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Aziraphale could have lived in a rigged universe as long as he had Crowley. But he knew that Crowley couldn't.
Since the beginning, that was Crowley's whole existencial crisis. If everything they do is already planned, then nothing is a real choice
When Aziraphale said he went to heaven BECAUSE of Crowley, that's why. If he could fix the game, maybe Crowley would want to play it with him. But what Crowley understood since the beginning and Aziraphale only got it after talking to God is that they could never win.
That's why the card game analogy with Jesus is so important. It's a trick. You're never supposed to find the lady, and playing with different cards won't change that. To have a chance to win, you need to be playing a different game.
At the end, Aziraphale knew that this was what Crowley wanted since the very beginning of his existence: to have a real chance. Real odds and a universe where he could CHOOSE Aziraphale.
And, while Aziraphale could live in a rigged universe, he could never live without Crowley
I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3
house md will always be remebered as the most insane thing ever broadcast because of how unabashedly feral everyone involved was.
a short collection of things that happen on the show, just off the top of my head, not even scratching the surface:
- house shoots a random dead body in the morgue and then sticks him in an mri machine, which pulls the bullet out of the dead guyβs head and destroys the machine, costing the hospital millions
- foreman gets bitten by a person with rabies
- chase kills an african dictator
- cameron steals drugs from a patient after possibly getting hiv from said patient
- house induces a migraine and then takes a drug made by his arch nemesis (who heβs been stalking for 25 years) to get the drug taken off the market. he then takes lsd (in the hospital, in the middle of a case) to cure the migraine.
- chase goes into anaphylaxis after doing body shots
- house stops an elevator so he can perform a cavity (vaginal) search on a teenage heart transplant patient whoβs in cardiorespiratory arrest
- they give a neurosurgeon mushrooms to cure his food poisoning, then they stick him in an operating room. the neurosurgeon strips in front of a health board assessor.
- kutner dies for gay marriage
- house sets an autopsy room on fire while trying to juggle flaming bottles
- house gets recruited by the cia
- taub gets held at gun point after diagnosing a stripper with skin cancer
- in almost every single episode, the team breaks into multiple houses
- house fakes terminal brain cancer so he can get drugs implanted directly into the pleasure centre of his brain
- house cons us immigration to get his fake wife a green card. he also uses his fake wifeβs ukrainian food truck to spy on people
- house tries to get wilson, his closet case boybestfriend, into bed every few episodes. every other sentence out of houseβs mouth is about wanting to rail wilson.
- taub has a kid with his ex-wife, after they divorce, at the same time he has a kid with his 25 yo side piece. the kidsβ names are sophie and sophia.
- house and wilson have a bet on who can hide a chicken in the hospital the longest without anyone finding out
- house tries to kill himself like 6 times and always fails (insulin shock, overdoses, electrocution, jumping off a building, cutting, etc)
- house fakes his death to get out of a prison sentence after violating his parole so he can live out his bi love story with his gay best friend who has 5 months to live
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Crowley froze, every atom of his body coming to a complete standstill. Aziraphale had appeared out of nowhere, just like that, and he felt like a fly in a spider's web, like he had just run against a glass door that he could not have seen. Oh, this was cruel. He did not turn around.
"Don't even use doors anymore?" He tried to keep his voice level, cold, unaffected. He failed considerably, but the message got across anyways.
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, immediately flinching at the words. The first time they were seeing each other again, after-- after that, and his first words were I'm sorry and he was apologizing for not using a door? Aziraphale felt like swearing, but could not. "I thought you wouldn't open if I-- well. I thought this was easier. Like a bandaid."
"Well, you were right. I wouldn't have." Steel was creeping into Crowley's voice, steel around his heart. With a forcing of limbs, he spun around, his gaze piercing through the armor of his sunglasses. Facing him.
"I need your help" Aziraphale said.
"What," Crowley said. He had possibly never put as much meaning into a single word. The glass door turned into a Great Wall. Aziraphale understood. But he was willing to climb.
The angel (oh, a true angel now, wasn't he--not his angel) fumbled, talking with his hands before his mouth even opened. Talking with his eyes, too, but they got lost in translation. Repelled by a black mirror.
"I know this is untoward. I know it's-- But Crowley, I don't have a lot of time."
"Nothing lasts forever, yeah," Crowley spat, hating himself the second the words left his lips. Unnecessary cruelty. Demonic, huh? Worse yet, Aziraphale accepted the verbal lashing. Don't forgive me, Crowley thought.
Crowley looked at him. He was still wearing his suit, there was tartan in it, but it had become polished, the worn edges returned to pristine, boring perfection. He looked prim. Proper. Perhaps this hurt most of all.
"Why are you here?"
Aziraphale glanced upwards. Then he looked intently at Crowley. I don't have much time. Right. He couldn't speak freely, Crowley realized. Of course he couldn't. This was exactly what he had been afraid of, what he had known would happen. His angel in chains. (Yet here he was. Here he was.)
