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Crowley followed Aziraphale as they strolled through the bustling market, something they'd made a tradition in every city they visited. While Aziraphale was still not collecting souvenirs (though he was going to have books enough to restock his library at the rate he was going), he liked to look and to pick up fresh fruit, vegetables, and any local delicacies. While today's market had an eclectic variation of booths, Aziraphale was focusing on the fruit vendors, looking specifically for plums in case he got peckish while reading that afternoon. He'd finally found someone with exactly the stock he needed and picked out a nice little selection.
"I have a lovely crop of pears today as well," the vendor said. "First of the season, would you like some?"
"Oh, no thank you."
Crowley frowned. "But you like pears."
"I'm afraid I don't eat them anymore. I think what I have will do. How much?"
Crowley studied Aziraphale as he finished the transaction. His angel was very determinedly not looking at him, so something was up, and it was more than there just being a food Aziraphale turned down. He tilted his head and studied the basket on the table. The pears looked fine to him. Would have been the sort of quality he'd have approved of if he'd grown them himself. And whatever he said, Aziraphale did like pears. He'd told Crowley explicitly, when they were— Oh.
He glanced up at Aziraphale, who had finished paying and was thanking the vendor. "Shall we carry on?" he asked Crowley, smile a little too stiff and the note of cheer in his voice just a touch forced.
"You go ahead. Just want to get an expert's opinion on garden planning. Shop talk. Probably boring. I'll catch up."
"Of course." He left, strolling to the next booth. Crowley watched until he was out of range, and then turned back to the vendor, who was giving him a curious look. He nodded to the pears. "Any of these ripe enough to eat today?"
She smiled and helped him select just what he needed, putting the pear in a small brown paper bag that was inconspicuous enough. He carried it through the rest of the market as Aziraphale selected a few more treats and picked up (of course) a new book. When they got back to the hotel room, Aziraphale puttered through setting his selections on the table, and then settled in read.
Crowley waited until he was seated but not yet absorbed in the book, then created a small pairing knife and joined him. Aziraphale was in the chair rather than on the bed, so Crowley climbed into his lap, facing him and straddling his legs. Aziraphale lowered his book, trying to hold a neutral look while a smile played on his lips.
"Something I can do for you?"
"Yes," Crowley said, then took out the pear and cut a slice off. He held it out to Aziraphale. "Eat this."
Aziraphale twisted his head away and snapped his book shut, setting it aside. "Crowley, I told you, I don't eat pears anymore."
"You did. But I notice you didn't tell me when you stopped or why."
Aziraphale's lips pressed together into a thin line, and he didn't look back at him. Crowley hummed and popped the slice of pear in his mouth. He chewed slowly, enjoying the bright, sweet taste, which was exactly the sort of thing Aziraphale loved, should still love. Except, of course, for associations.
"I'm willing to bet," he said when his mouth was clear again, "you stopped in 1862. Didn't you?"
Aziraphale closed his eyes and nodded.
"Thought as much," Crowley said as he leaned back to cut off another piece. He knew his balance was perfectly fine, but Aziraphale apparently didn't, since he reached out and held Crowley's hips to steady him. "Was it right after the fight, or did it take time?"
"Right after," he admitted, turning that piece down, but continuing to talk as Crowley ate it. "I left the park and went to get something to console myself. A charming little place I knew served delightful pear compote, but when I ate it that day, it tasted like ashes."
Crowley nodded slowly. "Never went away?"
"Not after we stopped fighting. Or even after I gave you the holy water. Which I should have done in the first place, given I went ahead and did it in the end." He'd turned his head back so they were facing one another, but he wasn't looking up, as if he couldn't meet Crowley's eyes.
"You know," Crowley began, cutting another slice. "I don't believe things happen for a reason."
Aziraphale opened his mouth to interject, so Crowley cut him off.
"Except, of course, in terms of the ineffable bloody plan, which doesn't count, because it's just everything ever."
Now Aziraphale looked up, amusement tinging the sadness that still lingered in his expression.
"But if something bad happens, and then something good happens that wouldn't have been possible without the first bit, then I think people are wrong when they say the bad thing was meant to be. Or that it was necessary and you should now be grateful for it." He popped the piece of pear into his mouth as he thought about how he wanted to say this. He was getting better, he was, but things like this still tended to catch in his throat. Because he was talking about their fight, really about all their fights, but he was also talking about so much more. "But I do think that sometimes, you get lucky. A good thing does happen, and it gives you a reason or a means to come to terms with the bad."
Aziraphale was looking at him with curiosity now, and that was better than sad or disappointed, so he must not be completely messing this up.
"The fight in the park was bad," he said, and Aziraphale nodded. "Not the worst, but it hurt, hearing you say— It felt like I was nothing to you, though when I looked back later, I realized the wording probably wasn't yours."
"It was in every memo they ever sent," Aziraphale confirmed. "I didn't realize quite how deeply it had ingrained itself in my mind until I heard myself say it. And then it was too late."
"So, we've both sometimes wished it hadn't happened." Another nod. "But the thing is, if you'd given me the holy water then, like you just said you should've, it wouldn't have meant anything."
Aziraphale frowned.
"Well, maybe not nothing," Crowley corrected, "but it would have been just part of the Arrangement. Or because it was one of the times you let yourself admit we were friends. Or maybe because you didn't actually care if I accidentally destroyed myself with it."
Aziraphale's eyes widened at that, and his grip tightened. "There has never been a point in our history where that's been true."
"But I couldn't have known that," he said, even as he enjoyed the fluffy feelings such declarations always caused. "If you'd given it to me right off, then I never would have known what it really meant, what it took for you to do it in the end. But you didn't, and you made very clear how much you didn't want me near even a drop of Holy Water. So, when you handed it over yourself, well." He looked down into Aziraphale's eyes and gave a soft smile. "You said saving your books made you realize I might share your feelings. For me, it was you handing me that ridiculous tartan thermos."
Aziraphale chuckled at that, though there was a sheen of tears in his eyes.
"After that, no matter what you said later, I knew how you really felt, or near enough," Crowley said. "So, the fight was bad, but it made it possible for me to understand what it took for you to do that. It hurt, and I would rather it not have happened, and it would have greatly benefited from either of us possessing proper communications skills. But all the same, I haven't really regretted it since 1967. And I don't think you should either."
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a trembling smile. Crowley leaned down for a kiss. Their mouths met with a shiver of love and appreciation, and then Aziraphale gave a startled little exclamation as he pressed closer, chasing the taste of pear on Crowley's lips.
When Aziraphale pulled back, his eyes were full of surprise and wonder. Crowley cut off another slice of pear, and this time when he held it out, Aziraphale took it. He closed his eyes and moaned as he chewed it, and when he was done with that one, Crowley had another ready. He'd always loved watching Aziraphale enjoy food, right from the very first ox rib, but feeding him was an entirely new pleasure, something he was going to have to do again.
Unfortunately, this time he only had the one pear, just in case Aziraphale had been stubborn or Crowley had mucked up what he'd been trying to say again, so the moment was over far too soon. When they finished, he set the knife and core aside. "Better?"
"Much," Aziraphale said, as he wrapped his arms around Crowley and drew him closer. "Though that seems like an awful lot of effort to go through simply because there was one food on Earth I didn't want to eat."
"Angel," he chided. "You did want to eat it. So it's worth it."
"Thank you, dear," he said, deep with meaning in the way that would once have been a risk. But now they were free, and together, and Crowley could simply enjoy it as it was, sweet and bright as a pear.