truly.” Her smile widened ever so slightly. “Be seeing you.” And she turned on her heel and passed into the Ritz, leaving the angel and demon under their black umbrella with the strangest feeling.

“You know,” muttered Aziraphale, “if we went after her now, I don’t think we’d find her again.”

“Best not go after her.”

“Best not.”

“Aziraphale? Crowley?”

They looked up. Two others had remained in the garden, emerging from the suddenly shadowed depths of it from what looked an awful lot like a bout of conspiring. Nithael shielded himself and a bedraggled, extremely grumpy Xaphan from the rain under a pristine white umbrella, as if to complete some monochrome trifecta. Crowley snorted, but was quickly silenced by Aziraphale; though, upon looking to the side, the demon saw the angel could also barely keep an amused little smile at bay.

“What is it, you two?” Aziraphale asked, not moving a muscle and letting the others come to them.

Nithael seemed extremely hesitant. “It was… good to see you again. Both of you.”

“Well, now,” Crowley drawled. “I’m sure it was, from a general, angelic sense of ‘good’, of course.”

“Of course,” the angel smiled. “But perhaps something a bit more personal, too.”

Aziraphale cocked his head, trying and failing to stave off a smug little smile of his own. “Oh? Did you perhance see and read the flowers?”

Nithael’s smile faded. “Don’t tell me you were expecting us beforehand.”

“Oh, Heavens no. But I couldn’t help but read up on flower language during your last visit, and, well. Once you know what something means, it’s hard not to keep putting it into practice. I’m sure you understand.”

Nithael didn’t seem sure how to take this, but quickly regained his composure. “Well, in any case.” His eyes flicked Upwards, and he took a deep breath. Aziraphale and Crowley waited, all too aware of the other Principality’s internal strife. “I am going to file my report, of course. But what I will report is that what transpired here today was, in essence, human. Human events, and a human… well, almost human love that I don’t feel…” He swallowed, lowering his voice, “and this won’t be part of the report and you didn’t hear this from me, understand, but I don’t feel She would disapprove of. And so, I suppose I don’t either.”

“Nithael,” Aziraphale beamed, beyond touched. The other Principality quickly backed away from the soft hand approaching his shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Really, don’t, please.” He eyed Aziraphale’s fingers as though they might burn him, which, all things considered, was reasonable. Aziraphale withdrew, smiling in well-founded understanding. “Of course.”

“I’ll be,” Crowley grinned. He turned to Xaphan, who’d been silent and sullen up until this point. “And you, Burning Sky? What’s Downstairs gonna hear from you?”

“Haven’t figured that one out yet,” they gnashed out, not meeting Crowley’s eyes. “But I did figure out two other things, I think.” They paused, staring down at the wet grass so intently that a faint wisp of acrid smoke rose into the air. “The angel. He’s your fire.”

That shut Crowley up, and wiped the grin from his face to boot. After another beat, and Aziraphale’s arm minutely tightening around his waist, he nodded. “…Yes. Yes, exactly.”

“And… there’s nothing more the lower downs can take from me. So. Those two things will certainly influence my report.”

“So glad to hear it,” Crowley managed, slightly hoarsely.

“Let me guess,” Aziraphale ventured. “You will be back.”

“We might be,” Nithael admitted, almost apologetically. “Upstairs is very curious as to how you both survived your trials, and how you haven’t Fallen, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, I’m sure that must unsettle Gabriel a great deal,” Aziraphale spoke quietly, with something almost like pity.

“Remote surveillance shed no light on the conundrum. They might very well hand me another assignment.”

“Same here,” Xaphan growled quietly. But where, at the beginning of the day, their eyes had seared with all the hellfire they now lacked, there was now only thoughtful intrigue looking at the black-garbed angel of hellfire and the demon he’d chosen over all else.

“Well then,” said Crowley, “see you when they do.” His feet were unusually firmly planted for a snake. He didn’t feel a single urge whatsoever to run.

“You know where to find us,” Aziraphale added with a slight smile. “Of course I highly doubt you’ll find out anything pertaining to your assignments, but you’re always welcome on Earth.”

Heaven and Hell’s agents had the decency to walk back into the garden before leaving, a muted rumble and a faint flash of pearly light marking their exit. Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at one another. “That wasn’t quite as… skin of our teeth as I’d expected,” Crowley admitted. “An almost human love, huh…”

“It always was the best kind.” Aziraphale pulled the demon a bit closer, pecking him on the cheek. “Husband.”

