Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The Bresse duck, please,” Aziraphale said, closing the starched white menu and handing it to the anonymous-looking waiter with a smile.

“Of course, sir.” The waiter returned a tight-lipped smile and turned to Crowley who was lounging back in his chair. “And for the gentleman?”

“Pinot noir.” Crowley snapped the menu closed and handed it over.

“Nothing to eat, my dear?” Aziraphale reached to take hold of Crowley’s hand where it rested on the table. Running his thumb over the smooth skin and black polished nails of Crowley’s hands was a habit Aziraphale had picked up only hours after their relationship had moved from platonic acquaintances to lovers only a few short months ago. Something about the feeling of the demon's cold skin against his, something to fiddle with while they spoke, it calmed Aziraphale in a way none of the many other techniques he had tried ever could.

Crowley grinned at the small gesture, picking up his angel’s hand and pressing a small kiss to his knuckles.

“‘M good, angel,” Crowley mumbled.

“You never eat anything,” Aziraphale said with a sympathetic smile. “These dates must be terribly boring for you, my dear. Simply sitting there watching me eat and listening to me ramble.”

Hardly registering that he had even spoken, Crowley was thoroughly distracted by the presence of Aziraphale’s warm hand enclosed in his slim fingers. He was gazing up at his lover, his golden eyes shimmering with adoration, as he gently nuzzled into Aziraphale’s hand like a cat seeking affection.

“Crowley, public!” Aziraphale chuckled, stroking his thumb over Crowley’s jaw, not making any move to hide their fondness from the surrounding patrons. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was expecting from an openly romantic Crowley but the constant need for physical closeness was a welcome surprise.

“What were you saying?” Crowley asked with a gentle smile.

“I was saying - don’t you find this tiresome, my dear?” Aziraphale gestured to Crowley’s pristine, empty white plate. “You don’t eat, you just sit and drink and stare. Is that not dull for you?”

“How could I ever get bored of this?” Crowley asked. “Good wine, pleasant atmosphere, decent company. I could never get bored.”

“Well!” Aziraphale flushed, crimson spreading across his pale cheeks. “Well, that is good to hear! But, do you ever think…”

“Think what, angel?” Crowley questioned, taking a swig of his red wine before gently pushing Aziraphale’s glass towards him with a telling smile.

“Do you think maybe we should switch it up sometimes? Our dates, I mean!” Aziraphale said.

“Since when have you liked change? Thought you loved the Ritz?” Crowley looked affronted at the suggestion.

“I do! I do!” Aziraphale said reassuringly, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “I just think, let’s mix it up, find something fun for you too!”

“This is my idea of fun! Alcohol!” Crowley swirled his wine and smirked.

“Think of it like a game!” Aziraphale said. “Each night for the next, let’s say month? Every night a new date! Something brand new for both of us, something we’ve never tried before! What do you say?”

“Wha- why would we-? How would we even decide what to do?” Crowley spluttered.

“Well, we could take it in turns! One night I surprise you with something, then the next night you surprise me!”

“You hate surprises,” Crowley said stoically, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No I don’t! Oh come on, Crowley! Have some fun!” Aziraphale reached over and shook him gently by the shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I already have the best idea for what to do tomorrow - are you busy? It’s something we’ve never done but I’ve always thought would be such fun!”

“What is it?”

“That would ruin the surprise!” Aziraphale teased, Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

“Will this make you happy, then? This ‘game’?” Crowley said with air quotes.

“Very! Just indulge me!” Puppy dog eyes on anybody were always Crowley’s weakness, but Aziraphale had perfected the craft down to a tee and Crowley found it utterly irresistible. So as Aziraphale's wide eyes glistened with the reflection of oppulent chandeliers, Crowley felt something flip in his chest.

“Mhnmmm, fine!” Aziraphale didn’t speak: he simply let out a squeal and burrowed himself into Crowley’s shoulder, wrapping his free arm around the back of his demon’s neck.

“Okay, my turn tomorrow but you had better get thinking for Tuesday, dear!” Aziraphale mumbled into his ear as Crowley couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face: anything to make his angel happy.

Chapter Text

Slouching in the passenger seat with his arms folded over his chest, Crowley glared out at the rolling fields of Southern England spreading out in a patchwork quilt of green and gold all the way to the horizon. Blazing high overheard, the summer sun flooded the car with a yellow glow and warmed Crowley’s skin, like a snake basking on a rock.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Crowley huffed. He’d been in a bad mood since that morning when, after spending the night at his own flat ready to get some much needed sleep, he had been rudely awoken by Aziraphale honking the horn of Crowley’s own Bentley. Aziraphale had bundled a still bleary demon into the passenger seat and sped off at a brisk 10mph (in a 20 zone, as Crowley had pointed out).

“Come now, Crowley!” Aziraphale swatted at Crowley’s knee indicating he should uncurl himself and put his feet back on the floor. “We’re almost there, look!”

Aziraphale pointed out the window at a small wooden sign by the roadside:

“You must admit, my dear, it is a rather splendid area,” Aziraphale said, his eyes only briefly wandering from the road to glance over the rows of Tudor-front houses.

“Mmhm,” Crowley hummed. “I’ve always thought, one day, in the far-flung distant future, maybe we’d live somewhere like this. Get out of the city, ya know?”

“Tell me about it,” Aziraphale said quickly.

“Hmm, what?”

“The future.”

“What, like robots and flying cars and shit?”

“No!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Our future!”

“Oh,” Crowley turned to look out of the side window, avoiding eye contact entirely. “That. I dunno, just a thought really. Although I’ve always liked the idea of a little cottage: somewhere quiet, we deserve that much.”

His gaze flicking across to Crowley, Aziraphale blinked at him: Crowley had actually thought about these things?

“And the cottage would have a little library… okay quite a big library. Maybe we could miracle it so it would expand along with your collection, stop books from accumulating around the house.”

“Hey!” Aziraphale teased. “I like having books everywhere!”

“There’s a difference between books everywhere and books everywhere; I quite like being able to come down the stairs without breaking an ankle.”

“Point taken, do continue dear!”

“We could have a solarium, a proper one! With a view over the garden so that even when it’s raining we could sit and enjoy the plants.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“And a bedroom with a big four poster bed and a kitchen where you could cook and I could… I don’t know, watch you?”

"I can't really cook," Aziraphale confessed, "I usually purchase food." But Crowley was in full flow, and nothing could interrupt him.

“As for the garden, well I’d have lots of space for all my plants, maybe some fruit trees would be nice too! And you could have a little allotment and grow vegetables! We could just… exist, yeah? No threats, no anti-Christ, no heaven or hell: just exist. Sit and eat biscuits, drink tea, read books, watch TV, sleep, and… yeah-“ Crowley trailed off, watching the village high street slowly peter out to be replaced by an isolated dirt lane lined with dense trees.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, “you’ve put so much thought into this, it’s just lovely!”

“Only a thought.” Crowley shook his head.

“But I’d love it, oh dear we could even get a pet! A cat maybe, wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Aziraphale exclaimed with a grin.

“Absolutely not, no animals!”

“Well, we can discuss that,” Aziraphale said, waving his hand dismissively.

“It’s not up for-“

“We’re here!”

Pulling the car to a measured stop, Aziraphale hopped out and hurried to the boot leaving Crowley to stare at the scene in front of him. Large oak trees towered over the car, their leaves allowing for mottled patches of afternoon sunlight to light the small clearing Aziraphale had parked them in.

Upon climbing out of the Bentley, Crowley was struck by the gentle sound of a small stream trickling only metres away.

“Angel, this is-“ Crowley turned to find Aziraphale stood behind him, his arms filled with metal rods and navy blue material: a tent.

“Absolutely not!” Crowley exclaimed, backing away. “We are not camping, no!”

“Oh please, Crowley!” Aziraphale pleaded. “You and I both love the human experience, this is one thing we’ve never done before!”

“Yes! And for good reason: camping is awful!” Crowley cried. “Who looks at a perfectly decent holiday and thinks: now let’s undercook sausages, sleep on the floor, and shit in the woods?!”

“It’s like the olden days!” Aziraphale reasoned.

“There’s a reason the olden days became the new-en days, because the olden days were the worst!”

“Oh Crowley, don’t be like this,” Aziraphale dropped the pile of tent material and placed his hands on Crowley’s waist. “We’ll drink some wine, admire the view, cuddle up in one sleeping bag- hmm now you’re interested!”

Crowley rolled his eyes and smirked at Aziraphale’s teasing.

“Come on, what’s the worst that can happen?” Aziraphale prodded his hip.

“I suppose if we’re going to, there’s no more beautiful a place than this.”

***

The wind howled like a dog in the night and whipped up the thin plastic sheets of the tent creating a deafening cacophony of noise. Pelting the outside of the tent, the rain drove in sharp rods and saturated the dirt beneath the ground sheet.

Curled together in a single sleeping bag, both Crowley and Aziraphale were shuddering as the icy night air prickled at their skin and turned their breath to mist.

“Well this,” Crowley mumbled into the itchy, plastic padding of the sleeping bag, “is one of your worst ideas yet, angel.”

“It’s a human past-time,” Aziraphale muttered, his teeth chattering.

Before Crowley could respond, a clap of thunder echoed around the countryside sending a jolt through both of their bodies.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale muttered as Crowley burrowed his face into his chest and gripped Aziraphale even closer (if this was even possible: they were pressed too closely together to move, it had taken much manoeuvring to even get into the sleeping bag).

“Angel,” Crowley whined, as a flash of lightening lit up the tent. Aziraphale glanced down to see Crowley’s shock of red hair sticking out from below the sleeping bag. He let out a long sigh, pressed a small kiss to Crowley’s head, and then snapped his fingers.

With the unmistakable tang of a miracle in the air, Crowley poked his head up expecting Aziraphale to have altered the weather or soundproofed their tent. Instead, he found himself greeted by a cosy bedroom lit by a roaring log fire and swathed in dark crimson and orange furnishings.

“Hmm?” He mumbled sleepily. “Where’re we?”

“Bed and breakfast just down the road,” Aziraphale said sadly. “They’ll have a record of our arrival in their books so it won’t shock the owners. We can go and collect our belongings in the morning.”

“But what happened to your ‘human experience’?” Crowley teased, shuffling under the duvet to get comfortable now he was free from the constraints of the tent.

“Camping’s terrible.”

“I hate t’say I told y’ so,” Crowley smirked.

“Hush now, demon,” Aziraphale chuckled. He stroked gently between Crowley’s shoulder blades and buried his nose into his curls. “Sleep now, I love you.”

But Crowley was already peacefully asleep.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed through the open curtains of the small bed and breakfast room slowly drawing Crowley to consciousness. Scrunching his eyes against the onslaught of light and yawning loudly, Crowley shuffled to poked his head out from below the covers. His shoulder-length red hair splayed out across the downy pillows as he rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes.

“An- angel?” He said gruffly. But there was no answer. He sat up slowly, his back and neck clicking painfully, and surveyed the room. The remains of the fire lay cold in the stone fireplace and the rest of the room appeared untouched: the only indications Aziraphale had ever even been in the room were his red tartan pyjamas folded neatly on the bed and the almost-drained cup of tea sat on his bedside table.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called, in case he was in the adjoining bathroom but silence greeted him. “Must’ve gone f’ breakfast.” He mumbled stretching out the aching muscles in his back and shoulders: sleeping (or at least trying to sleep) on the unsupportive air-mattress the previous night had created some real problems in Crowley’s bones.

As Crowley was about to climb out of the rapidly cooling bed, the door was suddenly thrown open and Aziraphale bustled in with a satisfied smile on his face and a paper bag of goodies in his hand.

“Oh good morning, dear!” Aziraphale’s expression melted at the sight of a very soft-looking Crowley clambering out from under the sheets.

“Ngk, mornin’,” Crowley mumbled as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh Crowley, I’ve had a wonderful morning!” Aziraphale declared. “I went off into the town; did you know there’s a lovely little bakery on the high street? I’ve brought a cinnamon roll and an apple slice back with me if you wanted one!”

He held out the bag to Crowley, who simply shook his head and reached for his black shirt that Aziraphale had clearly miracles from their tent for him that morning.

“There were some women putting up banners outside the library,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh yeah?” Crowley said. He was stuck inside his Golden Girls pyjama t-shirt, trying his damn best to get his head out without twinging his back too badly.

“Mmhmm,” Aziraphale hummed, stepping over to Crowley, gently pulling his shirt off his head, and dropping it to the floor. He picked up Crowley’s black button up and began dressing Crowley himself, as the demon simply looked up at him. “‘Save our library’ the banners said. So I spoke to them and turns out it’s being shut down, how sad is that!”

“Mmm, very,” Crowley said quietly, as Aziraphale knelt in front of him to do up his buttons.

“I’m glad you agree,” Aziraphale chuckled. “So you’ll be glad to know the library now has a mystery investor!”

“How community-minded of you, angel” Crowley said with an eye roll. “You’ll be running for the parish council next!”

“Well.” Aziraphale averted his eyes until Crowley ducked to catch his gaze again.

“What have you done?”

“They asked me to join the Women’s Institute,” Aziraphale confessed.

“Angel, you don’t even live here!” Crowley cried. “And you’re not a woman!”

“That didn’t matter apparently!” Aziraphale laughed.

“So what, you spent the morning making jam and sorting clothes for the jumble sale?” Crowley stood carefully and took his jeans from Aziraphale who was holding them out for him.

“No!” Aziraphale dismissed. “But they have asked me to help run the village fete!”

“You- angel? You’re not from here!” Crowley said, hopping on one foot to pull on his drainpipe thin jeans as Aziraphale hovered beside him with arms extended, ready to catch should he trip.

“They needed someone and I’ve got nothing on since the world isn’t ending anymore!”

“You’re too good for your own good sometimes,” Crowley said, grabbing hold of Aziraphale’s shoulder to steady him as he finally managed to get his jeans over his hips.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “Come here, I haven’t had a hug yet this morning!”

Pulling him in by the shoulder, Crowley buried his face into Aziraphale’s neck as the angel reached up to gently card through Crowley’s unruly hair.

“You hurting today?” Aziraphale asked quietly pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“Ngk, ’s’not too bad,” he mumbled.

“Still up for our next date today, it’s your turn to choose!” Aziraphale said still holding Crowley tightly.

“Yeah,” Crowley said pulling back, “but I don’t really have any ideas yet, seems a shame to leave such a beautiful little place. And besides, seeing as you’re a pillar of the community now, it’d be rude for you to take off so quickly!”

This earned him both a chuckle and a sharp jab in the ribs from Aziraphale.

“Well, if I might make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead, angel!”

“There’s an art fair on at the village hall today, maybe we could drop in?” With the return of Aziraphale’s best kicked-puppy look, Crowley was convinced.

***

“Angel, you cannot buy something for every single stall!” Crowley said. His arms were already laden with canvases, posters, vases, and trinkets of indiscernible purpose, while Aziraphale was once again discussing pottery processes with an artist.

“I can and I will,” Aziraphale muttered as he made his purchase and led Crowley away from the stall of brightly coloured, slightly misshapen mugs. His attention was immediately caught by a table at which a girl no older than 13 sat alone surrounded by cartoon-style drawings of dragons, elves, and giants.

“Hello, dear!” Aziraphale said, approaching the girl with a warm smile. Looking at the pictures one-by-one, Aziraphale was sure to take his time perusing each image letting out small hums and gasps where appropriate. “Did you do these pictures?”

“Mmhmm,” the girl answered with a nod.

“By hand?”

“Mmhmm,” the girl nodded again.

“Well, aren’t these wonderful!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You’re very talented, my dear!”

The poor girl’s face flushed red, and she shuffled to hide it beneath her mousy brown hair. Fiddling awkwardly with the chewed sleeves of her hoody, the little red lockbox on her table was noticeable empty of cash.

“We simply must have one! Mustn’t we, Crowley? Why don’t you take a look and choose one, dear?” Aziraphale turned to him expectantly.

“Hmm, what?” Crowley said, clearly not paying attention. “Oh! Yeah, of course! My pick.”

While Crowley browsed, Aziraphale picked up a small business card from the girl's desk. It was almost entirely black with a purple dragon swirling across the page with her name (Elsie Lou Swallow) written in white swirling letters and links to social media plastered across the back. He inspected the card carefully before reaching across to slip it into Crowley's pocket - his were already too full with postcards and stickers and little figurines that he had purchased from the variety of stalls around the hall.

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley and followed the demon's gaze around the art pieces pinned up around the girl's stall. The dark fantasy of Elsie’s artwork would look horrifically out of place in both Aziraphale’s cosy bookshop and Crowley’s austere flat, but Crowley was still taking his time looking through the different choices. Finally, he landed on an image of a large black dragon swirling across a hoard of treasure, fire blaring angrily from it’s mouth with a bright little pixie sat delicately on its scales, gently stroking its skin.

“This one,” he said, confidently. “Thoughts, angel?”

Aziraphale took one look at the painting: he smiled up at Crowley and then turned towards Elsie.

“It’s perfect!”

“That’s Orochi the Night Dragon,” Elsie suddenly piped up as she unclipped the picture and slipped it into a small paper bag. “The people of the fairy village think he’s terrifying but Aniela knows she can trust him. Orochi’s not dangerous, he’s just scared, I think.”

Unaware that the pictures came with provided backstory, both Aziraphale and Crowley were taken aback by the girl’s sudden input. One glance at each other as Aziraphale handed £20 to the girl was all it took and the pair of them clicked their fingers simultaneously behind their backs.

Once they had left, Elsie would find her little lockbox overflowing with cash and coins (her own dragon hoard) and a note from the mysterious duo:

Sometimes, even when there’s something of which to be afraid, the right person can make you brave.

Chapter Text

Flickering gently on the table, a tiny candle encased in green glass swathed the little room in a soft glow. The floor-to-ceiling curtains surrounding the table created a claustrophobic atmosphere to the room.

Seated very closely together, thighs pressed together, Crowley and Aziraphale sat nervously on one side of the table. Aziraphale tapped anxiously at his knees and rocked slightly in his chair until Crowley leant across and took his hand, before gently resting it on his own knee. Smiling softly at his nervous angel, Crowley ran his hand over Aziraphale’s, tapping gently at his fingers.

“What precisely are you hoping to achieve with this, angel?” Crowley murmured quietly.

“I just want to see what happens!” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s knee gently and bumped his shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

“Ngk, this is stupid,” Crowley mumbled. “She’s a hack!”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” a dark-silhouetted woman said suddenly, appearing from behind the velvet curtains with a dramatic swish.

“Good evening, Madame,” Aziraphale said solemnly. His hand flying up to cover his mouth, Crowley sniggered at the sincerity of the situation as Aziraphale smacked him on the thigh with a glare.

“Let us begin,” the woman’s sultry tone flowed through the room as she sat down with a flourish. She leant forward and stared Crowley straight in the face, her eyes narrowing as she read him. Moving her gaze to Aziraphale, he dodged her look and smile sweetly as he looked away.

“You,” she said, quickly flicking her dark eyes back to Crowley, “you’re lost.”

“I’m in Soho,” Crowley said stoically.

“Physically, maybe,” the woman said whimsically. “But you’re so lost, aren’t you?”

“I know exactly where I am,” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

“You were thrown out, rejected by your family, out into the cold.”

Jolting as if she were suddenly hit by electricity, the woman reeled backwards.

“No, no, not the cold. Thrown out into the hot, weren’t you? The burning, boiling sulphur, you poor angel!”

Gasping, Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s leg and squeezed tightly.

“You saved me,” the woman whispered.

“Hmm what?” Crowley muttered.

“You saved us all, angel. Saved the world from damnedest evil, from such evil the world has never known, you brought salvation!”

“I really didn’t,” Crowley said, seething.

Sufficiently spooked by the woman’s tone, Aziraphale was shuffling nervously in his seat, his brown leather shoes toeing the wooden floorboards: anything to distract himself from the threatening aura of the fortune teller and rage-filled shaking from Crowley.

“As for you,” the woman said, turning to Aziraphale, “you’re too kind. You helped someone who hurt you, didn’t you? So cruel, such a cruel being, he wanted you dead and you helped him in his time of fear.”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale whispered.

“You want happiness, that’s all now. Just peace, yes? You need to be helped, angel, so often helping others.”

“Will we get it? Happiness?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Yes.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Aziraphale found himself instinctively curling into Crowley, who was still practically vibrating with nerves. Aziraphale gently pecked Crowley’s shoulder, and rested his forehead on his dark shirt.

“You have a fall coming, angel,” the woman said suddenly.

Aziraphale’s head whipped up and his eyes flew wide.

“What?”

“You shall fall.”

The curtains seemed to flow by themselves as Aziraphale’s vision blurred over and swirling patterns began to materialise around him. The room went dark and his head felt as if it were caught in a vice, a throbbing ache burst behind his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Crowley’s voice getting louder and louder and then the force of someone pulling him out of the room and into the cool night air.

“She lied, she’s a liar,” Crowley repeated like a mantra as he held onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, his fingernails gripping into his heavy coat and yellow eyes behind dark glasses boring into his soul. “She lied, Aziraphale.”

“I’m going-“

“She lied!” Crowley said forcefully. He pulled Aziraphale into a hug, squeezing his arms tightly around his chest as wracking sobs jolted through Aziraphale’s body and shuddered into Crowley.

“It’s a lie,” he whispered quietly.

Chapter Text

“How, after all your years on Earth, do you not own a pan?” Crowley muttered, as he crashed about in the kitchen cupboards. He was on his knees with his head and chest fully inside the cabinet, as a stack of books came hurtling out and scattered across the tiled floor. “Really, angel?”

“I don’t cook!” Aziraphale reasoned, hovering in the doorway wringing his hands together awkwardly.

