Agape
Warnings:This story is for a writing challenge from the Ineffable Writers that I’m doing to get us more publicity, apologies to all the readers of Sin City... since it’s an excerpt from this Wink, wink, nudge, nudge to the newcomers.
Disclaimer:Blah blah blah, Neil, don’t be a jerk, you gave us permission to write fanfiction.
Premise:Agape, Just because A adores seeing B happy, A agrees to go to a place that B has wanted to visit for a long time.
Crowley squints his eyes and sighs deeply because it’s time to enter the room where the lights are dim and dinner has already started in little tables in front of the stage, and there seems to be no possible escape anymore. Bloody Puppy eyes.
Aziraphale moistens his lips, asking the girl at the door and... listening to the instructions for the table they must sit at (which miraculously is the one in the front row). Before entering... he turns to Crowley, who is behind him, pretending to be as uninterested as possible in all of this. That requires a great effort.
“Come on, I think... we have good seats,” the angel urges him, and hesitating a bit, he reaches out and takes Crowley by the wrist.
“I can’t believe that you whine for like an hour and a half when your clothes get wet in the rain, and now you’ve worked a miracle of a table in bloody front row,” the demon protests as he notices where he’s being led.
“It was a coincidence,” the angel defends himself, a bit uncomfortable.
“Tell that to the judge,” Crowley replies without believing him even a bit.
“It’s better to miracle this than the clothes... it’s for you to enjoy the show,” he assures, going between the tables, pulling him and moving his hand away from the wrist towards his hand.
“Like hell, I’ll enjoy it,” eyes rolling but he lets himself be pulled.
“Such an exaggeration!” he protests much more focused on finishing with him entirely by the hand, the demon intertwines their fingers naturally without even noticing.
Aziraphale notices it and his heart speeds up a little again not wanting to reach his seat.
“The grace is in... imagining how it deceives our senses,” the angel insists.
“But it doesn’t,” Crowley looks at him over his sunglasses.
“It does! You’re not letting yourself go,” he reaches their little table, with two chairs and a candle.
“Because it’s tremendously easy to see where the trick is, it’s not real magic,” the demon continues to protest.
“It’s skill! And it’s not that easy with good magicians.”
“Unlike...” Crowley smiles sideways, looking at him and sitting down or rather, pouring himself back onto the chair like molten iron without letting go of him.
“I do it acceptably well,” Aziraphale frowns and the demon laughs with that. “You being a bore...”
“This is not about being boring, it’s about a minimum of dignity,” he gestures with his hand.
“It’s not undignified to have a little fun!” he protests. “I’m going to copy some of these tricks.”
“What a surprise,” he looks at him disapprovingly but can’t help but smile.
“How does it affect you if I do some new tricks?”
Crowley sighs without responding to that, turning towards the stage.
“Maybe this time you’ll be amazed,” the angel insists.
“Or maybe not,” he glances at him.
“It amuses me that it grosses you out so much...” he squeezes his hand a little.
“Why?”
“Because... it’s just a game and apparently it must seem to you that I’m making too much of a fool of myself.”
“Because you are.”
“You say that only because you know I can perform a real miracle.”
“Of course!”
“That’s not skill and the grace of the magic I like is... the performance.”
“Don’t think you don’t overact,” I can’t believe you’re daring to tell him that, Mr. Drama Queen.
When they bring the menu is when Crowley lets go of his hand because besides, he doesn’t... plan to eat or maybe he does, maybe the same as him, he doesn’t care much.
When he lets go, Aziraphale picks up his hand, touching it a bit with the other, looking at him with a little idiotic look... despite how horrible he’s being.
“Well, overacting is a bit part of the trick. Being draaamatic like you, or cheeery and full of energy,” the angel does a bit of overacting.
“Look, I believed you about people dying while singing in the opera because it’s a lybrical resource or whatever it’s called, I’m not going to believe this either.”
“Lyrical,” he laughs heartily at this.
“That’s what I said.” the demon rolls eyes.
“You said ‘librycal,’ my dear,” he smiles.
“Same thing.”
Aziraphale smiles at him, looking at him with adoring eyes that he struggles to hide. He smiles back because he sees how cute Aziraphale looks when he’s delighted.
“Do you feel like eating something?” the angel asks softly a few seconds later.
