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It ends, as it all started, in a garden.
“This is yours? Like, really yours? You own it?”
“Why so sceptical? Is it so unbelievable?” Crowley pushes his hands even deeper into the pockets of his jeans.
“No no,” Aziraphale is quick to answer, still looking at the small cottage. “I just, I had no idea, is all. I didn’t really think you were the type to own a South Downs cottage.”
Crowley shrugs. “Well…”
Sensing Crowley’s unease, Aziraphale comes to the rescue and asks, “Do you want to show me inside?”
Crowley wouldn’t go as far as to say that the air between them was strained. But he wouldn’t deny that everything seemed just a bit off. It was to be expected though, he guessed. After all, they didn’t really have any time to do much of anything, let alone talk, since saving the world. Again. And well, before that… they hadn’t talked. At all. For way too many years. Then, it had only been because they had to, to, you know, coordinate saving the world. And now, that everything was over and Crowley felt that he could finally breathe again, here they were. And Crowley doesn’t know what to do. How do you even talk to the person who knows you better than everyone? Who is very aware of your affections for them. Who, the last time you sort of really kind of talked, you kissed, but it left a bitter aftertaste because the timing was just so terrible.
Crowley doesn’t know, and so he did the first thing he could think of. He took Aziraphale to a quiet place. Away from the bustle of the city.
He’d bought the small cottage on a whim, really. Out of a feeling that Aziraphale might like it, and to just have a sort of backup. A safe haven. It seems perfect now.
Crowley pushes open the door to the cottage and when Aziraphale just looks around in wonder for a moment before turning to him with a soft “Oh, Crowley”, he knows he did the right thing.
The inside of the cottage is furnished a lot like Aziraphale’s bookshop in London was. All vintage furniture, well-loved upholstery, warm colours of rich red and orange with tasteful muted shades of blue and green. There is, of course, also an entire wall full of books, a nice stockpile of good wines, a fully functional kitchen, a small bedroom, and, to the back of the cottage, a small winter garden housing several fearful plants.
“Crowley, this is—I don’t even know that to say.”
“‘S nothing special…”
But Aziraphale turns to him and grabs his hands. “It’s wonderful, Crowley.”
Crowley looks at their joined hands and when, seconds later, his eyes meet Aziraphale’s, he can tell they are both thinking the same thing. This is the first time they’ve deliberately touched since that fateful day in the bookshop.
“Aziraphale, I—”
But Aziraphale interrupts him. “Let’s sit down, hm?” His voice is gentle, his eyes kind and hopeful.
“Yeah,” Crowley chokes out and follows him to the couch facing the fireplace.
They sit down, angled towards each other, hands still joined. Crowley frees his left temporarily to wave at the fireplace, igniting it, before grabbing Aziraphale’s hand again. He squeezes it gently.
“I—” They both start at the same moment, chuckle, and Crowley motions for Aziraphale to continue.
“I don’t really know where to start,” Aziraphale laughs self-consciously, “but please know that I’m sorry. Leaving you there next to the Bentley, not talking to you, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I am so sorry, I know I’ve hurt you a lot.”
Crowley swallows, “It’s all right, angel. I know you had no choice.”
Aziraphale shakes his head, squeezes Crowley’s hands harder. “Still, I should have found a better way, I—”
“Shhh, Aziraphale, angel. It’s all right, it’s over now. You didn’t have a lot of time, and I had this whole speech already stuck in my head, I should have noticed something was off.”
Aziraphale makes a small, distraught sound. “It was truly awful. I couldn’t—I didn’t know how to—and the Metatron—oh, Crowley.”
Crowley nods, rubs his thumbs soothingly over the backs of Aziraphale’s hands. “Let’s just try again, what do you say?”
“I’d like that a lot. Do you want me to start this time?” Aziraphale smiles softly up at Crowley who nods again.
Aziraphale’s expression takes on a slightly faraway look, he’s still smiling. “1941,” he says eventually, “that’s when I realised that there could be something more, maybe. That I wasn’t just hoping against hope for something that could, would, never be.” His eyes meet Crowley’s again. “I’m sure you’ve long known or at least suspected that I have more than just friendly feelings towards you. I don’t think I ever hid it much, not consciously at least, as it also took me a little while to realise and admit what I felt for you. But at some point I didn’t want to deny myself any longer; you do know how much I enjoy a good human emotion, and what better emotion is there than love?”
