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rcreveal · 5 months

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Shipwrecked with no memory of who we were before Chapter 3

Summary: In this story, Aziraphale and Crowley have woken up on a tropical island with no memory of who they were before. In Chapter 1 they took the names Asclepius(Aziraphale) and Caduceus (Crowley) when they figured out that they had the ability to heal and Crowley could turn into a giant winged serpent. In Chapter 2 they start falling for each other, again, because romance without roadblocks is why I wrote this fic!

In Chapter 3 Asclepius and Caduceus wake up after their joint healing and find that a great deal has changed. More mystery while they are falling fast for each other. Chapter 3 does end with a NSFW non-explicit, very mature, spicy scene only in Ao3. It ends with a kiss here in Tumblr.

Sendarya's Discord Prompt a week 2024 challenge Prompts: 1) Eden 2)fanart (a beautiful, tender, non-explicit, start of a kiss between Aziraphale and Crowley and inspiration for their first kiss here) https://www.tumblr.com/selene-yoshi-chan/190056389466/cobragardens-selene-yoshi-chan-ineffable-mess?source=share

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Asclepius and Caduceus lay facing each other, foreheads nearly touching, hands clasped, eyes closed within a glow of almost preternatural health. Their heads rest on something golden while little plants have grown all around them like a green carpet. Black lava beneath Caduceus peeks through the dense growth, creating the look of large black wings while white flowers trail away from Asclepius like bright feathers.

Waking at almost the same time, Asclepius and Caduceus smile at each other.

Asclepius tries to blink the glow from his vision, so relieved to see the golden-orange eyes flutter open, see the healthy color on Caduceus’ cheeks and the muscle filled out on his chest again, says, “You look so well! I feel so well. Did our healing work all the way this time?”

“Seems like it to me, for both of us,” Caduceus admires the extra flush in Asclepius’ cheeks that was missing before, then looks perplexed, “I smell sheep. Do you smell sheep?”

“Sheep?” Asclepius replies, “Well, yes, now that you mention it.”

They sit up in the new greensward of tiny flowers and sweet-scented grass suddenly growing all around them, looking at what they were resting on.

Caduceus points, “Where’d this sheepskin come from? And what happened to the beach we lay down on?” They are laying not on white sands but golden wool.

“My goodness! That’s a golden fleece! Where did that come from?” Asclepius exclaims.

“‘S pretty soft, for gold,” Caduceus pats the fleece, “Aren’t golden fleece thingummies supposed to possess all kinds of health and vitality and share it with all those in the local place, kindof thing?” asks Caduceus speculatively.

Asclepius replies, “Yes, all that and I’m quite certain we would have noticed if we had one before!” he looks down and around, while Caduceus looks up.

Wheeling flocks of birds, brightly colored and raucous are flying over a dense forest that wasn’t there before. High, eroded, green cloaked cliffs with the occasional sparkling waterfall now rise out of the water far down the beach. Dolphins play just off the reef.

“The island got taller,” remarks Caduceus dryly, looking further up what may be a dormant volcano, or, possibly not...dormant that is.

“Ah, and the wildlife got more…wild.” Asclepius states, standing now to look around.

Several turkey-sized gray birds waddle into the undergrowth, Caduceus points at them, "Those are extinct,” he states flatly.

Asclepius watches as the last dodo steps behind a fern, “Not those ones, apparently,” Caduceus huffs, “But yes, they were too delicious for their own good, as I recall.”

They continue to study their new surroundings, noticing the shelter and their supplies are still nearby, unchanged.

In a taking-stock sort of voice, Caduceus inquires, “O-kay… Asclepius, what were you thinking about for our healing, just now? Just out of curiosity, you know?”

Asclepius looking up the mountain replies, “I was trying to bring back our natural healthy state, make us strong enough to heal and weather any more storms that might be on the way in future. What about you?” Asclepius asks conversationally, as rainbows shimmer between the distant waterfalls.

