#yes i can see this as him subtly threatening Aziraphale between the lines

[canarybell]

De facto partnership

…De facto partnership.

In Metatron’s words, ”I've been looking back over a number of your... previous exploits, and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon Crowley”.

You know, English is not my first language, and I’m not a lawyer at any point, so I just was thinking “Yeah, this is about Aziraphale and Crowley basically being in relationship unknowingly for Heaven”. But today I decided to google it. And turned out, this term actually has at least two meanings??

I mean, the first one is something I expected, more or less:

A de facto relationship is a relationship between two people who are together as a couple, but who aren’t married or in a civil union.

But the second one?

A de facto partnership, sometimes called an “Ad Hoc Partnership”, is an informal business arrangement between two or more parties.

Business arrangement. Arrangement.

And we know that for some time aziracrow tried to position their Arrangement and their relationship as a purely business transaction.

And well, by the time of S2E6 Aziracrow being “together”, be it in romantic or any other way, has been a secret for no one for four years. And it is definitely not a secret for Heaven at that point. It doesn’t exactly needs “looking back”, you can just ask Uriel about them.

But by implying he knows about the Arrangement, Metatron is all but confirms that he indeed looked back over Aziraphale’s files – you know, the same way Michael did in S1. And he looked through them carefully.

What else he could see? I don’t know. But there is at least one thing that potentially could get into these files undetected – at least at first. One thing that both Aziraphale and Crowley gravely need to keep a secret from Heaven and Hell if they want to survive.

You know. The secret behind them surviving in the end of season 1.

And there is a possibility that Heaven (or at least Metatron) already know everything.

[childrenofthesunny]

Seek Him Who My Soul Loveth (2/2)

Part 1: link

-------------------------------------

Crowley somehow managed to keep his feet coordinated enough to carry him up the stairs without incident, eyes locked on the broad expanse of Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale glanced back over his shoulder as they reached the landing, as if making sure Crowley was still following.

 With a smile, Aziraphale opened the door to his bedroom, gesturing for Crowley to go in ahead of him. Crowley had never been inside Aziraphale's bedroom before, but was entirely unsurprised to find the contents of the bookshelf overflowing, spilling out onto every stable flat surface in the room. Aziraphale kept the main light off and dimmed the reading light to the lowest setting possible, in deference to the sensitivity of Crowley's eyes.

 The bed was the same as Crowley's, albeit with far paler sheets. Somehow, it looked so much more inviting than his own.

 He should have taken the floor downstairs. He was going to get all sorts of ideas being laid out in Aziraphale's bed, and he wouldn't be able to act on any of them.

"So, we'll start with your neck and work our way down, how does that sound?"

 "Nyeah, sounds good," Crowley said vaguely, trying very hard not to feel let down by the perfunctory, business-like clip of Aziraphale's words. The other man was doing him a kindness, he shouldn't be so ungrateful. It wasn't Aziraphale's fault that he didn't understand what having Aziraphale's hands touching him was going to do to Crowley.

 "Excellent," Aziraphale replied, clapping his hands together briefly before gesturing towards the bed. "Please, won't you lie down?"

 "Shouldn't I take off my shirt first? Make it easier for you?" Crowley asked, feeling both bold and stupid. It was a risky suggestion, he knew. In many ways, it would make things harder for him, place him further along the path of temptation. And perhaps that was why he'd done it to begin with – to give Aziraphale a chance to realise that it would be impossible for Crowley to experience something like this innocently. To give him the opportunity to firmly remind Crowley that he shouldn't be reading into things, or to retract his offer of assistance entirely, and tell Crowley to leave his room.

 Wouldn't it be better, in the long run, for Aziraphale to reject him now? To leave Crowley to suffer this pain as a form of penance, without the guilt of having forced Aziraphale into doing things that he might only realise the significance of after the fact?

 Aziraphale's breath hitched and he paused, staring wide-eyed, finally seeming to realise. Silence descended between them, heavy like a shroud, and for a moment, Crowley felt the first threads of panic beginning to curl around his heart, his lungs, threatening to tighten like a vice. Much as he knew it would be for the best, the prospect of putting Aziraphale in the position of having to let him down gently made Crowley want to bury himself alive.

