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I will love you forever; whatever happens. Until I die and after I die, when I find my way out of the land of the dead, I’ll drift about forever, all my atoms, until I find you again. ―Phillip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass.
“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you” ― Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars.
~oOo~
In a perfect world
One we've never known
We would never need to face the world alone
They can have the world
We'll create our own
I may not be brave or strong or smart
But somewhere in my secret heart I know
Love will find a way
Anywhere I go
I'm home
If you are there beside me
Like dark turning into day
Somehow we'll come through
Now that I've found you
Love will find a way
~oOo~
Our Eden
That was what Asa and Anthony Crowley-Fell had christened their cottage since they had moved to the South Downs. It truly was their own Garden of Eden; flourishing flowerbeds, a thriving duck pond, and a fruitful apple tree that provided canopy from the rain and cool shade from the sun as they lounged in their garden chairs to stare up at the endless sky. The stars at night shone so brightly without London’s light pollution, Earth might just as well have been created in the middle of a nebula.
‘Cocoa delivery,’ announced Asa, carrying two hot cups of hot chocolate as he shuffled across the garden in his dressing gown. He took a swig of his own. ‘Oh, it’s scrumptious.’
Anthony accepted his cup without removing his eye from the telescope, examining the transit of Venus.
‘How are the celestial bodies this evening?’ asked Asa as he sat down to admire the night sky.
‘Venus has made an appearance,’ informed Anthony. ‘The only planet in the solar system named after a woman.’
‘Good for Her.’ Asa raised a mug to the Goddess of Love.
They sat back in their chairs to drink their beverages.
‘Oh, look! A shooting star!’ exclaimed Asa excitedly.
Anthony smiled fondly at his husband as, predictably, he had closed his eyes and was making a wish. ‘Technically, it’s meteorite debris from Halley’s Comet.’
‘Well, I know it’s not a real shooting star, but I want to make a wish.’
Wishing on stars shared the same rules as birthday wishes: if you said it out loud it won’t come true. And every birthday and every shooting star, Asa always wished for the same thing: that everyone past, present and future, everyone in the universe – in all universes – could be as happy as Asa and Anthony.
‘There.’
‘Did it work?’ asked Anthony.
‘I think so,’ said Asa happily. He pondered for a moment. ‘Do you ever wonder if there’s anything more than this?’
Anthony knew what that meant. Asa had had one of his dreams again about worlds beyond their own. Other realities where they existed in different forms. A world with Heaven and Hell and Angels and Demons. And Anthony should know, he’d had those dreams too on occasion.
They say dreams… dreams are memories. Memories of another life.
‘I don’t need anything more than this. I have the universe out there…’ He took Asa’s hand, his wedding band gleaming in the moonlight, ‘…and I have my whole world right here. I have everything I ever wanted. And more.’
Asa smiled. He was being silly. He had Anthony. There was nothing more. The only thing he wanted more of was more time with the one he loved.
‘Speaking of which…’
Anthony reached down and handed Asa a small box wrapped in tartan patterned paper.
‘What’s the occasion?’ enquired Asa.
‘The occasion is “Us,”’ said Anthony.
‘I didn’t get you anything,’ said Asa, feeling guilty.
‘You’ve given me twenty years of happiness that, if you hadn’t asked me to dinner, and if I had never met you, would’ve been utterly rubbish. And lonely,’ Anthony added, a slight waver in his voice. He swallowed and tried to gloss over that vulnerable moment, ‘And you got me hot cocoa. Made with love.’ He took a sip. ‘Mmm,’ he sighed in a way that made Asa want to mount him. Thank… Somebody for their high garden walls. ‘Like a hug in a mug.’
He glanced amusedly at a starry-eyed Asa. His favourite star in the universe.
‘Are you going to stare at me with stars on your gorgeous blue eyes or are you going to unwrap?’
Asa beamed and carefully picked at the easy peel sellotape so as not to ruin the paper.
‘Sorry it’s tartan. It was the only wrapping paper I could find.’
‘And why not? You know tartan’s stylish.’
‘Well, it was either that or Christmas wrap.’
‘Every day with you is Christmas. And I get to unwrap you every night.’
‘Down boy,’ teased Anthony.
Asa pulled out the present as though it was made of glass, which it was. It was a snow globe containing a bookshop and black Bentley parked outside.
‘Bit out if season for a snow globe.’
‘Saw it in a charity shop window. Trinket-y Clue.’
‘Like tickerty-boo.’
