Ineffable (Crowley x female OC)

In which Crowley Tells Aziraphale

"Crowley! Wake up! So help me I-I'll start complimenting your plants if you don't awaken this instance!"

Crowley groaned and stirred, eyes closed. "Don't you dare," he growled weakly at Aziraphale as he finished waking up. He opened his eyes: he was lying on the long black leather couch in his upscale flat. Aziraphale sat on a chair near his face, looking pale and anxious.

Crowley tried to sit up, but the angel pushed him back onto the soft leather and frowned at him. "Crowley, you've been comatose for the last 6 hours, I don't think you should get up yet."

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but found he was too exhausted and punchy to think of a proper comeback, so he just sank back onto the cushions.

"Do you remember what happened?" the angel asked apprehensively, tapping his fingers together anxiously.

Crowley groaned again. "Well, I was hoping it was just some sort of twisted nightmare, but if in fact it wasn't, then yes, Angel," he hissed, covering his exposed eyes with a clammy hand. "I vividly remember everything that occurred before I fainted like a damn Victorian girl in a harlequin romance."

"Oh, you didn't look like that at all!" said Aziraphale a little too emphatically. "It was all very, uh, manly, and, uh, masculine, and, um...."

He trailed off sheepishly when Crowley fixed him with a heated glare.

After an awkward silence, Aziraphale cleared his throat and said, "Well, since you remember, care to enlighten me as to what happened?"

Crowley's scowl turned to a guilty glance at his friend, and he mumbled quickly, "I dunno. Just got a bad headache and collapsed, I guess."

Aziraphale frowned. "We don't get headaches."

"Well, we would if we weren't able to sober up magically," he complained, "like I wasn't able to last night."

Aziraphale's eyebrows flew up. "Oh? Pray tell, why not?"

"Too many damn people around," growled the demon, turning away from the angel and facing the back of the couch. "Wouldn't let me go till I sang all 12 verses of "American Pie," by the end of which I collapsed into a drunken stupor on a particularly uncomfortable boulder. We were on the beach," he added when Aziraphale didn't respond right away.

"Ah, that explains it. Why couldn't you just sober up once you awoke?"

Crowley shook his head. "Not enough energy. Barely had enough time and powers left to miracle myself to the airport in a semi-respectable outfit with all the paperwork. Pretty sure my Mastercard is gone, but joke's on whoever took it, cuz it was overdrawn anyway." He snickered into the cushion, then sighed. I'm so pathetic, he thought.

"I guess that checks out," said the angel uncertainly, "but that still doesn't explain why you collapsed, or how you were staring at Miss Kingsley-"

"I wasn't staring!" argued Crowley, turning around roughly to glare at Aziraphale. "And I collapsed because I'm fucking exhausted from the drinking and traveling. I shouldn't have agreed to come, it was a bad idea."

Aziraphale's beautiful blue eyes looked down, and his face fell. Crowley sighed. "Look, it was a good idea," he corrected himself with what he hoped resembled a reassuring smile, "I just should have slept first. It's my fault, Angel. I'm sorry."

Aziraphale shook his head. "I appreciate that, Crowley, but that's not it. I felt it from the moment you saw Jenna." He glanced back up at his friend. "You remember how I can sense love?"

Crowley squirmed uncomfortably, his face burning red, and made to turn away from the angel but Aziraphale stopped him with a surprisingly strong arm. "Listen, it's ok, Crowley. I just want to know how you know each other."