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Crowley broke away from kissing the bottom of Aziraphale’s neck by a sharp elbow to the ribs, looking dazedly up at their waiter.
“Talisker, please,” Crowley said vaguely in the direction of the waiter as he nuzzled his nose in the hair above Aziraphale’s ear.
“And for your boyfriend here?” The waiter asked, dripping with sarcasm.
Aziraphale elbowed Crowley a little harder and Crowley cleared his throat and gave up, languishing against the back of his chair, looking over at Aziraphale with hopeless affection before replying, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Something passed over Aziraphale’s face that Crowley couldn’t read. Crowley blinked, then looked back at their exasperated waiter.
“Sherry for me, please,” Aziraphale said kindly to the waiter, without looking back at Crowley.
“How about this one?”
“Perhaps for our silver.”
They were looking at wildly expensive pieces at an estate sale. Crowley suspected Aziraphale wanted to come because he remembered the original owner of the house in an unfavorable light, as he seemed to be experiencing a bit of un-angelic glee at picking over his belongings.
An older woman and her daughter next to them had been listening to their banter—a situation of which Crowley was never unaware, and had been playing a bit to the crowd.
The woman caught their eye as Crowley turned around to examine a very strange mug.
“How long have you been married?” She asked, smiling.
“We’re not married,” Crowley responded automatically. He could feel Aziraphale going still next to him.
“Oh,” the woman said, fumbling and suddenly awkward. “How long have you been together?”
“It’s actually sort of hard to say,” Crowley said, wondering if you count the time before time, the time after the arrangement, the time they began living together, and most recently the time they started sticking their human body parts into each other with wild abandon. “It depends on—”
“A very long time,” Aziraphale cut in, a little sharply, without looking at him.
Crowley looked over at him, furrowing his brow.
The woman in front of them shifted awkwardly. Crowley cleared his throat.
“Have you seen the lamps anywhere?” She asked, a little desperately.
Crowley slammed on his brakes and barely managed not to hit the cavalcade of ridiculously-dressed people crossing the road close to the bookshop.
“Oh, come on.” Crowley groused. “How is it legal to just prance around the road in awful outfits blocking traffic?”
“Looks like they have a permit,” Aziraphale said, shooting a ghost of a smile at Crowley and nodding at the policemen standing on the outside of what seemed like a small foot parade as it crossed the street.
Crowley groaned, fidgeting in his seat. Finally, two people in black and white passed with umbrellas, the scene around which—it was obvious to Crowley now—the crowd was revolving.
“Oh, it’s a wedding,” Aziraphale said happily, leaning around in his seat to look at everything.
“Of course,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Naturally it would be a party celebrating a divorce five years from now.”
“I think it’s quite nice,” Aziraphale said, eyes still on the proceedings in front of them, the muffled sound of a small band behind the couple now audible through the closed windows.
“Please,” Crowley said, “this charade of forever love while everyone eats rubber chicken and listens to the most ghastly music ever created by humans? That they probably can’t afford, anyway. At least when marriage was more of a property/alliances thing it was useful. This is just a waste of time.” The last part came out much more forcefully than Crowley meant it to.
An excruciating silence followed. Crowley kept his gaze focused outside, not really seeing anything in front of him.
There was a small touch on his arm. He looked down at Aziraphale’s hand, his rings catching in the glare, then grudgingly looked at his face. Aziraphale was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that made him look as old as he and Crowley actually were.
“It’s ok that you’re not the marrying kind, Crowley,” he said softly.
Crowley looked away from him quickly, sitting stiff and hunched in his seat as Aziraphale miracled-up some flowers into the hands of nearby well-wishers and gave them a nudge to give the flowers to the wedding party. Aziraphale smiled wide as the party go-ers drunkenly shrieked and began sticking the flowers into the bride and grooms’ hair, laughing a little when a few of the younger ones began beating each other with them. Aziraphale then miracled a little wagon for a little girl in a dress who looked tired, and some kind of bicycle taxi for an older couple.
Crowley watched all this, and felt about three feet tall.
They were stuck making conversation next to a really chatty, brutally boring couple in line for an opera Aziraphale was unreasonably excited about.
“How long have you been together?”
