Lunch was their usual weekly appointment. Every Thursday at noon. The Ritz had become a favorite. So much so that Crowley had demanded that at least once a month they try a different place for lunch or just try a different meal altogether.

He liked brunch, mainly for the mimosas.

Aziraphale had reluctantly agreed. And so the angel always called Crowley 24 hours before the appointment to verify where they would be going, if Crowley was going to be late picking him up, if Crowley needed any shopping done before or after so that Aziraphale could bring reusable shopping bags since he knew the demon would not, etc, etc.

The sparkling water incident had happened Monday morning. It was now Thursday morning around 11:30 and Crowley had not heard anything from the angel all week. He had tried to stop by the bookshop Monday night but as soon as he got out of his car, the door sign had changed to "Closed". Crowley had tried opening the door but had found it oddly stuck. It took him three minutes to decide not to break the door and to just wait until Thursday to figure out just what was going on.

So here he was now, standing by his desk, staring at his answering machine as if he hadn't been idling near his phone for the last hour, waiting for a call.

He had thought it odd not getting a phone call from his angel the day before but had thought just maybe, he actually had an influx of customers that he had decided to help. Just maybe.

But it was near noon and still nothing.

"Not even a voicemail." He mumbled. "He always leaves voicemail."

He drummed his nails against the desktop absentmindedly. Taking the Bentley out at this point would make him late since he would have to stop for gas on the way over. And Aziraphale greatly disliked when he was late. Disliked as far as an angel goes, which for Aziraphale was to aggressively scold him when he arrived about being punctual and how not being punctual showed a person's lack of respect for someone else's time - even if it was all eternity - for 15 minutes before continuing with the rest of the day in his usual high spirits.

If he miracled over, he wouldn't be late. And Aziraphale would have less of an opportunity to run away or glue the door shut.

Putting on his sunglasses, Crowley took a breath and the next one he took was from behind a pillar in a very familiar book shop. He had chosen the far back on purpose, knowing that that desk Aziraphale loved so much was near.

Indeed, he could smell that inky smell and heard the fine scratching of pen against paper from his hiding place. Moving his forehead from resting on the pillar, he tilted his body to the side and peeked out at the open circle of space that was a common haunt for both beings.

Aziraphale's back was to him but it was indeed his owly head that seemed to be nose deep on writing something or other. Crowley wrinkled his nose in displeasurement. He hated writing. And reading really. The television was where it was at, though he would never stop his friend from his literature rampages and lectures when they were together. At least until they became more than 72 hours long which happened once when Aziraphale ripped some writer named Stephanie Meyer to shreds.

The scratching in the notebook had stopped suddenly and he could see Aziraphale slowly turning now.

"Do I really smell that much like hellfire and general evil?" Crowley asked, sauntering out of his hidden place as a way of greeting. He lifted his arms and sniffed repeatedly at his armpits. "Or bad cologne? I was curious about the new Versace, really my bad then. I knew it was too much."

"Crowley…." Aziraphale had turned in his chair and closed the notebook he had been writing in. His eyes were...doing odd things, Crowley had decided. He looked happy and yet in pain, at the same time. He was smiling in greeting as he usually did when he saw Crowley but there was a staleness to it. "I didn't hear the car."

"I decided to just pop in. I needed gas and you're always telling me about time respecting and all that hogwash so here I am." Crowley's arms waved dramatically as he stepped directly in front of the sitting angel. "You wanna do the Ritz?"

"Let's not!" Aziraphale's voice went up an octave and he stood up abruptly. Crowley could see the other being's chest swell from underneath all of those layers of vests he seemed to always have on. "Let's try something new. I'm sure there's somewhere that's agreeable for both of us in walking distance."

"Or I could miracle us somewhere outside of Soho - "

"Let's not!" The angel quickly stepped away from the demon and closer to his desk. He started shuffling through the papers, muttering something about a flyer left at the door.

Crowley put his hands on his hips and watched.

Something was up.

"Oh why not. Downstairs doesn't care what I do personally and I know you have been to most places around here. Unless...there's some other reason you think we should stay in Soho...?" He asked.

