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Love. Overwhelming love. But not his own. This wave came from the demon, crashing over him when Crowley handed him his satchel of books and their fingers brushed against each other.
Aziraphale stood shocked and still, standing in the midst of a church destroyed by a demonic miracle that had saved his corporation from being shot by Nazi spies. He stared, stunned, at the back of the tall, suave demon sauntering his way to a sleek black automobile. He had loved the ridiculous, handsome creature for millennia, but had known it was hopeless. Demons can't love. Of this, Heaven was quite certain. Love, compassion, and grace had all been burned away when the rebellious angels had Fallen.
And yet, there was no mistaking the love he had felt from the demon. Crowley had reached the vehicle and turned around to see him rooted in place. Hopefully the dark hid the absolutely besotted expression he was sure covered his round face. Crowley leaned back against the automobile's door and grinned at him. "Coming, angel? Promise to fly you home safely."
Aziraphale schooled his face back into its usual air of polite aloofness and allowed Crowley to open the door and usher him into the leather interior of the black beauty. The trip back to the bookshop was quiet, with the angel's mind trying hard to process this new information. Side glances at Crowley showed the demon enjoying the ride, going far faster than Aziraphale felt was safe.
All too soon, the tall redhead was screeching to a halt in front of Aziraphale's shop. The angel's heart was racing, despite it not being necessary. It had been eighty years since last they had talked. Well, argued, actually. And yet, Crowley had still come to rescue him and his books. Now that he realized Crowley loved him, he couldn't just let the demon walk, or drive, out of his life again. He must take action!
"You know, Crowley," he began. "It is good to see you again. Would you like to come in for a nightcap? I have something special I've been saving. For the next time we met."
Crowley frowned and turned a bit to look at him. "Are you sure, angel? Wouldn't want you to get in trouble for fraternizing with the enemy, after all." His words were light; teasing almost. But Aziraphale could hear the pain and bitterness underneath the banter.
Their angry words from the fight in St James's Park silently flooded the space between them, and Aziraphale winced. How many nights had he sat alone in the bookshop, rueing those words?
"I quite deserve that," he said quietly. "I would appreciate the chance to make amends. I...I missed you, Crowley. And there is a barrel of Talisker, unopened, from 1900. It's produced on the Isle of Skye and, when I tasted it for the first time, I thought of you. Smokey and smooth; complex, with a bit of a bite. So I bought an entire cask, hoping to someday share it with you."
"Whisky, eh?" his old friend said gruffly. "I suppose I could try it. But then I need to be off. Demon stuff to do."
"Of course, dear boy," Aziraphale said in relief. If Crowley would drink, Crowley would talk. And maybe they could resume their interrupted friendship. Perhaps even more. If he were brave enough.
As they walked to the door, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley’s usual saunter seemed a bit...off. What was going on with the old serpent? Then it hit him that walking across the consecrated floor of the church must have hurt a good deal more than hot sand at the beach. Crowley was wounded. To save him! Thrilling at the display of love warred with his guilt for causing the demon pain as he unlocked the shop and ushered the dear creature inside.
He made sure the door was locked, the blackout curtains were in place, and all his wards were holding strong. Then he led Crowley to the sofa in the backroom and finally spoke.
"I know you hurt your feet at the church, dear boy. No use denying it. And it's blessed damage, so neither of us can heal it with our powers. However, I have been treating humans for wounds during the Blitz, including all too many burns.
"Please have a seat on the sofa. We are warded from both Heaven and Hell's eyes here. I wanted to make the bookshop a place we could speak in relative safety. I'll go get our whiskies and some medical supplies and be back in a jiffy."
Crowley sank down onto the sofa with a sigh and put his feet up on the coffee table. "Yes, alright. But bring more than just a glass of the Talisker, yeah? You'll need it for all the apologizing you're getting ready to do," he added with a grin. Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he turned to go get things, but he knew the demon was quite right.
He returned shortly with a tray ladened with a bowl of warm water, flannels, ointment, two cut crystal glasses, and a carafe of dark amber whisky. He watched Crowley’s eyes widen as he took in the casual display of strength. Aziraphale blushed, but he couldn't help feeling a bit chuffed at the demon's obvious admiration.