“And not even a single knife, are you serious?” Crowley said.

Jumping up off the ground, he turned to Aziraphale with a teasing, mock-serious glare. He waving his hand with a flourish and an entire John Lewis worth of kitchen accessories appeared on the marble counters around him. Pots and pans materialised in cupboards, wooden spoons manifested in the drawers, and a large wok snapped into existence on the hob.

Crowley turned to begin removing ingredients from a green plastic carrier bag: chicken, rice, potatoes, green beans, baby corn, coriander, among others were all pulled out of the bag and laid unceremoniously on the counter. Suddenly, arms snaked around Crowley’s waist: warm hand coming to rest over his abdomen.

“Do we have to cook?” Aziraphale asked, pressing his forehead between Crowley’s shoulder blades and sighing deeply.

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice rumbling in his chest, “this is a cooking lesson, yes we have to cook.”

“But we could go out! A lovely restaurant, we could just have dinner.”

“You’re the one who bangs on about the human experience: this is what humans do, angel!” Crowley rubbed Aziraphale's forearm as it rested across his stomach and then shook him gently to brush him off. “Come on - I’ll cut the chicken, you start on the potatoes.”

“But-“

“Ah,” Crowley cut him off, “knives are in the second drawer, get chopping!”

Rolling his eyes and finally untangling himself from Crowley, Aziraphale moved to take a knife out and split open the bag of potatoes.

“Why do you know how to cook?” Aziraphale said, as the realisation suddenly occurred to him. “You don’t eat!”

Crowley froze. Knife hovering above the chicken, he cleared his throat and snapped his mind back into the kitchen.

“No reason,” he said quickly.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale drew out.

“Ididittoimpressyou,” Crowley mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“I did it to impress you!” He said loudly, the knife slicing just slightly too close to his fingers for his liking but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“You did- Oh Crowley!” Aziraphale was stood close beside Crowley, pretending to be interested in the potatoes while his jaw ached with a face-splitting grin. “That’s so lovely, my dear! You’re so sweet!”

“Not sweet!” Crowley snapped.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said softly.

***

Perched on the counter with his legs crossed delicately, Aziraphale sat pinching the occasional lump of bread while watching Crowley stir… and pour, and chop, and wash up.

He had given up on the cooking lesson shortly after Crowley had admonished him for his (not entirely accidental) uneven chopping of vegetable. As he had consistently been in the way of Crowley’s slightly chaotic cooking (which generally consisted of him careering around the small room with knives and boiling pans and very little control), Crowley had been quick to lift Aziraphale up onto the counter, his him on the nose, and tell him to ‘sit there and look pretty’.

More than happy to let himself be doted on, Aziraphale sat admiring the exposed skin where Crowley had rolled up his sleeves and the muscles of his back where a tea towel lay over his shoulder.

“What do you think she meant?” Aziraphale asked quietly, as Crowley stirred.

“Doing this now, are we?” Crowley said, not breaking his gaze from the wok.

“No better time,” Aziraphale shrugged.

“She didn’t mean anything, Aziraphale. She’s a fraud, a charlatan. She also doesn’t pay her taxes so a swift visit from HMRC should be sufficient payback.”

“But she said I-“

“I know what she said, but look around you.”

Crowley paused and gestured to the kitchen around him. Following his gaze, Aziraphale took in the gentle orange glow from the lamp that bounced off the wooden cabinet; the small shelves of books that lined the top of the room; and finally a very soft-looking Crowley wearing loose black tracksuit bottoms and a long sleeve shirt, with his orange curls held back in a bun.

Gently setting down the wooden spoon and shuffling over to Aziraphale, Crowley pushed his legs open and curled into his space. He kissed his angel and then nuzzled into his shoulder.

“I’ve fought so hard to get you here, like this: to get to treat you how you deserve, how I deserve. I’m not letting you fall now.” Aziraphale sighed and leant into him, wrapping his legs around Crowley’s waist to pull him in even closer.

“And even if you do fall,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale cringed at the suggestion, “I’ll be here to catch you.”

“You-“

“Eurgh, was that super cheesy?” Crowley said pulling a face.

“Yes, my dear, but very sweet.”

“Not sweet!”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley up off his shoulder by cupping this jaw and kissed him softly. Breaking away and turning to take another lump of bread, he popped the morsel in his mouth and smiled at Crowley.

“Angel, if you don’t you stop stealing the roti, I’ll damn you to hell myself!” Crowley swatted at Aziraphale’s thigh with the tea towel as the sauce continued to bubble on the hob.

Chapter Text

Incessant honking blared through Whickber Street (as it had been for the past ten minutes) as lace curtains began to twitch with the irritance of the neighbours.

“Aziraphale,” huffed Crowley, finally taking his hand off the horn and throwing open the Bentley door. Marching over to the bookshop’s crimson door, he charged in and went down the step with a little hop. The armchair were he was fully expecting Aziraphale to be lounging, thoroughly engrossed in a good Dickens, was empty and, by pressing his hand to the seat, Crowley was sure Aziraphale hadn’t been there for many hours.

“Angel! Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled through the shop, working hard to suppress any memories that began to resurface with the situation of his missing angel.

Crowley stormed across the room with increasing fervour and jumped up the first few steps of the spiral staircase before shouting again.

“Angel! You said pick you up at 6 for your date: the least you could do is actually be ready for it!” Climbing the stairs with loud thudding footsteps, a growing feeling of sickness began to rise in Crowley’s chest.

“Back here, Crowley!” Called Aziraphale from deep within the bowels of the shop.

“Thank… Earth!” Crowley muttered, stumbling back down the stairs and rushing between the shelves and into a small backroom that Crowley had become increasingly familiar with over the months he had been romantically entangled with the angel. “There you are!”

With his back to the door, Aziraphale was cuddled up on the sofa steam rising from his angel wing mug on the table beside him.

“What are you- angel, it’s 6pm! It’s date time, cinema, let’s go!” Said Crowley, leaning against the doorframe.

“Ah,’’ Aziraphale said still not turning around, “there’s been a slight change of plan, I’m afraid.”

“Are you okay?” Crowley pushed off the wall and sped to look Aziraphale in the face. He skidded to a sudden halt.

“See!” Aziraphale said with a nervous grin.

“What, in the ever-loving heavan-hell-Earth-universe, is that?” Crowley shreiked.

Curled up with its head resting on Aziraphale’s thigh, a large golden retriever was fast asleep with its fluffy paws tucked neatly beneath its body. Aziraphale was running a gentle hand through the dog's long fur, occasionally altering to scratch at it’s little ears.

“This-“ Aziraphale said gesturing at the animal, “is Indy!”

“And what is Indy doing here?” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

“New date idea! Pet-sitting!” Aziraphale grinned.

“And what happened to Spiderman 4 at the Regent’s Cinema? I was just starting to look forward to it!”

“No, you weren’t!” Aziraphale took Crowley's hand from where he hovered in front of him. “Come and sit down, she’s lovely I promise!”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley down onto the sofa: he sank unceremoniously beside Aziraphale on the opposite side to Indy the dog glaring down at the animal. Indy awoke at the jolt of Crowley crashing down onto the cushions and her glassy black eyes blinked up at the new presence.

“Why is it here?” Crowley asked with ice lacing his voice.

“She’s a she!” Aziraphale corrected, petting Indy’s head and scratching her neck. “She belongs to Mr Nancarrow, down at the pub. He’s got a date tonight and asked me to babysit, and how could I say ‘no’ to a face like that!”

“I’ve never thought Old Nancarrow was that much to look at?” Crowley said slightly miffed.

“No! Indy’s little face!” Aziraphale tickled her fluffy cheeks and the dog looked up at Crowley with wide eyes.

“She looks so vacant, there’s nothing behind those eyes!” Crowley scoffed.

“Don’t be rude!” Cupping his hands over the dog’s ears, Aziraphale’s shocked expression made Crowley chuckle.

“So you ruined our date so that old fuck next-door can get laid instead?”

“There’s no need to be rude, Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished. “And besides, who says our date is ruined? We can watch a film here instead, with an extra body to cuddle.”

Crowley sighed and toed off his shoes before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Clicking the TV on with a snap of his fingers, he sunk down into the sofa and folded his arms as the opening song to an old James Bond film began to play from the small TV.

“Don’t be like this, Crowley!” Tutted Aziraphale. Indy stood up suddenly on the sofa, her long legs stretching out to make herself tall.

“Sit down,” Crowley commanded, glaring.

“Be gentle, what’s got into you?” Aziraphale said. “You’re such a gentle being, why doesn’t that extend to the dog?”

“I’m not.”

Indy rearranged her long limbs and curled up into a ball and butted her head into Aziraphale’s stomach, nuzzling close to the warm angel. Glancing across to the dog, Crowley copied: snaking his lanky arms around Aziraphale and nuzzling violently into his chest. Aziraphale chuckled and wrapped one arm around Crowley’s waist and another around Indy, who had passed out once again.

“Is this what you needed? Bit of attention?” Aziraphale teased.

“Shut up.”

“I’d love a pet,” Aziraphale said suddenly and wistfully.

“No.”

“Well, ever since Harry decided to take the magic show solo, I’ve thought a proper pet might be nice!”

“No.”

“Doesn’t have to be this big, just a little pet.”

“No.”

“Well-“

“No.”

“Why-“

“You're all mine.”

Glancing down at Crowley, Aziraphale smiled as the demon’s fiercely protective nature reared its head. He gently kissed at Crowley’s hairline and took a strand of his amber curls between his fingers and began to swirl it around his hand.

“I am.”

Chapter Text

Sitting right in the front row of a comedy show was always a dangerous choice, but that was Crowley - living life on the edge. He was lounged back in his uncomfortable theatre seat with his arms folded and legs spread out in front of him creating a serious trip-hazard for anyone who decided they needed the toilet. Aziraphale meanwhile sat upright with his usual perfect posture, occasionally tapping Crowley’s thigh whenever the demon appeared to be slithering entirely out of his seat, just to prevent him from hitting the grimy theatre floor.

Having been less than impress by the three comedians so far, Crowley had sunk lower and lower both physically in his chair and also emotionally into despair.

The first of the three had been a nervous young woman wearing colourful dungarees with dyed bright orange hair and a gentle demeanour. She’d told a rather heartfelt story of coming out to her mum as a lesbian intersperse with a little jokes about her parents’ naively supportive response. Aziraphale had tittered along with the woman’s story while Crowley chuckled politely where appropriate - just to show his support.

The second comedian to grace the dimly lit stage couldn’t have been more different: a middle aged man with slightly greying hair and a fading suit telling jokes about how much he despised his wife (‘how creative’ - Crowley had muttered before clicking to curse the man’s wife to meeting the man of her dreams).

The third had been a young man who had told a rather amusing tale of convincing his friend group that he worked for MI5. Just how much of the story was true was unknown to Crowley and Aziraphale but they laughed along none the less.

Finally, a woman of around 30 appeared on stage. Immediately, even before the audience applause had abated, the woman had affixed her gaze on the front row with a mischievous grin.

“Oh no,” muttered Crowley. He moved to grab Aziraphale by the hand and hurry out of the theatre but, before he could rise to his feet, the polar opposite appearance of the two men now holding hands in the front row had drawn the comedian’s attention.

“Off already, are you? Have I bored you in the 10 seconds it took me to walk from there to here?” The woman asked Crowley directly with a mock-offended look.

Sighing and accepting his fate, Crowley sunk back down in his chair and turned back to the stage.

“Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?” The woman scoffed. “How cool do you have to think you are to wear sunglasses at a theatre?”

“I’m visually impaired,” Crowley said (not entirely lying), loud enough for the entire audience to hear him. The crowd roared with laughter and Crowley smirked up at the now floundering comedian who was trying her best to regain the audience’s attention.

“So- so, what’s your name?” She asked.

“Anthony,” said Crowley dryly.

“And, Anthony, who are you here with today? Boyfriend, husband?” The comedian gestured to Aziraphale with a smile to ingratiate herself with at least one half of the couple.

“Partner, partner is fine,” Crowley growled.

“You guys can’t see these two,” the woman said turning back to the audience, “but Anthony is dressed all in black, like skinny jeans and leather jacket and- what was your name?”

“Aziraphale.”

“Azi- what?”

“It’s biblical,” Aziraphale reasoned with a sardonic smile.

“And Aziraphale,” the comedian emphasised his name mockingly, “is dressed in a fully beige three piece suit. I mean, how are you two together? You look like you’re about to commit armed robbery and he looks like he’s gonna get you off the charges!”

The audience roared with laughter while Aziraphale let out a forced chuckle and Crowley glared up at the woman who dared make fun of his beloved’s name.

“So how long have you two been together?” The comedian asked once the noise had died down.

“6000 years,” Crowley deadpanned, revelling in the awkward expression that briefly settled across the woman’s features before Aziraphale unfortunately interrupted.

“Since 1986,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh that’s quite sweet!” The woman cooed. “1986! And married?”

“No.” Crowley had shifted from glaring at the comedian to moving his gaze to fixate on Aziraphale.

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“Living together?”

“What is this third degree? No!” Crowley suddenly snapped.

“Not living together after-“ the comedian paused to count on her fingers while smoke began to seep from Crowley’s ears, “after 37 years? What, are you his bit on the side or something? Keeping you secret from his wife, is he?”

***

“Why did you say 1986?” Crowley asked as the pair walked arm in arm through the streets of Soho as the summer sun was only just beginning to set behind the London skyline.

“I feel that’s a reasonable time period given our visual ages, just adding some backstory to our human personas!" Aziraphale chuckled.

“37 years compared to 6000 is nothing,” Crowley pondered.

“Do you think she had a point? About marriage and cohabitation?” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm lightly before looking up at him. Considering it for only a moment, Crowley looked down at his feet and kicked a small stone to send it rolling away down the pavement.

“I don’t need a piece of paper to show that I care about you,” Crowley muttered.

“But ‘husband’ is such a lovely term!” Aziraphale said sadly.

“Marriage is a human institution, who cares about some paper!” Crowley suddenly rose from his quiet stupor and jumped in front of Aziraphale, stopping him dead in the street. “We don’t have to get married to call each other that! I’ll be your husband, please can I be your husband?” He gripped the angel by his forearms and shaking with excitement.

“Calm down, husband mine!” Aziraphale said with a chuckle that quickly shifted to a shriek as Crowley wrapped his arms around his waist and picked him up to spin him around, twirling him around in the street.

“Happy wedding day, angel!” He giggled.

“Put me down, you foul creature!” Aziraphale cried, grinning like a maniac as Crowley placed him back down but kept his hands resting on Aziraphale’s hips. “I was thinking though, now that we’re married and all, we maybe should live together?”

“At the bookshop?” Crowley asked hopefully.

“Or your flat, I guess.” Aziraphale shrugged but Crowley had already shook his head.

“It has to be yours, I- I know I tease you about that damn place no end but I really do- I love your bookshop. Always have.”

“I know.” Aziraphale reached up, pushed a lock of hair behind Crowley’s ear, and rubbed his jaw with gentle care. “Let’s go home!”

Chapter Text

“The theatre? Again, angel?” Crowley grumbled. “Because it went so well yesterday?”

Leaning backwards against the box office desk with his usual suave demeanour, Crowley rolled his eyes and tapped at Aziraphale’s hip where his hand lay resting on the plush tartan jacket. The pair were wearing their Sunday best: Aziraphale dressed rather similarly to usual but with his long swishing coat replaced by a more formal tartan print suit jacket, while Crowley was clad entirely in black as usual but with his skin-tight jeans and jacket switched out for an all-black suit. (‘Don’t you look stylish,’ Aziraphale had said when he laid eyes on his husband, his face flushing hot pink, ‘straight off the runway, my love!’)

“This is a slightly more upmarket affair than yesterday’s!” Chuckled Aziraphale. He was softly tapping his tickets against the front desk while he waiting for the theatre attendant to check their names against the booking. Glancing up at the demon with the look of a love-struck teenager, Aziraphale was settled close into Crowley’s side - as close as he could physically get without clinging to him like a koala as he so wished to do. They had barely been out of each other’s personal bubble since their impromptu engagement and marriage the previous evening and, after a night of snuggling up close in their warm bed whispering gentle words to each other, little could be done to pry the lovers apart.

The attendant directed them up to the box with a knowing smile and, as they climbed the stairs to their private seats, Crowley shot an astonished glance at Aziraphale: amazed that he’d managed to get such seats at only a day’s notice.

“A little miracle never hurt anyone!” Aziraphale said with a smirk.

As soon as the pair had settled into their seats Aziraphale took Crowley’s left hand in both of his and pulled it into his lap. The angel always appreciated having something to fidget with, it helped his concentration no end, and the gentle grip of Crowley’s hands proved the perfect toy. He squeezed at his skin and rolled his knuckles between his fingers as they spoke quietly to each other over the low drum of the audience’s murmuring.

“Have you ever seen this one before?” Aziraphale asked.

“No, never.”

“Well, I think you’ll like it!” Aziraphale grinned. “I know you prefer the comedies, but I promise it’s-“

“Anything, anywhere with you is perfect!” Crowley said pulling Aziraphale’s hand up to his mouth for a kiss before dropping both of their hands back down into his angel’s lap. “You could bring me to the theatre for an eight hour show of watching paint dry and I’d still find a way to enjoy it with you.”

***

“Now Antony must leave her utterly,” Maecenas said on stage. Having not long entered the second act of Antony and Cleopatra, Crowley had to admit he was enjoying it immensely - whether that was due to the incomparable writing of William Shakespeare, the fantastic performance of the acting trope, or Aziraphale’s head pillowed on his shoulder was completely up for interpretation.

Suddenly, Crowley felt Aziraphale sit up in his seat and his baby blue eyes coming to settle on the demon’s face, almost waiting for a reaction.

“Never. He will not.” Enobarbus called. “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.”

Crowley bolted upright and shot a look at the angel grinning beside him.

“That’s- that’s mine!” Crowley cried, slightly too loudly for such a quiet performance.

“Ssshhh,” Aziraphale said with a giggle. He gripped onto Crowley’s hand and leaned his head into his chest to try and stifle his laughter.

“Did you know?” Crowley whispered softly into Aziraphale’s curly hair.

“Mmhmm. Since I first saw it in 1607!”

“And you never said?!” Crowley hissed. “That lying, cheating little shit, Mr Shakespeare!”

“Crowley!”

“He is! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted such a conniving little rat!”

“Crowley, that ‘little rat’ is one of the most influential men in all of English-language literature!” Aziraphale sat up to give Crowley a serious look, shouting in a theatre was one thing but insulting the work of the great bard himself was something quite different.

“‘Most influential’? I should be considered the most influential man in English literature: I wrote the bloody thing!” Crowley muttered beneath his breath.

“Don’t be petty, my dear.”

“Well-“

“You’ve had such an impact on the world, this is only one of hundreds of the amazing things you’ve done,” Aziraphale whispered, close into Crowley’s ear. “I’m very proud of you.”

His eyes fixed on the stage, Crowley barely moved but his hand in Aziraphale’s lap suddenly became tense squeezing almost all of the blood from the angel’s fingers. Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley suddenly engrossed in the show: a shiny bead of tears brimming at his waterline.

“You’re not terribly upset, are you?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley turned. A small droplet tracked it’s way down his cheek. He shook his head and smiled softly with a watery grin.

“Thank you,” he whimpered.

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked with a confused smile.

“Just- thank you.” Crowley picked up Aziraphale’s hand once more: kissing his knuckles once, twice, three times, pecking his skin over and over and over. Once his fervour had calmed, he pulled Aziraphale’s palm to his face and held it there as both turned their eyes back to the stage - neither had any idea what the actors on stage were saying, the only point of focus was where the angel’s warm skin met the demon’s icy cheek.

***

Suit pictures in case you were interested

Chapter Text

For the first time in weeks, rain poured on the city. While the dying plants and yellowing grass were very grateful for the downpour, the people of London were confined to their homes having spent the past month lounging in parks and beer gardens drinking their way through the summer.

Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t exactly impacted by the end of the summer of shirtless drinking, but the sudden rain storm had confined them to the bookshop for the day.

Snoring softly on the sofa, Crowley was lying sprawled beneath a tartan blanket - his arm dangling off the sofa with his fingers gently brushing against the floorboards. Aziraphale meanwhile sat at his desk with a notebook open in front of him and the receiver of his vintage telephone held between his ear and shoulder.

“Yes, so it’s for the 28th and we’d need you set up and raring to go by 1pm,” Aziraphale said quietly into the phone, “would that be acceptable to you?”

He paused listening to the response while briefly glancing at the sleeping demon lounged on the sofa behind him. Stretching out the phone cord as he reached towards Crowley, he tangled his fingers into Crowley’s amber hair and rubbed the soft strands between his fingers. Crowley smiled in his relaxed sleep and shifted against the cushions.

“Excellent, I’ll transfer you the money as soon as possible!” Said Aziraphale. “Fantastic! Thank you very much, goodbye!”

Putting down the receiver, Aziraphale made a quick note in his diary and then shuffled of his seat to crouch beside the sofa where gentle snores were still emanating from the demon.

“Sweet boy,” he mumbled, still stroking his hair. Crowley stirred, stretching his long limbs and groaning at the slightly uncomfortable position he’d crashed out in. His uncovered yellow eyes blinked open and immediately settled on Aziraphale’s warm and inviting expression only inches from his face.

“Angel,” he said groggily.

“Good sleep, dearest?” Aziraphale said, pecking his cheek.

“Mmhmm.” Crowley stretched so his feet hung off the end of the sofa and rolled to face Aziraphale’s fully, pulling him closer by the front of his blue shirt. “Are you all done?”

“For today, yes.” Aziraphale smiled, shuffling closer into Crowley on his knees. “The music is booked, and around half of the stalls, I’m making good progress!”

