Chapter Text
Aziraphale was more nervous about meeting his future in-laws than he had been before the original pub meet with Crowley. He could usually handle one-on-one meetings well enough. Sure, he might blurt out stupid questions about autopsies or accidentally announce nuptials that had yet to be decided on, but at least he could speak. In a group, his tongue was more likely to turn off altogether, making him look like a scared, wide-eyed rabbit.
And this was a large group. Crowley said everyone would be there. All nine family members plus Aziraphale. And seven of those nine would be strangers. Strangers who were probably going to hate him for stealing Crowley away from them in this unconventional way.
“You’re going to be fine,” Crowley said. “I promise. They might be confused and upset at first, but they will love you. Just let me handle the introductions and when we announce the wedding. They’ll all think you’re my new boyfriend at first. They’re used to me going from one to the next quickly. It’s expected.”
Aziraphale took his hand. He would do his best to make sure Crowley didn’t have to go through that negative cycle any longer. Once the requisite years were over, Crowley could take as long as he wanted to find a safe, stable, wonderful relationship before the divorce was finalized.
The two of them sat in the Bentley several blocks away from Freddie’s house, waiting for Bee’s signal. (“Since all three of us have spy names, we might as well take advantage!” Crowley had said, trying to make Aziraphale laugh. He’d only managed a weak chuckle.)
“Will you remind me again of everyone’s names?” he asked, not for the first time. Though he knew them, he was terrified that he would forget as soon as he walked through the front door.
Crowley pulled out his mobile and opened the photo folder he’d created for this purpose. He ran through the family calmly, showing pictures for each name. “Mum, who likes to be called Tracy by her children’s friends. Freddie, the oldest. His wife, Gemma. Their boys, Austin and Johnny.”
“Ages eleven and nine, correct?”
“Exactly.” Crowley nodded and grinned at him. “Then Mary, and you know both me and Bee, and Muriel, who may or may not have their cat, Mary Meowgdalene, with them tonight.”
“A cat?” This was new information. “You didn’t mention a cat before. Why does she share your sister’s name?”
“Not a clue. I never thought to ask. But Mary Meowgdalene gets called by her full name so there’s never any confusion.”
Crowley shrugged, giving him that sharp-toothed grin, and Aziraphale felt himself relax a little. A cat. If nothing else, he might pet another cat tonight. “Do you have any photos of—”
A ding on Crowley’s mobile interrupted. “That’s Bee. Everyone’s in place. Are you ready?”
“No,” he said, “but I doubt I’ll ever be, so let’s get it over with.”
“Aww, angel. Hey.” Crowley reached out toward him, then seemed to think better of it and withdrew. “They’re going to love you. I promise.”
Aziraphale wanted to know how Crowley had almost touched him. He swallowed the question and nodded. “Stay close, please? Hold my hand? When we get there, of course. Not while you’re driving.”
“Won’t leave your side unless you say it’s okay.”
Freddie’s house was a terraced two-story place on a tree-lined street in Stratford. Crowley squeezed his hand as they approached the door and knocked in a rhythm that Aziraphale vaguely recognized. “What was that?” he whispered.
“It’s from ‘Under Pressure.’ Queen and Bowie. Freddie Mercury is Freddie’s namesake.” He snickered. “Honestly, I could just open the door, but I do this to annoy him.”
Aziraphale was about to say that annoying the host was probably not the best way to start tonight’s introductions when the door swung open. Bee grinned at them both, as sharp as Crowley’s grin ever got. It looked even more wicked on them, and Aziraphale was glad he’d already met them and won their approval.
“Told you!” Bee shouted over their shoulder, then winked at the two of them. “He brought a new boyfriend!”
“Oh, fucking fuck,” Crowley muttered as Bee laughed and trotted away down the hall, leaving them to take off and hang their own coats. “Come. Quickly.”
Alarmed, Aziraphale let Crowley drag him through a doorway into a room filled with people. It appeared to be a combination of kitchen, dining, and living room area. Every wall was painted in pale lemon yellow. A mix of art prints, framed photographs, and children’s drawings hung on them. A large table that was far too big for the space separated kitchen appliances from sofas, and most of the seating around the table consisted of benches and folding chairs. All of Crowley’s family gathered there, most standing, a few already sprawled in place.
