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The Garden of Eden, 4004 BC
Eden was beautiful. A true masterpiece of the Almighty’s creation. It was lush, green and vibrant with fauna and flora a plenty. You would never want for anything there. On a particularly sunny day, and all of them had been sunny, but today was even more so, Aziraphale was loitering near a patch of flowers. They were what the Almighty called "little stars". (Years later, humans would call them Lillie's, much to Her frustration.)
These little stars were an astounding shade of yellow. Aziraphale had found himself loitering near these flowers more often than not. There were patches of them all over the Garden, so at least he didn't look like he was shirking his responsibilities by gazing at flora, even if that’s exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t like there was much going on anyway. How much trouble could two humans in an enclosed space get into? Nothing in the Garden was dangerous.
Near to where Aziraphale was admiring the flowers, the earth shifted and rippled before something breached the surface. A sleek head of a giant snake appeared, and its black scales evoked thoughts of long nights spent lying in the grass, staring up at the stars. Its spiked tongue slipped out to test its surroundings and its head turned like a rolling river towards Aziraphale.
'H-hello!' the angel stuttered out, shifting to turn to face the serpent fully. He stared at the golden eyes that were eyeing him and he took a sharp breath, 'Oh, oh goodness. It’s you !’
The snake tipped its head slightly to one side, 'Ahhhhziraphaleee?'
Aziraphale smiled, a full toothed smile, 'Gosh! What're you doing here?'
The snake hissed, 'Deeemonn.'
'Ah,' Aziraphale nodded, 'Right...'
The snake coiled up on the earth and Aziraphale had to take a step back to accommodate his presence, 'Going to be causing trouble then?'
'Sssssuppose,' the serpent replied, 'you'll be thwwwartin'?'
Aziraphale hummed, 'I expect so... Don't suppose you'll give me forewarning of what you're going to be getting up to?'
The snake hissed in a way that sounded much like a laugh, 'No.'
Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh in reply.
The day Adam and Eve left the Garden, Aziraphale gave Crawly, as he was now, a little star.
“All of the Almighties creations are beautiful.” Aziraphale had told him, helping to tuck it into Crawly's red hair. Aziraphale had marveled at Crawly grinning out at the dunes, yellow lily(1) tucked neatly in between threads of hair and thought to himself, "even you".
Troy, 950 BC
It wasn’t a surprise really, that Troy fell. It’d been doing it for so long now. The smell of smoke and burning filled the air around them. Aziraphale sighed and shifted away from Crawly, wandering to a patch of tulips that had narrowly escaped the flames.
‘Think they’ll rebuild?’ Crawly asked, turning to watch the angel. He was running his hand over the tops of the flowers, a deep red at the bottom of the petal, with a pale yellow at the tips and edges. As flowers went, Crawly thought, it wasn’t overly distasteful, but he really wasn’t one for flowers. Aziraphale was keen on them though. Constantly picking flowers and then offering them to Crawly like he had asked for them.
This time was no different, and Aziraphale picked one flower and stood up, eyeing the flower for so long that Crawly thought he’d somehow left his corporation entirely until he let out a breath and turned to eye the demon, ‘Don’t know… probably… they seem keen on keeping the place…’
‘S’funny, I had a plan to ruin the city, but they keep doing it all by themselves…’ Crawly mused.
‘What plan?’ Aziraphale asked, frowning, bringing the flower to his face so he could smell it.
‘Ah, nothing really, something about horses, I don’t remember…’ Crawly waved it off.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and then offered Crawly the tulip(2), ‘Here.’
Crawly stared at the flower like it had personally offended him, ‘Why d’you keep giving me flowers?’ he took it and glared at it. It held its ground, and Crawly pouted.
‘I like flowers.’ Aziraphale replied with a shrug, ‘You don’t?’
Crawly shrugged, ‘Don’t really think about ‘em.’
Yellow River, China, 200 AD (Battle of Guandu)
Aziraphale didn’t like wars. He’d fought in one before, but that was only because he’d had to. You couldn’t really say no to Heaven… well, you probably could but you’d end up swimming in burning sulphur for having such sheer audacity. Aziraphale did not wish to experience that. It was bad enough knowing someone personally who had experienced that. Crowley, as he was going by now, patted the angel's shoulder in false sympathy.
