(Untitled)

[ineffable_angel]

Date: November 6th, 2000
Setting: Tadfield Manor - Crowley's bathroom
Status: Private - Aziraphale, Crowley, Chicago
Summary: He misses.

Comments

[anthony_crowley]

Crowley had been in his room trying to read a popular novel that he'd picked up in a bookstore in town, not willing to brave the library, but it was getting hard to concentrate when that bloody cat kept yowling. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. He stood and stalked towards the bathroom door not worried that Aziraphale might be in there because as far as he could tell the connecting door hadn't been opened in weeks.

"Would you shut the hell up, Chicago? What the fuck is your..." he wrenched open the door, "problem..."

Shit. Well, this was awkward. The demon was half tempted to just turn around and walk out. But he'd be more damned if Aziraphale was going to take his cat, too.

"I'll do that," he said coldly. "You needn't concern yourself."

[ineffable_angel]

This was not, actually, the best thing that could ever happen to him while he was occupied with cat feces.

He had recognized the voice as it approached, and winced, even before the door inevitably opened.

"No, it's, ah, it's quite all right," Aziraphale said, wondering if the proper protocol would be to shed his gloves, and set the scooper down, or merely stay where he was and finish up. "She seemed to need... ah, well, you understand." He tried for a smile and it failed, miserably.

[anthony_crowley]

"No. In fact, it's not all right," he said angrily, "because I told you I would fucking deal with it." Crowley snapped his fingers and the cat box was spotless. Chicago's food and water bowls miraculously filled as well. "I bloody well know what she needs."

Chicago let out a meow and ambled over to her food bowl, crunching on the hard treats.

[ineffable_angel]

His back stiffened at the slight, and he removed the rest of his own paraphernalia - honestly, why didn't he ever think, of course he could have simply miracled the box clean - with a slow wave.

"You needn't use that sort of language; I can understand you perfectly," the angel replied coldly, rising. A heavy sense of disappointment was making itself felt, and it crept into his tone, removing the coldness. "Chicago simply came to me, my dear. It isn't some deeper scheme where I try to undermine your taking care of her - and you have been taking good care, I see it now. It's only that... I merely wanted to help." He finished the last softly.

Aziraphale realized then that he had been staring at Crowley, a near-wistful look to his face, and he glanced away quickly, a blush starting in his cheeks. There was something entirely wrong about an angel being attracted to an angry demonic ex-lover, really. Even if said demon had very, very nice cheekbones.

"What were you working on?" he asked, suddenly reluctant to leave.