 "No," Aziraphale said, and the threads turned needle-sharp, piercing Crowley's organs and leaving him feeling like he was drowning. Then Aziraphale continued, shakily, the formal tone completely gone, "Please, allow me. I wouldn't want you to put any more strain on your back than you have already."

 The words were hesitant, like Aziraphale couldn't quite admit, even to himself, that the two of them touching skin to skin might not feel entirely platonic.

 He had to know. Surely, he knew, deep down, he wouldn't be behaving with such uncertainty if he didn't.

 It was still a flimsy excuse, but Crowley was far too weak to resist. He stopped breathing entirely as Aziraphale reached for him with trembling fingers. He didn't dare move an inch as the other man approached him, terrified of frightening him off after all.

 Aziraphale's fingers grazed the underside of Crowley's chin as they curled around his clerical tab, working it loose and setting it down gently on the bedside table – or, more accurately, setting it down atop the precarious pile of books stacked onto the bedside table. Crowley swallowed desperately, trying in vain to calm the goosebumps that had erupted over his skin all the way down to his wrists. The glancing path Aziraphale's fingers had travelled blazed with heat, like he'd been branded. Like anyone who looked at him, now, would instantly be able to see all the lustful thoughts that had immediately jumped to the fore of Crowley's mind. How he imagined those soft, steady fingers cupping his jaw and drawing him in close, solid arms curling around him in a protective embrace, pink lips pressing gently against his own–

 Aziraphale turned back around and reached for the top button of Crowley's shirt, then paused, the heat of his palms bleeding through the thin black cotton as his hands hovered less than an inch from Crowley's chest. "All right?" he asked.

 "Yup," Crowley replied, slowly dying.

 Aziraphale worked the buttons of Crowley's shirt open a fraction slower than propriety demanded, forcing Crowley to finally gasp in a fresh breath of air or risk passing out. The shuddering of his chest made Aziraphale's fingers graze against him again, and Crowley all but keened at the sensation, knees close to buckling.

 As a rule, Crowley avoided touch. He'd always felt that it was the better option, that any deviation would invariably set off a slow descent into sin. That by denying himself entirely, it would be easier to suppress his urges, as he wouldn't truly know what he was missing out on. He wondered, now, whether that had been a mistake – that by refusing to allow himself to receive a kind touch for all these years, he had only made himself that much more susceptible to the effects of a gentle hand against his bare skin. If this was how he was already reacting to an accidental touch, how was he going to survive Aziraphale's hands pressed against him with intention?

 The bottom button of his shirt finally popped free, almost making Crowley sway into the motion as Aziraphale's hands began to pull away. Horrified, Crowley hastily forestalled the movement of his hips, very carefully keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Still, he saw Aziraphale's hands drift upwards to the parted front of Crowley's shirt. Instead of taking hold of the fabric to ease it off over Crowley's arms, however, Aziraphale's hands slipped beneath, warm palms brushing along Crowley's shoulders as he pushed the shirt down over his arms.

 Crowley made a broken little sound and kept his face resolutely turned away, knowing that if he met Aziraphale's gaze now, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from kissing him, and ruining everything.

 "Sorry," Aziraphale murmured.

 It took Crowley a second or two to parse the fact that Aziraphale was giving him the excuse of his sore back for the sound he'd just made. "'S OK," he managed. "My own fault, anyway."

 He dared to pray that Aziraphale wouldn't notice, or at the very least wouldn't comment on, the fact that his nipples were stiffly standing at attention.

 Aziraphale caught the shirt before it could fall and stepped away, also avoiding eye contact as he rebuttoned the shirt. Crowley couldn't help but think of how it would still be warm from sitting against his skin, that Aziraphale would still be able to feel some of Crowley's heat beneath his fingertips.