‘They really pronounced the capital letter on “Clue.”’
‘What made you buy it?’
Anthony frowned slightly, as if he hadn’t considered why until now. A queer feeling came over him, like he had after having those strange, otherworldly dreams, staring into the distance. ‘I don’t know. I just saw it and thought of you… thought of Us… Just felt like something I thought we should have.’
He was snapped out of his trance by the trill of a bird nestled somewhere in their apple tree.
‘Do you hear that bird? That’s definitely a nightingale.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Well, it’s not an owl. And it’s night. And the lark heralds the dawn, which is hours away.’
Asa scoffed. ‘You wouldn’t know a nightingale if it perched on the end of your nose. The only birdcall you know is that of the London pigeon.’
Asa made pigeon cooing noises.
‘How dare you! That not true!’ said Anthony in mock outrage. ‘I know a duck call as well. And I’ve been on enough bird watches with you. I have paid attention.’
Asa chuckled and retuned his attention to the snow globe. ‘Do you know, I do declare that those are nightingales.’
‘Plural?’
‘Yes, look. Those aren’t all snowflakes – they’re birds.’
Anthony leaned in closer. ‘Oh yes. That’s original.’
‘And that’s the car you’ve always wanted. A Bentley. They didn’t have yellow? Or black with yellow doors?’
‘You have your yellow beetle; I get my black Bentley.’
‘And the bookshop looks like mine. Well, how I always imagined mine to be. Apple-A-Day red walls and Va-Va-Voom yellow pillars. Full of first editions, no doubt. Every book from every writer who ever set pen to paper.’
‘A.Z. Fell…’
‘Sorry?’
‘There above the door. A.Z. Fell and Co.’
‘Purveyor of Books to the Gentry.’
‘Mr Fell. That’s a coincidence.’
‘A.Z. Fell…’ Asa murmured. ‘Az…Fell.’
Automatically, Asa tilted the snow globe and raised it level again so that the bits of paper swirled in a blizzard around the bookshop and Bentley. The nightingale continued to sing.
From far away, coming closer and closer from the back of his mind, he heard singing about a nightingale in Berkley Square. As the music got louder and Anthony’s voice became a muffled, distorted warble, the lights within the bookshop glowed yellow.
Then its front doors opened inwards to a blinding white light that exploded in his eyes and in his mind like the Big Bang…
…Two angels hovered under a downpour of shooting stars, the red-head protecting the blonde with his wing… then they stood on the Eastern wall of the Garden of Eden, the blonde angel protecting his fallen fellow from the first rains, less they hurt his demonic body… sitting together and yet apart as they stared out to sea in the Land of Uz… Noah’s Ark… Camelot… the Globe… Edinburgh 1827… the Bastille 1793… the Blitz 1940… the Bullet Catch… Soho 1967… dining at the Ritz… Armageddon… Lockdown… Maggie and Nine… Inspector Constable Muriel… Jane Austen Whickber Street Ball… their first kiss… the Second Coming… the wish for Humanity to have freewill, at the sacrifice of a world with no Heaven and Hell… no Angel or Demon… every memory that seemed unmemorable but held a special place in their hearts… because they were a part of them… ordinary moments… silly moments… every touch, every miracle, every smile, every look and laugh they’d shared that brought a gleam of light when all seemed bleak and pointless… all the love they’d given and the love they’d received… Their whole messy, silly, and predictable love story –
‘Angel? Angel!’
Aziraphale blinked dazedly. He was staring at the snow globe, the nightingales long since settled at the bottom. He was Asa Fell. And he was Aziraphale; Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate, former Supreme Archangel. And a slender hand was gently yet desperately tapping his face, the other gripping his shoulder.
Anthony was terrified. Asa’s eyes had gone unfocused, his face slack. Was he having a stroke? Or a seizure? No, he couldn’t die! Not now! He couldn’t leave him like this! They were supposed to go together in their sleep, in their own bed, wrapped in each other’s arms in the very, very, very distance future.
Why, Universe? Why give me Asa? Why make me complete? And then take it away?
‘Please, don’t leave me, Angel. Please. Come back to me. I – I need you!’
‘Crowley…?’ said Aziraphale, his voice slurred, not helping Anthony’s panic. ‘Crowley?’ said Aziraphale urgently and more coherently, searching blindly in the darkness.
‘I’m here, Angel. I’m right here.’
