Chapter Text
May 2014
Aziraphale had had many places he’d called home over the years. There’d been his rented rooms back in Rome’s empire days, his cell at that monastery in the middle ages, the bookshop of course, and he supposed at one point he might have used the word ‘home’ to describe heaven. Presently, Aziraphale had two different homes (along with the bookshop, but that lacked the infrastructure for his present needs). There was the miniscule flat that cost far too much in Soho, and there was the larger but similarly priced apartment in the US state of Connecticut.
The Apartment (as it was known to differentiate it from The Flat) was filled with signs of the people who lived there. Against one wall was a desk, piled high with antique books in varying states of disrepair. By the window was an electronic keyboard which was rather getting on in years and ought to be replaced. Nearby were two guitars—one electric, the other acoustic—sitting jauntily in their stands and taking up too much floor space. The furniture was an odd blend of donated items and things bought on sale, doing less to show the contrasting aesthetics of the two beings who lived there, and doing more to show that they were young, just starting out, and did not yet have the luxury of being truly picky.
The walls showed the story best. Not because of the shelves laden with books and old records, but rather because of the photos. There were frames filled with the pictures of two people all throughout the course of growing up.
In one a tiny red-haired boy stared admiringly up at his blond friend, who was only just old enough to be allowed to use a knife to cut a birthday cake. In another they were grown men, sitting together on a Christmas morning in matching sweaters, one looking far more embarrassed about this than the other. Here they were children, their faces lit up by the glow of fireworks. There they were at opposite ends of adolescence, all in costume and backstage at a theatrical performance. The most recent addition was a fuzzy photo of the two at their wedding, an event so recent that the professional prints were not yet in.
There were other people in the photos as well—friends and family—who also aged and changed, entering and exiting as the story went on. An entire life together was caught in frozen moments on the walls. A life that had just drastically changed.
It was not Aziraphale who’d done the changing. He was the same as he’d been for the past eighteen years, stuck in a human form with his memories all intact—his entire history a secret kept to himself alone. No, it was the other person in the photos who had been altered.
Up until yesterday, Anthony had been totally ignorant of the life they’d shared before this one. Today, he’d remembered.
Today Aziraphale sat in this home, surrounded by pictures and mementos of the life he’d shared with Anthony, staring across the table at a man who called himself Crowley.
Aziraphale had not yet had the time to mentally sort through it all. His initial reaction had been utter thrill. As much as he loved the human incarnation he’d called Anthony, he had missed Crowley desperately. The soul, if that was the right word, had been there, but the shared history hadn’t. The weight of six thousand years had been carried by Aziraphale alone.
And now that wasn’t true anymore, and it seemed like everything should be easier. Only, it was beginning to seem more complicated than that. They’d kissed and it had been wonderful, but the ease and comfort that had existed when kissing Anthony was gone. Suddenly it felt new and awkward again, as though they were picking up from where they’d been twenty-three years ago, before Anthony had been reborn.
Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do with that. He’d found it easier to wipe his tears, chuckle awkwardly and invite Crowley to sit down and eat. Partly because they were human now, and that meant hunger, and partly because inviting each other to eat had always been the go to move when they wanted an excuse to socialize.
So, here they sat at their dining table, drinking tea and eating sandwiches, both of them quiet. There was so much to talk about that neither of them said anything. It was unclear where they ought to start.
That and Crowley was struggling somewhat with eating. He kept taking bites that were far too large and wincing as he swallowed. He’d said he remembered everything that had happened in his human life up to this point, but he certainly wasn’t eating like it.
Aziraphale watched him, too overcome with wonder, disbelief, and confusion to remember his own plate. He ate with uncharacteristic automaticity, breaking off small sections of sandwich with his hands and moving them mechanically to his mouth. Consequently, it was Crowley who finished first between them.
That meant Crowley got to be the one to break the silence.
“That’s, er, a real good sandwich, by the way. You’ve gotten real good at that, the cooking thing, I mean. Thanks.”
“Oh!” said Aziraphale who’d been expecting a number of directions for the conversation, but not that one. “I wouldn’t really call making a sandwich cooking, but I appreciate the compliment. I like to make food. It’s fun.”
Crowley began to fiddle with his tea cup, turning it back and forth so that the base of it made a muffled noise against the table. He stared at that, rather than Aziraphale. He said, “So, er…” then petered out.
Aziraphale could not imagine what was going on in his mind, what it would be like to suddenly remember 6,000 years of experience. Perhaps it wasn’t like that at all, perhaps it was more like suddenly remembering twenty-three years, or more like recalling what you’d done after a night of regrettable drinking. Whatever was happening inside of Crowley’s head right now, he looked hunched and uncomfortable within himself.
