Author’s Notes: The majority of this was written in handwriting almost too small to read, filling the margins of both sides of a chemistry worksheet. It started quite unintentionally, and then refused to quit. To keep in line with the original writing style, I do use footnotes a few times throughout the story. However, since this page will be much longer than the 8 inches or so of a book, I’m including footnotes directly after they are marked.

Disclaimer: To my annoyance, Aziraphale and Crowley do not belong to me.

Rainfall at St. James’ Park

by Sabé

It was spring in St. James’ Park—an overcast day with that quietly excited feeling that suggested a good rainstorm wasn’t far off. The air was chilly, and there was a slight breeze that skimmed the water of the large duck pond. The ducks took no notice of this. Their attention was focused on the two figures— angel and demon, though in their usual human guises—who had, until recently, been showering them with bread scraps. Beside them lay two empty bags which had, not long ago, contained the finest bread to be found.

If the ducks suspected anything, they would never tell.

Previously, Aziraphale pondered, they probably wouldn’t have lingered as they now were lingering. Not that there was anything wrong with sitting on a park bench in front of hungry ducks, but it did feel a bit foolish, particularly since neither he nor Crowley had spoken a word in the past half hour or so. He didn’t mind, though. It gave him time to think, and Crowley’s presence, strangely enough, was comfortable to think in.

For one thing, he knew that if his thoughts became too dreary, he could count on the demon to make some snide comment about there being nothing worse than a depressed angel, and snap him out of it. It had been a problem with him lately. There was no reason for it, really. Post-apocalypse depression, Crowley had suggested. It had been a victory, no matter how furious his supervisors had been after all was said and done. It had been a personal victory for Crowley and him, and Aziraphale felt strangely content in deciding that little else mattered. But it was strangely deflating, nonetheless.

Humans, on the whole, have problems with the idea of infinity. Even those who use that nifty symbol used to represent it in equations on a daily basis. Ask them to define it, and they’ll give you an answer straight off. But ask them to relate personally what it’s like to visit the same duck pond every day for a couple centuries, with the knowledge that they’ll continue to do so until the duck is taken off the market for good, and they’ll be hard-pressed to answer.

Angels, on the other hand, are well-versed in infinity. Their relationship with it is comparable to the relationship between humans and aging. That is, while they haven’t experienced it in its entirety, they’ve seen and felt enough of it to get a taste for the idea.

Aziraphale, like most angels, understood infinity. Too well, sometimes. On a good day, he was content with his corporeal existence, routine as it had become. It was pleasant, after all, keeping up his quaint little bookshop and pursuing his odd fancies and hobbies and feeding ducks at the park with Crowley. On a bad day, he wondered why he was even there.

One of the problems with being supernatural was that there was never suicide to contemplate. For one thing, as an angel, he was fully aware that humans who ended their lives out of sheer boredom and disgust at the world tended not to be impressed by heaven. It was a wonderful place and all, but it gave an entirely new meaning to ennui. For another thing, if he died, they would surely just send him back in a brand-new body.

So instead, Aziraphale contemplated his purpose. Not his Purpose, with a capital “p”—that was set and accounted for. It was the other purpose, the more personal one, that he had taken to questioning. Or, more to the point, searching for. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had one.

“Crowley?” It was high time for an intervention.

The demon tilted his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement, his trademark* sunglasses concealing any expression that might have accidentally taken a wrong turn onto his face.

[* Literally. He owned the patent.]

“Crowley,” Aziraphale continued, not bothering to wait for a vocal response, “do you ever wonder why you’re here?”

Crowley turned slightly towards him. “Here?”

“Not here,” Aziraphale corrected, motioning to the park. “I mean… You know. Here.”

“Earth?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I suppose.”

“Or do you mean if I wonder why I exist?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “That’s more the point.”

“No, not really,” said Crowley.

“Not really, what?” Aziraphale asked courteously.

“I don’t wonder.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale wondered vaguely if his reply had sounded as disheartened as it had felt. “Well, do you ever wonder why I exist?” he asked, hoping to get some sort of reaction from the demon.