 "You can go lie down, now," Aziraphale said over his shoulder, voice only a little unsteady as he carefully folded the shirt and laid it out on top of a stack of books, next to the one beneath Crowley's collar. Crowley nodded jerkily, all but rushing for the bed, grateful for the opportunity to hide the shameful reaction his body was already having to Aziraphale's proximity.

 He laid himself face-down on the bed, arms tucking in around Aziraphale's pillow. He settled in, breathing in Aziraphale's scent from the pillow as subtly as he could.

 The mattress dipped beside him, presumably Aziraphale taking a seat. Only, Aziraphale then shifted further. Crowley realised he hadn't sat down at all, just put one knee up on the bed so that he could swing his other leg over the back of Crowley's thighs, all but straddling him.

 "Wh– Aziraphale–"

 "Is this all right?" Aziraphale asked, hands resting atop his own thighs. "I just wanted to be sure I had the best angle, but I can do it differently if you aren't comfortable."

 "'S fine," Crowley managed, swallowing the quiet sound he wanted to make when Aziraphale took that as a cue to settle more firmly against his thighs. Crowley was still twisted part of the way around to look at him, and he was finding it difficult to not let his eyes linger on the thick barrel of Aziraphale's chest towering over him.

 "Neck first, yes?"

 "Mm," Crowley agreed, unable to summon words when he was trying so hard to distract himself from the coil of heat unfurling low in his abdomen.

 "Face down, please."

 Crowley shuffled the pillow down a bit, tucking it under his chin, so that he could press his forehead against the mattress and still breathe. Not that he seemed to be doing a particularly good job of that, air catching in his throat in near-inaudible little gasps.

 One thick, warm hand curved gently around Crowley's shoulder, fingertips brushing along the inked lines of the snake coiled around his arm. It was the first time anyone had touched his arm since he'd had the tattoo done. He wanted so desperately for Aziraphale to trace along every curve and scale, to openly admire the artwork and the canvas beneath it.

 He didn't, of course, hand instead pressing Crowley down onto the bed and keeping him still. The other curled around the juncture of Crowley's other shoulder and his neck, thumb digging into the tension that had built at the base of his skull.

 "Mrghhh," Crowley groaned, unable to help but react to the touch. Just a slight change of motion, and Aziraphale could be running his fingers through Crowley's hair, tugging gently on it to make him gasp, slowly petting it and telling him how lovely it looked–

 No. He had to stop thinking like that. Their duty was to the Church first and foremost, that sort of personal intimacy wasn't something either of them were destined for. This was the closest they were going to get to anything like that, and that was fine.

 It would be fine.

 The firm press of Aziraphale's fingers made their way to the nape of Crowley's neck, sending a shudder all the way down his spine.

 Crowley bit down on the blasphemy that surged to the tip of his tongue. But would it even be taking the Lord's name in vain, when Aziraphale's hands on him made him feel closer to Heaven than any prayer that had ever crossed his lips?

 Still. Better to not risk it.

 Aziraphale's hands skimmed over his shoulder blades in a way that Crowley allowed himself to think felt almost reverential, and then his thumbs pressed into a particularly knotted muscle to the right of Crowley's spine.

 "Hgnhhhk," Crowley garbled, back arching involuntarily away from the pressure of Aziraphale's touch, even as he quite literally ached for more. Dizzily, he wondered whether this was what divine ecstasy felt like, an overwhelming sweet agony that left his eyes watering and his lungs breathless.

 "There's the culprit," Aziraphale said happily, thumb rolling in firm circles as he eased the muscle loose.

 "Nghhhhn," Crowley grunted, turning his face to press it against the pillow, hiding his tears. Aziraphale's scent filled his nose and he trembled, the tension in his shoulders slowly giving way under the steady, sure pressure of Aziraphale's hands.

 "How does that feel?" Aziraphale asked softly, fingers digging into flesh. "Not too hard?"

 Crowley was, in fact, very hard at this point, but somehow he doubted that was what Aziraphale was asking. "No, no, 's perfect, more'n perfect," Crowley babbled, words slurring together in his haste. "So good, you feel so good, I–" Crowley promptly shut his mouth with an audible clacking of teeth, knowing that he was straying far too close to unacceptable territory. Instead, he let his words shift into a formless groan as Aziraphale found a new knot to press his thumbs into.

