25. Forgetting

Crowley is standing in front of the door, hesitant.

"Is this all right?" he asks. "I won't enter your house without invitation. Would you like to go somewhere else?"

Your house. Aziraphale wants to say that he is being ridiculous, that it was Crowley who built the house. Something stops him, though. He nods. "Would you like some tea?" he asks, suddenly remembering the boiling kettle. Something mundane. Something to distract him from the way his heart and thoughts are racing with Crowley's presence - some of those thoughts are heading towards some very dark places.

"No, thank you."

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. "Uhm, all right," he nods. "I think I'd like to sit down by the pool for a while. It's lovely outside. This is where Adam and Eve often used to rest, too, did you know that?"

The demon shakes his head. "I didn't." He retreats from the door, giving Aziraphale space to follow him out without getting too close.

"Uhm," Aziraphale turns his head nervously. "I just... the water's already boiling, so I'll make some tea for myself, I guess. Do tell me if you change your mind. Make yourself comfortable, I'll be there in a jiffy."

He feels like he's talking to a stranger and he hates himself for it.


He's holding a steaming cup when he gets outside a moment later. The leaves are still steeping in it, despite the sugar and milk that have already been added. That crime against everything that is English speaks of Aziraphale's hurry to get to Crowley. What if he leaves again?

No, he is there. Aziraphale can see him sitting by the pool, some distance away from the house. He waves, relieved by that. Immediately, he feels like a fool for that gesture. He puts his hand down, not knowing what to do with it. Then he raises it again to adjust his bowtie.

Crowley is keeping perfectly still, facing the water and watching him just with the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale steps closer, but doesn't dare to come all the way. He sits on a stone a few steps away from Crowley and sets his mug down into the grass.

"You came," he says again. It's hard to figure out what to say. There's too much of it.

"Of course," Crowley answers softly, but doesn't look at him. "I'm sorry I ran away."

"You don't need to be."

"Ah. Are you just... being polite? Or was it really better that I wasn't there?"

Aziraphale bites his lip. He smoothes a wrinkle on his trousers, then adjusts his bowtie. He can imagine himself saying he missed Crowley terribly and if he please could stay and not go away anymore, that would be lovely, thank you very much. He can imagine caging that scared little thing somewhere deep inside, locking it behind a thick wall so that Crowley wouldn't see, so that he would only feel the love, all the love he deserves. It feels unfair to Crowley, to let him see it after everything he did for Aziraphale. But somehow, hiding it feels unfair to both of them.

"A bit of both, I guess," he says finally. "I won't lie to you. I could, but… it feels pointless, after what we have been through, doesn't it?"

He pauses to collect his thoughts. He reaches for the cup and removes the tea leaves from it. With his bare fingers. He realizes what he did then and stares at them. They are unhurt. They start shaking.

"You don't need to speak about it, though," Crowley says quickly, interrupting the unpleasant thoughts. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry, angel."

He looks at Aziraphale now and his eyes are open and expressive without the glasses. They are sorrowful and tired, his eyebrows drawn up and together like a gothic arch, like hands clasped in prayer under the vault of a cathedral.

Aziraphale shakes his head. He puts the cup down and entwines his fingers, stilling them. "Would you know it? If I lied to you?" he asks. "If I said I don't even like you… would you know it is a lie?"

Crowley sighs. "No, angel. I wouldn't. Not anymore. Would it be one?" he asks in a tone that is supposed to sound disinterested. It doesn't succeed.

"Yes. It would be."

Crowley relaxes a little. Just a little. It seems like he is gathering the courage to voice some thought. One that has been suppressed for too long to come out easily.

Aziraphale waits patiently.

The question finally comes, a bit strangled. "But you're afraid of me?"

Now it's Aziraphale's turn to tense. His back is straight like a pillar supporting the weight of the Tower of Babel.

"No lies," he whispers, more to himself than to Crowley. The mirrors are shattered. As much as he hates mirrors at the moment, the metaphor is accurate. He can't see himself in Crowley's eyes anymore. If there is any hope of mending those mirrors, it's only with truth.

"I love you," he says. "With the innermost part of my being." That's the truth. When all else was lost, all memories burnt, even those about whom he loved so, the love remained. But it's not the whole truth and Crowley knows it. He's still waiting for the "but".

There it comes. "But there's just something… something subconscious that I can't control…"

"That's afraid of me," Crowley finishes, his voice sad but gentle.

Aziraphale nods, on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Crowley… I know it's so unjust to you… you did so much for me… sacrificed so much…"

Crowley moves to get closer to him, to stop the tears, to reassure. But he stops himself. He kneels in the grass, still some distance away from Aziraphale. "Shhh, it's alright, angel," he whispers. "It's alright. Don't try to suppress what you feel for my sake."

"What else am I supposed to do, though?" Aziraphale sobs. "Was it all for nothing? Will it never be… like before?"

"I don't know, angel. Maybe it could be. Like before. A long, long time before this."

Aziraphale pauses, sensing something else behind those words. They have a grave weight, a feeling of finality he doesn't understand. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Crowley takes a deep breath, avoiding his look. "I came to tempt you, Aziraphale. Just like at the beginning, remember? We are in the same garden."

"Do you want to offer me the apple? I don't think that would solve anything, my dear. Just cause more trouble."

"No, not the apple," Crowley whispers and takes something from under his tunic. It's a clay bottle with a plug of cork.

Aziraphale watches it suspiciously. "Is that…"

"Water from Lethe."

Aziraphale sighs shakily. The words are hanging between them, stifling with their implications.

"For both of us?" Aziraphale asks, pressing his fingers together to still their trembling.

