Archive of Our Own ^beta

The apple harvest is turning out particularly pleasant this year. Rows upon rows of fruit are sprouting from the branches of the tree, up to half the size of Crowley’s hand, which is a new record. Pale green, most of them, though he has spotted the faintest hue of red on one or two specimens. Quite the feat, that, for a tree that has never seen the sun.

Though Crowley is technically duke of the underworld, people seem more than happy to disregard that technicality. God forbid he calls one of them the wrong thing, like when he referred to Gabriel as the supreme paper-pusher that one time, but ask any of them who he is, and all they’ll say is he’s the master of death.

And sure, he deals in death. Lots of dead people down here. But that’s not all there is, not even remotely all he does. The underworld is structured the same as the world above, it just comes… later. But they have all the same things, people and conflict and politics and culture, to only name a few.

Not that anyone cares. It’s all the same to those Above.

Sometimes Crowley looks at his garden, all that he grows down here, and has to restrain himself from sending a rude memo to head offices just to rub it in their snobby little faces.

The truth of the matter is this: to understand death, one must have a grasp of life too. There isn’t one without the other, one that hasn’t been or won’t become the other, only moments in time before or after the other. A state of flux, if you will, always containing a little bit of both. And so one who deals in death, if looked at from the right perspective, deals in life too.

Hence the flora of the underworld that would blow the angels’ minds, if they ever bothered to look.

Hence the apples.

And, if he does say so himself, it really is an exceptionally delightful crop he’s currently growing.

Usually, Crowley is the only one to admire it though.

When he first catches the movement from the corner of his eye, he thinks he’s seeing things. White robes, neat little curls, not a speck of dirt on his face. A very fair face, with the kind of healthy flush that comes from being outside a lot. He is definitely an angel. And he is wandering into Crowley’s backyard like a man on a mission, making a beeline for his cherished tree and-

Crowley’s eyes nearly fall out of his head when he inspects one of the apples, then plucks it from the branch faster than he can look. He lifts it to his face, inhaling deeply, and the sight of it so close to his mouth finally shakes him out of his stupor.

“Um. I feel like you should definitely know this, but eating that will make you have to stay here. Forever.”

The angel startles, clearly having thought himself alone. Crowley tries to assume a normal, collected, and definitely not alarmed stance. For a moment they just stare at each other.

Then the angel looks down at the apple and lowers his hand with a look of disappointment.

“Oh, yes. Quite.”

He glances at the tree wistfully, then lets his gaze wander around the garden.

“This is a surprise, I’ll admit. One would expect it to be bleaker down here, wouldn’t one?”

There is no nastiness in his voice, only curiosity, which is the only reason Crowley doesn’t bristle.

“I suppose one would.”

The angel turns back to him. “This is your realm?”

“Yeah. I live here. And, well. I suppose I’m also responsible for it.” He scratches his neck, then extends his hand. He immediately feels stupid for it, but the angel smiles and takes it without missing a beat. Vines are decorating his wrist and arm, the little blossoms matching the color of his eyes.

Cute.

“I’m Crowley.”

“Ah. Duke of the underworld, is it not? I’m Aziraphale. Angel of harvest and fruitfulness.”

“Pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

He sounds like he means it, too. His hand is warm and solid in Crowley’s grip, soft skin contrasting with surprising roughness where calluses have formed after years of labor. Interesting, not because it means he isn’t afraid of helping his magic along with physical work, but because he hasn’t made the effort to miracle them away.

Crowley realizes that he’s still holding his hand and abruptly lets go.

“’s not as bad as all that,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Down here, I mean. Just… darker, by definition.”

Humming, Aziraphale notes, “Darkness isn’t a bad thing in itself, I should think.”

Crowley lifts an eyebrow. “Isn’t it.”

He knows that. Not many other people seem to, though.

Aziraphale lifts his shoulders. “It’s necessary, of course. For contrast. Without it, how would we know to appreciate the light?”

Crowley opens his mouth to point out that there is something to be appreciated about the dark too, thank you very much, but Aziraphale isn’t finished.

“Furthermore, without the dark, how would light even exist? Without contrast, there is neither one nor the other. There is only stasis, and clearly, life is the opposite of that. It is constant change. Both play a part in it, the light and the dark. Two sides of the same coin, one might say. Too much of one and the scales tip.”

Crowley distantly realizes that his mouth is still open. Aziraphale thankfully hasn’t noticed, as his focus is on the apple he’s holding, which… appears to be changing. Crowley watches as it grows in size, not significantly, but noticeably so, as it might have if it had stayed on the tree for another week. The pale green color grows less muted, the red hue more pronounced, spreading out. In the palm of Aziraphale’s hand, the apple becomes perfectly ripe, stopping only at what must be its prime.

“A little more of that, and it’ll start to rot.” Aziraphale glances up, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Two sides, same coin.”

Crowley looks back and forth between the apple and Aziraphale’s smile. He knows he should say something – he wants to, just to keep this bizarre encounter going – but his mind is curiously blank.

“Of course, you already know that,” Aziraphale continues, clearly not minding the lack of input on his part. “You couldn’t have grown this lovely garden otherwise.”

Lovely?

“I- hng, yeah. It’s.” He starts fiddling with one of the wildflowers braided into his hair, notices that it draws Aziraphale’s attention, and immediately stops. “It takes a bit of work, but it gets you results.”

“Oh, certainly. I never suspected you had all this hidden away down here. It’s simply fascinating.”

Crowley perks up, because it is fascinating, and even more so that someone from Above is willing to acknowledge that. He curbs the impulse to spill a litany of what exactly he does to maintain this place, not to mention the underworld at large, and instead remarks, “Well, none of you ever come down here, so how would you know? Word doesn’t really travel to Above. More of a one-way street, the road here.”

Aziraphale gives him a look.

“My dear, the road here was positively frightful and rather ridiculously convoluted. Maybe that is why none of us ever come down here.”

Crowley huffs and crosses his arms, opening his mouth and then closing it again with a wordless sound that could mean anything.

Then he narrows his eyes. “Why did you? Come here?”

“Oh, I picked up on a scent and followed it. The apples, it turns out. I have a sense for these things, you see.”

He notices the look on Crowley’s face and adds, a touch defensively, “I was feeling peckish.”

“Peckish,” Crowley echoes, incredulous. He distantly notices the corner of his mouth lifting, forming something like a smile entirely without his permission, but it’s the least of his worries right now. “You walked into the underworld because you smelled an apple and felt peckish. An apple you won’t even get to eat , on account of it being grown in the underworld."

Aziraphale sends him a withering glance before he looks down at the apple, disappointment written all over his face.

“Ah, well.” He hands it to Crowley, who accepts it automatically.

“I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. This is yours, anyway. Even though I did slightly modify it.” He looks at it, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m not sure it’ll be to your taste. It’s probably different from what you usually grow here.”

Opening his mouth to say something witty about trying something new, Crowley is surprised to find that his wit seems to have abandoned him for the time being.

“Ngk.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agrees. He has another look around the garden, still fiddling, before his eyes snap to Crowley.

“Well, I’ll be leaving you to it, then. Lots of things to do down here, I imagine. There certainly are Above, which I should be getting back to.”

“Right,” Crowley says, ignoring the dropping sensation in his stomach. He might be peckish too, come to think of it. It’s been known to happen sometimes. “Get back to harvesting. Find something to nibble on.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale says with one last wistful look at the apple. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Mind how you go.”

Crowley pauses, perplexed. “ You mind how you go.”

“Certainly,” Aziraphale agrees. He turns to head off, but not without one last look over his shoulder, sending a rather blinding smile his way.

Crowley is so taken aback that the angel is long gone by the time he realizes that he never told him it was nice to meet him, too.

He blinks at the apple, then lifts it to his nose. Fragrant and sweet, a much more prominent scent than his regular produce has. He takes a careful bite, juice filling his mouth in an instant, carrying a sweet, aromatic taste that is indeed quite unlike anything he usually grows here.

All of a sudden, Crowley is famished .

*

“He won’t come back,” Crowley tells the raven sternly.

The raven stares at him, cocking its head.

“Well, it’s not my fault you missed him. But I’m telling you, he was here. A real life angel! He won’t be coming back, though, so don’t you get your hopes up. You missed your chance, buddy.”

The raven is entirely expressionless.

“Tough luck,” Crowley mutters.

Of course he won’t be coming back. That would be ridiculous. It was ridiculous of him to come the first time, there is no reason why he’d do it again .

It’s been two days, anyway. He hasn’t heard anything. Not that he expected to hear something. He wouldn’t even know what . Maybe he’ll see Aziraphale at one of the next team building events and they’ll have a laugh about that one time he walked right into his backyard. Though Crowley has never seen him on those occasions before. Demons and angels tend to stick to their own whenever they’re forced to participate.

Anyway, the next one isn’t scheduled for another fifty years or so. Aziraphale will have forgotten all about it by then.

“I’m telling you, walked right up to the apple tree, just plucked one from the branch. Almost ate it, too!” Crowley is telling another raven three days later as he’s kneeling in his garden, planting seeds. He’s fairly certain it’s another raven, anyway. They do all look a bit alike. The raven is giving nothing away, but it also hasn’t left, so he can’t be boring it too much. “Changed it a bit, too. I ended up eating it. Wasn’t bad, between us. Not that the other apples aren’t fine as they are.” He glances over his shoulder at the tree. “Don’t go telling them that, though. If they think they don’t need to do better, they’ll start slacking off.”

The raven caws.

“Exactly. Can’t have that,” Crowley agrees, pushing another seed into the bed.

“Can’t have what?”

Crowley yelps and spins around, which, as he was in an unfortunate position to begin with, results in a rather unflattering tumble. Landing roughly on his backside, Crowley blinks up at the distinct shape of Aziraphale, smiling down at him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

What is it about his smiles? Already Crowley is finding it hard to think.

Putting his rabid pulse down to the shock, Crowley absently wipes his soiled hands on his robes. Good thing he doesn’t wear white, unlike other people. Even though they must work in the dirt too.

Aziraphale, Crowley is beginning to realize, might be a bit of a ridiculous person.

He came back, didn’t he?

He came back.

“Angel,” he greets, trying his hardest to sound cool and collected, which is challenging because it’s pretty much the opposite of how he feels. “Don’t tell me you got hungry again.”

“Oh, no. I had a lovely meal before I came this time. Didn’t want to unnecessarily tempt myself with your produce again.”

“That’s sensible,” Crowley acknowledges. More sensible than just walking into the underworld again for no discernible reason, but he isn’t about to point that out. Best not to deter him.

“So…” He lifts his shoulders. “What, uh, what brings you here?”

Smooth. Aziraphale merely offers a somewhat bashful smile, though.

“Ah, well. I’ll admit that my last visit got me rather curious about this place. I found myself regretting only seeing such a small part of it once I’d returned, so I thought I’d pop over, or, well, down, and have another look around. If you don’t mind. I do realize that this must be rather unexpected, and I’m sure you’re very busy, so-“

“No, I’ve got nothing on,” Crowley says before Aziraphale can finish, then shuts his mouth with a click.

“Oh!” He perks up. “Well, then. How lucky.”

“Yeah.” Crowley scratches his temple. “So you- you want to see more . Of the underworld.”

He can’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. Aziraphale nods avidly.

“If it really isn’t a bother. I can have a look around by myself, of course, though I would be much obliged if you could point out which river is the Lethe first. It wouldn’t do to accidentally take a tumble and forget who I am.”

“No, no, ‘s no bother,” Crowley assures him. He won’t be letting this angel take a tumble into any rivers, nor do as much as set foot in the wrong area. The underworld didn’t get its reputation from nowhere; it can be a dangerous and difficult place to navigate if you don’t know your way around.

Luckily, there is no one who knows it better than Crowley.

He takes a moment to miracle his hands clean of any residual soil, then holds out an arm. Despite the fact that he initiated the gesture, his heart jostles rather alarmingly when Aziraphale accepts it.

“Let me give you a tour.”

While Crowley is personally rather proud of how he has structured and maintained the land, he knows that not everyone can see beauty in the rough and the dark, in pale, muted colors and shadows. Certainly not everyone from Above. Aziraphale, however, appears deeply intrigued. Even the dead they pass on the way, waiting to be processed, don’t put him off – he smiles and nods at them, even talks to a few souls in passing.

Crowley steers him away from the business area before long, though, keen on showing him more of his scenic work. On having him to himself, too.

A full tour of the underworld is obviously out of the question, as Aziraphale will need to return to the Above sooner rather than later, but Crowley makes sure to show him the lay of the land, walk him through the city from the east to the west, one riverbed to the other.