 Aziraphale tsked at him. "Just look how knotted up you've gotten, you really must take better care of yourself."

 Screw that. Crowley was going to toil in the gardens from dawn to dusk every day, if his reward would be the firm pressure of Aziraphale's hands against him.

 Aziraphale moved down along Crowley's shoulders in inches, seemingly able to home in on every tight muscle with unerring accuracy. His hands didn't seem to tire at all, and Crowley bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to distract himself from the desire to turn around and watch the flex of Aziraphale's arms as he worked.

 It was hard to remember just why he wouldn't be able to get away with that. The soft glow of the reading light lent the whole scene a dream-like quality, almost made him believe that if he turned around and reached out, that Aziraphale would reach back, draw him in and hold him close.

 Crowley gripped the pillow beneath him tighter, and didn't turn.

 Aziraphale's thumbs nestled into the valley of Crowley's spine, hands spread like wings as they pushed up along Crowley's back, forming perfectly to the contours of his shoulder blades. They slowly swept back down and fluttered over the divots of Crowley's ribs, making the breath he drew beneath them shudder in kind. His waist was slender enough that when Aziraphale's hands eventually travelled that low, his fingertips curled partway around Crowley's sides.

 At this point, it seemed like it would actually be better for Crowley if he were to come to fruition, as it were. He knew how to keep himself quiet – teenage years spent living with paper-thin walls would do that to you – and at this point, it would take him so long to calm down after the massage was done that even Aziraphale would have no choice but to grow suspicious.

 "That's the spot," Crowley croaked, hips jerking in a way that he hoped looked like an involuntary response to the pressure being placed against the base of his spine. Aziraphale obligingly shifted forward, driving down more force through his thumbs. Crowley felt something loosen and shift, and groaned in relief, hips rolling against the mattress in a slow, subtle grind.

 When Aziraphale settled back down on the backs of Crowley's thighs, Crowley felt something hard pressing against the bottom curve of his arse.

 They both froze.

 Is that a Bible in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Crowley's brain supplied, a little hysterically, and Crowley had to tamp down on the mad urge to start giggling.

 Aziraphale's hands had gone rigid against Crowley's skin, like he wanted to pull away, but couldn't remember how. When he spoke, his voice was thick and strained. "Crowley," he rasped, sounding both shocked and horrified, like he hadn't noticed his own physical state until it had been pressed up against Crowley's rear. "I'm so sor–"

 Crowley, struck by a flash of boldness that he couldn't quite place the origin of, shifted under Aziraphale's hands and pushed himself more firmly back against the other man's lap. Aziraphale let out an agonised sound, like he'd just been shot.

 "Crowley," he said again, this time even more shakily. "This isn't, I don't– we can't. We can't."

 "Can't what?" Crowley replied, only a touch sullen.

 Aziraphale made an exasperated noise at him, voice sliding up the octave in his panic. "You know very well what!"

 "You're just helping ease the pain of your fellow clergy member, that's all," Crowley told him. "We're both still dressed – well, mostly, in my case, but that's only to make it easier for you to ease my pain. Nothing untoward about that."

 They could do that, couldn't they? Just pretend, both of them operating under a veneer of plausible deniability, and then…

 And then, after, Crowley would leave the soft golden glow of Aziraphale's room behind like it was just a dream, and they would both keep pretending that's all it was.

 "Crowley…" Aziraphale sighed once more, with an inflection that Crowley recognised from the theological debates they'd had where they took diametrically opposed positions on a topic.

