(A/N: Sorry for the lengthy delay! I had some computer troubles, but thankfully they've all been sorted out.)
After hearing nothing at all from Crowley all day Thursday, Aziraphale was getting nervous. Just what was it the demon had planned for them?
He had a steady stream of customers in the shop all day Friday, mostly looking for gifts for Valentine's Day. Aziraphale had made a display of romantic books at the front of the shop[1], and these drew most of the attention, but some sought bestsellers or classics as well as the newer stuff.
At five of five he ushered the last customer out of the shop and rushed through the closing tasks. What normally took him fifteen minutes was done in six and a half. He rushed upstairs to change, but a new problem presented itself: what exactly had Crowley meant by "something nice"?
The gold waistcoat with the camel jacket and brown trousers? Was that nice enough? Good Lord, was Crowley bringing him to a black-tie establishment? What was the dress code?
He went back and forth for almost half an hour, torn between the camel jacket and the brown silk, and in the end decided to go with his original choice and hope the place wasn't too fancy. Shoes! He should wear his good shoes, not the dusty old everyday ones. Now where had he put them last time he had taken them off?
As he was bending down to check under the bed again, he heard the outer door open and slam. "It's me, angel!" Crowley called out.
"Yes, hang on, I'm just trying to find my shoes!" There they were, in the space between the closet and the bed. He untied them meticulously (and how tired had he been that he hadn't even bothered untying his shoes before removing them?) and then slipped them on, knotting them as quickly and efficiently as possible.
He came out to find the demon lounging on the sofa, his usual jacket upgraded to something with shiny lapels and a tie knotted around his neck. Aziraphale suddenly felt a bit underdressed.
"Um, is this . . . what I'm wearing, is it all right?" He turned around slowly so that Crowley could get the full effect.
"Yeah, it's fine."
"You're not looking properly!"
"Angel, I saw it! You look great."
Aziraphale smiled. "You're looking rather dapper yourself. Shall we go?"
"Our reservation isn't till six-thirty. We've got time."
"Oh, so we have a reservation, have we? Somewhere elegant?"
"You'll see when we get there. And then the curtain goes up at eight."
"Curtain?" Now Aziraphale was intrigued. "Are we going to see a show as well?"
"Not just any show. Something you'll really like."
"And this took you all day yesterday to prepare?"
"No, what I needed all day to prepare comes at the end of the night. Pack a bag; you're not coming back here tonight. Just a change of clothes should do."
"Really, you needn't have gone to all this trouble. I didn't even get you a card!"
"Don't need one." Crowley waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not doing this because I expect something in return. I just wanted us to go out and do something different, for one night. It just happened to fall on Valentine's Day. Don't read too much into it."
Aziraphale wasn't fooled. For all his professed disdain for the traditional day of love and romance, the demon loved doing something nice for his angel. "Well, thank you for going to all this trouble just for me. This is going to be a hard act to follow, I can tell."
"Don't worry about it. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy yourself. Let's go."
It was a nice restaurant, not quite as fancy as the places they usually went, but a step or two above the everyday. Aziraphale was surprised to find that they were not the best-dressed people in the place.
"It's a big night," Crowley told him as they were seated. "Biggest restaurant booking date of the year. Some places are all booked up months in advance."
"Months? You've been planning this for months?"
"Since Christmas, anyway. When I bought the tickets, I walked past this place, and I thought it would be nice for us to get a bite to eat before the show. It's not too casual for you, is it? I didn't want to have to wait until after the show to eat."
"No, no, it's very nice. A little change of pace."
A waitress dressed all in red with heart-shaped earrings dangling from her lobes brought them menus. "Happy Valentine's Day," she greeted them. "What can I get you to start?"
"You look very nice, my dear," Aziraphale said.
"Well, thank you! Would you like some drinks to start with?"
"Yes, I think we'll need a minute, thanks."
"What's this 'Valen-tini?'" Crowley inquired.
"It's a pomegranate martini, our special holiday drink of the day. Would you like to try it?"
"Oh, I don't-"
"That sounds lovely," Aziraphale interrupted. "Yes, we'll take it."
As soon as she was gone, Crowley turned to Aziraphale and said, "I'm not sure I want to try a pomegranate martini. Sounds a bit too frou-frou for me."
"Well, just taste it. If you don't like it, you can order something else."
"Fine."
"Have you figured out what you want to eat yet?"
"No, I'm still looking. Have you?"
"I think I might have the veal. It's been so long since I've had veal. Either that or the fish."
"They have fish? What kind?" Crowley flipped through the menu, which was only four pages long, searching for the seafood dishes.
"It's under 'Catch of the Day,' at the bottom here." The angel helpfully pointed it out on his own menu. "They have shrimp. You like shrimp."
"Do they? Oh, nice. All right then."
