Chapter Text
Aziraphale was worried. To be more accurate and truthful, he was fretting or at least close to fretting. On the precipice of fretting, you might say.
Had he been asked he would’ve said that he had good reason for fretting but press him on the subject and he would get a bit cagier about why exactly that was.
Which in turn was because he was embarrassed about the reason for it. The reality of why he was fretting, or almost-fretting, was quite thoroughly silly. That was really the only word for it.
After all, it wasn’t as though this was the first. Not their first outing nor even their first date. He knew his date, too, deeper and closer than most people who’d been married for most their long life. Knew what he liked and what he didn’t like and what they usually did together.
But that was part of the problem. For all that he knew his date, his best friend and partner, his beloved demon, he was at a loss of what to do for this that Crowley would like that would feel special enough to qualify as a date.
Not made any easier by the fact that they had already been on a Date before – it deserved the capital letter, for its significance and emotional weight – one laid out and executed by Crowley. One which had gone…
Utterly perfect, really. At least from Aziraphale’s point of view and, by the explicit, verbal assurances and accompanying expressions on the demon’s face, from Crowley’s as well. Or close enough to, as he’d been the one to plan it and therefore the one to worry about it.
That did always taint an experience a little bit, simply for the second-guessing you invariably did as the ‘host’. Not enough to ruin something, necessarily, mostly far from it, but enough that it would always have that small tinge of worry to it.
And they had done so much together, too, over their years. They had been to the theatre, the opera, the music recitals and even the ballets more times than Aziraphale could remember in detail off-hand. There had been long strolls together in parks, idle and warm chats in parks and other picturesque places, sharing of food and doing silly things.
The number of times they’d been out for dinner was…not beyond his memory, not at all, but the number, though significantly boosted after they had successfully averted the Apocalypse, or Adam had, was vast.
He wasn’t about to complain, of course, as he had thoroughly enjoyed himself each and every time that they had spent time together. Even when they had ‘only’ been sharing a quiet talk and perhaps a bottle of wine, their respective sides be damned for the moment, it had felt wonderful because it had been the two of them.
Together.
It had felt special because it was them. That was what made it special and the fact that they could now be that out in the open, could be free and untroubled, for a given value of the term, about who would see them and what they were risking, only enhanced that.
Even when it could now be every day. If they wanted to, there was nothing stopping them from taking in a matinee and then an evening show of something else on the same day, together, then going out for the longest dinner you could ever imagine – then do it all over again the next day.
Or let the first day blend into the second day, if they so desired, of course.
But special was the problem.
This ought to feel special, extra special, extraordinarily special and perfect, but how could it do that when their day to day exploits covered so much of what would normally be special to couples?
Of course, one might argue that part of the joy of a relationship was the smaller things. A great part, a most important part of it was the ability to do something small or insignificant together or even nothing at all, and still enjoy it immensely, possibly even as much as they did the larger things.
That if your relationship needed for there to be something happening all the time, for there to be grand gestures and sweeping tours and outings, large surprises and things that impressed your loved one in order for a couple to be happy in their relationship, then there wasn’t any kind of relationship. Not really.
What there was instead was two people trying to outdo and overbid each other in accepted gestures in order not to be alone.
But they had that, too. A day of puttering around the bookshop for Aziraphale while Crowley decided to snooze in the backroom was just as lovely, as was when the demon would wake up and interrupt him with a kiss on his cheek, or elsewhere, still holding onto the blanket that the angel had draped over him at some point during his sleep.
As was when he got a ‘thank you, angel’ for placing a cup of coffee next to the ginger while he was caught up in reading some tome of herbalism that Aziraphale had bought over a century before. Or a book on the flora in Australia.
He usually got a squeeze of his hand, too, or once or twice a kiss to his knuckles.
The point was that there were plenty of small gestures in their relationship as it was, which were just as loving as the larger ones, and that the larger gestures in no way detracted from or diminished the smaller.
All of that said, the larger gestures, outings and so on were still close enough in structure and significance to qualify as what most humans would term a date, and that…
That just wasn’t enough.
