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Crowley understood that one of his duties as Charge Nurse was to guide the new gaggle of doctors at Whickber Hospital, but it didn't mean he had to like it. He looked over the quartet and consulted his briefing: doctors Sable, Weiss, Scarlett and Mort. Well, there was a disaster in the making, Crowley thought.
His eyes drifted to the name of the consultant who would be supervising these new residents... oh...
Aziraphale Fell, his stomach fluttered at the thought of the blonde being there.
Crowley dismissed thoughts of a sunshine smile and bewitching blue eyes; no use letting the newbies catch him wearing a goofy grin when the good doctor arrived. He directed the four registrars to their stations, showed them where to start familiarising themselves with case notes, and pointed at various important locations (i.e coffee machine) with one eye fixed on the door.
As soon as a flash of blond curls caught his eye through the window, he perked up, smiling broadly. "Ah hello, Crowley, are these our new hopefuls?" Dr Fell glanced over them, brows knitting together. "They sure are a colourful bunch."
Crowley cleared his throat and handed over the sheet. "Yes Doctor. Here's their assigned stations, I've got them catching up on case files." Dr Fell gave him a kind, twinkly smile and Crowley fought the goofy lovestruck grin that pulled at his own mouth.
“Thank you, dear boy.” Aziraphale said, taking the sheet.
"Ngk."
Crowley dropped the paper before Aziraphale could firmly hold it.
"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked and bent over to pick it up for Crowley.
Don't look don't look don't look Crowley kept his eyes fixed forward.
Thankfully, Scarlet had started slapping the coffee machine like it personally offended her entire ancestry, providing a good distraction.
"Hold on, there's a trick to it." Crowley went over to help them, menacingly glared at the coffee machine and snarled, "You had better work properly or I'll chuck you out the nearest window."
"Has that ever worked?" asked Weiss.
"No. Vending Machine down the hall." Crowley pointed with his thumb. "And pray no one was mean enough to get tomato soup before you can get to it." Then he sauntered back to Dr Fell and asked hopefully, "Did you manage to put in good word with Michaels for us about getting a properly working coffee machine?"
"I raised it," Dr Fell said, not looking up from his notes. "For all the good it'll do. Now my dear... which one's Sable? We're on rounds."
"The one of the two all in black underneath the coat who doesn't give you the feeling he'd rend your soul from your flesh if you look at him too long," Crowley said pointing at the man in question.
Fell chuckled. "An apt description. Although let's refrain from comparing any of our staff to demons in front of the patients."
Before Crowley could reply, a shrill alarm echoed down the corridor, followed by an overhead announcement: "Trauma team to Emergency. Trauma team to Emergency."
Crowley and Dr Fell exchanged a look before turning towards the source of the alarm. Crowley waved for the newbies to stay put. The trauma bay was a wide, open room with painfully bright lights that washed out all color, except the scarlet hue of blood. The room was filled with the quiet readiness of seasoned professionals, as they waited for the action to start.
“Anyone know what is going on?” Crowley asked, as he and Aziraphale joined the group.
One of the dispatchers piped up. “Multi car accident with rollover and airbag deployment. Possible head injury, the ambulance crew says the driver of one of the cars is ranting about jezebels.”
And so it was that while the serious trauma patients were whisked to surgery, Crowley had the pleasure of trying to convince one Mr Shadwell to stop talking about Jezebels and sit still long enough for a head injury examination. On the bright side, it was Dr Fell trying to carry out said exam, with the patience of saint, as per usual.
"I told ye! I'm a witchfinder! And there were witches" Mr Shadwell protested, batting away Aziraphale's penlight. "An' now ye're tryin' to hypnotise me!" Crowley caught Dr Fell's eye over Shadwell's head and said, "See? This is why I said new intern orientation should always begin with 'people are weird.'"
“Excuse me, Dr Fell? Can you show me your neurologic exam?” Asked the new intern Dr Sable. Crowley tried not to let his resting bitch face flare into possessive bitch face at the intern’s cow eyed gaze at the angelic Dr Fell.
Dr. Fell smiled indulgently at Dr. Sable, making Crowley stew. "Of course, though you'll remember best if we do this together. We'll start with assessing the cranial nerves - can you name cranial nerve I and tell me how we might test it?"
Crowley watched from the corner of his eye as Fell patiently listened to and occasionally guided Sable; it was, frankly, unfair for the man to be both this handsome and this kind.
Crowley decided that if Dr Sable continued looking at Dr Fell like that, he would have to explain the concept of personal space. Preferably before he, himself, did something embarrassing. Like hiss.
Sable’s hand touched Dr Fell's white coat sleeve and almost seemed to pet it to Crowley jaundiced eyes. Crowley idly thought his friend, Ana, was in pathology and knew where the autopsies were disposed of and paperwork got messed up a lot.
Crowley stared daggers at Sable’s head, hoping that sudden holes appeared to take the man out. All while Aziraphale obliviously corrected one of Sable's answers with a kind smile.
Dr Fell was discussing the nerves. Crowley was busy staring at the intern's hand and missed Dr Fells eyes darting to his face as he described cranial nerve 9, and its role in the gag reflex. Crowley did however almost erupt in flames when Sable casually mentioned he didn’t have one.
Crowley looked between Sable's hand, Dr Fell's patient smile, and the rapidly diminishing remains of his own patience. "Right," he said. "Wonderful. Lovely. Everyone's having a great time. Nobody needs to touch the consultant's coat again."
“Yah, no making eyes tha’ southern pansy! He belongs to the red head over there anyways!” Mr Shadwell yelled out, startling everyone who thought he’d fallen asleep.
Aziraphale’s cheeks grew a deep red, before turning to Crowley who looked away in order not to face those blue eyes.
