"Lay this unto your breast: Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best."

- John Webster

Duel

"Angel, I'm bored. So very, very bored. Infinitesimally bored."

Aziraphale took a long breath through his nose, wondering how a six-thousand year-old demon* could manage to sound like a petulant child.

"Yes, my dear, I heard you the first dozen times. Why don't you read something?" he said, looking up from his crossword puzzle and waving his hand at the shelves behind him.

"I don't read," said Crowley with a sniff. He was sprawled out in a chair by the empty fire grate, legs splayed out and one arm hanging over the edge of the chair. His other arm was fiddling with something called a yo-yo.

Eyeing the spinning toy in trepidation in case it decided to fly off from its string and come flying towards his head, Aziraphale shook his head.

"I still don't know why you keep insisting on that when we both know it's not true."

"I don't feel like reading, s'all," muttered the demon, tossing the yo-yo back into his hand and attempting the cat's cradle trick. He ended up smacking himself in the brow and miracled the toy away with an embarrassed yelp.

"Then go cause chaos and mischief!" said the angel, waving his hand at the street outside.

"Like what? I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?" Crowley snapped irritably.

Aziraphale bit his lip, pen paused over the paper (he didn't need a pencil to do the crossword, he had rather smugly told Crowley once).

It was true that things had been quiet since their respective trials. They had both been made redundant by their respective head offices and while Aziraphale couldn't say that he was surprised, it had still hurt that Heaven had so casually and swiftly discarded him.

He had suggested that they keep a low profile for at least a few weeks, just in case. No miracles or mischief. Crowley had reluctantly agreed but it was obvious the lack of activity was starting to wear on the demon. And if Aziraphale was honest with himself, he was starting to feel a bit restless too.

Neither he nor Crowley really knew what to do with themselves now. London was in the midst of an early September heat wave and the days had dragged by at a snail's pace.

He didn't mind Crowley's company – in truth Aziraphale was glad that the demon was staying close. They were both still a bit shaken by everything that had happened and Aziraphale didn't really feel comfortable letting Crowley out of his sight. There was always the chance that Heaven and Hell would find out about their trick, but so far things had been quiet.

Crowley, who had been silent, finally spoke again.

"I'm still bored."

"Right," said Aziraphale, standing up and placing the newspaper down with a determined thwat. "That does it. Come with me, Crowley."

Blinking in surprise, the demon followed Aziraphale to the door, pulling his sunglasses on as they stepped into the bright, shimmering afternoon.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Crowley parked the Bentley and stared in surprise at the building before turning to Aziraphale, his brows nearly to his hairline.

"A fencing school, angel?"

Aziraphale nodded as he stepped out of the Bentley and walked towards the entrance. "You said you were bored, and this is just the thing."

"But a fencing school? We're not even dressed – people will notice!" said the demon, hurrying after Aziraphale up the stone steps.

The angel shook his head. "I used a very small miracle – no one will see your glasses, just normal human eyes – and this is an open school. We don't have to wear the masks and such as long as we sign a waiver."

Slightly mollified, Crowley followed Aziraphale into the cool interior. The receptionist had them sign the required waivers and then waved them into the open arena.

Crowley was surprised to see that there was a fair amount of people in the training area, and of all ages. Aziraphale led Crowley over to a corner where swords of various lengths and weight were hung on the wall.

"You've been here before," said the demon, noticing how familiar Aziraphale seemed with the place.

Aziraphale nodded, not looking at Crowley as he studied the swords mounted on the wall. "Yes," he admitted. "Sometimes, when I can't sleep – that is, not that I've tried to sleep, virtue is ever vigilant and Heaven never wanted any of us to shirk our duties…that is, sometimes if I needed to clear my head, I came here."

Crowley bit his tongue to keep the scathing remark about Heaven's rules to himself. He knew Aziraphale was still trying to adjust and wouldn't push him.

"You know I'm not very good at this. This is more your specialty, not mine," he said instead, waving a hand at the fencers.

Aziraphale's expression fell. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, dear. Of course if you don't want to…"

Damn it all. When the angel put it that way…

"Didn't say that," muttered Crowley gruffly. "Got nothing better to do," he added nonchalantly as he stepped forward. He reached for a rapier that looked promising but Aziraphale stopped him.

