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The Oxford bus stopped in London, just as Crowley had said it would. The sun was just coming to the horizon. Aziraphale and Crowley sat close, the angel had slept almost the entire journey, cuddled against his partner in crime. Crowley clearly had no objections to this, and had spent the majority of the journey with his arm around him, watching him contently, occasionally nuzzling the top of his head. He smelled like sunshine on summer grass, like sweet pastries and starlight. The conductor came down to their seats, tapped Crowley and gestured. “Better wake your boyfriend. This is the last stop.”
Crowley looked at her, scowling at her for putting their moment to a halt. He'd seen Aziraphale sleeping a handful of times, but never like this. He looked so...perfect. “Oh, uh...yeah. Time to wake up, angel. We're here.”
“Please. Just another half century,” he grumbled, pressing his cheek against the demon's shoulder. Crowley grimaced, this was torture! How could he bear to put a stop to this?
“Az,” he urged, nudging him sharply. “Look, maybe if we're lucky, we can continue this someplace a bit more to our tastes. After?”
Fully awake now, Aziraphale straightened up, brushing off Crowley's jacket as if to undo any harm he might have caused to it. “Oh, right, of course. That is...Really?” His expression was so pure, hopeful. They'd known each other for millennia and he was nearly always dazzlingly glad to see him. And it always stabbed Crowley straight through the heart. He'd do anything to make his angel happy.
“Later, if you want.” Crowley grinned. He'd been enjoying their cuddle, too, but hoped they'd have the opportunity to do the same in a bit more comfortable environment. And Aziraphale seemed to want to, too! All the more reason to hope for success tomorrow, er, today. Day was breaking.
The conductor smiled at the adorable couple and let them off. They stood awkwardly by the bus stop, knowing what they must do next, but still unsure. They each checked around to make sure no one was watching.
“Well, this is it.” Aziraphale stuck his hand out, Crowley took it and shook. Like oil creeping along a pool of water, they poured themselves into each other. When their swap was complete, they released and both took a moment to examine themselves. Both of them blushed as they rubbed their hands together, turning them over every which way. They looked at each other with nervous chuckles. “Well...good luck to both of us. Let's hope our precautions are...unnecessary.” He didn't think to alter his voice, so the combination was rather odd.
Crowley grimaced and shook his head, then tested it himself, carefully. “Doubt we'd be that lucky. If Agnes Nutter warned us, I'd say we're about to face something big.” He then made a wry face. “Ooh, that's weird! I sound just like you!”
The angel nodded unhappily. “Yes, I know, but...wouldn't it be nice if this could be all over?”
“It can be, angel. As long as we play our cards right. I'm not worried.”
“You-you're not?” Aziraphale looked taken aback. Crowley was always a tad foolhardy, but he was never stupid. “I am!”
A genuine smile from the demon posing as an angel quelled any doubts, “I trust you, all right? And you trust me?” He placed both hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, feeling a little lightheaded as he took in their height difference from the other side. Am I really that tall? There's no reason for me to be that tall. It's only three inches or so difference, right? Why do I look so...
Aziraphale took his hands and gave them a squeeze. They were both silently quaking that they suddenly dared touch each other this way. They'd just slept nestled together on the bus, but this felt oddly intimate as well, even in their current state of disguise. He flinched as well, seeing himself through a different set of eyes. It was a trifle unsettling. He almost felt tempted to...Crowley seemed to have the same idea. After gazing heatedly for a moment, his eyes drifted closed, he subtly inclined his head. What's the matter with us?! Ten seconds in each other's shoes and we abandon all impulse control! Aziraphale snapped out of it first, dropping Crowley's...his own hands with a twinge of regret. “Yes. Yes, I do. I trust you. To the end.”
There was a moment of contained disappointment before the demon could brush it off. “And we've already survived that!” Crowley nervously grinned. “Go on, we'll catch up at the rendezvous.”
Aziraphale stalked off toward his destination, trying his best to duplicate his friend's trademark walk. It was all too much going on at once. Their dramatic reunion at the Tadfield airbase, Apocalypse averted, that cozy little nap they shared together...what were they now? The bus driver assumed they were lovers; the way Crowley had touched him just now was...well, touching. And he'd nearly kissed him. On Friday, he'd denied vehemently, cruelly, that they were even friends, but it could not be denied that they never stopped gravitating toward each other. They'd been doing it for thousands of years now. What they had was comfortable and familiar, like an old favorite book and a cozy jacket. It was too much to wade through at the moment, especially with their final act they still had to get through.
