Work Text:
When Rita and Mel Anderson moved to a village in the South Downs, they thought they’d be the only queer couple. As the village was quite small, they expected to be the subject of gossip and to deal with invitations to bake sales and charity raffles. They hadn’t expected the grey-haired horde to arrive so soon, though.
Cue the knock-knock and click-clack of sensible shoes on their front step. Rita was too stunned by the rapid-fire introductions to think of an excuse for Mrs Marszalek and Mrs Swanson not to come in.
They called dibs on the only two chairs in the house, while Rita awkwardly stood and offered Jammie Dodgers, (as it was literally the only food in the house.) She couldn’t keep track of the conversation- Something something bin day something something trim the hedge something something- She couldn’t help feeling judged by the prattling pensioners.
Rita bore a resemblance to Velma Dinkley, if Velma had more fluffy cardigans than days of the year to wear them. Respectable enough, (she did catch them side-eyeing her hot pink hair, though.) Mrs S and Mrs M of the village council (and several other institutes she couldn’t be arsed remembering,) were halfway through asking when ‘Mr Anderson’ would be home when- perfect timing- Mel emerged from their shed and into the dusty doorway in all her buzz-cut butch glory.
‘That’d be me.’
At last there was a moment of silence as the old ladies gawped. Mel stretched, showing two full sleeves of tattoos and the writing on her ‘make racists scared again’ tank top.
‘Ah, hello, dear. Did you manage to find your spare toolbox?’
‘Aye.’ Mel winked at the still-gawking audience. ‘I’m setting up our new bed frame. We kept breaking the auld one.’
The old bats couldn’t leave fast enough. They were still putting on their coats when they nearly sprinted down the driveway. They turned the corner, and one of them distinctly muttered, ‘more of them!’
‘You didn’t have to scare them like that.’ Rita said, but she was smiling.
‘Wouldn’t want to give them a false impression. I intend to be a bloody terror.’
‘Aren’t you always?’
‘Ye married me anyway, didntcha?’
She sighed fondly, and they got back to unpacking.
The meaning of ‘more of them!’ wouldn’t become clear until a rainy Saturday when they were trying to squeeze their new loveseat through their narrow cottage door.
‘Mnn, need a hand?’
At the end of their driveway was a man (?). He looked like a retired rockstar, with bright red hair that could give Rita a run for her money. Mel stuck her head over the sofa.
‘Awk, no thanks. Ye look skinny enough to collapse under the footstool, no offence.’
‘None taken.’ He said in an equally Scottish accent. He snapped his fingers and the sofa slid neatly into the hallway.
While the wives were busy staring at the magical beanpole, a plummy voice suddenly spoke up from the road.
‘Crowley? There you are, you wily old serpent. Couldn’t see you in the greenhouse and I simply cannot get the hand of this ‘digital knitting magazine’-’
A fluffy-haired and exceedingly gay gentleman appeared from behind the overgrown hedge and finally noticed his neighbours. They introduced themselves as Crowley and Mr Fell, complimented their pink front door, and strolled off hand-in-hand.
‘Well, dear. I’d say the South Downs is going to be a tad more exciting than expected.’
‘Ye can say that again. I’ve seen cocktails less fruity than those two.’
-
Don’t ask the Andersons how Board Game Night started, because frankly, neither of them could remember. One minute they were unpacking their massive collection of board games, then the Fells (?) invited them over for a tipple, and the next thing they knew all four of them were sitting on their living room floor playing Snakes And Ladders.
Crowley seemed to like that one in particular.
It became something of a tradition. They’d visit each others cottages, (usually with a bottle of something or a magazine to swap,) and play a game.
Monopoly was banned after Crowley bankrupted all of them, and Jenga was banned after Mel decided to combine three boxes and nearly buried their newly-adopted cat. At least after the great Gin Rummy incident, they were all on first name basises. Though what kind of name was Aziraphale Z Fell?
One evening, they decided on Two Truths, One Lie and Mel volunteered to go first.
‘I once got a lizard stuck on me nose, me middle name is Dorothy, and I was the one who broke the bathroom mirror.’
‘Hmmm, I think the Dorothy one’s the truth.’
