Archive of Our Own

Aziraphale and Crowley hardly ever lie. Not about important things, anyway. They never tell half-truths, they very rarely deceive - at least, when it comes to each other. There was hardly reason to.

No, Crowley and Aziraphale don't lie. But when there is a particular topic they aren't fully comfortable discussing, something they'd like to keep more private, etc, etc, they have a tendency to be a bit vague. They talk in a revolution, orbiting their answer, never quite crashing into it and giving it away. They speak in semi-riddles, in code that's near impossible to decipher. When they don't want to give the other the answer to something, they make out like a poorly written essay with too many filler words that were placed there for the sake of sounding more intellectual.

Most of the time, Aziraphale and Crowley decipher whatever code the other is speaking in. Sometimes, they can even find the meaning behind what the other is trying to say when they barely speak at all. Knowing someone for 6000 years comes with its advantages. You learn, you memorize, their body language: the flex of a hand, the tilt of a head, the smallest of smirks. You get good at studying your counterpart, especially when they are vague or speaking in code or not speaking at all.

Most especially when one has a terrible tendency to hide their biggest giveaway behind dark, round shades.¹

I digress. Crowley and Aziraphale might speak in a difficult language all their own and they might leave thousands of important things left unsaid, but they almost never lie to each other. Not when it mattered.

The world was supposed to end today. Evidently, as Aziraphale and Crowley are walking up the stairs to the demon's flat, it did not.

Aziraphale looks weary and worried and his bow tie is slightly crooked and his hair is a mess. The aftermath of saving the world and drinking half a bottle of wine.

Crowley looks worse. He feels worse, too, as he steps into his flat and realizes it's just as he left it hours ago, demon mush in the doorway and all. He didn't think he'd come back here. He thought, when he left earlier that day, that he'd apologize and run off with Aziraphale into the stars and hope Heaven and Hell didn't find them, or that he'd be dead. And not in the inconveniently discorporated sense.

But he's here now, and so is Aziraphale, for the first time - well, as he thought about it - ever, and his clothes are charred and he reeks of smoke, and he's somehow alive and the angel is standing right next to him, and he says-

"Crowley, are you alright?"

Crowley blinks. "Er...yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just...left this place a bit of a mess, is all."

"Yes, well, considering the circumstances, a messy apartment is the least of our worries."

Crowley hummed in agreement. He headed for the office, feet barely making it up off the floor, until he stopped in the doorway and stared down at once was Ligur. He couldn't help but feel a tiny tinge of guilt. Not for killing him, per say, more for the method. Aziraphale lingered behind him.

"What happened here?" he asked, his voice small.

"Old friends."

Aziraphale peeked over Crowley's shoulder, into the room. A familiar tartan-printed thermos sat on the desk. He looked down at once was Ligur.

"Oh." He paused. "I...I didn't know-"

"Course you didn't, you were too busy being discorporated," Crowley said. "All very bad timing, I s'pose."

"No, I meant...the holy water. I didn't know, or, I guess, I didn't think you'd ever have to use it."

Crowley turned and stared at Aziraphale, who looked worlds away, lost in thought. Perhaps he was years back, in a car, hesitantly handing over a thermos to the person in the driver's seat.

"Well, it's all gone, isn't it? Can't very well use it now."

"No. No, I suppose not."

Aziraphale suddenly seemed more shaken up than Crowley, his eyes distant, his hands shaky. Crowley glanced back down at once was Ligur with wariness and, almost, pity. "I can clean that in the morning. I can't be bothered at the moment." He looked back up at Aziraphale. "Why don't we sit, yeah? I've got a lovely pinot noir hiding in the pantry somewhere."

Gently, he steered the angel away from the office doorway and to the couch, which hadn't been there before this evening. Aziraphale sat and Crowley wandered into the kitchen, unsure of where the wine was and whether he should be leaving the angel alone. Strange, how he had been fine until he saw the office. But Crowley didn't want to think too hard about it. He didn't want to think too hard about anything, at the moment.

Finally, he found the bottle tucked away, collecting dust, behind several bottles of whiskey. He grabbed two glasses and headed to the couch, where Aziraphale hadn't moved a muscle. The bottle was miraculously open and Crowley poured into the glasses, handing one to Aziraphale, and set the bottle onto a table that, much like the couch, hadn't previously existed.

