sauntereddownward (
sauntereddownward) wrote2023-08-27 05:27 pm
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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.
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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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.
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But at least Crowley was all right.
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"Ahhh....wellll, I'm sure you did a lot of Good," he said, doing his very best. "Not for nothing..."
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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.
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He just felt like... he'd failed, somehow. Even though he didn't regret it.
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Crowley watched him, lowering his glasses a bit to look at him curiously.
"...Angel?"
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"Funny, Micheal didn't seem surprised to see me," he noted.
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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.
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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."
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Crowley arched a brow above his glasses.
"How sorry?" he asked, tormenting the angel just a little since he could.
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Crowley looked just a touch shocked.
"Angel," he purred. "Would you really?"
He was teasing.
Sort of.
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"No," he agreed.
He sipped his wine.
"It was a good threat, though. Forceful. Brought that up from the chest..."
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"It's a compliment!" the demon insisted.
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"Then the polite thing to do is accept it," Crowley insisted.
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He paused, thinking that perhaps it was etiquette to give someone a compliment in return. After a moment he said, "You have very nice shoes."
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If Aziraphale had any idea how long Crowley had waited to hear those words.
Not that he dressed specifically to tempt the angel.
Except when he did.
Crowley smiled with a pride previously reserved for the birth of nebulas.
"Thank you," he said warmly.
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