Work Text:
London, 1975
The last thing Aziraphale was expecting was a knock on his door at half past one in the morning.
He cherished the nighttime, as it was the only time he could truly be alone in the bookshop. As much as he wanted to keep customers away from his cherished products, he couldn't force them out of the place, not until closing. And he couldn't keep the place closed all the time. It was suspicious, to say the least, and the other shop owners on the street would start to complain. It was valuable property, after all; it had to be used.
Half past one was different. No one was out and about this late on a Tuesday - or Wednesday now, he supposed - so the streets were quiet. The time was his to spend listening to music and looking after his favorite books. Perhaps he could even do a little dusting; the back needed some cleaning. Yes, another night to himself. And then another, and another, and another.
If he thought about it for too long, the loneliness would set in, so he set about rifling through his records. He'd only gone through a few when the knock sounded through the shop, stern yet not demanding. Almost like a polite warning - I'm coming in, don't worry about me.
And the culprit did. Despite the obvious closed sign, despite the door being bolted shut, the knob turned anyway and the warm air of the summer night swept in. Aziraphale stepped back, shocked, but when he saw who was behind the door that anxiety immediately ebbed.
"Crowley," he said. "What are you doing here so late? Is something wrong?"
"Nah." Crowley shook his head. "I just know you don't sleep, and you like when things are quiet. I wanted to ask you this while you were alone." He shrugged. His hands were folded behind his back. "Are you busy?"
"About as busy as you can be at this hour. But I can always make time for you." Aziraphale pressed his lips together once he realized what he'd said. He inhaled. "What can I help you with?"
"A couple years ago, you, erm..." Crowley tilted his head toward the ground. "You came to stop me from robbing the church. Gave me what I asked for."
"...Yes," Aziraphale replied, trying to keep himself composed. He regretted giving that holy water to Crowley every day - he was constantly worried he would find a way to hurt himself with it. The thought of losing Crowley forever like that nauseated him.
"You promised a picnic." Crowley swept his right arm forward, producing a bright bouquet of yellow tulips. They weren't wrapped in plastic like the ones from the store; they were artfully arranged in a small bundle in Crowley's hand, tied together with golden ribbon. "So I've put one together."
Aziraphale's heart lurched forward in his chest, and he brought a hand to his mouth. "Crowley! Oh, I can't believe you." He rushed forward with a smile. As he took the tulips, he wrapped both hands around Crowley's and squeezed. "You shouldn't have."
"I wanted to." Crowley was blushing. "If you don't want to do it tonight, we don't have to. I just thought-"
"Of course I want to! Anything you'd like. Let me put these somewhere safe."
He bustled about the bookshop, going back into the kitchen and retrieving a nice-sized glass jar. He filled it with water from the sink and put the tulips in there, swooning over them for a moment. It was such a sweet gift. His favorite color. He wondered how Crowley knew.
When he returned to the main room, Crowley had removed his sunglasses. Aziraphale smiled at the sight; he was receiving a rare gift. He had to enjoy it.
"Thank you, Crowley," he said, setting the vase down on one of the small tables. "They're beautiful."
Crowley still seemed a little awkward, a strange anxiety in his eyes. "I didn't know if you'd want to go outside? It's late, but it's nice when the sun's not out. I can get us into the park."
"I'd love to, if you would. There's no need to be cooped up in here." Aziraphale took his hand again, noticing the way Crowley's body tensed at it. "Do you want to drive? Perhaps at a normal speed?" He joked. Crowley just looked saddened by it.
"Sure," he said, nodding. "Food's in the car."
Aziraphale tried not to let his strange mood ruin the moment. Crowley was trying to reach out to him, trying to be kind, and he would never discourage that. Crowley had so much goodness in him; it was always a treasure to see him harness it. Especially if it was towards him. He would take it with open arms.
Once they were settled in the car, Aziraphale inhaled a vague sweet smell that had permeated the inside. He beamed, turning to look at the unassuming basket Crowley had in the backseat.
"I'm so curious," Aziraphale said.
"Ah, it's nothing great. I can't bake like you, so I went to a shop. Sorry about that."
"Anything you've brought will be excellent." He twisted back around, settling into his seat and breathing a sigh of relief as Crowley finally went below seventy for once. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he finally got the nerve to ask, "Are you alright?"
Crowley's grip on the wheel tightened. "Of course. Why?"
"You're tense."
"Oh. I just..." He swallowed. "Just a little nervous, is all. I've never been on a picnic before."
"It's nothing difficult. Rather easy, actually." Aziraphale gave a knowing grin. "I'll help you along the way."
"Appreciate it." Crowley's nerves seemed to ease a minuscule amount. Maybe by the end of the night, he would be halfway back to normal.
They arrived at the park shortly after, and Crowley retrieved the basket from the backseat. He handed a large folded blanket to Aziraphale, who tucked it under his arm and followed Crowley to the main gate.
At the entrance, they winked at each other before taking their respective actions. Two celestial beings were no match for a locked gate and some half-awake security guards.
Once that was taken care of, Crowley settled them under a large tree by the water. He leaned back against the trunk, sighing, opening the basket to produce a bottle of wine. The night was perfect, the stars visible in the dark sky and a warm breeze rustling their hair and clothes. Crickets chirped somewhere in the grass.
"Leave it to you to bring wine to a picnic," Aziraphale teased. Crowley just held it up with a smirk.
"A toast to a late-night picnic."
"It's not a toast if I can't hold anything up."
Crowley lowered his arm, and they both held the bottle with one hand. They laughed, and Crowley removed his sunglasses again to reveal his golden, smiling eyes.
"I know you like sweets the best," he said, "so I got a lot of those. And some apples, and those little sandwich squares you like with the ham."