‘Sorry,’ Crowley said, though they both knew he wasn’t, ‘Cao Cao was always going to win, y’know. Got a memo about it at the beginning of September.’
‘Oh,’ Aziraphale turned to face him sharply and made Crowley step away, ‘do give over, snake.’
Crowley’s eyebrows hitched, ‘Snake now is it? Oh angel, here I was thinking we’d been getting along.’
‘Hardly.’ Aziraphale harrumphed. They stood in silence for a while.
‘No flower for me this time?’ Crowley teased with a hiss.
Aziraphale looked down, ‘Wrong time of year.’ He snapped his fingers, and by their feet, a single Narcissus(3) grew up from the ground and bloomed a beautiful yellow flower.
‘Yellow again?’ Crowley asked.
Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm, ‘I didn’t know it was a yellow plant, so sorry to upset you.’
Crowley huffed a laugh, ‘Gonna pick it then?’
‘No.’ Aziraphale said, crossing his arms over his chest. They stood for a moment before Aziraphale grumbled and bent down to pick the flower and stood up again, offering it to Crowley, who took it without question.
‘Why do you like flowers so much?’ the demon asked.
‘Why do you dislike them so much?’ the angel retorted.
Neither of them had an answer.
Somewhere in Spain, 1537 AD
Aziraphale was beyond delighted when he and Crowley watched the men unloading potatoes off the large ship in the port.
‘I saw the plans for these, you know. When I was last Upstairs.’ The angel said, giddy, hands flourishing this way and that, ‘They’re going to be big in Europe. I can’t wait to try one.’
‘I can’t believe,’ Crowley started with a drawl, turning a potato over in his hands, ‘you’re so excited over a root vegetable.’ He offered the potato to Aziraphale who took it with a chuckle.
‘I can’t believe you’re not,’ the angel said with a soft eye roll, ‘I thought your side would be all over this.’
Crowley guffawed, ‘Yes because Satan’s grand plan includes potatoes. Blessedly evil, potatoes.’
Aziraphale turned away to speak to an older woman who was passing, selling sprigs of lavender. Crowley glowered behind dark glasses at the ship.
‘Well you never know,’ Aziraphale replied, ‘weren’t your lot behind cabbage chowder?’
‘Nah,’ Crowley replied, turning back to look at the angel, who was now holding two sprigs of lavender.
‘Oh.’ Aziraphale said, ‘I don’t like cabbage…’
Crowley smiled a little, ‘We did suggest boiling cabbages for hours though.’
‘I knew it!’ Aziraphale raised the potato at the demon and would’ve snapped his fingers in triumph had he been able.
Crowley continued, ‘I think someone got an award for that… There was also that one time where we invented the spit roast, and then made some poor bastard sit and spin it for all eternity.’
The angel sighed as he offered his sprigs of lavender(4) out to Crowley, ‘Here, take one.’
The demon did, and held it up to his glasses, ‘This one isn’t yellow.’
‘Well observed.’ Aziraphale grumbled, taking his own sprig and pocketing it carefully. He considered the potato a little longer, ‘Promise not to ruin these.’
Crowley looked up from the lavender and offered a sly smirk.
Years down the line in about 1735, the Irish invented colcannon(i), and Aziraphale knew that Crowley had been behind it.
Glasgow, 21st February 1842 AD
‘If I wasn’t a demon, I would thank Her for all of this.’
Aziraphale jolted in surprise and lifted his head up to look at Crowley, who was standing in front of him, ‘I’m sorry?’
Crowley gestured to the platform, then the train, ‘Passenger services! At last.’ A beat, ‘You know how I dislike horses.’
‘It was one horse, Crowley… and it’s your fault for spooking it.’ Aziraphale admonished.
‘Massive things, what they got to be scared of?’ the demon asked, moving to sit down on the bench with the angel, ‘Blasted thing was like fifty feet tall.’
Aziraphale smiled and turned away to look out at the tracks of the railway, ‘That big?’
