Chapter Text
The taxi drew up to the kerb outside an old fashioned looking bookshop, the facade one of many that was seen in London, still strongly rooted in the past even as the area around it grew and modernised. The taxi driver thought it suited his passenger, a quiet, unassuming man with more airs and graces than even the nobler of passengers he had carried from destination to destination. He wasn't even surprised at the vintage Bentley he found himself parked behind, the car clearly well loved and kept in pristine condition.
'She's a beauty,' said the driver, pointing to the car he was admiring.
'A more contrary vehicle you could never wish to meet,' responded his passenger, handing him a a collection of crisp banknotes, 'Keep the change, good fellow, and a good day to you.'
He didn't have time to answer as his passenger opened the door and stepped out into the early morning, struggling under the box of books he dragged from the seat beside him. He had half a mind to get out and help but the door opened once more and a harassed looking businessman poured himself into the seat, giving directions for Victoria station which the driver swiftly followed.
Aziraphale paid little mind to the taxi pulling away from the kerb, too busy trying to balance a box of books along with the small travel case as he climbed the steps to the door of the bookshop. A quick miracle would have made it easier but since the Armageddon-that-wasn't and the subsequent business with Heaven and Hell he tried to keep them to a minimum despite it being over four years since his last encounter with any of his old colleagues. With that in mind, he finally settled his burdens and extracted his keys from his pocket, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
Despite the changes Adam had made when he restored the shop, the sense of home was overwhelming, warm and welcoming after a week away from the familiar comforts. He deposited the books on the nearest free surface, fingers eager to make a start on unpacking them but there were more pressing matters of business to attend to before he could do so. He looked down at the travel case before leaving it next to his desk as he passed, running a finger over the fine green leaves of the small spider plant that trailed down from one of the small shelves. He shook his head as he retrieved the black jacket from the back of the chair, shaking out the wrinkles before hanging it on the coat rack, taking off his own to hang beside it.
Straightening his waistcoat, he headed towards the very back of the shop and the stairs to the rooms above. The carpet was far less worn the further up he went, the upper rooms not often used until a year or so before but a distinct tread was beginning to form, adding even more to the homely feel of the place.
Whilst the ground floor was awash with the early morning light, the upper floors were still bathed in shadows, the curtains drawn across the windows and only allowing in a weak sliver of light. It was enough for Aziraphale to see by but he was sure he could make the journey even in complete darkness, feet so used to the climb. He ran a hand over the warm wooden bannister, a patina of age and use darkening it, an indulgent smile touching his lips as he found a familiar silver-grey scarf and black waistcoat hung on the post at the top. He picked up both, folding the waistcoat as he continued towards the first door on the landing.
He peered through the gap, the familiar sight within making all the previous sensations of home pale in comparison. Warm, burgundy sheets covered the ironwork bed, most of them in a heap at the base save for the sheet covering the demon sleeping peacefully, arms bunched tight around the pillows. Aziraphale stepped in quietly, making sure to avoid the floorboard that creaked, depositing the collected clothes on the trunk at the foot of the bed before he made his way round to the unoccupied side.
Sitting down on the mattress he reached out a hand, tracing a finger lightly over the silk-clad back where, were they manifested, two black wings would sit. The sleeping demon mumbled in his sleep, burying himself deeper in the pillow before settling again.
'Crowley?' said Aziraphale, his voice low and measured in the peace of the room, 'It's morning, my dear.'
An inelegant snort was the only prelude to the demon pulling himself up to sitting, golden eyes wide to take in the low light of the room. He blinked slowly before a soft smile Aziraphale knew he would never own to settled on his lips.
'You're home,' he said around a yawn before he shook his head, 'Did I oversleep? You're not meant to be home until tomorrow.'
'I thought I'd come home early but if you want I can go away again and come back tomorrow.'
'Don't you dare,' said Crowley, a hand emerging from the covers to take hold of his sleeve, 'You've been gone entirely too long, bad angel. I was getting bored.'
