#(honey actually doing things with her nymphs. HAPPY SPRING EVERYONE) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shesthewindandsea · 5 years ago

Text

all the things I would do

Summary: “It’s alright, dear,” she would say. “It’ll be alright.” But there was no reassuring voice and there was no hand to calm her and so instead Crowley screamed and sobbed and cursed everyone above and below that she could name.

A Good Omens retelling of the Greek Myth of Orpheus (Crowley) and Eurydice (Aziraphale). There's nothing above or below that's going to stop Crowley from getting her nymph back.

Beginning Notes: Okay so lets try this again. First off, I literally cannot believe this is actually done. I started it way back in November and now here we are. I’ve been sitting on it for so long I’m so happy to get it off my computer. Now if you don’t know Orpheus and Eurydice is a myth about a human man with a gorgeous singing voice (Orpheus) who falls in love with a nymph (Eurydice). They get married and all the gods are very supportive of their union! Human men though, not so much and it quickly goes downhill from there. I tried to stick to the original myth as much as I could so temporary character death plays a major role in this story but I had to give them a happy ending so it’s worth it, I promise! As always the title is taken from a Hozier song, Talk, and the lyrics are actually mainly focused on the myth! The vibe from the song and the meaning behind it though are very different from my story but it’s still go to listen to so I highly recommend. And if you’re a fan of Sappho then you’re in luck because I have a bunch of Sappho fragments in here as Crowley’s songs because if you’re writing about lesbians in Ancient Greece you can’t not have Sappho. There are two that are straight up Sappho and one that’s a combo. You’ll know it when you see it. I might be writing temp character death but I’m not a monster. Lastly, and most importantly, thank you to @poetic----nonsense who betaed a good chunk of this and is overall just a wonderful human being who I love very much.

“Would you sing me a song?” She asked, as if her nymph’s voice itself were not a song to be wept over, an offering to encourage the skies, the stars, the moon, and the Gods themselves. Crowley wanted for nothing but to feel the question against her lips and taste the honey that dripped from them. As if Crowley wouldn’t leap at the chance to please her nymph.

“Mm, you’ll have to let me think of one, my love,” Crowley teased and her nymph smiled, hand squeezing tighter for a moment. Crowley tore her gaze away from Aziraphale for a moment to look to the stars poking through the dark sky above the hill, as if they would give her the answers she needed.

Crowley knew hundreds of songs, the songs she had heard in her days of wandering through villages, mingling among common people. She listened to their work songs, their songs of love, their songs of sorrow sung over open graves. She knew the songs of the Gods — the ones that pleased them and ones that sated them and the ones she wasn’t supposed to know. And Crowley, of course, knew her own songs. Half formed melodies hummed to the trees in the forest. Their roots would dance beneath her feet and the ground thrummed with their movement. She’d whisper words to the waves licking her bare toes as she stood facing the sea and the gulls would cry back their pleasure. She could make flowers bloom and the sun shine and the moon smile.

And yet to sing a song of her love for Aziraphale seemed the most daunting task she had ever faced. What words could ever speak of such devotion, could begin to describe the choking feeling in her throat and the fullness in her stomach that only came from being with her immortal wife? The best singer in all of Greece, in all the world, could not even begin to form a single verse that could accurately communicate them. And she was; Crowley was the best singer in all of Greece and yet this ability escaped her. She could but only try.

Keep reading on AO3 or

And so try she did. The only other option was to leave her dear nymph without a song to enjoy as they held hands under the night sky and that simply wouldn’t do.

“You know many songs, both those of the Gods and those of man, dearest. Do be quick about your decision. We haven’t got all night after all.”

Crowley’s mouth twisted up in a wry smile as her wife propped herself up on her elbow, a delicate pink cheek resting in her palm, and yet her other hand did not release its grip on Crowley’s.

“Perhaps not. I may not be able to sing for you after all. To think of the perfect song for you requires time that I don’t have. I may have to use my voice to serenade Gaia first, allow me some borrowed time so I may find the right words,” Crowley pondered out loud, while Aziraphale sent her a chastising look. She released Crowley’s hand for a moment to give it a gentle pat in admonishment. Their new rings clinked together softly — ringing in the cold night time air and floating up towards the stars overhead — and Crowley vowed to memorize the pitch for a later use.

“I won’t hear of such things. Anything you choose will be perfect, so long as you are the one singing it. You could sing of the most morbid and morose things and I would be none the wiser. Your voice makes me forget everything I know.”

“Not everything, I hope. I pray you never forget me.” Crowley pinched the pudgy skin of her wife’s palm and before she could raise a fuss, Crowley was brushing her lips over the flesh there, like a petal dancing over the surface of a pond.

“I would never. Should you continue to prolong my wait, though, I may consider changing my mind. Do get on with it, dear.”

Crowley quickly sat up with a dramatic gasp and a hand to her chest. “Why I never!”

“Crowley.”

“Yes, of course, beautiful.” Crowley cooed with a smirk. Even so, she continued to mess about for a few short moments, feigning some important preparation before another stern look from her wife forced her to begin her song.

The most haunting notes and devoted lyrics slipped like wine over Crowley’s lips. She sang of the sweetest apple being left on the upper-most branch waiting to be sampled by only the most devoted taster, her lover ready to savor its sweetness. Of the flowers — pink, purple, and white — waving in the wind atop a hill only to be worn down by the bare feet of shepherds, trodden into the ground while waiting to be plucked. And everything slowed for a moment — the world stopped spinning, the wind stopped blowing, and the light of the stars traveling across the vast empty darkness froze in its tracks — to listen with all the attentiveness of which they were capable. The utter love and fidelity ingrained in the very essence of even such a mournful tale enraptured all that could hear.

Aziraphale, of course, in the face of such unwavering emotion, was trapped in Crowley’s gaze like a fly in honey, eyes never wavering for even a moment in an effort to show her godly lover the sincerity of it all. Here are my feelings, laid naked and bare in the grass for you. Pick them apart. I hide nothing from you.

She doesn’t need to, though. Aziraphale can feel every note wash over her like the scent of spring riding a breeze or a raindrop trailing its way down one of her oak leaves. And it made her feel like she held the light of Crowley’s love in her hands. Like she could feel its heat and warmth. It was like nothing else she had ever known before.

As Crowley continued to sing and Aziraphale continued to blossom under her praise, her power flowing through her less like a stream and more like a river. Her fingertips tingled with the force of it. Natural elements around them began shifting as some Aziraphale’s power leaked out of her skin. The grass around them suddenly grew long enough to tickle the skin of their ankles, wrists, the soles of their feet, all unclothed and vulnerable. The air suddenly tasted of anthemion and smelled of fresh fog steaming off a pond in the early morning.

And Crowley was just as entranced by Aziraphale’s power and unearthly beauty as Aziraphale was of her voice. So she continued to sing to please her wife, her voice a prayer and the words a dedication trickling like the juice of a peach over her lips and chin. Fire raced under skin every moment she held Aziraphale’s graze, every moment her love appeared more unhuman-like. More like a delicate flower bursting from a human body.

“And lovely laughing — oh it

Puts the heart in my chest on wings

For when I look at you, a moment, then no speaking

Is left in me”

There were a million words, a million combinations of those words Crowley would sing to her in a million different ways if only her breath would allow it. But she was, after all, only human and so her breath ran out and her tongue dried and her cheeks reddened like the setting sun and she was grasping Aziraphale’s shoulders so tightly that she feared she may cause her pain. So she stopped and collapsed into Aziraphale’s open arms.

“My goodness, are you quite all right?” Aziraphale asked with no small amount of concern in her voice. Crowley’s head rested on Aziraphale’s chest. She could hear the nymph’s heart thumping softly in her chest while her round, heavy arms encircled her and the weight of them offered a kind of warm comfort that could come from nowhere else.

