Chapter Text
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
Then, she put a small portal to connect the two realms, so that angels could occasionally travel between the two realms if they need to interfere. A few millennia later, a little past the industrial revolution, she converted it into an elevator to modernize Heaven a little bit.
The Supreme Archangel of Heaven, who was called Aziraphale, thought that this change was rather unnecessary. Elevators took ages to get from one point to another, especially if multiple people were using it. Plus, God never even bothered to add any classical music inside the elevators, so the rides were quite boring. Portals, on the other hand, were instantaneous. But it was God that created this change, and she was rather impressed by her own engineering skills, so Aziraphale was not in a position to argue with her.
Aziraphale watched as the elevator floor changed from E to H, and when the doors opened about a minute later, he was greeted by Michael’s disgruntled features.
“Earth, again, Aziraphale?”
Aziraphale stared at her. “Well, yes, it has been a while since my last trip. I simply wanted to see how Muriel was doing.” Muriel, an angel with a rank so low many do not know it existed, was the one tasked to keeping Aziraphale’s earthly bookshop running.
Michael’s disgruntled features became even more disgruntled, she looked as though she was about to write a complaint to an HR department that Heaven did not have. “You were there a month ago.”
“Which is quite a while in human terms, actually.”
“You are not human, Aziraphale. I think you forget that a lot.”
Aziraphale finally stepped out of the elevator, and it disappeared behind him. “That is a rather rude way to speak to the Supreme Archangel of Heaven. I think I’m going to go have a cup of tea.”
“There’s no tea in Heaven!” she yelled. Then, immediately, she composed herself, because angels should never act so rashly. “We’re not stupid, Aziraphale, we know what you are doing down there.”
“Yes, I am overseeing my bookshop,” he said, raising his chin.
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s a waste of time. He doesn’t even want to talk to you.”
“I have not seen Crowley since I became the Supreme Archangel, Michael,” he huffed, lying. “You would do well to respect me a bit more.”
He stomped away in a fit of frustration, his heart pounding in his chest. He hated lying to anyone, but some things were necessary to lie about. How often he was seeing Crowley was one of them.
Although Aziraphale still felt that he was right to make the decision that he did and that Crowley was being selfish for not wanting to come with him to Heaven, it did not mean that he was angry at Crowley. It did not mean that he wished to stop seeing him either. He still wanted to know what the demon was up to, if only to make sure that he was doing alright.
He knew that Crowley was more angry with him than he was with Crowley, so although he saw Crowley often, Crowley never saw him. With every visit that he took down to Earth, Aziraphale performed a small miracle so that his features were unrecognizable to Crowley. Aziraphale also made sure to maintain a distance from him.
This had been going on for about three years now, which was quite a long time in human years, but for two beings that have been alive since the book of Genesis was conceived, it felt like three days.
After that encounter with Michael, Aziraphale decided to wait two more months this time before going down to Earth again. He realized that perhaps monthly visits were too suspicious.
Upon arriving in London, he masked his features so that his hair was black, his jawline was sharper, and he was a little bit taller. He wore a pastel pink suit instead of his usual cream colored one, and his shoes were muddy (Crowley would never suspect any unkept shoes to be Aziraphale’s). Then, to finish off the disguise, he altered his voice so it was much deeper.
Aziraphale walked towards the bookshop, as he always did, and he peered inside. Muriel was simply reading on the lounge chair. It looked to be Pride and Prejudice. The title brought a smile to Aziraphale’s face, recalling Crowley’s thoughts on Jane Austen. He stepped back and collided with another man in a suit.
“Watch where you’re going, you blind fuck,” the man growled, giving Aziraphale a quick shove, even though the collision was but a small one.
Aziraphale blinked at him, stunned. “There is no need to be so rude.”
The man rolled his eyes and checked his watch, impatient. “You’re wasting my time.”
Aziraphale frowned. “Well, you seem to prefer wasting your time talking to me.”
