A short-ish GO fic inspired by a hilarious misreading of the phrase "inflatable palm trees". Footnotes are at the end of each section before the page breaks so you don't have to scroll all the way to the bottom to read them. My apologies to any Floridans who stumble across this fic. Enjoy.

It was a dark and stormy night. It just figured, Crowley thought to himself. The weather always made it a point to be egregiously inconsiderate(1), and once again it was ignoring the meteorological reports and evening plans of everyone within a hundred miles of Miami.

The day had started off pleasantly enough, with a soft golden light appearing over a lavender horizon and a warm breeze out of the east. Aziraphale woke early, and dragged a disgruntled Crowley out of bed to go for a walk along the resort's slice of waterfront. The stretch of sand was almost deserted; only the silhouette of the occasional jogger or love-struck couple interrupted the smooth contours of the land meeting the Gulf.

Crowley shared a fraction of his loathing for early mornings with the beach's other occupants by sullenly filling their shoes with sand. It did not take the angel long to cotton on, but he only smiled faintly and shook his head. Eventually, the light of dawn filtered through the haze of sleep hovering around Crowley's consciousness and he squinted at the orb hovering just above the curvature of the earth. He might have started when Aziraphale slipped his fingers between those of the demon, but neither of them commented on it. They stood together at the edge of the surf watching the sun slowly paint the sky with azure.

That was then.

Nearer to noon, an emergency report crackled over the local radio station informing residents and visitors alike of a tropical storm warning to be in effect for several hours. Angel and demon took their lunch and cocktails indoors and thought nothing of it.

Now, the pair were huddled in their hotel room, the shutters barred, and the walls trembling with the violence of the winds.

"It just figures," Aziraphale said aloud. He was seated in a tartan-patterned armchair in the corner(2) with his slippered feet kicked up on a footstool.

"I was just thinking that," Crowley replied absently, channel surfing on the expansive television. In every other room of the resort, the lights were flickering like candles, but in room 665, the only dissatisfactory electrical appliance was an ancient AC unit under the window which even Crowley couldn't coax into functioning without smelling faintly of boiled cabbage.

"We go on holiday for the first time in two decades, and this happens," Aziraphale continued.

The demon hit the button on the remote again and found an Animal Planet special about house pets(3).

"What did you expect?" he asked. "It is hurricane season in Florida - I told you as much when you were booking the room."

"But wouldn't you think," Aziraphale said fretfully, "I mean, wouldn't you think that booking a room during hurricane season would mean that you end up having ironically perfect weather? Isn't that how these things work?"

Crowley grunted. "If you're trying to jinx yourself, it isn't going to happen. You ought to know that."

The angel sighed.

"I suppose you're right."

"Nice of you to ssssay so, angel."

...

1: Unless one lived in Tadfield, in which case the weather worked very hard to meet expectations, or else.

2: A fact which Crowley felt "just figured" in its own way.

3: It is an unspoken rule that if one channel surfs in an American hotel, one will inevitably land on Animal Planet playing a special on house pets, animals that will kill you, or animals that will kill you which are also being kept as house pets.

Three Months Prior

"That's where you want to go on holiday?" Crowley asked incredulously, peering over Aziraphale's shoulder. "I thought your sense of humor was better than that."

The angel steadfastly ignored him, plugging "room for two" into the reservation form. When he had finished(4), he turned to the dark haired demon with a frown.

"It's a lovely place," he said. "Great amenities, a spot on the waterfront, and the restaurant's wine list has got excellent reviews."

Crowley waved away the explanation. "Yes, but the name of the resort," he said. "Isn't it a bit, I don't know, tasteless? Cliché, even?"

Aziraphale harrumphed. "Cliché, maybe. I don't know about tasteless."

Crowley grabbed the mouse from the angel's hand and scrolled through the website.

"It does look like a nice place," he admitted. "Although I don't care so much for the States. They make my job too easy."

"It can't hurt to try it out," Aziraphale reasoned.

"I suppose," agreed the demon warily. "Even so, calling the place Eden seems a little pretentious, don't you think? Everyone knows the Garden was in the Old World(5)."

...

4: The credit card number which Aziraphale entered had six more characters than was usual and caused the screen to glow a pulsating orange.

5. The Mormons, of course, are the exception to this, but both angel and demon found it was just easier for everyone if they pretended that that particular faction did not exist.

Two Days Prior

Trickles of sweat were beading Aziraphale's hairline when he caught up to Crowley, dropping his battered vintage suitcase on the flagstone next to the demon's sleek black one.