Crowley, unsure of what to do, or where to go, settled for the doorway. Aziraphale sipped his wine carefully.

Several minutes passed before Crowley grew uncomfortable with the silence. Usually, the two of them could sit in the quiet rather peacefully. But this was different. That strange look hadn't left the angel's eyes and the demon didn't particularly care for it and how it sent a shiver down his spine.

"You alright, angel?"

"Yes, yes. Quite."

Crowley scowled. "You're lying."

Aziraphale snapped his head up, shocked. Crowley stared at him, rather intensely, though Aziraphale couldn't quite tell, what with Crowley's rather dim lighting and those damned glasses. The demon took a large swig of the wine and crossed his arms. "What are you thinking about?"

The angel looked down again, swirling the wine in his glass, trying to come up with words, the proper words, any words, that could possibly encapsulate what he was thinking about. What he was feeling. Any other time, he would have spoken that language, not really saying what he wanted to say, getting close but not close enough, leaving only implications lingering for Crowley to grasp, if he wanted. He would have left so many things unsaid, like they always do.

Luckily, Aziraphale was slightly drunk - vaguely from the half bottle of wine earlier, mostly off of the events of the day - so he shuffled the various thoughts swirling around his head and chose one at random.

"I didn't mean what I said," Aziraphale said. "About not liking you. About not being your friend."

Crowley blinked. This was different.

"Angel, I know-"

"I'm perfectly aware that you know, Crowley." Aziraphale finally looked up at Crowley. The demon had little to no expression, but was listening intently. "But I forgot about it, after everything that happened today. And then I stepped in here and I saw that...that blasted thermos and I realized that you could have died today and those could have been some of the last words I said to you."

Aziraphale downed the rest of the wine in his glass and set it on the table. Crowley only raised his eyebrows slightly, took another sip of his own drink. The angel stared at him sheepishly, realizing he said too much. At least, compared to what they normally said. If Crowley was bothered by it, though, he showed no signs. He showed little signs of thinking anything at all, and it was quickly irritating Aziraphale.

Against his better judgment, though, something small within him told him to continue.

"I would have ran away with you."

This had Crowley's full attention. Something in his posture changed, the grip on his glass tightened.

"You know that, surely. I would have fled to the stars, if I thought it was truly an option. But I couldn't leave this all behind. I had to try." Aziraphale felt as if he could start crying. "But you must know, if there was no other choice...I would have gone anywhere with you."

It was very, very quiet. The two of them stared at each other, waiting for the right thing to say, because what did they say? This was uncharted territory. Neither of them had ever been that honest, that clear about what they were feeling. Things like this were always left to be discovered through a forest of riddles and codes and metaphors; Aziraphale had left it all out in the open.

As the quiet grew longer, Aziraphale withdrew, sinking into the couch and looking down at his hands. But then-

"Would you?"

The angel looked up. The demon wasn't looking at him, but instead into his nearly empty glass.

"Would you run away with me, right now?"

"Crowley, we can't-"

"I know, I know we can't. But, if we could...would you?"

With almost no hesitation, Aziraphale said, "Yes."

Aziraphale thought he saw a small, small smile on Crowley's face. He also began thinking about how much he had just admitted out loud. It was reckless, it was foolish, but it felt...well, it felt good to finally say something straightforward. To not hover around what he was actually feeling. But Crowley was so quiet, Aziraphale thought that might be the end of it. They'd finish the evening not saying another word, possibly plot how to survive, then go to bed, then he'd stay up and continue to regret everything he'd said and done, then they'd go on like nothing happened, if they survived the night, then-

"Prove it."

Crowley, whilst Aziraphale was spiraling, had finished his wine.

"Excuse me?"

The demon sauntered over. He looked a mess, with his burnt clothes and disheveled hair, but, at this moment, nor any other moment, really, Aziraphale didn't mind. He was too busy focusing on the fact that Crowley was getting closer and closer and that a certain tension had found its way into the room.

"I said-" Crowley set his glass down next to Aziraphale's "-prove it."

