2019

South Downs

Crowley and Aziraphale ambled along West Wittering beach in the very last rays of evening light, Aziraphale's hand comfortably tucked into the crook of Crowley's elbow.

Aziraphale found himself saying, "You know, usually husbands live together."

"We do."

"Do we?"

"Don't we?"

Aziraphale supposed they sort of did, but that wasn't quite the point he wanted to make.

"I've been thinking. Perhaps it would be quite nice for us to get out of London."

"We are out of London."

"I mean more... permanently. I rather like South Downs. I've been thinking... perhaps I should sell the shop."

Crowley stared at him like he had sprouted several additional heads.

"Not the books, obviously, just the building. Perhaps it would be nice to close the business, now that I don't need a base of operations."

"What business," Crowley snorted.

"Well, exactly."


So, of course, they bought a cottage.

Or, rather, Crowley had taken Aziraphale out for another ride to the hills a few months later. He had driven rather reasonably, for once, and Aziraphale wasn't really paying attention to where they were going, simply enjoying the cold wind on his face through the open windows and the steady, familiar touch of Crowley's warm fingers resting on his thigh.

It was late afternoon when Crowley turned unexpectedly down an unpaved, quite overgrown driveway, and when Aziraphale looked to Crowley questioningly, Crowley ignored him except for one of his knowing little smiles. They drove through scattered trees for a minute.

As they reached the end of the driveway a small cottage came into view.

"Crowley-"

Crowley hushed him, patting his thigh reassuringly.

"We'll just take a quick look, angel."

That didn't answer any Aziraphale's unspoken questions and somehow simultaneously kept him from actually voicing them aloud.

Damn(ed) demon was playing him like a fiddle, and they both knew it. Aziraphale smiled and wiggled a little in his seat in excitement. Now that Crowley had been able to fully let down his guard, his romantic gestures and surprises were crafted with artful precision.

Had he secretly rented them a cottage for the weekend? Or was it empty for the season, were they going to break in and snog like newlyweds, recreate Paris on the floor of someone's cottage?

Or perhaps, Aziraphale's breath caught, perhaps it's for sale? For a moment he felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, in the best possible way, and the thrill of it was enough to make his breath catch.

Crowley had been out a lot the past few weeks, and Aziraphale had been suspecting he was planning something. He always came back from his afternoons away with lavish gifts to excuse his absence, though Aziraphale could tell there was something else going on as well. Aziraphale knew Crowley had absurd amounts of money after millennia of long term investments, and now he had no reason to pretend he didn't enjoy spending it. Aziraphale knew he must have been doing more than watering the plants, picking up bottles of expensive red wine and boxes of Belgian chocolate truffles. Had he really been looking for a cottage all this time?

They parked right in front of the door. It looked old, rather small and almost a little dumpy, not anything that Aziraphale could picture Crowley choosing to give a second glance. Aziraphale couldn't hear the sea, and the trees blocked the horizon. He wasn't sure how close to the coast they were. It was definitely very private, at least.

Aziraphale watched Crowley fiddle in his pockets for a second set of keys and unlock the door.

Crowley ushered him in and Aziraphale took one step inside before stopping with a startled, "Oh."

The cottage looked rather small because it was built into the side of an unseen hill and they were apparently on the upper floor. Large windows on the far side of an expansive, empty room gave an unobstructed view of the hills, filling the room with soft, warm light. Aziraphale could see doors off to each side. Though it was entirely empty, somehow it held the same warm, soft energy as the back room of the bookshop, that coziness that was impossible to build in, that could only be acquired with time and care. Aziraphale stepped in further to see a fireplace off to one side, and already could picture himself curled up in front of it with a giant stack of books to one side and Crowley dozing in his lap, threading his fingers through scarlet hair.

Crowley quickly nudged him towards the direction of stairs before Aziraphale could really explore it, and Aziraphale descended a little reluctantly, not quite ready to leave the room. He noted the beautiful polished hardwood of the stairs under his feet.

Aziraphale quickly realized why they had to start downstairs. It felt like they had come in through the back. A set of large double doors lead to a cobblestone patio, surrounded by the remains of what must have been gorgeous gardens at one point, signs of rock paths around flower beds, veg patches and old, broken bird baths. It all had been clearly neglected for a very long time. Aziraphale could see the silhouette of a dilapidated greenhouse in the setting sunlight, and the sight of it made his heart constrict, thinking of Crowley bringing these gardens back to life, fixing the broken glass panels of the greenhouse, creating their own little Eden in this secret corner of South Downs.

Aziraphale explored further through another door and clapped his hands together in delight, pleased to discover a charming little kitchen and breakfast nook, old fashioned enough to make Aziraphale feel right at home immediately, but modern enough to be functional. Aziraphale felt a newfound urge to learn how to bake. The humans that had lived here had made some updates to the appliances at some point, but the cabinets and countertops were still original. It had the look of being left empty for a long time, caught halfway in between renovations. The countertop was cracked in several places.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley again, his mouth opening to confirm whether it was for sale, or had Crowley already bought it, and if so he should really call that estate agent who had been hounding him for the past 30 years to sell the shop, but Crowley shushed him again. That knowing little smile kept on growing on Crowley's face incrementally, and somehow it made Aziraphale bite down his eager questions.

