The Body I'm In

Chapter Five

Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)

Aziraphale shuffled about the flat. Crowley could hear the man moving here and there. The din of pots and pans made his head throb. Opening and closing of doors caused him to wince. Why did the world have to be so blasted loud? Soon the fragrant scent of food cooking greeted him. Swallowing, Crowley's stomach churned and a little moan escaped his lips.

There was then a cool cloth covering his eyes and an alcohol-laced cotton ball tickling his upper lip. Crowley grabbed the cloth from Aziraphale and batted the cotton ball away from his nose. "What are you doing?" he asked, smacking his cracked lips. It felt like his mouth had been filled with hundreds of those cotton balls. That would be the worst game of Chubby Bunny ever played – Crowley was certain of it.

"Taking care of you," Aziraphale said, tossing the cotton ball in the trash before placing a steady hand on Crowley's back as the man sat himself up and planted his feet onto the ground. "It looks like you need some assistance. Did it help?"

Crowley opened his mouth. He paused. Closing it, he frowned. Instead, he laid the wash cloth on his side table and grabbed the glass of water. Sipping on it, Crowley stared down at his shoes. There was no way to answer. Instead, he searched for distractions. When had they gotten so scuffed? Why did I choose these? They're not hip! They're not cool. They don't scream rock and roll. They say going to bingo on a Friday night, he thought.

"I thought so," Aziraphale said, standing from his seat. He wavered on the spot for a moment. To steady himself, Aziraphale rested his fingertips against the plush arm of the chair. "You don't have to say anything." Aziraphale moved away from the couch. He tidied the space – folding blankets, fluffing pillows, putting magazines away, and even checking on the plants – before heading back to the kitchen.

"I hope you like Hachis Parmentier. It's a family recipe. I also made some oatmeal raisin cookies. I can't believe you had golden raisins. It's the only proper ones for these cookies," he remarked while pulling the cookies out of the oven (with an oven mitt on of course). There was a hint of labored breathing but it only piqued Crowley's attention for a moment. "You don't have to eat them now, though. But, please at least eat some crackers at the very least."

"Uh, I don't have the foggiest idea of what a hatchet parmesan is," Crowley blurted. Was that what Aziraphale had said? His head was heavy and the whole circumference hurt like someone had whacked him with a cricket bat. "So I don't know if I like it or not."

"Oh! It's cottage pie," Aziraphale called from the kitchen. He paused to clear his throat. "My grandparents liked to use fancy words for things. I suppose I picked up the habit."

Crowley shifted in his spot on the couch and watched as Aziraphale put opened the oven, slipped the meal onto the rack and closed the door. He set the mallard duck timer to ding when it went off. "You didn't have to do this. You don't have to do any of this," Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale bustled about the house. Crowley couldn't help but notice how he went from room to room (and judging by the sounds continued his cleaning spree). "I don't deserve it."

"Do you think God hates you? Do you think that you have done something worthy of punishment?" Aziraphale asked from bedroom. "Of course you deserve care. Everyone does." After a few minutes, he came from that room with an arm full of dirty laundry (mostly t-shirts and towels) to put in the washer.

"You are amazing. Gabriel didn't deserve you," Crowley said aloud and to himself, he thought, I don't deserve you. You truly are an angel. "I'm sorry for leaving the show. I'm sorry for not staying. I...I tried. I wanted to stay so very badly."

"I know. At least the charity got some money from your donation. That's all that matters to me. I don't care if any single soul stayed to listen. If they donated and then left my job was done. I just played to bring in the cash. It is a good cause. I'm just happy to help. The charity is such a life savior. I don't think I'd be here as long as I've been without it."

~*~

Spring 2019 (Aziraphale's birthday)

The first day of spring and Crowley noticed that the world was awash with color. Don't flowers bloom so much earlier? Crowley mused while sauntering down the sidewalk. Or maybe I just don't normally notice that stuff. Usually I'm just so bloody busy. There's too much to do than to look at the flowers growing along the sidewalk.

He smiled despite himself. This was the happiest he'd felt in a very long time. He did not want to lose it. He did not want to lose the person who brought that into his heart. His life was far more lively and colorful now with Aziraphale in his life. For the first time in a very long time, Crowley felt optimistic and he had a feeling it had to do with that dear angel's presence.

He felt like a very lucky man. He had such a gentle, lovely soul in his life. How had he lucked out with such a destiny? What were the chances of Aziraphale and Crowley even meeting? What were the chances they would have become close – even if they had met? It didn't matter. It was just fun to ponder those what if's.

Crowley's phone buzzed just then. It pulled him out of his thoughts. Pulling it out, he glanced at it. Aziraphale sent a text wondering where he'd gone. Crowley sighed and texted that he was on his way. He then hastened his stride and only slowed when he remembered it was Aziraphale's birthday.

"Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath. He looked around, desperate for an idea for a perfect gift. He hurried here and there – stopping at each window and peering in. Only an antique store drew him in. He then left with a gold ring adorned with angel-wings (they wrapped around the finger). It was perfect. Purchasing it, and getting it gift wrapped, he headed out the store just as another text came to his phone. For some reason that made him smile a second time.

Five minutes later he arrived to the venue. "I'm here. I'm here," he promised. Aziraphale stood on the stage staring down at him with his head cocked and arms crossed. "Hello, Birthday Boy! I see you missed me. It's nice to be missed."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. A tiny smirk played with the corner's of his lips. "We should get to work," he remarked. The man was about ready to step away from the edge of the stage when Crowley cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"I have something for you. It is your birthday, after all. You should have some pleasure," Crowley said, pulling out the ring box and holding it up to Aziraphale. "For you. I saw it in the window and I just knew I had to get it."

"That's not the line Carol Burnett uses, but I forgive you for that," Aziraphale said, untying the ribbon and cautiously unwrapping the gift. He opened the box and stared down at it. "Oh, it's absolutely divine. Thank you." As Aziraphale slipped it on his ring finger, Crowley hopped up on stage.

He glanced at the ring. It fit his hand so perfectly. It seemed made for him. "I'm glad you like it," he said, taking his spot. Thirsty, Crowley grabbed the sealed bottle of water from its spot on the stool. Unscrewing the lip, he took a sip. "Let's rock and roll! This first show of ours is going to be huge. Music execs showing up even or so I've been told."

"Time to shine," Aziraphale remarked, going over to his own microphone. He began his warm ups and Crowley did the same. While they prepared for practice songs and then performing a full set, Crowley marveled at how the last couple months had treated them. While Crowley did not know what was going on, he did know that Aziraphale looked stronger and happier (and that was all that mattered). Their voices strengthened and found their sync so they worked smoothly together. Everything was looking up and Crowley did not want to lose any of it. He wanted this day to last forever.