Aziraphale follows wherever he leads. Not once does his expression betray displeasure or disgust, and Crowley watches him intently. He asks questions, too. Intelligent questions, somewhat ignorant at times, but Crowley can forgive him the things he never had the opportunity to learn in light of his evident desire to learn them now.

Perhaps most astonishing, though, is the fact that Aziraphale never lets go of his arm. When they do come across the Lethe, he even goes as far as tightening his hold on him. Crowley, who has started to wonder if he didn’t simply forget that they were still touching, promptly decides that strolling along the riverside a little longer won’t hurt anyone.

Encouraged by Aziraphale’s reaction, a distinct skip sneaks into his step, an eagerness into his gestures as Crowley explains the intricate details of the work he does.

“This is the southern border,” he explains when they reach the fifth river, stopping a few feet away to avoid the flames. They wouldn’t hurt him, but he won’t risk any harm coming to Aziraphale. “Phlegeton.”

“The River of Fire.” Aziraphale nods. “And this leads to-?”

“Tartarus, yeah. It’s a long way off, still, but if you follow the river, you’ll eventually find it. Not that I’m going to take you there. Rarely go myself, really. Not the kind of place you want to spend your time in. Most of the administrative work can be done remotely, and I’ve put some demons in charge of maintenance. Takes a certain crowd to enjoy the eternal damnation, so I don’t mind leaving that to them.”

“Certainly not,” Aziraphale mutters, eyes lingering where the river disappears from sight with a frown before he turns away. “So if Tartarus is this way, then Elysium…”

“To the north,” Crowley tells him. “Also quite a long way, unfortunately. You’d like it there. No sunlight, obviously, ‘s still the underworld, but there’s light enough, and a landscape- hah, well, to die for. Gorgeous, if I do say so myself. Did some solid work there. Wouldn’t call it my finest, ‘cause it takes a whole lot more to manage a land that isn’t blessed and already beautiful, but it’s…”

Crowley falters, suddenly very aware that Aziraphale is staring at him, listening intently.

“Uh,” he finishes, his train of thought lost. “Yeah.” He clears his throat.

“Certainly,” Aziraphale says. His eyes are still on his, unwavering. Has he even blinked? Has Crowley?

“Right. Yeah,” Crowley repeats dumbly, then mentally shakes himself. “Uh. T-to the west, there’s, uh. The Asphodel Meadows, also.”

Not his strongest sentence, admittedly, but Aziraphale nods, his gaze following Crowley’s.

“The middle ground.”

“Yup. Most souls end up there. ‘s not bad, if you ask me. Not all that different from Above, or so I’m told. Not like I spend much time up there myself.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Aziraphale mutters. Is Crowley imagining it, or does he actually sound disappointed?

Before he can get to the bottom of things (namely, Aziraphale’s pale, blue eyes), he straightens with a deep breath and smiles, chasing away any shadows lingering on his face.

“It’s impressive work, I’ll say. Much more intricate than you’d think, from what the Archangels tell us. If you listen to Gabriel, you’d expect this place to be a barren wasteland.”

“How shocking,” Crowley mutters dryly. He starts leading Aziraphale back to their starting point despite the twinge in his gut telling him not to, knowing that their little excursion has to come to an end eventually. Best not to keep Aziraphale longer than he wants to stay, or he’s never going to come back.

“You don’t mind if I stay a while longer, do you?” Aziraphale asks when they reach his house.

“Uhm,” Crowley says.

“It’s just that I’ve been dying to take a closer look at your garden,” Aziraphale carries on, wringing his hands as he cranes his neck to peek into the backyard. Even if Crowley wanted to, he couldn’t refuse him looking like that.

“Sure. I mean, stay as long as you want, angel,” he says gruffly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Look around all you like. I don’t mind.”

“What a dear you are.” Aziraphale beams at him, then marches right into the garden. He doesn’t waste another moment, little ohh s and appreciative sounds accompanying his explorations.

He stops to sniff at the pale azalea, traces the lines of the mint leaves between his fingertips. At the apple tree he smiles, throwing Crowley a look over his shoulder like they’re sharing a joke. The berries make him pause, bending down to inspect the miniscule, dark fruits.

“Oh, how perfectly lovely,” he breathes out.

Crowley itches to offer him one. Try them is on the tip of his tongue before he remembers why that would be a bad idea. Probably. Well, it would be, because Aziraphale doesn’t actually want to stay. No matter how nice it is having him here.

He startles out of his reverie of what it would be like to have him around more often – permanently even – when Aziraphale turns to him and says, “I can’t believe you’re growing all this down here. And without sunlight! Your magic must be extraordinary.”

“Oh, well.” Crowley blows a breath through his lips. “It’s not all me. Don’t have time for that, and I can’t use my powers for just the flora, of course. Lots of other things to do down here. The garden’s more of a hobby, I s’ppose.”

“And what a lovely hobby it is. All the more impressive, really, if you only do this on the side.”

Before Crowley can respond, Aziraphale steps closer with a hopeful look.

“Would you mind showing me? I’d like to see how it works.”

“Oh. Sure, yeah. It’s not all that exciting, really. I just…”

Looking around searchingly, Crowley’s eyes land on the apple tree. Might as well. He skips over, eyeing the crop before picking one that will suit his demonstration, having only just begun to grow. It nestles perfectly in the palm of his hand, and he holds it out to show it to Aziraphale.

“I’ve already infused the seeds with magic. ‘s the first thing I do, when I plant something. Make sure it has what it needs to thrive in the environment. Just a spark of life’ll do the trick.”

He waves towards the apple.

“Now, when they’re around this size, they usually need a bit of extra attention to make the cut. Like this.”

Closing his hand over it, he focuses his powers, guiding a gentle stream of magic into the fruit. He can feel it taking, the apple pushing the slightest bit against his palm as it grows, but he’s not looking down to see. He’s looking at Aziraphale, who watches the process intently.

He shifts his hands to allow a better view of the apple, steadily growing bigger, gaining a little more color.

“That’s all there is to it. The rest it knows how to do by itself. I just give it a nudge, really.”

Aziraphale gazes up at him with a smile.

“It’s astonishing, dear.”

Crowley purses his lips, trying to come up with something suave to say, but Aziraphale is already looking at the apple again.

“I wonder…”

He trails off, then reaches out and, carefully, lays his hands over Crowley’s. He startles when he feels the warm tingle of Aziraphale’s magic flowing from his palms through him. It mingles with his own, and the apple grows and colors and changes right there in his palm into a version Crowley has never seen before.

“Ah,” Aziraphale breathes out, his hands lingering even when the magic stops flowing. Then he lowers them, smiling as Crowley examines the apple. It’s yellow, a deep yellow that stands out in their muted surroundings. It’s a warm color, one Crowley never sees down here, hasn’t seen at all in quite some time.

“This is different,” he mutters, lifting it to his nose to smell it.

Aziraphale watches with avid interest.

“Good?”

In response, Crowley holds the apple out for him. Aziraphale leans in and inhales deeply, sampling the scent like a fine wine.

He sighs, lips stretched in delight when he meets Crowley’s eyes. “ Very good, I should say.” The smile falters, becomes wistful at the edges. “Pity I won’t be able to taste it.”

Crowley hums. He retracts the apple, eyes it once more before bringing it to his mouth and taking a bite.

The sweet juice coats his lips and fills his mouth as he chews, the taste lingering once he’s swallowed. It’s stronger than usual, more intense. It immediately leaves him wanting more.

“It’s delicious.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agrees.

He is staring at him again , eyes fixed on Crowley’s own so intently that he starts feeling tingly, only this time there is no magic at work.

“Golden,” Aziraphale murmurs under his breath, then startles.

Crowley lifts an eyebrow, considering the apple. “That’s stretching it a little, no?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks display a faint hue of red when he glances at him. He bites his lip, then lifts his chin defiantly. “I think it fits.”

“Right then,” Crowley says, amused. It’s really more of a yellow color, but he’ll let him have it.

Aziraphale contemplates the apple again, his lips pursed in thought. They look terribly soft and plush like this. Crowley can’t take his eyes off them.

“Golden… delicious you called it, yes? Golden delicious.”

“Huh?” 

Crowley blinks, struggling to redirect his attention.

“As a name,” Aziraphale clarifies. “Above, all types of fruit have names. And this is definitely a new type we’ve created. I would know,” he adds primly. It’s ridiculously cute.

“Oh. Sure,” Crowley agrees, shaking himself. “Yeah, why not? Let’s go with that.”

There is little variety of fruit in the underworld, certainly not enough that Crowley has ever needed to name anything. But it’s worth it for the blinding smile on Aziraphale’s face that he receives in return.

It’s the brightest thing Crowley has seen down here in ages.

*

“He’s probably not coming back,” Crowley tells the raven.

The raven remains silent, which Crowley is forced to take as agreement.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Definitely not coming back.”

There is no reason whatsoever for him to return.

Crowley shouldn’t be expecting it, certainly not wait for it. He doesn’t even dare hope for it. Only that he sort of does anyway, and rather desperately so.

It’s turning into a problem.

Everything is exactly the same as it’s always been; his work, his life, his daily tasks, and yet it’s totally different, because now he can’t seem to stop thinking about pale blue eyes and that lovely, beaming smile.

In his garden, he keeps listening for the sound of Aziraphale’s voice amidst the cawing of the ravens, the telltale fall of his steps on the grass. Among the dead, he’s always looking for a mob of fair curls and a kind, sun-kissed face. None of it makes sense .

That doesn’t stop him from doing it, though.

“And it’s probably for the best, anyway,” he explains to the raven, digging around the roots of his berry bushes forcefully. “If he doesn’t, I mean. ‘Cause, really, what’s the endgame here? Right. Exactly.”

The raven makes a croaking sound. He just won’t see reason.

“Well, it’s no good getting your hopes up like that. Setting yourself up for disappointment is what you’re doing. And then what, hm? What happens then? Yeah, ‘s what I thought. No good, I’m telling you.”

“Do they ever respond?”

Crowley drops his tools and, in a more unfortunate turn of events, also drops on his backside. Again. He scrambles around to find Aziraphale looking down at him with his hands primly behind his back, the smile playing on his lips not entirely innocent.

All that Crowley can manage in response is a sophisticated, “Wh- huh?”

“Your ravens,” Aziraphale clarifies pleasantly. “You seem to be talking to them a lot.”

Part of Crowley is mortified to be caught red-handed talking to a bird for the second time, but after the initial shock the joy of seeing Aziraphale again fills his chest rapidly, expanding fast, leaving little room for embarrassment. He scrambles to his feet, and, finally on even footing, manages to respond properly.

“They're not mine ,” he says, rubbing his nose. “They just… live here.”

The raven cocks its head and, for a creature lacking all facial expression, gives him a surprisingly expressive look. Crowley makes a face at it. The raven caws, ruffling its feathers.

“I think your handsome friend here would disagree,” Aziraphale remarks, but doesn’t comment on the matter further, instead holding out a finger to the raven before starting to stroke lightly down its head.

The raven caws again, pushing into Aziraphale's touch. A more feline creature undoubtedly would have purred.

Crowley watches the scene with pinched lips, forced to confront the fact that for the first time in his life, he is jealous of a bird.

Shaking himself, he tries to get rid of the ridiculous feeling. He only partially succeeds.

“What…” he begins, intent on changing the subject, then trails off, worrying that asking for a reason behind his visit will imply that Aziraphale needs a reason to visit.

“Oh, I found myself with some spare time on my hands,” Aziraphale offers at once, clearly needing no further prompting. “And I'm sure you're busy, what with this whole realm being your responsibility and all, but I do firmly believe that breaks are very important to keep up one's performance.”

“Oh. Yes. ‘Course. Very important, yeah.”

“Exactly.” Aziraphale gives him a bright smile. “Would you care to keep me company during mine, then? We'd both benefit from it, I'm sure. If you've got nothing too pressing on, that is.”

“Nothing, no,” Crowley says, kicking his tools aside at once. The bush can wait until later. It’ll take care of itself until then, if it knows what’s good for it.

“Oh, splendid!” Aziraphale wriggles in excitement. “I thought we might have a little picnic of sorts? Now, I know what you're thinking,” he hurries to add, “but I did come prepared. I brought some treats from Above for myself, and you can just get yourself what you're in the mood for from here. What do you say?”

Ridiculous , Crowley thinks, in a more affectionate way than he thought himself capable of. “I say excellent,” is what he conveys out loud.

“Wonderful, simply wonderful!” Aziraphale is practically beaming. “It's not very traditional, mind you, both of us only eating our own food, but, well, allowances must be made under the circumstances.”