“Nope. I know.”

Aziraphale frowned again, feeling slightly irked. “Care to share?” he asked, a trifle coldly.

“My reason for existence is to screw humanity over at every turn. Yours is to stop me,” Crowley stated simply.

Aziraphale looked worried. “I though we had agreed to leave humanity alone for a while,” he said.

“Well, yes,” Crowley allowed. “But I mean in general. I exist to cause trouble and you exist to balance me out. That’s why you’re here.”

“Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?” commented Aziraphale. At Crowley’s impatiently puzzled look, he went on, “Well, that is... I mean, you get to spread evil actively, while I just spread good defensively.”

Crowley shrugged. “Kind of comes with the job, you know? You can’t really expect to be able to go around un-corrupting people or something of the like. Good is inherently defensive.”

Aziraphale sighed lightly. “I suppose,” he agreed.

“I mean, once you’re corrupt, you’re corrupt,” Crowley went on, although Aziraphale really just wished he’d stop. “Think about it. Of all of us who Fell, how many went back? None. Exactly none. It’s a one-way sort of thing—good either stays good or become bad. Fallen angels don’t un-Fall.”

“No,” agreed Aziraphale once again. The already-dreary conversation had managed to work its way down to positively melancholy, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but add a solemn, “No, I suppose they don’t.”

Crowley gave him a long, sideways glance. “Aziraphale,” he began suddenly, his voice taking on a lighter tone, “would you say that you enjoy my company?”

Aziraphale blinked at this. “Well, yes,” he replied, confused. “Er. That is…” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “I’ve rather gotten used to it,” he finally conceded. It seemed like a dangerous thing to admit, although he couldn’t see why. It was reasonable, wasn’t it, to learn to enjoy the company of someone after six thousand years?

“And, if you had the chance to spend your time with one of your people instead, would you?”

“I...” Aziraphale stopped suddenly, realising that he didn’t know the answer. “It wouldn’t be very nice to leave you after all this time,” he answered evasively.

Crowley cut him off with a hand gesture. “That’s beside the point. I’m talking hypothetically, here.”

“What would I want?” Aziraphale repeated.

“What would you want?” Crowley affirmed.

Aziraphale thought about this for a moment and found the result disconcerting. “It wouldn’t be the same,” he finally said.

A characteristically demonic gleam appeared in Crowley’s eyes. “So you would rather be with me,” Crowley declared triumphantly.

Aziraphale hesitated momentarily before nodding in reluctant agreement. “It makes things interesting,” he explained apologetically.

Crowley grinned. The gleam had not left his eyes, but Aziraphale decided to take it as a friendly gesture nonetheless. “Maybe I am a bad influence on you, then,” Crowley said cheerfully.

A faint crease appeared on Aziraphale’s brow. “Do you think it’s wrong?” he asked, a true note of worry in his melodic voice.

Crowley blinked at him. “Do I think what’s wrong?”

“Being your friend?”

Crowley blinked again, and Aziraphale wondered momentarily if “friend” had been too strong a word to use. “It hasn’t hurt yet, has it?”

“Well, no,” said Aziraphale, but the worried expression didn’t leave his face. “But do you think it’s wrong?”

“I thrive on wrong,” Crowley reminded him. “I doubt my opinion would impress your people much.”

Aziraphale had to admit it wouldn’t. Still, he didn’t trust his own opinion, and, honestly, demons surely had good reason to know right from wrong, didn’t they? To recognize the enemy, and all. He sighed, realising a moment later that he had done so audibly.

Crowley examined him for a long moment. “Angels are supposed to be compassionate, correct?”

“Of course.”

“And we both know how dull my existence would be if I didn’t have you around to torment.”

“If you say so... But—”

“Exactly,” interrupted Crowley. “So you’re doing a good deed by staying with me,” he reasoned.

Aziraphale regarded him skeptically, unsure. “But it’s a good deed to you.”

Crowley might have looked wounded, if demons were capable of such a thing. “So you’re not supposed to be kind to our sort?”

Aziraphale let out yet another soft sigh. “That’s the problem,” he explained. “I’m not sure.”