“Mm, yeah. ‘M good,” she offered weakly, much too occupied with trying to fit her arms around Aziraphale’s plush middle while keeping her head pillowed on the nymph’s chest..

“Are you sure? You’re very out of breath.” Her arms moved up and down Crowley’s back in an effort to soothe and relax her, coax her back to breathing slower.

“Sure I’m sure. Wanted to keep going is all,” Crowley murmured, finally interlocking her fingers behind Aziraphale’s back and squeezing as close as she could get. Aziraphale refrained from commenting for the moment and just held her close. “Wanted to sing your praises.”

“Yes, well. You can’t do that if you pass out, now can you?” One hand continued to lightly trace over the pattern of freckles on Crowley’s exposed shoulders where the strap of her chiton had slipped off. The other wandered lower under the fabric, seeking out the soft skin of her back.

“Suppose so.” Crowley replied, her voice wispy and eyelids growling heavy.

“Why don’t we head home? It’s getting awfully late.” Without waiting for a response, Aziraphale moved Crowley to her liking before picking her up in her arms. Crowley merely hummed and allowed herself to be carried back towards their forest home, her head resting in the dip between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder while lazily kissing under her chins and behind her ear.

The world was still quite dark when Aziraphale woke the next morning. The moon had very nearly finished her journey across the sky while the sun had just begun his, the blackness of the sky slowly giving way to a blaze of fiery colors. The mingled light drifted softly into the room through the window and danced across both bodies still curled together, kissing skin and running its fingers through long strands of hair both red and white, despite Aziraphale’s apparent wakefulness.

Of the two of them, Aziraphale more frequently woke first — she did not need to sleep as her human companion did, though this never stopped her from remaining with Crowley until she woke. The cool air of a summer night made Crowley’s warm body wrapped around her own very enticing, so Aziraphale often found herself willing to lay awake, clinging to Crowley’s arm around her waist, until the moon fully gave way to the strength of the sun’s light. Then she would allow herself to probe further, both hands and lips slowly growing more incessant until Crowley groaned her way into the world, horribly burdened with the task of responding to her nymph’s need for reciprocation.

“It’s only fair,” she’d say, eyes shining with mirth, and of course it sounded perfectly reasonable to Crowley when it was put like that; so she’d press her own smile to Aziraphale’s lips before moving to her cheeks and forehead and chins and down her neck.

Now, though, Aziraphale could only smile fondly upon the many memories she had floating around her head as she gently lifted Crowley’s arm from around her. She had different plans for this morning. Yesterday had been such a lovely day, wedding and all, and such an event should only be followed by a perfectly lovely morning of warm air and green grass, beautiful blossoms and fruitful trees to accompany their typical porridge breakfast.

Of course, this meant venturing out into the wood before light rather than gently prompting the fig trees in the garden to finish their bounty perhaps a bit soon. Crowley became ever so disheartened when Aziraphale meddled with her garden. A mere thought could quickly encourage every flower in the courtyard garden into full blossom. She suspected it was a matter of pride for Crowley — working the soil with nothing but her own hands and stubbornness — though that certainly didn’t stop Aziraphale from offering a bit of helpful advice and encouragement. Crowley didn’t seem to mind that much.

So Aziraphale quickly and quietly dressed, not bothering with putting her hair up with all her ribbons and ties, creeping through the house while carefully dodging the floorboards she knew creaked, and out the door. A bit of damp night air weaved through the shadows cast on the ground by the weak light of the moon. Aziraphale had spent many years among the faerie folk of the wood and water surrounding their home, certainly no coincidence by any means, and so she had little fear of those who lay beyond their house, even in the cover of night.

She wandered about mindlessly, no particular path set in front of her, instead moving about the trees whispering loving encouragements about how wonderful they were all doing and how beautiful they were and could they maybe spare a few flowers come morning? She knew it wasn’t the right season but wouldn’t it just be wonderful? The grass beneath her feet grew, laughing, as it stretched to caresses the calloused bottoms of her feet. The flowers that tasted light, airy, and sweet when paired with hot water waved shyly up at her as she strode by. The trees whispered amongst themselves across the breeze.

It was all so wondrously beautiful. She was tempted, for a moment, to go back to her house, crawl into bed and gently wake Crowley as she always did even if it was, perhaps, a bit early; the stars shone so brightly tonight even in the fading darkness and Crowley absolutely adored the stars. It would ruin her surprise, though, and Crowley did seem awfully tired after so much singing earlier that day. There was also the matter of the surprise. The look on Crowley’s face when Aziraphale led her out into a groove of wild fig trees and oak blossoms was too good to pass up.

Not yet time to wake her, then. The stars would always be there for her lovely new wife to see another night. But as Aziraphale stood there watching the sky, it became clear that she had not as much time left as she first thought. The stars were starting in blink out, one by one, and the yellow of the sun was largely overpowering the pale light of the moon. It was time to begin her journey back home. And though she felt some sadness leaving the forest behind for now, just as the stars would be there for Crowley every night, the forest would be there for Aziraphale and she could enjoy it anytime she liked — perhaps even with Crowley’s company next time.

Besides, she had a whole journey back to appreciate everything around her and look forward to waking Crowley soft and slow.

Aziraphale had made it about half way — she’d be back just as the moon disappeared and the sun took over — when something suddenly felt very wrong. The air felt thick and heavy; the wind whipped about her, blowing her hair in every which direction and obscuring her sight; everything felt dark despite the growing glow of the sun arcing through the sky.

Aziraphale never had reason to fear the forest or any of its inhabitants before and even now she did not believe it was one of them that intended harm.

Mortals, however, were very dangerous. The Gods may have blessed and rejoiced Aziraphale and Crowley’s recent marriage, but the mortals were not so unanimous in their support. After all, the beauty and power of a nymph paired with Crowley’s enchanted singing and playing, there was certain to be resentment among some. Aziraphale feared losing Crowley above all else.

That wasn’t something she was willing to risk, so she stood her ground, looking for the cause of all the discontent amongst her forest friends. Through the tangled mess of hair flying around her, she could see him, a man, standing there not but a few steps away. He was dressed in luxurious fabrics and his eyes an odd color, some light shade of purple.

“Come with me,” He spoke plainly, as though discussing the quality of fruit at the market this season.

“You,” she started, voice quivering a bit. She wrung her hands in her lap. Aziraphale didn’t actually know the man very well, but they’d met before when Crowley had only just begun courting Aziraphale. Something had always been off with him. Aziraphale knew she had an influence over men to some extent, not one she could control of course, but the way they all looked at her, it made her cringe. Even still, this man in particular, the man with the purple eyes, stood out among them. The way he looked at her was almost predatory. Like he knew she’d be his one day.

Like all he had to do was wait.

She never bothered telling Crowley about it. Sightings of him were few and far in-between. And what were they to do — a singing woman and a nymph — to confront an obviously well-off man? It was better to live with the relatively minor discomfort than to put both Crowley and herself in harm's way.

“Come with me,” he said again, soft now in an attempt to persuade her, and he held out a hand to her. “I can take care of you in a way different, better, than the woman with you now.”

He took a step forward and smiled like he was hiding something behind his teeth. It made Aziraphale sick.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. I’ll take you away from that wretched woman.” He took another step forward.

“You know not of which you speak.”

The man’s smile faltered for a moment.

“I will not go-” Aziraphale bit out before he cut her off. Her hands suddenly clenched tight at her sides.

“If you do not come willing I have no choice but to take you and kill her.”

“-anywhere with you.” she sneered and continued on. “Not now and not ever.”

Finally the man’s smile dropped away completely. He looked absolutely furious.

