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"May I take your overcoat, Sir?"
"No, I am only here for a quick errand."
Despite his answer, the tall dark figure throws the young man a coin. He steps in, past the cloakroom into the main hall of this private establishment. It is an interesting place; well off as can be assumed by the more high-cost material used such as velvet and mahogany, to name a few. The walls are covered with decorated wood panels and oxidized mirrors. The lights are dim and the noise loud. The air is full of sweet-scented smoke that creates a veil of mist around several card-tables occupied by the gamblers of London.
Sometimes money is a funny thing. Most people claim to look for status and reputation and yet they are willing to disregard their snobbishness in favour of comfortable living that only money can secure you. So that is why it is no surprise to see an heir to some lord share a drink and women behind a card-table with a roguish sailor. In places like this casino, all that matters is that you have an income to pay for your indulgence. In their own way, they operate like banks; only that they have lower criteria in regards to who are they serving.
The smell of opium and alcohol starts getting into his senses and mind.
Not yet - Crowley thinks and with the next deep exhale he pushes out the likely intoxication he would soon be consumed in. In general, Crowley is never opposed to earthly pleasures such as frequent alcohol use or occasional substance consumption. He is a demon after all, but this is not how he wants to start his night after a nap that may have lasted a tad bit longer than he initially had planned. 30 years longer to be more precise. He had woken a fortnight ago after a particularly nasty nightmare. He had hated it for many reasons, but the main reason was also the cause of his slumber in the first place. Somebody who had denied him in the time of need. 30 years and he was still bitter about it and he would have returned to the comforts of the state of unconsciousness if it wasn't yet for another reason that made him despise that nightmare even more. There had been the one that refused to aid him, but there had also been the one who should never touch that stubborn being, no matter how mad he, demon Crowley, was with him. Death should never knock on the door of A.Z. FELL AND CO.
Right... he better get on with some temptation before sparks of hellfire come out from gritting his teeth. The temptation was what he had come here for. After a 30 year break, you have to show Hell that you are back in the saddle again. Otherwise, they either start paying visits or summoning you Downstairs and these are scenarios that Crowley wants to avoid at all costs.
The demon fixes his glasses and adjusts the collar of his suit. He is dressed all in black. The style is according to the latest men's fashion of 1892. That had been the first thing he had looked up after he had woken.
Crowley lets his gaze roam around the room, searching for his targets.
"Listen here, lad. You can't just throw me a queen and expect me not to snatch her." The sailor and the young heir behind a table to his right. Interesting combo, fun allurement. A smirk of casualness and experience manifests on the demon's lips as he strides to the table.
"Gentlemen, may I join you for...," Crowley begins but is cut off by a loud howl of victory, followed by a joyous laugh. The demon freezes. He knows that laughter. Knows it too well and for a second he is back in the moment where the figure dressed in cream stormed off in offence and left him alone at St. James's Park. Back when he had decided that he had had had enough of his hereditary enemy. And yet with a stronger wave came another image. One with much more hurtful content. One where the angel laughs no more.
Crowley decides to abandon his original targets in favour of seeing something he isn't actually prepared to see. The laugh came from one of the private rooms, separated by the heavy dark red velvet curtains. He pulls away the curtain and the sight worth of honest shock unfolds in front of him as all six people in this smoke suffocated room turn to look at the intruder. Amongst them is a pair of hazy greenish-brown eyes on a very merry face of half-dressed, most certainly intoxicated and assuming by the size of a pile of notes in front of him also rather rich Principality Aziraphale.
"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, dear boy!" the angel greets his old enemy with arms open wide.
Crowley does not move, hand still resting on the curtain he is holding. He doesn't even blink, his mind trying to comprehend this distorted picture in front of him. Then he points to Aziraphale.
"You." His thumb flicks to point behind himself as he continues in his strict voice. "Home. Now."
Aziraphale waves his hand in dismissal: "We had...an ara..arr...deal. I do sin you...nice things."
The demon sighs in exasperation, rubbing his brow from where underneath a headache most certainly will grow.
"I do remember that but you have taken it too far..."
"And I won!" the intoxicated angel exclaims, grabbing the notes and showing them proudly off. If he does this, the demon must applaud his success. At least that is what Aziraphale appears to be thinking in Crowley's mind. If that is the case then he has to disappoint the blonde.
"Yes. Good job. Now do stand up and come with me. Right. Now."
"Don’t you want to play?" Aziraphale asks with a genuine wish in his eyes.
"Not today, angel." With that he finally steps in, dropping the curtain behind his back. Again he has nothing against poker, which is the game currently played, but seeing Aziraphale in an environment that does not fit his nature and yet somehow he still seems to appear right at home amongst the darker side of society smothers into nothingness any enthusiasm that he might have had before.
Aziraphale is rash. Since when is Aziraphale rash? Yes, Crowley has witnessed moments when Aziraphale has not acted like the purest ethereal entity, but there has always been the level of cautiousness inflicted deep within him. He has never been quite like this. This irresponsible.
Is he to blame for that change?
Crowley blinks due to the twinge of guilt that this thought brings.
"You are no fun!"
Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice the growth of tension in the air since the rest of the table has begun sending him angry looks and staring at his carelessly laid out package of money. Each look is more greedy and vengeful. He had won and they had lost.
"You can’t make me come with you!"
"Why so?" the demon inquires, observing the other players from the corner of his eye. He senses what Aziraphale's foggy mind is not able to.
Aziraphale huffs and turns his nose up like a pouting child: "Because I am a perf... independent angel and I need no governess! I can take care of myself!" He had risen from his seat and attempts to take a step only to almost trip, having no balance whatsoever.
The greed grows into their shoulders and hands that prepare themselves for the attack. This air is not meant for breathing. The smoke of opium and rising tension is suffocating.
Crowley takes a few steps closer to Aziraphale until he is standing by his side, his eyes glued onto the players who have chosen the wrong target.
"Do not even think about it," comes a low growl from a demon who really isn't in the mood for some row. The oblivious angel still doesn't seem to comprehend the growing inconvenience of the situation.
