Chapter Text
As it turned out, when Aziraphale said overboard, he meant a few hundred books. Sandwiched between a stack of Azimov and Tolstoy, Crowley was organizing the newest items in Aziraphale's collection. The mindless task allowed his thoughts to wander and something occurred to him.
In light of their respective "trials" Aziraphale had seemed more at ease. Neither of them seemed exactly sure what to do with themselves now that miracles and temptations were no longer mandatory obligations to keep themselves at their posts. They didn't even have posts, so to speak. Aziraphale was handling him being here better than Crowley had seen him in the last two thousand years. He even seemed to want Crowley around.
Maybe now that neither of them had tasks to perform on Earth they could travel like Aziraphale had suggested last night. Maybe they could branch out their drinking sessions to incorporate the theater or cinema so they could debate the merits of the performances. Crowley could even be persuaded to read exactly one book of Aziraphale's choosing so long as he got to complain about it the entire time. Maybe they could simply live here on Earth and find a new sort of normal.
It was about as strong a temptation as Crowley could think of.
After a couple of hours of sorting, and the occasional teacup cropping up on the shelves next to him, Crowley considered his newfound freedom. Only when Aziraphale put his hand on his shoulder did he realize he'd been staring at the same hardcover copy of something old and boring for the last 20 minutes debating whether to put it in the pile he calls crotchety or the pile he calls mind-numbing.
"Ready for dinner, my dear?" Aziraphale was covered in the same light layer of dust that he was making his blond hair almost grey. He was smiling broadly and his face was a morning shade of pink.
"Right, right," he muttered, standing and brushing himself off. He cast a sideways glance at Aziraphale and asked, "you think we can still miracle things, angel? Or do ya think we've been cut off?" He only asked because he was trying to decide between miracle-ing the dust and wrinkles out of his clothes but didn't know if Aziraphale was avoiding the same action, or prohibited from it.
His smile faded. "You know, I haven't tried yet. Not sure if it'll work." The admission was joined by a look of apprehension on Aziraphale's face before it was replaced with resignation. With a snap of his fingers, he was free of dust and Crowley noticed all the teacups vanished, presumably upstairs.
Sighing and resigning himself to the same uncertainty, Crowley snapped his fingers and found himself clean, pristine, and holding his favorite pair of sunglasses. He grinned at the angel. "Well, that answers that."
They took the Bently to a neat little Japanese restaurant that Crowley knew Aziraphale secretly loved. Aziraphale only shouted twice the whole ride there, once for a man disobeying the crosswalk signal and once for the way Crowley parked.
Inbetween placing orders and Aziraphale taking his first bite, the two made idle chatter. Crowley asked if Adam had altered anything to drastically and Aziraphale asked as to the state of the Bently. Once they were well and truly situated Crowley slumped himself into his seat and settled in. Aziraphale made a face he reserved for particularly good saki and turned to continue a conversation Crowley hadn't thought they'd been having.
"Do you have any plans for tomorrow? Or perhaps next week?" His head was tilted in that way to let Crowley know he wasn't going to admit why he was asking.
"You know, I hadn't given it much thought will all those books you had me sorting through. Is there somewhere you fancy going, Angel?" He tilted his head back to let Aziraphale know he wasn't going to drop it altogether.
"No no, not really. See, I was just thinking, well, wondering perhaps is the right word but -" Crowley cut him off.
"Yes?" Crowley wasn't annoyed per se, but he definitely wished Aziraphale would cut to the point. Watching him bluster about in public was only entertaining when Crowley caused it on purpose. Not that it was entirely unappealing to watch.
"Is your offer still on the table?" When Crowley simply blinked at him, having no idea what offer he was speaking of Aziraphale huffed and continued. "The one from the other day when I spent the night in your flat?"
Crowley smothered his heart with a smile that was softer than he thought. "Angel, that offer is always on the table."
Aziraphale turned pink around the ears and looked away. "Oh, well, yes. Thank you." He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.
"You didn't exactly answer my question - is there somewhere, in particular, you fancy going?" Not wanting to pause and let Aziraphale interrupt him he pushed on. "You've been asking for two days now and were going on about it last night. I mean, we could go to those operas you love so much, or there's always the movies. Hell, we could simply go to Japan if you want more authenticity." Perhaps his rambling made Aziraphale nervous but it was too late for that.
"I wouldn't say no the opera," he began shyly, "but really I guess I meant that we could go anywhere. There are no temptations or blessings keeping us in London. There are no pretenses to uphold. We can simply, do as we like." It was the most open claim Aziraphale had made without being tempered by alcohol. Crowley suddenly felt too sober for this conversation.
"Now that you mention it, I think I might go for a drive tomorrow." Aziraphale's eyes were wide for a split second before he schooled his face. Crowley was on to his game now. "See some sights. Listen to some Queen. Think a bit."
"What a, what a lovely idea, my dear. I could pack us a picnic if you like! I suppose it would take a minor miracle for crepes to keep in the tin in your boot, but I also believe I have a lovely bottle of red upstairs that-" as he let the angel pester on Crowley didn't have the heart to tell him he had meant to go alone. He wondered if Aziraphale knew that.
Crowley spent the rest of the meal letting Aziraphale talk animatedly about what to pack for their picnic tomorrow, and potential operas Crowley might be able to endure and perhaps they should go visit the ducks this week. His elbow was resting on the table with his chin in his palm as he listened. He was content to simply listen, the way Aziraphale would listen when he was four bottles in and talking about dolphins. If he was thankful for his sunglasses he kept that thought out of his mind.
Eventually, Aziraphale hinted that he was ready to leave and they both piled back into the Bently. Slightly warm from the saki and the company, Crowley drove no more than 20 above the limit at any given time. If the angel in his passenger seat relaxed from the handle and hummed along to the song on the radio he didn't comment on it.
In Crowley's flat Aziraphale hung both their coats while an incredibly swanky demon went off in search of alcohol and a spray bottle.
Keeping his composure he carefully sat himself on the spacious couch in the living room. Torn between thinking and not thinking about tomorrow he watched as Crowley sauntered about his home. The austerity and sharp imposing lines made him look like a piece in a museum. Aziraphale pointedly ignored any niggling thoughts about feeling out of place.
"Thank you, my dear, this is lovely." Crowley hummed his acknowledgment and made a face that said he was probably being too honest but he couldn't find it anywhere in himself to care. He came to sit next to him on the couch, carefully maintaining a distance left over from the arrangement. Maybe it had been too high a hope for some sort of change since this morning but when he looked down at himself he realized maybe it was his stature that kept things the way they were.
Toeing off his shoes, Aziraphale tucked his legs underneath himself and leaned haphazardly into the couch, closer, but not quite touching the wide-eyed demon sitting next to him. If Aziraphale was going to admit that heaven and hell could no longer touch them when they were together, if he was going to commit to their own side, it was on him to prove it wasn't it?
Sitting comfortably, Aziraphale decided to think about his uncomfortable realizations. Each time Crowley had proclaimed his loyalty to humanity, Aziraphale had dodged it. He had avoided it and twisted words to make sure he remained on the side of the heavenly body. He cast a sidelong glance at his friend, his oldest, only and best.
The demon was leaning into the sofa with his eyes closed and sunglasses on. Aziraphale wondered if that was also his fault. That Crowley couldn't take them off even around him. Being continuously rebuffed by the one person who was supposed to be your friend, the person you chose over the apocalypse. Crowley had every right to hate him.
Hesitantly, Aziraphale reached out his hand and rested it on Crowley's arm. He drained his glass and refilled it with something stronger, hoping it would settle the hammering in his chest. Behind his glasses, Crowley's eyes shot open. He was trying to puzzle through the angel's actions. He drew a blank.
"Crowley, my dear, have I said to you yet how grateful I am to you?" Aziraphale wore a gentle grin and Crowley wondered if the saki and the wine had been a little much for the angel tonight.
"Angel, you got nothing to be grateful for. We handled the apocalypse together, if anything we both share the blame for everyone on Earth still alive and kicking." Crowley drained his own glass, but was a couple behind the angel, not feeling any rush to dim his senses.
Aziraphale readjusted himself on his legs so that he was leaning even closer and shook his head. "No, I meant that I'm grateful to be your friend." Crowley went unnaturally still. Aziraphale soldiered on. "Your best friend."
A cautious hand came to rest on Aziraphale's as Crowley readjusted himself on his sofa to press his shoulder into the angel who was radiating heat like a Nordic furnace. "You hadn't told me that, no. You also didn't have to, Angel." He said softly, feeling his own heart hammering in his corporation.
"I want to, my dear." There was a cool sort of presence to Crowley's shoulder pressed against his own. Like a cool stone in a river, grounding him against the July heat of divinity. "All the times I was too cowardly to be the friend you deserve. The one who's on your side. I won't make that mistake again." It was a promise and not one that Crowley had asked for but basked in.
Unable to think of anything to say, Crowley squeezed the hand on his arm and tipped his head back into the couch. There was a slight movement next to him and he felt a hand on his face, removing his glasses. Tipping his head to the side to see Aziraphale, Crowley realized how open the angel looked. He looked sheepish holding his shades, as though Crowley would snatch them back.
Instead, Crowley blinked at him and shifted closer, so that Aziraphale's knees weren't digging into his side.
"Better, Angel?" He asked grinning and going back to lounging with his eyes closed.
A soft thump fell onto his shoulder and Crowley forced himself to remain relaxed. If either of them had been a hint less drunk, they might have realized that both of their hearts were pumping unnecessary blood at unnecessary speeds.
"Better," he murmured back.
Miraculously, both of their glasses disappeared into the sink in the kitchen and both pretended not to notice.
"You know," Crowley rasped conversationally some time later, "if we stay on the couch we may not make it to bed, Aziraphale."
Aziraphale hummed quietly. "Are you asking me to move?"
Cursing to himself, Crowley shifted to press his head into the soft curls resting on his shoulder. "Would you prefer a miracle?"
Aziraphale chuckled and Crowley's side shook with quiet laughter. Something bright shone in his chest as Aziraphale patted his arm and said: "I'll handle this one, dear." And they found themselves in Crowley's bed.
Crowley's bedroom was a soft sort of cold and dark that made the blankets feel like a cocoon of soft warmth. The bed took up all the available space that Aziraphale couldn't see because the room itself had been persuaded to be unnaturally dark.
The change from the soft leather of the couch to the thread count of Crowley's sheets was a pleasant change, and as Aziraphale had placed them both under the covers, the warmth was increased tenfold.
"Oh, one more thing." Crowley snapped and they were both in pajamas. Aziraphale was in soft blue pajama pants with blue stripes and a matching button-down shirt while Crowley had simply miracled himself a pair from one of his drawers that were black with red accents.
"Oh! These are lovely, Crowley, thank you." He breathed into the darkened room.
Aziraphale rolled himself gently in the expanse of Crowley's bed and extended his hand until he felt Crowley's chest. With the practice of trying to find each all night and the gentleness of rewriting the arrangement, Aziraphale moved to wrap themselves together.
"Of course, Angel." Crowley let himself be arranged and the brightness in his chest was engulfed by the brightness of Aziraphale entwining himself around the demon. For the second time that week, Crowley found himself in a warm inside and out.