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Crowley said grinning.

“I wanted to do something nice!”

“But organising an entire village fete by yourself, for a village where you don’t even live? Really, angel?” Crowley pulled Aziraphale in and kissed him lazily. Murmuring something probably defensively, Aziraphale was drowned out and returned the kiss with a soft sigh.

“It’s raining,” Aziraphale mumbled as he pulled away, keeping his head pressed close to Crowley’s. “Do you have something planned for our date today?”

“I did, but I’d rather just stay in to be honest,” Crowley admitted.

“I’m more than happy to, my dear, but we did agree to doing something unique each day so simply cuddling up and reading isn’t exactly out of the ordinary!”

“Oh I’ve got something for us to do!” Said Crowley suddenly. He sat up quickly, almost unbalanced Aziraphale’s precarious position on the floor, and click his fingers. A box snapped into existence on the coffee table and Aziraphale stood to examine its content.

“Lego?” He asked incredulously.

“Their like little building bricks you use to make-“

“I know what Lego is! Why do we have it?” Aziraphale picked up the box and turned it around to face him. “Oh, it’s the shop!”

On the outside of the box, there was a fairly accurate depiction of the boookshop in the usual Lego design.

“It’s for us to build!” Crowley said with a nervous grin.

“We’re not children though?”

“Oh.” Crowley shuffled where he was sat and glanced over at where his sunglasses lay on the stack of books beside him: debating whether he should reach out to take them. “It was- well maybe we could… instead we-“

“No, no!” Aziraphale said quickly rushing to take Crowley by the shoulder. “It’ll be fun, this is lovely, thank you.”

“You don’t have to-“

“We’ll have fun! How do you want me?” Aziraphale smiled. He took up the box and gestured around the small room: however Crowley wanted this evening to go, he would go along with.

“Well, I’m getting a little uncomfortable so I think maybe…” Crowley stood and waved his hand over his body: his dark jeans and shirt faded into loose black jogging bottoms and t-shirt. Dropping crossed-legged to the floor in front of the fire, Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with hopeful eyes and was quickly joined on the floor with the large Lego box being place between them.

***

“Where’s the door gone?” Aziraphale queried, picking up the instruction leaflet and the empty bags to search underneath. “The door has- stand up Crowley!”

“What?” Crowley searched around himself. “I’m not sat on it!”

“You- oh!” Aziraphale suddenly paused and wriggled where he sat. He reached back and pulled the small Lego door from underneath himself. “Oops!"

“You little! Accusing me when it was you all along!” Crowley teased.

The Lego bookshop was coming together as the pair of them worked together to assemble the pieces. Rising from the ground, the set was almost a perfect replica of the shop they were relaxing in: decked out with tiny books, little armchairs, and even a few of Crowley’s slowly migrating potted plants.

Shivering slightly, Crowley placed in the bookshelf he had been working on and reached to take a sip of his red wine from where the glass had been rested on the hearth of the now roaring fire. The light from the fire was more than enough to illuminate their work but the warmth wasn’t quite enough to stop Crowley from quivering in the sudden cold snap.

“Here,” Said Aziraphale quietly, pulling his oatmeal jumper over his head, leaving him in just in matching tartan pyjamas, and handed it to Crowley. The demon smiled and put the jumper on: the body fell well below his waist covering half of his thighs and the sleeves ran to the tips of his fingers.

“Thanks,” Crowley muttered, before swiftly returning to building the roof tiles, trying his best to avoid Aziraphale’s gaze - knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“You look very lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a knowing look, “incredibly soft!”

“Shut up!” Crowley smirked.

“Sweet serpent!” Aziraphale reached up to stroke his cheek gently. “This was a lovely idea, my darling. It’s nice to just relax. While I am enjoying all of our dates, I do miss just… being… with you.”

“Ngk,” Crowley murmured, still refusing to meet Aziraphale’s eye as he often did during emotionally-charged conversations. Instead of saying anything which took far too much emotional labour, Crowley shuffled forward from where he was kneeling in a way only a serpent could and into Aziraphale’s space, gently pushing the Lego creation out of his way.

Pulling up his angel’s chin, he kissed him softly and wrapped a hand to cup the back of his neck.

“M’ love you,” Crowley mumbled, as Aziraphale’s arm came to snake around his waist.

“I know, I love you too."

Chapter Text

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said seriously, “why are we in the North?”

“Because that’s where the zoo is, Crowley?”

Following the winding, wandering paths, Crowley and Aziraphale strolled hand in hand between the Lemur Island and the chimpanzee enclosure - swerving to avoid the children barrelling down the pathways and mums with prams dashing after them.

“London Zoo is like right there, angel? There was no need to waste a miracle on travelling all the way to Chester?”

“According to the extensive online research I conducted, this is the premier zoo in the whole United Kingdom!” Squeezing Crowley’s hand excitedly, Aziraphale gasped and pointed up at a sign above one of the large buildings up ahead: ‘Realm of the Red Panda’ it read. “I think you’ll like this one, my dear!”

“Red pandas?” Crowley questioned, but before he could even attempt to figure out why red pandas would be of particular interest to him, Aziraphale had yanked him by the hand and was already dragging him in the direction of the door. Their footsteps thudded into the tiled room and Crowley immediately skidded to a halt in front of the first glass-fronted enclosure.

“Snake!” He said loudly, stating the obvious as a large reticulated python stared back at him with matching slitted, yellow eyes.

“Snakey!” A little voice echoed around the building, only seconds after Crowley’s. Her nose pressed against the glass: her breath steaming up the window just to the right of Aziraphale, a tiny girl perched on her tiptoes to gaze in at the snake - her eyes wide with wonder. Her red hair was tied back in messy pigtails and her red corduroy dress was splotched with mud: the first victim of a rambunctious child in a zoo.

“Come away, Sophie!” A woman appeared from around the corner, quickly taking the girl by the shoulder and steering her away from the glass. “We're looking for the red pandas, aren’t they just so cute!”

“Look how cute the snakey is, mum!” Sophie cooed, tearing her arm away from her mother and heading back to face the snake. “She has such cool patterns!”

Crowley grinned at the girl (she had good taste clearly) and crouched down to be at the same level as little Sophie.

“The patterns on their scales are to make it easier to hide in the forests!” Crowley told her.

Adoration is the only word to describe the look that settled across Aziraphale’s face. He quite often stared at Crowley with adoration but never was that more pronounced than when the demon interacted with children. Since the beginning of time, Crowley had such a soft spot for children, going out of his way to behave decidedly un-demonlike and care for them whenever he could.

“Really?” Sophie asked with wide eyes. She tapped the glass softly to get the snake’s attention but Crowley was quick to take her hand gently.

“Don’t touch the glass, you might upset her,” he said carefully.

“Enough of this, come on!” Taking her child roughly by the arm, Sophie’s mother led her away from Crowley, where he was still crouched now glaring up at the woman. “We’re looking for cute animals not-“

“But she’s so cute! Look at her little tongue!” Sophie reasoned, trying to make a break for the window again but her mother held steadfast.

“Snakes are slimy and predatory, they aren’t the sort of animal girls should be around. Let’s look for the fluffy little animals, huh?”

“But mum-“

Crowley and Aziraphale watched as the mother and daughter disappeared around the corner in search of red pandas, while the echo of Sophie’s complaining continued to reverberate around the corridor.

“Snakes are in fact not slimy,” Aziraphale said, once they were out of earshot. “I should know!”

He turned back to Crowley who was still crouched beside the enclosure: a red mist descending over his face. He raised his fingers to click a miracle but Aziraphale was quick to catch hold of him and stop the incoming curse on Sophie’s mother.

“I have a better idea!” Aziraphale grinned.

***

“Let’s get you back to your enclosure, little guy!” Aziraphale said loudly. He wandered through the corridors of the Realm in search of the small girl once more. His usual cream suit had been replaced by matching dark green shirt and shorts, with a little name badge saying “Aziraphale: Reptile Expert”.

A very large black snake was wrapped around his shoulders and wound down each arm. Its head rested in Aziraphale’s open palm as warm fingers stroked softly over his scales.

Sophie was sat on a bench against the wall, while her mother looked in to a seemingly empty enclosure where a red panda was supposedly hiding (little did she know, Crowley had miracled the red pandas a collection of snacks into the outside portion of their area - she would be lucky to even catch a glimpse of their golden fur.)

“Oh hello, dear!” Aziraphale said approaching a miserable looking Sophie, with Crowley still curled around his arms.

“Oh wow!” Gasped Sophie. “That’s a big snake!”

“Isn’t he just? This is Crowley, he’s a red-bellied black snake!” Aziraphale informed her, kneeling before her as Crowley raised his head towards the girl.

“Is he dangerous?” She asked curiously, looking Crowley in his shiny amber eyes.

“Well, red-bellied black snakes, Crowley’s kind, are meant to be venomous - which means that can hurt people with their poison - but that’s why Crowley is so special: he isn’t venomous!” Aziraphale said, lying through his teeth but the angel didn’t seem to mind.

“Why isn’t he vene-nomous?” Asked Sophie.

“Because he’s too nice!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I used to think he had the venom but just chose not to use it, but the more time I spend with him, the more I think there’s not a venomous bone is little body!”

“He’s so pretty!”

Her boots clomping along the tiled floor, Sophie’s mother was suddenly alerted to the conversation of her daughter and marched over to the little girl and the “zookeeper” she was speaking to.

“Would you like to stroke him?” Aziraphale asked, just as the woman halted by his side.

“Absolutely not!” She cried, taking Sophie violently by the arm. “Take that thing well away from my child!”

“He’s lovely, mum! He’s not vene-nomous at all!” Sophie reached her tiny hand out towards Crowley’s head. “Can I pet you please, Mr Crowley?” She asked politely.

The snake nodded his head and Sophie quickly moved in to stroke her hand over the smooth scales of Crowley’s head, marvelling at the snake now nuzzling into her.

“Are you a snake-person?” She questioned naively.

“A reptile expert, yes!”

“Sophie, stop that! Get away!”

“No!” Sophie said, suddenly getting very loud and very fierce. “I want to be a reptile expert when I’m grown up so I need to learn!”

Crowley shifted his eyes to glance up at the red faced woman glaring down at him and gave her a sneaky wink, despite his seeming lack of eyelids, and stuck his tongue out at her.

“Well, to be a reptile expert when you’re grown up you need to work very hard in school, and pay attention in science!” Aziraphale said cooly.

“Oh, I do, I promise!” Sophie nodded, her eyes still fixated on Crowley. “I already know my 7 times-tables and that’s one of the really tricky ones!”

“Oh it is, well done! Keep it up and you’ll be taking my job soon!”

Aziraphale explained his (supposed) job role to the girl as they petted Crowley together and even allowed her to hold him very briefly. Her mother watched on with a resigned look, unable to tear her daughter from the animal. When the pair eventually left with all the career advice one child could possibly need, Aziraphale turned to Crowley perched up on his shoulder.

“Well done, my dear! You really are a very lovely snake!” Aziraphale kissed him gently on the snout just as the door was thrown open.

“Who the hell are you?” A man in an actual zoo uniform shouted.

Chapter Text

A kaleidoscope of neon colours flashed and fizzed around Aziraphale. The overwhelming visual spectacle of the arcade was an assault to the senses that the angel had scarcely seen before. Intensifying the chaos that filled the vacuous room, the barrage of flashing lights was accompanied by the clatter of pinball machines and obnoxious pop music blaring from dance machines and racing bikes.

As Aziraphale span on the spot unsure where to focus his attention, he was suddenly assaulted by the blast of digital explosions and the sounds of lasers zapping from a nearby arched doorway with the neon green sign ‘CyberBlast LaserQuest’ plastered above the door.

Bowling pins clattered from the opposite side of the centre followed by a clamour of cheers as somebody clearly hit a perfect strike. Children shrieked and screamed and sobbed and shouted as they crashed about in the ceiling high soft play centre - shiny plastic padding only going so far in protecting from injuries.

Aziraphale chewed at his bottom lip. He undid and retied his bowtie repeatedly as a familiar movement, a familiar routine that he could focus on instead of the intense overstimulation of the centre. The high ceilings suddenly seemed as if it was crashing down towards him, the rattling pinball machines got louder and louder, teenagers ran between the maze of machines shouting to each other and spilling noxious popcorn across the sticky purple floor.

Everything fell dim. Suddenly, the noise was reduced to a mere echo as if Aziraphale had been plunged into a pool with everything around him becoming tempered. The visual assault of the lights didn’t reduce and yet it seemed like Aziraphale’s eyes stung less and the thumping in his head faded to a distant drum.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley sounded as if he were underwater, his voice sounded so distant and contorted. Looking up at him with worry, Aziraphale pulling sharply at his bowtie - cutting off his breathing ever so slightly. “Aziraphale? Is that any better?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley had been stood leaning against the counter, discussing details of his booking with the floppy-haired teenager (Jayden - his shiny name tag read) behind the front desk, but had stepped away to stand before Aziraphale.

“Is that better? Just a small miracle, has it helped?” Crowley asked concerned.

“What have you done?” Aziraphale asked, abnormally high-pitched for his usual tone.

Stepping into Aziraphale’s personal space, Crowley curled an arm around his waist and brought him into a tight hug. Aziraphale pressed his face into the dark material of Crowley’s shirt and snuggled into his chest.

“It’s a bubble!” Said Crowley, his voice suddenly appearing to be normal as they were now pressed close together. “Just to block out everything else.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“Should we go home?” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s curly hair.

“I love that the shop is our home now!” Aziraphale smiled.

“Don’t go getting soppy on me! We going home?”

“I mean, we could,” Aziraphale said looking up at Crowley, “or we could go murder children!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley said in mock-astonishment. “You’ve changed, angel! Killing kids is a new low for you.”

Aziraphale chuckled and swatted Crowley on his chest.

“Metaphorically, of course! They’re just light guns, correct?”

“Lasers, yeah! Not powerful enough to give weight to a moral argument, I’m afraid.”

“Err, ‘scuse me?” An underwater voiced suddenly said. The pair turned to find the teenage employee staring at them, two thick black vests in his hands and two guns on the desk. “You playin’ or…”

The protective little bubble remaining tight around the couple, they looked to each other before simultaneously taking the vests and grinning at the teenager.

“No shade but you ‘int the normal type we get in here,” Jayden said with a questioning look.

“We have danced with the devil and won, my dear. A little of your laser quest is nothing!” Aziraphale said with an honest smile.

“Let’s kill kids!” Crowley yelled, waving his laser gun above his head.

Chapter Text

“Angel! I’m ready!” Crowley called as he crashed down the spiral staircase with a grey sports bag slung over his shoulder.

Crowley’s long, skinny legs were exposed by the black shorts that flapped around his thighs and a loose black t-shirt hung over his stick-thin figure. His long amber hair was tied back in a loose bun with two little strands hanging free to frame his face.

Bustling towards the bottom of the stairs, Crowley leapt from two steps up and landing with a thud on the stone floor before grabbing hold of the bannister and swinging himself around with excitement. It wasn’t his turn to choose, it was Aziraphale’s and he’d been moderately surprised when the angel had informed him that he’d booked out a tennis court for them to play on for the afternoon. Aziraphale had (as usual) insisted on the human approach and so, with an exercise bag packed with equipment, Crowley skipped through the shop and into the backroom where Aziraphale was sure to be reading or sketching in his notebook.

“I’m good to go, angel!” Said Crowley as he appeared through the archway.

But he halted suddenly when he saw that Aziraphale was not in fact reading but bent over forwards almost crumpled in half. His legs were straight and chest pressed against his thighs as his hands were pressed (almost) flat to the floor. No, not the floor - a large green mat rolled on in front of the fireplace.

“Wha- huh, the-,” Crowley stuttered. He couldn’t help but let his gaze wander over Aziraphale’s form: his loose grey jogging bottoms made a distinct but welcome difference to Aziraphale’s usual outfits and his plain white t-shirt had ridden down as he bent over exposing the skin at his lower back.

“That was quick, dear!” Aziraphale said, not moving from his doubled over position.

“Wha- what are you doing?” Stammered Crowley.

“Uttanasana!”

“Uttana- what?”

“Uttanasana! Also called the Standing Forward Bend. It’s a yoga position!” Aziraphale rose quickly and then lunged forwards down his mat, bending his back backwards and reaching one hand to the sky. “And this one is called Viparita Virabhadrasana.”

Crowley couldn’t help but snort with laughter which gained him a swift look from his husband, his face flushing red with embarrassment.

“I’ll stop,” Aziraphale said quickly jumping out of his position and ducking his head to remove the mat from the floor.

“No, no!” Cried Crowley suddenly. “You don’t have to, please don’t!”

“You laughed at me?” Aziraphale said. “I know I’m not in peak physical condition but-“

“I didn’t lau- well, I did but it wasn’t at you doing yoga and it certainly wasn’t at your body. I mean, look at you!” Crowley said with nothing but reverence in his voice. “I just… you’re so cute.”

“How is this-“ Aziraphale gestured to his body, “cute?”

“You’re so lovely,” sighed Crowley. Shuffling across to where Aziraphale stood fiddling awkwardly with the hem of his t-shirt, Crowley took his hands gently and brought them up to his face.

“Sweet angel,” he said, kissing his knuckles. “Now, are you going to teach me a move or…”

Aziraphale chuckled softly and patted Crowley on the cheek as he drew away. Without a word, he manoeuvred Crowley into the centre of the yoga mat and began carefully arranging his limbs. He lifted his knee with care and positioned his foot up on his thigh and then raised his arms above his head. Stepping back to admire the stretched out demon, Aziraphale grinned and then moved into the position himself.

“And what’s this one called?” Crowley asked quietly.

“Vrksasana,” said Aziraphale, “or the tree pose. It’s a beginner pose.”

“How long do I have to hold this for?” Crowley asked, beginning to wobble on his lanky leg, like a flamingo in a high wind.

“As long as you can, my dear,” Aziraphale giggled standing as solidly as a rock, or a tree perhaps.

“My balance isn’t very good,” Crowley mumbled, shaking like a leaf.

“Try this one instead.” Dropping his foot back down onto the floor, Aziraphale suddenly bent forward and placed his hands on the ground to form a triangle with his body.

“You’ll be good at this one, dear,” Aziraphale said looking up from his position with his face turning red, “you’re certainly flexible enough!”

With a cheeky wink, Aziraphale grinned up at Crowley who was now also turning red but for very different reasons.

“Bad angel,” Crowley said, bending to copy Aziraphale - his flexibility really coming in handy as he planted his hands on the ground with a flourish. However, his cool demeanour was momentarily overtaken by a wince as his hips twinged in the position.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale suddenly dropped to his knees and rested his hand on Crowley’s back. “Let go, dear, you’ll hurt yourself!”

Crowley copied and dropped down to his knees but, instead of turning to Aziraphale who was huddled close beside him, he surprised the angel by placing his head down on the mat and performing a perfect forward roll out into the centre of the room.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. “Do be careful!”

“Oh angel, I’m always careful!” Said Crowley with a grin. “I see your yoga, and I raise you: gymnastics! Watch this!”

Suddenly, as if suddenly possessed by the spirit of an 11 year old girl, Crowley leapt into a dramatic cartwheel before jumping up and turning to Aziraphale who was stood bemused beside the fireplace - hands on hips and a soft smile on his face.

“I’m perfectly fit and healthy!” Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively.

“I know,” Said Aziraphale sympathetically.

“I am!” Crowley lunged forward and pushed up into a handstand against the wall, his shirt dropping down to expose his abdomen.

“Stop showing off, dear, I believe you!” Aziraphale touched Crowley’s upside down hip very gently and stroked at his bare waist as the demon began to turn purple below him.

“Great, so-“ Crowley jumped down and righted himself, “what’s the next position?”

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed in through the open window and the sounds of the vibrant street below floated up to the top floor bedroom: the gentle rumble of cars inching down Whickber Street and the hustle and bustle of Sunday morning trade roused Aziraphale from his novel. Aziraphale shuffled beneath the tartan duvet trying to push himself further up the bed from where he had sunk down during the night. Having been sat in the same position for many hours now, his bones cracked loudly in the quiet bedroom.

Closing up his book, Aziraphale stretched up and placed it down on the bedside table but as he went to return to his comfortable position in bed, he found his space had been taken by somebody else. Aziraphale chuckled lightly to himself and shifted out of Crowley’s way as the demon stretched with a groan before settling back into the pillows.

“Foul demon,” Aziraphale murmured with a smile. Sighing softly, Aziraphale lay down in the bed for the first time that night and gently pulled the duvet up over himself and tucked it over Crowley’s shoulder where it had ridden down.

Warmth spread beneath the cover as he pulled Crowley close into his chest. His arms came to rest around Crowley, one hand on his back and the other curled into his hair and scratched softly at his scalp; his brassy bronze curls tickled at the skin of angel’s wrist as he rubbed his neck.

Crowley nuzzled into his chest and curled his body as close to Aziraphale as his possibly could, wrapping his legs around him and clinging to him like a child.

“Darling,” Aziraphale said, his voice rumbling through his chest and echoed through Crowley’s dreaming subconscious.

Grumbling softly as he shuffled impossibly closer to Aziraphale, Crowley fisted his hands into Aziraphale’s night shirt.

“Mhmm, angel,” he mumbled, his mouth smushed into Aziraphale’s front.

“Good morning, sweet one,” Aziraphale said lovingly, kissing at his hairline.

Crowley groaned as his awareness of the bedroom around him increased. For anyone else, the sounds, textures, and smells of the room would’ve been the first thing to hit them, but for Crowley whenever he stayed at what was now his home the feeling of warmth and comfort and security flooded his brain well before any physical sensations.

