Work Text:
In the mostly gloomy month of December, Aziraphale strolled into his shop carrying a dark purple African violet. The angel hummed softly as he made his way into the back room where Crowley was lounging on the sofa.
“Where’ve you been, Angel?”
“Nipped down to pick this up. I thought it would be nice to bring a splash of color into the room. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” Crowley only shook his head, staring at the plant with poorly concealed menace. Aziraphale took this to mean he’d had a rather terrible day and so hurriedly placed the violet in the window and pulled out the wine.
Though it had shaken his view of the world and his belief in what his place in it was, he was quite glad for the almost-Apocalypse. Nearly losing Crowley had gone a long way to helping him get the courage to voice his feelings about the demon. Oddly, or perhaps not as they had briefly shared a body, it had been Madame Tracy who’d helped him fine the right words for his feelings.
This meant that he no longer sat in his chair while they were drinking in order to avoid touching him. It meant that they sat side-by-side with their legs pressed together until Crowley inevitably ended up with his head on Aziraphale’s lap.
It started the same night, as soon as Aziraphale left the room for a moment. Crowley whipped off his sunglasses, stood menacingly over the small potted plant, and hissed “You had better get thisss right. He deservesss nothing lessss than you’re very bessst. If I sssee ssso much asss a fade in your coloring, there will be dire consssequencesss.”
By the time Aziraphale stepped back into the room, Crowley had resumed his position on the couch but left his sunglasses off.
A few nights later, they were once again having drinks in the back room of the bookshop. “Violet looks good,” Crowley nodded in the general direction of the plant.
“Thank you. I do believe it was a good idea to bring it back here. Did you speak to Shadwell today?”
“I did not.”
“He’s disbanding the Witchfinder Army and moving away with Madame Tracy.”
“Imagine that. Do you have a sudden desire to move away, Angel?”
“From London and my bookshop? Absolutely not. However, Madame Tracy extended an invitation to the two of us should we desire to visit them on the coast.”
“Which coast?”
“She was unclear about that, saying she would call as soon as they found a place and settled into it.”
“They’ll be married within the year,” Crowley grinned, tugging Aziraphale’s arm until he landed on the couch. Aziraphale agreed but said nothing as he righted himself and leaned into the corner of the sofa so Crowley could cuddle into his arms.
Nearly a week later and Crowley was roaming the bookshop in his snake form. It was time for him to shed and it was far more comfortable to start the process as a snake rather than try to change once it had already started. He slithered into the back room and spied the little pot in the window.
He rose up until he was eye-level with it. “You are not growing, violet. Ssshould you wisssh to keep your life, you mussst do better.”
Aziraphale walked down the stairs and Crowley dropped back down onto the floor. “The bath is ready for you, dear. I suppose you want to be carried up as well?”
Crowley grinned as best as a snake could and wrapped himself around Aziraphale. The angel laughed but carried him up to the flat and helped slide him into the warm bath water.
The next day, still a little itchy from shedding, Crowley glared at the violet as he watched Aziraphale carefully dust its leaves. It still wasn’t growing the way he thought it ought to and, more maddeningly, it showed no sign it heard Crowley’s threats, let alone that it was afraid of him the way it should be.
It had been almost a month since Aziraphale had brought the violet into the shop and he had gone to the shop door to collect the Chinese delivery. He walked back into the back room with their food to see Crowley with his back to the door, holding the potted violet, menace coming off him in waves.
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO GROW FOR MY ANGEL! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH SLOPPY GROWTH! WE ARE DISAPPOINTING HIM!”
“Crowley, dear, exactly what the fuck are you doing?”
Crowley stopped and turned to stare, the pot dangling in his now limp hand. “Did you just say ‘fuck’?”
“Yes. What are you doing, Crowley?”
“I’m…. It’s not growing. And you’ve been taking such good care of it. And just what is so funny?” Crowley threw his arms wide and the African violet slid out of the pot and landed on the floor with a thump.
“It’s not funny, dear. It’s very sweet of you, but rather unnecessary.” Aziraphale grinned, nodding at the green florist’s foam that was attached to the violet.
“It’s fake? I’ve been yelling at a fake flower? Why’d you buy a fake flower?”
“All of the cheer, none of the maintenance.” Still grinning widely, he set the bag of food on the desk and reached for the now empty pot Crowley still held. He swiftly replaced the plant and set it back in its place.
“It’s fake,” Crowley stared at it some more.
“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale kissed him gently. “Thank you for trying to make my plant grow better. It really was rather sweet of you.”