GOOD OMENS 3

FireFenix

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 12 – NIGHTINGALES

The Bentley shifted at the loss of Crowley's weight when he scrambled out of the car and hurtled towards the security guard, leaving Aziraphale in a state of stunned silence. The demon's parting words, now endlessly echoing inside his head, had blocked his synapses in such a way that he didn't have enough brainpower left to even blink. After a few moments of complete stillness, the Bentley clicked Aziraphale's door open, leaving it only slightly ajar, beckoning him to go after Crowley. The angel merely glanced at it. He was barely able to breathe; never mind moving. Instead he just stared, blankly, at the demon who expertly tempted the young guard by waving an obscene amount of money in his face and then disappeared into the National Gallery, slithering out of sight after shooting one last nervous half-glance back at the Bentley.

The angel only breathed when the door suddenly disappeared from his peripheral vision, awakening him from his state of trance and making him snap his head to the left, only to find Muriel holding the door open and Eleyn beside her; both their concerned gazes fixed on Aziraphale.

- Are you you okay? - the scrivener said, in as soft a tone as she could manage.

- N...no...I...I don't... - the angel stuttered, his words choked by the tears he only then realized were traveling down his face - What...What just...? -

- Happened? - the daughter of God finished the sentence for him, her voice tender now her temper had settled - I think you already know that, Aziraphale -

- He...Crow...Crowley, he...he said...- his brain was slowly remembering how words worked - He said he...that he doesn't...hate me -

- I did tell you - Muriel offered with a compassionate smile - But I think you'll find he said quite more than that -

- Crowley...he...I was sure he...I could feel the despise, I... - he frowned and looked up at them, his lips quivering - He doesn't hate me? -

- We've been trying to tell you - Eleyn carefully insisted, not wanting to distress the poor angel further - You two need to talk, because he's convinced that you hate him. -

- What?! - Aziraphale spit out, hardly believing what he was hearing.

- Yeah - the Messiah continued - He thinks that that's why you left three years ago. Because he's a filthy serpent to you. And what makes it worse is that he genuinely believes he deserves all the pain -

- But... - the angel spluttered, locking eyes with Muriel - That's not... -

- Aziraphale - the scrivener breathed, crouching to be in his eyeline and taking the angel's hands into hers - Go and find him. Tell him everything -

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then closed it and pressed his lips, trying to avert his eyes from Muriel but failing miserably to hide his tears.

- I know - she squeezed his hands, her tone sweet and tender - I know how scared you are, but...well, if Heaven and Hell are going to come down on us anyway; if The Metatron is going after both of you either way, then isn't it best to go into battle hand in hand, with no lies between you? -

The angel raised his eyes again, finding the scrivener's, full of understanding, and his gaze just rested there for a few moments, until his heart and brain finally came to an agreement and his decision was made. His pulse quickened, his mind bubbled, and he slowly nodded at the scrivener, who dutifully stood and allowed him to spring out of the Bentley. He started towards the Gallery's facade, his breathing shallow and uneven as he neared the imposing stone columns which held the tablature with incredible architectural strength. Normally, Aziraphale would take his time to appreciate the intricacies of the ionic architectural order; marveling in the design of the capital and its volutes; or perhaps gaping at the simplistic elegance of the frieze and the cornice. But that day, he walked past without even granting them a glance, his mind completely elsewhere. He shot past the large bannisters which hung at either side of the large, wooden double-door advertising the fundraiser, and stopped dead on his tracks the moment he had crossed them.

Guests were strolling in all directions, waiting for the auction to begin over some friendly chatter and a glass of wine, commenting on the paintings which lined the walls with peers and colleagues. His heart hammering against his ribs, he whipped his head right and left in a futile effort to spot a flicker of crimson hair, and his nerves were only enhanced. After another near minute of pacing towards every possible direction, Aziraphale decided on a long corridor which outstretched itself all the way to the other side of the building, where a marble staircase shyly peeked around the corner. Knowing Crowley, he had probably wandered upstairs to get away from the larger human gatherings, so that was where the angel would be headed. In crossing the lobby, Aziraphale almost ran into a young woman dressed in green, carrying a little tuxedoed boy in her arms. He quickly apologized and continued his way; but had his mind not been revolving only around a certain pair of golden eyes, he might have recognized the boy before he and her mother disappeared up the main staircase.

