#theritz

Summary:

Aziraphale and Crowley meet again after the events of the Season 2 finale and, presumably, all of Season 3. This is the first time they’ve been alone with their own thoughts for each other in a while, considering Azirphale’s been somewhat in charge of heaven and Crowley has been, well, not.

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

They’re all sweaty, which isn’t something that happens very often. He wrings them together, wipes them on his suit, and just wishes he knew where to put them. Maybe he could stuff them into his coat pockets? Or would it be better if he was holding something in them? Suddenly, he’s all too hyper-aware of his hands, so much so that he can’t stand it for a minute longer.

So, he paces.

He paces the length of the restaurant once. And then twice. And then a third time.

He paces until he’s lost count of how many times he’s lapped the room.

He paces until the drum of his footsteps starts to turn into a familiar rhythm.

There are so many things that could go wrong. The wine could taste horrid, the food could be stale, the table, their table, could be off-center.

What if he doesn’t show? a voice echoes in the back of his mind.

And that stops Aziraphale dead in his tracks. That thought alone is enough to make him crumble, enough to make him collapse into himself. He’s always shown up, always been there for him. But, what if, this time, he doesn’t? What if he’s hurt him far too much and this really is the end of their… friendship? Relationship? Partnership?

He presses his palms to his eyes. “Oh, bugger,” he says under his breath. He can feel the tears beginning to form, hot and fiery with the pain of their history.

And then he hears it. The opening of a door. The jangle of car keys. The crisp steps of snakeskin-covered boots. Aziraphale can perfectly picture how he walks, no, saunters into the room. He knows that his arms are swinging by his sides, that his tie is loose, that his suit is unbuttoned.

And yet, even with all of the evidence that he’s here, he’s here, Aziraphale is still afraid that he’s just making it all up to please his heart.

It’s almost as if his hands are glued to his eyes. Slowly, he forces himself to bring his arms to his sides, swiftly wiping any traces of tears from his face.

He smells him before he sees him. A mix of mahogany, leather, fire, and vanilla fill the air all at once. It’s one that he’s missed dearly. He’s even attempted sleep on a few occasions, even though he’s not too fond of it, in hopes that he would get a small whiff of that aroma.

He finally opens his eyes.

And he’s here.

He’s here.

“Angel.”

That’s all Crowley says. With a curt nod and a twitch of the mouth, just that one word. Angel. It means so much yet, simultaneously, so little. Even though that’s a name he’s used for Aziraphale throughout millennia, that simple word seems to carry so much more hurt this time around.

At a safe distance from Aziraphale, Crowley stands motionless, his face blank, his pose more stiff than usual.

His eyes are covered.

The two take each other in for a moment, unsure of how to act even though they’ve known one another for centuries.

Aziraphale breaks the silence.

“Well… Hello.”

It’s awkward for some reason. There’s an uneasy air between the pair, as if they’ve lost what had originally kept them tethered for so long.

Crowley looks around. “The Ritz. Fancy choice.” His voice is flat, void of any emotion. His walls aren’t coming down, not this time.

“I felt it was fitting considering… You know…” Aziraphale looks at Crowley, a slight twinkle in his eyes, hoping against all hope that Crowley knows he chose The Ritz because it’s their place, their spot.

But Crowley’s face doesn’t shift in the slightest. “I think this would’ve made more of an impact prior,” he hisses, snakelike.

It’s like a knife to the chest. The last remaining pieces of Aziraphale’s heart begin to shatter with that one remark, each shard gradually peeling away bit by bit. He rubs his hands on his coat, once again becoming all too aware of them. He needs to do something with his hands. He needs his hands to be gone. He needs to hold something. He needs to hold him.

But with each moment that passes, Azirphale’s heart breaks a bit more and Crowley gets further out of his reach.

“I… Crowley-” he stutters.

“Don’t bother.”

Don’t bother. Those two words have been ringing in his mind ever since Crowley left, like an alarm clock that’s ceased to quiet. They’re the last two words he said before walking out of the bookshop, out of his grasp, right after he… Don’t bother. Don’t bother. How could he not bother? It’s all he’s thought about ever since he heard those two words, ever since Crowley turned around and left Aziraphale standing there, frozen in time. Don’t bother. Don’t bother. Don’t bother. And it’s about to happen again. Crowley’s turning around, fed up with Aziraphale’s silence, with Aziraphale’s excuse for an apology. He’s turning around and heading for the door again. Again.

No, he thinks. No. Stay. Please, for the love of all things Heaven and Hell, stay.

But Crowley, who normally can tell what he is thinking, doesn’t hear his pleas. His stride doesn’t slow and he begins to reach for the door.

“No!”

It comes out more forceful than anticipated. Crowley stops, his arm hovering in the air, fingers over the handle. He turns his head towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale takes a small breath and steadies himself. “No…” he says, gentler this time. “Stay. Please.”