Crowley makes a dismissive sound. “I’m not big on traditions anyway. I mean, sure, they’re nice and all. Bit overrated, though, if you ask me. If you always do what’s always been done, how are you ever going to discover anything new?”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale mutters, lifting his eyebrows. Then he shakes himself and claps his hands together. “Well, what are you having?”

“Ah. Uh…” Crowley looks around the garden. He’s not particularly hungry, but he could have a persimmon or two. The berries are looking rather nice as well. And, of course, an apple won’t hurt.

He grabs a small basket to put everything into, then collects his lunch, Aziraphale an attentive presence by his side.

“Ready,” he announces. “D’you wanna go somewhere in particular? I can take you anywhere you wanna go.”

“Oh, I think right here will work rather nicely, don’t you? You’ve put so much work into this lovely garden, after all. Would be a shame not to appreciate it.”

And with that, Aziraphale pulls out a picnic blanket, accompanying a basket he must have prepared beforehand. He wastes no time to lay it out on the grass, then kneels and pats the empty space next to him with an expectant smile.

Crowley doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Folding one leg under himself, the other spread out along the edge of the blanket, he watches Aziraphale take out half a dozen small plates and bowls, each containing a different dish. The variety of colors – bright and intense, nothing that could grow in the underworld – would draw his attention any other day, but Crowley finds himself thoroughly distracted by Aziraphale’s robes, specifically the way they have hitched up and are now putting a good portion of his leg on display.

“I wish I could offer you a bite.”

Crowley’s eyes snap up. “Huh?”

“Of these dishes. It’s a rather silly rule, don’t you think? Us not being able to taste food from each other’s realms without it upending our entire lives?” Aziraphale wrinkles his nose.

“Yeah, well.” Crowley leans on his elbow, cocking an eyebrow. “When you consider who came up with it, it starts making more sense.”

“I suppose the archangels are rather far away from the realities of… the job,” Aziraphale finishes at the same time as Crowley says, “Life.”

Aziraphale pinches his lips, but Crowley can still see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“Yes, rather,” he agrees delicately, then clears his throat. “Well, shall we begin? Are you sure you don’t want to grab anything else to eat? I’m happy to wait.”

“No need. I’m not all that hungry.”

“Oh.”

“Which isn’t to say that I don’t- relish the opportunity to take a break,” Crowley hurries to add at his expression.

And spend some time with you , he doesn’t say.

“Well. If you’re sure.”

Aziraphale smiles tentatively, then picks up one of his bowls. In it is an array of colorful fruit, all shades of yellow and orange, a bit of red too, and some sort of cream. More to reassure him than anything else, Crowley takes a handful of berries and places one between his lips.

“Those look familiar,” Aziraphale comments. “You know, we have them Above too. Their color is just a bit deeper.”

“And they’re bigger too, I imagine,” Crowley says, popping two more into his mouth. “Growth is always limited without sunlight. The light down here doesn’t do the same for the plants as the sun does.”

Aziraphale hums. “Then again, the sun can be too much of a good thing too. Burning the poor things, drying out the soil. Without my helping things along here and there, there wouldn’t be much growth at all.”

He eyes the bowl of berries. “I wonder if they taste the same,” he mutters.

Before he can get any ideas of giving in to his curiosity, Crowley grabs his apple and waves it before his face.

“Check this one out,” he says, not without pride. “This crop is one of the best I’ve grown. All without sunlight, naturally.”

“Marvelous,” Aziraphale breathes out. “How does it taste?”

“Good enough. Not as intense as the one you helped with the other day, but rather lovely in its own right.” He throws a look over his shoulder. “Don’t tell the tree I said that. Can’t have it getting any ideas about slacking off.”

“No, no. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Aziraphale assures him, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. Then he bites his lip, contemplating the apple.

“Should we, ah… I mean, not that I want to diminish your work, I’m sure the apple is perfectly delicious as it is-“

Not waiting for him to finish, Crowley holds it out to him. Smiling, Aziraphale takes it. This time Crowley covers his hands with his, letting the magic trickle through the warm skin into the fruit. He can feel Aziraphale doing the same. The tingling is familiar at this point, though no less exciting for it.

Beneath their hands, the apple grows and ripens. It’s a slow, lovely process, and quite easy to lose himself in. Crowley only remembers to stop when Aziraphale does, murmuring gently, “Enough.”

He opens his hands, and Crowley takes the apple, admiring the deep yellow of it from all sides.

“Look at that. Gorgeous.”

“Have a taste,” Aziraphale urges. He watches unblinkingly as Crowley takes a bite, licking a bit of juice that has run down his lips away before he chews.

“Mnh. Yeah.” Aziraphale is still gazing at him. “It’s really good. Like last time.” He makes a face. “Pity about your rule.”

“It’s not my rule.” Aziraphale frowns, then lets out a deep breath in resignation. “I suppose there must be some point to it. Even if we can’t see it. Rules are rules for a reason, after all.”

“There’s no reason. It’s completely pointless.”

“It’s ineffable,” Aziraphale argues. Crowley snorts.

“ Ineffable ? It’s stupid, angel, is what it is.”

Aziraphale sends him a disapproving glance.

“I suppose comments like that are why the other angels talk about you lot down here the way they do.”

“And yet you keep coming back,” Crowley points out, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale looks down, but not fast enough to hide the faint flush rising in his cheeks. Crowley watches the color spread, fascinated. “I’m only trying to learn a little more about your ways, now that I’ve realized I have spent the better part of my existence somewhat ignorant.”

“Which already sets you apart from the rest of your lot up there.”

Aziraphale wrinkles his forehead. He hesitates, whatever he wants to say – or perhaps feels he should say – never actually making it past his lips. Instead, his shoulders slump.

“Oh, blast it. They really are rather ignorant, aren’t they?” He leans in as if to divulge a secret. Crowley, drawn in like a magnet, does the same. “Do you know that Gabriel doesn’t actually understand how humans procreate? During the last angels conference, he talked about them being formed out of mud to this day ! In front of everyone! It was horrifically embarrassing.”

Crowley snorts. “For him, yeah. Sounds hilarious on your end.”

“Well. It was a bit funny,” Aziraphale admits, looking to the side. When he glances up to meet Crowley’s eyes, the façade breaks and he bursts into giggles. “Oh, stop it! It’s a good thing you weren’t there. You would have gotten me into trouble.”

“Probably. But there’s no risk of that now, angel. Laugh about Gabriel all you want, I’m not gonna tell anybody. In fact, I encourage it.”

“I’m sure you do,” Aziraphale says, trying hard to sound disapproving and falling miles short. Then he sighs, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, it shouldn’t have surprised me. This was, after all, the archangel who still hasn’t caught on that I don’t conveniently misplace my flaming sword every time I’m supposed to bring it somewhere.”

“What’d you do with it?”

“I gave it away. To a human,” Aziraphale clarifies.

“You what ?”

“I gave it away!” He grabs a pastry from one of his plates and takes a bite, chewing furiously. The dough sticks to his lips in flakes. It costs Crowley every ounce of self-control not to brush them away.

“To the first human, actually,” Aziraphale elaborates once he’s swallowed, casting him a look from underneath his lashes. “Prometheus and Athena may have given life to him, but then they just left him defenseless! And there are vicious animals out there. Really, he had much better use for it than I did. I mean, what am I going to do with a flaming sword, anyway? I’m the angel of harvest and fruitfulness. I can’t very well risk burning all my crops down.”

“Right,” Crowley says. “And Gabriel still has no clue that you gave the sword away centuries ago?”

“Certainly not. Not that he’d understand why I did it, so the possibility probably never even occurred to him.”

Then he drops his gaze, adding under his breath, “Perhaps if he spent a little less time admiring himself in a mirror, he’d have a better grasp of the nuances of human life.”

Crowley nearly chokes on the berries he just popped between his lips, staring at Aziraphale with his mouth hanging open.

“Angel.”

“What?”

Crowley’s cheeks strain with the force of his grin. “So you’re a bit of a bastard. I never knew you had it in you.”

“You’ve known me for all of a month, dear,” Aziraphale remarks drily, which is in no shape or form a denial of the accusation.

Crowley is exhilarated .

He’s also, underneath his delight about uncovering this delicious side of Aziraphale, aware that this is going to come back to bite him in the ass. Because sure, he had a bit of a crush on Aziraphale before. But now that he knows he isn’t just cute and interested in him and his ways, but actually interesting , he’s in real trouble.

This isn’t going to end well, he thinks, and yet he can’t bring himself to end it now. So he sits there, and listens to Aziraphale, and watches him enjoy his treats so thoroughly it should be ridiculous, but it only leaves him fonder. He talks, and laughs more than he can remember laughing before, and catches Aziraphale sending him looks every once in a while when he thinks he won’t notice, and he doesn’t end it until Aziraphale does.

He doesn’t want to, it’s evident. Crowley’s stomach drops when he sits up and sighs, knowing what’s ahead. He stacks the empty bowls and plates and gathers them in the basket neatly. They’ve been empty for quite some time.

“I suppose I’ll have to get going,” Aziraphale says, frowning in reluctance.

“Sure, yeah. ‘Course. Can’t be lounging around all day.”

Crowley gets to his feet, shaking out his stiff limbs after sitting on the ground for so long. He holds out a hand to Aziraphale, who blinks before taking it, allowing himself to be helped up. He’s wearing little white blossoms around his fingers and wrist today. Crowley can feel the softness of them, different from the softness of his skin, though both are rather pleasant to the touch.

Aziraphale comes to a stand, and they halt, looking into each other’s eyes.

“Well. Thank you for a lovely picnic,” Aziraphale says.

“Thank you for stopping by.”

“Yes, well. Taking breaks is important.”

“Important, yeah,” Crowley echoes.

“Well. I won’t keep you, now.”

“You aren’t.”

Aziraphale smiles. Crowley returns it. His hand tightens around his for a split second before he lets go, almost like an afterthought. Crowley misses the contact immediately.

Aziraphale folds the blanket, then picks up the basket and, with a final wistful smile, turns to go.

Crowley watches him leave until he’s disappeared from view. Then he sighs, turning to go as well. Before he can, though, something catches his attention from the corner of his eye. A flash of color, far too vivid to belong here. Must be something Aziraphale forgot.

But it isn’t. It’s nothing to eat, no leftovers from their picnic. It’s… growing. From the ground. Right there, in the middle of his garden, from the underground soil that shouldn’t hold the power to bring forth something so lively.

Crowley blinks, then crouches down, brushing his fingers over the soft petals.

In the place where Aziraphale just stood, a flower has sprouted from the ground in the brightest, deepest yellow.

*

Crowley stands at the gate. He has been standing at the gate for so long that one of the ravens has landed on his shoulder and is now cawing directly into his ear.

Frowning, Crowley ducks and sends it a reproachful look. “Stop yelling at me. I’m going, I’m going.”

The raven picks at the wildflowers Crowley has woven into his hair. He hisses in alarm, shooing it away before it can do any damage. He has put those flowers in with specific care, making sure that they complement his eyes, that they look nice with his robes. For no particular reason, of course. Certainly not because he’s going to see an angel about a flower today.

He lifts his hand to look at said flower. The ones in his hair are very different from this one. They’re regular underworld flowers. Pretty, but muted and pale.

This one… is not regular. Which is why he’s going to see Aziraphale and ask him about it. And if that means he gets to see his favorite angel again so soon after his last visit, well, he’d be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth, wouldn’t he?

With a deep breath, Crowley steps through the gate leading away from the underworld. It’s a bit of a walk to the Above, but he’s delegated all his work for the day, so he’s got time.

It’s difficult to tell how much of it passes as he makes his way up, thoughts occupied by a certain fair-haired angel, but eventually he crosses the threshold and is met with daylight.

“Ugh.”

Shielding his eyes, he miracles up a pair of sunglasses and puts them on before slowly blinking his eyes open again. “Every time,” he mutters. He always forgets how bright it is up here. The light is different, even when the sun is hidden behind clouds. For someone like him, who’s used to the dim underworld, the darkest of sunglasses are the only thing allowing him to actually see anything.

With that taken care of, he puts his hands on his hips, looking around. He didn’t come here with much of a plan other than finding Aziraphale, but he figures it can’t be too hard. Remembering what Aziraphale told him about having sensed his apples that first time he visited, he closes his eyes and infuses his senses with a bit of his magic.

The pull of it is almost instantaneous, leading him forward, towards another source of magic that’s so similar to his own, that he’s so familiar with by now that he would know it in his sleep.

Aziraphale is working on a field. He has his back to him, a sickle in hand and a basket at his feet. His robes are white, but Crowley is gratified to actually see muddy stains on it for once. So even his angel isn’t infallible.