"Oh no, dear, that one's too short for you. Here, try this one," said Aziraphale, taking a long épée down and handing it to the demon.

Crowley took it, hefting the weapon critically. It felt right enough in his hand but Aziraphale was the expert on sword craftsmanship, not him.

Aziraphale nodded in approval as he selected a sword for himself. "These are very well made," he said, testing his own sword before nodding in satisfaction. He carefully leaned it against the wall before removing his jacket, waistcoat and bowtie.

Crowley did the same with his coat and tie, placing them next to the angel's carefully folded garments on the bench.

"So what now? Are you going to challenge me to a duel?" he said jokingly as Aziraphale rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"Well, not a duel, exactly," said the angel, "but I'd be happy to give you a few lessons," he added, with the slightest hint of teasing in his voice. "I think you need a refresher after our last duel, dear."

Aziraphale walked towards an open space in the arena and took a fighting stance, his grip relaxed but steady on the hilt of his sword.

Crowley grinned at the challenge, stepping forward to face the angel. "That so, angel? The last time you and I dueled was…"

"1020 A.D.," said Aziraphale, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. "Right before we finalised the Arrangement." He paused, and then added a bit gleefully. "I believe I won that duel."

Crowley scowled but it was half-hearted. He didn't begrudge Aziraphale being good at something that he wasn't, especially when the angel often seemed so lost in the twenty-first century.

They exchanged a few slow movements, Aziraphale patiently correcting Crowley's stance as they performed some simple exercises.

As they parried back and forth Crowley felt his earlier awkwardness leave him as barely remembered motions came back to him, lending grace and speed to his muscles. He was nowhere near the level of Aziraphale in terms of skill, but he had learned some basics back when this sort of thing was still in vogue.

Soon their movements sped up as each one forgot about their surroundings and earlier worries, focusing only on each other.

Back and forth they went, steel slicing against steel but neither one ever in any danger. Aziraphale's shorter height gave him a better sense of balance and allowed him to strike at Crowley whenever he saw an opening. Any clumsiness in Aziraphale's movements faded as he allowed himself to fall into the familiar motions.

Crowley, for his part, used his superior height and speed to keep Aziraphale moving. He realised, as he swiped at the angel, that he was having fun. He grinned at Aziraphale who smiled back, his blue eyes for once free of care and worry.

Suddenly feeling mischievous, Crowley blocked Aziraphale's overhead strike, pushing back against the angel with just enough demonic strength to test the angel. It felt good to release all of that pent up energy.

Aziraphale's brow shot up as he realised what Crowley was doing and dug his feet in, pushing back with a grunt. Locked in a stalemate, the angel and demon grinned at each other.

"Do you yield?" said Crowley, unconsciously repeating the very same words Aziraphale had once said to him a thousand years ago.

"Never!" huffed Aziraphale. Sweat shone on his brow but his grip on his sword was as firm as ever.

"Then you leave me no choice."

Crowley suddenly side-stepped and playfully jabbed his elbow into Aziraphale's sternum, not hard enough to hurt but with just enough force to make the angel stagger back with a surprised huff.

"That's cheating!"

"Demon, remember?" Crowley growled playfully and then yelped when Aziraphale ducked under a strike and jabbed at his rib cage. Crowley barely managed to block the strike in time.

Neither one spoke after that. They fell into a familiar dance, sparks occasionally sliding from their blades as they clashed and parried. They were hardly aware of the other fencers stopping to watch them as they spun and danced around each other, moving with such fluidity and grace that it was more like watching two figure skaters or dancers than fencers.

But then, they had been orbiting and clashing for centuries – they had always somehow fit. It had always been that way.

Attack and retreat.

Thrust and parry.

Spin and circle.

Sometimes Aziraphale won – sometimes Crowley was the victor. That was how it had been before their Arrangement.

It had been about survival at first (and reducing the amount of paperwork sent to their respective head offices).

It had long ago ceased to be about winning for either of them.

Crowley felt his confidence grow and soon he was matching Aziraphale step for step, swing for swing. He still wasn't as adept as the angel but his natural serpentine grace aided him as they dueled.

It felt liberating to spar like this, knowing that he couldn't hurt Aziraphale and didn't have to hold back (too much) of his demonic strength and speed. He hadn't realised how tense he had been the last few weeks. Aziraphale had been right – this felt good. It felt right.