He set the kit down on the table next to Crowley’s black-shoed feet. "I'm afraid we'll need to remove your shoes, my dear," he said regretfully. "It will undoubtedly hurt. I'm sorry about that. Whisky first or after?"
"Both. Both is good," Crowley said, still grinning. Then his long face sobered into seriousness, and oh, how the angel longed to bring back his smile. "As for the shoes, though, erhm...nsghh...not really so much shoes." He closed his eyes and concentrated. The leather became snake scales, which then sank in to become human-looking feet. The bottoms were blackened and burned, with raw, pink flesh peeking through in the worse areas. Crowley winced as the air hit his burns.
"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed softly. It was for him. The demon had done this for him. He could have discorporated! How could he not have recognized Crowley’s love before? It was as obvious as the pain on the demon's face.
He poured a large amount of the whisky and silently handed it over to his patient. Crowley took it, lifted it in mute salute to the angel, and downed half of it in one long gulp.
Aziraphale knelt at Crowley’s feet and gently used the cloths and water to clean them. Despite the pain, Crowley remained stoic and silent. When the angel finished and put the dirty flannels on the tray, Crowley downed the rest of the whisky and held out his glass for more.
"'S good stuff, angel," he said as Aziraphale poured. "Doing it the human way so as not to get another 'sternly worded note' from the head prat?"
"I wouldn't say it that way, but yes," Aziraphale admitted. "I don't want to do anything to catch Heaven's attention. It would be disastrous for them to wonder about my miracles and catch you here."
"Wouldn't want another reprimand, eh?" the demon said bitterly.
"It's not me I worry about, fiend," he replied sharply. "If an archangel found you here, they would smite first and ask questions after." He opened the ointment and started dabbing it on using as little pressure as possible.
He talked as he worked. "I am deeply sorry for the cruel way I spoke to you in the park that day. I had a visit from Gabriel that morning. He just popped in without warning. It had weighed on me since he left. What if you were in the backroom when he appeared? He would destroy you completely! And that...that would destroy me completely."
Crowley made a scoffing noise and Aziraphale stopped his ministrations and looked up. "I mean that, Crowley. I have something very important to say. Let me bandage your feet and then we'll talk."
"'We need to talk,'" the redhead tried to joke. "Those words aren't full of fear and dread at all, angel. I think I'm gonna need more whisky."
"Perhaps more when we finish," Aziraphale said with a small smile. "But I'll need you still mostly sober. And I'll need your eyes, if you don't mind."
The demon grumbled, but when Aziraphale finished and stood, there was still whisky in Crowley’s glass and his sunglasses were on the side table. Aziraphale filled his own glass, took a sip, and sat next to Crowley on the sofa. Crowley's eyes grew wide and golden with Aziraphale's soft warmth next to him. Bracing himself, Aziraphale took a gulp of the whisky and let the smooth burn fortify him.
"Heaven has longed held, and preached at some length, that the Fall destroyed all love and grace from demons. That, not only could you not love, you couldn't even imagine wanting to love. And I, being an exceedingly foolish angel, believed it, despite all the evidence to the contrary you constantly provided.
"From our first conversation on the Wall, to the Arrangement, to rescuing me from the Bastille, you have always been my kind and dear companion. My friend.
"I have loved you for ages, my Crowley, but never dared speak of it or acknowledge my feelings. What was the use when you couldn't love me back? It would just make you uncomfortable and maybe ruin our times together. I simply couldn't risk it.
"So when people called us friends, I denied you. Said you weren't my friend, over and over. You never held it against me. I used to think you were tempting me for hidden, hellish purposes. And I thought it was safer, for both of us, if none knew how very dear you were to me.
"But now I see it was just me, hiding from the truth again. Believing Heaven when the only one who has always been truthful to me is...you.
"But today, at the church where you risked your existence for my corporation, I knew better. When your fingers brushed mine, I felt your love, so strong and true. No use denying it, dearest. The cat is out of the box, so to speak.
"Will you forgive me, Crowley? Can you possibly forgive me, knowing the time may come in the future when I may need to deny you once again to protect you from Heaven? Can you remember and hold it in your heart that, no matter what words fall from my lips, in my heart you are cherished and loved and at home?"
