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"Well Angel, I'm off or I'll be late! See you!"
Aziraphale, who had followed Crowley to the front door of the bookshop, replied, "Have fun, my dear," and watched as the demon got into the Bentley, which started immediately.
"How cold..."
Aziraphale turned back to Nina, who had just rounded the corner, and asked perplexedly, "What do you mean?"
Nina stopped beside him and replied, "Well, you call him my dear, but he calls you Angel all the time. I think that's a little cold."
Aziraphale replied, "But I'm an ang-"
Nina shook her head, "That has nothing to do with it, I call Maggie Angel too, and she's no angel. Not to mention the tone of his voice when he says it."
Seeing Aziraphale's puzzled look, she continued, "Honestly, I understand better now why it took you so long to get together."
She started to walk toward the coffee shop and added, "Anyway, if that's the way it works for you, that's fine too. Have a nice day."
Aziraphale watched her go, then returned to the bookshop and went about his usual business. But after a few minutes he gave up, unable to concentrate at all as he kept thinking about what Nina had told him.
Would Crowley want him to call him something else?
Was my dear really too cold?
All those times Crowley had called him Angel, hadn't he expected as much in return?
Seeing no point in continuing, he decided to visit the person who had always given him the best advice since he and Crowley had been together.
A few minutes later, he was walking in circles under Maggie's amused gaze, wondering how to broach the subject.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed her approach and gasped slightly when she put her hand on his arm and said softly, "Why don't you tell me what you're so anxious to say? I assume it has something to do with Crowley, otherwise you'd be on your way with a new record."
Aziraphale grimaced sheepishly before continuing, "Well, I was just wondering what it was like to... um... call someone a nickname, you know, like..."
"Like how Crowley calls you Angel all the time?"
Aziraphale sighed, "You say that too. Anyway, that's what I mean. Like that."
Maggie smiled back, "Well, there's a lot of choices, but quick, like this, I'd say Darling, Honey, Sweetheart. Or something that makes you think of him, like Nina sometimes calls me Sunshine because I smile all the time." She giggled slightly before continuing, "Think of him, how you see him, what you like about him, what comes naturally to you."
"I see."
Aziraphale nodded slowly and thanked her before leaving the record store.
A few hours later, the sound of the bookshop door opening and closing brought him out of his thoughts as Crowley exclaimed, "It was horrible today. The audience at the planetarium was absolutely unruly. How can anyone disrespect the stars like that, it's unbelievable, I don't..."
Aziraphale gently took the demon's hands and said, "Come and sit down, darling, I'll pour you a little pick-me-up. I think you need it."
He led the demon to the sofa, made him sit down, and walked to the back of the bookstore, not daring to look at Crowley to see his reaction.
So he didn't see the demon's stunned expression as he wondered if he had heard right.
As he opened the bottle of whiskey, the angel told himself that he liked Darling, the way it rolled on his lips, but he shouldn't stop there. He returned with the glass of whiskey he'd just poured and handed it to Crowley before sitting down next to him and listening to him recount his session at the planetarium.
After draining his glass and finishing his story, Crowley, visibly exhausted, more emotionally than physically, lay down on the sofa, his head in Aziraphale's lap. When the angel was sure the demon was asleep, he levitated his current book from his desk to him and began to read.
He was two chapters in when Crowley awoke and straightened to sit beside him.
Aziraphale set his book down next to him and raised his hand, pushing back a lock of red hair that had slipped down Crowley's forehead and taking the opportunity to gently stroke his cheek.
Crowley, still a little sleepy, leaned into the angel's hand before saying, "I'm going to make myself a cup of coffee, angel, shall I get you a cup of tea?"
Aziraphale replied softly, "Yes, thank you, honey."
Crowley's eyes widened and he exclaimed, "What?"
The slightly blushing angel replied, "With a spoonful of honey. My tea. With a spoonful of honey."
Then he picked up his book and pretended to read on, just to keep a straight face.
Crowley, still not quite awake, scratched his head before getting up to make coffee and tea.
Aziraphale followed him with his eyes and sighed.
Apparently, honey wasn't such a good idea.
Coffee and tea had long since been drunk and Aziraphale was listening to music when his attention was drawn to Muriel and Crowley chatting animatedly around one of the plants.
He turned off the gramophone, but neither of them noticed, and Aziraphale enjoyed just watching them. They clearly disagreed on how to handle this plant, for whatever reason, and even though they were talking animatedly, the angel detected no animosity. From the beginning, Crowley and Muriel had had this kind of sibling relationship, which meant they often bickered, but the affection between them was undeniable. Crowley had already admitted to Aziraphale that he'd had a soft spot for the other angel ever since he'd seen the way they'd been treated in heaven, and that it hadn't dampened their enthusiasm and cheerfulness.
Aziraphale rose and approached them.
He grabbed the demon's arm and said softly, "Mon amour, let Muriel take care of this plant, you've already seen how good they are with it."
Taking advantage of the demon's surprised expression, he led him away, winking at Muriel, who gave him a thumbs up.
They were heading for the sofa when Aziraphale continued, "Would you like to have dinner tonight, mon amour? I think-"
He paused as Crowley stopped abruptly. The angel turned to him and saw the demon blush slightly.
He asked him softly, "Crowley, what's wrong?"
Crowley said in a somewhat irritated tone, "What's wrong? What's wrong? I should be asking you that. Darling, honey, mon amour, what's gotten into you all of a sudden?"
Aziraphale's face fell and he sheepishly replied, "I'm sorry, it's because..."
He told Crowley all about his conversation with NIna that morning, and when he was finished, the demon sighed, "Oh, Angel..."
He took the angel's hands and this time it was he who pulled him to the sofa where they both sat.
Still holding Aziraphale's hands, he said softly, "Angel, let me ask you a question. Is there anyone else to whom you say these exact words? My dear?"
Aziraphale didn't think twice and shook his head vigorously.
Crowley smiled and replied, "You see...those words are special for me. I have nothing against other tender pet names, if you want to call me darling, honey, my love, mon amour because you feel like it, then yes, do, although for mon amour, let me get used to it first, you really surprised me with that one."
"You don't like it?"
"That's just it, angel, I love it very much."
He leaned over and planted a light kiss on the angel's lips before continuing, "But in the end, it's the intention behind it that counts. The emotion you put into it. When I hear someone say 'My dear' on the street, I don't react, but when it's you... it's a different story, Angel. It gives me a feeling of belonging. It's like a secret language between you and me."
Aziraphale nodded and said, "I think I understand."
Crowley replied, "Use this," he pointed to the angel's chest and continued, "Instead of this," he pointed to his head.
Aziraphale chuckled softly and grabbed the demon's finger before bringing his face close to Crowley's, "I'll do that, mon amour."
Crowley murmured, "Angel..." as he blushed again.
Aziraphale brought his face even closer and continued, "But you said you loved it, mon amour."
"Angel."
"Oui, mon amour?"
"Shut up..."
"You, make me shut up... mon amour."
He barely had time to finish before Crowley had closed the tiny distance between them and was pressing his lips to his, because after all, it was still the best way to shut him up.
Not that Aziraphale was complaining.
He would never complain about receiving a tender kiss from his dear love.