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Aziraphale stood in the elevator next to The Metatron, his confidence waning.
–
Meanwhile, just about a metaphorical universe away, Crowley drove (although, a literal universe away was beginning to sound nice, too). While Aziraphale had a specific destination awaiting him, being carried gently up to it, Crowley frenzied about without direction or aim. Usually driving was relieving for Crowley. After all, he adored his Bentley. But that, Crowley was finding, is under the condition that he is not currently processing the interpersonal nightmare from, well, Heaven. Racking his mind for places to stop off at just so he could hide in a nice, dark place, Crowley came to find that every place he could think of just reminded him more of Aziraphale–whether it reminded him of a memory of the angel or just reinforced the absence of him.
In the end, Crowley turned around and returned to the front of the bookshop, his hands finally still on the wheel and the Bentley’s engine waiting idly by. Aziraphale did say that his bookshop was, in fact, their bookshop. Of course, that came from the same angel that just dumped a millenia-long relationship down the drain–no, he shouldn’t think that. Aziraphale… Aziraphale just made a mistake, right? He did still leave, though…
And so Crowley waited another moment, weighed his options, fought his own thoughts… Alpha Centauri was always an option…
Fuck it. The demon closed his car door, grazed its frame as he walked towards the entrance of the bookshop, and sauntered his way into ground zero. Muriel was there, of course, and Crowley didn’t know whether to be infuriated with the intrusion or thankful for the company. “Is everything okay, Mr. Crowley?” Muriel asked as they casually picked up another book.
“You know, I see you like books and this shop,” Crowley paused. While he hadn’t ever been one to openly pull the kindness card, he simultaneously did not want to boot Muriel out of a place they seemed so at peace in. Although, he was a demon. If after 6000 years the entity who knew him best still saw him as something dastardly and devilish to have to redeem, he might as well forget this kindness shtick. And so, he pressed on, “But, I believe there has been an oversight.”
Crowley walked over a multitude of mismatched rugs, readjusting a few here and there with his foot as he approached Muriel. “I also own this shop. So,” Crowley huffed out a sigh, looking up finally to briefly flash a grin at the angel. “I would like to keep it that way.”
Muriel hesitates, putting down the book in their hands. “Oh! I–I see! Oh, I apologize! I can, um, I will maybe just wait outside for now, then,” they exclaimed as they began heading for the exit.
Crowley reminded, “Take your book.” Muriel stuttered, turning back and snatching the book they’d been reading before once again going to leave.
The demon snatched the glasses off his face and placed them on a nearby stone bust, then made his way to sprawl out on the old chaise Aziraphale kept.
He sat for a moment.
And sat.
Neither scrambling around in the Bentley nor settling down in a cushy seat could ease the demon’s racing mind.
So he did the only thing left he could think to do and cried.
He cried for himself. He cried for what could have been. He cried for them. And eventually, he found he couldn’t hold himself back anymore and cried for Aziraphale.
Even in his heartbreak and pain, the only place Crowley still felt at home was with his angel.
–
Okay, so maybe Aziraphale has made a mistake. Scratch that, an immense error that could prove to be positively fatal. As The Metatron guided him through the belly of Heaven up all the way to the tippy-top, Aziraphale found his mind wandering and running circles around the thought of a certain demon still on Earth. Well, for all Aziraphale knew, this particular demon could be on Alpha Centauri by now. “So, Aziraphale, the process of updating your status should not take long, and I await the first action you take as Heaven’s new overseer,” The Metatron mused, then turned back to face Aziraphale.
“Oh, um, yes! Well, I– I do believe I have already found myself in just a bit of a nasty predicament, unfortunately,” Aziraphale worried. Shit, had he made a mess of things. He didn’t even know the first thing to do to truly make things better as Supreme Archangel, and even if he did, he’s already growing quite lonely. A lonesome that he’s already learned how to remedy in his life. A lonesome whose pain is beginning to nudge Aziraphale harder and harder to turn around and go back. And so he decides he must. “I think I have to leave.”
“What?” The Metatron questioned, and with the look he gave Aziraphale, the angel couldn’t tell if he was just confused or just a bit furious.
“Yes, I have to go back. I apologize, but I simply cannot fill this vacancy you are asking me to occupy. I–I can’t. I have committed a foul lapse of judgement, I’m afraid.”
“What are you trying to say, Aziraphale? You do not want to lead the angels? I have already told you that I believe you fit this role quite well. There is no need to worry,” The Metatron tried to insist.
“No, that’s the problem! There is absolutely a need to worry! I’m leaving my–I’m leaving things behind! And I can’t just leave my life behind. I can’t leave the food behind. I can’t leave the wine behind. I can’t leave my bookshop behind!” Aziraphale gasped, becoming increasingly ready to just bolt to the elevator and leave The Metatron standing there. ‘I’m leaving Crowley behind,’ his thoughts whispered to him.
“Your life? You are an angel; your life is serving Heaven, and Heaven has a dire need for you.”
Crowley is my life, Aziraphale realized. “I cannot serve Heaven anymore. It is simply not my life. It was once, but it isn’t anymore.”
