Work Text:
For the life of him, Aziraphale could not remember what he was supposed to be doing. Could barely recall what year it is, for what mattered, or how long he’d been drinking for. Might have been weeks for all he knew – he was never going to underestimate the French and their partying habits ever again – and his jabot felt increasingly constricting against his throat.
The rich lace suffocated him, the golden brooch to keep it still weighed down on him. And that was on top of the cream coloured frock coat he was donning, fabric heavy and finely woven with golden thread, embroidered with fleurs-de-lis and arabesques. His sensible culottes were slightly darker, closer to ivory, or even egg-shell, but quite as stylish as the rest of his outfit. Fastened to an ornate leather belt, he kept his court sword, while a large tricorn sat under his arm, its interior ostrich fringe barely visible from the outside.
All in all, he cut a rather dashing figure, the stares of many dames from across the ballroom told him so, but he couldn’t focus on such trivialities. The heat, the lack of air he didn’t even need, the utter stench were giving him a headache.
Excusing himself from his company – a marquis, his wife and two other ladies – he made his way to the gardens, hoping to catch a glimpse of the renowned Fountain of the Chariot of Apollo while clearing his head of the fumes of alcohol he’d ingested.
Outside, many small parties were walking around, deep in pleasant conversation. Many were admiring the exotic flowers around them, pointing to the most striking ones with awed expressions.
He placed his hands on the edge of the fountain, resting his weight against the low wall.
It was mid-April, but the air was delightfully brisk, chasing away the drunken fog that clouded his sight with each gentle sweep of wind.
He sighed loudly, closing his eyes and relaxing his tense muscles. With a wave of his hand, the heavy maquillage on his face disappeared.
“Didn’t think I’d find you out here, angel.” A familiar voice startled him, and he was graced with the sight of his friend standing next to him. Somehow Crowley’s tone always seemed to grow soft when speaking French, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but be charmed by it.
“It’s always a pleasure, ma chéri.”
Crowley gave him a pleased smile. She – or at least he assumed his friend was going with female pronouns, based on her current appearance – was wearing a gorgeous scarlet dress, adorned with ribbons, lace and a fine silver thread. A beautiful necklace rested above her bosom, tempting his gaze to fall downwards.
He felt the tips of his ears grow red and tutted disapprovingly. “Really, my dear, there is no need to tempt all these poor men into lust.” He bit down a rather audacious ‘ It’s not like you need that to do so, you look divine- ’ and smiled affectionately instead. Offering his arm, he asked her to walk with him around the gardens.
“I’m not here for work, you know. I heard you were going to be around and decide to pay a visit. It’s been a while.”
“Not even five years, but I see much has changed since then. You are a sight for sore eyes.” She perked up at the compliment and squeezed his forearm.
“Thank you, angel. You look quite distinguished yourself.” She coughed. “Well, what brings you here?”
He briefly explained how he’d been sent for a quick blessing – a duchess who wasn’t quite as young as she used to be was trying to conceive, and she’d been such a kind soul her whole life! – but had ended up staying for the party the King had thrown. Then he’d extended his stay to recover from the terrible hangover, only to be invited to the next ball and repeating the process.
“No rest for the good, eh?” Crowley joked, nudging at him before sobering. “Doesn’t look right, though. All this luxury, all these riches…” she seemed suddenly tired. “Everywhere people are dying. Starved, or plagued by sickness, or falling on battlefields. So much misery, yet there’s no trace of it here.”
Aziraphale didn’t speak.
“How they can rejoice, while their subjects are dropping like flies?”
They sat down on a bench, away from others’ line of sight. Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from reaching over and giving Crowley a gentle hug.
“Sometimes,” he whispered. “I think you would have made a perfectly good angel. Now-” he added before the other could protest, “I know that’s not what you want. But you do have the heart for it. I’ve seen how you care. I see how you care, and I know I’ll keep seeing it until the end of times.”
It was the demon’s turn to stay silent. She looked up at the night sky, leaning back on her seat. Maybe he was right. She did care, after all. She didn’t like gratuitous violence, she’d fought against it since the Beginning. Whether it was hiding children on Noah’s Ark or causing slave-traders to accidentally leave the wrong doors open so everyone could escape, she couldn’t tolerate seeing people hurting with no reason.
But she didn’t have the heart of an angel. She hadn’t minded tempting souls that were already on the road to damnation, or even getting her hands dirty when encountering someone who deserved to burn in Hell. She wasn’t good , she had morals.
She’d learnt the difference a long time ago, and the lesson was etched on her skin, on her soul and on her burnt wings.
“I wish I could tempt the King into giving a damn,” she whispered back after a while. “I wish I could do something without having to report back to Downstairs.”
“Bit hard to explain that one, I agree.”
“We could take a break. Some desert island, far away from humans.” She offered, pretending it could actually happen.
“That would be wonderful, my dear,” he replied, openly lying. She could tell, he knew that, but those empty words gave them both a feeble hope for the future. “Come on now, let’s go back inside. It’s getting cold.”
She gave a nod and accepted his arm again. Even if someone from their offices had been spying on them – which Crowley found ludicrous – it would have appeared as a simple human gesture. After all, they were very big on the whole ‘do-not-blow-your-cover’ thing: issuing new bodies was a nightmare, and they were all far too busy to send dozens of employees to erase humans’ memories if they started smiting each other on sight.
She remembered with a shudder the 100-hours-long hellish course on Why Humans Can’t Find Out You’re A Supernatural Entity 101 she had had to take before getting sent up there to make trouble.