"Aziraphale... go home," the demon orders.
The addressee squints his eyes and finally sees what Crowley has tried to warn him about.
"Oh...."
The angel looks frantically around as if searching for something. The others look like a bunch of vultures or lurking hyenas, hoping to snatch the prey from underneath the lion's nose. Finally, Aziraphale's gaze settles on the demon beside him.
'Please, no...'- Crowley's gut wretches slightly at the sight of wetness in Aziraphale's eyes. The last thing he needs is a crying angel with the crime lords being ready to make their attack. These people are, after all, with whom Heaven's representative played with and there is a rule that everybody except for this particular angel seems to know.
You will never take or win money from the rulers of London's underworld. Because no matter what...
You will always end up on the losing side.
"I can’t find my...," the blonde man-shaped being gestures around, "...my top hat...and...and overcoat. I can’t leave without them! My tailor...just yesterday..."
Not even letting Aziraphale finish, Crowley decides to speed up the process and miracles the other's cream coloured overcoat and top hat into his possession. With a thing on his lips that might be considered the beginning of a smile, he holds the clothes out for the angel.
"Here you go."
Aziraphale quits fussing and offers him an actual small smile that might hold in it something that is a bit more than just a gratitude for the courtesy.
"Thank you..." Now he turns to acknowledge the other people in the room with glee.
"It was a pleasure playing with you, gentlemen. I hope to invest your money into more...more...he...helpful things," Aziraphale starts to collect the money. One of the players comes to the conclusion that the penetration of a threatening gaze is not enough to intimidate this too jolly of a nuisance.
Slip from the sleeve into a palm and with a habitual flick of a thumb the dim light from the chandelier is able to reflect on the surface of a metal, which intends to sink deep into the winner's elegant hand that currently picks up a 50£ note. The man is fast but The Serpent is faster.
With astounding skill and smoothness the demon grabs the player's wrist and pins it hard against the man's lower back, but not before he presses the straight razor out from in between the assaulter's fingers; slips it into his hand and does an unnerving demonstration of how easily he is able to handle the blade himself. For a second his tongue flicks out and people can swear they hear the hiss of a snake as the blade is placed against the man's throat. It touches but it does not cut. Not yet.
"Shh..shh... Did you not hear what I said before?" Crowley murmurs to his captive.
The rest of the table stands up, not sure how to react. The man gulps. Aziraphale is simply shocked, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, but not so much because of what Crowley did but rather what the man had wanted to do to him: "Did...did...he just...?"
"Gentlemen, please, just sit down," Crowley sighs, finding this whole affair to be tedious. Although, he has to admit to himself...
The returning feeling of adrenaline pumping through his corporation is pleasantly exhilarating.
The centre of the pressure shifts a bit and the man is not able to suppress his shudder. Jim Merrit is no stranger to violence. That is how he makes his living. He is not a coward but he is not a complete idiot either. He knows that the protector of this feeble pansy is an expert wielder of those sharp blades and he is not wrong. The Serpent of Eden is the master of daggers and knives. In his hands, each blade seems to be just the mere extension of his body. Crowley cannot hold back an upward twitch on the corner of his mouth.
Then he turns to Aziraphale: "If you want this money, then take it faster and leave this place."
Aziraphale, at last, does as he is told, still not quite over the shock. He puts on his overcoat and takes his top hat from where Crowley had left it before he went to prevent the stabbing of the Principality. He is about to leave the room when his hands clutch into fists and teeth grit against each other. The angel returns.
"You should be ashamed of yourselves! How...how...not gentlemen you are! You have money. Do something useful with it!" His anger fuels his aggressive gestures. "There are people! Children! Who are starving and...and dying and you could help them, but you don’t! You just... just waste it here, doing absolutely nothing beneficial! You should be ashamed! Ashamed!"
"Aziraphale... go outside."
"But...but...they need to understand this..." Aziraphale's protests, although these sound more like pleas to Crowley.
"They won't," the demon drops a sideways glance to the man in his hold, who perfectly encapsulates all that one needs to know about humanity's continuous stupidity in regards to some things. He sighs and lets go of the man, snapping the razor blade out of existence. Jim shall never forget the feeling of the blade on his throat.
"Never. It is time to go home, angel."
The angel huffs and walks away, but still halts in the doorway. Complete silence overtakes the room. Everyone stares at his back. Aziraphale turns around with utter calmness like he was never intoxicated in the first place. He opens his mouth and the words that leave cut through with the greatest of sharpness, condemning them to Hell for all eternity.
"Curse you."
Without saying anything else, he leaves the building.
The words should have meant nothing and yet...
Somehow the doom of their afterlife seemed much more inevitable.
Crowley doesn't even try to hold back his chuckle. What could he do? Despite everything, he was impressed.
"See you in Hell. I am sure we can provide you with proper fun, gentlemen."
That was Crowley's farewell to these men and this establishment. There is no point for him to stay. The Arrangement had worked out in their favour yet again.
He huffs as he pushes open the front door, finding to his surprise the angel to still stand there. Well, now is perhaps the proper time to strike up the conversation. Crowley knows he can't walk past him without one.
He approaches Aziraphale with his casual demeanour and with a compliment. They need to get off with a good start and Crowley is willing to compromise his pride to an extent to achieve this. The demon has always been the more lenient one out of the two of them.
"Well, I have to admit that I did not expect that from you. I am impressed."
Aziraphale does not reply, ignoring the demon’s circling stride behind him. Instead, he lets out a sigh and breathes in the fresh air of mucky but not opium-filled London. He attempts to take a step down onto the pavement, but fails and falls to sit on one of the steps instead, his top hat rolling away from him to the other side of the street.
"Angel? Are you hurt?" Crowley is quick to stand next to him, worrying that something may have happened when he was not there. Something that he was not able to prevent.
'Like the obsidian sword letting the gold flow?' The intrusive thought makes his lips press into a thin line.
The angel in question stares in front of himself with blank eyes. However, he is not intoxicated anymore. This is sober Aziraphale.