 His heart sank. So, they wouldn't even have that, then. Aziraphale could be so stubborn when he made up his mind on something. And there was true pain in his tone, a bone-deep regret that made Crowley's very marrow ache in sympathy. Would Aziraphale even be able to bear looking at him come morning? Would he have a quiet word to Gabriel whenever he next visited, tell him that Crowley wasn't a good fit for Tadfield after all, giving the bishop the excuse he needed to have Crowley shuffled off to another parish? One with more oversight, one with clergy members that would take a far dimmer view on his past, one that would make him repent more fervently for his sins–

 "You were right, you know," Crowley said softly, letting all his desperation pour out of him. It wasn't as if he had anything else left to lose. "I've been pushing myself too hard, with the garden. It's just, I… I can see the potential that it has, the beauty it could hold if it's treated with the care it deserves. I want to nurture it, see it properly bloom and grow, if…" His breath hitched a little. "If only it will let me."

 Crowley didn't push back against Aziraphale again, not wanting to force anything that wouldn't be welcome, knowing just how fragile this moment was. Tellingly, however, Aziraphale hadn't moved away at all, either, and Crowley dared to let his heart rise up in his chest once more.

 Finally, Aziraphale murmured, "How is your back feeling now?"

 Crowley swallowed hard, fingertips digging further into the mattress. "Not quite there yet." He took as deep a breath as he dared. "Would it be all right if you kept going, for a little bit longer?"

 There was another long stretch of silence, then: "What kind of man would I be, if I left you when you were still in pain?" Aziraphale answered, quiet and trembling. "Where does it hurt most?"

 His instinctive reaction was to sit up and take hold of Aziraphale's hand, then press it against the flesh and bone covering his heart. But there were any number of reasons why he couldn't do that, least of all because Aziraphale was still straddling him and pinning him down by the waist. Instead, Crowley reached back and traced a thumb alongside the dip of his spine. They both stifled a gasp when Crowley's fingers inadvertently grazed along the inside of Aziraphale's wrist as he pulled away. "Both sides," he croaked, returning his grip to the sheets next to his head to keep himself from reaching back and caressing Aziraphale's thigh.

 Fingers dug into the muscle of his lower back once more, but what really made Crowley moan this time was the feeling of Aziraphale hesitantly, deliberately pressing himself against the cleft of Crowley's arse, only a few layers of cotton separating skin from skin. He whimpered at the thought of that final barrier being removed, even though he knew it wouldn't happen – he still couldn't quite believe what was already happening – and moved back slightly to meet the motion of Aziraphale's hips.

 Did Aziraphale realise that this was Crowley's first time doing anything remotely like this? He knew the general shape of Crowley's past, would Aziraphale simply have assumed that he had at least some worldly experience?

 Come to think of it, did Aziraphale have any experience himself? He was certainly hedonistic enough when he chose to be, with all his creature comforts, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd done anything like this before, either. The roll of his hips against Crowley's rear was certainly uncoordinated enough to suggest that he hadn't. Crowley tried very hard to not let that make him feel special, but it was hard not to when the belief system he'd been brought up under told him it was.

 Aziraphale's scent filled his nose, weight heavy on his legs, hands steady against his back, surrounding Crowley completely, encapsulating him in his entirety–

 Crowley groaned and buried his face in the pillow, breathing in deep as he shook himself apart. Dimly, he heard Aziraphale groan in kind behind him, hands tight around Crowley's waist as he pressed himself hard against Crowley's backside.

 Stars danced in Crowley's vision, his entire body lax and warm. The frantic whirring of his mind was momentarily stilled, and he couldn't help but let his lips part in a smile, a soft sigh escaping them. He felt safe, and satisfied, and calm in a way that he hadn't expected. He had expected guilt, and for his stomach to curdle with horror, and his throat to close over in fear, as always happened after he took himself in hand to thoughts of Aziraphale.

 Instead, he simply felt content.

 They both stayed as they were, panting breath slowly steadying into regular rhythms. Aziraphale was the first to pull away – not that there was really an option for Crowley to be first, pinned as he was – and awkwardly clambered off of Crowley's thighs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He'd left ample space for Crowley to sit upright, so he did, swinging his legs out and grimacing slightly at the shift of the damp patch at the front of his pants.

 At least the rectory had its own washing machine, and they didn't need to risk anyone else seeing their stained clothing.

 "You feel better, I hope?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

 "I… yeah, I do. Thank you." Crowley swallowed, trying for a little bit of laughter as he added, "Reckon I'll need another shower, now, though."