He continued walking, practically on autopilot, with his eyes fixed on the pavement in front of him. His mind was racing, so fast that he could barely keep up with it, going over every single word Crowley had said to him since his impromptu return to the bookshop. Something inside Aziraphale had finally snapped, and now he realized that he had only been hearing, and not listening, just like Muriel had told him. "You could've killed yourself! What if I had lost you?!" the demon had raged in the aftermath of their eventful trip to Hell, though Aziraphale had no idea why he had misunderstood it as pettiness, when it had been genuine concern. "When we finish doing whatever the hell we have to do, I'll go my goddamn way and you're free to go back to Heaven". Aziraphale had thought that Crowley was kicking him out of his life, telling him to go back and leave him alone, but it only then dawned on him. Free to go. The angel felt a lump in his throat, the air barely making it to his lungs as he began ascending the staircase. Crowley wanted to liberate Aziraphale, as if though he was only a burden for the angel. That hadn't been an act of hatred at all; but an act of respect. More than that, it had been an act of...

Aziraphale's mind dodged that word like a bullet, out of reflex, as it had done many times before. It was always there, it never wavered, but no matter how long he waited there always seemed to be a reason to keep it shut, lo lock it down and scold himself every time his thoughts meandered anywhere near it.

The steps suddenly stopped beneath his feet, and Aziraphale whipped his head up to find himself in another corridor, well-lit and roughly the same size and length as the one on the floor below, though its art-lined walls were cherry red instead of teal. He looked in every direction, but there was still no sign of sunglasses or dark, snakey shadows. Realizing he had to do something to ease the raising panic inside of him, Aziraphale decided to try and distract himself with the paintings, eyeing them as he slowly advanced through the corridor. The first to catch his eye was a portrait of a young woman he recognized almost immediately, an unusual look of confidence on her face. Lady Agnew had always been more on the shy side, at least when walking through her gardens with Aziraphale. He had been helping her husband on a couple of trials which Heaven had ordered must end with the accused behind bars or hanged. Why John Singer Seargent had decided to depict her that way, nobody would ever know.

He continued his stroll, his breathing finally under control, when another picture caught his attention; but for completely different reasons. They were trees, on a field. Nothing more than that. Drawn in the very particular style of Van Gogh, albeit, but still nonthess trees. Olive trees, according to the plaque which hung on its right. But those simple trees in that simple field made the angel think of a Garden. He fondly remembered Adam and Eve, the first two humans on Earth, happily running around the green, rich land God had gifted them. He also remembered the seventh day, the day it first rained. The day the Original Tempter had convinced the pair to disobey the one rule they had. That was the day he'd met Crowley. Well, not techincally, he had met him as an angel a few years earlier. But it had been the first time they'd seen each other after the fall. That was the day it had begun.

Aziraphale held his breath, the weigh of time suddenly coming to him, popping six thousand years on his shoulders all at the same time. It had been six eons. The whole of human history, he and Crowley had been playing a game of tug-of-war, constantly pulling towards one another and then immediately pushing themselves back apart. It had been six thousand years of must not, of should not, of not yet. Six thousand years of lingering looks, of brushes of the hands and faint, pink blushes. Six thousand years of not telling eachother what their actions had shouted at the top of thier voices. Until today.

"I see the most beautiful, perfect being I've ever met and have to remind myself, every damn time, that I'm not good enough! "

Aziraphale had to purposefully put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sob which came out of him, his eyes glassy and wet. The mere thought of the word made his breathing quicken noticeably, becoming shallower and shallower. He felt a chill crawl up his spine. How could he have let Crowley believe he was so hated? So filthy? How had it gotten so out of hand that the demon repulsed himself in such a way that Aziraphale could actually feel it?

