Chapter Text
It had been foolish. Of course it had been.
Aziraphale had successfully tempted Crowley to oysters, they had gotten a little tipsy, and maybe Aziraphale had let slip a little more than intended, and maybe that hadn’t been fully on accident.
Crowley hadn’t picked up on it. Obviously not, why would he? They had met up a handful of times over the past few millennia, ever since the thing with Job. Sometimes, they’d just talked, other times they had shared food and drink, or just a stretch of the road. But it had never been more than that. So why would Crowley recognise the temptation for what it was? Or the near-confession? Or the invitation afterwards, delivered with flushed cheeks and fluttering lashes, to meet again? Or even, if he wanted, to spend a little more time together tonight, have more wine, more grapes, more words? The hand on Crowley’s arm, the goodbye kiss that had lingered a little longer than strictly appropriate?
There was no reason Crowley would associate any of these with romance. Aziraphale should probably have been clearer, but he’d chickened out. He had only himself to blame.
***
It was silly. Downright stupid, even. Crowley should know better than to let his mind get ahead of itself. Or his heart.
But Aziraphale had been so excited about inviting him to oysters. Almost as excited as he’d been about the oysters themselves, so there was that. And he’d almost been as excited about the oysters as about the ox ribs. Then again, he seemed to have lost none of his excitement for food in general in the last two thousand years.
Which brought Crowley back to his dilemma. It had been the food. Yes, he enjoyed Aziraphale’s company, and, judging from the fact that it had been Aziraphale himself who’d invited him, the feeling seemed to be mutual. Which was good. Great, even.
But that didn’t make it a date.
It didn’t make it a date.
It didn’t-
What an asinine argument to have with yourself. It wasn’t a date, it had never been meant as a date. They’d had wine, and their human bodies had reacted to the alcohol with dilated blood vessels and lowered inhibitions when it came to casual touch. Aziraphale had been flushed, not blushing. And apparently uncoordinated enough to mess up his timing with the kiss.
That was it. That was all.
Crowley didn’t know what he had expected. Asking Aziraphale for an arrangement? Of course he’d been rebuffed. Would have been too easy, anyway. And not remotely romantic, making it about work. But the words “maybe we could hang out more” simply had refused to cross his lips. And Aziraphale couldn’t hear what wasn’t said, so it wasn’t his fault.
Not that “hanging out” was romantic, either. But it was closer to the truth, at least. Crowley could have kicked himself, but the armor was in the way, and his goons were still watching.
If things kept up this way, it would take another millennium and a half for him to work up the courage to properly ask Aziraphale on a date. Which was silly.
Both the millennium and a half bit, and the asking him on a date bit. It wasn’t like a relationship stood a snowball’s chance in Hell. Literally.
Or a dust particle’s chance in Heaven. Literally.
They had their sides. Well, Crowley had his own side, but they each had their employers, and neither would look kindly on them being together. Maybe it was time to give up, after all.
***
Stupid demon. Asking Aziraphale to go against his orders? To participate in - what, temptations? Unthinkable!
Well.
Infernal temptations were, anyway.
Not that Aziraphale would have minded spending more time with Crowley, but not under these kinds of terms. Had Crowley seriously thought he’d agree to that? To not only leave his wiles unthwarted, but even potentially support them? No. Not on Aziraphale’s watch.
So much for that.
Aziraphale had known the Arrangement would be a stupid idea. He’d known, and he had still agreed, in hopes of getting to spend more time with Crowley, maybe even outside of their jobs. But what had he gotten out of it? Work. Meetings with Crowley that were, well… meetings. I have this task, you have one, too, who takes both? And then a rigged coin toss, with the outcome depending on how fun the jobs looked.
He’d hoped meeting for William’s opening performance might change the underlying mood a bit, turn it from a not-so-professional briefing into a definitely-not-professional get-together. But no. No crowds to provide cover and maybe push them closer together, and an ill-tempered demon who had only complained.
Well. At least he had promised to make this one popular. That was nice of Crowley. Aziraphale really liked this one.
But it seemed he had to come up with new ways to get Crowley’s attention outside of work.
***
Sinners below, this silly angel.