Bee was leaning over the table toward Mary, pointing. “Pay up! I told you it was time for him to get a new boyfriend.”
As Mary fidgeted with her purse, clearly hesitant to actually pay out on whatever bet they’d made, Crowley groaned. He grabbed Bee’s collar and pulled them away from their sister. “Mary, don’t listen to them. They already knew he was coming. Not a fair wager.”
“Bee!” Mary said. She didn’t look up from the table, but her face scrunched in consternation.
“You fucker,” Bee said, swatting Crowley’s arm.
“Language,” someone said, though Aziraphale was too overwhelmed by now to tell whose mouth it came from.
Mary raised her hand. “I want an apology!”
“Fuck, no,” Bee said, clearly ignoring the admonishment about language, but the refusal could barely be heard anyway over the sudden cacophony that was the two young boys jumping around the table, fists in the air, yelling, “Apology! Apology!”
Aziraphale was going to die. He was either going to faint right onto the floor—or into Crowley’s arms, if he was lucky and the man’s reflexes were good—or he was going to run right back out the front door into the blissfully silent evening. What had he gotten himself into? Crowley had told him that his family was loud, but this was…
The children’s chanting cut off suddenly as their mother appeared between them, one hand clamped over each of their mouths. “Boys. We have a guest. Perhaps we don’t need to scare him away within five minutes of his arrival?” She looked at Aziraphale then and smiled. “I’m Gemma. Freddie’s wife and mother to these two monsters. I’d offer to shake your hand, but…” She shrugged to indicate where both hands were still lightly covering the boys’ mouths.
The silence that had fallen in the wake of the boys’ shushing felt almost louder than their yells. Every eye was on him. No. Almost every eye. Mary stared at the wall to his left.
Freddie stepped forward and put his hand out. “I’m Freddie. I assume Antonio warned you about all of us.”
Aziraphale shook his hand and managed to find his voice. “Y-yes. Well, no, not warned, only told, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, it was definitely a warning, angel,” Crowley said, smiling at him in a way that calmed Aziraphale’s nerves. He turned to his family. “Though I didn’t expect quite so much upheaval on arrival. Mostly I expected giant hugs from my nephews, but I guess they’re too busy being little ars—”
“Language!” three people shouted in unison, making Crowley grin.
The boys wriggled out from where they stood with Gemma and ran over to hug him. Crowley gathered them up together, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand momentarily to lift them both off the ground at the same time. They squawked at the unexpected crush, yelling to put them down. When he complied, the shorter one ran off to the living area and hopped onto one of the sofas, a video game console of some sort miraculously in his hands. The taller one looked up at Aziraphale.
“What’s your name?”
Embarrassed that he could no longer remember which boy was which, he could barely get the words past his lips. “I’m Aziraphale Malaika. What’s yours?”
“Austin!” he shouted, then ran to join his brother.
“Aziraphale Malaika,” someone murmured, and for the first time, Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s mother sitting at the table. She had been almost hidden behind where Bee stood. It was a relief to identify her, given her many different looks. Today, her hair was strawberry blond and loose under a beanie, contrasting nicely with her black turtleneck. “That sounds familiar somehow.”
Before he could explain about his namesake, Mary said, “Malaika. Angel. Swahili, but similar to other languages. Turkish, Indonesian and Malay, Hausa, Azerbaijani, and Arabic and Hebrew of course, since you’re Aziraphale. Like Israfil. Archangel, Islamic tradition. He blows the trumpet on the Day of Judgement.” Her gaze moved from the wall to the table near where Aziraphale stood. “Do you play the trumpet?”
For the first time all evening, Aziraphale felt like he was on solid ground. The recitation of facts calmed him. He smiled at her, even if she wasn’t quite looking at him and might not see it. “I’m afraid my parents wanted me to learn how to play the piano, and I proved to be a poor student. I don’t believe I’ve ever even held a trumpet.”
