Well after a long time on extreme hiatus I suppose I'm back for a little while. Enough to write on some things. Thanks for hanging in there! More to come after this chapter.
The soft ocean breeze moved through the cottage, causing the aged thing to creak and groan much like an aged man. Crowley nestled deeper into the comfortable nest he had made for himself after Aziraphale had left his side of the bed. Crowley often tried to tempt Aziraphale into the bliss that was sleep but the angel just smiled at him and turned back to his book. Crowley could feel his blood boil a bit, thinking on how the angel played to his long dormant affection and his ever present irritation. Crowley's toes curled in ire under his soft duvet, the thought of the angel prodding him to stay awake and hindering his much needed rest.
After much debate he lifted his head out of the comfortable cocoon and looked around the room for a moment. Slitted eyes took in the soft gray light of the morning and the little bit of sunlight that tried to peek through the clouds. He couldn't hear Aziraphale puttering about in the living room or in the study. That raised some level of paranoia in Crowley and it was enough to get him away from the nest he had painstakingly made. He shuffled across the plush carpet in the bedroom, ignoring the slippers that Aziraphale fussed at him to wear due to his concern that the scales on Crowley's feet would garner damage from the wood flooring. Crowley always scoffed and pointed out to Aziraphale that Hell wasn't all plush carpeting or nicely done oak finish flooring.
Crowley ran his hand through his hair, pushing his long black bangs away from his sight. He wasn't quite up to commanding the unruly strands back to their place just yet. He padded out into the short hallway between the back rooms of the cottage and made his way out to the living room. He paused feeling a gust of wind from the front door where Aziraphale stood with it ajar. The angel was already dressed in his despicable tartan and khaki pants, looking very much like the professor of Literature. It unnerved Crowley a bit, seeing the angel standing there, mug in hand and staring down at the entryway.
"Angel?" Crowley called out softly, feeling a lump settle in his throat.
Aziraphale didn't respond, one hand worrying the side of the mug that was no longer warm.
"Azira? Angel?" Crowley tried again, cautiously making his way to the said angel.
"Aziraphale!" Crowley finally snapped loudly. He relaxed seeing the familiar flinch that the angel possessed when Crowley said his name in a raised voice.
Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder at Crowley, golden tears trickling under his glasses and over his cheeks. Crowley gaped at Aziraphale, stunned at the appearance of an Angel's tears in a eternity.
"Oh...my dear..." Aziraphale said giving Crowley a beatific smile, turning from the entrance a little. That's when Crowley saw it on their front porch. Something gleaming and golden wrapped in swaddling cloth with utmost care. He felt himself fall forward and blacked out before he struck the wooden floor. Aziraphale made a fussing sound before rushing to Crowley as the golden egg on their front porch glimmered in a rare ray of sunlight.