Caduceus shrugs, “I mean, same as before, really. I wanted to fight the wound that was hurting you, get rid of it completely. Destroy that parasite thing on me. It really hacks me off to see wonderful things maimed and destroyed… again! Senseless and wasteful, that! Like destroying a beautiful painting or killing off some incredible species!” his voice is winding up for a lengthy rant.

Asclepius smiles and blushes, “You think I’m wonderful?”

Caduceus stops mid-rant, then turns to Asclepius, and the tight-wound fighter energy, the glib replies, the veneer of confidence all melt away. Vulnerable and open, Caduceus gently touches Asclepius’ hair, brushes his cheek, places his palm over Asclepius’ heart before stepping back, arms and hands loose at his sides. A deep loneliness surfaces in Caduceus’ gaze, his shoulders rounding as he says, “Look at you, you’re gorgeous!” a catch in his voice like part of him doesn’t believe that Asclepius could possibly return his feelings.

Asclepius’ prim formality evaporates along with lingering echoes of harsh ‘standards’ of how one should comport oneself that were just protection from some deep-seated but now untethered fears of being judged and persecuted for acknowledging or expressing his feelings. The constant self-scrutiny burns away like heavy fog as the doors of his heart burst open. Then his brow furrows, Caduceus doesn’t know, doesn’t realize? Is gazing at him as though the only thing he expects is a blow to fall?

“Oh! You glorious creature! You take my breath away!” eyes sparkling with unshed tears, Asclepius shines as Caduceus’ face transforms in unexpected wonder.

Utterly defenseless to one another, they reach out at the same time, drifting forward, eyes closing, their lips meet, an almost chaste brush of lips. ‘How soft, how incredibly soft ,’ Asclepius thinks, partaking of the gentlest of kisses. ‘ How warm, how welcoming, ’ Caduceus sighs. They share featherlight kisses over and over again. Holding each other delicately, tenderly as unexpected tears pour out like gentle rain. Having such deep wells of emotion open up without context disorients them. They cling to one another as their only stable anchor in this ever changing landscape, somehow recognizing that this has been the case for most of their existence. Kissing away each other’s loneliness as haunting wisps of half-remembered pain surface before melting away, they tremble and shake. Finally, they stand in each other’s arms, just resting against one another, feeling a security that wasn’t there before.

Slowly becoming aware of the sea breeze, the sound of waves and the almost tangible growth of the island around them, Caduceus sighs into Asclepius' hair, “That felt like we’d been holding our feelings back for a long, long time.”

“Oh, yes, for ages and ages,” Asclepius replies, resting his head in the curve of Caduceus' shoulder, hand on his own his chest, “I feel so much better now, but so…tender! And you, dear, dear Caduceus?” moving his palm over to Caduceus' chest.

“You have my happiness and my heart in your hands, Asclepius. I love you,” Caduceus says simply as they stand together.

“I love you, too, Caduceus.” Asclepius says, looking into Caduceus’ eyes and then resting their foreheads together gently.

***

After awhile, Caduceus says reluctantly, “I would rather stay here holding you, but I think we should probably figure out if we’re still on the same island,”

Asclepius smiles at him, indicates the island, “Indeed. Well, the mountain and those cliffs are in the same place as ours were, just significantly bigger . Do you think we did this?”

Caduceus looks surprised. “Us? Did we grow the island and all these creatures? That’s rather a leap from collapsing on each other with our healing attempts, don’t you think?”

Asclepius tilts his head, and asks candidly, “Did you keep your promise?”

Caduceus looks confused, “What? Me? Yeah! I was only ‘moderately trying’ to heal us. Everything just fizzed up and kept rolling out from my first try.”

Asclepius looks thoughtful, “Mmm, yes. I was only giving it a moderate effort. I felt it rather run away from me like a horse with the bit between its teeth, so to speak. This is awfully…exuberant.”

Caduceus suggests, “We could test that theory, you know.”

“The island building? How?” asks Asclepius, puzzled.

“We can both make light. We could do that separately and then together. See what the difference is,” suggests Caduceus and putting word to action says, “Let there be light!” producing the same friendly bright orb.

“Oh, I see! And however much the light is increased when we do it together, that’s how much our working together boosts the uh, ‘power’ so to speak? Light please,” Asclepius produces his own little orb, “That felt the same as last night!”