Casually leaning against a tree, he allows himself to just watch him for a few more seconds before remarking, “This is why I don’t wear white, you know. It’s a pain to get those stains out.”

Aziraphale whirls around, lips parting as he stares at him.

“Crowley?”

“Hey, angel.”

Aziraphale’s face lights up with a smile, almost brighter than the daylight.

“Goodness, what- what are you doing here?” He puts the sickle in his basket and steps towards him. Crowley straightens, doing the same. “Oh, your eyes – the sun must be hurting you. Should we- should we go somewhere darker? We can go inside-“

“It’s fine, angel,” Crowley interrupts his flustered babbling. “The glasses help.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure they do, yes. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I, ah- I don’t suppose I can… offer you anything?”

He looks distressed by the notion.

“I don’t need anything,” Crowley assures him. “I’m good.”

“Right,” Aziraphale mutters. He’s staring rather intently at his glasses, frowning. Then he shakes himself. “So, uh, what- what are you doing here? Not that it isn’t nice to see you, only it really seems rather inconvenient for you, so I don’t imagine you just stumbled Above by accident.”

“I wanted to ask you something.” Crowley holds up his hand, and Aziraphale notices the flower for the first time. He blinks at it, then looks back at Crowley.

“You left this yesterday. Well, I say left. I noticed after you’d gone home. It was growing. Actually growing, from the soil in my garden. And let me tell you, it definitely isn’t one of mine.”

Aziraphale’s throat shifts as he swallows. It’s hard to tell with the sunglasses, but Crowley is almost certain his cheeks are turning pink.

“Oh, ah. Well, that… that was my fault, I believe. It happens, sometimes. When, uh. When I…”

“When you…?” Crowley repeats when he doesn’t finish.

Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut. “Have an emotional reaction,” he says quickly.

Crowley blinks at him. “What?”

“A strong one, that is,” he adds, looking anywhere but at him. “Stronger than usual.”

“Oh,” Crowley says, a little dazed. He looks at the flower, then at Aziraphale. “So you…”

“I like you,” Aziraphale bursts out, then clamps his mouth shut.

For a moment, they just stare at each other.

“Oh,” Crowley says again, very smoothly. Goodness, his face feels hot. He’s probably getting a sunburn. He really isn’t used to this much light.

He looks back at the flower, desperately trying to collect himself. “Uhm. The- thing is, though.” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “This kind of flower shouldn’t grow down there. It’s a flower from your realm.”

“I suppose… I must have made a rather strong miracle,” Aziraphale says, clearly mortified.

“But that’s just it. I had no idea flowers like this could grow down there, and I know the land like the back of my hand. And your powers are- basically like mine, aren’t they? Giving and taking life. Two sides, same coin.”

Aziraphale purses his lips in contemplation, then glances up at him. “I think it might be the combination of the two. Our powers, I mean. Like those apples we made, you said they’re unlike any you’ve ever grown by yourself. We don’t have them up here either. It’s something new. And the soil in your garden, it’s infused with a bit of your magic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then. When I, uh. Accidentally added mine… I suppose it must have created this.”

He reaches for the flower, tracing the petals. His hand grazes Crowley’s, and he drops it like he’s been burned, clearing his throat.

“But that’s lovely,” Crowley says, surprised by his own honesty.

Aziraphale gives him a hesitant look. “We could… test the hypothesis. Try again. Together.”

Crowley nods avidly. After a short contemplation, Aziraphale unwinds one of the vines around his arms – yellow blossoms today, Crowley notes – and offers it to him.

“I haven’t done much to it yet,” he explains when Crowley wraps it around his palms, “so I’d best… ah, may I?”

He cups Crowley’s hands, holding them like something fragile. His heart skips a beat before resuming its pounding twice as hard.

Focusing on the vine, Crowley channels a trickle of magic into it, feeling the tingle of Aziraphale doing the same just a moment later. Both of them look down, watching as the vine starts expanding, the blossoms opening wider, growing fuller.

“I do, too,” Crowley mutters.

Aziraphale peeks up at him, making a questioning sound.

“Like you,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” Aziraphale pauses, then repeats, “ Oh .”

Crowley chances a glance at him. He looks starstruck, gazing at him with wide eyes and ruddy cheeks, his lips plush and parted and kissable. He looks like a dream .

Crowley startles when something sharp pokes his finger, and they both look down to see that the vine has developed little thorns, alongside the biggest, luxurious blossoms that Crowley has ever seen.

“It’s different,” he murmurs, inspecting it more closely. Nothing of his realm, and he doesn’t think it’s of this one either.

Aziraphale nods, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“But lovely.”

Crowley clears his throat. “Shouldn’t wear this anymore, though,” he remarks.

“Well, that hardly matters.”

Aziraphale takes the vine, carefully wrapping it around the lowest branch of the tree they’re standing under. They both look at it, then turn to each other.

“I wish we could… try out more.”

“Well, can’t we?”

Aziraphale’s shoulders slump. “I don’t actually have much more time. I’m sorry.” He fidgets with his hands. “I have a meeting with the angel of rivers that I need to get to. I wish…”

“Oh. No, no, it’s fine. I just showed up unannounced, can’t expect you to be free all day. I’ll... let you get back to it.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale looks about as happy to hear that as Crowley feels.

They look at each other, both of them stalling. Crowley scratches the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to leave things as uncertain as they usually do. Not after today. Not after Aziraphale said I like you .

Gathering his courage, he shifts his weight and asks, “Will I see you again?”

Aziraphale’s shoulders drop as he starts smiling.

“ Yes ,” he says emphatically, and Crowley swallows, his own lips stretching into an answering grin.

“Right. Soon?”

“Very soon,” Aziraphale agrees at once, and Crowley knows it’s a promise.

*

Pacing the length of his garden, Crowley wrings his hands.

“He’ll be here any minute,” he tells the raven watching him from the branch of the tree he just passed for the seventh time. The bird caws. Must be getting antsy, the poor thing.

In fairness, getting to see Aziraphale tends to elicit that sort of response, at least in Crowley’s limited experience. He said he’d be here today, only he didn’t mention a time, so Crowley has been up since the early morning, trying to keep himself busy and failing miserably. The only thing he can think about is their date. Is it a date? It must be. They said they liked each other, and then they agreed to meet again. If that’s not a date, he doesn’t know what is.

Judging by his nerves, it definitely feels like one. Is this what the humans always go on about, that fluttering excitement in his stomach? He knows deities get it too, he’s heard of plenty of angels falling for each other, a couple of demons too. He always assumed they were laying it on a bit thick, if he’s honest. He’s thoroughly disabused of that notion now.

A branch cracks somewhere behind him, and when he whirls around, Aziraphale is there, already smiling. Crowley’s face adopts the same dopey expression instantly.

He moves to meet him halfway, noting triumphantly, “No sneaking up on me this time.”

“Shame. I was starting to enjoy that.”

They look at each other, suddenly quiet. Crowley has never before in his existence felt shy, but he thinks it’s happening to him now. How peculiar.

Aziraphale bites his lip, fiddling with the small vines decorating his fingers. “It’s, uh, lovely to see you.”

“Yeah. I mean, you too.”

They’re both smiling so hard. Crowley stuffs his hands into the pockets of his robes, willing the heat in his face to retreat.

“How, er, how has your week been?”

He winces at his own clumsiness, but Aziraphale thankfully forgoes a polite response and rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Rather busy, if I’m honest, and not in a good way. Shall we take a walk? I can tell you all about it then.”

So they walk. And the more Crowley listens to Aziraphale, the more he relaxes, losing the shyness somewhere along the way. This is Aziraphale, after all. If their companionship has ever been anything, it’s easy.

That doesn’t mean that the fluttering in his stomach ceases, though. Indeed, it only gets worse whenever their hands brush as they walk, or their eyes meet for a moment too long.

“I’ve been rather busy myself,” Crowley tells him as they pass the fields behind his house, nodding towards them. “We had a rush of new souls coming in, and the crops we had so far don’t really cut it anymore. Had to cultivate some new acres and the like. Took up most of my time, but we did make good progress.”

He’s handed the rest of it over to Hastur for the day so he could attend more pressing matters, such as his date with Aziraphale.

“I see.” Aziraphale lets his eyes wander along the fields. “You must have to expand… constantly,” he realizes, frowning. “I mean, on Earth, we have some kind of balance – for every new person, another will move down here soon enough. But once they’re here… well, they’re staying, aren’t they?”

Crowley nods. “It’s not that difficult, ‘cause people don’t really need to eat a lot down here. They could technically not eat at all, though that does leave a soul weak and discontented, which we only want when it’s a soul in Tartarus. So for the others, we do have to provide some nourishment.”

“I never realized,” Aziraphale mutters, shaking his head. “The kind of work you do down here, it really is impressive, my dear.”

“Oh, psh,” Crowley makes, but Aziraphale only shakes his head more determinedly.

“It is, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

Crowley grumbles something under his breath. Aziraphale’s smirk is entirely too satisfied. Then he takes his hand, which shuts him up entirely.

They walk on, hand in hand, until they reach a meadow beyond the fields and Aziraphale stops in his tracks.

“What a nice resting place.” He turns to Crowley. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Aziraphale pulls him along to the middle of the meadow and sits down there, stretching out his legs in front of him. Crowley sinks down next to them, stretching his in the opposite direction.

Aziraphale runs his hand through the grass, a thoughtful expression on his face. “So, do you think… if we grew something new together, down here. Could you replicate it on your own? I imagine the souls would enjoy something new to eat.”

“No idea,” Crowley admits. “Probably not. Let’s give it a try though, shall we?”

He snaps his fingers, summoning a seed into his palm.

“Don’t tell me what it is,” Aziraphale says, eagerly scooting closer. He puts his hand flat over Crowley’s, palm down. “Let’s just see what it grows into.”

Nodding, Crowley closes his eyes and starts weaving his magic into the seed, not thinking about which fruit it should become, only about growth, about the tingling warmth of Aziraphale’s powers mingling with his own and creating something new.

The seed expands. Slowly, slowly it changes into something resembling a fruit. Not any kind Crowley has seen before, but certainly nice to look at. Small and round, its color an almost warm orange.

“Oh, what a dear,” Aziraphale breathes out.

Crowley hums thoughtfully, summoning a second seed. He closes his fist around it and focuses his magic, trying to nudge the seed into the same direction as the one before.

To no avail, as it turns out. When it does grow, it takes the distinct shape of a pear.

Crowley makes a dismissive sound. “No can do, angel. You’re just gonna have to come back and do it with me.”

“Well, that hardly sounds like a problem.”

Aziraphale turns the new fruit over in his hand, expression torn between fascination and wistfulness. Eventually, the latter wins out.

“I do wish I could taste it,” he mutters.

Crowley looks at him, then the fruit. An idea forms in his head rapidly, and as soon as it registers, he has made up his mind.

“Close your eyes,” he says. Aziraphale blinks, but then does as requested.

Crowley takes a bite out of the fruit and chews, the sweet, almost flowery flavor unfolding on his tongue in an instant. He swallows quickly, and then, before he can think about it too much, cups Aziraphale’s face, pulls him closer, and kisses him.

Aziraphale makes a startled sound, but practically melts against him only a second later. His lips are a warm, soft pressure against Crowley’s, which feels so much better than he thought it could. On instinct, he parts his lips to grant Aziraphale entrance, yielding to his kiss and chasing it in equal parts. It’s all a bit uncoordinated, certainly on the side of clumsy, though that takes nothing of the joy out of it.

Crowley blinks his eyes open when they part, staring at him as he tries to catch up with all the sensations he just experienced.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes out. He absently raises his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out. “Oh,” he says again.

Crowley sways closer on instinct, and then they’re kissing again. Aziraphale wastes no time, licking into his mouth boldly. Crowley makes a muffled noise in response, Aziraphale grips his shoulder and drags him closer, and the next moment they’re toppling over, ending up sprawled half on top of each other in the grass.

Aziraphale pulls back just far enough to mutter an oops against his mouth, then blindly seeks out his lips again.

Even with so much of him suddenly touching his body, Crowley finds that it somehow still isn’t enough – in fact, the increased proximity seems to have made the impulse to get closer stronger somehow. Intending to test this further, Crowley experimentally runs his hands over Aziraphale’s chest and finds that he likes the sensation very much. Aziraphale evidently does, too, as his kissing grows more urgent and his chest half lifts off the ground in an effort to get closer.

Encouraged by Crowley’s wandering hands, he starts exploring too, though he begins a bit lower than Crowley expected. He yelps when Aziraphale’s hand lands on his thigh, running right up to his ass.