“You know nothing of our love. I expect you never will and for that I am truly sorry. But you speak of ownership, not companionship. I would never leave her and you cannot take her from me.” Without another word, Aziraphale hiked up her skirt and turned, bolting down the path, hoping to reach home and warn Crowley before that awful man could get to her.

It didn’t take long for her to hear hurried footsteps come after her. She made a quick decision and turned off the path into the trees.

She threw an arm behind her with an apology on her lips. Tree branches bent to help obscure the path. The slash of a sword and shattering wood rung in her ears. She could see her home in the distance and began to scream for Crowley, over and over, her voice shrill and breaking. Tears stung her eyes and her heart was pounding faster than it ever had before and her lungs were heaving so heavily that they burned. She heard the man — shouting, swearing, slashing at the barriers the forest had built for her — somewhere in the distance behind her. She had glanced back for only a moment, but a moment was all it took.

She tumbled to the ground. A sharp pain throbbed around her ankle and then it was suddenly giving out underneath her. She let out a shrill cry just before her head cracked against the hard ground.

A snake bite, no doubt, and a venomous one at that judging by the localized pain and how she very suddenly felt like she was going to vomit.

Her head hitting the ground certainly wasn’t doing anything to help. The light of the forest was blinding now and everything had begun to spin and blur with such intensity that Aziraphale thought she’d soon be ill. She tried to get to her feet, to get moving again, but she was on the ground again before she could even stand. Both of her legs ached. She didn’t have long. There was nothing to be done for her.

Oh, but Crowley. All Aziraphale’s worries weighed heavy on her mind as she laid there on the forest floor. What would Crowley think when she wakes to see Aziraphale’s side of the bed long since cold and empty? What would she do when Aziraphale hasn’t returned by mid-day with no clues to indicate her whereabouts? What sort of dreadful things would race through her mind when Crowley found her empty body only a short stroll from their home? Aziraphale could hardly stand to think of such things. To leave the love of her life so soon without even a simple ‘good-bye�� would break her heart.

And it was with that thought that Aziraphale found a final burst of strength and stubbornness — and, of course, love — and hauled herself up from the ground. She managed to grab a large branch to lean on and began hobbling forward as best she could in her weakened state.

The world rushed around her and her head felt like it was floating, like the insides were adrift on a boat that was violently rocking back and forth.

Sweat dripped down her face and tears flowed freely from her eyes. She had never been so dizzy before and her mouth was very dry and her tongue felt so heavy. Her heart was pounding faster than ever and breathing was becoming very difficult and her entire body was shaking despite how very very hot she felt.

The trees and path were blurring and she can hardly see the house anymore — could she have been moving backwards? Had that awful man grabbed her and began hauling her away? Was she already dead?

It was with one final breath that “Crowley” slipped ever so softly from her lips that her body began shaking something terrible.

She fell to the ground with a heavy thud and everything went black.

Gabriel ran after the nymph, waving around his pilfered sword in a desperate attempt to hack away the thick branches and thorns that had inexplicably grown up in front of him. The nymph was too far ahead of him. He could just barely hear her feet thumping against the ground somewhere in the distance.

So caught up was he in his task that he didn’t hear a sharp cry of alarm.

Eventually Gabriel made his way through the wood barrier and gave chase. When he reached her though, he found himself standing not but a few paces from where the nymph had apparently fallen to the ground. She did not move, even to draw a breath.

Not wanting all this effort to go to waste in case he was mistaken, Gabriel cautiously stepped forward. Perhaps it was a trick, a way to lure him closer only for her to strike him.

He walked until he stood in front of her head. Still she did not move. Using the very tip of his sword, he lifted her forehead from the ground. Her eyes were expressionless and her mouth slack.

Dead then.

Gabriel tutted at her, shaking his head before letting her head fall back to the ground.

“Truly disappointing,” he thought, “and such a waste of a beautiful creature.”

He turned, facing away from the dead nymph, and sheathed his sword before venturing back in the direction from which he had come.

The world was awfully bright when Crowley finally woke that morning. Much brighter than she had grown used to. Sunlight streamed grandly through the window and the birds chirped happily somewhere off in the distance. It must be late, much past the time Aziraphale would have normally woken her.

She reached out in front of her and her assumption was proven correct — Aziraphale had already risen and left Crowley alone in their bed. She finally opened her eyes, the full unobstructed force of light making her wince for a moment, to see her hand reaching out for empty air.

It wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence — waking up without Aziraphale next to her — but it did happen once in a while. Crowley generally found this meant her nymph was up to no good. Normally, highly amusing for Crowley in the end, though it left her with a low ache to wake up without a lovely, round body keeping her warm and a soft belly to throw her arm around.

Normally, Crowley would shrug it off with a mere moment’s hesitation and roll out of bed, stumble into the kitchen in a state of disarray to eat something before getting properly dressed and tending to her garden.

And normally, Aziraphale was back not long after Crowley had woken, already having had plenty of time to get up to whatever mischief she’d fancied.

This time it felt different, though. The ache in her belly, that longing for Aziraphale’s back pressed to her chest and solid weight under her arm, hurt deeper. It felt heavy, like she’d swallowed a rock and it was sitting low inside.

So Crowley laid there for a bit, just staring at the empty half of the bed. Her stomach ached a while longer in some inexplicable nervous anxiety and she felt a bit cold but really there wasn’t much cause for concern. She just didn’t want to get up knowing she’d have to bide her time before Aziraphale arrived home. Perfectly reasonable.

Even with no good reason to remain, Crowley languished in bed for a while longer, watching the shadows glide across the wall.

It didn’t take long for Crowley to realize something had gone wrong. Eventually she did get up out of bed, got dressed, ate, and headed out to the garden. After weeding for a bit, she headed back in for a drink of water fully expecting to catch sight of Aziraphale nibbling on a vine of grapes from yesterday’s dinner while sipping wine and nibbling some bits of cheese. Crowley had never been sure of whether nymphs actually needed to eat, but necessity or not Aziraphale seemed quite taken with it, especially when Crowley grew the food herself.

Crowley would stride across the room, Aziraphale’s name on her lips, and take her nymph’s lovely pink cheeks in hand, stroking the soft skin while Aziraphale would giggle and flush, tsking at the soil being smudged onto her face. Crowley would bury one of her dirty hands in the short curls at the back of Aziraphale’s neck where they had escaped from the bun she’d done up with ribbon.

And then they’d kiss. Aziraphale would taste of bitter red wine and sweet purple grapes. Her hands would wrap around Crowley’s shoulders and eventually wander to where her hair was pulled hastily into a ponytail earlier that morning. And they’d stay like that until Aziraphale would tug Crowley back gently by her hair.

'I am trying to eat, dear.’ She’d whine. ‘Why don’t you join me for a bit?’

Except Aziraphale’s name didn’t have the chance to leave Crowley’s mouth. The kitchen was just as empty as it had been that morning. She pursed her lips and frowned. Truly, Aziraphale might not have been gone long — Crowley had been asleep when she’d snuck away and Aziraphale could’ve left any time between Crowley falling asleep and her waking up — but midday was quickly approaching, which meant lunch, and Crowley had never known Aziraphale to miss a meal since they’d met. If she wasn’t in the kitchen she must be close by.

After inspection of every room in the house, calling her name out and around the edge of the house, and returning to the garden just in case, Crowley headed to the forest. It was the only other place she could think to look. It was, after all, entirely possible Aziraphale was completely fine and had only lost track of time revisiting the place she had spent most of her life. It hadn’t happened before but it wasn’t impossible.

