He had come the night Alec was admitted to sit with Anthony in the cold waiting room and await word on Alec's fate.
Now, despite knowing this is a terrible idea (as all his ideas are involving these two men), Aziraphale is back during visiting hours. He isn't sure if he hopes Alec is awake or not--probably best if he doesn't upset a man with a heart condition, so maybe he should wish for him to be asleep--but although Aziraphale feels like even though he probably shouldn't come, he needs to.
It's his fault, after all.
The flowers are nothing very special: a convenience store bouquet meant as a get-well and as a peace offering. Penance, perhaps. It seemed like a sweet idea at the time, an inside joke, a throwback to their unfortunate first meeting. But now standing here in the hallway, surrounded by the reality of the situation, he thinks it's all wrong. And not because the flowers don't pass muster (although they really are kind of silly). And not because tradition seemed to include bringing grapes or other fruit.
But because it is too sentimental. It's too telling. It's cruel without meaning to be, which makes it cruelest of all. Alec tried so hard to spare him those unintentional cruelties, and here Aziraphale has committed one against him.
He can't find a waste bin now, so he's left to toss the flowers out in the bin in Alec's room, which he does, and then hovers uncertainly near the door, debating whether or not to leave. Alec would be well within his right to pretend sleep and ignore him, or send him away entirely. Aziraphale has done irreparable damage to a relationship he hadn't fully understood before recently and his consolation is that it didn't cost Alec his life. He really just needs to see that for himself. So he stands fretfully at the far end of the room like a silent guard, dutifully listening to the vitals beep on their monitors, and watching the rise and fall of Alec's chest.
the one visitor you don't want....well, marginally better than Mr. Martin. maybe.
Now, despite knowing this is a terrible idea (as all his ideas are involving these two men), Aziraphale is back during visiting hours. He isn't sure if he hopes Alec is awake or not--probably best if he doesn't upset a man with a heart condition, so maybe he should wish for him to be asleep--but although Aziraphale feels like even though he probably shouldn't come, he needs to.
It's his fault, after all.
The flowers are nothing very special: a convenience store bouquet meant as a get-well and as a peace offering. Penance, perhaps. It seemed like a sweet idea at the time, an inside joke, a throwback to their unfortunate first meeting. But now standing here in the hallway, surrounded by the reality of the situation, he thinks it's all wrong. And not because the flowers don't pass muster (although they really are kind of silly). And not because tradition seemed to include bringing grapes or other fruit.
But because it is too sentimental. It's too telling. It's cruel without meaning to be, which makes it cruelest of all. Alec tried so hard to spare him those unintentional cruelties, and here Aziraphale has committed one against him.
He can't find a waste bin now, so he's left to toss the flowers out in the bin in Alec's room, which he does, and then hovers uncertainly near the door, debating whether or not to leave. Alec would be well within his right to pretend sleep and ignore him, or send him away entirely. Aziraphale has done irreparable damage to a relationship he hadn't fully understood before recently and his consolation is that it didn't cost Alec his life. He really just needs to see that for himself. So he stands fretfully at the far end of the room like a silent guard, dutifully listening to the vitals beep on their monitors, and watching the rise and fall of Alec's chest.