“Hus-” Crowley went very still, and then something sparked in his eyes, so bright Aziraphale could see it through the demon’s glasses. Crowley surged forward, but Aziraphale found it in himself to stop him with a gentle hand. “Save it for upstairs,” he smiled, innocent and devious all at once.

“Upstairs.” Crowley’s eyes flicked up to the Ritz’ many illuminated windows, one of them belonging to the exclusive suite arranged for them. “’Course. Yeah. …Ngk.”

“Can you believe in all these years we’ve never spent the night here?”

Crowley smirked. “As if you’ve never used a frivolous miracle to keep us from being thrown out until 3 AM. Remember that one time just after the gardens were finished…” He found himself trailing off as he shrugged off his jacket, Aziraphale having slipped out of his own and undoing his cravat. He took Aziraphale’s hand as soon as the angel finished, and stared at the black ring, his eyes uncovered and unabashedly, fully golden now. He didn’t even feel the need to utter anything resembling ‘be careful with this, be careful with me’. Instead, he merely kissed the angel’s knuckles, then his palm, his wrist. “…Husband,” he finally managed.

The hand cupped his cheek, and soft lips met his. “Come here, you…”

After that, there was rather less talking, rather more kissing, and eventually a miracling away of a number of white and black feathers littering their lavish bed. Outside their window, the nightly garden bloomed and bloomed.

And it was good; it was very good, and no one needed to see it for it to be true.

The following morning bordering on afternoon, after an exorbitant amount of cuddling and fooling around with roomservice, it was Crowley who suggested finally getting out of bed. Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at him. “Truly? You want to get out there?”

“I don’t want to let them wait too long,” the demon explained, trying not to be tempted back between the sheets by the heavenly body he’d be sharing it with. “You know Anathema won’t let us live it down.”

Aziraphale sat up. “Oh, you’re probably right,” he chuckled. “No time like the present…”

Newt and Anathema hadn’t left London the night before; they’d stayed the night in Aziraphale’s bookshop^[13]. The idea was for them to drive the newlyweds out of London to get them started on their honeymoon, even if the witch and her boyfriend still didn’t know where that was headed. Crowley had only vaguely mentioned to drop them off somewhere between London and Tadfield, and not wanting to just leave the Bentley out by itself.

Arriving in the lobby and having checked themselves out, the two of them didn’t yet see their human friends waiting for them. Aziraphale scanned the lavish chamber, and found his eyes irrevocably lingering on a tall, broad-shouldered man in grey, the short-cropped back of his head turned towards them as he busied himself with the newspaper. The angel froze.

Then the man closed his paper and got up. It turned out he wasn’t of the archangelic persuasion, but instead quite human. Still, Aziraphale touched a hand to his breast before he even felt Crowley’s on his shoulder. “Angel?”

“I thought. For a moment, there. Um.” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to get the words out.

“I know,” Crowley gentled. “As amazing as yesterday was, I could’ve done without the surprise visitors, too.”

The angel gave a small smile. “As they say, phew.” He paused. “Then again, even if… Gabriel and Lord Beelzebub… you know… what would they do? Try to kill us?” He chuckled, unconvincingly. “They wouldn’t try something they know not to work.”

“Except they would, angel. Two tries and they still don’t know whose gang is best, and they show no sign of stopping.” Crowley’s voice was gentler than ever, but the realization of that truth still stung. Aziraphale wrung his hands together. Crowley kissed him. “Still. Having done what we’ve done, I have precisely zero regrets… husband.” The demon smirked as the angel brightened, interlacing their fingers as they sauntered towards the exit. He gently bumped into Aziraphale. “Mr… hey, what would we have done with the surnames?”

“Fell… Crowley… Crowley-Fell…” The angel clasped his free hand to his mouth. “Oh dear.”

“Ah, yeah, there is that,” Crowley chuckled sourly. “I take it back, good thing we didn’t bother with the hyphenation.” He looked up, grinning in recognition at a cheerful duo approaching right on time. “Ah, look who it is…”

They left London in a rickety blue Reliant Robin under a purpling sky full of early stars. Lunch had turned into a lot of catching up and then into dinner, as was wont to happen around two immortal beings with all the time in the world. At least, that was how it seemed; Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t seem in any rush for a couple with, presumably, some sort of transportation to catch.

“Where are you going, exactly?” Newt finally ventured.

