Chapter Text
17 February 2020
Aziraphale had reached a level of frustration that as an Angel of the Lord, retired, he’d rarely reached before. "Why couldn’t Agnes just have written, the second coming is coming, do this then this and it won’t"
"You want simple?"
"Right now, yes. She wrote, Twice in eternity, lovers uniteth, opposite of one, leaders condemned but in each other sharl find the Peas they knew not they were looking for."
He was surprised when Crowley started sputtering. "We’re not leaders."
"We’re not lovers either." Aziraphale took off his glasses as he stood. "I’m feeling peckish. Justine fait d'excellentes crêpes."
"Angel, your French still sucks. You are better off speaking Japanese."
"I’m a little out of practice with French." Aziraphale grinned and the prophecy was temporarily forgotten. Aziraphale waved the keys in his hand as Crowley held open the door. "Given up trying to make me swear?"
"Nope. Just being patient. I’ll have you blaspheming yet." He moved to stand behind Aziraphale as the angel locked the shop door. So close, Aziraphale could feel his heat. It took a lot of concentration to not lean back and let the Demon wrap his arms…
"Coming, Angel?" Crowley stepped back. "The crepes are waiting." It took Aziraphale a couple of seconds before he was able to bring his response to Crowley’s nearness back under control. The demon’s smirk suggested that Crowley knew exactly the effect he’d had on Aziraphale.
Which led Aziraphale down a spiraling path of want, desire. What was he waiting for? All he had to do was reach out and take Crowley’s hand.
They both stopped walking as Aziraphale curled his fingers around Crowley’s.
"Angel?"
"Shh, dear. Les crêpes attendent." Neither mentioned their hands. When Aziraphale had to let go to open the restaurant door, he missed it immediately.
***
Crowley could still feel the angel’s hand on his four hours after he’d returned to his flat. He raised that hand and stared at it. It had been almost six months since the Not End of Days, and he had hoped that something, anything would have happened, rejection, acceptance.
Aziraphale had held his hand. Was the angel finally, FINALLY, thinking of the possibility of an US.
Crowley let himself smile.
Thoughts of desire, fulfillment disappeared when his phone rang.
"Hello," he said with a snarl.
"Mr. Demon, it's me Adam. Adam Young. You need my help."
"You’ve talked to Anathema?"
"Heaven and Hell are ignoring their promise to leave us alone. At least Heaven is. I can feel it, but yes I talked to her last night. She said her great great something grandmother sent you another book of prophecies. I’d like to help."
Crowley pulled up the copy of the manuscript on his phone and sent it to Adam, the maybe not antichrist. "I just sent you a copy. Do yourself a favor, call it a manuscript not a book otherwise you might get a four hour lecture from Aziraphale.
Adam laughed. "Can’t be any worse than economics. Oh. What the Hell does this one mean? Knowdge beith supreme, only they who were babes in arms knoe how to be human.."
"Your guess may be better than mine." Crowley almost thanked the kid, but demons don’t offer thanks, even if they were retired. "You figure out any of them, let me know."
"How much time do we have?"
"We don’t know, but not centuries, probably less than a decade. Unlike the original, there is minimal mention of future historical events or investment advice."
"Well, I hope the angel is okay with me having this. Thank-you. It really does look more exciting than economics." Crowley added Adam’s number to his contacts and sighed. He’d tell Aziraphale in the morning. The angel would grumble, but they needed more beings involved. It would be nice to get some other demons and angels involved too, but that was way too risky.
30 March 2020
Aziraphale muttered to himself as he found his place in the manuscript. Agnes Nutter’s phrasing was convoluted and sometimes contradictory. He didn’t remember that pattern from the first book. Even Anathema had noticed this. New love shalle arise, new grey, they goeth down a path trod but seldom" Yet not a few pages earlier, she’d written, Long hidden, yette long known, olde love shalle find a way. Just what was Agnes playing at. His harumph brought a soft growl from the demon on the couch.
"Just what has gotten you all harrumphy? I thought you were going to take a few hours off from the old witch’s book."
"Manuscript, dear." He knew Crowley was teasing him. "I had a thought, but now I’m more confused." He heard the demon walk over.
"What is it, this time?" Aziraphale pointed to that first prophecy then flipped to the old love prophecy.