After finding her admiring some tree somewhere, Crowley would sneak up behind her, wrap her arms around the nymph and scare her a little. She’d jump and chastise Crowley for ‘sneaking up on me like that! Really Crowley, you’re absolutely horrid’ and Crowley would tell her how then maybe she shouldn’t sneak off in the early morning and make Crowley come looking for her. Aziraphale would apologize for making her worry. They’d walk home together and the knot in Crowley’s stomach would unravel and she’d kiss her nymph sweetly on the forehead and they’d enjoy lunch in the back garden where Crowley grew her flowers while Aziraphale talked about what she’d gotten up to that morning. Crowley would try to listen only for her to inevitably get lost staring at just how absolutely beautiful Aziraphale was, get taken in by how lucky she’d gotten in marrying such a stunning creature. Aziraphale would ask what she was looking at and when Crowley told her, she’d get pink all down her neck.

That would make up for all the worry. It would make up for the lump as big as a pomegranate stuck in Crowley’s throat; she could just barely swallow around it. It’d make up for the way her hands shook and the weakness in her legs. It was unbearable.

She wandered down the path a ways, calling out for the nymph (“Aziraphale! Where are you! I can’t find you!”) until she reached the bank of the river that ran down from the mountains and cut through the land. It wasn’t particularly wide or deep, but there was no way across without getting wet and Aziraphale had never been especially fond of getting wet unless they’d set out together to cool off on a very hot day. She certainly wouldn’t have any reason to cross, either. None that Crowley knew of anyhow.

Worry was beginning to give way to full blown panic. If Aziraphale wasn’t anywhere on the path then she must be in the woods somewhere and as much as Crowley trusted Aziraphale to keep from purposefully getting in harm's way, knew she’d spent her entire life here before Crowley had swept her up, Aziraphale did tend to attract danger that required a hero’s rescue. Crowley was always more than happy to play that role for her, though she was never quite as happy with whatever series of events proceeded.

Before Crowley could think, she was sprinting back down the path, singing at the top of her lungs. Crowley's voice had yet to fail her in whatever she used it to do, whether that be serenading Aziraphale with some song or poem of her choosing or singing an angry work song that would scare a particularly stubborn plant into submission.

Or to command the very air around her to lead her to Aziraphale when she was lost.

It hadn’t happened before and it certainly wasn’t going to happen now.

The line between singing and screaming quickly began to muddle as Crowley was overwhelmed with emotion, tears streamed down her face, her throat was raw and burned.

The world around her responded as though it had emotions of its own. The wind whipped her hair and clothing around her, pulling and pushing her. The leaves hissed in the branches above. The world was so furious and sorrowful. Crowley had never been so worried in her life. She didn’t want to think of what could’ve happened that affected it so.

The wind shifted so suddenly that Crowley nearly fell over. Instead of moving her forward, she was jerked to the left off the path and toward a jagged collection of branches that looked like they’d been hacked carelessly apart. Crowley’s breath stopped dead halfway up her throat.

She had fought.

Someone must’ve been chasing Aziraphale and she had fought. Aziraphale had fought for her life. There was nothing else, no one else, that could’ve manipulated nature in such a way. Crowley could only look upon it with horror. She would’ve collapsed right there if not for the wind trying to keep her moving.

Eventually, Crowley was forced out of her stupor and focused on stumbling through the dense trees as quickly as she could manage, the wind directing her moments as she went.

There was no clearing, no soft sunlight streaming through the trees, no gentle breeze rustling the grass; nothing that could make her feel like Aziraphale hadn’t suffered when she died. Everything around her was brown and dead.

Gods, she’d never get used to that thought. She was gone. Dead.

Aziraphale was dead.

It’d taken Crowley a while to actually get where she was supposed to be going, not that she’d known where that was. She just sort of ran in whichever direction the wind pushed her. But when she saw a crumpled mass of white lying deathly still in the middle of the woods, she’d known this was what she was supposed to see — she knew it was Aziraphale.

The wind immediately went still and all was silent throughout the woods. They knew what had happened and what was to come.

Crowley shrieked her name and it came out a splintering, broken howl. Tears flooded her eyes and flowed freely down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She ran to her wife, the soles of her feet burning with the pain of cuts from the rough forest floor littered with shards of shattered branches. Her legs gave out beneath her. She crawled closer and reached out only for her hand to hover over Aziraphale’s back, the white fabric of her peplos was stained brown from where she lay in the dirt.

She crawled further up, towards Aziraphale’s head. Her face is flat against the ground and Crowley couldn’t see her expression but the skin of her forehead was showing. Aziraphale has always been fair-skinned, certainly, but now— the color of her skin could only be described as a sickly white.

She had to see, Crowley had to see her face. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, drying them momentarily, and took a shaky breath, trying to brace herself. She moved to sit on her heels next to Aziraphale and rested her hands on Aziraphale’s side. Even through the peplos, her skin was so cold, not at all like Crowley was used to.

It took a few good hard shoves to get Aziraphale facing upwards. She was completely limp, dead weight, left to Crowley to move all the while choking on the sobs stuck in the back of her throat. It was torture.

Nothing could prepare Crowley for what she would see. Aziraphale’s face was so white and cold. Her mouth slack and her lips a dull, faded pink. Her eyes open, blank and empty, staring up into the endless sky above her. There was no depth or mirth as there always was when she looked at the world around her. There was no endless love as there was when looked at Crowley with that sweet little smile that was just for her and-

And it broke Crowley’s heart.

And she threw herself over-top of Aziraphale’s stomach, squeezing the flesh that had always been there for Crowley to latch onto. She was so cold and still, no heartbeat thrumming in her chest.

She could almost feel the ghost of Aziraphale’s hand stroking her back, rubbing her neck, her breath in her ear.

“It’s alright, dear,” she would say. “It’ll be alright.”

But there was no reassuring voice and there was no hand to calm her and so instead Crowley screamed and sobbed and cursed everyone above and below that she could name.

She called for Aziraphale, for her to come back, begging and pleading until her voice left her.

You’ve gone. Somebody’s killed you and you’ve gone.

Crowley wept and wept until she could weep no more. Her eyes and nose had run dry and swollen as bright red as her own hair. And by the time the last of her tears had dried, the sun was beginning to set. She had spent nearly the entire day in mourning. Not nearly long enough, Crowley thought, but it would have to be enough for now. She needed to use what remaining light she had to get back to the house. Normally an easy task, but she had Aziraphale to carry back with her. Crowley refused to leave her in the forest overnight. She’d sooner sleep here in this very spot. The idea was almost appealing until she remembered that this was the very spot Aziraphale had died, the spot the light had left her eyes, and then it was so revolting that she lost whatever was left in her stomach.

In the end, the moon had risen and fallen by the time Crowley finished her task. She never went to bed, far too afraid of the cold, lonely expanse left next to her in the bed. Instead, she slept in the fruit garden next to a fresh mound of soil. She still missed the warmth of her lover, but at least here Aziraphale would still be beside her.

Crowley never had to deal with grief before, not grief like this. Never for someone as important and special as Aziraphale had been. The only other emotion she knew it to be like was, oddly enough, love.

Just as consuming, just emptier. It never slowed down, never stopped or let Crowley rest for even a moment. Never constricted by time. It choked her like a vine around her throat, slowly squeezing until she couldn’t breath and her eyes watered. There were moments where it was so much that she could feel the physical weight of her own body being pressed down into the Earth. She could feel the heaviness in her limbs and the way her tongue sat in her mouth. Her legs couldn’t hold her body up and then the ever present unbridled sadness pressing down on her added so much more, she’d eventually just fall. Wherever she was, she’d fall to the ground and cry for as long as it took for her to find enough strength to stand again. Oftentimes it took hours. It was too much. Everything was surreal and at the same time it was like Crowley was just floating numbly, not even feeling the ground beneath her.

