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“Saved the world again, huh,” Crowley says into the quiet, still evening.
It’s been quite a few more than 7 days since another Armageddon was averted. Well, Second Coming - whatever. Heaven and Hell still need a lot of work in the new re-structuring, but the angel and demon at the heart of it all, requested a couple of weeks just to themselves. Nobody was there to tell them no. So here they are. Peaceful and quiet. Together. At last.
And Crowley is, as happened the evening before and the one before that... sat, limbs folded at his angel’s feet where he somehow migrates over time, head pillowed on a lovely thigh, feeling safe while beautiful, strong fingers play with his hair while Aziraphale reads, resting on the sofa in the dim, lamp-lit bookshop.
“Yes, my dear", the angel replies softly, "it would certainly appear so. Is something on your mind?” Aziraphale asks, wondering what Crowley is trying to say or started to say.
“It’s just that - erm, just,” Crowley looks up into the soft, kind face of his angel, clearly wanting to breach a difficult subject. He turns his head, “I dunno ‘ngel. I feel like, there’s too many things unsaid.”
“We have time Crowley,” Aziraphale says fondly, “There’s no rush.”
Crowley looks up at him again, and reaches for the hand in his hair, squeezing it gently. He takes a deep breath.
"There’s something... I have to say now though Aziraphale. Please.”
“Of course, dear.”
“It’s- well, it’s not easy so please don’t, don’t try and interrupt – umm, until I get it out yeah.” Crowley regrets the wording of the sentiment immediately but it's too late. It will be okay. He takes another deep breath.
Aziraphale looks pained for a moment but resumes stroking Crowley’s hair, then sliding his fingers down to caress his cheek, looks into his wide, worried eyes.
“Go on darling. I’ll listen. Do you want to come up next to me?”
“No, I’m good here, angel. So, well, so here’s the thing. I…” Crowley stops, takes another few deep breaths, fidgets. Aziraphale now reaches for his hand and squeezes it, book placed on the small table next to them, leaving the angel’s other hand to now gently cradle Crowley’s head.
“When you were gone, I, um, I was persuaded by Nina and Maggie to eh, to do some therapy.” Crowley speaks quietly, but the stillness around them is deep and Aziraphale makes sure Crowley feels as comfortable as he possibly can, even though he is obviously distressed.
“Like human therapy I mean. I expected,” he laughs, “I expected to just - complain. About our jobs, well to an extent you know, about how we were always on guard, worried, how we never knew if we were watched, listened to; I wanted to complain about how we could never truly speak, be open, talk to each other, explain, how I was never really sure what you thought or felt… I expected to rage over what happened after… Jim. And I did but...”
Crowley changes his position slightly, no longer holding Aziraphale’s gaze, but looking into the bookshop, head resting on Aziraphale’s leg as the angel’s fingers stay in his hair, firm, grounding him.
“And we did go through all that, differently than I expected though. Instead of the therapist agreeing with me about how shitty everything was and how I deserved better, they - they wanted to know how it made me feel. How you made me feel. How the things you said, and did, made me feel.
And I was… well, I was forced to see, and not just see - and admit out loud, ugh, so many uncomfortable things.” Crowley whispers into the night.
He stops for a good while and Aziraphale waits, feeling this is not yet finished, and he should do his best to wait out what Crowley needs to say.
“I described - I don't even know why, I knew you didn't mean it - how you’d claim I wasn’t your friend just as a huge disaster was looming. I would talk about how you’d carefully tell me about the newest fuck ups from our head offices, how you’d try to calm my words, my anger, anger that I had because I was right, right? But. How you’d say no to a date. How you’d get in some trouble but not really when we haven't seen each other for a while - and then be so pleased to see me and I’d get worried because what if something really happened, but then I’d be so, so happy too… those are some of my favourite memories."
Crowley pauses, lots in thought.
"And well... the therapist, the therapist didn’t say what a big asshole you were for not being straight with me. For not trying harder or something. For not being more daring. Because at times I wanted to be angry. I wanted someone to complain to and for them to agree with me and I said that and they laughed and told me about idiot compassion. About how that’s what friends are for; friends who would say - oh yes, he was an asshole, he should have told you, he should have understood, he should have stayed... etc etc.
But they said - so what do you think Az - I called you Az with them - felt? What was he trying to do? How do you think he should have reacted? What do you think he was scared of? Was he right to be worried? What do you think would have happened if things that you wanted, happened?
And, I knew, I knew all these things, you know I did; but they forced me - they forced me to spell out how much, how deeply you obviously cared for me. To see… how you trusted me from the beginning, how you never gave up on me. How you always…oh angel…”
Crowley sobs and Aziraphale hands him - an honest to goodness cotton handkerchief. “Unbelievable,” Crowley laughs as he dabs his eyes. He looks up to his angel’s face again and finds his eyes too are wet, his lips a slim line as the angel’s tries not to cry himself.
“Oh no.” Crowley says and climbs up into Aziraphale’s lap. “Don’t cry angel, don’t cry.” He embraces his beloved, rests his head on the worn shoulder of his waistcoat and takes yet another deep breath, smelling Aziraphale's warm, comforting scent, feeling his curls tickle his hot skin.
“Umm, we went though how I behaved, how I asked you for ugh… a gun, you know, the holy water." Crowley whispers, face buried deeper in Aziraphale's neck, holding on to his shoulders. "I said you had a licence and could do it. And they walked me though how you felt and when I told them I hired someone to steal one for me and then you… they were horrified angel.