Crowley leaned down, his head next to his left shoulder. Aziraphale turned to ask him a question. A question that was quickly forgotten. He was caught in those mesmerizing yellow eyes. Eyes that threatened…promised so much. Aziraphale stilled, finally took a deep calming breath, and placed the black feather he used as a bookmark (manuscript mark) on the photocopied page he was reading. He took his left hand and placed it on Crowley’s cheek. The demon…His Demon hissed.
"Angel?"
"Yes, Demon," Aziraphale didn’t remove his hand, but let his finger stroke that very nice cheek. He traced the tattoo. He trembled when he felt Crowley’s hand wrap around his neck.
"This seems rather fast." Crowley’s face had come closer to his.
"After waiting for millenia, this is…"
Aziraphale lost his train of thought as he placed his lips on Crowley’s. It was a quick kiss, chaste, but Aziraphale wanted more. Then three successive kisses, each less chaste than the previous. More kisses followed.
It was Crowley who pulled away first. "Angel, Aziraphale, I need you, want you to be absolutely sure. I don’t want…you…I…Take twenty-four, no forty-eight hours to make sure you really want this, to become more. That you won’t suffer a crisis afterwards and not want to see me again for several centuries or worse, never again."
"Crowley?" The demon had already left. Aziraphale took several deep breaths, then several more.
Crowley was probably right. He’d almost accepted the Arrangement several times, only to change his mind multiple times before finally agreeing after William had destroyed the northern counties. Even then, he’d hemmed and hawed for another century. Matilda and Stephen’s little war had finally decided him.
This was the same but very different…and he was overthinking. He would have gotten out of the chair to get some tea, but…
Lists. He liked lists. Why yes or why no. That shouldn’t be too difficult.
He sat at his desk for over 24 hours and discovered this list was difficult. There were twelve items in the no list and only one in the yes. Only he hadn’t dared write that one down. It just felt forbidden.
Someone’s pounding on his door, finally broke him out of his reverie. He stood slowly, pulled on the jacket sleeve and straightened his bow tie as he walked over to answer it. "Maggie? Why are you here?’’
"It’s the first of the month, I was hoping I could get an extension on my rent?" The blonde woman looked embarrassed.
"That’s fine. Pay me when you can. Did you get the record of the Praetorious’ Voce 8?"
"I’m so sorry, someone outbid me."
"Oh. Well, keep an eye out for me. And pay me when you can."
"Oh, Mr. Fell, you’re an angel. Thank you." Aziraphale frowned as he watched Maggie almost trot back to her little store, poor girl. It had been a tough year for her.
"And it is angel, retired."
"Mr. Fell!" Aziraphale’s smile disappeared as Mr. Brown of the rug store almost ran across the street. "I was hoping to see you. Your store really needs more regular hours. Perhaps a sale? I can help you set it up. I was disappointed to not see you at the Whickber Street Merchant’s monthly meeting. Again."
"Yes, right, but I really need to speak to…" Aziraphale glanced around quickly. The only person he recognized was Mrs. Sandwich. He waved at her, then quickly crossed the street to talk to her. A quick miracle made sure his shop was secure. He heard Mr. Brown’s "Really?"
Aziraphale knew the so-called Whickber Street Sewing Studio (or whatever it was called this year) was also on Mr. Brown’s radar. The man had an almost archangel sense of civic duty. (Wrong for the wrong reasons.) Aziraphale knew full well what she ran, but her employees were well taken care of and encouraged to get their lives in order. He was well practiced in pretending he didn’t know. This was Soho after all.
"Mr. Fell, what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Mrs. Sandwich glanced across the street. "Ahh. Martha was complaining that Mr. Brown was lurking outside our…um, sewing studio. Betty was accepted into the fashion program. She’s a good kid once she cleaned up. My benefactor…" here she lowered her voice, "is paying her tuition and all that. Such a mystery who she or he is."
"I’m pleased to hear there are still civic minded persons in the neighborhood."
"Poor Joe is going out of business. What will my staff do for their coffee and tea?"
"He told me last week. I hope we don’t get one of those Starclubs." She looked at him blankly.
"Starclubs?"
"You know, those ubiquitous shops on every corner, except around here." There wouldn’t be. Aziraphale might own a lot of the real estate around his shop, but a tiny, almost imperceptible miracle, would keep the big chain stores out, keeping Whickber Street just like a proper neighborhood should be.
