Note: Originally written on January 10, 2014.

Small Desert Community

"Thank you again for you hospitality, and on such short notice," Aziraphale cooed, his soft hands gently squeezing the old woman's wrinkled ones. Behind her, Crowley rolled his eyes and pantomimed a gagging motion. Aziraphale surreptitiously pursed his lips and shot him with a warning glance.

"Not a problem, my dear, not a bit," she replied, smiling brightly and squinting up at him from behind large, thick-lensed glasses. Between the frames, the short curly hair, and the penchant for sickeningly sweet endearments, Crowley supposed that anyone else would easily mistake the old woman for Aziraphale's aged mother. He might have almost believed it himself if, of course, Aziraphale had actually been a middle-aged British bookstore owner and not an immortal Angel of the Lord.

And if the old woman had actually been a hundred percent human and not only twenty-eight-and-a-half.

The old woman turned and swept her strange,* glassy, purple-hued eyes up and down Crowley's form, clearly sizing him up. Nervously, Crowley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. As the Serpent, he was used to a touch of the confidence of a predator, but now he distinctly felt the sensation of being a helpless prairie mouse under the open sky with a distinctly hungry hawk circling like a helicopter overhead.

"It's always nice to have some angels around," she suddenly said. "A few little miracles here and there, minor adjustments really, just to keep the town running smoothly. And the odd job or two around the house, of course, in exchange for whatever's in the fridge." She looked at Crowley sternly over the top of her glasses, as if concerned he was there to cause trouble.**

"Certainly," Aziraphale began to agree, while at the same time Crowley said, "I'm not an angel."

Aziraphale stared at his companion in mute horror, but the old woman only laughed. "Oh, what a silly thing you are, Erika! Of course you're an angel. I'm looking at your wings right now." Crowley glanced over his shoulder. His wings were definitely not present, at least in this dimension. "Oh, don't worry, they're very nice wings," the old woman added, humming thoughtfully to herself. "Though they are a rather peculiar shade. Black as the void, I'd say; very sleek and shiny." She turned back to Aziraphale, patting his shoulder kindly. "You ought to give your own wings a good grooming, Erika. Work on being a little more presentable for your gentleman friend there, eh?"

"I am a demon," Crowley stated loudly, but the old woman didn't appear to notice; she left them where they stood and began to fuss about the room. Looking away from her unnerving smile, Crowley stared at the angel, who was looking rather put out and worried… no, concerned about her assessment. "Not an angel. And how can she see our wings?" Aziraphale frowned and shrugged. Ineffable. "And… did she just call me 'Erika'? And you too?"

"She, er… she seems to have a thing for calling all angels 'Erika,'" Aziraphale said, rather apologetically. "Not sure where that came from, exactly."

"Isn't there a hotel in this Hell- Godfor- bonkers town? A… a bed-and-breakfast, at least? Youth hostel? Anything?" The angel shook his head, and Crowley hissed in irritation. "Can't we stay in the next town over, then? 'Desert Cliffs' something or other? There was definitely a better feel to that place."

"Oh, no no no," Aziraphale said, reflexively plumping and replacing a pillow on the couch where the old woman had toddled over to sit down. She was fiddling with the knobs on her 1923 wood-paneled radio cabinet, muttering about not wanting to miss the weather. "Josie here has run a bit of a… a refuge for angels for… well… quite a long time. It would be impolite to refuse her hospitality, and much more expensive to rent a room somewhere else besides."***

Crowley grumbled a few choice blessings under his breath, but relented at the pleading expression on the angel's round, red-cheeked face. "Fine. But don't expect me to spend all my time cooped up in this house, listening to… to… oh, damn- bless- whatever."

Apparently, today's weather was "Bicycle Race" by Disparition.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said sincerely, and Crowley was forced to look away before he said or did something stupid.

"By the way, Erika," the old woman suddenly said over the strangely ominous pinging of handlebar bells on the radio. Crowley was rather terrified to see that she was staring at him. "That's right, you, Black-Wings… Would you be a dear and change out the light bulb on the front porch?"

*Not that Crowley – with his yellow serpent's eyes – had much right to deem hers as "strange."

**She was right. He was mostly there, though, to accompany Aziraphale on the angel's obligatory once-per-decade inspection tour of America, though that sort of volunteer work wasn't the kind of thing Crowley figured he ought to write on a report to his superiors Down There. "Causing trouble" it was, then.

***Not that human currency was an incredible obstacle for beings who could create as much money as they wanted out of thin air, but as this tour was, for Aziraphale, the equivalent of a business trip, they were on somewhat of a heavenly budget, which demanded the use of material rather than self-generated payment.