"I'd forgotten how hot Florida gets," he panted, wiping his brow on the sleeve of his jumper.

His companion glanced back at him. "You have got to be the only person in this whole blessed state wearing wool."

"The airport was cold," the angel said defensively.

Crowley only shook his head.

"You're going to get heatstroke before we even get to do anything."

They dragged their bags into the spacious lobby. It was one of those high-ceilinged affairs with a lot of glass and potted tropical plants. A coffee shop in the corner was doing its share of business, and the demon was sure he heard Aziraphale mutter something about not being able to "buy a decent cup of tea in this country".

In the center of the room was a wide desk capped with a hefty slab of black granite. Behind it stood a trio of women, all displaying more teeth than were usually visible in a human smile.

As the two approached(6), the woman in the center stretched her grin even wider.

"Hello, and welcome to The Garden of Eden, Miami's most popular vacation destination. Do you gentlemen have a reservation(7)?"

"Under the name of Fell," Aziraphale said politely.

"Ah, yes, right here. Very good. Your room is on the sixth floor. Just go ahead and take the elevator up. If you need anything at all, please do let us know."

Crowley smiled thinly as the angel secured the keycard in his pocket. The demon was pleased to see the attendant's expression become rather more strained.

The porter, a balding man in a red coat, met them at the elevator, insisting despite Aziraphale's frantic indications to the contrary that he would take their bags. Crowley was certain he had never endured a longer elevator ride, as the porter proceeded to describe in detail every single feature of the resort. It wasn't that it was inherently uninteresting, but the demon could have done without the personal anecdotes regarding each individual hole on the golf course, or the varying densities of the pillows available to guests. Indeed, the trip lasted so long that Crowley was beginning to suspect Aziraphale of deliberately slowing down the elevator to give the man time to finish his spiel.

When at last the lift came to a halt on the sixth floor, the porter bowed them out. As the doors shut behind them, Crowley leaned over to the angel.

"That guy was neurotic," he muttered.

"Now, now," Aziraphale tutted, leading the way down the corridor. "The man's just proud of his employer. That's a rare thing, these days."

"If by 'proud', you mean 'positively obsessed'," Crowley countered, but he said no more about it as they got to their room and began to settle in.

When things were just unpacked enough to make the room feel messy, but not homey, Aziraphale suggested they go out and see the place. Increasing the darkness of his sunglasses by one more shade of impenetrable black, Crowley agreed.

Directly in back of the hotel was a spacious red cobblestone courtyard set with quaint(8) little tables and chairs. Half a dozen palm trees stood around the perimeter. Stepping into the sun, Aziraphale shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted.

"I think that must be the pool over there," he said, gesturing toward a white-painted gate in the brick retaining wall. "Fancy a swim?"

"Of coursssse," Crowley hissed through a grin. He sighed appreciatively as the sound of screams echoed over the wall. There was nothing like an alligator suddenly appearing out of nowhere to empty a pool of obnoxious hotel guests.

...

6: In a narrative of this nature, the natural phraseology might seem to be, "the two men"; however, given that neither individual under discussion is in fact human, the author has elected to avoid that descriptor.

7: So as not to seemingly contradict herself, the author would remind the reader that this story's protagonists do not actually appear to be supernatural beings of reasonably significant power, and as such are usually taken for human by other humans. Just in case that confused anyone. You're welcome. Why are you still reading this ridiculous and pedantic footnote?

8: Quaint: adj. A popular euphemism, meaning too old to be safe and too small to be comfortable. See also: cozy

Presently

Crowley lay with one foot dangling off the edge of the bed, half asleep as he stared at the ceiling. A blinding light followed by a crack loud enough to shake the lamp on its stand snapped him from his reverie, and he sat up so fast his glasses fell off. Next to the table, Aziraphale jumped and dropped his book.

The demon blessed under his breath, shoving the metal frames back onto his face as the angel turned, peering beadily back at the window.

"That was close," he said.

"Too close," Crowley growled. "Blasted lightning's going to take out the resort next."

Aziraphale stood, sliding a bookmark into his signed copy of Anansi Boys(9) and pacing over to the wood-shielded panes.

"It's black as pitch out there," he muttered, squinting through the shutter lattice. "How bad do you think -"

He was cut off by a howling gust of wind, which slammed against the glass and ripped at the screws holding the hinges to the framing.

"Er." He stepped back, looking nervously over his shoulder at Crowley. "Perhaps we ought to take cover."

"Perhaps we ought to have your head examined," the demon muttered, rolling off the bed. "Two words, angel: hurricane season."