“Time to wake up, Crowley!” Aziraphale said, more of a question than a statement: Crowley struggled with his sleep at the best of times so Aziraphale would never try to wake him before he was ready.

“Mmm, don’t wanna wake up!” Groaned Crowley, pushing his face into Aziraphale’s warm neck.

“Okay, dear, back to sleep,” Aziraphale giggled. He stroked down the length of his back and petted softly at his skin.

“Mmm-huh, huh so muh.”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale said laughing to himself as he held the incoherent demon close.

“Hurt so much,” Crowley said more clearly this time.

Oh. Aziraphale relaxed his grasp on Crowley to give him some space to rearrange himself should he so wish. Only recently (well, recently for a 6000 year relationship at least) having confided in Aziraphale about his aching bones, Crowley was forever pushing himself too far and reaping the consequences of his hyper-active behaviour.

“Sweetheart-“

“Don’t wan’ sympathy,” Crowley interrupted.

“I wasn’t going to be sympathetic!” Aziraphale said quickly. “I’m just asking a question: are you in pain?”

“Mmm yeah,” Crowley said.

“Okay, follow up question: where are you hurting?”

“Urgh, spine… and shoulders…” Crowley paused and stretched slightly with a wince, “and hips.”

“What can I do for you, my sweet? Can I help?”

“No.”

“I can help you, just tell me what you need.”

“Don’t need anything.”

“You can ask for help, please let me help.”

“I don’t-“

“Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled back and looked sternly at the demon who refused to look back, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Aziraphale took his face in his hands and held his cheeks gently. “Accepting help doesn’t make you weak, I know you know that!”

“I do know that.” Finally, Crowley opened his eyes, his pupils dilating as he looked up at his angel.

“Then what’s the problem? You’ve no problem giving me help whenever I need it, what’s the difference?”

Crowley’s face suddenly crumpled as the pain became too intense as he shuffled awkwardly under Aziraphale’s wary gaze.

“S’ different,” Crowley muttered, sleep still lacing this voice, “I help you ‘cause you’re so lovely.”

His face flushing crimson under the unexpected compliment, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s freckled face between his hands and smiled sweetly at him.

“And I help you because you’re so lovely, my dear!”
“‘M not, ‘m demon,” Crowley murmured.

“You-“ Aziraphale face softened at the realisation, “yes, you’re a demon, you deserve love: those things are not mutually exclusive, dear.”

Trying his absolute best to hide it, Crowley couldn’t stop his face from screwing up with the ache of 6000 years of infernal punishment that was settled in his joints.

“If you won’t tell me what you need, I'll just have to try everything then!” Aziraphale said pointedly. He gave Crowley one final (but gentle) squeeze and then worked to very carefully extract himself from the demon’s koala-like grip. Crowley moaned and made grabby hands at Aziraphale’s chest but the angel simply giggled and leant down to kiss his forehead before standing up out of bed.

“Angel, get back in, I’m sorry!” Said Crowley, bolting up in bed and jolting with the sudden shot of pain down his corporation.

“Shh, shh!” Aziraphale cooed. “Lie down, sweetest, I’ll only be a minute.” He rubbed Crowley’s shoulder as he lowered him back to the mattress with a caring embrace.
And with that, Aziraphale scampered out of the room and disappeared down the hallway, only stopping to hear Crowley sigh as he sunk back into the old wooden bed.

***

“Crowley, dear,” said Aziraphale as he creaked the bedroom door open. The bed covers were significantly more rumpled than when he had left but, assuming Crowley had thrashed around in his pain, Aziraphale padded over in his socks with a sympathetic tut.

However, the moment he reached the bedside it became apparent that Crowley was nowhere to be found in the mess of linens.

“Crowley!” He called loudly, throwing the covers off.

“Down here, angel!” Crowley’s voice appeared from the other side of the room. Halting with the bedsheets held up above his head, Aziraphale stood stock-still in confusion. He dropped the duvet and peered over the bed frame to see Crowley lying flat on the wooden floor.

“Oh, sweetheart!” Aziraphale cried, hurrying over and dropping to his knees beside his groaning husband. “Did you fall?”

“Many years ago, angel, have you only just noticed?” Said Crowley with a cheeky grin. Aziraphale smiled, pleased to see the pain hadn’t dulled his laser sharp wit.

“Silly thing.” Aziraphale rubbed his chest, stroking over his light Golden Girls t-shirt. “What are you doing down here?”

“Just trying to straighten out.” Crowley stretched, his toes curling and back arching as he grumbled.

“Darling, with all the respect in the world, I’ve seen the way you sit! You could lie on this floor until the next millennium and your spine would still look like a B road!” Aziraphale said softly.

“Mmm probably.”

“Come on, I’ve got something to soothe you,” Aziraphale said.

With a great deal of effort and groaning from both of them, Aziraphale was able to manoeuvre Crowley of the floor. They shuffled down the hallway with Crowley clinging to Aziraphale’s waist, putting all his weight on the angel’s frame.

The hobbling pair arrived at the bathroom and Aziraphale momentarily propped Crowley up against the wall to push the door open.

“Oh, angel!” Exclaimed Crowley.

He was confronted by the comforting warmth of steam emanating from a freshly drawn bath smelling of lemons and eucalyptus. The soft glow of sunlight glistened off the water through the frosted window leading to an almost glow of beautifully, bubbling bath water. Candles were dotted across the basin and along the bathtub throwing out a flickering light and warm smell.

“If it won’t help, don’t feel pressured. But, just know, I’ll do anything-“

“It’s perfect!” Crowley said to a grinning Aziraphale. “You’re so perfect!”

“Do you want to get in?” Aziraphale asked, but Crowley was already nodding.

He steeled himself and averted his eyes. Taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what he knew he had to say next, Crowley fiddled uncomfortably with the pockets of his shorts.

“Help me get my clothes off?” He asked quickly.

“Like you ever have to ask me to do that!” Aziraphale said cheekily.

***

“Feel good?” Asked Aziraphale.

Crowley lay settled back in the water, his curly hair falling in loose ringlets around his face, while Aziraphale perched on the edge of the bath with his sleeves rolled up and hands lathering sweet-smelling shampoo through Crowley’s golden locks.

“Very,” Crowley sighed.

“It’s your turn to plan our date today,” Aziraphale said, knowing he Crowley thoroughly distracted and therefore vulnerable to questioning, “did you have any plans?”

“We’re- well, we were going to drive down to Sussex and go for a long walk over the Downs. I had the route planned to see the best views, and I had a picnic already packed, and it was so perfect, it was gonna be perfect and now I’ve ruined it.” Crowley rambled, becoming increasingly frustrated as he spoke.

“No, no, my dear! You haven’t ruined anything!” Aziraphale stroked over Crowley’s chest and kissed the crown of his head. “The date sounds wonderful, but we can do it any time. Right now, this is absolutely wonderful too!”
“Minus the crippling pain flare up, though!” Crowley grinned, flicking a splash of water up at Aziraphale as his panic had been quashed by the gentle brush of fingers through his hair.

“Of course, as soon as you’re feeling better, we can go out onto the Downs, but right now keeping you in tip-top shape is crucial!”

“Tip-top!” Crowley teased.

“Have you thought about what may have caused this?” Aziraphale asked while pouring a jug of water over Crowley’s hair.

“Couple of days of intense activity, thanks to you!” Crowley joked. “Tennis, yoga, your ridiculous laser quest tactics!”

“We won, didn’t we?” Aziraphale smiled. “And besides, I seem to remember last night’s ‘strenuous activity’ was very much your idea!”

“Dangerous words, angel!” Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale with eyes so dilated almost all of his yellow was gone instead replaced by a doe-eyed puppy gaze. Suddenly, while staring up at him, Crowley’s eyes began to brim with tears.

“Don’t- oh, are you hurting so, dear?” Aziraphale coddled.

“No, not anymore.” Crowley scrubbed the tears from his eyes and smiled softly. “I’m so grateful, I just love you so much. Come here.”

He reached up with wet arms and pulled Aziraphale into a lop-sided hug, his thin nightshirt becoming uncomfortably damp but the angel couldn’t bring himself to care. Wrapping his arms tightly around his demon, Aziraphale peppered kisses across his exposed neck and cuddled him close.

“You getting in?” Crowley asked, murmuring close to Aziraphale’s ear.

“This is your spa day, this is to make you feel better, not me.” Aziraphale pulled back and gave him and gently pat on the shoulder.

“Believe me when I say you getting in here would help me more than any spa treatment ever could!”

“You foul fiend, of course it would!” Aziraphale scolded. But he immediately began unbuttoning his shirt.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had been worried all day: fussing around Crowley with breakfast in bed early that morning, repeatedly checking in on the demon to make sure he was totally comfortable, even insisting that he be the one to drive them down to Weston-under-Hammlesford. Crowley drew the line at this and managed to clamber into the driver’s seat before Aziraphale could even get near the car.

A little independent bookshop in the village had advertised online about a sale he knew Aziraphale would love and, knowing the angel’s lack of internet literacy, he had decided to surprise him with a impromptu thank you for the previous day… or potentially just to get them out of the house and distracted Aziraphale from his infernal coddling.

“This is a wonderful date, you treat me so well!” Aziraphale said, gazing around the bookshop.

He reached up to wrap his arms around Crowley’s neck in a loose hug. Crowley snuck an arm around the angel’s waist and laid his head down on his shoulder.

“Love you,” mumbled Crowley, shifting his weight to lean more wholly on Aziraphale.

“Mhmm, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday- well, thank you for always, really.” Sighing into Aziraphale’s hold, Crowley snuffled softly into his cream coat like a cat settling down into bed. “You always take such good care of me… and make me take care of myself. Even if I don’t always appreciate it.”

“I know,” said Aziraphale. He reached down and took hold of the back of Crowley’s hand where it was gripped around the handle of his black cane, rubbing a gentle thumb across his knuckles. “I know you hate it, my dear.”

And, by God, he did. Crowley hated it. He hated being in pain, he hated feeling like a burden, and he definitely, totally hated having to use his cane. From the very moment he had crashed from the glorious Above into the burning sulphur, aching and throbbing pain had settled deep within his bones and had yet to provide him with any respite.

Some days were worse than others and previously on his worst days he could hole up in his flat and ignore the world: ignore Aziraphale, however painful that may be.

But he could never have hid it forever. Aziraphale had found the shiny black cane hidden under his bed when in search of any blankets to soften the sharp interior of Crowley’s flat, and had immediately taken it upon himself to check in on the demon and practically force the aid into his hand whenever he deemed it necessary. Realising that resistance was futile, Crowley tended to quickly submit but reserved the right to complain as he did so.

“I do hate it, but I love you so… you win some, you lose some!” Crowley chuckled lightly. He pulled back to look Aziraphale in the face and went to lean in to kiss him, but he was distracted by the presence of a woman stood beside the pair, staring intently.

“Can we help you?” Crowley snapped at the woman with a menacing glare.

“Oh hello, Marion!” Aziraphale exclaimed, keeping his secure grip on Crowley to avoid having to scrape the demon up off the floorboards should he loose his balance.

“Aziraphale!” Marion exclaimed. “Apologies, love, I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

“That’s perfectly okay, dear!” Aziraphale smiled. “How are you?”

“Good, yeah, just wanted to let you know we got a new sponsor: courtesy of yours truly!” Marion flicked her bob-cut silver hair and raised her eyebrows at the pair.

“Oh, excellent!” Exclaimed Aziraphale.

“J. P. Heron Construction. You know, John? Off the Hastings Road? Well anyway, he’s agreed to sponsor in exchange for boards around the fete. How wonderful is that?”

Zoning out of the fete-based conversation, Crowley gathered his strength and pushed up off before moving to take a look around the shop. Aziraphale went to stop him and break off the conversation with Marion as he could sense Crowley getting bored, but before he could do anything, Crowley shot him an understanding look and mouthed ‘take your time’.

Perusing the shelves with care, Crowley slowly built up a small pile of books balanced awkwardly under one arm, simply picking up anything he believed Aziraphale might potentially like. Stumbling across a battered old book with torn pages and smudge dirt across a variety of pages, Crowley grinned to himself, placing the book under his arm content in the fact that any normal unobservant person would simply disregard the nearly-destroyed novel.

After around twenty minutes, Aziraphale came bustling over, an apology the first thing on his lips.

“I’m so sorry, dear, that was Marion from the Women’s Institute - we’re working on the fete together and oh- I’m sorry for ignoring you for so long!” Aziraphale stammered, wringing his hands together anxiously.

“No bother, angel! It gave me the opportunity to find this for you!” Crowley fumbled with the stack of books, nearly dropping them straight onto his foot, before he was able to extricate the threadbare book from his grasp.

Aziraphale took it from him and froze at the sight of the faded emerald cloth-bound cover embossed with golden lettering. The edges were fraying and the pages yellowing with age but Aziraphale gazed at it as if it were the most precious thing in existence. He looked back up at Crowley: well maybe the book was the second most precious thing in all existence.

“Oh my! Crowley!” Cried Aziraphale, bouncing on his toes in his excitement. “This is a first edition!”

“You like it?”

“This is beautiful,” Said Aziraphale, turning the book over in his hands. “Nouveau Théâtre Des Anges, can you believe it?”

“Gabriel Émile Beaufort,” Crowley said, crowding into Aziraphale’s back and reaching over his shoulder to brush the spine of the novel with a gentle finger. “Good mate of yours, wasn’t he?”

“What precisely do you mean by that?” Aziraphale said with a glare backed with no malice.

“Spending the 18th century consorting with a known homosexual, sneaking around in the gentlemen’s clubs of Paris, discussing books and social ideas. I can’t imagine why you’d be so interested in this particular novel!” Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the cheek and then smirked against his skin.

“Hush, demon!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh Crowley, I do love you so.”

Unable to keep his affection and joy under wraps, Aziraphale’s hand flapped wildly in front of him as he flipped the pages in his other hand.

“There’s notes, it has notes!” He cried. “Oh darling, won’t you look? It has annotations!” Excitement bubbling over, Aziraphale leapt across to Crowley shouting slightly too loudly to be socially acceptable in a bookshop but neither of them could be bothered to care: hidden in their own personal bubble as usual.

“How lucky am I?” Crowley sighed. “Look at you, you’re gorgeous!”

“Oh, I’m not-“ Aziraphale paused, as Crowley was about to interject, “thank you, dear. You’re so wonderful, the sweetest being alive!”

“I’m a dem-“ Crowley also stopped, “thank you, angel.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was knelt delicately on the tiled floor, his hands squeezed together in front of his mouth as he tried not to lose himself in the overload of emotions that threatened to drown him. Large yellow eyes stared back at him unblinking boring deep into his soul. It was as if those eyes knew every secret Aziraphale held deep inside, as if the being staring back at him was meant for him, as if the universe had spent thousands of years drawing them together.

“Angel,” Crowley said quietly. 

“You’re perfect,” murmured Aziraphale dreamily.

“Angel?”

“Look at you, you’re gorgeous!” 

“Aziraphale?” 

“The most wonderful being in the universe.”

“This is getting a bit insulting now!” Crowley huffed.

Crouching down beside Aziraphale, Crowley crowded close into the glass alongside his husband. A large black cat sat glaring back at the pair with beautiful yellow eyes, pointed little ears and a curious expression.

“Isn’t he just unbelievable?” Aziraphale said fawning over the tiny creature. 

To Crowley, the cat seemed a perfectly ordinary animal. A little scruffy around the chest area and with scraggly hairs across his head, the cat was simply a regular feline, nothing special. But turning to glance at Aziraphale, he was struck by the loving gaze in the angel’s eyes. The light of a thousand nebulas glistened in his pale blue eyes as he grinned at the cat.

“She, apparently!” Said Crowley pointing up at the information card plastered onto the cat’s small enclosure. He took note of the large AVAILABLE sticker posted across the page. “Spooky!” 

“She’s not that scary,” Aziraphale said, still not breaking his staring contest.

“No, I mean that’s her name: Spooky!” 

“Spooky? I was hoping for something slightly more… enigmatic… than Spooky!” Aziraphale emphasised the name with an over-pronounced tone.

“She was rescued from neglect,” Crowley read.

“I love her.” Aziraphale pressed his fingers to the glass gently and nearly melted straight into the ground as Spooky stood up, padded across to the glass, and nudged her nose against the pane right where Aziraphale was touching. “I could cry, we can’t leave her here!”

“We can’t be getting a pet,” Crowley scolded. 

“But you loved looking after Indy the dog, you were an excellent pet-sitter!” Aziraphale cried stroking the glass wishing more than anything that he could sink his fingers into her inky black fur.

“Think of the reality: little blackhole dashing about the place, knocking over your books, shitting in a tray. Sounds wonderful, don’t you think?” Teased Crowley.

“Or,” Aziraphale drew out, “snuggling up together as I read to you with a tiny ball of love lying across us, coming home to find her spread out along the windowsill in the sunlight, gentle meows to welcome us back. How wonderful would that be?”

“It’s not happening,” Crowley said decisively, standing up suddenly and moving to walk away.

“But I lo-“ 

“No, you don’t.”

***

“And can you please make sure that little Spooky is well taken care of!” Aziraphale said, thrusting fistfuls of notes into the hand of a baffled employee. “My donation is for all the animals of course, but Spooky, please ensure she lands in a good home.”

“Of course, sir!” The woman said, stuffing the bank notes into the till with a retail-ready smile. “On behalf of Battersea Cats and Dogs, we are very grateful for your donation!”

As Aziraphale continued to reiterate his gushing praise of his new favourite creature and making the worker promise Spooky be given treats at least twice a day, Crowley hung back and scuffed his leather shoes against the tiles while he waited.

A soft meow stole his attention. 

Spooky was still sat only inches from the glass gazing up at him with dinner plate eyes. Crowley glared down at her as Spooky stood up and began rubbing her paws against the ground: kneading the floor as if she were making a loaf.

Glancing back at Aziraphale, Crowley spotted the angel’s hands tapping gently on the reception desk in almost perfect synchronicity with Spooky. 

“Uh oh,” Crowley muttered. He looked around Spooky’s little enclosure where her tiny wicker cat-bed was crammed into the corner with a scratchy green blanket dumped inside and a single grey mouse toy lay on the floor. Images of towering cat trees and fluffy crimson blankets laid out in the bookshop.

“You- you little shit,” Crowley murmured under his breath, pointing at the unfazed Spooky. “How have you managed this?”

Aziraphale finished his conversation and began to walk towards Crowley. 

“Just- hold on in there, yeah?” Said Crowley.

“Good to go?” Aziraphale asked, taking his hand. “Goodbye, darling!” He waved at Spooky who simply blinked slowly back at him expressionlessly. 

Crowley placed his hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back and lead him away, clicking surreptitiously behind himself. The card on Spooky’s enclosure morphed to read RESERVED.

***

Just in case you were interested: this is what I picture Spooky to look like.

Chapter Text

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked politely. “I mean this with all the love in the world, I truly do, but what on God’s green Earth is that?”

Shooting a quick glare across to Aziraphale was a terrible decision for Crowley because the precise second he took his eyes off his spinning wheel of clay, the grey lump went flying off at a 45 degree angle before splatting on the floor with a dull thud.

“I’m going to scoop up my creation and ram it so far up your-“ Snarled Crowley.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale interrupted with a slightly embarrassed smile, glancing around at the other patrons.

The pair sat side by side at small pottery wheels in a class of around 20 people. The lights were turned down low, gentle music was playing, and glasses of red wine sat perched beside them: all with the goal of relaxing the budding artists who were turning their (artistically varying) hands to pottery throwing.

“This is one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made in my life,” Crowley huffed, snatching his hunk of clay up off the floor and thumping it down onto the wheel.

“I did wonder, why did you choose this if you hate it so much?” Asked Aziraphale as he took a sip of his wine.

“You,” Crowley said simply. “I know you don’t show it off too much, but you’re talented, angel. Artistically, I mean. You should let out that creative energy more often!”

“That’s very sweet, my dear.” Aziraphale leaned over and moulded Crowley’s clay back into the vague shape of a bowl and patted him gently on the knee. Aziraphale was talented, of course, but hiding his skill was a priority. Boxes of pencils were hidden in drawers around the shop, splotches of paint mysteriously disappeared shortly after Crowley would spot them, and the sound of sketchbooks being snapped shut the instant the demon awoke from his long naps on the bookshop sofa was a familiar experience.

“I regret everything,” Crowley said, slapping the clay and doing his best to mould it circular. “Let’s have a look, then!”

Crowley leant across to where Aziraphale was carefully moulding at his clay and threw his hands out in exasperation.

“Are you serious?” Crowley touched the soft clay gently and stroked down the length of a small snake curling around an excellently smooth mug with a perfectly formed handle. “This is fantastic!”

“Thank you, my dear!” Smiled Aziraphale bashfully.

“Look at yours, and then what is happening over here?” Gesturing to the frisbee-shaped “bowl” on his wheel, Crowley made a lacklustre attempt to smooth the edges.

As Aziraphale put the finishing touches of eyes and a tongue on his tiny snake mug, Crowley groaned and grumbled as he did his best to salvage the remnants of his pottery creation. Finally, he huffed and paused, staring intensely at his grey lump.

An idea began to form in his head. Impulsively, he snatched some extra clay and added two little triangles atop the edges of his bowl. He smiled to himself and set about smoothing the base to make his bowl as shallow as he possible could.

“What are you planning to eat in that? It’s not holding much cereal, is it dear?” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Who said it’s for me?” Crowley said.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said sheepishly, “is it a gift?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Uh, oh it’s lovely! Thank you!” Aziraphale said, almost certainly lying.

“It’s not for you,” Said Crowley.

“Oh.”

