![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyBelated birthday ficlet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fahye:
Aziraphale takes a little longer than you'd think he ought to settle himself on the bench. More than anything he looks like a man still bothered by some old injury, careful of a phantom pain. Crowley knows of course that it's more a case of being unaccustomed; new body, new persona, even the new country playing some small part like a man made uncomfortable by an unfamiliar suit. Not that the suit is unfamiliar, since obvious size issues aside it could very well be the same one he's been wearing for the past 70-odd years, but to be honest he finds it vaguely comforting - he's even stopped talking to the buttons on Aziraphale's cardigan instead of looking at the familiar-unfamiliar face.
"Tea, my dear?"
And that, too. Comforting.
"Go on then," he says, and convinces himself that the small wince as the angel claps hands to thighs and makes his slow way upright again is entirely for his own good. Practice, and all.
Crowley himself is dressed as ever in a stylish black suit cut to the latest fashion and a pair of sunglasses that are generally admired as 'vintage'. (You become accustomed.) He lounges artistically, soaking up the sunlight, and smiles thinly at the distant beeps of road rage waiting to happen.
No true Englishman would serve tea so fast as Aziraphale returns, but there have always been advantages to the ethereal job description and the tea is perfect as usual. Crowley pulls himself a little more upright, suit miraculously uncreased, and makes room for the angel to take a seat beside him again.
"I must say," Aziraphale says, after he is settled, after a moment's silence, "that it's been a dreadfully long time since you've taken such a personal interest in one of mine. Ought I to feel flattered?"
"Just doing my job." He shrugs for good measure, then vaguely regrets it. Too much, possibly. The angel's blue eyes are shrewd on his face but he's almost certain his expression's giving nothing away.
"I feel I ought to warn you that I'm quietly confident about this one."
Crowley tilts his head. "A little friendly competition never hurt anyone."
"Well I can't say I'll protest it. It's nice to have something familiar about a new assignment, you know."
He smiles a little at that and doesn't particularly feel the need to hide it.
"And the crates upon crates of books you brought...?"
"Oh tosh and piffle. Barely enough to line the walls of my study, I feel quite adrift. You'll come with me when I go in search of more, I trust?"
"You could just ask for a lift, you know." It's become a proper smile, now, and Aziraphale's echo of it is ridiculously familiar even though it couldn't possibly be. (Comfortable.) "Misdirection and circumlocution are supposed to be my line."
"Oh, tut," says the angel, eyes sparkling, "a little beating about the bush never did anyone any harm."
A horn blared, far closer now, and Crowley looks around to make sure he hasn't accidentally - no. Aziraphale is standing and going to the gate, tea cup still in hand.
"Excellent, excellent. Pop them on the patio if you would, marvellous fellow that you are." The burly delivery guy gives the angel a sideways look, glances over at Crowley, shakes his head a little as he wheels the brick loaded trolley into the garden. Crowley is torn between laughter and intense embarrassment. Not unusual. (You become accustomed.) He picks up the booklet of instructions to distract himself as the delivery guy goes back for another load, and raises a slim black eyebrow.
"Barbecue, angel?"
"The good Lord, I am told, works in nigh unintelligible ways." A phone rings, somewhere deep inside the house, and Aziraphale cocks his head. "Ah. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, my dear. I suspect I have an appointment."
*
(I forgot to say, this'll make more sense if you've seen Bones...)
:D?
fahye:Aziraphale takes a little longer than you'd think he ought to settle himself on the bench. More than anything he looks like a man still bothered by some old injury, careful of a phantom pain. Crowley knows of course that it's more a case of being unaccustomed; new body, new persona, even the new country playing some small part like a man made uncomfortable by an unfamiliar suit. Not that the suit is unfamiliar, since obvious size issues aside it could very well be the same one he's been wearing for the past 70-odd years, but to be honest he finds it vaguely comforting - he's even stopped talking to the buttons on Aziraphale's cardigan instead of looking at the familiar-unfamiliar face.
"Tea, my dear?"
And that, too. Comforting.
"Go on then," he says, and convinces himself that the small wince as the angel claps hands to thighs and makes his slow way upright again is entirely for his own good. Practice, and all.
Crowley himself is dressed as ever in a stylish black suit cut to the latest fashion and a pair of sunglasses that are generally admired as 'vintage'. (You become accustomed.) He lounges artistically, soaking up the sunlight, and smiles thinly at the distant beeps of road rage waiting to happen.
No true Englishman would serve tea so fast as Aziraphale returns, but there have always been advantages to the ethereal job description and the tea is perfect as usual. Crowley pulls himself a little more upright, suit miraculously uncreased, and makes room for the angel to take a seat beside him again.
"I must say," Aziraphale says, after he is settled, after a moment's silence, "that it's been a dreadfully long time since you've taken such a personal interest in one of mine. Ought I to feel flattered?"
"Just doing my job." He shrugs for good measure, then vaguely regrets it. Too much, possibly. The angel's blue eyes are shrewd on his face but he's almost certain his expression's giving nothing away.
"I feel I ought to warn you that I'm quietly confident about this one."
Crowley tilts his head. "A little friendly competition never hurt anyone."
"Well I can't say I'll protest it. It's nice to have something familiar about a new assignment, you know."
He smiles a little at that and doesn't particularly feel the need to hide it.
"And the crates upon crates of books you brought...?"
"Oh tosh and piffle. Barely enough to line the walls of my study, I feel quite adrift. You'll come with me when I go in search of more, I trust?"
"You could just ask for a lift, you know." It's become a proper smile, now, and Aziraphale's echo of it is ridiculously familiar even though it couldn't possibly be. (Comfortable.) "Misdirection and circumlocution are supposed to be my line."
"Oh, tut," says the angel, eyes sparkling, "a little beating about the bush never did anyone any harm."
A horn blared, far closer now, and Crowley looks around to make sure he hasn't accidentally - no. Aziraphale is standing and going to the gate, tea cup still in hand.
"Excellent, excellent. Pop them on the patio if you would, marvellous fellow that you are." The burly delivery guy gives the angel a sideways look, glances over at Crowley, shakes his head a little as he wheels the brick loaded trolley into the garden. Crowley is torn between laughter and intense embarrassment. Not unusual. (You become accustomed.) He picks up the booklet of instructions to distract himself as the delivery guy goes back for another load, and raises a slim black eyebrow.
"Barbecue, angel?"
"The good Lord, I am told, works in nigh unintelligible ways." A phone rings, somewhere deep inside the house, and Aziraphale cocks his head. "Ah. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, my dear. I suspect I have an appointment."
*
(I forgot to say, this'll make more sense if you've seen Bones...)
:D?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-13 10:49 pm (UTC)I love this with unseemly passion. Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-13 11:08 pm (UTC)Ohay, and while you're at it, we shall have Angie/Anathema, as well!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-14 02:29 am (UTC)