"You came..."
"Yeah..."
"Heh," he chortles humorlessly. There is a pause before he continues.
"The things I have done...what I just did....who have I become..." Aziraphale slowly turns to look at Crowley, " Because of...you."
The accusations in the angel's eyes baffle the demon. Like a statue he stands next to him, completely speechless for a couple of seconds.
"Angel... I..."
A shake of Aziraphale's head is enough to dismiss all the possible attempts of self-defence from Crowley's part.
"No...You don’t understand." He stands up and starts pacing in front of the demon.
"You don’t understand! It is so easy for you, demons. You will just go and do whatever comes into your mind, not for once caring what you leave behind to scrub."
The blonde-haired figure comes to stand in front of Crowley, trying to get his point across: "And you...you for 5800 years.... you twist...and...and tempt...and make me care about you..."
Each word is stressed with his animated hand movements. With his final sentence, he looks Crowley deep in the eye, his hurt and anger penetrating even the dark shades that are meant to protect the serpentine eyes behind them. Not from Aziraphale. Never from Aziraphale. The accusations do not stop.
"Then you have the audacity to ask for a suicide pill and when...when I refuse, you leave. Without a single word. Just like that, you abandoned me!"
That was the limit of Crowley's tolerance.
"Suicide pill? Aziraphale, what the Heaven are you talking about? Do you know why I wanted it? No, you don't. And to me, it seems more like you abandoned me... I wanted to have an... insurance... some kind of hope to keep staying alive if things go pear-shaped. But no!"
"But you were supposed to come back!"
With the last cry, the anger subsides, leaving behind only guilt and pain. The next phrases come out much more quietly. These are confessions.
"I am a coward, you’re the brave one. I say no, because....," he looks up towards Heaven then at Crowley. He smiles sadly as he sits down on the step.
"I fear. You give me some distance and then come back. That's how we do it. How we have always done it... But this time you were gone. You didn't come back. I waited, I looked for you, but nothing. And then I thought...I thought..." he is not able to say the words, fearing that his voice might fail him.
'Bless you, Aziraphale! How are you always....'
"I needed some time. I am sorry."
What is he apologizing for? Aziraphale was the one who pushed him away.
To protect him, Crowley, from himself.
He inhales sharply and proceeds to growl out the following words: "Do I look like I am interested in suicide, Aziraphale? Really? Just tell me the truth."
A quick glance at Crowley, before he replies in a whisper: "Honestly...sometimes. When it gets really horrible on Earth. Then you look as if you would either end it or yourself...and...you have a tendency to discorporate...quite often...too often."
Crowley does not protest against the angel's words. He wasn't wrong, not entirely.
"I see... It happens quite often." The images flash in front of his mind's eye. Each plague and war, each suffering and cry. His many discorporations. Suddenly he is exhausted and maybe appears just a bit older. Still, he feels the need to clarify something.
"But... I'm not one of them. I would not do this to myself on purpose."
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
After a huge wave of relief crosses Aziraphale's features, a gentle smile of gratitude is left onshore.
"Thank you."
The angel stretches out his hand and the top hat from the other side of the street flies back to his possession. He pats the place next to him.
"Please, sit."
Without saying a word Crowley sits next to him. He notices how Aziraphale is fidgeting with his fingers. The angel has more things to say.
"Could you...could you forgive me? I have hurt you. Over and over again. And I am sorry! I...I know that my regret and apologies cannot fix the damage I have caused...but perhaps..." Aziraphale's nervousness gets to him and he hides his face in his hands, breathing heavily. "I just...don't want to lose you. I want to be better...for you...for myself. And...and...urgh," he growls in frustration, "I am horrible at this!"
"I'm not angry with you, angel."
And he isn't. Not anymore. Well, to be honest, he wasn't before either. Just hurt. He looks at Aziraphale, who is still hiding behind his hands. His light blonde curls seem so soft that his chest is being pinched by the urge to put his hand into the depths of those curls and gently ruffle them to his heart's desire. Thankfully Aziraphale's pouting comment brings the demon back to reality. Somewhat at least.
"But I have been inconsiderate and selfish. Does that not bother you?"
"Aziraphale... everyone has a bad day every once in a while. I am alright," he says that with a reassuring smile.
"Bad day is one thing. Being like that for 5892 years is a problem."
"But you are not like that..." sometimes he feels like he is having a hopeless fight with this being by his side. Perhaps this is the true angelic tactic against demons who come to care too much. Whatever it is, it works too well.
"What were you doing in the underground casino? Why did you get high, angel? Was there a reason?"
The faces that this Principality makes, remind Crowley the times when he inquired about the flaming sword. He is almost glad to see that the charm of it has not diminished throughout the millennias.
"Ugh...ngk...I didn't get high, per se. Well, I did but it was not a thing on its own... Well in retrospective, it kind of was...But...but," Aziraphale sighs, giving up on the verbal dodging," I just...I got a word from Heaven, saying I should do some deeds, and so I thought what could I possibly do, I really wasn’t in the mood...and then I looked around and saw all those people, living here in London. And it reminded me of a story from a..., " there is a hint of a blush that Crowley notices instantly, "....friend....of mine, who wrote a beautiful fairytale called “Happy Prince”. It’s a love story really, but it also talks about suffering, selflessness and...kindness. The Prince is a sculpture; covered with gold and jewels; he sees all the misery and cruelty from his pedestal, but since he is a sculpture, he can’t do anything to aid them. Then comes a swallow and he talks to the Prince and the bird is moved by his kindness. He helps the Prince to take his gold and jewels and give it to all those people, who the Prince can see suffering. You wouldn’t like it’s ending. It is a tragedy."
The storytelling ends as Aziraphale’s quiet chuckle changes into vulnerable melancholy. He wraps his arms around his plumpish figure, trying to find comfort in the face of his next confession.
