funny if we both got it wrong, eh?

"That’s a lie right there! Honestly, lying to an angel, just despicable," he tutted. "I’m sure you’ll get a commendation for it. And keep your feet to yourself, mister violent." He kicked him lightly in return.

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," Crowley fired back, kicking him again for good measure. "I'm not violent. You're violent. You're the one with the flaming sword. At least, I assume you've still got it."

"Yes, you’ve mentioned," he said nonchalantly with a small chuckle. "Several times, in fact. So much so I’m not even sure you really mean it anymore, dear."

"Of course I mean it. I am a speaker of truths, angel," Crowley insisted, kicking him lightly in the knee under the table. This was a blatant lie and they both knew it, but it went along with Crowley's point so he didn't care.

"My apologies." He smiled at let his hand fall to his side. "They are looking lovely I must say. But they might be more eager to please if you were kinder and less intimidating. That’s all I’m saying." Of course the longest any planet had lived in Aziraphale’s care was a stubborn cactus that had survived two months before giving up  so perhaps he wasn’t the best person to be offering advice.

Crowley gave him a skeptical look, as though he'd just suggested that his head was on backwards. (That had only happened once, and it wasn't even his fault.) "I've had these plants for years. Pretty sure I know how to take care of them, angel," he informed him smartly. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly these same plants, per se, but that was beside the point. 

"Just not perceptive enough to notice sarcasm, it seems. Perhaps your demonic-ness is slipping." He gave him a cheery smile and sipped at his wine happily, well aware that he’d just invented a word. Still, it worked for Shakespeare. 

Crowley rolled his eyes in a world-weary sort of way. "Bastard," he muttered darkly, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own wine. 

Charlotte sneered, scanning him from head to toe. How weak. She sighed through grit teeth, rapping her long, red fingernails on the table. "I'll just have to take you out to eat, now won't I? Honestly. You are going soft on me." She rolled her eyes before letting her eyes stare straight through his.

Crowley assumed an offended expression. "How dare you," he said, a twitch of a smile at his mouth. He scratched the back of his neck. "Mmm, I suppose... whenever? I've not been all that busy lately. Really. Um."  

HAVE WE SEEN THIS

†  ———

The demon shook her hand, smiling a bit. "Crowley," he replied. 

She smiled when Crowley agreed and took him out of the summer heat and in to the cool house. “Well we have a garden…I’m sure the others will be happy to share the burden of garden work. It’s nothing to difficult, just little jobs around the house.” She walked in to her office, bringing the demon in with her. “You don’t get along with demons? I hope that is not the same for me…” She lifted her eyes from her logger book to reveal black eyes. But they were gone with a blink. “Okay, so Crowley…” She picked up her pen and began to scrawl in the book. “What is your intentions of being here?” She lifted her head to meet his once more. “You know, are you hiding from the law? Did you piss off a certain witch? It’s pretty important that I know because I need to protect you as well as my other occupants.”

A laugh sprung quietly from his lips when he saw her eyes. "Well, you've not tried to kill me yet, so we're off to a good start," he shrugged.

"Keep your voice down.  There’s a reason I haven’t been caught yet.  And how do you know I’m a witch?"

Crowley gestured at all of her. "It's obvious," he said, like it was.

Aziraphale laughed softly and downed the remnants of his glass. “Or perhaps you could try being a little more perceptive, my dear.”

"What on earth do you mean? I'm a demon, I'm plenty perceptive." He shook his head, refilling Aziraphale's glass for him. 

"You know dear, for saying you called me boring, your sense of humour seems to be rather lacking tonight,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I know what sarcasm is.”

Crowley shrugged. "Well, sometimes," he said, taking a sip of his wine. "Sssometimes it doesn't seem like that. You should work on being more obviouss."

"Of course dear. And I’m sure there will be only more basking as the evening goes on. Given that you think I’m boring, I can only get better after all.”

"That was sarcasm, you know," Crowley informed him, because you could never tell with Aziraphale. "You're about as magnificent as I am holy." 

"My dear have you ever thought of being nicer to them? They may behave better if you don’t always berate them." Aziraphale reprimanded, smiling down at one of the plants. He trailed his fingers along the leaves gently. They were beautiful plants he had to admit. "Honey catches more flies than vinegar I believe is the saying." 

Crowley turned to the angel once more, this time a flabbergasted expression on his face. "How are they supposed to know how to behave if I don't reprimand them?" he demanded, and then smacked Aziraphale's hand away from the plant. "Hey, don't touch them." 

Җ———  

Crowley shrugged. "Maybe," he said, not elaborating.