Fic: Our days ahead - chapter 6
Aziraphale and Crowley go on a picnic.
A post S1 fic (S2 and S3 not included).
Aziraphale and Crowley try to make sense of their brand new retirement.
A series of dates that aren't dates after the world doesn't end.
Excerpt
“Are these sandwiches?” Aziraphale said, picking up the wrapped wedge of bread.
“Yeah, thought, it’s a picnic and -”
Crowley rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if it was possible for a demon to get sunburnt
“S’not anything special, ham and cheese, bit of pickle,” Crowley said, Aziraphale was staring at him, with a look that seemed to go right through him.
“It’s not full of maggots, is it?”
“I wouldn't do that to you,” Crowley said, mock affronted. “Anyway, be easier to upset you with one of the limp tuna sandwiches from Tesco.”
“Definitely one of your inventions," Aziraphale nodded sagely. “But Harrods is down your street, or Selfridges, you didn’t have to make them.”
Crowley shrugged. He had spent the afternoon hacking at a breadcrust on his marble countertop, wondering if it was the first time the kitchen had been used for its proper purpose.
Words had never come easy to Crowley. Consonants sure, vowels even better, but combined into words, they never quite expressed exactly the sentiment he wanted to say. Somewhere between whatever existed between his ears to his mouth, they became twisted, confused, muddled.
He had been thinking a lot. The type of thinking that involved staring out of windows, letting coffees go cold, pausing television shows so colourful fantasies can play out in 4k demon imagination.
And even then, the thoughts hadn't translated easily into words, definitely not into sentences, and absolutely not paragraphs.
So instead he made sandwiches.
“Bored, wanted to try it,” Crowley said, though he was watching Aziraphale intently, as he examined it.
“Not even a miracle?” Aziraphale continued quietly, as he unwrapped the clingfilm.
Crowley shook his head. It was, now he looked at it, rather terrible. The bread was far too thick and more triangle than slice, the ham was stuffed inside so the layer of pink was the size of half of his thumb, and the pickles were barely hanging on, making the insides look moist and soggy.
“Expecting a new famine, were you?” Aziraphale chided, the glint playfully dancing behind his eyes.
“Wouldn’t want you going hungry for the next century. You know for an angel who doesn’t need to eat, you still manage to get tetchy if you haven’t consumed in the last three hours.”
“I enjoy it, what is the point of living, well, existing at least, without enjoying the fruits of it.” Aziraphale’s gaze seemed to linger a little longer on Crowley before looking back at the wedge of bread in his hands. “Wish me luck.”
Aziraphale held the sandwich aloft, appearing to consider which angle was best to attack it from. He found a corner and went in, stuffing the hunk between his teeth. “Mmm, s’good,” he said, between bites. “A lot of bread.” He choked a bit, spitting a few breadcrumbs.
“You don’t have to eat that thing if -”
Aziraphale held up a finger to silence him, rolling back his shoulders with the air of a man about to tightrope across a 1,500 foot building. It was fascinating, endearing and somewhat horrifying to watch him consume the sandwich, which suddenly seemed four times the size as he appeared to unhinge his jaw to get a handle on it.
Crowley didn’t know whether to lean in or look away; it felt indecent, especially knowing it had been made with his own hands. Aziraphale popped the last crust in his mouth, like a knight who had defeated a mythic dragon.
Thanks to @groovynightstrawberry for betaing! And all my lovely friends at @goodomensafterdark.