"Ahh, Starbucks." Mrs. Sandwich chuckled. "We do seem to be cursed to not have one. Mr. Brown has finally returned to his own business."
"Thank you for the conversation." Aziraphale said. "Cursed? Really? More likely blessed," he muttered as he started walking back to his shop and that list.
He sat back down in his chair, but decided to wait on that list. The manuscript of prophecies beckoned to him.
Ye sharl need becometh that which you are by Nature notte.
Oh botheration. What in Heaven’s name did that even mean? He’d have to become a demon? Or would Crowley have to become an angel? He was the one reading it, so it was most likely about him.
It could also be something just weird, like he’d have to wear those canvas pants humans wore. He shuddered at that thought. He picked up his list.
The list of why he and Crowley should or should not advance their relationship. All the negatives involved Heaven or Hell. He almost wrote three words on the positive side. Crowley was right. He’d made his decision and he would change his mind several times. Probably.
It had been months since their last contact with their Head Offices. Neither of them had even received a termination letter.
Crowley’s wings were still black, his were still white, so their status as demon and angel were unchanged. His thoughts drifted to his last evening in Susa. The night he’d almost succumbed to Crawly. Sandalphon would have caught them together. He had hardened himself, made sure to keep the Demon at arm’s length or further.
1 April 2020
Crowley was restless. If Aziraphale’s response was no, then he had to decide if he would continue to blur the boundaries or wait. He stood and started to pace his flat. Twenty steps, turn, twenty six steps, stare at the so-called wrestling statue. He returned to his desk, and picked up his phone.
Eight eves afor michelmas, a black night look in black shelvés, having forgotten all, to find the book, and the sworde, destruction will coom to some and a future cometh for all.
"Google, when is Michelmas?" He stared at the answer. "Of course there are two dates. September 29 or November 8? Really? Why? So Agnes, which one do you mean?" Well at least that was easily answered. Agnes would have been Church of England, so the western date. "September then." Black shelves? A book? And while the date was almost specific, sometime around September 29, just what year did she mean?
Whatever that answer, it obviously was about Aziraphale, especially with a book involved. And shelves? The bookshop?
Did she mean Aziraphale’s sword?
"This is ridiculous, Agnes. Aziraphale was right. Just tell us what to do, and forget this riddley nonsense."
His eyes focused on the next paragraph. "For Someone’s sake. Agnes!"
Saved for now, but soon, too soon a second time they will try again. Goode and Evile must join and separate to bring about the end to stop the end.
He closed the book on his phone, then remembered to write some notes, and send them on to the others.
And why Michaelmas day? It was a day to honor the archangel Michael in particular but also all archangels. Did that list include Samael? Raphael?
"Stop it." His agitation about Aziraphale’s answer was getting on his nerves. He closed the book again and noted the time.
He was too jittery to wait around, so he grabbed his keys and almost ran to his car.
***
Aziraphale’s smile as Crowley entered the bookshop was more than enough to dim the light of a supernova. “Hello, angel.”
“Dear.” They both stood there, staring at each other. Crowley couldn’t put his thoughts into words. Well?, seemed too trite, and any further thoughts scampered away at the sight of his gorgeous angel smiling at him.
“Lunch?”
Aziraphale shook his head. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he was having the same lack of mental abilities.
He didn’t know how long they stood there staring, but it was Aziraphale who turned away first. “I’ve never…you know…umm. You know.”
Crowley smiled. Not surprising that his Angel was a virgin. “We can take it slow.” Crowley had some experience, but little interest with anyone but Aziraphale.
“I’d like that.” Aziraphale was wringing his hands, a sure sign of his nervousness. “I know we should talk, but I find myself not wanting to talk. I want…I don’t know what I want.”
Crowley walked over to the angel and stopped just behind him. So close and yet still so far. “I know what I want,” Crowley whispered. His smile grew when Aziraphale leaned back. “Yess.” Crowley bent his head so he could nuzzle his neck as Aziraphale hummed. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He was a demon and demons weren’t supposed to want nice things. They definitely weren’t supposed to keep nice things.
Crowley reached up with his left hand to caress the angel’s neck, stroked his cheek, then he kissed him.