Crowley doesn’t move a muscle. It’s as if he’s the one frozen in time now.

“Please.”

And the emotion in his voice is so raw, so apparent, that, for as much of a demon that Crowley says he is, his heart takes over and he lets his arm drop. He lets his feet take him back to Aziraphale, a little closer this time. He lets his eyes, hidden by the safety of his glasses, wander to Aziraphale’s lips for a moment before quickly putting his wall back up.

Crowley nods slightly, a little go-ahead for Aziraphale to speak.

Aziraphale starts. And once he starts, he doesn’t stop.

“Look, okay… when I got to Heaven, I thought it would be… different somehow. I thought I could make a difference. You know, change things from how they were. It was supposed to be simple, really. It all made sense in my head, how things were supposed to run- how they should’ve been run all along. It was all mapped out, a straight line from point A to point B.” He averts his eyes from Crowley’s inky gaze. “But… it wasn’t that easy. At all. And, I know, I was silly to think it would be,” he says, hands flying up in exasperation, “but I just wanted things to be… good. Truly good. And they were… Until they weren’t.”

He looks back up at Crowley, whose face is finally starting to show some semblance of emotion as he furrows his brows and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“It was just all… Wrong. It was all wrong, Crowley. No matter what I tried, it either felt off or just didn’t seem to fit. It was… well, it was quite terrible,” he wryly remarks. “And then, I realized, I was the one who didn’t fit. I mean, the books! All they have in Heaven are binders filled with data upon data- which you already knew, I presume. No music or gorgeous symphonies to fill the empty space. And, no coffee! I knew that before going in but, gosh, it truly was more terrible than I could’ve imagined.”

And then he stops. His breath hitches at the back of his throat and, suddenly, he can’t speak. Aziraphale turns his head away from the demon standing across from him. He balls up his fists, willing his voice to return, willing his heart to take the lead, willing everything in himself to say what he should’ve said from the start.

Beneath the coal-black shimmer of his glasses, he finds Crowley’s eyes.

“And… there was no you.”

At that, Crowley goes completely still.

There’s an air of silence, the atmosphere between the two thin, before Aziraphale starts to ramble again.

“So, uh, yeah… Silly, I know. But, I suppose what I’m trying to say is…” He takes a few, careful steps toward Crowley. “I was wrong. And… I’m sorry.”

The demon and angel stand there, only a few feet apart now. Crowley still hasn’t moved a muscle. The stillness seems to drag on for ages, Aziraphale hoping that he hasn’t fumbled this again and Crowley at a loss for words.

“Forgive me,” Aziraphale pleads in a hushed tone. “Your forgiveness matters more to me than Heaven’s ever did. You matter more to me.”

Crowley opens his mouth as if to finally respond, but shuts it after a moment. He tears his stare from Aziraphale, unable to look at him any longer for fear that this is all fake. How dare he hope for something like this? How dare he have a happy ending?

Before he can completely turn away, Aziraphale’s finger is on his chin, lifting it back towards him. They’re closer now, the two, and the world around them is fading, a spotlight on only them.

It’s just them.

And then, Aziraphale is reaching up to Crowley’s glasses. Hesitant at first, he hovers for a moment, waiting for Crowley to object- but he doesn’t. So, slowly, Aziraphale takes the pitch-black glasses into his hands, removing the final barrier from Crowley’s face, removing the wall. And then he sees his eyes, his gorgeous eyes, still as bright as the sun and as yellow as a daffodil.

And they’re filled with tears.

Crowley’s eyes are filled with tears.

And, now that the wall’s been taken down, the cracks begin to show as Crowley breaks. His face becomes a canvas of emotions as Aziraphale stares up at him. The feelings and thoughts that he’s kept locked away finally surface as he reaches for the angel, his angel, as if he is his lifeline. All he can seem to muster are three words:

“I missed you.”

And that’s all it takes for both of them to fall into each other, clinging to the other as if they were scared someone could snatch one of them away at any moment. A heavy weight is lifted off both of their shoulders as they are enveloped in the familiar shape of each other’s arms. It’s a mix of happiness, desperation, and a hint of sadness all thrown together:

Happiness, for this moment finally coming to fruition.

Desperation, for the longing to just be near each other.

And sadness, for the time together that had been lost.

When they pull apart, both of their faces are tear-streaked. There’s a sense of light to the pair of them now, more so than there ever was before. Aziraphale gives Crowley a small smile and Crowley shakily gives him a genuine one in return. He goes to reach for Crowley’s hand when he realizes he’s still holding his glasses. Remembering that he has one last thing to do, Aziraphale clears his throat to shift the moment.

“Crowley… You know how Archangels tend to get quite a bit of power?”

Crowley shakes his head and groans. “Agh, you really do know how to ruin a moment, don’t you, Angel?”

Aziraphale blushes but continues. “Now, listen here,” he responds in an attempt to be assertive. He's not very good at it. “Archangels are incredibly important. Therefore, they have quite a bit of power. Correct?”