Finally, Aziraphale bid farewell to The Metatron and walked himself all the way to the elevator, stepping inside and pushing the button to Earth, hoping to, well, someone, that Crowley was still there.
–
The elevator doors opened and out stepped Aziraphale, eyes frantically jumping around his surroundings trying to find any sign of a big, black 90-year-old automobile. Lo and behold, one stood parked just outside the bookshop, blessedly being just the right old automobile.
Aziraphale immediately took off sprinting toward the shop, and while Aziraphale was always jabbed at for being soft, by God, was he neither above or below a sprint, especially when a certain demon was involved. Just as the angel was about to reach for the door, he spotted Muriel standing ramrod straight on the corner while reading a book. Aziraphale squeezed their shoulder before crashing into the bookshop.
Aziraphale scanned the room, finally spotting Crowley blending into the shadows. “Crowley!” he gasped as he continued to sprint over.
The demon, however, wasn’t having it. He got up, snagged his sunglasses off the bust and over his own eyes, and trudged further into the bookshop, further away from Aziraphale. Aziraphale, of course, just followed, calling after him.
“I–I think I understand now, and I would like to apologize.” Crowley jolted away at that. “ I’d like to do more than apologize, for that matter,” Aziraphale admitted, trying but failing to clutch Crowley’s arm. “I reacted… brashly, to put matters lightly. I– I saw a chance to keep us both safe and secure and keep living life together in a way that could make a difference. I wasn’t considering that we could just be okay on our own. That that could really be accepted and that we wouldn’t be bothered. And, I must say, I’ve already started missing you.”
Crowley looked up at Aziraphale at that through the tops of his sunglasses. “Missing me?”
“Certainly. It’s not the same. It–it was lonely,” Aziraphale whispered. “And I only know of one entity I could never feel alone with.” When Aziraphale tried to hold Crowley’s arm again, he wasn’t brushed off. “We’ve always been a group, as you said. But, well, I want to amend that label a bit.” Crowley quirked a brow at him. “A pair is the word for a group of two. We’ve always been a pair, partners, a couple.” Aziraphale’s hand slides down Crowley’s arm before he nudges at his hand. The demon’s hand twitches at first, but then interlaces the couple’s fingers. “And I don’t care where I am as long as we can just keep being a couple, keep together.”
“Well, I’m sure you’d care about being in the bookshop, but…” Crowley softly jabs, a faint smile appearing on his face as his face tilts to the side.
Aziraphale smiles back in defeat. “Hm, yes, our bookshop.”
Crowley’s smile falters for a moment before Aziraphale decides he must continue, “But that’s not it, either. I just–I just want to be us.” Crowley’s grip on his hand strengthened, the angel squeezed back. “I realized, Crowley, that you are my life. Hell certainly isn’t, but Heaven isn’t either. And yes, I was an idiot. And yes, you were right and I was wrong.” The tiniest of smirks fleetingly befell itself on Crowley’s face. “And yes, I will do the dance. But for now… I–Crowley, I need you, but more than that, I love you.” Aziraphale gasped in a breath before softly admitting, “I love you, and I’m sorry. I am so very sorry, my dear.”
With that, Aziraphale slowly leaned in, placing his free hand on Crowley’s cheek, grazing it softly before kissing the demon. Crowley was frozen against him until Aziraphale felt a tear land on the hand cupping the demon’s cheek, upon which Aziraphale reached both hands up to his face, gently took off his glasses, and brushed away his demon’s tears with his thumbs as they ran and ran. “Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured.
Crowley melted into the touch then, heaving out a broken breath. The tears broke out into rivers as they spilled. Aziraphale soon joined, too, letting a few tears drop as he comforted Crowley. When the demon glanced down at the angel’s lips, Aziraphale again leaned in and kissed him, and this time Crowley kissed back. They both smiled. “I love you, too,” Crowley finally admitted, “and I forgive you. I’m sorry, too, though. I shouldn’t have just run out how I did.”
“I forgive you,” Aziraphale immediately answered. It would always be an easy thing for the Angel to say, but in this moment it was the easiest it had ever been.
–
Two hours later, after much conversation and reassurances, the two sat down in the old Bentley to ride to dinner. This day did call for celebration, after all. As they went, neither could see but could rather feel the car morph and shift around them. Parts of it yellow, other parts black. Aziraphale reached toward the radio, willing it to play Love of My Life by Queen. Crowley looked over from driving upon hearing the opening chords, shooting his angel a devilish grin.
–
Two days later, Aziraphale and Crowley were lounging about the bookshop, drunk off sherry and whiskey. Crowley wheezed as Aziraphale chuckled at something neither of them could quite remember. “No, no, angel. I think–I think it’s just about time for the right-wrong dance you owe me.”
Aziraphale stumbled over a stool as he stood up, “Rightly so, my dear.”
At a corner bookshop in Soho that no one could quite place any rhyme or reason to, resided two entities. One was performing a quite silly rhyme but for quite good reasons, while the other watched and healed, both in the company of each other’s love and care, as a nightingale finally sang again in Berkeley Square.