Chapter Text
And then, worst of all (Worst of all)
You never call, baby
When you say you will (Say you will)
But I love you still
Aziraphale couldn’t believe it.
He threw it away?
If you had asked Aziraphale what he thought of Heaven during the first few days of his return, he would smile primly, and look around as if appraising the stark white walls. He would have then proceeded to tell you that Heaven was nice.
Well, of course Heaven was nice. It was Heaven after all. Any proper, self-respecting angel would be hard-pressed to look around at the offices of paradise and think it was anything but.
Heaven’s niceness aside, Aziraphale, unfortunately, had had to weather some somewhat awkward, not nice, interactions with the other archangels. Michael had been quite sore about the matter at first. Uriel had developed a knack for shooting him the deadliest glares known to mankind. If those cold, impassive looks were anything to go by, the Metatron’s decision to instate him as Supreme Archangel of Heaven was, decidedly, not a popular one. Only among his former superiors, of course.
But alas, Heaven was not a meritocracy. Even the most traitorous of angels could be fit to run the whole operation if the Voice of God said so. And Aziraphale had accepted the position gladly. Despite the fiddly first couple of days spent navigating through some hurt egos, he had taken to his new role like a duck to water.
His daily tasks involved making sure that the Second Coming was, well, coming along nicely. He also made sure that everything else was in order, with every angel diligently working on their assigned tasks. The more exciting parts of his day involved sitting in meetings with the rest of the archangels, dutifully tackling several pressing issues. The elusive cleaning rota, for example, was one of Aziraphale's more recent achievements.
Of course, the matter was settled quite quickly once he had pointed out that there was, frankly, nothing to clean. Heaven was kept pristine and spotless and nice at all times. His further suggestions regarding scented candles and a tasteful rug to make the place more homely were not as widely received.
So, all things considered, if you asked Aziraphale what he honestly thought of his experience in Heaven during the first few days of his return, he would hum contentedly, straighten his standard-issue tailored garments and tell you it was quite pleasant.
And nice.
Very bright.
And ever so dreadfully boring.
Sometimes, during meetings, his attention would waver. Thoughts of fiery red hair and bright amber eyes would creep into his mind, and he would start to wonder. He would wonder how much more exciting his mundane routine would be with Crowley by his side. How Crowley would have detested the starched grey uniforms. How they would laugh at some of the inane drivel that the other archangels spouted-
How lovely things would have been if Crowley had come along with him.
How lovely things could have been if he had stayed.
Aziraphale shook his head. He couldn’t afford to dwell on what could have been. What mattered now was that he would apologise to Crowley, and make things right again. That being said, the redhead was making matters a little difficult, it seemed, and while he knew he and the demon had parted on less than amicable terms, he hadn’t expected- didn’t want to expect- how hard it would be to reach out to him.
“I-I see… Perhaps he doesn’t like hydrangeas,” he managed to stutter out. He didn’t want to give up now. Crowley hadn’t gone off to Alpha Centauri or some other far-off place. He was still in Mayfair, at least for the time being, and this was his chance to talk to him. To try and convince him that they could still be together. That they could still make a difference.
From across the line, there was silence. A slight crackle.
“Do you think… other types of flowers would work?” Aziraphale pressed.
Silence again.
“Yeah.”
They had just gotten off the phone with Mr Fell.
Finley had taken it upon themselves, during the call, to take down the specifics of his latest order. He had reasoned that, perhaps the hydrangeas had been too simple for Mr Crowley, and blue was never the redhead’s colour anyway. Hence, their second attempt would consist of some warmer-toned blooms; sunflowers and roses being the more favoured suggestions.
Mira had mechanically listed off various plants’ availabilities whenever prompted; having mentally logged out of the conversation once Finley had declared that the first bouquet had been thrown away. She vaguely remembered suggesting colours for wrapping paper and ribbons before they said goodbye to Mr Fell. And then it was just the two of them.
“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Finley started, placing the phone back in its proper place. “I think he took it quite well.”
“I can’t believe you just told him that he threw it away!”
“What, so you’d rather I lie to him?” He shot her a look, before turning and walking towards the shop’s backroom.
Most of the actual floral arranging took place there, with all the materials for a lovely bouquet set up and ready for Mira’s use. The room also led to the shop’s refrigerated storage unit, where some of the fussier flowers and plants were kept in order to maintain their freshness. Finally, it also served as a break room and Finley’s ‘office’, where they would take pictures and run the shop’s social media page.
“Well, you could have said it more… gently ,” Mira stressed, following after them. Finley had draped himself over the sofa they had; a little small and lumpy, but comfortable enough. They mindlessly tapped on their phone, half-paying attention to the florist's words. She huffed, snatching the device out of his hands, ignoring their cry of protest. The mobile game he’d been playing was still proudly displayed on the screen.
“Ugh, look, the two of them are clearly going through some things,” he reasoned, attempting to retrieve his phone before quickly giving up and flopping back onto the sofa. “I just thought that being honest was the best solution. And besides…”
He turned lazily towards Mira, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
“It’s good for business.”
“Finley!” She gasped, scandalised. A cushion quickly found its way onto his face, eliciting a muffled ‘oomf’ from its victim. Said victim then picked it up and tossed it elsewhere, looking not at all chastised. He simply glanced back at his attacker with a look that screamed ‘I’m right and you know it’.
