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It begins with an argument.
Human shaped beings who have known each other through all of time are bound to have little bumps along the way. From big (“I have a lot of people to fraternize with, angel!”) to small (“I’ll make you disappear.”), they have always made it through. Sometimes it has meant decades or centuries without seeing one another, but they always come back to each other eventually.
This time feels different, though. It feels like something critical is breaking as they shout their angry words at each other. Words like “emotionally stunted” and “sanctimonious arse” and “overindulgent manbaby” and “dramatic crow.”
It lasts for hours, or maybe only minutes, but it ends inevitably with one of them stalking off with a final parting shot and a heated “Fine!” from both of them.
And then there is silence.
—-
Aziraphale can’t remember what they were fighting about. It doesn’t seem important anymore. He thought he’d see Crowley again within a week, one month tops. He’d saunter in with a box of chocolates, or flowers, or a fresh pastry, and they’d pretend nothing had happened. That’s their script.
He never, not once, thought Crowley would leave forever. Especially after the past eleven years, culminating in a spectacular showdown with Lucifer himself. But the days have dragged on, lonely and monotonous, and he starts to fret. He’s an expert fretter, having six millennia to practice. He can even dither with the best of them.
When he grows tired of waiting, he picks up the phone. He has to recheck the number he knows by heart and try a couple of times before accepting the truth; Crowley’s number has been disconnected.
—-
Crowley feels something break inside his corporation. Like a hangnail, it keeps snagging at him until he finally cuts it off.
For 6,000 years, he’s had a constant in Aziraphale. He’s under no delusion that the fussy angel is perfect. It’s because he’s a bit of a bastard that Crowley likes him. Loves him, even. And past arguments have always ended with Crowley apologizing, or both of them acting like nothing has happened, but this time feels different.
He’s stayed steadfast in his dedication to the angel through the Holy Water incident, the Bastille, Heaven itself. It should be obvious by now that he’s his angel‘s demon, thoroughly and completely.
There’s really only so much one being can take, trying to prove himself again and again, never wavering, always faithful, only to be pushed away repeatedly. It always hurts, but this time it might actually break him.
He knows the angel will wait for him to come back. He always goes back. This time he isn’t so sure. What will Aziraphale do if Crowley doesn't come back? How long will he wait?
—-
The answer, as it turns out, is two months, three days, seven hours, and 12 minutes. That’s how long it takes Aziraphale to pick up the phone, and it’s too late. He’s been cut off, removed from Crowley’s life as easy as pushing a delete button.
He mopes for another two days before working up the nerve to track Crowley down. He can’t use the telephone, but he can check the Mayfair flat and hopefully go from there. With little hope he hails a black cab and gives the cabbie the address. As he stands in front of Crowley’s building, he almost loses his resolve. But he’s made it this far, and he’ll see it through. Even angels have to grow up at some point and do the Big Things for once.
If he’s truly lost Crowley for good, then he has nothing left to lose by this venture.
—-
There’s a knock at the door, tentative at first, then bolder. It becomes incessant, and try as he might, Crowley can’t block it out. All he wants is to sleep through the pain, and his door won’t let him.
Wait, that’s not right. Doors don’t knock themselves.
The thought that Aziraphale would come looking for him has never crossed his mind, and in his sleep-addled state he doesn’t think to check for a celestial presence before opening the door. When he does, two human shaped beings freeze in shock.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Well I am.”
“I can see that.”
“Is that all?”
“I tried calling. Your number has been disconnected.”
“Didn’t think I needed it anymore.”
Aziraphale’s face crumples at that. His voice, wavering with unshed tears, leaves him before he has time to think about what to say.
“Oh Crowley I’m so very sorry I don’t know what happened but I had to find you and tell you I’m so, so very sorry.” It all comes out in a rush, and then he stands there, staring at the demon, wide-eyed and turning red.
Trying to regain some composure, he takes a deep breath to steady his nerves, and in a calmer voice asks, “May I please come in? I’d like to fix this. Please?”
And because Crowley is Crowley, he steps aside to let the angel in.
