Chapter Text
"Look, I suppose, um, I’ve got something to say." Crowley was holding his glasses in one hand, gesturing with the other. His whole body seemed tense, a coil ready to spring. As focused as he was on what he wanted, no, needed to say, he paid no heed to Aziraphale’s obvious excitement. "I know we ought to be talking about– It’s probably best if I start of doing all the talking, you do all the listening, ‘cause if I don’t start talking now, I won’t ever start talking, right? Yes, so–"
Hands raised, a big smile on his face, Aziraphale interrupted, "What’s that lovely human expression? Oh, yes! Hold that thought." A giddy laugh escaped him. "You see, I... I have some incredibly good news to give you."
The angel was equally oblivious to Crowley’s blank, almost defeated look. But all the demon said was, "Really?"
"I… um… So, um… the Metatron, you know, I don't think he's as bad a fellow… Well, I think I might've misjudged him. You see, I… Well, he said, um, that Gabriel obviously hadn't worked out…," another laugh disrupted his already halting speech, "as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host, and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone. And I said 'Michael?' And he said 'Oh, don’t be silly. There’s only one candidate who even makes the slightest bit of sense and that’s you.' And I said, 'Me?' And he said 'Well, yes. You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine. There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them. You are just the angel for the job.'" At this point he stopped, looking a little unsure of himself for the first time since starting his monologue. But then the smile returned to Aziraphale’s face. Crowley just watched, motionlessly. "Anyway, he also said I could restore you to full angelic status!"
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. "He said what?"
Aziraphale smiled. Happiness was written all over his features and his voice was soft when he repeated, "He said I could appoint you to be an angel. You could come back to Heaven and… and everything, like the old times. Only, even nicer!" He laughed giddily.
"Right." Crowley nodded slightly, as if to reassure himself that, despite this not going like he had imagined at all, it might still all be fine. "And you told him just where he could stick it, then?"
Slowly, the happiness in Aziraphale’s eyes faded away, though he kept the smile on his face. "Not at all."
"Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, angel!" Crowley’s voice was rising. No one could have said whether it was anger or fear illuminating his yellow eyes. Maybe it was hope slowly draining away and leaving an empty, bright space behind. "You don't need them. I certainly don't need them!" He started pacing like an animal trapped in a cage, but still made sure to look at Aziraphale when he spoke. The angel’s smile had died on his lips. "Look, they asked me back to Hell, I said no. I'm not rejoining their team. Neither should you."
"But– Well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys." You. Crowley looked as if he’d been slapped, but Aziraphale went on, trying to make the other understand. "But Heaven… Well, it's the side of truth, of light. Of good."
A deadly silence filled the bookshop for a moment, transforming the comfortable quiet into something sinister. When Crowley finally spoke, he put emphasis on every word, as if trying to engrave them into Aziraphale’s mind and force him to see the truth he so longed for. "When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it." There was another beat of silence. Aziraphale’s mouth worked, but he could not bring himself to form words. Crowley took a breath he didn’t need. The hope in his chest had nearly dwindled to nothing, still he forced out the next sentence. "Tell me you said no."
The angel didn’t speak. He looked away. Crowley took a step closer, unable to keep the shine of tears out of his wide eyes.
"Tell me you said no." His tone was quiet. Pleading, almost, though he would never have admitted it.
Finally, Aziraphale did speak. "If I'm in charge… I can make a difference." The wanting to do good was engraved so deep into his being that it even reached his voice now.
Crowley stared at him for a moment, then turned away and groaned. "Oh, God. Right, okay. Right." He forced himself to face Aziraphale again, though with more distance than before between them. "I didn't get a chance to say what I was gonna say, I think I'd better say it now. Right, okay, yes, so…" He couldn’t stand still. Exhaled deeply. His whole body conveyed his insecurity, one hand on his hip, the other dangling forlornly at his side. For a long moment Crowley just stared at the floor in front of him and breathed deeply, in and out. Then he finally raised his head to look at Aziraphale, who watched it all unfold with an expression akin to panic. "We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me." Crowley took another deep breath, now apparently unable to avert his eyes from the angel. "I could always rely on you." He swallowed. "You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us."
Aziraphale, his mouth slightly open, tried to look away, but couldn’t. He could not meet Crowley’s eyes, either.
"And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't," Crowley went on, his voice almost choked by tears. He took another breath to get it under control, only half succeeded. "I mean, the last few years, not really." Again, his voice trailed off and he looked at the ceiling, as if praying for strength, despite knowing no one would answer. "And I would like to spend…"
Crowley grunted, exhaling sharply and looking out of the window, anywhere but into Aziraphale’s eyes. Words seemed treacherous, the right ones evading him like a demon would holy water.
Finally, he continued, "I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us." That last sentence was almost a whisper, a hope so old and repressed it could barely be heard now. "We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say?"
