"He'll get over it," Crowley says, trying to be dismissive, trying not to look put out or uncomfortable, but it's difficult to do so around the angel. It's bad enough never knowing if the things he'll say will keep Aziraphale around or push him away for a few decades or what, without this extra tension.
"That'd hardly be a fair fight, Mister Guardian of the Eastern Gate," he adds, trying to make it into a joke, snapping his fingers to miracle away the dirty plate in the sink.
"Wouldn't actually have fought him, my dear, because firstly, I am an Angel, and it needn't come to that. And secondly, I wouldn't think you'd be impressed by such a feat, so I'd hardly see the point."
Though it had been quite funny for George to think that Aziraphale was competition. And not just, you know, an old friend dropping by to solicit a brunch invitation.
It is nice. Simultaneously the same, and different. The same, in that Crowley feels the same about the angel as he always has, or at least for the past millennium. The same in that, at least so far, they’ve been doing the same sorts of things - going to restaurants, sometimes the theatre, hanging around Aziraphale’s bookshop drinking his wine.
And different, in that they don’t have to pretend anymore - don’t have to pretend they’re only spending time together because of work, pretend not to be friends. They don’t have to fear retribution from Heaven or Hell, so they spend even more time together than they used to. And - sometimes Aziraphale touches him, like now.
Crowley isn’t entirely sure what to make of this, in the same way that he often doesn’t know what to make of the angel. He always accepts it, of course, taking a quiet pleasure every time they find themselves walking arm-in-arm, though he always lets Aziraphale initiate. He’s spent the past century at least, waiting, trying not to go too fast.
So, brunch. There’s a good spot near Crowley’s flat, so they can walk there, no need to drive, and despite being quite popular, they don’t have to wait, seated at a table in a prime spot for people-watching as they eat.
“What d’you feel like today?” He asks the angel conversationally, after ordering champagne.
It had all been a grand ordeal, really, to be nearly killed and just let go like that. After six thousand years of lying, hiding and dodging everyone from Gabriel to God herself, it was natural that he hadn't stopped and revisited things for himself.
After all, in 1967 they were in another time. Unsure of how many more years were left before "The Big One," as it was known, he had thought they'd have to sneak around taking lunch or having wine together for at least another thousand years.
And, even though Heaven knew - or at least assumed - things about the Arrangement, and Crowley had needed to remind Aziraphale that they were on the same side now, he was still having a little trouble with the uptake. There was just this ever-present thread of guilt that curled around his heart and tugged every time he so much as allowed his thoughts to wander.
And, well, now that Crowley was entertaining night-guests, Aziraphale had felt a sort of... relief, assuming that Crowley didn't want anything terribly serious and Aziraphale really only had terribly serious to consider, so all this just meant that he could quell his heart and his mind, and not have to deal with the sharp, exquisite pains of wondering: what if?
Instead, he was comfortable to continue carrying on as they always had, though with slight modifications. And maybe, when it was comfortable enough just to be seen in public together, he might revisit what they might want to do in private together, as long as Crowley was still willing.
"Ah, I have heard wonderful things on the Google about avocado toast. I'd like to try that," he says, nose in the menu though he's sure he's looked over everything a dozen times. "And a mimosa. Perhaps the-- oh, butternut squash hash. Yes, it is almost fall again, isn't it? Will you be having anything?"
Thing is, things with the angel sometimes feel so fraught and confusing and careful, and once in a while he just needs simple, uncomplicated contact. Something that he doesn't have to worry about, something quick and easy and forgettable.
He just didn't expect Aziraphale to show up while his simple, uncomplicated human was still in his flat.
"Just the mimosas," he says after a moment. He rarely eats, usually just stealing a bite or two from Aziraphale. He'd rather watch the angel enjoy himself.
"It's not the Google, you know. Drop the article. You sound like a frumpy old man," he adds affectionately.
"In case you haven't noticed," he replies, in mock annoyance. "I am a frumpy old man." He plucks at the bread bowl they'd been given, buttering up the slices, drinking a good bit of their morning tea.
Thoughts now entirely shifted to breakfast, Aziraphale marveled as he looked on at everyone else's dishes coming out, and flagged the waitress down to append things to his order.
"But speaking of, would you mind terribly helping me remove my bookshop from Google? I don't know what it is, a magazine or something you read on your phone? Can you help me to install it on mine? I should be in control of its listing, I suppose."
He offers Crowley a piece of warm, buttered bread. No idea how he doesn't enjoy gluttony.
Crowley’s pleasure stems entirely from Aziraphale’s gluttony. Always has.
“I can take it out of the listings,” he says, doing so miraculously right then and there. “But I can’t stop humans from finding it and writing about it on the Internet when they do.”