‘Laugh all you want Angel, it’s not a fun way to go.’ Crowley sighed as he settled back on the bench, ‘What are you wearing?’
Aziraphale shot him a look, ‘This is typical attire for this time period.’
‘I don’t mean the outfit,’ the demon hissed, ‘I mean this.’ He tapped his coat to indicate what he meant.
The angel moved his hand to touch the flower that he had pinned to his jacket, ‘Oh…’ he dropped his hand and laced his fingers together in his lap, ‘flower…’
‘Got one for me?’ Crowley asked with a grin, ‘Hand it over then.’
Aziraphale shook his head, ‘No, this is mine. I don’t have another for you… wouldn’t work…’
Crowley huffed and turned away, ‘Suit yourself…’
The angel carefully unpinned the flower(5) and held it in his palm. He closed his hand around it tightly and when he looked back to Crowley, the demon was gone.
Royal Albert Hall, London, 29th March 1871 AD
‘What are you doing here?’ Aziraphale actually hissed the words when he saw the demon standing there like it wasn’t an extremely important day for London.
Crowley gave him a look, ‘Oh hello, fancy meeting you here…’
Aziraphale marched up to him, grasped his arm firmly, ‘Are you plotting?’
‘Me?’ Crowley asked, ‘I’m hurt you’d think such a thing about me, Angel.’
‘Of course I’d think that, you’re a demon!’
Crowley bristled, grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist and pulled his hand off his arm, ‘Well what are you doing here? Bestowing a blessing on the Queen?’
‘It’s confidential!’ Aziraphale replied, trying, and failing to pry his wrist from Crowley’s grip, ‘Would you let go?’
Crowley did, and turned back to watch Victoria, the current monarch of England, who was making a short speech.
‘Why are you here, Crowley?’ Aziraphale repeated, ‘Getting back into Hell's bad books after Edinburgh?’ the angel came to stand at the demon's side, though his gaze was flickering through the crowd.
‘Like you care.’ Crowley hissed.
Aziraphale turned his attention to the demon and for a moment considered agreeing that he did not care one bit, but that would’ve been a lie, ‘I do care, I’m an angel. That’s what angels do.’
Crowley scoffed but replied, ‘I’m only here to watch, relay information back Downstairs… you know they want all the monarchs down there. It’s like they’re collecting butterflies, pinning them up in a frame to admire…’
‘Oh speaking of admiration…’ Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a small tussie-mussie(ii) of white heather(6) appeared in his hand, ‘here.’ He offered it to the demon, ‘I’ve been collecting flowers recently….’
After a moment or two, Crowley glanced over and eyed the small posy of heather, ‘’S’not yellow.’ He took it anyway.
‘The humans are wearing all sorts of flowers as fashion accessories!’ He plucked one from his own jacket that Crowley hadn’t seen, ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ He held it out to Crowley to inspect. It was also heather, but instead of white it was the colour of lavender(7).
‘What will they come up with next?’ Crowley shook his head and tucked his white posy into the top of his waistcoat.
‘I can’t wait to see! You know in ’67 a gentleman called Scholes came up with a marvellous writing machine(a)!’ Aziraphale replaced his posy and clapped his hands together in delight, ‘Oh how easy it will be to write books! Not that I do, but, you know what I mean…’
‘’67 was a good year for explosives too.’ Crowley said, ‘Can’t believe they came up with it all by themselves…’
‘Philistine.’ Aziraphale muttered.
‘Pacifist.’ Crowley returned.
Somewhere in Norfolk, England, July 1946 AD
The war was over, nearly a year now, and Aziraphale was grateful. Wars were a nasty business, and humans tended to have an awful lot of them. Today, as he stood next to a small pond he took a moment to be thankful. Not to God, but to the humans for finally returning to peace with each other. God had seemingly had nothing to do with it.
He was thankful that things were returning to normal. As he stood there, the faint scent of apricots drifted in the wind, and he investigated a nearby hedgerow, plucking a tall flower from the shade of the hedge and inhaling. It was cruel that it reminded him of all the deserts he’d missed during rationing. He was dismayed even more that there was no end in sight for it yet.