"It could be. If you would like it that way."

Aziraphale watches the bottle in Crowley's hands.

No memories. Back to the beginning. An angel and a demon in the Garden of Eden, meeting for the first time again. It's tempting. So tempting. A real master of temptation is his demon. Aziraphale can't help but feel proud of him.

"If I accept it, I wouldn't want it otherwise," he says quietly. "I've left you alone with the memories for too long, bearing their weight for both of us. I wouldn't want to do it again."

He reaches for the tea, instead of the bottle, though. It's just right for drinking now. He sips it to calm himself, to find some balance for such a grave decision. Then he lowers it into his lap.

"Do you think we would still fall in love?"

"Yes, angel," Crowley whispers. There's something glistening in his eyes. "I'm sure of it. We would fall in love in any time and reality. Because you are you and I am me."

"Do you think… we could be happy?" Aziraphale asks. There's something in his eyes, too. It's falling into his tea.

"I don't know."

"You're thwarting your own temptation, dear. You should say yes."

"It's not really a temptation," Crowley says, his voice shaking a little. "Just a choice. I'm merely offering choices."

Aziraphale nods and thinks for a moment. "You've always been better than me with those. What would you choose?"

Crowley shivers, running his finger along the smooth clay of the bottle. "I hoped you wouldn't ask… I don't want to influence your choice."

"It's not my choice. It's ours."

Crowley sighs then and looks at the angel. "No lies…" he murmurs. "I won't lie to you. I'm tired, Aziraphale. It's been too much and I can't see how it can get better. We are safe here. We would lose a lot, but we can start all over again. Yes, I would like this."

Aziraphale stays quiet, thinking. He's watching Crowley and thinking about everything they have been through together. About the 6023 years on Earth, concluded with an End of the World that they helped to avert. He's thinking about the three special years on their own side and about that time that makes it all distorted, tearing like a black hole into his memories.

He watches the bottle in Crowley's hand. Here is a chance to get rid of that distortion. Here is a chance to erase that uncontrollable fear, to send it into oblivion. And here is a chance to ease Crowley's suffering. Not mend it but erase it instantly as if it never existed. That's what's most tempting about the offer. But the cost is everything else. Every other memory they share. Every memory of Earth, of humans, of the slow dance between the two of them, every step of the long journey, lost forever.

Aziraphale sighs. He watches Crowley now, not the bottle he is holding. "I remember…" he whispers. "I remember unbearable pain. Begging you to kill me. But you didn't. Why?"

Crowley hisses between his teeth like in a sudden pain. "W-We…" His voice fails. He licks his lips and tries again. "We were… so close. I am sorry. I couldn't… couldn't do it… so much pain… I'm sorry..."

"Thank you for it," Aziraphale says before Crowley gets lost in the memory. "Thank you, Crowley. You've been strong for me when I had no strength left."

The demon looks up. His eyes are still apologizing, but his mouth has already caught up with Aziraphale's words. It closes, stopping the stream of apologies.

In the following silence, Aziraphale can hear his own heartbeat. He hates doing this. He hates making a choice that will rob Crowley of the relief he wishes for. It hurts him deep inside. But Crowley did the same for him, went through the same pain for him.

"Allow me to be strong for you now," he whispers.

Crowley lets out a shaky breath that he has been holding.

"I've hurt you too much," Aziraphale continues, but corrects himself as soon as Crowley opens his mouth to protest: "You hurt too much. Just like I did. I'm glad you didn't listen to me, though. I'm glad you found that strength in you. I don't know if I can be as strong as you, but I want to try, if you let me. If it fails, we can still choose this," he points as the bottle. "But I don't want to give up without trying. I'm sorry for the pain my choice is causing you."

Crowley smiles sadly. "I made one that caused you pain, too. More than one. It's alright."

Aziraphale bites his lip. "But it doesn't… it doesn't need to be final. We can still take a drink of forgetfulness together, if it turns out we are broken beyond repair."

Crowley turns away, his shoulders shaking a little. "I can't see how…" he murmures. "But if you want to try mending this, I will do my best."

Aziraphale wipes his own tears. "I want to try. We managed it before, didn't we? And it wasn't easy, either. After six millennia of silences and guessing, we learnt to talk openly. You even made me go to that support group for ex cult members, remember?"

Crowley snorts. "Wasn't my best idea."

"The cookies were lovely. And it did give me some perspective, actually. "

"We did learn a thing or two about triggers, too," Crowley says dejectedly, the little smirk elicited by the memory just a fleeting, ephemeral thing.

"Well, yes. And we helped each other, didn't we?" Aziraphale looks at him hopefully. He puts the tea aside and slides down from the stone he has been sitting on, shifting closer to the demon, hoping to cross the distance between them. "You are a world to me, Crowley. I believe we can do this together."

Crowley withdraws a little. "How, Aziraphale?" he asks tiredly. "How can we do this together when I am your fucking trigger?"

Aziraphale closes his eyes firmly. He knows that Crowley is right. Trigger… yes, that is the right word. Crowley's presence is reminding him of pain, threatening to send him spiralling into the black hole. His heart is like a wild bird trying to escape from the cage of his chest as he reaches for Crowley's hand and takes it, not opening his eyes. He knows what he would see if he opened them. A fiery sigil and serpentine eyes, and something broken behind them.

He feels the hand instead, caresses the palm with his thumb. A sob comes from somewhere next to him, closer now. Crowley is leaning towards him, like a plant turning to the sun.

"Something in me is afraid," Aziraphale whispers. "But if I suppress it, it will just get more scared and lonely."

He takes a deep breath. "Please, Crowley… tame me."