Crowley smiled at his back before turning abruptly and making his way toward the bookshop. He'd hardly believed it when he saw it back in one piece as the bus drove by the corner. He did almost dare hope that this nightmare of a week was finally over. Still, the wily old serpent knew better.
Once Crowley got there and let himself in, he stalked to the back room where his friend kept his stash of good wines. His hand brushed a bottle, thinking what they were facing might call for some liquid courage, then he snarled. “Better not. Not now.” He'd never been one to practice self-denial, but he convinced himself of the practical side of his decision. It would be all the better to wait and really get sloshed together once it was indeed all over. Prowling the place, Crowley examined himself in a full-length mirror that hung behind a cabinet door. He couldn't help himself, he stared!
“Well, hello, beautiful.”
Crowley had shape-shifted before. It was part of the job as a demon, really. Take the form of someone that people would trust and compel them away from the straight and narrow path. He'd never disguised himself like this, though. He gazed, drinking in the sight of Aziraphale in the mirror. He touched his face, ran his fingers through his hair, brushed a hand over his suit—tartan bowtie and all!—with an awestruck expression. “Beautiful,” he sighed greedily as he preened. It was the loveliest sight in the world, and it was all his! Crowley wondered how long they'd have to keep up this charade before they succeeded in drawing their enemies out. Upon a moment's reflection, he found he didn't care, if he could be treated to this! He smiled, the kind that made Aziraphale's eyes light up, and the frustrated demon lunged at the mirror, pressing his palms to the glass. He tore himself away from the enchanting sight and stalked out into the front room, consciously adjusting his swaggering gait along the way. He had work to do. He only had an hour before he was supposed to meet Aziraphale in the park, and he had to get his friend's mannerisms down. Gabriel and the others would likely be too caught up in their moment of triumph to notice minutiae, but he had to at least avoid arousing suspicion. The way he walked, what he did with his hands, those would be the most visible cues.
“This is going to take a little practice,” he said, lilting in Aziraphale's refined accent. His slight case of nerves actually worked with him, it made his movements a bit less fluid, much more agitated. Yes, that's right! He always seems worked up about something unless we're in the park, back here, or out to eat somewhere. He made a mental note to buy his friend an entire pastry tray once this was all over. He'd never understood the fuss that was made over food, but it gave him great pleasure to watch Aziraphale enjoy himself. The way he would close his eyes in ecstasy as he savored a bite of something. That lunch date in 1793 and his quest for the perfect crepes! Crowley had tried them then, just out of politeness, but Aziraphale carried on as if it were the very bread of Heaven. He'd licked his fork and squirmed and wriggled contentedly in his seat with that ridiculous grin on his face. That's right, Crowley realized, Aziraphale does that thing, like he can't stand or sit still. Almost floating, like he's lighter than air. Another thing to remember if he wanted to be believable. He did a little back-and-forth twist at the waist with a pert toss of the head, bouncing on his heels to really sell it. Yes!
Crowley caught his reflection in a glass case and paused, his heart automatically lightening at the sight of his beloved, then dropping again in disappointment half a second later when he realized. That face...He hated to see that face look so sad.
“What the Heaven is the matter with you?!” Crowley demanded of himself in a growl. He investigated the shop with a stalking prowl, his eyes drawn to a new set of vintage books along the window shelf. “Hmm. Those are new.” He assumed that Adam had thrown those in as compensation for the destruction he'd nearly wreaked on the Earth. Actively avoiding the distraction of any reflective surfaces—he felt so beautiful!—he did his best to get into character...
Aziraphale let himself into Crowley's home. He looked the place over, curiously. He'd never been here before. Whenever the two of them met, it was either at his bookshop, or at a prearranged neutral location. He saw the lush green plants growing in the front room and smiled, pleased that his demonic counterpart would have a love of things that grew. He would never have suspected...
“Oh. Oh, dear,” he muttered as he got closer to the potted plants. He could feel the terror radiating off of them, hear the echoes of Crowley's shouted threats and commands to grow better. “Oh, Crowley, really!” He closed his eyes and shook his head, “Now I'm not surprised. There, there, dears. You're growing beautifully. I'll have a word with Crowley, I promise you that. He has no right to frighten you poor things to death.”