“Right and now together!” Caduceus says, then hesitates before grabbing Asclepius’ hand again, looks up at the, ri-ight, that’s an active volcano, “Maybe we should try producing an amount of light that’s easy to figure out how much more power we make together,” Caduceus suggests.

“Oh, good idea…What’s the least amount of light it’s possible for us to measure, do you think?” Asclepius asks politely.

“One photon. Like this,” Caduceus demonstrates.

“Wonderful! Here’s mine,” Asclepius makes his one photon light (human observers would not have detected anything).

Molten lava flow glows off the back of the island. Caduceus says thoughtfully, “And I can make that little light, say, a kilometer off the island. For a second?” and demonstrates this, too.

“Lovely! “ Asclepius gives Caduceus a mildly quizzical look, “We’re just being overly circumspect and making it easy on ourselves to measure, correct? Only, I have this little niggle…”

“Ye-ah. I see your point. Better make it five kilometers,” Caduceus holds out his hand and grins at Asclepius, “Can’t be too cautious, right?”

***

“I like your hair like this,” remarks Asclepius, lightly, looking at the lightened red-orange highlights in Caduceus’ hair and beard.

“You say that because sitting on the golden fleece healed our sunburn immediately,” Caduceus says dryly.

“Mmm, yes, but at least we know,” replies Asclepius.

“Know what!? That even you won’t sunburn if you lay out on the golden fleece? Oh, and us making one photon each of light together made a flash like a fission reaction go off!!!” Caduceus chokes a bit on his frayed calm..

“Know that we did restore the island and all these creatures when we worked together,” Asclepius explains patiently, leaning over and nudging Caduceus’ shoulder.

Caduceus grimaces, “Handy for getting out of a bind. But, we need some serious practice if we don’t want to overshoot so much in future.”

Caduceus claps his hands against his thighs, standing up off the fleece, offers Asclepius a hand up, “Come on, let's check if we created any rampaging herds of swine or prehistoric beasts that will tread through our camp whilst we sleep. Want to see if I can fly us both around the island?”

Asclepius stands, as well, “Oh, can you!? I'd love to be able to fly.”

Transforming into a winged serpent, Caduceus gently encircles Asclepius. His great dark wings swirling the golden motes that still sparkle in the air, easily carry them both aloft. “You’re light as a feather, Asclepius!” cries Caduceus as they rise above the treetops.

“This is marvelous!” Asclepius calls back over the wingbeats. The great snake’s skin is warm in the sunlight, his scales smooth and polished like obsidian, red jasper, and amber. The strong coils adjust in their flight so Asclepius has no fear of falling. Together, they fly up the shoulders of the volcano, lush and verdant on their side over the lagoon, and rugged and austere with blown out pumice and smooth lava flows on the other side. Bright lava is flowing into the sea, building the island even more while offshore steam rises from an underwater seamount. On the other end of the island, the high cliffs are from a dormant caldera with a broad breach in the rim in which a beautiful valley lies protected on three sides. Streams sparkle within it. Off shore on their side, the lagoon and surrounding reef is larger, brighter.

“It looks like we made the island younger and more diverse!” calls Asclepius.

Cadeus points his head at the protected valley, “That and the stronger reef would make weathering a big storm safer. We’d be out of luck if the volcano exploded, but right now it just seems to be busy building more island.”

“Can you see any more islands or ships?” asks Asclepius.

But even from this height, as far as they can see, they are alone, no ships or islands on the horizon. Nothing flies in the air but seabirds and land birds, and Caduceus, of course.

While scanning the seas, they see a new pod of dolphins enter the lagoon with several showing signs of injury. “Those newcomers look hurt! Shall we see if we can help them out?” Asclepius points.

“I’ll land on the little spit of sand on the reef there. We can enter the water human shaped,” replies Caduceus heading over toward the dolphins. He touches down and returns to human form. It’s an odd but not unpleasant sensation, as Asclepius feels the embrace change from strong coils to strong arms. Turning, he kisses Caduceus’ snake tattoo, sending a shiver down Caduceus’ form and whispering, “You are remarkable,” before turning to the dolphins. Some of the pod has been watching the strange arrival, and further developments. From the little spit of sand on the reef, Asclepius and Caduceus dive in and swim over to the sea mammals who are supporting their most grievously injured member.

