Slowly, carefully, they started over.

They'd gone to coffee that afternoon, and when Charlene brought two forks with Azariah's cake, he nudged one over to Crowley. In the same dim corner where they'd first drunk coffee together, they talked quietly of angels, demons, and miracles. Azariah's fear and confusion had become tempered by curiosity, and he was full of questions. It was the scale of his own mystery that was the most difficult for Azariah, and hand in hand with that, the scale of Crowley's existence compared to the human one he knew. Crowley did his best to answer. He noted that Azariah mostly avoided asking questions about Aziraphale, but wanted to know all about Crowley's history. It was often difficult to talk about one while avoiding the other, but Crowley didn't want to push hearing more about Aziraphale on Azariah before he was ready. In spite of this, it was a relief to open himself, to share, to not be afraid of revealing his past.

The next week, they were sitting on the bench in St. James's Park, just as they had done the first time they'd gone there together. They'd been for a walk, and just spent some time feeding the ducks and harassing others about their bread use. Crowley had already told Azariah about this bench being where he and Aziraphale used to meet, and now he told him of how he'd been coming here since the park was built, watching the ever-revolving cast of spies move in and out. They looked over at each other during a lull in the conversation, and this time it was Crowley who began to move, and Azariah who responded. But this time, no one jumped up in distress, and their lips met softly, a first tentative reunion. Both smiled as they parted, but then Azariah's forehead crinkled.

"Anthony, I feel like I have to ask," he said, and there was a reticence in his tone, "Did you— did you and Aziraphale ever do this here?"

"No," Crowley shook his head, "No, we only did this once. Not here. And, it wasn't... like this. It just was before he left for Heaven, and," he sighed, "I was trying to get him to stay. We never kissed like this," Crowley looked back to Azariah, "That's new, with you. Everything… physical, is new, with you." The smile returned to Azariah's lips.

"Do it again," he murmured, "Please. Right now." Crowley didn't need to be told twice.

When Crowley returned to Azariah's cottage for the first time, Tug leapt into his arms at once, and Crowley found himself crooning in to the cats fur as he purred like a motor, rubbing his head all over Crowley's face. Crowley only let go of Tug to hand him to Azariah, who sat on the edge of the landing at the bottom of the stairs and held the cat as Crowley moved to the middle of the room, and carefully unfurled his wings. Tug stared, for once in his life struck dumb. Then, as Crowley reached a wing towards him, squirmed one paw free and reached up, trying to bat at his feathers. This made both Crowley and Azariah laugh, and they concluded that they wouldn't have to worry about Tug being frightened of Crowley's wings.

Then, somewhat shyly, Crowley transformed into his shape as the serpent of Eden. He shrank to the floor, an enormous black snake with scarlet scales on its belly, and his same yellow eyes. This did cause Tug to yowl, and Azariah barely managed to hang on to him as he too reacted with astonishment. He'd believed Crowley, and had asked to see him in this form, but it happening before his eyes was unreal. As Crowley slithered towards the stairs, he shrank, until he was a much more reasonable size, about the same as a ball python. Winding himself around the banister, he climbed it until he was on a level with Tug, and stuck his head out towards the cat. Tug hissed. Crowley hissed back. Tug raised one paw to bat at Crowley's head. Crowley dodged, and shot forward to boop Tug's nose with his own. The cat reared back, wrinkling his nose. Then, apparently, Tug decided that this was just another strange thing his second person did, and settled back down in Azariah's lap. Azariah was practically crying with laughter at this point, and Crowley took the opportunity to rest his head on the librarian's shoulder and slither across, wrapping his body around Azariah's shoulders before sliding around to his face, forked tongue darting out to flicker against his cheek.

One day, when Crowley was methodically searching the books, Azariah had come up behind him, and asked what exactly it was he was looking for. It'd been the first time he'd asked anything about Crowley's search, despite giving his blessing for it to continue. Crowley shrugged, and said he wasn't exactly sure. This was entirely unsatisfactory for Azariah, who had protested that surely Crowley must have some idea. Crowley explained about Gabriel and Beelzebub, the fly, and the idea of a container that could hold the entirety of a celestial consciousness. He was sure he would know if he found it, that there would be some sign, but what, he'd never known. And how to open the container? He didn't know that either. But Gabriel had had to open his, so he was sure that even if he did find it, nothing was going to happen without Azariah being involved. As Crowley explained this last part, vehemence in his voice, Azariah had rested his chin on Crowley's shoulder.