Two emotions flooded Aziraphale simultaneously. Firstly, relief at not having to fabricate enthusiasm for Crowley’s increasingly bizarre creation, and secondly, jealousy: who was Crowley friends with besides himself? Who could Crowley possibly be gifting a sat-upon looking bowl to besides him?

Next to him, Crowley used a pencil to carve a name into the side of the bowl, smiling softly to himself.

Chapter Text

“Cheers, my dear!” Said Aziraphale, raising his drink with a soft smile. His glass rang with the quiet fizzing of champagne as Crowley clinked them together.

“Cheers.”

The couple were sat lounged back on a red tartan picnic blanket which Crowley had lovingly laid down for his lover before taking him gently by the hand and helping him down to sit gracefully on the ground. He’d then thrown himself down beside the angel and immediately shuffled in to sit shoulder and shoulder, resting his arm behind Aziraphale to crowd close into his space.

Aziraphale’s plan had been to wine and dine Crowley and then take him up to a beauty spot one of the women from the Village Fete Committee had recommended when he’d asked for date ideas. He’d arranged to leave around 19:00 with the goal of capturing the burning sunset over Sussex, but at 21:14, Aziraphale had snapped out of an event-planning trance and was deeply apologetic. Not that Crowley was mad, he could never be mad.

They had climbed Saxonfort Hill hand in hand in the complete darkness having missed the sunset by many hours, but stargazing would make a good second.

“Go on then, angel,” Crowley said as he lay down onto his back. He gazed up at Aziraphale, his dark sunglasses long abandoned in the glistening starlight.

“What do you mean?” Asked Aziraphale.

“Oh please, you’re practically vibrating at the thought of telling me about how the fete is coming along!” Crowley rolled his eyes and nudged Aziraphale softly in the side before leaning up onto his elbows.

“I won’t bore you on our date!” Aziraphale chuckled.

“I’m interested, promise! Seemed like Marion had a lot to say on the phone, huh?” Crowley teased with a grin.

The reason they had been s incredibly late for their date was all Marion’s fault. While Crowley was lounged across the arm of Aziraphale’s chair pressing soft kisses into his shoulder waiting for his angel to get up, the phone had begun blaring and soon the screeching tones of the head of the Fete Committee had roared down the line.

Two hours later and Crowley had rearranged onto the sofa and had taken to scrolling aimlessly through his phone just trying to kill the time.

“She was rather angry,” Aziraphale said quietly, lying down beside Crowley on the picnic blanket.

“At you?”

“No, angry at everything!” Aziraphale giggled. “I’ve been trying my best but I’m not exactly pulling my weight at the moment - someone keeps distracting me!”

Rolling onto his side, Aziraphale stroked at Crowley’s cheek and pulled him in close. With all the gentle care he could muster, he cuddled into his side and kissed him softly.

“‘M sorry,” murmured Crowley against his lips before moving in to kiss him once more.

“‘s not your fault, like it,” Aziraphale mumbled with a smile. Sighing against Crowley, he curled tightly around him and wrapped a leg over Crowley’s waist. He snuggled close into his neck, pressing his forehead against the demon’s cold skin.

“Are you at risk of getting fired yet?” Crowley asked.

“Hopefully not,” said Aziraphale. “I mean, I have done rather a lot for them. I was the one who booked the musician-“

“DJ, but continue!”

“And I booked the game stalls, and the farm animals. And it was of course me who organised the dog show. That’s not even mentioning my many visits to the primary school to judge the country dancing lessons!”

“I still cannot believe you got roped into that!” Crowley laughed.

“Well, the committee needed to decide which children were good enough to perform! We couldn’t just let anyone in!” Aziraphale said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And how many children did you decide could perform?” Crowley said knowingly.

“… All of them?” Admitted Aziraphale. “Well what was I supposed to do? They were all so excellent!”

Collapsing into giggles, Crowley rocked the two of them as they lay together, wrapping his arms so tightly around Aziraphale he was squeezing almost as tightly as if he were in snake form.

“Of course they were!” Crowley grinned.

Silence fell between the two of them. The stars above twinkled in a patchwork of tiny fireflies - the only sound in the universe was the soft rise and fall of breaths from the very still angel and demon.

“Question, angel: what is your infatuation with this village? Why even organise this thing?” Crowley asked, being careful not to let any annoyance seep into his voice. His wasn’t annoyed with Aziraphale for this (he found it difficult to be annoyed at Aziraphale at all) but the angel was working himself to death over a village to which he had no connection.

Aziraphale shrugged, as best he could with Crowley clinging so tightly to him.

“What’s the point? Do you just enjoy it?”

“I just like this place,” Aziraphale whispered. “I want to make a good impression."
“Why? We came here once to camp and now you’re trying to impress the locals?”

“I- I want them to like me.”

“Why?”

“I just do!” Aziraphale said frustrated. “I just- just in case.”

“In case what?”

“In case.” Aziraphale paused, shuffling uncomfortably. “I might not always want to live in London, maybe I’d enjoy the quiet life someday.”

“You’re leaving London?” Crowley exclaimed. A shiver ran through him and it certainly wasn’t due to the balmy summer weather.

“That’s not what I said!” Aziraphale said calmly. “I just- I’ve been thinking about what you said. When you said you pictured us living out here when we came camping. I think- I’d quite like that!”

“Oh.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Yes. Please.” Crowley demanded.

“Okay. Good!”

“Good.”

“Maybe if we moved out here, we could get a cat!”

“No.”

“Maybe.”

“Absolutely not!”

An owl hooted nearby drawing the little disagreement to a close. Both of them turned back to the stars, their eyes reflecting the constellations of the great beyond.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aziraphale murmured.

“Wouldn’t know,” said Crowley before he could stop himself. The sudden movement of Aziraphale bolting upright out of his grasp and turning to look down at him. “I can’t see them any more.”

Crowley simply shrugged, his eyes still pointed at the dark, starless abyss above.

“You- Crowley?”

“She stole it,” Crowley said wistfully. “When She dropped me, She stole my stars.”

Aziraphale froze. Crowley had mentioned his Fall a number of times in the past but he’d always spoken about it just like that: his fall. Aziraphale was struck by the emphasis on Her, Crowley had never mentioned Her before.

“You can’t see them?” Aziraphale asked, turning back to the swirling patterns of constellations. “Your wonderful creation, your beautiful hard work, She- how could-“

“Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t. I don’t miss them.” Crowley shrugged.

“How can you not miss your universe? It’s yours, you made it!” Aziraphale cried. He rubbed across the soft cotton of Crowley’s shirt doing his absolute best to comfort him. As much as Crowley made out he was coping, the demon hadn’t been coping since… forever.

“It’s not mine: Her concept, Her design, Her universe.”

“It’s never been Hers, you’re so wonderfully important, my dear.”

“I don’t miss them, I like it being dark,” Crowley huffed.

“No you don’t.”

“I do miss-“ Crowley started but soon stopped himself short and shook his head to dismiss whatever thought had dared to cross his mind. Tapping his arm and gesturing for him to continue, Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows and shot a concerned look at his demon.

“I miss flying though, I’d love to get that back,” he whispered into the abyss.

“You have wings, could you not-"

“Hurts,” said Crowley simply.

“Oh.” Aziraphale rested back down onto Crowley’s chest curling his arm around his waist. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think. I wish I could help-“

“Oh you do!” Crowley smiled. “You help me every damn day, angel! Not a second passes where I’m not infinitely grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I’m not-“

“You are! I don’t know what you were about to say but you are!” Crowley squeezed him tightly. “You’re unbelievable! I’m grateful for the way you take care of me when I ache, and I’m grateful for being able to hold you like this, and for being able to kiss you and talk to you for hours on end. I’m grateful to be able to see you every day. Never mind seeing the stars! Why would I want to see those boring old things when I could see you instead!”

“I wish I could help you more, if I could I’d change your Fall, I’d-“

“Don’t you dare!” Said Crowley suddenly. “Don’t you dare even talk about changing what happened to me. I wouldn’t change anything, I mean anything, that would mean I might not be right here right now.”

They settled back into quiet and a quiet tear rolled away down the side of Crowley’s face. Hot and burning, it seared into his skin but he simply sniffed and ignored it. If Aziraphale had noticed, he didn’t mention it. If he had, maybe Crowley would’ve lied and said it was a tear of sadness or frustration at his Fall or his pain or his vision. Nothing in him could’ve induced him to tell the truth: Aziraphale could never the frequency at which tears tracked their way down his cheeks at the pure, overwhelming emotion of loving him so dearly.

Chapter Text

Crowley led Aziraphale into the shop’s backroom with his hands cupped over the angel’s eyes. He was crowded into Aziraphale’s space, chest pressed against his back as Crowley gently pushed Aziraphale in the room.

“You ready, angel?” Asked Crowley. His warm breath tickled at Aziraphale’s ear as he bumped his shoulder playfully.

“Are we staying in for tonight’s date?” Aziraphale said.

“Have a look!” Crowley removed his hands with a flourish to reveal the small backroom. The old sofa and coffee table were pushed well back against the wall and the centre of the room was focussed around a round table covered in little pots and jam jars of varying sizes and shapes filled with a rainbow of different paints. The slightly misshapen outline of Aziraphale’s snake mug sat silhouetted on one side of the table, with Crowley’s very misshapen plate/bowl laying opposite it.

But Crowley hadn’t stopped there: with the paint brushes and the newspaper laid out across the table. Golden, twinkling fairy lights in the shape of little stars were strung out across the ceiling in perfectly accurate constellations and long candles stood on every available surface throwing swirling patterns of amber light around the room.

“Oh wow,” Aziraphale gasped. He turned his head back to Crowley before immediately throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him with purpose. “This is beautiful! I’ve enjoyed our dates so far, I truly have but sometimes I just want to stay in and spend time with you."

“Agreed.”

Crowley released Aziraphale from his python-grip and waggled a finger in his direction before taking off across the room with a dash.

“Watch this!” Crowley exclaimed. He lifted one of the candelabras and held it out triumphantly. “Pretty scary, huh angel? Big scary fire ready to burn down the book shop?”

Staring blankly back at him, Aziraphale was stunned to silence by whatever Crowley was about to do. His moment of panic did not pass, instead it only intensified as Crowley thrust the candles at a precarious stack of books, directing the flames directly onto the dry, yellowing pages.

“No!” Aziraphale cried but before he could do anything Crowley had removed the flickering flame from the books and instead shove it against his own hand, the flames licking at his fingers.

“Miracle flame!” Crowley said smiling. “I know how tetchy you get around candles… we both do.”

“You- thank you, my dear!”

“And that's not all!” Dropping the candelabra down with a thud, Crowley leapt over to the table, took up a large paintbrush, and dipped it into the most luminous, neon green paint the world had ever seen.

Once the brush was sufficiently coated, he stroked it forcefully across the cover of a very rare, very expensive looking book as Aziraphale let out a strangled scream. But the paint remained on the brush and the bristles left no trace.

“Oh. I swear, darling, you become more wonderful by the day!”

“Shut up!” Crowley pulled out Aziraphale’s chair ready for him to sit before his pottery creation, but not before the angel had stolen one more kiss from a now crimson-faced demon.

“I shall not ‘shut up’,” said Aziraphale with a smirk. “You are wonderful!”

“‘M not.”

Both selected their implements and quickly got to work decorating their creations. Aziraphale chose a soft cream colour for the base of his mug and a blended pattern of black and red for the snake that curled protectively around it. Meanwhile Crowley had settled on a solid black exterior for his weird triangle-topped bowl before painting the interior vibrant red.

“Why do you struggle to take compliments?” Aziraphale said after many minutes of comfortable quiet, only punctuated with the gentle swell of classical music streaming from the gramophone.

“I don’t.”

“You’re the kindest, sweetest, most loving-“

“Stop it!” Crowley’s voice came across as jokey and upbeat, but for Aziraphale, who knew him better than he knew himself, there was a tinge of sadness laced into his tone.

“Why?” Aziraphale looked up from his delicate painting to see Crowley fiercely slapping paint into his bowl, refusing to make eye contact. With his glasses abandoned by the door to the shop when he came in many hours ago, Crowley had nothing to hide behind.

“Just- ‘m not.”

“Tell me the truth.” Aziraphale poured a small amount of yellow onto a palette and dabbed small dots onto his snake’s eyes.

“I- hmm, I just- I feel like…”

“Take you time.”

“Like She’s punishing me,” Crowley admitted quickly.

“What?” Aziraphale looked up worried.

“Like, when you say nice things, She hurts me.” Shrugged Crowley. “I get this pain, right here in my chest. Like an ache. It’s just one more way for Her to inflict eternal suffering, right?”

“Darling.” Aziraphale shuffled forward in his seat and took Crowley’s hands, bringing them away from his creation and almost forcing him to look up into his eyes. “That’s not punishment.”

“How can you know that?” Crowley whispered.

“Because I feel it too, whenever you’re being lovely. Well, it used to be whenever you did something lovely, but now it’s constant: a permanent aching in my chest.” Aziraphale tapped Crowley’s chest gently. “It’s not punishment, dear, it’s love.”

“You reckon?” Crowley asked covering Aziraphale’s hands with his.

“I know.”

“You always know how to make me feel better, even if it’s not entirely true!” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale’s chest began to ache as Crowley’s eyes bored into him.

“You’re beautiful.” Crowley’s heart pulsed with searing pain.

“You’re kind.” The cramp spread over his chest.

“You’re wonderful.” His entire torso began to ache at the kind words.

“You’re the sweetest, most gentle, most darling little being in the universe. You deserve love and respect. You’re so creative, you’ve saved the world, you’ve saved me. I can’t imagine what I’d be without you.”

Crowley caught fire. Or at least it felt as if he did. Burning heat enclosed his body. From the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, his skin burned with love.

“Can we stop?” He asked, thoroughly overwhelmed. Water pooled at the corners of his dilated eyes and he brought up a hand to violently scrub them away. One day, the love Aziraphale’s poured into him would reach capacity and the pain would become a dull throbbing he would learn to live with, and eventually learn to love the ache itself. But for now, every drop Aziraphale poured weighed him down and sat heavy on his damned soul, coursed through his veins with every rumble of his angel’s voice.

“Of course.” Aziraphale leaned back in his seat and admired the painting he had created. “Looking good, don’t you think?”

“’s me,” said Crowley, just about recovering.

“It is, one of your many beauti-“ Aziraphale paused as Crowley once again scrubbed at his tears, “well, maybe later!”

“Yeah,” Crowley sniffed with a laugh.

“The more look at yours, the less sure I am of what I’m looking at.” Aziraphale chuckled to himself and gestured haphazardly at Crowley’s little black and red bowl.

“It’s a bowl,” said Crowley. Obviously.

“Yes but-“

“Maybe this would help.” And then Crowley was gone. He stood up and disappeared into the main shop, leaving Aziraphale sat baffled looking at the confusingly shaped bowl.

Only a minute or so later, Crowley reappeared. Well, his head reappeared poking around the doorframe. A mischievous smirk spreading across his face, any semblance of sorrow had dispersed as Crowley was so accustom to doing.

“Are you ready for your surprise, angel?” He grinned.

“A surprise? I thought the date was my surprise-“

Before Aziraphale had even finished his thought, Crowley barrelled into the room and plonked something large and black on the table in front of him. And then Aziraphale was met by yellow eyes, not Crowley this time but an extremely fluffy cat.

Silence.

Aziraphale sat staring at the cat, unblinking. And the cat stood staring back, unblinking.

“It’s the one from Battersea?” Crowley said, almost like a question.

“I can’t- I don't understand,” stammered Aziraphale, finally cracking and blinking before the cat.

“You wanted her, didn’t you?” Crowley said suddenly panicking. Had he somehow picked up the wrong animal? Was Aziraphale simply being kind in offering the cat so much support? Was a cat too much commitment for them only a few months into a relationship? Where would it even sleep, or eat, or live? Would it stay here with Aziraphale or was Crowley’s flat more suitable? Would it need food and a tray and water and toys and-

The flurry of worries that crashed about in Crowley’s skull suddenly halted. The cat made a dramatic leap through the air in Aziraphale’s direction. Paws extended in front of it and tail bolt upright like a TV antenna, to all intents and purposes it seemed to be mounting an attack.

But then it landed with a thump on Aziraphale’s shoulder, settled down into a loaf-position, and nuzzled its face into Aziraphale’s cheek.

“OH!” Aziraphale cried. He wrapped both arms up and over the cat and immediately pulled it close into his face, snuffling his nose into warm fur.

“Her name’s Spooky, but I suppose if she’s staying you could change that,” shrugged Crowley.

Aziraphale’s fingers curled into Spooky’s fur, messing it up even more than it was already was. It stuck out at slightly odd angles in places, especially around her cheeks and ears where unruly fur could not be tamed.

“I know you fell in love with her at Battersea so…” Crowley trailed off rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I get that she’s a big commitment but I’ll help. If you want. She could live at mine if you're worried about her destroying the shop.”

Suddenly, Aziraphale jolted to look up at Crowley, drawn out of his cat-induced trance.

“I thought you were moving in here? Is that not what we agreed?” He asked nervously.

“Oh.” Crowley said. “Yes, I- well, if you want-“

“Yes I want! We could be… we can be a little family, can’t we? Me, you, and her?” Aziraphale wondered aloud.

“Is that- can we?” Crowley almost pleaded.

“Come here."

Doing his best not to jostle Spooky too much who had almost immediately collapsed asleep on his shoulder as if she had not slept for years (which given where she had come from, was entirely possible), Aziraphale pushed his chair back from the table and patted his knee with a spare hand.

Tiptoeing across to him, as if it were too good to be true, Crowley gingerly lowered himself sideways onto Aziraphale’s thighs. He wrapped his arms around the angel’s neck, cradling Spooky securely where she lay, and rested his head on the opposite shoulder.

“I can’t believe you've done this,” Aziraphale whispered.

“It’s so stupid, I know. Cats are so much-“

“No!” Aziraphale said. “No, no! This is amazing, I…”

“You?”

“I just- the bowl!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “It’s for her!”

Crowley reached across and snatched up the little cat bowl. He turned it round for Aziraphale so he could take a look at the front: ‘Spooky’ was carved into the now hardened clay and painted in bright crimson.

“She’s perfect! You’re perfect!” Aziraphale leant up to kiss Crowley on the cheek, then the jaw, then the chin, the forehead, the hairline, the mouth, over and over until the demon pulled him into a crushing hug.

Spooky woke grumpily, having slept in absolute safety for the first time in her life, and meowed at the pair.

“Little madame is probably asking for food!” Aziraphale laughed, scratching behind her scruffy ears.

Simply gazing at Aziraphale and his cat, Crowley’s chest throbbed with a pain so intense it made his head spin and the room go fuzzy. It felt amazing, he loved it.

Chapter Text

“You’re a liar and a cheat, Anthony Crowley!” Aziraphale screeched, his face turning crimson in pure rage.

“Well if you treated me better!” Crowley shouted back. Thumping his fists on the table as he spoke, the demon glowered over at Aziraphale, his eyes burning golden-amber as fury coursed through every vein.

“Don’t you turn this back on me!” Cried Aziraphale. “I’ve treated you nothing but fairly, and this is the thanks I get!”

“You’re a thieving git!”

The Monopoly board spread out on the table between them shook and the collection of little red hotels positioned around the table jolted as Crowley furiously shook it.

“I’ll do it, I’ll flip the board!” Crowley threatened, taking the table by the edges and lifting it slightly - just to show that he wasn’t bluffing. The board began to slide down the dark mahogany table and a wad of thin paper notes dropped into Aziraphale’s lap, scattering money everywhere.

“Crowley!” Scolded Aziraphale. He jumped to catch his money but he was too late and it fluttered out across the floor as Crowley dropped the table back down with a thud. “Really, dear?”

Immediately startled by paper hitting her on her head, Spooky the cat jolted awake and leapt into the air: her paws extended beneath her and, as she landed back in Aziraphale’s lap, she used him as a launchpad to bolt across the room.

She ducked beneath a bookshelf and disappeared out through the ajar door, her little footsteps pattered across the bookshop floor before they eventually faded into silence.

The pair were left in quiet solitude: Aziraphale sat perfectly in his arm chair just beside the table and Crowley was still standing, perfectly still, holding the edge of the table in his hands.

“Now look what you’ve done?” Aziraphale said. “We’ve been spending all day getting her to trust us and now look at what you’ve done!”

Crowley looked guilty, and he hated himself for it.

All afternoon, he and Aziraphale had taken it in turns to sit with Spooky or carry her around with them. They had introduced her to her brand new food bowl courtesy of Crowley and also her new litterbox - located behind a bookshelf with a little curtain around it (‘for privacy’ according to Aziraphale).

Then, while Aziraphale sat down to read with Spooky curled up peacefully in his lap, Crowley had wandered around the shop in search of the very best lounging spots ready to introduce the cat to. He had spent far too long arranging and rearranging blankets in Spooky’s little basket which he’d placed beside where he and Aziraphale would relax of an evening.

But the best spot he’d found was on the windowsill in the shop. Hot summer sun streamed in through the panelled window, warming the spot with creating the perfect place to stretch out and relax. Rushing over to prise Spooky from Aziraphale’s grasp, Crowley carried her over to the window and placed her down on the soft blankets he’d laid down for her.

Immediately, Spooky had spread herself out and rolled over in the sunbeam - revealing her fluffy black tummy to Crowley who couldn’t help but scratch gently at her fur.

They had spent so long settling Spooky into her new home and now Crowley had sent her darting away over the fury of a board game.

“I’m an idiot,” Crowley sighed.

“Should we call it a draw, my dear?” Aziraphale smiled innocently.

“Shut up.”
The pair carefully packed away the Monopoly board and picked up all the errant paper notes before finally heading out into the shop to locate Spooky.

