you're a sky full of stars | closed

[lunchbreaks]

characters: Aziraphale and Crowley
location: At the park
date/time: 9/18 for lunch
content: A long overdue picnic, with a surprise meteor shower
warnings: Y'all it's gonna be cute. Hiss hiss fall in love.

Aziraphale had spent the last two days off and on making a spread for the picnic that he'd promised he'd take Crowley on before their little boat hijacking plot, so the fact that there were falling stars everywhere was just a nice little bonus. "Ah," he had said, as they headed out, straw basket full of goodies with a gingham blanket covering it tucked under one arm. "I wonder what that's all about."

Now, on the dark green lawn of the park, somewhere by the pagoda with the ice cream cart in plain view, Aziraphale throws the blanket open and places a rock on one corner and a bottle of wine on the other to weigh it down. He pulls out a few wrapped cheeses, some crackers, dried apricots, walnuts he'd cracked himself that morning, extremely terribly made pork pies, and eton mess that had, at one point, aspirations as a pavlova.

And, of course, some awful red table wine that would taste better once poured, as long as Aziraphale got to touch it first. "It is beautiful," he remarks, looking up at the sky. "Were you in the Americas for the Leonid storm in 1833? I was. It's a bit like that."

Comments

[sauntered_downward]

"Fine," Crowley says. "Fine! We'll find out a way together. We'll work it out together. I don't want to stay here without you anyway."

But if push comes to shove, he's going to get Aziraphale out of here.

"And, really, what can Hell do worse to me than they've already done? They obliterated me. With Holy Water. It was literally the worst they could do."

[lunchbreaks]

"They could - I don't know, keep you in a dungeon forever," he says. It's not like Crowley needs anything to survive, but he'd go mad in there, left alone to only his thoughts. Aziraphale would never let that happen to him.

But that's why it was important that they don't part.

He finds that he's walked back to Crowley, and still looks at him as if he's in a great deal of pain.

[sauntered_downward]

"I once sat through a cinema viewing of Singing in the Rain with you, angel," Crowley says, flippantly. "That was far worse than any dungeon Hell has waiting for me."

He reaches out a hand and lets his fingers brush against the angel's fingers. He doesn't properly hold his hand, not this time.

"We'll figure this out together. We'll escape together. We have a plan."

[lunchbreaks]

"Alright, just," he balls his hand up into a fist and takes it away from Crowley, but then he takes a breath, and settles down, and puts it back where it was, bumping the backs of his fingers against the front of Crowley's, slotting them where there are gaps.

"--Just don't tell me again that you're going to put me through to the other side and-- leave me."

[sauntered_downward]

Of course Aziraphale would see it as Crowley leaving him. Crowley, conversely, would see it as saving Aziraphale.

"You think I'd just stay here because I like it here?" Crowley says. "Not that they don't have absolutely fantastic ice cream flavors for me to want to stick around for..."

He offers the angel a small smile. A gesture that's meant to be an olive branch, of sorts.

[lunchbreaks]

"No, I know you don't like it here, but... don't entertain the thought," he retorts, and glancing up, he knows that Crowley rarely smiles, genuinely anyway. When he does, they're generally reserved for Aziraphale, and so, each one of them is a precious gift.

But he looks away, back to the floor.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley's voice turns serious. "We're leaving on that ferry," he says. "I'm getting us out of here. We're not going to be here in a month. Just a few more days and we're gone. Back to where we belong."

He knows he's betting a lot on this plan, but he's not going to give up. It's a good plan, it's worth betting on.

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale realizes he's standing very close to Crowley now, their fingers laced, static practically brewing between the two of them.

"Yes, we'll go back, we'll figure this out, we'll come back for everyone, and we'll still have time to stop Armageddon," he says, voice so quiet only Crowley could hear him. He has to believe it's true.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley doesn't give two shits about coming back for everyone. But he'll do it for Aziraphale. They'll get free, save the Earth, have that holiday they were talking about, and make things right.

Somehow.

"Of course we will," Crowley says. And he's so confident it has to be true.

[lunchbreaks]

He's so close now that he can feel the wine get to him, and wonders if he's swaying or if it's only in his mind.

Everything will work out, because it has to.

"Alright," he says. "We had better. No deviations from the plan."

[sauntered_downward]

"Not even one," he promises, his voice at a whisper. "I always stick to the plan."

Crowley moves in, just a little, and considers what would happen if he were to move in just a little more----

A forest spirit moves past them, causing Crowley to move back quickly, all but leaping out of his skin. The spirits startle him, and they make him think the worst is out to get him.

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale sucks in a gasped breath as he feels Crowley come near and thinks he might lean in the rest of the way, his head turning just slightly to the right, his eyelids feeling heavy--

--Then the forest spirit sprints past, and he jerks away.

He clears his throat and starts walking again. "You do not, but you will this time."

[sauntered_downward]

"I promise," Crowley says. "I'll stick to the plan. We'll get through this."

He wants to prove it to Aziraphale, but the only way to do that is to get to next week, to get to their plan.

[lunchbreaks]

He knows in his heart that he'll be disappointed in two weeks, but he does have to believe.

"Oh, that's right. Have you seen the museum?" he asks.

[sauntered_downward]

"No?" Crowley says. "What museum?"

Easy to fall back into a walk between them, to try to eliminate the sudden, intimate moment they'd almost had a moment before.

[lunchbreaks]

"Ah, there's a museum up the road, let's go take a visit," he suggests, starting to head in that direction, completely forgetting about how Crowley's face looked so very close to his own.

Thank goodness it's dark, or it might betray the pink on his cheeks.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley nods, and follows the angel easily.

"Have you been?" he asks. He doesn't think about what almost happened back there, or, at least, doesn't think much about it. What could have happened.

[lunchbreaks]

"Once, just for that time we were all supposed to take selfie pictures. I didn't have much time to look around, and I thought maybe we could do it together."

He doesn't take Crowley's hand this time. That might be dangerous.

[sauntered_downward]

"Do you still have that one of us?" he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "That one we took?"

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh yes, of course. I have plenty of us, I hit the button a few too many times. Why?"

He pulls out his device. "Would you like to take another one?"

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley considers saying no. After all, it's a silly thing, isn't it? The selfie was his invention, to prey on pride in people. But there's something wonderful about having a photograph of the two of them together. All these years as friends and until now, there had never been proof.

"Yes, all right," he says. He takes a step towards the angel again and poses, because of course he does.

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale, meanwhile, takes several pictures of them, most of which are blurry, two of which somehow manage to not have Crowley in them at all despite the fact that he does have the front-facing camera on.

He's blinking in one.

His mouth is open agog in another.

All in all, none of these selfies are good.

[sauntered_downward]

"Angel, stop. Stop. Give it to me."

He reaches up to take the device from the angel's hand. "I'm good at this, just...trust me. Hang on a minute."

[lunchbreaks]

"Okay," he says, and poses. He tries to do the tongue thing again, where he sticks it out and tries to wave it around, but it really just makes him look vaguely froglike.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley has to bite his own tongue to keep from bursting into laughter. He holds the camera out, wrapping an arm around the angel to hold him close enough to get them both in the shot.

"Try just---don't do the tongue thing. Really, don't."