Chapter Text
Aziraphale sat perched on the roof of the bookshop, legs dangling over the edge as the brilliantly crisp autumnal day began to give way to night. He inhaled deeply, savouring the nip in the air, and recognising the familiar notes of birch and juniper. His head gently turned, bowed almost in reverence as Crowley eventually stood beside him, offering him a glass of wine. Aziraphale accepted the offering with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Crowley joined him on the ledge, sitting his own glass of wine and the rest of the bottle beside him on his left, leaving nothing between him and Aziraphale but a few short inches; the silence where the nightingales should be.
They sat in comfortable silence as they watched the sun slip lower and lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the rooftops and chimneys of the bustling city that had come unwittingly close to meeting its end. Again.
“It’s strange how they’re down there, living their lives without even the slightest idea how close they came to the end,” said Crowley, waking them from their reverie.
“Indeed,” Aziraphale huffed out a laugh, his glass cupped in both hands, tracing patterns over it with his thumbs, refusing to meet Crowley’s eyes.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Michael so mad. Well, maybe that time Lucifer insulted her new haircut. Heaven hath no fury, eh?”
Aziraphale continued to play with his glass. Crowley reached over and stilled his hands, allowing his fingers to retreat lazily over them, just a fraction too long. “If you keep doing that while sitting here moping, I will have to discorporate you.”
“Just need a moment. Take it all in, you know?” shrugged Aziraphale, but he had finally turned to look at Crowley and, upon seeing his own reflection staring back at him, he crumbled under the weight of it all. The angel sat down the glass and buried his face in his hands, hating himself.
Crowley’s hand twitched to reach out to his angel and offer him some sort of reassurance. But he’d learned from before that his instincts in these moments shouldn’t be trusted.
“I…I think we should…,” he turned to look at Crowley who gave him his rapt attention. He hung on every word the angel stumbled over. “Oh, this is a fucking disaster,” Aziraphale said because, frankly, there was no other way of putting it.
“Language, Angel,” said Crowley in mock outrage.
“Don’t,” replied the angel. He was hiding his face again, like he couldn’t bear to have Crowley even look at him.
“Don’t what?”
“Be normal. Be…” his hands were gesticulating as though searching for the right words, “be nice to me. I don’t deserve it, Crowley, not any of this.”
“Would it help if I shouted at you? Because I did a lot of that when you were upstairs. Amazed you didn’t hear me to be honest. Besides, we did the whole angry thing when you came back. Remember you held the flaming sword at my throat?”
“Don’t be so glib.”
“I’m not going to assuage your guilt, Aziraphale. That’s something you’ll have to come to terms with on your own, I’m afraid.”
“Can we at least talk about it?” It being a small word to encompass something so big. It being the time Crowley did try to talk, but neither really listened.
“You mean like I was trying to do just there?”
“You know what I mean.” Aziraphale turned again to face him but didn’t meet his eyes.
Crowley leaned back, resting his weight behind him on his hands. “Okay, shoot.”
“I don’t really know where to start,” he chuckled, “which is ridiculous because we talk all the time.”
“Did we, though?” asked Crowley. His gaze fixed Aziraphale to the spot. “I mean we talked and talked but did we ever really listen to each other? Ever truly understand what the other was saying?”
Aziraphale hesitated a moment. “I mean, I was surprised to hear you’d gone back to Hell. I thought I’d heard you perfectly clearly on that one.”
“I was alone, Angel,” whispered Crowley, Aziraphale’s heart plummeting into his stomach at the last word. “I kept an eye on Muriel and visited the shop every now and then. Made sure they didn’t sell anything…well, at the start I let them sell a few because I was pissed off. Nothing too rare, of course. I thought they’d know how you were doing but nobody tells them anything. They were as cut off from it all as I was. The only way I’d know, and I mean truly know that you were safe, was if I got myself back in the loop. So, that’s what I did. I wormed my way back in because what better demon for your opposite number than me?”
“And they trusted you? Just like that?”
“Not at first,” he paused as though carefully weighing his next words, “but I told them they’d been right about us, well about me thinking there was an us,” The word still felt heavy on Crowley’s lips. “Hell loves a tale of revenge.”
“Hate is a powerful motivator” Aziraphale cut in.
Crowley paused again. Everything felt so delicate and fragile. He was scared one wrong word would shatter them for good.
“That’s how they saw it, but they’d never be able to understand it for what it really is.”
“Which is?”
Crowley exhaled but didn’t speak. Not a fan of four-letter words.
Aziraphale nods as if Crowley had spoken the word anyway.
“If anything, Hell has gotten even easier since I left. Humans,” he shook his head “capable of causing far more damage to each other’s souls than any demon ever could.”
“Small mercies. I don’t think you ever relished sending souls on the path to Hell.”
“Some of them deserve it. Doesn’t exactly spark joy though.”
