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"Bus home or lift?" Anthony had asked flatly, and when Anathema picked bus, he'd detailed Aziraphale to walk her down without so much as a discussion.
Not that Aziraphale had complained in any way, but she didn't like the way Anthony had bossed him around. He deserved better than that, she reckoned, even if they did adore each other. So now they were standing by the pole that marked the bus stop, in a pool of light from the street lamp, and waiting while she tried to find words. At last, she managed, "If he's worried, why not walk me here himself?"
Aziraphale just shrugged plump shoulders. "There's nowhere to sit here," he said, as if it was obvious, "and since I'm the abled one in the pairing, that's how the tasks split. He'll have dinner sorted by the time I'm back, no doubt. Ah, there's your bus. Safe journey, my dear."
He waved her off as if he hadn't just set everything she thought she knew about them reeling, while she sank into a bus seat and frantically reassessed everything she'd seen. Dr Crowley's odd sauntering gait. The way he leaned casually against his car when he stopped to talk. The grimace as he got in. Propping himself against the rail in the lift on their way up to the apartment. Dropping onto a seat the moment he got in. The wince when he shifted his legs. The ever-present sunglasses. Masks beneath masks beneath masks.
One exchange echoed repeatedly in her head.
"You're not what I imagined."
"I rarely am."
So much resignation and acceptance and humour packed into three words. And she'd gone right on expecting and imagining and assuming, hadn't she? And he, he hadn't fitted any of that, and he knew it, and chose to be amused rather than upset. In other circumstances, she rather thought she might have liked him for that sense of humour.
***
A cluster of students turn the corner, and see Dr Fell standing backed up against the wall, with Dr Crowley part-blocking him by bracing one hand against the wall over Dr Fell's shoulder.
Dr Crowley leans in and his voice is a low, almost threatening, hiss, too quiet for any of the students to pick out the words. "Shall I pick up sushi for dinner tonight, angel?"
"Really," Dr Fell huffs, somewhat clearer, with a particularly innocent look on his face, "there's no need for that."
Dr Crowley seems to notice the first years hurrying to protect Dr Fell, because he pushes himself upright and his words, with a slight edge to them, become audible. "Think about it, and let me know." He saunters away and leaves Dr Fell to the students, who pride themselves on scaring off the threat.
One particularly bold student asks, "What was that about?"
"Oh," Dr Fell says, fiddling with his ring, "nothing important. Don't worry about it, dear."
The students, of course, take it as a polite lie, and redouble their efforts to guard him.
***
A different cluster of students catch another part of the conversation, in another corridor, as Dr Fell purses his lips and frowns up at Dr Crowley. "You know perfectly well my husband dislikes anything fishy."
"So that's a no, then?" Dr Crowley's eyebrows rise above his dark glasses, and his tone is almost flirtatious. "Because I know you'd love it."
Dr Fell huffs, and looks tempted, then turns abruptly and walks away, while the students silently cheer him on for resisting. (He's resisting the desire to laugh more than anything else.)
Dr Crowley's mouth tightens on a similar desire as he heads the other way, but on his angular face it looks harsher and angrier, and the students peel out of his way rather than cross him.
***
They get sushi in the end, because Crowley won't tease his angel over a treat without providing it. (He has the vegetarian option. Aziraphale eats half of that too, and Crowley watches indulgently, content with what he has.)