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Of the many human traditions that Aziraphale and Crowley had picked up over the years, celebrating Christmas—at least the way humans often went about it—was not one of them. That’s not to say there was nothing angelic about the auras of love that grew ever brighter around the 25th of December, or nothing demonic about the madness that overtook last minute holiday shoppers or Christmas fanatics ready to riot over a cup not being sufficiently festive. In fact, when they had been on the job, Christmas was one of the busiest times of year for an angel or demon on earth. Since their “retirement,” however, Aziraphale and Crowley had taken a step back from the work aspect of Christmas and come to the shared conclusion that they were not particularly interested in celebrating it. At least, not how most of the humans were inclined to do it. There was just something off about taking part in the commercialized version of the birthday of someone you had known personally, especially when you also knew that he wasn’t even born that time of year.
Though that’s not to say the couple had no holiday traditions at all. They visited Christmas markets and drank spiked eggnog (Crowley) or peppermint hot chocolate (Aziraphale). Aziraphale insisted on adorning Crowley’s plants with the most ridiculous angel and/or snake themed ornaments he could find, and used the holidays as an excuse to reduce the bookshop’s opening hours even more. Crowley enacted a series of miracles ensuring that any Salvation Army bell ringers were very unsuccessful (all in the name of demonic deeds, of course) and Aziraphale pretended not to notice. Also, ever since Crowley had found out Aziraphale was responsible for the Maccabees’ oil lasting eight days, he had been waiting for the right moment to gift his angel the perfect menorah he had found one year. That moment came after the not-Apocalypse, and since then Aziraphale and Crowley have celebrated Hanukkah together.
So, it was Christmas Eve, but it also wasn’t, really, it was any old winter’s night that a certain ethereal and occult being planned to spend together. As secular as any day could really be when you were literally an angel and a demon.
And it just happened to be December 24.
The point is that on this particular day, whatever one wishes to call it, Crowley was waiting for Aziraphale. In his flat, which was unusual in and of itself, but Aziraphale had insisted, Satan knows why. And bless it, Aziraphale was late. While the opening hours of the bookshop might have suggested this to be a common occurrence, Aziraphale was never late for Crowley. At least not since the two had cleared up some misunderstandings, confirmed certain mutual feelings, and became the sort of couple that would absolutely be seen holding hands in public, rather than the kind of couple that has to set up an alibi to explain why they were spotted together, lest their employers catch them fraternizing . So naturally, Crowley was worried.
Like many humans, Crowley did his best to appear very cool. And like with many humans, this apparent coolness was a front for high levels of anxiety. The thing was that after spending 6000 years of not actually getting to have Aziraphale, Crowley was still rather in shock that they had made it to this point, this point of togetherness and coupledom and everything that Crowley had convinced himself would stay firmly filed under “Impossible Fantasies To Only Be Considered If You Want To Deal Yourself Serious Emotional Damage.” As such, he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and this was one such moment where it certainly felt like the other shoe was dropping. Aziraphale was late. Aziraphale was never late.
“What if something terrible has happened?” thought Crowley. “What if he’s been recalled to Heaven? What if those angelic assholes are forcing him to return? Or, or, what if it’s Hell that’s got him? What if they are torturing him right now as I, his husband, just sit here and do nothing?! What if I never see him again!?! ”
Crowley took a brief pause from his panicking to replay what he had just thought. Husband? They weren’t married. Well...they had had The Arrangement With A Capital A since 1020 A.D, and in light of certain realizations of exactly how long they had been carrying the other’s torch...they could be married. “The Arrangement” did sound rather euphemistic, and the lack of a ceremony or rings or any of those traditions was certainly a non-issue, given that they were an occult and ethereal being who had lived through centuries of various marriage practices. Crowley decided they were married. The thought of Aziraphale being his husband did seem rather appealing, and plenty of humans already assumed they were married, as it were. At this point, they might as well go all in with the whole “being on humanity’s side” thing, and put the very human label on their relationship.
There was, however, a serious problem with this decision. One could not properly have a husband if said husband was currently MIA, possibly being kidnapped and tortured by his former employers. Crowley mentally hit himself in the head. Aziraphale’s very existence could be in danger, and here he was, thinking about marriage like some kind of sap ! His anxiety returned in full force. If Crowley had a human heart, it would have been beating very, very fast.
