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“Actually…” Aziraphale bites his lip.
Ten years. Ten years he’s known, ten years of agony, and ten years isn’t much next to the five thousand nine hundred and forty five years prior, years those feelings had built, but ten years is enough. He wants Crowley-- he wants to be able to say yes to him, if he asks again, if he asks for anything.
He thinks of the last time he’d seen him, leaning against the hood of his car, how it had gleamed in the morning sun. He’d changed his hair, traded fine suits for… for wearing an undershirt in public, and the sort of trousers a laborer might wear. He’d been parked out there on the street, jacket slung over his shoulder. He’d…
He had suggested the cinema. It wasn’t even a romantic offer, not really. Only a social invitation. Aziraphale had refused, had needed to refuse, had hated refusing…
Gabriel turns, Sandalphon and Michael turning with him, expressions open and expectant and friendly, and…
And they won’t be. Not for long.
He’ll Fall.
“Actually, it’s about Crowley.” He says, his voice wavering.
No. He has to go through with this. He and Crowley can never have anything if he doesn’t, they’ll always be looking over their shoulders, afraid of both sides. If he Falls… the idea fills him with a nearly overwhelming dread, but it’s better if he confesses. If he is caught hiding it, they’ll really have something to punish. He doesn’t want to lose the light of Heaven, but he hasn’t belonged there in so long, and… and he would have Crowley. Wouldn’t he? When he looks back over the years, he thinks Crowley might want him, too. Might want to be with him.
“The demon? Is he giving you trouble? Has he discovered your position? We can move you, you know.” Gabriel’s hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches. “Or station someone else to work with you. Whatever you need.”
“He’s not giving me trouble. Quite the opposite. I-- I love him.”
Gabriel pulls back, startled. He turns to Sandalphon, Michael moves to take his arm.
“Love… the demon Crowley?” Gabriel asks slowly. “Your enemy on earth?”
“He isn’t my enemy. He-- he has never been my enemy. He’s not-- he’s not like what you think they are.”
“I don’t understand.” He frowns over at Sandalphon, who can only shrug.
“What is he like?” Michael asks, her voice soft.
“He’s good. He’s kind. He’s clever and he’s funny and he’s gentle, even if he pretends otherwise. But he is with me! And-- and if you’re going to punish me, then-- then go on and do it! Just do it, I don’t care!”
“We’re not punishing you.” Gabriel blinks, glances to Michael this time. He nods when she makes no argument.
“He’s fooling you.” Sandalphon shifts closer. “It’s what they do. Look, it’s not your fault, you’ve been--”
“We’ll speak with him.” Michael says, and Sandalphon falls silent. “Won’t we, Gabriel? If Aziraphale says this one is good?”
“Exactly.” Gabriel beams and slaps Aziraphale’s shoulder again. “We’ll talk to him.”
“No-- You--”
“We won’t hurt him.” She assures him. “We’ll get Uriel, and we’ll all speak with him and see. Together. All six of us. Right?”
She turns to Gabriel again, and he nods.
“Why don’t you… uh… get him to come here, and we’ll be back?”
Aziraphale hesitates. He doesn’t want to lead Crowley into a room full of angels… he can’t not tell him what he would be walking into. But if he did tell him the angels wanted to see him, Crowley wouldn’t come… and Aziraphale wants to trust that Michael is right when she says they won’t hurt him, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’d expected things to go very differently, and yet he had trusted them to be… fair, in casting him out. To leave him be to adjust to his Fallen state and not attack him. He had trusted them with himself. Could he trust them with Crowley?
“I’ll ask him.” He says. “But he might not come.”
“He will.” Michael says.
They file out, to fetch Uriel from whatever vital miracle had split her from the group, and Aziraphale picks up his phone. Does he hope Crowley is at home? Does he hope that he is not? He feels adrift, he feels impossible. He feels he has lost himself, and then he hears Crowley’s voice.
“Hello?” He says, sleep-rough and warm, in a way that trickles down Aziraphale’s spine.
“Crowley.”
“Aziraphale? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve gone and done something rather silly, I’m afraid.”
“What’s wrong?” Crowley growls.
“Only please don’t be angry with me.”
“Aziraphale, I’m not angry, but you need to tell me what’s wrong. Are you in trouble?”
“Er…”
“Are you in danger? Aziraphale, are you in your shop? I’m coming over right now.”