The soft tinkling of a miracle drew him back to the present and he turned to greet his companion.
‘Afternoon.’ Crowley took off his hat to fan himself for a moment as if he were actually warm, ‘crazy weather we’re having…’
‘Hello Crowley,’ Aziraphale smiled broadly, ‘thank you for coming. I know we usually meet in St James’ but I felt like a change today. Norfolk’s a lovely county…’
‘S’alright.’ Crowley shrugged, ‘What’s that?’ he tilted his head towards the flower the angel was holding.
‘Oh, I’ve no idea, but it smells like apricots!’ he offered it to Crowley, who took it and gave it a wary sniff.
‘It does,’ Crowley agreed, then, ‘barely.’
‘No pleasing some demons.’ Aziraphale rolled his eyes good naturedly.
‘Think you can eat it?’ Crowley asked, turning the yellow flower(8) over in his hands.
‘I don’t know,’ the angel said, ‘but please refrain from doing so, I packed lunch. I think you’ll find what I brought much more enjoyable than a flower.’
‘You packed lunch?’ Crowley asked.
‘Yes,’ Aziraphale said, ‘well, sort of. I just brought wine… I wanted to say thank you again, for the books.’
Crowley laughed, ‘Wine for lunch! Sign me up.’
As they got delightfully pickled on red wine while sitting on a bench next to a small pond with several ducks, Crowley kept the flower tucked behind his ear.
A.Z.Fell and Co. bookshop, Soho, London, 1999 AD
Being a creature of Heaven that has lived longer than the Earth has existed, you saw a lot. Like, a lot.
You could fill at least three books with all the things that Aziraphale had seen in his long existence, and millenniums weren’t rare when’d you’d been around for millions of years, but for humans they were a pretty big deal, so Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a little caught up in all of it as he and Crowley sat in the bookshop, waiting for midnight. He’d be surprised that Crowley had even accepted the offer to come around for the event, the demon usually spent New Years in bars and clubs getting up to no good. He was a demon after all.
(In truth, the only things Crowley ever got up to in bars was a bit of dancing, and making sure drinks weren’t getting spiked… and that one time there was a goat, but we don’t talk about that.)
Crowley was on his fifth bottle of wine at this point, and while Aziraphale had found himself buried in a book he was three bottles in himself. It was a comfortable silence that they shared, until Aziraphale turned a page and let out a squeak.
‘What’ssss up?’ Crowley asked, squinting over at the angel. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, having thrown them off about an hour ago.
Aziraphale carefully held up what Crowley thought was a piece of paper, ‘I forgot I put this here.’
‘Wot issss it?’ the demon made a face, ‘shoppin’ list?’
The angel gave him a look, ‘Are you blind?’
Crowley gestured wildly to his face, golden eyes narrowing, ‘’m fuckin’ drunk.’
Aziraphale swallowed a laugh, ‘Is-… It’s… a press flower.’ He paused, ‘Press.’ He screwed up his face, ‘Pressssed.’ He blinked owlishly across at Crowley, who clicked his teeth in reply.
‘Wot’sssss a pressss flower?’ The demon opened his mouth wide and Aziraphale watched as he moved his jaw around in a very good impression of a snake about to devour one's prey.
‘For persevering.’ Aziraphale said simply, he turned the flower over in his fingers so carefully that Crowley wondered if he were really drunk, ‘I mean, perservin’…’ he made a noise and chuckled lightly, ‘for keeping…’ he flipped the page of the book, ‘oh there’s another one…’ He set down the first flower and held up the next so Crowley could see it.
‘Ant hop…’ Crowley began, glaring at his bottle of wine, ‘ah fuck…’ he put the bottle down and after a moment, his empty bottle started to fill back up. He let out a breath and made a disgusted face, ‘Ugh I really need to stop that…’ he shot Aziraphale a look, ‘Anthophile(iii).’
Aziraphale looked from his second flower to Crowley, ‘Wha’s that?’
‘Sober up, Angel.’ The demon said with a grin.
Aziraphale turned another page, ‘Oh look this one’s a chrysanthemum…’
Crowley carefully stood up and manoeuvred around his bottles. He reached Aziraphale and offered a hand, ‘Here, I’ll hold them for you.’ The angel pouted.
