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He always comes to the shop when the day fades into evening, as the last rays of the sun peak over the buildings and stretch the light through the windows to the bookshelves beyond. That is when the bell will jingle over the door and he’ll slip inside, no further than the small illuminated area by his desk.
In the beginning, Muriel would rush to him, keen to be of service to one of his rank. She would report on the lack of sales and any news filtering in from Whickber Street. Tell him of her new arrangement for the books and the special section containing those that she has now read. All the news of all the things that once filled his days.
Except for Crowley.
He does not ask although why would he? Why on earth would a junior recording angel 37th class have knowledge of a certain demon, he couldn’t possibly imagine.
And so the questions knot in his chest as he nods and smiles in that way of his, to show his appreciation before she leaves him to it. He wanders this small patch of light and lets the memory come at last. It isn’t a thing for Heaven. It is his alone and so he waits until he has returned to this place that was his home before allowing it entrance.
How very human.
What do they call it? Homesickness?
Yes, he understands that much, at least. The gnawing hollowness cutting through him feels too deep to recover from.
The street lights are coming on one by one and the shadows are lengthening. Soon the day will go and he will tuck the memory away again. The one that slows his pacing when he reaches the exact spot where it happened and goes completely still.
Listening.
There is the tick of the clock and the murmurings of the old town going past, a few car horns blare in the distance.
But no nightingales.
He can feel the need pulling at him, unsettling his entire being. It is why he is here, why he returns time and again. The longing won’t let him be.
We could have been…us.
There is a charge in the air, some kind of current moving through him, and he lets himself remember the rest of it. Quite without thought, his fingers brush across his lips just as they did then.
“Hello, Supreme Archangel.”
There is only one being in Heaven and Hell that could muster that level of sarcasm. Aziraphale smiles faintly and closes his eyes for one blissful moment, simply letting the sound of his voice wash over him.
Crowley.
If Aziraphale was expecting to see a certain sardonic expression watching him from the shop entrance he is mistaken. Spinning in a circle he finds him there among the shelves, leaning against a bookcase.
As if he has been here the entire time.
“Where did you come from?”
The trace of panic in his voice is obvious even to him and he clears his throat, feeling himself standing taller. Something that he noticed himself doing as soon as the new title was bestowed.
Crowley notices, of course, narrowing his gaze. He notices everything.
Aziraphale makes a point of moving away, checking the nearest stack of books, pretending to be interested in the titles that blur together. When he finally glances over, the demon simply points over his shoulder by way of an answer.
So he was somewhere in the back of the shop and there is no way to hide the shock of it all. “Why are you here?”
The panic is back and Aziraphale turns to rifle a few papers on the desk. There is no escape though. Not with the reflection in the darkening window studying him so intently.
“I think the better question is why you are here.”
“Checking on my shop of course.”
“Right.” Crowley draws the word out to the point Aziraphale can feel the irritation creeping up his spine.
“As I said. The shop.”
“By the way, that’s a nice…suit.”
More sarcasm and The Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host suddenly would like nothing better than to retreat from this blasted place.
The suit is indeed very fine. Pale gray in keeping with the chosen uniform of the day and stitched with gold that glints in the flameless candlelight. But it is the well loved cardigan that replaced his impeccably tailored jacket as he made his way to the lift that Crowley is studying.
There was nothing he could think to take with him that day when the only thing he wanted had walked away. It happened later. After one or two visits to the bookstore. Perhaps the fifth when Muriel was deep into a Jane Austen novel muttering something about a noticeable lack of diamond heists. She left the Archangel to himself and pretended not to notice when he took the cardigan she had draped over his desk chair.
It wasn’t a material possession, not really. Just a bit of his old self to help the new one whose smile no longer reached his eyes.
He feels a bit silly now as Crowley watches his nervous movements and he forces himself to stop. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
Crowley moves a little closer but remains in the shadows, pausing to lean against a pillar. “How’s the Second Coming coming along?”
“What? How did you–“
“Oh please, it’s not like it’s a secret. It is actually written down if you recall.”
“You know what I mean.”
Crowley shrugs and looks toward the ceiling, remembering a chandelier that once appeared for the couples dancing below. “There’s a lot of chatter of late. What else could it be?”
“Yes, well, it’s meant to be a surprise, that’s the whole point.”
“If you say so,” Crowley mutters, meeting his eye again. “I personally don’t like surprises. They’re just so…”
“Surprising?” Aziraphale asks, and smiles when Crowley arches a brow at him.
“They never turn out well.”
“I would have to disagree on that accord.”
There’s that derisive laugh Aziraphale knows so well as Crowley leans forward to ask, “Name one that turned out well, Supreme Archangel.”
“Us,” Aziraphale murmurs, not quite able to hide the tremble in his voice before he continues firmly. “And don’t call me that.”
For once Crowley appears genuinely shocked. “What? Us? We haven’t exactly turned out well, Arch…”
He stops abruptly and they watch each other, just as the sunlight finally goes.
Aziraphale nods as if reaching some internal decision and moves a step or two nearer. “We haven’t turned out, Crowley. That is the material point.”
“Bahhh,” is the only response Crowley seems inclined to make and the silence stretches out.
“We were surprising though, from the very beginning,” Aziraphale continues quietly. “I think we were always an us.”
“We are not anything anymore.”
“In all the time that has come and gone we have always found each other. Yes, it is most surprising.”
“And it all came to naught,” Crowley goes on coldly. “Good luck with your reunion party. I’m sure it will be one for the ages.”
“Crowley.”
