sauntereddownward | (no subject)

(no subject)

The next morning dawned, bright and fresh as the first dawn and every dawn thereafter. Crowley took note of the sunlight. There had been no sunlight in the basket, no need to rouse even a smidgen while he'd been trapped. But now the light indicated creation.

It wasn't enough to get him to open his eyes, but he did become quite aware that this was a bed. A delightfully comfortable bed, warm and soft, and the warmth that made the demon gravitate to it and ease in tight against it was solid and familiar and safe.

All he'd wanted since the day he'd watched Aziraphale leave.

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It did feel like coming home. And it made Aziraphale wonder... if he'd made the wrong decision all those many years ago. Was it worth it? What had he given up?

"Yes indeed," he said quietly, and toasted before taking a drink. The people at the table next to them were looking at them oddly, probably because of the wine for breakfast, but Aziraphale hadn't complained about Crowley's order.

Crowley didn't care about the looks, he simply enjoyed the nicest wine he'd had in years.

And then they were brought tea and pastry with their menus.

Crowley took a deep breath of satisfaction.

"Ah, some things are still correct."

Aziraphale watched him, enjoying just seeing him look happy, and also realizing how much he'd missed his face, and...

He forced himself to look away, and shoved some pastry into his mouth.

Crowley picked up the menu out of habit, and ordered the same gravlox and dill for Aziraphale and blood sausage for himself as always.

"Are we getting back to work, then?" he asked the angel. "Since you're back. Back to the old grind? I tempt, you thwart? The Arrangement?"

Aziraphale wasn't sure if they truly still had the same menu or if it was a tiny little miracle from Crowley, but decided not to question it.

Aziraphale was going to answer the question, really, but then suddenly, the waiter who had approached their table once more froze in mid air. In fact, so did everyone else. Everyone but them.

"Oh, no," Aziraphale said with a visible wince, just before a familiar figure strolled up to their table.

Michael.

She looked right past Aziraphale and sneered at Crowley. "I should have known," she said.

Then turned her attention back to Aziraphale. "I'm here to officially report that by the skin of your teeth you've only been demoted back down to your prior position. Just so you know, I voted against you. I think you should be mopping floors."

Aziraphale looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor.

Crowley, utterly confused and completely decades behind on any sort of gossip, gaped.

"What for!?" he demanded after the initial shock wore off.

Aziraphale ignored him.

"Yes yes," he muttered. "It's fine, Michael. I knew what I was doing. Besides, it's been a long time, and I think I've done some good. Time to let someone else have the reins for a bit."

He hoped it wasn't her.

He was a bit relieved, though. He'd thought this was the likely outcome, but he could have always ended up... mopping floors.

She gave Aziraphale one last stony stare, and then winked out of existence. Around them, everyone started moving again.

"More water, sir?" asked the waiter, and Aziraphale nodded politely as he poured, taking another bite of his scone and not looking at Crowley.

Crowley was utterly gobsmacked and sat, agape, staring at Aziraphale.

Surely there would be an explanation forthcoming for that.

Aziraphale finished the pastry.

"What do you want me to say?" he finally sighed, forcing himself to look at Crowley. "Surely you didn't think I was just down here on holiday."

"You got sacked?" the demon hissed.

He leaned in.

"You didn't even get sacked when you lost the sword, angel..."

"I got demoted," Aziraphale corrected stiffly.

Crowley looked even more offended at that.

"Why?" the demon exhaled, so the waiter couldn't hear.

"Because I left," Aziraphale said irritably. "It isn't the kind of job you're permitted to simply take vacation from."

Because he left.

To find Crowley.

Which he did.

So his promotion revoked, returned back to the bookshop.

Where he should have stayed in the first place.

"I...see," he finally replied.

Aziraphale looked down at his empty plate. "I would truly rather you didn't gloat," he said. "I'm sure you think it... was all for nothing. I'm right back where I started."

But at least Crowley was all right.

"Ahhh....wellll, I'm sure you did a lot of Good," he said, doing his very best. "Not for nothing..."

Aziraphale was still looking at his hands. "I tried. I hope I did. But I didn't... particularly enjoy being back up there. I just did what I thought I needed to."

It hurt, hearing that. Sort of. Aziraphale had chosen the work over him, over them, because of course that was the right thing. The necessary thing. Needed.

Cleaving to a demon, even if it was your best friend, was obviously Wrong.

And of course Aziraphale would do what was needed...

"But it's all back right, now. Right? Back to the bookshop? Back to keeping an eye on the world?" he asked, almost daring to hope.

"I suppose so," said Aziraphale quietly. He picked up the bottle of wine and refilled his glass, not bothering to wait for the waiter.

He just felt like... he'd failed, somehow. Even though he didn't regret it.

Crowley watched him, lowering his glasses a bit to look at him curiously.

"...Angel?"

Aziraphale looked up at him, and managed a small smile. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s just all been a bit much and I wasn’t expecting to see Michael so soon.”

"Funny, Micheal didn't seem surprised to see me," he noted.

"Well, I would imagine they worked out, where I went," Aziraphale said. "Look, I wasn't just going to let you stay in that basket forever. You would have done the same for me." And he truly did believe that.

Crowley looked a bit caught out.

Because he was right.

"I suppose you expect a thank you," he said, already thinking of a hundred ways he could prove his gratitude without two simple, silly, weak words.

None of those hundreds could happen at the breakfast table.

Crowley sniffed, then as casually as he could manage, he said.

"Thank you."

Somehow he made it sound even sillier and weaker.

"Oh. I, um." He hadn't expected that actually. "You're welcome."

There was a long pause, and then finally Aziraphale said, "And for what it's worth, I'm um, sorry, that I... left you, all those years ago. I still think I did the right thing, but I am still sorry for that it all happened like it did. I hope this squares us."