Absolutely Tickety-Boo

Crowley Does the Right Thing, Aziraphale Thinks He Did the Bad One

Crowley packs up Asmodeus’ things in a box the moment he sets foot in his flat. He can’t lie, it hurts, but he knows, just like Asmodeus knows, that this is what’s best for both of them. 

Once it’s all packed, he writes one last farewell letter, places it on top of the box, whispers a quick miracle, and just like that, it’s gone, with no trace Asmodeus ever set foot in this flat. 

That done, he goes towards his throne, where he put Aziraphale’s flaming sword on display after the postman dropped it off the night after their lunch at the Ritz. 

After staring at it for a long moment, he winces, 

Aw, fuck. I have to do the right thing again, don’t I?  

“Angel?” Crowley calls out as he walks into Aziraphale’s still intact bookshop, unable to help himself from giving a slight smile when Aziraphale comes out of the backroom. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s face lights up ten times brighter than Crowley could ever hope to, then gestures for the demon to follow him to the lounge area. 

“Can’t believe you decided to keep the bookshop.” Crowley tells him. “Would’ve thought the fire spooked you to keep your precious books safe.” 

“Still a demon?” Aziraphale says, but thankfully Crowley can tell it’s just a joke, and replies, “Afraid so. But I’m still not an aardvark.” 

“That is something.” Aziraphale remarks. “Still living in Mayfair?” 

“I am.” Crowley replies, before sitting down and taking one of the glasses the angel offers. “Are you and Chamuel...?” 

“No.” Aziraphale says easily, like he’d been waiting for Crowley to ask. “ What about you and Asmodeus?” 

The way the angel asks tells Crowley he already knows; he just wants to see what the demon is going to say about it. “Me and Asmodeus are no more.” 

Aziraphale winces in sympathy, “I’m very sorry to hear that, Crowley.” 

Crowley scoffs, “You? Sorry for a demon? That’s a new one. You always said any and all relationships were doomed to decompose.” 

“And you still chose to ignore me.” Aziraphale reminds him with no remorse. “Always the first one to combine sigils.” 

“So you and Chamuel...?” 

“Oh Heavens, no. He got promoted to archangel, and by the time the Blitz rolled around, we both knew we weren’t right for each other anymore. Couldn’t explain it if I wanted to.” 

“Would this explanation start with ‘You go too fast for me’?” Crowley’s being unfair, and he knows it, but still. It has to be said, especially if he’s going to say what he came here to say. 

“Potentially. But you know how it is. You’re with someone for so long, and suddenly you don’t recognize them anymore.” Aziraphale muses as he sips his own drink. 

“That I do.” If nothing else, Crowley can admit that. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Crowley.” Aziraphale says suddenly, blue eyes suddenly getting bigger, like he’s saying so much more than that. 

And of course, Crowley knows, and says in reply, “Can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be, angel.” 

They don’t say anything for a moment, before Crowley knows he can’t put off the real reason he’s here, and stands up, “Angel, I have a confession. I didn’t come here just to catch up.”