Desperate for some air, and dangerously inching on hyperventilation, the angel turned his head in every direction until he found a little door at the end of the hallway leading to what looked like a small terrace, reserved and hidden away from the thick of the guests. He made a beeline for it, leaving the Van Gogh behind, and slipped out of the slightly ajar door, taking a breathful of Edinburgh evening air the second he had the chance. The humble little balcony overlooked Princess Street Gardens, the treetops shining under the faint moonlight which bathed the entire city, and offered a breath-taking view of the sky, so beautifully packed with stars and planets that one could not have fit a single needle even if they'd wanted to. Aziraphale simply stared at them for a few minutes, his eyes round and tender, vaguely wondering which were the ones Crowley had created.

His lips had only just begun tracing a small smile when the door he'd slipped through moments ago burst open and a mess of limbs and crimson shot through it, taking a white-knuckle grip on the metallic railing. The demon stopped, looking ahead at nothing in particular, and then groaned a deep groan of frustration which echoed through the empty park below. Aziraphale held his breath, too shocked to move a single inch, and simply watched as Crowley juggled through his thoughts, his mind probably as much of a disaster as his own.

After a few silent seconds, Aziraphale took a silent breath, preparing himself for the conversation to come and, when he was ready to tell him the whole truth, he placed a hand on the railing to steady himself. His golden signet ring scraped against the iron, making Crowley snap his head to him. Aziraphale saw the demon's eyes widening from under the dark lenses, his mouth slightly agape, and they both simply stared at each other in stunned silence for the following seconds; until Crowley finally spoke.

- Aziraphale – he breathed, then frowned – What the fuck did you do? -

- What I had to – the angel breathed back.

- What does that mean? - Crowley insisted, raising a sleek finger, but never breaking eye contact – And don't say you can't tell me; I'm sick of that bullshit. I want to know what's going on -

- I... - Aziraphale paused, unsure how to reply, only for his lips to start moving of their own accord – I don't hate you, Crowley. I need you to believe that. I never have, and I never would. Never -

- But you left – the demon said, sharply, just before his voice broke. He produced a deep growl in the bottom of his throat, occupying himself with slipping his glasses off and jamming them in his inside pocket to have an excuse not to look at the angel, his glassy eyes threatening to let the tears lose – You left, and it wasn't to make a difference in Heaven; we both know you're not that thick; so only one reason comes to mind -

- I did leave – the angel agreed, his voice mildly shaking – And I did that because I needed to get away from you -

- Ngk – Crowley whipped his head to the side, staring blankly at the Edinburgh city lights with tear-clouded eyes – Exactly – he whispered.

- No! – Aziraphale excalimed, urgently stepping half an inch closer to him, making the demon whip his head towards him again – It's not what you think -

- Then why, Angel? - Crowley begged – Why can't you just tell me? It's almost like you're... - he froze, his eyebrows shooting upwards when the pieces in his head finally fell together with a loud thud which reverbrated through his mind – Afraid -

- I... - the angel started, then suddenly looked down at his shoes, embarrassed at the tears which grazed his eyes.

- Of the angels? - the demon inquired, his frown returning – Of Heaven? -

- No – Aziraphale shook his head, his breathing beginning to shallow – Just...just the one – he said, raising his head to lock eyes with the other's amber gaze

- Metatron – Crowley growled, pronouncing the name with as much disgust as he could muster. His blood began to boil – The fuck did he do to you? -

- He...gave me an ultimatum – the angel finally began to explain, the words pouring out of him like water out of a burst-open dam – The day we had coffee, three years ago. The day I left. He...he swore to destroy you if I didn't accept the post of Supreme Archangel. If I didn't do everything he said without the slightest opposition, I... -

- No, hold on – this time it was Crowley who took half a step foward – You told me he offered to let you take me back to Heaven and reappoint me, not... -

- I'm an angel! - Aziraphale interrupted, throwing his arms up, then whispered as they came plummeting back down – I lied -

- You...? - the demon gaped, completely lost for words – Why? We could've taken him down, we could've fought back! -

- No, we couldn't – the angel shook his head, his voice breaking – It would have been too risky -

- Risky? - the other reiterated – Angel, we went to Hell a day ago and you almost burnt to death. We hid an amnesiac archangel in your shop; fuck, we even managed to piss Satan off more than once. Since when have we given a shit about risk? -

- Ever since The Metatron has had the Angel's Dagger in his possession – Aziraphale explained, letting all the words out in one breath.

