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It was moving day, and Crowley was giving his plants a lecture.
“You’re going to love it,” he snarled at them. “Fresh air, sunshine, rich soil, real garden… you’ll be happier than you’ve ever been.”
Aziraphale paused in the doorway behind him, smiling.
Crowley lowered his voice. “Just remember, you didn’t earn this. You don’t deserve it. And if you fuck it up—”
From the intensity of his voice, it was clear this wasn’t really about the plants.
Oh dear. Suddenly sick to his stomach, Aziraphale cleared his throat.
Crowley spun towards him, face tight. “...Ready to go?”
Aziraphale debated whether to say anything. In the end, he just nodded. “Yes. I… yes. Let’s go.”
They were holding hands as they made their way up the cottage walk.
Aziraphale didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping Crowley’s fingers until Crowley squeezed back. “You okay, angel?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said automatically. “It’s all so lovely.” He hesitated, and the worry came spilling out. “Crowley. I… I’m sorry. If I get something wrong. If I mess something up. I don’t mean to. But…”
“Mess something up? You?” Crowley softened the scoffing with a cheek peck. “There’s nothing to mess up. Our side, remember? We’ll sort it out.”
“You were right, though. With your plants.” Aziraphale gazed at their new home. It was beautiful. “I haven’t earned this.”
A sharp, abrupt intake of breath. “I wasn’t talking about you!” Crowley burst out, frantic enough there was no doubt he meant it. “You’re wonderful, absolutely spectacular, and you don’t earn happiness anyway, that’s not how it works, I didn’t mean…”
He trailed off.
Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, to insist that in fact he wasn’t so wonderful, he didn’t deserve things he wasn’t worthy of.
It occurred to him, then, that if Crowley had not been referring to Aziraphale, there was only one other possibility as to whom he had been projecting onto the plants.
And that was more urgent than the insecurities churning in Aziraphale’s belly. He changed his next sentence.
“Well. Then you don’t have to earn it either, my dear. You… you deserve to be happy. Just as you are.”
For a moment Crowley went stock still, emotions warring across his face. Then…
“Ngh,” he said. The tension went out of him, shoulders sagging. “We’re both hypocrites, aren’t we.”
That surprised a laugh, slightly tearful, out of Aziraphale. “Perhaps. But, as you said.” He sighed, feeling a new resolve. “I suppose we’ll just have to sort it out.”
“Our side.”
“Our side.”
They proceeded up the walk, together.
Three Years Later
The sofa near the window had a good view of the garden. Outside, it was raining.
“The plants look happy,” Crowley commented.
“That’s good,” said Aziraphale. He reached up to stroke Crowley’s head, resting against his shoulder. “They deserve it, you know.” The words came easily. “They deserve happiness.”
Crowley sighed, nudged against Aziraphale’s palm, and made a low, contented noise. “Yeah,” he said softly. “They do. All of them.”