" That story reminded me of... us...but you were gone...I see how you feel empathy and pain when you witness the cruel misfortune of the people. You are like that Prince and... I wanted to be your swallow. To redeem myself in your eyes, even if you could never see that. So I looked around and did my research and found this place," he points behind to the casino," It was a great opportunity to achieve something that could make a difference to somebody.
The opium was just a side effect...that I let in...knowing well what I was doing. I could have easily picked something simpler, a less dangerous way to do my deed...but I chose it on purpose...and that's what frustrates me the most...
I wanted to be noble and worthy....but in the end....under all this illusion of greater good...I equally as much did it for my own desires."
He pauses the speech, eyes looking ahead of himself. Then carefully he continues: "It was my last attempt to get your attention. I thought that you were gone either to Hell or..." Aziraphale is yet again incapable of saying the word. "But I still...still somehow thought that...if I was grand enough...if I was careless enough...if I create a situation that is dangerous enough... you might....just...return...to me....."
Aziraphale has never been so ashamed of himself than in that moment, bearing himself to Crowley so openly. Admitting his sins and still....still daring to have selfish thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.
Now it makes sense. It was a show, an honest performance to lure Crowley in. To make him come back. To apologize and continue their dance, The Arrangement. But that is not all. There was a hint, wasn't there? Hint that reawakens the beating of a hope that he had buried a while ago.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts in order: "You didn't have to do that, Aziraphale. That was too dangerous...What if I hadn't decided to step in for quick temptation? What if I hadn't been fast enough?"
Flashes of images from his last nightmare. He had not been fast enough there.
Emotions. You can always blame those emotions and feelings for everything you do. Crowley can blame them for placing his hand on top of the angel's and uttering the following words: "And I'm so sorry, angel. This is my fault."
Aziraphale finally looks at Crowley, his pulse rising for several reasons: "Why on Earth would you think it's your fault? What did you do? I am the foolish attention seeker, not you.”
"Really? You can't seem to understand that you are seeking for attention because I am not perceptive enough or considerate enough to notice what you need. It is my fault that I am not able to always see your perspective of things and when you try to communicate with me I just ignore you and remain to do nothing of value."
"You are not obligated to do anything! You are your own person. You don’t have to submit to my every whim!"
"But you're not getting what you need... I want to do and be... better?"
Almost but not quite unexpectedly for both of them, Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s hand and comes very close in order to make out his eyes behind the dark shades.
"You already are. Much better than I ever could be."
Something had changed. Some unknown boundary had been crossed. On this side, the pretences in front of each other crumble to reveal the real Crowley and the real Aziraphale with the honest sentiment.
The real Crowley offers him a weak smile: "Aziraphale, please, be careful. Alright?"
The real Aziraphale tilts his head: "Why do you always come? Why does my safety mean so much to you?"
"...I just happen to be around." The closer he gets the harder it is for Crowley to find the courage to look Aziraphale in the eye because he knows what the angel will find in there. "What? I can't care about you?"
The things are not easier for the Principality either who is struggling with words: "I just never thought that I could... awaken feelings...in you that go beyond close acquaintanceship. I..." He also turns away, proceeding to look at the lonely streetlight instead. "I am blind, aren’t I? Never do I see...," he is the first one to find the courage and turn back to Crowley with the slow pace of his speech, "what is right in front of me."
"I don't know.... maybe sometimes," the demon chuckles and the angel cannot help but chuckle himself.
"I fancy your laughter. I think it is...very you."
The angel smiles warmly to not his enemy but to somebody who he needs to keep close nonetheless.
Aziraphale looks around, making sure that there is no other person or creature nearby. Then he focuses on the lamp again and it dims out under the power of the angelic gaze. The whole street is filled with darkness and silence. Further away the sounds of London can be heard, but not here. This street is all on its own with two hereditary enemies. Darkness doesn’t matter to them. They can see. But the rest of the world can’t.
"Crowley..." the one of Heaven whispers in the dark. He can't resist. Not anymore. He throws his arms around the demon and snuggles his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck, his sudden movements knocking Crowley’s hat off of his head.
"Oi, careful," scolds the one of Hell but with a growing smile. He had always been weak. Weak for Aziraphale and he hugs the angel closer, resting his hand on the nape of the angel's neck and playing with his short almost white hair. His imagination had been correct. Aziraphale's curls are indeed exquisitely soft.
"Mmm?" the demon asks gently.
Aziraphale tightens his grip around Crowley. His fingers find their way into his hair and they too start to playfully cherish the demon’s ginger locks. Meanwhile, Aziraphale breathes in his scent, enjoying this precious, stolen embrace.
"If I could, I would. Do you know that? If I could be sure that no harm comes to you," he nuzzles his nose into Crowley's bare skin, right under the jawline, "I would not hesitate."
Aziraphale breaths into the demon's ear almost inaudibly, those words only meant for Crowley to hear: "I would be yours."
The angel is irresistible. Blessedly so and Crowley nuzzles his nose into white curly hair, "You are already mine, angel. I can wait if you want. I'm ready for this."
One single tear escapes as the angel chuckles melancholically: "Are you prepared to wait for eternity?"
The world has denied him tenderness for so long. Today he takes what he needs. Today he traces his cheek against Crowley’s until he is facing him, only a short distance separating them now.
"Could you...., " Aziraphale gently removes the demon's shades, putting them aside, "stand me...knowing that," his face closes the distance when he touches his nose and forehead to Crowley’s, the angel’s hands coming to cup his angular cheeks which are unbelievably dear to Aziraphale, "the only thing...more important to me than your happiness...is your safety? And that is something I am never willing to compromise on."
"Angel, stop acting like I'm a small child, who is not able to defend himself," he lets out a long sigh and hugs the angel closer to himself, "But if that makes you happy... I can wait for eternity. As long as you need."
He places a kiss on Aziraphale's forehead. For the first time. He had kissed him on a cheek once. It was part of the etiquette and the angel had assimilated it. But now the time and the circumstances had changed. The softness of the skin underneath his lips is exactly how he remembers it, but the welcoming tighter hold around his slender figure, strikes Crowley anew and he feels the urge to repeat the action. If only to get the rush of that strange warm sensation that seems so foreign and yet so familiar.
