Chapter Text
Aziraphale had perhaps overreacted. And now she was faced with the prospect of a fifteen minute drive with Toni Crowley, The Serpent , and an unknown amount of time at Crowley’s home because Aziraphale was incapable of keeping her mouth shut. Someone needs to take care of you . Really. A terrible come on and an imposition just because Aziraphale couldn’t keep her heart to herself.
“It’s a left here,” Crowley said, leaning her head against the window. Her eyes were closed which helped a bit in terms of Aziraphale keeping her head on straight. It was those eyes that had first struck her so long ago during their first match. Like spilled gold. Aziraphale had no idea why she covered them up with sunglasses constantly. Perhaps it was to keep poor girls like Aziraphale from falling head over heels for her from the start.
“You really don’t need to help me,” Crowley said, clambering out of the car. She always wore these tight black pleather shorts for matches that made her legs look a thousand miles long.
“Nonsense,” Aziraphale replied and she needed to fortify herself. Her heart was going a mile a minute as she took Crowley by the elbow. The other woman glanced down at her and those eyes really did do a doozy on Aziraphale’s ability to think. “I want to make sure you have everything you need.”
Crowley unlocked the door and mumbled something that sounded like, “Of course you do. Bloody angel.”
Crowley lived on the second floor of a small building of flats. She seemed coordinated enough as she led Aziraphale up the stairs but then she dropped her keys as she tried to get them in the lock, and she swore, tacking on a rather creative sound that sounded like a blender malfunctioning. Aziraphale stooped down and picked up the keys.
She gave Crowley a pointed look as she opened the door for her. Crowley ignored her as they went inside. The place was so spartan that Aziraphale was embarrassed to think of her own apartment, scattered with books and blankets and forgotten cocoa cups. This apartment looked like it was cleaned daily and there was not a comfy pillow or blanket in sight.
How was Crowley supposed to recover in a place like this?
She collapsed on the couch and leaned her head on the armest at an angle that looked desperately uncomfortable.
“Do you have any pillows?” Aziraphale asked, already fretting as Crowley kicked off her combat boots with an awkward wiggle. “And where is your kitchen? You need water.”
Crowley jabbed her finger behind her in the direction of the hallway. “Linen closet at the end of the hall. By the bathroom. Kitchen’s over there.” She flapped her hand towards the doorway on the other side of the living room.
Aziraphale decided pillows were more important. The linen closet only had two spare pillows and one old duvet but it would have to do. She brought them to Crowley on the couch and set her up as comfortably as she could.
Crowley opened her eyes as Aziraphale forced her to sit up. “You’re really here, huh.”
“Yes, I am,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley’s face was very close to hers as she helped place the pillow behind her head. Sometimes during matches Crowley would wear black lipstick but she had foregone it today for whatever reason and her lips looked very soft and very pink and Aziraphale should not be thinking this way because Crowley was clearly tired and it was wholly inappropriate.
“Water!” she cried, standing up straight. “Hydration! Is. Important.”
Crowley blinked, confused as Aziraphale left the room. She had not invited herself here to make a move on Crowley. She was never going to make a move on Crowley. She had resigned herself to that fact the first time she’d ran into Crowley at the farmer’s market. The woman had been examining the daffodils which Aziraphale herself had been hoping to purchase and Aziraphale recognized her immediately from the rink. She’d looked so gorgeous in her black skinny jeans and gray tank top and Aziraphale had never thought she would be so attracted to someone with face piercings but goodness they did something to Crowley’s mouth that made Aziraphale feel very faint thinking about the way that mouth would feel on her neck and maybe other parts of her body and Aziraphale had felt like the most lecherous fiend. Of course she couldn’t go talk to Crowley. She was entirely the opposite of Aziraphale. If she liked women (and let’s be honest, someone with an undercut who wore combat boots and played roller derby was at least bisexual) she probably liked the sort of women who ran in the same circles she did. Not women like Aziraphale who liked to knit blankets and owned not a single piece of leather. So she had scuttled off and not bought any daffodils and not spoken to Crowley.
She sighed and rifled through the kitchen cupboards for a glass. It was hopeless. She was resigned to appreciating Crowley from a distance and not doing something silly like risking rejection.
Perhaps Crowley would want a snack to go with the water. Opening the pantry, she gasped. There was a can of beans alongside a can of soup. She opened the refrigerator and saw a bottle of mustard and a very old bag of carrots.
Marching back into the living room, glass in hand, Aziraphale demanded, “Crowley, why on earth do you have no food in this house?”
Crowley turned her head without opening her eyes. “Haven’t gone shopping in...a few weeks. I forgot.”
Aziraphale clucked her tongue and pressed the cup of water into Crowley’s hand. “You have to take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said dismissively. “I’ll go when my head doesn’t hurt.”
Aziraphale didn’t exactly believe her but now that water had been retrieved and she had a moment to pause and think, the sting of a few of her own injuries was returning. She looked at her forearm and poked the road rash that needed a plaster. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
Crowley sat up hurriedly. “Are you hurt?”
“You stop that,” Aziraphale said, pushing her back against the pillow. “It’s just a small thing.”
Crowley grasped her wrists where they were touching her shoulders and the contact sent warmth barrelling through her stomach. Her fingers could wrap all the way around Aziraphale’s wrists.
“Show me.”
Aziraphale tilted her arm, baring the ripped, red skin. Crowley hissed in sympathy before bringing her arm closer and pressing her lips to the base of the injury.
“Kiss it better,” Crowley said quietly, as if to herself. Then she looked at Aziraphale, expression just as shocked as Aziraphale felt.
“What?” Aziraphale breathed, heart in her throat.
Crowley dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. My head...not thinking straight.”
“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale said, not at all believing this was happening as she sank onto the cushion beside Crowley’s hip. “I rather liked it actually.”
Crowley swallowed so hard Aziraphale could see the movement in her throat.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so much of a risk.
“If I could kiss your concussion better, I would,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared at their fingers in obvious disbelief.
“Maybe we could try?” Crowley said and she looked so adorably hopeful that Aziraphale was tempted to kiss her right then, concussion be damned.
Instead, Aziraphale kissed her cheek. “We best wait until you feel better, my dear. And perhaps we can have dinner first.”
“Like a date?”
“Yes, a date.”
“I swear if this is a concussion induced hallucination, I want to be concussed every day.”
Aziraphale laughed. “I think that would be very bad for your head.”
“Nah, I’ve got a thick skull.”
Aziraphale squeezed her hand, feeling very warm. A date! With Toni Crowley!
A better outcome than she could have possibly imagined when she slammed her crush into the wall.