"A ring? For what?" he asks, as he pulls out a pamphlet he'd gotten when they'd stopped at a motel (not to stay, just to check it out-- Aziraphale had thought the sign was "nifty") and starts to read through it, distracted from the question at hand.
"Oh! Oh, for the engagement. Yes, I think I'd like a ring, yellow gold I think. Small or no stones, sapphires might be nice. And you, dear? What sort of ring would you like? They do have a black gold now," he says, because obviously he's done a slight bit of research. Just a little.
"We could pick it out together, make sure you get the one you want?" Crowley suggests. Part of Crowley likes the idea of black gold, would suit him well. Part of him also likes the idea of getting whatever Aziraphale gets. After all, it would be the one moment in their lives where they were the same.
He gives his hand a little wave. "I mean, we could just miracle them into existence, too, but where's the fun in that?"
"No no, I want you to pick one out for me," he says, quickly, because he'd already sent in a commission for an artist in London to be picked up once they returned, and it would be rather gauche, he thinks, to pick out a ring for himself and surprise Crowley with one of his own.
"And I don't want it to be miracled." That's why he'd gone to an artist - the stones, he'd procured from his own private collection, things he'd stowed away hundreds of years ago and never looked at since. Gifts from the Medicis, from Queen Elizabeth, from Louis XIV.
And he'd chosen a blood-red ruby, one of the oldest things in his collection.
Crowley, oblivious to Aziraphale's plans, gives a little half-shrug. "Oh, all right. I can't claim to know your style all that well, angel. If you don't like what I pick out, well, you can...you know, return it."
He has a few ideas. He's paid careful attention to Aziraphale's style, despite his words, and he thinks he knows what the angel wants. He's been around, he's poked his head into the remaining high-end jewelry stores. He thinks with the proper persuasion, he can get the right thing made.
"We're not doing a church wedding, though," he says.
"Well no, of course not, won't do if one of the grooms can't even step foot in the building," he says. "I'll marry you anywhere, you know that. What's most important is that everyone knows I'm yours."
He smiles so fondly, so lopsidedly at the thought.
"Let Heaven and Hell and God all know it." He grows so impassioned, so enamored with the idea.
Crowley turns his head to glance over at the angel. His passion just makes Crowley smile.
"I love you, angel," he says.
He pulls the Bentley towards a winery on the side of the road. It looks like some of the crop has been damaged from the apocalypse---could Crowley believe that was only days ago?---but they're still surviving. Still thriving and open for business.
"I don't think either side expected the humans to be this resilient."
"Only ours," he said, as he gets out of the car once they're pulled up. "A winery right here, how wonderful. Look, Crowley, all these fields." It reminds him a little of Tuscany, and he grows nostalgic.
Crowley always comes to the passenger's side to retrieve Aziraphale, and he links elbows with him, leaning on his shoulder. He can do that, now. It comes easily to him.
"I love you too," he says, quietly, half into Crowley's shoulder.
Crowley likes the humans. Likes what they make and do. He also really likes wine and cars, and those are the things that seem to have thrived after everything happened.
"I think they'll miraculously have two spots open for us," he says. "Care for a tasting? Maybe bring a few bottles for the road?"
"Oh yes, that sounds wonderful. You always have the best ideas, Crowley," he says, walking with him to the winery as if they really are a couple on their honeymoon. Aziraphale certainly looks at Crowley like he brings the sun up and sets it down for the night every day.
After six thousand years, it was still impossible to tire of him.
"Oh, I don't know. Some of my ideas have been pretty rubbish, and you know it," Crowley says. He presses a kiss to the angel's hairline. If this is their first holiday together, Heaven knows what their actual honeymoon will be like.
"If you had asked me a few weeks ago what we'd be doing after the apocalypse, I would never have said going to a winery and cuddling on the walk," he admits. "But I'm glad it turned out this way."
"Can't believe I would've walked to my death and never kissed you," he says, eyes going shiny. "But I think I've always known. You and me, it just... it was never a good time, and then with all that happened."
"It hadn't mattered anyway, do you know? Heaven already assumed we were... so all that time, I wasted. I'm so sorry, Crowley."
"I didn't think Heaven could imagine what we've gotten up to," Crowley says with a little smirk. "Bit out of their realm, don't you think?"
But then again, Aziraphale is trying to apologize. For not moving as fast as Crowley had wanted to, all those years ago. He shouldn't be flip about this, he thinks.
He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to the angel's mouth. Crowley, converse to Aziraphale, doesn't mind the public displays all that much. In fact, he would dare anyone to have a problem with it.
Of course, this is California. He's certain the people here have seen odder than two apparently honeymooning men. One with a halo.
"Hm?" he asks, but then melts into the kiss instead, totally distracted by whatever Crowley just said to him. It's a soft, glittering thing above his head, but barely there, and almost looks like it could just be errant curls catching the light just so.
As they get to the front of the line, the hostess, thankfully saying nothing, takes them in to get seated and pours them both flights as a sommelier starts explaining.
Crowley is only sort of listening. He knows a lot about wine, he was there when it was first invented. It's been really interesting, over the years, watching the way humans get so technical about their wine. Everything has to be complicated and confusing, but---as he takes a sip of the sampled wine---they do produce great results.
He lets his free hand slide over to Aziraphale's, curling their fingers together.
He perks up on contact but then eases into it, smiling softly to himself.
Once the woman is done explaining, Aziraphale takes one of the glasses as instructed, swirls it around to aerate it, smells it. "Dark cherry, rich chocolate notes, with just a dash of spice and hm."
He takes a sip, lets it sit on his tongue, and swallows. "Just a little rose. Mm, Crowley, you know who this reminds me of?"