The demon let out a short laugh, before seeming to realise that Aziraphale was serious. “Oh.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed.

There was a moment’s worth of awkward silence, which Crowley broke musingly. “Funny,” he observed. “Everything we’re taught would apply especially to one of your kind.”

Aziraphale looked pained. “It seems like it ought to be the same for us, except...” he trailed off. “The Bible makes quite a point of the whole ‘love thy enemy’ idea,” he mused, mostly to himself. “But then, it’s for humans, after all. None of them is really the enemy.”

“I could beg to differ,” Crowley muttered under his breath.

“You know what I mean,” Aziraphale chided. “You’re...”

“Evil?” Crowley suggested.

“Yes.”

A second awkward silence fell. “Let’s go,” Crowley said, standing abruptly and startling a duck that had made itself at home next to his ankle.

“Where?” Aziraphale asked politely, rising to his feet as well.

Crowley shrugged. “Hungry?”

“We don’t really need to eat, you know,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Shall we just take a walk, then?”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Alright.”

Crowley grabbed him by the arm and steered him away from the bench and towards the cemented path that ran through the park.

“Er... Where are we going?” asked Aziraphale, after a moment.

“No where,” Crowley answered immediately.

“Oh...” Aziraphale glanced up at the heavily quilted sky. “Do you think it’s going to rain?”

Crowley shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Aziraphale shrugged, sensing moisture in the air. “I don’t care for rain, really,” he stated. “It makes everyone so depressed.”

“Which is exactly why I enjoy it,” Crowley replied. He inhaled deeply. “You have to admit it smells nice.”

Aziraphale sniffed the air tentatively and found that it did smell nice. “That’s the ozone,” he explained.

Crowley stared at him. “The what?”

“Ozone. You know. The stuff up there in that layer,” the angel explained vaguely.

“Layer?”

“The one with the hole in it.”

“Ah,” said Crowley, “the hole in the ozone layer. I do remember that.”

“Was that your doing?” Aziraphale asked curiously.

“Perhaps.”

They walked in silence for a while longer, accompanied only by a few straggling dog-walkers and bird-watchers. Before long, Aziraphale’s prediction proved true and a few large, wobbling raindrops hit the ground. Aziraphale brushed a drop off his coat, but, to his mild annoyance, it was soon replaced by several even larger drops. He repeated the action a few more times before, finally, there was a resounding clap of thunder and the heavens broke open, raining down steadily on the two supernatural beings.

Crowley swore.

Then paused.

Then opened up the jet-black umbrella that had most definitely not occupied his hand a moment before.

Aziraphale didn’t turn to look, but he shook his head in disapproval. “There are still people here, my dear,” he said softly, looking meaningfully at a few teenagers playing a rather slippery game of frisbee on the grass. “There’s no need to—” he paused in surprise as the rain cut off suddenly, and he realised to his vague chagrin that Crowley had moved to shelter both of them under the umbrella. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, glancing at the demon. Crowley smirked slightly, and suddenly the dampness seemed to evaporate from Aziraphale skin and a feeling of warmth spread through him. He blinked at Crowley. “Did you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Crowley.”

“No one will care.”

Aziraphale sighed. He did feel considerably better now that he was no longer wet, although he wasn’t sure how long it could last. “Thank you,” he said again, balancing his gratitude with a disapproving glance. “I thought demons avoided good deeds,” he couldn’t help but comment, hoping to provoke Crowley slightly.

Crowley looked ahead uncomfortably. “You looked cold. It was bothering me,” he said defensively.

Aziraphale smiled. “You can be nice when you put your mind to it,” he decided.

“Shut up, angel,” Crowley growled, and Aziraphale laughed softly.

“Do you really think what you said about ineffability is true?” Aziraphale asked abruptly as a wave of solemnity came over him without warning.

“What did I say?”

“You know—about there being some bigger game than just Heaven versus Hell, and all.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “I wonder what it’ll be like,” he pondered. “Do you think... Heaven and Hell will ever be unified? Move in with each other, or something?”

