Ineffable Endings

Fourteen Shots of Espresso

Crowley's lips tasted of sin and desire and salt from the tears that Aziraphale had caused. In that moment, he truly believed it was the most beautiful and terrible thing to happen to him in a century. He grasped lightly at Crowley—perhaps to pull him closer, perhaps to somehow say the things he couldn't utter aloud—but it was pointless.

The demon pulled away harshly and Aziraphale's lips ached from the sudden chill that followed the loss of such a fierce warmth. He had never been much of one for hiding his emotions, and he feared the pain he was in was evident on his face, but then again, he wasn't the only one in pain.

Of all the Earthly temptations Aziraphale had partaken in—plentiful food and drink and all the comforts of the material world—that particular temptation he had been saving for a rainy day, perhaps under an awning, or, more to his liking, after a ballroom dance. What a tragedy it was they had been interrupted earlier. Everything could have been so nice and uncomplicated, but as always, everything had to be so dramatic with Crowley.

Did he really expect Aziraphale to choose him over the will of the Almighty? Truly, who could be so selfish as to chose one person over all of Heaven and Hell?

He supposed selfishness was easy for Crowley, being a demon and all, but it wasn't something Aziraphale was accustomed to, and certainly not something that came naturally to him. The Almighty had to be more important. That was just the way of the world, and Aziraphale wasn't naturally one to flaunt the rules or question the way of the world. He was just an angel, going along with Heaven as far as he could—going along with Crowley as far as he could, and now Crowley had asked too much of him.

He had been given the opportunity of a lifetime—to make a difference, to make Heaven a place for both him and Crowley—and he would be a fool to turn it down. That wasn't even an option, as far as Aziraphale was concerned.

"I forgive you."

"Don't bother."

How could Crowley possibly be surprised? How could he be hurt by Aziraphale choosing this path? Did he really see any other path for the angel? He was an angel, after all. This was what he was meant to do.

As he rode the elevator up to Heaven, he forced his thoughts away from his demon—not his, the demon—and focused solely on the next phase of his existence, and, most importantly, how to protect Earth from the Second Coming.

//

Kissing Aziraphale was the second most desperate thing Crowley had ever done—even more desperate than his stunt in the burning Bentley. The first most desperate thing he had ever done was standing outside that same Bentley, mere minutes after that ill-fated kiss, and waiting for his angel to follow him. Later, he'd suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise, but up until that moment, Crowley had rarely known a time when Aziraphale wouldn't follow him.

He watched, all emotion hidden behind his dark glasses, as Aziraphale stood on the sidewalk between the Metatron and him ... and chose the Metatron. Metatron. That devious bastard. He was up to something. In his desperation, Crowley was half ready to believe the prick had put something in Aziraphale's coffee.

There was nothing in the coffee. Crowley knew that. But, for a moment, it was easier to believe that his darling angel had been drugged rather than face the ultimate truth: Aziraphale was still brainwashed by the promises of the Almighty and blinded by his belief in the good of Heaven. He couldn't see clearly. Even if Aziraphale had felt at all the same about Crowley, he would always come second to God.

Humans can go a very long time without settling their disputes. They can hold grudges for decades. Demons, however, can hold them much longer. They can mourn for much longer.