- The Angel's...? – the demon went completely pale, his breaths quickly turining into anxious hisses as his pupils thinned – No, that's not possible. The damn thing was destroyed years ago -

- I know, I was there! - he cried – But either that one was a fake or there have been two all along, because what The Metatron showed me was authentic -

- No, it can't have been...! - Crowley still refused to believe his ears – Couldn't you have mistaken it for another...? -

- I could feel it, Crowley! - Aziraphale insisted, inching on hyperventilation – The stench of pain and death and destruction and bleeding souls...it was it. And I know what that thing can do, I've seen it. The fear which overtook me at that moment, the fear that he could hurt you, I...I panicked! -

- Angel... - the demon tried to say, only to be unapologetically interrupted.

- I needed to draw you away so you could be safe – he continued, not even bothering to take a breath, tears rolling down his cheeks – From me, Metatron, Heaven; all of it. So I lied. I said the one thing I knew would make you furious, I staged every word to make you hate me; to make you never want to see my guts ever again. What I hadn't expected was for you to...to... - he paused, sobbing hard, attempting to recompose himself a little – I didn't know I would have to break your heart; but I did it anyway. Improvised. And I hurt you so much, I tore you apart, I... - he broke down in tears, finally succumbing to three years' worth of regret and bottled-up sorrow – I'm sorry. I know it's worth nothing, but I am. I had no choice, there was nothing else I could do, I had to... -

- Angel – Crowley tried again, but Aziraphale's wall had burst, and there was no stopping it.

- And then you kissed me – he said, making the demon's face flush – You kissed me. And I... - a hand instinctively shot up to his lips – I was selfish. I was so afraid to lose you...I was terrified...so I broke you. And I forgave myself because I would do it again in a heartbeat. Because I'd rather exist in a universe where you hate me than one where you're not there at all. I need you, that much was true, and I know it's selfish, I know I'm vermin for what I did, but... -

- Aziraphale, stop – the demon walked a few more steps and placed delicate hands on the angel's shoulders, forcing them to lock eyes – Stop. You are not vermin, or selfish. In fact, you don't get to do the self-flagelation; that's my thing – that forced a sad half-chuckle out of the angel. It wasn't a smile, but it was close enough for now – You sacrificed so much. The bookshop, Soho, your quaint, peaceful existence here on Earth – he glanced at the slumbering city, then back into the pale blue eyes which had incessantly plagued his mind for as long as he could remember – You were even willing to sacrifice our... - he hesitated - Our...whatever the fuck it is we've been doing for the past six thousand years; and you seriously think that was anything less than brave? You were so brave, Angel – he said just above a whisper, the unfallen tears burning in his eyes as he flashed his trademark smirk – Still, too bad that last part of the plan didn't really work out for you. After six thousand years, it'll take you more than that to get rid of me, you know -

- It's funny, really – the angel sniffed, catching Crowley off-guard – I'd never given much thought to the fact that self-hatred would be something I could sense as well. So when I came back, and I felt all that despise bubbling from you, I just assumed... -

- That I hated you? - the demon's face softened, and his lips traced a tender smile as a blush sneaked up to his cheeks – Come on, Angel. You really think so little of me as to assume breaking my heart would make me stop caring? -

- My dear – the fondness in Aziraphale's voice made shivers travel down Crowley's spine, and it only then dawned on him that it was the fist time the angel had used the endearment since he had returned.