He could take Crowley out to all of the things they enjoyed – being careful to pick what they genuinely did both enjoy, rather than what the demon was willing to go to in order to please the angel – of course and that wouldn’t be a bad way of spending a day.
Only problem with that otherwise absolutely wonderful point was the fact that it made every possible thing he could think of to do together seemed rather, not mundane, exactly, but not special enough to qualify as a date.
A Date.
It ought to have the same capitalisation as the first one. Not only because it was to be his first attempt at it, he wanted it to be as important and successful as Crowley’s had been. As memorable and monumental.
The problem there lay in the fact that he had no idea how to achieve that.
After all, he was up against not only going on the very picnic he’d suggested once upon a painful time and had in his heart of hearts hoped for since, a perfect picnic in a perfect location at that, but Crowley had taken him flying.
Their first flight together, free from all worry and fear. Just the two of them, in the world that they had been part of saving, enjoying the beauty of it and the love of each other. The trust and the love that had emanated from it, the exhilaration and joy.
Sharing in something that was just for them. That only the other could truly understand, and not just because they were the only human-shaped beings permanently on Earth with wings. Functioning wings, that was.
Something like that was priceless and more than that, it was inimitable. It was perfect in every sense of the word, especially with the things that were imperfect.
That was what he was up against. What he was aiming for and would be compared to. The date, Date, that had now taken its place as one of his very dearest memories of them together and that he would now have to recreate to the best of his abilities, without making it a repeat, a pale imitation of what had gone before.
He should provide something that was for Crowley and more than that, was perfect for him in the way the picnic and flight had been for Aziraphale.
Should he fail…he tried not to think about it.
Hence, all the fretting he couldn’t help but doing – and that was apart from all the other potential problems and pitfalls that he risked befalling him as he tried to plan the actual date after he’d worked out where they would go. Which might be never, of course, quite easily so.
Crowley knew that he was planning it, too, which really did nothing to help soothe his nerves. Could he have done it in obscurity and secrecy, it might’ve been a little better. At least then, if it turned out that he couldn’t so much as find the right place to go or the right thing, a good enough thing, for them to be doing, there would be no one to know. He could stew in his failure in silence and peace.
Instead, it would be known, and it’d be known by Crowley himself, which really was the crucial point.
Because Aziraphale had been so silly as to tell him outright that they should have another date and that the demon need not worry because the angel would take care of it.
Crowley had blinked one of his rare blinks, slow and clear and deliberate, at that. Then he’d smiled. It had been too honest, soft and warm a smile to be called a smirk but there was still that pleased, ‘I’ve-just-been-handed-something-entirely-too-good-and-I-know-it’ quality that a smirk had.
He’d said he was looking forward to it, very much so, could hardly wait, and had then kissed Aziraphale, long and slow and yet with so much love that the angel was afraid he would be smothered in it.
How could he consider anything but doing it, or try to, after a declaration like that? Not to mention the smile or the kiss.
And so, Aziraphale had set about trying to find something that could fit the bill.
That had been two weeks ago. Or was it three?
Oh, it was hard to keep track of, yet at the same time, he felt every single day drag on down his spine, digging into his marrow as it went by. Reminding him that another day had gone by without him coming up with something that could qualify as a Date, and that Crowley was waiting.
The demon never said anything about it, mind. Not even a hint or a casual remark. Instead, he seemed ready to wait the blond out for however long he’d need.
Which only made it worse because each time he didn’t say anything, it heightened Aziraphale’s awareness that he hadn’t and that he would have to, eventually.
It was the equivalent of waiting for the jab of the needle, your eyes closed, knowing that it was about to plunge into your vein any second now. Any…second…now…
And it never came. But you knew it had to, sooner or later, it was only a matter of time, and when you finally got the jab, it was going to feel a hundred times worse than it otherwise would have, for all the waiting and anticipation you’d had leading up to it.