Then she’d stagger back to the garden. She’d refresh the white oak flowers resting on Aziraphale’s chest. It had been months now and even still every tree produced the tiny white flowers, their way of mourning her, Crowley assumed.

Every day she’d go out and pick a fresh bunch. After, she’d just sit in the dirt, silent and staring. She hadn’t sung since she’d patted the dirt down firmly over Aziraphale’s body.

She’d done everything right, cut no corners in preparing Aziraphale to enter the Underworld. She’d washed and anointed the body, wrapped it in linen shroud (though she couldn’t bear to cover her face), and placed in the ground atop vine and crowned in garland. Finally, she’d closed her eyes and mouth. Easier than one might think. Her eyes were growing white and cloudy and Crowley couldn’t stomach keeping them open any longer. Then Crowley had sung her to sleep.

And as Crowley mourned the loss of Aziraphale in her refusal to sing, so too did the world mourn the loss of Crowley’s voice. Even the Gods missed the sound of Crowley’s singing and how it floated up to them on the wind from below.

Many of them understood such a heavy loss hurt Crowley deeper than they knew and waited patiently for the day that her songs may return to them. Others, however, seemed a bit less understanding and were growing weary of Crowley’s constant desolate mood. Her voice was her dedication, her way of honoring them, in place of food or drink. Without her singing, she owed them something else, and yet in all the months since Aziraphale had died, not a single note had been sung nor had they received an offering. They gathered together and all came to the same conclusion — something must be done.

They sent down a messenger one night to confront Crowley as she lay on her back in the courtyard garden with Aziraphale, raking her fingers aimlessly through the soil next to her, the dirt pushing up under her nails.

Her eyes scanned the stars even as the messenger appeared next to her.

“Crowley,” they said to her, standing over her, tone without patience. Uriel had never been one to dance uselessly around an issue.

They spoke Crowley’s name again, this time more terse. Even still, Crowley did not so much as dart her eyes in Uriel’s direction.

“This is ridiculous. You know what I’m here for.” Uriel fixed Crowley with a particularly withering glare.

“It’s only ridiculous to you.” Crowley finally broke her silence. “You didn’t know her and now you never will. She could weave the winds of the sea and the mountains together with a whisper. She could send a meadow into full blossom with a snap of her fingers. I’d fall to my knees for her and she’d help me up. And now she’s gone.”

Crowley propped herself up on an elbow. Her face was carefully still but there was a fire in her eyes. “Tell me again how my sadness means so little.”

Uriel’s lips drew tight. “The Gods require your tribute, Crowley. Your songs acted as such. Sing or you will find yourself in an uncomfortable situation.”

“Aziraphale meant, means, more to me than any of you ever did,” she said slowly and resigned herself back to the dirt, eyes directed back up.

“Thankless creature,” they sneered the words with venom and Uriel’s collected demeanor vanished for a moment.

“What is there to be thankful for without her! I can’t go back to the way things were before.” Uriel took a moment to think.

“If the nymph is what you require, we are prepared to offer a solution,” they finally said. “Retrieve her from the Underworld. I will point you in the direction of the nearest opening.” Crowley’s head darted away from the sky and looked up at Uriel looming over her, hands folded primly in front of their chest. She revealed no further emotion to Uriel, but inside her head was spinning and her stomach was churning.

“You will know the way when the sun rises tomorrow morning. Remember Crowley, traveling to the Underworld is no trivial journey. You will need all the strength you possess to get there and to come back.”

“Of course.” Uriel fixed Crowley with a dubious look as the human woman stood from

the ground, brushing dirt and dust from her chiton, before they returned to the Gods.

Crowley watched them fade away before returning her gaze to where Aziraphale lay under the ground.

“Wherever you are,” she started, “I’ll come get you. I’m coming, Aziraphale.” It still hurt to speak to Aziraphale like this, like she was in some faraway place that Crowley couldn’t reach, but that would end soon enough. She knew what to do about it now and there was nothing above or below that could stop Crowley from getting Aziraphale back.

Even if it was clear that Uriel hadn’t been Crowley’s biggest supporter when they came down for a visit with a list of demands from on high, they weren’t a liar. Crowley had a bit of trouble drifting off to sleep the night before, but when she woke the next morning, it was just as Uriel had said — she inexplicably knew the way to a portal leading down to the Underworld. She had never moved faster from the bed in all her life. She grabbed something to eat and her lyre, tied her long hair up out of her face, before she was out the door in a flourish.

Crowley hadn’t felt nearly so happy for many months; she couldn’t help the way her lips began to twitch up in a smile as she began her journey. Perhaps it was a bit premature to feel such joy, but Crowley would do anything to succeed. Nothing had ever been so important before and regardless of whether Crowley failed or not— well. She would soon see Aziraphale again no matter what happened.

The walk was certainly a long one, the sun rising higher and higher up into the sky, but Crowley passed the time strumming her lyre, humming softly to herself, and admiring the white oak blossoms on the trees, the way the petals floated softly down around her. It could only be made better by Aziraphale strolling next to her, her plump fingers filling the space between Crowley’s while her nymph chatted away.

It still hurt remembering Aziraphale wasn’t with her now because she’d died, thinking how she’d died all alone. Even knowing that she was on her way to get Aziraphale back, it only eased the pain so much. It was like she had tried to take a deep breath but her lungs couldn’t quite expand enough and she got stuck halfway. Even if she got Aziraphale back, rosey-cheeks and all, it would always hurt a little. Seeing her pale, facedown in the dirt without so much as a twitch to move her — that was an image Crowley would never forget. A wound that would never completely heal over. Knowing there was a chance for her though, it made her feel lighter.

After some time, Crowley came to what was, no doubt, the portal she had been searching for. There were no guards or really any other obvious features that indicated she was in the right place. Far too conspicuous that. She’d nearly walked right by it but there was something that told her she had arrived, some energy that pulled her back. Even just standing there in front of it, she felt a bit overwhelmed.

It looked like nothing more than a large hole left in the ground, perhaps an animal burrow or the site of a felled tree, the hole the remains of where its roots had buried themselves underground. It made sense, of course, for a portal to the Underworld to be nondescript. You certainly couldn’t have anyone stumbling upon it and wandering in. (Though you could say that’s what Crowley was doing with just a little more purpose to her wandering in.)

Well, she’d done enough standing around. It was time to do what she had come here for. Crowley took one last fortifying breath and stepped forward. The ground instantly crumbled beneath her feet. The hole widened and she fell with a shout.

It was like falling out of a dream and into a nightmare. She was in a free-fall between worlds, black and empty and so silent you could hear static, before she fell out of the sky and into the Underworld. Her body smacked into a steep ledge of densely packed dirt. She tumbled over the side, down and down; she couldn’t stop herself. She just fell and fell, trying to reach out for something to grab onto, a root or branch, but there was nothing. Nothing grew in the Underworld and so Crowley fell, the hot dirt searing the bare skin of her face and bruising her limbs, until she managed to claw her fingers into the ground.

Eventually, she slowed her fall to a slide and then a stop. She laid there for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

Even that simple task was surprisingly difficult. Everything was different down here, including the air. It was thin and murky, like looking through water when you’d just dragged your feet along the muddy bottom. The dirt she’d stirred up in her fall hung around her like a cloud. The deeper she tried to breath, the more difficult it became, like the air had wrapped its wispy hands around her throat and squeezed, choking her.

Her throat felt sore and her chest tight with panic and pain and she coughed so much Crowley thought she may actually cough something up. Her face turned bright red and black dots were floating in and out of her sight line. She’d been down here not long enough for a cloud to pass over the sun let alone long enough to find her way towards Hades, and she was about to die here in the dirt choking on the toxic air of the Underworld, a loose grip away from tumbling towards a different death.

