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Aziraphale sat at his new crystal desk in Heaven, staring blankly at the mountains of paperwork before him, and reached out a finger to touch a silver bell.
“Yes, Aziraphale?”
Uriel’s face hovering before him was blank, like the perfect soldier she was. There was no sign on her lovely features that she hated him. Perhaps she really didn’t hate him. Uriel’s righteousness was generally completely impersonal, like a blunt weapon. She didn’t lower herself to hate a pillar of salt. But he’d never really been afraid of her, not as much as he was of…
“Yes, Aziraphale?”
“Ah. And Michael as well. Charming.” He coughed. Michael looked at him with the gentle, concerned expression that Aziraphale had always thought was far too perceptive for Aziraphale’s own good.
“We’re here to help,” she said now, sweetly.
“Is this, ah, Gabriel’s old desk?”
“Gabriel didn’t have a desk,” Uriel said, in what seemed like an oddly resentful way.
“I suppose the Metatron wanted to make you feel at home.” Michael smiled. “Didn’t you have a desk at the bookshop?”
“W-Well, I…” He caught himself stammering like a naughty cherub and caught himself. This was ridiculous. He was the Supreme Archangel and they were his inferiors. He’d given up everything for duty. Everything. Every scrap of happiness he had ever had. And he would not be cheeked.
“Send in the Metatron,” he said and switched the connection off.
He stared at the paperwork in front of him. Reports on miracles performed, lists of souls to be reviewed, and bureaucratic forms in triplicate. It was all such trivial makework, surely things Gabriel would never have handled perfectly. And none of it that he could see referred to the Second Coming. He closed his eyes…
…and Crowley’s mouth was on his, hot and desperate, love that felt like a sword to Aziraphale’s chest. Every time Aziraphale closed his eyes, or let his thoughts go blank. The memory of that brief moment of weakness when he’d kissed back.
Crowley had kissed Aziraphale like he loved him. He did. he did. But not enough to go with Aziraphale, not enough not to abandon him, to leave the whole weight of protecting humanity and fix things on Aziraphale’s shoulders alone.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and forgave Crowley all over again. He was good at forgiveness. It was one of his favourite things. It only hurt a bit.
He couldn’t have forgiven himself for abandoning Earth and Heaven and what was right.
“How are you settling into your new role, my dear fellow?”
Aziraphale shook himself, trying to adjust to the sudden appearance of the Metatron in front of him, beaming beneficently. Open-plan offices were good and righteous. No one in Heaven had anything to hide, and no need for doors or privacy or a place to cry because one was desperately, terribly in love with a demon who loved back but somehow you were more apart than you had ever been.
“Oh, tickety-boo,” Aziraphale lied. “Just getting acquainted with everything that needs to be done.”
“Excellent, excellent. I know Gabriel left rather a mess.” Aziraphale nodded politely, trying to imagine Gabriel, the old Gabriel, leaving something as human as a mess. Perhaps he had been distracted. “But I have the utmost faith in you to get Heaven back on the righteous path.”
“Ah, yes. And… the Second Coming?”
“All in good time. We don’t want to make as much of a shambles of that as Beelzebub made of Satan’s son’s coming, do we? Although we gather your friend Crowley had a lot to do with that.”
“Ah. Yes. Crowley.”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Metatron produced a biodegradable coffee cup. “I brought you this. Give me coffee or give me death… a rather intriguing question, don’t you think?”
It smelled like… not Heaven. Like Soho.
“You’ve been there?” Aziraphale said anxiously.
“Muriel is taking very good care of your books. She doesn’t seem to have worked out about selling them yet, though.”
“Oh thank goodness for—that doesn’t matter! Did you see him?”
“Who?” Metatron looked at Aziraphale kindly, twinklingly, knowingly, and then apparently decided to be straightforward. “The demon Crowley was not there, my dear. Why would he be?”
“It’s his bookshop too.”
“It’s probably quite painful for him right now,” Metatron said gently. “Did he try to tempt you to stay with him? Ah, yes, no need to say it. We can always rely on you to do the right thing, Aziraphale.”
“Can you? You called me honest. I have lied to God. I’ve lied to other angels. I’ve acted against Heaven’s dictates. You should throw me out right now, probably.”
“But only in the service of good, am I right?”
“How can I trust that it was not what was good, but what I wanted?”
“You’re an angel, Aziraphale.”
“So is Gabriel. And he is—he was—Gabriel was rather awful. A truly horrible person.” He could say that at last.
“And yet everything worked out for the best. Trust in the Ineffable Plan. You will do a wonderful job, Aziraphale. And remember. Crowley chose not to come with you.”
The blinding pain of that was almost enough to short out Aziraphale’s thoughts. Almost. Metatron couldn’t have known how much it would hurt. He couldn’t…
Aziraphale looked into the charming, avuncular face and thought: He did. He knows exactly how much it hurt. Because he, alone of the Archangels, knows what it is to be human.
Almost alone.
“Where’s Sandalphon?”
“I didn’t know you were particular friends.” Such a benign voice, and face. Anyone would trust him.