Before Crowley could open his mouth, Aziraphale said, “Oh, we’re not together in the sense you mean. I’m frequently his escort while his husband is away on work matters. However, our business arrangement, such as it is–”
The woman stuttered something unintelligible and quickly found a reason to “check a work email” and turn away from them. Crowley burst out laughing, a bit shocked. Aziraphale smiled, glowing and practically puffing with pride, as was always the case when he made Crowley laugh on purpose.
But the feeling that Crowley’d had for a while now, like he’d forgotten something he knew he needed to remember, that something important was just the slightest, most excruciatingly bit out of joint, remained.
“You know you’re literally the best thing in the entire universe?” Crowley said, a bit awkwardly.
Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up a little bit before his face brightened blindingly. His initial surprise slipped in between Crowley’s ribs like a knife.
Over the next few weeks, the thing out of joint felt more out of joint.
Finally, he abruptly canceled dinner plans he’d had with Aziraphale and hopped in his car, speeding towards his destination and parking more wildly illegally than usual.
Crowley’s hand holding the manilla envelope started to shake as he opened the door to the bookshop.
Aziraphale came quickly into the room, stopping short when he saw it was Crowley. “Oh,” he said, his face breaking into a bright smile. “You said you had an errand this evening. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Crowley’s mouth was dry.
I can’t do this.
He swallowed and shook his head. “Finished it,” he said, his voice cracking a bit.
There was a moment of silence where Crowley could feel Aziraphale looking at him, assessing whether he should mention the fact that Crowley seemed a little off. But then Aziraphale turned on his heel towards the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “You’ve arrived at an excellent time, I’ve just opened that bottle of–”
Crowley looked down at the envelope in his hands and threw it on the table suddenly as if it burned him.
Stupid idea, dear God that was a stupid idea, you’ve had a lot of dumb ideas, but Jesus Christ–-
There was a ringing in Crowley’s ears and he couldn’t focus on what Aziraphale was calling to him from the kitchen, not even noticing when Aziraphale came back into the room, placing his wine glass on the small coffee table. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice that Aziraphale had grabbed the envelope off the table and opened it.
Crowley did a double take and lunged in panic. “Angel–”
But it was too late. Aziraphale was staring down dumbly at the first of the two pieces of paper it contained.
“This is the registration for your Bentley,” he said with confusion. “I didn’t imagine you even had a registration for it.”
“I didn’t,” Crowley blurted.
Aziraphale’s brow was creased reading over it as Crowley slowly died inside, Aziraphale’s face going slack when he saw what Crowley was hoping he wouldn’t. He looked up at Crowley with a stunned expression, holding up the little slip of paper. “You put the car in both of our names?”
It sounded hideously stupid. “Yes.”
Aziraphale looked at him, almost confused, then smiling his bright, beautiful smile, before looking down again. Crowley experienced a thrill of cold horror when he saw Aziraphale immediately go for the other piece of paper.
“Angel, wait, wait –”
Aziraphale’s face was blank. “This is a marriage certificate,” he said almost tonelessly.
“Angel,” a full wave of white panic made Crowley feel almost calm now. “Let me explain-–”
“This is a marriage certificate between us.”
Aziraphale looked at him, his face almost blank with shock.
Crowley frantically ran through his options, then got on his knees, before he remembered it was generally one knee.
Aziraphale was staring down at him, his chest rising and falling very fast and very shallowly now.
“I’m certain it’s not surprising to you,” Crowley’s voice was quiet. “I did something without thinking. I thought…I don’t know, I thought that it would be something…you might like, then when I got here I realized it’s something I needed to ask you.”
Crowley adjusted, his hands getting gritty from the floor.
“So, I’m asking. I’m begging, even,” Crowley said, extremely aware of the dust spots on his knees. “Would you please marry me, Aziraphale?”
It sounded even worse , even more clumsy, even more meaningless said out loud.
It took Crowley a moment to realize Aziraphale hadn’t said a word. Crowley was suddenly too terrified to look up, feeling as though the floor were eroding underneath him.
You stupid fucking fuck, one of the most important things in your cursed life and you fuck it up, you always always always fuck it up–
“I’m sorry Aziraphale,” he said, the situation sinking like a stone to the bottom of his stomach, “Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, and I’ll try it again in 100 years. Unless the answer is no, which, under the circumstances, I would certainly understand.”
A flash of white hair was suddenly in front of him. Aziraphale had kneeled, his strong, thick hands grabbing his. Crowley wanted to yank them away, then go slowly dissolve his corporation in a river over a few thousand years.
