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Since Armagedidn’t, Aziraphale has had more time for things he likes. This means more time to read his books; more time to search for tomes yet to be discovered; more time to love his partner Crowley. This also means he has more time to mess around with the few customers who flitter into his shop occasionally. If it was not clear from his erratic opening hours and the long note on his door that basically says, “The store is only open when I want it to be,” Aziraphale secretly enjoyed messing with the humans.
It was storming outside, and Crowley was out and about somewhere doing God knows what, so Aziraphale decides to open the shop. There would be little to no foot traffic in all this rain, so he opens just for the sake of saying he was open. He certainly was not expecting the woman to come in, folding a drenched umbrella, just as he was thinking of making a nice mug of cocoa.
“Oh, hello!” he greets, a polite smile adorning his face. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in today, what with the awful weather at the moment.”
“Yes, I suppose it is a bit hellish out there, isn’t it?” She laughs at herself, leaving Aziraphale to awkwardly smile until she’s finished. “Anyway, I noticed you were open and just thought I’d take a look around. I’ve been looking for something for a while now, and I don’t think I’ve managed to catch you open to look around here.”
Aziraphale nods. “Of course, go ahead. I’ll just be over here if you need me, I need to do some cataloging.” He disappears into the maze of bookshelves, hoping the woman will leave on her own, but after fifteen minutes of reading the same card over and over again because he did not actually need to catalog, he still has not heard the bell on the front door.
He goes to investigate and finds the woman still browsing, the umbrella occasionally dripping water onto the rug below. She is examining his first edition copy of A Picture Of Dorian Gray, and Aziraphale can not help the smile that spreads across his face. “Oh, my wife hates that book,” he says fondly, thinking back on all the times Crowley has caught him rereading it instead of any of the copious volumes he has yet to read.
The woman’s brow furrows as she turns to look Aziraphale up and down. Aziraphale does not understand what has caused her confusion, but he lets her look anyway, for in a few seconds, her attention is back on the book, setting it back down on the shelf. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look like you have what I’m searching for. I’d stay longer, but I have a prior appointment. May I suggest sorting your books into some semblance of an organizational structure?”
Aziraphale nods as he lies, “I will certainly look into it.”
As soon as the woman leaves, he picks the little sign off of the door and turns it over so that it reads ‘closed’ to those outside, shutting the blinds directly after. He does not think any more on the topic, humming as he walks to the back to make his cocoa.
~~~
Over half a year later, Aziraphale has opened the shop for a brief amount of time in the late afternoon, only for a familiar woman to walk back in.
“Hello again,” he greets, a little disappointed that someone managed to come back.
“Hello. I heard rumors that you might have another book I’ve been in search of, so I’ve been trying to get back in here when you’re open.”
“Of course, that’s what we are here for.” Aziraphale silently wishes Crowley were here; he could use a good snake distraction. It might scare the lady off for good. For now, though, he settles into casting disappointed looks and the occasional glare her way as he fixes a nearby shelf where Crowley purposely mixed the books around.
The woman does not seem to notice these stares though, thoroughly invested in perusing Aziraphale’s books. It seemed to him he was going to have to make an excuse to get her out of the shop quickly before she finds whatever she is searching for because he is not feeling up for arguing with her on why she can not buy it.
Time is on Aziraphale’s side when he hears the clock buried somewhere within his hoard of books chime the hour. A devilish grin slides across his face before being replaced with an apologetic smile, though it is hardly a believable one.
“My dear lady, I must apologize, but I need to close the shop, I have a dinner date with my husband soon; you must understand, we booked a table, and the restaurants are always finicky about their bookings these days.”
The woman looks at him with the same confusion she had on her face the last time he saw her. “Did you say husband?”
Aziraphale frowns and thinks on it. Yes, he was quite sure that Crowley was currently presenting as male. “Yes, what of it?”
“Nothing,” she says with a shake of her head. “Yes, of course, I understand, I’ll just have to try to come back again some other time.”
Aziraphale is determined to not let that happen. “See you then!” he says anyway, watching the door close behind her.
The woman casts a curious glance back at the bookshop before walking into the next store, determined to ask someone about the strange bookseller.
~~~
The thing about rumors is that they are quite like a weed. Once the seeds of a whisper pass through the lips of one person to another, the rumor starts planting its roots, feeding off of each and every time the words roll off someone’s tongue and into the ears of others. It festers and grows until it is a blooming flower of lies; lies that most believe to be true. The rumor about a particular bookshop owner and his multiple marriages blossoms quickly in the streets of London, weeding its way into the minds of almost every Londoner. Everyone, except, of course, Aziraphale and Crowley. They had not heard a word of it – Aziraphale for the very obvious reason that he is at the heart of the rumor, and Crowley simply because he does not pay attention when he is out and about.