The waitress came back with their drinks, which were pink and came in cone-shaped glasses, fortunately without little umbrellas poking out of them. Crowley refused to drink anything that came with a little umbrella in the glass. It just wasn't dignified.
"Are we ready to order yet?" she asked them.
There was an awkward moment when Aziraphale and Crowley stared at each other, each waiting for the other to go first.
The angel blinked first. "I'm sorry, I suppose I should start. I'll have the veal. No, wait, the chicken. No, no, definitely the veal. Then again-"
Crowley rolled his eyes and said, "He'll have the veal, I'll have the shrimp. And a scotch on the rocks."
"Are you sure I shouldn't have the chicken?"
"You're getting the veal and that's final. You'll love it. Make that scotch a double, will you, love?"
The meal was lovely. After it was over and both plates had been scraped clean, Aziraphale declared that he was more than satisfied with the veal.
"Although I think the chicken would have been excellent as well."
"Maybe next time we come, you can have the chicken. Right now, we have to leave or we'll be late for the performance."
"Performance? Oh, is it a play, then?"
Crowley said nothing; his mile-wide grin said it all. "Let's go, angel."
They made it to the theater with a scant ten minutes until the show began. It wasn't the Globe Theater[2], but it was very nice and had real velvet on the seats. And their seats were close enough to the stage that they could see all the action, but not so close to the orchestra pit that they would be deafened by the music.
"It's a musical, then?" the angel asked.
"It's . . . a modern interpretation of a classic Shakespeare play," Crowley told him.
"Oh? Which one?"
"I suppose now we're here, I might as well tell you. As You Like It."
"Really?" Aziraphale's whole face lit up. "That's one of my favorites."
"I told you I like the funny ones."
"I hope they don't modernize it by throwing a lot of filthy language and unclothed bodies into it."
"No, no, it's very high-class."
"Oh, good."
The lights went down, and the music started. As the play began, Aziraphale leaned over and whispered, "This really is a wonderful surprise. It was worth waiting for."
"Oh, we're not done yet, angel," the demon said, his words an enticing hiss in the darkened theater. "You just wait and see what happens next."
Aziraphale started to ask what he meant by that, but once the first player took the stage, he was lost in the beautiful words, and the music that complemented them perfectly. And there weren't any dirty words or bare bottoms at all.
During the intermission, he and Crowley went out to the lobby with the rest of the audience. They had no need to use the restroom, but Aziraphale wanted to see if he could get another program. (He wanted a clean copy to keep as a souvenir; the one he'd been given upon entry was full of notes and margin jottings.)
"Heeeey!" a voice called out. "Snake man!"
Crowley looked around, terrified. "How did they find me here?"
Aziraphale spotted the young man who'd been at the demonstration that afternoon, along with the girl who'd bought the Jane Austen book. "I think he means me. Oh, hello! Fancy meeting you here."
"Well, y'know, Valentine's Day. First date. First official date, anyway. We go to the same college, but never talked to each other till today."
"Really?"
"We ran into each other in front of your shop," the girl said. "Found out we had two classes together, and one of 'em's Literature. So you'll be seeing a lot more of us from now on."
"Well, that's wonderful."
"Specially on Wednesdays," said the boy. "That snake is amazing!"
"I'll be sure to pass along to him that he has an admirer," Aziraphale promised, though there was no need as Crowley was right beside him.
The crowd started moving toward the main doors, and the angel said, "Oh, looks like the performance is starting again. We'd better go inside. Enjoy your date."
"You, too," the girl said, and the two young people disappeared into the throng before Aziraphale could correct her.
He turned to Crowley. "Imagine that. They thought we were on a date. Isn't that funny?"
Crowley gave him a look. "Angel, what do you think we're doing here?"
"Watching a play?"
The demon shook his head. "Come on, let's go find our seats."
Aziraphale followed him inside, and they returned to their seats just as the curtain went up again. However, he found it hard to concentrate on the familiar words because his mind was all in a whirl.
A date? Really? I mean, it's not as if we're . . . are we? We're friends! And it took us nearly five millennia to get to that point! I mean, we're not really-
Crowley nudged him, but gently. "You're missing it," he whispered.
"Oh. Sorry." The angel turned his attention back to the play. Well, so what if it was a date? He was enjoying it. It was the first time the two of them had seen a Shakespeare play together since . . . well, since the Bard himself was still writing. Good heavens, that was over four hundred years ago! Hardly any time at all for an immortal being, but it was four times a human lifetime. No wonder they were always rushing from one thing to another; they had so little time to get everything done.
It wasn't until the play was over, the lights had come up, and they were getting into the car that Aziraphale remembered the date/not date business.
"So if this is a date," he said, "what does that mean for us?"
"Hmm?" Crowley turned to him, and only when Aziraphale yelped for him to watch the road did he turn back in time to just miss colliding with a double-decker bus. "What do you mean, what does it mean?"
