tramitem_log | pleased to meet you

Entry tags:

good omens (tv): aziraphale

pleased to meet you

Who: Aziraphale/Mr. Fell and Alec Hardy/Crowley
What: Aziraphale agreed to meet Anthony's cousin, Alec (known right now as Crowley), for Indian food. Anthony hasn't told either of them the whole truth.
When: Saturday, around 6pm because Aziraphale's avoiding a prior commitment.
Where: Adda Restaurant in Long Island City, Queens.
Rating/Warnings: Alec has no bedside manner. He does not people well. Aziraphale has his own peopleing issues. They both know something the other does not. We already can guess this will be a train-wreck--just don't know how many casualties there'll be, other than Aziraphale's heart. ...Or his reputation.

Meeting Anthony's cousin without discussing it first with Anthony was probably not a great idea, in retrospect. This Crowley fellow was already very paranoid and off-putting and prone to assumptions which were...well, they weren't exactly incorrect. Just that they were a little too close to on the mark, actually*

* Example one: Aziraphale wasn't dating Anthony, per se. Not in so many words. They were sort of headed that way, he liked to think. Hopefully. Flirting, exchanging numbers. The kind of thing people do in those initial steps. Crepes together had been nice, and they had agreed to meet to go to a Support meeting... And of course he had been invited to ride on Anthony's motorbike.

** Example Two: He wasn't part of a crime syndicate, but he really did not want to have to discuss that original memory in any more detail than he had, because Crowley was going to think he was some kind of criminal anyway. Anthony had. Thought he might be a hit-man, actually. And no, Aziraphale was never ever going to let Anthony live that one down. But it wasn't going to be even remotely funny to anyone else.

So really, he should have taken this as the bad idea it was and never formalized the arranged meeting. Instead, on Saturday morning, Aziraphale messaged Crowley to tell him the restaurant's address and re-confirm their meeting time, as if nothing at all was problematic with meeting the temperamental cousin-twin of your current crush/past-life-friend.

Wanting to make a good impression, he arrived early dressed in a nice soft sweater, button-up and bow-tie--nothing too fancy or flashy. He didn't know what this cousin might think of a older man with romantic interests in Anthony, but he wanted to come off as soft, friendly, unassuming and safe. All things he most definitely was.

Yes, right, this would go wonderfully.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This was not going to go well, he knew it. Fortunately he didn't care how it went so long as he got what he was after. Yet he did feel a rough sympathy for the man, or maybe a cautious one. It could be he was mistaken and the man was as as flaming barmy as most everyone else here. But he'd also come prepared.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror of the men's toilet making sure he looked somewhat presentable. Then checked to make sure the recorder had enough battery life and memory before turning it on and tucking it into an inner pocket.

Then, he glanced at the bouquet of slightly wilted roses he'd bought. He hadn't been to a dinner with someone in so long, he'd forgotten the etiquette. He knew that flowers were involved somewhere along the way and it felt only fitting that, since he planned to harangue the man who might otherwise be innocent, he should bring them along.

But now he wondered.

He'd thought three times about going in and asking a florist what they might recommend, but then couldn't think of a way to explain it, and so had bought the bouquet at a grocery before hitting the subway. Now he wondered if he should.

But on the other hand he felt a bit guilty about binning it or flushing it away so he'd just--live with it.

Straightening his tie again, he went out of the toilet, up the escalator because there were a lot of stairs, and then down the half block to where the restaurant was. Adda, it was called. Reminded him too much of adder and was probably going to feel like venom in his stomach.

He sighed through his nose and spotted Fell immediately. He was dressed like an English Professor who only stepped out of his office every semester or so to see what the world was like before shutting himself back in to reread Love's Labour's Lost and cry himself to sleep over whiskey.

The man didn't stand a chance with Anthony to begin with.

"Fell." He said when he got near enough. Then, not sure what else to do, thrust out the bouquet. "Here."

Aziraphale's tight smile of greeting wilted as he looked at the bouquet, surprised at first, then at Crowley, and then back at the bouquet with great suspicion, as if the roses might materialize a mouth and bite. He didn't take it.