Aziraphale had plenty of questions of his own, but he swallowed those for the moment. Instead he said in his softest voice, “I suppose you must be full of questions. What would you like to ask?”
At last, Crowley’s eyes raised from his tea cup and he finally stopped twisting the blasted thing. Then Crowley said, “Are you alright?”
Aziraphale blinked at him. He’d expected questions about his choices or the supernatural occurings behind the things Anthony had experienced. He had not expected to be asked about his own welfare. “Well, I hardly slept a wink last night, after those demons attacked you and you found out about everything. I napped a bit this afternoon, while you were out cold, but I am still rather exhausted. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix though, I’m certain. To be frank, I’m much more worried about you. It must be rather discombobulating to have two lives come crashing together.”
“Angel, I didn’t mean ‘are you alright?’ like that. I meant…” he trailed off again, frowning to himself as he searched for the words. “You’ve been human for, how long’s it been for you?”
“About eighteen years? I cheated and started at nine and I’m twenty-seven now. Or well not really twenty-seven, but you know.”
“That’s just it. Twenty-seven. You’ve been living two lives at once this whole time, having to keep secrets, and get treated like some kid by the humans, and remembering having powers and not being able to use them. How could you possibly be doing alright after all that?”
Aziraphale frowned as he stopped to interrogate his own emotions for a moment. Eventually he shrugged and said, “I suppose I just got used to it?”
“Used to it?” Crowley cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes. I mean, I know it’s only been eighteen years, but eighteen years as a human—particularly as a young human—is a very long time. So much changes so constantly, that it might as well have been a century or two. And I didn’t have any choice in the matter except to find my own way through it all. I’m not going to say it was easy, but it hasn’t been miserable. I’ve learned so many things and met so many people. I’ve liked my human life, especially recently. Things are going decently with money and lovely with our families. And I’ve always had you Crowley, even if all of you wasn’t there.”
Crowley’s eyes widened, vulnerable without sunglasses to hide behind. He flushed a little, shrugged and said in a disinterested tone, “If you say so. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t suffering or anything. Wouldn’t want you too racked with regret, since you had to go through all of this for me. I mean, that’s what you said, that one time we got to talk. Said you only did it so you could keep an eye on me. I didn’t really understand then about how much you were dealing with, you know puberty and being near-sighted and all that.”
There was a wall between them, and Aziraphale was not sure how far to push. With Anthony they’d been open about almost everything. With Crowley, they hadn’t quite gotten there the last time they’d spoken. They’d been moving in that direction, but at the easy pace of immortality. Now here they were caught somewhere in between, and Aziraphale did not know anymore where they stood.
He sensed only that Crowley was fragile just now, that he did not quite know where he stood either. So, he did not comment on the flushing or shrugging or surly affect. Aziraphale just offered a smile and said, “Well, I don’t think it’s fair to act as though I did all the potentially regrettable sacrificing. After all, Gabriel and Beelzebub tricked you into all this in the first place, by telling you they’d make me go instead. When really it would have been Gabriel forced to take the spot.”
“I’d like to see him try it,” said Crowley, and he grinned, properly and wonderfully himself for a moment. “Can you imagine him all high and mighty, trying to make his way through middle school? Fuck, if anyone ever deserved to be pushed in a locker or have his head shoved in a toilet, it’s that guy.”
“You’ve no idea how often I’ve thought about that!” Aziraphale was filled with a buzzing sort of joyful adrenaline. Just to see Crowley act himself for a moment, just to know that he could talk about all this with the demon he had missed for so long, it was overwhelming. He began to prattle “I was at that blasted Christian summer camp one of the times he checked in on me, and he mocked me for wearing a t-shirt and smelling like bug spray. Can you imagine him being put through all that? Although, I wouldn’t actually want to switch places with him. I like to think I’ve had a positive influence on my parents. If Gabriel had been with them, he’d have probably made them worse. And if he’d wound up with your parents instead of mine… your poor mother!”
Anthony’s mother was a lovely woman. Aziraphale adored her. Life was going well for Maddy Jay these days. She was remarried to a sweet man, had a delightful one year old daughter, and a wonderful relationship with her grown up son. When Aziraphale had first met her, things had been unimaginably different. Her first husband had been abusive and she’d turned to drugs as a form of escape. She’d loved little Anthony, but had been completely out of her depth, unable to be a real parent.
