"Quite a, um, feisty little thing, wasn't she?" Aziraphale said, filling the silence which had descended since Julia's departure.

"Yeah. Um. Yeah," Crowley replied, mind scrabbling for appropriate small talk filler. He was suddenly finding himself at a loss for wit, wisdom, and words . "Um… It's funny, she actually reminds me of my boss."

He mentally kicked himself. Probably not appropriate small talk filler, is it? Work. Especially not his work. Work is never a particularly interesting topic of conversation, even when your job isn't literally being the active arch-nemesis of the person you are talking with. Bit of a rapport killer, that. Bit of a way to stop the conversation in its-

"Oh?" Aziraphale said, interrupting Crowley's thoughts, evidently unfazed. "Who? Which- I mean, which boss?"

"Um. Beelzebub?"

The Angel tried and failed to stifle a laugh.

Surprising.

"Oh, that is worryingly accurate,' Aziraphale chuckled. "She really is, rather, isn't she? I knew she reminded me of someone."

Crowley found himself smiling dazedly again. He seemed to do that a lot, whenever he ran into the Angel. He tried not to think about it.

Aziraphale continued to speak.

"That, um, it's that sense of something far too large being squashed into something far too little, isn't it?"

"Ha! Yes! That's exactly it! That's exactly it. Perfect description." Crowley laughed, and felt mildly gratified, or mildly something , anyway, when the Angel smiled back, dropping his gaze and- was the Angel blushing ?

And then Crowley hesitated. A prickly little question was jabbing at the back of his mind. He shouldn't ask, he knew he shouldn't ask. He should leave it …

"So, uh, how do you know Beelzebub, then? You don't exactly move in the same circles..."

Crowley always had problems asking questions he knew he ought not.

"Oh, well, you know how it is. Paths cross…" It was the Angel's turn to hesitate. Crowley watched him carefully. "And, well, before, um, well, you know , before all that, I was somewhat, um, acquainted with them."

"You knew them… Before the- Wow. That's… unexpected."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Oh, no, not know , I mean- We ran into each other a few times, that's all. They were at a handful of conferences I was compelled to attend, we exchanged a few pleasantries, nothing much. I doubt they'd remember me. Passing acquaintances, at best."

Crowley exhaled heavily. " Woooof … That's- I didn't even know them, back then. I only met them after we-"

The end of that sentence withered away on Crowley's tongue. Aziraphale swallowed and took a sudden interest in the candle holder sitting on the table top, and Crowley felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Um, so what brings you to Rome?" the Angel asked, switching to a casually companionable tone and swerving elegantly away from the pulsing undercurrent ofThis Really Isn't A Good Idea, Is It, Us Being Here Together? that had slunk into the atmosphere. "Do you- I haven't seen you around here, before- That is to say, I'd rather expected you to be in the city more often?"

"Oh?" Crowley replied wanly.

"Well, centre of the Empire, so much going on, hot bed for, um, ' temptations' and suchlike. Thought your Side would be, well, a lot more active here, that's all… Um." The Angel twisted the signet ring he was wearing on his little finger and press-ganged a smile onto his face. "Um, well, and because Rome has such good theatres. Marvellous theatres. Real place to be for drama. Am I right in thinking you are a fan of the theatre? I'm sure I remember you mentioning something to that effect, at some point, maybe in Mycenae or... Well, anyway, I suppose I just expected Rome to be, you know, uh, up your alley , as they say."

"Yeah, no, I'm not really a… Don't really like Rome, much. Bit, nnnmmnnggn, busy. Not my kind of…"

Crowley trailed off. He was suddenly feeling a little… something -ish. And not a good something-ish. Not the something- ish that feels sort of warm and safe and casts a peachy-golden-glow over the world and makes you want to smile dazedly for no apparent reason (not that Crowley ever felt something -ish like that, of course. Absolutely not. He was a demon , after all. That was a purely hypothetical something-ish. He'd read about it).

No, this was a bad something -ish. The kind of something -ish that keeps you awake at night by recounting all of the stupid things you did during the day, and that takes great pleasure in reminding you of all of your many mistakes and failings at extremely inopportune moments. The kind of something -ish that makes you wince at your own words and sparks a very strong desire deep within your soul for you to give yourself a good hard kicking.

The Angel sitting across the table watched him. Waiting. The Demon jiggled his leg, nervously. He didn't know why he was nervous. Maybe he wasn't nervous. Maybe he was anxious. Or uncomfortable. Or just suddenly full of energy and in need of a jog. Crowley did feel like a jog would do him the world of good right now. A quick jog right out of this hellish restaurant, right out of this hellish city, right out of this hellish country, and right back to the back of beyond where everything was quiet and the people were normal and there were no conversations with Angels to get all tangled up in.

Oh well. Onwards and upwards, as they say.

"Ngk. But, um, yeah. Yeah. No. Yeah. Theatres are good. Can't get enough of the theatre. Theatre-city; Population, Me. Erm." Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to pull himself out of the hole he was digging. "Was hoping to catch a few plays before heading off, actually."

"Oh, you should," Aziraphale said, grasping at what appeared to be a safe topic of conversation. "Best stick to the Greek ones, though. Not so many good original works out of Italy, these days. It's really rather depressing, actually. I went to a performance last week, a rewrite of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex by some chap called Seneca. Awful. Not a patch on the original. I don't know why reboots are so fashionable lately, they are so rarely worth the effort. Although I have heard that his Medea is rather good"

"Avoid Oedipus, check out Medea. Got it."

"Well, that is to say, I don't know whether Medea is actually any good or not. Haven't seen it myself. Not yet, anyway. Not a recommendation from experience. If it's awful, I mean."