Mary grinned at the table. “We shouldn’t put one in your hands, then. You might start Armageddon by accident.”
Aziraphale laughed and said, “Quite right. You’d probably wish for Armageddon if you heard me play, anyway. Dreadful, I tell you.”
Laughing as well, Mary darted a quick look at his face and averted her eyes again. “I’m Mary.”
She held out a hand. As he shook it, he noticed that her fingernails were designed with detailed purple flowers. “Nice to meet you, Mary. Your nails are beautiful. Did you paint them?”
“No, I did!” came another voice, and Aziraphale looked up to see Muriel enter from a doorway at the back of the kitchen. “I love doing nail art. Sorry not to be here when you came in; I had to get Mary Meowgdalene squared away. I heard the whole conversation though. You’re Antonio’s new boyfriend? I’m his baby sibling, Muriel Lucas!”
Rather than shake hands, they waved from the other side of the table, where they’d stopped next to their mother. Aziraphale returned the wave. He hadn’t realized that Crowley wasn’t their family name. He’d just assumed they’d all taken their mother’s name instead of the various fathers’ names. Especially since everyone called him Antonio instead of Crowley. If they were all Crowleys, that would get confusing.
“I did Mary’s nails this afternoon. They’re violets. I’m trying to learn different flowers.”
“They’re so intricate. I can’t imagine how you manage in such a small space.”
Muriel’s face lit up. “I can do yours sometimes, if you want!”
Bee snorted, but Aziraphale was delighted by the offer. “Oh yes, please!” He realized suddenly that he was neglecting the rest of the family. And that everyone was still staring at him. Feeling unsure all of a sudden, he looked over at Crowley. The man was smiling at him tenderly, and squeezed his hand again.
“How did you two meet?” Bee asked.
That must’ve been a preplanned inquiry. Crowley spoke before Aziraphale could give his practiced speech. Probably a good thing, considering how well it had gone over with Ms Uriel…
“Uni, so it was ages ago. You remember Ana, my American friend? She introduced us. We lost touch after school but recently ran into each other again. In that godawful pub across from your bookshop—what’s it called again, angel?”
He knew. Of course he knew. The lies were so smooth, hidden inside the truth of his words. “The Dirty Donkey. Dreadful place. Don’t know why I ever bother to go in there.”
Crowley let go of his hand and put an arm around him instead. Aziraphale couldn’t look away from the besotted expression on his face. He was so very good at acting! “Whirlwind romance,” Crowley said, the words so quiet they could have been for Aziraphale alone. He leaned in, raising an eyebrow subtly to ask, and Aziraphale followed his lead. Their lips met, and he closed his eyes, wanting to forget they had an audience, wanting to just feel—
“No kissing!” the two boys yelled in unison, then cracked up laughing when Aziraphale jumped guiltily away from Crowley.
Crowley turned sassy eyes on his nephews. “One day, I’m going to do that to whoever you bring home.”
“So, you have a bookshop?”
Aziraphale turned and barely managed not to jump. Crowley’s mother had stood and circled the table, now standing right in front of them. She peered at him, and while her face was perfectly pleasant, her eyes were sharp and evaluating. He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. Inherited from my grandfather. It’s a family business, specializing in restoration and the sale of rare and valuable books.”
“Oh, please call me Tracy. None of that ma’am stuff. Makes me feel old.” She glanced at Crowley, then returned those penetrating eyes to Aziraphale. “Ours is a family business, too. I assume Antonio has mentioned it?”
“Of course. He told me a little about everyone’s parts in it, too.”
“And it doesn’t put you off, dating someone who works on dead bodies?”
Aziraphale darted a helpless look at Crowley. He didn’t quite understand what she was asking. “Should it?” Another look at his fiancé. “He says he enjoys his job. And that’s…good?”
Tracy’s smile suddenly grew more sincere. She patted Aziraphale’s cheek. “Yes. It’s good.” She abruptly turned away, clapping her hands thrice over her head. “Alright, kids. Enough dilly-dallying. Let’s eat!”
The boys abandoned their video games and ran toward the kitchen counter, where Gemma and Freddie had laid out platters and serving dishes. The adults followed, all except Mary, and Aziraphale stopped Crowley from moving that direction. He needed to check in. That last conversation had thrown him far off balance.
