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Crowley gave himself a pep talk as he looked in the mirror.
“Okay. Okay. I can do this. I have faced the monsters of hell. I have faced the idiots of heaven. I am a strong, independent demon and I am NOT GOING TO CRY.”
He gave himself an extra-strength Crowley glare just for good measure. The one with the angry eyebrows and bared teeth that he usually saved for traffic wardens and street mimes.
He wasn’t even sure why this was so difficult for him. He KNEW that he and Aziraphale belonged together. But the rest of the world didn’t seem to have noticed, and it was beginning to grate on Crowley. Some bastard had the nerve to flirt with Aziraphale while Crowley was in the same room! The angel was wholly his to adore and protect and enjoy. No twinkly-eyed historian who apparently had to visit the shop every week had the right to touch his arm or offer to buy him a coffee. The fact that Aziraphale had turned him down didn’t matter. It was the audacity of the question. Had Crowley caught him alone he’d be hopping around the garden trying to catch flies with his tongue right now.
He was going to ask Aziraphale to marry him. To spend eternity with him. To complete him. And to refer to Crowley as ‘his husband’ in front of any smooth-talking historians with a love of tweed suits and winking.
But here was the tricky part – he was an emotional wreck. He’d cried twice already. And not cute tears of joy. Full-on ugly tears. With sobbing noises and gasping and shoulder heaving, like a two-year old who can’t find his teddy. He was the Serpent of Eden, a fallen angel, an agent of chaos, and inventor of the wired bra, it was highly embarrassing to sob like a baby.
But…..that was what Aziraphale did to him. There had been times when his own mind had been so dark and full of sadness, that the only point of light was Aziraphale. Heaven had cast him out – their all-encompassing supply of love and grace turned out to be a sales pitch that was quickly withdrawn. And the demons of hell weren’t any better – they wanted chaos and destruction, and if it destroyed Crowley at the same time they didn’t care. He was so lonely. But at his lowest moments, when he felt the darkness of the storm would surely pull him under, there would be Aziraphale, like a lighthouse leading him back to shore. Back to safety. Towards the person Aziraphale thought he was, that Crowley wanted to be for him.
And he needed to put it into words, to let Aziraphale know that he wanted eternity. He wanted to write ‘mine’ on his heart. He wanted a promise that Aziraphale would spend every night curled up against him, breathing the same air. He wanted to be Anthony J. Crowley-Fell and A. Z. Crowley-Fell and wear matching monogrammed bathrobes. He wanted his angel to know that every beat of his heart was for him. Oh no, here came the tears again……..
“Crowly dear, are you okay? You have been staring into the mirror for some time. Is something the matter?” called Aziraphale from across the room.
“No, I’m fine. Tickety boo in fact. No overwhelming emotional drama going on over here.” replied Crowley, with only the mildest hint of tears in his voice.
“Oh good, as there’s something I’d like to speak to you about dear. That historian fellow is getting awfully handsy, and doesn’t seem to be taking the hint that I’m not interested. Would you mind if I refer to you as my husband to try and scare him off?” asked Aziraphale, a look of pure innocence on his face.
“Nghh…erm….of course my angel, if you think it’ll help. Though it’s not like you to tell a lie?” choked out Crowley.
“No, no, you’re right my dear. So you think it’s best if we actually get married then? So I don’t have to lie?”
And Crowley pretended not to see the flash of victory in Aziraphale’s eyes. Instead he wrapped his arms around him and murmured into his hair. “Yes my angel, that’s an excellent plan. I only wish I had thought of it.”
And suddenly eternity wasn’t long enough.