Asking Crowley to the theatre, only for him to find the Globe completely empty, with no audience besides the grape woman and the angel himself. Not inconspicuous at all. When the invitation had come, Crowley had hoped that maybe, just maybe, the noises of the audience might give him an excuse to lean in whenever he wanted to whisper to Aziraphale; that the masses might accidentally push them together, so he could lean on the angel, or lay a hand on his back to keep him from being shoved around; that the heightened emotions of the performance might make Aziraphale reach out, maybe put a hand on Crowley’s arm, or even take his hand.
But of course, the angel had chosen a play that no one would ever want to see. And he hadn’t even responded to Crowley’s attempts at flirting. Crowley had gotten his hopes up for nothing. But what else was new?
Hamlet’s success, was what. As if Crowley would ever refuse a favour for Aziraphale, even an unspoken one. If he was completely honest with himself, he would feel a little silly and embarrassed at how readily he had agreed. But while he would never lie to Aziraphale, he refused to hold himself to the same standards.
This silly, silly angel. Idiot. Moron. Absolute numbskull.
That the angel was behind the times when it came to fashion wasn’t new. That he didn’t care too much about visually fitting in wasn’t, either. But for him to be this oblivious was a new low.
Parading around Paris in a nobleman’s frock was one thing. It was ridiculous enough, but whatever. But parading around Paris in a nobleman’s frock, when the new rage in Paris was to behead noblemen, was an entirely new thing. Parading around revolutionary Paris in an English nobleman’s frock? Now this was on a completely different level. And doing all that for a blessed snack? And doing all that for a snack and letting himself be captured and incarcerated and put on death row and refusing to get himself out of the situation alive even though he was fully capable of it?
Crowley didn’t have words for it.
Well, he had words. A lot of them, and Aziraphale got to hear most of them. But when it came to the sheer level of ludicrousness, there was no language, human or otherwise, that could quite capture Crowley’s incredulity.
Well, at least Aziraphale seemed happy enough when he finally got his crepes. Even though the server had looked ready to send him back to his cell when he had asked for strawberries. In May.
But oh, he had practically glowed when Crowley, despite himself, had conjured up some berries for him.
He truly was an idiot. But he was Crowley’s idiot, and if anyone got to wring his neck, it would be Crowley, not some dirty Pierre with a guillotine.
Still. It would have been nice to see Aziraphale without either work getting in the way or one of them being in danger.
***
This plan had backfired tremendously.
But at least the crepes were good.
Aziraphale was heartbroken. It had been the first time in centuries that Crowley had asked him to go somewhere with him. Yes, it had been at night in a graveyard, and it had been about a ridiculous statue of Gabriel. But it had been the first time without pretext, without artifice. Crowley had just asked him to come look at something because he thought Aziraphale might enjoy it. And he had.
It had been fun to look at this horrible granite thing and listen to Crowley snark about it. And Crowley had clearly had fun snarking to Aziraphale. It could have been such a wonderful night.
Why had things had to go so wrong?
Because they hadn’t been careful. Aziraphale had made grave errors of judgement, leading to the death of that poor girl; and Crowley had slipped up and done something good and he had paid the price.
Aziraphale could only hope they would one day meet again.
He should have known. He should have known that Crowley would not invite him to a walk in the park to just spend time together after that long and anxious separation. He should have known their relationship would be strained after Hell had dragged Crowley down for fixing Aziraphale’s mistakes once again.
It would have been nice to be proven wrong.
It was upsetting, but understandable.
But asking him for a deadly weapon? Insurance, Crowley had called it, but that hardly mattered, did it? A weapon was a weapon, and this one could very easily be turned against its wielder.
Aziraphale had looked forward to seeing Crowley again. To knowing he was back, that he was whole and healthy. To making amends. To taking a walk together, talking, bickering, maybe going for coffee, or even for dinner. Not to being asked to bring death to his oldest, and perhaps only, friend.
***
Crowley had known it wouldn’t be easy to convince Aziraphale. He had known the angel would be worried for his safety. They had both survived the War - they knew the dangers of Holy Water. But to hear the anger in his voice had been a surprise. To hear him dismiss almost six thousand years of friendship had been worse.
The plan had been to ask him, be rebuffed, argue a little, needle a little, maybe over the course of a few weeks, until Aziraphale finally gave in, the way he always did.
He would have loved nothing more than to take Aziraphale on a stroll through the park afterwards, then through town, see his eyes light up when they passed a pastry shop until Crowley gave in and bought him some treats, linger over them until it was time for dinner, or maybe a drink at the bookshop. It had been too long since he had had the opportunity to rest his too many bones on that comfortable sofa Aziraphale had brought into the shop for some inscrutable reason.
