Chapter Text
Tadfield Roller Circuit was not a big league and every year it was always the same two teams coming to the finals: the Angels and Hell on Wheels.
Crowley was one of the best pivots Hell on Wheels had and she used to be the reason they won every year until the Angels got a new blocker with hair the color of cornsilk and thighs that could kill a man. Or a very lucky woman. Hopefully, Crowley would one day be that lucky woman.
A.Z. Fell — The stupidest derby name for someone named Aziraphale. Didn’t she know it was supposed to be an innuendo not some remix of your own name? — was a proper distraction. Sometimes she wore her hair in pigtails and the first year they went head to head, she wore a tartan A-line skirt that kissed the tops of her thighs and yes, she wore shorts beneath but it was the promise of the thing that had Crowley fumbling her star passes.
This year though, this was Crowley’s year. She had given herself a stern talking to. Beez had given her a stern talking to. Hell, Dagon had given her a talking to and Dagon didn’t give two shits about her. Dagon did give a shit about winning though. Crowley also gave a shit about winning.
“Keep your head down, do the fucking jams, and then you can drool on the Angel, alright?” Beez snapped before giving Crowley a final slap on the leg in the locker room and disappearing out into the rink.
It turned out two years of seeing the Angel had not dimmed Crowley’s reaction to her, sweaty palms and racing pulse a pathetic confirmation of the fact that she was smitten. They rarely ran into each other outside of the finals, only occasionally bumping into each other at practices and Tadfield was small so Crowley sometimes saw her at the shops. Just because Crowley recognized her didn’t mean the feeling was mutual. She was fairly certain it wasn’t. Crowley liked to think her look was striking with long red hair, undercut on one side, snake bites, and black from head to toe. Usually some leather thrown in to spice things up. She was The Serpent in the rink and a little bit outside it too. But apparently that wasn't enough for Aziraphale to pick her out of a crowd.
When Crowley left the locker room, Aziraphale was talking to their pivot, Gabi, a prissy bitch that Crowley more often than not wanted to punch in the teeth, and the angel had cut her hair. It was short, cut just to her chin in wild waves and curls and, as she spoke, she was pulling it back into the tiniest little pony tail. She was wearing blue volleyball shorts and the white uniform shirt of the angels and it was so cute that Crowley was going to scream.
“Go nut in the bathroom like a normal person,” Hastur grumbled, elbowing Crowley as she rolled past in her hideous frog printed shirt.
Crowley blushed fiercely and put on her helmet. She would do as she planned, keep her head down. Cute new haircuts and little blue shorts or no, she was going to win today.
The first jam went smoothly, exactly as it should. There were no errant thoughts of thighs or cute ankles and Crowley thought she’d cracked it. She just needed focus.
But there were some things she couldn’t prepare for.
It was when Crowley turned to block the nearest Angel from getting in Beelzebub’s way that she saw Aziraphale. Her brain short-circuited at the sight of her arms up; her shirt had risen, exposing her soft tummy, and Crowley misjudged the distance between them and Aziraphale’s attempt to push against her overbalanced and slammed her into the wall of the rink so hard everything went momentarily black.
Crowley blinked. Her ears were ringing. She had definitely passed out. The question was how long she had been unconscious.
“Goodness gracious, Crowley, are you alright?”
Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. She’d taken off her helmet and her hair was all poofy. Everything seemed very bright in the rink.
“You know my name,” she said because that seemed more important than anything else.
“Of course I know your name,” Aziraphale chided softly. Her voice was always so much huskier than Crowley expected. She looked so soft and delicate but her voice was like the richest chocolate.
“Are you her girlfriend?” the game EMT asked as he took Crowley’s pulse.
Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered and she shook her head. “Oh, um, no. I just...I’m afraid I’m the one who did the damage.”
“Hmerlgh,” Crowley said, the word girlfriend rolling around in her mind with big flashing lights and smoke bombs and fireworks. Gosh. Aziraphale. Girlfriend. The possibilities.
Then there were some actual lights and the EMT said, “Mild concussion, I think. Nothing too bad. You’re going to have a hell of a headache.”
Concussions were easy. Crowley had had so many concussions. Right then, she was rather focused on the fact that Aziraphale had taken her hand and was looking down at her with concern. “Oh, you poor dear. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
Crowley eased herself into a seated position as the EMT packed up. “S’fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Beez groaned when the EMT reported the news to her. Crowley waved from the sidelines. “Best get on without me.”
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said with a grimace. “I feel terrible leaving you alone.”
Crowley was going to die because Azirphale was still holding her hand and looking so sweet and also a little bit sweaty which was unfairly sexy.
“I’ll be fine, angel,” Crowley said, barely having time to regret the endearment as more words left her mouth. “It’s not the first concussion I’ve dealt with alone. I can handle it. Just need to get myself home.”
Aziraphale bit her lip which was a whole new level of attractive and if Crowley wasn’t already on the floor she would have needed to sit down.
“And you have someone at home?” Aziraphale asked. “To take care of you?”
“Um…”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in that same chiding tone from before. “I will absolutely not hear of you going home alone with a concussion. Do you have someone you can call?”
“Angel, it’s fine.”
“No,” Aziraphale said, standing up and planting her hands on her hips. In her gear, flushed from the game, she looked fierce and Crowley’s stomach gave a valiant flop that had nothing to do with concussion-associated nausea. “I’m taking you home and I’m making sure you rest. This is my fault and someone needs to take care of you.”
“Okay,” Crowley squeaked and she stared after her as Aziraphale marched off to rejoin the game. Had that just happened? Really?
The Angel was going home with her.
Granted, it was because she was concussed but Crowley was an optimist and perhaps this was the first step in a very bright future.