That was the main reason Aziraphale had become human himself. It was the only way he’d been able to go after Anthony. That’s how he’d wound up a nine-year-old boy adopted to the United States. If it had been Gabriel instead of Anthony, Aziraphale would never have gone. It seemed likely that Maddy would not currently be alive.
It was a dreary terrible thought, and so it wasn’t quite surprising when Crowley did not pick up that thread of conversation. Instead he grew oddly pale and distracted, eyes going to the wall of photographs over his head. 6,000 years together and Aziraphale could not read that expression. It was too closed off.
“Oh, but let’s not talk about Gabriel!” Aziraphale said forcefully, trying to right the direction of the conversation. “I’ve finally got all of you back and I’m certain there’s better discussions to be had. I meant it when I said you must be full of questions. Surely there’s something that’s bothering you that you’ve always wanted to ask about that we couldn’t discuss when you didn’t know everything?”
“I mean, now that I’ve got all my memories back, most of the things I wondered about have sort of fallen into place. Like why you hardly ever spoke about your life before you got adopted, except to sometimes refer to a friend you used to have. I don’t have to ask about that now, angel. I know you were talking about me.” He looked a little smug and it suited him.
Aziraphale could not help but beam, even as he tried to express regret. “I did feel terribly about keeping secrets from you. You were so jealous when I talked about my old friend, and I wished I could tell you it was you.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” Crowley insisted. Aziraphale simply stared at him, until he retracted the sentence. “Well, maybe a little, maybe when I was a kid.”
He stopped there, going quiet again, sinking into whatever mass of confusion was going on in his mind. Every time things got close to feeling normal they retracted again. Crowley looked uncomfortable, and Aziraphale wanted desperately to hug him. Only, he wasn’t sure how easily he was allowed to do that now. He and Anthony had been well past the point of casual physical contact, but he and Crowley had only just started holding hands on a semiregular basis before all this began.
Aziraphale settled for loudly, and awkwardly, scooting his chair around the little table until they were beside each other. When Crowley looked over at him, confused by this decision, Aziraphale offered a small smile. “I’d like to return the question from earlier. Are you doing alright?”
Crowley gaped at him then said, too easily. “Of course.”
Aziraphale pushed a little harder. “Could you tell me what it’s like? Your memories, I mean. I can’t quite wrap my mind around what must be going on in your brain just now. What’s it like to suddenly remember everything?”
“Oh, er…” Crowley frowned again, “Hard to explain. I guess, it’s sort of, it’s like I’ve got two yesterday’s basically. I remember yesterday morning just hanging out on the couch with you and then going to… to babysit, and then Hastur and pals showing up to try and attack while I was walking to meet you. But I also remember yesterday in London being told they were going to force you to become human unless someone else did it. And both yesterdays feel like yesterday. Only, it’s also a bit like I told you, like I woke up from sleeping and dreamt something only it turns out it was real. I haven’t got any other way to explain it.”
Aziraphale forgot he was trying to be careful and reached out to hug Crowley automatically. It was too difficult not to, when he seemed lost and confused. It took Crowley a moment to lean into the touch.
“Sorry, I meant to ask before I did that,” said Aziraphale.
“ ‘Sssalright.” Crowley’s face was flushed. “I like when you do that.”
“Right, well, I’m sure all of this is very disorienting, you just tell me whenever it starts to feel overwhelming. You will, won’t you, dear?”
Crowley nodded, but Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure he believed him. The demon still looked hunched and uncomfortable, his eyes darting and unsteady. He needed to be handled gently and taken care of just now. If part of him felt like he’d been asleep since 1991, then Aziraphale thought the best thing to do might be to get out of the house.
“I’m sure we're both exhausted, but the sun’s not yet set and the day is warm. What do you say to a walk to the park? It’s not St. James, but I think it might do us both some good.”
“Sounds good,” said Crowley, suddenly at ease.
He needed normalcy, Aziraphale decided, so for now that’s what Aziraphale would offer him.
Outside of The Apartment, the city of Norford looked just the way it always had every time Crowley had seen it through another set of eyes. Or, well, with the same set of eyes, but not quite the same person peering out from them.
Friday afternoon was fast turning into Friday evening, and people were heading out to start the weekend right. A few of the restaurants in downtown Norford had set tables up out on the pavement, pretending that early May was already warm enough to dine out of doors. It wasn’t really, but people were doing it anyway. Humans always got like that in the spring—eager to pretend it was already summer, even before the warmth came.
As they walked, Crowley’s brain kept a running tally of all the things that were different from his last demonic memories. There were the American things of course, the accents, the side of the road that people drove on, the way the street signs looked, but these were nothing in comparison to the changes brought on by time.
