Chapter Text
The process starts, as it will end, in a garden.
It's the most perfect day, according to Asa. Warm enough for Anthony to be gardening in a vest, but not so sunny that he has to worry about his husband getting burnt. Anthony's freckles have started coming out in earnest now and he's working up a sweat that, if Asa is being honest, is getting rather distracting. He's, thankfully, just put down his tea cup, settling back into the plush cushions of the garden swing when his peace is shattered by
“-and GROW BETTAH”
His eyes snap to Anthony, who was previously gardening with a meditative serenity to him, but who is now walking? No. Patrolling? No. Prowling. Prowling along the edge of the tomatoes. Chest heaving, top lip raised in a snarl but curling at the sides like he's fighting a smile. His eyes are narrowed at a particularly puny looking tomato plant and Asa has never seen anything more beautiful.
It's later… much MUCH later, when Anthony sticks his head out the bathroom to look at Asa (who is clearly fighting the urge to nap) “-I’m sure I must have read it somewhere? Or heard it. Or you told me? Meeeh-” he makes a wiggly hand gesture which has the knock-on effect of coating the bathroom mirror in toothpaste. “-talking to them makes them grow more. A healthy bit of fear will do wonders for our haul this year. You'll see”. And though Asa scoffs, he has to admit defeat when throughout the year, the yelling continues, the threats get more and more creative, and they get such a huge harvest from their little allotment he's forced to start giving it away.
—
It's after the horrors of the 3rd time that Asa refuses to go. Citing that “it's good for couples to have individual hobbies, my love.” And “you can tell me all about it, when you get home!”. He reasoned it wasn't strictly lying if there was truth in what he said, even if it wasn't the whole truth. The fact was, he couldn't take the embarrassment any more. Anthony stalking round the classic car shows, brushing off everyone eagerly trying to talk him. Muttering under his breath “-not right. Ugh far too modern. Seatbelts?!” and ultimately coming away in a foul mood that seemed to loiter around the cottage for days after. No, Asa reasoned, it WAS good to have individual hobbies. Especially when Anthony could do…whatever it was he was doing and Asa could be left alone to a hot bath and some Victoria sponge cake he'd hidden... hoarded... stored at the back of the cupboard.
By the 6th show, Asa had quite the routine going. The “distract-and-defuse-anthony” routine. A David Attenborough documentary just happening to be on when Anthony would arrive home, the coffee machine primed and ready, their softest blankets lying invitingly across their sofa. And, well, if Asa might have one or two (or four) more buttons undone than usual, that's no one's business but his own.
He hears their car pull up on the drive, Asa springs into D-A-D-A routine, hastily unbuttoning one more button for good measure. But then. Silence. No muttering. No swearing or ranting. The car door was shut with appropriate levels of slamming. And Anthony walked in with…a smile? On his face?
“I found her.” he muttered, under his breath, almost to himself.
“Sorry, my dear, what was that?”
This seemed to snap Anthony out of it. “Oh Asa I wish you could have seen it! The most amazing car. Jude, the owner, let me sit in it! Oh here, here-” Anthony rambles, pushing Asa towards a chair. “Sit. Sit. Lemme show you.”
And so began the longest, and most dull slideshow of images Asa had ever sat through. 49 photos of the same car. A 19something or other Bentley. Of course, Asa appeared attentive, umming and ahhing at the right moments. But it was during the stifling of a second yawn that it happened. Anthony had just finished pointing out the reupholstered seats and something about stickers in the windows when he swiped to the next photo and Asa was in love. He had already fallen in love with Anthony many years prior, so it was quite a shock to realise it had just happened again. But seeing the love of his life sat in the driver's seat of The Bentley, a smug smirk trying (and failing) to hide an all out grin, lounging with legs spread and elbow half out the window. Yes, he's fallen in love again.
“Oh.” Asa was feeling breathless. “She's perfect. I missed her.”
“Hrm?” Anthony had become distracted by the next photo, zooming in on his own expression as he pretended to shoot a gun (a finger gun) through the window of his car. The car. THE car. Not his. The.