"Please, be safe," this request sounds an awful lot like a plea.
As a response, Aziraphale mutters under his breath with a playful pout: "I have been a guardian. I know how to take care of myself....mostly. Oh! Which reminds me..."
Reluctantly he frees himself from the embrace and stands up, only to smile at Crowley and take a couple of steps away from him: "There is a deed to be done."
He puts his hands into his coat pockets and pulls out all the notes that he had won tonight.
"There was a positive side to this opium club too...
I would have never otherwise known that I was good at poker."
Aziraphale blows gently on the notes and the wind arises. The notes rise into the air and get caught up in the wind. They transform into paper birds, their wings flapping just like the real ones. A halo appears around Aziraphale's head and his eyes are glowing light blue in the dark. Elektra blue. The paper birds fly around Crowley, chirping affectionately when they pass by and the wind that comes with them ruffles Crowley's hair into a mess. Aziraphale laughs at the adorableness and follows the paper birds with his eyes as they fly off to London's night sky. They will soon land in the hands of those who need it, and the thought of it brings joy to Aziraphale. Just like it brought joy to the swallow and The Prince.
Crowley is captivated by that beautiful miracle that the angel just performed, the demon following the last of the paper birds with his eyes. A small smile slowly appears on his lips:" And at first I wanted to suggest leaving those notes behind... I'm glad I didn't."
He returns his gaze to Aziraphale and stands up to come closer to him, placing one of the his hands gently on the angel's cheek. His statement is simple. He just tells what he sees: "You look so happy, angel."
"Because I am. You came back and...," gestures vaguely towards the city, "some of them may have a chance for a better life. It’s worth a lot to me."
He leans into Crowley’s touch and is about to close his eyes when he notices the other’s ginger hair being an explosion.
"Oh, dear boy, your hair...Hahahahaha," he fails to hold back his loud whole-body-consuming laughter.
"That's all your miracle...," the demon pouts while trying to fix his hair. "Look at what you did to me. Now I am a mess."
"You are overreacting. It’s not that ba...Stop making it worse!" Aziraphale giggles and pushes Crowley’s hands out of his way. "Let me fix this."
The angel digs his fingers into Crowley’s hair and starts smoothing it over with precise meticulousness. Each lock of hair is combed through and set neatly in place where it should be. After a minute or so Aziraphale is finished. He stretches out his hand and Crowley’s hat flies into it. He lifts and sets it on top of Crowley’s head. Aziraphale fixes the look until he is satisfied with the result.
"See? It was not that bad."
"If it wasn't that bad then why did it take so long to fix?" Crowley laughs at his teasing comment and Aziraphale's facial expression.
"Thank you, angel."
"Always."
He slowly stills as he locks eyes with Crowley. His halo disappears and his glow subsides. Aziraphale takes in Crowley's look and existence. He adores every single part of him. It hurts his heart: the forbiddance, the judgement, the miracle. He is hesitant. He takes a step closer, almost touching....but then Aziraphale turns away in cowardice.
No, for protection - he tells himself. For Crowley’s own good.
And then...he makes a mistake. He looks at Crowley one more time; his serpentine eyes, his black suit and the look of admiration in a situation so inevitably tragic. And Aziraphale can’t help himself...
He looks around, searching for any intruders or for anything suspicious before his newfound courage leads his eyes back to Crowley’s. Aziraphale breathes deeply in and with a quick step he invades the demon’s personal space.
Just one second of hesitation, when his hand trembles and then he puts it at the back of Crowley’s head and pulls him towards himself until....the angel's lips find the demon's.
The second the angel's lips touch his, he gasps into the kiss, looking at him with wide eyes. What is this sorcery that makes his hands act like they do not belong to him and brings them to Aziraphale's face, gently placing them on his cheeks?
The kiss is broken by a smile that appears on the demon's lips. Somewhere deep inside of his mind, he notices that he has been smiling uncharacteristically much today.
"Aziraphale...," the voice turned out surprisingly raspy and Crowley quickly clears his throat, still keeping his hands on the angel's cheeks. "Stealing man's kiss when he stands in front of you without suspicion. My...my..."
There is a tease. A gentle smile but the eyes have become full of sadness and hesitation. His whole existence is yearning for this, but just like his angel, he is not willing to compromise on the other's safety.
"Is it safe for you if I.... return the.... favour?"
Aziraphale growls, maybe too aggressively: "I don’t give a damn!"
He is daunted by his own words. Somehow the words manage both to be a lie and a truth. He sinks into Crowley's hands that are still cupping his cheeks. His breaths are shallow and he trembles slightly. His mind is fighting with desire and reality. He lifts his eyes to gaze into Crowley's and suddenly he feels calmness washing over him. How Crowley does this, he will never know... His hand comes to rest on Crowley's coat-covered chest and he smiles.
"This once...to keep hope up for the rest of eternity. To give us strength."
"Only this once, angel. A kiss to give us strength," Crowley smiles and places a gentle kiss on the angel's lips.
Aziraphale leans into a the kiss, intensifying it gradually. His hands are moving to wrap around Crowley’s neck, pulling him even closer. If it was going to be their first and their last, Aziraphale decides to make it count, to take as much as possible. Closer, much closer....in a place where words might fail. Aziraphale is still afraid of Heaven, of Hell, but today the darkness and newfound hope have given him courage and awakened something very rare in him...
Defiance.
And he enjoys every second of it...The taste of his rebellion alongside the long-desired lips of the Serpent of Eden. He suppresses his wish to laugh at this gratifying absurdity and directs the energy into giving Crowley something unforgettable to hold onto for the rest of their existence.
Another unspoken boundary has been crossed. The other side tastes of the dark chocolate. At least that is what Crowley thinks Aziraphale's lips taste like. His hands slowly move down a bit, one hand coming to rest on the angel's neck and another around his waist, squeezing slightly. He is so soft to touch. An angel in his arms. Lucifer would crown him as a prince of Hell, to stand beside Lord Beelzebub and become a member of The Dark Council, if this was his comeback temptation.
But it isn't. It never has been.
Somewhere deep down Crowley feels that they should break the kiss, but he doesn't want to. He wants this moment to last... as long as it possibly can.
Aziraphale rises on his tiptoes, to enable Crowley's arm to get better support on his waist when he decides that standing with two feet firmly on the ground is terribly overrated. He is physically the stronger one out of the two of them, but Crowley is no man of straw either. He adjusts his arms around the demon and half-climbs and half-lifts himself off the ground, now only having Crowley’s arms to support him. Suddenly, somewhere from the haze of his lovestruck mind, Aziraphale feels drops of water on him. They are scarce at first, but then more and more droplets fall from above, faster and stronger. And Aziraphale surprises himself with his following thought....he does not care.
He doesn’t care that it might be a hint from Her, he does not care that they are both getting fully soaked. The only thing that matters is Crowley and Crowley alone and Aziraphale has no intention to part from him because of some ironic heavy rain in a town that is famous for that particular kind of weather.
Crowley, however, is the one who finally breaks the kiss, slowly opening his eyes and looking into Aziraphale's. Strong hands are supporting the angel's body and their owner seems to be comfortable with that. After such a long kiss, the demon's lips are bit red and swollen, but still stretched into a gentle smile: "It's raining, angel. Let us move somewhere inside or.... do you perhaps enjoy the weather?"
Aziraphale chuckles at the thought that there probably isn't a dry inch on neither one of their bodies and licks his lips as if it would do anything.
"There is a tavern nearby. You remember that one... where the owner had a gigantic ginger-grey beard and always spoke in a heavy dutch accent and his laugh reminded you of barrels rolling? You told me that! Anyway, the place is still open. I think it belongs to his great-great-grandson now and I still think it is one of the best places in London to get a proper beer. Well, you know I am more of a wine enthusiast, but from time-to-time...I don’t mind. " That is his proposal, and yet he is not quite ready to leave. "But for a moment...would you...just hold me...and...perhaps...dance with me? Because the second we leave this street...," he looks around their unexpected sanctuary, "...the reality returns and it’s not only our offices, who are....judgmental and dangerous. Our story can’t end in tragedy. Not yet....So...would you please do this for me, my dearest friend?"
"I do remember the place. One of the best spots where to get a good beer." There is a pause, but not a single doubt in Crowley's mind of what he will answer.
"Of course, angel, I can do that."
"Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me."
"Trust me, to me, it also means... a lot."
The demon places Aziraphale down and with a suave movement he offers his hand, palm upwards, for the angel to take: "May I invite you to this dance?"
"Which dance? Waltz? Or gigue? Gavotte?" Aziraphale lights up at the final comment, excitement growing instantaneously at the prospect to be able to demonstrate to Crowley what he had learnt in Portland Place.
However, Crowley is instant to protest: "No, please, not gavotte... How about...A waltz?"
"You haven’t even seen me dance gavotte. Too early to make judgements," he huffs in the slight offence, but he does cheer up at Crowley's suggestion, "But...waltz does feel...perfect."
He places his hand onto Crowley’s and gives the demon a look of sheer confidence.
"Do you want to lead or may I?"
"With that confidence in your eyes, I must let you take the lead."
"Oh, thank you for your trust! Let’s see then..."
Aziraphale places his right hand on Crowley's upper back, on a place where his wing is supposed to be. Aziraphale's left-hand holds gently Crowley's right. He straightens up and fixes himself into an elegant dance posture. They look like professionals, however, they may be standing a little closer than is considered decent in 1892.
Suddenly he gets an idea.
With tenderness, he asks through the rain: "You can say no, of course. If you consider it far too intrusive ...and truth to be told, I shouldn't ask you this...I have no right to ask you this....but.... are you willing to open up your mind a bit?"
Aziraphale waits to see if he had crossed the line. The key to this is consent. Without it, this action becomes one of the vilest ones that the angel knows. Crowley does not respond.
Carefully, Aziraphale continues to explain: "As you can hear, we have no music...and...I thought that I could play something with my mind and I want to share that with you... but I cannot...unless...you let me in. Refuse, if it’s too much. I understand."
Slowly a smile creeps on Crowley's lips and he shows with his body, as he places his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, what his words shall reaffirm: "Why should I refuse, angel? Go ahead. I trust you."
Both of their corporal hearts skip a beat at this statement. They both knew, but something changes when it is said out loud. It makes it all too real. But it also wakes a fuzzy feeling deep inside that both the angel and the demon know to cherish.
"Alright then..." Aziraphale breathes in and closes his eyes. He gets accustomed to the silence; Earthly silence. Aziraphale lets it wash over him, consume his senses.
Then he starts picking up the sounds, one by one.
He listens.
The soft crumbling of the raindrops - feather-light touches on piano....or strings perhaps?
The sough of an empty street at night - the flow.
Crowley’s beating heart - the rhythm. Aziraphale smiles.
Now, all he needs is the melody to tie it together into a whole. He starts humming in his mind. His soft vocals swim and dance around the sounds, binding them together and taking them along. The more he lets it swim and flow, the more it resembles the orchestra.
At first, it is almost unnoticeable, the change. But then it becomes more and more instrumental. He can hear how the rain turns into violins and cellos, the wind into flutes and clarinets, Crowley’s heart keeping up the tempo like a conductor.
The silence and the sounds have become the music.
Aziraphale finds the presence. It is warm and passionate, wearing a coat of demonic aura, restless like the hellfire that surrounds it. It is familiar. He has sensed it before, throughout all those eons. He had learnt to recognise this presence in the crowd of thousands. He would always know that this untamable existence belongs to Crowley.
Never once has he tried to enter it. To enter him.
He is hesitant, fearful even, but also unbelievably excited. A chance to peak into Crowley's mind - it is something so very unfathomable to him.
He searches the presence when he finds a small crack, an opening. He reaches out for it and sends his senses, that had composed the music for their waltz, in.
