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Aziraphale was attempting to look on the bright side. It wasn’t that he felt entirely awful. He’d certainly felt much worse than this in the past. And besides, into every life, a little rain must fall.
It was raining quite steadily at the moment. Or at least, his nose was dripping.
He dabbed at it a little daintily, then sniffled. Oh goodness, his head was awfully congested. Perhaps he ought to have some nice mint tea or something.
“Crowley?” he called, drying his nose again with a handkerchief as he stepped into the next room. It wouldn’t do to cause worry. “Do we have any mint?”
Crowley had been glowering at his films, as if offended at the way he’d organized them after moving into the cottage. Now, he looked up, still with the same glower. “We’ve got a garden, don’t we?”
“Well, yes.” Aziraphale could feel his nose attempting to drip again, and very much hoped it would decide to wait until he’d left the living room. “But I don’t know whether I’d recognize mint. I’m afraid it’s been a rather long time since I paid any attention to herbs. Not since I was a monk, you know.”
Crowley glanced towards one of the framed pieces of art on the wall, of a monk dressed in all white facing off with a finely dressed brigand in all black. “I remember. You looked great with a tonsure.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale beamed. “Do you really think so?”
“No, I really don’t.” Crowley’s usual glower softened, though. It increasingly softened these days, now that he wasn’t being constantly tormented by Satan. “We’ve got some mint. I planted it myself. In a spot where it should easily spread to the neighbors’ yards.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded. “We’re retired.”
“Aziraphale, my angel. Did you really think I was gonna stop causing chaos once we retired?”
Aziraphale considered it for a moment, amused by Crowley’s smug expression. He did get so proud of himself when he thought he’d done something truly evil, and this was likely one of his top ten evil deeds. Soon, the entirety of the South Downs might be covered in mint. “I suppose not. At any rate, I’d be most gratified if you could collect—”
Quite suddenly, he began to sneeze. Not merely a moderate sneeze or two. These were the sort of full body sneezes that left him stumbling, reeling, nearly falling over.
“Angel!” Crowley sprinted to him and caught his arm before he could topple into a potted fiddle leaf fig. “Whoa, hey, what’s going on? You idiot, did you drink another bottle of absurdly ancient wine on your own?”
Aziraphale moaned a bit. He wasn’t feeling very well.
“Wait no, that explains the flopping over but not the sneezing.” Frowning deeply, Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned in, examining him through narrowed eyes. “Hold on. Are you sick, Aziraphale?”
“Certainly not.” But Aziraphale’s nose was running so very much, and he had no chance of pretending it wasn’t. He sniffled.
“You absolutely are.” Crowley pushed him to lean against the wall, then took a cautious step back. “You’re probably contagious. Why don’t I get you the mint, and then you can do whatever you want with it?”
Aziraphale pouted at him. “Aren’t you going to fuss over me and take care of me?”
“Guess again.” Crowley took another cautious step back. “There’s absolutely no way I’m letting you get me sick too. You’re the one who decided to hang out with sick people this week.”
“Mrs. Flanagan is eighty-one years of age and needed someone to bring her soup.” Aziraphale pouted more dramatically. “I’m an angel. You can’t expect me to ignore a neighbor in need!”
“Well, I’m a demon.” Crowley stepped back again. “You can’t expect me to put myself at risk to help someone.”
Aziraphale did very much expect it, given how frequently Crowley had done precisely that. But they’d been best friends for so very long that Aziraphale also expected a protest before Crowley did virtually anything. “Not even for me?”
He put on his poutiest pout, and watched as Crowley’s resistance crumbled like an old building scheduled for demolition. That old serpent still liked to appear uncaring, but he really was such a softie deep down.
Snarling, Crowley stepped closer again and took his arm in a very gentle grasp. “Fine. Fine. Come on, you bastard.”
“Thank you.” Aziraphale’s nose was running again, and a rather frustrating sort of weakness ran through him. “I-I think I may need to sit down, Crowley.”
“S’ why I’m taking you to the sofa.” Still with that intense frown, Crowley steered him down. He shook out a blanket that had been folded on the nearby armchair and spread it across Aziraphale’s lap. “There. Keep you warm, at least. Wait, are you running a fever?”
Crowley’s hand slammed into his forehead, checking, and Aziraphale smiled. “I don’t think so. Mostly, I’m just… sneezing. And congested. And very tired.”
“Nnnnh.” Crowley straightened up. “Right, you don’t feel feverish. What do you want the mint for, tea?”
“Oh. I’m afraid I hadn’t thought that far.” Aziraphale dabbed at his nose again. It seemed to be taking rather a lot of his remaining energy to move at all. “Something for the congestion, perhaps?”
“I’ll just wave a sprig of it under your nose, shall I?”
“If you think that would work,” Aziraphale said sweetly. “I trust you.”