“Whatever you want,” Crowley replies, looking at the menu. Aziraphale still gazes at him a bit longer before glancing at the menu, smiling.
“I think you should try the duck.”
“As a humorous choice or as food?” the demon smiles wryly.
“As both,” Aziraphale defines.
“Alright, duck it is,” he smiles.
“And I think the occasion calls for a glass of Champagne...” he looks at the wine list.
“Let’s see...” Crowley leans in to look at the options. He turns the menu slightly so he can see it. “How about...?” the demon points to one that looks good to him.
“That sounds good,” Aziraphale agrees.
“Great,” he smiles and leans back again as if he’s shedding a layer like someone taking off a sweater and tossing it on a chair, signaling the waiter.
Aziraphale glances at him with a side glance in that position, and... truth be told, even though he complains about it, Crowley wouldn’t be Crowley if he sat up straight without sprawling. He carefully closes the menu and places it on the table, brushing his leg lightly against Crowley’s.
Crowley lets him do it, causing the waiter to forget whatever he was doing and look at them with that finger snap trick.
“You know people can come by themselves when you call them if you wait a bit, right? There’s no need...” the angel complains.
“Forgive me father for I have sinned” Crowley mocks, tilting his head a bit towards Aziraphale, smiling when the waiter approaches them.
“Good evening, young man,” the angel greets the waiter.
“Good evening. Have you already decided on your order?” the waiter asks, a little thrown off at first because he’s sure he was doing something else, but... well, it must not have been important.
“Not yet, but if you would be so kind to take our order...” Aziraphale smiles.
“What would you like?”
“Well, we were thinking of two duck confits. One with figs. Please also bring asparagus to accompany them and... A bottle of Krug Clos du Mesnil...”
The young man carefully takes note of it, nodding, then looks at Crowley, who is just there listening.
“Are you alright, sir?” he asks, noticing the lifted glasses, raising a hand to point at his face. Aziraphale looks at the young man and then at Crowley.
“Of course, I’m a demon,” Crowley replies, calmly.
Aziraphale gives him a sidelong glance with a hint of annoyance.
“No one believes you,” the angel smiles sideways. “Because you hardly ever seem like a demon.”
“Of course they don’t believe me,” Crowley shrugs. “They don’t want to.”
“And you’re not doing anything demonic. Eating duck and drinking champagne... alongside someone very unlike you.”
“If you were to tell them you’re an angel...” he gives him a sideways glance.
“They wouldn’t believe me either.”
Crowley smiles a little sideways, thinking he’s not entirely in agreement with all this soft and sweet talk, but he prefers not to say anything.
“And they wouldn’t believe me if I said I came with a demon,” Aziraphale adds.
“Well, they wouldn’t believe that even...” he gestures with his eyebrows, looking up at the ceiling.
“I think she knows precisely... everything there is to know about both of us,” the angel smiles a little.
“Mmmm...”
“Or she would if he focused. Which I don’t expect to happen.”
“One of those angels... what’s his name? The one who looks like he hasn’t been to the bathroom in a week despite being a supernatural being...” Crowley pauses, thinking. “No, wait, I’ll have to be more specific...”
“You mean we all seem...” Aziraphale smiles a little more at that description.
“Those who were there on the day of... the cremation, I don’t know,” he gestures with his hand. “they said something. I wanted to ask you about it.”
“What did they say?”
“Something about a... boyfriend?”
“Someone of them has a boyfriend?” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.
“Yours. Mine, at that moment since I was there,” Crowley explains as they are served champagne.
“What?”
“I have no idea, I was hoping you would clarify,” he takes his glass and clinks it with his.
“What exactly did they say? That I... that I have a boyfriend?” Aziraphale clinks his glass without paying much attention.
“Yes. And apparently something was going to be done to him as well, I don’t know if after you.”
“Did they give any details...?” Aziraphale blinks. “I mean, I don’t have anyone close in heaven for them to think...”
“No, they just said that, not to worry too much because something was going to be done to him as well,” he shrugs.
Aziraphale moistens his lips and looks at him, Crowley glances at him, a little over his glasses.
“I think... it was just a figure of speech,” the angel decides.
“A... quite curious figure of speech,” the demon comments, looking at him intensely.