Something had happened to the shape of the cars. There’d been more angles back in the 80s, everything had been squarer, sharper. At some point they’d all gone round and smooth. For a moment he wondered how recently that had occurred, only to realize that it had to have been the 90s. A part of his brain remembered it, remembered being small and thinking the boxy ones were ‘old cars’ and not realizing how recent the change had actually been.
There were the phones too, of course. Gone were the booths and payphones on poles. Gone was the immense pride in having a car phone, now everyone had one in their pocket, that could do more than Crowley had ever imagined a quarter of a century ago. He had one in his pocket too, all loaded up with the apps that had mattered to him yesterday. Half his brain was astounded by it. The other half of him felt his phone was outdated and the battery life sucked.
But time did not change technology alone, it also changed society. Aziraphale had taken Crowley’s hand once they were out on the street, apologized, asked permission, and then taken it again. They’d been walking that way ever since and absolutely no one around them seemed to care. Nearly a quarter of a century ago, after the world had not ended, when the two of them had first been brave enough to walk together hand in hand, that had not been true.
It had been fine in Soho, you could do that sort of thing in Soho, but outside of that you were bound to get looks. And Crowley knew the same would have been true here, twenty-five years ago. He remembered how different it had been, could remember how fast it all changed. It was a shock to Crowley; it was usual for Anthony.
Crowley glared ahead of him, eyes safely concealed behind his sunglasses, convinced that no one would notice the disturbance that had just run through him. But, he must have done something, must have tensed or paused or something, because Aziraphale immediately looked up at him.
“Are you alright, darling? We’re nearly at the park, but we could turn around if you’d like.”
And that was something that had changed too: everything between the two of them.
In the time that Crowley had not been Crowley, he had lived an entire (young) life with Aziraphale. They’d grown up together. They’d stood up for each other. They’d made out. They’d had sex. For fuck’s sake, the hand that Crowley was using to hold Aziraphale’s now bore a wedding ring.
And Aziraphale knew him now, even better than before, and with an openness that he had not possessed twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five years ago, Crowley simply tensing once would probably not have drawn Aziraphale’s attention. If it had, it would have led to more careful observation. Maybe he’d do some little act of kindness to try and cheer Crowley up. He almost definitely wouldn’t have asked directly, and if he had it would have been after a lot of thinking it over and weighing things out. He would not have asked, point blank, in public like that.
They didn’t discuss feelings unless the world was ending, and even then they hadn’t been much good at it.
Now they were stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and Aziraphale was looking at him with a face that was too young, full of gentle concern. Crowley could not stand seeing that worry, all on account of him. He’d couldn’t let Aziraphale see his stress.
“ ‘m fine, angel. Probably less exhausted than you are, all things considered. I’m not the one who got his powers returned and sapped yesterday night. Really impressive fighting, by the way. Don’t think I ever said that.”
The tips of Aziraphale’s ears turned pink. “Oh, well, you were in danger. I wasn’t thinking about much else. I’m sure it wasn’t much to speak of.”
“You’re fishing for compliments,” Crowley told him, although he was perfectly happy to serve them up.
“I am not.”
“Well, you should be. It was ho—thrilling,” Crowley had corrected himself, only to realize that there was no reason he had to. They weren’t just no longer on opposite sides, they were married. All fraternization was legal. “You were hot.”
Aziraphale had certainly stopped looking worried. He was now a stunning combination of modest embarrassment and flirtatious lust. He looked out from beneath his eye lashes in a way that had definitely been illegal at certain times in history.
“Well, you do seem to be in good spirits. I suppose we can continue the walk,” said Aziraphale. Crowley had been half hoping he’d suggest they go back to The Apartment again.
But it wasn’t so bad to continue on to the park.
A river ran through the city and a section along its banks had been transformed into green space in the middle of the concrete jungle. It was far more expansive than the spot of green in their apartment complex’s courtyard, and you could walk a good few miles surrounded by trees and ducks.
It had been in shit shape years ago, before a major revitalization project. Back then there was really only one park in the city’s downtown. Crowley was glad they hadn’t gone to that one. There were childhood memories there. He didn’t want to think about that.
It was much nicer to hold Aziraphale’s hand and walk along like they had so often back in London, only closer now. It was nice to be out where he could see the sun set, just as it always had. Crowley could almost imagine no time had passed and nothing had changed. Almost. And he wouldn’t have traded in the hand holding for anything.
Still, lovely as the ducks and the trees and even the obnoxious screaming children were, he would rather have been in St. James. The trees and ducks and obnoxious children were better back home. “We’ve got our tickets for next week, right?”
