Chapter Text
The cottage was quiet that early evening as Aziraphale sat at his desk rifling through a small wooden box, his diary opened beside him. He had only just written the date and a paragraph about Crowley leaving earlier in the day to go to the “better garden center” two villages over because the one in South Downs sold, as Crowley so eloquently put it, depressed-looking plants. He had a giggle at writing that bit, once again hearing his husband’s muttering as Aziraphale handed him a biscuit tin and a coffee thermos full of strong coffee; he knew well enough Crowley didn’t care much for sweets, but he enjoyed the amused smirk he received when handing it all over.
Crowley had leaned in to give him a quick peck before leaving, but Aziraphale cupped his cheek and held their kiss longer. When he pulled away, Crowley playfully reminded him he was only going out for potting soil and not off to war, and Aziraphale barely grinned, having no response to give except his usual, “Mind how you go, love.”
Their ginger cat, Eden, way lying in the hammock at the top of her tall cat tree by the desk, her fluffy tail hanging loosely and comfortably over the side. Aziraphale could hear her purring as he went through the photos and notes in the box, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep. He had never slept so much before marrying Crowley, but he had grown accustomed to feeling his body beside him as he snoozed. They had different bedtimes with Aziraphale usually staying up to finish a few chapters in a book or finish a crossword in the local paper. Eden usually followed Crowley to bed, and she would be stretched out between his knees as he snored on his stomach. It still bewildered Aziraphale that they took to each other so quickly, the cat and the demon who was also a snake, but it melted his heart every time he saw them interacting, whether they were playing with her jumping toy or taking a nap together.
The weight in his chest was unbearable and he tried taking a deep breath again, but it would only shudder as his eyes ached against the threat of tears. He had cried a little after Crowley left on his errand, but quickly pushed down that sadness to go into the kitchen for a snack.
But that was the other issue: he couldn’t eat. He hadn’t eaten much the day before, only some leftover Sunday roast with potatoes, but he couldn’t enjoy it, though it was delicious. He adored Crowley’s roasts every week; it made their life cozier to have this traditional dinner at the end to another week in their now blessed lives.
It took a while to be that way. He sometimes wondered if it was even called for.
Aziraphale had no appetite today and his husband was taken aback when the angel refused an omelet.
“Pancakes, then?” he had asked. “Or crepes. I’ll break out the pan, I don’t mind.”
“No, darling, I’ll manage. You go on your little quest to find happier plants.”
Aziraphale had noticed the strange look Crowley had given him, but then he shrugged and got dressed to leave. He knew that Crowley would ask about dinner when he got home, not about what they would have but what his angel would want. Home-cooked meal? The new Italian place? Maybe they could order in?
None of that sounded appealing today so he made himself a cup of tea and went into this study, with Eden following him, and there he sat at his desk for hours until he heard the Bentley arrive.
He heard shuffling up the porch stairs and a grunt as Crowley opened the door. “Angel!” he called over the sound of his sunglasses hitting the foyer table. “That place was incredible!”
Aziraphale lifted his head from the contents of the box and shut his diary. He saw that Eden had lifted her head at the sudden noise in the house, but she just yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep with ease. Aziraphale didn’t move as he felt the burning tears in his eyes again. He rubbed them and scolded himself, “Stupid angel. Stop it!”
“Angel, you here?”
He cleared his throat as he stood and stepped away from his desk, leaving the box. “In here, dear.” He took a deep breath to still the slight tremble in his voice. “Did you find potting soil?”
He came into the hallway where the front door led and let out a small laugh at how many plants had suddenly taken over the foyer. “Crowley, are those all safe for—?”
Crowley approached him with a tall, red bromeliad on his hip. “Yep! Cat safe. They had pamphlets there all about them. And look!” He pointed to a plant that held small blueish-purple flowers.
Aziraphale grinned. “African violet.” He felt Crowley’s lips press hard on his cheek and sighed as he continued looking at the plant at his feet.
“I remember the one I got for you back in London. If memory serves me right, you put it in the front window of the shop.”
Aziraphale’s head suddenly swam and the weight in his chest grew heavier. Images flashed in his mind, ones that he thought wouldn’t show up again. The harsh beating of his heart as Crowley pulled him close, and the look on his face before he walked out the door.
“You okay?”