Breaking the kiss, Aziraphale halts and blinks at him. His chest is heaving, and his cheeks are so flushed that Crowley has to fight the impulse to bite them.

“Alright?”

He nods avidly. “Yeah. That’s- good. Do more of that.”

Aziraphale doesn’t have to be told twice.

He hitches up Crowley’s robes, then runs his hand up his bare leg to the curve of his ass. The direct skin contact is worse in the best possible way. Something very distinct is swelling inside Crowley – and outside of him, and Aziraphale too.

Overwhelmed by the immediacy of his arousal, he chases another kiss, then pulls back just long enough to pant, “More, angel. More.”

Aziraphale reciprocates hungrily, his hands tightening on Crowley’s ass, then moving along his hips to his front, stopping just shy of where he rather desperately wants him.

He breaks away to ask, “Do you want to-“

“Yes. Yes .”

Crowley dives in for another kiss, then draws back again. “Do you want to-“

“Yes, of course I do-“

He breaks off when Crowley pushes his robes up hastily and wastes no more time to close his hand around him.

Aziraphale’s head drops back with a soft thud.

“Oh, f-“

He makes a sound Crowley is certain he’s going to remember for the rest of his life, then seems to remember that there was something he meant to do and reaches for Crowley. The sensation of his hand around him is astounding in how he feels it in his entire body.

“A-angel-“

It’s more of a gasp than a word, but Aziraphale seems encouraged all the same, his touch going from tentative to an absolute menace to Crowley’s sanity in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, hold on. I know just the thing to-“

He retracts his hand, but before Crowley can protest, he snaps his fingers and, the tender vibrations of his miracle still hanging in the air, resumes his touch. Immediately, Crowley lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sound at the slick friction. The miracle was lube – a stroke of genius, he’ll tell anyone who asks.

“What the- angel, I never knew- oh, oh, Aziraphale-“

Aziraphale moans in response, which is funny because Crowley realizes in that moment that he hasn’t even been returning the favor. Not that Aziraphale seems to need much more than him vocally making his enjoyment known on top of him, which bodes well, as Crowley doesn’t have to work very hard at that, and furthermore doesn’t think he could stop doing it. Everything is getting rather sticky, and he has a feeling this isn’t going to last very long on either side, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to make it as good for Aziraphale as he’s making it for him.

He only stops to snap his fingers for lube too, then redoubles his efforts, licking his lips as he stares down to drink in the sight. Aziraphale’s gaze drops to his mouth, and he pulls him down for an uncoordinated kiss. It’s more a wet slide of lips, chasing and panting against each other, but oh, it’s glorious. All of this – glorious.

Crowley pulls back, suddenly needing to make sure that Aziraphale is experiencing the same thing.

“Angel, does that- is it-?”

He twists his wrist, and Aziraphale gasps.

“Oh, goodness, that’s-“

“Are you-“

“ Ah , Crowley, don’t stop-“

Words clearly aren’t a top priority right now, but he doesn’t need them to parse his reaction. The triumph of eliciting this kind of response is heady. A giddy grin spreads on Crowley’s face as he supports himself on one elbow, keeping up a steady rhythm.

“Having a good time, angel?”

Aziraphale huffs.

“Really, that you- oh, oh . Crowley-!”

He keens, and then he stills, hand falling away from him as he grasps at his robes, the grass, anything for purchase, and Crowley watches in fascination as his release takes him, as evident from the sticky fluids covering his hand as the blissed-out expression on his face when he relaxes.

“My dear,” he breathes out, gazing up at Crowley with nothing short of adoration. He cups his face briefly, stretching up for a soft kiss. Then, barely pausing for breath, he grabs Crowley around the waist and rolls them over in a swift motion.

Dazed, Crowley blinks up at him as he settles on his thighs.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Aziraphale asks pleasantly.

“Not at all,” Crowley says, because he honestly doesn’t care what they do, or how, just that they do it. He’s so close, but his own release is the last thing on his mind. He could do this forever – being so close to Aziraphale, making him feel good, having his warm weight on top of him; it’s like bubbles of delight bursting in his chest, running through his system into every part of his body.

He grabs Aziraphale by his robes and pulls him in for a deep kiss, simply because he can. His arousal makes itself known again rather desperately when he brushes his cock as he leans in. Crowley cants his hips a little to get some friction before relaxing back into the meadow, arms spread out around his head, smiling innocently up at Aziraphale. Then he lifts his hips again, rubbing against him just one more time. More a prompt than anything.

It works like a charm.

Aziraphale’s gaze sharpens, and he hums consideringly. Then he scoots back so he can push Crowley’s robes out of the way, reaching for him again and resuming his rhythm.

“Marvelous,” he murmurs, and suddenly Crowley is right there , ready to tumble over the edge at the slightest tip.

“Oh-“ he gasps, tension building somewhere in his gut, and Aziraphale, reading his expression with ease, doubles down.

“Wonderful,” he breathes out. “Magical. Utterly gorgeous-“

With a strangled noise, Crowley shakes apart beneath him.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale murmurs. His eyes are blazing in their intensity when Crowley manages to open his, still feeling little aftershocks of pleasure settling in his body. He looks like he just won something. Crowley needs to kiss that expression.

His lips feel bruised when they part, in a lovelier way than he ever thought possible. The tingles of pleasure have subsided, leaving him warm and sated and more than ready for Aziraphale’s arms around him.

“Come down here,” he asks, and Aziraphale rolls off him, pulling him closer by the waist immediately.

Together, they listen to their breath calming down, their heart rates returning to normal, though Crowley remains aware of his in a way he never usually is. It’s slow, and pronounced, reminding him that he is inside his body, connecting him to all of it. To Aziraphale, too.

“So how did you like it?”

Aziraphale turns his head, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m shocked that you have to ask. I would have assumed it was obvious.”

Crowley snorts. “Not the sex. The fruit.”

“Oh. That .” Aziraphale blinks, a tender expression coming into his eyes. “It was rather lovely, from what I got.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Thank you for letting me have a taste.”

Crowley huffs out a laugh. “Anytime, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckles. They look at each other, and something about the way their eyes meet makes them both burst into giggles.

He has no idea what’s so funny, but it doesn’t really matter. It just feels good to laugh with him.

The hilarity ebbs away, more gradually than it came on. Crowley takes a deep breath, stretching contently. He turns his head when something tickles his ear, and only then becomes aware of their surroundings again.

Blinking, he sits up.

“Angel.”

His eyes remain closed, a soft smile on his lips. “Hmm?”

“Aziraphale, look .”

Something in his voice makes him open his eyes, sitting up as well. His lips part as he takes in the sight.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Did we…?”

“Must have,” Crowley says.

The meadow around them has burst into bloom. Where there was only grass before, there is a sea of flowers now, shapes and colors previously unknown to Crowley. His realm has never looked so colorful, has never felt this… alive. He doesn’t think it was all Aziraphale this time. Both of them did this, together.

Aziraphale sucks in a quiet breath, his voice full of awe when he says, “But it’s-“

“Lovely,” Crowley finishes. They look at each other. It is unclear who moves first, but the next moment they’re kissing again, Crowley’s still swollen lips burning beneath Aziraphale’s. He pulls at his shoulder, and they sink back down into the grass, probably making a few more flowers pop in the process. Not that either of them notices.

It’s a few long minutes before they part again. Aziraphale is the first to sit up this time, his hair a tousled, charming mess. Crowley doesn’t even want to know what his looks like.

He sits up too when he notices Aziraphale plucking a few flowers and fiddling with the stems in his lap.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously.

He gets a smile in response. “You’ll see.”

With deft fingers, Aziraphale turns the flowers into a large ring, adding more until he’s satisfied. Holding it up for a final inspection, he nods to himself and then shifts to his knees, gently placing the circlet on his head.

“A crown for the duke of the underworld.”

Crowley blinks. He looks up, though he can’t see the flowers like this, then back at Aziraphale.

“You’re silly,” he says, a wondrous tone in his voice betraying his true feelings on the matter.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale agrees, not deterred in the slightest. He just keeps smiling at him with such fondness that Crowley starts feeling all mushy inside. To distract himself, he gathers up a handful of flowers as well and gets to work, because two can play that game.

“There,” he says proudly, looking at the finished product. It’s not as nice as Aziraphale’s, but it’ll do. He doesn’t look like he cares at any rate, simply bowing his head to allow him to put it on him. “One for his consort, too.”

Aziraphale smiles, but the expression fades all too fast, a troubled look following like a shadow.

“What is it?” Crowley asks, noting the change with alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make you look like that, angel.”

Aziraphale sighs. “I was just thinking. All those lovely things we could do… if we had more time.”

“Ah. Well, that’ll do it,” Crowley says after a beat.

“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood. I just…”

He trails off, and Crowley lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

“You didn’t. But you’re right. We can ignore it all we want, at the end of the day, you still have to go home.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley plucks a handful of grass from the ground, tearing the blades into little shreds.

“Y’know, I really hate the thought of not getting to be with you just because Gabriel says we can’t. Him, of all people!”

Aziraphale sighs again. “It’s not just Gabriel and you know it. The archangels made the rules a long time ago. All of us have our specific jobs to do, for a reason. It’s how all this – life – works. We can’t just… stop.”

“Someone else could take care of it,” Crowley returns, perfectly reasonably as far as he’s concerned, though he might have sounded more petulant than intended if Aziraphale’s look is anything to go by.

“Well, it’s forbidden. They’d never allow it.”

Crowley makes a face. The more he thinks about it, the more put out he gets.

Aziraphale gently covers his hands with his, stopping his massacre on the grass. Not yet done sulking, Crowley pulls his knees to his chest and glances to the side.

“Now, now. Let’s not worry about the things we can’t change. Instead, tell me what I can do to chase that look off your face, hm?”

Crowley sniffs.

“You could kiss me again,” he mutters. He can sense Aziraphale starting to smile, even without looking at him.

“I most certainly can do that,” he agrees, and then doesn’t waste any more time to make good on his word. And it does help – with his warm weight on top of him, the shape of his lips occupying his every thought, Crowley has no part of his attention to spare to worry about anything else for a good long while.

*

The kissing becomes a regular thing. It becomes consuming. Addictive. The linchpin Crowley’s mind hinges on. It’s beautiful, revolutionary, bittersweet – precious, but bittersweet.

Because at the end of it Aziraphale always has to go, and Crowley immediately wants more. More kisses. More closeness.

Their stolen hours are everything to him, brightening his days more than he thought possible, but they never feel like enough. He cherishes what they have, he really does. He just also… wants more.

And he knows he’s not the only one.

Aziraphale gets that look on his face sometimes; when he’s looking at him, usually. He never even says anything, but Crowley still knows what he’s thinking.

Today he seems particularly troubled. They’re in the meadow, stretched out among the flowers, their legs and hands entwined. They were kissing, and now they’re not, because Aziraphale pulled back to gaze at him at one point, and he hasn’t stopped since.

“What’s on your mind, angel?” Crowley asks, despite knowing full well what the answer is. It won’t change anything, but if he wants to talk about it, he should know that he can.

Aziraphale lets out a sigh. He brushes a strand of Crowley’s hair behind his ear, then lingers, his fingers curling around his jaw.

“It’s nothing. You’re beautiful.”

He almost looks sad about it.

“Says you,” Crowley returns, knowing it will make him smile. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to consider his body very handsome – he likes it well enough, Crowley understands, but is much more inclined to appreciate Crowley’s, who, on the other hand, is very much inclined to show his angel just how beautiful he thinks he is.

It does the trick, and for a moment the tension is broken. Then Aziraphale sighs again, dropping his head on his shoulder.

Crowley cards a hand through his hair, burying his nose in the curls to inhale his scent.

“I wish you could stay,” he murmurs.

Just because Aziraphale doesn’t want to talk doesn’t mean he can’t. At least to say this.

Aziraphale is quiet. They both know what his staying would mean; that the flora Above would cease to flourish, that the humans would suffer for it.

So he knows what a concession it is when Aziraphale turns his head and confesses into the crook of his neck, “I wish I could stay too.”

*

Aziraphale is quiet today.

He has been quiet, more and more so, and Crowley hates that there is nothing he can do to change the situation, knowing exactly what it is that’s making him so unhappy.

They are sitting beneath the apple tree, Aziraphale’s back against it, Crowley’s back to his front, his legs safely encasing him. It’s lovely, sitting like this. And it’s been nice, talking about everything and nothing. Until Aziraphale fell quiet, getting lost in his own head. Crowley knows by now that he can stay there for a while.

He’s tried the not-talking-about-it approach. It hasn’t worked.