“You know, I’ve spent so many thousands of years with you and I’ve never seen you so happy as that day we first met. You were radiant,” Aziraphale smiles broadly at the memory, a happy little tear in the corner of his eye. “Then there was the day you fell and I,” he closed his eyes tight shut as if it would stop the screaming in his head, “I watched as my only friend was cast out. Had your grace ripped from you and… Crowley, I said there and then I’d give anything to give that back to you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy again, and then the Metatron offers me the one thing I’ve always dreamed of. Over the years I watched you be a far better angel than me, and certainly better than Gabriel, Uriel and Michael combined. I could finally give you what you deserved, and we could…” he reached out his hand as if to take Crowley’s but thought better of it, instead resting it in the space between them, which somehow already seemed to have grown smaller; their bodies continuing traitorously to try and edge closer to each other at any given opportunity.
Crowley found words coming to the surface that he’d longed to express.
“And yet, all I heard was that I wasn’t enough for you.”
“Crowley, you’re everything to me,” the sentence settled heavily between them, so Aziraphale went on “I only agreed to go back to Heaven because I thought you were coming with me and together we could fix it, finally do the good I truly believe She wants us to do. Together. And then you brought up those blasted nightingales and - ” kissed me. “I was confused. How could I choose between my God and my…” he let the sentence hang in mid-air, “And when you…” Aziraphale’s hand went to his mouth, as he’d done many times over the past year, trying to imitate the feel of Crowley’s lips.
Crowley’s head bowed, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Angel.”
“I wanted you to do it again.” The angel whispered, fearful of his own desire.
Crowley’s head snapped to attention, locking the angel in his gaze.
“And the guilt I felt, the shame that I didn’t want to do the right thing anymore. I just wanted you. You were the one tempting me away from the light and I…I panicked. I let my fear get the best of me as I watched you walk out that door.”
Aziraphale was now sobbing, his tears had long since broken the defences and flowed freely down his beautiful face.
Crowley turned his body to face him and cupped the angel’s face softly in his hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth to catch the tears as they fell. They glittered in the sunset light like tiny stars streaked across his face.
Crowley wished with all of his being that he could take the hurt away from his angel, would bear the brunt of it alongside his own. Anything to see him happy.
“Angel,” he whispered gently, his face close to Aziraphale’s, only the two of them existing in the world; existing for each other. Aziraphale opened his eyes, crinkled with sadness. Crowley’s forehead came forward to rest against Aziraphale’s, and the angel sighed with relief and exhaustion.
“Can you forgive me, Crowley?”
“That’s really more your department than mine.” Crowley smiled and Aziraphale chuckled.
“And.. can you…” Aziraphale caught himself, suddenly fearful of his own question.
“Can I what, Angel?”
Aziraphale reached up hesitantly, giving Crowley the chance to pull away and carefully took his sunglasses off, dropping them inelegantly on the floor beside him. Those infernal things had hidden those eyes from him for far too long.
In the soft glow of the dying light Crowley’s eyes glowed a magnificent amber with flecks of gold. They were mesmerising and Aziraphale allowed himself to overindulge in them; overindulgence being his deadliest vice.
“Look at you. You’re gorgeous.” The angel whispered, his hand toying gently with the soft hair at the base of Crowley’s neck. Aziraphale’s body was heavy with longing and his eyes begrudgingly flickered from the demon’s eyes to his mouth.
They were so close.
“Can you, uh, do it again?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please,” he added, the word coming out more breathily than anticipated.
Crowley shook his head, his whole corporation positively tingling. “I dare you.”
Aziraphale brought his lips closer to Crowley’s and paused, savouring the delicious anticipation. With one final look into Crowley’s eyes the two of them closed the gap together and melted into each other. Crowley still held the angel softly in his hands as their lips brushed together, gently at first, exploring the beauty in their touch.
Aziraphale drew back a little, checking that Crowley really was still there, not some daydream he used to have back in Heaven.
“Please, don’t stop,” Crowley said, breathily as he nipped the angel’s lower lip and tugged lightly, drawing him back to where he fit so perfectly.
Aziraphale moaned into the kiss, his hands reaching for Crowley’s back and waist, drawing him closer. Aziraphale mourned any inch of his body that wasn’t touching Crowley’s.
Crowley, realising they were now very precariously balanced on the edge of a tall-enough-to-hurt-if-not-discoporate building, broke the kiss and jumped lithely to his feet, dragging his angel with him. They continued their embrace as the sun slid behind the clouds and out of sight, the first stars beginning to wink into the inky blue sky. A breeze blew gently passed them, lifting Aziraphale’s coat and rustling their hair, as if trying to rouse them from their reverie. Aziraphale took the demon by the hand and led him down to the flat above the bookshop, which had fortunately just taken delivery of a new king size bed with very plump cushions and high thread count sheets. What a hedonist his angel was, thought Crowley as he was pushed back into the glorious sheets and together, they spent a blissful night of exploration and discovery where two bodies and souls became one.
It felt like home. It felt like love.
The nightingales were singing again.