‘Ridiculous, Angel, does she look like a Dorothy to you?’
‘How does one even win this game?’
Rita dug a bag of toffees out of her purse. ‘Get one right, you win a toffee. Most toffees wins.’
The rules finally settled, ‘The last one was a fib. Me lovely wife broke the mirror.’
‘There was a spider! I panicked and threw the only thing I had on hand at it!’
‘Which happened to be a stone garden ornament?’
‘Dear lady, why on earth did you have a stone ornament in your bathroom?’
‘Um, long story.’
Aziraphale was next, ‘I got arrested in Paris, my favourite colour is yellow, and I don’t have a driver’s license.’
THAT caused more questions than it answered, but the only answer they got was ‘crimes against fashion’ courtesy of Crowley. Still, not a bad evening. Not a bad evening at all. Even if all the toffees wound up right back in Rita’s bag.
-
As it turns out, they made a great team in more than just Twister, (the Andersons still had no idea how Crowley could move his hips like that,) and an opportunity to show it off soon presented itself.
The Fells and Andersons headed down to the pub to celebrate Rita’s birthday. It was dingy, smoky, and the guy at the bar gave them a look and a half when Aziraphale ordered, ‘a whiskey, creme de menthe, a pina colada, and a pint of bitter.’
It was a stroke of good luck that the tiny, rural pub had everything on hand. Really lucky, in fact, bordering on miraculous.
‘Seriously, though, how did you get a lizard stuck on your nose?’ Crowley asked.
‘Honeymoon in Spain. Wee shite dropped from the ceiling in the middle o’ the night, panicked, and held onto me face for dear life.’
‘Luckily it bit you after the wedding photos. Unfortunately it was too late to refund the wife.’
‘Feck off.’ Mel said, sipping her pina colada.
Their chat was soon disturbed by a hullabaloo on the other side of the pub.
‘GENTS, SPECIAL QUIZ NIGHT THIS FRIDAY. WINNING TEAM WINS A GIFT BASKET, COURTESY OF THE MISSUS.’
The patrons cheered.
‘IT’S A THEMED NIGHT, HALFERS HALFERS HISTORY AND ENGINEERING.’
Call it drunkenness or the ADHD that radiated off Mel and Crowley, but they dove headfirst into convincing their respective partners to sign up with them.
‘Teams of four, angel! Sss fate!’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in Fate?’
‘Not with a capital F, I don’t.’
An hour later, it was decided, and they stumbled over to the sign up sheet. They stumbled because they’d been toasting the birthday girl all evening and none of them had the tolerance they thought they did.
The barkeep leaned over the sticky counter, ‘Are you sure you want to enter that?’
‘Quite sure, my dear gent. At least, more sure than we were sixty minutes ago.’
‘It’s just quite specific questions, I wouldn’t expect you lot to know them all. Could be a bit embarassing.’
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, (presumably, anyway. Hard to tell with the permanent sunglasses,) who raised his chin.
‘I wouldn’t underestimate us. These fine ladies seem quite intelligent and, well, my partner and I have some experience in the great annals of history.’
A patron sitting at the bar nearly spat out his drink.
Crowley smirked widely. ‘The great wots?’
‘Great annals.’
That set Mel off snickering, but they somehow signed the sheet.
-
In the wise words of Ted Lasso, (a show the Andersons had begged Crowley to watch and that he refused to admit he’d cried over,) ‘be curious, not judgemental.’
In fact, if any of the bar-people had asked, they would’ve known that Crowley was an engineer. Of course, they would’ve also learned that Mel, despite being nearly two feet shorter than everyone else, was a talented mechanic who worked a few towns over. Rita was less of a gear-head, but quite fond of period films. Neither Anderson could think why Aziraphale knew so much about history, but maybe he’d been a professor? He had that vibe.
The only hiccup between them and victory was Crowley starting a pedantic argument over Cleopatra’s hair colour with the team beside them- but that was resolved easily enough.
The next morning, all four of them woke up hungover. They also woke up smug, especially Rita and Mel, because on their loveseat was a massive gift hamper. Of course, they’d share it with the Fells. They were really quite fond of them.
THE END