“Mm? Oh I said ‘I missed you’. I've been terribly worried about how upset these car shows have been making you-”
“-not upset.”
“-and anyway.” Asa continued with a glare. “its nice to see you excited like this.”
—
“You've just got to be more careful! I know you didn't mean for this to happen but some of these books are worth THOUSANDS of pounds, not to mention the sentimental value - yes all my books have sentimental value, don't sneer at them like that, but these ones are REALLY VERY sentimental. Anthony. ANTHONY. We can talk about this later properly - and we will talk about this, don't think you can distract me again-”
Anthony is already planning to use several tried and tested methods to get out of explaining this one. He's currently rolling up the sleeves of his shirt figuring he may as well get a head start on the most successful tactic: forearm related distractions.
“ANTHONY, no.” Asa closes his eyes, refusing to be swayed. He holds out the book he was previously reading, now taken over by Anthony's ‘little project’.
(“Don't worry about it Asa” he had said. “I have it all in hand” he had promised.)
“Fix this. I CANNOT and WILL NOT allow my books to be ruined by your BLASTED DUCKLINGS-” his speech is cut short by a sorrowful quack from the aforementioned duckling, standing on the now-crumpled pages of his book. It's followed by an overly protective “HISSSS” as Anthony scoops Brian (the duckling) into his arms, cooing in a way he'll vehemently deny later.
“Don't yell at Brian. He's sensitive”.
Anthony storms off towards the bathroom, where the other 18 ducklings are still enjoying their bath, leaving Asa stunned. Visions of a huge red and black, beautiful snake fill his mind as he croaks out-
“Did you just HISS at me?!”
—
The new bell rang out in the bookshop, a satisfying trill that broke the silence and made Asa feel quite smug in his decision to have it installed.
“I'm sorry, we are quite closed.” he replied automatically, without even looking up from his book.
“Erm, it's 2pm on a Tuesday, Asa. And the sign says open?”
“Oh Anthony! Ah, quite right. Sorry, I must have been in my own little world there.”
Anthony picks up the book his husband had been reading, careful to not lose his place or crinkle the pages as he puts it to one side (he doesn't want a repeat of last month's argument!). He leans down to plant a kiss on Asa’s temple and starts to pull him out his seat by his hand, twirling Asa when he is standing.
“What's put you in such a good mood, my love?” Asa giggles.
“Well. I, erm, finally! You see. There was a review in the Guardian. I read it last month when I went by the park. The ducks are flourishing by the way - don't give me that look, it wasn't my fault, anyway, the Guardian. ‘Remarkable things’ it said. And I thought. ‘Asa!’.”
“...you saw the ducks and thought of me?”
“No. No? Well yes, but no. Peter Onius - yes yes the new seafood place. I finally got us a table and -” he says, looking at his watch and starting to push Asa towards the door. “- we can't be late, don't want you to miss out. Y’know what they say about oysters…” Anthony starts to walk backwards so he can waggle his eyebrows at his husband as he struts. The seduction attempt is ruined by him walking into a bollard but Asa appreciates the effort.
—
Anthony isn't a vain person (he is), he just takes pride in his appearance. So when he spots the first few grey hairs showing at his temple, it feels wrong. He grumbles to himself as he pulls a beanie over his head (black, of course) then shoves sunglasses over his eyes in a bid to avoid being seen buying hair dye. (Unfortunately it's a warm but cloudy day in August so the beanie and sunglasses have the opposite effect).
He arrives home, a box of dye hidden under his coat, beanie half falling out his pocket, sunglasses still firmly attached to his face. (He'd given up on the beanie after the 3rd person had wished him good morning and called him by name).
Checking the time, Asa should be out for another few hours, maybe more if the book club debate turns heated again. Anthony takes out the dye, glaring at it as if the box itself is to blame for all this. He gets partway through reading the instructions before growling a string of consonants, upending the contents into the sink and chucking the box in the general vicinity of the bin.
27 minutes later he stares down at the bathtub, now stained a bright red (permanently, which led to a large amount of grovelling and begging for forgiveness). Panicking at the brightness of the colour, he wipes the mirror clear of condensation and in that split second he knows it is HIM looking back. The box promised “copper sunset” but the cherry red that is now atop his head feels right. Feels like him. Feels like home.