"I don't know what kind of dinner you think this is, Mr. Crowley." Now, not over the network, he could better appreciate the physical similarities between the man standing here and Anthony. And close as their faces were--so very close, in fact--they were miles apart, really. Crowley was scruffy in a barely presentable way, and nowhere near as effortlessly dashing as Anthony (when not upturning beverage tables). Even the roses looked like they had sat in the grocer's floral department a bit too long. It all might have presented an endearing image if the man didn't unnerve Aziraphale so much. "But I assure you I had no intentions of it being like that. Um. I suppose I should say thank you, however?"

"Right. Well. I've no idea, to be honest. Just seemed appropriate." But then again-- Maybe it wasn't. Fuck this was all so complicated. It would help if he had a solid foundation for what this dinner was. Maybe because it was part subterfuge he felt so bloody aimless at it. He shook his head and binned the flowers.

"Don't thank me." He certainly wouldn't by the end of it. "Come on, Fell."

He pushed in. It seemed like a sit yourself sort of place, but packed with diners and noisy. The recorder was going to pick up fuckall here. Though there was a spot in the back near the kitchen that was empty enough and he parked himself there on the chair rather than the bench. He hated those long benches restaurants had. You couldn't get in or out without scooting about like a dog itching its arse against the carpet and he'd really rather not.

Aziraphale made a mournful sort of pouting sound at the disposed flowers and considered fishing them out (if only because the flowers didn't deserve that, Crowley, honestly!). But that would look weird, so he left them, following after the other man.

"I'm not a dog. You don't get to call me like one." This was off to a wonderful start.

He followed Crowley in, taking the seat opposite, even though it was one of those uncomfortable benches that just felt like a child in a chair too big for themselves. It put him at a disadvantage, all squished against the wall like this, like he was backed against the wall by a firing squad. Irritated, he picked up his menu to attempt to lose himself in the distraction.

"If you were I'd use a whistle." It was a joke, but it landed wrong and he turned to the menu himself. He needed to find some way to get them back on even footing if he wanted to find out anything about him. Of course that might not even happen. He would probably end up with nothing at the end of this evening but a raging heartburn. Maybe he could ask others about Fell. They'd probably tell him more about the man than Fell himself would, but there was something to be said for what the man told about himself.

He looked over the menu. Nothing seemed remotely appealing. He'd never been much for Indian Food or... well... not much of anything at all really. Food. Why did people have to eat anyway. Why couldn't they just live on air and water like a tree? All those textures and flavors and mess. And decisions. So many decisions. All of which he was bound to hate.

Sod it. He ordered himself some vegetable briyani, figuring if he didn't eat it he could always leave it out for the homeless man that lived in the allway across his building, and a cup of tea. Then was asked what kind of tea and said any tea because tea was tea was tea. Couldn't people just bring him something simple without asking qualifiers? He was busy here.

Then-- he supposed-- it was conversation time.

Bloody hell.

He steeled himself.

"So... Come here...often?" Off to a great now. Well done.

He glared over the menu and then went back to trying to decide what to eat before Crowley could sour his stomach to the whole night. Indian food was such a delight, too. So many textures and spices, just bursting with flavor and aroma that filled one's senses. It was almost too difficult to decide because everything was wonderful.

He ordered dilliwala butter chicken, and a mango lassi because he might as well treat himself if Crowley was going to be an arse about things.

And then speak of the devil. Crowley had to go and open his mouth and insert his foot again. And despite himself--despite the deadpan glare he leveled at the man again, maybe it was something in the unsure delivery of the line, or the hokey-clichedness of the line itself, or Crowley's utter and complete failure to make normal human interaction...in spite of wanting to choke him, or throttle him, or get up and leave--the corner of Aziraphale's mouth quirked up into a hard-fought smile and he shook his head at the idiot he'd for some reason agreed to dinner with.

"Not nearly as often as I'd like," he answered. "I won't ask the same of you," he added with a dry teasing note, "since I suspect you don't get out much at all."

