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Aziraphale’s Heavenly review had gone smoothly. Hardly a reprimand worth mentioning — he’d even been congratulated for cutting back on the frivolous miracles and unnecessary blessings, and shouldn’t that have made him feel good about himself? — no more than the usual level of interrogation regarding the activities of the adversary, and all in all he’d gotten the sense that the Archangels were, for once, actually relatively satisfied with his job performance of late.
It was enough of a rarity, having a positive evaluation, that he really ought to have been enjoying it. He ought to have been taking the approval to heart, absorbing what he’d done well and ensuring that it would continue to guide him in his future endeavors. There was certainly no reason for the sick sort of knot in his stomach, sitting there since the moment he first walked into the spacious, undecorated meeting room — and, counterintuitively, growing even heavier with every new word of praise he received.
Naturally, he didn’t let any of the knot show. He smiled, and nodded, and humbly accepted all of the compliments, even the backhanded ones, and assured Gabriel through gritted teeth that yes, haha, he would make sure this wasn’t a fluke, and no, no need to worry, of course he wouldn’t let it go to his head, he appreciated the concern.
Finally, finally, it was over, and he turned to go with a thankfulness that he pretended was due to the Archangels’ feedback rather than simply because he was about to be out of the endless whiteness, broken only by reams of paperwork…
...Except it wasn’t over, not quite. Because, Aziraphale found out, Gabriel had recently learned about a popular human gesture, and had decided to adopt it as a parting acknowledgement for angels who did well on their performance review.
Hugs, from every Archangel.
Now, Aziraphale had no problem with hugging in general. He did it with humans, sometimes, as local custom demanded. He did it with one specific human-shaped being, fairly frequently, and he was rather fond of it in that context.
But hugging the Archangels …
Well. It wasn’t as if Aziraphale could say no, so there was no point in dwelling on it. He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and went in for the obligatory hug with each of them, one at a time.
Sandalphon was first, waved on by a beaming Gabriel, and Aziraphale supposed he was grateful to be getting the worst over with. A squeeze, a bit too bruising to be even semi-convincingly friendly, then a leering retreat. The stark contrast of Michael’s hug was almost a relief — brief, about as contactless as a hug could possibly be, accompanied by a powerfully radiating sense of distaste. Uriel, at least, seemed almost as uncomfortable as Aziraphale, which made for an awkward but quickly-resolved half-embrace.
And last but (as he said himself) certainly not least, Gabriel, who — the whole thing having been his idea in the first place — went for it with utmost enthusiasm, concluding with an equally enthusiastic slap on the back. Aziraphale came away from that one unable to cover his wince, but fortunately either nobody noticed or nobody cared.
Then, finally, Aziraphale’s performance review was actually over, and he was free to leave.
He held it together all the way down the hall, to the lift. He held it together down to the Earth, out to the street, back to the bookshop. Even once he was at the bookshop, he continued to hold it together, with both hands and some metaphorical duct tape.
He held it together, right up until Crowley walked in.
“Aziraphale? Hey! How’s it—” Crowley broke off mid-greeting, presumably picking up on some subtle off ness in Aziraphale’s face or stance. “...What happened?”
Aziraphale gripped the hem of his coat with both hands, twisting as hard as he dared without risking actually damaging the fabric, and didn’t answer.
Crowley came two steps closer, then stopped, peering at him through the sunglasses. “You’ve been Above, haven’t you?”
Aziraphale swallowed. There was no reason to deny it. Reports back to Heaven were a regular enough occurrence, after all, and Crowley had seen him before in the aftermath of some of those visits — enough times to recognize the signs, apparently, whatever those signs even were. There was no reason not to answer the question. And it wasn’t, really, that he didn’t want to answer.
It was just that the knot that had lurked in Aziraphale’s gut during the entire meeting was still there now, heavy and fraying and threatening to erupt if he dared open his mouth and allow it a chance to escape.
“Aziraphale?” Crowley said again, the name sounding tentative on his tongue. “Hey, there?”
Crowley sounded worried. He looked worried, too. And that was all Aziraphale’s fault, for not answering the question. It wasn’t fair to worry Crowley, when Aziraphale was really — or at least, should have been — perfectly fine, objectively speaking.