Crowley’s voice had suddenly toned down its excitement and Aziraphale looked away from the plant to him. “Yes…I’m fine. I was just…writing just now when you—”
“Oh, deep in thought, eh? Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to interrupt, but you should come to this place with me next time. It’s huge! Bit dear but worth the trip.”
Aziraphale looked at the plants again, the African violets, the banana tree, the gloxinia, the spider plants. Crowley was bringing in yet another bromeliad, an orange one this time, and set about to moving the plants into their sunroom. Aziraphale picked up the African violets and gloxinia and followed him.
“We’ll have to miracle this room a bit bigger,” he said as Crowley arranged his new treasures.
“Nah, I’ll put them in here for now. We have space all over the house.”
“I just don’t want Eden knocking into any of them.”
“She won’t do that. She knows whose plants these are.”
Aziraphale grinned again as he put the gloxinia down next to the new areca palm. Crowley nudged him and pointed to the violets.
“Those are yours, baby. For your desk.”
“Oh…thank you. But I’m afraid there may not be any room.”
Crowley took the plant from him. “Come on, I can find a spot.”
Aziraphale followed him out of the sunroom and realized he never closed the box on his desk. He tried to cut in front of him, but his husband was too quick. Crowley went to the cat tree first to greet their still sleeping cat, and then turned toward the desk.
“What’s this?”
Aziraphale stood at the door and crossed his arms. “It’s, um…”
Crowley set the violets on top of a stack of books and picked up a couple of sets of folded sheets of small notepad paper. He opened one and smiled, his eyes beaming at the angel.
“It’s my wedding vow.” He looked in the box again and found another set. He giggled. “And this one’s yours. Three pages to my one.”
Aziraphale said, “You’ve always been succinct with your words.” He watched Crowley set the papers aside and pull out a photo, to which Aziraphale had to cover his mouth to hide his now trembling bottom lip as his husband approached him with the photo.
It was a photo of them at their wedding, standing under a tree in the park behind a table with a three-tiered white cake with silver and gold stars made from piped buttercream icing. They were linking their arms and sipping from their champagne flutes. Dom Perignon was what they were drinking, one of the champagnes James Bond preferred and one that Crowley (being a Bond fan) insisted they have. Aziraphale was in a black tuxedo, well-tailored with a cummerbund and bow tie in his traditional tartan, while Crowley was in a beautiful knee-length kilt that matched Aziraphale’s tartan accessories. The extra length of kilt was fashioned over Crowley’s shoulders like a cape. It was a small ceremony with Aziraphale’s shopkeeper neighbors to witness their matrimony.
In the photo, Aziraphale was beaming at Crowley who was smiling back at him, his golden eyes shining while his sunglasses were tucked into the front pocket of his white coat.
Crowley smoothed back his hair and tilted his head. “Took a while to put on that kilt.”
Aziraphale put a hand on his back, still looking at the photo. “Yes…but you said you wanted an authentic one and not a simple button and zip.”
“Feileadh mòr, angel. A great kilt. You literally have to roll yourself into it. Nina didn’t enjoy helping that much, but Maggie had a ball taking all those bloody photos of me almost baring my ass. Blackmail photos, she called them. You, though, love…you were the star that day.”
“Oh, stop it.” He let the shiver in his voice slip.
“You were. I always thought you looked good in black. When you stepped your beautiful self towards me in that perfectly tailored tux, I was afraid that I would wake up and it would all be a dream.”
“You were gorgeous in that kilt, too.” Aziraphale managed a laugh. “I nearly fainted when I saw you.”
“And I you…but you held me up. You always did.” Crowley went back to the desk and sat in the chair. Aziraphale followed and leaned into him, wrapping his arms over his shoulders in a hug to which Crowley stroked his cheek. He tried to keep his breath from trembling but Crowley turned around and looked at him.
“You sure you’re okay? You look tired.”
Aziraphale cleared his throat and sat on the love seat across from the desk, folding his hands in his lap.
“What’d you have for breakfast?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale huffed. “I wasn’t that hungry this morning.”
Crowley frowned. “Not like you.”
“Yes, well I—”
“You eat lunch?”
Their eyes met and Aziraphale recognized the look Crowley held, a gentle, caring one that held slight suspicion.