Deep down, though, Crowley was an optimist. Even deeper down, he was in possession of a very undemonic but absolutely desperate desire to be Aziraphale’s white knight. And he would be damned infinite times over before he let anything happen to his angel. So Crowley sprung into action. It was time...for a Plan . (As well as time for Plans B, C, D, and E, in the event that the first plan was unsuccessful. Never let it be said that Crowley was not thorough. At least when it came to matters pertaining to a certain angel.)
So. The Plans.
Plan A: Intimidation by means of plant mister.
Plan B: Physical attack with tire iron.
Plan C: Restrain adversaries with the demonically enhanced rope he had just so conveniently miracled up. Alternatively, use rope to rescue Aziraphale from a literal pit in Hell. You never knew what methods of punishment would be favored down there.
Plan D: Catch opponents by surprise with the frying pan Crowley had, rather stealthily and creatively, he thought, duct taped to his leg. He didn’t much like using guns, himself, and the frying pan and the duct tape were already there, no miracles necessary. And he’d seen a frying pan used as a weapon in a movie once. It made a very satisfying clunking sound against the head of your enemy.
Plan E was not fully fleshed out but at the time involved reliance on confusion and possibly the taking off of clothes. Crowley hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
But if it did? He would do it. He would do whatever he needed to do, and more.
“Aziraphale, do not worry!” bellowed Crowley. “I am coming to rescue you!” And he flung the door open, brandishing his plant mister and tire iron, ready to protect his angel like the avenging demon he was.
Except, as it turned out, Aziraphale didn’t need protecting. Because he was standing, perfectly intact, right outside the door.
“Hello, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “I am very sorry to be late. I was just putting the finishing touches on this gift for you. I hope I didn’t worry you too much. I would have called to let you know, but I was just so caught up in making sure this was just ri—oh Crowley,” he startled, suddenly noticing the plant mister, tire iron, coil of rope, and frying pan duct taped to Crowley’s leg in what was probably meant to be a makeshift holster. “Whatever happened to you?”
“To me? To me? ” Crowley looked around wildly, then pointed an accusatory finger at the angel. “What happened to me is that I was sitting here thinking about all the terrible things that must be happening to you! ”
“To me? ” Aziraphale looked taken aback and genuinely confused. “Why would terrible things be happening to me?”
“You were late! You’re never late! I thought...I thought...I thought that Gabriel and those wankers had come for you. Or maybe someone from my old side was trying something. Or...or...that you had left me. For Heaven. For...for good.” (Despite Crowley’s earlier thoughts of marriage, the idea had crossed his panic addled mind. As a demon, he knew how short lived marriages could be. What if a thousand years had been enough for Aziraphale to finally get sick of him?)
“But they didn’t,” said Aziraphale gently. “And I didn’t. I would never ,” he said firmly, gripping Crowley’s hands in his. “I chose Earth, and I chose humanity, but most importantly, I chose you . And I don’t plan on changing my mind. Our side, remember?”
“Ngk. Yeah,” Crowley grinned weakly, still reeling from the extremely powerful waves of love that had crashed into him as Aziraphale was making this declaration. Supposedly, demons couldn’t sense love, but it would have been impossible to not feel anything around Aziraphale. (Especially when he was with Crowley. Crowley, however, thought that angels were just like that. One can only hope that he would soon learn how wrong he was.)
“So...you’re not being kidnapped and taken hostage by our ex superiors?” clarified Crowley.
“No,” answered Aziraphale, fondly.
“You aren’t being incinerated alive along with all your precious books?”
“No!” Indignance, this time.
“You aren’t enduring hellish torture as punishment for your association with me?”
“No, but you should know that associating with you would be worth every bit of torture Heaven or Hell could possibly put me through.”
That one took Crowley a second to process. He quickly filed it under “Things To Definitely Bring Up Later” and plowed on with his questions. “You aren’t hopelessly trapped in the bowels of Hell, in dire need of a daring rescue by the dashing Anthony J. Crowley?”