“Angel?” Crowley said, then seemed to notice his worry. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Hey. You’re doing well, alright? Better than anyone else I’ve brought home. Mum already likes you, and you didn’t act weird with Mary.”
“Why would I be weird with—” He stopped, not wanting to say her name while she was sitting right there, even in whisper. “She was the easiest person here to talk to. Made me feel calm.”
Crowley shook his head, not in negation, but as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing or hearing. “I swear, angel. You have no idea how perfect you are. You fit into this family like you’ve always been here.”
“I don’t know about that,” Aziraphale demurred, but Crowley stopped him with a hand on his cheek.
“Believe me. You’re perfect. No, you’re right.” He leaned in, grin growing wicked and sharp. “Or as we say in this family, dead right.” Crowley stood up straight again, and now he looked every bit as goofy as the joke had been. “Get it? Because we run a funeral home?”
“Of course I get it, you silly man,” Aziraphale said through giggles. He didn’t know if he was laughing at the joke or at Crowley’s ridiculous self-satisfaction. Either way, he didn’t fight the instinct to put his arms around his friend—fiancé!—and pull him into an embrace.
Crowley watched Aziraphale carefully through dinner. Because Muriel had sensory issues that Freddie was careful about, the food shouldn’t trigger any of Aziraphale’s sensitivities, especially as there were a range of choices to pick from.
So far, all had gone well. Early during the meal, Aziraphale had somehow gotten into a conversation with Muriel, who was on his other side, about the color of the walls. (“Such a beautiful yellow,” he’d said, to which they’d responded, “So bright, yes! That’s what my last name means. Shining bright!” “How delightful!”) Just like Bee had predicted, they got on like formaldehyde and a corpse.
Bee, however, kept kicking Crowley’s foot and muttering, “When are you going to tell them?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he hissed at them, hiding behind his wine glass. “Soon. Let us get through dinner first, okay?”
“If you chicken out…”
Crowley was waiting for the perfect moment. Surely, there would be a time when announcing your upcoming wedding—less than a week away—would go down a little better than mid-dessert? Maybe once everyone was done eating, but they hadn’t yet put their dishes away?
“Would you like to meet my cat?” Muriel asked Aziraphale the moment he finished his final bite. “She has to stay in the back room, else she’ll jump up on the counter and try to eat some of Freddie’s yummy cooking.”
So much for that plan. Aziraphale agreed enthusiastically, and the others took this as a cue to leave the table quicker than usual. Crowley followed their lead, volunteering to clear Aziraphale’s plate for him (“Oh, thank you, my dear!”), and entered the chaos that was post-dinner cleaning at his brother’s house.
“Let me take those,” Gemma said. When Crowley tried to protest, she added, “You have a special guest today. Go on.”
She spun him around one-handed and pushed him in the direction of the back room. Muriel had left the door open now that dinner was over. Crowley stopped on the threshold, mesmerized by what he saw. Both Muriel and Aziraphale knelt on the ground, sitting on their heels, as Mary Meowgdalene—a grey Maine coon mix—sprawled on her back between them. She batted at Aziraphale’s fingers lazily. Crowley couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but they were clearly enthusiastic, beaming and interrupting each other, Muriel bouncing up and down, Aziraphale nodding fervently.
“He’s not like other men you’ve dated,” Freddie said quietly from behind him.
Crowley looked over his shoulder at his brother. He could see Bee glaring at him from further in the kitchen. “No, he’s not.”
“You met at university?”
“Briefly. I wish I’d gotten to know him better then. Might’ve saved me years of heartache.” There wasn’t ever going to be a right time, was there? Crowley looked back at Muriel and Aziraphale. They were slow-blinking at each other. Muriel was obviously teaching him this cat trick. Crowley bit his lip to keep from grinning, then wondered why he was holding back. He let his full smile unfurl. “I’m going to marry him, Freddie.”
His brother laughed. “Always so optimistic, Antonio.”