Not that he thought Crowley was doing it on purpose. That was, he might be keeping shtum about it but that wasn’t because he was lying in ambush, waiting for the opportune moment. Aziraphale couldn’t believe that about him, for all that he had the feeling that something was about to be unleashed on him.
It wasn’t conducive to finding something for them to do or somewhere for them to go, either, though possibly, that was more making excuses than anything else.
The problem was, he had no idea. None whatsoever. The reality of that was enough to fill him not only with a sense of failure, of disappointment but with a sense of guilt as well.
That he couldn’t manage to accomplish something as relatively simple as that, when Crowley had within a few days of his suggesting they go for a Date – the angel quite forgot in the moment that the other had had something of a leg-up on that front, courtesy of having borrowed the idea that Aziraphale himself had come up with – was shameful and guilt-inducing.
Further than that, it left him feeling as though he was a failure as a partner. They were not married, though what a wonderful thought that was, and while ‘boyfriend’ had a certain ring to it, it also made him feel significantly older than Crowley, even though they were ageless and likely created around the same time.
If he was a proper partner to his beloved, then he would’ve been able to come with something in a heartbeat. No need to think about it, it would just come to him.
How could he say he knew Crowley when he couldn’t find a place that would be special to him? That would give him the best possible day he could think of, so that he could know and feel just what Aziraphale had? How much the angel loved him through the gesture, the Date.
Then one morning, a morning that couldn’t decide what weather to put on before it went out, so it had gone for all of them, he was alone in the bookshop. Crowley had muttered something about…Aziraphale wasn’t entirely such what, to be honest, but he’d gone out for the morning, possibly the entire day.
It had been tempting to let the bookshop be closed, then, and to let himself sink into his mind space or, preferably, a book. But he kept it open, mostly for keeping himself grounded, just in case that needed to be ready for a potential customer.
That didn’t mean he had to sit around waiting for them to come, though, and so he settled himself down with some things he had to catalogue.
First, though, he read a newspaper. He didn’t do it every day – at some point, nothing felt particularly new but every now and then, it caught his fancy and he bought one.
On this particular day, the newspaper in question decided that a good selling point was to have a large feature about…
About something called “The Eden Project”.
For a split second, Aziraphale startled, almost choking on the cup of tea he’d made – cocoa was for the afternoon or for settling down with a particularly promising book, whether old or new or even recently published – and unwisely decided to take a sip of at that moment in time.
Then, thankfully, his brain kicked in and informed him that it wasn’t as though it was the first thing that he’d ever seen that the humans had dubbed ‘Eden’. That it was probably only a naming convention to refer to something extraordinarily beautiful or perhaps what humans at the current time imagined the Garden of Eden to be.
The last thought helped to calm him down further and he swallowed what tea hadn’t disobeyed him and gone up his nostrils, then tried to actually read the first article about it.
As it turned out, he was more right than he would’ve thought. It wasn’t quite an attempt to recreate what they currently imagined Eden to have been, but more an effort to demonstrate the importance of plants to people and to promote sustainable use of plant resources.
Plus, it seemed though it wasn’t outright stated, to gather as large a biodiversity as possible in order to show off that importance. There was an area of indoor rainforest and one that mimicked the Mediterranean area, for goodness’ sake, why else would both be there? There were still a few climates missing, to cover all the bases, of course, but it was a good start.
He smiled. Oh, if only they knew. The Garden of Eden hadn’t been half as biodiverse as Earth was today, and not only because the evolution of plants to survive had sent everyone scrambling for their own little niche to shout at the world from.
The dinosaurs had been a joke, yes, but something had been put into the very fabric of the flora and fauna of the world that said to grow and expand and adapt. Otherwise, there would be great swathes of the world left uninhabited and while that might have been the plan at some point, it evidently no longer was.
Or maybe both had been. He still wasn’t in a place where he would question The Ineffable Plan. The Divine Plan, most certainly, without hesitation – mostly – but that was something on its own.
