OMG, this is the last chapter! This has been SO. MUCH. FUN.

My intent was to create a realistic, warm(ish) conclusion to the Huling saga - NOT to give you a melancholy ending! It's supposed to be all about Crowley and Aziraphale anyway... here, I was hoping to finish what I started at the beginning of the previous chapter, "Ineffable." Something got under Huling's skin... what was it? And what does it mean to us?

Early in the story they said they would leave for their holiday on "Saturday the sixteenth," which implies that it's in the coming month. I have no idea what month that might be. But since then, there has been A LOT happening, and I would guess that quite a bit more than just three or four weeks have passed! I always intended to end this story as they prepare to leave for Mallorca... I guess I just kept getting ideas for more smut and creature comforts!

So, this is where our favorite couple wrap up a few things. How will things move forward (if at all) with Huling? What about the holiday in Mallorca? What about the fact that Crowley was talking with an estate agent a few months back? What about all those creature comforts they've been learning about from each other?

And what lies in their future?

Okay, folks, here we go - enjoy!

EPILOGUE

As Saturday nights go, it had been a brilliant one. It might have been the second most profound Saturday of their existences.

But Sunday was marked by a lot of Nothing Special. They had cleaned up the flat, run some errands to prepare for their trip to Mallorca, begun streaming a new show, and did not discuss Craig Huling, nor the strange exit he had taken, after their second tryst in the lounge.

They both felt that his words, as their liaison came to a close, "That was absolutely stunning," were a bit cryptic, given that he hadn't participated, in the end. They felt a little sheepish about how, indeed, it had ended, and yet, Huling had seemed peaceful when he left. He had kissed them both, then rinsed off in the shower, before getting dressed. By then, the coffee table had been put back in place and the teacups, spoons, and lube had been taken away. He had offered to help tidy the kitchen, but had been told "No, no, it's fine," and so he had kissed them both again, and gone home with a smile on his face.

Not an ear-to-ear grin, just a serene upward curl of the corners of his mouth, indicating generally good feelings.

Were it not for the goodnight kisses, one would never have guessed, at the moment of departure, that what had transpired between the three of them that evening had been something much more than simply dinner and drinks.

"Think he's all right?" Crowley had asked, as they shut the door.

"I don't know," Aziraphale said. "He seems to be. But perhaps we should check on him in a few days."

"Yeah. We should."

That was just after two o'clock in the morning (Saturday night), and it was the last they spoke of it until Monday, around ten a.m.

It was late Monday morning, and Crowley had news.

He pulled into a parking spot behind the bookshop, designated for owners of establishments in the area (which he was finding more and more tedious to do in the Bentley).

He stepped into the bookshop, and to his surprise, Aziraphale was placing a first edition of "Sanditon" into a bag for a customer.

"Thank you, dear lady," he was saying. "Please enjoy."

The lady left the shop, and Crowley looked about. "Is she the only one?"

"For the moment, yes," Aziraphale said. "Glad to see you. Hadn't expected you until lunchtime."

"Well, I have something to discuss with you, and I didn't want to wait, or do it over the phone. Wait… what's that?" Crowley said, interrupting himself, gesturing to a spray of bright yellow flowers sitting in a vase on the rolltop desk.

"Flowers."

"I see that. Are they from…"

"No," Aziraphale said. "They're not from Craig. Actually, they're for Craig."

"Oh. Nice idea. Very you."

"I thought it might be a good thing if one or both of us stopped by later, brought him these, and said thanks for a lovely evening, and that the door to friendship is always open, and… I don't know…"

"That we love his cheese?" Crowley asked, sardonically.

"I know it sounds a bit silly, but I feel that we can't leave things this way. I know he was smiling, but the smile seemed somehow inscrutable when he left the flat Saturday night. I have no idea what he was thinking."

"If he wanted us to know, he would have been more… you know… scrutable. He would have allowed us to scrute. Is that a word?"

"I just hope we haven't bungled things up," Aziraphale fretted.