Nudging Aziraphale’s leg with his knee, he waits until he makes a questioning sound before saying, “Talk to me, angel.”

Aziraphale exhales slowly. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Clearly. Tell me about it.”

“Well. You know.”

“I do know.”

“Right. Except…”

Crowley frowns, twisting to get a look at his face. “Except what?”

“Oh, do sit properly, darling. This can’t be comfortable.”

It’s clearly a stalling tactic, but Crowley has to admit that he’s got a point, so he shifts reluctantly until they’re sitting face to face.

“Except what?” he repeats.

Aziraphale sucks in his lower lip.

“Well, as I said, I’ve been thinking. You know how we said the archangels would never let us redistribute our tasks so that we could be- together?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, maybe it’s forbidden because it’s never been necessary. But if it were to become necessary… they might allow it. Because they’d have to. I mean, they couldn’t just let it fall back on the humans if I were gone. Surely they would make an exception then.”

Crowley frowns. “Possibly. Except you’re right there, so they don’t have to change a damn thing about their rules.”

“No, of course,” Aziraphale agrees, pursing his lips. His eyes shift towards him, then immediately dart away again. “Unless…”

Crowley raises his eyebrows.

“Spit it out, Aziraphale.”

“Well. I suppose- if you were to abduct me…”

“ Abduct you?” Crowley sputters. “Angel! I would never do that.”

“No, I know, dear,” Aziraphale appeases him, reaching for his hand. “But suppose you were …”

He trails off, giving him a meaningful look.

Crowley stares at him. However he expected this conversation to go, this is not it.

“You want me to abduct you,” he states flatly.

“Only if you’re amenable.”

Crowley shakes his head, not a refusal, simply an expression of disbelief.

“You really are a bit ridiculous, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale huffs, looking away.

“Well, it was just an idea. We don’t have to if you don’t think-“

“I didn’t say no.”

Aziraphale’s gaze flickers back to him.

“It’s plausible enough,” he continues carefully when he has determined that Crowley is serious. “It does sound like the kind of thing someone from your side would be expected to do. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows. “It would sully your name, of course.”

“Sully it further, you mean?” Crowley asks dryly.

“Well, I suppose people do already believe you to be capable of those things, anyway. It would be… easy, to take advantage of that.” He pauses. “That’s rather selfish of me, isn’t it?”

He looks troubled by the idea.

“Maybe. But if you ask me, a certain amount of selfishness is healthy, actually. It’s just self-preservation, isn’t it?” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind. I know what everyone thinks. I like it.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale looks unconvinced.

Using the opportunity to scoot closer and sneak his arms around him, Crowley soaks up his warmth as he thinks the idea through.

“If I were to abduct you… hypothetically. How would I go about it?”

Aziraphale starts smiling. He nudges him downwards and then rolls over so that he is fully engulfed in Crowley’s embrace, who tightens his hold on him automatically.

“Well, I believe you already have the right idea with some kind of restraint, for a start…”

*

It’s quiet in the field he’s standing in, much quieter than he thought it could be Above. The chirping cicadas are the only sound. No one else is around.

Crowley readjusts his glasses as the wind tousles his hair, the sun beating down on him something fierce. It’s evening already, as they planned, but it’s still hot enough for a drop of sweat to trickle down his back. It never gets this hot in the underworld, except when you walk along the flaming river Phlegeton, or when you step into Tartarus, neither of which Aziraphale and he will do anytime soon.

Crowley releases a slow breath through his lips. He still can’t believe that he’s actually doing this.

It’s madness. A ridiculous idea. But Aziraphale looked so hopeful when they talked about it, so excited by the idea of having found a way out, and it didn’t really take much more than that for Crowley to go along with it. So here he is, on his way to abduct the angel of harvest and fruitfulness into the underworld. And what’s more, he’s looking forward to it.

Because he’s excited too. Of course he is. And if there’s any chance that this will work – that they can be together, properly – then he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to take it.

He watches the sun move lower above him, watches the sky change color. It’s quite beautiful, even if all the light does hurt his eyes.

When the sun begins to set, he closes them and focuses his attention inwards.

Changing into a snake has always come easily to him. He could turn into anything, but it’s this form he enjoys most. And today, it suits his needs very well.

Slowly, he starts making his way across the field to where he knows Aziraphale will be waiting. He can taste him on the air as he gets closer, and, following the scent, finds him working on a few crops soon. Slithering closer, he hisses once to announce himself.

Aziraphale stills, but doesn’t turn around.

When Crowley has reached him, he hisses once more, a short warning. Carefully, he starts wrapping around his ankle, up his leg and around his hip, his chest and his arms.

It’s not a very good trap. He could still run, if he wanted to. He could probably get his arms free if he tried.

Aziraphale doesn’t move a muscle.

Crowley tastes the air. Nothing but Aziraphale’s familiar scent, and a distinct sense of excitement. Adrenaline, probably. His or Aziraphale’s, he can’t be sure.

He flicks his tongue over Aziraphale’s pulse, a little caress, nothing more. From afar, if anyone’s watching, it might as well have been a bite to keep him in place.

“Will you ssstay ssstill if I let go?”

Aziraphale nods. Satisfied, Crowley retreats, transforming back into his human form.

“Hello,” Aziraphale whispers. He’s a statue, exactly as he left him.

The corner of Crowley’s mouth ticks up. “Hi.”

Aziraphale’s eyes glint with excitement, perhaps a touch amusement too.

Crowley clears his throat, reminding himself to follow the script.

“You’ll sleep now,” he announces. “And when you wake up, all this will be over. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”

Aziraphale shuts his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. He looks more relaxed than Crowley has seen him in weeks, the only tension in his body one of anticipation.

Unable to resist when his face is right there , Crowley leans in and brushes his lips over his brow. Aziraphale huffs.

“I felt that ,” he murmurs.

“Hush.”

Crowley lifts two fingers, brushes them down his forehead. As Aziraphale falls asleep, sinking into Crowley’s waiting arms, the smile still lingers on his lips.

*

“Patience,” Crowley admonishes the ravens flocking around him as he trims the bushes near the entrance of his garden. “He’ll be up soon.”

He should know; he’s been counting the minutes. The magical sleep should be wearing off around this time. Crowley could have lifted it himself to wake him up immediately upon arrival, of course, but thought it best to let him rest a while and rise when he’s ready.

He left Aziraphale in his own bed – which is really theirs now, he supposes, an equally giddy and surreal concept – and went out to do some work in the garden a few hours ago, itching for something to keep him occupied but let him stay nearby, just in case he woke up early.

It’s a good thing he did, too. The garden must have sensed his distraction these past few weeks, because when he took a proper look at it this morning, it all seemed a bit… unkempt. Unacceptable, especially now that Aziraphale will spend much more time in it. Nothing save for the best will do, and so Crowley put the time on his hands to good use and got to work, giving the plants a stern talking to all the while.

The ravens must be sensing his zest for action, because they keep gathering around him to see what he’s up to. He gives them a stern talking to as well while he’s at it, reminding them to be on their best behavior to make Aziraphale feel at home.

He clicks his tongue when they start cawing again. Patience clearly isn’t their strong suit. “Just a little longer,” he reassures them. “He’ll wake up soon.”

The next moment, warm arms wrap around him from behind, accompanied by a small snort at the surprised yelp he lets out.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale murmurs, and Crowley’s heart lifts like it wants to exit his body. Dropping his clippers, he twists in his embrace without breaking it, closing his arms around him as soon as he gets the chance.

Aziraphale looks a little sleepy, but beams up at him with all the radiance of the sun, though none of its unpleasant brightness.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Sleep well?”

“Like a stone. Have I been long?”

Crowley shrugs. Any amount of time spent waiting for this would have been worth it.

Aziraphale hums, eyebrows lifting alongside a hesitant smile. “Did it work, then?”

“I suppose we’ll find out in the long run. But for now, we pulled it off.”

“Hmm. We did.”

Aziraphale beams up at him happily. It would be an unfair test of his self-restraint to resist that expression, and since there is literally no reason whatsoever not to give in to it, Crowley doesn’t even try.

Aziraphale kisses him back immediately, longingly, and when they part he doesn’t pull back but rests his head on Crowley’s shoulder, letting out a content sigh.

They stand like that for a while, arms around each other, adjusting to their new reality. Eventually, Aziraphale huffs out a laugh and lifts his head.

“I’ve thought so much about all the things I wanted to do once we had more time. Now I don’t know where to start.”

As far as Crowley’s concerned, doing nothing but embracing for a good, long while is the perfect place to start. Though he certainly has plans too, and Aziraphale’s remark immediately reminds him how much he was looking forward to putting them into action.

“Right. So… I’ve been thinking too. Now that your visits no longer have a time limit, we can explore a little more. I could- take you to Elysium. If you wanted.”

Aziraphale’s eyes light up. “Would you? Oh, I would love to see it, Crowley.”

“’Course, yeah. We can go today if you want. But before that…” He bites his lip, nervous despite himself. “Would you like to have breakfast?”

Aziraphale might still say no, and it would be perfectly understandable. Eating food of his realm will make it official, more so than their kidnapping stunt ever could. He’ll have to stay here. A refusal of the offer wouldn’t be a refusal of him , but Crowley still holds his breath as he waits for his reaction.

Aziraphale’s lips part. “Oh,” he breathes out, realization setting in. “I can eat now, can’t I? Oh, that’s… oh, Crowley . Your fruit. Our fruit- we could make another apple! I could try it! Properly!”

Crowley’s shoulders sag in relief. “I take it that’s a yes. In that case…”

He offers his arm to Aziraphale, who takes it instantly.

“Indeed,” he agrees. “And now that I think about it, I’m feeling rather peckish.”

They start with Crowley’s personal crops by unspoken agreement. There will be more time later for Aziraphale to try everything, but he has wanted the fruit from this garden since before they met. Crowley really thinks it’s about time to offer him some.

Aziraphale asks to eat there too once they’ve collected the ripest fruit, and so they take a seat on some cushions he miracles up, a bowl of produce between them. There’s one of everything; except the apples. Aziraphale picked two, one to try just as it is, one for them to grow together.

As soon as they sit, he takes it and holds it out. It’s still small, barely grown. Easy to nudge in a different direction with just a touch of their magic. Crowley places his hand over it, brushing Aziraphale’s skin in the process. He smiles.

A moment later, the tingle of his magic starts, and Crowley closes his eyes, letting his own power flow. He feels when it’s done without having to see it, and when he opens his eyes again, carefully taking his hand away, there is a lovely, handsomely sized apple in Aziraphale’s palm, deep and rich in its color.

Aziraphale stares at it like it’s made out of gold, carefully cradling it in both hands.

“Well, go on then,” Crowley says, stretching out one leg to give him a nudge. Aziraphale blinks, looking up at him before a smile steals onto his face.

Crowley watches him lift the apple reverently, holding it to his nose to take a deep breath. He lets out a quiet, almost soundless sigh, and licks his lips.

Crowley pulls his leg to his chest again, then shifts into a cross-legged position, hands twitching on his knees.

“Ung. Actually, now I’m getting a little worried that you’ll be disappointed.” He scratches his neck. “Just- don’t expect it to be like your food. I mean, the rest of mine is even more different, obviously, but even so, this-“

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “Stop babbling.”

Before he can respond, Aziraphale has taken a delicate bite out of the apple. Crowley shuts his mouth with a click and watches him chew, taking in every shift of his expression.

Aziraphale’s eyes fall closed, a soft sound escaping him, then open again almost immediately to stare at Crowley.

He swallows, glances at the apple, then back at him. The silence stretches into the unbearable.

Crowley breaks first. As casually as he can, he asks, “So how is it?”

“My dear,” Aziraphale says reverently. “This is the best apple I have eaten in my life, and I’m not exaggerating.”

A smile steals onto Crowley’s face. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale nods avidly, taking another, much bigger bite.

Crowley watches him chew, an expression of blissful delight on his face, a curious warmth spreading in him. He suspects that his face is rather unfortunately flushed when he says, “Well, why don’t you give me a taste then?”

Aziraphale pauses only briefly, betraying his surprise. One look at Crowley’s face is enough to spur him into action; he swallows quickly, then licks the juice from the apple and leans in, pulling Crowley closer by his robe. They meet halfway, and Aziraphale certainly does a formidable job of giving him a taste. Crowley loved it before, but he doesn’t think he can ever think about it without an explosion of hormones in his brain again after this.

Unfortunately, an enthusiastic and thorough smooching is as far as it goes, as Aziraphale pulls back soon, unwilling to part from the apple for long. Crowley isn’t all that disappointed, though. There will be plenty of time later. And besides, he is quickly realizing that watching Aziraphale eat happens to be its very own kind of pleasure.

