Through the Years (Ineffable husbands...kind of)

3. 33 AD, Golgotha

The next momentous event I saw Aziraphale at did not occur for another three thousand years or so, in Jerusalem, at the death of Jesus. I think we had both been in Israel for a while, following the man, as he was very important to our history. Somehow, I hadn't caught the angel that whole time, up until now. I was drawn to the so-called Christ's execution. I could hear his cries to God as I approached; I also became aware of an other-worldly presence, which I knew had to be Aziraphale. I approached the figure the aura was coming from, and muttered, "Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?" As I asked this, the figure turned, and I saw it was my old friend.

Aziraphale was dressed in the fashion of the locals, as was I. She had a hood like me, to cover her hair; she'd probably found that the Middle Easterners immediately, and understandably, assumed you were an outsider if you didn't look like them, which I did not, with my red hair and amber eyes, and Aziraphale certainly didn't either with her blonde hair and blue eyes. The pale hooded cloak she was wearing completely covered her, save for her face and hands, allowing me to see very little as to how her appearance had changed since I last saw her.

Aziraphale looked uncomfortable, to say the least. "Smirk? Me?" She asked, her voice faltering, as she turned to look at me, and then back at Jesus. It was a rather gruesome and bloody scene, him being nailed to the cross and all.

"Well your lot put him on there." I pointed out bluntly. I knew full well that Aziraphale seldom agreed with things her side did, but I was angry that such a good and righteous person was being so cruelly murdered, and so I was taking it out on the angel, one of the few people, if not the only person, I could converse freely with.

"I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley." The angel protested, sounding hurt that I would assume so low of her. Before she could get off on another big, moral lecture on ineffability, I cut her off.

"Oh I've changed it." God, it really must've been a long time since I'd last seen Aziraphale if she was still calling me Crawley. I had changed my name decades, possibly even centuries ago.

"Changed what?" Aziraphale asked, confused, and still in a grave tone. She was still hung up on the previous subject, and most likely still had that lecture all prepared. "My name." I answered nonchalantly. "Crawl-y just wasn't really doing it for me, it's a bit too...squirming-at-your-feetish."

"Well you were a snake." Aziraphale offered, not unkindly, to which I internally scoffed, not needing to be reminded of that. "So what is it now?" She asked politely. "Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?" Aziraphale assumed too much of me, that I would take a high and proper name, like hers.

"Crowley." I supplied simply. "Mmm." Aziraphale acknowledged, seeming to like the new change. We might've explored that topic out longer, but just then the hammer came down hard on the nails on the cross, drawing us back to reality. Feeling the need to say something, Aziraphale stuttered out, "Did you uh...ever meet him?"

"Yes. Seemed a very bright young man" I responded, thinking back to all the sermons of Jesus and his disciples I had curiously attended. 'Just to keep tabs on the other side,' I had justified to Hell. I was fascinated by what he had to say, and had talked with him several times. Oh, how things had changed and gone downhill since then.

"I showed him all the kingdoms of the world." I added, thinking back to when I had traveled with Jesus about the country, and even a bit outside of it too. He had preached much of the time, but I didn't mind.

"Why?" Aziraphale asked confused, turning her head ever-so-slightly, so she could hear me better over the noise of the crucifixion. "He's a carpenter from Galilee, his travel opportunities are limited." I said, reminding myself of why I'd done what I had in the process.

The hammer came down hard on one of the nails in Jesus's wrists, eliciting an excruciating cry of agony. "That has got to hurt." I muttered, attempting to empathize with the poor man; but, for the past four thousand years or so, given my immortal abilities and strong desire to not be discorporated, I had never encountered any significant pain such as Jesus's current. I found his pain to be unthinkable.

"What was it he said that got everyone so upset?" I asked angrily. I didn't have much of a right to be angry at people for doing bad things like this, not when I went around doing bad things myself, but I tried to be as good as was allowed, God forbid Hell ever find out. I wanted to do good, or semi-good, deep down I really did, but I couldn't. All of these people could, they were capable of goodness, so why did they have to do such terrible, ugly things? I had certainly never tempted them into murder, especially not crucifixion, and Aziraphale had no hand in it either, so why did humans insist upon doing such inherently evil things?

"'Be kind to each other.'" Aziraphale murmured softly. "Oh, yeah, that'll do it." I agreed, unable to look away from the morbid sight before my eyes. We both watched in utter horror and guilt, unable to do anything as the good man we had both knew was painfully murdered, and raised up on the cross.