"Crowley," the voice breathed; then it cried, "oh Crowley, Crowley!"
Before Crowley knew what was happening arms had been thrown around his neck and his lips captured in a kiss of stunning force. In a tangle of limbs and jacket and rain-drenched bodies they stumbled against the wall. Without thinking, without realizing he was doing it, Crowley transported them to the cottage. The arms were still latched around his neck as they appeared before the hearth, and as he was released he manged to rid himself of the jacket still tangled around his hands. They separated, and he gaped at the figure before him, who was still beaming,
"Aziraphale?" Crowley repeated, then immediately second guessed himself, "Azariah?"
"Yes," the figure replied.
"Wait. What? What?" Reeling, Crowley staggered back and tripped, falling onto the sofa. The jumper-clad figure rushed to him and fell to his knees, seizing Crowley's hands as he knelt between his legs.
"Yes, Crowley, yes, it's me, it's me, it's always been me." Crowley stared into the face looking up at him, and Aziraphale stared back.
"What," Crowley said again, his voice barely audible. The hands holding his squeezed tightly, grounding him in reality, in the enormity of what had just happened, "What," Crowley said a final time, now able to stammer out a few more words, "do you remember?"
"Everything, Crowley. I remember everything." Aziraphale said his name the same way Azariah said Anthony. How had he never noticed that before? "Every second since you walked into the library, and more. I didn't know I was there then, but now that I am, it's all here," Aziraphale pressed Crowley's hands to his forehead, and against his fingers Crowley could feel the damp on Aziraphale's cheeks.
"Is it really you," he said hoarsely, "Ang—" Crowley stopped, but Aziraphale's grip tightened.
"Yes," he said, bringing Crowley's hands to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, "yes. Anthony, please. Please call me angel."
"Angel," Crowley rasped, sitting forward, his eyes, roving over Aziraphale like he thought he might vanish, like he still wasn't sure he was real. "Angel." Aziraphale raised one hand and rubbed across Crowley's cheek, the thumb brushing just under his eye, and Crowley felt something wet. He hadn't realized tears had been running silently down his face.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said, and his face turned serious as his hand fell to Crowley's again, "Crowley, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you like that. I should've told you," Crowley could feel Aziraphale's hands shaking, "I should've just told you. I love you. I've always loved you. I only wanted to keep you safe, and I got it wrong." Aziraphale's eyes were limpid with hope and regret as he stared up at Crowley. "Can you forgive me?"
Crowley untangled his hands. He seized both sides of Aziraphale's face and brought his mouth down hard, trying to pour his forgiveness and elation and everything else he was feeling into the kiss; every heightened and perilous thing he felt he could never put into words, everything he'd been holding back for centuries, aeons, since before time itself, until they broke apart with a mutual gasp.
"But how," Crowley breathed, still holding Aziraphale's face, "How? How, how are you— how— Azariah—" he was gabbling. Aziraphale pushed himself up and slid onto the couch beside Crowley, tucking one leg up so he could sit sideways, facing him.
"It's complicated," Aziraphale began, brows furrowing, "But also, the simplest thing in the world. I—" he pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead, closed his eyes, and laughed slightly. "It's a bit mixed up in here, if I'm honest. I am Azariah, Crowley. Azariah is me. I— I wasn't exactly there, I didn't know it. You know I wasn't there. But, really, it was me all along. Me, free from fear. From Heaven. Free from being an angel. Free to be on my side, our side."
"And you remember—"
"Everything." Aziraphale scooted closer, letting one hand rest on Crowley's knee, as if unable to bear not to touch him. "Everything that happened between you and Azariah is part of me. This cottage, the library… everything. In every way that matters, we are the same person. Anthony—" This time Aziraphale stopped, as if the shape of the word was strange in his mouth.
"Go on," Crowley pulled his legs up onto the couch, turning towards Aziraphale, "I'm used to it now. I like it." Aziraphale's eyes crinkled deeply.
"Anthony," he repeated, the name now a vessel of comfort, stroking back the stray lock of hair that had fallen into Crowley's face, "I know it's going to take some time for us to get used to this. To reconcile these two lives we've led together. But… I hope you want to spend that time with me."
"Oh, angel." It came out of Crowley like a sigh, his eyes fixed on Aziraphale, drowning in his light. Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley's forehead, then murmured against it,
"Shall I make some tea, my dear?"
Crowley nodded weakly. Aziraphale extracted himself from the sofa and disappeared from view. Crowley slumped back against the arm of the couch, his mind still spinning with revelations, heart pounding, and feeling as if anything else might make him fly apart. He could hear Aziraphale moving about the kitchen, running water, putting on the kettle, retrieving mugs. It was that moment that Tug chose to appear, having been surprisingly absent until now. First his tail appeared, its end flicking up over the end of the couch, then he jumped up onto it, and climbed onto Crowley's lap. Putting two paws on his chest with a mrow, Tug settled himself into a loaf, and began to purr. Crowley's arms wrapped around the cat.
Aziraphale returned a few moments later with two steaming mugs of tea, and handed one to Crowley. The warm, earthy liquid flowed down Crowley's throat, calming and warming him from the inside, just as the cat had from the outside. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Tug stirred. The cat stood up and stretched, arching his back towards the sky as he yawned, then made a tight turn on Crowley's stomach, and padded off of him to sit on the cushion between him and Aziraphale. Tug considered Aziraphale, tilting his head from side to side, sniffing, and twitching his whiskers. There was something different about his person. There was more of him. Decision made, Tug stepped daintily over Aziraphale's tucked-up leg, settled onto his lap, and resumed purring.
If there was any sign that what Aziraphale had said was true, it was that. There was no better judge of who their person was than a cat. Crowley realized he was smiling, and looked up to see Aziraphale looking at him, doing the same. Then Crowley shivered.
"Oh!" Aziraphale flicked his fingers at the fireplace. Nothing happened. Both of them stared into the empty grate, then at Aziraphale's hand, then at each other. Rapidly processing what had just happened, Crowley realised something else that had passed him by in the whirlwind of shock and emotions.
"Angel," he said, putting a hand on his chest, "I can't feel you. I still can't feel you. What—"
"Still human," Aziraphale said quietly, still looking down at his hand. "Hmm."
"But Azi—" Crowley stopped himself again, this time for the opposite reason. The smile returned to Aziraphale's face.
"Go on," he said, echoing Crowley, "I'm used to it now. I like it."
"Azi," Crowley said seriously, "how can you still be human? Your head would explode."
"I don't know," Aziraphale contemplated his hand again, "But my head seems to be fine. Nevermind, I can do it the old-fashioned way." He started to get up, but Crowley forestalled him, flicking his own fingers at the fireplace, where a blazing fire sprang immediately to life.
"Angel, I don't understand. How— what happened up there? You disappeared from existence, everyone thought you'd been wiped from the Book of Life, I thought you'd been erased, and then you reappear as a human with a whole life? How is any of that possible?"
There was a long pause as Aziraphale stared down at the couch, stroking Tug. Then he took a drink of his tea, and set it aside.
"It might be easier if I show you." He stretched his hands out. Crowley sat up, scooting closer until with a slight lean his head was between Aziraphale's hands. He looked up, meeting Aziraphale's eyes, and nodded. Aziraphale touched his fingertips to Crowley's temples.