He suddenly remembered the small back and forth that he and Crowley had thrown to the representatives of Heaven and Hell and he couldn’t help but smile, a small but undeniable smile that verged on self-satisfied, with a possible tinge of a smirk.
That had been good, hadn’t it? To put them in their place, just for the moment, by pointing out something they wouldn’t ever have thought of. That they could do it back and forth like a double act was the sweetest cherry on top.
He read on about the project and had to admit that it sounded quite interesting – and it lacked, it seemed, the Victorian obsession with trying to control things, which had fuelled many of the already established Gardens. Again, the capital letter was very important. There was some control, to keep everything healthy and vibrant, of course, but then, there had to be.
Everyone had to be on their best behaviour when living in a shared community with people from all over the world, after all.
Then, as he sat there reading, a thought crept up on him, ducking and weaving and remaining out of sight until it could jump the last metaphorical foot or two and ambush him from behind.
This was…
This was where he was taking Crowley. This was the venue for their date. Their Date.
For a moment after the thought metaphorically toppled him, he sat there, staring at nothing. Then his mind began to protest.
A garden? Truly? Wasn’t that too obvious by half? The equivalent of giving someone socks for Christmas? Or at the very least, the equivalent of taking Aziraphale out to a book market?
Which Crowley had, more than once, and though the angel had yet to find any particularly good find that he didn’t already own, he enjoyed the walk and the search, just being among books that he didn’t know inside and out as his own.
How would going to a garden be even remotely enough for it to qualify as a Date? They had been to Kew Gardens, too, and other such places all around London, and even further out a few times, as well. How would that be different?
It would be obvious. It would be trite, to say the least. It would be –
Perfect.
No, it would be anything but perfect, how could he think that? Good grief, he wasn’t even listening to himself anymore.
But this wasn’t just any kind of garden, was it? Not even a Garden. It would be…it would be so much more than any of those other gardens. Not just an amalgamation of all the best parts of them but, by the looks of it, a distillation of it all.
The very best of it. Wild and yet tamed, a culmination of human and nature, bringing together the best of both worlds.
Okay, perhaps that was taking a bit too far, not to mention flowery, pardon the expression.
But the point remained.
It might be that there was similarities with taking the angel out to a book market, but that was just as much because Crowley cared.
He cared about his plants, however he abused them – and honestly, it was abuse those poor plants suffered, even if it had lessened a little since That Saturday, and he ought to have a good long talk with the demon about that – and he was interested in the way other plants were managed.
He certainly had a lot to say about the quality and care of quite a few plants they’d seen, even when it had been in the most esteemed places. It wasn’t always that he spoke quietly, either, and more than once, Aziraphale had had to either smooth things over or gently herd them out of the garden.
It went beyond that, too, reading books on the subject and even putting a few plants into the bookshop, to ‘liven the mausoleum of trees up’ and ‘show the plants what fate would await them if they didn’t grow perfectly’.
Aziraphale had held his tongue on that occasion, mostly because he could see the standard tree rose for the lovely, and loving, gesture that it was.
Well, that, and he took to caring for it himself a little, too, mostly in the sense that he removed any less than perfect leaves and perhaps miracled a bit as well, so that it wouldn’t incur the wrath of avenging Crowley.
Looking up the plant revealed it to be called a Lady of Shalott. A reference that he not only understood, but which brought a crimson flush to his cheeks for its thoughtfulness.
The fact of the matter, however, was that for all his arguments about how this wasn’t good enough to qualify, he didn’t have anything else. Nor was it very likely that he would find somewhere else, given that he hadn’t managed it yet, despite how fervently he’d searched.
Alright, so it hadn’t exactly helped that he hadn’t quite known what he was looking for but that was hardly the point. If anything, it only boosted the argument that he hadn’t been capable of finding what would work. Hadn’t been able to narrow down something so simple and essential as what would excite and be perfect for a Date for Crowley.
For both of them, surely? It would hardly be good, let alone fair, if it was only for the benefit of one, would it? It couldn’t be claimed that Crowley had got nothing out of their first Date, could it?