Cautiously, the plants ceased their trembling. Who was this person? It looked like their master, spoke in his voice, but something was definitely different.
Aziraphale stood in front of a mirror, adjusted Crowley's sunglasses, and ran his fingers through his hair to spike it up more with a growing grin. He'd always wanted to do that, just drag his fingers through that blood-red hair! So adorably mussed! It was as soft as he'd hoped it would be! He gazed longingly at his reflection, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek in a bizarre self-cuddle, getting funny floating feelings just from that.
“I love you, angel,” Aziraphale drawled in Crowley's voice, sending giddy shivers up his spine. He rolled his head back with a besotted grin and gave a little demonic hiss of pleasure. With a dramatic spin, he turned his back to the mirror, leaning against it with his head flung upwards. Using his own voice, he said “And I love you, Crowley, my dear. I'll do it, let's run away together. Alpha Centauri. Anywhere!” He crossed his arms over his chest and groaned. He shifted back into the demon's voice, trying to get used to it. He tried not only to sound like him, but talk like him, and there was a difference. Aziraphale put on his friend's favorite sarcastic growl that was usually leveled at him: “Great, just great. Let's disguise ourselves as Heaven and Hell's Most Wanted, leave a trail of breadcrumbs, and wait to be scooped up and executed! Brilliant plan, real bang-up thinking there.” There, that helped, he was feeling in character now. He'd never get that slouching walk down in time, but maybe he'll get lucky and they'd shackle him...
It was time to go. This splitting up and reconvening was simply so they wouldn't be conspicuous of arriving anywhere together. It would look just like an ordinary meeting, if anyone's eyes were upon them. He hesitated on the pavement, catching the stripe of red of his popped-up jacket collar in a mirrored shop window. The angel grinned and ran his finger across it, turning it a white and blue tartan. If I'm to be dragged into Hell, I'd at least better have some armor on. Aziraphale stepped out into the full sunlight, and then he saw it...there, on the other side of the street, good as new, was Crowley's beloved old Bentley. The angel gave it a genuine smile, thinking how pleased Crowley will be to hear that it was restored. The bookshop...can I even dare hope for the bookshop? It would almost be too much of a miracle to even expect. Still, there was room for more than one miracle today.
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They were the last table to leave at the Ritz that night. There was much to celebrate. The wait staff kept peeking over at them. Every so often, as propriety demanded, Aziraphale or Crowley would order something just so they didn't look like they were wasting their spot. This was certainly no hardship to Aziraphale, who was an unashamed gourmand. Gradually, they'd scooted their chairs closer together. At last, they dared to hold hands on top of the table. They didn't realize what an audience they were attracting, but the servers' station was abuzz with amateur matchmakers, privately aww-ing over them.
“I just gotta say, angel, it's good to have you back where I can see you. That was something else, though.”
Aziraphale twitched uncertainly as a server refilled his wine glass and brought a fresh tray of pastries. “W...what exactly do you mean, Crowley?”
“I don't know how you stand it, really. Walking around looking like that all the time,” Crowley tipsily babbled. Then, at the crushed look on Aziraphale's face, he realized he'd said something wrong. “No, no, no, not that. I didn't mean it like that, silly. I mean, how can you stand being that damn sexy all the time?”
Those words snapped the angel's head out of the blur it had been foundering in. “I beg your pardon!”
“Pardon granted,” Crowley sneered playfully with a chuckle.
“There's no need to be insulting, my dear. I thought we were finally getting somewhere.”
“Yeah, now that you're letting it actually happen. We could've had this a couple hundred years ago, but no...” Crowley was in danger of losing the thread of the conversation, so he shook himself. “What? What was insulting about that?”
Aziraphale sniffed, his proverbial feathers ruffled haughtily. “This is no place or time for sarcasm.” He looked from Crowley to the table, and back again, his eyes still wounded.
“I'm not kidding! I'm not being rude or sarcastic, I mean it!” Crowley gave him a full long look over, sweeping his hand up and down his companion's form as if presenting Exhibit A. “Just look at you! Didn't you get a good enough look at yourself when we swapped? You're utterly irresistible. It's ridiculous. I had to stay away from reflective surfaces while I was you or I would've been stuck staring at that all day and missed our rendezvous.