“It would be interesting,” Crowley commented. “The best of Good and Evil, all mixed up.”

“I wonder what they’d call it,” Aziraphale said absently.

“Earth,” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale stared out at the grey rain and the dim green grass. “Mm,” he agreed dully. “I hope...” began, and then stopped.

“What?”

“I hope it does work out that way,” Aziraphale admitted, feeling, to his mild concern, only slightly blasphemous for saying so.

“Why?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale blushed. “I would miss this,” he answered, gesturing vaguely to his surroundings. “And...” his voice grew quiet as he hesitated, “I would miss you.”

“Ah,” said Crowley understandingly. “Heaven’s a pretty boring place, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale nodded sadly. “A bit.”

“Hell’s not much better,” Crowley conceded finally. “I mean, it’s exciting and all that, but there’s only so much hellfire and eternal condemnation you can take before it starts to get tedious,” he explained.

Aziraphale nodded sympathetically. “Perhaps we should just change the subject,” he suggested, after a moment.

“Good idea,” said Crowley disinterestedly.

“I sold a book yesterday.”

“Did you?”

“A first edition of Alice in Wonderland.”

“Why?”

The angel shrugged. “It wasn’t my favorite,” he explained, “and I needed the money.”

“For what?”

“Oh, just some old furniture...” Aziraphale hedged, hoping that Crowley wouldn’t think to ask just how old the furniture was, and just how much of it Aziraphale had been able to purchase for the price of a first edition of Alice in Wonderland.

“Oh,” was Crowley’s only response. They had come to pause under a large, leafy tree that prevented most of the rain from reaching the ground. He closed the umbrella and leaned on it appreciatively, glancing thoughtfully up through the leaves. “You know what?” he asked.

Aziraphale shook his head respectfully. “What?”

“I agree with you,” the demon stated, straightening and balancing the umbrella against the trunk of the tree.

“I’m shocked,” Aziraphale replied dryly, although he was unsure what Crowley was talking about.

“I don’t want this to be over,” Crowley went on. “I like this. This oxymoron, contradiction, whatever it’s supposed to be.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, although he knew. He knew exactly.

“This. Being here. You and me and these bloody humans on this crazy planet,” Crowley explained, a hint of mania coming over him. “I like it,” he declared again, defiantly.

The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Aziraphale’s lips. “Indeed,” he agreed.

Then Crowley’s gaze seemed to change, and his eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.* “And I’ll miss you, too, if none of this works out,” he admitted, an edge of rebelliousness coloring his usually careless voice.

[* Aziraphale knew. Don’t ask how. He had gotten rather good at it.]

Aziraphale looked at Crowley strangely, a curious amusement coming over him. “Do you mean to say that you’d prefer my company to a demon’s now, too?” he asked, wondering how far he could push Crowley before the demon’s instinctual defense mechanisms kicked in.

“Yes,” replied Crowley, firmly.

The angel blinked. He hadn’t really expected Crowley to give in to his probing, however obvious it had been what the answer would be based on Crowley’s remarks moments before. He stared at Crowley for a moment, taking in his pointed expression and challenging pose. Then he took a step forward and collided with Crowley in what was almost certainly the first hug of the demon’s unnaturally long corporeal existence.

He pulled back quickly, smiling slightly at Crowley’s confused, sour expression.

“That was unnecessary,” Crowley muttered.

“You didn’t mind,” Aziraphale countered, blushing slightly.

“Aziraphale, stop blushing,” Crowley warned.

The angel blinked, automatically willing the blood away from his face. “What?”

“It’s not angel-like,” murmured Crowley, closing his eyes and leaning against the slightly damp tree trunk.

“Oh,” replied Aziraphale, confused. He turned and leaned on the adjacent face of the trunk, noticing with some satisfaction that the rain was letting up a bit.

“What’s the name for a feeling that makes you happy and miserable at the same time?” Crowley asked suddenly.

“What?” asked Aziraphale. “Why?”

“You know about feelings; tell me,” Crowley demanded.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied. “What sort of feeling?”

“Just what I said. Happy and miserable.”

“Related to what?” the angel asked.

