Cooking

Aziraphale was ever so slightly nervous. He has started his new job as a line cook at the exclusive White Rose restaurant and really needed to keep this job. Otherwise, he'd have to move back with his parents, and he did not want to do that.

He took a moment to take stock of his station and fetched a few of the tea towels from the trolley. It was then that the doors to the kitchen swung open and Aziraphale found himself face to face with the head chef, Crowley.

"Sorry I'm late everyone. My car broke down," he announced. The entire room had gone silent in his presence. Was it fear, or was it respect? Aziraphale couldn't tell, though he had heard plenty of rumours from the other cooks, even before he started working here.

It was difficult to get through five years in the industry with no knowledge of the infamous head chef. He was well known for his incredibly high standards, excellent palette, and occasional moments of fury.

It would be easy to assume that he was a cruel man, but that couldn't be further from the truth. As Aziraphale would soon learn, there wasn't a vengeful bone in Crowley's body. He was just a perfectionist.

"We open in ten minutes. I hope you're all ready for the dinner rush. As for you newbies…" he cast a cursory glance in the direction of Aziraphale and two other young chefs. "Have fun and try to keep up. Also note that I will correct any mistakes immediately and I will not use sugar coating words. If you can't handle that then get the hell out of my kitchen."

The three newbies stood stubbornly still. Crowley smirked. "I see. Good luck."

He strode over to his station next to Aziraphale and immediately scowled. "Who the fuck's been touching my stuff? I swear to god if it's that busboy again I will fire his ass!" he yelled, rearranging his various seasonings and sauces.

Noticing Aziraphale staring at him, he spoke again. "A word of advice. Never touch another chef's knife and never fuck with his station. Remember those two things and we'll get along just fine."

Aziraphale was too startled to speak and just nodded. He didn't have time to be startled for long, and soon orders began trickling in.

They were handling it well. Crowley was filling in wherever needed and keeping everyone in line.

Then like a crashing tidal wave, all the orders came at once. People were struggling to keep up and with that struggle came mistakes.

Mistakes that Crowley was not pleased about in the least.

Aziraphale jumped a little as Crowley slammed a pan down on the bench a few feet away. "How the hell do you forget to season risotto?" he yelled. "Make it again. And better this time!"

"Yes chef," responded the young woman. Aziraphale recognised her as one of the new recruits. She seemed to be handling things well, but he would probably ask how she was holding up once things slowed down a bit. Not that there was any sign of that happening any time soon.

Distracted, he went to pick up a tray handed to him by the broiler man and failed to realise that the pan - which had just been in the broiler - would be blisteringly hot. Letting out a yelp, he dropped the tray on the floor. The sound caused everyone on the line to turn and look at him.

He would have been embarrassed had he not been in so much pain. Crowley made a start toward him and Aziraphale immediately tried to reassure him. "I'm fine," he lied. "Don't worry."

Crowley turned to his sous-chef Bea. "Beatriz, take over my station for a minute!" he ordered. Then he grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and dragged him to the sinks at the back of the room.

"You'll wanna run that under cold water for a bit," he said, rooting around in the cupboard under the sink. He pulled out a white first aid box, which he set on the side. Deliberating for a second, he took Aziraphale's hand in his and looked at his burn.

"Doesn't look to serious," he said, handing Aziraphale a roll of blue bandage and some aspirin. "Wrap that around the burns. The aspirin is for the pain. Come back on the line when you're ready. That is if you can."

"I'll be fine. I've done this more than you think."

"I can tell. You have a chef's hands."

Aziraphale knew what he meant. It was possible to judge a chef by the state of their hands. A good cook would have a myriad of scars and burns after just a few years. It was just a part of the job. A tiny part of him wondered what Crowley's hands were like.

Crowley smiled a tiny bit – just enough for Aziraphale to think he might say something – and went back to the line. Aziraphale quickly wrapped up his hand and followed after his head chef.