"Yes, yes, you've made your point," snipped Aziraphale as he made for the bathroom. "But perhaps we could finish this argument once we're safe from the aforementioned hurricane?"

"Fine," replied the demon, following behind with a small wireless radio. "But for the record, this was a terrible idea."

"You're only saying that because you don't like Floridans," said Aziraphale, holding the door open for his companion.

Crowley slipped into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub, turning the radio knob. It only gave him static for his efforts.

"Untrue," the demon countered. "I like Floridans just fine. Gun-nuts, republicans, gators - it's a demon's dream post, almost as easy to run as Chicago. What I hate are tourists(10). They take all the fun out of the job."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, taking a seat of his own in front of the sink. "Half the Floridan demographic, then," he responded. "But you enjoyed the pool, and there's no way you can possibly dispute that."

Crowley was saved(11) from having to find a way to dispute that by the sound of glass exploding.

"That'll be the window," he said instead, as Aziraphale closed the bathroom door with his foot.

The angel hummed in agreement. "But at least we still have -"

The lights flickered and went out. Blackness descended in the tiny chamber, and for a moment, there was silence(12).

"Do you recall what I said earlier?" Crowley asked with a very deliberate calm.

"About what?" came the polite query in reply.

"Jinxing yourself."

"Ah. Yes."

"I think you've got the hang of it now."

...

9: Aziraphale always used a bookmark. He had been known to grow faint at the sight of individuals leaving manuscripts upside-down to mark their place, and he reserved a particularly zealous variety of righteous fury for those who thought dog-earing pages was an acceptable practice.

10: The demon was entirely aware that as he was on holiday, he himself was technically a tourist, but he elected to ignore this.

11: Secularly-speaking

12: As silent a silence as there could be in the midst of a class-four tempest.

More Presently

"-worse ways to spend an evening," Aziraphale was saying.

Crowley snorted. "I can't think of many things which qualify as 'worse' than sitting in a hotel bathroom in Florida with no electricity and in the middle of a hurricane."

"Alexandria?" asked the angel. Crowley could practically hear the arch in his eyebrows. "The Crusades? The Michael Bublé Christmas album?"

Crowley held up his hands. "Alright, alright," he said in defeat. "Point taken. Although it doesn't say much for our record that there actually is a list of nights worse than sitting in a hotel bathroom in Florida without electricity and in the middle of a hurricane."

"This isn't so bad," said the angel, trying and failing to sound stoic and upbeat. "We've gotten to see some lovely scenery - the beach, the palm trees... And storms happen all the time here. We're just getting the authentic Florida experience."

"Leave it at that," Crowley advised. "Any more positivity that fake and I may vomit, and you don't want me trying to find the toilet in the dark."

Outside, the thunder rolled and the walls creaked under the onslaught of wind. The pair could hear debris battering the walls, and what was doubtless the sound of their luggage being blown to kingdom come.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale sighed eventually. "I just wanted us to have a good time, but it looks like I've buggered that one."

Crowley exhaled. "Angel..."

"No, you were right," Aziraphale went on. "I should have booked us for somewhere else. Somewhere more temperate, but still with palms and beaches so it could feel like a proper holiday. Somewhere like... California."

"Angel," Crowley said again.

"Though now that I think about it, you'd probably prefer somewhere with better sushi," Aziraphale babbled on. "So New York, maybe, and we could go to Broadway, except they don't have palm trees, so maybe -"

"Angel!" Crowley interrupted, half-laughing.

"Er. Yes?"

"I don't care about your bloody ineffable palm trees," the demon said. "I don't care about the hotel, or the weather, or the food - actually, scratch that, I do care about the food - but that isn't the point."

"Then what is the point?"

Crowley paused(13).

"The point," he said softly, "is that I'm on holiday with you."

Sitting in the dark, Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat up.

"Oh," he said.

"Yep," said Crowley.

"So you don't mind that we're sitting in a hotel bathroom in Florida without electricity and in the middle of a hurricane?" asked the angel timidly.

The demon sighed. "Yes, I do. But I don't mind that much, because at least I get to sit in here with you."

"And it doesn't hurt either that Hell and Heaven are both giving us paid leave," Aziraphale added.

"Very true," Crowley agreed with satisfaction. He'd done a lot worse by his job than get paid to sit in a Floridan hotel bathroom during a hurricane. It wasn't how he envisioned a vacation, but then, he supposed, it wasn't like it was the end of the world, either.

...

13: Dolphins was the answer his brain initially provided, though after another second's consideration, he couldn't figure out what made him think that.