He was met by a tiresome groan usually given by a man that lost an argument. The man then went about on his merry way and left Aziraphale standing on the street alone.
Aziraphale tugged on his bowtie before he began walking down the street in search of Crowley’s car. Despite the years that have passed, Crowley had never moved away from their city. In fact, with almost every visit, Aziraphale could find Crowley’s car after about a twenty minute walk.
And alas, there it was, parked right outside of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. Aziraphale bought a newspaper from a vendor outside and entered the place. He spotted Crowley in the corner, drinking a cup likely filled with some of the strongest liquor.
“Hi,” Aziraphale said as he walked up to the counter. Three years later, Nina was still the one taking orders. Of course, she did not recognize him—no one did, really. To her, he was just another customer. “I’ll have an Eccles cake, please.”
Nina glanced at him. “Sorry, we stopped selling those months ago.” She tapped the menu on the counter. “We have other pastries available, though.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale looked over the list. “Uh. I’ll just have your blueberry cheesecake then.”
Nina smiled and nodded. “Coming right up.”
Aziraphale took a seat two tables away from Crowley and held his newspaper up so his glancing would not be so obvious.
Then the rude man from earlier entered the shop, and he stalked past Aziraphale’s chair (even hitting it ever so harshly) straight to Crowley’s table. Aziraphale frowned behind his newspaper and tilted it down so he could observe the two.
“Anthony Crowley?” the man asked.
“Hello, James,” Crowley said. His expression was indiscernible. Aziraphale could not figure out if he was excited or disgruntled by the man’s presence. “You look shorter than you do in your pictures.”
James blinked at him. “Oh, uhm. I don’t really know what to say. You’re… very tall.”
Crowley snorted and took a sip of his coffee. “Alright, let’s get started, shall we?”
“Get… started?”
“Well, this is a… date, correct? That’s how these things work?” Crowley waved his hand in the air. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never been on a date, and I’ve been alive since the universe was created.”
Date?! Aziraphale’s mind screamed. He sat up straighter. He may not be a human, but he was extremely familiar with the word date. Aziraphale had read plenty of romance books during his stay on Earth. Dates were indicative of a romantic relationship between two parties.
Which, he concluded, could only mean… Crowley was in a romantic relationship with the rude man from the street.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself. Although he himself thought he kept his composure well, in reality his knee was jiggling so hard, it rattled the table. His grip on the newspaper also tightened so significantly that he tore a hole through each end.
Then, just as he took a deep breath, Nina was in front of him with a cake. “One blueberry cheesecake,” she said, setting the plate down in front of him.
The distraction was enough to stop Aziraphale from losing control over himself and accidentally reverting to his true form. He focused his gaze on the cake and closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he said with a smile.
He took a small bite of his cake as the conversation between Crowley and the man, James, continued. They were in the middle of discussing cars. Well, at least Crowley was trying to.
“What do you mean you don’t know anything about cars?” Crowley crossed his arms. “That’s what it says on your profile. That’s why I did the swipe right thing!”
“I mean, I like cars as in, I own a lot of them. I’m very rich.” At that last part, James smiled smugly, proud of his insignificant earthly possessions.
Crowley leaned over and pointed over to his car. “That one. What’s that one called?”
James looked at it. Clearly, he did not know. “Uh, some vintage Ferrari?”
Crowley threw his hand up and growled. “Well, this was a waste of time. Might I suggest removing cars off your list of likes on your profile?” He stood up and gulped down the rest of his drink. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take my 1926 Bentley elsewhere.”
Aziraphale watched as Crowley left the shop. He sat there, dumbfounded, with cheesecake halfway between his teeth.
Now, of course, the angel was glad that Crowley did not form any sort of permanent relationship with the horrible man. And, from what Aziraphale could tell, this was the first time that the two were meeting in person.
However, the thought of Crowley going around and dating people still caused wrinkles to appear between Aziraphale’s eyebrows.