“A person,” came the reply.

“Love?” Aziraphale suggested automatically. Then he stopped. What was Crowley talking about?

A long silence fell.

“Fuck,” Crowley stated succinctly.

“Crowley, don’t swear,” Aziraphale admonished, a touch hypocritically. “It’s not—”

Polite, he might have said, but the word never got out. Crowley whirled around suddenly with a look of sheer purpose, and before Aziraphale knew what was happening, the demon’s quite human lips were pressed against his own. He let out a muffled startled noise, and was barely able to comprehend what Crowley was doing before it was over.

He stared, painfully aware of the blush that was again overcoming him, and of his inability to repress it by any means. “...Crowley?” he managed finally.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?!” Aziraphale exclaimed, paralysis giving way to hysteria. “What the hell do you think—”

“What happened to not swearing?” Crowley asked, cutting him off.

“‘Hell’ isn’t a swear word, and stop making a mockery of me!” Aziraphale yelled, a note of panic sounding in his normally calm voice.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, looking slightly abashed.

Aziraphale looked at him narrowly. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said again, sighing.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Er... What was that about?” he asked, curiosity outweighing his other emotions.

“What was what about?” asked Crowley.

Aziraphale glared at him, and a smile came to the demon’s lips.

“You were tempting me,” Crowley explained casually, leaning back against the tree.

“Angels—don’t—tempt,” muttered Aziraphale through gritted teeth.

“Want to bet?” Crowley muttered back. “You tempt humans with heaven, don’t you?”

“That’s different,” Aziraphale responded immediately.

“No, it really isn’t,” Crowley argued pensively.

“What are you talking about?” asked Aziraphale, quickly losing his perfected skill of patience.

“I’m happy and miserable at the same time when I’m with you,” Crowley said, sounding reproachful more than anything else.

“And...” Aziraphale began, and then trailed off. “You...” He stared at the demon. “What?”

Crowley looked as if he was trying to make his mind up about something. “And I’m starting to strongly suspect that I’m falling in love with you,” he stated finally.

Aziraphale gaped at him for a long moment, confused beyond all former meaning of the word. “You can’t be,” he finally whispered.

“Why not?”

“You’re...” A demon, he wanted to say. But no, that wasn’t it. “You’re you,” he said, instead.

“So?”

“So…” He broke off and took a breath, surprised at how difficult it was to do so. “Crowley, stop it—you don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“How do you know? What makes you think that I don’t know what I’m talking about?” The mania had returned, to Aziraphale’s dismay.

“You can’t—”

“Who says—”

“Crowley—” He stopped short as Crowley took his worried face in his hands.

“What?” asked Crowley. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t’? I can’t what? Fall in love?”

Aziraphale felt himself blush more strongly, but he nodded resolutely.

Crowley smirked and kissed him again, softly. The angel made a small noise, this time not out of shock but out of something more subtle. Or less subtle, depending on how you looked at it.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale murmured, but his protests died away as soon as they came to his lips. They stared at each other for a moment, a strange feeling coming over Aziraphale as he gazed at the demon. This was wrong, most certainly. The whole Agreement was probably wrong, being Crowley’s friend was wrong, and this... But no. It wasn’t wrong. None of it. Something was, maybe, but not this. Wasn’t that the point?

Slowly, hesitantly, he drifted towards Crowley, wrapping his arms around the demon more tentatively than he had before. And, just as hesitantly, Crowley’s arms found their way around the angel’s waist, pulling him closer uncertainly. Aziraphale offered the demon a slight, nervous smile. Crowley returned it, and they both began to laugh.

When they finally continued their walk, the rain had let up entirely. The sun hadn’t come out yet, but, judging by the bright silver lining on several of the clouds, it was about to. The grass was wet and the air fresh, and the silence somehow comforting. Neither being spoke, but the stillness was light and, for once, free of dark thoughts. And for a moment, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if the world lasted forever, if heaven and hell would ever be reconciled, or if ineffability itself was laughing at them both. For the third time since time was invented, the world was fresh again—and this time, it would be fresh forever more.