"Well, how do you feel? Bungled at all? How are the hills? Alive or dead?" Crowley approached him, and put his arms out for a hug.

Aziraphale obliged. "Mostly dead. Which is good. I feel… well, glad to have had the experience – the event itself, the feelings and pleasures associated with it, to have made you happy, or tried to."

"Yeah?"

"Yes! I mean... just from the standpoint of sensation, personal gratification, enjoyment, excitement, et cetera, then... oh, it was explosive! Magnificent! I can see why you have always so enjoyed the trio!" He pulled away from the embrace. "But I'm apprehensive that things will never be the same for our friend, and our friendship with him, such as it was."

"I see."

"But I feel secure with you… is that what you're asking? Making sure I have no worries that you'd stray?"

"Well yeah, that's a factor... that question."

"I'm not worried. But if you do find that you want to stray…"

"I won't stray, Aziraphale," Crowley said, with a smirk.

"I'm just saying, you can tell me anything."

"Angel, just stop. It hasn't even been thirty-six hours. We don't need to start making plans for another go."

"Okay." There was a pause, then, "Well, how about you? Any particular feelings about Saturday night? Opinions?"

Crowley took a couple steps back, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was a bloody gorgeous evening."

"Oh, really? Got what you were aiming for?"

"Oh yes. And more."

"That's so good to hear. It was, after all, for you that I did it."

"I know. And I'm so lucky, angel – so very lucky. Which I realise more than ever now. I get to spend my nights, my days, my life with a coveted man. Who went to great lengths to make me happy."

A bell went 'ding' then, indicating someone walking into the shop.

"Hello, gents," said Craig Huling with a soft smile, stepping inside, cradling a vase of flowers. "How does this morning find you?"

"It finds us quite tranquil," Aziraphale said to him. "And you?"

"That's a complicated question," Huling replied, with a shy smile. Then he held out the flowers. "These are for you – the pair of you."

Crowley was standing a bit closer, so took the vase, and moved to set them down on the antique coffee table. It was a bouquet of deep red roses, mixed with white. A dozen of each.

Crowley felt strangely moved by them. He could not remember ever having been "moved" by flowers ever in his long, long life. His houseplants were a whole different business…

"They're beautiful, thank you," Aziraphale said. He then gestured to the yellow bouquet on his desk. "Actually, I'd bought an arrangement for you, too. I thought perhaps we'd stop by later and… well, actually, do what you're doing now."

"I thought you might," Huling said. "I decided to beat you to it."

"Oh?"

Huling sighed. "I wanted to be the one to reach out, and determine the manner of retreat, as it were. I might sound daft, but…"

"You wanted to set the tone for what comes next," Crowley said. "We get it. Better than standing about waiting for one of us to turn up, and say our piece to you, which could be… who knows what."

"Exactly," Huling confessed. He took a deep breath, and said, calmly, "So, I'm here to say three things."

"Three?" Aziraphale asked, sceptically, a bit nervous about what was coming next.

"Yes," Huling said. Then he smiled. "The first is, thank you. I had a wonderful time on Saturday night – better than I ever could have imagined. I am so glad I took a chance – and I mean that! There is a gambler inside of me who is dangerously exhilarated just now! So glad you talked me into it, Crowley."

"We are, too," Aziraphale whispered.

"The second thing I wanted to say is…" Huling continued. "Well, you might have thought I was acting a bit weird there at the end. I didn't know how to express myself then, but I've had a day to think about it."

"Yeah, we did notice," Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale, who nodded.

Huling said, "It's because, during the proceedings, I started to feel something… new."

"Like what?" Crowley wondered.

Huling took Aziraphale's hand for a moment, seemed to contemplate it, then dropped it again, and stepped back. Then, he addressed the bookseller directly. "From the moment I met you five years ago, I have been obsessing a bit over your excellent qualities. You are handsome, refined, intelligent, gentle, generous, sentimental, friendly… and, well, I could go on. And whenever I've been in your company, there's a certain… awe. Admiration. Desire, obviously. But with all of that has come the unpleasant feelings of unrequited coveting, such as nervousness, uncertainty, sadness.

