"So open your eyes and see
The way our horizons meet
And all of the lights will lead
Into the night with me
And I know these scars will bleed
But both of our hearts believe
All of these stars will guide us home"
/
Crowley still felt awkward when he tried to pray. No wonder, since he'd been out of practice for millennia. It was like rebuilding a broken radio from scrap and trying to find a channel. Most of the time he got static, only to be surprised by a wildly gorgeous guitar riff when he least expected it. He didn't know if God was busy or if he, Crowley, was just slow. Either way, whenever he had a question for their creator, it was generally easier to ask his own personal angel.
"What do you think the stars are there for, after all?"
He was taking Aziraphale for a Sunday drive into the countryside. (Even archangels observed the Sabbath, at least this one did.) It was an embarrassing measure of how soft Crowley had gone that he was actually staying within the speed limit. He had patted the Bentley's dashboard and promised to make up for it later, making Aziraphale laugh and roll his eyes. Instead of clutching the seatbelt, the angel was relaxed, leaning back in his seat with his eyes half closed, several rants about the insufferable Council already out of his system. He looked out through the window to where Crowley was gesturing, at the stars shining overhead. Much as they both loved London, the light pollution could be a problem. Out here, the night was so much clearer ... although it still couldn't compare to delivering newborn stars with his own hands.
"That's still bothering you, is it?"
"Of course! Do you know how much work I put into that nebula? I just hate the idea of it being wasted."
"Who says it's being wasted?"
"You did, remember? The day I made it?"
"When did I ... ? Ooh. Now I remember." Aziraphale let out an embarrassed little cough. "About that day ... I have a confession to make, actually."
"A confession?" Crowley smirked. "If it's about you falling in love with me, I already know that."
"No! Well, yes, but not exactly. You see ... everything I said back then, about God's purpose for the universe and so on ... I believed everything I said, but I may have tried to make myself sound better informed than I really was. I, er ... I was trying to impress you."
"You were?" Crowley supposed he should be annoyed, but ever since the Fall and its consequences of being treated - and feeling - like the scum of the earth, it still surprised him every time Aziraphale showed regard for his opinion. Also, he was absurdly fond of Aziraphale's flaws. It made him feel as if they weren't too different to belong together after all. "Vanity, eh? Naughty."
"Oh, hush." Aziraphale gave him a feather-light swat on the shoulder. "What I meant to say is, I'm sorry if I misrepresented God back then ... and I'm sorry if I caused you to have a crisis of faith."
Crowley glanced away from the starlit country road long enough to check if the angel was joking, but his bright blue eyes were achingly sincere. How long had he been worrying about this? But of course he would worry. Aziraphale's faith was alive in ways his self-righteous colleagues had long forgotten - if they'd ever known it at all.
"Don't get your halo in a twist, now." Crowley reached over to hold Aziraphale's hand. "My, er, 'crisis of faith' - " He chuckled dryly at the understatement. " - wasn't your fault, it was mine. And Satan's. Let's say mostly Satan's. But also mine."
"Ah." Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand in quiet acknowledgment of having been forgiven. "I see."
"If I asked about the stars now ... for curiosity's sake ... what would your answer be?"
Aziraphale thought about it for a while as the Bentley purred, the radio played a quiet classic rock song, and a cool night breeze brought the smell of the forest through the open windows.
"I'd say I honestly don't know."
"Fair enough."
"And since the world didn't end last year, I was definitely wrong about the timeline aspect."
"Quite."
"That being said, I could live another six thousand years and never forget that meteor shower. I don't believe that God would consider anything so beautiful a waste, even if only one person sees it ... or two."
Crowley thought of starfire and sheltering wings, and his whole universe turned upside down for a moment. The extravagance of a god who would scatter galaxies into space like glitter on a child's craft project, regardless of whether humans or anyone else would ever reach them, which had seemed like waste to his younger self, now seemed like grace beyond imagining. Maybe the difference was that now he knew firsthand how it felt to be loved better than he deserved.
"Say, angel, I've got an idea."
"Yes?"
"What if we did the Neighborhood Society Ball over again? No matchmaking, no interruptions. Just you, me and the night sky."
"What, now?" Aziraphale squeaked. "Here?"
"Come on, you know you wanna." Crowley gave Aziraphale his finest tempter's smile.
"You're ridiculous." Aziraphale lit up with delighted laughter and clapped his hands. "Yes! Let's do it."
The Bentley pulled over by the side of the road. Crowley left the door ajar and the radio volume turned up to high to let out the music. They stepped out into a dewy meadow, Aziraphale showing reckless disregard for his clean white trousers. It was early spring, with new grass, violets and snowdrops emerging through a brown layer of last year's autumn. They were both careful where they put their feet. Possibly no one had ever danced a cotillion to an Ed Sheeran song before, especially not on this lonely road, but it wouldn't have been the strangest thing they'd ever done.
"Heaven's a bit like this, you know," said Aziraphale, palm-to-palm with Crowley, a halo of moonlight in his hair. "The real Heaven, not the Upstairs Office."
"Like the side of a motorway?"
"Not literally! I just ... it reminds you of all the places you find joy. The bookshop. A table at the Ritz. That park bench ... There's only one thing wrong with it, really."
"There's something wrong with Heaven?"
"You're not there."
The steps of the dance brought them within inches of each other. Aziraphale's eyes were the blue of the evening sky when the first stars came out. Crowley had no idea how to accept such extravagant love.
"Damnit, angel, you can't just say things like that," he growled, blinking hard because wiping his eyes properly would involve letting go of Aziraphale's hand. "Then expect me to get through the week with any kind of equilibrium while you're gone."
"Maybe I don't expect it," said Aziraphale. "Maybe I hope you'll miss me."
"As if that wasn't obvious," Crowley scoffed. "Come here, you."
At this point, the dance stopped looking anything like a dance, but as they tugged each other back to the car hand in hand, the pattern between them was the same one that kept the stars turning together, a masterpiece that needed no crowds to be perfect. One day, however long it took, Earth and God's Heaven would be one and the same, and Upstairs and Downstairs reduced to an unpleasant memory. Until then, this was as close to Heaven as he would ever be.
He might be rusty at praying, but he thanked his Maker for tonight.