Aziraphale turned towards the voice he knew so well and yet had not heard in that tone since he had met him as the Star Maker. There he was. His compass. His anchor. His northern star. His best friend. His husband. Anthony Crowley – his Crowley.
‘Angel?’ Anthony asked, looking scared.
Aziraphale smiled, his eyes – bright blue and star-pupiled once more – swimming with tears, looking at his great love as if they had been separated by 13.8 billion years and not a few moments. This seemed to unnerve Anthony even more. ‘Did you see?’
‘See what? Asa, do you… do you know who I am?’
Aziraphale lovingly cupped Anthony’s bony cheek. ‘Anthony J. Crowley. I’d know you anywhere.’
‘What – what was that middle one? What does the “J” stand for?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t think you know either. I like to think it’s the Egyptian symbol for “snake.”’
‘Asa, are you all right? Are you nauseous? Is it your heart?’
Aziraphale took Anthony’s hand and placed it over his heart. ‘My heart is full. I am complete.’
‘What happened? Where did you go? What did you see?’ Anthony looked to the snow globe and saw the bookshop was lit up. ‘Those weren’t on before…’
Aziraphale placed the snow globe in Anthony’s hand. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Really look.’
Anthony looked… and looked… and stared… his brows became unknitted… the Bentley’s headlights came on, revving up, and it honked its horn, Queen music coming out of it. Then it seemed to ignite into a ball of flame and drive in a circuit around the illuminated bookshop, sending up nightingale and snowflakes, screeching back in front of the shop, before opening the driver’s door and the back of Crowley’s mind… To the chorus of ‘We Are the Champions,’ Crowley saw their whole other life, literally, from the Beginning to the end of their original universe…
The snow globe slipped from his limp hand and Aziraphale caught it, setting down on the table before checking on his husband, who was groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose whilst navigating two sets of memories. At last, he took off his glasses and exhaled.
‘Crowley?’ said Aziraphale cautiously.
He knew he remembered, knew that Crowley was his demonic-self once more, both from his snake-shaped birthmark on his cheek darkening to a black tattoo, and when a pair of yellow serpentine eyes looked back into his own. Anthony J. Crowley made a noise somewhere between a snort of laughter and a sob of relief. ‘Aziraphale. With a Z.’
Angel and Demon reached across and embraced, crying into the other’s shoulder. Then, with the courage of Asa and Anthony propelling them to do what had taken them six thousand years to attempt, they kissed like they were drowning; their grey hair going full colour.
‘You came back,’ sighed Aziraphale as they finally came up for air.
‘I always come back, Angel,’ said Crowley. ‘What’re the chances we’d find each other?’
‘The same way we will always find and love each other in every universe, my dear…’
‘It’s ineffable,’ they said together.
They looked back at the snow globe, but the bookshop and the Bentley were gone. They looked round and saw the bookshop towering over Our Eden cottage, reducing it to a comfy guest house with the Bentley parked alongside, singing ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkely Square.’
‘How is this possible? They shouldn’t exist,’ said Aziraphale.
‘They were borne of True Love. We love them just as much as each other. A love so strong it transcends time and space, containing an echo of our former lives imbued within them.’
‘And all sitting in a charity shop. Who sold it to you?’
‘Lord.’
‘What?’
‘That was her name: Alma T. Lord.’
They gaped at each other, then Aziraphale laughed and Crowley growled, ‘Ah! God damn Her!’
Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s red hair. ‘Looks like we got more than our memories back.’
Crowley saw that Aziraphale was right. The years had lifted back to the age of their former corporations, and Aziraphale’s hair was fluffy and white-blonde again. And judging by their glowing wedding rings, these symbols of their eternal love were what was allowing the space in their minds for Aziraphale/Asa and Crowley/Anthony to co-exist. And maintain their celestial lifespan in human form.
‘As long as we never take it off,’ Aziraphale finished the thought aloud.
‘Never in a million years,’ vowed Crowley. ‘Listen. Do you hear that?’
The apple tree overhead was chattering with tweeting.
‘The nightingales are singing again,’ said Aziraphale.
‘No Heaven. No Hell. And we’re the only Angel and Demon in existence.’
‘So, what do we do now?’
Crowley smiled. ‘Everything and nothing. As long as we’re together.’
‘Just as we started.’ Aziraphale smiled back. ‘Us… for infinity.’
‘And beyond.’
They settled back in their chairs, hands clasped, staring up at the illimitable vastness of Creation.
Their side. Their world. Their Angel and Demon. Their Bookseller and Astrophysicist.
Their Eden.