Aziraphale turned to him, brought back from whatever thoughts he’d been lost in. “Tickets? Oh, yes. For Tuesday. It seems almost absurd that plans can just go on as though nothing has happened. Do you still want to go?”
“Back to London? Course I do.”
“I didn’t mean back to London. The timing on that is rather felicitous. I meant more the second part, the er, the honeymoon rental for the week of the 19th. Did you… did you still want to go to that?”
Honeymoon. They were newlyweds with a little cottage they’d rented near the English coast for their honeymoon.
Crowley was grateful for the dimming light. True, he’d been forced to take off his sunglasses in order to see with his stupid human eyes, but at least it meant it was less obvious that he was turning bright red. “Be a shame not to go.”
“I’m so glad you think so. I’ve been looking forward to it and, honestly, I think it’s a better fit now that we’re both old folks again. I’m afraid we didn’t choose a very exciting trip. I know you said you didn’t mind, since you do so much traveling when you’re on tour with the band, but I was worried you’d get bored.”
And suddenly Crowley’s mind was filled with things he hadn’t thought to think about. He had a band. He went on tour. He wrote music. He did shows. Or he had, when he wasn’t himself. That was something Anthony had done, just like Anthony had agreed to go spend a week by the shore just as long as they rented a car and he got to drive on the wrong side of road.
Crowley stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and ice in his veins. Aziraphale stopped too, pale with terror as he gripped Crowley by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“My car! What did you do with my car? What did you do with my car!?”
“The Ford? It’s back in the garage at the apartment complex. Where else would it—”
“Not that car. My car. The Bentley! I left it with you before all of this, but then you became human too, so what happened to the Bentley?!”
Aziraphale laughed, too loud and too long for someone who had not yet answered the question. Crowley glared at him. “What happened to it?”
“The car is just fine, Crowley. After you left, were reborn, were born for the first time, however you want to call it, I made all sorts of arrangements. I rented a lockup garage in London and had the Bentley brought there. I wasn’t able to keep your flat, but I gathered up all your things and stored those in the garage too. It’s all still there, and in the same shape too. I still had my powers then, of course, so I just—” he waved his hand as illustration “Did a little miracle to make sure it would all stay in order. Even the plants ought to be the same. I haven’t gone to check on them though. I’m too afraid that if I were to open the garage the spell might be broken, and I didn’t want to risk that, if I wasn’t going to be taking care of anything. I don’t want to hurt your car.”
Crowley’s knees nearly buckled in relief and Aziraphale hugged him tightly to keep him standing. He did it without thought, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“There, there, my dear. We can go look at everything once we’re back in England, hmm? It’s all waiting for you, just the way you left it. I promise. Now, I think it’s about time we head back home for the evening, before either of us collapses entirely.”
It was dark now, and they’d been out long enough that Crowley didn’t think it would cause any extra worry to agree to go back. There was plenty of reason for them both to be exhausted, and Aziraphale seemed relieved that Crowley’s largest panic had been over the Bentley. His laughter alone had made it clear that he was alright with Crowley worrying about the car; that was something Crowleys were supposed to worry about.
They’d eaten only a small lunch at a weird hour, and so stopped to grab something from a restaurant on the way home. Crowley still wasn’t certain about the experience of being hungry, but he was quite used to buying food for his angel. After a long day and a lot of stress, a local Japanese place was just what the doctor ordered. When they returned to The Apartment it was with two bowls of ramen and a serving of sushi.
The world was just as it should be, sitting across from Aziraphale while he sang the praises of the food on his plate. Crowley could almost forget about the weirdness of everything else. He nearly did, for half an hour.
Then it was time for two truly exhausted creatures to get themselves to bed and everything became strange again. For one, there were all the weird human requirements of nighttime preparation. Crowley had never had to brush his teeth, not once in millennia. It wasn’t something he’d even thought about until he was a nanny and had to fight Warlock about it every night. All the most charismatic leaders have a good smile.
He had to wash his face and take a piss too. Human bodies required so much work. Then it was Aziraphale’s turn in their tiny bathroom. Crowley changed into his pajamas as he listened to the sound of the water running for Aziraphale’s shower. There was something intimate about standing in their room, surrounded by all their day to day things.
Crowley caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror and found himself as captivated by it as he’d been earlier that day after he’d first woken up. It was his face, clearly his face, the one he’d preferred for as long as he could remember. But it was so odd and young too. He looked like a baby, all freckle faced and wrinkle free. And those eyes, they weren’t his eyes. The color was the same but the pupils weren’t. He was no serpent now, he was something else, and he wasn’t entirely sure who that was.