 But Aziraphale didn't look at him, instead staring down at his own fingers as they twisted tightly together in his lap. Crowley could scarcely believe they'd been pressed so firmly against his own skin only mere moments prior.

 "You should probably go do that," Aziraphale said, still staring at his tangled fingers.

 A lump formed instantly in Crowley's throat, all the guilt he'd expected earlier suddenly slamming into him full force. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but the rising tide of shame within him drowned any words he might have spoken.

 Aziraphale regretted it. He'd regretted what they'd done together.

 Of course he did. What was Crowley, but a temptation? Aziraphale's life could only have become more complicated by Crowley's presence, bringing up questions he was far too frightened to find the answers to. All Crowley had done was push, and push, and now this.

 He had no one but himself to blame. He had known already that this was how Aziraphale would react, deep down, but had allowed his own stupid naivety to convince him otherwise. What right did he have, to force his own feelings and doubts onto Aziraphale? Was Crowley so weak, that the moment someone showed him the barest kindness, all of his own faults came surging to the fore like a flood, drowning them both? How was it fair that Crowley had clung to Aziraphale like flotsam in a storm, only to drag them both under?

 "I did mean now," Aziraphale whispered, like the words had pained him. His knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was clenching them.

 Crowley shot up from the bed as if he'd suffered an electric shock. He wanted to say something, anything, but what words that he could offer would possibly have an effect on the turmoil Aziraphale was surely feeling? What comfort could he give, what apology could he make, for the violation of an oath that they'd both sworn to uphold?

 Instead, Crowley fled the room like the coward he was, with the sinking certainty that he'd been right, earlier.

 Come morning, Aziraphale was going to pretend that nothing had happened at all.

[ineffable-endearments]

“I lost my best friend” (does Aziraphale know?)

One of the most confusing moments for a lot of people, myself included, is Aziraphale’s reaction to “I lost my best friend.” I’m trying to parse out whether I headcanon that he Knows, and if he does, what his response means.

It turned into a 2000-word-plus analytical post. At first I thought Aziraphale knew, then I thought he didn’t, then I thought he did again. And there are so, so many implications for the whole rest of the story. That one line is such an important moment!

But I’ll put my thoughts behind a read more, for courtesy’s sake.

First of all:

Aziraphale definitely thought there was a chance Crowley might still want to help him out after he said he was leaving for Alpha Centauri, because he called Crowley the instant he realized Heaven was determined to destroy Earth. However, on his second contact attempt, he asked if Crowley went to Alpha Centauri. While Aziraphale probably knew, given the circumstances, that Crowley hadn’t literally left the planet, the question was an opportunity for Crowley to get out of helping. Aziraphale had to have given him that opportunity on purpose because he wasn’t 100% sure if Crowley would still want to help.

Last time Aziraphale called him, Crowley had said it wasn’t a good time to talk. “I’ve got an old friend here.” They didn’t get any time to communicate, but Crowley was playing it as cool as he could. Aziraphale, who...sometimes takes things at face value, could believe that he had an old friend there instead of an enemy.

Aziraphale does not know he’s supposed to be dead. He doesn’t know the bookshop burned down, and he has no idea about what Crowley went through inside.

All of these things together would lead me to think that no, in that moment, Aziraphale did not know Crowley was talking about him. He reacted as if he might not know, and there are several reasons that he could plausibly not know.

However.

Fast-forward to Tadfield airbase. Aziraphale realizes the best way to compel Crowley to come up with an idea for stopping Satan is to threaten never to speak to him again (or, at least, remind him that if they die now they’re never going to speak again). This would indicate that he does know what Crowley was suggesting back there: that Aziraphale is his best friend, so much so that life isn’t worth living without him. And, conversely, that he might be persuaded life is worth living for him.

This tells us with relatively little doubt that Aziraphale does in fact know Crowley’s feelings and that he was the loss Crowley was so upset about.

