Young Writers Society

A/N-Rating is mostly for language, though there is an instance of "spicy" thoughts.

Muriel kicked Crowley out of the bookshop at sunset and instructed the Bentley to drive him around for an hour or so. They opened all the curtains in the bookshop, burned the incense, and let the moon wash over the summoning circle. After covering her party dress with a plain white robe, Muriel started the incantation.

“Oh, Your Holiness Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, Former Principality of the Eastern Gate and Liaison for Heaven on Earth, Chosen by the Almighty to Prepare the Kingdom of Heaven for the Second Coming, hear the pleas of your humble Acolyte! I implore you and your corporation to Descend to Earth at this grave hour of Great Need so that you may bless us with your presence and guide mankind on the ways of Heaven.” The whole thing was very silly and formal, but the Metatron had specified that the Archangel should only be called upon in times of Great Need. He had not anticipated that Muriel could come up with a number of Great Needs, from fixing a squeaky floorboard in the library to blessing Aziraphale’s old favorite Indian place that was on the verge of going out of business. Whatever Need she stated would be taken care of with great haste, a report quickly written up, then they were free to roam the Earth as they wished. They repeated the whole incantation two more times, then stepped away for the Archangel to Descend.

The light in the library would have blinded any mortal eyes watching-Muriel had taken a cue from Mr. Crowley and wore sunglasses for that bit. A soft thud followed—somehow after over sixty attempts, Mr. Fell had yet to nail the graceful landing.

The Archangel righted himself and tried to adopt a more authoritative pose, his voice shockingly deep. “Greetings, my humble and devoted Acolyte, and do not despair. The Light of Heaven has come upon you to bring Her Mercy to the suffering. Unto the ages of ages, Amen,” he chanted three times. The whole ordeal was ridiculous to both parties, and Aziraphale hated the incense, but rules were rules, and this was the best way they’d found to bend them. Muriel knelt and did the sign of the cross three times, ending the ritual. They stayed silent for a few minutes as the light calmed down.

With a quick swipe of his hand, Aziraphale miracled away the horrid incense smell and took inventory of his corporation’s limbs and organ as Muriel snuffed out the candles.. A bit dizzy, but otherwise right as rain. He reached out to sense where Crowley was and found he was not in the bookshop-had he decided to run away again after all?

“He’s fine, Mr. Fell, and I’ll call him back as soon as the Divine Energy goes back down to acceptable levels. Promise.” By their calculations, they’d need about 30 minutes for the Divine Energy to dissipate. In the meantime, they caught Aziraphale up on the most important points Crowley had shouted at the ceiling while reading the Letter.

Once she was satisfied it was safe, Muriel called Crowley and the Bentley escorted him back, then they miracled up a dinner from the Ritz (to be clear, this was not a miraculously replicated dinner, as those never tasted quite right, just using a quicker delivery system than DoorDash).

Crowley approached the threshold and immediately sensed Aziraphale’s energy, the genuine article. There was an odor of Archangel under it, but he could get used to that. He was still somewhat suspicious there was a trick--maybe Aziraphale was just a puppet of the Metatron--but he would find out soon enough. The background music was unexpected...was that an orchestral rendition of “Style”?

“It’s not me, Mr. Crowley,” Muriel met him at the door, answering his objection before he had the chance to raise it. Her hair fell in loose waves and her eyeliner and lipstick were perfectly done. Based on what he'd seen of her earlier attempts, Crowley was pretty sure this was achieved through miraculous means.“Mr. Fell rather likes this one.”

“You’ve got that demon snake-y look in your eye and I got that tartan classic thing that you like and when we go crashing down we come back every time…” Oh, Satan. The angel knew her songs and had even made up his own words? At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if the woman skipped through the door in a sparkly bodysuit and revealed she was the Almighty Incarnate Herself.

“You two should be all set for the evening, but here’s my number, just in case you need anything.” Muriel handed Crowley a scrap of paper. “Whatever mess you two make, clean it up before I get back at noon tomorrow. Good luck, Missssster Crowley.”

“Have fun. Don’t do anything I would do,” One last wisecrack towards the inspector, then it was showtime. He sauntered in, truly unsure if this would end in burning flames or paradise.