The door opened and he jumped, embarrassed to have been caught staring at himself in the mirror. Aziraphale didn’t judge. He gave Crowley an understanding smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Having a different face looking back at you? I remember that feeling from after I first transformed.”
“Must have been weirder for you. Nine years old? You looked like a cherub.”
“Putto,” Aziraphale corrected automatically. “And yes, it was odd. It was even stranger to watch myself over the years turn back into the same person I’d been before.”
Crowley watched as he sat on the edge of the bed and dried his curls in the dim lamp light. “Not exactly the same. You’re not old enough yet.”
“No, but it’s a good deal closer. Except the glasses of course, I only ever used to wear them for reading, because it gave the right effect. Now I’ve got to wear them nearly all the time.” He wasn’t actually wearing them just now, they rested instead in the pocket of his tartan pajamas. “It’s rather annoying.”
“They look good on you.” It was an impulse. Crowley had to say it.
Aziraphale smiled at him. “I’m glad you think so. As long we’re talking about changes, I would like to state for the record: I’m exceedingly fond of the freckles.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. They’re beautiful.” Aziraphale stood and stretched as though he hadn’t just dropped an earth shattering compliment with total ease. He left, going to return his towel to the bathroom, leaving Crowley to stand there in stunned silence.
When Aziraphale returned he did something even more astounding. He climbed into bed. It was another thing he did with the automatic ease of someone who was carrying out a daily behavior. It was only when he looked up, and noticed Crowley still standing frozen by their dresser, that he seemed to notice anything was off.
“Aren’t you coming too… Oh. Does this make you uncomfortable? I could spend the night on the couch, if you’d like.”
“Pfft,” said Crowley, “Doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”
With the brave strides of an uncaring, hip-having, human who was used to this sort of thing, Crowley walked to his side of the bed and pulled back the covers. He nodded stiffly to Aziraphale, then sat down. Next, leg by leg, he left the floor behind him and put the blanket back in place.
He was in bed with Aziraphale.
“Are you sure your comf—”
“Yes! I’m sure I’m comfortable. We do this all the time. I’m perfectly comfortable sharing a bed with you!” To emphasize this, Crowley went so far as to lay down properly, and even to look at Aziraphale over on his own pillow on the other side of the bed.
The lamps were still on and they stared at each other in the dim light. It was a damn good thing that Aziraphale’s eye sight was terrible, because it meant he couldn’t properly see Crowley’s expression as he said, “See, totally normal. Just the way we always do.”
“Right…” said Aziraphale. He turned away just long enough to turn off the lamp on his side of the bed. When he settled back down he reached out to sweep a lock of hair from Crowley’s forehead, “Love you, dearest. Good night.”
“Ngk,” said Crowley, busying himself with fumbling at the cord of his own lamp. He lay in the darkness cursing himself for his inability to handle this normally. Everything that had happened in the middle aside, he had dreamed of this. What sort of idiot woke up in a perfect life and didn’t do anything about it? If he’d wanted to they could be making out right now. He could have Aziraphale pinned beneath him, making wonderfully breathy little moaning noises while Crowley kissed at his neck. He could…
Crowley swallowed heavily, stopping his imagination from running too far away with him. More reasonably, he could hold Aziraphale like he had every night they’d been together for the past few years. Willing himself into action, Crowley inched himself across the bed, feeling as though the rustling of sheets was louder than anything else on earth.
Closer and closer he went, until he could feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s body. Crowley’s stupid human heart was pounding wildly and he wondered, vaguely, what would happen if he died of a heart attack right now. It would be bad timing, and all of Heaven and Hell would mock him for it forever.
It was now or never. With snake like reflexes, he reached out suddenly for his prey, and put one long arm around Aziraphale’s waist. He was warm and soft, perfectly comfortable to hold, if only Crowley couldn’t feel his own stomach trying to do backflips on the way out of his body.
“Oh, Crowley!” said Aziraphale, and he turned, nuzzling closer, tucking his head under Crowley’s chin and sighing with deep contentment. He must have been able to hear the wild heartbeat, but he didn’t seem to mind. Before long, Aziraphale’s breaths evened out and he fell asleep.
Crowley stared wide eyed into the darkness and then, very slowly, smiled to himself.
His memories were confusing, his life was not one he’d asked for, he had no idea where anything was going, but this? This was perfect.