And then… I had to talk about… our arguments and oh - Aziraphale.” Crowley squeezes his angel’s shoulders. “I never truly realised; I mean I never… I shouted at you, I… I even pushed you into a wall; I grabbed you and… the kiss...” Crowley is sobbing into Aziraphale’s neck, strong arms holding him, caressing his back as Aziraphale is making soothing sounds.
“Shhhh my dear, shhhh, may I speak now?”
“Wait, just wanted, I wanted to say - I’m sorry angel. I wanted you to know that I knew I shouldn’t have, and yet… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry angel for when I doubted you, for when I didn’t entirely trust you, I almost lost you - twice angel, twice. But you came back. I said I will leave, and then I did leave - just when you needed me most… angel, I’m so sorry.”
“Crowley,” his favourite voice whispers, “Crowley.”
Aziraphale soothes the demon by whispering to him and gently rubbing his back. Waiting for his sobs to quieten and body to stop shaking.
“My dear,” he starts. “I’m so glad you had someone to talk to about your feelings.”
“You – um, ah, don’t mind I talked about you?”
“That’s quite alright sweetheart. I know we spoke about these things briefly, but I want to insist that I don’t think we had any other, better way to be. As you say you had a right to be angry. With the world, with our positions, with the unfairness of it all. We couldn’t properly speak and of course it has taken a toll on us. You don’t have to… look darling - you know I was never afraid you would ever actually hurt me, or anything like that, right? Or that you didn't care for me when you raised your voice. Yes? I was afraid of Heaven. I was afraid of other angels, of the future, of what would happen if… but I was never afraid of you. I knew you were angry, frustrated, sad. And you had every right to be.”
Crowley is now looking into Aziraphale’s eyes, slightly red from crying, and well then, his must be a right mess. And he can’t believe this angel loves and understands him like this. He kisses his forehead.
“You are too good to be true angel. Maybe because I knew you wouldn’t be afraid, maybe that’s why… you know, but it doesn’t make it right. I just wanted to say I was sorry. I’m sorry I let you go.”
“Darling. I’m here. We had so much and yet so little time. We both have a lot of things to think and to talk through. Perhaps... we could both go and talk to your therapist. They sound like a lovely, understanding person. Perhaps they could help us deal with, well, all of this, they could help us make things better, easier? Offer an outsider insight of sorts.”
“Oh yes, they suggested it too, they would be happy to see you I’m sure…um… I wasn’t sure you’d want to do that, but I can call them.”
“Of course I would Crowley. Now. Do you want to speak some more on this –“
“No, I… let’s wait a bit. I don’t want to now, just hold me angel.”
And that’s what Aziraphale does, holds Crowley in his lap, folded around him until he feels the demon’s breath slow down as he falls asleep and decides they would be more comfortable upstairs in bed.
Crowley doesn’t make a sound when Aziraphale stands up and carries him carefully up the metal staircase, into the bedroom that has been tidied of some of the teetering towers of books and where the single bed Aziraphale never used was transformed into a large, cosy place to rest.
He lays Crowley on his chosen side of their bed and after a moment of hesitation miracles both their outfits into the wardrobe, replacing them with soft pyjamas. He thinks Crowley would prefer that to sleeping in his jeans and he would be right.
Aziraphale thought he will read some more while Crowley sleeps; after all, he missed his books immensely while he was … away. But in the end, all he does is pulling the sleeping body of his demon close to him, caressing him while Crowley winds his arms and legs around him like some creeping vine. Face pressed into Aziraphale’s chest.
The angel thinks and dozes a bit, wondering if he could have done anything differently, spared any of the pain to himself and specially to Crowley. But there never was much manoeuvre for them. Knowing what they knew then and what they, rightly, feared. The only way is forward, and he hopes - hopes for a much brighter, calmer future. In fact, he was hoping to suggest to Crowley to move away from London. Not too far and not losing the bookshop altogether and keep working on the plans they started with their fellow angels and demons, but a place just for them. For the two of them. For always.
“You are thinking too much,” Crowley mumbles as first light of the morning brightens the windows. He’s half buried in a duvet and he emerges a little, from where he was lying on Aziraphale’s chest, basking in his warmth, rubbing his face into the angel, kissing him where he can feel the strong heartbeat that anchors him. “So warm, so soft,” he proclaims into the cotton pyjamas.
Aziraphale shifts a little to embrace the demon, smiling, “Good morning darling. Did you sleep okay?”
Crowley looks up at the angel, “I made you cry,” and his face falls.
“Now, now, none of that, we will deal with all this, I promise. Now come up here and kiss me.”
And Crowley does. Caressing the angel’s face, sliding his fingers into those curls that he dreamed about for so, so long and now can reach for anytime.
“Mmmm,” Crowley whispers into his angel’s mouth. “I’ll go make us breakfast.” But he’s suddenly kissed back so fiercely, turned on his back not even sure how and Aziraphale is on top of him, kissing and biting his jaw.
“What if I want you, for breakfast?” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkle in the morning light and Crowley wonders if he’s still dreaming.
“Never thought you’d be so… uhh, forward with all of this,” Crowley says, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's waist, replaying the past couple of days when they decided to take their relationship further in very human ways.
“Surely there’ve been… hints?” Aziraphale says biting Crowley’s ear, kissing his jaw and moving down his neck.
“Yeah, I guess,” Crowley replies, arching his body into Aziraphale, his need to feel the angel’s skin against his building up each second. “The way you eat, for one.”
“I wonder if you remember who tempted me into that,” Aziraphale teases gently, undoing buttons on Crowley’s top.
Crowley gives in a loses himself in the sensations of Aziraphale undressing him, kissing him, caressing him. After all, he always wanted to be one of his desserts.