Before Crowley had time to recover, however, two angelic arms gently cupped his back and pulled him into a heavenly embrace which, after a starled half a second, he returned without hesitation. He slid one of his arms beneath Aziraphale's and placed his palm between the angel`s shoulderblades; while the other flung across his neck, his fingers softly clinging to the hair in the back of his head and pushing to bring them even closer. When he felt Aziraphale's face nuzzling in the crook of his neck, still slightly damp with tears, he let out the longest exhale his corpration had breathed in six thousand years; and his shoulders relaxed as he rested his own head against his soft, white curls. He breathed, calmly, taking in the scent of old books, pears, Earl Grey and obscenely expensive wine; while Aziraphale reveled in the smell of leather, strong alcohol and smoke which charachterized the demon, alongside a small undertone of hot cocoa which only he was keen enough to notice. The angel squeezed his eyes tighter as their breathing compenetrated, chests raising and falling to the same slow rythm, hearts beating against one another. Crowley felt quite shivery, for a demon, but the strength with which his arms wrapped around Aziraphale betrayed their shared desire that this moment last forever. No impending world endings, no Heaven or Hell, no daring missions. Just the two of them, beneath the stars, in eachother's arms, for eternity.

However, their reverie found itself interrupted after a few moments by a soft, melodious chirp which rang through the air, catching Crowley's attention first. He very gently drew his hand away from Aziraphale's neck, and the angel looked up at him when he felt the cool rush of air, with a frown of both confusion and silent protest at the sudden shift of position. Said frown quickly metamorphosed into concern when he saw Crowley's shocked, widened eyes fixed on the balcony's railing, and slowly unhooked his arms from the demon's back, placing his hands lightly on his chest instead and finally separating them a few more painful inches. That was when Aziraphale first heard the singing of a bird, very close by, and followed Crowley's gaze to its origin. Two things happened in very quick succession the moment his eyes fell on the little bird perched on the metallic railing: first, he stopped breathing, and simply stared blankly at it. Then, when his synapses had the decency to fire up again, his heart set off at twice the speed of what would be considered normal for a healthy, middle-aged man; and the blood which incessantly pumped in his ears - not before making a pit stop in his cheeks, where it created a soft blush - was the only thing he could hear. The small nightingale tilted her head funnily at the angel, her light-maroon feathers glistening under the moonlight as she fixed her dark, beautiful pupils on Aziraphale. She gave an adorable little hop to shift her position, now tilting her head at Crowley instead.

- Hello - the demon purred, silently, making her tilt her head every other way in interest - You're a long way away from Barkley Square, aren't you? -

- She is, rather - Aziraphale sighed, though it did nothing to calm the chaos inside of him.

She ruffled up her feathers in response, chirping another few melodious notes, never breaking eye contact with them. They admired her in silence for a few minutes, with no words said between them, until a thought hit Crowley and made him tense up in horror (though, the fact that he'd just then noticed the angel's hands resting on his chest might have helped a little with that)

- Shit - he muttered, spinning towards the angel, his hands softly clinging to his arms - Fuck, Aziraphale, I've been such an arsehole to you, I... -

- Stop that, dear boy - he cooed, cerulean eyes once again locking on golden ones - You went through a lot of pain because of me, and on top of that I kept the truth from you. You had every right to be furious -

- But I... - Crowley stammered, going through his mess of a brain in search of memories - I said awful things, and I...Shit. I was so angry, I didn't even know what was coming out of my fucking mouth -

- I... - Aziraphale sighed again - I suppose I owe you a bit of an apology as well. I have said things which were very out of place the last few days. I insulted one of the things you enjoy most, your music, and I can't even remember why -

- Well, in your defence, I did insult Jane Austen to your face immediately after - Crowley chuckled, his signature smirk back in play, finally forcing a snicker out of the angel - and Pride and Prejudice. For the record, it killed me to say the movie is better -

- Oh, I certainly hope so - the angel fake-snapped, grinning, before being struck by a thought which, though obvious, hadn't come to him at the time - Hold on, are you telling me that you actually sat down and read Pride and Prejudice? All 248 pages of it? - he beamed, his hands pressing just a little bit more into Crowley's chest; enough to make the demon's breath catch.