Maybe the wine could have served as an excuse. Too much alcohol, no control over his tongue, couldn’t help but tell Aziraphale that the Holy Water was meant to keep both of them safe in case Hell got ideas. Totally didn’t mean to let slip his plan to buy both of them some space, some freedom. After all, he would never intentionally reveal what Edinburgh had showed him, what he’d really known for a long time: That Crowley would do anything if it meant he got to see the amused-annoyed twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes.
Absolutely anything.
… worth it.
***
Oh, but why had the night had to turn out like this?
The daring rescue, right out of one of Aziraphale’s guilty pleasure romance novels. The magic trick on a real stage. And he had gotten to perform with Crowley, too! It had all been so romantic, so… so… frustrating.
Crowley had not picked up on a single clue! And then that stupid other demon, with his horrible zombie nazis had interrupted them, just when it seemed that maybe Crowley might catch on to what Aziraphale had been laying down. The mood had been ruined.
Yes, after everything had been said and done, Crowley had admired Aziraphale’s sleight of hand. The fact that he had also told him to not do it again was insubstantial. And then, with wine and candlelight, they had toasted and reaffirmed their friendship and their own side and it had all been so melancholic and anxious.
Well, at least they were friends again.
But this night could have gone in so many different directions, why this one? Why another sword of Damocles? Couldn’t an angel just enjoy a night out with his favourite demon? No? It was unfair.
It was so unfair.
The look in Crowley’s- the lines around Crowley’s mouth, the way his eyebrows had raised. The incredulity in them. The softness in his voice. The gentleness in his hands. The warmth in his words.
Not because he had found a way for them to be together. Not because Crowley had finally understood what Aziraphale had been trying to tell him for centuries. Not for any reason Aziraphale would have wished for.
But because he was holding liquid death.
And in his desperation, Aziraphale had bargained for time. For a “one day”. He didn’t care about dinner, or a picnic. Not when Crowley’s very existence was on the line. But if bribery was what maybe would keep him anchored to Earth, then Aziraphale would stake his entire heart.
***
… so they hadn’t been on the same page after all? Crowley was confused. He had asked Aziraphale out on a date, although maybe not in those words, and Aziraphale had asked him on a date, and much more explicitly, too. But then he had also rejected Crowley in the same breath? How did that work?
Only Aziraphale, infuriating angel that he was, was capable of such an impressive feat of communication.
But the important thing was that Crowley now had the means to keep them both safe from Hell. That was all that mattered.
Sooo… “purely social” meant this was a date, right? They had met in the park, gone for a ride, and now Aziraphale was offering him a “purely social” drink at his place. “Purely social” meant that he wanted to spend time with Crowley. Right?
***
Why, why did Crowley have to bring that silly bird into it? And a baby? Aziraphale wasn’t cut out to be a parent at his age.
Wait, what?
Oh dear. Oh no. What a mess.
***
As it turned out, the world would go down much like the thing with Eve had - like a lead balloon. Except this time, apparently with no white wing to shield him from any rains of fire that would fall from the Heavens. Or Hell, rather.
They had survived.
Wait, what?
***
Well. Besides that business with the execution, it all had turned out rather lovely, hadn’t it?
Did breakfast at the Ritz count as a date? Oh, but they’d done that so many times already, surely not.
It was lovely, though.
This stupid snake of a demon! Couldn’t take a hint!
***
This dumb angel! What did they care about pandemic rules when they couldn’t even catch any viruses? Was Aziraphale trying to lead by example? Lead whom? All the humans who didn’t come to his shop? And what was he doing, feeding burglars homemade cakes?
…
Crowley wanted cake.
A ball? A ball?
With all of Heaven and Hell looking for Gabriel? With demons outside the shop?!
***
Why couldn’t an angel just dance with his favourite demon in peace? Just this once?!
So Heaven wanted war? Well then.
If all it took to keep Crowley safe was for Aziraphale to sacrifice both of their hearts and shatter them with his own hands, then so be it.
To war.
***
So Heaven wanted war? Then war was what they would get.
Crowley may have broken whatever it was he and Aziraphale had had for a brief moment in eternity, but he would not go down without a fight, even if he had to fight alone.
To war.
They had survived again? Whoa. What were the odds?
***
Fucking finally, some peace and quiet. Now to get Crowley on an actual date.