No, but that was still…it had been Aziraphale’s wish that had been the focus. His dream of a picnic together, fulfilled and then brought past that fulfilment as though it had been no bother, no problem at all. That it had contained other, equally wonderful things had just been a bonus.
Aren’t you glorifying that particular date, sorry, Date, a little bit much here? It didn’t go as much without a hitch as you like to remember – you were both rather nervous, after all, to say the least, and Crowley scared you when he dived like that.
Well, yes, but that was…that hadn’t been hitches. That had been part of the experience and had only made an already wonderful day into something magical. More magical, that was.
Nor was it as though Aziraphale would be doing it purely for Crowley’s sake. That was to say, Aziraphale would get something out of it if his demon got something out of it. Well, there was the fact that the angel did enjoy gardens himself, too, really, even though he surrounded himself with their corpses, to put it morbidly.
The point was that the focus should be on Crowley, throughout the experience. That Aziraphale enjoyed himself as well was wonderful, of course, but he would be more than happy to not enjoy himself quite as much if it meant he had picked somewhere the ginger would adore.
Not that he was saying that Crowley had been putting up with things when they’d gone for the picnic, of course, that wasn’t…
Oh, what a mess this all was – and he hadn’t even truly started yet!
The immediate question was whether or not he was going to use this, this ‘Eden Project’ as the venue for their Date.
Part of him didn’t want to say yes. Wanted to wait, in fact, until he was absolutely certain he had the right place to go, the perfect thing to do together that would top every other idea you could possibly have. The problem with that, of course, was the fact that he couldn’t know when and where he would find that, or even if he ever would. His track record so far didn’t make it seem all that likely.
At the same time, he didn’t want this to be picked merely as a stand-in. A substitute solution because he couldn’t find something better and certainly couldn’t find anything better in time.
Because he couldn’t put Crowley off forever until he found it, either, no matter how patient the other was with him.
So, it seemed that he had very little choice, and at least it would be of a grand enough scale to qualify as Date material.
‘The Eden Project’ it was, then.
He felt something loosen inside of him at the thought. As though the decision had made that part of him relax, even if only a little.
It would undoubtedly be tense again in no time, what with all the other things that needed to be sorted before they could go but for now, he was able to let the relief flow through him at having made the decision.
Which turned out to be just in time, as well; he heard the doorbell jingle and, after hurriedly stashing away the newspaper just in case, he rose to greet, i.e. monitor, the customer who came to disturb him.
Only, it turned out to be the demon himself, returned from whatever argosy he had been on, with some rather magnificent spoils, it seemed.
“Lunch, angel!” he declared, holding up a box. A rather exclusive, expensive-looking box.
“My dearest, you can hardly lunch on – oh, is that a passionfruit cheesecake?” he asked, having espied something through the little plastic window adorning the front of the box, teasing the contents within in a most elegant manner.
“Mousse cake, thank you very much, and a blackberry one, too.” He peered into the box, in the pretence of not remembering what he’d bought. “Got a selection of sandwiches, too, and some scones, too.”
“That is rather early for all of that?”
“So? What’s your point?”
Aziraphale smiled and drew close to the other, and not just because it allowed him to look into the box properly, too.
“Nothing, really. It does all look terribly scrumptious, I must admit. You will share it with me, though?”
He got a kiss on the cheek. “As if I don’t always do that. It’s only a mercy that I can’t gain weight.”
“Well, some people have all the luck.”
A hand found his middle, caressing it slightly, gently. “You wouldn’t diet if you were forced to, Aziraphale, don’t give me that. It’d be like expecting a duck not to quack – “
“As a matter of fact – “Aziraphale began, but the demon cleared his throat and lifted an eyebrow, and he stopped.
“My point is that you’d never do it. Nor should you. I like you this size and shape. Never mind the fact that you never really stray far from this size, either up or down, and you haven’t in all the time I’ve known you.”
Aziraphale looked the other in the eye, or in the sunglasses, and he smiled.