Unfortunately, Mr Shadwell's declaration had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the trauma bay, and Crowley realised with horror that every single intern was now watching him and Dr Fell with renewed interest.
"Please refrain from... making assumptions, sir." Aziraphale blurted out. "I'm trying to give you a proper check. Er-hem..."
Crowley’s heart sank a bit with his reaction, though he felt like he shouldn’t be surprised since they still needed to be professional, especially around patients. Nonetheless, he kept his face neutral and professional.
A few minutes later, Dr Fell had quickly finished his exam and bustled his intern along like a confused duckling, leaving Crowley to finish settling Mr Shadwell in to wait for his head CT scan. “Ye alright, laddie?” Mr Shadwell asked, noticing the slightly glum demeanor of his nurse.
"The southern pansy isn't mine," Crowley muttered quietly as he tidied the oximeter cable.
"Aye he is." Mr Shadwell whispered with a grin, startling Crowley again. "Believe me, laddie, he's yours fuh the takin, if ye catch ma' drift."
“I don’t.” Crowley said, standing up straight to look at the man. “Now is there anything I can do for you?”
By the time Crowley finally clocked off that evening, he'd dealt with one witchfinder, four bewildered interns, and entirely too many opinions about his love life. He was, therefore, wholly unprepared to find Dr Fell waiting outside the staff entrance, umbrella in hand.
“I wasn’t expecting you here.” Crowley said, standing next to him.
"Oh," Dr Fell chuckled, a little self consciously. "I saw you were finishing up and thought I'd wait. It's a little damp and you don't have an umbrella."
"Bit like a Richard Curtis film, innit? Canopy, rain, vavoom."
“Vavoom? What’s vavoom?”
Crowley cleared his throat - best not go there - and gestured for Dr Fell to start walking. Together they stepped out into the drizzle under his umbrella. "So err... Mr Shadwell was a handful." He began, then eyed the umbrella suspiciously. "You do realise this is exactly how rumours start?"
"Yes," Aziraphale replied. "But rumours are preferable to spending the evening in wet socks."
“Fair point.” Crowley shrugged, as he walked a little closer to Aziraphale in order not to be splashed by a car driving next to them, causing their knuckles to brush gently against each other.
After a few moments of silently navigating puddles and three (3) accidental knuckle brushes, Dr Fell finally returned to the previous topic. "I found Mr Shadwell rather charming, actually." He said. Then, "and rather insightful."
Crowley looked at him sideways. The pale haired doctor had an unnaturally neutral facial expression. He was usually full of joyful smiles laced with a thread of mild anxiety Crowley found stupidly adorable. This blank look didn’t fit at all.
Crowley stopped suddenly, brows furrowed with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked. Aziraphale stopped just before leaving Crowley in the pouring rain and turned to him.
They were close, Crowley realized. Too close, he thought as his heart sped up and his breath felt like it was being snatched away by Dr Fell’s ethereal aura.
"Tickety-boo." The doctor smiled, but it was a little strained. "Mr Shadwell... um... no that's not right..."
Standing so close to the stammering man, he saw a little glitter of rain on the Doctors pale eyelashes, refracting the stormy hazel of his gorgeous eyes. Crowley decided right then and there he would simply die, drenched like a duck in a monsoon, if he didn’t kiss Dr Aziraphale Fell. Soon. Before he, you know, died.
Crowley took a step closer to Aziraphale, leaving only centimeters of space left. He took a shaky breath and looked into his blue eyes.
Dr Fells eyes had grown wide, and his pupils dilated. He seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed at Crowley, eyes flicking between amber eyes and pale lips.
"Dr Fell," Crowley began, then corrected himself, all the while trying to steady the tremor in his voice. "Aziraphale... in what way, exactly, do you think Shadwell was insightful?"
“I-um…” Aziraphale stared down at the sidewalk, twisting his white coat buttons with his free hand. He closed his eyes and took a small breath. “I thought or at least hoped that he was right…that maybe there was something there? Between us, I mean…” He said, nervously.
“Well, ah, you see,” the man stammered. “About me…belonging…to someone…”
Crowley felt his stomach drop. “Oh god, you are married!”
Aziraphale paled, “No!” Crowley felt his heart beating out his chest, staring at this man of his dreams just inches away. This not married man….
“Oh, this is not how it was supposed to go.” Aziraphale said, slightly frustrated at himself, he always had hated putting his feelings into words. “Crowley, I like you, a lot. And not as a colleague or a friend, but something more.” Aziraphale said, with a nervous smile.
Crowley stared at Aziripahle, the moment dragged on and on. “Fuck it,” Crowley finally said, grabbed Aziraphale’s coat and hauled him close. “Time to test cranial nerve 12,” and kissed him full on the lips.
Aziraphale hummed happily, as he sunk into the kiss, he wrapped both his arms around Crowley, forgetting that he was the one in charge of the umbrella.
Crowley pressed his long body fully against Aziraphale’s plush, sturdy frame, the electric contact making him forget about the cold wet drizzle down his back. He pulled back and grinned into Aziriaphale’s eyes. “12 works just fine,” he declared.
“I think so as well, my dear.” Aziraphale said, before giving him a peck on the lips. “Can I interest you in a nightcap?” Aziraphale added, hands firmly around Crowley’s slender waist and bunching up his scrub top slightly.
“Sure.” Crowley said, already wondering what it would taste like on Aziraphale’s lips.
“My place is about two blocks that way.”
As they walked away, neither noticed Shadwell at the exit doors watching them. A woman with unnaturally orange hair drove up in an ancient blue car of indeterminate make. “See, Jezebel, the southern pansy does belong to the red head,” Shadwell declared as he shuffled into the car.
Art by @slytherat