'That always means trouble. At least you kept the shop standing.'
'Adam would kill me if I didn't,' said Crowley, abandoning Aziraphale's sleeve in favour of his hand, 'Missed you.'
'Why do you think I came home a day early?' said Aziraphale, his free hand cradling the angular cheek before he drew him into a soft kiss, 'Missed you, too, husband.'
Crowley smiled, 'That's still not got old.'
'Give it a few centuries,' said Aziraphale, 'It's only been a year, we're practically still on honeymoon.'
'A honeymoon where a certain angel has been distinctly lacking from my bed for the last six days.'
'Not any more.'
'Careful now, words like that can get you into all sorts of trouble,' said Crowley, fingers already tugging at a tartan bow tie.
'Oh I'm counting on that, darling,' replied Aziraphale, a well worn waistcoat quickly joining the bow tie on the floor beside the bed before a snap of Crowley's fingers shut the door tight against the world outside.
****
It had been three days since Aziraphale had returned from his vile and unnecessary book trip, as Crowley had christened it, and he had expected them both to fall back into the usual routine they had developed over the last year but Crowley, who was usually found flitting from attraction to attraction, seemed intent on breaking the norm. The first day of his return, Aziraphale was unsurprised to have the demon as his constant companion even when he had finally managed to extricate himself from their bedroom to actually begin sorting the books he had been away for so long to source. Crowley was always endearingly possessive after any period of absence; hovering and overly tactile but the angel enjoyed the attention, quite willing to admit that he too needed the comfort of closeness. Periods of absence from each other too easily dragging up memories of the times when it had been decades between their meetings.
The second day would usually have had Crowley still making sure he was in the same room as the angel but he would soon be lost in his phone or working on whatever plants had come to live there – without the verbal abuse, a caveat that Aziraphale had insisted upon when the bookshop had become the permanent home for the both of them. It had been met with a good day of grumbling from the demon before he had agreed, the plants growing without the threat of being shouted out unless the demon desired a night back at the flat he still kept despite not spending time in it for weeks on end. Day two of Aziraphale's current return though seemed to merge with the usual pattern of day one but he didn't question it, happy to be back and surrounded by everything he had come to love.
Day three, which would commonly involve Crowley disappearing for several hours to find mischief before bouncing back with the promise of dinner, drinks and all that came after, still retained the closeness of day one and Aziraphale began to grow uneasy at the change in what had become almost a tradition between them. With Crowley barely leaving his side for the whole day but still showing no other signs of distress, Aziraphale spent the best part of it half interested in his books whilst the other half was trying to figure out the behaviour of his husband.
They had retreated to the roof when the sun began to set, Crowley having adopted the space as his own once he had seen the expanse that spread out beneath the London sky. He had populated it with several small greenhouses alongside the plants that could do well enough without the warmth, growing everything from fruit trees to flowers. Aziraphale had had a small amount of input into the area, creating an indulgent seating space set with a wide padded chaise, wide enough for two, easily shaded and protected by an awning that could be pulled over whenever it rained or the sun beat down a little too hard on the rooftop.
The night was too warm and clear to warrant the awning but the stars were veiled by the lights of the city, only blackness above Aziraphale as he rested back on the chaise, a lamp at his side providing enough light to read by as Crowley busied himself in one of the greenhouses. The angel glanced up from the text before him whenever he heard the demon speaking to the plants he was working on, making sure the words were kind was the reason he gave himself but more so because he enjoyed the sound, a little piece of domesticity he had grown used to since their marriage.
'Finally!'
The exclamation from the greenhouse was enough to have Aziraphale closing his book and sitting up a little straighter. 'Everything alright, dear?'
The glass door hissed along its runners as the demon stepped out, clutching a small pot in his hands, the black silk dressing gown he had deemed appropriate for gardening in fluttering around his ankles. He crossed the roof, holding out the pot until Aziraphale took it from him. The orchid was almost pure white save for a flash of gold in the centre of its petals, the light from the lamp almost making them glow.