And, most importantly, Aziraphale thought to himself, why was Crowley doing it anyway? Did he forget of Aziraphale’s existence that quickly?
(Not that Aziraphale and Crowley were ever in any sort of relationship that would constitute the need for it to be replaced by another relationship.)
‘But… did kissing someone mean you were in a relationship with them?’ thought Aziraphale. He pondered on the relationships he had read about. Kisses were certainly a romantic confession of sorts, but they did not immediately mean two people that have kissed were together. In fact, he had read books that were more erotic in nature that certainly implied that kissing did not mean two humans had any romantic feelings for one another.
Once Aziraphale finished his cake, he left the café and sauntered back to the elevator to heaven. There was a pounding in his chest that could be heard across the street, and yet he could not explain what it was that he was feeling. But to anyone else, the answer would be very apparent: fear.
Two days after the dating incident, Aziraphale could not bear it anymore. Despite Michael’s suspicious glances and Uriel’s disappointed expression, he went back to Earth.
He dressed himself up the same way, as he did not have as much time to think about his next costume. This time, he did not bother stopping by the bookshop anymore (he could do it after he saw Crowley, he figured). Instead, he walked across the streets of London in search of Crowley’s car again.
He had to walk a little further this time, but walking was no problem for an angel such as himself. He happened upon Crowley’s car outside of a pub. It was already night time, so a trip to the pub was not exactly out of the ordinary, but Aziraphale had an inkling that something was going to go wrong. Call it an angel’s intuition, if you would like.
The stench of alcohol greeted him upon entering the pub. He really was no fan of these places (Crowley knew that very well too, which was why the duo spent so little time in pubs). Crowley was on the bar, conversing with a woman.
Aziraphale squeezed through the crowd to get a seat right next to them. His curiosity far outweighed any concern to keep some distance between him and Crowley.
“—telling me to find someone else,” Crowley was in the middle of saying.
“Well, angel, tonight’s your lucky night,” said the woman. She leaned in further—her body language was a bit too suspicious that it made Aziraphale’s stomach churn.
Crowley laughed. “Oh, no, I’m no angel. The angel was the guy that—mmm, never mind.” He exhaled loudly. “Point is, I’m just trying to do what everyone else is suggesting. Which is not really my style, but I guess humans know emotions more than demons do, ey?”
The woman’s hand wrapped around Crowley’s, and Aziraphale jumped in his seat. He almost yelped, too, but he disguised the sound by loudly telling the bartender to bring him a whiskey.
“Why even bring emotions into it at all?” the woman said softly. “Why not just try to forget… for a night?”
Crowley raised his eyebrows. His eyes would have narrowed if they were capable of doing so behind those dark glasses. “Tempting a demon, hm? That’s a change.”
The bartender set a glass of whiskey down in front of Aziraphale.
“Well, we're both certainly into each other,” said the woman. Aziraphale wanted to protest this, but he knew nothing of Crowley’s sexual preferences. “I don’t see why we wouldn’t do something about that.”
“Hm, I don’t—"
Before Crowley could even finish his sentence, Aziraphale did something that he would swore for the rest of eternity that he did not do on purpose.
He knocked his drink over, and it fell directly on the woman’s lap.
The woman screamed and stood up quickly.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said, his tone monotonous. He handed the woman a tissue in case it could help.
The woman glared at him. “What is wrong with you?”
Aziraphale shrugged. “It was an accident. I can be quite clumsy.”
“Ugh. Clearly.” The woman grabbed her purse of the counter and adjusted her dress. She turned to Crowley. “Sorry, I don’t think I’m in the mood anymore. But if you’re looking for someone to be with on a lonely night, you can give me a call.”
Crowley tilted his head. “Sorry, love, I don’t have your number.”
“Love?” Aziraphale said out loud.
The woman just glared at him and grabbed a pen from her purse. She took Crowley’s arm and scribbled her number down quickly. Without another word, she left the bar. But not without first giving Aziraphale an irritated stare.