“Crowley! You…you came back! You’re really here!” The angel that claimed to be Aziraphale was seated at the table, framed by a centerpiece of battery operated candles. His familiar cream suit was gone, replaced by a light grey one. At least this version looked more like his old suit than Gabriel’s slick modern one, and he did still have a tartan bow tie. His eyes weren't violet like Gabriel’s, but they were a more intense blue than they had been before. Was that a sign that he wasn’t real, that this was an elaborate trick? His white hair was slicked back more than Crowley would have thought possible, which was also rather off-putting. He was somewhat thinner due to Heaven’s inability to master Gross Matter, but the softness wasn’t completely gone. His lips still looked annoyingly kissable. His hands were drumming on the table, his whole body fidgeting.

Crowley did a dramatic bow, not unlike the apology dance. Not that he was the one who needed to do that. Not that it would be anywhere near sufficient. “Yes, it is I, Crowley, the lowly demon, here to be of service to the Supreme Archangel motherfucking Aziraphale, Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate…”

“No need for such theatrics, dear. Please do sit down.” The angel’s voice sounded right…could the Metatron have imitated it so perfectly?

“As you wish, Your Holiness.” Crowley slid into his seat and poured himself some wine.

“Oh, you’re growing your hair out again!” Aziraphale’s tone of voice and smile seemed genuinely happy, not like the faux joy he’d displayed when offering the “good news” on Bugger All This Day. “Now please feel free to take off your sunglasses. I would so love to see those beautiful eyes of yours.”

“Not yet, Your Holiness. I’d like to know what’s going on with yours first, for a start.”

“I’d be happy to answer that and any other questions you have, dear, but I”m afraid I need to establish some rules first.”

“I'm a demon, Your Holiness. Afraid I can’t do rules.”

“Oh really? You’re going to sit there and tell me Hell doesn’t have rules?” Aziraphale popped a bite of steak in his mouth and raised his brow. “That’s what I thought. Apparently, the first rule needs to be ‘Thou shalt not keep up with this ‘Your Holiness’ nonsense.” He longed to hear Crowley call him “angel” again, but that was evidently something he’d have to earn. “In all seriousness, could you please just use my name, none of those silly honorifics?” Crowley nodded. “Excellent. The rest of the rules are more for me. Or rather, my Voice. It’s like…like this little Archangel on my shoulder, trying to tell me how I should run things. It’s why I didn’t chase you down, why I chose to wait for you to return on your own accord.” His voice lowered and he broke eye contact, looking down at his fidgety hands instead. “So many times, it’s tried to tell me I don’t have to miss you at all, that I could just snap my fingers and you’d be right in front of me, doing anything I would ask of you. Like some pretty little puppet. It’s already…” He shook his head, choosing not to finish the sentence. The Voice was already displeased, telling him to Command the demon to take his glasses off, to stop asking questions. Hopefully his plan to shut it up would work soon enough. “But that’s not what I want at all. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d rather never see you again than do that to you. That, my dear, is why we need rules.”

“You think I’m pretty, Aziraphale?” Crowley smirked, trying to disguise his unease at the angel’s description of this Voice. No wonder he had been afraid to seek Crowley out. Still, he didn’t feel like any angelic Command had brought him back. Could this Voice of his have Commanded the Bentley? Maybe, but Crowley had had four days to leave, and he had chosen to stay.

“Is that what you got from all of that? Of course, dear, you’re breathtakingly beautiful, but that’s beside the point. The point is, the Voice isn’t something I can get rid of, but thankfully, I have recently discovered a way to minimize its impact. You see, I can use the Voice on itself, essentially Commanding it to stop being so bossy. It’s quite clever, actually.”

“If you say so.” Crowley chose not to remark on the fact that Aziraphale had so casually called him “beautiful”. Had anyone ever called him that? The few mortals who were brave, intoxicated, and/or stupid enough to proposition him tended to be more crude. Demons were allowed to be alluring or tempting (not that they were, as a rule), but not beautiful, and certainly not beautiful in the eyes of an angel. The part of him that believed wanted to hear him say it again and again. The rest of him was hoping whatever clever trick the angel had figured out would actually work on that Voice.

“Now, I am going to have to say ‘demon Crowley’ a lot, given that you don’t have the angelic rank I would normally use. And it might sound like I’m saying rather obvious things, but the Voice tends to not like those things, so I really have to emphasize them to put it back in its place. Understood?” Crowley nodded. “Very well. Let’s begin.”