Well, that wouldn’t do at all. Crowley clamped her mouth shut and did not breathe. The coughs were suffocated in the back of her throat. It burned and her eyes watered, but after a moment she could feel herself calming. She took small, slow breaths through her nose instead and suddenly she wasn’t dying. She let out a sigh and pulled herself up to stand, half lunging. Her legs spread and a balancing hand pressed, fingers wide, to the ground, helped her as she looked out over the world beyond her.

The sky was a vibrant orange, as if the sun was going down though there was no sun to speak of. The rest of the land was dark and dead and horrid. The mountains were so blue and dark they looked black. The dirt was grey, ashy, and hot to the touch. Even looking down at her own hands, Crowley’s skin was already fading from a soft brown to grey and pale. She was on borrowed time here. She needed to hurry down towards Hades and Persephone.

Gingerly, she lifted her hand from the ground and took a short breath before she shifted her weight forward. Almost immediately she was sliding quickly towards the base of the mountain. It didn’t take long, even with her stumbling and falling and a couple times. The ground was visibly different — a strong grey and black stone that looked as though it had risen up from the center of the Earth — but still it felt no different from that of the massive structure Crowley had just come down from. Even now standing on solid ground, she felt as though she might begin sliding downward, the calluses on her feet rubbing, burning from friction. Still, she had come here for Aziraphale and she wasn’t leaving without her, so she started off in the direction she thought would lead her to Hades. She didn’t know for sure that she was headed in the right direction, but something inside of her pulled her just as it had in the forest. It hadn’t been wrong then so surely she could trust it again down here.

It was strange, walking through here with a sense of direction and yet not really knowing where you were. The path led her through a gorge and felt as though it were constantly winding, taking sharp turns and looping around itself, but it only led her straight on. It made her feel like her head was swimming.

She felt watched but never saw anyone else nor could she pinpoint the source. It was like something was circling her. The walls on either side of the gorge went up higher than she could see and at moments it felt as though they were narrowing, trapping her. Her mind was fighting itself, half of it telling her to turn around and run back to where she had come. The other half insisted that she could only escape if she continued forward. The entire experience was deeply disturbing. Still, she pressed forward.

Just as she began to wonder how long she’d been walking for, how much longer it would be before she reached Hades’ palace, the land morphed and the path crested over a dirt hill with the horizon painted with broad strokes behind it. Only moments before, Crowley had stared down a path that stretched on forever and the sunless sky was so far ahead it looked like an orange pinprick in the distance. She frowned, understandably confused, but she ran to the top of the hill and looked down, not at the other side of the hill, but rather over a waterfall and a sheer drop underground. Even though she could hear the water running down, it was as though the hole had swallowed all light itself. Completely pitch black, she couldn’t see a thing past the rim of the hole.

It took but a moment of decision. Crowley closed her eyes and jumped.

The hot air from above evaporated, rushing from her lungs and diving out her throat. It felt like her very spirit raced to leave her and hurry back to the surface. The air turned from dry and thin and dirty to wet and dense and sterile. Her entire body shook violently against the sudden sharp temperature drop. The sound of the water roaring filled her head and her mind hurt with how heavy it felt and it was so cold and what was going to happen when she reached the bottom? How much water had pooled there? How deep was it? Would she splash or splat?

She found out before any worries had time to spiral further. One moment she had been falling and the next she felt solid ground under her feet, like it had rushed up to catch her. The air had stopped whipping around her. It was still and silent. Crowley opened her eyes to find herself standing at what must be the bottom of the waterfall, except there was no waterfall. It’d completely vanished. A misty river of depthless water wound out in front of her. Looking up, she couldn’t even see where she had fallen from. It was as dark as a starless night, the blackness empty and hungry.

Crowley was standing on a wooden dock in the middle of the water. Next to her, a cloaked figure stood at the rear of a long papyrus boat with an oar. A lantern sat at their feet, the soft yellow light flickered dimly and illuminated the empty seat in the middle of the boat. Crowley couldn’t see their eyes, if they had any at all, but she felt them looking at her expectantly.

“Do you require some form of payment for me to ride?” Crowley asked as she stepped off the dock and into the boat, forgetting any hesitation. It rocked gently with her added weight. The light from the lantern spilled out over the sides of the boat and bounced off the stone walls of the cave.

The figure said nothing, but lowered the long paddle into the water though they made no effort to push away from the dock. The ripples from their movement danced across the water almost hypnotically. The boat rode smoothly atop the waves, like a drop of rain sliding over the waxy coating of a leaf. If Crowley didn’t know any better, she’d say they were waving at her, coaxing her. She felt the wordless whispers of many different voices caress the outer shell of her ear. Her gut clenched and she suddenly felt violently ill.

“Do not look into the water,” a voice said, though Crowley could not say from which direction it had come. She felt the overwhelming urge to look directly into the water despite what she had heard. So she did, ignoring the warning.

At first she saw nothing but the pale blue water and her own image looking back up at her. The longer she looked, though, the further she leaned over the boat and the more she could see. There were white arms and hands reaching up, grabbing at the sides of the boat. They grabbed her reflection, squeezed her neck viciously. They covered her mouth and yanked her hair. She tried to scream but the hands over her reflection’s mouth muffled the noise, forcing her to swallow it back down her throat. She could feel it rattling around inside of her.

“Do not look into the water,” the voice spoke again, this time louder and more assertive. The ferryman used the end of their oar to push Crowley back inside the boat. They weren’t at all forceful, but Crowley still ended up flying backwards into her seat, violently shaking the boat from side-to-side. Her throat felt bruised and it hurt to breathe.

Once she was calm enough, she noticed her lyre sitting at the bottom of the boat. She had brought it with her, she suddenly remembered, but must’ve lost it when she entered the Underworld because she certainly didn’t have it while scaling the side of the mountain or any time after that. She turned back toward the figure standing stock-still at the rear of the boat. Even sitting below them, Crowley could not see their face beneath the shadow of their hood. Their body was entirely covered by their robe. Even as they held the oar, stroking the water more than actually rowing, Crowley couldn’t see their hands. Her mind felt fuzzy and static when she looked directly where they should be.

Perhaps this was the expected payment. She was hesitant to sing until she was reunited with Aziraphale, without her it felt almost profane, but playing her lyre — that was something she could do. The rest of the trip, Crowley strummed along and looked dead ahead until the mouth of a separate cave came into sight. It was absolutely enormous, so big that it shouldn’t have actually fit inside this cave. Stalagmites grew from the top of it and Crowley could see a twisting path that almost certainly led through to Hades’ palace.

The ferryman lifted their oar from the water. The ripples began to fade back into the water and the boat drifted along for a short while more before slowing to a stop beside a second dock.

Crowley, taking her lyre with her, stood from the boat and onto the dock. She gave one last look at the ferryman before setting off down the path towards Hades’ front gates.

She didn’t have to walk far. Down the path and around a long bend and Crowley was staring at the set of terribly tall and imposing iron gates with what looked to be a gigantic three-headed dog sleeping in front.

She swallowed and continued forward. The ears on one head swiveled in Crowley’s direction and she froze. None of the heads moved but a pair of ears was definitely interested in her. Slowly she pressed on, one step at a time, and humming low in her throat trying to warm up her voice.

“Oh deities of this dark world beneath the earth,” she started softly, speaking more than singing. Even so it was undeniably melodic. Two eyes opened, staring her down.

“I am not pretending. I wish I were dead.” All three heads were now paying attention to her, but not a one moved. They all watched her as she moved closer to the gate, moving faster now and gently playing her lyre to match her voice.