"They don't know I'm here," Aziraphale mumbled, gesticulating weakly between them and Up. "I guess I can divert their attention now, for a bit. Comes with the new powers"--he shrugged helplessly--"but not for long. Crowley, do you know about-- about the-- what they're--"
"Armageddon 2.0? Sure."
There was an undecipherable look in Aziraphale's eyes. "Why didn't you-- well. It's not just. I mean it kind of is--it's. More than that. Crowley, I need you to do something for me."
"No."
"This is important." (This isn't about us.)
"I don't care." (There is no us anymore.)
"You do! You always have."
"Oh not this again," Crowley hissed. "You were an angel once. You can be forgiven. Shut up."
"That's not what I meant."
With two long, angry strides, Crowley closed the space between them. Menace, anger, hurt-- "Then what did you mean?" He spat the words. Like a weapon. (Then why was it a question?)
Aziraphale's face crumbled. He stood his ground nonetheless, not backing away. The angel's anger was less spiky, but it rose to meet Crowley's. It made his next words hit like bricks. "I mean that you love. I mean that you, Crowley, are the best person I know. I mean that I love you."
The words dropped like a lead balloon.
There was utter silence between them.
Why were they so close?
Why were his sunglasses so dark? Aziraphale saw only his own reflection. He couldn't bear that, and dropped his gaze. Oh, worse. There was his mouth, mere inches away.
Aziraphale looked at Crowley's lips, really really looked, and there was nothing more, now that he knew about the feeling of Crowley's lips and of his heart, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to kiss him. But he couldn't, he couldn't. Not like this. He needed the next time (he had to believe in a next time, in a time with Crowley, again)--the next time they kissed he needed it to be good and happy and an affirmation. He couldn't bear it otherwise. He would break entirely. He was sure of it.
But still, still-- Crowley was so close. He could smell nothing but him. Think of nothing but him. That weakness again, that soft spot inside him he had never known how to hold down. And with it, Want reared its greedy head. Aziraphal leaned in ever so slightly, felt their noses touch-- and then used all his strength to move away, to pull back. It was not the right time. Not yet.
He looked past Crowley, who might have as well turned to a pillar of salt. Crowley, whose face was a mask he couldn't let slip. The air flickered between them.
There were tears in his eyes when he finally forced his gaze towards Crowley's face, a silent plead to not misunderstand. Please, please. But he couldn't expect that of him. He was pulling away again. But not because he wanted to. No, there was nothing he wanted more than to pull closer. There was nothing more he wanted than to talk to him, to truly talk, to explain and apologize and make amends, but he was bound by Duty and Rules and Watching Eyes more than he ever had been.
This was his rebellion: he lifted a hand, the ghost of a touch, fingertips against cheekbone. The memory of holding on. Of never wanting to let go. Crowley flinched without moving, a shiver of his lips. Aziraphale let his hand drop, briefly, to Crowley's chest, holding it over his human heart. It was beating just like his.
This was his successful magic trick, when it counted: he drew away, leaving a crack in Crowley's steel-clad heart, and a note in his chest pocket.
"I'm sorry. I need to go."
"Of course you do."
"Oh, Crowley. I--" But he did not finish the sentence, knew there was no proper way how. So he said, quietly, softly, "Trust me, please."
And he did. Crowley hated it, hated it so much, but he did, he did trust him despite it all. But it did not erase the hurt. The festering wound. Now what was he supposed to do with that?
With one last pointed look, Aziraphale vanished.
Crowley was alone.
His defenses lay shattered at his feet, and he slowly gathered them back up. He did not mend the cracks. (That's where the light had gotten in.) He cleared his throat. Tried to banish from his mind the look in Aziraphale's eyes, the memory of his lips and of his tears.
And failed considerably.
I love you.
(Touched his cheek, and then his chest, and faltered.)
Ok, hear me out, THE THING IS, Aziraphale doesn't really care about what heaven did to him. Deep down, he thinks he deserved it. (I know, poor thing) But Crowley? Aziraphale ALWAYS though heaven was wrong about Crowley, and that him falling was a mistake. And to hear Metatron's offer to restore Crowley, oh, that was enough to convince him. Aziraphale doesn't think he's "saving" him. He already think Crowley is good, better than all the angels he knows. What Aziraphale thinks he's doing is bringing justice for Crowley. He can finally make it up for him, and show heaven how wrong they were about him in the first place.
He says to Crowley: "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." Because to Aziraphale, he is offering justice. The second chance no one ever gave Crowley and that he always deserved. How could Crowley not see he was doing this for him? Aziraphale was hurt and felt rejected.
And when Metatron comes back to fetch him, he almost don't go. He keeps looking out for Crowley, glancing at the window. But even without him, Aziraphale needs to do this. He needs to fix heaven for Crowley, even if he doesn't understand it.
The bottom line is this: Aziraphale does it all out of pure, desperate love for Crowley. He loves Crowley so much that he put his desire to be with him aside, just to persue what he thinks Crowley always deserved to have: recognition.
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