‘I’ll be careful.’ Crowley promised, he held out his other hand as if to prove this point.
Aziraphale considered this for about two seconds, before handing the second flower over to the demon, ‘’S’an Iris(9)…’
‘Very nice…’ Crowley muttered, ‘what about the first one?’
Aziraphale picked up the first flower from where he’d settle it on the pages of the book. He stared at it, frowned, ‘Freezer.’
‘Freesia(10).’ Crowley corrected, taking it gently. He held the first two in one hand then with a quick look at the angel, who looked like he’d nodded off, he plucked the pressed chrysanthemum(11) up. It was red. Crowley must’ve looked at it for a good ten minutes, until he was jostled back into the moment by the grandfather clock chiming 12.
‘Happy New Year, Aziraphale.’ Crowley said quietly, taking the book from him and sliding the flowers back into the pages.
A.Z.Fell and Co. bookshop, Soho, London, 2019 AD
Aziraphale had been proud of his job in Eden. A Guardian of a Gate. Not that there ever was an actual gate… only the hole he’d blasted in the wall to let Adam and Eve make their escape before hurrying to block it up again and pretend he’d never had a hand in their ability to get past a wall hundreds of feet tall. Over the years he’d wondered why his title had even included the word “gate”. Perhaps the Almighty had always known what he would do and had titled him appropriately.
Regardless, any angel with even half an iota of sense would’ve been proud to hold a job in Eden. Aziraphale knew that technically pride was a sin, but back then the only sin had been gluttony and sins only applied to humans. At least that had been what the handbook had said. He supposed that that had never been the case, in the end.
Before Eden, Aziraphale had been a cherub. These days, humans tended to get the entire hierarchy of Heaven disastrously incorrect, putting cherubs nearer the top of the tower, when in fact, they were closer to the bottom. Closer to, meaning, at. At the bottom. To be fair, being at the bottom was rather cushy. There were no expectations other than to follow any orders given to you. You didn’t have any other angels under your command, and that could, and did, cause problems.
Being promoted to a Principality had been an honour indeed. Of course, some angels, mentioning no names, thought that being given such a title was a demotion, regardless of where you were on the hierarchy beforehand. Cherubs were basically worthless, but Principalities, somehow were worse off.
Aziraphale had first met Crowley when he’d been a cherub. Back then Crowley hadn’t even been Crowley, but an angel of a higher rank than Aziraphale. At the time, the sheer fact that Crowley had even spoken to him (let alone revealed his desire to ask questions), had made Aziraphale feel special. Aziraphale remembered how bright eyed and bushy haired the demon had been back then. It was all a long lifetime ago.
Crowley still had bright eyes, but for a completely different reason. Aziraphale didn’t mind. There was something about his serpentine eyes that pulled at Aziraphale’s chest in a way that made the angel want to seek them out at every opportunity.
After the Fall, Aziraphale had been so upset to think that he might never lay eyes on him again, so after everything, after coming close to being witness to the end of the world rather put things into perspective. What things those were, Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure, but the fact that there seemed to be several dozen flowers all over his desk was certainly something that needed some perspective, or at least, context.
Aziraphale had received his fair share of flowers, usually the odd one from a human who seemed to find him rather preferable in looks or mannerisms… and that had been back in the Victorian era. These days, people showed thanks, or other emotions with other things. With Aziraphale, it was usually food. His tenant Maggie who owned and ran the record shop liked to bring him baked goods from one of her favourite cafes. It had in turn, turned into one of Aziraphale’s favourite cafes and he spent far too many hours there perusing their cake selection.
Usually he’d get Battenburg; his go-to. Maggie tended to bring pastries, like a Danish (though while called a pastry, it was a doughy cake/bread) or a ring doughnut with icing. When she’d first brought an apple turnover, Aziraphale had been taken back to Eden and images of apples on a tree and Eve being tempted by a large serpent. The turnover had been delectable, regardless of any apples.