Trust Crowley to get right to the heart of the matter – and now he dared to voice it, too. But more important than that, most importantly, in fact, was the smile he got in return.
The one which not only said that Crowley was there for him no matter what but that he understood the angel. Not so much about the weight, not really, but about changing without wanting to or making the conscious decision and being worried how that would be received. In particular by your partner.
Oh, how had he ever got such a most perfect partner as Crowley? Let alone deserved him, which he wasn’t entirely sure that he did, to be honest.
If he was entirely honest, he knew that he didn’t deserve him. That he really never could.
After all, of all the demons they could’ve sent up to ‘make some trouble’, they chose to send the one who not only would strike up a conversation like it was nothing with an angel but had one of the most…receptive minds for the nuances that would be thrown his way. Their way, really.
Not every demon would’ve been able to adapt to not only the times, but the mindset needed for living on earth. For being human, in fact. The demons Crowley had described, such as Hastur, would only have become more…radicalised, Aziraphale felt sure, rather than mellowed and nuanced out.
Not that angels were better, of course. He had come to terms with the fact, the lesson that Crowley had tried to teach him for so long, that it really was just two sides with neither inherently better or even more in the right than the other.
Uriel or Sandalphon would’ve been just as bad and as for Gabriel…
Perhaps he was being entirely unfair, too, and they would be able to adapt, from either side, given the proper amount of time.
That said, he rather doubted it.
Crowley had had something different about him from the time they’d met, and he had only polished and enhanced what was already present over the intervening millennia.
Then, of course, there was their whole history together after that, and what struck Aziraphale looking back on it now, among other things, was that Crowley had stuck by him even when the angel had been horrible. One might call that dogged, especially considering that he had been pining for a good number of those years, but Aziraphale knew that wasn’t the case.
Shame still burned within him whenever he thought about that, even when the demon reassured him that it didn’t matter. Certainly not anymore, if it ever did. Even when that reassurance had to be repeated.
The point was that there were so many good points about his beloved – good, not nice, he was learning – that Aziraphale couldn’t hope to measure up to, quite apart from all the things he’d said and done over the years.
Well, perhaps not quite apart from. It was truer to say that it emphasised, if not outright fuelled, the problem.
And yet…
Yet Crowley loved him. There was, there could be no arguing that. It showed up in so many different ways now that he cared to, no, dared to look for them. From the smallest of gestures or looks in those beautiful eyes to the words laid at his feet or pressed into his skin to the largest of declarations or movements, both physical and more metaphorical.
It was a strong love, too, fed and watered and nourished in a way that only added to that sense that Aziraphale had been gifted someone entirely too good for him.
He loved him back, of course, with just as much fervour as the demon did to him, but it still rather floored him just how strong Crowley’s love was, when he let it shine through.
Which was more or less all the time now that they were free.
A love which extended to his physical form, too, in all its imperfections. Self-inflected imperfections, of course, but even so.
He placed his hand on top of the demon’s bony one.
“I might have, you know, in the times in between having seen each other,” he pointed out, though his tone was light and teasing.
Eyebrows rose in surprise and indignation that was surely entirely feigned.
“What? Are you telling me that I might have missed out on seeing this soft wonder of a belly larger than it is now?”
Okay, so perhaps not entirely, judging by the tone of voice.
“Much larger, I believe,” the angel admitted, and he couldn’t quite help the flush that stole over his features despite his best efforts.
Which was ridiculous; he’d been the one to admit having been larger than he was now, quite freely, so why was he suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed and self-conscious about the fact?
That, however, died a swift death when the ginger moved closer and spoke again.
“When?” he asked, rather…insistently.
“In the – well, in the latter half of the nineteenth century,” Aziraphale said, and the furthering of the flush wasn’t entirely from embarrassment this time.
Rather, it was a mix of shame and embarrassment. Not only because it brought to mind their fight and how he’d acted at the time, but also how he’d acted afterwards. How he had indulged rather heavily in all the delicacies that was brought in through the might of the British Empire and those which came with a more affluent population, in particular its middle classes.
