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Lifting the top on his hope chest, Aziraphale peered down at the linens, but didn’t see the article he was looking for. He let out a sigh and started to carefully extract the extra bedding from the cedar chest. It had to be in here somewhere.
While his books were Aziraphale’s most prized possession, they were not the only things he collected. Over time he’d acquired many amazing objects. Most of the brick-a-brack that accumulated in his life meant something to him. An object made with and given out of love meant the most to him. It was one such item that was eluding him at the moment.
The ladies in town were having a quilt show, and while Aziraphale didn’t quilt himself, he did own one amazing wartime quilt. As an Air Warden during the London Blitz, he had seen many quilts made for those that lost their homes during the bombings, but this quilt had been presented directly to him by a member of the relief aid as a token of their appreciation. It’s four pointed star pattern and bright array of colors was beautiful and the love he could feel in the quilt had been soothing during those stressful times. He desperately wanted to share it with the ladies, if he could only remember where he'd put it.
Digging deeper in the chest, Aziraphale’s hand hit something hard. He looked in and found a wooden box that he did not recognize. He gripped the edge and lifted it up, but the contents rattled together as he tilted it. He froze, afraid he’d damaged the contents. Carefully, he set the box down and moved the other linens so he could lift the box out without disturbing the contents more.
Setting it on the floor, Aziraphale kneeled next to the mystery box, pondering what could be inside. He’d certainly never seen the box before, although it had a familiar feel to it. Carefully he opened the top. He stared at the contents not sure what to make of it. Hundreds of spoons filled the box. No two were the same. Reaching in, Aziraphale picked one up. The handle was surrounded by scrollwork with bits of flowers tucked into the edges. A crest was carved into the bowl. He looked at it closely and gasped as he recognized the symbol. It belonged to a long dead baron. Aziraphale had been to a ball held for the baron's daughter. He’d been sent to bless the young lady, but he remembered the ball very well. They had served the most amazing pudding.
Aziraphale looked down at the rest of the spoons. His eyes picked out others he recognized from other events. Slowly, he picked out each spoon and tried to place it. Each time he was able to match it up with an event and a desert he had enjoyed. He laid them out on the floor next to him as he worked through them.
“My spoons!”
The gasp of sound from behind him startled Aziraphale. He twisted around to see Crowley racing into the room. “Your spoons?” he asked.
The demon scrambled to scrape the spoons up from the floor and dump them back into the box. “Yes,” he snapped. “My spoons.” He snagged the spoon from Aziraphale’s hand and dropped it into the box. Slamming the lid shut, he grabbed the box up from the floor and held it close to his chest.
“But I recognize these spoons,” Aziraphale said, confused.
Crowley glared at him over his glasses. “No you don’t,” he growled. “They're my spoon.” He jerked himself up from the floor away from the angel.
Aziraphale followed him up from the floor. “But I do,” the angel said. “I’ve used these spoons.” His voice held notes of concern and confusion.
Crowley made a frustrated noise and turned away from the angel so hard the box rattled.
Taking a tentative step towards his husband, Aziraphale raised a soothing hand towards the demon. “Crowley” he said gently. “Why do you have a box of spoons?”
Frustrated, the demon let out another strangled noise and stalked over to the edge of the bed. He dropped the box to the bed. “I collect spoons,” the demon snapped.
Aziraphale cocked his head as he tried to wrap his mind around the answer. “Spoons I’ve used?” He knew Crowley loved him. They talked about their habits and obsessions before Armadidn’t and had both admitted to collecting things that reminded them of the other, but gathering up every spoon Aziraphale had ever used seemed excessive, even for Crowley. “Why?”
Crowley dropped his head and let out a resigned sigh. “They’re Blessed.”
Aziraphale gasped and looked at the box with more than just his eyes. It did, in fact, radiate Holy energy. Not a lot, but more than enough for each spoon to be considered a minor Relic. “You Blessed my spoon?”
Crowley turned on the angel and snapped again. “You Blessed the spoons.”
The angel gasped and recoiled slightly in shock.
Slapping his hand over his face, the demon rubbed it in frustration. He turned and stalked across the room as he ranted out his secret. “You Blessed the spoons, Angel. Every blood time you put them in your mouth with something good on them.” His voice pitched up in a mocking tone as he turned and stalked back across the room. “Oh this is divine.” His voice dropped back to its normal frustrated tone as he glared at the angel. “Coming from an angel, that changes an object.” He stopped and let out a frustrated sigh.
Aziraphale looked from the ranting demon back to the box. There had to be several hundred spoons in there. “For how long?” he asked, afraid of the answer.
“How long have you been eating with spoons?” the demon asked sharply.