Aziraphale sighs, furrowing his brow a bit with all this. Thinking.
Crowley looks at him sideways and furrows his brow too as he notices that Aziraphale is doing the same. What does that mean? Is it true? Does he have...? or did he, if the poor thing had suffered the same fate as him, without having... well, a Plan B like they did.
At that moment, it seemed like an unfortunate and mocking comment, but maybe they were referring to something specific. What if he had just been given the news that in heaven they had killed his lover?
Wait! Since when did he have a lover and hadn’t told him anything? Were they not friends?
And the problem here was that... it’s not that Aziraphale didn’t know them and it’s not that he didn’t know that heaven and hell were just two sides of the same coin. However, the lifelong idea of being on the side of good was fading more and more until it was almost completely extinguished.
It wasn’t that he expected any show of emotion when they decided that the rules said they should kill him... but informing him of THAT among the last things to say before dying was... cruel.
And while in hell they were completely cruel, this didn’t seem strange to him, but... this was irreversible.
You can see on the demon’s face how the drama and tragedy are forming as the silence persists. How long had this been happening right under his nose? It had to be something from when he slept for a whole century. Surely from when he learned to dance that stupid dance in that stupid gay club.
The only thing here was that... of course Gabriel and the others knew. Or thought they knew something, which surely was not at all, remotely close to what was actually happening. Even less to what Aziraphale actually FELT for Crowley. And... suddenly, at this point, he cared less and less if they ever knew what he really felt for him.
So... even with a furrowed brow, he turns to look at him determinedly. Come on. If someone wanted to hear it, they would hear it.
Crowley eats the duck in about three seconds, unloading a bit of frustration on it.
“Well, what you should have told them then, is that you are MUCH more than my boyfriend. You are simply... a part of me. Enough that they couldn’t burn me.”
Come on, choke on your duck.
Yes, that’s what happens. Crowley almost chokes or rather, he chokes completely. Coughing exaggeratedly.
Aziraphale takes his cutlery, as if he hadn’t said any of that and as if Crowley weren’t choking.
The demon starts making hand gestures as if he were choking, making someone approach and perform one of those maneuvers done with someone trying not only to remove the piece of food choking them, but even from the lungs. If possible, the piece should even fall into someone’s glass for a proper dramatic-comedic effect.
There’s quite a commotion, someone shouts if there’s a doctor in the room, people running back and forth, there’s a fistfight and people stealing food, surely someone wins a good prize in the slot machines for poetic balance. Nothing is on fire yet, but give it a minute.
Aziraphale keeps eating without batting an eye.
I’m sorry, there’s the piece of duck in your glass. The chaos begins to dissipate a bit, there are sirens in the distance and honestly someone even applauds.
He takes a sip from the glass with the piece of duck. Sorry, Crowley, these are the minutes of an angry angel, you’re missing out. When the drama slowly dies down, the demon finally manages to ask.
“What... the hell?”
“And you say I overreact...” Aziraphale glances at him sideways, eating another piece of duck.
“Don’t change the subject!” Crowley whines.
“I’m angry.” th angel explains, too much calm fot that statement.
“What?”
“Not with you, my dear. Not at all.” he smiles.
“What does that have to do with... all this?”
“Everything. Nothing. Are you alright?” the angel looks into his eyes and he’s trying to ignore what he said because he’s angry. But... he won’t be angry forever, so... he hesitates a bit.
“No! What the hell... I mean... what... What?”
“I don’t think you need much more explanation...” he wipes his mouth with the napkin, eyes closed.
“I do need a few!”
Aziraphale clears his throat and Crowley looks at him intensely, although the angel doesn’t dare to look back.
“Alright... I’m going to ask for a bloody paper bag, in case you vomit from the speed,” Crowley protests, teasing a bit but giving in.
“What speed, Crowley?”
“The bloody tectonic plates’ one, apparently” eye roll.
“Perhaps it’s time...”
The demon looks at him intensely again, then the lights go out and colorful laser effects and dry ice smoke start on the stage, while a canned voice announces the magician according to the exact text from Aziraphale’s brochure. It seems like he’s reading it under the effects of crack.
“No fucking way!” protests Crowley because of the worst timing.
