Chapter Text
They didn't go straight to Paris. Or Provence. They didn’t go to Ritz. Crowley asked for something new, and Aziraphale picked up a nice restaurant with European cuisine not so far from the bookshop.
For a moment, he thought they wouldn’t go anywhere. Crossing the threshold, Crowley abruptly stopped, all muscles tensed and teeth clenched.
"Actually, we could order something in, dear, it's quite a nice idea..." Aziraphale said softly.
"No, I won't hide in the bookshop like a rat."
"Excuse me, there are definitely no rats in my shop," Aziraphale said very primly, and it worked, the corner of Crowley's lips curved a little, and some tension left.
The demon stormed down the porch and came to the car that Rusty'd left parked partly on the pavement. Crowley circled it slowly, looking musingly, then shrugged:
"Well, not so bad".
"But," Azirpahale felt strangely hurt, although he couldn't place his finger on the exact reason. “It’s... it's... green!"
Crowley pushed up an eyebrow:
"Am I not allowed? What if one day I'll choose a green shirt?"
"Oh," the idea of seeing Crowley in something other than black and grey was unexpected. "That will go lovely with your hair, dear,” Aziraphale supposed.
The demon snorted and slid into the driver's seat.
"'Get in, angel."
He drove like a madman, as usually, and Aziraphale wondered how he could miss even that. But the way Corley seemed to be steadily looking at the road instead of glancing ai it from time to time and how his knuckles got white on the wheel several times made the angel worry. The demon's mood clearly changed as soon as he left the safe haven.
The restaurant had a table waiting for them - or better to say a booth, comfortable and safe from other customer's eyes and ears. Aziraphale was not a stranger here, so a waitress welcomed him wholeheartedly and suggested some of his favourites straight away.
"Nice to see you didn't quit indulging in gross matter," Crowley smirked, when the girl went away.
Aziraphale wasn't ever sure how to take the word "nice" coming from Crowley. It could be both earnest and insulting, and now the demon's look didn't give him a hint, returned dark glasses not helping. So, the angel answered carefully:
"A habit of too many years, don't you think? And sometimes I just need a place for a meeting. Can't invite every acquaintance into my house."
Crowley looked at him for a moment, then raised his eyebrows mockingly:
"Oh, demons. Angel, I'm out for a third of a century, and you already asking half the Hell out?"
He smiled, but something wrong was in his face and pose, something predatory and angry. Aziraphale felt uncomfortable with it, but he could guess Crowley wasn't comfortable either.
"I'm talking business, not friendly meetings, dear," he said softly.
The waitress came with wine, and Crowley nodded, sprawling over his chair. When she was gone, he reached to take Aziraphale's hand for a moment.
"I'm sorry, angel, shouldn't snap at you like that.."
"It's okay," Azirpahale patted his hand gently and took the glass. "Hard last decades. What should we drink for today? Happy returns?"
Crowley nodded with a much more sincere smile, but then frowned and added:
"But the next will be for the friends gone."
If he were human, Aziraphale could choke on this phrasing, but after a second he realised what Crowley had meant.
"Yes, of course, dear. You know, I'm so sorry they are not here now to meet you again. But they both had long good lives..."
"Did you check?" Crowley cut in with sudden urgency.
"Yes. Technically, Noel did, he has the clearance. Anathema, and Pepper, and little George, they are all in the good place, Crowley. They are all fine."
"Well, that's something. I reckon Gabriel and Co shouldn't be so happy about it."
"Oh, you know, they have no say in this matter. No one in Heaven has."
"Thanks God," Crowley said and grimaced.
"I suppose, it's really something to be thankful for," Aziraphale admitted.
"When did it happen, I mean, George?"
"Three years ago. He went peacefully, of course. But Adam..."
"You shouldn't have left him alone, poor kid," Crowley frowned. "You now mortality is a bitch, and to lose a child..."
"Excuse me, the kid is 130 years old and the Antichrist. He has his right to be left alone if he wishes."
"Don't complain if he decides to start another Armageddon next..." Crowley flinched and barely finished his phrase, suddenly strained and looking somewhere behind Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel looked behind, but found nothing that could cause such a reaction. Well, it could be just light and shadows play, he supposed. When he looked back, Crowley's face was carefully blank, and the demon forced himself to relax again, musingly watching wine in his glass and not making eye contact.