—-
Aziraphale stands inside the flat, at a loss as to what to do next. Crowley points to his sofa, and sits in a ridiculously expensive leather chair. He has nothing to say, and he already regrets letting the angel in. He waits for Aziraphale to sit, then crosses his legs and his arms, giving Aziraphale a wary look, one eyebrow cocked. He keeps himself curled tight, protecting his core, not giving an inch.
Aziraphale sits on the edge of the sofa, ramrod straight and hands clasped in his lap to keep them from fidgeting. He isn’t sure how to start, and Crowley is giving him nothing to work with. Time to be an adult about this, or I’ll lose him for good.
“Crowley,” he begins, “I’m so glad you’re still here. When I couldn’t reach you by phone, I feared you’d left.”
“Nap.”
“Ah. Yes, of course.”
Silence hangs between them, uncomfortable and itchy like a wool jumper. Crowley stares at Aziraphale, waiting, as Aziraphale looks everywhere but at him.
“Looks about the same as the last time I was here.”
“Mmm.” A noncommittal answer. He isn’t going to make this easy.
“Of course it would be, it hasn’t been that long since…” Aziraphale’s voice trails off. Crowley doesn’t make a sound.
“I’ve been keeping busy, reorganizing books and sorting shipments.”
“You didn’t come here for small talk, Angel. Say what you want and then you can get back to your books and I can get back to my nap.”
“Oh, my dear! I -“
“No. No ‘my dears.’ Just say what you came to say.”
“I see. Yes. You’re right, of course. You’re still angry with me, I can see that. I’d hoped -“
“What?” Crowley cuts him off. “You hoped what? You’d come over and act like things weren’t said, and we’d go on like we always have?”
“I suppose I did hope that.”
“Not this time. You’ve misread me, Angel. I’m not angry, I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken. You devastated me with your words when I honestly thought we were past that. My best friend thought horrible things about me, and said them out loud, and it fucking broke me. I’m not sure this can be fixed. There’s no going back to what we had.”
Digging deep to find his courage, Aziraphale says “Good.” As he watches Crowley turn even more into himself, he rushes to explain, “Not good that it can’t be fixed, but good that we can’t go back to what we were. Because… because…” He falters.
Suddenly Crowley is in his face, snarling and feral. “Because what, Angel? Because you finally realized that you’re too holy to spend time with a, how did you put it? A ‘self-indulgent toddler who only thinks of himself.’ That was one of them, wasn’t it? You think you’re too good for me, better than me, and you’ve finally admitted what we’ve both known all along.”
Aziraphale trembles at the nearness of an angry demon. “That’s-- I didn’t mean-- I, I…”
“You you what ? You have about ten seconds to say what you came to say before I throw you out.”
“I love you!”
Crowley becomes very still, the words ringing in the air. He looks like he’s poised to strike, eyeing his prey with suspicion. Suddenly he draws back and spits out, “Fuck you!”
Aziraphale is confused. “I do! I tried not to for so long, you being clearly off limits. But I truly do.”
“Love doesn’t act as hatefully as you have.”
“Please believe me, any hatred I felt at the time was purely for myself. Never you, my d- Crowley. Never you.”
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, Angel, but I’m not in the mood. See yourself out, I’m going back to bed.”
“Please.” It’s barely more than a whisper, almost as soft as a prayer, and Crowley stutters to a stop halfway out of the room.
“Crowley. Please. I can’t lose you. Nothing works without you. I don’t work without you. Please, hear me out.”
Crowley doesn’t turn around, but he stops walking away, and Aziraphale takes a moment to be thankful for that.
“The truth is, I’ve loved you for a very long time. And I couldn’t allow myself to, it was too dangerous. If Hell ever found out that an angel was in love with you, they would have destroyed you. If they didn’t, Heaven would have. I couldn’t let that happen. So I pushed the feelings down, tried to ignore them, denied they were even there.”
“You could have trusted me, instead of pushing me away. You didn’t give me the option to make that choice for myself.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been absolutely horrible to you, yet you’ve always been there for me. Of the two of us, you’re the better man. Well, man-shaped being. At the moment. Oh dear!”
Crowley can feel things shifting inside his chest, but for better or worse, he can’t tell yet. Dammit, Angel, I should be done with you! He turns and walks over to sit beside Aziraphale on the other end of the sofa, leaving distance between them.