- Ehhh, yeah...Not 'cause I wanted to, though - he mumbled, eyes darting everywhere, the lie shamefully bad for a demon - Just to be able to use it against you. All part of the plan, you see. Very sly demon, me -

Aziraphale finally barked out a proper laugh, his head slightly bucking forward with the force of it. To Crowley, it was like a melody; and he couldn't help but stare in awe. The angel's smile was just as bright as he remembered; like a thousand burning Suns, and his cerulean blue eyes were round and full of joy, in a way the demon hadn't seen in years. The moonlight caught in his soft blond curls and created an ethereal cocoon around him, making him glow. Aziraphale had always glowed like that, at least in the demon's eyes. Every silent night in Soho, passing a bottle of wine back and forth and sharing a laugh over the latest human shenanigans; every busy morning in a market of some city where they had happened to run into each other; every single time they'd had lunch together, and Crowley had looked over to the other side of the table, the angel had been glowing. And he was beautiful. It was strange, thinking those words and not immediately having to kick or scold himself, like he'd done for the past six eons. Because it was too dangerous, because it was too complicated. But now, tonight, on that tiny little balcony in the middle of Edinburgh, it was so simple. So easy, to just accept the truth he'd been ignoring for an eternity, pretending to be deaf when it shouted in his face. Normally, he wouldn't have said anything. He would've felt the blush in his cheeks, just as he had done now, and turned away, making some stupid excuse to leave, and never talked about it again. But not tonight. Tonight he did speak, and he said what he was really thinking, because it really was that simple.

- I've missed you - he breathed, his voice unashamedly vulnerable - So much. I thought...I thought I'd never see that smile again -

Aziraphale's smile turned tender as he lifted one of his hands off the demon's chest, using it to cup his jaw instead, caressing his cheek with soft brushes of his thumb. Crowley's skin tingled under the touch, and he leaned into it immediately, almost urgently, the white in his eyes now long-gone, lost under the fiercely expanding yellow. Chills shot up and down his spine when he flicked his gaze away from the hand and found Aziraphale's full-blown, gorgeous pupils already locked on him with a fondness no mortal was capable of even coming close to.

- I couldn't stop thinking about your eyes - Aziraphale whispered, so softly it was barely audible - All that time, in Heaven. Not a day went by in which I didn't think about them. About you - his eyes flicked to the demon's lips and back, so quickly he'd have missed it if he'd blinked - Even Paradise turns into Hell if you're not there -

- Angel... - Crowley matched his volume and, unable to hold himself back any longer, placed his hands on Aziraphale's waist, pulling gently to get them that little bit closer - I don't... - a growl echoed deep in his throat, but this time he finished the sentence, because this time there was no fear to stop him - I don't regret it. What I did, that day, the day you left. I don't regret a second of it -

- Good - Aziraphale breathed, his eyes never letting go of Crowley's as he wrapped his hand around the demon's tie and pulled to rest their foreheads together, their lips a mere breath apart, the tip of their noses caressing against the other's - That's very good, because I wasn't planning on regretting it either -

Crowley's heart set off like a bulldozer, his breath hitched, and his grip on Aziraphale tightened. And they lingered, just for a second, looking into each other's eyes, giving each other enough time to turn and run away; although they both knew that wasn't going to happen. For more than six thousand years, they had been trapped in an eternal dance; an impossible waltz in which they were constantly twirling and circling around each other, never taking a moment to breathe, very occasionally turning to face each other; but never dawdling too long, out of fear that the music might die. Now they had finally stopped, finally let themselves close to one another, let themselves link their hands, let themselves touch and feel. Now they could finally waltz, the proper way.

