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"Hello," She says.
The man who knows himself as Anthony J. Crowley--but now his head is too big, there's too much, it's coming back--turns to the sound of Her voice.
He's all muddled up. He remembers things. Too much, too many thoughts at once. Last thing he knew, he was in his room, saying goodnight to--
"Oh, Crowley," says Aziraphale. "I've missed you so. Welcome back."
A slow, wide grin creeps across his face.
"Hi, angel," he says, and everything snaps into place.
"We had a good run, didn't we?" Aziraphale's smile is brilliant as ever, his old familiar clothes and dandelion-fluff hair so achingly perfect. Beloved.
"We did," Crowley says. "Didn't think we'd be... us, again. Like this. But I don't think I mind. Got to give it a go, and now we've got another chance, eh?"
"I certainly don't," says Aziraphale, his eyes spilling over. "Come here, my love."
Then Aziraphale, his Aziraphale, is in his arms, and this is a new universe, theirs forever and ever and ever, and She leaves them in the privacy of their bookshop and lets them get reacquainted.