Aziraphale had given a fair share of flowers too, in his years. Mostly to Crowley, who never wanted them and thought, no doubt, that Aziraphale was silly. He slowly walked over to his desk and stared at the flowers before him. A pink carnation [I’ll never forget you] caught his eye first and his heart leapt into his throat, and he felt sick. He took several deep breaths and reminded himself that most people these days did not know much, if anything, about the language of flowers.
Though he’d never admit it, Aziraphale had written the first language of flowers. He gave away the idea in the end, but it had always been something he enjoyed. For example, daffodils meant something different to Narcissus, even though a daffodil was a Narcissus. Aziraphale hadn’t thought that one up, he wasn’t a demon; but imagine the chaos, of thinking the meaning was regard or chivalry, when in fact you were being accused of being egotistical. Maybe Crowley had had a hand in that one.
Aziraphale plucked the pink carnation from the table and turned it over in his hands. Perfectly normal flower as far as he could tell. He turned to look at the front door of the shop. It had been locked when he got back, so there was only one person who could’ve put the flowers here. Only, that made no sense because Crowley didn’t like flowers. He was constantly complaining about how he had to shout at his plants whenever they tried to bloom. Aziraphale miracled a vase into existence and put the carnation in it, setting the vase on the desk, away from the edge so that he wouldn’t knock it.
The next flower he picked up was one he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a grand flower on a long stem. It was a viola tricolour, known as Heartsease, or simply as the wild pansy. It meant, if Aziraphale’s memory was correct, and it always was, “you occupy my thoughts”. He set it down next to the vase and turned his gaze to the rest of the blooms. He saw a tulip, white mostly, with patches of pink, similar to the one he’d given to Crowley in Troy. The meaning was the same too. “Beautiful eyes”. Aziraphale felt a flush creeping up his neck and he placed the tulip with the carnation.
There was a Morning Glory and peach blossom (affection, and I am your captive respectively). There was another tulip, this time yellow. “There’s sunshine in your smile”. Aziraphale couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. He paused, picking up another flower. Crowley didn’t like flowers. He didn’t know the language of flowers… this was all just, coincidence… Aziraphale took a breath and picked up the Thornapple [I dreamed of thee]. A member of the nightshade family, and very poisonous. Also known by several other names including “devil’s snare”.
There was a white camellia [You’re adorable/perfected loveliness] , and a red one [unpretending excellence/you’re a flame in my heart] , lying together. Both of them had two meanings but they were more or less the same and made the angel glance around the shop as though this was supposed to be private. Aziraphale realised with a thought that it probably was supposed to be private. He’d been away trying to purchase a book and hadn’t been due back until tomorrow. He picked up the camellia’s and was about to set them in the vase with the other flowers when he saw the pink camellia [longing for you].
At this point, it seemed to Aziraphale that this really couldn’t be a coincidence. He heard the bell at the door singing cheerfully and he nearly dropped the flowers as he turned. Crowley sauntered into the shop and upon seeing Aziraphale standing there holding flowers, he froze, eyebrows rising higher and higher on his forehead.
‘Wot are you doing here!?’ the demon snapped.
Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile, ‘This is my shop.’
‘You’re supposed to be in York!’ Crowley hissed, jabbing a finger in the angels direction.
‘Sorry,’ Aziraphale offered, eyes raking over the demon's form, noting that he was holding a bouquet of flowers, ‘didn’t realise I wasn’t allowed in.’
Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, ‘Course y’are, ‘s your shop… just…’ he gestured to the desk, ‘I wasn’t finished…’
Aziraphale turned to look at the desk. A quick look told him there was another 24 flowers(12) laid out and he knew what each one meant, and he had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. He slowly turned back to look at the demon.
‘Crowley…’ the angel began, ‘are these flowers… from you?’ They had to be, but Aziraphale needed to know for sure, he needed Crowley to say it out loud.
Crowley shifted awkwardly, ‘Ngk… yeah… I… you’ve given me lots of flowers over the years and… I thought it was about time I gave you some back…’
‘You hate flowers.’ Aziraphale pointed out.
‘Yeah, but… you like them and… and I like you…’ Crowley’s eyes were, to Aziraphale’s disappointment, hidden behind dark glasses. He moved his bouquet to his other hand and back again.