'It's beautiful,' said Aziraphale, 'One of yours?'
Crowley nodded, 'Took a bit more work than I thought it would. It was supposed to be ready last year in time for the wedding but it wasn't quite right. I've called it Orchidaceae Angelus Aziraphale, a bit of a belated gift but I hope it was worth the wait.'
Aziraphale touched the tip of a finger gently to the delicate petals, 'You bred this for me? Oh Crowley, my dear, it's wonderful. Thank you.'
'It needs a little longer to strengthen up but it will be content on your desk so long as we give it some time in the sun now and then.'
'I will treasure it though you may need to help me take care of it, you have a much more successful touch than I have with all things green,' said Aziraphale, handing it back to Crowley and getting to his feet to follow him back into the greenhouse.
Neat rows of plants closed in on all sides, surrounding the workbench that was littered with tools, soil already well engrained into the surface that spoke of hours of toil, what was once a simple outlet now turned into a passion. Crowley nestled the orchid back into its place, the white blooms luminous in the growing dimness.
'You really do work some wonders in here,' said Aziraphale, 'I'd happily argue we can rival Kew Gardens.'
'Those amateurs could learn a thing or two from me,' said Crowley, stepping behind the angel and wrapping his arms around his waist, 'But I'm not sharing our garden with anyone but you.'
Aziraphale smiled, 'Our garden?' he said, 'Careful dear, one might start calling you sentimental.'
'You've been a dreadful influence on me, love,' said the demon, lips finding the soft skin just above Aziraphale's collar.
Despite the welcome touch the angel couldn't help but frown, expecting the usual denial of sentimentality rather than acceptance of it. He reached up a hand, fingers slipping through the vibrant red hair, 'Crowley, dear, is everything alright?'
'Perfect from where I'm standing. Why?'
'Since I've come back you've been, close, different,' said Aziraphale, 'Don't misunderstand me, I adore having you so near but by now you've usually got cabin fever and I'm having to talk you down from whatever mischief you've planned.'
A soft sigh fluttered across his neck as Crowley tightened his arms slightly.
'I think maybe I'm getting old,' said the demon, 'I like home, I like our garden and I'm finding mischief, as you put it, is losing its excitement. Am I getting underfoot?'
'Don't be foolish,' said Aziraphale, 'I just want to make sure you're happy. I know I don't move at the same pace you do.'
'Then perhaps it's time I slowed down,' said Crowley, before he groaned, 'And now I sound dreadfully middle aged.'
'Well we have been on earth over six thousand years old, it was bound to hit at some point,' said the angel, 'Though I think I was created to be permanently middle aged regardless of location.'
'You were created to be perfect,' said Crowley, releasing his hold on the angel's waist and taking hold of his hand, 'Come on, it's getting too chilly in here with the door open, not good for your flower.'
He led the angel back to the chaise, encouraging him to sit down before he lay beside him. Aziraphale picked up the book he abandoned, moving it to the table beside him but Crowley's hand on his arm stopped him.
'Is that my book?' he asked.
Aziraphale shook his head, 'Just a dry old thesis,' he said, 'I have to admit it was beginning to bore me.'
'Perhaps that's me rubbing off on you,' said Crowley, taking the book from his hand and laying it on the table, stealing the glass that was already there and drinking the remnants, 'Do we have any more?'
'Downstairs,' said Aziraphale, 'I can go and get some and fetch your book if you want it.'
Crowley shook his head, a click of his fingers enough to have a fresh bottle of wine appear on the table as he settled himself closer to the angel's side, 'Sorted.'
'But your book?'
'You know half of them without needing the book anyway,' said Crowley, sliding down until he rested his head over a heart that didn't need to beat but did, 'Would you?'
Aziraphale wrapped an arm around the slim shoulders, settling himself back against the chaise, 'Which one do you want to hear?'
'Keats,' said Crowley, 'Nightingale.'
