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Aziraphale did not quite expect what things would be like, if they succeeded in averting the apocalypse. He certainly hadn’t thought that far ahead. And he hadn’t imagined it would turn out like this, standing in his darkened bookshop after lunch at the Ritz. Crowley shuts the door behind them and takes a breath he doesn’t need, and the shop is filled with the weary exhales of two celestial beings.
It’s done, now. The Antichrist, the war, Satan, their trials— it’s over. What’s more, they have no obligation to return to Heaven or Hell again.
Now that their celebrations are out of the way, the mood has become a little more...somber.
Aziraphale takes a look at Crowley, feels a surge of guilt. Crowley who has defied the odds to find him and join him at his side, at the end of the world. And what has Aziraphale ever done but deny their friendship, push him away, only reach out when he needed him?
Crowley, of course, is not without fault either. While Aziraphale wrings his hands, he thinks about the worry he’s put the angel through all these thousands of years. Trying to convince him to kill Adam, before any of them knew who he was. And of course, the recollection of nearly leaving him for the stars. Demons aren’t supposed to feel guilt.
But this is his friend.
“Will you stay?” Aziraphale blurts out, as Crowley opens his mouth to say his name.
Crowley shuts his mouth abruptly again, before responding, “D’you want me to?”
Aziraphale sighs. “There are certain things I’d like to discuss.”
“Right.” Crowley is relieved. Of course. They’ll talk. How bad can it be?
“I have...much to apologise for,” Aziraphale says, at last.
“Yeah. Me too.” Crowley does not meet his eyes. For once they are on the same page, moving at the same pace.
“But I’m not even sure where to begin.”
“Neither am I.”
“That’s how I feel, too.”
“Well...if it helps, you don’t have to forgive me. I’m unforgivable, remember?”
“Don’t say that,” says Aziraphale without thinking. It makes Crowley look up and look him in the eye.
He shrugs. “Water under the bridge, I guess.”
Aziraphale fidgets. “If you say so.” Then, “I do hope this doesn’t make things awkward.”
“We’ve had our weird spots, Angel. We’ve argued and made up plenty of times and it hadn’t changed anything.”
“Because of the Arrangement.”
Crowley gives him a wry look. “Is that really the only reason?”
Aziraphale is quiet for some time before he finally says, “No. I still wanted to be your friend. Always.” Maybe more than just that, Aziraphale thinks, and stamps down the thought before it gives him too much hope.
There is something gentle and cautious in Crowley’s answering smile. “Yeah. Well. Same.”
“So would things have been different?” Aziraphale blurts out. “If we hadn’t been on opposite sides? If we didn’t become friends because I...told you a secret on the Eastern wall, and you felt like you had to keep it?” He catches Crowley’s curious stare. “If we’d just...met the way humans do?”
“I don’t know,” Crowley says softly. For the first time his infamous imagination fails him. “Maybe. Would there have been anything you’d have done differently?”
“Not tried so hard to push you away, I suppose,” comes Aziraphale’s quiet response.
Crowley cannot meet his eyes. He remembers that the Arrangement has always been delicate, the both of them painfully aware that they’re not supposed to be friends in the first place and drawing the lines over and over and over. Even if it means hurting the other, sometimes.
“I’d have kissed you,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley’s heart vaults into his mouth.
“You would have?”
Aziraphale gives him a shy, tiny nod.
“I’d have taken you to bed,” Crowley blurts out.
Aziraphale’s eyes actually twinkle. “You would have?”
“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice is a ragged exhale.
“I’d have liked that,” says Aziraphale in a small voice.
“Would you have?”
“I’m almost certain of it. You could have asked me as early as Rome, and I...I...” Aziraphale takes a painful breath. “I would have said yes. If we’d been humans, I mean.”
Another heavy, meaningful pause. Crowley sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Kind of makes you wish we could start over, huh?”
“We could,” says Aziraphale softly.
He offers his hand. Crowley gazes at him, puzzled.
“I know handshakes hadn’t been invented when we first met,” Aziraphale says gently. “But in the interest of starting over, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance again. So, hello. I’m Aziraphale,” he adds, as if introducing himself for the first time. “Angel. Bookshop proprietor. Part-time magician.”
Crowley smiles, and plays along. “Nice to meet you, Aziraphale. I’m Crowley. Demon. Uh, not much else, really.” He pauses. “You can call me Anthony.”
“Anthony,” Aziraphale repeats, and Crowley realises he loves the way it sounds when Aziraphale says it, gentle and elegant like he is painting soft brushstrokes.
Crowley clears his throat. “So, uh, nice bookshop.”
“Thank you. I’m very proud of my collection,” says Aziraphale graciously. There’s a twinkle in his eye.
“And you run it by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Crowley glances around. To Aziraphale’s delight, he puts on a good show of acting like he hasn’t been here before. “Does it get lonely?”
“I...”
Aziraphale catches Crowley’s eye, that cocked eyebrow on an otherwise expressionless face. And he realises Crowley’s not just doing things differently. He’s doing things the way he’s always wanted to, but didn’t know how. Until now.
“Sometimes,” Aziraphale admits. “Yes.”
“Well,” Crowley says lightly. “In that case I’d like to take you out to dinner tomorrow night. If you’d be willing,” he adds, seeing Aziraphale light up again. “If you don’t think I’m going too fast.”
Something clenches in Aziraphale’s heart when he looks back at Crowley. Starting over, indeed.
“No,” he says. “No, that wouldn’t be going too fast at all. I’d be delighted.”
Crowley beams. “Great.”
“Great.”
And in that moment it all falls into place. Six thousand years of shifting and moving and turning away from something so obvious leads here: to one hand seeking out another from under the hems of overcoat sleeves.
“See?” says Aziraphale softly. “That’s what I meant.”
Crowley chuckles. “I get it. Still doesn’t beat the way you sheltered me under your wing, though.”
“I can do that, if you like. I can do it over and over if it means you’re kept safe and dry.”
“Oh, Angel,” is all Crowley can say, and he’s never felt so soft.
Aziraphale walks him to the door. Opens it for him. Stops Crowley halfway to press a kiss to his lips— gentle, and faint, and sweet.
Crowley’s head is buzzing.
“Said I’d have kissed you, didn’t I?” murmurs Aziraphale with a smile.
“Y-you go around kissing guys you’ve just met?” Crowley stammers back. It makes Aziraphale laugh.
“Only the good looking ones,” Aziraphale flirts. “Mind how you go, won’t you?”
Crowley nods in goodbye, and heads off.
Aziraphale lingers in the doorway as Crowley brings the Bentley round and speeds off down the street, waving out the window.
And he knows it’s an ending. And he knows it’s a beginning. And no, he doesn’t know, not for sure, what will happen next, because that’s the point, isn’t it? Ineffable. But Aziraphale does know for sure that from here on out, whatever will be, will be because he and Crowley chose each other, chose to start over...
Aziraphale smiles, and shuts the door. Tomorrow will be a fresh start for them both.
He cannot wait to see what it brings them.