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The turning point came on a warm afternoon towards the end of August. They both wanted to get away from the city. They needed to lose the noise and the traffic and the crowds in order to think, and London was not exactly a contemplative place. Not even the bookshop offered enough refuge from their own confused thoughts and feelings.
“Somewhere quiet,” Aziraphale suggested that morning. “A natural area, perhaps along the coast, where we might take a long walk.”
Crowley liked that idea. After a brief search, he found a place near Eastbourne where they could walk a coastal trail leading to dramatic chalk cliffs, and he drove them there in good time, considering that he obeyed the speed limit the whole way — because he knew this wasn’t the time to rush anything. Not now, not when the world was still here after nearly dying, not when they were still alive and safely together to enjoy the wonders Earth had to offer.
“Do you think there are many places in the world we have never visited?” he asked as they got out at the car park by the trail head. “For work or for pleasure?”
“I gave most of Antarctica a miss, I must confess,” Aziraphale replied as they strode off. “Although I did once pay a brief visit to bless some penguins.”
“Funny kind of bird.”
“And I also spent very little time exploring the north polar regions. I detest the cold. But I have seen a good deal of the Earth over these six thousand years. Though come to think of it, I do not believe I’ve ever walked this path. What splendid views.”
The trail hugged the coastline for the most part, giving them views of the Channel, and the beaches, and glimpses of the white cliffs in the distance. The path undulated gently, sometimes rising for grander vistas, other times lowering to nearly beach level. It was early in the afternoon, just after lunch, which they had eaten along the way here. Puffy white clouds dotted the sky, drifting past in a light breeze, and though there were other hikers about, there was plenty of space between them. The sense of being alone together held strong for Crowley as they strode along, the wide trail allowing Aziraphale to walk easily by his side.
Where had they not been yet, all these years on Earth? What paths had they not yet trod?
How would they walk them differently, in the coming days and months and years, now that they could do so freely? He didn’t know. But he did know that he and Aziraphale were both changing within, as they rose from beneath the mantle of Heaven and Hell. He, for once, felt calmer now than Before…and he felt more settled within himself, as if he had been shedding deep, ancient layers of darkness to allow the warmth and the light to touch him once more.
And what of his dearest friend? Aziraphale, too, seemed more at peace than he had ever been. Anxieties and fears no longer enchained him, and he had lost that haunted look which Crowley had often detected even beneath a smiling exterior, as if even the smallest joys they shared were always tinged with the promise of future sorrows.
They were changing together, and their whole world was changing, too.
They walked on and on as the trail wove along the cliffside and the coves, higher and hillier at points, and lower and flatter at others, passing by occasional signs of human habitation which they utterly ignored, focused on the shore, the white cliffs, and the sea beyond. While they adored the Earth and its people, and cherished civilization, Crowley knew they didn’t need either right now. All they needed was each other, in a world of their own.
“We can do anything, you know,” Aziraphale said, out of the blue.
“Yeah? What do you mean?”
“I mean that we can do whatever we want, go wherever we choose, and live however we wish to live.”
“Haven’t had time to consider that.” Was Aziraphale actually thinking of leaving the bookshop…or even London? “Are you busy working out some clever idea?”
“I am. Walking is good for cogitation.”
“Right. Okay. Go on, tell me what you’ve cogitated up, then.”
Aziraphale smiled. “I am not certain the word is used that way, but never mind. What I was thinking was that perhaps it would be pleasant to make a true home together, in a peaceful, quiet place like this.”
Crowley smiled in return. “I like the sound of that.” Together always did sound like heaven, and it didn’t matter where. “You mean a house home?”
“I do. Somewhere we can be away from the incessant movement of London. It isn’t that I don’t like the city. I do, immensely. The theaters, the music, the art, the history…our favorite park. Yet it is also terribly clamorous, and crowded, and I dislike the sense of being rushed much of the time. What I have in mind is a home in the countryside, somewhere similar to this perhaps, within easy driving distance to London whenever its cultural amenities call to us.”
“Mostly I just went to whatever concert or theater show or art gallery exhibit you wanted to go to. Well, and the pubs…you didn’t seem that keen on going to the pub.”
“Too fraught. And I also did not care for what you termed ‘dancing’ at those clubs you seemed to favor.”
Crowley remembered the first — and last — time he’d taken Aziraphale to a dance club, back in the 1970s. The pounding rhythms made him jittery, the hectic throng overwhelmed him, and the flashing lights of the disco ball drove him mad. “Yeah, sorry about that. Not exactly your style.”
“Would you miss any of the things you enjoy there?”
“Don’t know. Maybe. Won’t know until we try it out. And as you said, we can visit London as often as we want, right?”
“Correct. I shall keep the bookshop. It will be permanently closed, solely for our use when we are in the city.”
“Oh? For us?”
“Of course. You don’t need that wretched flat. It’s too dark and dreary.”
“It’s stylish and modern.”
“It’s boring and cold.”
“Fine.” Decorating their new country cottage ought to prove interesting. “Can I bring my houseplants to our new home?”
“Yes, if you promise to speak nicely to them.”
“Ngk,”
“For my sake.”