"But being with the two of you the other night brought about a new revelation," Huling continued. "I saw something new, a quality in you that I had never noticed before, that I couldn't name. All night, I felt it in waves, something making you, if possible, more desirable to me, but also squeezing my heart in a way I couldn't explain even to myself."

"Did you ever work out what it was?" Aziraphale asked, his throat rather dry.

"Yes, toward the end. It was when you and Crowley got wrapped up in each other while I was…"

"Oh yes… behind me."

"Yes. I understood then. That quality is… well, for lack of a better way to put it, your capacity for great love."

"Oh… Craig…"

"Because yes, you were feeling pleasure. Yes, you were proving yourself to be sexually ravenous, and were doing delightfully depraved things all evening. And yes, I've seen a side to you that's manipulative and spoiled, but now I think I know where it all fits into your personality. I think it's all part of a lust for life, and with that comes, big, big, love. And I decided to take the opportunity to watch you swim in it. It was a profound thing to see… the two of you doing what you do. Making love. Bonding hard. Being together. Being in love. Clinging to one another and never letting anything truly get in the way. It's what everyone on Earth is looking for – well, most of us. And to see it in you, that love pouring out of you, and to see it so well-received… that was what was 'absolutely stunning' about the end of our night."

"Well… we'd been wondering," Aziraphale whispered. Though he knew it was rather an impotent thing to say in response to such powerful words.

"And while I find it painful because I now fully understand that you are out of my reach," Huling said, shifting his feet, and staring at the floor. "I was also grateful to have seen it, glad to know who you are at last, and reassured that I hadn't spent the last five years pining after a man who isn't worth the trouble."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Crowley stepped in, clumsily, and said, "This is… surprising. Erm… thank you for saying it."

Huling smiled at Crowley. "It's something you feel every day, but like a delectable dessert, it's nice when someone else validates how lucky you are."

"Well… yes."

"Craig, I really have no words…" Aziraphale whispered.

"There's a first," Crowley joked.

"You don't have to have words," Huling told him. "Just know that I know the truth, and I think it's beautiful."

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered.

"But," Huling said, with a big inhale, followed by a big exhale. "The sun is also beautiful."

"Erm… yes, and?"

"It's beautiful, but it's not something I look directly at, or I will be hurt."

"I see," Aziraphale said. Now it was his turn to shuffle his feet, and stare at the floor.

"So now, I'm to the third and final thing I came here to say," Huling announced. "You guys are great, but I'm going to need to keep a bit of distance for a while."

"Understood," Crowley said, because Aziraphale's jaw had dropped, and he was, again, speechless.

"I'm going to need to, erm… well, like Crowley said, set the tone for what happens next. What I would like is to pop by here now and then to say hello, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn't surprise me in my shop. I know that sounds unfair, but for my sanity, for the time being, that's the scenario that would work best for me."

"It's not unfair," Crowley assured him. "We get it. We will find a new cheese shop, until you tell us otherwise. And we'll hope to see you once in a while in the meantime."

Huling smiled. "I mean, we're neighbours, we can hardly avoid each other completely, forever. Wouldn't want to anyway."

Crowley smiled back. "Exactly – so, your way is best."

"I have to decide for myself when I'm up to seeing you guys. I can't be caught off-guard. I've got too much to lose."

"We understand," Crowley said, assuring him again. Then he nudged Aziraphale. "Don't we?"

"Erm, yes… and… oh, we're sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Huling said. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. I made this decision for myself. I was persuaded yes, but ultimately, the choice was mine to participate in something I knew would have consequences for me… and here they are."

"We can live with them," Crowley said. "Long as you can."