“Definitely not trapped in the bowels of Hell,” said Aziraphale. “But. Um. You could rescue me. Anyways. If you wanted to. Which, by the way, I think you really, really do, so don’t try to deny it now.”
That one took Crowley rather more than a second to process. “Oh,” he said eventually. “Um. Maybe later?”
“Splendid,” said Aziraphale. “Now, if you could be a dear and let me into your flat? We’ve been standing in the doorway for quite some time now.”
“What? Oh yeah, yeah of course.” Crowley stepped aside and ushered Aziraphale in, and the two settled into one of Crowley’s very modern couches, which were far more comfortable than they looked. (If this was the case only because certain beings were willing it to be so, well, then that is none of the reader’s business. The reader should know, however, that Crowley had miracled away the duct tape frying pan holster by this point.)
A few moments of companionable silence passed. Well, Aziraphale probably experienced it as companionable. Crowley was still trying to process all of the emotions he had so rapidly cycled through in the last 20 minutes.
“Hey angel?”
“Yes, darling?” ( Darling. That was a new one. Crowley’s “Things To Definitely Bring Up Later” file gained a new entry.)
“Can I ask you one more question? For clarification reasons.”
“You just did, dear. But yes, you may.”
“Did you. Did you, uh. Mean it? What you said. That you chose me. For...forever?”
“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale. The overpowering waves of love were back. “I meant all of it and more.”
Crowley nearly melted into a puddle right then and there. He compromised by melting into Aziraphale’s arms instead, as the angel gently provided a blessing of calm to his very anxious demon.
As the calm washed over him, Crowley suddenly remembered something. “You said you had a gift for me?”
“Oh yes.” Aziraphale smiled and pulled a small box out of his coat pocket. “I know we don’t really celebrate Christmas, but this isn’t really a Christmas present anyways, or a Hanukkah present for that matter, though it is the third night and I definitely can miracle over that lovely menorah you got for me if you’d like to light the candles together, and, well. Here you go.” Realizing he’d been rambling, Aziraphale cut himself off and pressed the small box into Crowley’s hands. “Open it!”
Crowley opened it. It was a ring.
A ring .
Specifically, a ring made to look like the finger of the ring’s wearer was wrapped in feathery angel wings.
“Do you like it?” asked Aziraphale, almost nervously. “It’s not the most traditional of wedding ring designs, but we aren’t the most traditional of couples, are we? I thought I could have one that looked like a coiled snake, thematically appropriate, you know. Each having a little piece of each other.”
“Angel,” Crowley said, attempting to look serious and delighted at the same time, “I love it. Almost,” he added, most likely thinking himself very smooth, “as much as I love you.” To his credit, Aziraphale, caught up in the moment, merely let his smile grow even wider than it already had been.
Perhaps Crowley got just a little too lost in that smile. Perhaps he was still a bit disoriented from the minor ordeal he had just been through. Whatever the cause, he promptly forgot that his prior “conversation” regarding exactly how long they had been “married” had been with himself , not Aziraphale, and said, “Wasn’t sure if you’d go in for human conventions of marriage, or if you did, which ones. But after technically being married for nearly a millennium, there is...nothing I would like more than for everyone to know it.”
For the second time that night, Aziraphale looked taken aback and genuinely confused. “A millennium? I just proposed to you, and you’re telling me we’ve already been married for a millennium? ”
“Oh...uh, well...yeah….the Arrangement? We, uh, started it in 1020, and we both know how long we’ve loved each other now, and, well, uh, I just? Thought? That it could count as marriage, I mean, I wasn’t sure if you would ever ask, or if you would want me to ask, and it’s just nice to think of us as married, and it’s not like there are specifics for what makes an angel and demon married...so. uh. yeah,” Crowley trailed off rather lamely, looking embarrassed.
“Oh,” said Aziraphale, “has it really been a millennium? In that case, dear, I would love to celebrate our 1000th wedding anniversary by finally making it official, as it were.”
They sealed it with a kiss, and as they pulled away, still gazing lovingly at the other, each was thinking the same thing.
Husband. That’s my husband.
And it felt absolutely divine.
(Also frankly hot as hell. The fact that this particular event was able to be both, is, of course, ineffable. )
It was definitely the best Christmas gift either of them had ever received.