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- The South Downs.
20 years after the Eta Aquarid Meteor Shower
The last few days have been remarkably peaceful. Not for one specific way or another, just a deep feeling of serenity that fell over the house and seeped into the bones. A satisfied tiredness, if you will, like at the end of a long but splendid holiday.
Deep down, Asa knew what it was. There was just a surface level of him that tried to look away and pretend that wasn't he case.
But it was alright. It's human nature after all. Keep going. Look for the next thing. The thing that tells you there is going to be a version of this where everything will sort itself out.
But each day he felt just a tad bit heavier than the previous one. Like sponge that had soaked up so much water that it slowly started to sink.
The weight was a warm one. Filled with millions of big and small moments, wearing many faces. The most poignant of those was the face of his love, Anthony.
His constelation. His shining sun that Asa revolved around for the past 40 years.
Gosh... has it really been that long?
Asa was suddenly very aware of the hands that rested on his pajama-clad thighs. Wrinkled and spotted with age, and somehow Anthony still found them worth kissing.
Those hands have grown slow and feeble over the years. Aching even when only cradling a cup of hot cocoa or lifting them to turn the page of a book. But even the aches became a precious part of that warm weight of accumulated experiences. It told him he had done plenty of things with those hands that were worth remembering, even if those memories were painful.
"Do you need me to get the extra blankets?"
His husbands voice broke through Asa's musings.
"If you don't mind, darling. The nights are still quite cold." Asa replied.
It was mid-May and still the weather couldn't fully commit to spring. Classic English seasons.
Anthony shuffled towards the cabinet in the hallway where they had stored the bedspreads away, hopefull for warmer weather. He selected the one with the plaid patern with warm browns, reds and white threading throughout.
"You lay down, angel. I got it." Anthony said as he unfolded the bedspread.
So, moving slowly and carefully - as all movements were lately - Asa crawled under the blankets.
"There we go..." Anthony mumbled as he spread out the extra layer on top. Asa revelled in the sensation of the new weight enveloping him warmly.
"Hmm. Nice and toasty." Asa gave a happy wiggle.
Anthony kicked off his house slippers and slithered under the covers to join Asa under the warm blankets.
And as every night, Anthony took Asa's hand and kissed it.
"Sleep well, angel." Anthony said.
"You too, love. Dream of whatever you like best."
Asa didn't know why, but he stared at Anthony's face in the pale moonlight creeping through a crack in the curtains for a long time that evening. Studying the deep lines that time has left in his cheeks, admiring the whisps of gray hair that he still remembered being a lovely rusty red. He thought he had rarely seen a man this much at peace, and realized his own serenity reflected in his husband.
He listened to his slow and calm breathing, and drifted off to that sound.
Not really sleeping just yet but on the way there enough that he couldn't open his eyes anymore, he registered a raspy undertone creeping into the cadence of Anthony's breath. He was never a big snorer, so it stood out. It also became unusually unsteady for a few moments.
It also took a while to register the silence that followed. When it did sink in, it felt like Asa himself was suddenly sinking very rapidly as well. That whole soaked up weight, finally tumbling down towards something deep and dark, yet strangely comforting.
Tears were inevetably leaking out of his closed eyes. With the last minuscule puff of energy left, Asa scooted forward and kissed Anthony's brow.
I'll see you in a bit. He thought. And he knew he was sure of it.
And then there were stars, reeling all around him. Sucking him in the deep void of space, with colours unimaginable exploding left, right, center, above him.... merging into a blur, and a deep humming sound like a thousand trumpets bellowed their lowest note all at once.
The ring of the bookshop bell brought Aziraphale to his senses. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the four golden collumns. He inhaled a sharp breath as if he hadn't breathed for... how long has he been even standing there?
"Angel." He heard behind him. Immediately a flurry of butterflies landed in his stomach as he realized who just came through that door.
"Crowley." he sighed, turning around to face the door. Outside, Whickber Street was bustling with life. Crowley stepped towards him, eyes bared, sunglasses in his hand.
Aziraphale didn't know what posessed him to propel himself towards the former demon and fall into his arms, but he knew it was the only thing that made sense in that moment.
Crowley seemed startled just a bit at first, but then put his arms around Aziraphale, and found that they slotted around his frame like they always belonged there. His memory couldn't recall he ever embraced him like that, but yet it felt so famillair.
"Well, that was a fun one, wasn't it?"