"I am genuinely glad to have got to be with you both. And every word I have ever said to either one of you has been the truth. Especially this morning. But this is how I'll have to proceed, just until I feel stable enough to go back to the way things were. Or maybe until I move onto something better. Who knows, maybe I can meet someone now, and actually give myself to them, instead of being gun-shy and hung up, and… well, anyway…"

"You might be pleased to know that we're headed to Mallorca in a couple of days," Crowley offered. "We're gone for three weeks, so we'll be completely out of your hair for a while."

"All right, well… safe travels," Huling said. "I'll come visit in a month or so, after you've had time to rest and recover." And he opened the door to leave.

"Oh, Craig," Aziraphale said, bustling toward the rolltop desk, lifting up the yellow bouquet, and coming back to the entryway with it. "You're forgetting these."

Huling put up one hand, and said, "I don't want to be rude, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not."

And with that, he stepped out the door, and pulled it shut behind him.

The two stood where they were for a moment, then Crowley said, "You know what? If I were him, I wouldn't want it either."

"Yes, I should have known that. Will you please clear the books off this display table? I'll put it here, for the time being."

Crowley stacked the books, then removed them all with one arm, and Aziraphale replaced them with the yellow bouquet. The books wound up plunked down somewhere indiscriminate, but the bookseller didn't seem to mind today.

Over lunch, Crowley got round to telling Aziraphale the news he had had that morning when he had first arrived at the bookshop. He had had a call from Laura Minahan, the estate agent he had been speaking with a couple months back. An amazing flat had just become available, with exposed brick and multiple fireplaces. Crowley had told her they wouldn't be able to make any decisions until after their holiday, but asked her to compile a list of places, with those qualities, that they could look at when they returned to London.

"Exposed brick? I find I quite fancy that idea," Aziraphale said.

"Yeah, me too," Crowely agreed. "It might be one of the few aesthetic things that appeals to both of our sensibilities. Plus… fireplaces? Come on!"

Aziraphale smiled widely, and said, "Well done, Crowley. I can't wait to begin contemplating the next chapter of our lives. One that reflects 'us,' rather than me living with you, and learning from you."

"I've learned plenty from you."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Crowley conceded with a wink.

Navigating the airport with Aziraphale turned out to be an examination of patience.

Which Crowley more or less failed.

Aziraphale's baggage was as fastidious as everything else about him, and he absolutely refused to use a rucksack as hand-luggage. This resulted in the check-in clerk calling her superior to find out whether they needed to charge an extra two hundred pounds to insure his antique train case, and his having to dig into a monogrammed satchel each time he was obliged to show his passport.

"Oh, for Somebody's sake, Aziraphale, would you please just put that in your pocket or something, so we don't have to go through this every six minutes?" Crowley whined, after they entered the line for security, passing a guard who asked to see their documents.

"I can't just put it in my pocket, that's where pickpockets love to pick! And I don't have the power to just make whatever they've taken reappear in my hand, now do I?"

"Pickpockets love to pick? What do you think this is, Oliver Twist? Okay, look, we're coming up on the main security checkpoint – this is the trickiest bit. If you don't do it right, you hold up the queue and everyone behind you will talk about you forever. So, you're going to have to put your satchel thingie on the conveyor belt, and then remove your shoes. Maybe not in that order."

"Remove my what?"

"Your shoes. It's a thing."

"I don't want to do that! Surely there must be a way around it."

"There isn't, unless you want to be interrogated by humourless guys with guns. I told you to wear those loafers you wore to Harrod's, but you didn't listen. Actually, I told you to wear about a third as many layers as usual, since we're on holiday, but you didn't listen to that, either. Or about the rucksack, or about buying a new case…"

"Yes, yes, I know – I'm tedious. You've made that abundantly clear," Aziraphale said, with a snooty eyeroll. "Now why do we have to remove our shoes? Are you messing me about because I've never done this before?"

"No! Look, angel, everyone is removing their shoes! It's because of that bloke eighteen years ago who… you know what? Never mind. We'll talk later. For now, just take off your shoes, put them in that tray there, and don't make a scene, or we'll be here all day. And we don't need anyone leading us to a locked room and picking through our identities with a fine-tooth comb, now do we?"