He looks at the angel over his glass. “Google is just a search engine. You use it to find anything you want.”
And as always, he takes the bread he'd offered Crowley and eats it up himself. Scrumptious.
"Is it not just Internet? Why is it The Internet but not The Google?" he asks, distracted by this odd terminology. "And whatever it is, will you help me install it on my phone? I think I should be the one writing about my bookshop on Internet. The Internet? Is this one of your inventions?"
The waitress, who overhears this, smiles to herself at this adorable old man, and pours them both champagne as she brings in their mimosas.
"Perhaps you should, I don't know anyone else whose name is Aziraphale, that would make me the only one. And that doesn't explain why it's The Internet. Does that one not have a name?" He really is an old man, but it hardly matters, because drinks have arrived.
He clinks their glasses together and considers Crowley's last thought. "I had thought about perhaps taking an extended holiday. But London is home, and has been for awhile, and I don't see why it shouldn't continue to be."
“I dunno, that’s just how it worked out,” Crowley says with a shrug.
He glances at the angel. “Well, yeah. We could do things together, if we want. I just... I guess I’m wondering if you’ve thought about it at all. If there’s... anything you’d want to do, now that we... can.”
"You mean like... go on holiday? Together?" he thinks about it, and a smile spreads onto his face. "I'd like that quite a lot, I think. So often I try to turn to you and show you something only to find you hadn't come with me."
And he'd love to find an excuse to share old or new experiences with him, of course. It would just be a lovely time, he thinks.
"Perhaps Spain, or France. Or Greece." As his thoughts grow, so does the geography in his mind of the places they could go.
"I do like Japan," he responds. "And I have been wanting to use my Japanese more often." Aziraphale, on the other hand, has no problems showing Crowley how excited he is by the prospect.
"Ah yes, let's do it. Let's take a trip." He's practically buzzing in his seat. "Any time you wish."
"Oh, good, I'll get to show you around," he says, smiling and already plotting all the things in his head. "So many things for you to see, you'll like it there. It's changed so much!"
He'd missed all the technological advances, of course, but Aziraphale thinks he might get a kick out of them.
"I'm sure I'll like it," Crowley says easily, and truthfully. He likes anything that Aziraphale is enthusiastic about, after all. The angel's pleasure is more than enough to make him happy, apart from anything else.
"We'll do whatever you like. Probably a few shrines, while we're there, eh?"
"Oh yes," he says. "Can you go to the shrines and temples? Not sure if they count as consecrated. I'd be happy to stay back if you can't- I've seen them all already, wouldn't want to be a bad travel partner."
Now that they got to go somewhere together, he'd want to make sure they were spending their time together. He could always go to Japan and visit the temples anytime he wished, after all.
"Oh, an island full of monkeys? I hope so, let's go see it." He claps his hands together as their food arrives, and the waitress naturally places one of the dishes confusingly in front of Crowley, which is probably where it will remain until Aziraphale is done his current dish, anyway.
"Perhaps we could visit Disneyworld. I hear it's even nicer than the one in the States, though I haven't actually gone to that one. But I hear it's marvelous."
"Sure, if you like," Crowley says easily, though he'd almost certainly have to pull something dastardly just to maintain his professional dignity if they do wind up going to a theme park. Make the tea cups break down or something.
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"That'd hardly be a fair fight, Mister Guardian of the Eastern Gate," he adds, trying to make it into a joke, snapping his fingers to miracle away the dirty plate in the sink.
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Though it had been quite funny for George to think that Aziraphale was competition. And not just, you know, an old friend dropping by to solicit a brunch invitation.
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Of course, he’s right that there’s no competition. No one could ever take Aziraphale’s place as the most important thing in Crowley’s life.
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No, and it was silly and archaic to think so, even for Aziraphale.
"However-- if it was all in a good bit of fun, I might entertain the idea. --And if it wasn't remotely demonic. Obviously."
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“It might be funny, but it might give the human ideas,” he points out, moving to grab his jacket. “C’mon, brunch?”
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Now that the Apocalypse hasn't gone off, and they've been left alone, it's much easier to go out without having to pretend not to know each other.
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And different, in that they don’t have to pretend anymore - don’t have to pretend they’re only spending time together because of work, pretend not to be friends. They don’t have to fear retribution from Heaven or Hell, so they spend even more time together than they used to. And - sometimes Aziraphale touches him, like now.
Crowley isn’t entirely sure what to make of this, in the same way that he often doesn’t know what to make of the angel. He always accepts it, of course, taking a quiet pleasure every time they find themselves walking arm-in-arm, though he always lets Aziraphale initiate. He’s spent the past century at least, waiting, trying not to go too fast.
So, brunch. There’s a good spot near Crowley’s flat, so they can walk there, no need to drive, and despite being quite popular, they don’t have to wait, seated at a table in a prime spot for people-watching as they eat.