“What you said to me. It was awful, hurtful. How can you think those things about me? Say them to me? How do you not know me, after all this time?”
“I suppose I thought it would be easier to hate you than to keep loving you with no chance of more.”
“We’re free now. No one's hunting us down, watching our every move. We’re free. If anything, you can love me without fear now. Why would you…” His voice breaks on a sob.
“Because I’m an idiot. A big, scared, useless idiot. Centuries and centuries of being ridiculed by Heaven; I’m too soft, I’m not doing enough, I can’t relax or they’ll find me and they’ll hurt me. I’ve been conditioned to think of myself as worthless and unnecessary. And then, I snapped. Oh, Crowley! I have so much anger inside! Not for you, for them, for Heaven and the archangels and their Plan and their snide, passive aggressive comments meant to sound nice but never kind . You are the only being ever to treat me with kindness, and I’ve gone and fucked it up. I should never have taken any of it out on you. You’re what holds me together. You make it okay that Heaven fired me. You make this world the wonderfully mad place it is, the place I chose, the you I chose. Maybe it’s too late, maybe I’ve hurt you too deeply. But I do hope you’ll believe me, that I do love you, despite my words and actions two months ago. Even longer, for the past 6,000 years.”
Crowley hasn’t moved a muscle, afraid to believe any of what he’s hearing. He jumps when he feels a warm hand on his knee, the lightest of touches.
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t touch me.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve loved you since we met on that wall. I’ve understood the risk, the need to keep it unspoken. I’ve tried to show you, though. Never once have I thought about hating you instead. I’ve kept my distance, I’ve been careful with my words, I’ve been dancing the dance that was required of us. But I’ve never stopped loving you. Until now.” With a heavy heart, he continues softly, “Maybe not even now.”
“Oh I hope not…”
“I’m the demon. You’re the angel. But you’re the one acting so hellish towards me. I can’t take it, Aziraphale. I’ve been shattered and I’ve put the pieces back together again so many times, I’m more cracks than whole anymore. I’m just trying to survive at this point, another blow will destroy me.”
Aziraphale listens. Silent tears slide down his face as he sits with the pain he’s caused. They both do.
“If I may…?”
Crowley nods his assent.
“I have been nothing short of abusive towards you. And I’ve read enough to know one should never trust an abuser who claims to have changed. So, I’ll leave. I don’t deserve any more chances to treat you as you deserve. I fucked up, and you hurt, and it’s my fault.”
Crowley won’t look at him. This is the moment he loses his angel, and he’s not sure he’ll survive.
Aziraphale continues. “I do love you, I’ve been able to finally admit it to myself. I can’t imagine an existence without you in it. But I don’t have that right. Perhaps, in time, you’ll be able to heal, and we can try again. But that’s your call. I won’t pressure you in any way. It’s up to you. If you ever are willing, if you can ever forgive me, I’ll be waiting. I want to woo you, I want to romance you, I want to shower you with love. But this isn’t about what I want. It’s about what you need. And you’ve made it clear you need space.”
He stands slowly, the weight of a broken heart weighing him down. He looks at Crowley once more, afraid it may be the last time he’ll be able to do so, then turns to head for the door.
His hand is on the doorknob when he hears a soft sob. He hesitates, unsure if he should turn back, afraid to leave Crowley in this state, afraid to move towards him and unable to leave.
“Angel. Wait.”
Aziraphale waits. He’s on Crowley’s time now.
“I’ve wanted for so long to hear those words from you. Words of love. Oh, how I’ve waited. And now you say them, and it feels more like an ending than a beginning. I, I… what am I supposed to do now?”
Aziraphale takes a chance and turns to face him. “I can’t tell you what you’re supposed to do. What do you want to do?”
“I want to forget. Either forget what you said then, or forget what you’ve said today.”
“I don’t expect you to forget what I said then. And I hope you never forget what I said here today.”
“I’m afraid to trust you with my heart again.”
“But you want to?” He speaks gently, though his pulse is racing and he’s trembling.
“Fuck, Aziraphale, I don’t know! Every time, every fucking time I do, it gets broken! ‘He’s not my friend,’ ‘We’re hereditary enemies,’ ‘I don’t even like you!’ Where’s the truth, Angel? Where’s the lie?”