It’s also worth noting that in the script book, Aziraphale is given a chance to label their relationship when introducing Crowley to Madame Tracy. Aziraphale just says “He’s...well, we’re sort of business associates.” He is still reticent to label Crowley a friend (even though Crowley literally just said they were friends to the army guy). So it’s quite believable that back at the bar, he would have tried to work around accepting the Best Friend moniker from Crowley.

Initially, when Crowley said he “lost his best friend,” Aziraphale had no idea about the bookshop fire, and he probably thought Crowley was referring to their relationship being lost during their argument during the bandstand breakup. As in, the two of them had a fight, Aziraphale said “we’re not friends,” and now they’re not friends anymore. As far as Aziraphale would know, this upset Crowley SO much that he just gave up on living.

This is not flattering. This is disturbing. Aziraphale has been afraid of Crowley getting hurt by their relationship - “whatever you wish to call it” - for at least 417 years, first mentioned on-screen in 1601. Is it the only thing Aziraphale has been afraid of? Certainly not. He has been attempting self-preservation as well. But is it important? Without a doubt.

THIS IS KIND OF LIKE AZIRAPHALE’S BURNING BOOKSHOP MOMENT. Crowley isn’t LITERALLY dead, but he’s resigned himself to it...and Aziraphale is blaming himself. That awkward “I’m so sorry to hear it” is, in many ways, Aziraphale trying to keep his shit together. Just as Crowley, in the bookshop, thought he’d caused Aziraphale’s death, Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s death is the final consequence of befriending an angel.

I’d like to keep in mind the one instance in the series when Aziraphale does openly call Crowley a friend. It’s when he’s lying about not having any information about the Antichrist. When reminded to call with any updates, he says, “Of course! We’re friends! Why would you think I wouldn’t?” Given how strategic Aziraphale is trying to be, I think he’s partly nervous and losing track of his lies/accidentally letting the truth slip, and partly trying to butter Crowley up because he knows that if going to Heaven works like he wants it to, Crowley will have to accept their asylum. The one difference between this moment and all the other moments when he denies their friendship (which almost always also involve lying to other people) is at this moment, Aziraphale thinks he’s figured out how to solve Armageddon.

Anyway, Aziraphale promptly goes and feels Heaven out to see if they might just stop the entire war like he wants. When the Archangels turn the conversation to how much they all love smiting the foe, however, Aziraphale backs down and turns his Antichrist discovery into a hypothetical, choosing not to tell Heaven about it right away, either. Here, they’ve reframed Crowley once again as “the foe.” After that, Aziraphale has another fit of indecision, but agrees to meet Crowley at the bandstand, where he suggests, subtly (but not that subtly) that Crowley should join Heaven.

This tells me that he still hopes Heaven might save Earth, but if he’s going to save Crowley alongside Earth, then he’s gonna have to get Crowley on Heaven’s side so that he doesn’t get Smited. He’s so certain at this point this is the only solution that he won’t even let Crowley walk away until Crowley establishes that there is another option besides Heaven.

And that second option - the option to just leave it all and flee to the stars - is what makes Aziraphale decide it’s time to end their Arrangement and deny everything about their relationship instead of simply saying “no, I’m not leaving.” After all, Crowley cited their friendship as the reason they should go off together. As far as I can see, the only way this sudden turnaround really makes sense is if Aziraphale is being protective here, trying to remove himself from the equation in the desperate hope that Crowley will make decisions for himself rather than for Aziraphale (who is occasionally dense but is not stupid; he remembers 1862, and 1941, and 1967).

This exchange loops us back to Aziraphale’s probable assumption in the bar that Crowley’s “I lost my best friend” is referring to this fight, NOT to Aziraphale’s presumed death.

“I’m so sorry to hear it.” Almost six months later, I finally believe I have a real interpretation for that phrase. With the context that it’s Crowley explaining that’s why he hasn’t gone to Alpha Centauri to escape from the war between Heaven and Hell, why he’s so devastated, why he’s given up on survival, it’s Aziraphale responding, “I’m sorry you lost something so important to you. I’m sorry I was so important to you. I’m sorry that you decided your life wasn’t worth living without me.”***

But Aziraphale:

Is not going to apologize for the fight itself. He was harsh, but he WAS doing his best, and in this moment, I don’t think he sees any way that he could have avoided it.