So technically, even if Gabriel or Beelzebub were to catch them walking in such fashion, they could simply say they weren’t going to make a scene in front of humans.
Thank God none of them wanted to spend any more time with mankind than strictly necessary.
“I was thinking-” Aziraphale started before a loud snicker from Crowley stopped him. He gave her a pointed look. “Really, now. You can be so childish. As I was saying, I was thinking we could maybe do something about these nobles. Nothing excessive – maybe you could tempt them into giving away to charity. That does always boost their egos, and your lot is big on Pride.” He explained enthusiastically. “Meanwhile, I could perhaps convince them to do some good deeds. Throw in some Catholic guilt, remind them of how nice it feels to be virtuous.”
“That way we both get points with our… head offices.” She said in a burst of surprised laughter. “Angel, sometimes I forget how positively wicked you are.”
He shrugged, silently blushing under the praise. “I like technicalities, my dear. You need to know the rules to… twist and bend them a little. Only when needed, of course.”
“I like your plan. Downright fiendish, dare I say.” Crowley teased with a grin. “Thank you,” she added, her voice barely over a breath, so quiet he had to strain his ears to understand.
They could already see the palace, the huge windows allowing them to peek at the crowds inside. The great doors were open, letting out some of the light and brightening the path to the ballroom. Music and chattering could be heard from the gardens, where candles were distributed along the way. Their flames made Crowley’s defined traits stand out even more, Aziraphale noticed while looking at her face. It made her look like one of those paintings he loved so much, a beacon of light in the darkness. The way their glow seemed to dance on her rouged cheeks, reflecting on the black lenses of her glasses hypnotized him, and he was tripped on his feet as he thought of how important she was to him.
“You needn’t thank me.” He replied in the same hushed tone. “You- Crowley, you are my dearest friend. I know we can’t say that, I know we aren’t allowed. But if I could speak my mind freely, openly…”
She was staring at him now, her features betraying her worry. “You don’t have to, Aziraphale.”
“I do, though. If, if, I could say what my heart wants me to say. If I could utter those words, Crowley, I would want to tell you how dear your friendship is to me. How I treasure the moments we spend together, how I relish every memory we share.” He could hear her gasping, but filled with ardour as he was he couldn’t (and wouldn’t) stop. “I think of the drinks we shared in Babylon. I think of the days you spent teaching me how to play chess in Persia. I think of Spain and Italy and Japan and India. I think of shared jokes and shared tears. I can’t chase those thoughts from my mind, and I wouldn’t want to. Since the very Beginning, you were there alongside me. You saw every single piece of my soul and allowed me to see yours too. I can’t ignore that, my dear.” He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, a welcome excuse to close them for a moment.
“Aziraphale…”
“Please, do let me finish.” He all but sobbed, turning his face away from her scrutiny. “If I were allowed to tell you- if my words weren’t so dangerous for you, if they didn’t risk your safety and life, I would tell you that through all these millennia, you have been the best and most loyal friend I could have ever asked for. Nothing, nothing at all could ever make me forget that. This friendship is as important to me as all of Heaven, if not more.”
Crowley was openly weeping, but her smile shone brighter than the stars she’d willed into existence. “ If we were allowed, angel,” she sighed, sounding both young and incredibly old as she spoke, “I would tell you the same. I- you must know, you are my best friend.”
They weren’t moving anymore, dead on their tracks in the middle of the path. They were looking at each other, basking in that small moment of honesty that would need to end before long. As soon as they’d reach the lights of the halls, they both knew they’d have to go back to their wordless Arrangement.
“I know, ma chéri. I know.”
Aziraphale sighed, straightening his back. Back to reality , he thought bitterly. As if shaking off some dust, he wiped his hands on his coat and schooled his expression into one of mere politeness when offering the demon his arm. After all, those petite shoes had to be a nightmare to walk in.
Crowley caught his change in demeanour and copied his efforts. A single gesture and her face was once again perfectly made up, powdered flawlessly.
“Very well then,” she announced with a poorly hidden grimace. “Into battle.”
Stepping inside the ballroom once more hit them like a blast, their senses overwhelmed by the sudden colours and sounds and scents. Crowley wrinkled her nose as the overpowering smell of human waste hit her nostrils, and she could see how the angel squinted as his eyes adjusted after such a long time spent outside.
They parted ways, with Aziraphale making a bee-line for the far-left corner of the room, where many influencing nobles were discussing whatever it was that occupied their minds, and Crowley accepting an unknown man’s offer to dance.
His conversation lacked any kind of intellectual stimulation, but he seemed pretty well off, so she leaned in and started whispering sugar-coated words in his ears. How nice it would have felt to give his money to the poor, she’d say, how rewarding it would be. With the tiniest bit of pressure, she gained access to his darkest desires and smiled to herself.
“Imagine, your grace,” she hissed, “imagine how jealous you would make all these other nobles with your good heart. They would be properly envious of your good deeds, and even if they were to copy you, everyone would know you are the best one of the whole lot-”
From the opposite side of the room, she caught Aziraphale’s eyes. He nodded at her, raising his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. At some point, twin smiles appeared on both their faces, soft as smiles could be.
The crowd seemed to have stopped, the music growing quiet in the background. The two of them were alone for a moment, standing outside of time and space.
Her beaming look seemed to be saying Thank you, angel. His own replied, without haste: There’s no need, my dear.