Aziraphale touches his arm ever so slightly without looking at him, just to... calm him down a bit, and just for that, he doesn’t stop time but huffs.
You could have stopped it and kissed him. He leans a bit closer to talk to him during the show, of course.
“Look, look... you like cards.”
The look of utter disbelief he receives from the demon. Anyway, this one does seem like a professional magician, even though he’s dressed ridiculously, you can’t see the tricks, and he keeps cracking jokes while doing them.
Not like the other idiot. Aziraphale is absolutely DELIGHTED.
Crowley sighs thinking this is boring but since he LIKES it. However, there comes a point, though, in the middle of the show, when the magician is performing a disappearing trick with a girl, and Crowley smiles sideways and... snaps his fingers, sending her to the hotel lobby. Aziraphale just... knows his snaps.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing” Crowley should stop smiling if he wants that to sound believable.
“Come on! As if I didn’t know you.”
“I’m just sitting here, watching the show” and he dies laughing at the magician’s puzzled face as he can’t find the girl in his secret trapdoor.
“Oh come on... Look! Look at the scared faces everyone has.”
“Maybe it’s part of the... show. The performance and all that.”
“It’s not and you know it. Where did you send the girl?”
“Well, you should ask the magician that, who by the way, is in The Show must go on mode without worrying at all” Crowley responds and decides to start making all the tricks WORK but to make them REALLY work, not with the-other-handkerchief-hidden-in-his-sleeve or the-secret-mechanism-that-activates-the-box... etcetera, just because he loves the dumbfounded look on the poor man who doesn’t understand a thing.
“You’re not going to tell me this guy isn’t good... ” Aziraphale argues, now very convinced of the absolute wonders they’re witnessing.
“He seems... a bit surprised.”
“And you not so much.”
“Why would I be? It’s clear that all of this is a trick.”
“And you’re telling me it’s obvious? He’s really good!”
“Well, it’s not obvious, but... he fails in the act...” Suddenly, before he can finish the sentence, a spotlight shines on Crowley as if he were about to be abducted by aliens. Or worse, as if he had a heavenly audience. Yes, darling, you’re the next involuntary volunteer.
The demon, in fact, raises his eyebrows in disbelief at this while the magician encourages him to come up, shaking his glittering cape. Crowley has seen disco balls less bright than that cape.
“Heavens...” the angel whispers upon noticing it.
“No, no, really, let him go up if he wants to ” the magician protests, pointing to Aziraphale, who truthfully... would have preferred it to be him, he would have been much more excited.
“Please” the magician requests, making the audience applaud. “I promise we’ll return him in one piece.”
Crowley glances at Aziraphale. But no, it’s Crowley’s turn, so Aziraphale smiles at him a little and signals for him to go.
“I can’t promise he’ll end in one piece” the demon mutters squinting his eyes at the angel and getting up.
“Come on, it’ll be fun” Aziraphale encourages him, although frowning a bit... a bit jealous.
The glare again before ten seconds of hip swaying from someone who’s heard of arms and legs, but never tried them. Although he has an aunt in Wales who has a knee, and once, when he was little, she let him see it.
The magician makes everyone applaud again, in the show business world, as an audience member, just existing is enough to get applause. Not even the dumbest could mess that up.
“Thank you, thank you for joining us tonight, your name is...” the magician continues as he gets up.
“Anthony” he hisses after hesitating for a moment, rolling his eyes to... the universe, apparently.
“Anthony! I love your glasses, Anthony, but isn’t it a bit dark to wear them or do you have conjunctivitis?”
“It’s because I’m a bloody demon” he responds with the fakest and most forced smile he can muster, not even trying to make it seem real. Of course, everyone laughs at that, including the magician.
“Quite amusing, undoubtedly,” continues the magician. “And tell me, Anthony... are you married? Can demons get married?”
Aziraphale smiles at the question. Crowley hesitates for a moment with that question, looks at the angel for a moment and...
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he says, snapping his fingers and a ring appears on his hand and another on Aziraphale’s.
“Oh my!” Aziraphale looks at him with his mouth wide open. “Married to whom?” (Sorry, but he hasn’t noticed the ring yet)
“Fantastic, let me guess, ‘on a business trip’ with the wife at home, don’t worry, this isn’t broadcast on television. You won’t be the first... or the last,” the magician makes an easy joke, and the audience laughs again.
