Something about the trip to the bookshop freed Crowley. It freed him from his fear, his guilt his shame; it freed him from his reticence to give of himself to Azariah how he felt the librarian deserved. It freed him, too, of his hesitation to accept what Azariah gave of himself, and to embrace the life that seemed to be growing up around him like ivy. Bookshelves appeared in Crowley's flat, and a cat basket next to the fire. In Azariah's cottage, a drawer in the bedroom became populated with black clothing, interrupted here and there by something blue. Crowley's fridge acquired the necessities of life, and Azariah's kitchen expanded its selection of coffee and wine. Tug developed the smug aura of a cat with two beings utterly at his beck and call, and a distinctive meow for when he was specifically yelling at Crowley.
They dined at the Ritz for Valentine's Day, exchanging small gifts: a pair of fine knitted wristlets for Crowley with a geometric pattern in earthy tones, and a tin of book darts for Azariah, made of silver and graven with patterns of cats. They went on holiday to Skye, and made love in the flickering aura of a woodstove as a storm raged outside. They danced in the dim ambiance of a piano bar in SoHo, and in the Literature reading room after the library had closed, and in Azariah's kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. They read in communal silence, and sang along to the Muppet Show theme song. When they went to see a play in the West End and Azariah's eyes welled, Crowley pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve. When Crowley walked absently into corners and doorframes, Azariah was there to kiss his bruises. They slept at each other's sides or tangled in each other's arms as if they'd never lived apart.
Crowley continued to search the books. He no longer really expected to find anything, but it was his duty to Aziraphale to complete the task he'd started. He didn't know what he would happen if he did find something, or what he'd do then, but each book Crowley pulled from the library shelves was like the fulfilment of a holy promise, and the ultimate failure that now seemed inevitable meant much less than the act itself. He would not abandon Aziraphale, but nor would he allow his past to prevent him from having a future. The memories hurt, but they did him no harm, and Crowley learned to cherish them alongside his new, fledgeling life.
That morning, on a day when the first warm breaths of spring were beginning to make themselves known in the sunshine, Crowley drove Azariah to work. The librarian got out in front of the doors of the London Library and walked around the front of the car. Crowley leaned his head out the window to receive a quick see-you-later kiss, then drove off, lifting a hand in the rearview mirror. He drove back the way he'd come, and upon reaching Woodford, made the various stops throughout its villages that were required to do the food shopping. Azariah was very particular about which items came from where, so this included multiple shops and stops and a couple of far-flung neighbours. Crowley had become a familiar site throughout the town by now, and received a number of cheerful greetings on his travels, as well as assistance from a tiny, kindly old lady when she came across him in a shop staring over his glasses and scratching his head and trying to decipher the word aubergine in Azariah's beautiful, unnecessarily florid script.
Once all the goods were acquired, he made his way back to the cottage, backing the Bentley up to the front door. Loading up one arm with bags, he fumbled the keys from his pocket and opened the doors. Tug greeted him with a prolonged moooow from the stairs, peeking his head around the rail and flicking his tail.
"You stay where you are, or you won't get a single sardine off of me," Crowley threatened, glaring at the cat over his glasses. Tug hissed, but did as he was told. The temptation of the fish was stronger than that of the open door. Several trips later, Crowley had finished unloading the shopping and the kitchen counter was covered in things. True to his word, he dug through the stuff until he found a small tin of sardines, and spent several minutes feeding them one by one to a purring Tug. Once the little fish were gone and Tug had licked the oil from his fingers, Crowley washed his hands and went about putting everything away. Though he generally occupied and was quite content to serve in the role of chef's assistant, tonight Crowley was going to be attempting to cook dinner, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little nervous about it. After all, it wasn't that long ago he'd started eating regularly, much less trying to prepare food.
Sandra had once made a joke about Crowley being Azariah's kept man, and which they'd both rolled their eyes, knowing perfectly well that Crowley had his own means. But at the same time, Crowley found he didn't mind the description, and said as much to Azariah, grinning, and claiming that it was a better job title than man of leisure. The groceries put away, Crowley set about tidying the cottage, which was a much more extensive job than tidying his flat. For one thing, Azariah simply had more things, and they had a tendency to lie about. With much interference and no assistance whatsoever from Tug, Crowley tidied and cleaned by hand— though he did take breaks now and then to play with the cat, or scroll his phone with Tug on his lap. Eventually Crowley looked at his watched, and realized he'd better get going. Shutting Tug's yowling face behind the front door, he locked up and got back in the Bentley for the drive into the city.
Crowley arrived at the libraryshortly before closing, and wandered his way up to Literature, bounding up the spiral stairs when he saw Azariah on the gallery above. A cheeky thought entered his mind, and after stealing a quick hello kiss, he took Azariah by the hand and pulled him along the gallery, saying there was something he wanted to show him. Azariah protested that he had things to do before closing, but only weakly, and followed along. Crowley dragged him into Biography, darting his eyes about as he did so to make sure the section was empty, before darting into the empty, undocumented nook between bookcase. Crowley pressed Azariah against the back of one of the shelves and done in for a heated, hungry kiss. And mmph! noise from the librarian betrayed his surprise, but his fingers curling tight in Crowley's hair indicated his desire to continue. Only when one of Crowley's hands slid under his waistband did Azariah break away with a gasp.
"Naughty boy," he whispered, and Crowley grinned smugly.
"You love it."
"Mmm," Azariah raised his eyebrows, "Later, my dear." Crowley withdrew his hand, and leaned in for one final, delicate kiss before slipping out of the nook with a cackle. He could practically hear the rolling of Azariah's eyes behind him as the librarian followed behind. Trotting back down to the reading room, Crowley dropped into his usual chair to wait.
He'd almost been finished with the book he was previously reading, and after getting up again the reshelve it, Crowley sought out another. The walls of the reading room were lined with bookcases, these holding art, sculpture, and older, rarer books that were still out for general browsing.Crowley stalked along them, looking for something interesting, when he halted suddenly in front of one whose silver-gilded title had caught his eyes. Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings Who Walk the Earth.
"No way!" Crowley exclaimed softly, and drew it carefully off the shelf. Fascinated, he opened it and began to flick through the pages. It was indeed the edition he knew, although not scribbled up as many demons' were, and he wondered how the library could possibly have gotten a copy. Crowley walked slowly back down the room as he looked through the book, and was so engrossed that when he turned to make for his chair, he did not notice the edge of the rug. His toe hooked under it and he tripped. Lunging forward, Crowley manged to recover himself, but the book flew out of his hands. His arms flailed, hands scrabbling against nothing, and he just managed to catch it by the front cover. With an agonizing RRRRRRIP the cover parted from from the spine, and the rest of the book hung dangling from the bottom corner where the pages crunched up, barely hanging on.
"Shit," Crowley muttered, "shitshitshit!" Gathering up the pieces of the book in his hands, he furrowed his brow and gave an upward flick of his fingers. Instantly the book miracle itself back together. Good as new, he thought, turning the volume over in his hands. Pleased with this result, Crowley nevertheless thought he'd better not push his luck tonight, and turned to put the book back for now. And when he looked up, he saw Azariah, standing open mouthed, shock stamped all over his face, wide-eyed with something like fear as he raised one hand, fingers trembling, to point at the book.
"Wha— what was that?"