Chapter Text
Courting, in heaven, was all about pageantry.
Crowley had been an angel, once. He remembered the pomp and circumstance of it all, how his fellow angels would damn near lose their minds trying to make sure that every little thing was absolutely perfect, to the letter. It had all seemed so silly back then, back when Crowley had gone by a different name and had woven galaxies and stars into nebulas across the cosmos. He’d rolled his eyes at it all, but he’d always secretly wondered what it would be like, to find someone that made all that fuss seem worth it.
That was before the Fall, and the Garden, and a wall where a swordless angel asked his first question and shielded a demon from the rain.
6000 years was a long time to love someone, even in the shadow of immortality. It was an even longer time to pine over someone. (So much so that Crowley had long since resigned himself to being romantically classified as a forest.)
Freedom looked good on Aziraphale. Without the wrath of Heaven breathing down his neck, he smiled more, his laughs were hearty and genuine rather than nervous chuckles, he didn’t try to make himself smaller, to fit into the ideal of a perfect angel. He didn’t fret over his mistakes, let himself enjoy things like his books and regency snuff boxes and his wine and sushi without having to flagellate in guilt later. Nothing made Crowley happier than when his angel was happy.
And despite his love for Earth and humanity, Crowley knew that Aziraphale was a traditionalist at heart. Where Crowley preferred to keep the past behind him (especially the 14th century) and live in the here and now, Aziraphale valued the past and things of old, like his books and his Victorian clothing and penchant for crepes. Aziraphale was slow and steady to Crowley’s fast and heady, and always had been.
So, Crowley knew that if he was going to win the Principality’s heart, he was going to have to do it the old fashioned way.
He was going to have to play by Heaven’s handbook.
***
Heaven’s handbook was not, strictly speaking, a literal book. Rather, it was a series of traditions that had developed long before time had been invented, and had never been officially recorded in any written language, but was still regarded as the heavenly standard. It wasn’t necessarily difficult, but it was greatly advised to make all the effort of the process seem effortless.
The first rule was that absolutely no miracles could be used in the courting process. Anything pertaining to the acquisition of courting Tokens, materials for a Nest, and the Presentation of Intent had to be done through perseverance and creativity alone. This was said to strengthen the bond between the Presenter and the Intended, because it solidified that the Presenter was genuine in their pursuits, and that their Intended was worthy of the time and endeavors that went into everything.
Second, each courting Token had to mean something. If you were going to present a rock from the ground to your Intended, it better have a damn good backstory to go along with it. It was always advised that, while courting Tokens did not have a limit imposed per se, that they should still be kept to a minimum, with the tradition being five total. They should be carefully planned in a subsequent order, to prevent an Intended from being overwhelmed and the overall Intention muddled with materialism. It was the thought that counted, in the end.
Third, when building a Nest, it needed to reflect the values of both Presenter and Intended. This blending of selves was vital, because a Nest represented the life they’d chosen to spend together, the melding of their essences. Nests were deeply personal and did not necessarily have to be domiciliary in nature; a Nest just had to be a place where they could be together, that meant something to them both. Traditionally, the first grooming between a newly bonded couple would take place within the confines of the Nest, which usually resulted in the Blending of Feathers ritual, when Presenter and Intended would each trade a single feather from their wings, which they would then graft into their own feathers, thereby becoming Mates. Any feather would do, but primaries were customary, since these were usually the biggest and most flashy, and therefore the most noticed. Blended Feathers were symbols of love and commitment, and therefore were worn with pride, proclaiming to all of heaven to whom you’d pledged yourself.
Lastly, it was important to remember that angels (or beings of angel stock, in Crowley’s case) mated for life, and for immortal beings, that life was extremely, extremely long , so it was vital to be sure to choose a partner with whom you could see yourself spending eternity, as angel divorce was a long and arduous process that rarely ended well. Once an Intended accepted a Presenter’s Nest and the Blending of Feathers ritual was completed, there was no going back. This was the part of the courtship that made Crowley most anxious; while he and Aziraphale were no longer tied to their respective offices, and were now free in their own right, eternity was, well… eternity.
And while Crowley was sure Aziraphale was fond of him, was it enough for him to willingly choose to spend forever with a demon? Millennia of friendship and averting the apocalypse together was one thing, this was marriage.
‘The worst that can happen is he can say no,’ Crowley thought to himself. ‘And if that happens, I can slink away and sleep for a few centuries until it all blows over.’
(That was putting it mildly. Crowley knew, deep in his heart, that a rejection, even one as kind as he knew Aziraphale would offer, would tear him apart.)
But Crowley had always considered himself an idealist, and figured he had just as much of a chance of Aziraphale saying yes as he did of saying no. He would never know unless he tried.
And wasn’t Aziraphale worth it? Heaven had always treated him so poorly, had made him feel as if there was something wrong with him, that he was broken and odd and a stain on Heaven’s blemishless facade. Didn’t he deserve to be courted properly, the way She had intended angels to be courted? Didn’t he deserve to have something from Heaven that wasn’t passive aggressive missives and a botched execution?
Even if Aziraphale declined his Presentation, even if Crowley was torn in two, it would be worth it. Because Aziraphale was worth everything, even a broken heart.
***
One of the upsides of loving an angel that had a particular fondness for material things was that Crowley was not left adrift for options in choosing courting Tokens. Aziraphale, with all his fussy mannerisms and his occasional inclination towards being a downright bastard, was fairly simple in his pleasures.
Crowley decided a bottle of wine would work just fine as his first Token. Aziraphale had never been one to turn down a good red at the end of the day, with both of them holed up in the bookshop’s back room; good company and good wine had helped forge their friendship in the first place, and Crowley didn’t see why it couldn’t be the first step in their courtship, too.
So, he headed off to his favorite winery in Mayfair, and picked up a bottle of 2016 Château Lafite Rothschild. He’d picked it out himself, since miracles were out, and he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself as he thanked the proprietor of the store and tucked the bottle under his arm as he walked back to the Bentley. He’d even paid with cash.
When he got to the bookshop, Aziraphale was rearranging his collection of misprinted Bibles, and grinned at him when he saw Crowley enter, the little bell above the door jingling.
“Hello!” He greeted cheerfully. “I was wondering if you were going to pop by this evening!”
“Had an errand to run,” Crowley said, nonchalantly.
“Oh?” The angel looked intrigued; errands in the past had usually involved their head offices. “Whatever for?”
It occurred to Crowley, suddenly, that this was it: after he gave Aziraphale the wine, his first Token, there was no going back. This was the moment he truly and officially began to court the angel he’d been in love with for millennia. There was still a ways to go before he was ready for a Presentation, but every long journey began with a small step.
He put on his most tempting grin and held up the bottle.
“Wine, angel?”