The Trainee
It was a slow day at the salon when the man walked in, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else. Macy glanced up from the front desk to see the lanky figure in dark clothes and boots standing in the doorway looking a little lost. He hadn’t taken off his sunglasses and his shoulders were pulled up to his ears. If he was trying to appear inconspicuous, he was doing a rather poor job of it.
“Can I help you, sir?” Macy asked, aware that by now many of the technicians had paused their work to eye the new customer.
The man began approaching the counter, throwing glances behind him at the street. He seemed to be planning an escape route, and Macy began to subconsciously reach for her cell phone.
“Yeah, hi,” the man said, turning to look at the bottles of polish along the walls. It seemed he wanted to look at anything but Macy’s face.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked as casually as she could muster.
That seemed to get his attention. “No, I don’t do this sort of thing,” he replied, turning to face her. “My husband comes here pretty regularly. Mr. Fell?”
Macy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “Oh, of course yes. You must be Crowley then.”
The man’s eyebrows rose over his glasses. “You know my name?”
Macy smiled. “He talks about you all the time. He’s very taken with you.”
She watched as the man’s - Crowley’s - face began to flush. “Buh... well... I mean... ngh.”
Macy suddenly couldn’t remember why she had found this man so intimidating when he came in. “So, what can I help you with?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Crowley shook his head slightly. “He’s not gonna be in next week.”
“Oh?” Macy’s eyebrows drew together. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of concern. Mr. Fell had never missed an appointment before. Well, save for that one appointment last summer. Family emergency he had said.
“He was gonna call, but I was in the area so,” Crowley shrugged.
“May I ask why?”
Crowley sighed as if it were a great pain to be faced with so many questions at two in the afternoon. “Surprise holiday. We’ll be away for a while.”
A technician nearby cooed, causing Crowley to grimace.
“I’ll make a note of it,” Macy said brightly. “Have a great time!”
Crowley nodded, but made no move to leave. He continued glancing around the shop, shifting from foot to foot.
“Is there...something else I can do for you, Mr. Crowley?”
Crowley became very interested in a smudge on the counter, rubbing away at it with his thumb. “Well...he might need his nails, y’know, done while we’re gone.”
“Depending on where you go there may be a salon. They won’t know exactly how he likes them, but it’s better than nothing.”
Crowley sighed again. “I don’t know how he likes them though.”
“He can explain it to them. It’s all the same lingo anywhere, really.”
“I don’t know what any of it means though.”
“That’s okay, they’ll-” Macy cut herself off, the pieces slotting into place. “Are you asking me how do to it for him?”
Crowley shrugged.
“That’s...” really sweet, so thoughtful, “...a great idea! Would you like me to show you?”
“Would it inconvenience you?” Crowley asked.
“Not at all,” she assured him, except that answer seemed to disappoint the man slightly. “Go ahead and pick a color.”
Crowley looked confused.
“I can’t really explain it, I have to show by example,” she explained. “And well, it’d really be best if you knew what it felt like.”
Crowley seemed to mull that over in his head for a minute or two. “He usually just does something clear.”
“Well yes,” Macy smiled encouragingly. “But this is for you, so you can pick whatever you want.”
After a few minutes, Crowley slunk back to the front, silently placing a bottle of black polish on the counter. Flecks of glitter swirled around in the bottle, catching the sunlight to reflect deep blues and purples.
“Great! Let’s get started then!” Macy waved him towards a table in the back.
Giving Mr. Crowley a manicure was exactly the opposite from Mr. Fell. It may have been because Crowley was so focused on learning, but where Mr. Fell would prattle on about everything that had happened the week prior, Crowley was dead silent, leaning forward to scrutinize everything that was being done to his hands. Macy had to hold in a laugh at the look of alarm that had crossed his face once she brought out the cuticle scissors, and judging by the look of disgust she received when they were done, she had a hunch that Mr. Fell’s hands would not be getting that treatment.
It was a little hard to show the man how to shape the nails, as his own were already cropped short enough to be mistaken for stubs.
He didn’t say a peep until she tried to moisturize his hands.
“Is this alright?” Macy asked, noticing how the man had tensed once she had his hand clasped in her slippery grip.
“A warning would’ve been nice,” he muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“I can skip this if you’d like, or you could do it yourself?” she offered.
She felt his fingers twitch slightly. “This is what you do for him?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And he likes it?”
“He says it’s relaxing. I usually do a bit of a hand massage with it.”
Crowley eyed the bottle of lotion warily. Then he seemed to steel himself, as if ready to face a firing squad, chin up, jaw tight.
“Right then,” he gritted out. “Get it over with.”
Macy would have never pegged Mr. Crowley to be, well, squeamish for lack of a better word. But, it seemed that all of the prep work was the worst of it, as the man visibly relaxed once she assured him that all that was left was the color. She had to admit, when she had initially seen Mr. Crowley in person, she wasn’t sure how the man could have possibly been the darling husband that Mr. Fell so often described. However, if Crowley was willing to go through what appeared to be equivalent to pulling teeth without Novocaine for his husband to feel pampered, he really must have been every ounce the angel Mr. Fell made him seem.
“All done!” Macy announced, removing the warm towel from Crowley’s hands.
Crowley deflated back into his chair. “Thank Somebody,” he breathed. Macy offered an apologetic smile before returning to the desk up front.
“Here, I wrote down everything you’ll need to pick up at the store,” she said, holding out a list. Crowley took it from her, dangling it between two fingers.
“I don’t see ‘torture sticks’ written anywhere on here,” he grumbled.
“For the last time, they were cuticle pushers.”
Crowley scrunched his nose, mouthing the word to himself.
“Cash or card?” Macy asked.
Crowley fished a stack of banknotes out of his pocket. “Keep the rest as a tip,” he said, waving his hand in the air as he turned towards the door.
“It was nice to meet you!” she called.
Crowley grunted something in reply, focus already on the list in his hand.
She smiled to herself, counting up what turned out to be a 66% tip and tucking it into the jar on the counter. And if she pretended not to notice how Crowley had paused a few feet from the door to observe how his nails reflected in the sun, well, that was neither here nor there.
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AN: Hello loves! I absolutely love all of the fanart where Crowley is sporting black nails, but I always figured he would have done it himself as opposed to Aziraphale’s professional manicures.This may or may not be heavily influenced by my own experiences at the nail salon...I adore the result but man the whole process is so stressful. I just couldn’t imagine Crowley enjoying all of the touching either.
Everything is under the tag happy hour fics!
Anyway as always drop any prompts you may have in my inbox (SFW please) <3