"You're not eating, angel. Real insult to God's gifts".
Aziraphale smiled politely and turned his attention towards the salad.
It was painful, to see Crowley so fragile.
But more painful was to see him withdrawing and closing in his own shell. In some minutes, it was just another dinner from any previous century. Food for Azirpahale, wine for Crowley, watching humans, exchanging not very meaningful remarks. Not talking about the last thirty years, as if they'd never happened. But also as if the last day had never happened too. As if they were not closer to being one than two merely a dozen hours before.
Aziraphale missed that feeling.
But Crowley hadn't asked for that level of intimacy, it was at least partly forced upon him, Aziraphale reminded himself guiltily. And was it really surprising if the demon needed to re-establish his own borders and outlines now, coming back from that unimaginable plight. Was it surprising if he needed something normal and customary.
So, Aziraphale smiled, and reminded Crowley of some old stories, and nudged him into trying some desert, and swallowed the urge to reach for him and ask if he was alright every time it occurred.
When they come back to the shop, Crowley patted the top of the car.
"She is really a nice one. Still I need to return Bentley. Where is she?"
"At the cottage, just as you left it."
"The cottage," Crowley stood on the pavement, hands in pockets, slightly rocking from his heel to toe. "It is still... ours."
"Yes, of course, I wouldn't sell it in a million years, I suppose. I've said it to Rusty, haven't I? I mean, you've said, you remember..."
"I know facts," Crowley said emotionless. "It's just... it takes time to process them now once again. From my own perspective."
"Oh, yes, I see... We could go and fetch her? Take a drive, perhaps? Tomorrow?" Aziraphale offered.
"We'd need two drivers for it. Don't tell me you miraculously learnt it while I was gone, I wouldn’t believe it," the demon smirked, watching the passers-by with interest of one always on friendly footing with fashion.
"No. But..."
"I'll just miracle myself there. Come back tomorrow."
Azirpahale swallowed hard. He didn't want to let Crowley out of his sight for a minute, really, not to say many hours.
"There are some things I'd like to bring too, so we could..."
The demon shrugged:
"Just name, I’ll grab them. If it's not too big to fit in the Bentley."
He clearly didn't want the angel to accompany him. Aziraphale tried very hard not to feel hurt. What was worst, Crowley was very possibly already ashamed of that first outburst of love and affection which was so against his usual coolness.
"Are you sure it's wise for you to go there alone?" the angel finally voiced one of his concerns. "To where all this... nightmare started?"
Aziraphale wasn't sure of his choice of word, and it was obviously wrong. Crowley winced and looked at him for a long, torturous moment. Aziraphale almost could hear the words forming in his head: "I'm glad you don't know what a nightmare is, angel."
He didn't say it. He didn't say anything for a moment, averting his gaze and taking control of his breath. Then suddenly he put away his glasses and stepped forward.
"I'll be fine, angel," he said, taking Aziraphale's hands and leaning his forehead to the angel's.
"I'm absolutely sure about it," Aziraphale answered.
Both knew they were speaking not just about this practical situation. Both knew it was easier to say it this way.
"Well, go, and call me if anything..." the angel forced himself to smile, feeling some knots in his stomach loosening and tying again. "I'll be at the shop."
Crowley rolled his eyes showing how unnecessary the last phrase was. He stepped back, closed his eyes and vanished, only the disturbance from a demonic miracle left in the air.
Aziraphale’s heart missed a beat at this sight, but he told himself to stay calm. Crowley clearly needed some space, possibly, needed to prove to himself he could do it. And he was quite capable to look after himself... most of the time.
The angel went into the shop, made himself a cup of tea, and promised to go after Crowley only if there will be no news for more than eight hours.
Crowley will be fine. They will be fine.
It will take time, of course, and struggle. If only things could always be as simple as those first bright moments.
But they never were in this ineffable game of Hers. Neither for humans, nor for supernatural beings - if they tried to truly live this life. Not just follow orders, but let care into their hearts.
Aziraphale shook his head slightly and looked up with a smile:
"Thank you."