“I say! Can we be of assistance? Caduceus and myself, Asclepius, have some healing skills,” calls Asclepius in fluent dolphin.

Caduceus in human mode treads water next to him as he feels the pod look them over with sonar.

“Humans don’t usually speak dolphin, but then, you aren’t humans exactly, are you?” a mature female calls back. “ If you can help, we’d appreciate it. Stanley* can’t go on much longer, even in this lagoon.”

Stanley is easy to identify, with his podmates helping him keep his blowhole above water and with an all too familiar wound in his side.

“We should just do this one together. We already know how bloody difficult it’ll be, otherwise,” suggests Caduceus.

“But just a teeny, tiny joint healing,” Asclepius warns.

“ We can heal every sick or injured dolphin in your group. We just need to all be touching at the time,” calls Caduceus. The female leader and a grizzled old fellow, the least injured, ferry them over to Stanley when she offers, “We’ll keep you above water. You probably can’t heal and try to swim at the same time."

Grasping hands over the backs of their supporting dolphins, Ascelpius and Caduceus touch Stanley and through him, every dolphin in the pod. All are weary or injured in some way, but Stanley is close to death.

“ On the count of three. One, two, three!” This time their healing seems to stay within the pod.

Several male dolphins excitedly caress the healed Stanley* all speaking so quickly that neither Asclepius nor Caduceus can understand them.

(*Of course “Stanley” is just a human version of his name, as Stanley’s name was a series of sounds that humans are incapable of making nor do we have any way of writing them down. Stanley just thought “Stanley” sounded cool.)

“ Our thanks, Healers,” says the female leader.

“You're ever so welcome! We're just delighted to be able to help!” Asclepius replies.

Caduceus asks, “ How were you hurt? Even humans generally revere your kind,” anger sparkling in his words.

“ We do not know. We remember a terrible storm, then we found ourselves in calm seas. We sought this refuge to heal our wounded. What say you?” replies the female leader.

“ Same as you. Storm, injury, memory gaps. Stay as long as you like. Seems like we’ve got plenty of fish to go around,” offers Caduceus.

Asclepius gushes, “ Oh please stay! I didn’t know I could talk to you before today!” The female tenderly brushes her pectoral fin against Asclepius. “ We shall be friends, then. And friends don’t let friends bleed on the reef and attract sharks, so we’re taking you to shore. So say I, Shayla*, leader of this pod.”

( *When told that her chosen human name evokes a warrior queen, Shayla replies, ‘ Of course ’)

Waving at the dolphins, they stand shoulder to shoulder, then their hands find one another and they look out at the lagoon, fingers entwined, gently twisting and touching. Smiling at each other again, they walk up the beach to their shelter. Looking hopefully into the pot, Asclepius’ stomach growls. But they ate everything last night.

“Look!” Asclepius spies a new mango tree with ripe fruit and makes directly for it, hungry and thirsty from their busy morning. Caduceus grabs a basin and a knife and follows after. The tree is covered in luscious smelling fruits from hard green to softly blushing red over rich orange-yellows.

Asclepius has already started picking ripe fruits and looks up happily when Caduceus offers the basin. Filling it with mangos, they take it with them over to the stream to splash their faces and drink the cool, clear water.

Asclepius prepares a mango, cutting out the large oval seed and cross-hatching the remaining halves. Folding the skin inside out pops chunks of mango into a sudden bouquet of edible bites. It looks like a magic trick.

“ Voilà ,” Asclepius hands a mango half over to Caduceus, who takes a bite of the exquisite fruit. The rich scent and flavor burst in his mouth but the juices surprise him, spilling over his lips. He finds himself slurping up the mango pieces off the skin, so as not to miss a drop, not quite realizing all the happy noises he’s making, so intent is he on getting every last piece.