That he had still been able to fit into his clothes, the same as decades previous and as it was now, was quite the surprise.
It was only when he’d taken up gavotting that it had come off again. Not so much that he’d lost the belly entirely, sadly, but enough to get him back to roughly his former size.
He would protest that he hadn’t been eating because he was feeling miserable, and quite vehemently at that, too. It had simply been a series of events with the loosest of connections that had fallen against each other, and nothing more.
That it had been more Stonehenge than a house of cards was rather irrelevant, at least now, he would’ve thought.
Crowley stared at him as though he’d been told he’d missed out on seeing the entirety of Hell chewed out for subpar performances. Or possibly both Heaven and Hell being thoroughly scolded by God Herself.
It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t believe the expression, he was merely rather…utterly overwhelmed and confounded to be the evident recipient of such a look. As the ginger might’ve said, he was ‘rugged’.
The hand on his belly spasmed for a moment though it didn’t outright grab or squeeze and definitely not painfully so.
“Aziraphale…!” Crowley said and it was hoarse and just a little bit choked.
“Yes?” the blond returned, genuinely puzzled.
A kiss was pressed to his cheek. Or, he assumed that it was meant for his cheek. Where it actually ended up was somewhere around his throat, an inch below his jaw.
Not that he was about to complain. Especially not when he got another one, equally hard and fervent on his cheek.
“You can’t just give me a piece of information like that!”
“Then how am I supposed to give it? Or should I have kept it to myself?”
“No!” The word was said with such a strength that it verged on vehemence. “No, you shouldn’t have…bloody heaven, though, angel!”
He gulped a breath which he then exhaled slowly and carefully.
A moment’s pause passed between them.
Then, very quietly, whispered into an ear, “Can I do that?”
“Can you do what?” The penny dropped, though more accurately, it was a pound coin. “Oh. I – well, yes, I don’t see why not. Only, I don’t quite understand why you would want to.”
“You like to eat. I like to watch you eat, and I like to see the effects. Doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.” The demon shrugged.
Aziraphale looked at him askance. “Only, it is more complicated than that, isn’t it? Otherwise, you wouldn’t ask, and you most certainly wouldn’t ask like that.”
He watched Crowley frown, open his mouth, get as far as a glottal stop being strangled, click it shut, deepen the frown, then colour. Not a lot but a bit was something, too.
The angel took the hand that still rested on his stomach and interlaced their fingers.
“If that is something you would like, my dear, then that is most certainly something we can do. Within reason, though, as I don’t have a desire to get quite that large again. Ever. But something along those lines, for a time, at least, I would be delighted to do for you.”
“Not just for me.” The colour strengthened just a little, and the voice held just a hint of pleading.
Oh, no. But I always enjoy indulging, just like you said, so it somewhat goes without saying that it would be for me, too. To it be something for both of us is…”
Quite frankly, not in the slightest what he was expecting. He wasn’t about to complain, of course, but that didn’t change the fact that it’d taken him by surprise to have Crowley express that kind of interest.
It might just be a passing fancy or nothing more to it than a fascination with watching the results of eating but that would be fine as well.
Anything for his darling demon, and like he said, it would hardly be any kind of hardship on him.
For the moment, any thoughts about gardens and Dates and how he was most certainly going to make a mess of things were pushed out of his head, subsumed in the joy of being around his beloved. Oh, and consuming some rather gourmet food, too.
He even got to have Crowley not only eat – the ginger ate quite a bit on his own, even if he couldn’t compare to Aziraphale’s indulgence – but steal a few morsels off his plate, something which delighted him. Most of the time, at any rate.
When he picked the morsel that Aziraphale had specifically been saving for savouring last…
To be honest, though, the smile he got when he glared at the other was almost always worth it.
Should he tell Crowley?
His first, immediate thought was that yes, of course he should. Not only would the demon be the one driving them there – the thought of taking public transport all the way to Cornwall was…not one that Aziraphale wanted to contemplate – it would be rather unfair not to give him at least an inkling of what they were about to see.
