so, uh, i did a thing. rated g. no angst only fluff. canon divergent south downs cottage.
Aziraphale exited the back door of the cottage, his eyes scanning for Crowley. He spotted him squatting low beside the bed of roses that lined the fence separating their garden from their neighbor's. As Aziraphale made his way acriss the grass oward Crowley, little tinkling sounds came from the drinks he held in each hand. The heat of the day was already causing condensation to form on the outside of the tall, delicate glasses. Ice clinked against the inside of them with each step he took closer to his spouse.
As he approached, he began to hear Crowley speaking softly but insistently. This didn't cause any alarm, of course. Aziraphale was long accustomed to Crowley’s particular brand of horticultural encouragement. When he reached Crowley’s side, though, he was surprised to find not a botanical audience for his spouse's words, but a mammalian one. A half dozen gray-brown rodents sat in a semi-circle beneath the flowers, dutifully listening to Crowley. They stayed put even when Aziraphale's shadow fell over them. The only acknowledgement he received was from the largest of the bunch. She sat back on her hind legs and sniffed the air in his direction. He responded with a polite tilt of his head, which seemed to satisfy her curiosity. She, and Aziraphale, returned their attention back to Crowley.
"I know her cat sleeps in the patch of sun next to them, but if you go right now I'll keep watch over the fence and make sure he doesn't bother you. It's a win-win, people. I get revenge and you get sweet, juicy tomatoes. What do you say?" Before the rats could answer, Aziraphale intervened.
"Crowley, dear." He kept his tone light. "Planning some sort of wile, are we?" Crowley looked up, taking in the sight of his husband holding two glasses of what looked like ice cubes floating in tea. He squinted suspiciously at them, then at Aziraphale.
"What's-Her-Name next door is using one of those things that sprays water up into the air. It's raining down onto my roses and causing black spot. I'm just..." Crowley paused, searching for the right expression. "Returning the favor, so to speak."
"Ah." Aziraphale nodded, understanding what was happening. "Yes, I can see how that would be quite satisfying. However, might I suggest a different approach?" Aziraphale continued without waiting for an answer.
"Evelyn," he gestured to the neighbor's house, indicating the name of its resident, "makes the most scrumptious tomato tart this time of year. I've been looking forward to it all summer. How about we invite her over for dinner this weekend and you can regale her with tales about the superiority of those black hoses with the little holes in them?"
"Drip irrigation." Crowley automatically supplied the correct term.
"As you say." Aziraphale handed down a glass to Crowley. "That way I get my tart and you don't have to go to war over spotty roses." Crowley took the proffered drink from Aziraphale and sighed. There may have even been a bit of a grumble. But, there wasn't any actual objection. Aziraphale knew he had won. He tried, and failed, to keep a victorious smile from blossoming across his face. Crowley slapped his free had onto his knee and pushed his way up to standing. He looked down at the rats.
"False alarm, everyone. Looks like I won't need your talents today, afterall." The leader rat chittered in what sounded to Aziraphale like frustration. She waved a paw at the fence, presumably in reference to the promised tomatoes.
"Er...yeah. Sorry about that." Crowley swiped a hand across the back of his neck. Aziraphale took a sip of his drink to hide his amusement over the look of sheepish guilt the tiny creature had produced from his spouse. "I'll leave the compost uncovered the next time I throw it out. For your trouble." The rat did not respond. "And I'll try to sneak in some of that tomato tart?" The rat let out an affirmative squeak and disappeared into the bushes. The others followed.
Crowley lifted his glass in salute to the retreating forms, then took a drink from it. It was quickly followed by that drink being spat out onto the lawn.
"What in all of creation is that?" He stared down in disgust at the melting ice busy creating a layer of plain water atop the darker liquid beneath. "And why is it sweet?" Aziraphale laughed.
"Iced tea. It's an American invention. I thought with the heat wave and all..." He trailed off, and raised his own glass to his lips, his eyes dancing with mischief above the rim. "I planned on warning you, but didn’t have time. Wiles were happening. I had to prioritize thwarting them." He sipped the cold tea, obviously enjoying it.
Crowley shook his head, the shock of the unfamiliar taste wearing off. A little smile curled one side of his mouth. He slipped his hand into the crook of Aziraphale's elbow, drawing their bodies together as they stood side-by-side in front of the roses.
"So, wile thwarted?" Aziraphale asked. His voice held over six thousand years of love for his spouse, and for this game they'd been playing for nearly as long. Crowley's eyes softened, and he leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on Aziraphale's cheek.