Crowley looked to Bee, who raised an eyebrow. They were clearly listening for him to tell the truth. “Not optimism this time. The wedding is set for Saturday.”
The next few minutes seemed to happen in slow motion. The kitchen-chaos ground to a halt as whispers filtered through to the other members of the family. Crowley still stood in the door frame, and all eyes slowly turned to him, each face a different mixture of skepticism, confusion, and alarm. Even Mary managed to look at him for a few seconds. The spotlight of so many gazes caused Crowley to feel very hot. He didn’t often experience this level of anxiety, but…
“Uncle Antonio!” Johnny yelled. “Are you really getting married or is that a big joke?”
“Johnny,” Gemma chided.
Crowley couldn’t speak. He made some kind of sound—part of his brain wondered how Aziraphale would describe it—but words wouldn’t come.
Then there was a hand on his back, and a soft, calm voice from beside him said, “Not a joke, no. We are indeed getting married.”
“Saturday?” Bee asked, overly loud. They knew the answer, of course, but this made the situation very clear for everyone else.
Somehow, Crowley found his voice. “Yes. Saturday. This next Saturday.”
Chaos erupted again. A myriad of questions were thrown at the two of them, and no one waited for answers. Why so quickly? How long had they been dating again? Why was this the first time everyone was meeting Aziraphale? Did this have something to do with Nick?
Crowley held up both hands, trying to calm the onslaught. If he was overwhelmed, he could only imagine how his fiancé was faring. Aziraphale still had one hand on his back, though, firm and solid, strengthening him. “Maybe…give us a chance to speak?”
His mum stepped forward, drawing all eyes to her instead. She approached Crowley, looking deep into his eyes. Everyone else fell silent. Long minutes of scrutiny passed, and then she said, “Are you happy, Antonio?”
“Nghn. I am.” Beyond happy, he wanted to say, and then decided, why not? “Beyond happy.”
She nodded. “And you, Aziraphale Malaika?” she asked, looking at him. “Are you happy?”
“More than I ever knew it was possible to be.” The words were quiet but firm.
With a step back, she said, “I’ve been through enough whirlwind romances to know how they feel. I know the draw toward forever and how very easy it is to get sucked in that direction. And everyone in this room knows how often forever failed me. Or how often I failed it. Antonio, I will never judge you or anyone else for rash decisions in love. I won’t say this doesn’t worry me, because I have been where you stand and the end is often painful. But I also know that you’ve had plenty of opportunities for rash decisions in the past, and haven’t acted on them. I trust you to know your heart. And I will love you no matter how many stupid choices you make.”
She smiled at him, and Crowley grinned back. “This one isn’t a stupid choice. I promise.”
After a pat to his cheek, she turned to Aziraphale. “If you were anyone else, I’d have a stern warning for you not to hurt my child. But I’ve watched you for the last couple hours, and I don’t believe you would intentionally hurt him. So instead, I’ll warn you to be careful with him. Antonio deserves far more than he’s ever received from partners in the past—”
“Mum,” Crowley protested with a groan. She ignored him.
“—and it’s very easy to break his heart. He trusts so readily. Please respect that, and be worthy of that trust.”
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, embarrassed, but the look on the other man’s face was solemn. “Yes,” he said with a single nod. “I will.” He took Crowley’s hand and squeezed it.
“Right then.” She clapped her hands. “Everyone? Let’s finish cleaning up from dinner, and then Antonio and Aziraphale can give us all the wedding details!”
Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he’d managed to stay grounded during the confrontation. Something about seeing Crowley in distress had dampened all his own physical reactions to conflict. And really, other than a few questions, everything had been fine. Tracy had welcomed him, even if she believed the marriage to be foolhardy. Her acceptance was lovely, but also guilt-inducing. He wished they could tell her the truth. No, he had no desire to hurt her son, but they were not marrying for love the way she believed, either.
He kept his mouth shut. Crowley was his friend. Crowley was a man he was coming to love already, even if it wasn’t in the way that “marriage” implied. He would do everything he could to be polite, respectful, caring, kind, and nurturing. He would be especially careful not to cross the lines that they’d laid out as part of their agreement.
It didn’t take long until the kitchen clean-up was finished and the family migrated to the sofa area, some dragging chairs from the dining table over, others sitting directly on the floor. Aziraphale thought he ought to join in on the floor, but Crowley pushed him into the corner of one couch. He then proceeded to grab a pillow and sit on the floor in front of Aziraphale, head resting on one knee. If Aziraphale understood correctly, this was an ask. He gently traced the spot where hair met temple. Crowley’s eyes closed with a soft, contented whine.
The peaceful moment was broken almost immediately, though, as Mary raised her hand and said, “Antonio, it was very rude of you to announce your wedding like this. Make us rush around. There’s going to be so much to get ready—”
Crowley waved one arm, then let it drop limply to his lap. “Nah. Simple wedding. Just family and a few friends. Matt’s gonna officiate. We don’t need more.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mary said, crossing her arms. “We’re going to throw you a reception afterwards, at the very least. There’s going to be cake and dancing and champagne, and we all need to figure out how to make sure we can be where we need to be, and get new clothes and hair appointments, and Muriel will want to do your nails, and—”
“Mary,” Crowley began, but the protest was weak. Several family members shushed him.
“You owe us an apology. That’s the least you can do.”
The two boys sat up straight, eyes gleaming. Their mother preemptively put her finger to her lips to warn them. Crowley also sat up straight. “No.”
Aziraphale didn’t understand. “Why not? We’re sorry. You’re right, this is ever so rude of us.”
“That’s not what she’s asking for, angel. No, Mary. Out of the question.”
Mary tapped her foot impatiently. “Antonio.” She turned abruptly in Bee’s direction. “And you! Trying to trick me out of twenty pounds. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
Bee groaned. They looked at Crowley as the boys took up the same chant from earlier. Before Gemma could silence them, Muriel joined in, banging fists on their knees and laughing.
“What is this all about?” Aziraphale asked, trying to keep the words quiet enough that only Crowley could hear them.
He flopped his head back to look up at Aziraphale. “She’s gonna make us dance.”
“Just get it over with, you two,” Freddie said.
Still groaning, Bee stood and offered a hand to Crowley, who accepted it and got to his feet with an almost identical noise. Everyone began to clap as they moved to the center of the room. With a look at each other, they began to dance and chant in unison. “You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right.”
The dance ended with a bow in Mary’s direction. She regarded them as they stayed low, waiting. Then she nodded. “Very well. I accept your apologies.”
Crowley turned back to Aziraphale with an eye roll, his face red. “Mum made us do it as kids when we fought. Used to make us laugh. Now it’s just humiliating.”
But Aziraphale was delighted. What a charming thing! He’d never had anything like this with his own family. He stood, squeezing out in front of Crowley, and said, “I think it’s unfair that Crowley had to apologize, but I did not.” Several voices protested, but he ignored them all. To the best of his ability, he mimicked the dance and chant, giggling the whole time. Applause and several whoops, likely from the boys, followed this.
Aziraphale looked around. He saw Bee’s expression first, astonished and delighted, and then his eyes met Crowley’s. It was like a lightning bolt shot through him, burning him up from inside. He was frozen, enchanted, as Crowley stood and joined him in the center of the room. Crowley rested his forehead on his and said, “Didn’t know you could dance, angel.”
“I can’t, clearly. But it was ever so much fun to try.”
Crowley kissed him then, without warning, and it caught Aziraphale so off-guard that he melted into the embrace without thinking about the potential consequences. Their tongues met in a tangle of endorphins, and Crowley pulled their bodies close.
“Stooooooop!” yelled one of the boys, as the other cried, “How many times do we have to tell you? No kissing!
Crowley pulled away, but kept their foreheads pressed together. To the boys, he said, “Whoops. Sorry, I forgot!” He grinned at Aziraphale. The next words were a whisper. “Thank you for joining my family. Not just for being here, not just the marriage thing. For, you know, really being a part of them. Of all this.”
“You can’t thank me for a gift you’ve given me.”
Ignoring his nephews, Crowley leaned in and kissed him again, not stopping until the boys began to whack them with pillows in protest.