Having been startled into hiding, they finally located Spooky crouching beneath a side table surrounded by piles of thick novels. Her ears were flattened back and her tail curled around her protectively as she shook beneath the table.

“Oh darling!” Aziraphale cooed. He reached out to stroke her head but started back when Spooky hissed at him. They’d only got her yesterday, but she’d never shown any indication of hostility towards them before.

“Shit, sorry angel! I’ve broken your cat.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

Without any kind of response, Aziraphale shuffled around to lean back against the wall beside Spooky’s protective table and sat down beside the cat.

“She’ll come around,” Aziraphale said. “It’s understandable she’d be a little frightened - new environment, new people, it’s a miracle she hasn’t lashed out thus far.”

“How do you know? Maybe I’ve traumatised her for life!” Crowley mirrored him, coming to rest against the other side of the table being careful to maintain good distance between him and the still quivering cat.

“Well, I’ll be here for her,” Aziraphale explained, “and, when she’s ready, I’ll hold her again and give her all the love in the world. Once she knows she’s safe, I doubt there’ll be much more of this.”

“How can you be so sure she’ll be okay?” Crowley asked nervously.

“Well, I did the same to you and you warmed up quickly enough.”

From between the legs of the table, Aziraphale smiled at the horrifically red-faced Crowley. He reached through the table and took Crowley’s hand, bringing them to rest together behind where Spooky was beginning to loosen her tightly curled up form.

Chapter Text

As it turns out, being four fancy and colourful cocktails deep takes a serious toll on a person’s golfing ability. At the beginning of the evening, when the sun had still been burning high in the sky, Crowley and Aziraphale would’ve both considered their skills in mini golf as definitively average: they could both complete most holes within the time limit but neither were hitting trick shots of any impressive nature.

However, once the alcohol had hit their heads, lack of skill certainly didn’t pose a barrier to confidence.

The neon greens and purples of the brand new Whickber Street Mini Golf flashed and pulsated around Crowley and Aziraphale as they giggled conspiratorially together.

Aziraphale stepped up to take his shot. He positioned himself perfectly as he took one final look up at the practically vertical ramp in front of him. One quick but precise flick of the golf club and he was certain he could get the angle just right for a hole in one.
He wiggled his hips and took a deep breath, settling himself. Drawing the club back, he was ready to swing… when suddenly, something thwacked him hard on the backside.

“What!” Aziraphale let out a little scream jumping away from the attack. He turned to find Crowley doubled over clutching his stomach as he laughed - proper, deep, alcohol-fulled laughter.

“The w-way you- jumped!” Stammered Crowley between snorts of laughter.

Aziraphale stood glaring at the screeching demon but quickly turned to take advantage of the situation. He swung with some considerable force and watched as the little blue ball shot up the ramp, flew through the air, and landed with a resolute plop into the hole.

“Aha!” He shouted turning back to Crowley who had suddenly gone very quiet and was staring open mouthed at Aziraphale: his eyes filled with both adoration at his talented angel and also frustration - Crowley was now losing.

“You tried so very hard to dis- distract me, didn’t you?” Teased Aziraphale slurring his words just slightly. He slunk over to Crowley while swinging his club vaguely in his direction. “You tried so very hard, you little fiend!”

“I just-“ started Crowley, turning red.

“You just what?” Aziraphale asked innocently. “Trying to get one over on me? Such a competitive little thing!”

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale stalked over to him and went to wrap his arms around the demon’s waist but he was too slow. Having already ducked well out of Aziraphale’s grasp, Crowley had already made a dash for it across the next few courses.

Barrelling after him, Aziraphale leapt between courses to catch up with Crowley, arms outstretched ready to enclose him but Crowley was too fast. Unbeknownst to the demon, maybe having Aziraphale’s arms around him already would have saved him from the upcoming hazard.

While he ran, Crowley’s head was turned back laughing at Aziraphale while he feet suddenly collided with the side of a mini golf ramp. Before he could even put his hands out to break his fall, Crowley flew through the air and landed on his back with a crash.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted - any semblance of laughter gone and replaced with a horrifying screech.

“Oh,” said Crowley, quietly and calmly. “Hello there!”

Looking up from where he was now lying on the floor, he found himself collapsed in the middle of a family group. A father and two young children stood around him holding their golf clubs, looking baffled at the dramatic arrival of this mysterious man now lying on their golf course.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried again as he knelt down at Crowley’s side. He touched his chest gently and rubbed his soft shirt with care. “Stay still, darling - your back, oh gosh!”

“’S fine!” Crowley slurred already beginning to sit up. “Great thing about alcohol, stops the pain!”

He jumped up from the ground and held out a hand for Aziraphale to get up too. Once they were stood opposite each other feet firmly planted on the fake grass, the concerned look on Aziraphale face quickly faded and the pair collapsed into giggles. They clutched at each other and roared with laughter as the man and his two young girls stood around them exchanging confused glances.

“Excuse me, sirs,” a woman’s voice broke through the wall of deafening laughter.

Crowley and Aziraphale stopped abruptly and turned to find an employee stood beside them with a stern scowl.

“You’re disrupting our other customers,” she said cooly, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

***

“I cannot believe you had us thrown out, Crowley!” Aziraphale laughed.

Crowley tripped over his own feet as they stumbled arm in arm down Whickber Street in the setting sunlight. He chuckled to himself before taking a deep breath to compose himself.

“Wasn’t m’ fault, I didn’t put tha’ ramp there,” he slurred.

“We’re going to be banned!” Aziraphale cried with a smiled. “There’ll be CCTV pictures of us put up on the staff noticeboard - ‘please do not serve these gentlemen’.”

“Hopefully!” Crowley grinned. “Feels fantastic - I’ve always wanted to be kicked out of somewhere!”

“Well, you-“

“Don’t!” Crowley interrupted light-heartedly. “Don’t even!”

The pair burst into uncontrollable laughter and clutched at each other, Crowley’s hands gripping at Aziraphale’s sleeves and Aziraphale’s digging into his bony hips. Alcohol coursing through their veins and making them slightly delirious, they continued the short walk back to the bookshop entirely engrossed in their own little bubble of chaos.

Chapter Text

The Bentley rumbled around Crowley as, for the second time that month, he relaxed back into the passenger seat and allowed Aziraphale to drive him to an unknown location.

He trusted Aziraphale, of course he did! How could he not trust the judgement of an angel who had saved his life so many times, both physically and emotionally. So when Aziraphale had taken the car keys directly from Crowley’s hand as they ambled across Whickber Street to the Bentley, Crowley had simply rolled his eyes and grinned at the mysterious angel.

“Salisbury?” Asked Crowley, finally clocking on to where exactly they had ended up. “What is there to do in Salisbury?”

“Lovely little town!” Aziraphale said. “Although, I haven’t been here in quite some years!”

“When was the last time?” Crowley queried, sure it couldn’t have been any time recently or else he would’ve noticed.

“Oh a while, I was asked to help carry some stones,” said Aziraphale nonchalantly, “and very heavy they were, indeed!”

“You- I don’t- I can never tell if you’re joking when you say things like that.”

“I guess you’ll never know!” Aziraphale said grinning. “Here we are!”

Pulling the Bentley to a gentle stop in front of a large warehouse, Aziraphale quickly turned off the engine and jumped out. He dashed around to open the door for Crowley who simply sat staring up at the huge metal building.

“What the hell is this place?” Crowley hopped out of the car, ignoring Aziraphale’s kindly outstretched hand and brushing past him quickly. “What a romantic date location, angel!”

“Well,” Aziraphale started, following after Crowley as he marched around the building, “I became almost fixated on what you said - about flying!”

“What?” Crowley asked. He turned the corner of the warehouse and headed directly for the huge sliding glass doors.

“When you said you missed flying, because it hurts too much. So I thought-“

“Woah!” Halting in his tracks, Crowley suddenly found himself gazing out across a wide field dotted with small white planes. One little Cessna hurtled along the grass in front of them before finally tilting up and soaring up into the wild blue beyond. Crowley stood watching the plane openmouthed before turning back on his heel to face Aziraphale.

“Are we flying?” Crowley asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yes! And some!” Teased Aziraphale.

“Oh, angel!” Crowley span and began power-walking directly at the glass doors. “This is fantastic! Do you know I’ve never actually been on a plane before? Miracles make things too easy these days, but to actually fly is just-“

Aziraphale was following quickly behind Crowley but found himself coming to an abrupt halt when his chest collided with Crowley’s suddenly very still body. Crowley’s voice also reached an abrupt stop, cutting off awkwardly mid-sentence.

“That’s not- tell me that’s not real,” said Crowley quietly.

“I think it’s probably the closest to real flying you could achieve!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

Crowley had stopped just as the automatic doors had slid silently open as they revealed a white reception desk with a huge branded sign behind it: GoSkydive.

“You’re not serious?” Crowley said stoically. “Tell me this isn’t real.”

“You can finally fly, Crowley!” Aziraphale smiled. The excitement that had accompanied him throughout the car journey quickly morphed into nervous energy at the now furious glare that had taken over Crowley.

“It’s not flying, it's falling,” he said through gritted teeth.

“But-“

“There is no but!” Crowley shouted, fury suddenly bursting from within him. “You- you really thought this… mmm.”

He was practically vibrating with rage: hands shaking as he shifted between his feet trying his damned best to stay in control.

“I didn’t think-“

“You never do!” Crowley yelled. “Why would you? You’re an angel, you've no idea what it means to-“

“I was trying to do something nice!” Aziraphale tried to explain. “Wouldn’t it be nice to feel the wind in your hair? You won’t get much closer to flying than this!”

“I- I can’t,” Crowley stammered, “you- how did you think this would be a… I can’t have this conversation.”

Scrubbing his hand across his face, Crowley marched across the carpark towards the Bentley: his stomping footsteps echoing through the quiet afternoon. He threw open the door and was about to clamber into the driver’s seat when Aziraphale suddenly piped up again.

“I wanted you to feel-“

“You know what?” Crowley interrupted, over the roof of the car. His voice had gone from aggressive shouting to very calm and quiet in only a few seconds - it wasn’t entirely clear which one was more menacing. “Sometimes, I forget that you’re an angel. We always- I always think we know each other inside out, that we have everything in common, but you could never understand.”

“I do un-“

“No you don’t!” Back to screaming again. “You can’t- you couldn’t possibly. Everything I’ve been th- you can’t.”

“I’m sorry-“

“No. You have no idea what it means to Fall,” Crowley whispered, bubbling over with rage. “I tell you everything. Everything. But you could never understand it, could you angel?” He practically spat out the pet name.

“I didn’t mean-“

“Or maybe you will understand soon. ‘You have a fall coming, angel’, see how you like it, huh?” Crowley said viciously, visions of the fortune teller’s teasing snarl flittered through his head. “See how you enjoy eternal damnation.”

Crowley finally climbed into the car as Aziraphale stood dumbstruck on the pavement. The wheels screeched as he shoved the pedal to the floor and raced away at a speed unheard of in the sleepy Wiltshire town leaving Aziraphale abandoned at the warehouse, staring after him with tears brimming in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Overcast and grey, the sky over London sat oppressive above the city. Very little light permeated the blanket of darkened cloud, leaving the streets bathed in monochromatic shadows.

The rhythmic tapping of Aziraphale’s footsteps as he paced back and forth across the stone slabs was the only sound to be heard in the bookshop. Well, excluding the soft patter of Spooky’s tiny footsteps as she followed her owner like a shadow back and forth around the shop floor.

He’d been pacing for two hours straight… having stood up from his armchair where he’d sat for a short break from his earlier eight hour pacing marathon. The only real breaks he took from the incessant tip tapping of footsteps was the he occasionally stopped to pick up his phone receiver and dial Crowley’s number from where he had it committed to memory. But there was never any answer. The phone simply rang through as Crowley’s familiar answerphone message blared through at him.

As Aziraphale paused mid-step to bend down and gently brush Spooky across the head, the front door suddenly crashed open. Spooky was characteristically spooked by the noise, darted between Aziraphale’s legs, and disappeared up the spiral staircase as fast as her little black legs could carry her.

Jolting up to look at the being now stood in the open doorway, backlit by the grey light of the dying afternoon.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, relief washing over him briefly before he caught a glimpse of the murderous look in Crowley’s eyes. “Won’t- won’t you come in?” He stammered.

“I’m not here to kiss and make up,” said Crowley through gritted teeth.

“Then- then why are you-“

“For today’s date.” Crowley fiddled awkwardly with his silver shoelace scarf, completely refusing to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “We made an agreement to go on surprise dates every night for a month, I’m not a demon to break an agreement.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, slightly stunned. “Please Crowley, won’t you come in?”

“No.” Crowley reached up to his glasses, taking the arm between his fingers and for half a second Aziraphale felt his heart leap from his chest as he imagined Crowley taking them off and throwing them onto the table with a clatter like he always did. Instead, Crowley simply adjusted the glasses and then turned to stalk back off the doorstep and towards the parked Bentley behind him.

With no words exchanged, Aziraphale sent a small miracle of calm up to Spooky (who he could sense hiding under a pile of Crowley’s clothes in the bedroom) and followed Crowley out to Bentley, entirely unsure of what was about to happen.

***

The gentle rumble of the car was the only sound to emanate through the awkward silence. Not even music broke the stillness as was often the case, even at the behest of the Bentley itself.

Aziraphale fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat and repeatedly smoothed up and down the front of his shirt doing his damned best to avoid thinking about the demon beside him nearly smoking with anger.

He braced himself and took a deep breath but it was too much of a giveaway to Crowley.

“I-“

“No,” Crowley interrupted, staring straight ahead out of the windscreen. “I’m not interested. I don’t care.”

“But I care!” Said Aziraphale carefully.

“Forget it, we’re moving on.”

“Is that what this is then?” Aziraphale asked. “Moving on?”

Silence fell between them once again.

“Is this our life now? Are we simply going through the motions of our relationship? Is this what you want?” Implored Aziraphale.

“Don’t turn this back on me,” Crowley spat.

“I would like to apologise,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Don’t.”

“Listen, I wasn’t thinking properly-“

“When are you ever?” Crowley gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as they hurtled through London at breakneck pace.

“What?”

“Look,” Crowley sighed, “you were right.”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale asked astonished.

“You were trying to do a nice thing and I didn’t appreciate it. I’m a demon, what did you expect?” Crowley snarled.

“No, no,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I didn’t- it wasn’t nice! I… oh dear, I didn’t take you there to do a nice thing: I did it to make myself feel good, feel useful.”

“What do you mean?” Snapped Crowley.

“Since we… parted ways with our respective… you know? Well, I’ve felt a little… useless, I guess,” Aziraphale confessed.

“Useless?”

“I just wanted to help you, make you feel better but truly I just wanted to feel like I was doing good!”

“But you do good every single day, Aziraphale!” Crowley huffed.

“I know, but I just… I wanted to solve your problem but I was thinking about myself, not you,” Said Aziraphale.

“I don’t need you to solve my problems!” Said Crowley.

“But it’s nice to accept help!”

“No, listen to me now!” Crowley snapped, his confusion having morphed back to anger as if someone had flipped a switch in his head. “This isn’t me rejecting your help, not this time, believe me! I don’t need you to solve my problems-“

“But I-“

“Shut up! You’re not even listening to me now!” Crowley exclaimed astonished.

Aziraphale sunk into his seat and bowed his head, willing tears not to appear because he was sure the second one broke the dam he could do nothing to hold back the flood.

“I don’t need you to try and solve everything for me, I just need you… oh I don’t know! I don’t even know what I want, how the hell could you know?” Crowley sighed.

“You solve my problems all the time,” Aziraphale murmured. “The French prison, the demon’s in my bookshop. You do it for me all the time, I just wanted to repay you!”

“I don’t need to be repaid!” Crowley cried. “I just- fuck, okay we’re here.”

With the car pulling down a dingy looking alleyway, the pair stopped outside a nondescript brick building with no windows and a solitary metal door splattered with graffiti.

Crowley jumped out of the car before Aziraphale could continue their less-than-productive discussion and stalked over in the direction of the door. Following behind him like a lost puppy, Aziraphale had to power his little legs at double speed to keep up with the striding demon.

“What is that place?” He asked, already slightly out of breathe. “Is is a discotech?”

“A discotech? You can tell you don’t get out much,” Crowley said with a small smirk.

“Oh but the noise, Crowley!” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m so pent up already, the noise might discorporate me.”

Crowley halted suddenly only metres from the towering metal door and turned slowly to Aziraphale. He looked him dead in the eyes for the first time since their argument the previous day and clocked the sheer panic that had clouded over the angel’s face. Crowley sobered quickly and touched his arm very gently, so gently he could almost deny he’d ever done it if questioned later.

“It won’t be loud,” he muttered quietly before spinning hastily and shoving the door with both hands. It took considerable force to ease it open but once the gaping entrance was revealed, Aziraphale was shocked to see the interior.

They were stood slightly above the floor-level of the establishment and were looking down across the heads of at minimum two hundred people all undulating in a crowd. The mob flowed and bounced around the entire width of the space with their arms thrown up above their heads, waving like trees in a forest on a windy day.

To the casual observer, a discotech (as Aziraphale had called it) seemed correct but the key difference lay in the sound. With the typical thudding bass of a nightclub noticeably missing, the only noises came from the thumping and clunking of jumping feet and incredibly overwhelming and entirely terrible off key singing.

Each carefree dancer had a pair of green glowing headphones glued to their heads as they swayed and jumped to the sound of an unheard sound.

“Oh heavens,” Aziraphale exclaimed at the sight.

Before Crowley could turn to face him, Aziraphale schooled his face and tried his absolute best to plaster a smile across his expression. But he was slightly too slow and Crowley looked slightly guilty, maybe petty revenge wasn’t his brightest idea yet.

But it was too late.

Crowley took Aziraphale roughly by the hand, led him to a small desk with a probably slightly high young woman serving behind, and grabbed two sets of headphones, quickly thrusting one over his own ears before turning to Aziraphale and doing the same.

The thudding, crashing bass line that Aziraphale had been first expecting to hear suddenly pulsated through his head at a closer quarter than even he was ready for. Waves of sound penetrated his ears and rattled around in his brain like marbles in a pinball machine, not exactly forming music simply a wall of sound.

Before he had any time to adjust to the sudden onslaught of noise, Aziraphale was being dragged into the centre of the crowd. He tried his best to stay pressed close into Crowley but the crushing expanse of bodies made that task unfathomably difficult. He suddenly lost his grip on Crowley’s hand and was swallowed into the crowd.

***

‘Dancing’ was a loose description for what Crowley and Aziraphale had been doing for the last twenty minutes. They only caught hold of each other very occasionally in the mess of the swelling dance floor and both tried their best to seem to enjoy the evening.

Crowley had vacated the floor after much pushing and shoving with the goal of getting drinks for himself and Aziraphale and had found himself leaning against the bar chatting with the attractive young bartender as he poured Aziraphale’s whiskey.

“Who orders whiskey at a fucking club?” The young man asked with a grin.

“’S’for my date,” Crowley mumbled, swigging from the rum and coke the man had just handed him.

“The old guy in the white, yeah?” The bartender asked. “Saw you two come in together. No offence but you don’t seem much like a couple.”

“Why do you say that?” Asked Crowley.

“Dunno, just doesn’t seem like your type,” the man shrugged.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you’ve come to a silent disco on your Saturday night and he-“ the man nodded towards Aziraphale who was still in the swaying crowd, “doesn’t seem like the disco type.”

“He’s not: he hates crowds, loud noises, people touching him,” Crowley said.

“And he’s your partner?” The bartender handed Crowley the whiskey and shot him a confused look.

“Cheers. Yeah.”

“Then why did you bring him? If he hates it so much?” Questioned the bartender.

“Revenge.” Crowley shrugged with a frown. “Getting back at him.”

“How mature,” the man teased with a roll of his eyes. “Well, it certainly seems to be working!” He nodded at Aziraphale as Crowley followed his gaze to settle back on his angel.

He turned to spot Aziraphale stood as still as he possibly could amongst the mess of jostling, sweating dancers. He couldn’t see Crowley, or if he could, his eyes weren’t focused on him: possibly because of the tears clouding his vision. He pulled his hand up and scrubbed his knuckles into his eyes one by one, screwing up his face to push the tears away.

“Shit!” Crowley dropped the two glasses he was holding down onto the bar, not even reacting when the sound of smashing glass echoed around the nightclub.

He bounced away from the bar, pushing off it like a springboard before dashing through the crowd at great haste. Reaching Aziraphale, he didn’t even pause for thought as he grabbed Aziraphale around the waist and began to pull him out of the crowd, away from the dancers, and suddenly out of the huge metal door and into the empty, quiet street.

Rain had begun to pour and both immediately found themselves drenched as water flowed in thick rivulets from the leaking drain above. It was entirely dark, with only the light of a streetlight out on the main road to illuminate the alleyway.

Crowley yanked the headphones off Aziraphale who was breathing heavily, his entire body heaving with effort, and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Crowley gasped. “You’re okay, I didn’t mean to- oh God I’m the worst creature in existence!”

“’S’okay,” Aziraphale sniffed, having slowed his breathing in Crowley’s tight hold. “I deserved it.”

“No, no, no!” Crowley assured him. “You- oh God. You didn’t, I- You- Yesterday you tried to do a nice thing and it backfired, this was deliberate. I wanted to hurt you, I tried to-“

“Shhh,” Aziraphale whispered as tears began to track down his cheeks, matching those already streaming from Crowley. “I tried to do something nice, but it wasn’t nice, it was selfish. I wanted to help you, but I was so wrong!”

“You tried though, and I hurt you for it!” Crowley cried.

“No, you were right! I need to listen to you, calm down, dear!” Aziraphale stroked his back softly. “We need to talk, don’t we my love?”

“Mhmm,” Crowley nodded against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I just- I don’t need you to solve my problems for me, angel. All I need is this: a shoulder to cry on sometimes. I need someone to listen and look after me and offer advice when I need it. But swooping in to try to save me, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Of course! Of course, I can do that. I’ll be-“ Aziraphale stumbled.

“You already do. You’re so wonderful, you always take care of me when I hurt and you care about me so much. That’s all I need, angel, just you: you’re enough.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled, squished against Crowley’s chest. “I’ll never be enough-“

“You are!”
“Not for you, not for heaven,” Aziraphale said almost calmly, his tears all cried out, “I’m so scared of my Fall. I know I shouldn’t be: you’ll love me no matter what but I’m so afraid.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Crowley whispered with a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s head. “I’ll catch you.”

“You always say that,” Aziraphale chuckled with a watery smile.

“It’s true!” Crowley scoffed, grinning.

The pair stood in the pouring rain enraptured in each other and holding each other close, swaying on the pavement.

“Listen,” Crowley said seriously, “important question!”

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold but he leant back to see a cheeky smirk on Crowley’s face and any fear was shrugged straight off.

“Yes, dear?”

“Can I get a redo on this date? Cause no offence but you weren’t the best disco company!”

“Hush, demon!” Aziraphale said swatting him gently on the side of the head. “Of course you can have another go! But promise it’ll just be us tomorrow? I can’t deal with other people after this.”

“‘Course,” Crowley smiled.

Chapter Text

For the second night in a row, Aziraphale was pacing. He straightened out his waistcoat for the fourth time and took a deep blowing breath.

After the stress of the previous day, what with his argument with Crowley and the horrors of a dingy nightclub, his anxiety was still through the roof. Yes, he and Crowley had made up and all was forgiven; yes, they had driven home in comfortable silence; and yes, they had spent the evening with Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap as he began reading Treasure Island aloud to him. Despite all that, the nervous energy had yet to dissipate. Guilt still clouded his logic and the fear that Crowley may still turn up fuming still hung heavy over him.

The bell above the door tinkled gently announcing the arrival of Crowley into the otherwise silent shop. Aziraphale paused mid-step and turned towards the door: stunned still mid-turn as he laid eyes on the demon.

He looked beautiful. Two strands of bronze hair were pulled back and tied up in a half ponytail, drawing his hair away from his face to reveal his delicate features. He was dressed head to toe in demonic black: his tight jeans showing off his wiry frame and feminine hips. He looked the same as he always.

“You look beautiful!” Gasped Aziraphale, his eyes raking over his thin form.

“Ngk,” Crowley scoffed. “Nothing special, angel.”

“So beautiful,” Aziraphale said wistfully. He finally regained the ability to move his legs and stepped quickly over to where Crowley was leaning agains the doorframe. Before Crowley had the ability to react, Aziraphale took his jaw in his warm hands and drew them together: kissing him softly with a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Love you so much,” Crowley mumbled while drawing this arms up around Aziraphale’s shoulders to pull him closer.

“Mm, and I you.”

“You ready to go?” Crowley asked, kissing his way along Aziraphale’s jaw.

“Can’t we just stay here?” Aziraphale murmured.

“You’ve been in the shop all day!”
“Not in the shop necessarily, just here.” Aziraphale reached up and rubbed at Crowley’s cheek, scratching softly over his ear as if he were an overgrown cat.

“Ssshh, c’mon let’s go!”

Crowley was the one to break their tight squeeze (much to Aziraphale’s chagrin) and, still maintaining contact through grabbing Aziraphale’s hand, he led them out of the shop and into the Bentley ready to whisk them away to their date for the evening.

***

“Did you forget something, dear?” Aziraphale asked teasingly, prodding lightly at Crowley’s knee.

Crowley had driven away from the bookshop at a surprisingly reasonable speed for him and turned left off Whickber Street. He’d then turned left again, and then left shortly after before swinging the Bentley back onto Whickber Street with a final left turn. Without a word, he had parked the car exactly where he had left from and killed the engine.

Finally breaking his gaze from the road, Crowley turned to face Aziraphale looking the confused angel straight in the eyes.He clicked once in the direction of the shop before throwing open the door and hurrying across the road to the waiting red door.

Aziraphale scrambled out of the car and dashed after him up onto the doorstep.

“What are we doing?” He asked.

Crowley simply pushed open the door and gestured for Aziraphale to enter.

“Such a gentleman!”

Brushing past Crowley, Aziraphale re-entered the bookshop and stood stunned on the top step, just inside the door. The shop had been completely transformed in the seconds they had been outside to resemble the intense effort Aziraphale had put in to decorate the shop for his Austen-style ball.

The glistening chandelier hung low and imposing over the space, dotted with flickering candles - no doubt more of Crowley’s safety-conscious miracle flame. The bookshelves had all been pushed aside and draped in curtains of red and gold which added to the darkened and cosy little bubble Aziraphale had found himself in.

“My dance!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Crowley padded up behind him, wrapping long thin arms around his middle and resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I didn’t get to enjoy it last time.”

“Oh? I thought it was a rather enjoyable evening… before the invasion of your ex-colleagues, that is!” Aziraphale said with a small smile.

“The dancing was alright, but I’d prefer it like this!”

Taking Aziraphale’s hand from where it rested over his arm, Crowley spun him around and guided them quickly to the centre of the room. He snaked his arms up over his angel’s broad shoulders only after pulling Aziraphale’s around his slim waist.

With a simple nod of Crowley’s head, slow and soothing music flowed serenely from the old gramophone and circled the entwined pair in the tinkle of piano keys. They swayed gently under the glow of the chandelier as Crowley leant down to lay his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, closing his eyes and sighing softly.

“This is what I wanted, that night,” he confessed. “I wanted you alone, all to myself. I often do.”

“You have me, forever and always. I’m yours.” Aziraphale’s pressed a very light kiss to his forehead before nuzzling his face into Crowley’s long hair.

“All mine.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale whispered. “You’re so good, so good to me.”

And there they stayed, long into the night. The summer sun set slowly beneath the line of the city, casting the shop in almost total darkness: gentle gazes of both angel and demon illuminated by nothing other than the soft glow of candlelight. They swayed and swirled and whispered loving nothingness close into each other’s ears until the moon sat high in the sky and the silent night was interrupted by nothing but the slow turn of the classical record.

Chapter Text

“And what’s this one?” Crowley asked, raising his glass and swirling the red liquid.

“1939,” said Aziraphale. “Château Cheval Blanc. Widely considered to be a good year for Bordeaux, decent harvest, very sweet!”

“Strong?” Crowley said, taking a sip.

“13.”

“Excellent!” Crowley grinned.

He leant forward and placed his glass down carefully on the coffee table and then lay back into the sofa. Pulling the red tartan blanket up over his shoulder, Crowley cuddled into the plush cushions wrapping his arms around Spooky where she lay curled up in a tiny ball on his lap.

Aziraphale stood poking at the roaring fire, being watched intently by the demon curled up behind him. Soft crackling was the only sound in the darkened backroom, in addition to the only light.

“Don’t you look lovely!” Aziraphale said with a soft smile as he stepped back across to the sofa. He bent down and brushed a hand through Crowley’s hair, kissing him once sweetly and then moving in for more.

“Were you wanting to sit down?” Crowley mumbled against his lips.

“Mhmm, shuffle across?” Murmured Aziraphale.

“Mmmm, no!” Crowley reached up and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, holding him close in both a loving embrace and a tight constriction. Spooky mewled sleepily from between them, protesting at the sudden crush of bodies around her.

“Fiend!” Harbouring whatever angelic strength he could possibly muster, Aziraphale thrust one arm under Crowley’s back and one beneath behind his knees before scooping him up and cuddling him close in his arms. Crowley squealed and quickly grabbed at Spooky to keep the concerned cat from falling from his lap.

“You’re in my way, demon!” Aziraphale teased.

With a screech, Crowley found himself being spun around and plonked ungracefully down sideways onto Aziraphale’s lap. He chuckled quietly and snuggled into Aziraphale’s neck, his head coming to rest on his shoulder as he pulled himself closer.

Spooky meanwhile leapt up off Crowley and stood staring accusatorially at the pair.

“You lovely creature!” Aziraphale mumbled, reaching out to tickle her head. She suddenly began to turn and turn as if flattening grass in the wild before finally crashing down to sprawl across the cushion beside Aziraphale’s thigh.
Aziraphale took a sip from his wine (the pair’s third bottle of the evening) and rubbed up and down his demon’s spine.

“I’ve loved having you here all day, we really need to get you moved in properly, my dear!”

“Yes please!” Exclaimed Crowley. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, what with the fete on Sunday!”

“Please?” This time, it was Crowley shooting the puppy dog eyes, and he was decidedly good at it. The yellow of his irises were almost entirely gone, consumed by wide black pupils shining in the firelight. Whether it was the darkness, the adoration, or the begging that dilated his eyes so much, but whatever the cause was, it worked terribly well.

“Oh how can I say no to you?” Aziraphale sighed. “We can drive over to Mayfair in the morning to collect your things, but then I really do have so much to do for the village!”

“What could there possibly be for you to do?” Crowley asked.

“Well, the bake sale is still in a mess. Diana called to say her Victoria sponge hasn’t risen and Tamsin’s shortbread was knocked off the counter by her grandson. It’s absolute bedlam, Crowley, I don’t know how we’ll cope!” Aziraphale babbled.

“Anarchy, angel!” Crowley giggled.

“It really is, Heaven only knows how we’re going to pull this off!”

“Regardless of what happens, I’m proud of you, angel,” Crowley said pressed against the skin of his neck. He kissed softly at the warm skin and smiled against him.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

“We’ve got all the kitchen supplies we could ever need, you miracled them remember?” Aziraphale sighed.

“Spatula!” Crowley thrust a utensil into Aziraphale’s grasp before turning back to the rows and rows of home decor and perusing the shelves once more. Aziraphale dropped the spatula into the trolley atop the ever growing pile of supplies.

“Must we really be here?” Aziraphale asked. “I have so much I have to do, could this not wait?”

“Hey!” Crowley exclaimed turning to clasp at Aziraphale’s sleeves. “You asked me to move in, and now you’re blaming me for trying to make the place habitable!”

“Honestly, dear!” His face finally breaking into a teasing smile, Aziraphale shook his head with a soft chuckle. He pulled Crowley in by his arms and kissed him on the very tip of his nose.

The pair continued on through the shop with Crowley bouncing ahead scooping up plates and bowls and collections of cutlery while Aziraphale simply pushed the trolley behind him watching his demon jump around with excitement as he took in the different colours and designs.

Eventually, after many hours, they made it to the bedding section and had taken it upon themselves to test out the comfort of every single bed they could find.

They had no intention to replace their (well, Aziraphale’s… but both of their’s really) bed. Possibly, they should: it was old and the wooden head and foot board were deeply faded. But it was perfect for them and their needs. Crowley had spent many a morning cuddled deep into the duvet with his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s slowly rising and falling chest.

The angel meanwhile lounged curled around him with a book open in his lap and a miracle flipping between the pages: one arm wrapped behind Crowley with his warm hand pressed against his bare waist and the other resting on Spooky who had taken up semi-permanent residence on the bed.

But just because they didn’t want to replace the tartan sheets and mahogany frame doesn’t mean they couldn’t test out what the world had to offer.

Flopping down dramatically onto a large leather framed bed, Crowley shimmied onto the sheets and sighed in comfort.

“This one’s nice!” He exclaimed, closing his eyes.

The gentle murmur of the voices in the store echoed around him as he sunk into the sheets, fading into each other and swirling around his head.

“Try it, angel, what do you think?” He mumbled, expecting Aziraphale to still be stood beside the bed grinning down at him but after a beat of silence, he cracked open his eyes. “Angel?”

The trolley stood still beside the bed but Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Crowley scanned the bedroom area but couldn’t spot his angel anywhere nearby. Baffled by Aziraphale’s disappearance, he stood and began making the journey over to the next section in search of his angel.

***

Aziraphale turned back to the bed where he’d left Crowley lounging in the sheets but he was gone. He’d only stopped for half a minute to feel the texture of a collection of fluffy blankets and suddenly he had vanished!

“Excuse me!” Aziraphale called to an employee dressed all in blue. “The gentleman who was just lying here, have you seen him?”

He patted the duvet where it was still dipped under where Crowley had been lying. The employee looked at him with a deadpan look - as if this exact problem happened to her at least once a day.

“Can you give us a description to locate him, sir?” It was as if she were reading from a script, she might as well have been buffing her nails as she spoke for all the empathy she appeared to have for Aziraphale’s situation.

“Taller than me, long red hair tied back, very skinny. Looks a little like a snake in a leather jacket?” Explained Aziraphale.

Before the woman could even open her mouth to respond, a sudden ‘bing-bong’ rang out across the store.

“Attention, customers,” the robotic voice said, “if anyone has lost a six foot gothic toddler, please make your way to customer services.”

“Oh heavens!” Aziraphale chuckled, immediately turning to head in the direction of the front desk.

Weaving his way between the displays with his trolley (doing his best not to take out any rogue children with the speed he was moving), Aziraphale arrived at the desk. He wanted nothing more than to school his face into submission but the sight of Crowley stood pouting with his arm crossed, leaning against the wall beside a bored-looking employee.

“And where did you disappear off to, my dear?” Asked Aziraphale with a laugh.

“Could ask you the same, vanishing without a trace!” Crowley huffed, fuming.

“Is he yours, sir?” The employee asked, not looking up from her computer screen.

“I’m not his-“

“He’s mine, yes!” Aziraphale grinned. “What have you been up to, dear?”

“I’ve been off doing demonic things!” Crowley insisted. “Traitorous, evil, unforgivable actions!”

“We found him crying in the shower department,” the employee said.

“Yes thank you, Cheryl!” Crowley snarled. “Come on, angel!”

He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand roughly and began to drag him away with the trolley in tow. Aziraphale burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling with tears forming along his waterline.

“My dear, I’m here now!”

“Shut up!”

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed in through the cracked open window as the August breeze billowed the white cotton curtain. The morning dawned on another beautiful summer day. Sunday. Fete day.

Stretching beneath the cosy covers, Aziraphale awakened for the first time in months having spent the night cuddled together with Crowley, both sleeping like logs through the warm summer night.

Aziraphale cracked his neck and carefully ran his fingers between the strands of golden orange hair that laid splayed out across his chest and shoulders. He kissed him softly on the head before he had even opened his eyes, squeezing his husband tightly.

“Mmm, no,” Crowley mumbled, burying his face into Aziraphale’s chest.

“Morning, my sweet!” Murmured Aziraphale into Crowley’s hairline. “Wakey wakey! Time to seize the day!” He held him so securely and rocked the pair of them together in the soft covers.

Suddenly, Crowley’s entire body stiffened up and he let out a strangled groan.

“Darling?” Aziraphale said quickly.

“‘M’okay,” said Crowley.

“Do you hurt?”

“No.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded. He reached up to rest his hand between Crowley's shoulder blades, doing his very best not to move Crowley at all, and gently stroked his way down his spine.

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley mumbled, rolling out of Aziraphale’s close hug with a horrifying moan before collapsing flat on his back. His eyes squeezed shut and a pained expression crossing his face, Crowley attempted to flex his hips and straighten out his spine.

“What can I do, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, stroking his cheek lovingly. “A bath, would that help? Could I give you a massage? Would a little miracle do any good?”

“Shouldn’t you be getting going?” Said Crowley.

“Don’t you worry about it,”Aziraphale said with a soft smile.

“But you’ll be late if you lie here much longer?”

“I’m rather non-plussed, honestly!” Aziraphale said shrugging before sitting up and gazing down at his beloved laying in agony beside him.

“You are… plussed, angel. Get going to your fete, you don’t want to miss the setup, do you?” Crowley chuckled.

“I’m not going-”

“Don’t you dare!” Crowley interrupted suddenly with an intense glare. “You are going! I’m not having you miss it because of me.”

“It’s not because of you, it’s because of me! I don’t want to go anymore!” Aziraphale assured him. He wasn’t lying. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to the fete: he’d put so much effort into the organisation and was genuinely looking forward to seeing his hard work come to fruition. But the sight of his husband wincing with every movement, practically writhing in pain in the tangled sheets, was certain to change his mind.

Aziraphale shuffled up onto his knees resting just beside Crowley’s hip and rested his hand on the demon’s bare chest. He scratched carefully at Crowley's skin with his perfectly manicured nails, like he knew Crowley enjoyed (one of the many serpentine qualities that maintained, even while he took on a human form).

“You’re not missing it,” Crowley said with a sigh, finally opening his eyes to gaze up at Aziraphale. “That’s not a suggestion, angel, That’s a statement of fact, you’re going! I’ll stay here for a bit, then maybe I’ll pop down later once this bloody spine has stopped trying to escape my body.

“But I don’t want-“

“I’m not interested! If you put your life on hold every time I had a little twinge, you’d never leave the house!” Crowley chuckled. “Look, you go, I’ll be fine!”

Aziraphale sighed: once Crowley had decided on an idea, it was very difficult to change his mind. Still scratching at Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale bent down to kiss him softly before cuddling into his neck and breathing him in.

“You sure?” He asked quietly.

“Of course,” murmured Crowley.

As the two of them held each other tight and whispered loving words close to their skin, a soft meow sounded in the quiet bedroom.

“Hello, you!” Aziraphale exclaimed. Little Spooky mewled and stretched at the end of the bed as she woke up from a night curled up between Crowley and Aziraphale’s legs. She had become a permanent presence in the bed since the very night she had been brought home from the shelter: originally occupying a space between the pair on their pillows but once Crowley had woken up suffocated by a ball of fur, she’d been relegated to the foot of the bed.

“Good morning, little miss!” Crowley said, completely unable to see Spooky from his prone position but still appreciating her presence.

Spooky mowed again and stretched dramatically before rolling over onto her back. Giggling quietly, Aziraphale reached across and tickled her chest softly.

“Hey!” Exclaimed Crowley as Aziraphale turned away. “Get back here! Stop stealing my angel, you jealous little shit!”

“If anyone is jealous, my dear, it appears to be you!” Aziraphale teased. He scooped Spooky up into his arms, turned back to Crowley, and then plonked her down on the demon’s chest.

“Argh!” Crowley screeched. At first, Aziraphale assumed it to be an exclamation of pain but both Crowley and Spooky quickly settled. She sat down to form a perfect loaf of cat atop Crowley’s chest and began purring loudly, the vibrations echoing through Crowley soothing his aching bones.

“Nurse Spooky!” Aziraphale laughed.

“Doctor Spooky! She didn’t suffer ten years of medical school, just for you to de-rank her!” Crowley said. He tickled Spooky’s head and scratched behind her little ears.

“Oh I do apologise!” Aziraphale grinned, joining Crowley in petting the little creature. “Are you sure you’ll be alright, my dear?”

“Yeah, course! I’ve got the best doctor in London! Harley Street has nothing on this one!” Crowley ran his fingers through Spooky’s dark fur, while Aziraphale shot him a serious look. “I’ll be fine, angel, honestly.”

“Okay, well, your mobile is on the bedside table. If you need anything, anything at all, then ring and I’ll be back here in two shakes of a lamb’s tale, I promise!”

“I know,” Crowley said as Spooky butted her head against his jaw. “We’ll be fine!”

***

It was still early in the morning, only 9:00 by the time Aziraphale arrived in the Downs but the sun blazed high over the county of Sussex and the usually sleepy village of Weston-under-Hammlesford was bustling with activity. The residents dashed around running errand after errand in preparation for the fete.

As Aziraphale pulled the Bentley up to the village hall, he was struck by the flurry of activity around him.

Just down the road, a man in khaki coveralls stood atop a ladder propped up against the village bakery stringing bunting from a hanging basket of bright, multi-coloured flowers. He had clearly been working his way down the street as arcs of pastel bunting hung loosely across the road. The man stretched, took both hands off the ladder to tie the string around the metal hook of the hanging basket, and the ladder wobbled beneath him, slipping slightly on the pavement.

Each shop down the long and winding high street had owners outside fluffing the cushions of cafe tables, cleaning shop windows with squeegees, or arranging tables of produce outside their shop doors.

Meanwhile, two middle-aged women were awkwardly manoeuvring a folding table in through the doors of the village hall with plates of cakes and biscuits piled high across the surface. A gaggle of teenagers stalked around the hall as well, each carrying a chair under either arm looking very much as if they had been unwillingly dragged into helping by their parents.

Aziraphale jumped out of the Bentley to take in the atmosphere of the excited little town. He looked up at the village hall but his attention was immediately caught by the sight of the sprawling village green behind the hall. The field was covered with tables with a variety of products arranged on each one: boxes of chocolates, misshapen mugs, hand drawn cards of countryside scenes, candles, books, flowers, everything a person could imagine could be seen being arranged by the stall-holders.

Fairground stalls also dotted the field including a test-your-strength machine, hook-a-duck, and a coconut shy, their bright colours standing out against the emerald green grass and surrounding trees.

“Yo, this is sick!” A man’s voice called form nearby, shocking Aziraphale out of his trance.

A man in his 40s came rushing over to Aziraphale but brushed past him quickly, stopping suddenly in front of the Bentley. The man bent to admired the glossy black shine of the car, marvelling quietly to himself.

“What a beauty! Is she yours?” He asked Aziraphale, a look of wonder on his face.

“Yes, she is!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “Well, she’s my husband’s really, she’s his baby!”

“Woah, is it vintage? Like properly vintage?”

“1926!”

“Mr Fell!” Aziraphale spun on his heel to find Marion, head of the Women’s Institute, marching towards him. Initially shooting her a warm smile, Aziraphale suddenly sobered as he caught sight of Marion’s concerned expression.