And waltz they did. Crowley pulled on Aziraphale's waist at the same time the angel tugged at the demon's tie, and their lips connected, sending shots of electricity down their spines. It was feather-light at first, slow, but powerful; like a quiet hum turning into a deafeningly loud, beautiful symphony. Their hearts beat in unison, their eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to take in every second; every ounce of the feeling of their lips on each other's. Neither of them would ever know whose mouth was first to part, but the fact of the matter was that the moment they did, Crowley caught the angel's soft upper lip in his, and Aziraphale hummed in pleasure at the feeling of it. However, it wasn't much longer until their stupid corporations began to protest at the lack of air; and they had to break apart to breathe.

They said nothing, because for the first time in their shared existence, there was nothing left to say. Aziraphale could feel the demon's chest raising and falling beneath the fist closed around his tie; and he also felt the way his breathing accelerated and became shallower, mirroring his own, the more their gazes lingered on each other. His amber eyes shone like the stars their owner had hung in the sky all those years ago, but they did so with something more than mere affection. It was need. Or desire. Or both. His lips were already parted in invitation; and so were the angel's, because his thoughts were exactly the same. This time, Aziraphale didn't wait. He was sick and tired of waiting; he'd already been doing it for too long. A firm pull on the demon's tie was all it took for their lips to meet again, this time igniting a passionate fire where before there had only been a spark. Their mouths danced fervently and in perfect sync, Aziraphale's tongue brushing daringly on Crowley's lower lip, making a small moan echo in the back of his throat and his breath hitch for the umpteenth time as he lowered his hands to the angel's hips and pulled to bring them even closer. Aziraphale's hand finally let go of the tie and cupped the demon's other cheek, pressing their mouths firmly together. Crowley whimpered, the angel hummed in delight and the nightingale sang, opening her wings and flying happily into the night. Her work there was done.

The feeling of the angel's lips was intoxicating, and the only thing Crowley wanted was more. Screw Heaven, and Hell, and The Metatron and Satan himself. All he wanted, all he ever needed, was this. And, unfortunately, oxygen. They broke apart a second time, their lips flush and tender in the aftermath, and leaned away little enough for their foreheads to still touch. Aziraphale's hands fell to the back of Crowley's neck, mindlessly playing with the little crimson hairs which had been too short to put into his ponytail. The demon nuzzled his nose in the angel's soft blonde curls, taking his scent in with deep breaths until the joy bubbling inside of him became too unbearable, and he let out a soft chuckle.

- What? - Aziraphale asked in a whisper, drawing soft patterns on the demon's nape with his fingers.

- No, it's just... - he gently pushed, letting their eyes fall directly on each other again - It's just funny, really... - He took a breath, his smile never wavering - I love you, Angel - Aziraphale all but stopped breathing - I always have loved you; but until today there was something stopping me from saying it - He chuckled again, louder, eyebrows going up in amusement - And now I can't even remember what it was -

- Crowley... - the angel breathed, trying to find his own words. When he finally did, he smiled his brightest smile - I love you. I have loved you since before the human concept of love. And since before the human concept of a concept, for that matter. I'm sorry if I made you believe you weren't enough; but I don't care what you are - demon, angel, unicorn - as long as you're you. I love you exactly how you are, not in spite of it. You is what I want -

- Well then - Crowley's smile metamorphosed into a smirk, even through his glassy eyes and choked voice - Temptation accomplished -

- You...! - Aziraphale playfully swat at him, making them both burst out giggling as their faces nuzzled together like if they'd already been doing it for thousands of years - You fiendish old serpent! -

- Aren't I just? - the demon managed in between fits of breathy, silent laughter, using two fingers to gently raise the angel's chin with the complete intent to kiss him again.

Their lips had almost locked for a third time when a silent sniffle beside them made Crowley jump out of his skin and snap his head towards the balcony doors, shortly followed by Aziraphale, whose reaction had been pretty much the same. To their utter surprise, Muriel and Eleyn were stood there, right beside the ajar door, the latter trying to hold her tears while the first bore an angelically endearing expression, her hand clapped on top of her heart.

- Well - Eleyn asked just above a whisper, fake-scolding them as she tried to dry her glassy eyes - Was that so difficult?! -

Crowley and Aziraphale blinked twice, then looked back at each other and burst out laughing at the sheer irony of the whole situation. Muriel and Eleyn laughed as well; and that was the first time the four of them had laughed together. It somehow felt exactly right.