Crowley hadn't been what one might call a 'frequent flyer' over the past century, but he'd done it often enough to be familiar with the procedures, and how they changed. Miracling oneself from one country to another, under the best of circumstances, takes an enormous amount of energy, and raises red flags in both home offices. So for his visits to the Holy Land, China, the Americas, et cetera, the twentieth century had been awfully convenient with its wonderful flying machines.

The twenty-first century, however, had turned flying into a pain in the arse, and that's why they were here, removing their shoes, going through the rigmarole.

Aziraphale was sufficiently nervous to pay attention, do as told, and managed not to seem overly cagey moving through the metal detector.

Putting their shoes back on, sitting on a bench on the other side of security, they watched an agent remove a bottle of lotion from a woman's hand luggage, mildly chastise her in front of about twenty people, and drop it in the rubbish bin, almost with relish.

Crowley said, "See, now, aren't you glad we decided to buy our personal bottle of slippery when we get to our destination? What's more embarrassing… buying lube in a store, or THAT?"

"Yes, yes, you're very wise," Aziraphale said.

Ninety minutes later, they were finally on the plane, and Aziraphale was underwhelmed by the experience of being fastened in to a chair, sitting in rows with not much leg room, and not being able to see outside except through a tiny window, which the lady next to him had shut.

"Well, what were you expecting?" Crowley asked. "Laser beams? Fanfare?"

"I don't know. More comfort. A lounge?"

"Oh yeah, I miss those days," Crowley mused. "Next time, we'll go first class."

"Well, the flight isn't too long – we'll make do. Let's distract ourselves in conversation. So… what are you looking most forward to when we arrive?" Aziraphale asked, folding his hands in his lap, and looking expectantly at his partner to his left.

"To be honest, a shower."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," Crowley rather growled with a flit of the eyebrow. He then whispered, "Hopefully with company."

"Ah yes, well, I think that could be arranged," said the former angel, quite fussily, hoping no-one was listening. "Oh, have I told you, I found a Saturday morning yoga class on the beach?"

"Oh! That'll be interesting."

"Yes, and challenging! I'm looking very much forward to it! Which reminds me, did you pack some Ibuprofen for yourself? You know how you ache afterwards."

"Yes, I did. I also brought my laptop along so we can unwind with the Golden Girls, if we want."

Aziraphale laughed out loud. "That sounds, somehow, Heavenly!"

"Oh, shit! I forgot to pack those satin pyjamas!"

"I remembered them. Mine, and yours as well – don't worry."

"Aw, angel, what would I do without you?"

They grasped hands, but resisted the urge to have a short snog.

Just then, an announcement came over the tannoy that all passengers were to switch off their electronic devices. Crowley obliged by darkening his phone, and as he did so, he said, "Last night, I loaded this thing with, like, nine hours of new music."

"Oh, that's nice."

"All sorts of stuff. I've picked out a few rock bands that you might not completely detest, and I also downloaded the entire Beethoven songbook, as well as Chopin. And Karl Orff. Can't resist Orff."

"You would like Orff, wouldn't you?"

"Please, 'Carmina Burana' is on par with the angstiest of angsty, most sensual pieces of music ever created," Crowley agreed.

"No argument here."

"You packed your twenty-first century costume, right? I did see you shrinkwrap that leather jacket?"

"Yes, yes. I know it pleases you, so I brought a smattering of modern apparel. And you – suit?"

"Of course. I don't know if I can ever be without that suit again, truth be told."

"A wise sentiment, indeed," Aziraphale agreed, with a high giggle.

"Though," Crowley complained, tugging at the hair on the back of his neck. "I didn't have a chance to get back to Cédric's for a cut."

"Me neither."

"We should probably find someplace new anyway. In London, I mean, when we get back."

"Perhaps. Well, maybe we can find a good barbershop in the resort, or nearby."

The plane was on-time, and was now taxi-ing on the runway, preparing to speed up and soar.