He didn’t know it was possible to feast on an apple, but that certainly is what Aziraphale is doing. And once he’s done with it, he moves on to Crowley’s other fruit. He needn’t have worried about him not liking the taste of those either, as it turns out: Aziraphale seems to have an appreciation for anything edible, and specifically crops that Crowley has had a hand in bringing into the world. Well, underworld.

“It’s fascinating. Simply fascinating,” he keeps muttering, taking his time to really savor every fruit, considering how it differs from its counterpart above, or marveling that it’s entirely new to him.

“I don’t think some of these would grow in the kind of heat you’ve got Above,” Crowley tells him. “Bit much, the constant sunshine.”

“Well, some of mine struggle with that too,” Aziraphale returns, furrowing his brow. His expression clears as he spots a raven landing near them. He smiles, holding out a careful hand. The raven looks at it, then hops away.

Aziraphale watches it go, narrowing his eyes.

“Crowley, did you say something to the ravens? They were much more trusting when I was here before.”

“What? No, what, uh, what would I have said to them?” He catches the eye of the traitorous raven, giving it a pointed look while nodding towards Aziraphale as subtly as he can. The raven cocks its head, then skips back over.

Aziraphale brightens. “Oh, well, there we are. Hello.”

Crowley relaxes back, supporting himself on one elbow.

“See? Perfectly normal behavior. Just need some time to warm to you, probably.”

The raven caws and butts its head against Aziraphale’s hand. He’s going to lose their loyalty to him in no time at this rate, but somehow he doesn’t mind all that much. It’s not like he can blame them for adoring him.

Having spent the better part of the morning on their breakfast, they finally leave the garden in the early afternoon. Crowley leads Aziraphale to the riverside, where they keep heading north for a while.

“How far is Elysium?”

“Far enough that we’re not walking the whole way. We’ll take a boat,” Crowley explains. “Should take us about two hours. You’ll get to see quite a bit of the scenery on the way, though.”

“Oh, you don’t need to convince me. It’s not exactly a hardship to spend two hours with you.”

“Well, I should hope so. Since you just agreed to live with me. For good.”

Both of them are quiet as the reality of it sinks in. Aziraphale is really here now, and what’s more, he’s here to stay. They can make the trip to Elysium every day if they want to. Well, Crowley will have to get back to his duties eventually, of course, but apart from that… they have so much time now. So much time together ahead of them.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, tugging at his sleeve.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees, swooping down for a kiss.

It takes a little while before they resume their walk.

Crowley doesn’t visit Elysium often himself, having delegated general maintenance to other demons and usually only showing up when a problem arises or there’s a formal occasion that requires his presence.

He always enjoys it, though he never enjoys it as much as he does today, witnessing it for the first time through Aziraphale’s eyes, witnessing his gasp of surprised delight at discovering the soft, hazy light bathing their surroundings here, the flora that is alive with blessings, humming with his magic.

“Well, what do you think? Lives up to its reputation? I’m open to constructive criticism. Maintaining the land is a job that’s never done.”

Aziraphale makes a full turn around his own axis, shaking his head.

“It’s so… peaceful,” he finally says, voice soft with wonder.

Crowley follows his gaze, trying to look at everything with a fresh perspective. “Suppose it is, yeah.”

Aziraphale turns to him. He’s looking at Crowley now, the same way he’s been looking at the landscape, like he has never seen anything so beautiful. Like he didn’t even know it could exist.

The look is enough to make Crowley’s heart skip a beat before resuming its rhythm twice as fast. Then Aziraphale closes the gap between them and kisses him, and in an instant, Crowley understands viscerally what being in paradise means.

So what if they make out a little amidst the fields until Furfur stumbles upon them and rudely interrupts with a yell that effectively shatters the peaceful atmosphere? It’s not like there’s a law against it. Crowley makes the laws here. He would know.

“I keep forgetting I put him in charge of this place,” he mutters when he has asked Furfur to stop yelling and furthermore leave them to it, thank you very much. He’s leaving now, but he keeps throwing outraged looks over his shoulder, and his yapping has kind of killed the mood. “Can’t remember why. Suppose he must be doing a decent job of it.”

“Well, he seemed like a nice enough chap. Bit unkempt, perhaps,” Aziraphale adds. “And he did have a point. We were forgetting ourselves a little bit, I think. Those flowers weren’t here before, I’m quite sure.”

“It’s my realm. I can forget myself wherever I want.”

“Don’t sulk, dear.” Aziraphale kisses the tip of his nose, which is rather distressing with how much enjoys it. “I only meant that we may introduce your fellow demons to the idea of their boss dating an angel in a less aggressive manner. As a courtesy.”

“We’re not exactly big on courtesy down here. And I wasn’t sulking,” he adds, for the record.

“No, certainly not,” Aziraphale agrees. “Well, why don’t you show me around a bit more?”

Crowley is happy to. He takes him by the hand and leads him through the land, pointing out what’s growing where, how much maintenance it needs, and how the blessings interact with his magic.

“Look at these,” he says, crouching in front of a bush to show him the berries growing on it. “Almost like yours, right?”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale breathes out, inspecting them.

The crops here grow better and more bountiful, and some seeds take to the Elysian light almost like they would to the sun. It’s not the same, never quite the same as it would be Above, but just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s lesser.

Crowley picks a berry and holds it up to Aziraphale’s mouth, who parts his lips and accepts it happily.

“Mh!” he makes, an expression of delight coming into his eyes.

“Good, right?”

He nods avidly.

Crowley feeds him another one just to keep that look on his face, then one more before he manages to restrain himself.

“And here!” he says, skipping over to an array of flowers growing by the roadside. “These turned out nicely, didn’t they?”

“I’ll say.” Aziraphale bends down, touching the soft petals. Then he looks up at Crowley, smiling. “They match your hair.” He plucks one, then reaches for Crowley’s hair and braids it into it swiftly.

Crowley keeps perfectly still until he lowers his hands, then steps in and cups his face with both hands to kiss him soundly.

“Thank you.”

Aziraphale blinks at him. “Don’t, ah. Don’t mention it.” He looks down and makes a quiet sound. “Hold on, let me just-“

He lowers himself on one knee, touching the soil to make a new flower grow where he picked the other one. Crowley takes in the sight of him, and his heart is so full with affection that he can’t help himself, stepping closer and bending as well to drop a lingering kiss on his head.

Aziraphale looks up, and Crowley tips his chin up with his finger and kisses him again, properly.

He only opens his eyes again when his back starts to protest and he straightens. And stares.

“Angel.”

Aziraphale takes a sharp breath. Evidently, he didn’t stop pouring magic into the soil while they were kissing, because the ground is covered in new flowers as far as they can see.

“Ah. Oops?”

“No.” Crowley shakes his head. “It’s beautiful.”

Aziraphale straightens as well, blinking at the road. “I wonder how far it reaches.”

“Hopefully very far. ‘S only right, you leaving your mark. You live here now too.”

Aziraphale hums happily. “I do, don’t I?” He intertwines his fingers with Crowley’s. “Let’s take a walk and see.”

It turns out that the flowers have spread farther than they can walk before they have to return home for the day.

“We’ll come back and have a look again,” Crowley promises as he leads them back to the boat. “I suppose I’ll have to come more often now, anyway,” he adds. “Couldn’t keep you from your favorite place in the underworld in good conscience.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale smiles. “It’s lovely here, but it isn’t my favorite place.”

“No? What is it, then?”

“Don’t you know?” Crowley lifts his eyebrows, and he says, “It’s your garden, dear. Although, really, I suppose, it’s where you are.”

And, well. Crowley simply has no choice but to kiss him again when he says things like that.

He does it again, later, back in his garden, all over until Aziraphale giggles beneath his lips, until the giggles turn into little gasps and sighs and a whole symphony of noises that he can’t wait to elicit again and again.

This is their life, for a short, precious while. It’s like a dream.

But, of course, real life – or the afterlife – carries on outside of Crowley’s halls, and so do the duties that Crowley can’t keep handing off to other demons.

“Of course you’ll have to go back to work,” Aziraphale says when he broaches the subject. “As lovely as it’s been, spending all this time with you, you have a very important job. One I’m very excited to learn more about, by the way, so don’t think this means you’re getting rid of me.”

So Crowley officially resumes his duties the following day. He does so with Aziraphale by his side.

It’s somewhat disconcerting how natural it feels.

Aziraphale becomes a part of it so easily. Like he was always meant to be here, by Crowley’s side, and it’s only the slight sense of giddy disbelief weaving through all of it that reminds him that he wasn’t.

That, and the other demons, of course.

Rumors of the boss making out with some angel in Elysium have made the rounds like wildfire, so when Aziraphale starts showing up everywhere Crowley does, offering pleasant smiles and asking smart questions about how things work, no one is really surprised. They’re definitely confused, though. Crowley, however, refuses to explain Aziraphale’s presence, and with him acting like nothing is out of the ordinary, everyone else simply goes along with it.

Being in charge does have its perks.

As does dating the angel of harvest and fruitfulness, it turns out.

His job has never been easier, and yet never more exciting than it is now that Aziraphale is here. Crowley’s wish comes true tenfold – he leaves his mark everywhere, proof of his presence in the sprouting blossoms and flourishing crops all around them. The entire landscape changes with his magic – sometimes involuntarily, but it’s all too easy to get carried away when Aziraphale keeps being so delightful and quite amenable to being smooched senseless. And when the consequences are that the underworld is more alive and diverse in its flora than it’s ever been, there’s really no reason to stop.

Indeed, it isn’t long before their consequences breach the borders of Crowley’s garden. Like it did in Elysium, their magic seeps into all parts of the realm, eventually seeming to take on a life by itself.

There is Crowley’s fruit, and the new kinds they’ve created together, consciously. But then, a month after Aziraphale’s arrival, Crowley walks along the fields behind his house and finds a tree there growing a fruit he has never seen before. It’s not one of their new ones, either. They didn’t do anything to this tree or its seeds. And yet, there is an entirely new type of fruit growing from it, little green bulbs everywhere, strange and lovely. Crowley touches one of them, sending a bit of magic through his fingertips to help it along. As the bulb ripens and grows, the outside turns a light shade of purple.

A delighted smile spreads on Crowley’s lips. He plucks the fruit gently, then turns back to the house.

“Aziraphale!”

He’s almost at the garden when Aziraphale peeks through the gate, frowning.

“There’s no need to shout, Crowley. You’ve startled all the ravens. Whatever happened?”

“Look what I just found.” He holds out his hand, presenting the fruit.

“Oh!” Aziraphale picks it up delicately, eyebrows rising. “Oh, what a darling little thing. Did you make this?”

“No. I mean, I guess I helped, but so did you. I found it on one of the trees by the fields. Grew all by itself. The others aren’t ripe yet, I just helped this one along.” He shifts back and forth on his feet. “Try it.”

Aziraphale doesn’t need to be told twice. He smells it, then takes a careful bite, eyes growing wide as he chews. Crowley’s eyes dart from his face to the inside of the fruit, a meaty, purple pulp.

“Well, this is new. What a fascinating texture – and such a lovely, rich taste, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t tried it yet.”

“What? Why not?”

He shrugs. “I just saw it and brought it here. I wanted you to have a taste.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but his fond expression betrays him. “Silly demon. There’s enough for both of us. Here.”

He feeds him a careful bite, and Crowley happily accepts the sticky fruit from him. It really is fascinating, not least because they never meant for it to exist.

“They’re just… growing back there.” He shakes his head. “That only happened because you and I met and decided we wanted to spend our lives together rather than apart. It’s so… unlikely.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees softly. “That too.”

It is. The changes to the underworld, the work they do together, the life they now share – all of it, lovely. Crowley can hardly believe his luck.

He loses himself in it, a little. Lets it lull him in.

Which is probably why he doesn’t notice the intruders in his realm until they’re already in his backyard.

“Demon,” a familiar voice disturbs the peaceful afternoon quiet, and Crowley nearly falls out of the apple tree he’s been working on. Looking down, he finds the unfortunately familiar faces of three archangels looking up at him.

His stomach drops, even as he takes a moment to be grateful that Aziraphale is inside right now. Maybe he can get rid of them before he comes back.

Jumping out of the tree, he lands on the ground hard, wiping his hands on his robes.

“Uh, hey guys. Fancy seeing you here.”

He receives only blank expressions in return, so he tries again.

“Can I help you with anything? You guys lost?”

Uriel looks at him flatly.

“Aziraphale,” she says, cutting to the chase. “Where is he?”

“Aziraphale? Oh, he’s not here,” Crowley says, but it’s already too late.