It is so faint, it’s a wonder he heard it at all, but it stops him in his tracks before he reaches the door. Only later will Crowley recall it was the spot where he…
Where they…
Hell and damnation why did he come back and it makes him lash out, “We didn’t find each other. Muriel mentioned that you come and go.”
Hell and damnation again, when he realizes he’s said too much and judging by Aziraphale’s surprised expression he knows it too. When will a demon ever learn?
He is still pondering the complexities of such a question when the angel suddenly walks up to him.
“May I just...”
Crowley leans back slightly, startled as Aziraphale reaches up to pull his sunglasses away.
“That’s better. I never know what you’re thinking behind these things.”
“I once told you what I was thinking. Something else that didn’t work out well.”
“Tell me again.”
“Oh no, Supreme Archangel, not this time. You can have a go.”
“I said not to call me that.”
“Aziraphale then.”
“You used to call me Angel.”
“That was a long time ago,” Crowley replies quietly, desperately wishing he could snatch back his sunglasses as Aziraphale searches his eyes.
“It is no time at all.”
“Quit stalling,” and seeing Aziraphale’s quizzical expression, he continues. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s not a what, but rather a who.”
“If you’re talking about the Son then I can’t help you there. Only children and all that and besides-”
“Now who is stalling?”
There is the smallest shake of Crowley’s head with hardly time to wonder at the curious words, before Aziraphale steps closer. And closer still.
Crowley moves back and finds a bookshelf blocking his way. Or perhaps it is there to hold him up at the strange sensation that wants to pull him under. Not to Hell though. Somewhere indescribable and he reaches a hand back to steady himself.
Afraid of falling.
It is always the falling that gets him.
“Aziraphale.”
The angel in question ignores the trace of warning in his voice and takes a final step. “You surprised me last time.”
“Here we go again.”
“Everything was so rushed.”
“Yes, it was only thousands of years.”
“But the last part really came barreling down.”
“Aziraphale,” Crowley mutters through gritted teeth, distracted by the nearness of him. “What are you thinking?”
“I’ll answer that if you will tell me one thing. Why are you here?”
And because Crowley could never deny the angel anything, he answers honestly. “This is the only place where I can feel you.”
Aziraphale closes the final distance between them, his hands taking hold of the demon’s jacket.
“And I’m thinking I would very much like to kiss you a second time.”
“Angel,” Crowley whispers just as Aziraphale’s lips meet his. Softly this time. Slowly. No sharp edges to wound them.
“I think I’ve wanted that for a few millenia at least.”
“Then why are you stopping,” Crowley whispers, framing the angel’s face with his hands, pausing for only a moment before drawing him back, kissing him as he had wanted the first time. Deeper, moaning low in his throat when Aziraphale let’s go, circling his arms around. And he does the same.
Until they are lost.
“That feels…”
“Heavenly?” Crowley asks, smiling as he attempts to catch his breath.
“I was thinking more along the lines of wicked,” Aziraphale murmurs, looking a bit pleased with himself. “You see Crowley, I think we’re turning out just fine.”
The clock chimes the hour and the bookshop comes back into view.
“I’m still not returning to heaven with you.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Aziraphale replies, quite relaxed and with no intention of letting him go. “And I’m afraid I can’t run away with you.”
“Then exactly where does that leave-“
“Not yet”
“What was that?” Crowley asks quickly, leaning back to bring him into focus.
Aziraphale rubs his hand along the demon’s cheek, smiling at him. “Not yet, but someday.”
“Someday when the Second Coming has been sorted, not to mention all that symbolism in Revelations, I mean who exactly knows what is going on there. And after you’ve managed to save humankind from total annihilation?”
“After we’ve managed it,” Aziraphale says firmly. “I might need your help there, plus your nefarious connections could be of use.”
“You really believe we have a chance, Angel?”
“I believe in us. Together we can move mountains.”
“Have you ever tried moving a mountain? Bloody hard thing to do,” Crowley mutters despite himself.
“I know this goes against the grain, but I’m going to need you to have a bit of faith.”
“Faith?” Crowley exclaims. “I’m a demon in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Shhhh,” Aziraphale murmurs, kissing him gently. “You’re getting all worked up.”
“And after this miracle of miracles where to then? I suppose Alpha Centauri is out since Gabriel and Beelzebub will have taken the best spot.”
“We can decide later. We are eternal beings after all so there’s plenty of time.”
Crowley looks past him to the darkened shelves. “Isn’t there an astronomy book in this place? Polaris might work but then everyone would be looking. What about Betelgeuse then? It’s always good fun.”
They disappear into the volumes of all the places they will dream of visiting.
It was early, quite early, as the sky turned pink and the city hummed to life, when the demon walked with the angel toward The Dirty Donkey. There was no one about to see Crowley reach for Aziraphale’s hand, not letting go until the last moment. No one to hear their whispered plan, the thing they will hold to when they can’t hold each other.
No one at all, just the two of them when the light returned to Whickber Street where a few extra moments were stolen away.
And a few more after that.
“Tempt you to a coffee? I could really go for some of those eccles cakes.”
“You, Crowley?”
“Yes, me, Angel. I’m absolutely famished. Nina and Maggie should be along in a jiff.”
“Well, alright then. Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale says, blushing faintly and they get a bit distracted as the memories rush past.
They will part, of course, sometime later in the hustle and bustle of a busy London morning. Too busy for anyone to notice the lift open and the angel stepping inside or a demon pointing toward the heavens as the door closes.
“Do you hear that?”
“I do.”
For there must be a nightingale singing somewhere. They will part, but not for long and certainly not for an eternity.