The two let go of each other and faced the person who just spoke. Sitting in Aziraphale's chair by his desk was God Herself. An open book laid out in front of Her, the ink on the pages still glistening. God had her back turned to it and smiled at them.
"One of my favourites so far." She continued. "Simple, yet meaningful. And so very human."
"Excuse me, what is this about?" Crowley said.
God merely smiled at him, then gestured toward the bookshelf behind her. "Take a look."
Azirapale took a hesitant step towards that shelf. Once, he knew the contents of that shelf all by heart, but no longer did the works of Dumas, Twain, Poe, Shakespeare and Carrol weigh down the shelves. None of the spines bore any title, say for a pair of golden embossed wings on each one. Every one just a bit different. Some looked like swan wings, some like eagles, some like fairies.
Aziraphale selected one and opened it on a random page. The writing on the pages were handwritten.
"They are sitting and chatting when the large Dodge pickup pulls up the driveway.
The door opens and Aziraphale’s breath catches. Out of the cab steps a tall man, late 20’s to early 30’s, long legs, lean muscular arms and torso, fair, freckled skin, and shoulder length flaming red hair. Sunglasses cover his eyes, a small tattoo is on his right temple, his hands and wrists are covered in paint and grease. He’s dressed in blue trousers, and a grey shirt. The name Anthony is embroidered on the shirt."
Flicking through the pages he catches a glimpse of a life they lived, apparantly in America.
"Quite dramatic, that one." God said. "But sweet nonetheless. You had two children there."
"We had... children?" Aziraphale's breath caught just a bit.
"Alright, what is this about?" Crowley said.
"About you." God said as She stood up from the chair. "It was always about you. I told you, it has been incredibly amusing to watch you two, doing what you do. And no matter what I threw at you, you ended up in the predictable old way. You found and loved each other."
Crowley raised an eyebrow at Her. Aziraphale looked like his brain was working overtime to make sense of it all.
God took another book from the shelf and opened it. She searched the pages for a moment until she found the right one, and she read aloud:
"He was surprised that he didn’t notice the man sooner. He looked about the same age as Anthony, had platinum blonde hair that shone like a halo when the light hit it just right, and even in a queer club stood out with his endearingly ridiculous bow tie and old-fashioned waistcoat. He was tucked away in a quiet corner of the bar, sipping on red wine."
"Oh, Crowley, you were so complex in this one." God said endearingly. "Such a lost soul, but even then you made it."
"You were... writing different versions of us...?" Aziraphale finaly deducted.
"No." God said. "I didn't."
"Then how..?" Crowley stuttered.
"What I did..." God said, closing the book and stepping towards them. "Was create a universe where you didn't exist, like we agreed."
As always, Her expression was stuck somewhere between amusement and dissaproval. It was always a guess which one betrayed her actual feelings on the matter, but the thing was,no one ever could.
"But somehow you made your way into it. I first wondered: how? Then I wrote more versions, more... universes. Some utterly bonkers, some where I was sure I made it impossible for you to thrive. I made it so that all the odds were stacked against you being there, but yet you were. After numerous attempts at some point, I decided I would just let things unfold.
These books started filling themselves. Every single one about you. I would start writing the setup for some, sure, but once I put it down for a minute and opened it up again, the pages were filled with stories I never wrote. Stories of you. I resulted to reading all of them, trying to find what it was that continously made you appear in it, and even better, fall in love in every one." She chuckled. "I have to admit, at some point I realised I did miss watching you two. Like I said, your love for one another always made me smile."
With that curious smile still on Her face, her eyes went back to cold and distant. "But I never found out.... How?"
"You are asking us?" Crowley said perplexed.
"We agreed to a universe with no more.... you." God said. "No angels. No demons. So that should have erased you. I decided to bring you back after this particular one. I just loved it so much... there was literally nothing standing in your way this time. I thought it was time I needed to know."
Aziraphale was truly offended now. "Why did You continuesly want to erase us?"
"Well, wasn't that what you asked?" God shrugged. "A universe where your troubles would haunt mankind no more."
"Wait just a minute..." The gears in Crowley's mind clicked into a conclusion.
How could they have been so naive.
Anger boiled up in him like sulphur, but was almost immediately doused by the comfort of confusing the hell out of God Herself. Proving even Her wrong, simply by one thing: their love for each other.
"I should have known better than to trust a deity who always twists things into Her own narrative." Crowley hissed. "One that saw mankind's troubles and thought Her way of things what was they needed. Oh, oh oh ooooh... you were so wrong."
