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“Gosh,” said Crowley, impressed despite himself. He threw a stone into the nearby pond, causing several ducks to quack indignantly. “You convinced three villages to care for the widow and the orphan? That’s not bad.”
“I should hope not.” Aziraphale sniffed, then took a bite of the roll in his hand. “Not being bad is rather the point, you know.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “I just mean, you did a good job.”
“That,” said Aziraphale, “is also rather the point. And I daresay you’re annoyed because this means you’ll have do more bad jobs to counteract me.”
“Well,” Crowley admitted, “of course. I hate working. And I still think we should just make things easier on both of us and—”
“Oh, don’t start on that ‘arrangement’ business of yours again.” Aziraphale frowned mildly. “I’ve told you before, the very concept is entirely inappropriate.”
That frown had less conviction every time the topic came up. Sooner or later the angel would come around to the proposition, Crowley was confident; he knew the signs of someone gradually yielding to temptation.
For the moment, he didn’t push. “All I’m saying is, you did an impressive job with those villages. Obviously I’m annoyed. But you should be proud.”
He was taken aback by how Aziraphale’s entire demeanor changed at that — face falling, back straightening, lips pressing together. “I most certainly should not,” he said, very stiffly. “I am an angel.”
“Uhh,” said Crowley. “I know you’re an angel. You bring it up a lot. What does that have to do with what I was saying?”
“Everything.” The angel lowered his voice, glancing around like he thought an archangel might appear among the ducks. “Pride, Crowley,” he hissed. “It’s a deadly sin! Angels do our work for the sake of Heaven. We try to do it well, of course. But we mustn’t take pride in it.”
“…I see,” said Crowley, finding himself possessed with a sudden urge to break into Heaven and breathe hellfire at some archangels.
No wonder Aziraphale often seemed so self-deprecating, so reluctant to laud his own worth and achievements. It wasn’t allowed… or he thought it wasn’t allowed, which was really the same thing.
“Well,” Crowley said on a sudden impulse, “demons are allowed to be sinful. So I’ll do it for you, okay?”
“I… beg your pardon?”
“Angels can’t have pride. But deadly sins are right up my alley. So you don’t have to be proud of your success, angel, but I’m proud of you.”
Crowley held his breath, waiting to see how many lines he’d crossed.
“But…” Aziraphale trailed off. Looking flustered, he tossed the remaining crust of his roll into the pond, watching as the ducks descended upon it in evident delight.
Huh, thought Crowley, watching the waterfowl festivities. Feeding the ducks? That was an interesting idea.
He waited for Aziraphale to say something.
Aziraphale said nothing. But his lips curved into a smile, eventually, and his eyes started to twinkle.
For now, Crowley decided, that was enough.