“The demon Crowley is not Commanded to be here, and he will not be Commanded to stay. He is free to leave at any time. Anything I ask of the demon Crowley is merely a polite request, not a Command, and he is allowed to say no. The demon Crowley is permitted to speak freely, regardless of whether or not it is what I wish to hear. The demon Crowley is free to ask questions, and I will answer honestly. I will never Command the demon Crowley to do or say anything. The demon Crowley is my partner, my equal, and you will treat him with respect accordingly. Since I will not be issuing the demon Crowley Commands under any circumstances, your services will not be required this evening. Have I made myself clear?” The Voice responded just as he had hoped, settling back down into the pit of his stomach. “Okay, that seemed to work. Just one quick check to make sure…hop on one foot for one minute.”

Crowley didn’t even motion to stand up. “Yeah, not in the mood for hopscotch, Your Holiness.”

“Excellent. It seems you are indeed immune to my Commands. Though can you please stop with the formalities? You did agree to that without a Command.”

“Fine, Aziraphale.” Crowley swirled the wine and took a long swig. “Now, do I get to make rules, or is that solely for Archangels?”

“Not at all. Feel free to state your terms, and I will respect them.”

“Okay, first off, no more Voice, and no more ‘demon Crowley’. It feels too…Heaven-y.”

“Of course, my dear. I’m not fond of that wording myself. And the Voice should be taken care of now.”

“Okay. Second rule…I don’t care how many times you say the s-word, or do the little dance, or grovel at my feet or whatever, I am not saying the fucking f-word. Got it?”

As much as Aziraphale wanted to respect his beloved’s rules, he was a bit baffled by this one. “You just said it, dear. And I would hardly encourage the use of such foul…”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake, Aziraphale, not that f-word! You’re ssssupposed to be the smart one. Think about it. When someone says ‘I’m sssssorry,’ the appropriate response for accepting is ‘I f-word you.’ And I never want to hear that word ever again, let alone ssssay it. ‘Kay?”

Aziraphale understood now, remembering their parting words all too well. “I see. Though avoiding the s-word might be difficult, as I have many regrets, I am not asking you to say…the f-word. Though perhaps in time you might accept my apologies in a different manner?” He didn’t need to hear the f-word specifically, but at the same time he would like some sort of confirmation that this fight was finally over.

“I’m thinking about it.” Crowley leaned back in his chair. Well, that was something, at least. Aziraphale had forgotten just how gorgeous the demon looked splayed out all boneless on chairs. A feast for starving eyes, indeed. How he longed to do more than just look, to have his beloved’s perfect body lying beneath him, to learn all the ways it wanted to be touched, kissed, made love to. But he was getting way ahead of himself. He had questions to answer first. Hopefully that would ease the tension in his beloved’s aura and eventually make such explorations possible.

“Any more rules, dear?”

“Two more for now. You will answer my questions honestly and completely and you will tell me if there are any supernatural entities watching this time. Got it?”

Aziraphale nodded, reaching out to sense if there were any supernatural entities about. The only ones he could detect were Muriel and Eric, now several miles away. “None down here that I can sense. And I already had my Acolytes help me edit the Earth Surveillance Files around Whickber Street…if anyone Upstairs looks, they will see it as it was a week ago, just with the moon phase and star positions adjusted to tonight’s sky.” He miracled up some warded curtains, just in case. “What about you? Do you sense any Hellish entities around?”

Crowley shook his head. “Won’t all that shielding set off alarm bells in Heaven? LIke we did with our 25 Lazarii miracle?”

“My dear, who do you think sets the miracle alarm thresholds in Heaven? I have been very careful not to exceed them.”

“So you’ve got everything figured out, Mr. Supreme Archangel.” Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of this. Could he really trust the too-confident angel before him? Even if this wasn’t a trap, it seemed too possible that the Supreme Archangel had missed something. He glanced at the door, wondering if he should make a break for it. But as he looked back at the angel, even with the weird eyes and stupid hair, he realized he couldn’t do it, couldn’t break his heart again. After all, wouldn’t that just be breaking his own heart in a roundabout way?

He decided to press on with his questions. “Okay, done with rules for now. Back to my original question–what the fuck is going on with your eyes and the Heavenly soldier hair?”

Aziraphale patted his head in confusion. Hadn’t he just had Muriel fix that for him? “Yes, I’m afraid my hair just…does that now. I can never seem to fix it myself, and miracles don’t do a darn thing for it.” He rubbed his hand on it to demonstrate. Not a single strand moved. “As for my eyes, Gabriel’s eyes had come with the promotion, but about six months in, I learned that they had been a…personal acquisition. And not a particularly ethical one.”

“An Archangel, being unethical? How shocking.” Crowley now had the stupid fantasy of “fixing” the angel’s hair himself, which was rather inconvenient while he was trying to interrogate and remain a skeptic.

Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s comment. “They had actually been designated for a mortal woman. Gabriel was permitted to use them until she was born, but they were meant to go with her when she passed. When I found out, I went to the cemetery in Los Angeles at the first opportunity. I don’t suppose you knew her? She was an actress, apparently very famous. Had a lot of husbands. I can’t think of her name…”

“He can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor, every lover I’ve known in comparison is a failure…”

She really did have a song for everything, didn’t she? Maybe she really was the Almighty, Crowley thought. Or perhaps a witch like Agnes Nutter. “Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes. You had Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes?”

Aziraphale nodded, the grimace on his face not unlike when he first told Crowley about the Flood. “Ah yes, that was her name. I don’t recall any of her films, though. At least she has them back now. May she be at peace.” He’d chosen not to investigate where she’d ended up. The eyes belonged to her regardless.

“So if you gave them back, why are your eyes still weird?”

“I’m not sure. It seems like being an Archangel makes everything more intense, including my eye color. When I first Descended, I was stomping about and shouting when I hadn’t intended to.” Aziraphale started cutting into his steak. “I did get a handle on those things eventually, but I haven’t been able to do anything about the eyes. Perhaps I could put on glasses like you, dear, if they’re bothering you?”

Crowley contemplated this answer. If this was a trick, the glasses might conceal something important. And if it wasn’t, he didn’t want to make the angel hide from him. “Nah. I’ll get used to them eventually. Presuming this is all real and not some elaborate trick of the Metatron.”

“Excuse me?”

“How can I prove it isn’t, Aziraphale? I don’t trust that motherfucker on that seventy by seven year timeline or anything else. How do I know you’re not being hypnotized by him right now?”

Aziraphale hadn’t been expecting that question. He was also hesitant to discuss the Metatron directly, as that might prompt a spontaneous check-in. “Your concerns are…understandable, my love.” He looked up, almost daring the Metatron or even the Almighty Herself to come down and make their disapproval of that moniker known. They hadn’t in all the times he’d rehearsed saying it out loud to himself, hoping that would make saying it on this day easier. “And I’m afraid I’m not sure what I can do to ease those concerns.”

My love. The words echoed in Crowley’s mind. Reading it had been one thing, but hearing it was another matter entirely, better than any symphony. The Metatron couldn’t fake that, could he? Why would he, if his whole goal was to keep them apart? His stupid unnecessary heart soared, all those wants he’d carefully trimmed down over the years now turning toward the angel’s light, begging him to say those words again.

“You…you actually said…you called me…” he stammered.

“My love? Yes, I did. After all, if I were some trick of God’s spokesperson, I don’t think He’d allow me to say that.” He took a sip of wine before continuing. “More importantly, I want to say it. I don’t wish to hold back anymore, my love. All that hiding and pretending…I thought it would keep us safe. And perhaps it did, but at what cost? I still lost you, and you were left doubting me, thinking you needed to change in order for me to love you.” He fought the urge to close the gap, to wrap Crowley in his arms and get a do-over on that terrible, wonderful kiss. Patience was a virtue, after all, and he was the Supreme Archangel. He could exhibit it long enough for the tension to ease, for Crowley to believe this was real and not some cruel trick. “So I would like to reiterate what I wrote in the Letter. I love you, my beautiful demon, exactly as you are. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t quite ready to say it back yet, but he also never wanted the angel to stop saying it. If this was a trap, he was as good as gone now. “I know, angel. But you might be going a little fast for me.” He’d originally intended to hold back on the a-word for longer, but how could he when Aziraphale had just said those words?

“Oh dear. If you want me to stop saying it…”

‘No, I like it. Ssssay it as much as you want, angel.” Crowley knew how contrarian he was being. To be fair, it was hard not to be when one half of his mind was still screaming run, this is a trap and the other was leaning towards the angel, silently begging him keep smiling, keep saying you love me, call me beautiful again.

“In that case, I might just never stop, my love.” Saying it made Aziraphale’s lips tingle, not unlike the day of his Ascension, but for a much better reason. He examined his beloved’s aura–some of the tension was gone, but not enough. There was still something bothering him, and he wasn’t sure what.

“Are we out of the woods yet, are we out of the woods yet, are we out of the woods yet, are we out of the woods…”

Crowley knocked back the rest of his wine glass, then decided to take his glasses off. He was officially choosing to believe that the Supreme Archangel was real, that this was no bizarre trick of the Metatron. Which meant he now had one big Question to ask. “Now, there’s something rather important that was misssssing from that bloody long Letter of yours. After all of this, we’re still on opposite sssssides, aren’t we? I’m still one of the bad guysssss.”

