Chapter Text
May 2020
“Good night, angel.”
The line went off before Aziraphale had the time to utter a pretended joyful reply. Slowly, he replaced the receiver back onto the phone, then stared at it for a moment, the tight smile he had been sporting for no one but his foolish self slowly fading away.
Wrong, wrong, wrong – that phone call had gone all wrong. As a dearest someone would say, it had gone down like a lead balloon.
When Aziraphale had dialled Crowley’s number, with somewhat trembling fingers, it had been with two purposes in mind: first, to check on him; and then, to apologize for his silly behaviour during their last meeting, two long months ago.
Instead, he had panicked. He had panicked, and had resorted to his usual, stupid, obsolete excuse: “we cannot break the rules”.
Yet, he was pretty sure those very specific, human rules didn’t apply to supernatural entities. And yet, over the centuries, he had learned to bend the rules, even the holiest ones, in every possible way.
But the bitter cherry on the cake was that he had pushed Crowley away. Again.
Aziraphale scolded himself, mumbling as he picked up his cup of hot cocoa and went to look outside. He barely acknowledged the unusual quiet of the empty streets, the pouring rain battering against the window – his mind was racing as fast as the demon’s Bentley.
They knew each other so well by now, it was easy for Aziraphale to read between the lines. To hear “slither over and watch you eat cake” and understand “I miss you, angel”.
And Aziraphale missed Crowley, too. In more ways than one. How could he not, after everything that had happened, after everything they had been through together? After what he had finally acknowledged, accepted and embraced?
Well, not entirely, it seemed.
With a sigh, Aziraphale glanced at the letter he had written to Crowley, right before the phone call, now lying conspicuously over his desk. Daring him to do something at last, for someone’s sake.
Aziraphale closed his eyes.
Yes, during this awful period, he had seized the opportunity to catch up on his reading, enjoying the undisturbed peace of his bookshop, rearrange his whole flat upstairs for the first time in decades, and even learned to bake all sorts of delicious cakes – but there was no one to share those with.
No, that thought wasn’t accurate.
Aziraphale didn’t care about sharing in general. All he wanted was to share with his sole counterpart on Earth, with his old enemy who had somehow become his friend and was now much more than that.
All he wanted was for the demon to sprawl on his couch, phone in hand, while he would read in his chair; to disturb his organized mess while he would prepare tea for the both of them; to discuss drunken theories with him until they would hear the songs of the morning birds.
All he wanted was to see those golden eyes, flaming hair and lopsided smiles again.
All he wanted was for Crowley to be here, with him, every day She would let them have on Earth.
And maybe, just maybe, things would be different if Aziraphale hadn’t acted so selfishly the last time they had seen each other, the day right before lockdown...
March 2020
It was a very strange period. Spring was on its way, days were getting longer, the weather was increasingly warmer, flowers would soon start to bloom – and yet, the whole world was shutting down. An unknown disease had started to spread, fast, and the humans were at a loss on how to deal with it. And so was Aziraphale. As a retired angel, there was only so much he could do.
A shiver went down his spine at that thought – a shiver that wasn’t due to the crisp London air. It had almost been a year, and yet, he still hadn’t got used to his new status.
The euphoria following his and Crowley’s little performance in Heaven and Hell had quickly vanished after their dinner at the Ritz. Of course, the world had just been saved, humanity could keep on thriving, and Aziraphale would get to keep on witnessing it, and experiencing it, by his best friend’s side. But, this time, there was a huge difference: he no longer belonged in Heaven.
Crowley being Crowley, he had encouraged him to look on the bright side of that new part of his existence: no more side but their own, no more unexpected and frankly unpleasant visits from Gabriel and his henchmen, no more duties or accountability. Only freedom.
But Aziraphale didn’t feel free.
Firstly, because his fear of Heaven was still carved into his mind – it was hard to get rid of it, after millennia of oppression (Crowley’s word, somewhat appropriate, the angel had had to recognize). For instance, every day, Aziraphale would perform a small miracle, just to make sure that Gabriel hadn’t managed to find a way to take his powers away from him. Or worse: to make sure that She hadn’t decided to take his powers away from him.
And that led to the second point. Aziraphale didn’t know what was expected of him anymore, and it was deeply unsettling. Annoying. Even frightening. He had been a Principality his whole existence, the Angel of the Eastern Gate, sent down to Earth to do good, watch over humanity, and thwart the wiles of the Evil One. Admittedly, along the way, he had made himself comfortable there, and had bonded with a demon. But he had always done what had been asked of him (sort of), and had even been rewarded for it.
So, what now?
Now that he was retired, what was his purpose? What was asked of him?
Surely, She must have some sort of plan for him, a plan Heaven had no knowledge of. So what was it?
That was precisely what Aziraphale had been trying to figure out for the past few months, aware that he had been getting increasingly obsessed in the face of a deafening silence.
To Crowley’s utter disbelief.
They hadn’t needed to talk about it – Aziraphale knew. It was written all over Crowley’s handsome face, every time he was mentioning his attempts to understand his fate. The demon would usually stay quiet though, changing the subject whenever he could. And of course he would. Crowley had fallen for questioning Her and Her decisions. Ever since that day, he had tried to keep away from Hell and Heaven and everything that was sacred, only to enjoy his life of mischief on Earth. Somehow, the demon had ended up determining his own purpose, if not his fate.
Something Aziraphale had never dared to do. Because, despite Heaven’s oppression, he had always enjoyed being an angel; and he had always been afraid to fall, too.
And now that he was retired, all he wanted was to know what was expected of him, in that ineffable plan of Her.
