Chapter Text
*February*
If Crowley could choose any word in the world to describe what she felt it would be the simple three letter word of odd. Nothing more, nothing less. The past three weeks had been normal so far, though to Crowley that word was still lingering in the back of her mind. Odd. It wasn’t anything cause for alarm, she figured, but it wasn’t something she could ignore. That being said, the past feelings should have been easily ignorable, though Crowley felt at the moment it was somewhat important to pay attention to the “odd” feelings. It seemed that Aziraphale had noticed it too, becoming more and more protective over Crowley as the weeks past. It was like he did it subconsciously, out of a habit that Crowley knew hadn’t been there since the odd feelings had started.
Crowley let herself spiral on her thoughts, shut off in her own little world in her garden. Aziraphale was inside, probably paying the humans an unnecessary amount of taxes. Since they had moved to their quaint little cottage in South Downs, Aziraphale had insisted on doing things “the human way.” This of course came with its downfalls. The cottage they’d purchased in September about three months ago was quite a bit run down, and with Aziraphale wanting to keep everything as “human” as possible, he decided they’d renovate it themselves. From scratch. With nothing but a few outdated books to guide them in the direction of things that were probably now considers widely unsafe, such as the lead paint incident where Aziraphale had gone on a hunt all around London to find some lead paint his book recommended. He had received many disapproving looks and one stern talking to about the dangers of the paint by employees. All of which, of course, Crowley could have warmed him about before he left on his hasty mission. Big of course, Crowley was a demon. He liked to stir up shit sometimes, even if it meant a very embarrassed angel refusing to talk to Crowley for half an hour. It was worth it, in the end, and is now a common joke shared at the social gatherings held monthly in their small town Aziraphale was so fond of.
“Crowley, dear?” She heard Aziraphale from inside.
“Hmmm?” Crowley quickly finished off potting the monstera he was almost done with.
“I’ve just made lunch. Are you hungry?” Since moving, Aziraphale had taken up his now much enjoyed hobby of cooking, and Crowley was not about to complain. She didn’t know if it was his angelic influence or just natural skill, but Aziraphale’s meals belonged in a place like the Ritz.
Just the thought of anything Aziraphale was whipping up in the kitchen was enough to make Crowley’s mouth water. “Coming!” She made her way to the side door and opened the fly screen.
“Crowley! Boots!” Aziraphale reminded her as she was about to step inside with soil covered boots. She pouted at him as she kicked off her boots in any direction. If they were smart the next time Crowley steps outside they would’ve walked themselves to the front of the side door.
“What’s for lunch, love?” Crowley sat down at the table.
“I’ve tried something new today out of a recipe book I’ve borrowed off of Anathema. Chicken enchiladas.” He placed two plates of his meal on their small circular dining table, and took his place next to Crowley. “Enjoy!”
The chicken enchiladas smelled positively delectable. While Aziraphale waited a moment for it to cool, Crowley immediately begun eating, eager to taste something her husband had put so much effort into making.
“My dear, I’m glad you’ve gotten a larger appetite recently but do slow down, you’ll get indigestion.” Aziraphale warned Crowley.
“But angel… it’s just so… good!” She mumbled back between mouthfuls.
“Well I’m glad you enjoy, but do t say I didn’t warn you when you’re lying on that sofa in ten minutes thinking you’re going to discorporate.” Aziraphale remarked.
—
“Aaaaangel!” Aziraphale paused from washing up from lunch to adhere to her wife’s call.
“What’s the problem my dearest?” He didn’t need to ask. Just as he had predicted, Crowley was spread out on the sofa rubbing her stomach, eyebrows knitted together in pain.
“My stomach… it hurts.” She mumbled.
“Well dear, I did warn you not to eat so quickly.” Aziraphale stated, matter of factly.
“Ngk… well… I can’t help it if my husband’s a better cook than that Ramsay bloke.” Crowley let out a groan as her stomach churned.
Aziraphale sighed and joined the demon on the sofa, playing with her locks of red hair, the same length it was when they’d met at The Garden of Eden. he moved his hands down rub Crowley’s stomach, wishing there was more he could do. Crowley shuffled to lie on top of him, using Aziraphale’s soft middle to cushion her head.
Aziraphale looked down and admired Crowley’s slightly thicker waist, and her belly that was flat, though not hollowed inwards anymore. He was glad to get Crowley to eat more. She would be awfully skinny if he didn’t, and while he didn’t mind he wanted to make sure Crowley was taking care of herself, and that included taking care of her corporation.
Crowley felt a new feeling in his stomach. She sat up, leaving Aziraphale confused. Aziraphale watched in horror as Crowley went from tan to white as a ghost in about three seconds.
“Angel I think I’m gonna be-“ it was too late. Aziraphale heard the splat on the floor as Crowley was sick. Seeing nothing else to do to help, he gently rubbed circles on Crowley’s back, summoning a bucket to pass to Crowley. She vomited again, thankfully this time into Aziraphale’s well prepared bucket. She dry heaved a few times just from seeing her insides now on the floor im front of her.
“Holy fUCk that is SO gross. Oh my gosh, Aziraphale, I’m so sorry, I’ll- I’ll clean it up, I promise-“ She was interrupted by another wave of nausea.
“Oh Crowley you poor thing! I’ll clean it up, no need to worry. As for you, straight to bed, missy. You’re clearly unwell.” Aziraphale helped Crowley up, holding her shaking hands.
“No, I-“ She protested.
“I will not hear another word about it. Come on now, I’ll make you some ginger tea. I’ve heard it works wonders for upset tummies.” Aziraphale helped her up the stairs.
Once Crowley was sorted in bed, Aziraphale returned down stairs and with a snap of his fingers the sofa was returned to its usually tidy state, breaking his own “one miracle per month” rule. Not that Crowley followed it anyway. He put on some tea for her and finished off the washing up.