Aziraphale had listened, eyes transfixed on Crowley. He’d started shaking his head, as if saying 'No, this is all wrong, this was not how it was supposed to go.' Now he stepped closer, leaving only a small space between them. "Come with me… to Heaven! I'll run it, you can be my second in command." And, quietly, imploringly, he added, "We can make a difference."
Crowley stared at his angel. Thoughts began to crowd in on him, voices affirming what he had feared for a long time: he was not enough to keep Aziraphale here, on Earth. And so he said the last thing he could, reached for something he knew for a fact the angel loved. "You can't leave this bookshop."
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said on an exhale of breath, his voice soft, so unbearably soft. There was a smile on his face, but not one born of happiness. "Nothing lasts forever." Not the Arrangement, not the bookshop, not the world. Not them.
Crowley’s head tipped back. There were tears in his eyes, glimmering in the daylight falling through the glass front of the shop. "No." He sounded defeated. All the fight had gone out of him now and he lowered his gaze. "No, I don't suppose it does." With a slow motion, Crowley put his sunglasses back on, raising the shield. He stepped around Aziraphale. "Good luck." Already, he was heading for the door.
"Good luck?" Aziraphale looked stunned. Then he snapped out of it and followed the demon a few steps, calling his name. "Crowley! Crowley, come back." Crowley stopped and turned, shoulders low. The next part of the sentence crushed the tiny ember of hope immediately. "…to Heaven! Work with me! We can be together! Angels… doing good!" Aziraphale spoke every sentence with fervor and a smile and the badly hidden hope that Crowley would see.
But Crowley just stood there, staring at nothing, his eyes hidden by the dark glasses and his expression carefully blank.
When he didn’t speak, Aziraphale tried again, desperation now mixing into his voice, "I– I need you!"
The demon’s expression didn’t change. He showed not a single hint that he’d heard anything at all.
Aziraphale pressed his lips together. "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."
"I understand." Crowley finally turned to face the angel, but when he spoke, his voice was as expressionless as his face had been. "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."
Aziraphale gave a small nod, very obviously holding back tears. "Well." He forced a smile. "Then there is nothing more to say." The smile vanished when he couldn’t even hold on to the pretense of being fine anymore.
But Crowley didn’t leave. Instead, he raised a finger. "Listen. D’you hear that?"
Aziraphale tried, for a moment. But there was only the silence, the nothingness around them, not even sounds from the street outside. "I don't hear anything," he said in exasperation.
"That's the point." Crowley lowered his hand. "No nightingales." They stood, staring at each other, Crowley’s eyes hidden behind dark glass. The silence stretched and stretched. It was deafening, full of unspoken words.
"You idiot." Crowley’s voice broke. " We could have been… us."
Aziraphale’s lips trembled and he turned away, still wanting to hide how much this affected him. Crowley looked at him a moment longer. Then his legs started moving as if of their own accord. With a few steps he crossed the distance between them. His hands grabbed Aziraphale’s collar and when the angel turned his head, Crowley kissed him. It was desperate, rough, a last attempt. Aziraphale’s eyes were closed but pain crossed his features, not of the physical kind but deeper, more potent. His hands were unsure, held in the air, before finally settling on Crowley’s back just for a second.
They parted after a too long moment and Crowley released his collar, stood waiting. One kiss to make it right, one kiss to make someone fall in love, to heal every broken part of oneself. It worked in fairytales, it worked in stories. It didn’t work now.
Aziraphale gasped when Crowley released him, a broken sound. He took a step back, breathing heavily. There were tears in his eyes now, too. And pain, still pain. "I…" His mouth worked, struggled to form the words. So much he wanted to say. Aziraphale swallowed. "I forgive you."
Crowley sighed deeply. Maybe he closed his eyes behind the dark glasses, his own hurt hidden behind that shield. Then he turned away.
Unforgivable, that’s what he was. He was a demon after all, not an angel, would never be an angel again. "Don’t bother," he said roughly, already walking to the door. This time, nothing – no one – stopped him. He didn’t even turn back to see the desperation in Aziraphale’s face, the almost-falling tears. He didn’t see how the angel carefully touched his still trembling lips.
The door shut between them. The sound had the finality of the last sentence in a book.
***
Crowley waited. Despite everything, he waited on the other side of the street, leaning on his Bentley. There’d been an infinitesimal hope that maybe he would see his angel emerge from the bookshop, come to him for a change.
But when Aziraphale did step out, it was next to the Metatron. He did look at Crowley one last time. There might have been doubt in his eyes, or there might not have been. Only the Almighty would know, and She was known not to answer questions.
Crowley watched the Supreme Archangel get into the elevator to Heaven, then he got into his Bentley, turned off the stupid song that started playing, and drove off.