When Aziraphale sat back down, Crowley was looking at his arm.
“You shouldn’t call her back, you know,” Aziraphale said. His stomach was still churning and his heart was pounding. Yet, despite all this, he was still in the dark about what it was he was actually feeling.
Crowley frowned at him. “Why not?”
“Well, it’s… it’s…” Aziraphale swallowed. It’s not fair to me, he wanted to say. “It’s not really proper.”
“Proper?”
“Yes. If you plan on being… intimate with someone, you should at least love them first, correct?”
Crowley snorted at this. “Please. Love is overrated.”
Aziraphale could feel a piece of his heart chip off. Visibly, his shoulders sunk and his lips tilted into a frown. “What?”
“You can love someone for millennia and they’ll still leave you.” Crowley waved his hand in the air, trying to appear unbothered by this fact he was sharing. Of course, he did not want anyone knowing just how fragile he truly was at the moment. “Plus, it’s not really an enjoyable experience, is it? Love?”
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was reeling from the idea that Crowley loved him.
“I mean, I—I enjoyed it quite a lot myself,” Aziraphale managed to say. He debated removing his mask and showing his true self to Crowley. There were so many things Aziraphale wanted to say to him. But he couldn’t. Crowley would simply walk away because he did not want anything to do with Aziraphale any longer.
“Yeah, well, I’m over it.” Crowley stood up. “When you fight for someone for thousands of years, you get tired of it eventually.”
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “This… person that you love. Didn’t he ever fight for you?”
Crowley pursed his lips, looking towards the door. “Only when it was convenient for him to.”
And, just like that, Aziraphale’s heart broke into tiny little shards of glass piercing through his chest.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he whispered.
Crowley snorted. “What the hell are you on?” Though he was wearing glasses, Aziraphale knew he rolled his eyes “I’m going to head out now.”
“Wait!” Aziraphale called out before Crowley could take a step towards the door. Crowley turned back at him, clearly getting impatient. Aziraphale took a deep breath. “The woman—are you going to call her?”
“Why do you care so much?” Crowley growled at him. Then, without another word, he stormed off.
Crowley’s actions were not so irrational. To him, Aziraphale was some intrusive stranger that asked too many questions that had nothing to do with him and made comments about a situation he knew nothing about.
Despite all of that, however, Aziraphale could not help but let a tear fall after that conversation. Both because Crowley yelled at him—Aziraphale could count on one hand the times when Crowley yelled at him, truly angry—and because of what Crowley actually thought of Aziraphale.
It was in that moment that he began to wonder if he had made the right decision after all.
Aziraphale took three slow breaths before getting up and walking out of the pub. He walked slowly in the direction of his bookshop, looking up every once in a while to help keep his tears at bay. Then, once he was standing on the front door, he stripped away all of the features that made him unrecognizable and knocked.
Muriel took a while to answer the door, but when she did she looked quite surprised.
“Mr. Fell!” she exclaimed. “What are you—Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see how my bookshop was doing,” he said weakly. He tried his hardest to be enthusiastic and perky. He failed horribly at this.
Muriel took a slow step back. “Mr. Fell, what happened? Why are you crying?”
“Crying?” he asked. He lifted a finger to his cheek. Indeed, it was wet, and more tears were spilling from his eyes. “Dear me, I am crying,” he murmured. He wiped the dampness away with his handkerchief and tugged on his collar. “Never mind that, Muriel, may I come in first?”
Muriel frowned at him, concerned. But who was she to go against what Aziraphale wished? She allowed him inside and offered him a cup of tea (which she had now learned how to make). As she did, she chattered endlessly about the books she had read and about how she had been longing to talk to Aziraphale about his exquisite taste in literature.
All this put a smile on Aziraphale’s face, but even when he did smile, his lips trembled in an effort to keep his emotions at bay.
