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‘Crowley…’
The tone of Aziraphale’s voice was tentative, some note in it the demon wasn’t used to hearing. He had been glad to see the angel when he had opened his door in response to a short ring on the doorbell. Aziraphale was offering him something, a brown paper bag with the tips of green shoots sprouting from its top, its folded edges dark with moisture.
‘I got this for you… Well, for both of us really.’ He paused, dithering in his usual way on the doorstep and Crowley knew his hands would be fused together and twisting slightly had he not had something in them to prevent their fidgeting.
‘Perhaps I might come in and explain?’
‘Yeah, ‘course. Get in, angel.’
They settled together on the unforgiving sofa and Aziraphale rested his bundle in his lap.
‘I have this cottage, you see, not far from Poynings. It was gifted me by the Earl of Arundel back in the thirteen hundreds—part of my stipend at the time. I kept it, modified it over the years. It was somewhere I could go when I needed a little respite.’
Crowley started to speak, but Aziraphale raised a finger so he subsided and let the angel continue.
‘There’s this area at the bottom of the garden—shady, a little damp. The man from the village who keeps it tidy for me said it needs something that might grow on difficult ground. He recommended this.’
Now the packet was offered. There were stems there, tender, green, growing from tiny bulbs with healthy roots fringing each one. Crowley touched them, felt their cool vigour. Plenty of potential there if disciplined correctly.
‘Star of Bethlehem it’s called. The legend has it that the star fell and shattered, and that each flower is a fragment of it. You’re good with plants, I was wondering if you might do me an enormous favour and come for a visit, plant them for me.’
Aziraphale looked down at his fingers that gripped each other now that they had nothing to hold on to.
‘The cottage is terribly nice. If you wanted, we could stay there for a while, have a break from London. I would love—love to have these fallen stars in my garden, be given the chance to cherish them, and watch them grow.’
Aziraphale was blushing now, his pretty face flushed and comely. Crowley reached out with the hand not holding the little bulbs and took one of the angel’s hands in his.
‘Difficult ground, you say?’
The angel nodded, smiling, eyes sky blue and damp with his emotion.
‘Might have to stay a while then, make sure they get properly established.’
‘Yes,’ Aziraphale’s voice was breathless, ‘that might very well be the best thing. I think they would have a better chance of flourishing if we were both there to tend to them.’
‘I agree,’ said Crowley.
And when they kissed it tasted of a wealth of possibilities—love, hope, and the tender shoots of new beginnings.