"Are you expecting anything from me, in return for this magnificent evening you have provided me?"
"You mean sex?"
"No!" The angel's eyes nearly fell out of his head. "I mean, we're not built for that. Nor do we have any desire to . . . to procreate."
"Hold that thought, angel. Wait till you see what happens next."
"What is happening next?" Aziraphale looked out the window and saw unfamiliar scenery flashing by. "Where are we going?"
"Out of the city. Away for the weekend."
"Away where?"
"In case you've forgotten, we do own a rather charming farmhouse in the country."
"Ah. No, I hadn't forgotten. We're going there?"
"There's something I want to show you. You'll love this. I hope."
"It's not rose petals scattered on the floor and a bubble bath for two, is it?"
"No! Where d'you get your ideas? It's nothing like that. You'll see."
The old farmhouse looked exactly as it had when they had spent Christmas there. At least, on the outside.
Well, almost the same, Aziraphale noted. "Have we got chickens now?"
"What?"
"The chicken coop's been repaired and painted. Have you brought the chickens in yet?"
"Not yet," Crowley told him. "I was thinking maybe in the spring. Course, we'd have to either be living here full-time or else hire someone to take care of them."
"I don't want to have to sell the shop just yet. Not when I'm starting to do some good. You were very popular, my dear."
"I know. We'll commute until it gets to be too much of a bother."
They unlocked the door and stepped inside. The plants in the kitchen had multiplied until they filled every corner.
"Did you bring all your plants over?" Aziraphale asked.
Crowley shrugged. "Most of 'em. The rest I'll plant out in the yard once it gets warm enough. I've got the perfect spot picked out. Now, come upstairs. This is what I really want to show you."
They climbed the stairs and made their way to the end of the hall. Aziraphale couldn't resist a peek inside his bedroom.
The bed was gone. In the space where the bed had been was a large desk with a computer setup and a stand for what looked like a large phone. More bookshelves had been set up, standing empty waiting to be filled.
"What's this?"
"Oh, I moved the bed out because you never sleep in your own bed. You either sit up reading in the chair, or you share with me. So I thought it was foolish to keep a bed you never use."
"It looks like you moved the office in here. So what's happened to my office?"
The demon's face lit up. "That," he said, "is what I have to show you."
The third door, just before the bathroom, was closed. Crowley opened it with a wave of his hand. He led the way inside, stopping about halfway into the room and twirling around like a dancer.
"Well? Well?"
"Well what?" Then Aziraphale looked around.
The walls had been repainted a soft green. There was a framed print of pastel zoo animals on one wall, a Yellow Submarine[3] poster on the other. The room was empty of furniture as yet, but the carpet had been replaced with something yellow and very thick.
"It looks a bit like Warlock's nursery," he observed.
Crowley just smiled.
"You don't mean-"
"I know I should have spoken with you first, but I wanted to get the ball rolling, because these things take years sometimes. I put in an application at an adoption agency."
Aziraphale was speechless.
"I told them we'd take whatever child needed us most. An older child, a special needs child, whatever. That's why I didn't put in a bed or a crib or anything, till we know what we need. We may end up with a teenager and have to redo the whole room."
The angel was still staring at him, open-mouthed. "You did all this yourself?"
"Yeah, I had to, if I wanted to keep it a secret. Why? Did you want to help?"
"Of course I want to help! I want to be part of this, too! Did you put the application in both our names, or just yours?"
"Both. Oh, by the way, we're married now. For legal purposes, anyway. Otherwise it would have taken three times as long-what? What is it?"
The angel was laughing. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . this evening started off not even being a date, and now it's ending with us married."
"Only on paper."
"Paper or not, you've got to admit that things have escalated rather quickly."
"I still go too fast for you?" Crowley couldn't resist.
Aziraphale smiled. "Yes, you do, but it's part of what makes you, you, and I wouldn't change it for the universe. You're a wily old serpent and I love you."
There. It had been said. For the first time, the actual words had been uttered. Now all he had to do was wait to see how they would be received.
Crowley took off his glasses so that his yellow, slit-pupiled eyes were staring directly into Aziraphale's blue ones. "I know," he said. "I love you, too."
And that was it. They didn't need hearts and flowers. A simple declaration would do for them; it was all they needed.
Aziraphale put the kettle on, Crowley lit a fire, and they spent the rest of the evening watching a television program that wasn't the slightest bit romantic.[4]
Then they went to bed.[5]
[4] It was a murder mystery, and not many people find murder very romantic.
[5] To sleep, not . . . whatever it is you were thinking.
[3] Crowley would never admit to liking the Beatles, but he had all their albums, in every medium in which they had been published.
[1] Although he refused to carry anything too explicit, there was some erotica represented.
[2] Which was quite some distance away; making it there in ten minutes would have required a major miracle.