“So, how have things been at Heaven?” Muriel finally said. “I’m sure you’ve done a lot of improvements on it.” She sat in front of Aziraphale, handing him the tea. It was a seemingly innocent question, but it was of heavy weight to Aziraphale.
The reality of it was heaven was just the same as it was before he took over. He was constantly outvoted in any decisions he could have made changes in, and at the end of the day, the Metatron and God was the one that gave the orders, and Aziraphale’s main duty was to implement them.
But Aziraphale kept telling himself he still made a good decision. He could still change things. After all, three years meant nothing to celestial beings.
“I’m trying my best,” he said after pondering on the question. He sat up straighter, wanting to forget about the conversation. “Anyway, how have things been around here? Have you seen any familiar faces?” Have you seen Crowley? Is what he really wanted to ask.
“Mm, not really. Maggie comes by every now and then to pay rent, but that’s it,” Muriel said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing.” Aziraphale did quite a good job at maintaining a nonchalant exterior. He seemed perfectly unbothered by the fact that Crowley did not care to check in on him through Muriel. He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. If he went back to Heaven now, Michael would be there again with her questions and condescension. Aziraphale did not currently have the emotional stability to handle an argument.
No, he decided. He would be staying on Earth tonight. Tomorrow, he was going to look for Crowley once more and see what he was up to.
“Do you mind if I stay here tonight, Muriel?” he asked.
Muriel looked at him, surprised. “Oh, sure, Mr. Fell! Wouldn’t you be needed Upstairs, though?”
“I will be gone for one day,” Aziraphale said. “They will most certainly be fine.”
Aziraphale made an irreparable mistake the following morning.
He had been standing by the bookshop window, perusing a new book that Muriel was able to acquire from a collector. Since Muriel was not aware of his frequent visits down to Earth and the disguises that came along with it, he chose not to disguise himself in her presence. He did not want to cause any sort of suspicion.
Unfortunately for Aziraphale, this meant he would be recognized immediately by anyone that took a quick glance at the bookshop window (this was, he would later admit, a severely careless mistake on his part).
Whilst reading the book, he a knock on glass, and when he looked up, he came face to face with a familiar record store owner.
“Maggie,” Aziraphale said, eyes wide. “Oh, no. Oh, dear.” He wanted to knock his forehead on the wooden shelf next to him.
Maggie waved at him. Although she did not look too happy to see him, and he wondered what may have happened. Sure, he thought to himself, he left them without a word, but they knew he was an angel. Surely they would not have taken that to heart.
(They did take that to heart, unbeknownst to him. But that was not really the reason for Maggie’s foul mood, either).
Without another word, Maggie walked around to the front door and entered the book shop. Muriel was there to greet her. Maggie extended a warm smile towards her, but when she turned back to Aziraphale, the smile dimmed.
“You’ve no idea how much I want to strangle you right now,” she told him.
“Oh?” Aziraphale tugged on his collar. “Uh, good morning to you too, I suppose.”
Maggie looked back at Muriel first. “Muriel, would you mind giving Mr. Fell and I a minute?”
“Sure, but, actually—” Muriel’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two. Then, after careful consideration, she walked up to Maggie and whispered, “I think he’s very fragile right now. He was crying last night.”
To which, Maggie only responded out loud, “As he should be.”
Aziraphale frowned. “Muriel. What did you say?”
Muriel stood back, hands in clasped behind her. “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Mr. Fell! I’ll just go upstairs first. Bye!”
Once she was gone, Maggie took a seat on the couch in front of Aziraphale and crossed her arms. “Three years,” she said flatly.
Aziraphale inched his head forward. “Excuse me?”
“You left. For three years. You didn’t send a note, a message, hell, maybe a miracle from Heaven!” With every pause, she threw her hands in the air, exasperated. She herself had been waiting three years to finally berate Aziraphale.
“The circumstances of my departure were rather—
“Mr. Fell,” she said sharply. She might as well have just dropped the mister with how little respect she put into her tone. “I know the exact circumstances of your departure. Crowley told us all about it.”
