I do not own Good Omens.

I love it. So much.

The Man Who Fell

Crowley The Demon Gives Up. In.

They're back in the bookshop, surrounded by all the things the angel Crowley loves, well, loves.

So different from Crowley's old apartment.

Stacked and stuffed and cluttered.

So different, yet so comfortable.

Abzedodley will be quite happy here, he supposes.

It's over, he's lost. He doesn't know what else to do.

There is nothing else to do, nothing he can think of.

It's over then. That's it.

He sighs deep and heavy in his chest, all of the desperate fight gone out of him.

There's only thing left to do.

He'll think it's all been a dream. A fever of some kind.

He's ready to call up the 'miracle', if that's what one would want to call it.

The 'curse', whatever.

Bring it up from Hell with the snap of his fingers.

Give his friend peace, allowance to live out his days as he wishes.

Blissfully unaware of everything he once was, once had, once lost.

What will he do then, Crowley himself?

Haunt the bookshop, the coffee shop across the street?

On the street where you live?

Skulk about, watch from afar, pine day after day, wither slowly away?

Or maybe just leave, just go off by himself.

Where? Where would I go? What would I do?

Return to his most demon form, slither under a rock somewhere and shut out this world he has loved so completely until Heaven finally ends it all in holy flame and retribution?

He could leave, go off by himself to Alpha Centuri or some other distant space.

He's threatened it for centuries.

But I only ever wanted to go with him.

He's about to do it, end this last desperate attempt to get his angel back . . .

"You . . . you were so giddy out there."

. . . and just give up.

". . . in the middle of space."

Yeah. I know. Celestial joy, 'n all that.

"I remember."

Wot?

The voice behind him is quiet, the rising hysteria gone.

"Creating that nebula, charging it up, setting it into motion. You were . . . effervescent with joy, with wonder, creation. I . . ."

Aziraphale's face is a mixture of emotions as Crowley turns and beholds him.

". . . I thought you were the most perfect being I'd ever seen. I loved you from the moment I saw you, Crowley, I adored you completely. You . . ."

Heart hammering so hard it feels like it may burst this corporeal form.

"You were, and always have been, a marvel to me. A complete and utter marvel."

And Aziraphale is nearly luminescent with transcendence.

"That was why I was so adamant about us going back to Heaven together, you see, because . . . because I thought that was the last time I ever saw you truly, unabashedly happy and . . . and I wanted to give that back to you. As well as do good in Heaven, of course."

Tears are forming in his eyes.

"I . . . I let myself get . . . swept up, taken away."

Rolling now down his generous cheeks.

"And I'm sorry, Crowley. I am so very sorry. Please . . ."

And Crowley the Demon feels tears rolling down his.

"Please, I . . . I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, not in the least bit, but . . ."

Behind his shield of dark glasses.

". . . in my deepest, darkest, bastard of hearts, I hope you can consider trying."

And then, much more gently but no less desperately . . .

"Because I don't want to lose you twice."

. . . Aziraphale closes the space between them.

Carefully removes those heavy, black sunglasses.

Revealing huge, perfectly golden, serpentine shaped eyes.

Filled with hopeful, heartbroken tears.

"That would be worse . . ."

Reaches up on wing-tipped toes.

". . . than enduring Heaven and Hell combined."

And kisses him.

They stay together in this moment for quite some time.

Relishing the human experience of touching, of kissing.

Of loving something, someone more than anything else.

Finally they break apart, separate, neither quite sure of what they do going forward.

Just two ethereal, eternal beings with nothing left but forever together.

It's Aziraphale, the Formerly Supreme Archangel and Leader of All the Heavenly Hosts who speaks first.

Blushing, smiling a little.

"I, uh, . . ."

Attempting some sort of levity in all this.

". . . I suppose it's my turn again for the 'I Was Wrong' Dance then?"

Causing Crowley's sharp, angular face . . .

"No, no, it's not it's absolutely not, Aziraphale, not ever. But . . ."

. . . to nearly crumple all over again . . .

". . . what would you say to . . ."

. . . before drawing himself back together.

". . . an extremely alcoholic dinner . . ."

With an even better offer.

". . . at the Ritz?"

And Aziraphale's seems overwhelmed with emotion at ultimate forgiveness and unconditional love.

"Oh Crowley, . . ."

Something neither angel nor demon ever experience at any time.

". . . that would be wonderful."

Good ending, right?

Mmm, not quite.

;)