- I suppose it wasn't, really, no - the demon managed once he'd stopped laughing his head off - All a big misunderstanding, -

- Quite - Aziraphale quickly agreed, grinning - It turns out we only needed to talk. Can you believe it? If only somebody had told us earlier... -

- Bastard - Crowley muttered, unable to hide the proudness.

- I will throw you off this balcony - Eleyn threatened, offended-but-not-really, barely able to hold in the laughter.

- Why do you all keep threatening to throw me off high places? - the angel joked back, mock-frowning - I do have wings, you know -

- In that case I'll throw you over and over again - she cocked her head in Crowley's direction - Until lover boy over here comes to your rescue -

- Ngk - Crowley blushed, feeling a little exposed - How bloody long have you been standing there, anyway? -

- Long enough - Muriel interjected, throwing a knowing look at Eleyn, which she returned instantly.

- And you were here in the first place because? - the demon insisted, with the tone of one who'd been caught very red-handed.

- Hmm? - the Daughter of God frowned, momentarily confused, before her eyebrows shot upwards in realization - Oh, yeah! The auction's about to start. The Gospel should be one of the first objects up for grabs -

- Alrighty - Crowley sighed, turning back to the angel - Time to save the world - He raised his arm, glancing at his wristwatch - If we're quick about it, we might be in time to catch breakfast at the Ritz -

- Anthony J. Crowley - Aziraphale said, carefully pronouncing all the letters, his tone playful as he draped a hand over the demon's shoulder - Are you asking me outon a date? -

- Maybe - the demon smirked, closing in on the angel, raising his chin and placing a soft peck on his upper lip just because he could - The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner you can find out - he teased back, delighted in the way it made Aziraphale lick his lips.

- What are we waiting for, then? After you - he signaled the doors to the Gallery with a hand, and Crowley started towards them after one last playful smirk.

- Aww - said Eleyn, the moment she caught the demon's eyes - Cute -

- Shut up - he hissed, stepping back indoors, with the Daughter of God close on his tail.

Aziraphale chuckled, remembering too many occasions in which that particular hiss had been directed to him. And, for some reason, it always had something to do with a four letter word. He and Muriel made to follow them, the first placing a hand lightly on the scrivener's arm to beckon her forward. They were just about to cross the threshold, happily listening to the ridiculous banter between Crowley and Eleyn, when they both froze on the spot.

There were trumpets, seven of them, and then all was silent. A chill travelled down Aziraphale's spine, and he turned to find a wide-eyed Muriel already staring right back at him. She had felt it too, of course. It was supposed to be a good thing, that feeling in their gut. Many humans would've broken down in tears of joy with a tenth of it. But not Aziraphale, and not Muriel. To them, it was terrifying.

The angels had arrived on Earth.

Okay people, time to bid the arguments goodbye and greet the blatant (often bad) flirting with open arms! It was a bit of a long, angsty journey but we got there in the end! Wahoo!

This chapter was incredibly liberating to write, but also quite nerve-wraking. You see, this is the first time I've ever written a kiss, little alone two successive ones, so I was just the tinniest bit paranoid (Definetely did not spend an entire day exclusively on that scene. Nope). Anyway, the point is, tell me what you thought! (Hard truth, I can take it)

NEXT CHAPTER: The Gospel of John reaches our ineffable quartet's hands; but will the Heavenly Host get to them before they have a chance to read it? [Insert dramatic music]

Also, we are now halfway through this story, so a gazillion thanks to the ones who've been reading since (or almost since) the beginning and I hope you'll enjoy the second half as much as you did the first!

One last thing before I go: This Easter (so the entirey of this week) I'll be taking a break from writing in order to properly organize the mess of ideas in my head and plot things out a little. So, what I'm saying is, you might have to wait a little bit longer for the next chapter, 'k?

Aaaand, that's it! Have an ineffably wonderful Easter everybody! Bye!