Why would they notice, anyway? Aziraphale is perfectly happy with his wife, or his husband, or whatever Crowley wants to identify as. That’s why he keeps using Crowley in his excuses, unknowingly feeding this bothersome rumor with fresh fertilizer every time he switches pronouns.
Aziraphale, however, is very smart, so he starts picking up on small things, getting a vague idea of what is going on. He sees it in the way someone seems almost disappointed when he mentions his wife. He sees it in the way someone tries to hide a conspiratorial smile when he talks about his husband. Crowley is still blissfully unaware, as Aziraphale usually has the shop closed when he is over so they can be alone.
When the realization finally hits him is after he kicked a particularly curious customer out of his shop before he closed, one who was much more interested in him than the books.
“Do you have two spouses?” the man asked suddenly when Aziraphale mentioned needing to go to the store to get something for his husband.
Aziraphale, whose mind immediately went into thinking about two Crowley’s running around the store, responded, “Oh, good lord, no.” The thought of the havoc that might induce was enough to give him a headache.
Once the man left and Aziraphale had had the proper amount of time to stew over the question, he realized what was going on. It made him laugh, thinking how silly the humans had to be to think each time he changed pronouns he was talking about someone new. It would certainly explain the odd stares he and Crowley would occasionally get when they were walking about, and here he had thought the looks were because Crowley decided to wear four-inch heels for a stroll around the park. His next thought is that he ought to set the rumor straight, but then he remembers how it seemed to actually excite some of the humans, like some sort of secret bookshop scandal. He decided with a smile to continue to play along with it, vaguely wondering if Crowley knew anything about it.
“There’s something up, angel,” Crowley says as they sit at their usual table in the Ritz. “I’m a little worried Hell is up to something in the city.”
Aziraphale’s fork full of cake pauses midway to his mouth as he turns to look at Crowley with concern. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something causing havoc over the whole of London. Not necessarily anything bad, mind you, just – neutral havoc. Which doesn’t make sense in the least; I’m pretty sure I’m the only demon that ever tried to gradually spread evil and not just go after one soul at a time. I can’t pinpoint it down, either, which makes it more frustrating.”
Aziraphale eats the cake on his fork and chews thoughtfully. If he is thinking right, then Crowley is the cause of the havoc, through Aziraphale’s words. And if he can not pinpoint the cause of it, then he more than likely does not know a thing about it. Aziraphale swallows and decides to see how long it will take Crowley to notice. He reaches across the table and pats Crowley’s hand reassuringly, saying, “I’m sure you’ll find the source, my dear.”
~~~
It takes another few months of frustrated grumbling on Crowley’s account and blatant rumor enabling on Aziraphale’s before Crowley does finally find it.
Aziraphale had opened the shop, but then remembered he was supposed to meet with someone to buy a new book off of him. Instead of closing the shop again, which would have been entirely normal, he puts Crowley in charge of the store while he is gone.
“I don’t know how to run a bookshop!” Crowley had complained.
“Oh just, sit around, be vague in helping them, glare at them, and get them to leave! I’m sure you’ll rather love it, dear.” With that, he had kissed Crowley’s cheek and bustled out the door.
Crowley sighs and sits down in the chair in the front of the store, throwing his legs over the armrest and pulling out his phone. He was tempted to throw a little demonic intervention out there to stop anyone from coming into the store, but he knew Aziraphale would be able to tell once he returned, so he resigns himself to scrolling through twitter and hoping no one is going to enter. Of course, Crowley has no luck when it comes to this sort of thing.
The bell above the door jingles and Crowley rolls his eyes, not making an effort to move.
“Excuse me?” the man asks, forcing Crowley to look up from his phone.
“Can I help you?” he says with a mock smile.
“Are you the man currently married to the owner of this establishment?”
Crowley has settled on being a man for a few days now, so he says, “Yes, that’s me.”
The man seems to burst with excitement. “I was nearby and saw the owner leave, but noticed the shop was still open, so I had to come and look.”
Crowley sighs and swings his legs back onto the floor. “Look, are you here to look at books or not?”
“I’m here to warn you.”
That gives Crowley pause. His face pulls into a frown, and he says, “What is it?”
“The man you’re married to. Mr. Fell or whatever. He is extremely non-committal. He can’t seem to settle on anyone. I think he’s up to three different spouses in the last two months? Do yourself a favor and get out of the relationship while you still can.”