This hadn't been what he'd been prepared for. Aziraphale's eyes widened and he blushed at this confession. “Nonsense,” he muttered fussily, staring down a petit four as if in mental debate. Crowley pushed the plate closer to him with his eyebrows raised significantly. True, he took care and some measure of pride in his appearance, but his habits of grooming and dress were all for his own personal preferences. He'd never really expected anyone, let alone Crowley, to enjoy the view. Other angels typically opted for a much more ethereal appearance. Dazzling white suits, violet eyes, gold daubed on their skin. Gabriel's remark that he needs to “lose the gut” rang in his ears yet again, making him squirm self-consciously and glance guiltily at the table. The others at work always made him feel frumpy by comparison. And perhaps I am, Aziraphale admitted to himself. As of late, he clung to relics of a bygone era, but it was because he liked them! He felt good, and enjoyed wearing these clothes. Crowley, on the other hand, always moved with the times. Always on the cutting edge of style. Might he really be attracted to an out-of-touch, out-of-shape old fuddy-duddy like me? “You mean it, you're saying you're...I mean, you...You really think I'm...?”
Those huge hazel eyes would be the death and damnation of Crowley. He groaned aloud and flopped across a clear space at their table. “Can't you turn those damn things off? Yes, I'm attracted to you, you idiot! You're what they call a 10! You've been flashing that smile at me all willy-nilly, nearly discorporating me. Don't you know I'd do anything to see that? You really didn't know?”
Aziraphale shook his head, sobering up rather quickly. “If you noticed all that—Oh, really!” It struck him as rather sad. He'd spent a good deal of time longing for him in the same way, but he never dared. He'd been still marching to the Almighty's fife then. He was a coward and he knew it. Nothing short of the apocalypse could have broken him of the status quo. “Crowley...” he sighed heavily, hungrily.
“Oh, no, you're not putting this ridiculously prolonged, frustrated attempt at a courtship on me. I did all I could. I arranged more than half our meetings, I thought I'd earned your confidence. I've saved that adorable behind of yours enough times. I've offered you a place to stay with me, I've asked you to elope with me! But you didn't want that. You didn't want...me. To be honest, it hurt!”
“I did, you know,” Aziraphale confessed shortly. “I...could hardly help loving you. I couldn't do it alone, though. I couldn't have done this on my own.”
“What are you getting at, angel?”
“Just, perhaps I needed to fall a bit. I'm sorry for taking so long to come around. I...I love you very much, Crowley. I'd be honored to spend whatever time remains for this world by your side.” He gave him a pointed look with a flick of his eyebrows before spearing another petit four. “Take that as you will.” And he popped the tiny cake into his mouth.
Off in the server's station, one whispered to another. “I think he's proposing!”
“Which one? I have a bet with the bartender on the redhead. He looked about ready to climb into the other guy's lap last time I made my way around.”
“No! The blond one!”
“Careful, angel, or I'll get funny ideas. It almost sounds like you're suggesting...”
An impish smirk crossed Aziraphale's lips, his eyes sparkling hopefully as he dabbed away pink frosting. “Yes?”
“If you're implying what I'm inferring you're proposing...” Crowley stammered wrongfootedly.
“And if I am? Or did you want to do it?”
“Aziraphale...” the demon sighed. “You're really asking me to marry you?”
He nodded, hovering between fear and hope. They had just had a bit of a spat just now, so he wasn't sure where he stood. He hoped he hadn't gone about this the wrong way.
Crowley smiled smoothly, his sunglasses disguising the fact that he had tears in his eyes. “Of course, you silly bastard! What kind of a question is that? Yes, a thousand times yes.” He clasped their hands together and kissed them, pressing them to his face. “Am I still going too fast for you?”
“No. No, I'm sure I'll catch up.” They stood to leave, but Crowley had a better idea. Much like he had the other day, he seized Aziraphale by the lapels, shoved him against the nearest wall...and kissed him. The both gasped and groaned and utterly failed at anything resembling human speech for a full minute. So much frustrated longing was finally being satisfied. Years of heavy, forbidden fantasies were all coming true today. They stood there, clutching each other, lapping at each other.
“Hold me, just hold me,” Aziraphale finally blurted out, his head and heart both in a whirl. He rested his head against Crowley's shoulder and they just stood in each other's arms while they caught their breath. Once again, it occurred to them both. It was high time to be getting home.
As they walked past them, the remaining servers broke into applause. They barely noticed.