"No, who?" Crowley asks, taking his own careful sip. He draws a little air through his teeth over the wine to further aerate it. It's not bad, not at all. Amazing, considering the world they're in, that they still have this wine. All these bottles, able to share and sample them.
Crowley takes a sniff of his wine and considers it. "I don't----I suppose I could see it. Sort of." The chocolate, the rose---yeah, Crowley could see that being associated with his former persona, the Nanny Ashtoreth.
"And what sort of wine would be the same as your gardener, eh?" he asks, taking another sip.
"Emphasis on the simple," Crowley teases. "Was there a reason you had to do the teeth, too? You could've just appeared as yourself."
Not that it wasn't deliriously fun watching Aziraphale run around as that gardener those years. Acting as though they were just part of the staff was actually pretty fun. Crowley, of course, became a bit too attached to Warlock, but that was to be expected. Nannies often did.
"It was fun. You couldn't have all the fun, darling. Though I daresay, I don't think I'll ever revisit that look but if you ever wanted to..." He lifts his eyebrows suggestively.
"I've got my purple lipstick somewhere, I'm sure." He takes a sip of wine. "I know I left that umbrella behind though. Look won't be complete, but I can certainly make it work."
Not that he expected Aziraphale to prefer the severe look he'd established for his Nanny role. All the same, Crowley does love giving the angel what he wants.
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"Oh! Oh, for the engagement. Yes, I think I'd like a ring, yellow gold I think. Small or no stones, sapphires might be nice. And you, dear? What sort of ring would you like? They do have a black gold now," he says, because obviously he's done a slight bit of research. Just a little.
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He gives his hand a little wave. "I mean, we could just miracle them into existence, too, but where's the fun in that?"
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"And I don't want it to be miracled." That's why he'd gone to an artist - the stones, he'd procured from his own private collection, things he'd stowed away hundreds of years ago and never looked at since. Gifts from the Medicis, from Queen Elizabeth, from Louis XIV.
And he'd chosen a blood-red ruby, one of the oldest things in his collection.
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He has a few ideas. He's paid careful attention to Aziraphale's style, despite his words, and he thinks he knows what the angel wants. He's been around, he's poked his head into the remaining high-end jewelry stores. He thinks with the proper persuasion, he can get the right thing made.
"We're not doing a church wedding, though," he says.
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He smiles so fondly, so lopsidedly at the thought.
"Let Heaven and Hell and God all know it." He grows so impassioned, so enamored with the idea.
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"I love you, angel," he says.
He pulls the Bentley towards a winery on the side of the road. It looks like some of the crop has been damaged from the apocalypse---could Crowley believe that was only days ago?---but they're still surviving. Still thriving and open for business.
"I don't think either side expected the humans to be this resilient."
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Crowley always comes to the passenger's side to retrieve Aziraphale, and he links elbows with him, leaning on his shoulder. He can do that, now. It comes easily to him.
"I love you too," he says, quietly, half into Crowley's shoulder.
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Crowley likes the humans. Likes what they make and do. He also really likes wine and cars, and those are the things that seem to have thrived after everything happened.
"I think they'll miraculously have two spots open for us," he says. "Care for a tasting? Maybe bring a few bottles for the road?"
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After six thousand years, it was still impossible to tire of him.
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"If you had asked me a few weeks ago what we'd be doing after the apocalypse, I would never have said going to a winery and cuddling on the walk," he admits. "But I'm glad it turned out this way."
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"It hadn't mattered anyway, do you know? Heaven already assumed we were... so all that time, I wasted. I'm so sorry, Crowley."
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But then again, Aziraphale is trying to apologize. For not moving as fast as Crowley had wanted to, all those years ago. He shouldn't be flip about this, he thinks.
"Lucky I was there, though. To kiss you first."
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No, Aziraphale does not enjoy public displays of affection; he's an old soul.
But he will make an exception today, for Crowley, his intended. Without his knowing, a soft halo manifests above his head.
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He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to the angel's mouth. Crowley, converse to Aziraphale, doesn't mind the public displays all that much. In fact, he would dare anyone to have a problem with it.
Of course, this is California. He's certain the people here have seen odder than two apparently honeymooning men. One with a halo.
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As they get to the front of the line, the hostess, thankfully saying nothing, takes them in to get seated and pours them both flights as a sommelier starts explaining.
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He lets his free hand slide over to Aziraphale's, curling their fingers together.
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Once the woman is done explaining, Aziraphale takes one of the glasses as instructed, swirls it around to aerate it, smells it. "Dark cherry, rich chocolate notes, with just a dash of spice and hm."
He takes a sip, lets it sit on his tongue, and swallows. "Just a little rose. Mm, Crowley, you know who this reminds me of?"
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He offers Crowley the glass, even though he has one of his own with the same wine.
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"And what sort of wine would be the same as your gardener, eh?" he asks, taking another sip.
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He grins.
"I think he'd be a nice dessert wine. Watermelon, perhaps. Something simple and fruity."
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Not that it wasn't deliriously fun watching Aziraphale run around as that gardener those years. Acting as though they were just part of the staff was actually pretty fun. Crowley, of course, became a bit too attached to Warlock, but that was to be expected. Nannies often did.
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Is Aziraphale even allowed to make this face?
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"I've got my purple lipstick somewhere, I'm sure." He takes a sip of wine. "I know I left that umbrella behind though. Look won't be complete, but I can certainly make it work."
Not that he expected Aziraphale to prefer the severe look he'd established for his Nanny role. All the same, Crowley does love giving the angel what he wants.
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But that was for another time.
He tears his gaze away, before the smolder inspires a flame, and busies himself with their next glass.
He doesn't have any poetic notes to say about this one.
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