Is not going to acknowledge that they’re friends. Right now, he likely still believes Crowley would be better off far away from here. And he also probably believes that calling themselves “friends” remains a bad idea, because while he’s been disabused of the notion that Heaven is worth asking for help, Heaven and Hell and their punishments are STILL looming over them. I have little doubt that Aziraphale’s ideology is playing into this as well - he believes they’re enemies and therefore cannot be classified as friends - but it’s the threat behind that ideology that is motivating him, not that he loves the ideology for its own sake.

Aziraphale always eventually turns to Crowley when he doesn’t know what to do because Crowley is fucking brilliant and also the only being in the universe who actually cares about either Aziraphale or Earth for their own sakes.

However, I’d say he avoided getting Crowley involved until he realized there was absolutely no other option, rather carefully made sure Crowley didn’t have to be involved, and gives Crowley a choice every step of the way on whether he wants to risk his life all the way until the tail end. When they’re sitting at the bus stop and he’s reminding Crowley, “my side wouldn’t like that,” it isn’t only for Aziraphale’s benefit; it is a habit, yes, but he’s likely thinking about how if the Archangels caught him and Crowley living together, they’d definitely smite Crowley because that’s what they love to do. They told him as much during the conversation in Heaven, going as far as to say “Crowley and the others were cast out, but nothing was ever really settled.” They’d love to “settle” things. So would Hell, now. And it is Crowley’s determination to stay that convinces Aziraphale it’s finally okay to believe they’re on their own side.

I think, on that bench in Tadfield, the question of whether it’s time to leave the planet was still hanging over the two of them. After all, they’re now slated for punishment. I think that by saying “I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop,” Aziraphale was gently informing Crowley that he doesn’t plan to leave Earth - he plans to die here. By saying “I don’t think my side would like that” about Crowley’s idea that they should live together, he’s giving Crowley one more chance to leave for the stars.

Good Omens is about a lot of things. One of them is opposites. Aziraphale’s faulty philosophical assumption is that blending two “opposite” things (or, in this case, people) will destroy them both. As far as he’s concerned, either one of those two people must first change, so that they’re no longer “opposite” (i.e. Crowley rejoins Heaven), or they must not mix (“I need a receptive body. It’s a pity I can’t inhabit yours! But occult, ethereal...we’d probably explode.”) The real truth is that having both of them together is the only way to win, of course. The Earth is a Libra and it thrives on balance, but not separation.

All this - the fact that Aziraphale will still ask for help with saving the world but denies his friendship with Crowley and seems to try to stay away as a protective measure - really suggests to me that Aziraphale loves Crowley, cares deeply about him, but wants him to stay only if he’s genuinely going to choose Earth for his own sake, not because he’s trying to choose Aziraphale (who, in his own opinion, is dangerous to be around; see 1601, the Holy Water, the bandstand). What he’s not taking into account is that he, Crowley, and the Earth are united as one, and it’s not only safe for the two of them to choose each other, but it’s essential.

Yeah. Leaving together on the bus is Aziraphale finally letting Crowley choose him.

***A little note about Crowley’s self-worth/will to live...I don’t mean to imply that he doesn’t have any interest in living outside of having a relationship with Aziraphale. Of course he does. But in that moment, with the incomplete information that Aziraphale has, it looks to him like that’s what is being said. In reality, Crowley’s despair isn’t just about not being friends anymore - it’s the belief that Aziraphale is dead, permanently gone. When you care a lot about someone, as hard as it is to move on from a breakup, it’s even more difficult to get over the despair of knowing that person is no longer out there at all. Combined with Armageddon, it was too much.

Crowley and Aziraphale are extremely oblivious, and yes, they do have some misunderstandings. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s not their mutual feelings that they’re oblivious to. It’s the fact that they actually do have the power to save each other. It took an act not of divine but of human intervention to get them to understand that.