2019
England
West Wittering
They weren't quite sure what to do with themselves in their unexpected retirement. Aziraphale rarely opened the shop these days, his posted opening hours becoming more and more convoluted. Lunches and dinners quickly became daily occurrences instead of weekly. They found themselves puttering around the countryside in the Bentley, exploring aimlessly, spending hours sitting on benches in comfortable silence, simply enjoying nature on the planet they had saved, that still existed despite what had seemed like impossible odds. After counting the days they had left together, for so long, it was pure bliss to not have an end point looming over them, no clock counting down. Time had no end, now. They wandered down walking paths, beaches, and through tiny, quaint towns. This week they had ended up in South Downs.
"You know, it's been exactly a month since the world didn't end," Crowley stated as they drove along the coast.
Aziraphale's hand squeezed Crowley's where it rested in its place on the angel's thigh.
"A month, already? We should celebrate! Toast to the world again. Something fancy."
Crowley spent a moment on his mobile looking for a place that would be suitable. In a moment they were speeding across the countryside to a gastropub on the north end of Chichester.
As soon as they walked in the door, they knew it was perfect. The ideal mixture of quaint stuffiness and modern style. The host quickly seated them at the best table.
A flamboyantly gay server with artfully tousled, bleached blond hair and flawlessly applied subtle makeup (quite subtle, except for the blindingly sharp flash of highlight on chiseled cheekbones in the dim candlelight, which Aziraphale kept glancing at distractedly, wondering if it was rude to ask what product he used, thinking of purchasing it for Crowley) sauntered to their table and looked them up and down, grinning. The server had seen them be seated from across the restaurant and thought what he was getting was a couple of Very Rich Gays (he's not exactly wrong, per se), so he had brought the copy of the wine list that only had bottle prices. He could spot Very Rich Gays effortlessly. He was very good at his job.
He introduced himself as Anthony. Aziraphale bit his lip to keep a snort of laughter under control and Crowley smiled mockingly.
Anthony was very surprised as he recited his top recommendations from the wine list, which seemed to have gone through some major changes since he had started his previous table, and as the names of famous bottles kept coming out of his mouth, his usually unshakable persona faltered slightly. He glanced around helplessly, seeking some sort of reassurance, and he caught the eye of the bar manager across the restaurant, who nodded meaningly towards the front window where the Bentley was very illegally parked in all her freshly polished vintage glory.
To his further surprise, Anthony found himself saying smoothly, "And finally, Penfolds Grange, 1971, the lovely Shiraz itself, we happen to have two bottles only-"
"Penfolds Grange? Here, of all places?" The corners of Aziraphale's mouth tilted up and he stared at Crowley with both flattery and a little admonishment. Frivolous miracles indeed.
"Yes, the '71, perfect, we'll take them both," Crowley said smoothly, as he perused the appetizer menu, not looking up, "Thank you, Anthony," he added, slightly dismissively.
Anthony's jaw dropped a little and he froze still. Both? The tip on this bill was going to pay his rent this month, and probably part of next month's, too.
Crowley looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, eyes hidden behind his glasses, and added blandly, "We're celebrating."
Aziraphale beamed at Crowley, and Anthony beamed as well, his eyes flicking back and forth between them, and he forgot entirely about the wine and the tip as he got caught up in just the edges of Aziraphale's aura, and he gasped out loud as oh, the Love-
Aziraphale realized what had happened and quickly tried to turn it down a little, blushing slightly as Crowley's lips curled up in fond amusement.
"Oh, how lovely," Anthony murmured, overwhelmed, finding himself misty eyed, not knowing why. "Congratulations," he added earnestly, forgetting to ask what exactly he was congratulating them for, suddenly feeling as if was celebrating it with them, that he had watched it grow himself, right from the beginning...
Only experience (and pure dedication to his craft) kept Anthony from breaking character and crying in happiness as he slid away from their table. He escaped to the kitchen just before the tears fell.
"What, mate?" Chef asked him, concerned.
"The gays at table twelve, they're just so in love, something about them just got me- I'm a right mess... And do you know when we started stocking Penfolds?!"
After the fourth course, Crowley lifted a finger to flag down their server.
Anthony sashayed confidently back to their table, already asking Crowley, "Are you and your husband ready for the second bottle of wine? I have it decanted and aerating."
Aziraphale's eyes shot up from his plate to the waiter in surprise at the word husband. Anthony immediately noticed the look and tried to backpedal, blushing furiously, feeling incredibly unprofessional.
"Oh, ah- my deepest apologies for assuming, you two just- er, I thought- so sorry-"
Crowley didn't even flinch. "No need to apologize, you assumed correctly, and yes, we are absolutely ready for the second."
Aziraphale's startled eyes shot to Crowley, widening in utter shock. Anthony disappeared as quickly as he could, not understanding the exchange even slightly, but knowing his presence was unnecessary and could be detrimental.
Crowley's face remained totally neutral as he absently swirled the last sips of his absurdly expensive wine, peering through his dark lenses and raising an eyebrow at Aziraphale's dumbfounded expression. "What?"
Aziraphale's mouth opened, but there were too many words to say, and none of them could possibly convey the enormity of what he was feeling.
Eventually he managed to simply repeat, "Assumed correctly?"
Crowley shrugged casually, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
"Well, what else would you call us?"
The question had been at the back of Aziraphale's mind since the Beginning, at what to call their... acquaintanceship, proximity knowing-ship, arrangement-ship, boyfriend-in-the-dark-glasses, not friends, best friends, hereditary enemies...
Husbands.
