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“Never really expected to have this, y’know,” Crowley said, pouring wine.
Aziraphale gave him a sideways look. “Alcohol? Because I’m pretty sure you usually have that.”
“Nonono, not alcohol. You know.” After putting down the bottle, Crowley gestured. “This. Actually getting to go on picnics with you. Sitting in our very own garden. Having our very own garden in the first place…”
“Ah, yes. I think I know what you mean.” A smile tugged at Aziraphale’s lips as he ladled soup into bowls. Crowley wasn’t sure whether soup was the sort of thing most people brought on picnics, but since it was full of their own vegetables from their own garden, he wasn’t about to argue. “Freedom.”
“Nnnh.”
“Am I wrong?”
Crowley sighed and leaned back on the annoyingly tartan blanket. It sometimes seemed like even thinking of freedom was a way to get it all taken away. He’d thought of freedom, back after the world didn’t end, and then things all went pear-shaped again.
Everything was fine, now. Terrific, actually. But it was still hard to feel safe.
“We really are free now, you know,” Aziraphale said softly, setting down the bowls of soup. They wobbled on the uneven surface of the blanket, but didn’t spill. Crowley suspected Aziraphale had done a little miracle. “And we do have our very own garden, which we can sit in, and where we can have picnics.”
“And where we can get harassed by our very own ducks.” Crowley jerked his chin towards the shapes wadding across the grass towards them. One brown duck hopped up onto a vegetable bed and waddled right across the carrot shoots, which were thankfully protected by miracle. “Did you bring the peas?”
“Of course.” Aziraphale reached into the picnic basket. “We certainly wouldn’t have any peace other than.”
“Peace due to peas,” Crowley mused idly. “I can get behind that.”
It really was peaceful, at least once they tossed peas to the ducks to stop them from overrunning the picnic. With the ducks getting their own meal, Crowley and Aziraphale drank a toast to this, to their picnic, garden, and freedom.
Crowley stole a quick kiss from Aziraphale, then changed his mind and leaned in for a longer one. Aziraphale, blushing, obliged. They would eat soon, but a little demonic miracle kept the food hot. They really were free now, and there was no rush for anything.