He could see it on Aziraphale's face too. The angel's normally pale face was flushed with exertion, curls clinging to his brow, but he showed no signs of slowing down. Crowley again wondered how Heaven could have discarded this angel.

Clang!

Crowley swung at Aziraphale's head in a move that would have been incredibly reckless and dangerous had any human attempted it. But Crowley knew Aziraphale. The angel smoothly dodged the blow and spun with incredible grace and speed to slash at Crowley's side.

The demon sidestepped and their blades locked again as they twisted and spun in a circle, each refusing to break their gaze or their hold on their swords.

They completed their circle and pulled apart only to meet again with another clash of swords, sparks flying from the steel. They had forgotten that humans were watching and their supernatural strength was starting to bleed through into their movements.

Aziraphale parried another blow from Crowley and pressed forward, so closely that their brows nearly touched. By now both were breathing heavily. Crowley grinned suddenly, his eyes glowing with exertion.

"We've got an audience, angel."

Aziraphale blinked and straightened, his face flushing an even deeper shade of scarlet as he noticed for the first time all of the people watching them. The crowd had grown to at least three dozen as several people had come in from the street to watch. Several of them had their camera phones out.

There was a moment's silence as Crowley and Aziraphale, panting and still reeling from adrenaline, stared at the crowd.

And then the crowd exploded into cheer and shouts, clapping as the angel and demon stared in shock.

"That was bloody brilliant!" shouted a young man over the cheering.

"Exquisite!" said a woman.

"Just perfect!" said an old man.

"I'm putting this on YouTube!"

Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, a glib response on his tongue, but it faded when Aziraphale, still breathing heavily but smiling with rare, unbridled happiness, raised his sword in a salute.

The demon clumsy returned the gesture, and then to his absolute shock, watched as Aziraphale bowed deeply to him.

Crowley's jaw fell open, scarcely aware of the people cheering and clapping even louder. For an angel of any rank to bow to a demon was unheard of. Even the lowest angel was considered higher than Beelzebub and Satan themselves.

After all, angels weren't Fallen. Demons were.

And yet Aziraphale, a Principality, was bowing to Crowley, a demon who wasn't even a council member. It was the ultimate gesture of respect.

Crowley had only bowed to three beings in his existence. God, Satan and Beelzebub.

And for the first time in his existence Crowley wanted to return the gesture, but this time with meaning. Unable to speak, Crowley could do nothing except return the bow. He wanted to flare his wings out (as he was certain Aziraphale did) as an added show of respect but couldn't with all of the people watching.

Aziraphale straightened and stepped forward, shaking Crowley's hand. He then leaned in close and whispered, "Er, are they really going to put it on YouTube?"

Crowley laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Later, after the other fencers had drifted off an older man approached them. Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting on a bench, catching their breaths as they shared a bottle of water.

"Where did you two learn to fence? Some of those moves…they don't teach things like that anymore," the old man said, shaking his head in amazement.

"Er, it was a long time ago," said Crowley.

"We learned for work – yes, work!" added Aziraphale helpfully.

The man's face cleared in understanding. "Oh, you're stunt doubles, or historical consultants?"

"Yes, consultants – right!" said the angel as Crowley merely smiled and shook his head.

"Well, you two were amazing. I've never seen two more unlikely fencers. Watching you both was like…well, it was impressive. It was as if you could see in each other's minds."

Aziraphale blushed and looked down at his hands. Taking pity on his friend, Crowley thanked the man and assured him that they'd be back soon.

"Wouldn't miss another duel for anything," said the demon with a wink, eliciting a smile from his friend.

After the man had gone Crowley stood and held out a hand to Aziraphale.

"C'mon, angel. All that fencing has made me hungry. I'm buying."

Aziraphale let Crowley pull him to his feet. "That sounds lovely, my dear."

Arm in arm, the angel and the demon left their swords behind as they walked in the cool of the summer evening towards the Ritz.

*Demons, along with angels, were technically ageless as they were created before Time was even an idea. But Aziraphale felt that surely, after six thousand years of being on Earth, Crowley would have outgrown this particular habit whenever he was bored. It simply wasn't becoming of a supernatural being to carry on so.