Aziraphale's eyes swam and he tried to keep tears from falling, his breath catching a little bit. It was simply perfect.
And oh Crowley knew how to create a scene, and knew exactly how to catch Aziraphale unprepared and stab him with Feelings right through his heart...
Crowley smiled knowingly and raised his glass with his left hand to toast, his voice just slightly hoarse. He rested his right hand over Aziraphale's on the table between them.
"Happy anniversary, angel."
A sharp breath escaped Aziraphale, his thoughts racing, instinctively raising his glass to cheers, his arm on autopilot. With the clink of their classes, all at once it slotted together- the long drive, the offhand comment about it being a month, the perfect restaurant conveniently only a short drive away, the ridiculously expensive wine. This evening must have been planned, but in the moment, Crowley had made the whole thing feel like Aziraphale's idea.
"Which one is it? One month? Or has it been eleven years?" Aziraphale asked, his voice trembling.
"I think a month, yeah? A month feels right. But I would argue that we were engaged for far longer than eleven years."
"When do you think? '41?"
"Well, with or without the 19?"
"That's ridiculous, not Rome, dearest,that's when the courting started. No, it's obvious now, it makes perfect sense, can't believe I even asked, really!"
"When, then?"
"Don't you remember Paris?"
Crowley let out a little burst of laughter and nodded, grinning. "Yes, of course. Of course it was Paris." He leaned forward with his glass, clinking the crystal glasses together again. His smile softened as he toasted, "To us, mon ange."
"To us, mon démon, mon amour," Aziraphale whispered, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears in the candlelight, radiating happiness, unknowingly blessing everyone in the restaurant, casting his love over the room in soft waves.
"Mon amour," Crowley whispered back, the softest smile Aziraphale had ever seen growing on his face, and that was all it took for the tears to fall.
Anthony barely managed to make it back to the kitchen before he started blubbing again. Chef hovered near the door, eagerly awaiting an update.
Anthony didn't know where to start. "I sort of think they got married at the table, just now. But then they said they had been married for a month, something about an anniversary... I missed a few bits in there, I was with those bints at table fourteen that wouldn't shut up. I didn't get most of it, but I'm fucked. Right, proper fucked. It's bloody beautiful, go out there and feel it, take out the dessert yourself, do your fancy Chef thing, mate. I need a cigarette. Shit. I'm a right mess."
Later, when Anthony collected the leather bill fold from the table, he nearly fainted. Crowley had tipped sixty six percent on the credit card receipt. He had also left a rather extravagant cash tip and a small scribbled note on a crumpled paper napkin, thanking him for officiating their wedding.
They exited the restaurant arm in arm, and Crowley opened the door of the Bentley for Aziraphale formally before sauntering around to the driver's side, feeling rather pleased with himself.
Crowley had planned the one month anniversary dinner, but he hadn't planned that the server would be named Anthony, and he definitely hadn't planned Anthony's slip of the tongue (Crowley was clever, but he wasn't quite that clever).
The pure ineffability of it all was beyond perfect, far, far better than the half-dozen barely-formed ideas he had considered when trying to plan some extravagant way of establishing what exactly their Arrangement had changed into... something different, something permanent, something more.
Husbands.
Crowley started the Bentley's engine, and she purred to life, the engine rumbling a bit louder than usual, the car feeling the change between them, feeling the rushes of adrenaline through both of their corporations.
They were really doing this, this was happening, this was real.
Crowley snapped casually, and a rough bundle of something wrapped in newsprint appeared in Aziraphale's lap. Crowley pulled the Bentley out onto the street as Aziraphale pulled back the paper, wondering what on Earth could be inside. Nestled carefully in between the pages were their wineglasses, small traces of wine still staining the crystal.
Aziraphale let out a chortle, not even minding the sin, obviously quite charmed, thanking him with a smile.
Crowley grinned and shifted gears before resting his hand on Aziraphale's thigh, squeezing affectionately. "Where to, angel?"
"Anywhere you like, dearest." Aziraphale sent the bundle to the back seat so he could comfortably lace their fingers together, taking a deep, shaky breath. His cheeks seemed to be glued upwards in a beaming grin.
Crowley lifted their so he could brush a kiss against the back of Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, his eyes shining. A lump formed in Aziraphale's throat behind his smile and he dabbed at his eyes with his free hand.
The Bentley revved loudly as Crowley hit the gas, his manic happiness channeling into the car. Aziraphale he didn't feel quite as anxious about their breakneck speed as usual (though he still tried to press his foot to an imaginary brake pedal as they went around curves on the country road, because habits made over many, many decades are hard to break). He felt a rush of exhilaration, and then a little tickle of reassurance, and realized suddenly that both had come from the Bentley.
Since the world ended, and then didn't end, Aziraphale had started to pick up on the Bentley's vague consciousness, her presence, sort of, just beyond his senses. It had never felt quite as specific as it did tonight, the reassurance simply a jumble of wordless communication that meant exactly watching out for witches on bicycles, and Aziraphale felt a burst of affection for the car.
Crowley wasn't sure where they were headed, exactly, but it didn't matter where they went.
They were free, and they were together.
Perhaps Crowley would race against the setting sun to get to the coast, so they could watch it go down against the water. He didn't bother glancing at his watch. Once the idea crossed his mind, he decided that it wouldn't be a race, that Time could bugger off and wait a bit, because Crowley wanted to watch the sun set with his angel tonight, and nobody could stop him, nobody would even try to stop him, not Heaven, not Hell, not Satan himself.
The world was their oyster.
To be continued...
