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Crowley woke up on the living room sofa with crumbs on his chest and a plate with the remains of last night’s dinner with Aziraphale on the coffee table in front of him. An empty bottle told him that they had imbibed too much wine afterwards. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and he didn’t want to know what his breath smelled like. He considered it a windfall that Aziraphale wasn’t around wanting a good morning kiss.
Aziraphale had tucked him in lovingly before disappearing to parts unknown. Crowley noticed the blanket he had kicked down to his waist during the night. He brushed off the crumbs, miracling them away before they hit the carpet below, then swung his legs around to sit up. A wave of nausea hit him, and he flopped back down on the pillow. Crowley clicked his fingers, then tried to rise and shine without a hangover weighing him down.
“There. Better,” he muttered. “Aziraphale! You here?”
There was no answer. He must be out.
Crowley’s hand landed on a piece of paper on the table as he fumbled for his phone. He read the neatly printed message: I am at the store purchasing items for dinner tonight. Your cabinets are bare. — Aziraphale.
Oh, shopping. He put the note back before grabbing his phone in preparation for an afternoon alone. Crowley slouched back down on the couch to play games until they became dull.
He eventually moved on to Netflix, which wasn’t exciting, either. There was nothing new out that piqued his interest. He moved on to several other streaming services before giving up. Thank someone, he didn’t actually pay for any of them.
Aziraphale kept a small selection of books here, taking up two shelves that Crowley didn’t use for storing records and CDs. Crowley wandered over to read the titles and found them to Aziraphale’s taste, not his own.
Going out to glue coins to the pavement had lost its appeal a few years ago. He probably shouldn’t go for a drive. If he headed out to entertain himself at the pub across the street, he’d hear it later from Aziraphale. He didn’t need a lecture for getting drunk before they had eaten lunch, as if it mattered. It was around one o’clock, and he could sober up instantly if required.
Well. Now what? His head lulled back on the sofa cushions as he killed some more time pondering what to do next. The angel did love a good meal almost as much as books. Maybe Crowley could surprise him with lunch. What if he made a meal for him? Without miracles. Crowley could cook a few simple things. You didn’t live on Earth for six millennia without picking up a little knowledge on everyday activities.
“All right,” he muttered, pulling up a recipe that touted itself as simple. “Last miracle is for all the ingredients and equipment needed. God, why am I doing this?”
He knew exactly why. To pass the time and to show Aziraphale he could do something without employing miracles, like a human act of love. He thought that was how those worked. Humans made things for each other, didn’t they? Or bought chocolates, and he did that enough already for Aziraphale. Yes. Wasn’t a homemade thing created with love the ultimate act of adoration? Humans seemed to really appreciate handcrafted items made by the hands of their loved ones. They were trying out more human expressions of love now that they were on their own. It was perfect.
He strode confidently into the kitchen to look in the cabinets. Wow, Aziraphale was right, he thought as he gazed upon the empty shelves in front of him. A quick miracle solved that problem. Everything he needed now sat on the counter for Caesar salad wraps.
“Using a pestle and mortar, bash together the anchovies,” he read before eyeing the tin of anchovies off to his left. “Umm…all right.”
He opened the tin only for the pungent odour of fish to hit him in the face. He stumbled backwards, slopping the oil the anchovies sat in onto the floor.
“Ugh! Who decided to give fish such a stench?” he muttered. “Never could trust those idiots in the Animal Manufacturing Department.”
He pulled a whole fish out of tin, his lip curling up in a disgusted sneer. There was nothing more off-putting than food that could still stare at you out of its lifeless eyes. Well, one more miracle wouldn’t hurt, would it? The fish he had thrown into the mortar suddenly had no head, tail or skin.
Better. He could get on with mashing his two anchovies up with the required garlic without thinking about bits of eyeballs and brains contaminating his food. Next, the recipe said to throw the mash into a bowl with mayonnaise, parmesan cheese and mustard.
Aside from the smell of the anchovies, this isn’t going to be so difficult, thought Crowley, measuring out and dumping the additional ingredients into a handy bowl.
He leaned across the bowl to grab the anchovies, his shoe connecting with the small anchovy oil slick. It sent him head over heels onto the hard tile floor. Down he went, slipping on the slick mess of his own making, taking the bowl of mayonnaise, mustard and parmesan with him.
He lay in a pile of knees and elbows, his lanky limbs soaked in the slimy ingredients. They had increased when he tried to save himself with a miracle in his panic, his magic misunderstanding what exactly he wanted.
“Hello! I’m back!”