“Yes,” he said, and was taken aback by the rasp in his voice. Carefully, he released his hem. “Just got back down here. Performance review. You know how it is. Everything went well, though. The Archangels were quite pleased with me this time, I must say.”
“...Okay,” Crowley said slowly. He didn’t seem like he believed it. “Everything went well?”
“Just tickety-boo,” said Aziraphale. And then the knot did come undone, and all at once his hands were shaking, his throat was closing up again, and there were tears coming out of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears kept trickling through anyway.
“Okay,” came Crowley’s voice again, very near at hand — gentle, steady, undercurrent of anxiety audible but, doubtless for Aziraphale’s benefit, tamped down under control. “Okay, there. Yeah. All right. You want a hug?”
And it was Crowley, it was just Crowley, they’d hugged plenty of times before. Aziraphale liked hugging Crowley. When he got like this a hug was an almost guaranteed way to help him feel better, to ground him, to calm him down. It was just Crowley, for goodness’s sake, this was ridiculous…
Aziraphale discovered that he was shaking his head from side to side, very emphatically.
“Okay,” Crowley said for the fourth time, calm and grounding even without any physical touch, and the sound of his voice retreated a foot or so. “Not a hug. Is there anything else I can do?”
Aziraphale tried and failed to think clearly. He didn’t feel like talking, at least not yet, he didn’t want a hug — no, he wanted a hug, he did, very much, only he also didn’t, and he was too haze-minded to figure out how to reconcile the two conflicting wants — but surely, there was something else Crowley could do to help?
He shook his head again, then — because Crowley might interpret that as a flat-out rejection rather than the expression of uncertainty Aziraphale intended it as — clarified verbally, “I don’t know.”
There was a pause. Then, noticeably casual, Crowley suggested, “How about you sit down? That a good idea?”
Sitting down did seem like a good idea, Aziraphale decided. Especially given the way his knees were trembling. He didn’t think it was actually from the strain of holding him upright, but taking the weight off them couldn’t hurt. He opened his eyes, nodded, and looked at the sofa. It seemed a long way off.
Crowley moved a step towards him, then stopped. “Should I stay over here?”
“What?” Aziraphale squinted at him. That was an unusual question for Crowley to ask. “Do you… want to stay there?”
“Only if you’d like me to.” Crowley hesitated. “Seemed like maybe you wanted space, is all.”
Oh. Well then, at least that misapprehension was easily correctable. The thing about Heaven — well, one of the things about Heaven — was that there was so much space, up Above. Less would be good, right now.
That was why, usually, at times like these a hug was just the ticket. There was only a very small quantity of space that Aziraphale needed to worry about when he was pressed between Crowley’s arms. Only, this time…
“No,” said Aziraphale firmly. “I don’t want space.” He paused, trying to trace his own skittering thoughts. “But… no hugs either.”
This was, he told himself fiercely — and entirely pointlessly, given that he wasn’t changing his mind — absolutely pathetic. But at least Crowley didn’t seem offended by it. He just nodded, came to Aziraphale, reached for his arm… and paused, a few inches away from contact.
Aziraphale put his arm in Crowley’s hand.
Crowley exhaled, let his fingers close around the offered arm, and led Aziraphale to the sofa. Helped Aziraphale settle onto the cushions. Sat himself, after a moment of tangible hesitation that Aziraphale resolved by tugging him down to his side.
They sat, while Aziraphale did his best to collect the scrambled jigsaw pieces of his mind and fit them back together into something resembling cohesion.
Eventually, when he felt he was close enough to being in more or less one piece for communication to be a viable option again, Aziraphale said, “The review did go well.”
“Okay,” said Crowley — cautiously, dubiously. “Is that good?”
“It went well,” Aziraphale repeated, not answering the question. “I was told I’d done a good job of being economical with miracles.” He paused. “As opposed to, you know, frivolous blessings and such.”
“Ah.” Crowley did not say what he thought about that, which was probably both very deliberate and very much for the best. As a rule (and it was, very nearly literally, a rule), Aziraphale did not complain, or question, or say negative things in general about Heaven. And when he did toe the line of doing so — in tone or implication, if not in so many words — having it pointed out that that was what he was doing was not helpful.