“No!” protests Aziraphale.
“Ehm... no,” Crowley interjects, pointing to the angel. “I’m here on vacation with him. He’s sitting here in the front row.”
Heavens. Aziraphale opens his mouth even wider, SUPER flushed. Well, if Crowley is going to get into this mess because of him, it might as well be fun. They’re sure to focus on him or search for him with the spotlight. And the loving eyes... And in fact, the magician invites him up on stage too.
“What?!”
Up. On stage. Again, those damned applause that compel people to do things. You’re going to be the adorable gay couple of the magic show for the rest of the time you’re here.
Aziraphale looks at them and hesitates a bit... but, well... the adrenaline of the moment helps. He stands up, going towards him, and that’s when he notices the ring.
Crowley waits with a little smile, looking at him, having taken a step back. So when he gets on stage and sees the hand with very wide open eyes.
“You’re... supposed to ask for these things,” the angel whispers to Crowley in protest.
“I’ll kneel later,” he replies sarcastically, but blushing a little.
“Thank you very much for coming up as well...” the magician begins, expecting Aziraphale to tell him his name.
“Francis.”
“Francis, great. How long have you been together?”
“Six thousand years,” he suddenly declares, surprising himself. The magician blinks a bit at that.
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Crowley adds with a shrug.
“A lifetime,” Aziraphale adds.
“Uhm...,” the magician hesitates with all these surreal responses from everyone, hating it when the audience starts with nonsense. “Well, I suppose you have your rings...”
“Apparently...” Aziraphale looks at his hand and blushes.
“I need you to lend them to me because we’re going to test whether your love is true or not...”
Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose a bit at the absurdity of it all.
“With the rings?” Aziraphale asks, because... he would at least like to see it closely.
Crowley hasn’t had much time to think of anything elaborate, so it’s classic and boring, gold and smooth. Nothing more.
It’s... gold and smooth! Look how pretty it is. Aziraphale caresses it for a second... it has a ring!
“Do I have to give it to you?!” the angel asks, a bit mortified.
“I’ll return them,” assures the magician, winking at him.
Aziraphale watches as Crowley hands his over with absolute naturalness, while he is all reluctant. The magician takes Crowley’s ring and looks at Aziraphale.
“Don’t want to come out? Shall we bring some soap?”
“It’s... y-yes, it does want to come out,” he gives it VERY reluctantly and looks at Crowley for a moment, who coughs a bit without looking at him.
“I still can’t believe it,” the angel murmurs, waiting for the magician.
“Well, let’s put them on this handkerchief,” the magician continues for the audience, doing so. “And let’s imagine that they represent these two charming gentlemen, who come to dine here tonight,” he begins to cover them with the remaining corners of the handkerchief. “Then they see our wonderful show and, blinded by magic and love, they discreetly retire to their room...”
Crowley’s facepalm with that should be heard by the ducks of St. James. Who actually do have ears in the end. Thanks, Wikipedia.
“What?!” exclaims the angel in scandal.
“And...!” the magician does all his magic moves, and when he opens the handkerchief again, where the two rings should be inside each other, they remain separate because someone is being passive-aggressive about this.
“What? What’s going on?!” Aziraphale blinks, not understanding the trick.
So, what Crowley has done is make NOTHING happen. Whatever the magician did, Crowley made it undone, hence the passive-aggressiveness.
Heavens! Crowley! Alright, alright... Aziraphale is trying to understand. Honestly, the magician as well, and with him the whole audience.
“What happened?”
“Well, what’s going to happen. Nothing,” Crowley whispers.
“What was supposed to happen?” protests Aziraphale.
The demon shrugs, the angel furrows his brow, and the magician hesitates a bit and asks the audience for a little patience, making some joke about how after six thousand years, apparently the spark fades a bit, and does the trick again, this time successfully.
“So your conclusion is that...” Aziraphale glares at him.
“Mine?” Crowley points to himself, also furrowing his brow.
“Or the universe’s.”
“Ineffability, must be.”
Aziraphale looks at him, a little hurt by that, while the magician returns their rings, asking for applause as a sign that they’ll go argue somewhere else off his stage. Thanks.