“We weren’t. Where is he?”
“Saraqael is more than competent if you need an enforcer.”
“I’m sure she is. Where's Sandalphon?”
“My brother is taking a break. He took all that business before rather hard.”
“I see.” Aziraphale’s mind was racing. He gave a bright little smile and returned to his paperwork. “Thank you for the coffee. I do miss it.”
“Good lad,” Metatron said encouragingly, and patted him on his shoulder. “Chin up, old boy. We have a bright and beautiful future ahead of us.”
Aziraphale waited quite five minutes before snapping his fingers.
The ridiculous, ostentatious snake handle uncurled at his touch and let him in. He’d never been barred from Crowley’s flat, at least not while Crowley lived there. Now it was his again, it opened to Aziraphale.
“Crowley.” He hated the quaver in his voice. “My dear. I don’t like the way we left things. And I’m not sure I trust—Crowley?”
Crowley had brought the houseplants back.
And they were dead. Sad, yellowed, tattered plant corpses.
Sheer terror clutched Aziraphale’s heart. The flat felt cold and empty—well, it always did that, but it felt empty of Crowley and Crowley was not to be harmed and…
That machine. Next to the desk phone. It was blinking. That meant… that meant someone had called Crowley. Who would call Crowley? Crowley was charming and clever and didn’t get attached to humans, he was hated by Hell and Heaven. Aziraphale pressed the button.
“Aziraphale. I’m just… if you play this. I’m not here. Well, obviously. Obviously, I’m not here, I mean I’m here when I’m recording this, but… Oh for fuck’s sake.” The hoarse, ragged voice paused, and there was a sniff. “Starting again. Angel, I’m leaving. Alpha Centauri. And I didn’t say, I didn’t quite get there, but… I love you. Always will. Enjoy Heaven. I hope you’re happy. I really, truly—you deserve—look, if those bastards get you down, you know where to find me. Oh, what ah, ah. I don’t. It’s not as if you’ll ever—” The recording ended in a beep.
Aziraphale’s tears spilled down his cheeks, without apparently bothering to well up first. “I love you, too. Oh, what have I done?”
For a moment, he nearly crumpled. And then he reached out, out. To the stars. He found nothing nothing. Or…
He brought his newly powerful senses in closer, hard and fast. There. A quick tube ride away. Or…
Aziraphale swept his mind carefully until he found, alone and abandoned, a familiar shape.
“Nice little car,” he whispered. “Come to Papa.”
It was easy to spot Crowley’s flight. Aziraphale generally avoided airports, but the Bentley had got him there at actually stomach-churning speeds that he had to keep reminding himself he was now an Archangel to avoid losing control over. It was easy enough to spot Crowley’s flight, and he should be heading out of his lounge right—
A dark figure with an oddly ungraceful sloping stroll, red head down, hands shoved in his pockets as if he had a grudge against them, and no luggage.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale called out desperately. “You can’t go to Alpha Centauri!”
Crowley turned his head. He looked older than Aziraphale had ever seen his ancient face looking. “Why not?”
“Because aeroplanes don’t fly there!”
“Don’t tell that to the Captain or we’ll get stuck in the void of space.”
There was a moment, just a moment, when everything seemed like normal again, and Aziraphale was rewinding, they were in the bookshop together and…
“Well, if that’s all, angel.”
Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Do you want a big ‘I think I said the wrong thing’ kind of apology, or can we take that as said?”
“You—what.” Then, mechanically, Crowley added, “I think I’d like the apology, actually.”
Aziraphale moved his hands gracefully in the little dance, “Hmm hmm hmm, hmmm hmm hmm, I was wrong, hmm hmm hmm.” He blocked out the humans staring at him. He was an Archangel, he could dance in an airport if he wanted.
“You. Uh. Didn’t actually say I was right, there. You were supposed to say that. Three times.”
“Was I?” Aziraphale beamed at him. “Let’s try again. Ah, yes. You were wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong, you were wrong. I think that covers it.”
“That covers it?”
“Well, not quite. Not yet. Because, I think, we can both find a way to be right. But I did say the wrong thing. So. I’m sorry. And I forgave you. Do you think you can forgive me?” He couldn’t stop the hopeful, fearful catch in his throat. He wished Crowley would take off those damned sunglasses.
“I forgive you, Aziraphale. I’d forgive you anything.” Crowley muttered it half under his breath, but Aziraphale was good at interpreting Crowley’s mumbles. “So if that’s all you need to make you happy—” He started to turn away.
“Not quite all.” Aziraphale stepped forward quickly, seized Crowley’s lapels, and smashed their lips together.
It was odd, kissing someone who was making frantic sounds and not kissing back. He really should have kissed back sooner himself the first time, because this was, this was…
This was Crowley’s arms around his neck and Crowley’s lips moving against his and they were kissing, kissing, and the humans were really being quite rude about it but he didn’t care because it felt like Crowley, snake-like, was swallowing him down, and he’d go gladly, because Crowley was his everything.
“I love you too,” Aziraphale said, when they finally surfaced. “I love you so much.”