“Right. Got it. Can I bring any of my furnishings, or are you going to insist on filling the house with antiques, and overstuffed, old-fashioned chairs with the little doilies on the headrests, and lots of Victorian era statues and paintings everywhere, and a grandfather clock that never tells the correct time?” Crowley didn’t truly mind any alterations to his way of life. He simply lodged a mild protest out of force of habit.
“Hm. That all sounds quite lovely. Thank you for the decor suggestions.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Bastard.”
“Just enough of one, indeed.”
As they walked on, Aziraphale began rhapsodizing over his ideal home wish list, which was extensive. And as they walked on, side by side, and as Aziraphale chatted away about the importance of a garden, and what his perfect one would look like, Crowley gazed at his best friend and thought, I love you more every single day.
And it had been an eternity of days, knowing Aziraphale. Yet there was no end to the joy he felt in his presence. I have seen you a million times and more…and yet here you are, still as amazing as ever. Still as beautiful, and as kind, and as gentle. Still as strong, and as fierce, and as clever. Forever unique, and uniquely his.
Crowley had spent thousands of years keeping all the soft, sweet, and even sometimes romantic thoughts safely inside his head, because things had been so complicated between them. So instead of saying heartfelt words out loud — where walls and trees and ducks had ears — he just said ordinary words, or idiotic words, or amusing remarks, hoping for at least a smile in return, and even when he made sarcastic comments and got an exasperated eyeroll in response, Crowley didn’t mind at all, because anything at all, any words or glances or expressions from his Angel meant they were still connected to each other.
And yet…there had been countless days when he had wanted to speak softly, sweetly, and sometimes even romantically. And could not, and dared not.
Crowley gazed at his Angel, who was talking and talking, with great enthusiasm, being silly and giddy and utterly adorable, and he suddenly thought, Why not today? Why not right now, right here…what’s holding us back from that age-old truth?
Haven’t we changed enough now, out of our untrue selves, once and for all?
And he stopped. Just halted there on the path, unable to move a single step more until the air around them filled with words unspoken too long, words that needed to be carried on the softest breeze to an angel, his Angel, ever and always the one he loved.
Aziraphale went a few steps further before noticing. He stopped, turned around, and tilted his head. “Is something wrong?”
Oh no. Quite the opposite. Crowley took off his sunglasses.
“The sea is calm today,” he said as they stood on a lower point in the trail, where they could see the gentle ebb and flow of the water as it reached the shore.
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed a little, and then he brightened. “And the cliffs of England stand,” he replied. “Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.” He paused. “Or were you merely being literal?”
The sea is calm tonight… “You used to quote that poem to me, not long after it was composed. Over and over, because you found it brilliant, and beautiful, and also just a bit puzzling.”
“Ah. Yes, I do recall annoying you with my repeated recitations. So sorry.”
“Don’t remember much of it now, to be honest. Except for the one line that I always liked best.”
“Ah, love, let us be true to one another,” Aziraphale said without a moment’s hesitation. “In the face of a world of darkness and doubt. Yes. Of course.”
“I love you,” Crowley said simply.
And the world changed.
Aziraphale went to him then, and wrapped his arms around him, and Crowley returned that embrace. “I love you,” Aziraphale whispered fiercely in his ear. “Ever and always.”
And they changed, together, in a single heartbeat.
In that moment, there was poetry in Crowley’s soul. “My world begins and ends with you, Aziraphale. Everywhere I’ve ever wandered on this Earth, and any depths of Hell I’ve ever dwelled within, the only truth that guided me was knowing I would find my way back to you, over and over, again and again. That’s all I ever needed to keep hope alive. Just you. It was only and ever and always you.”
“Sh…I know.”
Strong arms held him, and stroked him, and then fingers were twining through his hair…and, “Shush,” Aziraphale murmured as he nestled cheek against cheek, his soft lips brushing over flushed skin… “I know…I do know what it feels like to love beyond reason. I do.”
Crowley breathed in the scent of him, the mix of vellichor with the light sweetness of a morning rain, and that faint trace of apple blossom, and it mingled with the sea here and now where they stood as the susurration of the gentle surf in the distance strove to bring the note of eternal sadness in — and he took a deep breath, and pushed it firmly away. No more sorrows, no more leaving, no more wandering this world. No more partings, and no endings, for this bond had been forged at the beginning of time itself, and time would go on for them eternally.
He held on to the one constant in the universe, to love, and he kissed Aziraphale’s forehead, just a caress, and a promise, and a truth beyond measure. “Thank you,” he said, and he smiled. “Thank you for being my one and only genuine Angel.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Aziraphale replied, his eyes bright. “Thank you for being my one and only true friend.”
They stayed in that warm and loving embrace for a while longer, unaware of anything around them. When they did pull away, Crowley said, “Can we go home now? To our city home, that is, where we can have dinner at the Ritz before starting our search for our country cottage home?”
“That sounds perfect, my dear.”
As they turned around to head back along the trail, Aziraphale reached to take Crowley’s hand, their fingers intertwining.
They walked on as the afternoon sun shone upon them, warming them in its light. They walked on to the sound of the sea, and the calling of birds one to another.
And as they walked on, hand in hand, Crowley looked to the future, for the very first time in nearly forever, with nothing but joy in his heart.
***