"Oh I get out. I just don't go anywhere. Every bloody day it's the same routine." He liked to hope he was doing some good, but had the feeling that it was mostly negligible. He was grateful though American schools didn't do the corporal punishment or hazing. It was nice to see the kids in freedom, even if sometimes he thought it a little too much.

He also was well aware the man was mocking him, but that was fine. Let him think he had the upper hand.

"Would it be too personal of me to ask you what brought you to New York from central London?"

That's not getting out, he thought, but kept it to himself. Mostly. The look he gave Crowley was a bit judgmental but then again, they all kind of hit that routine eventually, didn't they?

"A bit of a bold opener, but nothing too personal." Aziraphale shrugged, rearranging his silverware on the napkin in lieu of answering the question as he considered the merits of being open.

"When I was wrapping up at university," he said at last, "my grandfather pushed me for a law degree. Or barring that, the military." He grimaced. Lord knows he'd never have made it there. Just didn't have the stomach for either, law or war, honestly. "I fancied having the freedom to be...myself. So I did what any reasonable headstrong twenty-something would do: I packed my things and left. New York seemed like such an adventure."

And it was, though maybe all Aziraphale had really needed at the time was the space and distance. He could have gone anywhere.

"And how about you?"

He couldn't see Fell in the military, which was why he assumed the man would be a great fit for it. There were hidden depths to him. Something artful about the way he spoke, arranged silverware, presented himself. It was honest, he didn't doubt that, but there was always something hidden behind the artifice of it.

"Doesn't everybody." Fancy the freedom to be themselves, he meant. Typical place to do it, America. Nothing screamed freedom in your ear until you and everyone else were stone cold bloody deaf. But that Fell had remained so long said that he found something here worth having. He wondered what it could be. He'd never understood the appeal himself. Staying. Traveling. One place was very much like the other to him; each annoying in their own little ways.

Anyway that left a good opener.

His tea arrived just then and he took a second to spoon in two sugars before crossing his arms on the table and staring at its amber depths. Then he looked up at Fell.

"I was sent to look after Anthony. His mum likes to think he doesn't know how to take care of himself. I used to think that too. But-- he's proved me wrong. He's still reckless and a complete idiot, but he's settled down, got himself a girlfriend of five years. Likely a wife too if Aunt Evelyn gets wind of it. He'll be shuttled down the aisle faster than he can say no. Two point five children before he's even realized what's happened.

I think he considers you a friend." Which was a lot given Fell's overall frumpiness. Anthony had always been keen to maintain his brand so to speak, and Fell was nothing close to that.

"I think he knows more about you than he lets on. Which means he doesn't want me to know. Which worries me. Because I also think he doesn't know you that well. Still testing the waters so to speak. I don't like this game. I'm not good at this game. But for Anthony's sake, I'll play it. Because he's a complete ass and rubbish at being anything close to upstanding or earning the respect his mother wants him to have. He's loud and a braggart and drives too recklessly. But under all that he has a good heart that is too easily broken.

Do you understand that?"

Aziraphale's attempt at controlling the conversation, as well as whatever he had passing for a poker face slipped into a far off expression. A girlfriend of five years and no mention of her from Anthony directly. He'd be suspicious of the truth of it if he hadn't seen it plenty of times before. Very easy to lie by omission. Also easy to get caught up in something/one new and different and forget you had commitments at home. ...Well, then. There was that.

Truthfully, he didn't know Anthony well enough to be devastated in one regard, but he could be utterly heartbroken over the possibility of what might have been. Which was enough, really. Aziraphale would probably have a frustrated cry over it later in the privacy of his own home.

But something deep and sour and familiar sunk into his gut and stuck. It was more than just that disappointment. More than I feel like there's something between Anthony and I, and I wanted a chance to explore that connection.

He didn't like what Crowley was saying. Shuffled down the aisle faster than he could say no. Children before he's even realized what's happened. That didn't speak to choice. That spoke of obligation. Of expectations. Of trying not to be the disappointment just to appease a family who thought they knew what was best and was going to impose it upon Anthony whether he agreed to it or not. It was exactly what Anthony had told him that afternoon over crepes when everything felt fragile and truthful.