He lingers there for a moment. He is curious and conflicted. This could be his opportunity. He could finally see Crowley’s soul, understand everything regarding him, learn his secrets. The temptation is there. He reaches out just a little bit more......
'I trust you.' - echoes his demon’s voice.
Aziraphale pulls back. No. Curiosity is worth noting compared to Crowley’s trust, the most valuable of all the things. He of all people should know what it means to have been betrayed.
He takes a step and tilts Crowley slightly. His feet move along with the music of their minds. He leads them around the puddles, rain still pouring on them.
Crowley is unconfident at first, but then Aziraphale feels how he relaxes under his guidance and lets the music and body do their thing. Crowley is light and graceful, making it so easy to dance with him.
He feels flashes of pulse on his back.
His wings want to get out. They want to fly.
Not today - Aziraphale thinks. Not today...
Today they dance. And they do dance. As a one whole being.
Indeed at first Crowley was ready to buck it when he felt the heavenly presence close to his mind. An instinct to protect himself from the intrusion, but then the presence left and gave him, the demon, exactly what was promised. Music.
He smiles as he lets Aziraphale guide him in their waltz: "Thank you, Aziraphale... I wasn't wrong when I trusted you."
The blonde opens his mouth to reply but thinks better of it. He just smiles and continues to dance. In a few places, where music demands it, he twirls Crowley around and Aziraphale could swear that he hears the demon giggle. Neither of them usually dance that well. They can be decent in a few dances and horrible in others, but when they are together...it all changes.
Their synergy is so compatible that their movements never clash. They either danced in unison or in a series of amplifications that make the angel and the demon into one whole and leave the audience in awe.
"Do you remember Versailles?" Aziraphale suddenly asks.
"Oh, Versailles... I do remember. What a wonderful place...so full of sin. Why are you asking?"
"Well... I just remembered how we met there, " Aziraphale fails to hold back his chuckle at the nostalgic memory. "I was just introduced to the young king as his new advisor and I remember how I was standing there in a row on his right...I was quite proud of my position, young Louis The XIV looked very promising and I was sure that with some divine influence, he can turn into a great king.
And then...
An ambassador of Spain was introduced. I didn’t pay that much attention. I was busy conversing with a belle mademoiselle by my side.
Then I saw him being positioned opposite of me and I greeted...
You really can’t hide your grin, Crowley. Whether you are a “Spanish ambassador” or not...and your accent..." now he fully laughs, the sound being deep and merry, "I know you can do better."
"Come on. My job was of excellent quality...," Crowley mimics his referred accent before bursting into laughter himself, "I don't know about you, but I had so much fun."
"I did not say that I didn't have fun. Oh, don't get me wrong! You were annoying and made my job so much harder because you are so very distracting. And everyone in the court thought that we were...together..." The end of his word drifts away as he looks down at Crowley's hand he is holding. Aziraphale brings them up in into a full angle, trying to reawaken a memory from a distant past.
"And everyone saw..." His hand and forearm twist and slither around Crowley's, replicating a dance done a long time ago.
"And they all knew," Aziraphale brings Crowley against him as he looks into his eyes with staggering intensity, "They all knew before we ever did."
"Humans always manage to amaze me... How they know and feel everything. They are smart... unlike us." Crowley chuckles and brings the angel's hand closer to his lips only to plant a quick kiss on the knuckles. "Well, not all the time. Sometimes they are foolish too. I can even think of a few of the examples at the top of my head."
"Unlike us..." Aziraphale repeats Crowley's former sentiment with benevolence. He places his hand under Crowley ‘s chin, lifting it a bit. Somehow the demon's serpentine eyes manage to shimmer under the reflection of light that does not exist. For second Aziraphale wonders if that shimmer is Crowley's hellfire or .....
A keepsake from his lost divinity?
Aziraphale cannot take his eyes off of Crowley. He is completely entranced by the chance of just looking at him. To take in all that the demon has to offer.
"You are an exquisite masterpiece, my dear," Aziraphale thinks out loud and then blushes when he realises that. He caresses Crowley’s lips with his thumb. Tempted to taste them again.
"Red...I hope I wasn’t too much."
"Stop saying such things, Aziraphale. The only masterpiece created by Her here is you." When the thumb disappears from the demon's lips, he immediately licks them with his tongue, missing the gentle touch that only Aziraphale can give. "Yes... I mean.. Everything's fine. Nothing too much."
The Principality chuckles with affection. Then suddenly he decides that their paused waltz needs an ending and he whisks unsuspecting Crowley with him, spinning them both around in the tune of the final notes.
As the final culmination in his mind arrives, he places his hands on Crowley’s waist and lifts him up in the air. To Aziraphale he almost weighs nothing.
The music ends and so does the waltz. They are static for a moment, before Aziraphale brings Crowley slowly downwards, but not letting him fully on the ground just yet. Aziraphale gasps slightly. He never had thought of Crowley as someone fragile. Vulnerable - a few times, but fragile....never.....Yet...holding him like that, with his feet off the ground and a body so slender, he cannot help but see it.
Oh, Crowley is brave and clever and strong, but seeing something so....human....in him, makes Aziraphale’s heart beat a little faster and his smile a little wider.
"You can put me down, angel," Crowley tells gently.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, has much more playful thoughts: "And what if I don’t?"
The demon smirks: "I will bite you."
"You wouldn’t dare..."
"I would."
"I don’t believe you."
"And that's a bad thing, angel," Crowley delivers on his threat and "bites" Aziraphale on the nose and the ridiculousness of the antics make them both laugh.
"You wily Serpent!"
" Yes, but I would rather have my feet touch the ground now."
Aziraphale continues to laugh as he finally obliges. "I am sorry! I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."
"I wasn't prepared for that. But I'm alright...," the demon smiles while fixing his clothes, "Don't worry about it."
"Impulsiveness...it’s a new concept for me as well," Aziraphale chuckles a bit bashfully as he looks up in the sky that still is intending to water them down. He muses: "You know that in the books the rain always begins and stops when there is a dramatic moment in the story or when there is a reconciliation? Well, apparently not in this London."