Aziraphale woke Saturday morning to the sound of rain pattering against the window. He had slept like the dead, and it took him a moment to remember that the creature wrapped around him was properly Crowley. He lay there, listening to the gentle sound of his demon breathing. He’d been so sweetly shy about it all last night, but here they were just the same. Aziraphale had begun to fear that it would take some time for their lives to shuffle back together, now he thought it might not be so difficult.
Gently, Aziraphale pressed a kiss against Crowley’s head before extricating himself from the demon’s arms. Crowley woke, only partially and said blearily, “Huh?”
“I’m going to make us breakfast. Go back to sleep.”
On some other morning, Aziraphale might have bothered getting changed just now, but it was dreary and rainy and there didn’t seem to be much reason for any of that. Instead, he pulled on his slippers and went about the rest of his morning.
There were somedays when it seemed a shame to be trapped inside by the rain, but Aziraphale was grateful for it today. It was what they needed, he decided, to simply be together. After the food was all finished up and Crowley had taken care of the dishes, they sat close on the couch and talked of old times.
It was wonderful to be with Crowley, and a relief too to finally have someone that he could reminisce with about times and places that “Ezra Fell” had never been. He was in the middle of a grand recounting of the best food Rome had had to offer. “No one makes Garum anymore. There aren’t even recipes for it! I’ve looked. I wanted to do a whole write up on my food blog. They’ve got archeologists and food scientists working on it, but they haven’t cracked the code, as it were.”
“Garum,” Crowley repeated. “The fish sauce? Wasn’t it made by literally rotting meat?”
“That was part of it. But it was delicious! And it’s not as though there aren’t places around the world that still use that sort of process in their cuisine. Iceland has Hakarl, which is made of fermented shark.”
“Yum,” Crowley said flatly.
“Oh, I’m not taking any culinary opinions from you. You who barely ate over your first six millennia and has the blandest taste in food imaginable as a human.”
“I’ve tried loads of stuff,” Crowley insisted, and Aziraphale was uncertain to which life he was referring. “I’d try the rotten shark, but I can tell you right now I won’t like it.”
“If I left you to your own devices you’d live off microwave hotdogs and dinosaur nuggets.”
“And chips,” said Crowley. He was grinning, leaning into the joke, then his eyes went wide with horror. “Crisps. I mean crisps.”
He seemed deeply horrified by his own failure to be British rather than American, which was odd because he’d never seemed deeply attached to any nationality before. He’d never cared much for ‘sides’.
Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm, hoping to bring him back down from wherever he was spiraling. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Course.” And then he went on as though nothing had happened. “And you can’t act like I haven’t tried things. I’ve tried everything you ever offered me. At least a bite. You can’t say I didn’t.”
Aziraphale reached out, before he thought the better of it, and cupped Crowley’s cheek in his hand. “You always have, haven’t you? You even tried oysters when I invited you, even though you clearly thought they looked disgusting.”
It was only then he noticed Crowley was staring, not at him, but down at the hand against his face. “Oh, apologies. I shouldn’t have been so forward. I—”
Before he could draw his hand away, Crowley took his arm, keeping Aziraphale’s hand in place. “You don’t have to stop. I… You don’t have to stop.”
“Well, good.” Aziraphale let his fingers play at the base of Crowley’s neck. “I really didn’t want to.”
Crowley was staring at him, blinking less than a human really ought to. He looked anxious and slightly wild, as though he were about to do something potentially regrettable. “Did you know, when you invited me, that oysters are aphrodisiacs?”
Aziraphale swallowed. “Are you asking me if I, thousands of years ago, was trying to get you into bed?”
Crowley nodded.
“Of course not! I could barely admit that I occasionally enjoyed your company. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind!”
That wild look was still in Crowley’s eyes. “What about now?”
“Right now?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley nodded. Aziraphale gave this due consideration. He would like very much to take Crowley to bed. They’d had a rather active sex life for the past year and there would be an extra level of something there now that they both knew everything. And yet, wild as he looked, Crowley was trembling going just this far. “I think what I would like is for you to kiss me, and we can see what happens after that. I see no reason to rush.”
Crowley nodded, but did nothing more. So, Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing their lips together. It was only the third time they’d kissed, since the return of Crowley’s memories. This was the first time there’d been heat along with the passion.
Aziraphale so rarely took the lead in these things, but he found himself doing so now, coaxing Crowley to open his mouth, to lean forward, to reach out with his hands. Tentative fingers roamed down Aziraphale’s shoulder, finding their way to one thick thigh. Crowley’s discomfort began to melt away. He leaned in further, practically climbing into Aziraphale’s lap.