Crowley grunts. “Correct- where are you going with this?”

“Well, let’s just say that, perhaps, if an angel hadn’t been stripped of their Archangel title just yet, they'd presumably still have said power, yes?”

This prompts an eyebrow raise from Crowley. “Go on…”

Aziraphale smiles. “Which means that angel would have a lot, and I mean, a lot of miracles that they would be able to conjure up because… Well, you know, their angelic status is quite high.”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley says impatiently, his personality starting to shine through again. “But I’m not seeing what this has to do with,” he motions to the two of them as well as the surrounding building, “all this?”

Aziraphale is still grinning, a glint in his eye. He sets Crowley’s glasses down onto the table and adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. “May I… try something, I suppose, cosmetic on you?”

Crowley feigns offense. “Excuse me, I think I look perfectly dashing the way that I am, thank you.”

Aziraphale doubles down. “If you don’t like it, I can change it back.” He can tell that Crowley is still unsure, especially since he has no clue what he’s about to do. “I promise.”

Crowley sighs, giving in. “Right, right, okay, fine,” he relents, raising his hands in the air. “I hope you know that I’d, uh- I’d only do this for you though.”

Aziraphale can’t seem to stop the rosy flush spreading throughout the entirety of his face this time. He holds Crowley’s gaze for a little bit before straightening his coat and rubbing his hands together.

“Alright, just, uh… Hold still, please.”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and directs his hands towards Crowley, channeling all of the energy he can possibly muster into this one miracle. He pictures Crowley and all of his features, pictures exactly what it is he wants the miracle to do, and feels it surge up and out of him all at once. It stings in an odd but reassuring way, like sparks of light.

He knows it’s worked. It’s got to have worked. He looks up at Crowley.

Crowley is blinking, trying to make sense of what’s just happened. He furrows his brows, as if perplexed by what he’s seeing, and then rubs his eyes.

“Angel… What- what’s going on? It all looks…” He stops with sudden realization and glances around. “...like it did before.”

Aziraphale can’t help but stare. He stares deep into Crowley’s eyes, deeper than he ever has, almost as if he’s seeing them again for the first time. It’s felt like a lifetime since he’s seen the true warmth that can reside in his glance. He’d almost forgotten how the amber hues in his irises could paint a whole forest with comfort and light.

Almost. Not quite, though. He’d never truly forget. How could he? The twinkle in Crowley’s eyes as he watched a universe be born oh-so-long ago, the wide-eyed expression as he absorbed the beauty of the bright stars… That image would forever be framed in Aziraphale’s mind.

“I thought that… Well, with all of the power that I was able to acquire, I figured I’d do at least one thing that I considered good rather than Heaven’s bidding and constant false interpretation of good.” Aziraphale watches Crowley turn his head left and right, absorbing all of the colors, all of the lights that adorn the room. “I thought that, well, maybe… I know how much you loved the stars.”

Crowley turns to fully face Aziraphale now. His face is one of astonishment, gratitude, and desire.

Aziraphale continues. “And I know how much you’ve missed being able to look up at them, even though you’ve never actually been able to bring yourself to say it.” Then, he starts to double back on himself, immense worry crossing his mind. “Now, if it’s too much, if I’ve overstepped, it can definitely be undone in no time! As quick as I just did it, I can snap my fingers and it’ll be-”

Crowley cuts him off, reaching for Aziraphale’s arm.

“Oh, Angel…” Crowley tilts his head towards Aziraphale, his eyes taking in every inch of him. “The only star I ever needed to see was you.”

And that’s all Aziraphale needed. He closes the space between them, grabbing Crowley’s tie in one hand and the back of his neck in the other, and brings his lips to his own. It’s as if a whole new universe is being created when their lips collide. Stars align, galaxies form, and planets circle the pair as if they are the center of this novel universe. Crowley leans into Aziraphale, pressing his hands on his back and gripping his coat as if afraid to lose him again. The kiss is one filled with years of yearning, extremely different than the last but in a good way. Relief and joy are passed through every breath as the duo’s fates intertwine- as they were always meant to. The group of the two finally relinquish their barriers, stepping over the borders they had manufactured for themselves.

In this moment, the cosmos are theirs and no one else's. Heaven and Hell cease to exist as long as they are in each other’s spaces.

And, on that night, the nightingales sang.

Note:

A quick blurb about the title! Decided to look up if a Talisker and a Sherry go well together and, turns out, @neil-gaiman has played with our hearts once again! Not only do they go well together but, a lot of times, a Talisker will actually have hints of Sherry in it. So, basically, Crowley has hints of Aziraphale in him and vice versa (the Aziraphale example being that he now drinks a lesser scotch after originally saying he didn't like alcohol). Do with that what you will! Thank you, Neil, for causing me to have another crisis over these ineffable husbands.