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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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."

Crowley arched a brow above his glasses.

"How sorry?" he asked, tormenting the angel just a little since he could.

"Not enough that I wouldn't consider putting you back in the basket," Aziraphale snapped. Then looked a bit embarrassed, and took a sip of his wine.

Crowley looked just a touch shocked.

"Angel," he purred. "Would you really?"

He was teasing.

Sort of.

"Maybe," Aziraphale mumbled. Then sighed. "No."

"No," he agreed.

He sipped his wine.

"It was a good threat, though. Forceful. Brought that up from the chest..."

Aziraphale looked properly embarrassed again. "Well. You're... you're pushing your luck, Crowley."

"It's a compliment!" the demon insisted.

"Yes, I'm aware you think so," Aziraphale sighed.