“Aaaa, that was good! How was yours?” Looking up, Caduceus sees Asclepius hasn’t started his mango, but sits staring at him a little flushed, even in the shade.

“Are you alright? If you don’t want your mango, I’ll have yours. They’re delicious! Only the juice gets all over, ya know?” Caduceus is licking his fingers now.

Still gazing at Caduceus, Asclepius brings the mango to his mouth. His first bite closes his eyes ecstatically as the juices run into his beard. Slurping the next piece, and the next, he moans at the delightful flavors. By the time Asclepius finishes his half of the mango, Caduceus has figured out what had been troubling his love before, because he thinks he has the same affliction. Bodies, who knew?

Asclepius opens his eyes, flustered to see Caduceus staring back at him, “You were right, that was a really excellent mango! Would you fancy another one?” he turns to select another mango as good as that first one, not quite sure what to do with his strange new feelings.

When Asclepius turns back, hands empty, Caduceus captures his face and kisses him fiercely. Asclepius tastes like the exquisite mango with a wild undertone.

Asclepius wraps his arms around Caduceus’ back, slips his tongue past Caduceus’ lips eliciting a moan which tastes sweet in Asclepius' mouth, resonates in his chest and reverberates further down....

The rest of the chapter is too spicy for Tumblr, but can be found on Ao3

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justkeeptrekkin · 5 years

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Brief Omens

An ineffable wives drabble- Brief Encounters inspired- that I wrote in collaboration with the amazing artist @selene-yoshi-chan , her pictures posted here with her agreement! This was fun to write, and I can’t believe how beautiful the illustrations are- thank you friend.

You can read it on AO3 here, or read under the cut! MORE ILLUSTRATIONS BELOW!

***

The weather is grey today. A strong breeze rolls over from the hills, tumbling into the valley of Devil’s Dyke. Aziraphale chose the meeting place herself. She thought that Crowley might find it amusing.

This isn’t really a breeze, so much as a strong wind- it’s displacing her styled hair. Fashion has never interested Aziraphale in the same was as it fascinates Crowley, but the 40s really do have some smashing hairstyles and clothes. Now that the War is over, high-street shops are beginning to pop back up again, putting on their lights once more and dressing their mannequins with all manner of hats and a-line skirts. Of course, much of London remains destroyed from the Blitz. West Sussex, at least, has survived.

Aziraphale lays her manicured hands on the wooden bridge, peers down at the burbling stream below. The water is clear, enough that she can see the smoothe rocks at the bottom. She can’t see her reflection, only the vague shape of her cream suit, orange and brown leaves floating along the surface.

She breathes in. She breathes out. She is nervous.

“Morning, angel.”

She spins around- she doesn’t know why she’s surprised to see her here, she invited her. And yet Crowley has a habit of slinking up to her without warning, especially with this noisy wind covering the sound of her footfalls.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale says too quietly. She clears her throat. “You got here quickly.”

“Yeah. I drove up last night and stayed the night a little further into the South Downs. Beautiful part of the world, this, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale simply nods. She continues to rest her hands along the rough, mossy wood of the bridge, but her gaze is on Crowley; her red hair spilling out of a silver snake hair-pin, curls tickling the sides of her neck. Red lipstick. Aziraphale wouldn’t dare to try a lipstick that shade, but she’s always wondered how it would look on her. How it would look if Crowley kissed her and left a taste of it on her lips.

Yellow irises dart over to Aziraphale. She stops staring and looks away promptly, watching the rolling green hills. With the lack of rain recently, the grass is turning a greyish green and blending into the sky. The clouds beyond make the horizon hazy, like a weak watercolour painting.

“What was it you wanted to discuss,” Crowley asks, all business. Her sunglasses don’t conceal peripheral gaze- Aziraphale can see her staring out at the view beyond. She’s avoiding eye contact, Aziraphale realises. And it’s not just the square shoulders of her jacket that make her look tense.

“Um,” Aziraphale says. She feels herself panic. She feels her eyes widen and her chest rise with a too-deep breath. “It’s- not all that important really.”