The mundane crept back into their lives, simple and sweet. They ran errands together, took walks in the park, tidied Aziraphale's cottage.They appeared together in Woodford, and ran into egg-delivering Joseph's parents, whom they assured that nothing whatever was wrong, for they'd been dying of gossip-induced anticipation since the child had run home panting that Mr. Feld had shouted at him. This in turn allowed Crowley to pry the story out of Azariah, who repeated it with flaming face. They drove here and there in the Bentley together, and painstakingly fixed Crowley's broken-down espresso machine by hand, when Azariah insisted he could do it without miraculous intervention.

Then one night in Crowley's flat, Azariah asked a question he'd been holding back. It was dark outside, and the fire and table lamp were the only light in the living room, where Crowley lay stretched out on the rug before the hearth, and Azariah sat at his side. As Crowley lounged with his arms behind his head, half-asleep, Azariah leaned onto one hand and tilted his head slightly.

"Anthony," he said.

"Mmm," Crowley replied, lazily opening his eyes.

"Why did Aziraphale go back to Heaven?"

Wide awake now, Crowley stared up at Azariah. There was curiosity in his eyes as there had been in his voice, but also a strange kind of pain. Crowley took a deep breath.

"Well, you remember I told you, the Metatron asked him to be the new Supreme Archangel."

"Yes."

"And he said yes. I don't know exactly why, it was so wrong, I couldn't believe it when he told me. He said the Metatron said he could bring me, make me an angel again."

"And you said no?"

"I didn't want to be part of that system again. Heaven, Hell, it's all the same," Crowley stared at the ceiling, brows pinching together as he spoke, "But Aziraphale insisted. What he told me was, was that with him in charge, we could do good. Make a difference, set things right, change how Heaven operates, make things better for everyone. He was like that, always trying to see the best in everything and everyone. I told him no, I tried to get him to say no, to stay— to stay with me, to just be us, I tried… I tried to tell him how I felt. But he left. And I guess I'll never really know why."

The light touch of a hand on his forehead distracted Crowley, and his eyes flicked back to Azariah. The librarian was brushing the hair back from Crowley's face, and his fingers ran through the scarlet curls tenderly.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't you."

"I know, but I'm sorry you had to go through that." Azariah bent down at kissed Crowley. Lightly at first, then more deeply, letting his elbow fall to the ground and his weight press into the kiss as he leaned over Crowley.Crowley's chin tilted up to meet Azariah at this new angle, and his long fingers found their way to the back of the librarian's neck, sliding up into the pale curls at his nape. Azariah sighed and shifted his lips, kissing the corner of Crowley's mouth, then his neck, his temple, the bridge of his nose, before returning to his mouth with lips flushed and hot. Azariah's chest settled on Crowley's, and Crowley emitted a small noise of longing, pulled from him without his control. He'd missed this so much. He returned Azariah's kiss with equal heat, his fingers sliding up higher and tightening in the blonde curls, his other hand reaching around to grip Azariah's back, pulling them tighter together.

Azariah gasped when Crowley's hand tightened in his hair, the pulling sensation on his scalp sending electricity through his body. His separation allowed Crowley to dive into Azariah's neck, kissing his pulse point, nipping lightly at the delicate skin, feeling the rush of blood beneath the pale skin. The hand on Azariah's back ran down to the bottom of his shirt and slid under it, Crowley's fingernails lightly gracing their way up the skin of his back. Azariah shuddered.He clasped Crowley's lips with his own again, sucking Crowley's bottom lip briefly between his front teeth, before releasing it and trailing his lips over the peak of Crowley's nose to his forehead.

"I need you," Azariah whispered, dropping his lips to Crowley's ear. As he shifted one leg inside of Crowley's, Crowley could feel the hard bulge inside Azariah's trousers pressing against his thigh.

"Are you sure?" Crowley asked, putting one hand on the side of Azariah's face and pushing him up slightly to look into his eyes, "Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to—"

"Yes," Azariah said, staring down at Crowley with a hunger like he'd never seen before, "Yes, Anthony. I need you. I want you. I told you to be as you are with me and—" Crowley had shifted slightly, and Azariah groaned at the movement of the high between his legs, "—I meant it. I mean it. I want every bit of you, as you are." A flicker of doubt damped the fire in Azariah's eyes. "...if you still want me?"

"Yes," Crowley pulled Azariah's face back down and kissed him deeply, flexing his leg to push his thigh against Azariah's groin, causing him to groan into Crowley's mouth. "Yes," Crowley repeated into the heated space between their faces as he pulled back, "Yes, Azi, I want you. Every bit of you. As you are."