Crowley can feel his face turning hot. It’s one thing to think about what he feels for Aziraphale, what they feel for each other, but something else entirely to hear Aziraphale say it out loud. Crowley’s not even sure why he has such a hard time talking about his feelings. It didn’t always used to be like this, he thinks. Or maybe it’s just because, as a demon, love is the last thing he should be feeling, let alone for an angel.
Crowley disentangles his hands from Aziraphale’s to push his fingers through his hair. “I think it actually took me until Nina and Maggie sat me down to talk to actually realise what I felt. Truly felt, I mean,” Crowley pulls a face. “Obviously I knew there was something but, well, if they hadn’t said anything, I don’t know how many more years it would have taken me.” Crowley stares into space for a moment, then his eyes return to Aziraphale. “I meant what I said, though. Back then. I—I want to be us. An us. With you. Us together.” Crowley groans and buries his head in his hands. He can hear Aziraphale chuckle and then he pulls Crowley closer and into a loose embrace.
“Humans and their emotions. So complicated,” Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“But they’re also wonderful, and exhilarating, don’t you think?”
Crowley hums. “Bit terrifying as well, to be honest.” He inhales deeply, taking in the warm, comforting smell that’s just Aziraphale. He wraps his own arms around the angel’s middle. The angle is awkward, but Crowley couldn’t be more content.
They stay like this for a while. Crowley is dimly aware of the sun slowly setting outside. It draws longer and longer shadows across the room and tinges everything in soft, golden light.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks eventually. His voice is quiet, as if he isn’t sure if Crowley is still awake. Crowley hums in response. He really could fall asleep like this, but Aziraphale seems to have other plans. He gently changes their position so that they’re sitting up again, facing each other.
Aziraphale studies him for a long moment, his expression full of wonder, hope, and what Crowley can now say for certain, is love. Then, he lifts a hand and puts it on the side of Crowley’s face, pushes his fingertips into his hair, smooths his thumb along Crowley’s temple.
“I’ve thought about kissing you countless times,” Aziraphale says. “And even if the memories associated with it were painful, thinking about how you kissed me in the bookshop was sometimes the only thing keeping me sane up in Heaven. Remembering what you said to me, how you wanted to be with me, I just kept on hoping you’d still be there in the end. And now here we are.” Aziraphale smiles, it’s a bit wobbly, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I’d very much like to kiss you now.”
Crowley has to swallow around the lump in his throat but he’s already nodding. “Please.”
Aziraphale lifts his other hand to wrap it around the back of Crowley’s neck and leans in. Crowley meets him halfway, pulling Aziraphale closer by the waist.
It’s perfect. It’s how Crowley always imagined a kiss should be. There’s no urgency, no desperation, no threat lurking in the distance, just them. Aziraphale sighs softly against his lips and opens up more. Crowley licks over his lower lip and pulls him even closer, deepening the kiss.
The world around them seems to breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s almost completely dark out when they stop kissing. Crowley rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s.
“I’d like to spend the rest of forever with you, Aziraphale. For as long as you’ll have me.”
“It might just be a little longer than that,” Aziraphale laughs, a little breathlessly.
“That’s fine with me.”
They smile at each other.
“Can I show you something?” Crowley asks. “I don’t think it’s too late yet.”
Aziraphale tilts his head in question and lets himself be pulled up from the couch, following Crowley to the door.
They leave the cottage and Crowley leads Aziraphale around the side of the house through the small wild garden and to the edge of the property, where they stop by the picket fence, hands still clasped. They can just see the last sliver of the setting sun through the trees.
“Oh Crowley, it’s gorgeous!” Aziraphale lifts his free hand to shield his eyes against the light.
Crowley is watching him, how the soft orange rays glint off his hair, framing his face and making it look like he’s wearing his halo.
He smiles and squeezes Aziraphale’s hand. “Yeah, it really is.”