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Eden had many plants – it was a garden after all. Crawly had slithered all over the place, taking stock of every green thing on the planet, fascinated with the way everything was self-sustained. There was one thing that caught his eye in particular: a patch of what would be known as freesias. He didn’t know their name, didn’t particularly care, but what he did know was that they were pretty.
He plucked one and kept it carefully in the folds of his robes with no particular plan. A simple miracle ensured that it wouldn’t wither.
Then he met Aziraphale. Aziraphale who gave his sword away. Aziraphale who didn’t flinch when he’d slithered up next to him. Aziraphale who shielded him from the first rainstorm on Earth.
“Here, to commemorate,” Crawly said, pulling out the fresh-looking freesia. Aziraphale looked at it in confusion, before a smile broke out on his face. It was so easy for the angel to do, even in the presence of a demon.
“Oh! That’s a flower. They’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” Aziraphale reached for it, then suddenly pulled back, wringing his hands nervously. “To commemorate what, exactly?”
Reminds me of you now, Crawly thought. Your thoughtfulness with the sword. Your endearing innocence in your belief.
“Ehh…lots of things really,” he settled on. “A budding friendship, perhaps?”
“Oh, goodness, no!” Aziraphale exclaimed, taking a step back. “It’s fine for us to talk here, I’m sure. But friendship is…it’s not possible between us you see. It would be quite unwise.”
An angel and a demon. An angel and a demon who barely knew each other. Right, Crawly couldn’t do things like this, jump into them headfirst. “What about trust then? Surely there’s a little bit of trust between us? You trust me not to tell anybody about where your flaming sword went.”
Crawly could practically see the gears turning in Aziraphale’s head. He hadn’t said anything wrong really, just stated the obvious. It was up to Aziraphale to decide whether he agreed or not.
After a moment of hesitation, Aziraphale said, “Well, it would be foolish to trust a demon but…a flower couldn’t hurt.”
He didn’t agree out loud but Crawly saw the words for what they were. Before Aziraphale could take the flower, Crawly held it up to Aziraphale’s head, pausing to give him an opportunity to move away. When the angel stayed in place, he took it as an open invitation and placed the flower carefully behind Aziraphale’s ear, setting it so the petals fanned out against his hair. A pleased grin settled on his face. “To trust, then.”
“To trust,” Aziraphale said, reaching up to touch the freesia, careful not to dislodge it. Then, “Thank you, Crawly. It is rather beautiful.”
“Don’t mention it, angel.”