“What d’you feel like today?” He asks the angel conversationally, after ordering champagne.
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After all, in 1967 they were in another time. Unsure of how many more years were left before "The Big One," as it was known, he had thought they'd have to sneak around taking lunch or having wine together for at least another thousand years.
And, even though Heaven knew - or at least assumed - things about the Arrangement, and Crowley had needed to remind Aziraphale that they were on the same side now, he was still having a little trouble with the uptake. There was just this ever-present thread of guilt that curled around his heart and tugged every time he so much as allowed his thoughts to wander.
And, well, now that Crowley was entertaining night-guests, Aziraphale had felt a sort of... relief, assuming that Crowley didn't want anything terribly serious and Aziraphale really only had terribly serious to consider, so all this just meant that he could quell his heart and his mind, and not have to deal with the sharp, exquisite pains of wondering: what if?
Instead, he was comfortable to continue carrying on as they always had, though with slight modifications. And maybe, when it was comfortable enough just to be seen in public together, he might revisit what they might want to do in private together, as long as Crowley was still willing.
"Ah, I have heard wonderful things on the Google about avocado toast. I'd like to try that," he says, nose in the menu though he's sure he's looked over everything a dozen times. "And a mimosa. Perhaps the-- oh, butternut squash hash. Yes, it is almost fall again, isn't it? Will you be having anything?"
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Thing is, things with the angel sometimes feel so fraught and confusing and careful, and once in a while he just needs simple, uncomplicated contact. Something that he doesn't have to worry about, something quick and easy and forgettable.
He just didn't expect Aziraphale to show up while his simple, uncomplicated human was still in his flat.
"Just the mimosas," he says after a moment. He rarely eats, usually just stealing a bite or two from Aziraphale. He'd rather watch the angel enjoy himself.
"It's not the Google, you know. Drop the article. You sound like a frumpy old man," he adds affectionately.
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Thoughts now entirely shifted to breakfast, Aziraphale marveled as he looked on at everyone else's dishes coming out, and flagged the waitress down to append things to his order.
"But speaking of, would you mind terribly helping me remove my bookshop from Google? I don't know what it is, a magazine or something you read on your phone? Can you help me to install it on mine? I should be in control of its listing, I suppose."
He offers Crowley a piece of warm, buttered bread. No idea how he doesn't enjoy gluttony.
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“I can take it out of the listings,” he says, doing so miraculously right then and there. “But I can’t stop humans from finding it and writing about it on the Internet when they do.”
He looks at the angel over his glass. “Google is just a search engine. You use it to find anything you want.”
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"Is it not just Internet? Why is it The Internet but not The Google?" he asks, distracted by this odd terminology. "And whatever it is, will you help me install it on my phone? I think I should be the one writing about my bookshop on Internet. The Internet? Is this one of your inventions?"
The waitress, who overhears this, smiles to herself at this adorable old man, and pours them both champagne as she brings in their mimosas.
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He reaches across the table for the angel’s phone. At least he has one now, which means Crowley can get in contact with him easier.
“You know, you can do anything you want, now. Go anywhere in the world,” he says lightly.
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He clinks their glasses together and considers Crowley's last thought. "I had thought about perhaps taking an extended holiday. But London is home, and has been for awhile, and I don't see why it shouldn't continue to be."
"You're not stuck here, either."
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He glances at the angel. “Well, yeah. We could do things together, if we want. I just... I guess I’m wondering if you’ve thought about it at all. If there’s... anything you’d want to do, now that we... can.”
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And he'd love to find an excuse to share old or new experiences with him, of course. It would just be a lovely time, he thinks.
"Perhaps Spain, or France. Or Greece." As his thoughts grow, so does the geography in his mind of the places they could go.
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“Sure,” he says, voice casual. “Wherever you want. Japan, to find the best sushi?”
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"Ah yes, let's do it. Let's take a trip." He's practically buzzing in his seat. "Any time you wish."
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“Just need a couple of days to book the travel,” he says easily. “Japan it is. Haven’t been there in several centuries, myself.”
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He'd missed all the technological advances, of course, but Aziraphale thinks he might get a kick out of them.
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"We'll do whatever you like. Probably a few shrines, while we're there, eh?"
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Now that they got to go somewhere together, he'd want to make sure they were spending their time together. He could always go to Japan and visit the temples anytime he wished, after all.
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It's nice, though. "...Thanks for thinking of it, though."
Considerate. Thoughtful. Makes Crowley feel good.
"Isn't there an island full of monkeys there, too?" he adds.
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"Perhaps we could visit Disneyworld. I hear it's even nicer than the one in the States, though I haven't actually gone to that one. But I hear it's marvelous."
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