“No, don’t!” He cries out, and then claps a hand over his mouth. “I mean, I hope you will, but I--”
“I’m coming there now.” He insists, and then, he’s there. He takes the handset from Aziraphale, hangs up the phone. “What’s going on?”
“I told the others… I told the others I didn’t care what they did to me. I told them I-- I said we--”
“Shit.” Crowley hisses, and then he does so in several languages, pacing the area before Aziraphale’s sofa. “How much do they know about the Arrangement?”
“Nothing!”
“Well… then what on earth did you tell them about us?” He stops short, brow furrowing.
“I just said I l-liked you.” He blushes, folding his hands together, struggling not to wring them. “They wanted to speak with us, they said they wouldn’t hurt you. But you can go. You don’t have to. I-- I won’t ask you to.”
“Liked me?” Crowley works over the idea a long moment, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
“A Streetcar Named Desire.” The words tumble out, and keep tumbling. “I remarked upon how you were dressed, and you asked me if I hadn’t seen Brando, in A Streetcar Named Desire. And I said that I hadn’t, and you offered to take me, and I said I didn’t want to go, but I lied. I did want to. I do want to. And then I had to lie to them about how I’ve fought you and fought you, and I-- I don’t want to lie anymore, Crowley. I just want to go to the cinema.”
His lip trembles. He looks up at Crowley, watches as he slowly removes his dark glasses to stare right back.
“Angel…” He shifts forward, he reaches out, he doesn’t quite touch Aziraphale’s arm as he looks at him in undisguised awe. “Why would you do that?”
Aziraphale shrugs.
“It’s not that good a film. I mean it’s good, and-- But you-- won’t they punish you?”
“I don’t know.” He whispers. “Go. Before they come back. You can still go, you don’t have to face them.”
“No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you, whatever they decide.”
They sit together on the sofa, though they’ve always sat opposite each other before. Now, though, they sit side by side, their hands resting on the center cushion, not quite touching. Aziraphale doesn’t know what else to say. Evidently, neither of them do, though every now and then they meet each other’s eyes. Once, Crowley braves a smile, strained and nervous, and yet Aziraphale finds it so easy to answer with a real one. Crowley has stayed, Crowley is staying.
When they hear the door they both leap up, turning and moving back towards the armchair as one. Crowley reaches out to put his arm across Aziraphale, but Aziraphale takes his hand instead, looking towards him as all four angels enter. All of them pristine in their pastel suits, in white gloves and in hats which Gabriel and Sandalphon remove. Uriel carries a wicker purse which Aziraphale is sure holds nothing, but if you didn’t look close, you could mistake them for people.
Uriel and Sandalphon sit to either side of Gabriel, on the sofa, and Michael takes the desk chair, all four looking towards them.
“Aziraphale, will you sit?” Gabriel motions to the armchair, smiling blandly.
“Er-- I--” He glances to Crowley, who nods, slightly. He sits, and Crowley leans against the side of it, cagey and unrelaxed, but… present.
“So.” Michael smoothes her hands over the neat skirt of her suit. “The two of you are lovers.”
“What?” Crowley sputters, and looks down at their joined hands. He pulls away, flexing his hand a moment and then cradling it against his chest. “No-- no, he told you he liked me, we’re not-- He’s not-- We’re friendly, that’s all.”
Aziraphale folds his hands in his lap, shame flooding him. What has he done? Laid all his cards on the table to Heaven and… and does Crowley not--? Has he picked through his memories too selectively, seen things that were never there? But it’s too late for regrets. It’s too late for second-guessing. He’s chosen Crowley. Whether or not Crowley loves him.
“I told you.” Uriel whispers. “He meant he loves the demon with the all-encompassing love of Heaven.”
“But they were holding hands.”
“You’re holding hands.” Aziraphale points out, motioning to where Gabriel and Sandalphon are doing just that.
Gabriel makes that awful face he makes when he thinks you’re being stupid and he’s about to say something incredibly stupid in an attempt to point that out, that awful, eye-rolling face.
“We also do sex.” He snorts.
“You don’t ‘do’ sex,” Aziraphale sighs, too distracted by the grammar to have an opinion on the sex lives of his colleagues-- will they still be his colleagues, when all is said and done?
“Yes we do.” Sandalphon says. “We did sex this morning.”
“No, no, I mean it’s not something one does.”
“Maybe you don’t, but we do.”
“I mean it’s something you have.”
“Thank you, yeah. It is.” Gabriel nods. “Moving on. You and the demon… not lovers? Uriel called it on the all-encompassing love of Heaven?”