Aziraphale smiled, easily calling the words of the poem to mind and beginning to recite them, fingers carding gently through his lover's hair as he became languid at his side. It was one of the favourites from the collection Aziraphale had selected, poetry and stories that covered so many of the years they had walked the earth together. The book was written and bound by his own hand, a gift to demonstrate his love in the best way he could. When he had presented it to Crowley two years before it had been sealed with a tartan bow but it had been the ring knotted into the fastening that had been the first thing to capture the demon's attention, the proposal delivered by the terrified angel moments after being the second. It was only after a tearful acceptance followed by several long minutes...hours...days – Aziraphale quite frankly was unsure- that the book was noticed. Long fingers, one now bearing a fine obsidian ring with a slim band of baguette cut diamonds running through the centre, trembling as they turned the pages, pausing now and then to read the words before passing it to the angel for him to read aloud. It was another tradition, another slice of domesticity that had been waited for for nearly six thousand years.
He pressed a kiss to the flame red hair as he spoke the final lines, unsure whether Crowley was asleep or awake as he breathed evenly and quietly in his arms. He looked up at the fully dark sky above them, seeing a small flicker of light in the vastness and he couldn't help but chuckle as he realised what he was seeing.
'What's funny?' murmured Crowley.
'The romance of the moment,' said Aziraphale, 'Even the weather satellite has made an appearance.'
Crowley snorted, 'How glorious. Damn light pollution,' he said before another click of his fingers plunged the seemingly dark world around them into deeper darkness, 'That'll do.'
Aziraphale blinked, eyes adjusting to the unexpected darkness, realising that the ever present ambient light of London was no more as the stars began to appear above them, 'What did you just do?'
Crowley shrugged, 'Turned off the all the lights in a ten mile radius.'
'Crowley!'
'What? It's romantic.'
'You, my love, are a liability,' said Aziraphale, 'You didn't turn off anything vital did you.'
'Unnecessary lights only,' he replied, 'But that is pretty much most of them at this time of night. Just enjoy the view, angel.'
Aziraphale looked down at the demon in his arms before turning his attention back to the stars above them, 'It's funny. Even after so long down here, I can still remember how they looked from...there.'
'Heaven might be a dirty word in this house but you can say it you know,' said Crowley, 'And it's ok to miss how they looked then. I...remember sometimes. Flashes of memory. I can remember them being created. Sometimes it's almost clear and other times...'
'Hush,' said Aziraphale, hearing the catch in his voice, 'You don't have to talk about it?'
'Do you remember me?' said Crowley, looking up at him, 'From back then or someone who looked a bit like me before I was cast out?'
Aziraphale shook his head, 'No, though I don't remember much, it's all a bit hazy until Earth and Eden became my purpose. I'm one of the last who were created so most of the stars are older than me and I'm only a principality.'
'Don't say only when you talk about yourself, love,' said Crowley, 'You were one of the last because She finally got one right in you. You could line up everyone of those archangels and their so-called good deeds and they wouldn't be a patch on you. I don't just fall in love with any old angel you know.'
'She got one other right, She just didn't see it. I do though. I've always seen it, even if I was blind to it for so many years,' said Aziraphale, taking hold of his left hand, tracing both the obsidian ring that had signified their engagement and the golden one he had placed beside it on their wedding day, 'If I had known you back then, I would have been terrified to even consider speaking to you. I've no doubt you were the most beautiful of them all.'
'Now who's getting sentimental?' said Crowley, though he could not hide the faint blush on his cheeks.
'Well given that you provided the lighting it would be remiss of me not to indulge in the romance of it,' said the angel, 'And you are so very beautiful, my love.'
'You're making it very difficult not to kiss you right now.'
'I'm hardly dissuading the notion, dear.'
The demon pushed himself up from his place at the angel's side, 'You do realise that if I kiss you now I have no intention of stopping, regardless of where it leads,' he said, leaning down and teasing a kiss against his lips, 'Shall we head inside?'
