An Ineffable History

It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light

Aziraphale was trying very hard not to go into a state of complete panic.

Crowley. He had- he had remembered, had saved-

   "Little demonic miracle of my own."

The books. The books that meant nothing to Crowley. The books that Aziraphale had collected and guarded for centuries. Aziraphale had forgotten them, had been so wrapped up in the rush of the double cross, and the sudden appearance of Crowley, and summoning the energy required to perform a real miracle to save them. Aziraphale's only thoughts at the moment had been something along the lines of: he's here and he is not allowed to discorporate yet. (He would later wonder why it was that his only thoughts at that moment had been about saving Crowley, but that was something to worry about later.)

Aziraphale followed Crowley to the curb of the street, carefully stepping over the rubble of the wrecked church. Crowley was leaning back against a large black car, arms crossed and peering at Aziraphale over the edge of his glasses with a slightly smug grin on his face. He spread his arms as Aziraphale approached.

"So? What do you think?"

I think I'm- no. He couldn't say it, he could hardly wrap his head around it.

"That's...new" Aziraphale managed, sure that his face was turning pink.

"Only new to you angel, 1926 Bentley. Beautiful isn't it?"

"Erm- yes, that is to say- quite lovely." Crowley stared at him, raising one eyebrow in a perfect arch.

"You all right there Aziraphale? You're looking kind of...off. Did some of the rubble hit your head or something?"

"No, no. I'm perfectly alright. Positively chipper." Aziraphale said, forcing a smile onto his face. Crowley stared at him for another minute before shaking his head slightly and opening the door, gesturing inside with a mocking bow.

"Well, get in angel. I'm taking you for a ride." Crowley winked and Aziraphale was positive he was blushing now.

He was in so much trouble.

Crowley drove him back to the bookshop, all the while talking about his car and how wonderful it was. He vaguely thought he heard Crowley call it his "pride and joy" at one point, but Aziraphale was too stuck in his own head to pay proper attention. He kept replaying the scene: books, double-cross, Crowley, bomb, books, Crowley. Music played softly through the speakers while Crowley continued talking, distracting Aziraphale slightly; the soft lilting violins of Lacrimosa fluttering all too much like his ever-increasing heartbeat. Crowley pulled over in front of the shop and got out of the car first so he could open the door for Aziraphale. Aziraphale stepped out slowly, his hands fidgeting with the handle on the bag.

"Crowley I- that is to say-"

"Yes angel?" Crowley had tipped his glasses down, letting Aziraphale see his eyes. Aziraphale had always thought Crowley's eyes were interesting, beautiful even, but he suddenly realized how utterly stunning they were. Slowly, before Aziraphale could think the better of it, he reached out and grabbed Crowley's wrist. Crowley stiffened, breathing in sharply.

"Thank you, my dear." Aziraphale said softly. He met Crowley's eyes holding his gaze for a moment before turning around and walking into the bookshop as quickly as he could without outright running, leaving Crowley staring after him on the curb of the road.

The door closed behind him, locking automatically as he made his way to the back room. He set the bag of books down on the desk and snapped his fingers to make a cup of tea appear next to the bag. Aziraphale was fully aware that he was going to need to explain to Gabriel why there had been a sudden increase in miracles today, but he wasn't going to think about that now. He needed something to settle his nerves, and the familiar warmth comforted him slightly as he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of chamomile before taking a sip and then setting the cup down on the desk. He eyed the bag warily reaching to open the clasps that was holding it closed, and then pulled his hand back with a start. He could still feel Crowley's miracle, the residual magic hot and sharp over the clasps. It was as if Crowley was still willing the bag to protect the books. Aziraphale's heart fluttered as he reached towards the clasps again, slowly this time, trying to- ah, it was still there. Aziraphale held his hand still, letting the magic that felt so clearly demonic yet somehow so clearly not, linger over his fingers before he opened the bag, and the feeling disappeared, leaving Aziraphale feeling more alone than before. He picked up his glass and took a sip of the wine- wait. Hadn't that been tea a moment ago? Aziraphale shook his head, he must have imagined pouring the tea. He tenderly lifted out each book from the bag, inspecting them for damages and finding them all in perfect condition. He loved Crowley for that-