“I don’t know, Crowley. It seems as though you’re stuck with me.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Are we actually married?”
Crowley grit his teeth, cursing himself and pulling his lips into his mouth. “In the eyes of the Islington Registrar as a result of some minor threats, bribes, petty theft, and some finger wiggling, yes. In the eyes of the Lord–” he cut himself off immediately once he realized what he said. He couldn’t parse the look in Aziraphale’s eyes and couldn’t stand it, staring down at a little cobweb next to the fireplace. “Well, we weren’t married in a church,” he said in a rough voice.
There was a beat of silence. “Yes, we were.”
His words hit Crowley bluntly in the chest.
The waves that always came during these times–-the immediate, desultory denial and dismissal, the screaming alarms telling him to run-–crashed over him. He forced himself to stay still, and stay silent.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Among other places we’ve been married. Uz.” Crowley heard a hitch in his breathing. “The Eastern Gate.”
The waves washed over him again, and the tiny part of him that was brave–-the part that belonged to Aziraphale-–stood as the only ballast against it.
You can do this.
“Yes,” he whispered.
After a moment, he realized Aziraphale was crying. But when Crowley looked at him, he was horrified that Aziraphale looked genuinely upset.
“Aziraphale-–”
“I meant what I said, Crowley.”
He didn’t have to say what it was he meant.
It’s ok that you’re not the marrying kind.
“You must know I,” Aziraphale tripped over the words, “I love you exactly as you are.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Time slowed for Crowley, then eventually stopped.
They’d always referred to that as “something humans do.” In Crowley’s mind, he held on to a sense of smug superiority that what they had was of an entirely different quality than whatever the human concept of “love” was.
But hearing Aziraphale say it was like being run through with a sword.
Seconds ticked by before Crowley spoke again. “I know I haven’t exactly given the impression that I’m at all interested in the institution. But it’s only because it seems like such a pathetic showing compared to…” he swallowed hard and tried to stop himself from crying, trying to stop his face from showing every single thing, but the more he tried to control the more of it he lost.
This is what it must be like to bleed out.
“What I would like to say. To you. To show you. How much...” Crowley trailed off. His throat had closed up completely.
Aziraphale took his face in his hands and kissed him then. The way only Aziraphale could. Then he leaned his forehead into Crowley’s face, his hands sliding up in the back into Crowley’s hair. It finally unlocked Crowley’s tongue and he pulled back from Aziraphale enough to talk.
“But,” Crowley clenched his jaw, closed his eyes very, very tightly, then forced himself on. “I suppose humans feel that their pathetic feelings for another person are too profound for a prosaic exchange of jewelry and some generic commitment language. But they do it anyway because that’s the best they have. And I realized for now-–”
This is your greatest failure.
“--this is the best I have. When I find a better,” Crowley made a frantic go-away gesture, “a better way to do this, I’ll do that. But until then, this is all I’ve got.”
It was all so paltry. So thin.
Aziraphale was quiet, and Crowley fought almost every urge in him to rip his hands out of Aziraphale’s and drive his car as far away and as fast as he could from this shop.
Crowley almost jumped when Aziraphale spoke again.
“You mean like, standing with me at the end of the world?” Aziraphale said in a voice so quiet Crowley hardly recognized it. “Saving my books while literal bombs are exploding. That type of gesture?”
“That was a reflex, of sorts” Crowley said, because it was the truth. “I want to do something…on purpose.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh, my dear Crowley.”
Hold on, Crowley told himself, the part itching to let go and let the waves take him out. Pull him under.
Hold on.
“I shouldn’t have made you think…” Aziraphale trailed off, sighing a little. “It’s just, I watch life here—it’s so fragile. And love is such an ephemeral, ineff–” he cut himself off. “Well, it’s so fragile, too. And I suppose it makes sense that the humans would want anything that makes everything feel more permanent. We’re not human, but we’re…” At this Aziraphale swallowed, and in the back of Crowley’s mind he realized he’d never seen Aziraphale quite like this. Raw. Wrong-footed. “Well, I suppose our corporations, our ethereal selves aren’t quite as fragile, on the surface. But we know that what we have is. Don’t we?” His voice broke on the last word.
Crowley closed his eyes tight, trying to unhear it, deny it, but he knew Aziraphale was right, that everything they have could be gone in an instant. On a whim from upstairs or downstairs.