Aziraphale took hold of the edges of the silky black robe, holding the demon in place, 'I don't think the stars will give us away, do you?' he said, closing the short distance between them to capture his lips fully.
It was only when the shrill ringing from inside the greenhouse grew too insistent to ignore that they reluctantly parted, Crowley growling as he looked over towards the offending sound.
'What the heaven is that?'
'Your phone, I believe,' said Aziraphale, 'It has too be gone midnight, who would call at this time?'
'Wrong number,' said Crowley as the phone quieted, 'Where were we?'
The phone started again before Aziraphale could answer and he pressed a hand to his husband's chest as he seemed inclined to ignore it.
'Wrong numbers don't usually call twice,' he said, 'You should answer it.'
'The only person of importance to me is right here,' said Crowley, glaring at the greenhouse once more as the phone stopped and then started again.
'Adam has your number,' said Aziraphale, a frown creasing his forehead, 'We promised him if he was ever worried...'
Crowley sighed but climbed off the chaise, heading to the greenhouse as the phone made one last attempt to grab his attention. The door hissed quietly on its runners but the string of invective that came after it was enough to rouse those far beyond the ten mile radius the demon had plunged into darkness.
'You want it answered, be my guest,' he said, reappearing and chucking the phone across the distance between them, Aziraphale catching it more by luck that skill.
The angel looked down at the screen, rolling is eyes as 'Rubbish Car' flashed on the screen. He held out a very thin hope that young Newton Pulsifer wouldn't find out what the demon referred to him as out of ear shot. He answered the call, the man's voice ringing out before he could even offer a greeting.
'Crowley, at last, I was worried I wouldn't get hold of either of you,' came the voice down the line.
'This is Aziraphale,' replied the angel, looking over to where his husband was pacing by the greenhouse, 'Crowley's somewhat indisposed.'
'Oh, I'm sorry. I tried the bookshop but there was no answer. I'm sorry it's so late but I didn't know who to call.'
Aziraphale sat up a little straighter as he heard the worry in the man's voice, 'Is something the matter?'
'It's Anathema,' came the shaky response, 'She's writing but not normal writing. It's all symbols but I can't get her to even acknowledge I'm in the room. It's like she's in some sort of trance.'
Aziraphale waved the demon to his side, glad when he came over despite his obvious distaste for the phone call, 'Put that on the speaker thing for me,' he said, handing him the phone, Newton's voice soon echoing between them.
'It's not writing I know but she has it in some of her books,' said the man.
'When did it start?' asked Aziraphale, 'Did anything lead up to it?'
'Not that I remember. She just went into the kitchen and started writing in a book and now there's pages of it, all in strange letters and she won't stop. I didn't know who else to call.'
'It's alright,' said the angel, 'We'll come to you, first thing if it's convenient?'
'I was hoping that perhaps you could come now. I know it's late but...'
'We're on our way,' said Crowley before Aziraphale could answer, a wave of his hand replacing the silk robe with his more usual attire, 'When we hang up, take pictures and send them to me. Aziraphale might be able to decipher the writing when we're on route. I don't think there's a word written down that's beaten him yet. We won't be long. Take care of Anathema and we'll see you soon.'
He ended the call but kept it in his hand as he offered the other to Aziraphale, pulling him to his feet.
'Up for a late night drive?' he asked.
Aziraphale nodded, 'He sounds worried,' he said, 'And Anathema isn't one to play foolish jokes.'
'He said it was a language from one of her books and I have a feeling that didn't mean anything mainstream,' said Crowley, 'I don't trust it, not there.'
'You don't think...?'
'Let's not speculate yet,' said Crowley, as his phone beeped and he opened the image, yellow eyes widening at the sight of it, 'Aramaic. Old. Very old. I'm rusty at best.'
Aziraphale took the phone, scanning the image in an attempt to translate the scribbled text, 'We need to get to Tadfield, my dear,' he said, 'And I shan't scold you if you're a little heavy on the accelerator.'