Crowley puts his on because... why not? and follows Aziraphale, who sits in his seat still holding his ring, squeezing it in his fist.
The demon lets himself half-slump as if he were made of jelly into the one next to it with a sigh, because this crap seems like it’s not over yet.
“Why?” Aziraphale asks Crowley a few seconds later.
“Why, what?” he looks at him out of the corner of his eye.
“You make me go up there, tell everyone this, and then...”
“You wanted me to cooperate, didn’t you? You were scolding me for that.”
“Not to tell them that... we’re a terrible couple!” the angel grumbles and finishes, very maturely... by sticking out his tongue.
“I don’t think that’s the conclusion they drew...” Crowley looks at him, raising his eyebrows with that.
“How not? What conclusion do you think?” he whispers so as not to interrupt the show.
“Well, that the magician is an idiot. The others don’t tend to blame me for everything, that’s just you.”
“I don’t blame you for anything other than when you’re to blame. And even then...”
“Well, go and clarify it if you’re so worried.” Rolling eyes.
“I’m not going to clarify anything to them,” Aziraphale sneaks a glance at the ring and blushes, thinking that... everyone here thinks they’re married. And he said THAT earlier. And... all of this is moving very fast but, for once, he’s not so afraid that it’s moving fast... as he is that it might not move at all. Oh, the... interesting contradictions.
Crowley glances at him and then turns back to the magician, still not understanding how everyone doesn’t find it absurd, considering EVERYONE knows it’s a trick, even if they don’t know what it is.
Aziraphale sneaks a glance at him and right now if he feels a little uncomfortable thinking about all the fuss Crowley made with the duck and the drownings. I mean, technically, this shouldn’t be so surprising... Crowley KNEW. Maybe he’s just complicating things himself.
Oh, come on, that was lybrical!
He does applaud very enthusiastically though when the magician decides to end Crowley’s torment.
That “Thank, goodness!” amid the applause could have been heard less, dear.
“That was really great!” Aziraphale exclaims, so excited and delighted, bouncing in his seat.
Rolling eyes again, from the demon, but no one believes you if you let a smile slip.
“Perhaps we could come again tomorrow,” the angel suggests.
“It’s going to be the same act with the same tricks!” Crowley almost sobs. “Maybe we could at least... change the idiot.”
“Like Queen isn’t the same identical songs over and over again in a loop to infinity,” he retorts, smiling with those complaints.
“Don’t tell me that, tell it to the car!” he defends himself as they walk out into the hotel lobby.
“Alright... I already have a list of fifteen different ones...”
“Fifteen?! And I thought hell was bad...”
“We can choose only five or six, depending on how many days we’re here.” The angel is dying of laughter.
“I’ve seen things, angel. Things that would give you nightmares just thinking about them. Down there, they don’t mess around, but no one forces anyone to watch something like this fifteen times, we have boundaries!” the demon continues to dramatise, smiling.
“You’re exaggerating!” Aziraphale laughs at that as if it were some sort of compliment.
“I can’t believe it... Beelzebub should hire you, seriously, you’d outdo more than half of them down there.” Crowley keeps going. “Fifteen... in fact, I’m going to write a letter proposing it as a torment. They’ll make me head of something just with this!”
“So, SO exaggerated.”
“There’s nothing exaggerated about it! It’s completely heartless! Fifteen!” he continues and continues just because the other idiot won’t stop laughing.
“I’d prefer to do a magic trick on you...”
“That would still be a worse torment...”
“You could be my assistant.”
“Of course, in a tight sparkly costume like those poor girls” you don’t necessarily have to dress as a woman every time you think about dressing up. Even if it’s sarcastic.
“And a short skirt.”
“And apparently fewer aspirations in life than... than... Well, something that doesn’t have aspirations. Isn’t that very sad?”
“You could be my assistant like Crowley and that’s it. I can’t believe you’d rather be HIS assistant than mine.”
“The good thing is that all the tricks would go well for you... Him?”
“I’m already good at them!”
“Yes, of course...” sarcasm again.
“Who’s protesting about everything now?” Aziraphale smiles sideways.
“For this?” Crowley¹ gestures to the stage and the room in general. “Me.”
“Well, then it’s time to go where you’ll stop protesting,” he assures, and Crowley smiles at that, adjusting his glasses.