Cheeks immediately flushing, Crowley hissed and snatched his dark glasses. He crammed them on his face even though it was quite cloudy and damp today. “I’ll go get some. And make you tea. You stay right there and don’t move a muscle, capiche?”
He leveled a finger at Aziraphale, then twisted around and fled outside.
Aziraphale waited until the front door banged before he chuckled. Crowley had always been so funny in his attempts to seem tough and in control of everything.
They were settling in nicely here, in truth, and it was awfully fun to see Crowley unwind a little without Satan’s threats hanging over him. The old silly was still extremely tense much of the time, and he grumbled as much as ever.
But he surrendered to snuggling and hugs and even the occasional kiss without more than his usual token protests. And oh, how Aziraphale enjoyed that.
He was not very much enjoying being sick, though. Sleepiness nearly overwhelmed him, and he had to wipe his nose again. But Crowley would tend to him, nervous though he may be, and that would make everything so much more tolerable.
Aziraphale dozed a little bit, although not too deeply. He heard the kitchen door slam, which was a very familiar and soothing sound. That was followed by the equally familiar and soothing sound of Crowley muttering.
When the heavy footsteps intruded into his doze, Aziraphale opened his eyes. He beamed up at Crowley’s worried expression. “Ah, you’re back! How was the mint?”
“Spreading.” Crowley sat beside him on the sofa, with at least two feet between them, and held out a tea cup. “Here. Made your mint tea. Need anything else?”
It took rather a lot of energy to move, but Aziraphale accepted the tea cup. “Not for the moment. Except perhaps a clean handkerchief.”
He’d been joking. But Crowley immediately did a complicated gesture and then presented him with a pristine handkerchief.
“Oh goodness.” Touched, Aziraphale accepted it. “Thank you, my dear.”
“Don’t mention it,” Crowley muttered. He hadn’t taken his sunglasses back off after coming inside, which wasn’t entirely unusual. Aziraphale hadn’t expected him to. He wore them most of the time even now.
But then, he pulled them off, tossed them on the table beside the sofa, and crossed his arms. He glanced to Aziraphale, and the worry there was entirely apparent even though he tried to hide it.
“You have very pretty eyes, you know,” Aziraphale said a little vaguely as he gazed into their golden depths. “I like looking at them. They’re the color of flowers or something. Marigolds, perhaps.”
Crowley’s cheeks went the color of roses. “No, they aren’t.”
Aziraphale gave him a knowing look, and took a sip of tea. He breathed in deeply after, letting the mint steam wash over him.
His nose immediately began to run. Ah. It seemed that was in fact good for congestion.
“That’s very good.” Aziraphale dabbed at his nose again with the fresh handkerchief. “Very medicinal. I’m sure the neighbors will be so grateful that you were kind enough to plant enough mint to share. Sharing is—”
“Stop that!” Glowering, Crowley flicked his hand. A small bouquet of yellow marigolds materialized, and he crammed it in an empty vase on the coffee table. “There. Since you’re sick. Sick people are supposed to get flowers, aren’t they?”
Aziraphale hummed in acquiescence and beamed at him, then took a sip of tea and resisted the urge to make another comment about Crowley’s goodness.
He drank a bit more, then dabbed at his nose again. “I’m very grateful to you for taking care of me while I’m sick, you know. It’s quite dashing.”
“Dashing” was a much more acceptable compliment than “kind”, and Crowley immediately perked up. “Yeah, well. We’re partners, aren’t we? In sickness and in health, and all that.”
“So we are.” Aziraphale hesitated a moment. No, his first impulse would be too overwhelming to Crowley. “I was going to ask if you’d kiss me before I take a nap, but I suspect you’d be less than amenable at the moment. But would you hug me?”
Crowley’s jaw clenched. He let out a low, miserable noise. “Ordinarily, yes. But is that actually a lower chance of getting sick than kissing?”
“I… don’t know.” Aziraphale had never considered it. “Likely not.”
Just as Aziraphale had resigned himself to not being hugged again for the foreseeable future, Crowley lunged. He folded around Aziraphale, squeezing him tightly. “Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he muttered.
Aziraphale smiled as he returned the hug. “I wouldn’t dream of saying something so untrue. I am an angel, after all.”
Even though his nose started to run again, he was still smiling as Crowley helped him lie down on the sofa and got him nicely settled in with blankets all over him and his flowers in view. Then there was further grumbling and orders for Aziraphale not to move until he felt better. Finally, Crowley put on one of Aziraphale’s favorite records, and sat in the nearby armchair with his usual glower.
It was quite sweet, really. Crowley had strange ways of showing love, most of the time. But oh, he showed it so often now that they were here, in a cottage of their own, and Aziraphale couldn’t wait to see what the future held.
Well. He suspected the immediate future held a rather lot of sneezing and such. But on the whole, it seemed as if the best was yet to come.