“I come not down here because of curiosity to see the glooms of Tartarus,” she continued, fully singing with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t put off any longer now. “She was leaving me in tears, and over and over she said to me: ‘Crowley, it hurts. What's happened to us is just so grim. It isn't my choice, I swear it, to leave like this.’ And in these words I answered her:

“‘I want to remind you of the good things we have enjoyed. For at my side, many the crowns of violets and roses you have put on yourself, and many the garlands woven from flowers you have cast round your delicate neck, and with quantities of flowery perfume fit for a queen even, you anointed yourself all over, and on soft beds, delicately you have satisfied desire.’

“You may not know Love down here, but I do: by this Place of Fear, this huge void and these vast and silent realms, renew the life-thread of my loving Aziraphale! After all, one day, when grey and old and full of age, she shall be yours yet again and forevermore. All I ask of you is just a few years of her life. But if the fates deny to me this prayer, then I do not want to go back, and may you triumph in the death of two!”

And when she had finished, she began again. Cerberus looked at her with mournful eyes as they let her walk past. She rested a loving hand as high on their head as she could reach and their tail thumped loudly, shaking the ground. Crowley couldn’t help smiling a bit as she slipped through the bars of the gates.

Her voice echoed through the whole of the Underworld and it was so moving and haunting that everything stopped. Danaids ceased filling their pitchers with water; the souls stopped their moaning; the wheel of Ixion suddenly stopped turning; even those unconscious and inanimate objects mourned for Crowley and Aziraphale.

Every time her song finished, she would start again— violent, frenzied and inconsolable— until she was in the throne room and kneeling at the feet of Hades and Persephone. Hades, a giant woman with dark skin and long brown hair, ringlets falling over her shoulders, held more elegance and cold power than Crowley could bear. She stared down at Crowley. Her arms rested immobile on the arms of her throne. Persephone sat in his throne on Hades’ right side, just as huge and imposing, but softer and lighter and kinder. They both wept.

Crowley went through her song once more and then stopped for breath. She knelt there, a mere ant in comparison to the Gods she pleaded with, panting with her head bowed and shoulders hunched, her lyre at her side.

“Please,” she said and looked up at the two Gods. They held her fate in their hands, her entire life. “I don’t know what to do without her. The world does not deserve her, but I would rather spend eternity here than alone on Earth.”

They both stared at her, cheeks and eyes wet, then at each other, and back at her seemingly have come to some nonverbal agreement.

“Very well,” Persephone smiled and wiped away his tears. “You shall have your wife back.” Crowley began to stand, mouth open ready to stutter out a string of “thank you”s but she’s cut off before she can start.

“However,” Hades started. “You must not look back at her until you both stand in the light of the sun. If you look back at her even a moment before, she will fall back into the Underworld and she will never return to the World of the Living. Do you understand?” Hades looked down at Crowley, her expression stern but open, almost as though she was pleading with Crowley.

“I understand,” said Crowley, fully getting to her feet. “Thank you very much.” Even with the threat of truly never seeing Aziraphale again painfully etched into her ribs, Crowley was practically vibrating with relief.

“Be on your way, then,” Hades commanded and raised a huge hand to gesture to the door.

“She will be behind you the entire time. Lead her back. Remember.”

Crowley nodded. “Don’t look back.” And with that she turned and headed out the door.

She didn’t need to slip through the gate, this time they swung open for her. Cerberus sat there waiting for her. They accompanied Crowley and Aziraphale back down the path to the ferryman. She got in the boat and didn’t need to charm them with song or playing for them to row back down the river.

Crowley didn’t look in the water.

She didn’t look behind her when the boat didn’t shake with the weight of another person climbing in beside her.

At the first dock, Crowley climbed out of the boat and instead of finding herself standing on the dock, she found herself above ground. The hot, orange light blinded her and the returned sound of the waterfall roaring was deafening, though a comfort. The sudden adjustment needed to get used to the hot, dry, dirty air takes Crowley a moment. She takes a few slow breaths through her nose before moving forward.

She didn't hear anything but the wind stirring up dirt around her.

She heads back towards the mountain, once again following the pull inside of her. The walls still narrow around her and her head still spins with the feeling of being watched. The hot dirt scalds the soles of her feet with each step, like being on a beach with bare feet.

Going up the mountain was really a very different experience than coming down and Crowley wasn’t sure which was worse. She was about halfway up and she could see the open portal waiting for her and Aziraphale.

That is, if Aziraphale was behind her at all. She never turned around to check, just in case her nymph really was there, but Crowley had been growing increasingly skeptical. She couldn’t feel Aziraphale there with her. Crowley’s always been able to feel her. Maybe it was because she wasn’t really alive yet? It was only a part of her that was with Crowley, after all. Or was it this place, manipulating and using her fears against her?

But she hadn’t heard a single noise from behind. If Aziraphale was really there, she hadn’t said a word, hadn’t breathed, hadn’t made a sound. Aziraphale loved to talk and Crowley loved to listen. The fact that she hadn’t uttered a single word this entire trip worried Crowley to no end.

They were nearly to the top now.

‘Should I turn around?’

The heat grew more intense as they climbed higher and higher into the sky.

‘Just to check?’

Some dirt escaped from under her foot and Crowley nearly ended up tumbling back down the side of the mountain.

‘What if this isn’t real? I should check.’

She hauled herself back up and quickly found herself scampering up the last few steps to stand at the top.

‘What if I just glance over my shoulder. That doesn’t really count as looking, does it?’

She looked directly up over her head up through the portal. She could see the trees and clear blue sky. She could hear the sound of a breeze shaking the leaves and could feel the coolness on her skin. She closed her eyes and basked in it.

‘Just for a second.’

She stretched an arm up and she could feel the phantom warmth of the sun on her skin. Everything didn’t feel so hot anymore. She felt like she could actually take a sweeping breath, feel the clean air fill her. She relished it.

‘I need to know. I need to see you.’

Crowley opened her eyes and started to spin around.

Then she stopped.

She was back in the World of the Living and she was staring at a tree. A real live tree, brown and tree. She could feel the sun on her skin, she felt it. When she reached up through the portal, it must’ve brought her back. She'd been back longer than she thought.

She couldn’t bear to actually turn around now. Despite feeling so desperate for it not a moment ago, she couldn't actually bear to do it. Was this all some elaborate ploy by the Gods, cosmic punishment, for her refusal to sing?

Instead, Crowley takes a shaky breath and reaches a hand out behind her.

Someone takes it.

Crowley lets out a weak sob and squeezes. There isn’t really anything to hold, though. She turns around to see Aziraphale, beautiful as ever, of course. Crowley has never wanted to hold Aziraphale more than she did right now. She wants to fall to her knees and wrap her arms around the nymph’s vast expanse of soft belly and bury her face in the fabric of Aziraphale’s peplos and feel the warmth there radiating outward. She wants to relish in the sweet scent of her wife, let it surround and swaddle her. She wants to get to her feet and kiss Aziraphale’s cheeks and chins and shoulders and every single thin white stretch mark climbing up her arms until she can’t anymore. She wants to hold Aziraphale and never let go ever again.

But she can’t. She’s turned and Aziraphale is there, thank all those above and below she’s here, but Aziraphale still doesn’t have a body. Her image is thin, wispy. Despite all the things that seem to have happened on their own today, Aziraphale’s body has not walked itself over for her to re-inhabit. They need to go home and work on that together. But it doesn’t matter. Aziraphale is here and alive again.

“I missed you,” Crowley says, weeping. “I missed you so much.”

Aziraphale beams at her, beams at her like the fucking ray of sunshine that she is, and mouths back to her ‘I missed you too.'

They wasted time walking back home together. Aziraphale’s body wasn’t going anywhere, after all, so they may as well enjoy the trip back. The oak blossoms were finally wilting from the trees, celebrating that Aziraphale was back and Crowley was finally happy.