(And regardless, the SQUARK that Asa let out when he arrives home and sees his husband, would have made it worth it anyway).
—
It's their anniversary. Asa has gone all out this year and is feeling pretty good about his plans. Anthony was sent away earlier this afternoon so that Asa had the time and space to set up the cottage exactly how he'd wanted.
His original plans for a star-lit picnic had been scuppered by a sudden rainstorm but he's pretty chuffed with how his Plan B is looking. The picnic blankets and basket have been moved into the living room with the sofa pushed back so they can be sat in front of the fireplace. The fire is lit, the Chateauneuf-du-Pape is ready next to 2 ornate glasses and his Pièce de résistance; 100 individual candles, beautifully flickering around where they'll be sat.
He hears Anthony's footsteps up the gravel path, excitedly turning to the door to greet him. He fusses with his hands, not knowing whether to stand still, to hold them out in front of him towards his husband, or out to the side to show off his plans, he's in the middle of throwing his arms out to the side when the door is opened and in quick succession it all goes wrong.
Asa startles, arms thrown out too quickly where he knocks over a candle. Anthony's smile instantly drops, horror seeping in as he sees his worst nightmare: Asa surrounded by fire. He can't separate the knowledge that it's just a candle knocked over, just 100 candles carefully placed, from the fear that the cottage is ablaze and he's losing the only person he's ever loved.
Asa has already stamped the rogue candle out and is standing back up as he hears a heartbroken scream, Anthony falling to his knees and crying. Asa reaches out, but Anthony is lost to him. Trapped in a moment neither fully understands but both know in their hearts. Asa quickly puts out all the candles, dousing the fireplace for good measure. He cautiously shuffles back over, wrapping the sobbing mess that is Anthony in his arms. He rocks him, knowing the right words to say, without knowing why they are right. “I am here. I am safe. The cottage is safe. We are safe. The bookshop is safe. I am here. I am safe. The cottage is safe. We are safe. The bookshop is safe.”
Anthony, predictably, would later try to shrug it off. “Ahh just a trick of the eyes”. “I'd had a stressful day and the drive back was bad. You know what the roads are like”. But in one moment of vulnerability “I don't know what it was, Asa. I just KNEW that I had lost you and I can't explain it. It was agony. You're everything and you were gone.”
—
They've been the Crowley-Fell’s for so long that at some point it became 1 word. Mr and Mr Crowleyfell. Asa has seen it on legal documents, postcards from his godson Josh, on those unfortunate council meeting minutes (he still doesn't know why Anthony had decided to triple the duck population of their village overnight, but he WASN'T happy to have taken the blame for it).
He's at the doctor's office when it happens. The new receptionist starts to call his name, clearly struggling with getting the pronunciation right whilst yelling at an appropriate volume and as she bellows (far too loudly given there's only 3 people in the tiny waiting room) “Crowley…..fell.”, Asa is overcome with such grief, such sorrow, he stammers out an excuse and flees to his car before sobbing. He feels ridiculous (anyone would feel ridiculous crying in a yellow VW Beetle though) crying over his own surname. But something about hearing it separately like that had floored him. After far longer than he is willing to admit, he blows his nose loudly on a handkerchief, takes a deep breath and reasons that it must be the idea of splitting their surnames, splitting from Anthony, that had upset him. What else could 'Crowley fell' mean?
—
They're sitting out in the garden, Asa is meant to be looking at the stars as Anthony describes what he should be seeing however, each and every time they do this, Asa spends more time watching Anthony than he does looking at the night sky. Who could blame him when his husband lights up so beautifully, gesturing wildly and spilling hot chocolate down the sides of the mug, going on rambles and tangents that Asa won't ever tire of. It's slightly too cold this time of year, but it allows them to bundle together under blankets, cuddling close together for warmth.
"-and that's before I've even told you about Alpha Centauri-” Crowley trails off. Aziraphale, previously listening attentively, has gone still. Barely even breathing. Waiting. Until.
“-Angel?... I remember.”