They were pressed back into their seats with the speed, and Aziraphale dug his hand into Crowley's. It was a sensation, in spite of having been an angel, he had never experienced.

"Flying is very different when you're putting your very short life in someone else's hands," he commented.

"Don't worry – we'll be there in no time."

"Times like this, I miss the old state of things."

"Yeah?"

Aziraphale said, "Our life is wonderful now, and I do so enjoy being left alone to enjoy it as we like. Together. Not hiding from anyone. Indulging. Being spoilt and naughty, and getting all of our creature comforts under our skins."

"It has been amazing, hasn't it?"

"More so than I could ever have dreamed, Crowley. And that's down to you."

"No, no, it's down to us both," Crowley insisted, and they squeezed hands, and shared a moment of true closeness. Then, Crowley sighed. "But I know what you mean. So nice to be able to wave your hand, and the kitchen is clean. Not to have to worry about catching a disease, or buying petrol."

"Keep antiques in perfect condition. No decay of the body."

"Being able to drink buckets of wine if we want!"

And they both laughed.

A silence passed between them, and Aziraphale said, "If you'll remember, the Almighty did give us a choice."

"She did, yes," Crowley conceded. "I think about that sometimes. Do you?"

"Oh, yes. We have about six months left to think on it – what's your take?"

"Well, if we go back, then we'd be immortal again, and you and I would have a lot more than the next thirty or years, or whatever, to be together."

"But," Aziraphale countered. "We would always be looking over our shoulders, and wondering who is watching, and if things will eventually go back to the way they were in the old days, when we had to skulk about."

"Yeah, I know – that was rubbish. And we were, at least outwardly, just friends then. Think of the skulking we'd have to do, in order to get away with what we've been doing since then. I don't fancy that at all."

"On the other hand, if we went back, we might have the Archangel Michael on our side. She seemed willing to stand in our corner. And she's the only one of the lot of them who isn't a bloody cretin. Perhaps she could misdirect any surveillance, as a way of doing penance for giving us up to Gabriel before."

"I suppose it's worth contemplating," Crowley admitted.

"If we went back, you wouldn't have to get a job when we return from Mallorca," Aziraphale offered.

Crowley was quiet for a few moment, then he said, "If we stayed human, we could get married."

"Oh!"

"Just food for thought. We picked a pretty good time in history to… do what we're doing."

"Yes, I suppose we did," Aziraphale said, with a delighted smile, revealing that this possibility had never really occurred to him before.

Crowley inhaled sharply, then, "However, as this century is fond of saying, love is love. A marriage is a piece of paper. The one cannot change the other, for better or for worse."

"Love is love, yes, and marriage is a declaration. It's a seal. A promise. A psychological union, if nothing else, for a couple. And it's a way for friends to participate. All of which we could, admittedly, have without the piece of paper, but…"

"I was just thinking, after six thousand years of ducking and hiding, it might be nice to be official, you know?" Crowley said, lightly.

"It would be, yes. Very nice," Aziraphale agreed. Then he sighed heavily. "But I'm seeing this issue as a smallish cog in a very large, complex machine."

"Well, I'm up for it, if it's in the cards. But you're right, it's just one thing to consider in the great big grand scheme of things."

"Heaven and Hell, or the Earth?"

"To be, or not to be human?" Crowley sighed.

"An excellent question."

And they held hands until the plane reached a comfortable cruising altitude.

And that's it for "Creature Comforts." Hope you had as much fun as I did.

I am planning ONE more installment to this series... with Covid-19 becoming a part of our lives, the story is morphing, so I will have to work on the outline a lot before I can begin.

Before that, though, I have an idea for a one-off story involving Crowley and Aziraphale, and probably what they talked about that night when Crowley said, "You can stay at my place, if you like." And, I have a stories from other fandoms I'd like to post/finish up on.

I will be busy, and hope to see your comments and reviews in the future! Take care, everyone, and thanks SO MUCH!