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“Crowley?” Aziraphale knocked on the open bedroom door. “May I come in?”
Crowley straightened up, blinking away the slight sleepiness. He set his James Bond novel down and rubbed his eyes. “Hi. Yeah, of course. It’s your bedroom too.”
“Oh, I know. I just don’t, er. Er.” Aziraphale just stood there in the doorway, frowning as if he’d forgotten what he was saying. “I don’t get as much use out of it as you do.”
That was an understatement. They did cuddle in bed together frequently, but Aziraphale had never been fond of lying around. Crowley, on the other hand, loved it.
He didn’t love it more than he loved Aziraphale, though, and this was definitely looking like a situation where he wouldn’t be going to sleep. “Come in, angel.”
“Right. Right. Um.” Aziraphale came in, hands twisting slowly together. He didn’t sit down. “Look, I know it’s two in the morning, but would you like to go for a walk?”
Crowley hadn’t been sure what to expect, but that hadn’t been it. “A walk?”
“Or a drive. Or a flight. Or something.” Aziraphale picked at a stray thread on his sleeve. It looked like he’d been doing that a lot tonight. “I just want to go out. Somewhere. To not be here.”
That was weird. Crowley tossed Thunderball aside and grabbed his cane from beside the bed. He rose and took Aziraphale’s arm. “Sure. Sure. We can go out, if you like.”
“Thank you.” Aziraphale gave a tiny smile. “I know it’s a bit silly. But I-I really need to go somewhere. To clear my head, as it were.”
If Aziraphale was agitated, then sticking him in the Bentley wasn’t the best idea. Going for a flight was usually nice, but it was already cold tonight, and the sharp chill of rushing air wouldn’t help Crowley’s aches. “Walk’s good for clearing the head, eh?”
“It’s so chilly, though,” Aziraphale fretted. He bustled over to the closet and pulled out warm jackets. “Come here, my dear. I shan’t have you catch cold on my account.”
“I’m fine.” But Crowley surrendered to the fussing anyway, letting Aziraphale bundle him up in the jacket plus a hand-knitted cap and scarf.
Once they were adequately dressed, they headed outside. A sprawling garden wrapped around the cottage, the nearby flowerbeds illuminated by warm light glowing from the windows. The hedges cast deep shadows over the paths, and light glinted off the remaining apples in their gnarled tree.
Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and tugged him down a path that led through the meticulously planted vegetables and out to the gentle slopes of the South Downs.
He was already regretting the lack of gloves. His right hand, secure in Aziraphale’s plump one, was warm enough. But the left rested atop his cane, exposed to the chill of damp night air. His fingers were already going numb.
“At least it’s not raining, eh?” he said as he glanced up at the night sky. Low grey clouds obscured all but a few patches of glittering stars. “Or not raining yet, anyway.”
Aziraphale didn’t answer. He was still frowning, and Crowley wasn’t sure his words had even gotten through.
“Hallo? Aziraphale?” Taking extra care with his next step, he waved his cane in front of Aziraphale’s face. “You with me?”
Startling slightly, Aziraphale glanced to him. “Ah, dear boy. I’m sorry. Afraid I’m a little distracted.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I noticed.”
“I am all right, really.” Aziraphale paused in the middle of the path, staring vaguely into the shadows. “I just… I was reading.”
“As one does,” Crowley said, encouraging.
“And I happened across some discussion of siege tactics and the development of warfare, and that got me thinking an awful lot…” With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale moved forward again. His hand tightened on Crowley’s. “I got a little lost. In memory.”
“We have seen a lot of sieges. A lot of war.” They hit a patch of uneven ground, and Crowley made a mental note to even it out tomorrow. His hips hated uneven ground. “Makes sense, you getting lost in memory.”
“It was the sort of memory where I was so lost I couldn’t stop thinking about awful things, even when I tried to distract myself.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. At any rate, I just, well.” Aziraphale paused again. He was shivering, and his lip trembled a little. “I very much needed to get away from all that.”
“Memories any better out here?”
“Somewhat.”
“We’ll stay a while, then.”
Crowley tugged him towards one of the many sitting areas in the garden. This one had a well cushioned bench with a really comfortable back and a fancy outdoor heater that Crowley had invested in. It wasn’t quite as good as being curled up in bed, but it should relieve some of the chill.
Which was important, because Aziraphale hated the cold almost as much as Crowley did. And if he was having memories of sieges—many of which had lasted through winter—he didn’t need to get cold.
Groaning as they sat, Crowley gestured on the heater. He leaned his cane beside the bench and flexed his cold, numb fingers. “D’ya want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s right hand in favor of taking the cold one in both of his own. He massaged across the icy skin in well-practiced motions. “I feel a bit silly, in truth. Most of my memories weren’t even of recent wars! I got all embroiled in the earliest conflicts in Mesopotamia, in Troy, in Carthage…”
“It’s not silly.” Heart aching, Crowley watched as Aziraphale fussed over him. Aziraphale had a good heart, and he cared. Which was partly why this stuff haunted him. “Seeing things like that… it sticks around, eh? I don’t think you ever totally get over some things.”
“I suppose not.” Aziraphale sighed again, then bent over Crowley’s hand and kissed it gently. “It does feel further away, now that we’re out here. The bad memories last, but so do the good ones. And we’ve made an awful lot of good memories in gardens, haven’t we?”
“We have.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, then snuggled closer to him on the bench. A flick of the hand provided a warm blanket for them to wrap around themselves. “You wanna reminisce a bit?”
Aziraphale considered it, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think I should like to indulge in the good memories very much.”
After a moment’s thought, Crowley launched into recalling a Regency era garden they’d raided for its apples. Aziraphale blushed, apparently still embarrassed by the heist almost two hundred years later.
But within minutes, he was joining Crowley in relating tales of gardens they’d enjoyed. And although he still spoke more quietly than usual and looked a little glum, he’d already brightened so much that Crowley knew this plan had been a success.
As Aziraphale had said, the good memories lasted too. And a stroll down those remembered lanes, plus snuggling, should be more than enough to chase away the darker times.