As Aziraphale entered Saint James’s Park this morning, he was hoping that, this time, with the good news he had, Crowley would finally understand the significance of his personal quest. That he would finally have the support of his best friend – something that mattered as much to him as a sign from Her, he had come to realize.
His heart fluttered in his chest when he spotted the demon by the pond, feeding the ducks. Of course, they didn’t have to hide anymore, to set up inconspicuous rendezvous in public places; but old habits died hard, and this particular spot was full of shared memories. On this particular morning, Crowley’s flaming hair was reflecting the light of the fresh sun, and the black turtleneck he was wearing underneath his leather jacket was making him look even more stylish than usual.
After decades of denial, Aziraphale had eventually acknowledged that the sight of him rarely failed to take his breath away, metaphorically speaking – something he was having more and more trouble hiding. It was a good thing the demon didn’t seem to notice.
As he got closer, he saw Crowley freeze, sniff the air, then turn his head to cast him a lopsided smile, sunglasses in place. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered again.
“Hello, angel.”
“Hello, my dear.”
Crowley’s gaze lingered on him for a few seconds before he resumed his task. “I take it by the spring in your step that this isn’t ‘purely social’, as you like to put it?”
Aziraphale went to stand by his side with a smile. “Indeed, it isn’t. I do have something very important to tell you.”
He could have sworn Crowley went still for a second, before he casually threw a few crumbs into the water. “I’m all ears.”
“Well,” Aziraphale started, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back, and yes, maybe he was a bit nervous, “I met with Ms. Device a couple of days ago – she sends you her regards, by the way – and, after a long talk about bibliomancy, I think I finally might be onto something!”
Crowley threw more crumbs into the water, his gaze still fixed on the quacking ducks. “Onto something leading to what, exactly?”
Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat proudly. “To finally get in touch with the Almighty.”
Crowley theatrically sighed at his side. “For someone’s sake. You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“She won’t talk to you, Aziraphale!”
Crumbs fell at their feet. The angel looked sideways: despite the sunglasses, he knew the demon was now glaring at him, with his brows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. The perfect picture of annoyance, which he had a knack for initiating.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked as he turned to face him, feeling his own defiance bubbling up. He could recognize a pattern in this discussion, in their steadily rising voices; a pattern that never led to something good.
Crowley stretched his arms wide. “Because She never did!”
Aziraphale raised a finger. “Well, that is not entirely true. Back in the day, when I was fixing the wall of Eden–”
A demonic grunt of annoyance interrupted him.
“Ugh, not that story again! It’s been years, Aziraphale! What am I saying: millennia! She didn’t even give you a chance when Armageddon was on its way and you were being harassed by your lot!”
It was true, and it hurt; but the angel carried on, frowning after a quick glance upward. “You shouldn’t be talking about Her in such a manner, Crowley.”
“Oh yeah? What’s She gonna do? Cast me out? Too bad, already done.”
Aziraphale couldn’t help but wince at that, so Crowley went on: “You should drop it, angel. I’m serious. And I mean that for your own good. You’ve been obsessed with this for, what, eight months now? And nothing’s happened so far. Why can’t you just enjoy what we have, here and now? You know, before The Big One?”
The demon’s voice had definitely gone softer at that point, but the angel was too upset to meet him halfway. “What we have?” he replied coldly. “What is it that we have?”
Crowley gestured wildly between and around them. “This! You, me, the whole bloody world still intact, at least for now anyway!”
Deep down, Aziraphale knew that Crowley was right. They had been so close to losing everything, so why couldn’t he be content after all?
Because he was the one who got lost, that was why.
He consciously looked away before replying: “It may be enough for you, but not for me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley flinch.
“Oh, isn’t it, now?”
“No.”
“Well, FYI, it could be, if only you’d stop being so bloody stubborn!”
It had only been a matter of minutes before Aziraphale would snap, they both knew it. “That’s easy for you to say,” he countered as he faced Crowley again, gesturing in front of him, “with your… nonchalance, and your constant defiance towards Her, and your… your… you just never care about anything!”
He regretted the words the instant they slipped out of his mouth. On the other side, Crowley’s face went from shock to anger in a second.
“Excuse me?”
Aziraphale started to panic, reached out and withdrew. “I… No, this is not what I meant. That came out awfully wrong. What I mean is–”
“No, you know what? Don’t bother explaining.” Crowley tossed the rest of the bread away without even looking; his covered eyes were still fixed on him. “You’re right, Aziraphale, I don’t care. I don’t care about you, or those stupid people, or everything we’ve accomplished together. I don’t care about anything. So I’m just gonna leave, and let you go back to your biblisomething, or whatever wild goose chase you’re on at the moment.”
Aziraphale felt the rest of his world crumbling when the demon he cared so much about turned around and started to do exactly as he had said. In one last desperate attempt to justify himself, he called: “Crowley, please, this is not–”
But said demon interrupted him, by throwing over his shoulder: “And let me know when that stubborn head of yours isn’t so far up your angelic arse anymore!”
After that, as Aziraphale watched Crowley disappear into the crowd, as he tried to suppress the tears welling up in his eyes, he wondered how many times they would have to hurt each other, to watch the other walk away, before he would finally be able to overcome his fears and act in accordance with his own faith.
May 2020
For a long moment, Aziraphale stared at his phone, thinking back to that exact moment, to all the ones before, and to the letter he had just written to Crowley.
Then, he finished his cold cocoa, put down his mug, and picked up the receiver again.
His fingers were trembling again as he dialled the number he knew by heart; but his mind was, at last, made up for good.