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London, 1603
Crowley was checking himself in the huge mirror and miraculously adjusting his outfit to look at his best for that evening when a plumpy pigeon politely knocked at his window.
Crowley opened the window with a little snap of his fingers and the bird landed on a little perch.
“Do you have a message for me from Aziraphale, Dick*?”
[*Crowley is not being rude to the bird: Dick is the diminutive of “Richard the Lionheart" because that pigeon was the only one who had trusted Crowley of the whole flock.]
The pigeon cooed affirmatively and let the demon take a little piece of parchment tied to its leg.
After he gave the bird some treats, Crowley read the message:
Dear Crowley,
I regret to inform you that unfortunately I won't be able to adhere to our schedule tonight due to an unexpected event.
I hope we could soon reschedule our meeting on a better occasion.
In the meanwhile, I wish you to enjoy Shakespeare’s funny play tonight.
Mind how you go.
Aziraphale
Crowley was utterly saddened by that news: it had been at least six months since the last time he saw the angel.
The demon was no longer in the mood of watching Shakespeare's funny play, especially since he really wanted to witness Aziraphale's reaction more than the acting, and was about to get himself utterly drunk when something caught his attention: the little piece of parchment was covered into little smudges and the angelic writing wasn't neat and flawless as usual.
It wasn't like Aziraphale at all.
Worried that something had happened to him since last time he had seen him, Crowley hurried to the angel's habitation.
After knocking a couple of times on the wooden door, he tried to call him loudly: “Ohi, angel, it's me! Can you open up?”
Nobody answered.
However, the door opened by itself with a loud creaking.
The demon slipped inside the dark rooms until he spotted the angel sitting at his messy desk.
Aziraphale wasn't either reading a book nor writing or doing anything else at all. Crowley should have been pissed that the angel had played truant with their plans but he couldn't be mad at him since Aziraphale was looking rather dejected.
“Angel, are you ok?” The demon asked cautiously.
Since the angel didn't seem to have noticed his presence, the demon touched him on the left shoulder from behind.
Immediately Aziraphale scrambled away from the desk, putting as much space as possible between them, frantically spreading his arms and turning his head left and right, stumbling in several pieces of furniture and piles of books. He was panicking really hard from just a little touch.
“Ange-”
“Whoever was able to come in here,” the angel interrupted the demon with a voice much louder than usual, “please, leave this place immediately since I'm currently… ehm, indisposed.”
Concerned, Crowley went a bit closer, hoping the angel could recognise him. Instead, he noticed Aziraphale's eyes were veiled by a white patina.
However, it seems that veil wasn't completely blocking Aziraphale's eyesight: as a matter of fact, the angel started squinting his eyes, focusing a bit more over the crimson hair in front of him.
“Crowley, is that you here?”
The demon nodded: “Yes, I am. Wh-”
“Oh, you should have gone to the play, my dear,” the angel said while groping around to reach his desk, “and not bothered to come here. This is just a temporary situation, nothing to worry about too much.”
Crowley was starting fuming: “You can't see and you call that ‘something not to worr-”
“It's just a little reminder from my last report in heaven that I should use in a more suitable manner my eyes… …and my ears. Especially my ears.”
The demon was speechless. He silently wondered how many days Aziraphale had already spent while being left almost blind and completely deaf by heaven. Even if it had been just a day (which it definitively wasn’t), that was beyond a cruel punishment: it was definitely a torture.
And the knowledge he could do nothing to give back the sight and the hearing to Aziraphale since heaven’s punishment would be even harsher on him was pissed him even more.
However that didn't mean he could still do nothing for the angel.
Gently, Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and led him to his desk: at first the angel tensed a bit but soon he completely trusted the demon, thanking him with a soft squish of the hand when he sat on his chair.
About the desk, the demon noticed it was even messier than usual, covered in scrapped half-written letters and ink stains (Crowley suspected the angel had written the message many times before he could send one which was probably more legible and up to his standards).
The angel seemed a bit more relaxed but he still looked troubled.
It wasn't the first time either of them had trouble speaking or hearing so they had a couple of nice strategies but the lack of sight had made them almost useless. However, the clever demon had literally the solution in the palm of his hands.
Crowley kindly opened Aziraphale's finger and he wrote on the angel's right palm with his index: “YOU GOOD?”
Aziraphale really appreciated the demon's brilliance and a nice smile appeared on his lips: “It's much better now, dear.”
“NEED SOMETHING?”
The angel seemed hesitant. He clearly turned his head towards the other room, probably wishing for something there, but he was softly squeezing the back of the demon's hand with his left one.
“I'LL BE QUICK,” the demon promised.
“If it's not too troublesome for you, I'd like some wine. Obviously, you can have some too or something else of your choice, if you wish. I'm sorry I can't be a proper host and I can't show how muc-”
“NO TROUBLE,” Crowley quickly scribbled on the hand with his finger before leaving (after a comforting squeeze on the shoulder).
In less than a minute the demon retrieved a full wine jug and two cups but he didn't stop there: he also took some bread, a slice of cheese, a piece of cured meat, a knife and a towel.
He balanced everything on a tray and came back to the angel without losing or spilling anything.
After he sat down on a wooden chest, the demon cheerfully patted the angel on his leg and put a cup full of wine in his hands.
Aziraphale beamed, trying to look Crowley in the eyes: “Oh, this is so lovely!”
Crowley, pushing his knee against the angel's leg to keep some contact, took his own cup and clinked it against Aziraphale's one. Then, the angel and the demon took a generous sip, really appreciated by both of them.
When Crowley offered some bread and a slice of meat he had just cut down, the angel was on the edge of crying from happiness: he looked like someone had been offered food and drinks after crossing a huge desert with no rations.
“I have missed this,” the angel confessed, "but I was afraid to make a huge mess or to hurt myself.”
“YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME,” the demon wrote.
“Well, I was reprimanded: that should involve some discomfort and meditation on my part. And I really hoped the ‘penitence’ would be over by today so I didn't ruin your plans.”
“POSTPONED, NOT RUINED.”
Aziraphale sighed: “Unfortunately for me, heaven didn't explicite how long it was supposed to be while I could still hear or see anything… unless there is something written on the missive I was sent home. It should be on that shelf…”
Crowley grabbed the parchment and opened the golden wax seal and quickly found out what he needed (in addition to the description of the angel's supposed “negligence”).
“TILL TOMORROW AT DUSK.”
It looked like a heavy weight was lifted over the angel's chest.
Filled with optimism, he cheerfully said: “Oh, thank goodness! Since tomorrow is Saturday, we could take some fresh meat pies that taste and smell great from the bakery in front of my house, before going to the theatre.”
“SOUNDS GOOD.”
“However, I insist on paying everything for you: that's the least I can do for everything you've done…”
Crowley was sure the angel would have done the same he did but he didn't say anything about that.
Aziraphale started fidgeting with his fingers on his clothes and muttered: “Ehm… until tomorrow… you…”
“I'LL STAY.”
On both the angel and the demon's lips could be spotted the most beautiful smiles.