And maybe he loved the girlfriend. Aziraphale believed that could easily be the case. Five years was a long time to be with someone, so of course he did. Maybe all he would ever be to Anthony was a friend. But as his friend, Aziraphale felt Anthony shouldn't be forced to make these decisions and re-position his life because some blunt force like Crowley or Evelyn or whoever came in to tell him to do so.

"I understand that this is the shovel talk after all," he said, rising angrily to lean over the table, schooling his voice into something that was barely contained. People were noticing. He was making a scene. This was going to end badly, embarrassingly for all and yet he was swept up in it and couldn't bring it back down. "I understand you're on a misguided mission to 'babysit' a grown man and force him to make decisions about who he is allowed to be friends with and what he does with his life. Do you understand that, Crowley? I'm not playing a game, here--you all are. Maybe that's why he left--to get away from this overbearing governing of his life. Anthony is an adult. Let Anthony decide if he marries her."

He smiled. It was a rare thing. Rarer still to feel the accompanying faint fondness for this man. For his spirit. For his impressive anger. For the heat in his eyes. He knew he would likely get punched for smiling but so be it. He knew more than ever thought he would learn elsewhere. He suddenly understood everything this man was, at least in this aspect. Poor bastard. He had a hell of a crush for one thing.

"I plan to. I want to see him truly happy in his own way. However it shakes out." He stood then, taking out the money for both meals and flipping it on the table. The tip is a bit meager but he also doesn't have much to go by.

"You're a good man, Fell. I'm glad you're his friend. He needs someone like you." And then shoving his wallet back into his pocket he finishes, somewhat awkwardly.

"Take care." And he'll head out unless someone is inclined to stop him.

Edited 2020-04-14 02:25 (UTC)

Aziraphale wouldn't punch him. For one, that was assault and very illegal. For another, he probably break what was likely a very fragile face. He did, after all, know how to throw a punch. And he didn't really want blood on this sweater. It was vintage!

But at that smile he huffed angrily and thought it an absolute shame that throwing a drink in someone's face also probably qualified as assault.

And then it was like whiplash; Crowley didn't turn some smug bastardly comment his way, didn't return anger with anger. He agreed. The asshole agreed in a way that seemed to say he had agreed all along, and then complimented him and left!!

Flustered and now thrown off, Aziraphale fumbled out an apology to the waitstaff and neighboring table, added more to the tip, and hurried to catch Crowley outside.

"Don't you dare just walk off from me--" He was a little out of breath from getting so worked up. "What the hell was that? What do you think you're playing at?"

Fucking hell. Why was Fell he following him? The conversation was over? What was he supposed to add to that! He thought he'd been clear? What was the point of drawing it out?
He pretended he hadn't heard and power walked across the street, just catching the end of the cross walk sign.

"Really. What was that?" he said, mostly to himself because he wasn't the kind of ridiculous person who screamed across streets at someone. "Some kind of test?" Was this whole thing just to bring him out here and tell him Anthony had a girlfriend and then see what kind of person he was?

It was an exhausting bit of nonsense and he felt toyed with. Like the roses in the bin: just here to serve some kind of performative function so that this odd cousin could do whatever it was he thought he was doing, protecting Anthony.

Well, he couldn't very well go back in the restaurant. Not after all that. Yet another perfectly fine eatery ruined for him by a Crowley. And he couldn't just stand here on the curb like an idiot.

Time to take his broken heart home like an adult, find himself a bottle of wine, and have a good cry.

He was bloody glad the man hadn't chosen to follow him even if he felt like a wanker for running away. Probably for the best, though. It wasn't like there was anything he'd been able to add to the situation anyway.

He waited until he got back down to the subway station to lean against the wall as a cold sweat broke over him. Damned thing. But maybe, he hoped, it would all be worth it in the end--

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

pleased to meet you

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject