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.
Crowley is glad he's wearing his sunglasses - he's got a great excuse for it in public, obviously, but another pleasant side effect is that he can watch Aziraphale eat without appearing weird or creepy. The way he savors his food is enough to make him want to shift in his seat, his mind immediately going to indecent thoughts.
"Sure," he murmurs, grabbing a bit of the toast from Aziraphale's plate, popping it into his mouth. He shrugs after a moment. "'s all right, I guess. I'm not really into avocados."
Does he say this to get the angel to gush some more? Possibly.
"You don't? But they're... so creamy, and yet, green. What a lovely texture, especially against the toasted bread. Cut so thick, I'm very glad artisan bread is back in style. I didn't much care for the soft white breads supposed to be brioche, really." Though he did love some real brioche...
"Not sure why they've decked it all out with seeds and nuts, though, I think that's a bit gilding the lily." He looks on at Crowley, and gets momentarily distracted with Thoughts that he thought he'd told to simmer down and quell for now, but which seemingly haven't decided to completely behave.
Because they were going on a trip together, and it would be lovely. And winding through groups and crowds, they'd have to stay close, hold hands, be pressed together on the train. Japan was maybe not a good idea for his wretchedly beating heart.
He tears his gaze away to dab at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
"You're the expert, angel," Crowley says, keeping his tone light, a smile tugging faintly at his lips.
This is going to be a very nice holiday. He'll get to watch Aziraphale eat who knows how many times? And they'll drink some great sake. See things together. Maybe Aziraphale will take his arm as they stroll through Japanese gardens, enjoying the plant life...
"You sure you want me along, I mean we've been seeing a lot of each other lately, you're... not getting tired of me or anything..."
He sort of trails off on a mutter, as he recalls his rather desperate attempts to get Aziraphale to run away with him, before. Now he wants to go on holiday together? He probably shouldn't be looking this gift horse in the mouth.
Aziraphale senses the hesitation in Crowley's voice and he puts his toast down, as well as his tea, and wipes his fingers off on the napkin. After that, he reaches out and takes one of Crowley's hands in both of his own.
"My dear Crowley, whatever gave you that impression?" he asks, honestly concerned that he'd somehow managed to offend Crowley or something. He knows he's always been the one to chase Crowley out of his bookshop at the end of the night, but that was always because - well, it wasn't proper, to have him stay so long. What if Heaven had found out?
And then they did, and it hardly mattered anymore.
He reaches for something that is the truth, if not the whole truth, then at least some part of it.
"I guess I'm just... expecting there to be a catch, somewhere," he points out. "And, well... the bloke, you're not angry about that whole thing, right?"
Aziraphale blinks. "Why in the world would there be a catch-- What do you mean-- which bloke?" he asks, completely having forgotten al about George from this morning. In fact, if he had to come up with any men in recent memory having to do with Crowley, he'd--
--Oh, right. Right, George.
"Heavens Crowley, why would I be upset over who you choose to take to bed? I think it's quite sweet he's obviously taken a liking to you, naturally that you don't feel the same I wish you had come out to chase him off earlier, but I can hardly blame you when you'd communicated to him, or him for trying."
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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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And then he tucks into his avocado toast, and acts like it's the most divine thing he's ever consumed.
"Oh, it's lovely. Perfectly creamy avocado, bright pickled onions. Try it, dear."
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"Sure," he murmurs, grabbing a bit of the toast from Aziraphale's plate, popping it into his mouth. He shrugs after a moment. "'s all right, I guess. I'm not really into avocados."
Does he say this to get the angel to gush some more? Possibly.
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"Not sure why they've decked it all out with seeds and nuts, though, I think that's a bit gilding the lily." He looks on at Crowley, and gets momentarily distracted with Thoughts that he thought he'd told to simmer down and quell for now, but which seemingly haven't decided to completely behave.
Because they were going on a trip together, and it would be lovely. And winding through groups and crowds, they'd have to stay close, hold hands, be pressed together on the train. Japan was maybe not a good idea for his wretchedly beating heart.
He tears his gaze away to dab at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
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This is going to be a very nice holiday. He'll get to watch Aziraphale eat who knows how many times? And they'll drink some great sake. See things together. Maybe Aziraphale will take his arm as they stroll through Japanese gardens, enjoying the plant life...
"You sure you want me along, I mean we've been seeing a lot of each other lately, you're... not getting tired of me or anything..."
He sort of trails off on a mutter, as he recalls his rather desperate attempts to get Aziraphale to run away with him, before. Now he wants to go on holiday together? He probably shouldn't be looking this gift horse in the mouth.
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"My dear Crowley, whatever gave you that impression?" he asks, honestly concerned that he'd somehow managed to offend Crowley or something. He knows he's always been the one to chase Crowley out of his bookshop at the end of the night, but that was always because - well, it wasn't proper, to have him stay so long. What if Heaven had found out?
And then they did, and it hardly mattered anymore.
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He reaches for something that is the truth, if not the whole truth, then at least some part of it.
"I guess I'm just... expecting there to be a catch, somewhere," he points out. "And, well... the bloke, you're not angry about that whole thing, right?"
Ugh, he's terrible at this.
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--Oh, right. Right, George.
"Heavens Crowley, why would I be upset over who you choose to take to bed? I think it's quite sweet he's obviously taken a liking to you, naturally that you don't feel the same I wish you had come out to chase him off earlier, but I can hardly blame you when you'd communicated to him, or him for trying."
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