“I know those who have Fallen were once our brothers in Heaven…” Sandalphon starts.
“No.” Aziraphale swallows, and squares his shoulders. “I do not. Love him with the all-encompassing love of Heaven, I mean. He is my friend. My love is personal . I love him because he is thoughtful. Because he is brave. Because he is so easy to love, for himself. He doesn’t have to be a lover, to be loved. He has spoken with me long hours when I have been lonely. He has shared my love of this world and all the things in it, in its creatures and its people and its pleasures, in food and wine and song. He has come to my aid when I have been in danger. He-- he understands me. He thinks of me. I love him because he is… he has always been my friend. And if an angel is not permitted to love a demon, then you shall make the decision you must, just as I have.”
“Is this true?” Michael asks Crowley.
“What? I-- I don’t know. Yes?” He stares at Aziraphale, distracted. When Aziraphale turns back to him, his gaze is searching. “Is it?”
“Of course it is.”
“I mean is what Aziraphale says about you true-- Are you kind?”
“No.” Crowley whispers.
“Yes.” Aziraphale says.
“I can’t be kind.”
“And yet you are.”
“Have you done Good?” Michael continues.
Crowley shifts, uncomfortable, glancing between Aziraphale and the angels. “It’s complicated.”
“It isn’t. You have done. For nine hundred and thirty one years. At a minimum.”
“Only if you’ve asked me to. Only if you--” He cuts himself off, with a distrustful glare to the others. “Only if I thought I would get what I wanted by doing it. They can’t redeem me, angel. There’s no point in hoping, it’s never going to happen. You’ll give me up, you’ll go home, forget about me, but you can’t save me. It’s too late.”
“I will not. In eons, I couldn’t forget. All you’ve done for me--”
“They won’t let you keep me. I’m a demon.”
“Do you feel love?” Michael presses.
He’ll say no. He always says no… He always says he isn’t kind and he isn’t nice and he doesn’t do feelings and he won’t be thanked, but he always behaves… He’ll say no, but won’t the other see he’s lying? Won’t they understand? Couldn’t they see in him what Aziraphale sees?
“Yes.” Crowley whispers, his eyes on Aziraphale.
“Crowley…”
“You tell them. You tell them, all right, you’re a being of mercy and you couldn’t help yourself. And I’ve not played on it on purpose, but you couldn’t help it. And we were lonely. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We need your assurance that you haven’t harmed or planned to harm Aziraphale.” Gabriel says, leaning forward.
“Of course I haven’t!” Crowley snaps, turning towards him again, pressing closer to the armchair. “I wouldn’t!”
“Demons lie.” Uriel says, her grip tightening on the white leather handles of her purse.
“Test me if you want. I’ve never hurt him.”
The four exchange looks. Uriel opens her mouth, Michael shakes her head, Sandalphon squeezes Gabriel’s hand, and at last, Gabriel nods.
“Clearing this with Hell will be difficult.” He says.
“What?”
“Clearing this--” Gabriel motions to the two of them. “You know, with Hell? Will be difficult. They won’t be keen on cooperating with us. How much do they value you?”
“Boss likes me, but that could change on a whim.” Crowley snorts. “And will, if you try speaking on my behalf. No one’s going out of their way for me, that’s not how Hell works.”
“I’ll handle it.” Michael rises smoothly. “The favors I have to call in are very, very old, but they will be honored.”
“You think demons are going to honor their promises?”
“I don’t know.” She smiles at Crowley, with a sweetness that Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do with, before she turns it to him. “Aziraphale, do you think demons can honor their promises?”
He finds himself smiling back. “In my own limited experience.”
“Very well. Then I will call in those favors. And we’ll see what we can do.”
“For me?” His smile falters, confused. He looks between them all, Crowley included. “You would do this for me?”
“Of course. We want you to be happy, Aziraphale.” She steps forward, and though Crowley bristles at her coming near, he holds still and allows her to reach past, to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder and then his cheek. “You’re family.”
“And you’re our most dedicated field agent.” Gabriel adds. “We’ll get back to you once we have some idea of how Hell wants to handle things.”
“And… that’s it? I-- I’m still an angel?”
“What else would you be?”
“Yeah.” Crowley adds, and his posture is still a little defensive, but he manages not to react too much, when the others rise from the couch and insist on coming over to touch Aziraphale also. “That’s right.”
It’s… it’s too much, he doesn’t like it, and yet… under the circumstances, there’s a comfort he takes even in the jarring slaps on the back and too-close embraces, the invasive little touches to hair and face and back that other angels seem to thrive off of, which he has always pulled back from.