"London... a place with nasty weather. However, there is never a dull moment to be had in a town like this. But we can always ponder about it over a bottle of beer. Next to hopefully a rather warm fireplace." The thought of it is suddenly rather tempting.
Aziraphale looks at the enlightened street, crossing this dark one where they are standing. It is a bit of a walk, but not far enough. His face falls.
"May I?" Aziraphale offers his palm to Crowley. "Until the crossroads."
Crowley takes his hand but stands still, not going anywhere: "I know that you don't want to leave this place, Aziraphale. I can feel that."
Aziraphale is sombre and Crowley shares his predicament. The demon knows well that once they leave, the theatre show continues and the masks are back on. The world is not safe. Neither for them or their corporations. In that world, Crowley's nightmare could come true and Aziraphale's fears could be justified.
The angel voices his sorrow: "It’s...wet...and dark.... and cold...and even crummy.
But...
It has you and I can touch you," he squeezes the demon's hand, "and show how I feel," he puts his other hand on Crowley's cheek," about you, my dearest, with at least an illusion of safety."
The desperation and love are drowning Aziraphale and he is close to crying.
"I am afraid! Of losing this! Of losing you! You have to know that, when I deny you anything, it's because I don't want to see any harm come to you. Please! Never once think that when I keep my distance...or...or ignore you for too long... that I...that I don't lo...I always will! You need to know this! You have to..!" The last sentences are carried by his hyperventilation. His knees give out and he falls to the ground.
Crowley quietly sits on his knees next to the angel and puts his hands on the angel’s cheeks, making Aziraphale look into his eyes: "Angel... Look at me."
Gently he strokes Aziraphale's cheeks: "I do understand that you want to protect everything, everyone on this planet... even me. That is so...natural of you. But do remember that I am a demon. I can protect myself and you." There is a gleam in his eyes as he comments in a low voice: "You saw what I can do with one straight razor and imagine only if I were to actually do something with it."
Aziraphale tries to calm down his breathing. He places his own hands on top of Crowley’s for support. A shadow of a very slight smile touches his lips when his eyes meet the demon’s.
"I know that...but there are millions of them and only two of us. The numbers are not in our favour."
"I know that...Regardless, we are going to stand until the last breath. Metaphorically speaking. Sounds like a plan, hm?"
It doesn't. They both know it, but it is a lie they want to believe in.
Aziraphale nods in between the demon’s hands and offers him a loving smile: "It does. Always the optimist."
With that, he coughs to clear his throat and get hold of his composure: "Alright...I do fancy that beer. Can you...pull me up, please? I think I bruised my knee."
The demon helps the angel to stand up and with a snap he miracles away the stain that is on Aziraphale's trousers and the bruise underneath. "Next time be more careful. Wouldn't want you to ruin your clothes... Shall we go?"
"Mhm. Drinks are on me and if I remember correctly...they even have an upright piano...which hopefully is a base for good entertainment. "
The angel looks around, noticing the lack of something: "The rain has stopped."
Aziraphale listens for a second; as if searching for something. Then he shakes his head and shifts his gaze onto Crowley.
"And I will dry you up. It’s because of me you are...almost water," the angel chuckles.
The demon chuckles as well and fixes his hat: " Then let's go. I would want to get somewhere warm as soon as possible. Don't have spare limbs to shed."
"Of course, dear boy! I am sorry I made you suffer the weather!"
"It's fine, angel."
Aziraphale smiles and takes Crowley's hand into his. They walk in companionable silence. Aziraphale enjoys the feel of the demon's slender hand in his. It's cold and wet but he doesn't mind. He gives a little of his warmth to Crowley to make him more comfortable. It becomes warmer and he can sense the demon's appreciation for the action. Aziraphale replies with little caressing circles of his thumb on Crowley’s skin, gentle like a feather.
Then Aziraphale halts. They have reached the crossroads. He fixes his eyes on Crowley. Holds onto these last moments in their sanctuary. His hand clasps tighter around Crowley's. He is sad but not scared anymore. Or at least....not as much as before. Because now they have a plan. A silly, stupid, naïve plan, but a plan nonetheless.
"There is hope in eternity. That is something to hold onto."
Crowley gently squeezes Aziraphale's hand.
"Everything will play out alright, angel. You shall see."
That is the last encouragement he gives both to Aziraphale and himself, shivers beginning running down his spine and Crowley starts walking a bit faster. Now he really wants to drink beer with the angel and warm his freezing and soaked body next to a fireplace.
"Wait!" Aziraphale pulls him back before he can go too far.
"I forgot about your shades! And my top hat!" He looks back where they came from. "You know what? Never mind that."
Out of thin air, he pulls out a new pair of shades, identical to the ones Crowley had worn before. Aziraphale sets them in place with care and takes a step back when he is pleased with the result.
"I adore your eyes, but I understand. Humans. The tavern is that way... and, my dear, you are freezing!" He digs into his coat pockets and pulls out a pair of elegant gloves. "Here. Take these! They are not wool, but perhaps they can bring you a little warmth. Oh, I can’t keep forgetting that you are a snake! You might just discorporate in front of me, because of the low temperature. I can give you my coat if it helps, " he starts taking off his overcoat.
"No need, angel. I'll have your gloves... thank you." He manages to put them on before the shivers become more violent and make him stutter. "Let's just..m..mo..move."
"Right. This way!"
Aziraphale points to the direction of the tavern and they walk off. The street that sheltered and protected them enlightens again once the lovestruck couple turns around the corner and leaves the place behind.
Aziraphale did not take Crowley's hand into his that night when they managed to get into the tavern and drink and laugh. And never since that.
Crowley did not embrace Aziraphale that night. And never since then.
They never kissed again.
Until...
127 years later. After Armageddon. Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand again. Crowley embraced him again. And they were finally free. Free to live and free to love.
The eternity was worth the wait and God knew that on the night the hereditary enemies reunited in the street in the heart of London in 1892.
That’s why it had rained.