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You've reached the voice mail box for the angel Balthazar. Sorry I missed your call!
Well... actually, that depends who you are. I may have deliberately missed your call, in which case I won't get back to you unless you have a really good reason I should make the attempt. So, I advise you to make a list of potential bribes when you leave your message. If I want to talk to you, I won't need them.

...Beep.

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"Damn it, you lot who work in the field have all the fun!" Balthazar flings himself back in his chair expressively and claps a hand to his forehead. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have spent so much time in the world! Or perhaps you do, given all you went through to save it. Urgh, I want all the details later."

Meanwhile, he's not sure how Aziraphale can have lived amongst humans so long, have watched their cultures grow and establish little details like this, and still be so dense about his demon picking them up and turning them on him. He curls his tongue against the roof of his mouth to keep from calling the other angel something untoward, albeit affectionate, that might ruin the calm nature of this conversation. He has to take a breath and rub his temples, collecting words.

"That's Crowley being Crowley towards you. Have you known him to ply anyone else with chocolates and wine? Do you take people out for meals the way you go out with him? Aziraphale, darling, I'm not saying this couldn't be purely platonic, but it's a spot-on reflection of human dating behavior. Which you've apparently been doing for, what, millennia?"

"Have you considered perhaps discussing this with Crowley? I don't know what goes on in his head, but it's possible you don't entirely, either, and whether you mean to be lovers or best friends you should be on the same page."

Balthazar's reaction draws a smile out of Aziraphale -- fleeting, but amused. "I consider myself very fortunate to have met many creative humans, or at least witness them at their craft firsthand. They are here and gone so quickly..." With a sober expression, he sets down his glass and adds quietly, "I was with him when he died. Whatever I was incapable of feeling for him, he was as close as I've dared let a human mean to me. There have only been a few like that, over the years."

Crowley once asked him how someone as clever as he is could be so stupid, and though it was said in a fit of pique, the demon wasn't all that far off the mark. The way the angel achieves it is through a denial so intense that Freud could have written an entire series of books about it. Despite this, there is a genuine flash of panic in his eyes when Balthazar brings up the idea of talking to Crowley about things, and he shakes his head rapidly at the suggestion.

"Why on Earth would I -- what is there to discuss with him? Crowley, old chap, it appears that Balthazar thinks you're courting me? Because I can assure you, if he had any sort of feelings for me in that regard, he would have told me. He was the one who initiated our Arrangement, he was the one who called us friends when I was too afraid to admit the same, if he had any sort of romantic intentions towards me, he'd have no reason to keep quiet about that, either."

You go too fast for me, Crowley. Aziraphale's own words come back to him suddenly, like an accusatory ghost. And like a ghost, he pales a bit as he remembers them, his lips pressed tightly together.

"L-look, this... why are we even talking about this? The whole reason we came over was because of your relationship. Crowley and I are doing just fine. There's no need to start poking at a perfectly good friendship."

Balthazar's demeanor softens as Aziraphale speaks of Oscar Wilde. He nods slowly, but with evident complete agreement. It sounds a lot like the way he relates to Levi, in fact. Even where angels and mortals are concerned, like sometimes calls to like. Levi is his True Vessel because they just fit, and if Aziraphale's world required angels to have vessels, perhaps the same would have been true of him and Wilde.

And maybe Oscar Wilde would have been better able to talk sense into him than Balthazar seems to be doing. He sighs. "They get frightened too, you know. Fallen or not. Maybe the Fallen are even more frightened, in a sense, than we can be, because they've been burned, figuratively and literally."

"You've not seen it in Lucifer, of course. I'm not sure he'd thank me for commenting, honestly, but for all his power and cleverness and age and all he's seen, he's shockingly sensitive. Maybe not delicate; I have a feeling he's been broken and pulled himself back together so many times it's old hat to him by now, and that's not frailty. I don't know what it is, but it's not frailty. But he's suffered, and I could hurt him terribly if I tried."

He shakes his head. "It's not my business, I suppose, what you and Crowley do or don't do. I just don't want to see you go through what I've gone through. I've loved a lot of other angels, passionately, even romantically. They've always been the ones who left because Heaven wasn't enough. And I wonder sometimes if I could have prevented that, if I'd been more stubborn, more assertive, more forthcoming and less afraid. The entire fate of my world might have unfolded differently, and maybe not for the better, but I'll never know now."

Oscar would have told him to go for it, no doubt, but Oscar was not a careful person, and he suffered for it. Besides, Heaven would have punished Aziraphale if he had -- not that he would have, and Crowley wasn't around then, anyway, so --

It's tempting to disagree. To argue that he's only seen Crowley afraid once, when Satan was about to come to the surface and start his own personal Armageddon, otherwise he saunters and swaggers through life with a confidence that Aziraphale can only dream of. (And once was fortunate enough to replicate.) But, on some level he knows that's not true. Especially when Balthazar so eloquently describes Lucifer's hidden qualities. It gives him pause, makes him look at the other angel in quiet surprise.

This isn't entirely about him, he realizes. The thought is oddly comforting, and he relaxes in his seat a little, drink in hand, his expression clearing.

"I understand, Balthazar. I do. I remember how Crowley sounded when he thought I'd died. It was..." His brows pull together, his lower lip trembling a touch at the memory. "I'll never leave him again. Ever. Maybe that's not how best friends traditionally operate, but that's how it is for us. We're... what's the human phrase? Ride or die? Something like that. You have my word on it."