“Crowley? Is everything alright?” Aziraphale calls from inside the house, coming closer. “I heard… oh.”

He stops short, staring at the archangels. His eyes dart to Crowley, then back to them.

“Gabriel. Michael. Uriel. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for an angel that has been lost,” Michael says pointedly.

“Seems we’ve struck gold,” Uriel adds.

“Ah. I, uh, I see.” He walks over to Crowley, coming to a stand beside him. His warmth pressing into him is a slight comfort. “And how did you find me?”

“There were rumors,” Gabriel says. “But we figured you were down here anyway. The whole place looks different. The angel of growing stuff goes missing, suddenly stuff grows here – wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

Crowley narrows his eyes. “Things have always grown here, Gabriel. What did you think the plants down here were, plastic?”

He makes a face, lifting his shoulders.

“I can’t say I ever gave it any thought whatsoever. Either way, it looks different now, so we followed the trail, and here our missing angel is! Above does too, by the way. Which is why we’re here.”

“Above does what?”

“Look different,” Gabriel says, in a tone that clearly implies keep up.

Aziraphale frowns. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know, of course. Haven’t bothered to check since you left, have you?” Michael says. She clearly wants to say more, but Gabriel interjects before she can.

“All crops have been destroyed,” he states plainly, like he’s remarking on the weather.

Aziraphale pales. “They what?”

“Destroyed. Gone. Kaputt . Half of them died because you left, of course. But we destroyed the rest as well, as punishment.”

“You did what ?” Crowley hisses while Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath.

“Punishment? What for?”

“Uh, leaving, of course?” Gabriel looks at him like he’s a bit simple.

Crowley snorts. “He didn’t just leave . I brought him here. Abducted him. It was all quite dramatic.” Aziraphale sends him a look, which he ignores, crossing his arms instead. “You can’t punish him for what I did.”

“We can. We did. At any rate, it’s a good incentive for him to go back with us.”

Crowley feels Aziraphale’s shoulders tensing beside him.

“Go back?” he echoes.

“Well, yes. Of course.”

“But- I can’t. I live here now. I- I’ve eaten all the food. I can’t just leave!”

Gabriel wrinkles his nose. “Yuck. No idea why you’d do that, but there’s no accounting for taste. Anyway. None of us saw you doing it, so we can just pretend it didn’t happen. Consider it your lucky day.”

Crowley swallows, but the lump in his throat persists. Aziraphale is giving him a frantic look. Crowley is sure his own eyes mirror the sentiment.

“But I don’t want you to pretend it didn’t happen,” Aziraphale bursts out. “I don’t want to return!”

“Aziraphale.” Michael gives him an unsympathetic look. “This isn’t about what you want . You’re coming back with us.”

“You have a job to do,” Uriel adds. “The rules are the rules.”

“But only half the crops were destroyed before you took care of the rest. If half the crops can survive without me, I don’t need to be Above all the time!”

Gabriel frowns. “Aziraphale.” He shakes his head. “Wake up from whatever spell your snake-eyed boyfriend has put you under. You’re not staying down here.”

Something in Aziraphale’s jaw tightens. His eyes take on a calculating look, and he lifts his chin, voice suddenly a few degrees colder.

“So you’re saying I can come back because there are no witnesses to testify that I’ve eaten down here. That’s the only reason.”

“It’s a big exception we’re making for you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel says pointedly. “And I’m sure one day you’re going to appreciate it, when you’re… thinking more clearly.”

“I am thinking quite clearly now, thank you,” Aziraphale returns primly. He turns to look at Crowley, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. Then, before anyone can stop him, he moves to grab the nearest apple from the branch behind him and takes a big bite out of it.

Michael gasps in horror.

“Traitor!” Uriel hisses.

Gabriel makes a gagging noise.

Aziraphale swallows hastily, holding up the apple. “You have to abide by your own laws. I’ve eaten it. You’ve seen it. You’re my witnesses.”

“Angel,” Crowley says reverently, stepping beside him.

“In a minute, dear,” Aziraphale says, not taking his eyes off the archangels. “I’m in the middle of something.”

Gabriel’s mouth is twisted into an ugly line. For a moment, it looks like he’s considering smiting Aziraphale where he stands. Then he lets out a deep breath, straightening his lapels.

“Fine. Have it your way. Just know that this? Doesn’t change anything.”

Aziraphale lowers the apple. “How so?”

“It means you can do whatever you want. Stay here, come back, doesn’t make a difference to me. But as long as you’re here, the crops will stay gone. So if you decide to keep playing house with your demon, the humans are going to pay the price.”

Crowley bares his teeth, growling. Gabriel spares him a disgusted look.

Aziraphale blinks at him, distraught.

“I don’t understand,” he says helplessly. “Even if you don’t want to take care of the crops in my stead, you can just leave them be. You don’t have to destroy them. It’s not the humans’ fault! Why are you punishing them for what I did?”

“Because the rules are the rules,” Uriel states. “It isn’t your place to question them. You follow them, or you live with the consequences.”

The emotions passing over Aziraphale’s face are heartbreaking in their intensity. Crowley knows every one of them intimately; knows exactly what they mean, what the expression on his face amounts to.

It’s the look of someone losing their faith.

Crowley has been there. He knows how this kind of disillusionment sits in the heart.

Quietly, he reaches for Aziraphale’s hand and holds it tightly. Aziraphale swallows as he grips his fingers.

Crowley turns to the archangels, leveling them with an unwavering look. His pupils must be dilated with his anger; one look at him is enough to make them recoil.

Good.

“You’re leaving,” he tells them quietly. “Now. You’ll see yourselves out, or I’ll make sure you don’t reach the Above ever again.”

“Are you threatening us, demon?” Uriel asks.

“Yes. Are you leaving?”

Gabriel subtly lifts a hand. Uriel clenches her jaw. She exchanges a look with Michael, who pinches her lips, but shakes her head.

“Your choice,” Gabriel says, clearly needing the last word.

Then, finally, they leave. They walk fast, though not nearly fast enough for Crowley’s taste.

Only once they’re out of sight does he turn to Aziraphale, his anger quickly dissipating in the face of the pitiful figure he cuts. He looks crushed .

Brushing his thumb across his hand, he asks hesitantly, “You alright?”

“No.”

Of course not.

Aziraphale is still staring after the archangels, shaking his head.

“I suppose it was too good to last,” he mutters tonelessly. Then, with a deep breath, he turns and faces him. “Crowley.”

He swallows, painfully aware of what’s coming. “I know.”

The pleading look in Aziraphale’s eyes is making his chest ache fiercely. “You must know that I want to stay. I want to carry on like this forever.”

“I know, Aziraphale.”

“I want that so much .” He shakes his head, lips trembling. “But we can’t. If I’m gone, the people. They’ll starve.”

His voice cracks on the last word. Crowley squeezes his hand in sympathy, drawing all the comfort he can get from the touch.

His eyes fall on Aziraphale’s other hand. He’s still holding the apple. It’s one of their own, Golden Delicious. The first thing they ever made together.

Something about it catches Crowley’s attention, tickling his brain. Frowning, he takes the apple from Aziraphale’s grasp and turns it in his hand.

Aziraphale watches him do so, his brow furrowed.

“Crowley?”

“Together,” he mutters to himself. Aziraphale looks even more confused, but he doesn’t pay him any attention, his mind going a mile a minute in an entirely different direction.

He thinks about the apple. About the transformed landscape. The new fruit that’s growing here, without their conscious doing. He thinks about sunlight, how growth is always stunted without it, how too much of it will burn or dry out everything. He thinks about life, and death, and the two always being interwoven. Two sides of the same coin.

“It’s all about balance, isn’t it?”

“Crowley, what are you talking about?”

The sound of his voice shakes Crowley out of his stupor. He presents the apple to him, a slow smile spreading on his lips.

“You said it yourself. You don’t need to be Above all of the time. It’ll be enough if you’re there for some of it. The flora doesn’t need excess sunlight and warmth all year round. It’ll probably even benefit from a break sometimes.”

Aziraphale is still frowning, but a look of understanding is coming into his eyes.

“You think… I should go back and forth?”

“There’s no reason you can’t, now that the archangels officially don’t care. You don’t have to give up either if you don’t want to. We could do half a year at a time, give the flora enough time to adjust to the changes. That way you’ll get both, only… sometimes.”

“That’s- better than none of the time. That’s much better.” The corner of Aziraphale’s mouth lifts too, but then he pauses, turning his eyes on Crowley with a furrowed brow. “What about you, though? You can’t leave the underworld. Not for six months at a time.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Crowley shrugs. “I still get to have you here for half the year. And the other half, I could come and visit. I delegate most of the footwork anyway. Won’t make a difference if I’m gone for a few days now and then. And some of the work I can do remotely. We can figure it out as we go along.”

Aziraphale cracks a smile. “Conjugal visits. I like the idea.”

“There’s something to be said about the concept.”

Narrowing his eyes, Aziraphale purses his lips. “We could split the time even better, I believe. Think about it – I’m Above full time for three months. The following three, I start visiting you. I stay longer each time, until I stay for good. Then we do the same thing in reverse. Three months here, then I gradually go back Above for longer and longer.”

“Gradual absences will make for less harsh seasonal changes,” Crowley realizes. “Good thinking.”

“It could work.”

Aziraphale is giving him a hopeful look. Crowley steps closer, tilting his chin up and kissing him, pouring all of his feelings into it.

When he pulls back, leaning his forehead against Aziraphale’s, it’s to promise, “It will work. We’ll make it work.”

It won’t even be the biggest miracle they pull off. Even if it looks a little different than they thought it would, their future is stretching out before them. Not lost, only different. They still have so much time.

This is only the beginning.

*

Nine months later

There’s a distinct chill in the air, a strong breeze tousling his hair. Crowley wraps his cloak tighter around himself and frowns up at the sky through his dark glasses, for once wishing it were a little sunnier. An unexpected side effect of Aziraphale’s absence they’ve gradually been discovering; the weather changes, a lot. Though this is nothing compared to that first time Aziraphale was gone, during his ‘abduction’, which brought about the first winter Above. They’re getting close to that again, now that it’s finally time for Aziraphale to come back Below. Full circle. Almost – not quite yet, though.

It's rather beautiful, or so Crowley thinks, this strange, new season between summer and winter. Autumn, the humans call it. He’s more partial to it than to the other one, spring, the stark landscapes and colors reminding him somewhat of the underworld. Though he can’t deny that spring has its charms as well. Aziraphale loves the colors, the promises of new life, and Crowley loves watching Aziraphale in it.

As he walks down the path to where he knows he’ll find him, he stops to marvel at the trees framing the way, bearing strange new fruit, their leaves all kinds of yellow-gold-brown, orange, and red. He hasn’t grown tired yet of discovering all the new things the seasons bring with them. New colors, new weather. New produce.

And all this because a hungry angel wandered into his realm.

Just having found Aziraphale, loving him and being loved in return, borders on a miracle. But knowing that their union has brought all those wonderful new things into the world does feel like its very own kind of magic.

Aziraphale is picking cranberries when Crowley finds him, looking up at the sound of his steps. He breaks into a wide smile.

“Crowley, dear. You’re early.”

He meets him halfway, putting a hand on his chest as he stretches up for a kiss.

“Mnh. I missed you,” Crowley says when they part.

“I missed you too.”

They say it every time they meet again, no matter how long it’s been. Every time, it’s true.

“Not quite done with work yet?” Crowley asks, nodding at the basket.

“Just a little something to nibble on for the road. I rather figured you’d show up early, so I made sure to wrap everything up on time.”

“That predictable, am I?”

“I’d call it reliable. I’ll be done in just a minute,” Aziraphale promises, returning his attention to the berries.

“Take your time, angel. I’m not in a rush.”

While he waits, Crowley takes a look around the garden Aziraphale tends to when he lives Above, a charming little analogue to the one behind Crowley’s house. Plenty of things grow here too, some he helped with, some that came into being on their own once they mingled their powers.

Of course, the plants here aren’t untouched by the changing weather either. The trees and bushes are shedding their leaves all around them, preparing for the winter ahead.

Not just yet, but soon. The season is getting ready to turn, which means that, at last, it’s time to leave the garden. Well, this one, at least. There’s another one already waiting.

Aziraphale steps beside him, basket full to the brim.

“Ready?”

He nods, holding out his free hand for Crowley to take.

“I’ve got everything I need. Let’s go home.”

Home, to a different world. A different garden. Below, the plants are waiting for Aziraphale too, like Crowley has been since he left.

He smiles at the thought. He squeezes his hand, marveling at the simple touch, never quite having lost its magic. 

And then he takes him home.