After an awkward pause and another silent four-way conference, they offer their hands to Crowley, and he shakes hands warily, Michael, then Gabriel, then Uriel, then Sandalphon.
“We’ll see you soon.” Gabriel says, beaming at them. “You two stay out of trouble now, until we get some things ironed out.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Wouldn’t want to… step on any toes.” Crowley nods.
Aziraphale rises to see the others out, and to submit himself to another round of embraces-- someone kisses his cheek and in the flurry of touch and warmth and enthusiastic love, he couldn’t say who with any confidence. Not Gabriel, because he’d been saying something about paperwork and transparency and taking care of everything, but it could have been any of the others.
“Aziraphale.” He adds, standing in the doorway. “It’s going to be difficult. There’s going to come a reckoning someday, and we can’t make any promises about… reinstatement. For…” He nods towards the back area. “But we can put somebody on looking into it. You okay there, buddy?”
“Er. Yes.” Aziraphale nods, although he’s not entirely sure. He supposes he must be, and yet he feels no more moored to reality than he had when he first found himself blurting the truth out in fits and starts.
“Glad to hear it.” Gabriel smiles, and then they’re gone, they’re all gone and Aziraphale is left trying to piece together the whole thing.
“I didn’t Fall.” He says, still not quite able to believe it. He touches his own face, his own body. He is the same as he was, they didn’t reject him, they embraced him… “I didn’t Fall, I-- They said it was all right.”
“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice is soft. He lopes over to join Aziraphale by the door. The sign has long been flipped to ‘closed’, and he locks the door after the departing angels. “Aziraphale… were you really prepared to?”
“I don’t know. As prepared as I could have been.”
“Just to go to the movies with me?”
“You know it isn’t just that. It’s everything.” He stares at the windowshade. “I’m tired, Crowley.”
“Then come and have a rest.” Crowley takes his arm, gentle, as if touching him might cause him to shatter.
Maybe he’s not wrong.
“That’s not what I mean.” He swallows, glancing over at him, glancing away.
“Then come and sit with me.”
Aziraphale nods. He lets Crowley escort him to the couch, he lets Crowley put a record on the victrola… it’s one he’s sure he hadn’t owned before, some new thing, but it’s soft, and he hasn’t got it in him to protest.
“Here. Put your head on my shoulder.” Crowley says, and this time when he settles, he doesn’t leave that space between them. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d do that.”
“Surprised myself.” Aziraphale admits. “Suddenly I just was. And I didn’t care anymore. I know you, Crowley. I know the good in you. I needed them to know it.”
“Well. We’ll see how it goes. At least they like you.”
“I… I suppose they do.”
“Aziraphale. You told them you l-- you wanted to be friends with a demon and they all want to think of how to help. They like you.”
“A moment of madness.” He chuckles sadly. “We are friends, though.”
“Yeah.”
“Crowley… are we-- could we--?”
“Yeah.” It’s a whisper. Crowley’s arm wraps tight around his shoulders, and Aziraphale keeps his head against Crowley’s shoulder, and dares to slip an arm about his waist.
For a long moment, they don’t speak.
“Though you take away my heart, dear…” Crowley croons along to the record, soft. “Still the beating there within… I’ll keep--” He stumbles over the last words. Has to wait for the final refrain to come around again before he can join back in on them. “I’ll keep loving you forever, for--”
Once again, he can’t bring himself to finish, but it’s enough. Even if he can only say it if he can pretend he’s just singing along to the music, he’s said it. And the words he hasn’t, those fill Aziraphale with a tremendous, hopeful warmth. He is an angel, and the others, they want to help, and they’re going to help, and they like him. Even now, even with this secret out in the open, they like him, they’ll help him, they’ll even talk to Hell and no one… no one will say he can’t love Crowley.
Unless Crowley does. But it no longer seems likely.
“Crowley?” He braces himself to test it. “I do. Love you. In a personal way.”
“Oh, I’ve gathered. You don’t risk saying it if you don’t-- to them and all-- unless you really… And you know I…”
“Yes.” He smiles. “I-- I think I’ve gathered as well.”
“Good.” Crowley swallows. “Good, good.”
They’ll get better at this, with time. They have time. Aziraphale lets his eyes remain closed, and he focuses on Crowley’s breath, the inhumanly slow thud of his heart, the scent of him. He could, he thinks, try to rest like this. All through the night, even.