"Angel! Aziraphale, you can't just say...you can't feel….you can't say you love me!" the demon protested.
"Whyever not? It's true and we are well-warded here. Unless you're trying to convince me you don't feel the same about me?"
Crowley’s long jaw worked, but only sputtering came out. Aziraphale waited patiently for his love to suss out what he wanted to say.
"But...you're an angel!" Crowley finally spit out. "Imma demon! What happened to all that 'hereditary enemies' nonsense you're always going on about?:
"Well, my dear, it would appear nurture quite won out over nature, hmm? Or are you trying to convince me that you do not, in fact, love me?"
"Didn't say that," the demon muttered sullenly. "'Course I lo- feel stuff for you. Bloody gorgeous angel, you are. Curls like the clouds and eyes like the sky. You’re the best of all that lot. But me? You said it yourself. I'm Fallen. No forgiveness; no love. 'S just the way it is."
"I love you," Aziraphale repeated firmly. "I'm not a very good angel, now am I? I enjoy the earth and all the wonders therein. And you're rather rubbish at being a demon, my dear. You enjoy doing my blessings; don't think I haven't noticed. And you are kind, especially to the children and the misfits. You are especially kind to me."
"Sure, sure," Crowley said bitterly. "Rub it in, why don't you?"
"Fortunately, you also have a marvelous talent for making your kindness appear evil. Hell has no idea, and we will be sure to keep it that way.
"What is said and done here tonight must remain here in the backroom, I'm afraid. We must be careful to limit our visits and hide our affection. But I must confess I feel quite light as a feather knowing my feelings are returned."
Suddenly, Crowley grinned and his yellow eyes glowed with mischief. "As I recall, Aziraphale, you did say something about thanking me for the rescue of your books?"
Aziraphale beamed. "Did you think of something you want, dear boy? If it's in my power, consider it done!"
"Then, how about a kiss, angel? Not just a peck or hail-fellow-well-met one, either. A real kiss."
Crowley sat back and waited for the blond to fluster and bluster and find a way out from granting his request. Instead, he just smiled softly. "True love's first kiss," he mused. "I wonder whether you'll turn into a frog, my prince."
He watched Crowley’s eyes widen as he reached up and softly stroked the demon’s sharp cheekbone. This close, he could see all the lovely freckles dusting the demon's hawkish nose and cheeks. Stars above, the creature was gorgeous!
Crowley closed his eyes and leaned into Aziraphale's soft palm, a small whimper trickling past his thin red lips. Reverently, Aziraphale closed his eyes, too, and leaned in, cupping the ginger's other cheek to guide them together.
As their lips met, Aziraphale felt his whole being light up and rejoice. This is what Heaven should feel like! It was sweet and perfect and it was home.
They stayed close, even when their lungs demanded they part. Foreheads touching and breathing each other's air, neither were ready for the moment to end.
"Love you, angel," Crowley said into the quiet space between them.
"Love you, too, demon," Aziraphale replied, happier than ever he could remember. Reluctantly, he sat up and dropped his hands. Crowley kept his eyes shut a moment more, then moved back and opened them.
"So," Aziraphale said huskily, straightening his waistcoat, "that's sorted. Care for a top off?"
"Wot?" Crowley was puzzled at the shift and it took a moment before he picked up his glass for the angel to fill. "What should we toast to, Aziraphale?"
"Hmm. How about to flying under the radar, my dear?"
"To flying. Under the radar," Crowley agreed. Their glasses rang clearly as an angel and a demon toasted each other and a new understanding.
Aziraphale finished his drink and let his eyes feast on Crowley’s smiling face. Then, with a sigh, he put down the glass and stood. He tugged on his waistcoat and straightened his bow tie like a knight preparing for battle. He picked up his glass and poured them both a fresh drink, walked over to his chair, and crossed his legs as he sat. Crowley's sunglasses were firmly back in place and everything looked perfectly normal.
"So," Aziraphale said with interest, “what have you been up to and how did you acquire your automobile, you old serpent?" He settled in as Crowley waved his arms while regaling him with his exploits. It wasn't all that they wanted, but it would have to do. For now.