“He what?”
“I have a lot of questions for you, honestly,” Maggie said. She already had a mental list of the many things she wanted answers to. “But I suppose I’d like to start with—was it worth it?”
They both knew what she was talking about. Maggie knew he knew what he was talking about. Neither of them were in the dark. Yet, Aziraphale blinked as though he was. “Was what worth it?”
“Leaving him. Was it worth it? Did you achieve everything you thought you were going to?”
Aziraphale gaped at her, deeply hurt by the way she had phrased the statement. “Leaving him? I did no such thing.”
Everyone on Earth that had dealt with the aftermath of their separation (this would mainly be Nina and Maggie) would argue otherwise.
“I asked him to come to Heaven with me. I told him I needed him. He’s the one that decided not to.” Aziraphale huffed. “He hates heaven more than he… more than he would like to be with me.”
Maggie scrunched her face. “Okay. You still haven’t answered my question, though, have you? Was it worth it?”
“Er, yes,” said Aziraphale. This was a blatant lie. After the events of yesterday and his conversation with Muriel last night, he could instantly conclude that none of it was, indeed, worth it. But Aziraphale was a stubborn angel. He still believed he could change the universe’s messy and tangled bureaucratic systems given enough time.
Time that, unfortunately, he would not be spending with Crowley.
Aziraphale’s brows knitted together in momentary upset. He did not feel as though he was the only one at fault here—not in the way Maggie was suggesting, at least.
“No one left anyone,” he said. “We simply parted ways.”
After all, he did tell Crowley back then that nothing lasted forever.
Maggie gave him a look which she hoped read ‘You are actually so dense, I want to strangle you. How can you not realize how much pain you have given Crowley throughout all these years?’
It was a look that Aziraphale had very simply read as ‘What are you on about?’
Aziraphale sighed. “Anyway, now that you are here, I do have to ask…” He was initially going to ask him if she knew what Crowley was up to today (because of course he wanted to know). But after a brief flashback of Crowley’s conversation with the woman at the bar, Aziraphale blurted, “Are you the one telling Crowley go on dates?”
“Er, yes…,” Maggie said. Then, she considered the question and frowned. “Wait, why do you know that? You haven’t even talked to him. Or Nina. I’d know.”
“Oh, I—I, uh, er—” Aziraphale scrambled to find an answer, but angels were never known to be very good liars.
Maggie’s mouth opened wide. She realized the reason faster than Aziraphale could come up with a false one. “You’ve been stalking him, haven’t you?” she exclaimed.
“What? No! That is preposterous,” Aziraphale insisted. His ears were turning a bright red, and the color flushed even his cheeks. Despite his attempts to lie, Maggie was not fooled.
“Looks like someone’s not so cold hearted after all,” Maggie said.
Aziraphale frowned once more. “I am not cold hearted.”
Maggie stood up and dusted her pants. “Look, Nina would kill me for suggesting this. She thinks Crowley’s much better off without you. But I still quite like you, Mr. Fell, and you have done a lot for me. So, even if I’m angry at you, I think with some proper communication, you and Crowley can patch things up.” She pointed vaguely outside. “He’s about to have breakfast at the Ritz today with some woman he met at the bar. He told me he’s really interested—which is the first time he’s said that about anyone else. So, you wanna make amends? Better go to him before it’s too late.”
Aziraphale stood up so quickly, he nearly knocked the coffee table over. “The Ritz?” he asked. That was his and Crowley’s place, he thought, devastated. “Why there?”
“No idea. Fancy place, I reckon.”
“It most certainly is,” he said. Aziraphale swallowed, uncertain. “Maggie, if he’s taken someone else to the Ritz, then that must only mean that he has completely forgotten about me.”
“Well, he’s trying to,” said Maggie, “but he hasn’t yet.”
“And you believe it is a good idea for me to go to him.”
Maggie stared at him. “Do you want to?”
Aziraphale did. He really did.