Crowley led him around the ground floor, letting Aziraphale gaze through the windows, seeing the view from all sides. There were no other cottages within sight, just rolling green hills and scattered trees.

Crowley opened the door to the back garden and gestured grandly with a crooked grin, then offered his elbow formally. Aziraphale let out a little giggle as he took it, biting back all of his hundred questions as he allowed Crowley to escort him outside. They walked out to the very edge of the garden, where it stopped and a walking path started, clearly leading to the hills. The view was absolutely beautiful, and Aziraphale's breath caught.

But Crowley was turning him back, towards the cottage, and Aziraphale immediately understood why. Several of his questions were instantly answered, now that he could properly see it from the outside.

There was an original structure, somewhere in there, what must have been a summer cottage for a somewhat wealthy family.

The upper floor seemed to be mostly original, but over many years more and more rooms had been added to the lower floor, creating a vacation cottage for what must have been a large family. It had become quite large, and Aziraphale already was considering which wing would be best to house the books.

His mouth dropped open to ask-

"Shh!" Crowley shushed him with all the authority of Nanny Ashtoreth, though it was softened through Crowley's little grin. Aziraphale closed his mouth again over a little laugh, his eyes twinkling. Apparently the tour wasn't over.

Crowley marched him back inside and took him back up the stairs. Past the lounge were a few doors. Crowley opened one and lead Aziraphale into what had to be the master bedroom. A small door lead out to a rickety balcony, shaded by the surrounding trees, that overlooked the gardens. The bathroom had a massive claw foot tub, and if Aziraphale hadn't already been sold in the kitchen, that would have done it thrice over. Another image blossomed in his mind, of cradling Crowley in the tub in warm bubbles while snow blanketed the world outside. He could feel his eyes misting.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and several of his questions tumbled out at once. "How did you find this place? Who owned it? It looks like it's been empty for years, how long has it been on the market? Are the drains bad or something?"

Crowley held up his hands to stop the torrent of questions, and for a moment he sounded a tad nervous. "I promise I will answer all of your questions, angel, but first just tell me whether you like it so far."

Aziraphale's thoughts tumbled together, a mixture of perfect and made for us and I love you so much, and he found himself making a confused noise that sounded like one of Crowley's extended combinations of vowels. He settled with shoving the demon against the wall of what he knew in his heart was their new bedroom, and kissed him soundly, his whole body squeezing Crowley to the wall.

Crowley grinned into his kiss, understanding perfectly.

"Is it yours yet?" Aziraphale managed in between kisses, and Crowley laughed against his mouth, his real laugh, with no trace of sarcasm or irony, and Aziraphale wanted to cry in happiness.

"I wanted you to see it first," Crowley said slowly. "Ours," He corrected softly. "If you like," he added with another hint of entirely unnecessary hesitation.

Aziraphale kissed him again in response, the softness of ours causing his eyes to prick with real tears and the hesitancy of if you like sounding just the same as every time each of them had said it before. There's wine at my place, if you like. You can stay at my place, if you like. Let's buy a cottage together, if you like.

"There's more I haven't shown you," Crowley murmured against his mouth with a smile.

"S'fine," Aziraphale said, kissing him through his words, his fingers tangling in Crowley's hair, tugging just a little, already sold on the cottage, ready to celebrate on their bedroom floor. Crowley groaned a little in response but kept talking, determined.

"One part in particular... it's actually the best bit. It's- well-" Something about Crowley's voice sounded rather embarrassed, and it caught Aziraphale's attention long enough to pull back to meet his eyes.

Aziraphale saw a flush rising on Crowley's cheeks, a pink brighter than he had seen in a very long time, and whatever Crowley was talking about, it was making him more embarrassed than he had been in centuries. And somehow it was the best bit? Aziraphale's brow furrowed, and curiosity overtook him.

"Come on," Crowley said, untangling Aziraphale's hands from his hair, holding them as he hurried them back down the stairs with a little bit of a strangled laugh.

Crowley led him to a blank wall near the back of the cottage, underneath the front door, and hesitated for a moment, pulling Aziraphale's hand upwards, brushing his lips to Aziraphale's knuckles, clearly trying to find words. Aziraphale's breath caught at the sudden pulse of love he felt from Crowley, a flare that had broken through the barriers that had stood between them for millennia, the wall they were slowly bringing down, brick by brick.

"So I was thinking of where all your books were going to go, and how there's no way to fit all of them here, though it's much bigger than the other places I saw... I kept remembering that bit in those old movies that you like so much, those bookcases with the one book being a key to a hidden room, you know? Always seemed like fun, right? And I, er... just sort of imagined it, and then all of a sudden, well, ah... Well."

Crowley waved his hand dismissively at the wall in a gesture that Aziraphale recognized as removing a glamour.

A bookshelf appeared; one of Aziraphale's own, he realized with surprise.