Aziraphale racked his brain. Had he truly not mentioned that? His thoughts on the very concept of sides had shifted considerably since taking his post. “For starters, I shouldn’t have called you that, not even in a moment of panic. Not expecting the f-word, but I am truly sorry. As for the matter of sides, I have come to believe the whole ‘two sides’ business is some elaborate theater, some ineffable production She is putting on. Though some actors wholeheartedly believe it is real.”

“Elaborate theater? Really? After 6000 years of insisting otherwise? After choosing Heaven over Us?”

“I had no choice! I certainly did explain that in the Letter. We would have never been safe if I’d gone off with you. Here in my current position, I can protect you, protect us, protect the world! And if I were to leave this post, the Contract makes it very clear that I would have no say in choosing my replacement.”

“So you’re stuck on Heaven’s ssssside. At least 75 percent of the time.”

“I suppose it is a rather heavy asterisk on being Us, isn’t it?” Aziraphale sighed. “If it’s too much for you to accept, my love,” he looked at the door. “I understand.” He didn’t want Crowley to leave, but he didn’t want to pressure him to stay, either.

“But if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right. I’d go back in time and change it, but I can’t, so if the chain is on your door, I understand…”

Aziraphale finished his wine glass, then continued. “Truth be told, I may have stopped trying to find a workaround for the whole full moon clause. As much as I enjoy being down here, it’s not quite the same without you, so I chose to accept the limits. But together, we might just find a solution. We stopped the Apocalypse once, after all!”

“I mean, we really didn’t do much…”

“And we performed a 25 Lazarii miracle without even trying! You know as well as I that You-Know-Who separated us for a reason. Do you want Him to win, Crowley? Or do you want to work with me, try to be Us again?” Aziraphale’s eyes were filling with tears. He really didn’t know what Crowley would choose.

“The devil’s in the details, but you’ve got a friend in me…would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

“I’m not going Up there. I’m not going to become an angel.”

“Of course, love. I will never ask that of you again. Should have never asked in the first place.”

“Then what do you want from me? What exactly does the Supreme Archangel expect of his partner?” Crowley had chosen to set aside that bit of Aziraphale’s little Voice-speech earlier, but if he was going to stick around, he needed to know that his exactly matched the angel’s exactly.

“Well, when I am down here, I simply want to spend as much time with you as I can. Doing… literally anything but fighting.” He had developed a rather extensive list of activities he was curious about trying, but aside from getting a proper embrace and second kiss, they could be set aside if Crowley wasn’t particularly keen on them. “And when I can’t be…”

“Both. I could do both.” Crowley interrupted. “Maggie’s shop. Muriel said I could make it a record shop. Or a plant shop. Both could be fun. Better than staring at the moon like a bored housewife, at any rate.”

“That might be nice.” Aziraphale had his doubts about Crowley being much of a shopkeeper, but he could hardly criticize on that front. “I can’t really ask too much of you when I am obligated to be elsewhere, can I? Oh, perhaps I can learn to work those blasted shiny rectangles they call telephones so I can at least talk to you!”

“You’d join the 21st century for me, angel? Truly, I’m touched.” Crowley cracked a smile. Being in Aziraphale’s warmth and light again was making his skepticism melt away, despite himself. It still wasn’t his ideal scenario, but the likelihood of ever getting eternity with his angel without the interference of Heaven or Hell seemed hopelessly dim. Having his angel at least part of the time would be a definite improvement over the drunken sleepless void of the last five years.

“Well, it’s hardly the biggest sacrifice I’ve had to make, is it?” Aziraphale sighed. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this, love. I wish I could be here all the time, give you everything you want, everything you deserve.” Aziraphale took another bite of steak, though he really wasn’t tasting it. It was just something to do with his hands and mouth to keep them occupied until his beloved made up his mind.

“I know, angel. But maybe you’re right, and we can figure out some solution to all of that if we work together. Maybe we can try being Us. Even with all the fine print.” Crowley held out his hand. “I’m staying this time, angel.” Perhaps this was stupid, dangerous, thoughtless. But as the angel took his hand, smiled, cried tears of joy and relief instead of despair, it felt right in a way nothing had since before Bugger All This Day.

“Don’t read the last page, but I stay, when it’s hard and it’s wrong and we’re making mistakes…”