"Oh, right," replied Crowley, Master of Conversation.

"There're some performances of it scheduled at the Theatre of Marcellus sometime in the next couple of weeks actually, if you're staying around. I'm hoping to attend one. The troupe performing it are very good. I caught their interpretation of The Clouds last year. It was one of the better versions I've seen."

Crowley brightened at that. Being mopey when discussing topics pertaining to your own Eternal Damnation was one thing, but staying mopey in the face of a chance to talk Athenian Old Comedy with someone who'd actually been there at it's inception too, well, that was quite another.

"I love The Clouds!" Crowley crowed.

Aziraphale smiled properly, then. A real, glowing, sincere smile that lit up his eyes like sunlight over the ocean, and Crowley felt a new, and decidely more pleasantsomething-ish feeling kick the bad something- ish out of the way. He smiled, dazedly.

"Oh, really?" the Angel chirped in reply. "It's one of my favourites."

"With the flea and the slippers?"

"'What subtlety of thought '," Aziraphale laughed. "It really was rather harsh on poor old Socrates, though."

"Well, I mean a bit, but… Did you ever meet him?"

"Socrates?"

"Yeah."

"Not really. Saw a few of his lectures when I was passing through Athens, but I never took the opportunity to speak with him before the whole corruption of the youth debacle."

"I knew him. Not well, but I don't think anyone really knew him well , honestly. Obstinate bastard. Not very good at making friends. Genius, though."

"Not the type to suspend himself in wicker baskets in the sky, then?"

"Well, everyone gets bored sometimes," Crowley grinned. "Aristophanes wasn't too off the mark."

"Oh, The Clouds really is amusing, isn't it? Awfully clever. I must have watched it at least ten times, over the years."

"I saw the original production at the Dionysia, you know," Crowley said. "Did not go down well…"

The Angel sighed.

"I missed that. I'd planned to be there, but then got sent off to Persia at the last minute. You know. Work ."

"That business with the satrap of, where was it? Hyrcania?"

"Yes…"

"Yeah, I was meant to be there for that too, but I put it off. Figured that the king was already executed so, you know, he wasn't going anywhere. And there's always so much paperwork in the weeks immediately after an assassination, nothing really gets done. And, plus, you know, Darius seemed to have enough plans of his own to be getting on with, he didn't need my help with any of it. Got to be the motivated type to stage a coup. And he'd already done the murder bit, so, I mean, not much more I could add, really. No point in me missing the drama festival over it."

"Yes, I didn't feel my presence was particularly necessary, if I'm completely honest," the Angel sighed. "But one does what one must, I suppose."

"You didn't miss much," Crowley added, trying to be conciliatory. "Wasn't a good year for it, really. And first productions are rarely as good as the later ones, in my opinion. Not much more than a dress rehearsal, really. Much better once they've been polished by a few solid tour runs. And The Clouds went down terribly in that first performance. Aristophanes was quite bitter about it. Got extremely drunk with him in a kapeleion after. He kept ranting about how he was too avant-garde for the audience, and how they just didn't get what he was going for ."

"I suppose it is better to watch the polished version," the Angel admitted. "And it is so entertaining. So witty. Athenian literature is so highly regarded for its tragedies, but it is a shame to overlook the comedies. They really are quite marvellous."

"Yeah. I like the comedies best. Tragedy has its place, I guess, but…" Crowley shrugged. "Eh. I prefer things that make me laugh, these days. The rest of the world is so depressing, I'd rather not have my entertainment depress me, too."

"You might like Adelphoe , then," Aziraphale chirped, dodging the Demon's dip into melancholy waters. "It's one of Terence's comedies, have you seen it? That's on at the Theatre of Pompey at the moment, I believe."

"Mm, I've heard a bit about Terence."

"You've never seen any of his plays?!"

"Nope."

"Oh! You simply must . You'll love them."

"I'll make sure to put it on my list."

"I'm going to watch Adelphoe next week. Perhaps I'll see you there, if you are staying in Rome?"

"Do you do anything but watch plays?" Crowley taunted, but not viciously. "You saw Oedipus last week, going to see Adelphoe next week, then Medea the week after that… You're like a walking theatre guide. They got you on commission or something?"

"May as well have."

The Angel smiled again, but this time there was just a hint of well-worn and unspoken sadness pacing beneath it. Crowley wondered where that was coming from.

The Angel continued, "Well, you know how it is, I'm sure. Or maybe you don't. Um. That is to say, one must have one's hobbies. Little distractions from… Well."

Aziraphale sighed; a fragile, forlorn, forsaken little sound, and Crowley was suddenly overwhelmed with a sensation that he could only describe as Oh no .

That little glimpse behind the facade. That little flicker of the mask. Crowley had seen Aziraphale anxious, he had seen him concerned, afraid, angry, happy, even sad, in a general, Oh, This Isn't A Terribly Good Situation I Really Rather Wish This Weren't Happening Right Now , kind of a way. But not like this . Angels weren't supposed to sound like this . Angels were on the Winning Team. Angels were filled with the Grace of God. But this Angel sounded… Well, he sounded depressed. Lost. Lonely . Crowley recognised the tells far too easily. He knew them far too well.

"...Distractions from what, Angel?"

Crowley wasn't sure whether he was inordinately grateful or deeply disappointed that their food chose that exact moment to arrive at their table.

On the one hand, it meant that the Demon avoided what may have proven to be an uncomfortably insightful conversation with the Angel.

But on the other hand it meant that he avoided an uncomfortably insightful conversation with the Angel.

It was probably for the best.