Crowley reached forward and tugged at a particular book, and with a thunking noise, the bookshelf swung slowly outward, as if on a hinge.

Crowley gently guided Aziraphale around so he could see properly.

Aziraphale took several steps inside before he was able to comprehend what he was looking at. His jaw dropped open.

For the first few moments Aziraphale thought he was looking into his own bookshop, from the ceiling, though all of the books were missing. After he took another few steps, he realized it was a little smaller, slightly a different shape. Not an exact replica, but incredibly similar.

"How...?" Aziraphale tried, but speech was beyond him.

"I know it's not exactly the same. I'll fix it. See, I hadn't tried to- I just thought of it, and all of a sudden it was here in front of me, and it's a little off-"

"You did this by accident? How did you get the energy for- for-" For burrowing a massive, building-sized hole into a cliff without even trying? Aziraphale tried to say, but the words seemed too impossible to form with his mouth.

"Feel the land, angel. I didn't realize at first either."

Aziraphale turned his attention to the Earth, to a particular sense he rarely paid attention to, and realized there was a small ley line deep in the Earth under their feet. He nodded in realization.

"You feel it, right? I must have tapped in, somehow. Not sure. We're not far from Devil's Dyke, I think it's an offshoot. Well, come take a look, then."

Aziraphale walked in further, his feet carrying him down the spiral staircase, almost exactly like the one in the shop. They descended to the floor, stepping into the empty space.

The rest of the room was a mix of identical or similar features of the bookshop. The empty shelves were aligned slightly differently, an aisle here or there was wider or narrower than the original. Shelves were shorter or taller. Small details that didn't matter in the slightest.

Aziraphale stood in the center, turning slowly, taking it all in, utterly overwhelmed. He had mentioned thinking about moving out of London, but it had not been said with any urgency. He was still quite attached to the bookshop, and the thought of leaving it behind was rather sad.

Crowley had moved a mountain (well, a hill, at least) to solve this dilemma, instinctively sensing Aziraphale's hesitancy to leave the comfort of the bookshop so soon after it had been restored.

"I'll fix the bits that aren't quite right-"

Aziraphale whipped around to interrupt.

"You'll do no such thing! It's already quite right just the way it is," Aziraphale stopped his protests with a trembling finger to his lips. "It's new, and you made it, dearest, so it's already perfect, I can't even believe...this is better than an exact replica, it will be a library, not the bookshop. It's new," he repeated, "And... and it's never been on fire."

Crowley nodded slowly as his expression changed from hesitant to grateful, as he had not even considered that aspect. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand and took a deep breath.

The nightmares of the fire had not been pleasant, not for either of them. Aziraphale no longer left Crowley's side for even a moment when he slept, trying desperately to wake him when the nightmares came, holding him, whispering reassurances and words of love. When Crowley finally awoke, he would wipe his tears on Aziraphale's shoulder and cling to him, wrap around him tightly with every limb, and shake until he fell asleep again. They didn't talk about it in the mornings. What was there to say?

"It can be locked from inside, as well. It's safe," Crowley added, and Aziraphale knew this was something else Crowley must have seriously considered, how they would protect themselves if (when?) Heaven or Hell lost their fear and came calling again. With the bookshelf sealed and glamoured, they would be hidden from any unwanted visitors, whether human or occult (or ethereal).

Aziraphale's tears started to fall, his face beaming in happiness, and Crowley pulled him into an embrace.

"It needs some work still. The kitchen could use new countertops and floors. The balcony is falling apart. Should be simple, especially with that ley line to tap into, it'll just take some time and effort."

"Thank you," Aziraphale clung to him, his tears damp against Crowley's neck. Crowley had thought of everything.

"Don't thank me quite yet, Mr. Fell, you still have to sign rather a lot of paperwork."

Aziraphale huffed a laugh, both amused and charmed that Crowley wanted his name on the deed, too. Such a human thing, and totally unnecessary, but it was just another level of our side that Aziraphale simply couldn't get enough of.

"I love you," Crowley whispered into his ear, and Aziraphale's knees gave out, and Crowley held him upright with his wiry strength, chuckling a little, simply reveling in his absolute favorite-est flavor of Aziraphale's reactions, all of the different things that he does when Crowley says those words. He can't believe he's gone for millennia without these reactions, the very best ones. And to think! Crowley had been denying himself, like a priest that had taken vows of chastity against this hedonistic ecstasy, and really, that had been entirely undemonic of him. Surely the level of pleasure Crowley experienced with this flavor palate (initial burst of shock on the tongue with an intensity that bordered on pain, smoothly transitioning to notes of bliss and that peculiar flavor of impossible dreams, finishing on the lasting aftertaste of love and completion), must be sinful.

Aziraphale trembled in Crowley's arms, simply drowning them both in the Love exuding from him, and for once, Crowley didn't tremble even slightly, finally, entirely relaxed, basking in it, letting himself soak in it. Confidently, unequivocally, definitely, entirely un-ineffably, in love.


Author's note: One chapter to go. Thank you for going on this journey with me.