That gets Crowley to turn and look at her, brows furrowed. “What? Why are we meeting here then? We could have gone to any of our normal meeting places.”

“I know, but I rather thought that we might like to try somewhere new,” Aziraphale says.

What she doesn’t say is that she had an inkling that Crowley would like the South Downs- Devil’s Dyke and all. She felt that it might be nice to try somewhere different with expansive views, rolling hills, little tearooms. And none of the World War II rubble. Something a little more- romantic.

Crowley pokes out her bottom lip. Then, nods in concession. “Alright. Devil’s Dyke, though?”

“Yes.”

“A bit tongue-in-cheek for you,” Crowley says, sounding impressed. Then a smile grows on her lips. Firey red hair dancing in front of her face. “I like it.”

They stand side by side on the little bridge. They’re the only people (beings) here for miles. The wind pours down, and it makes Aziraphale’s ears ache. She looks down at her shoes- totally inappropriate for a country walk, but pretty. Crowley has been more sensible and put on some leather boots.

“Crowley.”

“Angel.” She says it like she’s been waiting for them to get down to business. Waiting for them to discuss something serious, perhaps The Arrangement.

“Back at the church, during the Blitz,” Aziraphale starts. She swallows, her throat raw from the cold air. The stream trickles happily, singing a gurgling song below. “At the church, you saved my books for me.”

Crowley looks dead ahead and doesn’t move. Aziraphale doesn’t miss the way her fingers clench on the wooden fence of the bridge.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, quite primly.

She has been dreading this moment. She has fought with herself over this decision for months. But after what Crowley did-

Inside her handbag, Aziraphale finds a tartan flask. It looks so innocent, nestled amongst the packets of tissues and lipsticks. She removes it carefully, placing it on the fence. And if Crowley wasn’t tense before, she certainly is now; she straightens beside Aziraphale, red lips parting in silent surprise. Brows pulled together, raised above her sunglasses.

Aziraphale keeps a hand on the flask, holds it there between them, waits for it to sink it.

“Angel…”

“Holy water won’t just kill your body,” Aziraphale interrupts. She has to say this, before Crowley thinks she’s doing something nice for her. “It will destroy you completely. But I can’t have you risking your life, not even for something dangerous.”

Crowley is staring at her- Aziraphale can sense it. She can see her floundering. She’s speechless in a way that Aziraphale’s never really known before. There isn’t even the usual garbled stream of noises coming out of her mouth when she loses her words; it’s just silence. Aziraphale has stunned Crowley to silence.

She clears her throat, feeling her wind-bitten cheeks heat up. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap.”

“You did this for me,” Crowley says, almost too quietly over the wind.

And then Aziraphale turns to look back at her. Her hair is caught in the breeze. Crowley is so beautiful. Aziraphale always knew, always found her beautiful, even when she pretended she didn’t. But now- now, it’s impossible to ignore. How had she managed to ignore it for so long? How deluded has Heaven made her, that it took this long? Aziraphale is a being of love; it’s absurd that she hadn’t been able to see the wood for the trees until that bomb destroyed that church, Crowley handing over a briefcase, hands touching. Just for a moment.

“Anything,” Aziraphale whispers.

She isn’t sure whether Crowley hears. If she didn’t, then that would be OK. Some things aren’t meant to be.

They look over at the view again. Crowley takes a moment to pick up the flask and put it in her own purse.

“I haven’t been as far as Ditchling before,” Crowley says suddenly, voice too light. “‘S where I’m staying at the moment. I’ve- I’ve only been as far as Hastings.”

Aziraphale goes along with it. “I helped evacuate some children here, during the worst of the War.”

“Ah. Yes. I was mostly in Liverpool helping out with that.”

Aziraphale frowns, registering this. When she tries to find answers in Crowley’s expression, she only sees her own white-blonde hair in her face and Crowley’s turned away. “You helped with the evacuations?”

“Yes,” she says sharply.

“That’s awfully… good of you.”

There’s a twist to her lips as she fights back a retort. “They were very naughty children, I assure you. Wales was traumatised by their arrival.”

She is too much. Oh, she is just too much. Aziraphale smiles at her, even though she won’t look back. “You are quite… something, Crowley.”

