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Anthony and the Armless Courgette

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“Oh, that's not how it happened at all! Moses looked nothing like that, to begin with!”

Crowley had been peacefully terrorizing the plants in his plant room, but he couldn't just ignore an outburst like that. He miracled the dirt off his hands and headed for the other room. “Problem, angel?”

“This film is completely inaccurate!” Aziraphale said, flapping his hands at the telly.

Crowley glanced at it and laughed. "That's because that's Charlton Heston, not Moses," he said, "and since when do you look to American movies for historical accuracy?"

"But I was there, Crowley. It didn't happen at all that way!"

Clearly he wasn't getting back to his plants anytime soon. This was just too entertaining. He plopped down onto the sofa instead, near enough to his angel that the cushions bent inward and he ended up in half an accidental embrace.

Aziraphale took the hint and just turned it into a full embrace. "I'm sorry dearest, I shouldn't have interrupted you when you were tending the plants."

Tending, thought Crowley, was probably a kind word for it. "You knew it wasn't going to be the real story, so why did you even click on it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Nostalgia perhaps? Not exactly the good old days, but one does start thinking about the past sometimes."

"Well, stop it." He leaned over and planted a quick kiss on that pale cheek. "Not even remotely the good old days, especially when I had to pretend to be constantly angry with you."

"You mean instead of pining? Growing wan, turning your face to the wall? Wasting away for want of love?"

"I was not that obvious."

"I can feel Love, my dear."

"Okay. Fine. Just for that - -" Crowley lunged for the remote, came up with it victorious. "If you really want to see historical inaccuracy…"

The show he was looking for wasn't actually available on any of the services they had. As usual, that didn't matter even a little bit. It showed up when he wanted it to show up, and he pushed the button.

Cheerful music started up, the screen saturated with bright colors.

"Crowley, what is this?"

"Exodus," Crowley said, fighting a grin.

"Balderdash. That is clearly supposed to be the American West."

"Yep."

"And those… I gather those are supposed to be some sort of anthropomorphic blob?"

"Vegetables. That one's a courgette."

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed, but he watched for a few minutes.

"Well that's just staggeringly inappropriate," he said shortly. "The Native Americans had a rich and varied vocabulary in many languages and none of them ever had a word for going out panning for gold and coming home with a baby."

Crowley was grinning so hard his face started to hurt.

"I suppose this is your dastardly work?"

"Who, me? Nah. I'm not gonna spend my time trying to get kids to learn bible stories, even bastardized ones. Counterproductive, isn't it?"

Aziraphale eyed him sideways, but turned back to the telly. "How am I supposed to believe in courgettes that manipulate things when they don't have arms?"

"Don't be silly. There's also tomatoes."

"Crowley…." His voice had that warning pitch, now.

Crowley tried to stop grinning, but he hadn't properly taken the piss out of his angel for a while and this was just too delicious. "We could watch the story of Jonah if you'd rather?"

Horror slid across the angel’s face. "You mean there's more of these?"

“Oh, lots! There’s the story of Jericho--well, ‘Josh and the Big Wall.’ Or Joseph.”

“Actual Joseph?”

“Ehhh.” Crowley waved his hand. “‘The Ballad of Little Joe.’”

“Hmmph.” Aziraphale, and snapped. A book appeared in his hand, and the telly died in a shower of sparks.

“Oi! I was watching that!” Crowley protested. He knew the sparks were probably much more for effect than any actual appliance death, but he’d be pushing his luck a little far to test it now.

“You kept yourself amused for six thousand years without television, Crowley. I’m sure you can manage.” The angel wriggled into a comfortable position that left him half-lying on Crowley, then calmly flipped open his book and started reading.

Crowley considered his options--he was trapped under the most comfortable angel ever, a predicament that had been beyond his wildest dreams just a few short years ago. But he was also slightly frustrated, because he’d been planning to poke at that angel’s sensibilities for a bit longer before the game was done.

Finally he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and started playing a game on it--squirmed until he was nicely tangled up and comfy, and set the volume up so the beeping would carry on the annoyance factor.

“So what did Hell say?” Aziraphale mused, some pages later.

He continued to chase the little sprite around the screen. “About what?”

“When you tried to take credit for the armless courgette?”

“Ohh, Dagon had words. Said it wasn’t evil enough for any real credit, and then made everyone watch on movie ni--!” Crowley broke off and sat up abruptly, half-dumping Aziraphale off the couch. “Angel!”

Aziraphale picked himself up and dusted off, laughing. “You were entirely too well-versed in them not to have tried, love.” He set the book down and dropped a kiss onto Crowley’s nose. “I would like dinner, and a glass of wine. And then perhaps we can watch something that isn’t historical at all.”

Crowley sputtered briefly watching his husband walk into the kitchen, then sighed. “Why did I fall in love with you again?”

“Because I’m wonderful!” came the reply, and he couldn’t argue at all.