Crowley stood right in front of Aziraphale, staring down at him, waiting. The angel suddenly felt...nervous. He'd never been nervous around Crowley before. Not like this. Not since...

Well, not since 1941. This very same tension was there that night. Aziraphale remembers it well, now, recognizes it, alongside that small smirk on Crowley's face. And he remembers how he felt rather well, also. He recalls his heart beating this quickly, his eyes drifting to the demon's lips, that swell in his chest that he unmistakably knew. He had never dared to admit what it was, not even to himself, not even when he realized he'd been feeling it for much longer than 80 years or so, and every time he'd feel it afterward. Aziraphale was smart. He knew what it was.

But now, for the first time in 6000 years, he allowed himself to fully feel it. He stood up from the couch, so, so close to Crowley, who hadn't moved so much as an inch. He drew in a breath. And he gently, very gently, grabbed Crowley's glasses and removed them.

Shock, was what Aziraphale saw on the demon's face first, as he took those damned sunglasses, neatly folded them, and set them on the table behind Crowley. Then a softening of the eyes, those bright, intense, golden eyes. They were enchanting, alluring even. Perhaps that was the point.² Then Aziraphale saw a look that quite matched how he was feeling. Enchanted. Allured. A bit...lost. This was uncharted territory, after all.

The feeling grew bigger and bigger in Aziraphale's chest. And then he closed his eyes and he kissed Crowley.

Love, Aziraphale finally admitted. That feeling all these years was love. It had to be. His nerves were gone the moment his lips touched Crowley's. That feeling in his chest became more comfortable, easier to manage, like he wasn't carrying it all himself anymore.

Crowley's reaction was immediate. He grabbed the angel's waist, carefully, very carefully, and pressed against him. Aziraphale rested his hands on Crowley's chest, felt his heart nearly pounding out of it. The kiss was slow and soft and very, very perfect.

Finally, Aziraphale broke away, still very close to Crowley's face.

Crowley could hardly stand the intense eye contact, not when his eyes could actually be seen, so he closed them and rested his forehead against Aziraphale's. One of the angel's hands drifted upward to hold Crowley's face.

The demon, like Aziraphale, never allowed himself to be so open. He'd known he'd loved Aziraphale for much longer than 80 years, he'd admitted that to himself centuries ago. But to actually say it out loud...well, let's just say old habits die hard and Crowley instead said-

"I thought you had died. I left here, after you called. Drove as fast as I could. When I got to the bookshop..." Aziraphale felt Crowley's hands start to tremble. "I thought it was hellfire. I-I ran inside and called for you and I didn't know what to do. Nothing made sense. I grabbed one of the few things that wasn't in flames and I left. Hardly remember anything 'til you popped back up."

Aziraphale drew back. "You went inside?"

Crowley opened his eyes. "Yeah."

"You could have gotten hurt, Crowley."

"It's just fire, angel. I'm alright."

Crowley wasn't fully alright, though. All the softness and all the talk of the traumatizing events of the day were making Crowley crumble and Aziraphale could tell. He could understand the demon so much more without the glasses. He could see the tiredness in his eyes, the nerves, the worry. He could see the love, that had actually always been there.

He could see Crowley.

Aziraphale wished he could unveil more. This was new and it was barely scratching the surface. There was so much more to decode, to decipher, from the past 6000 years, so much to say, so much that Crowley needed and deserved to hear. But they were both so exhausted and they had so little time left before they had to figure out their next move.

So Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek and simply said, "You should get to bed." The angel's hands began to leave Crowley's chest and cheek, when the demon quickly grabbed them. Aziraphale stared at him questioningly as he seemed to muster up what little courage he had left.

"Come with me."

The angel raised his eyebrows.

"Not, ngk, not like that. I just thought...well, since we barely made it through the bloody day and we just-"

Aziraphale kissed him again, partly to shut Crowley up, before he talked himself out of it.

But only partly.

When Aziraphale pulled away again, the whites of Crowley's eyes had mostly disappeared, replaced by that marvelous gold. It had been ages since the angel had seen his eyes like that.

"I'd be happy to," Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled, more fondly than Aziraphale had ever seen before, and pulled the angel towards the bedroom, his glasses abandoned on the table behind them.