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He had saved the bookshop, like he always did.
Because Aziraphale loved his books, and Crowley loved his angel.
Creation crumbled around them....their beautiful world, with everything in it they had strived to save.
The archangel turned to the demon, sadly.
"I was so cross with you, you know. For not coming with me. I was trying to stop this. I couldn't...
I'm useless without you. I failed... I needed you."
The demon, still clutching what remained of The Book of Life, scowled deeply, his temper flaring.
"Don't you... Angel..." He always said the word with such tenderness despite himself.
"You left me! I...I..." He gestured in the general direction of Aziraphale's lips while averting his gaze in deepest shame.
"And you left! You forgave me!"
Bitterness now shone from his eyes and his pointed teeth glittered.
"Only an agent of heaven would deem it necessary to forgive someone for love," he snarled.
Aziraphale looked aghast. At first he could only stare at his friend, as if seeing him for the first time.
He looked and looked. He finally felt the weight of the demon's pain; saw the burning of rejection that matched his own.
He pursed his lips and stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, he took Crowley's slender hand in his own and gazed into his liquid gold eyes.
"I do love you, my dear, of course I do... I'm sorry I was too much of a coward and a fool to say it sooner."
The demon shrugged, looking away, embarrassed to show the strength of feeling clear on his face. He looked upwards (not now skywards), hoping to catch the tears before they spilled over.
He gathered his courage and hope, and glanced furtively upon the face he worshiped, which was gazing steadily with adoration.
"Em, well, thanks. Yeah." He inhaled a jagged breath. "You too, angel. You too." He coughed, swallowed and faltered. He was overcome.
The angel stepped closer.
"I'm sorry Crowley, I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"
Crowley looked down. His face hardened.
"Can you?"
"It's not about forgiveness, angel. What will it change if I say it? They're just words."
"Then this?" said the angel. He reached out with a hand to turn his love's face and kissed him lightly on the lips.
The hopefulness now in those beautiful serpent eyes was heartbreaking.
"Of course, you're right," said Aziraphale, "You always were. Of course love is what matters."
He kissed him again, a little more firmly this time.
Crowley's face was changing.
Eons of cynicism, self-loathing and want had etched themselves on his features, but they now shone with the divine light of happiness and requited love.
"I didn't think," he said. "I thought maybe... but not that."
He looked at Aziraphale's expectant face. Then he placed his hands on those soft cheeks and a drew his angel into a slow, languid kiss. He pressed his lithe body against the soft one before him, and slid his forked tongue deliciously into that sweet mouth. He curled his fingers into the pouf of pale hair, taking the back of his love's head in his hands and deepening the kiss. He slid his arms inside the neat linen suit jacket and around his love's back, drawing him close.
They both glowed now, their skin, their hearts. Their wings unfurled, majestic and beautiful, yin and yang, light and darkness. It was so simple. They loved one other, they had each other and together they could do anything. They would not now be parted, not when they were two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole. What could be more important? What could be more powerful?
Crowley held Aziraphale's hand to his chest, then bowed low and kissed it.
"Care to dance, angel?"
"Oh, I'd be delighted! But we don't have any music?"
"Yes we do," he said, smiling rakishly.
"Let there be you..."
He began to sing in a gentle baritone, taking Aziraphale's hand, twirling him and holding him close.
The swish of a high-hat, the thrum of a double base and the tinkle of a piano came from nowhere.
"Let there be me...
Let there be oysters,
Under the sea."
"Oh, I do hope so!" said Aziraphale. Crowley spun him away and back into his arms.
Around them, through the windows of the bookshop, something was changing, but they didn't notice, as they only had eyes for each other. The sea was refilling, and mollusks and crustaceans were popping back into existence. In Crowley's pocket, words were writing themselves on the remaining page of The Book of Life.
"Let there be wind,
And occasional rain,
Chile con carne,
Sparkling champagne..."
At the mention of champagne, they eyed one another coyly. Crowley did a fluid shimmy of his hips, and twirled himself around. Aziraphale giggled and clapped. Then they continued to dance.
Outside the bookshop: gales, breeze, hurricanes and tides began to ebb and bluster. Land was there where it wasn't before, with blades of green piercing though, searching for the sun in the sky which was...once again...there. And, because there cannot be one star without the others, the milky way and the galaxies beyond popped back into existence as well. Animals crawled from the ocean, grew hair, feathers and scales. Mammals then primates formed, began to cultivate the land and farmed the animals. Civilisations and cultures formed, vines grew, fruit ripened. The Ritz was founded and began to welcome patrons.
"Let there be birds,
To sing in the trees,
Someone to bless me,
Whenever I sneeze."
They smiled knowingly at the mention of blessing, one of Aziraphale's favourite hobbies.
"Let there be nightingales..."
"Are you sure those are the correct words, dearest?"
"A lark and a dove,
But first of all, please,
Let there be love."
And there was.