It's not entirely about Aziraphale, no. Not by a long shot. Balthazar is thinking not only of Lucifer, but also his relationship with his own siblings, especially Castiel. If Aziraphale were to see them together, in fact, he might even become aware of some distinct behavioral parallels; Balthazar playing the role of banana man to Castiel's earnest and duty-bound straight man act. And what Balthazar knows about himself is that he has been in love with Castiel for centuries, but fully aware there was nothing to be done about that. Too straight laced, Castiel would never have gone in for a romance in Heaven, and now he's dead set on humanity as a whole, the Winchesters specifically, and one Winchester in particular.

His ego hates that he's lost to a human, of course, and he'd be lying if he claimed he wasn't hurt in a number of complex and multilayered ways, but even before meeting Lucifer at the fair he'd mostly accepted it. It wasn't the right time then, it isn't the right time now, and it was never going to be the right time.

The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

He's finding someone he actually does fit with, now. Even if it's the absolute last angel he'd have expected to fit with, it's there and it feels right. He'd just like to spare both Aziraphale and Crowley some of the harder lessons he's learned, particularly since he's aware he's been lucky, damned lucky, to be caught by a loving devil when he fell from Grace.

"All right," he says with an oddly gentle smile. "I've said my bit. You do that, and keep what I've said in mind, and--however it is you love him, you make sure he knows it."

Ah, the L-word. Funny how much that thought flutters inside him, like a wayward dove. "I try," he replies, neither confirming nor denying the scope of his feelings. He casts a glance at the teddy bear and smiles fondly. "He too often beats me to the punch."

His attention returns to Balthazar and that gentle smile. "You're the only angel I know who knows what it's like to love," he confesses. "Not the love that we extend to all of God's creation, but personal love. My Heaven is so cold, Balthazar. Gabriel and the others, they'd never understand what I feel for Crowley, or anyone else I cared about."

His gaze flicks down briefly at his glass, but doesn't feel the need for another drink. "Our worlds are different, but I'm glad that we have that in common."

The smile on Balthazar's face fades at Aziraphael's confession, and he nods slowly. "Like marble statues. No desire, no compassion...bleached tombs filled with nothing but bones."

He loves the Host anyway, because they're his family. Sometimes love is the same as pain.

"I think angels are just another kind of monster," he adds. "Setting aside our proximity to the Divine--or maybe because of that. We carry the very breath of Creation within us, and what to we do with it? We kill things. Mortal things, immortal things, one another..." His gaze has gone distant and grim. Haunted.

"I'm over five hundred million years old, Aziraphale. And nothing, not a thing, I've ever done has had half the meaning or given a tenth as much to the world as a five-minute sketch my vessel did with a hangover, before he'd had his morning coffee."

"Don't ask me why we're the exceptions that prove the rule, but it seems we are, you and I. Let me know if you get some insight on what, exactly, to do with that."

It's a grim image, but it's one he can't entirely argue with. Especially not after the final days of his near Armageddon, when the archangels showed their true colors and he finally stopped pretending that they wanted anything other than the ultimate holy war.

But his own turmoil pales in comparison to Balthazar's, who has clearly given this much more thought. Maybe because his world is that much bleaker, or maybe because he's had more time to think about things. Either way, it hurts to see his friend like this, and without over-thinking it, he gets up off his chair and walks over to the other angel to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"My dear boy, you matter much more than you could possibly know." He gives Balthazar's shoulder a squeeze, his sigh speaking of his own troubled thoughts. "I don't know why we are so different from the rest of the Host. I'd say it's our time among humans, but even before Eden, before the Fall, I felt..." He trails off, thinking back to that time before time technically existed. "I didn't have the words for it, but I wanted a friend. I almost wish that I knew Crowley back then, but I think it would have been too heart-breaking to see him again afterwards. I'm glad that I know him now, as he is. I'd like to think he was like us before the Fall."

Balthazar blinks at little at the comforting hand. Usually when he gets grim, someone changes the subject. Except for Lucifer who seems to either angst with him or pull him into a romantic embrace. A friendly touch on the shoulder is different, and much appreciated, and his tension dissolves.

He smiles up at the other angel, wry with the mutual understanding of grief between them, but warm. "I haven't spent nearly as much time among humans as you have, though. I don't know, maybe every organized system needs a few outliers like us to keep it from being stagnant. Maybe...maybe there's some hope in that."

He's going to have to think about this one, long and hard.

"I always wanted to love and be loved," he says, tilting his head. "In whatever ways were available. Family, friends, lovers. They're all precious."

This isn't a subject that Aziraphale discusses much, if at all. Not even with Crowley. He's only beginning to process those six thousand years of what was essentially a toxic work environment, but he won't let Balthazar think that he's alone when it comes to this. He returns the wry smile with one of his own.

"I think there's a great deal of hope in that. And I think you'll find that hope only grows the more time you spend around humans." He pats Balthazar's shoulder a final time before letting go and returning to his seat, which has somehow moved closer to Balthazar's chair, within arm's reach. Technically a miracle, but the passive kind that comes from an angel who anticipates inanimate objects being there when he needs them.

"I'm very happy to call you my friend," he tells him. "And Crowley is, too. I think it's very exciting for him to know another angel who isn't a sanctimonious blowhard." That's not the phrase that Crowley used, but Aziraphale doesn't like to repeat foul language. "He's, ah... he's not happy about Lucifer's presence in the Nexus. I wouldn't expect him to keep as open a mind as I am."

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