“What can I do?” Aziraphale asked quickly.

“Well, we could’ve done with you about two hours ago but you’re here now, I suppose!” Marion said rudely, huffing and brushing her greying hair out of her face. “Everything is going wrong!”

“What? The village looks wonderful, dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“The stall canopies aren’t up, there’s not enough coconuts for the coconut shy, Jean who was going to run the bake sale got sunstroke at Henley regatta, stupid woman, and is at home ill. We’ve got no Pimms, no cider, the fizzy drinks have gone missing. The dog agility course is still just a pile of poles and planks. Stephen from White Brook Farm who was meant to bring the pig for the ‘guess the weight’ game is stuck in the mud and can’t get in! The signs we ordered for the sponsors haven’t arrived, there’s no duckboards down for wheelchair users, and the bloody huge ‘Village Fete’ sign is still rolled up in the boot of my car!”

Marion’s hands flew around in dramatic gestures as she ranted, her face turning purple with frustration. She stepped closer and closer to Aziraphale with every problem she described, forcing him back until his back collided with the Bentley.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, pulling open the car door and reaching inside, pulling out a large bottle of red liquid, “I brought a bottle of Pimms so… that’s one problem solved!”

“Right, and the twenty other issues we’ve currently got?” Marion said, snatching the bottle from him and stalking back into the hall.

Staring after her, Aziraphale sighed and brushed down his waistcoat and followed her into the building: his mind already whirring at a hundred miles per hour trying to find solutions to the many, many problems now facing him.

Clicking his fingers to miracle a small black card into his hand, Aziraphale looked at the card and approached Marion who was frantically trying to unfold tablecloths to spread out across the many tables surrounding the hall.

“Marion, do you know where this girl lives? Is she local?” Aziraphale asked holding the card out to the woman. Marion snatched it quickly and read aloud.

“‘Elsie Lou Swallow’?” Marion read. “She lives on Barton Lane, the other side of Hampton Field. It’s the one with the blue door. Weird kid, that one. Never looks you in the eye.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. “So just around the corner?”

“Yes. Why?” Marion snapped.

But Aziraphale was already gone. Disappearing out through the door, he left Marion to simply shake her head in confusion and then return to flicking out tablecloths.

***

“Hello, dear! Is Elsie in?” Aziraphale said leaning down to look the small elderly woman in the eye.

“Who are you?” The woman asked skeptically.

“Mr Fell.”

The woman looked Aziraphale up and down, taking in the appearance of this strange man who had just appeared on her doorstep.

“Wait here.” And she slammed the turquoise door in his face.

Aziraphale took a step back glancing around the small walled garden at the front of the terraced house, filled with bright flowers and luscious green ferns. Pushed right back against the wall of the house, just beneath the kitchen window, sat a large wooden bench with a small inscription carved into a plaque:

Lindsey April Swallow
May you fly forever
14/07/1995-24/12/2018

The door inched open once more and the pale face of a teenage girl poked around from behind it. Upon spotting Aziraphale looking down at the bench, the girl cleared her throat and drew his attention quickly back to the house.

“Hello, dear!” Aziraphale said cheerily. “I was wondering if you might be able to help me?”

“You bought from my art stall,” Elsie said quietly.

“I did, indeed! I’ve had your dragon picture framed, it’s on the wall in my bookshop!” Aziraphale said. It was true. It looked horribly out of place amongst the rows of ancient books and faded scrolls but he loved it all the same.

Elsie pulled open the door fully and stepped out onto the doorstep, trusting this unusual man simply because he’d once shown her basic kindness. She was wearing long, loose blue jeans which bunched up around her ankles and a crimson red hoodie, one string of which was in her mouth as she chewed incessantly at it. The state of the opposite string hanging over her chest suggested this was a common habit.

“What do you need?” She asked, scuffing her shabby trainer against the doorstep.

“The fete, in the village today? We need someone to paint sponsorship signs. We did order some on the internet but they never arrived, I did warn them the internet can’t be trusted but no one listens!”

Elsie giggled quietly and looked up at him.

“Why me?”

“You’re an artist, aren't you?” Aziraphale said as if it were the obvious thing on the planet.

“Yeah but… they don’t like me,” Elsie murmured.

“Who doesn’t?”

“The village, they think I’m weird.”

“Aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked with a smile. “Who’d want to be normal, huh? I dress like this, I drive a vintage Bentley, I walk hand in hand with my gothic husband through Sussex villages because I couldn’t care less what people think of me! You should be weird, weird works!”

“Oh,” Elsie muttered.

“So, will you help?” Aziraphale asked optimistically.

Elsie stood still, avoiding Aziraphale’s hopeful gaze. Suddenly, she stepped up to the front door and cracked it open slightly as Aziraphale sighed disappointedly.

“Nana!” She shouted through the door. “Nana, I’m going out to the fete!”

“It doesn’t start ’til 12, you dolt!” Her nan yelled back.

“I’m helping set up! I’ll meet you there at 1!” Elsie rolled her eyes at Aziraphale who simply grinned at the girl.

“Meet at the war memorial!” The voice from inside shouted back, but Elsie had already shut the door with a thud and was starting off down the path with Aziraphale close behind.

***

Having set up Elsie on the floor behind the village hall with a bucket of black paint and four rolls of banner cloth, Aziraphale had driven out to Tesco Extra on the outside of a nearby town and bought up all of their Pimms, cider, Coke, lemonade, juice, any drink he could find and made quick work of stocking up the village hall bar.

It had reached 11:00 by the time he was done and there was still a list of things to do as long as his arm.

“Mr Fell, the banner must be up before we open!” Marion shouted from across the hall as Aziraphale appeared from behind the bar. “Go fetch the ladder from Mr Farron, he’s down at the butchers. I’m sure it was him who had it last!”

Rolling his eyes but following the instructions anyway, Aziraphale marched his way across the wooden parquet floor towards the open double doors, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall.

As he made it out into the blistering sunshine, he was pleased to find Mr Farron making his way across the carpark wrestling as best as an old man could with a huge steel ladder.

“I’ll get it, Mr Farron!” Aziraphale shouted as he ran to grab the ladder from the struggling man.

“Thank you, sir!” Mr Farron tipped his hat at Aziraphale after he passed it across and then turned to disappear again.

“No, sir! Could you give me a hand with the sign?” Aziraphale asked, struggling to prop the ladder against the front of the village hall.

“Ooh I couldn’t get up there!” Mr Farron said. “I’ll leave that job to spritely young things like you!”

“Could you at least stand there and tell me if I'm hanging it evenly?” Aziraphale said, grabbing the rolled up sign from where it lay propped against Marion’s car and testing the bottom of the ladder with a hearty kick. “Seems fine.” He mumbled.

He tucked the roll of cloth under his arm and started up the ladder. It wobbled precariously under his weight but he climbed up rung by rung using all the angelic strength he could muster to keep himself stable.

Reaching the very top, Aziraphale found himself at least 6-7 metres above the dusty carpark below. He wobbled slightly as he took the banner from under his arm and unfurled it, allowing it to flow freely so it nearly touched the ground. He took the end of the rope in his hand and tied it deftly around the large metal hook drilled into the wall for this very purpose.

Very slowly and carefully, he climbed back down the ladder and took hold of the other end of the huge ‘Village Fete’ banner ready to hang it up. He shifted the ladder across to the other side of the door but the unfortunate placement of a flower border meant he had to prop one leg on the carpark floor and the other in the loose soil of the garden.

Placing his foot on the bottom rung, the ladder shook violently.

“Won’t you hurry up, Mr Fell!” Marion shouted from the doorway, fury taking over her expression. “I need you to get the canopies up, come on!”
“I’m a little occupied at the moment!” Aziraphale called down to her as he clambered up with the banner string held between his teeth. “Mr Farron, can you tell me when it’s level?”

“Oh I don't know, son!” Mr Farron shook his head. “My eyesight isn’t what it was!”

Holding onto the top run with one hand, Aziraphale reached out to hook the little loop over the hook: his face pressing uncomfortably into the rough brick.

“Is that even?” He shouted, voice distorted by his cheek smushed against the wall.

“A little higher!” Mr Farron yelled back.

“Mr Fell, would you put your foot down! I’ve got more jobs for you!” Marion shouted, frantically trying to untangle a string of bunting.

“Yes, I’m trying!” Aziraphale said. He was starting to lose his cool as his heart thudded loudly in his head.

“Higher still, boy!” Hollered Mr Farron.

“Mr Fell?” A quiet voice said.

“Higher!”

“This is taking an age!”

“Mr Fell,” Elsie said slightly louder this time, although still significantly quieter than an average speaking voice, “I’ve finished the sponsorship banners. Where do you want them?”

She stood at the foot of the ladder holding up four rolls of cloth now neatly painted with ‘Proudly Sponsored by J. P. Heron Construction Ltd.’

“Excellent, Elsie!” Aziraphale shouted, balancing precariously on one foot as he stretched out across the wall. “Just pop them down there for me!”

“Stop yapping and get a move on!” Marion yelled.

“No offence, but while you’re yelling at him, what exactly are you doing to help?” Elsie asked softly.

“You, little miss, need to watch your tone. I am your elder, I deserve-“

“Little to the left!” Mr Farron yelled.

“Respect you elders!” Shouted Marion.

“Is this okay?” Aziraphale asked.

“Left still!”

“Now?” Aziraphale reached even further until his entire weight was resting on his tip toes on one foot on one thin rung, and his arm was stretched as far out as he could possibly manage.

“Higher!”

“Quickly!”

“This okay?”

“Left again!”

“Just do it!”

“I-“

“Left!”

“Higher!”

“But-“

Aziraphale suddenly felt the ladder shift beneath him and as one leg sunk into the dirt, the other slipped beneath his weight. And then, the ladder wasn’t there at all.

The world went still and Aziraphale found himself falling in slow motion. A dull thud echoed through the silence around him as the ladder collided with the wall, then the carpark floor.

The air rushed around him and he braced himself for impact. Quickly tightening every muscle in his body and squeezing this eyes shut, his mind flashed to Crowley lying stiff in bed. The fall was from a height at which discorporation was a certain event and the idea that Crowley would wake up from his pain-induced nap to never see him again filled Aziraphale’s chest with an ache he could not control.

As the dry and dusty ground pulled his closer and closer, Aziraphale readied himself for the thud of his body as he had neither the time nor the brain power to perform the miracle that may have saved him.

A mere metre from the ground and suddenly arms encircled him. Both him and whoever had rushed forward to catch him crashed to the ground leaving them a messy pile of twisted limbs and rumpled clothes.

Still alive.

Aziraphale shifted his arms beneath him and found them in perfect working order. Using them to push himself upright, he sat up and looked down at the individual crumpled into the dirt beneath him. The dark voids of familiar sunglasses stand back up at him.

“Crowley!” Exclaimed Aziraphale. “What are you-“

“You idiot!” Crowley shouted at him, sitting up forcefully before shoving Aziraphale in the chest. “You could’ve- you could’ve gone, left me. Why would you do-“

“I’m sorry, oh Lord,” Aziraphale immediately burst into tears as the frustration of the situation finally caught up with him.

“Oh it's okay! It’s okay, I’m not angry, I’m sorry!” Crowley gathered his angel up into his arms, keeping them both firmly sat down on the floor. He curled himself around Aziraphale with both his arms and legs wrapped as tightly as they could to hold him safely.

“What’re you doing here?” Aziraphale sniffed into Crowley’s shoulder.

“I felt it,” Crowley confessed, “I felt you in danger, so I… arrived… here and there you were: balancing on the ladder like a bird on a perch, you idiot!”

He wasn’t about to admit to using a miracle to get here but the observers around Aziraphale when he fell would all confess that they truly hadn't seen the dark, handsome stranger approach the falling angel. One second he was plummeting through the air and the next he was in the arms of a very pretty young man.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Sorry for falling.”

“’S’okay,” said Crowley. He rubbed at Aziraphale’s back lovingly but was jolted by his angel shooting back to look at him.

“Do you think that’s what she meant? The fortune teller? About my fall?” Aziraphale asked suddenly.

“Yes, this is what she was talking about,” said Crowley confidently. “And I promised you that I’d catch you!”

“And you did!” Aziraphale said with an infatuated smile. But that was quickly wiped from his face.

“Oh God, your poor body!” Aziraphale cried. “You’re in so much pain and I’ve just crushed you, I’m an idiot!”

“I’m fine, angel!” Assured Crowley with a smile. “I had the best doctor in London! I’m not joking, maybe it was her purring but after an hour or so with Spooky I was fine, completely back to normal!”

“Oh that’s wonderful! But I’m going to be replaced as your little helper when you’re hurting!”

“Oh please, like I’d ever want anyone doting on me other than you!”

Very gingerly and carefully, Aziraphale stood from the floor and reached down to pull Crowley up by his hands. They stood opposite each other, still not fully aware that a crowd of people had gathered around them and were staring in intense silence at the strange man and his saviour.

“So minus the nearly getting yourself killed, how is the fete going?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

“Very badly!" Marion interjected glancing at her watch. “We’ve got so much left to do, and only 34 minutes left until opening!”

“Okay, give me jobs, Aziraphale. We’ve saved the entire world together, we can save this irrelevant little village!” Crowley said decisively.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push your body too far!”

“What needs to be done?” Crowley asked.

“Could you start by hanging these sponsorship banners?” Aziraphale took the cloths from Elsie’s arms where the girl stood awkwardly fiddling with them while chewing her hoodie string beyond recognition.

“Alright, kid?” Crowley exclaimed. “We’re enjoying your dragon still!”

“Thank you,” Elsie whispered, still reeling from the traumatic incident she had just been witness to.

“While you set up here, I need to head up to White Brook Farm. Free a farmer from a field!” Crowley went to say something with a confused-look reaching his eyes. “Don’t even ask!” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Meet you back here shortly!” Crowley called as Aziraphale headed back towards the Bentley.

***

Pulling back into the carpark in the now sweltering afternoon heat, Aziraphale was late for the fete. It was 12:30 and he had missed the opening of the event he’d been working so hard on for the past month. Not only that, but said event was still entirely unfinished with what felt like an infinite amount of jobs that still needed to be done. But above all of that, he had just spent the past hour knee deep in cloying mud trying to push a Jeep out of the gates of a farm.

Sticky with sweat and filthy with mud and shaking with rage, tears welled in his eyes as he climbed out of the Bentley and slammed the door with far more force than necessary.

Once the echo of the door had settled, Aziraphale was struck by the sound of soft pop music emanating from the village green. He turned the corner to peer around the village hall across the field and was amazed to find that the hundred-odd stalls all had canopies of blue, green and red covering them. Canopies that had been lumps of material on the floor only an hour ago.

Dogs were being led by their owners in a display of metal see-saws and little hurdles as a crowd of enthralled children sat watching. Teenagers congregated around game stalls: hurling balls at coconuts and hooking smiling ducks on wooden poles.

Aziraphale smiled a watery grin, sniffed, and did his best to rub the tears from his eyes. He stepped into the hall which was bustling with patrons milling about between stalls and drinking together beside the bar.

Suddenly, he spotted Crowley and burst out into a face-splitting grin. The demon’s curly red hair lay in ringlets over his shoulders and framed his face perfectly, his tight black jeans clung to him in all the right places, and the soft smile on his face as he spoke made him look so young. He looked beautiful. He also looked ridiculous with a pink polka-dot apron covering his front.

Aziraphale made his way across to Crowley and found himself standing opposite him with a table full of baked goods in between them. With a cheeky grin, Crowley picked up a pair of metal tongs and snapped them in Aziraphale’s direction.

“Can I get you a brownie, sir?” He asked. “Or perhaps a slice of carrot cake, or maybe a shortbread?”

“Why are you running the bake sale?” Aziraphale laughed.

“Jean got sunstroke at Henley Regatta, stupid woman!” Said Crowley with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“You did all this?” Aziraphale gestured to the window behind Crowley, which looked out across the busy field.

“Yeah, all done before 12:00. You’re welcome, angel!”

“I can’t believe- you used miracles, didn’t you?” Aziraphale said with a tone of realisation.

“No! I genuinely didn’t!” Crowley cried.

“Why not? That would’ve been quicker!”

“I know you wanted this done properly, it wouldn’t be fair to swoop in at the last minute and use celestial energy to save the day!” Crowley said shrugging. “Besides, this whole month of dates has been about doing things the human way, I’ve grown to quite enjoy it!”

Aziraphale smiled across at him before making his way around the table and cuddling quickly into Crowley’s open arms. The demon held him close and kissed him on the forehead.

“You lovely thing!” Aziraphale whispered.

“You know I said, when we first came here, that I could see us living in a place like this?” Crowley murmured.

“Yes, dear?”

“We will live here, maybe not soon - I’m not quite ready to leave the bookshop only a day after moving in! But we will live here, one day!” Crowley said excitedly, gently rocking Aziraphale back and forth in his arms.

“I love you so dearly!”

They leant in, arms still clinging tightly to each other, and kissed softly before crashing back in for something more intense.

The people of Weston-under-Hammlesford had not expected to see the mysterious new pillar of the community Mr Fell passionately making out with a long haired goth behind the cake stall of their village fete but frankly who were they to judge. Instead, anyone who caught sight of the simply smiled and helped themselves to a cheeky lemon slice while the stall-runner was otherwise occupied.

One day, the sight of these two enigmatic outsiders wandering hand in hand down the High Street would not be unusual. Neither would seeing them sat atop the hill with a beautiful picnic, or lounging back late at night gazing up at the sky. They would be regularly spotted on the beach, swimming in the summer or wrapped up before a bonfire in the winter.

But that was in the future, right now they could do nothing but hold each other tight in the deafening cacophony of villagers in the hall, entirely wrapped up in a bubble of their own.

Chapter Text

***10 Years Later***

Fog rolled in waves up onto the shore casting the beach into a thick pea soup and drowning the entire coast in a blanket of calming quiet. The only sound that could be heard for the miles that the beach stretched down the Sussex coast was the gentle crunch, crunch of two sets of footsteps and the tap, tap, tap of a cane against stone.

Hand in hand along the lapping waterline, a familiar pair strolled.

“How many 7 year olds do you reckon you could take in a fight?” Crowley asked suddenly, breaking the close and tranquil atmosphere - his words echoing in the silence.

“Are they with weapon?” Aziraphale asked barely missing a beat.

“No, no weapons. And no miracles, either. Hand to hand combat, how many before they overpower you?”

“Maybe 8?”

After however many years of increasingly bizarre conversations with his demonic husband, Aziraphale had become very good at fielding the unusual statements and humouring his questions.

“I think I could take at least 10,” said Crowley. The pair came to a stop at their usual spot beneath the towering cliffs where the stones were decently flat and round and about the size of a two pence piece.

Aziraphale bent down and picked up a handful of stones, holding them out for Crowley to take a few. Angling his entire body into the throw, Aziraphale skimmed a stone out across the waves and both stood and watched as it bounced across the mirror-still water towards the horizon.

Resting his cane against his leg and readjusting his weight between his weakened hips, Crowley followed Aziraphale’s lead but knew in his current state he’d never be able to bounce it like Aziraphale’s. So he simply threw it, putting his entire arm force into throwing his stone as far as he could, watching as it plopped into the ocean.

“If we worked together, they could throw child after child at us and I think we’d still win!” Crowley said.

“Isn’t that always the way?” Aziraphale mused. “We always were a team, that’s when we work best. I think we have a skillset that complements the other. I’m emotional, you’re rational. I’m fight, you’re flight. I warm the bed and you soak up that heat!”

Aziraphale continued to skim his stones along the surface trying to get them as far as possible, his success increasing with every throw as his got his eye in.

“I think living out here has proved that more than anything. You know, I was actually worried when we first got here!” Aziraphale said as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “I know we lived together in London but it felt so terrifying leaving all that behind to start anew down here. But truly, I’ve never been happier in my life!”

A stone made it out 12 steps and Aziraphale paused momentarily to celebrate. He hadn’t seemed to notice that the dull thuds of Crowley’s stones hitting the surface had stopped.

“You make me so happy, my dear! Isn’t this just the perfect life?” Aziraphale asked finally turning around to face Crowley. He expected to find him at eye level but was shocked to find him sat on the pebbles with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees and tears streaming down his face.

“Darling!” Exclaimed Aziraphale, immediately leaping across and crashing into his side to try and get as close to him as physically possible. “Oh heavens, I’m sorry! I thought you were happy here?”

“I am!” Crowley bawled.

“Oh. Is it the pain? We can go home, I’ll miracle us-“ Aziraphale raised his hand to click a miracle into the dense foggy air but Crowley reached to grip his hand and hold him still.

“No!” Crowley cried. “It’s not my pain!”

Aziraphale decided silence was the best response to him. Allowing Crowley to gather his thoughts and express himself in a coherent manner was often the best way to engage with him like this - Aziraphale had learnt that. Finally.

“I’m just- I- You-“ Crowley stumbled, curling himself into Aziraphale’s cuddling arms, “it’s just a lot. The ache in my chest, sometimes it hurts so very much.”

“Love.”

“Yeah, that love feeling, sometimes I just look at you and it aches!” Crowley snuffled into Aziraphale’s shoulder and sighed softly.

“It’s okay to be overwhelmed sometimes, you’re so strong,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear.

“I know.”

“Sweet thing, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you like this,” Aziraphale sighed, “sorry.”

“No, not sorry! Like it, I like that feeling!” Crowley admitted.

“Well, whenever you feel a little like this, just let me know and we’ll just take a minute. We’ve got all of eternity, my dear, we can just pause and sit and I can hold you and you’ll be okay.”

“I will.”

And so they paused. And sat. And held each other. And he was okay. Of course he was okay, he always would be. He was at home.