Crowley isn't usually passive by nature, but for those first few weeks he lets Aziraphale take charge. He helps, of course, offers opinions when asked, does his own miracles to make a safe place for the sparrows to roost in the chimney, starts fixing the holes in the walls and broken tiles on the floors when Aziraphale points them out. But mostly he just enjoys Aziraphale's company. He spends hours dozing, secure in the knowledge that his fiend is nearby; he spends more hours happily watching Aziraphale learn his new instrument. Sometimes he requests songs from the past, harmless happy things, nothing too associated with pain or loss. He knows Aziraphale is...not worried, but watching him closely, protective. And while he doesn't look closely at the past year, he knows it's not unwarranted.
Neither of them suggests stocking the wine cellar. Someday, perhaps. Not yet.
Every night Aziraphale holds him close in their bed, and Crowley's last thought before he sleeps and first thought when he wakes is to wonder what he ever did to be so blessed as this.
The turning point comes after about a month, when of his own initative Crowley begins working in the garden during the day while Aziraphale keeps improving the house. To say the weeds have taken over is to drastically understate the matter, but he gradually begins clearing them out. There are bulbs that might be irises or lilies, and he carefully replants those in a more organized fashion as he goes. One side of the house is lined with dormant roses. They'll look magnificent when they bloom.
He's been at it for a few days and is happily absorbed in the work when clouds gradually crowd the sky, and a drop of rain lands on the back of his hand. He laughs and looks up, covering his face to see the rain start to fall.
Yep that's a plan!
Crowley isn't usually passive by nature, but for those first few weeks he lets Aziraphale take charge. He helps, of course, offers opinions when asked, does his own miracles to make a safe place for the sparrows to roost in the chimney, starts fixing the holes in the walls and broken tiles on the floors when Aziraphale points them out. But mostly he just enjoys Aziraphale's company. He spends hours dozing, secure in the knowledge that his fiend is nearby; he spends more hours happily watching Aziraphale learn his new instrument. Sometimes he requests songs from the past, harmless happy things, nothing too associated with pain or loss. He knows Aziraphale is...not worried, but watching him closely, protective. And while he doesn't look closely at the past year, he knows it's not unwarranted.
Neither of them suggests stocking the wine cellar. Someday, perhaps. Not yet.
Every night Aziraphale holds him close in their bed, and Crowley's last thought before he sleeps and first thought when he wakes is to wonder what he ever did to be so blessed as this.
The turning point comes after about a month, when of his own initative Crowley begins working in the garden during the day while Aziraphale keeps improving the house. To say the weeds have taken over is to drastically understate the matter, but he gradually begins clearing them out. There are bulbs that might be irises or lilies, and he carefully replants those in a more organized fashion as he goes. One side of the house is lined with dormant roses. They'll look magnificent when they bloom.
He's been at it for a few days and is happily absorbed in the work when clouds gradually crowd the sky, and a drop of rain lands on the back of his hand. He laughs and looks up, covering his face to see the rain start to fall.