Crowley sneers. Aziraphale ducks her head and hides her smile.

A single seagull flies overhead. The aren’t that close to the sea- it must have flown over from Brighton. It coasts on the wind. The air is fresh here, unlike London. Aziraphale breathes it in deeply, and tries to save it there. Save it for when she needs it in the coming days.

“Are you happy?”

She doesn’t expect the question. She doesn’t even really understand it. “I’m sorry?”

Crowley hesitates, bites her lip. Then, “Do you ever ask yourself whether you’re happy? With the way things are?”

Constantly, Aziraphale thinks, but she never admits it to herself. No, she sees those kinds of questions float through her head and she banishes them to some bottomless pit in her mind. A pit that doesn’t feel so bottomless these days; all the doubt and confusion and questions she’s wanted to ask Heaven and Hell and God are piling up and starting to overflow. It’s only a matter of time before she decides she won’t be able to hide it anymore.

Crowley is watching her, waiting for her answer as she thinks on this.

“I don’t know,” she says, eventually. “Am I happy? Oh, Crowley. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you hate not knowing?” She rushes. “Don’t you ever just…”

Crowley trails off. Her hand rests against the fence beside Aziraphale’s.

“I suppose you don’t ask questions, not being the snake of Eden,” Crowley eventually finishes.

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what she thinks. Any opinions she has are obscured under layers and layers of Heavenly instructions and Bible verses and ineffable plans.

For a moment, she finds a reply in a hand hold; not quite a hold, rather, her own hand gently placed on top of Crowley’s. Just to let her know that she’s there. And then she removes it again.

She has been friends with Cowardice far longer than she has known Crowley.

***

The Bentley is parked somewhere over the nearest hill. They walk in contemplative quiet, Aziraphale trying not to trip in her silly shoes, Crowley sighing in frustration at her. And whilst Aziraphale has achieved what she meant to today, something sits uncomfortably in her.

The wind tries to push her back down the hill.

When they reach the car, Crowley gives her a lift to the nearest train station, just outside Ditchling. It’s not far from where she’s staying, she assures Aziraphale, and she can’t cope with the idea of Aziraphale wobbling all the way to the station in her heels. Crowley makes it sound like an accusation, but Aziraphale recognises the kind gesture in it. She looks out of the window and watches the hills fall away, watches their moment in Devil’s Dyke fall away as if she’s abandoning it.

The engine turns off and Aziraphale waits. Crowley says nothing. They both wait, although there’s no sign of there being anything to wait for.

“Are you sure you want to head back to London?” Crowley asks. She doesn’t say it like a question. She turns to look at Aziraphale suddenly, lips parted and brows raised, looking lost. And Aziraphale realises then that it’s her that she’s abandoning, not Devil’s Dyke. “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

And she sees it. Oh, Lord, Aziraphale sees it in her mind’s eye; the two of them in a cottage in The South Downs, walking through the neighbouring fields in wellies and Barbour coats. Trips to Brighton with ice-creams and sun hats, even if the weather is dreary. Trips to places they’ve never been before; days inside, drinking cocoa and reading and simply being together. Existing together, without any fear of the universe collapsing. Forgetting that this juxtaposition of theirs is a crime against nature. Aziraphale sees it, this daydream hanging between them in the Bentley, parked outside Ditchling station.

It would be cruel to even pretend that such a dream could exist.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

She doesn’t stay to see the heartbreak in Crowley’s eyes, because she feels it herself- she can’t bear heartbreak for two. She gathers her handbag and steps out of the car, walking neatly towards the station. She has fifteen minutes until her train.

When she steps inside and turns around in the doorway, she sees the Bentley pull away.

Everything feels very sharp and clear. An awful lot like she has fallen into that little stream back in the valley, like she’s lying in the water and her senses are stinging with the cold. She feels too much until she feels nothing. And so Aziraphale stares at the receding Bentley, clutching her handbag like a liferaft and turns back around, onto the platform.

