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“There you go, my good sir, er, lady, er– gentlesnake?”
A tongue flicked rapidly over his fingertips as Aziraphale lowered his hands gently to the ground, and then he watched as the small creature he’d been cradling slithered away into the tall grass near the edge of the lake.
“Oh bother. I meant to– ah, well.”
He miracled his hands clean — while his own corporation was certainly immune to all forms of human and reptilian disease, it wouldn’t do to pass anything along to someone else.
It was the third time this week he’d come across a scaly form during one of his daily walks. Each time had been on an oft-traversed footpath, and with the weather getting warmer, humans were out and about just as much as the snakes.
He did hope he wasn’t putting them out. Goodness knows he wasn’t sure how he’d feel if a very large hand scooped him up just when he was on his way to meet a friend for brunch and deposited him elsewhere. Still, it wouldn’t do for them to run afoul of any wary humans who were more likely to strike first and ask questions later (such as is this very ordinary green snake venomous? and could I merely wait for another minute so it can get to wherever it’s going or must I wallop it with my handbag?).
Yes, much better that he — who did have some experience with snakes after all…well, one snake, at least — see them safely on their way.
He silently wished the little fellow — or gal? How did one tell? And would Crowley find it terribly impolite if he were to ask? — well, and continued on his walk.
He enjoyed himself, as he always did on these mornings, the early light bringing the park to life before his eyes and ears. Ducks floated tail up near the island, looking for breakfast. Squirrels sprang from branch to branch, hiding their nuts and forgetting where they’d hid them and finding their cache and hiding them and forgetting again. Thrushes sang out did-he-do-it and who-are-you and as always, Aziraphale wondered if the questions were meant for him or for one of their own. The sun gilded the first leaves on the trees, and he knew that it wouldn’t be terribly long before the bright yellow-green of spring gave way to the rich emerald of summer.
Perhaps he would walk these paths then with a demon by his side. Though certainly it would not be as early as all this. Crowley loved a lie-in. No, these dawn meanderings would likely remain his alone, even into June, July, August.
He didn’t begrudge Crowley his sleep. Assuredly he, Aziraphale, was the outlier when it came to catching a few winks. Every fifty years or so, he settled in for a good afternoon nap, when the light in the shop was just right and he was feeling particularly warm and lazy. It wasn’t a very angelic activity, after all, so it wouldn’t do to make an everyday habit of it. Still no one could begrudge him twenty minutes twice a century.
But of course, most creatures needed to rest regularly. And while Crowley was certainly not most creatures, he was, in some manner, a snake.
“Oh hello there.”
Speaking of snakes — daydreaming as he was, he’d nearly trod on this little friend and must have given it quite a fright when he interrupted its basking.
The poor thing had flipped onto its back and had its mouth open, tongue lolling out.
“I know you’re alive, you know,” he said conversationally and focused on exuding a sense of calm, as he always did when he needed to approach a creature whose powers of perception when it came to the supernatural were far superior to those of humans.
Before long, he could see dark green scales speckled with black, yellow crescents behind its head. Round eyes rimmed with the thinnest circlet of gold peered up at him, a forked black tongue slipping in and out in rapid flutters.
Bending in a crouch, Aziraphale held out his hand, and the snake slithered across his palm, twining around his forearm with an iron grip.
“There we are,” he said as he stood. “Now, let’s get you somewhere safe.”
His boots squelched in the wet grass, but he kept up a steady stream of quiet words as he stepped off the path toward the nearby water.
“It’s not that humans are bad, you see, it’s just that they’re conditioned to think certain animals might hurt them, and so they act without considering that you have just as much right to be here as they do.”
The snake stared at him, unblinking. Of course, it didn’t have eyelids.
Once he was a short distance from the water’s edge, and well out of the way of any human-made paths, he asked, “Will this do then?”
The snake didn’t answer, but its tongue flicked out long and slow.
He bent toward the ground and extended his arm.
“Oh,” he said, as the snake began uncoiling from around the beige fabric of his coat. “While I’ve got you, if you happen to meet a large black snake with a red belly, would you mind letting him know that I do look forward to seeing him when he feels up to it? I’ve got a few bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape we can share.”
Smooth scales slid across his palm and through the gate of his fingers. A thin tail briefly encircled his pinky and then let him go.
“Thank you,” he said as the snake slithered away. “Have a lovely day.”
He stood once more and cleaned his hands with a gesture, sighed and began making his way back to the path that would lead him to the Blue Bridge and then on, by the bandstand where the memories still ached in his chest.
Still, that was in the past, and he knew Crowley would return to him when he woke.
Until then, he would go for walks with no one at his elbow, and stop at little cafés where they would bring him only one fork, and work in the bookshop where it was altogether too quiet.
Perhaps next winter he could persuade Crowley to brumate in the flat upstairs where he could be looked in on from time to time.
The creak of the door drew him from his reading. He could have sworn he’d locked it and turned the sign to closed. He sighed, girding himself for battle with a stubborn customer who would no doubt want to buy something.
“Miss me, angel?”
“Crowley,” he breathed, shutting his book and tugging his reading glasses from his face, the better to take in the figure leaning against the nearest column.
He was so familiar in the length of his legs and the jut of his hips, in the swoop of his crimson hair and the tilt of his crooked nose. And yet Aziraphale’s unnecessary heart jumped at the freshness of him, at the curve of his lips and the flex of his hands as he hooked thumbs into belt loops, at the bob of his throat as he swallowed and the warmth in his honey-gold eyes.
“Alright?”