“Those were all lies. I’ve loved you at least since we had oysters in Rome. I’ve known it since that church in ‘41. And I’m free to say it now, and I choked. I missed my chance, and I can’t stand it. Eternity is a long time to live without you.”
“I need some time. Ha! Ironic, innit? You’ve said I go to fast, and I’m here asking for time. 6,000 years of longing, and I need some time. Bloody hell, Angel. You drive me crazy!”
Aziraphale remains still, standing by the door, absorbing anything Crowley wants to hurl at him.
“All those things you said. Before. All the hate you spewed at me. I’m none of the things you called me.”
“I know.”
“None of them!” Crowley was off the sofa and pacing the room, his voice growing stronger and angrier. “You want to know who is? Gabriel. Michael. All the rest of them. They have hurt you time and again. They deserve your anger, not me!” None of that is me!” He’s snarling at this point.
“No, it isn’t. You’re right. It’s Heaven, it’s the angels, all of the angels, especially myself.”
“How is it possible that I, the demon, understands more about love than you, the angel?!”
Aziraphale tries for a lighter tone when he answers, “I suppose it’s because neither of us is - was- good at our job.”
Crowley stops his manic pacing, a look of sudden clarity on his face. “You’re right. We’re rubbish at being who we’re supposed to be.” The corner of his mouth quirks upwards slightly, and Aziraphale allows a tiny, rueful smile cross his own face.
“Yes, that’s us. A rubbish angel and the demon who’s too good for him.”
“Sounds like a horrible romance novel.”
“Heh, it does at that!”
“Come back over here and sit, Angel.”
Aziraphale wastes no time crossing the room and sitting back on the sofa, where Crowley joins him, still keeping his distance.
“If whatever we have here is over, we’re both looking at a miserable existence for the foreseeable future. And we’ve just prevented the future from ending, so that could be a very long time.”
“Indeed.”
“If I believe you and what you’ve said today, I still might end up alone and broken. But I’ll have some good times first.”
“I can assure you, I will never let you be alone or broken again, if you let me.”
“Pretty words. You’ll forgive me if I’m not completely convinced.”
“Of course, I understand.”
“You said you’d like to woo me. What would that look like?”
“I’ve given this a great deal of thought. I'd ask you to join me on a proper date. At first I thought I’d ask you to dinner, but we do - did - that all the time. And food is really more my thing than yours. So I thought about what you might like, and did some scouting, and… Well, I know one of your bebop groups is having a concert not too long from now. If you’d permit me, I’d acquire two tickets for the show, front and center. I’d hire transportation, fully stocked with our favorite wines and whiskies, you may not care much for food but you do like your alcohol. After the show, we would return here, I’d walk you to the door and tell you how I’ve enjoyed my time with you. If I’m feeling brave enough, I might ask if I may kiss you on the cheek.”
“That’s your idea of a proper first date?”
“No, but I’m hoping it’s your idea of a proper first date.”
“You’d hate all of that.”
“I'd love every minute I got to spend with you, making you happy for a change.”
“And when is this alleged ‘bebop’ concert?”
“Oh I’m afraid not until Autumn, assuming there isn’t another lockdown.”
“Hmm. That’s still a ways off.”
“You did mention that you’d like some time. To think.”
“I meant days, maybe weeks! Not months!”
“I see. I could plan a date sooner, If you’d like.”
They’ve been slowly maneuvering closer to each other on the couch, and are now face to face, a shaky, tenuous connection being rebuilt between them.
“Like when?”
“Oh! Um, is next Friday evening too soon?”
“No.”
“I see. Would this Friday be too soon?”
Inches closer.
“No.”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?” Aziraphale is hopeful once again. Crowley hadn’t let him leave! They were talking about having a date!
“No.”
“Crowley?”
“Yes?”
“Would you give me the great honor of accompanying me on a date tomorrow evening?”
“No.”
Aziraphale feels the sting. Has he been stringing me along just so he can hurt me back?
“Oh. I see.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, keep it together.
“I don’t want to wait that long.”
“Oh!” Suddenly Aziraphale’s heart is soaring. Oh! Oh! This is happening?! “How about this evening?”
“How about now?”