“You’ll come with me?”
“What? No! You can’t take the humans to Alpha Centauri, they have families. And I’m needed in Heaven—”
“Oh. Right. My mistake.” Crowley pulled away.
“No! Crowley, listen. I was wrong to try to take you to Heaven. That was what I wanted, but you wouldn’t have been… you. Not the you I love. And you were equally wrong to ask me to abandon Heaven when I’m needed to be there,” he added hastily. “I have to do the right thing, Crowley. Or I’m not… the me that you love.” It was hard to say, even having heard Crowley say it.
“Then we’re at an impasse, like I said.” He didn't need to remove his glasses for his eyes to be terribly in pain.
“Only if we want to be,” Aziraphale said desperately. “Oh, do listen properly for once in your existence! If I’m away from you, I’m not me, either. And…”
“Yeah.” Crowley looked away, his face dark. “Same. An impasse.”
“So we make it work.” Aziraphale caught his hand and held it tight. “I’m in charge, Crowley. And if I’m to say we need close collaboration with Earth agents, who is there to contradict me? Sergeant Shadwell worked out well, didn’t he? And a fallen angel on Earth, who really knows the place? You’d be invaluable.” He paused. “I said it, didn’t I? I need you. That hasn’t changed. Not just for Heaven.” He bit his lip, willing back the tears. “For me. Don’t leave me, Crowley.”
Last call for Alpha Centauri…
Crowley waved a hand. “They’re actually going to Australia. Like they were anyway. LikethelastsixplanesscheduledforAlphaCentuari.”
“Crowley, how long were you intending on waiting here?”
“Dunno. Days. Hours. Centuries. 'Til you turned up, I s’pose.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, but it was kissed away.
“Oh! Hello Traitor Archangel Aziraphale. And um… the demon Crowley, isn’t it? Lovely to see you both again!”
Aziraphale, intent on rushing in the door with his arms around Crowley’s waist, blinked in surprise. “Muriel. Of course. Yes, hello my dear. I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
“Oh yes, I hope you don’t mind,” Muriel said earnestly. “It’s just your book collection is so delightful! I started reading this one about a wizard and a box with legs and I simply couldn’t put it down. I’m not sure I get all of the jokes,” she added anxiously, “but I can tell they’re very funny indeed. I found it under P, for Prologue.”
“Of course, how nice,” Aziraphale said. “Well, Crowley and I have some important matters to discuss…”
“Us time,” Crowley said. “Like I discussed. Without you.”
“Oh!” Muriel’s eyes went wide with understanding. “You’ll want a private conversation. Will you tell me about it afterwards? I’m not sure, but no one’s told me to stop observing yet.”
“No rush. Stay, enjoy the books. You’ll find the next one under T, for The.”
Muriel beamed at Aziraphale. “Thank you! I hope your discussion goes well.”
“Oh, it will,” Crowley said, behind a bared grin of teeth, and dragged Aziraphale upstairs."
“Darling?”
“Hmmm?” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s ear, and really, someone should have told Aziraphale that that was an erogenous zone. Of course, after the last crowded and busy hour, he wasn’t sure any part of his body wasn’t.
"I don’t trust the Metatron."
“I could’ve told you that. Bloody angels. Present company excepted, of course.” Crowley trailed kisses down Aziraphale’s neck to his shoulder, which was most distracting.
“I think he knew.”
“Knew what? About us?”
“In a way. I think he knew that I couldn’t resist trying to bring you with me. That you wouldn’t agree. He wasn’t surprised at all that you didn’t. Said you’d always liked to go your own way.”
“Mm. Bastard.” Crowley grazed his teeth over a nipple.
“I think he has Plans, and that I’m a useful fool.”
“You’re no one’s fool, angel.” The suction was delicious, and painful, and deliciously painful. Crowley released him for long enough to say, “Always do your own thing, too. Why is this so delicious? It’s just skin. Shouldn’t taste of anything much. Now down here…”
“Or a scapegoat.”
Crowley stopped in his ministrations, and Aziraphale could see the defensive hackles rise. Protective hackles. “Not my angel.”
“Always your angel.”
Crowley slid up for some more kissing, which stopped things for a bit, as kissing tended to do.
“Your Archangel,” Aziraphale said, a bit smugly. “I don’t think he can take that back, you know. And I have no intention of dealing with all that paperwork. And I could do, I really could, with a free agent on my side.”
“Our side.”
“Our side, darling.”
They paused for another long, wet, adoring kiss. It was a bit worrying that Aziraphale could kiss Crowley whenever he wanted, now. It would make it hard to get things done. And there was quite a lot to do.
“Crowley, poppet…”
“Don’t call me poppet,” growled Crowley, in a way that made Aziraphale decide to call him it at every opportunity.
“I think we need to find Sandalphon.”
“I refuse to talk about Sandalphon at a moment like this.”
“Have you ever heard of the Second Coming?”
“I’ll give you a second coming.”
Demons were apparently as bad at maths as they were at spelling, but that was all right. They could discuss it much, much later. There were certain privileges to being Supreme Archangel, after all.