Chapter Text
“Why does it not surprise me that you’ve become a senator?” Aziraphale asked dryly. He was entering a spacious dining hall belonging to one elusive “Corvus Pietas”. The room was plain, the only decor being a large snake chiseled into the wall at the far end. The high windows let in little light, casting the long table, the array of food and wine, the benches, and the figure seated at the head of the table all in shadow. Of course, said figure was already clad in robes of black as well as dark glasses, so the shadowy nature of the room seemed to suit him.
“Why does it not surprise *me* that you’re living among the common populus?” the senator responded, peering over the top of his glasses, which caused a sliver of his distinct yellow eyes to show. Crawley’s eyes always caused Aziraphale to shudder slightly, despite his having had them for nearly four thousand years.
The Angel pursed his lips as he took a place on the bench closest to Crawley’s chair. Not that it mattered where he sat, obviously. “I’ll have you know that I was assigned a job. One of great importance.” He tried to draw himself up a little higher at this. “It was very necessary for me to live among the ‘common populus’, as you so choose to call them.”
Crawley just sort of stared at Aziraphale for a minute, waiting, until clearly, a realization came to mind. “Oh you want me to ask you about it.” (At this, Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as it would be very unangelic to do so.) “Do go on, what’s this important job?”
Aziraphale gave Crawley one of his classic grins. “Well, I was tasked to warn the great emperor of the Ides of March.” He looked to Crawley, a twinkling in his eyes. The senator’s expression suddenly became very closed off. Aziraphale tilted his head slightly.
“This *is* wonderful news, Crawley. Now that he’s been warned, it will prevent any unnecessary… clashes from occurring.”
Crawley pushed his glasses up, blocking any sort of view of his eyes from Aziraphale. “‘The great emperor’, as in Caesar?” Crawley asked slowly.
At this, Aziraphale gave a short laugh. He plucked a fig and a slice of cheese from one of the many platters covering the table. He popped the combination into his mouth and closed his eyes, savoring the balance of sweet and salt. “This is delectable, Crawley, you should really-”
Crawley cut him off. “I’m being serious, Angel. Have you not heard the news?”
Azriaphale paused his taking of more cheese and a slice of pear. “The most recent bit of news that I’ve received is your invitation here, and that was just this morning. Though I can’t imagine *why* you would invite me here, we’re supposed to hate each other.”
Crawley sighed. “Angel, *think*. It was prophesied that Caesar would die on the Ides, yeah?”
“Of course, but I warned him. Were you listening to me?”
Crawley stood up from the table, muttering, “A prophecy is a prophecy is a prophecy.”
The Angel’s eyes grew wide. “You mean to tell me that he died yesterday?!”
Crawley silently poured blood red wine from one of the pitchers on the table into a goblet and took a deep drink. “Where the Heaven have you been?” There was a bitter edge to his words.
“I was busy all of yesterday!” Aziraphale defended. “The house needed a deep clean. I’m renting it from these hunters and they truly left it all a mess and well-”
“Angel, are you familiar with how prophecies work?” Crawley asked, his voice low. Aziraphale could suddenly smell the scent of a newly lit fire, and he knew that it was coming directly from Crawley himself.
“Well, yes, but I’m an Angel! If I’m the one to warn him of the prophecy, then certainly there’s chance for it to become… null and void in the world of prophecy generation!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Aziraphale realized that it sounded utterly ridiculous. He shoved the pear and cheese into his mouth, chewing more violently than necessary. “Of all the assignments to fail, really!” This comment was followed up by downing a goblet of wine and immediately pouring another one.
Crawley had regarded this scene with great interest, sipping on his own wine. “Angel…”
“Where did it even happen?” Aziraphale asked, his voice shaking. “The only place that Caesar was supposed to go was…” He set the wine on the tabletop and turned to regard Crawley, dressed in his senatorial fashion. “*No*.”
Crawley looked away towards the snake carving on the wall. “Yes.”
“Does loyalty mean nothing in the Senate?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes narrowed. “I should say that I can’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Crawley responded flatly, still turned away from the Angel. “You shouldn’t believe a word I say.”
“How could something like that even happen?!”
“It was my assignment from Hell,” Crawley admitted, coming back to the table, but not sitting down. “There were maybe 60 of us. I was meant to encourage everyone to go through with it, the stabbing business. Bring your own knife, take a stab. Wars would start, and you know how Hell loves a good war. Lots of death and such.” Crawley’s voice became weaker as the explanation went on. He poured himself another goblet of wine, this one white.
“Did you even think of the rest of Rome, Crawley? Did you think of ‘the common populus’ when you helped to stab the emperor to death?!” The expression on Aziraphale’s face was stoney as he awaited Crawley’s response.
Crawley gazed into the wine in his goblet as he spoke again. “There were only twenty-three stab wounds, Angel.”
Aziraphale couldn’t tamp down the bubble of hope that was rising in his chest. “So, you didn’t…” he started carefully, watching for Crawley’s reaction.
The senator shook his head, still looking into the wine. “I had heard rumors of the prophecy well before the assignment. My being there wasn’t going to change anything, but I don’t think Hell had caught on to that. I got into the senate to get them off my back, but I didn’t even bring a knife to the meeting yesterday. Couldn’t do it. Not that he was a great guy or anything, but he also probably didn’t need another stab wound.” He busied himself with a deep sip of wine.
Aziraphale’s smile seemed to add light to the shadowy room. “There is some kindness to you yet.”
Crawley scoffed. “You know he’s still dead, right? Just because I didn’t stab him personally doesn’t mean you stopped the prophecy from coming true.”
At this, Aziraphale hummed. “Yes you’re right, but there is some comfort in knowing that you made a decision of goodness.”
“I wouldn’t say choosing to not stab someone is a choice of goodness, exactly. It wasn’t logical.”
“Since when do you make decisions based on pure logic?” inquired the Angel, thinking back to the time that Crawley turned three children into lizards… or were they snakes? He wasn’t entirely sure; the whole Job incident had happened over two thousand years ago.
“Shut up and eat your figs,” Crawley answered, but Aziraphale saw that a smile was playing at the edges of his mouth.
The pair was quiet for a while, Aziraphale testing out various cheese and fruit combinations, some with honey, some without, as Crawley drank from the array of wines. Aziraphale got the sense that Crawley may have been watching him as he tasted the foods, but couldn’t bring himself to mind.
It was Crawley who decided to break the silence. “I feel like whoever put you up to the task of warning Caesar might have been playing a trick on you.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Aziraphale said honestly. “But everything happens for a reason, Crawley.”
“Sure, the Ineffable Plan includes historical events upon which to base dramatic literature, or something,” Crawley said in a jokingly haughty voice. They shared a good laugh about that one before returning to their wine and food. Aziraphale knew that he shouldn’t feel this comforted by the presence of a Demon, but right now, Crawley was being less of a Demon and more of a good host who went along with Hell as far as he could.