The words seep into Crowley’s mind like a dried-out sponge getting a taste of water again. He blinks, slowly, as the thought twists and turns in his mind. His head jerks in a quick nodding motion of its own accord, and, seemingly satisfied, the man leaves.
Crowley knows his angel has not been with anyone else. If he had, Crowley would have known about it. They promised to tell each other those things after they both had brief stints with Michangelo and Oscar Wilde, only to find out decades later. He keeps jamming the puzzle piece in the wrong way until finally it shifts and fits in perfectly – the humans think Crowley’s ever-changing gender means Aziraphale has had multiple spouses, changing each time Aziraphale switches genders when talking about him to the customers.
When the bell above the door rings again and Aziraphale steps back into the shop, he finds Crowley sitting in the same position he has been since the human left, staring out into the middle distance.
“Ah, there’s my darling wife,” Aziraphale greets, setting a hefty book on the table in front of Crowley and startling her out of her thoughts. “Had to scare anyone out of the shop?”
“It’s you,” Crowley says quietly, looking up at Aziraphale.
“Oh, dear, you’ll have to be more specific.”
“You’re the one causing the havoc around London!”
Aziraphale purses his lips to hide his smile. “So you’ve finally noticed, huh?”
“Fin – what do you mean, finally noticed!” Crowley stands rather abruptly as he rounds on Aziraphale.
“Oh, it’s not like I did it on purpose.”
“But you still knew! Before I did! And didn’t say anything!”
Aziraphale’s lips twist into a smile, and he turns away quickly, moving to a stack of books that are out of order. “I thought it’d be rather fun for you, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Fun! Angel, I’ve been worried sick Hell was planning something terrible since I noticed it! And you knew the whole time I’ve been trying to figure it out!”
Aziraphale pouts. “I’m sorry.”
Crowley’s anger evaporates under the pressure of Aziraphale’s pout – but the pout always works on everything, so it is not surprising. Sighing, she says, “At least I know now Hell isn't breathing down our backs.”
“I wouldn't let them,” Aziraphale says, his eyes almost glowing ominously.
“I know you wouldn’t, angel. But maybe we should stop this before they notice?”
Aziraphale sighs. “Oh, alright.”
The bell above the door jingles and Aziraphale wheels around, realizing he forgot to close back up when he came in.
“Hello,” the woman says, greeted by the stares of two unearthly beings. She then turns to start looking over the books on display.
Aziraphale turns back to Crowley, and their conversation becomes hushed in the presence of someone else.
“Go on then, tell her!” Crowley hisses.
“What, just say it unannounced? How can I be certain she’s even heard the rumor?”
“You can’t feel the havoc you’ve caused, angel. I’m pretty sure the whole of London knows.”
“Oh, just – go off to the back or something, will you?”
Crowley frowns but walks away anyway, disappearing between bookcases. Aziraphale turns around to be met by furtive glances from the woman.
“I’m sorry; you’ll have to forgive my wife. She’s a bit touchy this morning it seems.”
“I heard that!” Crowley calls from the depths of the books.
“Wife?” the woman repeats, confused. “But I thought –” she is interrupted by a large crash further in the shop, and a startled Aziraphale hurries away to find out the source.
“What the hell did you just do?” Aziraphale says adamantly when he confronts Crowley sprawled across many books, one of the bookshelves empty and leaning at an odd angle.
“Giving you a distraction,” Crowley answers with a sly smile.
“By dumping all these poor books onto the floor? Oh, I sure do hope you didn’t damage any of them.” He glares at Crowley before setting off to the front again.
“Pardon me, miss, but I really do need to close now. My husband knocked a bookshelf over, and I’m afraid it makes a right mess of the store. He might be injured, too, and I wouldn’t let him go to the hospital alone in this state.”
“Your husband? Didn’t you just say wife earlier?”
Aziraphale frowns. “Of course I did. He can be whatever gender she wishes to be.”
And with that, the blossoming weed has been pruned, its flower cut and tumbling into the trash.
“Oh,” the woman says, nodding. “Right. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”
The weed still has its roots, like anything does if it is simply cut, but it requires no effort on Aziraphale and Crowley’s end to dig the roots up and permanently get rid of it. The rumor dies as the truth spreads, roots digging themselves up as the whole of London quickly finds out about the bookshop owner and his singular, genderfluid partner. Some thought it strange even so, but as Aziraphale and Crowley know, there will always be forces of opposition. What matters is that they are together, and happy, and in love. And they both know that this will last for eternity.