Note: Originally written on February 11 and 23, 2014, respectively.

Drift Compatible

"Remind me to never visit the Pacific coast again," Crowley murmured, flicking the collar of his coat up against the chill and shoving his hands deep into the pockets.

Aziraphale hummed lightly in response, slipping his arm through Crowley's with perfectly natural grace. The demon didn't bother protesting. Aziraphale unfurled his small umbrella with a tiny pop and held it up above them as they stepped out from under the cinema's canopy. Instantly the pattering of rain was amplified as it struck the umbrella's cover. It was made for one person, or two, but only if those two didn't mind being pressed intimately up next to each other. As long as the cover wasn't tartan in pattern, though, Crowley didn't mind.

"It's a good thing we're closer to the Atlantic, then, isn't it?" Aziraphale said. He was smiling mildly. Crowley was glad that the angel seemed to have enjoyed the film, for the most part anyway. He knew monsters and giant robots and extreme underwater martial arts sequences weren't really Aziraphale's usual cup of tea. But maybe, after decades of being subjected to similar fare, he was finally coming around.

"I wouldn't mind taking a shot at piloting one of those Jaegers," Crowley said thoughtfully. "Looks like you could cause just as much destruction to urban civilization as you could to the Kaijou."

Clearly ignoring his evaluative comment, Aziraphale said, "You couldn't pilot it by yourself, you know. You'd need to find a partner. Someone you could share your mind with. Someone you could entrust your life to."

Crowley snorted before he could stop himself. Out of the corner of his sunglasses, he could see Aziraphale's questioning, tense expression. "Really, angel?" Crowley said. He smiled widely, showing off serpent's fangs, and squeezed Aziraphale's arm closer to this body.

Aziraphale suddenly smiled and it was almost bashful the way he turned his head to stare resolutely at the sidewalk. The rain pinged off of the umbrella jostling above them. He patted Crowley's arm with his free hand. "Just making sure, my dear. Just making sure."

No Such Thing as Too Much Period Drama

"What a lovely finale, don't you think, my dear?" Aziraphale gushed. He waved his wine glass for emphasis as he plopped back into the couch cushion. Crowley nervously watched the red liquid slosh right up to the rim. Miraculously* not a speck escaped.

"Well, it certainly didn't have the same zing as Season Three's," Crowley conceded, leaning back more sedately. He twisted his body around towards Aziraphale, crossing his leg at the knee, the toe of his shoe threatening to tap the angel's thigh.

Aziraphale shuddered. "Oh, don't remind me," he murmured, staring sadly down into his glass. "Poor, poor Matthew. Poor Mary, and Isobel…"

"Poor Sybil," Crowley added dryly, though without scorn.

The angel turned his sad gaze on the demon. "Oh, I know," he murmured, patting Crowley sympathetically on the leg. Crowley barely restrained himself from flinching, or bolting with a shrill scream.** Not that the gesture bothered him, really, but some warning would be nice. "Sybil was your favorite, wasn't she?"

Crowley made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and took another sip from his own glass. He breathed deeply and sighed. "At least we still have Branson. And Mr. Bates, and Anna."

"And Thomas," added Aziraphale, with what he clearly thought was slick subtlety. Yellow, slitted eyes rolled behind designer sunglasses.

"Don't," Crowley muttered. "He may seem 'evil' to you, but he's no demon. Too much caring and conscience and… love to be one of, er, my kind. Too much goodness, buried deep down inside." He tipped back his glass to finish off his drink.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Aziraphale replied coolly, and Crowley choked, flecks of red hitting the couch like blood spatter on snow.***

* It was literally a miracle, though a rather minor one at that. Crowley liked that couch. The white suede was so heavenly it almost made the demon feel guilty.

** He really didn't want to upset Aziraphale, or rather, Aziraphale's wine glass. It was a divine couch, okay?

*** Fortunately, Aziraphale was able to miracle the stains away before Crowley could notice their existence.