Chapter Text
Things were finally starting to feel right for Crowley. It had taken longer than he would have liked to settle into this new phase of life but, now that he was there, he was thrilled. He no longer started at every sudden sound, he could let Aziraphale be out of his sight without dissolving into a panic, and he had made great progress on whipping the garden into shape. In his more reflective moments, Crowley could even imagine that this was what contentment felt like.
It had been a little under two years since the apocalypse had been averted. Some days it felt like it had been a thousand years ago, others it felt as though Crowley was still there, facing down Satan himself with nothing more than an angel, a child and a tire iron. Aziraphale had assured him that this was all normal for processing traumatic events; he was well-read on every subject, it seemed. Crowley had found the first six months especially difficult, refusing to leave Aziraphale’s side for fear of divine retribution. It was the longest that he had stayed awake since he’d taken physical form. Aziraphale had offered to start sleeping more if it would mean that Crowley could rest but that had been met with flat refusal; if they were both asleep, they were both vulnerable.
The pair shared similar anxieties about the safety of the boy, Adam. Although they needn’t have worried at all; Adam still had Dog and Dog remembered enough of how to be a hellhound to look out for both of them. There had been numerous visits to Lower Tadfield all the same. Arthur and Deirdre Young had been bemused at the sudden presence of two peculiar men in their son’s life but you don’t get to be parents to the Antichrist without learning to accept some irregularities.
It had been Aziraphale who first mentioned the idea of moving out of London. Once he was convinced that Aziraphale wasn’t going to miss his bookshop, Crowley had agreed with enthusiasm. Lower Tadfield and, indeed, the whole of Oxfordshire was ruled out very early on. There were too many unpleasant associations; short visits to check on Adam and the Them were one thing, but to make a home there was out of the question. Book-collecting Aziraphale and culture-sponge Crowley both agreed that they’d like to stay within easy reach of London, and close enough that Tadfield could be a day trip.
This was how they had selected an area to search. Otherwise, their requirements were simple. Crowley wanted a garden that he could pour his aimless energy into and Aziraphale needed enough room to house a shop's worth of books.
The house in Walberton had seemed almost too perfect during their first viewing. Crowley had never felt suspicious of a building before and certainly not for the simple crime of meeting his requirements so neatly. These were more fears that Aziraphale had managed to soothe with logic and quiet affection.
That was another thing that had developed since the world hadn’t ended. Crowley would swear that it had come out of the blue but Aziraphale maintained that it had been a gradual, unstoppable process. They now openly shared affectionate touches and sweet kisses. The first time that Crowley heard Aziraphale say ‘I love you’ he thought he’d hallucinated. He couldn’t fathom hearing those words directed at him, least of all from Aziraphale. That had been on the day they had moved into the house together and had already taken the top spot in the list of Crowley’s favourite memories. Number two on the list was the look on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley had finally said it back.
Although it still made Crowley’s battered heart soar to hear affirmations of love from Aziraphale, they expressed them much more easily and readily these days. Crowley no longer thought twice about resting his head in Aziraphale’s lap whilst he was reading on the sofa, nor about hugging him from behind when Aziraphale was focused on something in the kitchen and planting soft kisses on his love’s neck. All in all, life was treating Crowley pretty well. His biggest concern was whether the rose garden needed a firmer hand in dealing with the greenfly problem.
His mind still fixed on the greenfly issue, Crowley headed down to the cellar to fetch a bottle of wine for the evening. Aziraphale was cooking something that smelled divine and Crowley had thoroughly inspected the scent profile in order to pick the perfect complimentary wine. He loved being able to show his angel all the ways in which he paid attention to him. A bottle of Malbec, ironically named Devil Proof, seemed like an ideal fit for the meal, Crowley took it back upstairs in order to decant it and let the wine breathe before dinner.
Aziraphale stood at the stove, whisking something in a small saucepan. It was just such a domestic scene, an idyll that Crowley never expected to want or find, he couldn’t stop himself from sighing. The smile that Aziraphale bestowed upon him at noticing his presence made his heart jump into his throat.
“Wine.” Crowley held up the bottle by way of explanation, soothing his fear of having intruded. “To go with dinner.”
“Good choice. That’s a great year, too.”
Damn it all, but Crowley preened at the praise. There was nothing in any realm that felt as good as sincere approval from Aziraphale and he had it practically on tap.
Meals shared together were a ritual that both enjoyed deeply. Crowley adored watching Aziraphale relish each mouthful as much as he savoured sampling the dishes that they each created. This meal was no exception; meat, sauce, and accompaniments all melted together in the mouth to create a luxurious experience that approached the divine. Crowley was draining his glass when Aziraphale set his knife and fork on his plate and cleared his throat.
“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale was the picture of innocence and inoffensiveness as he spoke. “Do you think it might be worth selling your old flat?”
“Why? It’s not like we need the money, angel.” An icy finger of panic stroked Crowley's spine although he wouldn’t have been able to explain the cause.
“Well, it’s just sitting there empty. We don’t ever use it, even when we’re in London overnight. And I wonder if it’s another tie to the past that we could sever?”
Crowley worked that thought over in his mind for a moment. Why was he holding on to the place? There was no sentimental value, it had just been the kind of place that he thought he should have. Everything he cared about was here in this old manor house. Aziraphale made some excellent points and none of them appeared to be a trap designed to trick Crowley.
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ll find an agent to get it on the market tomorrow.”
“There’s no rush, dearest. Take more time to think it over if you want to.”
Crowley shook his head. He’d been convinced, the flat would be sold as soon as he could find a buyer. In that part of London, it would take no time at all. With that settled, the conversation turned towards more mundane topics such as whether rain was likely over the weekend and which shade of blue to decorate the second guest bedroom.