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She goes to the bookshop because it’s raining and the snow that’s only been there since very early morning has been turned to slush underfoot making every surface dangerous. She’s trying not to cry because the cold already hurts and adding salt water trails on her cheeks to the mix doesn’t seem like it’d help any. So she hugs her arms around her chest, trying to make up for the lack of a coat. Or scarf. Or hat or gloves. It’s with little trepidation and a lot of exhaustion that she opens the door, the bell ringing loudly.
It’s warm inside. Not sweltering like the owner has the radiators on full whack to overpower the outside. But comfortingly warm. Her face hurts at the sudden change, stinging. And her glasses fog up. She stands stock still until they clear slowly. It’s empty. The only other occupant of the room being a blond man smiling down at his phone behind the desk, his back to her. He doesn’t turn to greet her. A small blessing, she thinks.
She stays in the shop for half an hour. Browsing the shelves without touching. She catches the man looking at her only once. There’s pity in the slant of his frown. She turns away and he doesn’t so much as call out a goodbye as the door closes behind her.
***
The next time she visits, a week later, she stays for an hour. The man watches her this time. She watches back. She’s fourteen and looks younger. It makes sense for him not to trust her. She admires the hanging plants in front of his one unblocked window for a while. He smiles at her then.
***
She visits the very next day and finds the doors locked. Not wanting to go home, she sits down on the front step to think through her options. Anywhere else she goes there’s the expectation of her buying something in exchange for spending time there. Here, the owner, who she assumes to be Mr Fell, seems more than happy for her to not spend her meager savings on books she probably can not even scrap 1% of the cost for. The other option is the park. Where it’s cold. And windy. And exposed to all sorts of people even though it’s only nine in the morning.
She’s still sitting there when a very old looking car roars up to the pavement and stops in speeds that she’s not sure should be possible and definitely aren’t safe. A lanky man gets out. Red hair. Dark clothes. He steps onto the pavement and stops dead when he sees her.
“Uh. Hi.”
She waves, awkwardly forcing a smile. He smiles back, a little sarcastic in nature.
“You looking for someone?”
She shakes her head.
“If you’re waiting for him,” he nods at the shop doors behind her, “to open up, I can pretty much guarantee he isn’t going to.”
She sighs and stands, brushing off her jeans. He steps out of her way as she crosses the street in the direction of the park.
***
She’s been in the shop for an hour, just like yesterday, already as the clock chimes 5pm. Mr Fell knows she’s here. He’d given her a cup of earl grey tea without asking her anything or saying much beyond “please don’t spill it”. She’s still sipping at the last dregs of it, wanting to make it last as if it would be a good enough excuse for Mr Fell to not kick her out. She just doesn’t want to go home. It’s getting worse there and another night spent under that roof seems like hell to her. So she lingers long enough to see the red haired man stalk into the shop.
“Angel! You fucking stood me up! We had plans ! You better be discorporated or something, Zira.” The man is clearly covering his distress with the anger, it’s a painfully familiar tone.
She rounds a shelf into the main floor space in time for the man to spin around, sunglasses hiding his eyes even indoors. He sees her and frowns.
“Oi. Kid. Weren’t you loitering outside a couple days ago? Where’s Aziraphale?”
She puffs her chest out, straightening her shoulders in an attempt to not let her fear show. His frown becomes more sad than pissed. She’s not sure if that’s better. Before he can demand an answer she doesn’t want to give, Mr Fell comes down the stairs looking rather harried.
“Crowley! I’m so sorry, my dear, it completely slipped my mind because, you see- oh you’ve met Maddie.”
She’s frowning now too, she’d never told him her name. Hadn’t uttered a single word to the man. Still, the lanky man (Crowley, apparently) walks over to Mr Fell (Zira? Angel?) and crosses his arms, glaring down at him. Mr Fell just smiles softly and kisses his cheek.
“I am truly sorry.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t do it again.”
“Of course.”
It’s hard not to feel like she’s intruding so she sets the empty mug down on the nearest book-free surface and unties her jacket from her waist to slip it on. The men turn to look at her again. Then share a look as she moves for the door. Mr Fell clears his throat. She looks over her shoulder at them. Crowley has a hand on Mr Fell’s shoulder; he doesn’t even look like he knows he’s doing it.
“Maddie? That is your name, yes?”
She nods.
“Would you like to take the sofa for the night? I know you don’t, um... want to go home.”
Crowley dips his head to whisper in Mr Fell’s ear but he isn’t quiet enough for her not to hear. “You’re gonna scare her, angel. I doubt she told you that herself, did she?”
Mr Fell blushes a little, wringing his hands together. “Ah. Hm. Not exactly.”
She can’t help the huff of a laugh that escapes and draws their attention. Mr Fell smiles back. She signs a quick thank you but no and leaves before catching their reaction.
***
Mr Fell opens the door when she knocks and she knows by now that that is not common practice for him. But she’s crying and shaking and carrying a scarily empty rucksack with all her clothes and half her necessities in there. He opens the door and his face falls. She sniffs and tries to sign an apology but her hands are so cold and she’s shaking and he’s already ushering her inside anyway so what’s the point.
“Crowley!” he calls through as he shows her onto a sofa in the backroom.
Crowley runs down the stairs, flinging himself round the edge of the wall. Relaxing a little when he sets eyes on Mr Fell but tensing again when he sees her. Mr Fell presses a steaming cup of tea into her hands. She doesn’t remember any kettle boiling. Or taking her rucksack off but it’s sitting against her feet now. Crowley comes over. Draws Mr Fell off to the side.
“She wants to not go back,” Crowley whispers, poorly.
“I rather figured that out myself, my dear.”
Crowley raises a brow over his glasses at him. “Fine then. What else does she want then?”
Mr Fell scuffs his foot on the carpet.
“Thought so,” Crowley says, smug. “She wants to stay , Zira.”
Crowley doesn’t make a judgement on it. And she’s so tired of trying to do this on her own. They’re so kind and she’s seen both of them kick out horrible people who have come in before. They’re strong and completely in love with each other. They don’t mind that she doesn’t talk, doesn’t want to. Can’t bring herself to. Mr Fell even lets her sit and read some of the books now. Mr Fell looks over at her. Crowley looks at him.
“It’s not like we haven’t raised kids before,” Mr Fell murmurs.
Crowley snorts a laugh and turns to her. “Hey, kid. Want some cake?”
She grins back and nods. Yeah. Things are going to start looking up.