Just like the humans.
“And marriage,” Aziraphale shrugged and gave a little watery laugh. “It’s what humans do. And I suppose when you live among them long enough, you become a little bit like them. Doing the things they do. Wanting the things they want and,” Aziraphale paused, and swallowed. “I suppose I love trying all of the silly human things for the first time with you. Like we’ve always done.” His voice was nearly inaudible as he went on. “I thought it might be fun. And I thought you might enjoy an excuse to wear some spectacular formal attire; I know what you’ve kept over the years.”
Crowley blinked, staring hard at the cobweb, before he felt very gentle hands on his face, forcing him to look into Aziraphale’s eyes. They were very bright. “But my dear, I don’t need any silly weddings, if that’s not what you want. You are the only thing I’ve ever needed. And every day it is a blessing and a miracle to be in your company. Living in sin or no.” He smiled the tiniest bit.
Crowley stared at him, completely still.
How did I trick this person into loving me?
Crowley took his hands, carefully putting them on Aziraphale's upper arms, gripping firmly. “We’re going to have a ceremony,” Crowley said quietly. “And a party.”
Aziraphale smiled wide for just a second then tamed it, looking away, a softer smile lingering on his face.
“Well, I can’t imagine anything more offensive and perverse to our former employers than a human marriage ceremony between us. Certainly that’s a good reason to get married, yes?”
Crowley laughed, surprised, and Aziraphale smiled his curving little wicked smile that seemed reserved for these situations; that seemed reserved for Crowley. That Crowley literally lived for.
That Crowley suspected he would one day die for.
He forced himself to hold Aziraphale’s gaze.
“I want to marry you because I love you, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale was motionless for a moment, then smiled a very strange, collapsing smile that Crowley was not familiar with. And then, Aziraphale was crying suddenly, with a force that shocked Crowley, wrapping his arms tightly enough around Crowley’s chest that the snake in him leapt in recognition, reflexively wrapping up the most precious thing in this strange universe to him. The fragile thing that could be taken away from him at any moment.
The person he loved.
Just like humans did.
They were on the sofa now, silent as they were mutually exhausted from all the talking, but Aziraphale leaned against Crowley’s arm, and everything in Crowley reached towards that warmth.
“Oh!” Aziraphale looked suddenly alarmed, like he’d realized he left the oven on.
He grabbed Crowley by the wrist and yanked him outside of the bookshop.
Suddenly Crowley’s feet left the ground and he was looking upwards at the moon. He had been hoisted up by Aziraphale like some maiden.
“Angel,” he said, laughing.
“What kind of husband would I be,” Aziraphale said, a bit of strain in his voice as he balanced holding Crowley in one arm while he opened the door, “if I didn’t carry my new husband over the threshold?”
The word slipped underneath everything outward-facing in Crowley. It went straight through the layers he’d built over the many centuries he existed, to the part at the center of him. The oldest part.
Crowley jumped out of Aziraphale’s arms as soon as they were over the threshold and slammed him up against the door to close it.
That night they opened all of their best bottles, which led to them carrying each other into the shop over and over again in the various forms they’d inhabited throughout the centuries.
The only hiccup came when Aziraphale accidentally bumped into an older man while carrying a very enormous, very drunk black snake, whose heavy tail spilled out of his arms and plopped onto the man's rainboot. Crowley managed to fling himself onto the ground and under the man's head before it hit the pavement.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, I know you have a husband. Everyone in this shop knows you have a husband. It’s that idiot right there.” At this, Nina jabbed a finger in Aziraphale’s direction, who was pretending to be embarrassed. “And the reason they know is because you take up a whole table for two hours with the most impressively irritating orders ever known to man and put everyone off their food with excessive forehead kisses –actually you know what? Get out. I don’t have time for this today. Maggie will bring you your coffee.”
Crowley smugly held his arm out, and Aziraphale had now completely given up pretending to be embarrassed. As they were walking out, Nina called after them, “You know what? Maggie will bring you your coffee the rest of the week or however long until this thing passes.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow playfully at Aziraphale.
“But if you say the words ‘my husband and I,’ ever again, you’re banned.”
At the exit, Crowley turned around and gave a bow more low and sweeping than he’d ever offered to any king.
“My husband and I appreciate your commitment to customer service.”