‘Are these flowers,’ Aziraphale began, gesturing to his desk, ‘just flowers?’
Crowley slowly moved closer, walking to him, and letting his hands drop to his sides, ‘Nah…’
‘What are they?’ Aziraphale asked softly.
Crowley let out a shuddering breath. He was nervous, Aziraphale realised, fondly.
‘It’s alright,’ Aziraphale said quietly, setting down the camellia’s and shifted to close the gap between him and Crowley. He reached his hands up to the dark glasses, ‘may I?’
Crowley nodded stiffly and Aziraphale carefully removed the glasses, setting them aside on the desk with the flowers, ‘Ah,’ he pressed his hand to Crowley’s cheek, ‘there you are…’ a pause, ‘what are the flowers, Crowley?’
Crowley’s empty hand settled over Aziraphale’s own, and he stared into the angels eyes, ‘They’re words.’
A sly smile graced Aziraphale’s lips, ‘Read a book, did you?’
‘Several…’ Crowley replied, eyes darting away quickly. Aziraphale’s other hand moved to graze the bouquet Crowley was trying to hide away.
‘Is this for me?’
Crowley pulled away and sequestered the bouquet behind his back, ‘You weren’t meant to be here today! You ruined it.’
Aziraphale dropped his hands and wrung them together, ‘I am sorry Crowley, really…’ He looked down at his feet, ‘Do you want me to go back to York?’
‘No!’ Crowley said immediately, ‘No! I… I don’t like it when you’re not here, Angel…’ Aziraphale looked up and smiled. Crowley flushed and looked away. He slowly revealed the bouquet from behind his back and held it out.
‘It is for me then?’ Aziraphale teased, stepping forwards and taking the bouquet carefully.
‘Who else?’ Crowley hissed quietly.
‘It’s lovely, dear.’ Aziraphale assured him, ‘Would you like to tell me what these flowers are?’
Crowley gave him a dark look, ‘You know .’
The angel hummed, ‘I want to hear you say it.’
‘You’re a bastard, you know that?’ Crowley ground out, folding his arms across his chest.
Aziraphale grinned and softly ran his fingers over one of the flowers, ‘What’s this?’
Crowley glared at the flower in question, ‘Ambrosia.’
‘And what does that mean?’ Aziraphale asked, one eyebrow quirking up, eyes shining with mirth.
‘You fucking know what it means.’ Crowley repeated as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
‘Do I?’ Aziraphale tipped his head slightly to one side, ‘Oh dear me, what a terrible memory I seem to have, you’ll have to remind me.’
‘Christ Angel…’ Crowley hissed through his teeth and turned on the spot for a moment before grabbing Aziraphale’s upper arms, ‘it means…’ he took a breath, then another, his eyes darted up, down, he avoided Aziraphale’s gaze for a long moment and he was staring at the tartan bowtie around the angels neck as he finally said, ‘your love is reciprocated.’
Aziraphale let out a breath of a sigh, ‘You really have read a book.’
‘I read seven books!’ Crowley blurted, ‘Fuckin’ seven! It was the worst experience of my life! I don’t know how you do it!’
‘One word at a time, usually.’ Aziraphale smiled, moving his fingers to another flower, ‘What’s this one?’
Crowley took his hands off Aziraphale’s arms and ran both hands through his red hair, ‘You’re… I…’ he held out his hands and lowered them in time with a breath, trying to relax, ‘it’s… it’s called “Baby’s Breath”.’
‘What an odd name…’ Aziraphale muttered, ‘what does it mean? Baby related?’
Crowley snorted, ‘Christ no.’ he laughed a little and then realised that Aziraphale was still waiting for an answer, ‘It means everlasting l-… love, and devotion.’
Aziraphale chuckled, ‘Does it really?’ he moved to the next bloom, ‘And this one?’
‘Fffffflax.’ Crowley supplied.
‘A domestic symbol, if I’m not mistaken.’ Aziraphale returned.
‘Yesssss.’ Crowley reached out to the angel, hands finding purchase on his lapels, gripping violently.