Crowley smirked at him, snugly pressed up against Aziraphale in the less-than-spacious confines of the backseat, not that he minded. “You know, that was an improper question in Victorian times.” Aziraphale nodded in agreement. “Really, mr. Pulsifer, how nosy.” He hummed briefly. “But just this once, we might allow a guess.”

“Oh, yeah, shoot,” Crowley grinned, clearly amused in advance.

“Hmm.” Newt rubbed his chin while driving. “Paris, perhaps? You mentioned good memories there…”

“Those little bars in Valencia,” Anathema suggested.

“Rome? Florance?”

“Nazareth?”

“All lovely ideas,” Aziraphale had to admit, as the outer city gradually gave way to fields, darkening trees and rolling hills around them. “Although our current destination, just this once, has nothing to do with our affections for humanity but is instead something purely personal.” He snuck his hand into Crowley’s. “And although I did want to go earlier, it wasn’t quite the right moment then – but it really couldn’t be better now.” Crowley said nothing, just giving the angel a soft, barely-there smile, all but glowing in Newt’s crooked rear view mirror.

“Right,” said Aziraphale, a little later as the entire London skyline was a darkening suggestion on the horizon. “I think this is far enough. Thank you ever so much for taking us out here.”

Newt and Anathema knew better than to be surprised. Newt pulled over, and as the angel and demon clambered outside, both spread their wings in the cool spring air. “Oh,” Anathema observed, “you’re continuing by your own means?”

“Afraid we’ll have to,” Crowley winked. “Our destination is a bit, y’know, out of this world.”

“Shield your eyes, my dears,” Aziraphale beamed, barely finishing the sentence before a searing white-golden light spread from the tip of every feather down to his Oxford quarter brogues. “We’ll try our best to be gentle, but I fear there’s a reason we’re not doing this in a populated area!” Just before Anathema covered her eyes with her hands, she saw how Crowley also darkly lit up, black scales overtaking his body, every freckle turning to countless silver pinpricks shining out like the stars themselves. Then she realized she could still see their outlines, even with her eyes covered and tightly shut, like an aural vision she couldn’t turn off. The two of them linked hands, and Crowley spread wings flaming in some impossible spectrum as Aziraphale shuffled a little closer to him.

“Hang on tight and let me drive, angel…”

“Alpha Centauri, off we go!” The biggest possible grin was audible in the angel’s voice just before his words got stretched and faded and dopplered away straight up into the evening sky, and –

– with a gust of wind and the distant bang of something breaking the sound barrier, and then quite a few others, they were gone.

A little later, Anathema dared getting up from where the celestial shockwave had ushered her into a more earthward position. “Newt, I think it’s safe to look now.”

“Are you sure? You don’t think that left any sort of residual… fallout or anything?”

Anathema ventured a peek. The grass and trees by the roadside were unharmed, but she had a distinct hunch this was only thanks to a thoughtful miracle or two. That, however, was also how she knew matters were perfectly safe. “It’s fine. I’m sure.” She helped her boyfriend to his feet, and together they looked up at the stars. Newt adjusted his glasses. “I hope they have fun out there.”

“Maybe they’ll find some of Adam’s aliens.”

“Or some that just… evolved, outside of anyone’s influence.” Newt smiled. “I’d like that.”

Anathema wrapped an arm around him, and they leant into eachother a moment longer, looking up in wonder. Then they got back into the car and went back to Tadfield.

“You think they’ll be back on anything short of a… celestial timescale?”

“I think they will. They love Earth almost as much as they love eachother. That’s why they invited humanity, after all.”

“I can only imagine how sweet returning must be.”

“Really makes you appreciate what we have here, doesn’t it…”

And lightyears away, another couple sped into the firmament; two exhilarated waves of electromagnetic energy, one almost black, with a thin band of gold to its spectrum, the other its exact opposite and complement. Insofar as it were possible for them to hold hands in this state, they were. Insofar as they could speak, it went something like this:

You hanging in there, angel? I know we practiced, but this is quite a bit further than anything we…

You’re so charming when you’re concerned about me, my dear.

A pressing closer in indignation, fuzzy outlines overlapping. A kneejerk response, almost flung out into the aether. Then a further pressing closer, gentler now. You know what? Yes I am.

Yes you are. And should you need to carry me, as it were, at least I’ll get you back once we return home. Tradition is tradition, after all!

…Ngk. That’s, uh, that’s more than alright, angel.

And with fuzzy outlines overlapping, they raced eachother further into space, and a future they were ready for, together.