"Enlighten me, Crowley, how was I wrong?" Despite her everlasting smile, the reproach was clear now.
Aziraphale gasped. It seems like his gears also clicked into place.
"How would You explain our prescence in every version of the universe then, if you didn't write it?" Crowley asked, head cocked a little to the side, smug grin in place.
"Look at you. God. Stumped. I never thought I'd see the day."
"I'm not stumped." God seemed offended by the idea alone.
"No, you can't be, can you?" Crowley continued. "Because that's not something that exists in your universe. The one where you can't be wrong, or mistaken, or confused. Because you wrote it. That has been your mistake, you have made yourself the main character in everything. But humans... ooh.. clever, clever, beautiful humans... they've got you figured. Because you know what they have got? A pen. An imagination. And most importantly... Free. Will."
He bit those words at her like they were her kryptonite.
He stepped so close to her that their noses almost touched.
"And they realised... you were just a story. A universe. A version."
Gods eyes blazed. "I Created you." she reminded him.
"Did you now?" Crowley said sarcastically.
Aziraphale has been silent for a while, but not at all idle. While Crowley confronted her, he had grabbed the book that was on the desk. His eyes teared up a little as he skimmed over the words on the last page. They have had a wonderful life there, full of love, the simpleness of living and the most uncomplicated environment so that they could thrive.
He didn't know who wrote this version, but he thanked them silently. It has been lovely. He didn't remember this life, but the feelings about it were still there.
It was Love. Always Love.
He had grabbed a pen, sat down and put down his pen below the fresh text.
"There you go, Angel, you get it." Crowley said as he saw what Aziraphale whas doing.
He went over to him. The light of his life, his literal reason to exist, in every universe possible. He placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him he was there for him.
"Oh, by the way...." Aziraphale turned to God before he started writing. "This is my chair, and I'm quite specific on who I allow to sit in it, if you don't mind."
God sighed dejectedly. "Your bookshop, your rules."
Aziraphale's eyes sparkled. "Exactly."
He started writing, reading aloud as he went.
"And there you have it. Love. The reason for their existance. Love transcends every rule, every definition of what is real. But then again, the angel and former demon realized that reality lies in what we make of it. It is theirs to write, and so they will.
Living trough numerous lives and finding the same love over and over, has proved that no bounderies, wether it's a bookend, the relativity of time and space, nor the will of man or deity will ever stop them. The concept of their 'Us' is bigger than Her. Bigger than every story. But a story we all remain, and Hers will have no power or say over theirs any longer.
They exist, wether it was divine will or not. And so does their love.
So says the Angel, author of this particular part of the story, And he quotes the famous line: ''so it shall be done', for it is written in the Book that holds the Things that are True."
"You don't have the authority!" God bellowed.
"You will see that I do." Aziraphale countered.
"Says who?" The ground shook. Her grasp on this reality was fading, and for the first time ever, she was fully realizing it.
Aziraphale smiled, stood up from his chair and reached for Crowley's hand. "I do."
"And me" Crowley said, grasping the offered hand, and then bringing it to his lips to kiss.
They turned towards each other, smiling.
"I think that was something we picked up from the last one." Aziraphale said, a tear making its way down his cheek.
"I like it. Shall we keep it a thing?"" Crowley said softly.
Aziraphale laughed. He then remembered God was still there.
"And you know who else say so? All of them" Aziraphale pointed to the filled bookcases. "Their free will to let our love live in every possible world has outdone yours. And one of them now says: You don't call the shots anymore. And I want to bet it's not just the one."
God trembled. Her world trembled with her.
"But I Am..."
"Not in charge anymore." Crowley lifted up the book, miracled a pen in his hand (he could do that again, because this version of reality said so), and added to Aziraphale's text: "And God vanished, like the redundant concept she is. And with her, the addressee to all the questions why. Gone in a puff of smoke, and the former angel and former demon were left alone, living the way they saw fit."
The sounds of Whickber street came roaring back to life. A child played hopscotch on the uneven pavers. Not that there was a hopscotch there, but this child decided the stones were now a playfield, so now it was. And in a bookshop on the corner, a blonde and a redhead were enveloped in each other arms, kissing long and slow, at last feeling the reality of these particular set of lips.
When they finally parted, Aziraphale gave a satisfied sigh.
"So, I think there were quite some versions with a cottage involved. What do you say?"