On the other hand, it was meant to be a surprise. You could hardly unveil a surprise beforehand and still expect the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ at the intended time as well, then. Not ones that weren’t entirely faked, that was, and almost always distinctly so. Either that or the persons in question had some other issues to deal with.
There was also the point that if he told him beforehand, Crowley would then be able to show just what he thought of it long before they even reached the domes.
Would he try to drive them somewhere else, then? Or would he constrain himself to harsh or snide comments? Perhaps he would be kind enough to only sink into sullen silence, not wanting to ruin things too bad even though Aziraphale had made the wrong choice.
The option, that he would react favourably, whenever he was told, was one that didn’t truly register in his mind, to be honest. Less bad was closer to his mindset.
It didn’t help that he’d had a bit of time to work himself up over it, from that morning when he had first read the article – he had since been over it several times and had veered back and forth between thinking it a rubbish option and a very good solution – to now, the night before they were going.
Initially, he had told himself he had wanted it to be a surprise through and through, showing up at Crowley’s flat and telling him that he had better be ready because they were going on a date.
While Aziraphale might well have done that if they had had tickets to the opera or similar, though perhaps not quite like that, he couldn’t bring himself to do it with this.
This was too important to be blurted out like that, quite apart from the potential embarrassment of it should it turn out the demon wasn’t even at home when he called on him. It would just figure, after all.
So, instead, he had asked two days ago whether Crowley had any plans for this particular day. The demon had looked at him slightly oddly but had simply answered that he hadn’t.
When the angel had then asked, seeing as they were both free, if Crowley would be interested in a date with Aziraphale – he debated on whether to let the capital letter be audible but, in the end, decided against it in a fit of nerves – on that particular day, the odd expression intensified, a fact which only nudged the nerves of the blond up further.
Even the smile that replaced it and the light in warm yellow eyes as he had said yes wasn’t quite enough to dispel it.
Did Crowley know it was, in fact, a Date rather than a date? The other times they had been on what might by humans be termed a ‘date’, but which didn’t deserve the capital letter, there hadn’t been…well, he hadn’t outright asked, had he?
Or rather, what he had asked was whether Crowley would like to see so and so perform or watch that particular play. To be honest, of course, it had been more the other way around but Aziraphale could find some comfort in the fact that it had not exclusively or even mainly the ginger who had taken the initiative on those scores. At least, not as far as he remembered.
To go at it slantways was Crowley’s modus operandi, after all, and so that had extended to their normal outings together and had even rubbed off on Aziraphale over the years. Often, they didn’t even need to ask at this point in time, they just did it or asked with a look.
A look had been safer, too, especially at the time.
This was different, though, in so worryingly many ways, and so Crowley must know. Not least because Aziraphale knew him to have been waiting for just this, however patient he had appeared to be.
But the ginger hadn’t pressed him on where they were going. Had not even asked for a name or a direction, not when Aziraphale had asked for the specific date nor in the intervening days.
Did that meant that he didn’t care about it? That it didn’t have the significance that it did to Aziraphale?
No, that was – that was ridiculous. Patently ridiculous. Even in his somewhat worked up state, the angel was aware of that and couldn’t even truly entertain the thought.
Much more likely was the suggestion that the other didn’t want to push or put too much pressure on Aziraphale by commenting on it.
Just as consideration was the most likely reason for his lack of ask about when that next Date would be at all.
In the end, Aziraphale got into the car that pulled up on the other side of the street bright and early that particular morning without having told Crowley anything but that they were going on a date and the general direction.
They had both been all over the world, and the British Isles, too, so Crowley would have an idea of what that meant without Aziraphale needing to provide more details. Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t clue him in enough to the actual, specific destination.
Sooner or later, of course, he would have to own up as to where exactly they were going, or they wouldn’t be going at all. Or rather, they’d be going somewhere else entirely, which would ruin the point.
It would most definitely make all the worrying, the fretting, he’d done end up entirely pointless.
All the heartache, too.