Crowley knew that. And he pushed and he argued, when the time and place was such that he could get away with it. But when Aziraphale needed — and, right now, Aziraphale needed — he held back.
He held back, and Aziraphale had seldom been more grateful for it.
“Gabriel congratulated me,” Aziraphale persisted after a few minutes, still speaking to Crowley’s comforting, non-judgmental quiet. “Said I’d done well, keep up the good work, make sure it isn’t a one-time thing, don’t let it give me a swollen head.”
“Ah.” There was a bit more vehemence there, a touch of protective indignation that left a welcome glow of warmth around Aziraphale’s heart. But still, that patient quiet. No pressure, no judgment.
“And then,” Aziraphale finished, letting his tone of voice convey all of the subtext and commentary that he didn’t quite dare articulate aloud, “they all gave me hugs.”
“They what?” Crowley’s carefully composed neutral nonchalance slipped for a moment, clearly caught off guard by that information.
“All gave me hugs,” Aziraphale repeated. He rolled his eyes. “Even Sandalphon, would you believe it?”
In retrospect, given the way Crowley stiffened beside Aziraphale, perhaps mentioning Sandalphon had not been the best way to try to lighten the mood. “Is that,” Crowley said, “a… thing that they do often? Up There?”
“Apparently. When you’ve performed well, at least.” Aziraphale allowed himself a self-deprecating chuckle. “So, I suppose that means I wouldn’t know. It could be a new thing.”
“I see,” said Crowley — and something in his voice, some edge of grim, gentle, outraged, helpless sympathy, told Aziraphale that Crowley did in fact see, much more than either of them was admitting out loud.
Aziraphale sighed, and looked at Crowley, arms lax on his lap. Thought about what he knew it was like to be held in those arms, the world momentarily narrowed to the safe, comforting space between Crowley’s chest and chin.
Thought about Sandalphon, violent and sneering; Michael, distant and disdainful; Uriel, reluctant and stiff; Gabriel, bumptious and domineering.
Thought about Crowley, careful and caring; keeping his distance lest he unwittingly cross a boundary; biting his tongue lest he let slip something to send Aziraphale spiraling further; now sitting quiet and still at his side on the sofa, attentive and thoughtful and understanding.
From an exclusively physical perspective, perhaps the motions shared some resemblance in common. But beyond that most superficial of levels, in every way that mattered, the experience of hugging the Archangels shared nothing whatsoever in common with that of being hugged by Crowley.
Aziraphale took a breath, half-turned on the sofa, and touched Crowley’s shoulder. “Dear fellow?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you mind terribly giving me a hug?”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot upwards; he had not, evidently, been anticipating that request. Which was fair. Aziraphale hadn’t either.
“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Crowley’s eyes were absolutely intent on Aziraphale — he could tell even through the sunglasses — and though being watched so closely by anyone else might have been uncomfortable, coming from Crowley it was just a reminder that Crowley was there, Crowley was paying attention, Crowley cared. “I wouldn’t mind. Obviously. But.”
The but said it all, especially taken in tandem with the emphasis on I.
“I think it is,” Aziraphale said, and resisted the impulse to add thank you for checking. They both had their boundaries, and explicit expression of gratitude was one of Crowley’s. So instead, Aziraphale just nodded, channeling as much assurance and reassurance into his gaze as he could summon.
Apparently, it was enough. Because Crowley nodded back, turned on the sofa, and opened his arms — leaning over, reaching around, pulling Aziraphale into his chest, the motion at once intimately familiar and painfully tentative.
The contact, once they settled into it, was good. Calming, comforting, gentle — gentler even than Crowley’s usual wont, so much so that it fell to Aziraphale to tighten it with a few squeezes of his own until Crowley took the hint. Clinging and burrowing into Crowley’s neck until the hug felt properly secure, the last loose ends of the knot in Aziraphale’s stomach melting at last, and there was no room for Archangels in Crowley’s embrace.
“Perhaps,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s shoulder after several minutes, the words barely even a whisper, “I should try not to perform quite so well, next time.”
If Crowley heard him, he chose not to answer, which Aziraphale appreciated.
He just hugged Aziraphale, rubbed his back, held him close, soft and safe and grounding and everything Above simply wasn’t, and for the moment it was okay.