He was so deliciously tempting, that it took all of Aziraphale’s willpower to convince himself that this was as far as they really ought to go for now. He could run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, let his hands stray down to those hips, but he ought not grab at Crowley’s butt, or pull him fully up and on top of Aziraphale or pin him down against the cushions. He should certainly not pick him up and carry him into the other room.
This was enough. This was good. If he reminded himself to think in terms of twenty-five years ago, to think how it would have felt to have gotten this far, it helped to slow him down. And it helped him to appreciate exactly what he had. He and Crowley were in each other’s arms, they were kissing, snogging really. Twenty-five years ago he would have panicked.
Now, he could do this as long as Crowley would let him.
In the end, it wasn’t either of them that decided to stop. Aziraphale’s phone rang. He sat back, bleary and surprised for a moment, before untangling himself to grab the phone off the coffee table.
“Aziraphale, you don’t have to answer.”
“I most certainly do. It’s my mother.” He put the phone up to his ear, “Hello?”
“Ezra, honey. How are you doing?” said Edith Clark. She and her husband, Pastor Elijah Clark, had adopted Aziraphale eighteen years ago. She called regularly. “Your dad and I were so disappointed we didn’t get to see you Thursday night. We wanted to thank you for keeping an eye out on the church. I’d have called yesterday, but your father spoke to Tony and said there’d been some bad night’s sleep. I figured I’d give you some time to rest.”
“Oh, I didn’t know Anthony had called.” He looked at Crowley in confusion.
“Was before I got my memory back. Was freaking out about angels being real. Didn’t tell him anything,” Crowley whispered, oddly defensive. Then he flopped into Aziraphale’s lap and said, “Tell her you’re busy.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and ignored Crowley, except to play with his hair. “Yes, er, we were both a little under the weather yesterday.”
“Oh no! Do you think it was something contagious? Tony babysat Cleo the other day, I’d hate to think she’d got something…”
Cleo, Anthony’s half-sister, was only just over a year old.
“A bit of food poisoning I believe. We’re both doing better. No need to go raising the alarm,” Aziraphale said, to cover one lie with another. “Was there any particular reason you called?”
“A couple actually. I thought you’d want to know how things went with the your father’s meeting.”
“Oh good Lord! It completely slipped my mind what with the, er, food poisoning. I assume if he’d been defrocked you’d have told me?”
Elijah Clark was a pastor in the Methodist denomination. They were strictly against same-sex marriage, as had Elijah been, once upon a time. Both Clarks had reacted horribly when Aziraphale had come out to them, but they’d grown since then. Elijah had gone so far as to officiate the wedding, and he’d been called in to some New York office because of it.
“Not defrocked. I think the New York leadership doesn’t really agree with the national leadership, but he was still given a talking to and warning. If he does it again he’ll be in trouble. So we’re alright for now, although I think there’s going to be more anger in the church. But we’ll deal with it as it comes.”
“That’s a relief to hear. What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
“Just a question, actually. Are you boys free to come over for dinner tomorrow? We’ve invited Maddy and Xave and the baby too. We all want to see you before you’re back off to London.”
“That sounds delightful. We were hoping to see everyone before we take off. What time?”
“Oh, you can come over whenever, but we’ll eat around five. After all, Maddy and Xave can’t have the baby out too late.”
“Perfect. We’ll see you then. Goodbye, Mother. Much love.”
“Love you too, honey.”
Aziraphale hung up, and smiled down at Crowley. He was surprised to find an uncertain gaze looking back at him. “What was that about?”
“A dinner invite for tomorrow evening. Your family is going to be there too.”
Crowley sat up so quickly that he nearly bumped into Aziraphale’s nose. “I can’t go!”
Aziraphale had not expected this. Perhaps he should have, but he hadn’t. “It’s just the families. And we’ve got to see them before we go.”
“Can’t,” said Crowley.
They stared at each other. Slowly Aziraphale asked, “Why?”
Crowley was quiet then finally said, “I can’t do an American accent.”
“You what?”
“I can’t do an American accent. I’ve got the wrong accent. What’ll they think if I just show up talking like this? They’d get confused.”
“I suppose…” There was some logic to that. Still, Aziraphale wasn’t certain he was getting the whole story. He didn’t push. “I’ll just have to tell them you hadn’t quite kicked the food poisoning yet after all.”
“You’re still going to go?” asked Crowley.
“Of course,” said Aziraphale. “Why on earth wouldn’t I? We’re not going to see them again for at least a month. I want to say goodbye.”
“Right,” said Crowley. “Of course.”
Things had been starting to feel normal again that morning, like it might not take so very long at all to link their two lives back together. But this reaction told a very different story. Everything had changed, and Crowley was keeping things to himself.