There are only two other people heading towards London from Ditchling. A middle-aged man with a case in his hand, and an older woman, who sits on the damp, dewy bench. She dabs at her nose with a handkerchief. Aziraphale finds herself drifting into the waiting room, where there is also a little cafe.

She orders a cup of Earl Grey from the waitress, finds a seat to perch on.

She holds the cup between her hands, but feels no less adrift.

Crowley keeps her tethered, she considers in that moment. That look of abandonment on Crowley’s face; the feeling that Aziraphale is floating away; the sky is grey and the world is grey and she is lost in it.

“I made the right decision,” she says quietly to herself.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

Aziraphale takes a moment to realise that that waitress has spoken to her. “Oh- I’m sorry. I was merely talking to myself. A silly habit, I’m afraid,” she laughs emptily.

“Not to worry, not to worry, talk to meself constantly- sign of a sound mind, my nan always said.”

“Quite so,” Aziraphale breathes.

She doesn’t feel sound, she considers. She feels silent. A disorientating quiet, like those moments in the middle of the night, when one is awake when they shouldn’t be. When she has awoken and found herself alone, in a dark room. Echoing, claustrophobic. She feels it in her throat and she feels it prick her eyes with tears.

“I made the right decision,” she whispers.

The two of them walking down a muddy country road towards the nearest pub- talking loudly about anything and nothing, the usual silliness in all likelihood, arms swinging and cheeks rosy. The two of them side by side on a sofa, bowties undone and tights on the floor and wine bottles empty. The two of them at a dining table in the morning, reading the newspaper and buttering toast. The two of them at the Ritz, just as it has always been.

She made the correct decision. It is the decision that Heaven would choose for her. But is it the right one?

Aziraphale stands up abruptly, tea sloshing over the edge of the mug and into the saucer. She is going to catch up with Crowley- she can find her in Ditchling town somewhere, she could ask around and-

No. No, even if she has that dream, it doesn’t mean that Crowley shares it. Crowley might have offered to take her anywhere, but how far does Crowley mean? How could Aziraphale know whether this is the right thing for both of them? This would jeopardise Crowley’s life too.

She sits back down slowly, just as the whistle of the London train screams down the platform. A shaky hand picks up the teacup and she takes a small sip.

She steps onto the platform and waits for the train to stop. The steam billows; she can’t see anything. She hears the train conductor shouting out of the window. She sees a door materialise before her, opens it and steps into the compartment where three other people sit and read. She takes her own seat.

She looks through the window and she feels like she is drowning. She feels as if the train’s steam is inside her. She feels the walls around her in a way she has never experienced a room before, as if it is designed to trap her. She hears the scream of the conductor’s whistle in her ears, rattling in her brain.

She feels herself breath in. She feels the air rushing into her lungs, like water filling a glass.

The train begins to pull away from the platform.

She grabs her handbag, opens the door, and jumps onto the platform.

Aziraphale hangs her head back and closes her eyes. The steam surrounds her in clouds and the mechanical chug of the train recedes; she feels it rumble beneath her feet.

“Aziraphale!”

That voice- she opens her eyes and turns to meet it, but she sees no one for all the smoke and steam.

“Crowley?”

And then again- desperation, relief- “Aziraphale.”

She turns on the spot and searches for her, but she can’t see anyone- she’s lost, alone in the mist, until she sees the silhouette approaching. The clouds part and there she is, Crowley, holding onto a handbag with both hands. An expression so soft it could have been painted.

“Crowley.”

Right or wrong, correct or incorrect- Aziraphale sees none of that, now. She walks towards her. Crowley walks towards her. And they meet each other, standing so close that Aziraphale can see through the lenses of her sunglasses.

“You got off the train,” Crowley says.

“You came back,” Aziraphale says.

When they kiss, it isn’t like it is in the movies. It isn’t desperate hands on each other’s arms, desperate lips pressed together as if they don’t care about breathing. When they kiss, it’s hesitant, careful not to break everything that came before. It’s unsure, but it’s also a promise.

Next time we kiss, Aziraphale thinks, I won’t be so afraid.

#Good omens #ineffable wives #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my writing #selene-yoshi-chan #THANK YOU SELENE

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