‘Oh, I recognise this one,’ Aziraphale teased, plucking a four leaf clover from the bouquet, ‘not a typical bouquet addition, though I do like the words associated with it.’
‘And what are they, clever clogs(iiii)?’ Crowley asked, ‘Or have you “forgotten” that too?’
‘Will you jog my memory?’ Aziraphale twirled the clover in his fingers and then reached out to tuck it in Crowley’s hair, ‘Something about bees, isn’t it?’
‘That’s knees,’ Crowley shook his head fondly, ‘think the words you’re looking for are “be mine”.’
‘Oh yes that’s right, silly me…’ Aziraphale nodded, glancing down to the flora he held, ‘what’s this one? I don’t actually know this one.’
‘Linden Tree flowers…’ Crowley said quietly, ‘for matrimony.’
Aziraphale’s head shot up and he stared in shock at Crowley, who, this time, met his eyes and held his gaze. His eyes were fully golden and Aziraphale felt that familiar tug in his chest. Crowley removed one hand from Aziraphale’s jacket and carefully pulled the last flower out of the bouquet and held it as though it might shatter.
‘Do you know this one?’ the demon asked, voice softer than Aziraphale could ever remember hearing it before.
‘Uh,’ Aziraphale eyed the flower closely, ‘it looks like clammyweed, but… I suppose it’s not that?’
Crowley was trying desperately not to smile, ‘No. It’s called Cleome, or Spider flowers.’
Aziraphale felt his heart pounding and he placed a hand on Crowley’s chest to try and ground himself.
‘Alright, Angel?’ the demon asked softly, ‘Should I stop?’
‘Don’t stop. I’m fine…’ A pause, ‘what does the Spider flower mean?’
‘It’s not quite what I wanted, but it was the closest thing I could get. The meaning works well enough.’ Crowley told him slowly, drawing it out, watching Aziraphale’s eyes darting from his hand on Crowley’s chest, to the flower in the demon's grip, and to his angular face and stark yellow eyes.
‘Humans,’ Crowley continued, ‘do it after days y’know?’ He slowly trailed his hand down from Aziraphale’s lapel and rested his palm flat over the angel's thundering heart.
Aziraphale’s face flushed the most delightful shade of pink, ‘P-pardon!?’
Crowley held the spider flower up a little higher, ‘This flower means, elope with me.’
It was very rare indeed for Aziraphale to be speechless. Crowley was usually the one who found trouble articulating words after a shock. The bookshop was silent save for the grandfather clock ticking and tocking as the seconds went by. Crowley started to fidget, anxiety creeping in, fear tumbling out of the nooks and crannies where he’d stuffed it out of sight.
‘A-Aziraphale..?’ he tried, voice tight, strained. He thought he saw Death looming nearby, ready to claim him the moment he passed out from sheer panic. His hand faltered and the spider flower slipped in his grip, but Aziraphale caught it gently and held it as though it were made of 200 year old paper.
‘I…’ the angel swallowed, ‘you…’ his brows furrowed, his lips wobbled, and his breath hitched as he attempted to keep his emotions in check.
‘I’ve upset you,’ Crowley started to ramble, ‘I shouldn’t have done this. You didn’t mean it. You were just being nice. It never meant anyth-,’ Aziraphale cut him off by pitching forwards and throwing his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. The spider flower fluttered to the floor and gently slid underneath the desk, out of harm’s way.
Crowley was not one for physical contact. If you were a demon you’d understand that. He couldn’t help but tense up at the embrace. Aziraphale let go immediately and started to pull away, but Crowley snaked his own arms around the angel's waist and pulled him back in. Aziraphale’s hands slowly, cautiously, slipped up into Crowley’s hair, pulling the demon's head down to rest on his shoulder. Crowley nuzzled into the warmth of the angel, though he’d certainly deny it to anyone other than Aziraphale.
‘You mean it?’ Aziraphale asked quietly, face turned out to the shop, ear pressed against Crowley’s shoulder.
‘Every word.’ Crowley replied, hugging tighter.
Aziraphale turned his head into Crowley and pressed a soft kiss to the demon's neck, ‘Every word.’
END