"Oh no particular reason," Aziraphale continued digging through papers with his head down to the point it sounded as if he was talking to his own chest.

"You sure, angel?"

Aziraphale paused his shuffling of papers and turned back to face his friend. "How about somewhere not in the 'city' city?"

"What do you have against the city all of a sudden? That's literally your number one pick outside of the Ritz."

"It would be loud. And not as walkable."

The eyebrows seemed to get higher and higher. Though his eyes were not as visible behind his glasses, he was certain Aziraphale could see his clear facial expression of 'I-know-you're-lying-angel-but-I'll-wait-until-lunch-to-confront-you-about-this'.

"Fine - there's a sushi place called the Sexy Fish in Berkeley Square that opens at noon I think you would like. I can miracle us near by and we can walk over."

"But you don't like the smell of soy sauce...".

"Ahhhh," the demon waved one of his arms in dismissal, "I'll be fine for an hour or two. I'll shove wasabi up my nose or something," He stretched out the previously waving arm out to the angel. "Sexy Fish then?" He wagged his eyebrows playfully as he said the restaurant name again.

His companion tutted in disapproval at the mischief before linking his arm into the demon's offered elbow.

And then they were in Mayfair, at a park supposedly close to Berkeley Square. They were standing directly under a tree, arms still linked.

Crowley casually unhooked their arms and took a minute to brush invisible dust from his pants.

"Enough of a walk for you?"

"Perfect!" For the first time that day, the angel turned to face him and smiled happily. Crowley kept his responding facial expression to an appropriate demonic smirk.

"Lovely," he murmured. He started heading towards Berkeley Square, Aziraphale walking swiftly next to him.

"The sun is so lovely today," the angel was smiling fondly, looking around in general holy glee.

"Well that's London for you this time of year." Crowley replied, nose tilted upward as he spoke.

"I thought it was supposed to rain yesterday…"

"It didn't. Didn't you hear it - or rather - not hear it?"

"I was in the shop all week."

"All week?!" It was highly unusual for the bookshop keeper to not lunch or dinner somewhere ridiculous everyday. Him staying in could easily interpreted as a sign of end times. "You didn't go out?"

"Well no…"

"Ok, angel. You've got to stop this already.". The demon continued walking on the pavement but turned his head fully to his friend. "If we weren't in public, I would take off my glasses to properly glare you down but seriously - what is it?"

"What is what?" His voice sounded innocent enough but the angel's eyes had gone frantic.

"What is it with you? Something's clearly wrong." He nodded for them to turn left and after glancing around for safety, went back to what he was saying. "You didn't come for water at 2 in the morning at my place and I found your copy of Paradise Lost underneath my chair the other day with the bookmark still on page 20. You never stop reading a book for more than a day and you never run out of La Croix because you always miracle more or ask me to get some at the shop for you!"

Aziraphale's cheeks burned red and he looked down at the pavement they were walking on in silence.

"Look - I don't mind you visiting. You know that. It's just that and this staying in all week thing. And you not wanting to go to the Ritz without me begging you - please tell me what's going on?"

Silence.

"I don't mind getting you new flavors of La Croix from the shop either," Crowley's tone had gone soft in an attempt to get his friend to look him properly in the face. "Other than coconut really."

The only answering sound was shoes on pavement.

"Is it demons? Or is it angels - are they bothering you or something?"

"No." The blonde finally answered, though he kept his face down.

"Okaaaaaay. That's good."

"It's…..nothing-"

"Don't give me that bullocks when-"

"It's nothing you need to worry about now. If you do need to worry about it, I will tell you." His voice was steady then, as if he had rehearsed telling Crowley those exact words.

"Angel."

"Please drop it." He looked up then, his eyes doing that funny happy and sad dance again. "Please."

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets in frustration. "I don't like this."

Ignoring the statement entirely, Aziraphale asked, "What's on the menu on this place anyways?"

And thus started a conversation about miso chilean sea bass and quail egg yolk that lasted the entire walk that Crowley tried his best to appear enthused about.

AN: I'm getting there I swear.