A chill raced up Aziraphale’s back. That was a lot of spoons. “Oh my.”
Crowley let out a calmer breath and walked back over to the bed. “It’s not every spoon you’ve ever used,” he said, laying his hand on the box gently. “Only the ones used for something really good.”
Aziraphale took another tentative step closer. "Oh dear." He glanced at the box again. "I had no idea." He looked back up to his husband. "How did you find out?"
The demon chuckled. "Someone tried to banish me with one of your spoons."
Horror flooded the angel's face. "Banish you?"
Crowley smiled at the memory of the man threatening him with a spoon. "Had just enough Holy energy for the humans to notice. Almost worked too," the demon admitted. "But I'd spent enough time around you Blessing things to have built up a residence."
The angel blanched. "I've Blessed things around you?" It was one of the few things he tried not to do around the demon. A proper Blessing could seriously hurt a demon.
Smiling, the demon closed the distance between them. He lifted his hand and cupped Aziraphale's cheek. "Quite often," he admitted in a fond tone. "Mostly when you drink."
"Oh Crowley," the angel said in a distressed voice. "I'm so sorry." He tipped his head into the demon's hand. "I had no idea."
Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his arms. "It's not a big deal," he admitted, cuddling the angel close. "Not any more."
Aziraphale pushed back so he could look up into Crowley's face. "But it was," he said, still distressed.
The demon smiled and shrugged. "Gave everything an interesting bite," he admitted. "I liked it."
Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Crowley cut it off with a kiss.
"Enough about my spoons," Crowley said when he pulled back. He rubbed the edge of his nose against his angel's. "What were you looking for in the hope chest?"
Pulling back enough to meet Crowley's eyes, Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. He was perturbed that Crowley was deflecting the conversation, but he let it go for now. He let out a sigh and picked up the new topic. "I was looking for my Blitz quilt," he explained. "I wanted to put it in the quilt show."
"Oh that," Crowley exclaimed. He gave his husband a quick kiss before releasing him. "I put it in here." He crossed the room and opened the large wardrobe. Fishing in the top, he moved a few things before pulling out the requested quilt. "Here." He held out the blanket.
Aziraphale took the quilt. He rubbed his fingers over the pattern, feeling the love and memories wash over him. A nostalgic smile warmed his face. "Thank you."
"Ngk," Crowley grumbled. He waved his hands, shooing the angel off. "Take your quilt and go show it off. Sin of Pride and all."
The angel gave his husband an irritated look. "Now really," he protested. "I would not call sharing an example of wartime art a sin of Pride. I had nothing to do with making it. I've just preserved it."
"Oh no," Crowley agreed with the angel mockingly. "Just preserved it, like your books."
The look on Aziraphale's face was turning from irritated to angry.
The demon held up his hands before he pushed his angel too far. "It's a lovely quilt and 'm sure your lady friends will love it." He stepped closed and placed his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder to turn him towards the door. " 'm sorry I teased you about it. Why don't you take it to town and share it with them?" He guided the angel into motion.
Aziraphale looked back over his shoulder to the box and mess of linens on the bed. "But," he protested, dragging his feet.
"I'll take care of that," Crowley said. "The ladies are probably waiting for you."
Aziraphale looked up at his husband, considering him. It was Thursday and the ladies were meeting down at the local cafe for tea. He hadn't planed on joining them today, but now that he had his quilt in hand, he did want to show it off. Letting out a sigh, he gave in to Crowley's temptation. "If you're sure," he said.
The demon nodded and ushered the angle on. "I'm sure," he said. "Go have fun."
Aziraphale stood in the doorway for a long moment before reaching up and kissing his husband on the cheek. "I won't be long," before turning and heading out. He really was excited about sharing the quilt with his friends.
"Take your time," Crowley called.
Shaking his head, Aziraphale left Crowley to pick up the mess. It was the least the demon could do for teasing him over the quilt.
***
Crowley watched the retreating angel for a minute before turning back to the hope chest. Digging in the bottom, he pulled out two more wooden boxes that rattled when he moved them. He checked them to make sure the Blessed knives and forks were safe in their boxes before stacking them with the spoons.
Snapping his fingers, he miracled the linens back into the hope chest before picking up the three boxes of Blessed cutlery. "Better put you someplace else," he said to the boxes. He took the boxes and hid them in the trunk of the Bentley until he could find an excuse to get back to London without Aziraphale.
There was a whole room miracled under the bookshop filled with wine glasses and tea cups the angel had accidentally Blessed. It would be harder to hide new items with the boxes so far away from the cottage, but he'd manage. He had been doing it for most of recorded history without the angel knowing. Now he just had to find a way to get Aziraphale to forget he ever saw the box of spoons.