Aziraphale nodded, joy bubbling up in his chest, trying desperately to hold it in, to not scare the demon off now that he’d finally emerged.
“Did you have a nice sleep?” he asked, in place of all the other things he wanted to say.
“Hrmrnmm. ‘s not really sleeping as such.”
“Oh?”
“Just sort of being, except without all the complicated bits.”
“Ah, I see,” Aziraphale said, though he wasn’t sure he did, not exactly. But it didn’t matter, because Crowley was here now.
“Got your message.”
The angel frowned. He hadn’t called, worried that a ringing phone might disturb some much needed rest.
“I’m sorry, dear, I don’t recall leaving a–”
“Grass snake of my acquaintance — ‘s name’s Reginald, by the way — mentioned something about wine?”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Yes. Of course. I’ll just–”
He made to fetch the wine, though a miracle would’ve done it in an instant had he not needed a moment to gather himself, the unexpected presence in the shop almost too much, too good.
But Crowley stopped him with a touch to his chest, his palm warm even through a waistcoat, shirt, and vest.
“Reggie said he was sorry for playing dead when he saw you, only he hadn’t known about you then, as he just moved over from Regent’s Canal. Apparently there’s a colony of Aesculapians over there and it’s getting a bit crowded.”
Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the second part. Immigration was part of what made London so wonderful, after all. But the first part he could address.
“I certainly wasn’t offended. A strange person who nearly stepped on him? It was a perfectly understandable response.”
Crowley nodded, but didn’t remove his hand. In fact, his thumb began a slow circle just over Aziraphale’s breastbone.
“I told him you’d say as much.”
“Did you?” he asked, fighting to maintain eye contact and not to look down at the hand on his chest lest it disappear.
“Mm. They’re all quite fond of you, you know — the snakes at St. James's. Apparently, you have something of a reputation.”
Aziraphale took a half step back and instantly mourned the loss of the hand as it dropped away. “I have a reputation? Among the snakes?”
“Yesss,” Crowley said, and this time Aziraphale thought the hiss might be wholly intentional. “Apparently you’re unfailingly polite, unlike most people.”
“Well,” Aziraphale said, reaching down with both hands and straightening his waistcoat. “That’s not a very high bar, I suppose. I certainly wouldn’t want to be rude to them, especially if they might be your friends.”
“Friends, angel? Snakes don’t really do friends.”
Aziraphale huffed and pursed his lips. “We’re friends, aren’t we? You and I?”
The corners of Crowley’s mouth turned up, his eyes going soft. “I suppose we are.”
“Well, then.”
“So, what? You decided to befriend all the snakes in the park, just in case they were pals of mine?”
“Not all of them,” Aziraphale hedged. “Just the ones I came across who might have been in danger if the wrong human happened upon them.”
Crowley laughed, and the sound resonated in Aziraphale’s chest like the crash of a cymbal.
“Regular guardian angel you are,” Crowley said, the tip of his tongue poking at one crooked canine as he grinned.
Aziraphale sniffed. “You needn’t poke fun.”
The smile fell away and then Crowley was bending toward him, his eyes wide and earnest.
“Not poking fun,” he said. “Well, only a little. Guardian angel to wayward snakes? Can’t think of a better job for you.”
There was something in his golden gaze that Aziraphale would almost have named tenderness.
“Someone has to look after them,” the angel said softly. “Perhaps next year, you could do your ‘being, without the complicated bits’ upstairs here, and I could keep an eye on you.”
It was tenderness in his eyes now, Aziraphale was sure of it, but he was still surprised when Crowley closed the distance between them, pulling Aziraphale into his arms and holding him close.
“Someone has to look after wayward angels too,” the demon said gruffly, and as Aziraphale leaned into the embrace, just as he shut his eyes, he thought he saw the glimmer of night-dark wings folding around him.
They were on the second bottle already.
“And then Moira — she’s a slow worm, which is technically a legless lizard and not a snake, but ehhh, she’s a decent sort,” Crowley drawled, tipping his head to one side to make eye contact with Aziraphale who, to be fair, was paying rapt attention to Crowley’s narration of the apparently rich inner lives of the St. James's fauna. “So Moira said there’s been some drama among the pelicans. It seems Isla and Tiffany had a rather public falling out a few weeks ago.”
He would have made it to the shop at least two hours earlier, he’d explained, but he’d cut through the park on his way to retrieve a Black Forest gateau from Royal Artisan to bring to Aziraphale, and well, he’d been waylaid.
“They didn’t,” Aziraphale said. “Tiffany and Isla, really?”
“That’s what Moira told me,” Crowley replied, and took a long sip from his wine.
“Oh, I meant to ask, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, struck by a sudden recollection of his own wonderings from weeks ago. “How does one find out if a snake is male or female?”
Red wine sprayed from Crowley’s lips, and only a quickly executed snap of Aziraphale’s fingers kept it from staining the rug.
“Sorry,” he said, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Caught me by surprise.”
Aziraphale reached over and patted him on the knee. “Not to worry, my dear. No damage done. So? How does one tell? I did do some reading, but it seemed the most reliable way was a rather intrusive examination. Surely there must be a simpler method.”
Crowley leaned forward and set his wine on the table, his eyes far more intent and far less glassy than they’d been only a moment before. He stood and moved toward Aziraphale’s chair, slotting his knees between spread thighs. This was highly unusual, even taking into account their earlier embrace, and his heart danced a quickstep at the sudden nearness of the demon.
“You want simple?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale nodded. “One buys them dinner first, angel.”