Aziraphale hesitated as he frowned. “No…”
Crowley looked at his watch. “It’s nearly four, angel. You’re telling me you haven’t eaten a thing all day?”
“Wouldn’t hurt me if I didn’t, Crowley.”
“But you do, that’s the thing. You eat every day, three meals and an evening sweet with tea.”
“Well—”
“And you didn’t have an evening sweet with tea last night.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I suppose I didn’t.”
“Are you ill?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, how do you feel?”
“I don’t know, Crowley.”
“How is that possible?”
“Am I on trial? I just don’t have an appetite right now.”
Crowley kept his eyes on him, reading into him as he always did when he tried his best to not start an argument. He picked up the notepad papers with their vows and sat next to him. He took Aziraphale’s hand and put the three-page vow into the palm.
“Read it to me.”
The angel lightly gasped as he looked at the papers, and his fingers shook as he unfolded them. “Dear…”
“I want to hear it again. It’s been three years, after all.”
“In two weeks, yes…” Aziraphale could not keep his lip from quivering this time and he folded the papers again. “You go first.”
Crowley smiled. “Good idea. Mine’s shorter.” He cleared his throat as he unfolded the paper. He took one moment to read it and then folded it again. He looked at his husband and recited:
“Aziraphale…Guardian of the Eastern Gate, my one true friend…and my better half, in more ways than one…you’re everything I will ever need, you have always been the strength and the joy I was sorely missing. Together we have weathered many storms, no matter the season in our lives, and through all the…”
Crowley paused when his voice cracked and Aziraphale felt tears forming in his eyes.
“Through all the hardships…forks in the road…and heartbreaks…” He paused again to take a breath. “I knew…ngk…I knew our faith in us was stronger than any pain we could ever bring to each other.”
Aziraphale let his tears fall but did not interrupt him. It was as if they were at their wedding all over again: the words, the intonation, the tears. It had been a happy but bittersweet event, that day in Saint James Park where they finally committed themselves under an apple tree that had miraculously appeared just for the occasion.
“You have always been my rock, and through those absent years where we didn’t speak, they were never able to really keep us apart. Especially those years when we thought it was the end…”
“Crowley…” whispered Aziraphale as he moved closer to him. He hooked his arm through his husband’s and put his head on his shoulder as he continued reciting.
“You have always been my angel, Aziraphale, and I am proud that you are now my husband. I love you…forever in eternity.” He showed him the paper. “And I signed it…Anthony Just-a-J Crowley.”
Aziraphale laughed through his tears. “You didn’t need to sign it, dear. It was a vow.”
Crowley sniffed and said, “I don’t know. It felt right.” He put his hand on Aziraphale’s arm and kissed his temple. “Go on then.”
Aziraphale wiped his eyes and unfolded his papers, a lump growing in his throat and his heart racing.
“My dear Crowley…since the day we met, at the Beginning of it all…I knew you were different. You were dangerous to me, yet exciting. You were cunning, but always clever. You said so much in so few words that it was like deciphering riddles when I was with you…all the more reason for me to be drawn to you for these many, many centuries. I realized that my life without you had no meaning…”
He brought his hand to his lips and paused before continuing, “I promise to always treasure you, to always be patient with you, to hold you every night like I should have before…”
The lump in his throat became bigger and his voice trembled. “In the words of my dear friend Oscar: ‘You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their fancy car…but because they sing a song only you can hear.’ Darling…I wish to hear your song for the rest of my existence.”
The lump was climbing in his throat. “I swear on this day…that nothing else will ever divide us…take my heart for it was always yours. Our love withstands our flaws, our imperfections…because our love always cherishes the good in each other.”
Aziraphale stopped reading and moved his arm from Crowley’s to cover his eyes as more tears flowed. Crowley took the papers from him and moved his hand from his eyes, making the angel turn away.
“Baby…look at me.”
“I can’t…I don’t deserve this…”
“What do you mean?” Crowley put his arm around his waist and squeezed him.
Aziraphale pulled away and stood up, gesturing around the room. “All this! This cottage, this life…you! I deserve none of it!”
Crowley now stood and reached out for him to take his hands, to pull him close to tell him how dare he say such a thing, but Aziraphale suddenly covered his mouth and rushed out of the room. Crowley heard the door to the hallway bathroom slam, and he rushed to it just in time to hear Aziraphale retch.