And since Aziraphale had no voice to talk, Crowley filled the silence. She picked at her lyre to the tune of the wind and the sound their rings make when they touch. She regaled the tale of her traversing the whole of the Underworld just so she could save her wonderful, beautiful wife after she’d gone and got herself into trouble again.

“Really, my love, I don’t believe there’s a single thing that could keep you from getting yourself into some sort of mess,” Crowley mentioned almost offhandedly but with a bit of snark. Aziraphale made a face. Particularly one that said, ‘I-really-want-to-say-something-back-but-I-can’t-so-I’m-just-going-to-look-mildly-put-out’.

“You’re just lucky there’s also not a single thing that could keep me from coming to rescue you.” Aziraphale seemed to be mostly satisfied with that answer.

When they finally arrived back home, the sun had set long ago. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure how much time she’d actually spent down in the Underworld seeing as there were no days or nights there, she just knew by the time they got home, she was absolutely famished and exhausted. She imagined once Aziraphale was back in her body, she’d feel much the same.

Before they could eat or sleep, though, Aziraphale needed her body. And then that body was going to need a good dressing down and washing up. So, Crowley took to the garden and carefully started digging, scooping away handfuls of dirt from Aziraphale’s body. She didn’t want to take any chances using a shovel. It took a lot longer that way, but it was very much worth it in Crowley’s opinion.

After most of the dirt was gone and they could finally see Aziraphale’s face, Crowley froze. Aziraphale was alive, she was okay. Crowley knew that. She could feel Aziraphale sitting beside her, could feel her eyes on her, could feel a hand gently resting on her back. Aziraphale tugged on her chiton to get her attention. Looking up from Aziraphale’s cold empty body to where he spirit sat next to her, eyes so alive and full of love and concern — it gave her whiplash.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Aziraphale mouthed to her, exaggerating her annunciation so Crowley understood exactly what she was trying to say.

“I nearly lost you.” The words left Crowley in a rush. “I almost turned around. At the last second I nearly ruined everything.” She hardly knew what was coming out of her mouth, everything felt so blurry and muddled and all the emotion clogging up her throat made it burn and her eyes felt wet again.

Aziraphale just smiled, soft and a little sad, her hand moving from Crowley’s back to her face. Crowley tipped her head, leaning her into the airy feeling of Aziraphale’s palm.

“It’s okay.” She mouthed and Crowley cried harder. She wanted to lean into Aziraphale’s arms; she wanted to be held and told a million times ‘it’s okay’. But that couldn’t happen. Aziraphale needed to leave her, just this once more.

Crowley wiped her eyes and jerked her head towards Aziraphale’s body waiting for her.

“Go on then. Can’t wait all night for you to get comfortable.” Aziraphale sent her a fondly exasperated look before she suddenly disappeared altogether and Crowley had to catch herself as she fell forward.

It took a moment, an excruciatingly long moment, but eventually Aziraphale sat up from the ground with a huge intake of air, eyes flying open, cloudiness fading quickly, and looked around wildly. She was already much less pale, less cold. Crowley was on her in an instant, in Aziraphale’s lap with her arms over her nymph’s shoulders and pulling her as close as they could get. Aziraphale’s thighs — her legs, her exposed skin — from where her wrappings had come undone pressed against Crowley’s own bare skin and it’d never felt so good or so grounding before.

“I’m here,” she said against Aziraphale’s lips — they still tasted of summer months and morning dew drops even after all this time. “I’m here. I’m here.” She repeated it like they were the only words she knew how to say. Aziraphale kissed back with as much fervor as she possessed.

“Oh my dear, my sweet love. Crowley, how glad I am to be with you again. I’ve missed you so much, dearest.” Aziraphale couldn’t hold Crowley close enough. Walking beside her all that time home, not being able to fully touch, not able to speak — it wasn’t nearly enough.

“You could never fail me, Crowley.” Aziraphale went on, reassuring and soft, trying to sooth Crowley of the worries she had voiced earlier. “You missed me and you were so close. You didn’t want to wait. I understand. But I knew you wouldn’t turn around. I trusted you just as you do me. It’s okay.” Aziraphale herself began to cry as she reassured Crowley. The nymph brought her wife’s dirty fingers up to her mouth to kiss each knuckle, each fingertip. Crowley wept with relief.

Aziraphale had no concept of time when she was gone, no conscious thought for the months she was in the Underworld. And yet, while there she felt an aching loneliness down to her very core. She missed something so deeply and yet she could not name it. She could but moan for the loss of something she could hardly remember. She knew now what she yearned for was the press of Crowley’s fingers to the rolls of her back and the taste of Crowley’s apricot lips on hers and the enchanting sight of dark spots spreading over her tan shoulders from time in the sun and her golden eyes blinking slowly at her from across the kitchen table as the evening sun flooding the room. She missed Crowley worshiping every inch of her body and her doing the same in return. Walking back with Crowley had been relieving of course, seeing her alive and well was already more than she could've hoped for. But this, touching Crowley, feeling her skin prickle under her touch, it wasn't something she could ever go without.

“Come,” Aziraphale said, breathless and between placing delicate kisses to Crowley’s eyelids. “Wash up with me. I can't stand the feeling of all this dirt. Then we can go to bed.”

“Mm,” Crowley responded, still very much distracted. “Sounds good to me.”

They went down to the river, trading fruit between themselves as an impromptu dinner as they went and sharing indirect kisses (and some direct ones), and washed their clothing side-by-side, hanging them in the trees to dry. They took turns bathing and washing each others’ hair, fingers gently combing through knots and massaging the dirt away. Eventually, Aziraphale simply laid with her back to the bank, her head in Crowley’s lap as her wife lovingly ran her long fingers through her nymph’s white curls and scooped up pools of water with cupped hands to wash Aziraphale’s face and shoulders.

“Lovely still after all this time, my love. My beautiful nymph. My memorizing dryad. My wife.” Crowley murmured contently as she massaged the plump skin of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale hummed back. Her eyes were closed but she could feel Crowley’s gentle gaze sweeping over her.

“All the same can be said for you, my dear delicate human. How the gods have blessed me so with your love.” Aziraphale opened her eyes for a moment to meet Crowley’s gaze and smiled. Crowley gave a smile of her own and planted a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead.

Both would’ve been completely content to lay there all night long, but the night air grew cool and they longed for the comfort of their bed. They put their clothes back on, though still relatively damp but clean, and headed back. At home, they changed into dry clothes and huddled together in bed facing each other with arms slung over waists and legs entwined under the blankets.

“Would you sing a song for me?” Aziraphale whispered over the slide of fabric over skin.

“Ngk. S’pose I’ve got one in mind that might do.” Crowley watches Aziraphale’s sapphire eyes blink heavily at her. So she sang, the notes vibrating through her — down her throat, down her torso, down her arm, and out through her fingertips where they squeeze Aziraphale’s hip so she can feel them too.

“You came and I was crazy for you,” her voice steadily grew steadily softer, sweeter, quieter as Aziraphale could no longer bear to keep her eyes open. “And you cooled my mind that burned with longing.” The bright white light of the moon hit Aziraphale’s back and cast her in a halo of godly light. The image burned itself into the front of Crowley’s brain as her own eyes grew heavier than she could stand. Her breath slowed, her body grew loose and she dreamed of nothing but the sight of Aziraphale standing in that very same stunning light as she held Crowley close.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m here and I will always be.”

#OOF #this was a monster to write and edit #but it's done now and I'm not touching it anymore #jules writes #good omens #spring omens #good omens fanfic #all the things I would do #and thank you again to poeticnonsense for helping me edit they're absolutely fantastic #ineffable wives

18 notes · View notes