Mira tsked at them, no longer interested in putting up the self-righteous pretence.
“You’re insufferable.”
“You love me.”
The florist paused momentarily, rolling her eyes, before unceremoniously dumping Finley’s phone back into his hands. She walked towards her workbench, grabbing some paper along the way to sketch out a new bouquet design.
“Alright, enough of that. We’ve got work to do.”
The second bouquet was beautiful.
The sunflowers were a brilliant yellow, as warm and inviting as the sun they were named after. They seemed to smile up at him; all bright and cheery and sickeningly delightful. Along with the sunflowers was a collection of plump roses in shades of red and orange, adding depth to the arrangement. Scattered among the larger blooms were dainty clusters of white bell-shaped blossoms; lilies of the valley, to be more specific.
The entire arrangement was lovingly nestled in brown paper and tied with a cream ribbon.
Crowley hated it.
“Not a fan of plants?” The courier- Finley- asked, sounding almost bored. The demon looked up at them sharply, though the effect was dampened by the fact that he was still holding a delicate bunch of flowers.
“What?”
“S’alright, not my business anyway,” they carried on, waving their hands placatingly. “Just curious, is all.”
“Right,” Crowley grunted, discreetly miracling up a few bills and handing them over.
“Right,” Finley echoed. They took the money and pocketed it, not seeming to be in any rush.
“Well, just like the first batch, these flowers are from one A.Z. Fell-”
SLAM!
The door was promptly shut in their face.
“Bloody wanker,” Finley grumbled. They were just doing their job, after all. Wasn’t their fault that he and Mr Fell had a falling out of epic proportions. Part of them wanted to know more about what had happened between the two that resulted in such animosity from the redhead, but another part was screaming at them to keep things professional. Of course, they couldn’t help it if Mr Crowley made it their problem by lashing out at them for delivering flowers. At least he tipped well.
They started to leave, already rehearsing their rant to Mira about the way Mr Crowley reacted, when they heard an extremely angry yell coming from inside the apartment. It was muffled slightly, but it was loud enough for Finley to be startled. They whipped around and stared wide-eyed at the door.
“Jesus Christ.”
There was a rustling sound before an audible thump was heard- as if something had been thrown against the wall- accompanied by another shout. Deducing that the bouquet was about to meet a similar fate to its predecessor, Finley Perez quickly gathered themselves and left the premises before an irate Mr Crowley could catch them loitering outside his door.
Mira would not be pleased.
Meanwhile, inside the apartment, the demon Crowley glared at the rumpled bouquet.
The bow had come loose, the paper was wrinkled, and there were petals of various colours scattered all over the floor from his rough handling of the poor blooms. His breathing had quickly turned ragged despite not actually exerting that much energy.
How dare he- How dare he have the gall to send him flowers as if that would fix anything-
Hadn’t he done enough? Aziraphale had already forgiven him, a demon, a wretched creature of Hell. He had forgiven him. Demons were not to be forgiven. They were unforgivable, for Somebody's sake- That was the whole point of their existence.
But perhaps the angel hadn’t truly forgiven him. Perhaps he had decided to prolong Crowley’s suffering by sending him neatly wrapped presents as well, to serve as wicked reminders of what exactly he had lost that day. Perhaps the flowers were meant to taunt him. To tell him that, no matter what he did, he would never be enough for anything .
He hadn't been obedient enough for Heaven.
He wasn’t evil enough for Hell.
And he certainly wasn’t enough for Aziraphale.
He wanted to be angry at him. He wanted to shout, to scream, to let out all the heartbreak and hurt that he had tried to drown out these past couple of days. It was clawing at him from the inside; a searing pain that threatened to rip his corporation apart by the seams.
It felt a lot like Falling. The stars were once again slipping through his fingers.
And it burned.
Some nights, when he was alone with nothing but his thoughts and numerous bottles of wine, he considered the idea that this was yet another test from God. He had seen what She had done with Job; played an integral part in the whole thing himself, really. Maybe this was just the next phase of the Plan. Or maybe Aziraphale had just meant to leave him behind.
But he knew that his angel wasn’t capable of such cruelty.
And he knew he could never be mad at him.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Crowley stood up. He hadn’t even realised he had sunk to the ground sometime during his spiral.
“Bloody angels and their blasted Plans,” the demon muttered, before groaning as he felt his corporation protest against his time on the unyielding concrete floor. As he stretched, his eyes fell on the bouquet still lying helplessly by the wall. He stared at it for a moment, taking in the crumpled flowers.
They were truly lovely. It was a shame they would never get to see the light of day again. It would hurt too much to look at them. Hence, with a snap of his fingers, the mess was miracled away.
Somewhere else in the flat, on a shelf tucked away in a spare room, was the bouquet. The sunflowers shivered; the poor dears were a little confused about how they got there. But they were still a brilliant yellow, as warm and inviting as the sun they were named after. The roses and the lilies of the valley, while equally disoriented, were back in pristine condition as well.
In fact, the entire arrangement was inexplicably intact and, once again, lovingly nestled in brown paper and tied with a cream ribbon. And sitting on the shelf next to them…
… was a bunch of fresh, bright blue hydrangeas.