Crowley looked up from his mess, his face frozen in an expression of horror. Aziraphale was back already.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
He switched forms in an attempt to hide away under the lip below the cabinets, his mind racing at such speeds, any logical action, such as miracling himself and the kitchen clean, skipped across the surface without sinking in. Only the one thought occupied his head right now. It screamed at him to get out of the line of sight. He failed, finding himself in an embarrassing situation where he was unable to move, the frictionless slime preventing him from escaping the disaster.
He desperately whipped his black and red length back and forth, rippling from head to tail without an iota of forward momentum. Crowley hissed his frustration.
“Are you in the kit … oh, lord. Crowley?” Aziraphale looked down at the slime-covered snake at his feet. “You panicked again, didn’t you? Come here, let me help you out.”
Aziraphale was bending down to take up his heavy coils, allowing a defeated Crowley to wind himself around the angel’s waist and crawl upwards to rest across both shoulders. With a click of his fingers, Aziraphale cleaned up the mess, making room on the counter for a bag filled with groceries.
“What were you doing, my love?” he asked.
“Trying to make something for you. But I have discovered I can't cook without a few miracles.” Crowley slithered up to lay his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder in shame.
“Oh, Crowley. I’m flattered, but I don’t mind if you cook using miracles or not. Or if you simply decide to bring home some takeaway. I enjoy all of it because when you do such things, your heart is in the right place.” Aziraphale kissed him on his snakey nose. “Let’s get you into a bath. It’s been a while since you’ve had a good soak. It’ll help clear your mind.”
Aziraphale marched them both to the grey marble, the tub already filling with warm, inviting water. Crowley watched it pour from the tap with a longing to slide from Aziraphale’s embrace into the inviting water.
Aziraphale smiled indulgently as Crowley slithered into the perfectly warm water to be pampered by his angel. Azirahale knelt beside the tub to scrub the stubborn dried mayo off his scales, tackling the mess by hand while Crowley chuckled inside his head. That angel knew just how much a soothing touch would help calm him down, even if it was mostly his ego that required soothing.
Aziraphale rubbed a soft flannel over Crowley’s long body, making sure he massaged every inch of the demon’s serpentine form from head to tail. He smiled to see Crowley’s coils unclench slowly.
“Feeling better?”
“Yesssss.” Crowley let out a hiss of appreciation.
“I think you needed it after the afternoon you had. What exactly happened while I was gone?”
“I wanted to make something homemade for lunch…to show that I do appreciate you, but it didn’t go well. Obviously. It’s a good thing I’m a demon because I’m sure rubbish at a lot of human activities,” Crowley sighed, his coils vibrating with his misery.
“I think you just need practice. How many times did you almost crash the Bentley while learning to drive? Or fail the first few times at hobbies you later became good at? Your plants are the envy of London. You’ve developed quite an eye for art and fashion. And your knowledge of wine gives mine a run for its money. We’ll just have to work on the cooking if it’s something you seriously want to pursue; that is all.”
“I’ll have to think about it. I was just trying to do the whole human “made with love” thing, but I don’t think I understand it correctly.”
Aziraphale leaned in to give him another kiss.
“That’s all right, my dear boy. It’s trial and error, right? The water’s starting to cool. What do you say about getting out and drying off? I did bring some sandwich fixings for lunch, and you must be absolutely peckish by now. I’ll go get that ready.”
Aziraphale gave him a final soft kiss on his muzzle before leaving him to slither out of the tub, transform and dry himself off. Crowley emerged in a fluffy black dressing gown, smelling of the lavender soap Aziraphale had used to rid him of the dried-on mess.
Yes, that angel was clever. Crowley knew Aziraphale was wise to the therapeutic properties of its scent, choosing that particular bath soap to create a calming environment for his upset partner.
Everything needed for a good roast beef sandwich spread across the table, laid out on neat serving platters by Aziraphale. Crowley smiled to see the bread basket with its tartan-printed cloth covering the slices, as if they’d go stale in the few minutes it took Crowley to dress.
“You’re just in time. Feel free to sit down for a spot of lunch.” Aziraphale brought over two cups of tea.
Crowley wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but he wasn’t going to complain about all the pampering, either.
“Gladly, angel.” Crowley slid into his seat to gaze down on the latkes before him. “After the day I’ve had, I think a nice, relaxing lunch is in order.”
"Just do me one favour?" Aziraphale gazed upon him with innocent blue eyes.
"What's that?"
Aziraphale hid a silly little smile. "Don't try to make latkes for Hanuukah like you did last year?"