"You really put some thought into this."
"It's the least I could do to return your favor." Crowley unpacked the basket, and Aziraphale fawned over the adorable petit-fours and tiny sandwich squares. After quite a bit of coercion, a skill he'd learned after many years of the Arrangement, he even got Crowley to try a bite of dessert. It was clear he was trying to hide how delicious he found it, and Aziraphale laughed over his failed attempts at a straight face.
"It's alright," he mumbled around a mouthful of cake. "I suppose."
Aziraphale caught him sneaking another bite when his head was turned, but he didn't say anything. He just smiled.
Crowley seemed to lighten up as the night went on. After they'd gone through about half the bottle, he leaned against the tree again and placed his hands on his stomach.
"I'm not meaning to be tense," he said. "I'm just thinking about things."
Aziraphale was glad to get this out of the way. "Perhaps I could help ease your mind."
Crowley stared up at the sky. "When you gave me the holy water, I offered you a lift," he said, "and you refused. You told me I go too fast for you." He glanced back at Aziraphale. "What does that mean? I know it's not just about my driving."
Aziraphale closed his eyes, the food forgotten. He'd spent years thinking about what he said that night, regretting how things had gone. At the time, he wanted to both throw himself at Crowley and run as far away from him as possible. He wanted to love him, and he wanted to resent him for making him go through with giving him the holy water, for making Aziraphale put them both in danger. So many conflicting emotions, so much need, that all he could do was get out of the car and run.
"I am an angel," Aziraphale said, "and you are a demon. We are meant to be enemies in every sense of the word. If either of our sides found out what we were doing right now-"
"It wouldn't matter, because they won't find out." Crowley lowered his brows. "Does all of that really still matter to you? After everything-"
"You aren't listening to me," Aziraphale interjected, holding up his hands. "Just...listen. You...you are racing through your life with little appreciation. It feels like you're always thinking about what lies twenty steps ahead. I mean, even with the holy water, it feels like you're already imagining your death. That, or some kind of inevitable end to things. You're convinced that you're living on limited time. I suppose that makes you rather human, in a way.
"But you're not human. You're one of the only creatures that doesn't have to worry about an end. You go about things with such ferocity, Crowley, and it's...well, it's a lot to witness. It makes me worry about you."
"You don't have to worry about me," Crowley muttered, taking another swig of wine. "Nothing wrong with living fast."
"But, Crowley..." Aziraphale sighed. "Even this picnic. I didn't think you would do this now, so soon after I offered."
"So you didn't want this?" Crowley frowned. "I put all this together-"
"Of course I do. I want it more than anything. But you need to understand that this cannot keep happening. Not with things the way they are now. We have to be patient."
"You know just as well as I do that we've always been on limited time," Crowley hissed. "Earth is a temporary project, and we're nothing but pawns in that. You know we're approaching the end of our tenure here; we both know that. I'm just the only one who accepts it, and I'm the only one that's gonna be prepared. We don't have time to be patient. There won't be time for picnics when it's already time for another war, and you and I are on opposite sides."
"That's not going to happen."
"Oh, because you still have so much faith in Heaven that-"
"No." Aziraphale's eyes hardened, morphing from sky blue to a cold, steely grey. "Because the Almighty would have to smite me Themselves before I willingly brought a sword to your head."
Crowley stared at him, silent. Silver and gold peered into each other.
"After what happened at the West End, we cannot be throwing ourselves into danger like this. This cannot keep happening." Aziraphale blinked back tears. "Not yet."
"It seems like you and I are always at 'not yet.' What happens when the time comes and you and I haven't even gotten to enjoy a day together? What then?"
"I cannot throw caution to the wind and exist alongside you, simply counting down each day and waiting for the bombs to drop. I...I have to live." Aziraphale looked up at the sky, admiring the stars that had once formed under Crowley's hand. "I still have so much conflict going on in my head. I cannot throw myself into this when I'm not ready just because I'm scared of when it's going to end. I have to wait."
Crowley stared down at the blanket, his face forlorn. He picked at a loose thread as he spoke. His voice was so small that Aziraphale had to strain to hear him.
"I just want to be us," he said. "I just want you and me to have some time to enjoy things. Before it all goes pear-shaped."
Aziraphale softened. "I know," he said, inching closer. "I want that, too."
He placed his hand on Crowley's chest, leaning in and gently kissing him on the lips. He couldn't explain why; his body simply needed to connect with Crowley's in the most intimate way possible. He needed to inhale Crowley's breath, to feel his heart beating in this human vessel, to bask in his warmth. He was the sun. He was a cluster of stars. His lips were soft, and Aziraphale leaned into them with more faith and love than he'd ever given to Heaven.
"Don't give up on me," he breathed once he finally pulled back. "Please don't give up on me."
"Never," Crowley promised. "I trust you."
"I feel your love. It's exuding from you in waves. It always has." Aziraphale kissed his cheek, his temple. "And I need you to know that I love you, too. I need you to hear that and remember it for as long as you possibly can."
Crowley let out a small, breathy chuckle, but Aziraphale could hear the catch in his throat. "You're never gonna say that again, are you?"
"One day." Tears fell from Aziraphale's eyes, falling onto Crowley's shoulder. "But not yet. I'm sorry."
Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him in, and their bodies collided in a warm embrace. Aziraphale let out one loud sob before clapping his hand over his mouth, refusing to let anyone except Crowley hear him. Not Heaven, not Hell. This moment was for them.
"It's alright, angel," Crowley said. "I forgive you."
Aziraphale squeezed him tight. As his head lay on Crowley's shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a shooting star whizzing through the night sky. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished for nothing but a life with Crowley. It was all he could ever want.
Maybe one day. But not yet.