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Aziraphale and Crowley step into the shop and breathe in the scent of soil, of flowers and fresh water.
It’s humid in here and incredibly bright from the many windows and skylights above them. And from one end of the shop to the other there are shelves full of plants. Some are large, taller than Aziraphale and Crowley, and others are very small, in tiny pots of their own.
There are succulents laid in front of one set of windows and in the middle of the store are large planters filled with different types of exotic flowers, bright pinks and greens and reds.
Aziraphale had found this exotic plant shop when he was browsing the internet one day, an hour or so outside of London. It had seemed the most perfect place they might go to on a Tuesday afternoon, and Aziraphale had closed the bookshop and dragged Crowley with him.
Quite literally, as Crowley has been resistant to the idea of shopping for new plants since Aziraphale had brought it up. He thinks he has enough to manage with his own plants now located in the shop. They still cower when he yells at them but not quite as badly with Aziraphale around to tell them how beautiful they are.
“Look at this,” Aziraphale says as he turns to a shelf near the entrance. “An African Angel Trumpet. How fascinating!”
Crowley makes some sort of uninterested noise and glares around the shop.
“Oh come now, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “We’ll find something that interests you.”
“Doubt it,” Crowley says as he scowls at something called a Frizzle Sizzle. “Ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with traditional plants as long as they listen.”
“As long as they fear you, you mean,” Aziraphale says with a little huff. “They wouldn’t get spots on them if you didn’t yell at them.”
“How will they know better if I don’t tell them they’re doing badly?”
“By telling them they’re doing well when they are,” Aziraphale sighs, as if they haven’t had this argument many times.
“That can’t be right,” Crowley says as he sneers at an Angel of the Night.
“Look! Another Angel’s Trumpet,” Aziraphale says as he points at a pink and orange flower. “These are colorful. Angel’s Coral Sunset. Oh, I do like that.”
“You would, angel,” Crowley says with a pinch to Aziraphale’s side.
Aziraphale laughs and swats at Crowley’s hand as he moves along the shelves. “Look at all of these different begonias,” he sighs longingly as he looks at the pots lining the bottom of a shelf. “I like these Emerald Wave ones.”
“They’re alright,” Crowley says as he looks them over. “This one thinks he has it all figured out but he’s growing lopsided.” He taps his shoe against the pot. “Oi! Grow straight!”
The plant ruffles its leaves and Aziraphale sighs.
He leans down and pats its leaves. “Don’t listen to him,” he says reassuringly. “He simply doesn’t have a proper outlet for his frustrations.”
“I drink,” Crowley says defensively. “That’s a perfect outlet.”
Aziraphale pats Crowley’s arm next. “We need to find you a hobby,” he says. “I’d say gardening but not until you learn some manners.”
“And where would I even keep a garden?”
“You’re a demon, you can make room somewhere,” Aziraphale says absentmindedly as he continues to browse. “Oh! A Golden Carrot Desert Rose. That has got to be one of the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s drooping,” Crowley complains.
Aziraphale huffs a little and presses his finger to the flower’s stem.
It perks right up.
“Hello, little one,” Aziraphale says. “Would you like to come home with me?”
The flower’s petals reach for Aziraphale and he touches them, watching them cling to him with a gleeful chuckle. “They like me.”
Crowley sighs long sufferingly. “Everyone likes you,” he says sourly. “It’s built in.”
“Everyone likes you too,” Aziraphale says. “Once they’ve gotten to know you. Your plants would feel the same if you were just a touch kinder.”
Crowley merely makes a smart face and Aziraphale rolls his eyes.
They continue along the shop, looking at more flowers and plants, some small trees like the Elephant Tree, which is very interesting looking. There are gorgeous, delicate flower petals and succulents everywhere he looks and Aziraphale is quite certain he’s in love. He adds a Hanging Lobster Claw to his basket.
When they reach carnivorous plants, Aziraphale gasps. “Look there! A Venus Flytrap. I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time.”
“It’s ugly,” Crowley declares. “And drooping too! Does this place not tell their plants how to grow?” He scowls and jabs his finger at the flytrap. “You! Grow better!”
The flytrap snaps viciously at Crowley’s finger and he flails a little as he leaps a step back.
Aziraphale giggles cheerfully. “A bit of a bite to you, eh?” he asks the small plant, which shivers in reply. He tickles the underside of one of the stalks carefully and the plant twitches until he stops.
He looks at Crowley and blinks a little to see the surprise on his face as he clutches his finger.
“It tried to bite me,” he says in disbelief.
“Not every plant will take your bad behavior so well,” Aziraphale says as he shakes his finger. “Some know how to grow perfectly well on their own.”
Crowley is quiet for a while before he cautiously picks up the pot and turns it back and forth. The flytrap trembles with barely concealed rage and Crowley looks over his sunglasses at it.
“I’ll name it Aziraphale,” Crowley announces and adds the plant to the basket.
Aziraphale gapes at him. “You’ll what?”
“Small, cute, bit of a bite,” Crowley says. “Not to be underestimated.”
Aziraphale coughs and straightens out his waistcoat as he smiles, pleased with himself. “Well, if that’s really what you want to call it.”
“It is,” Crowley says confidently. He darts in and presses a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek.
Aziraphale smiles and puts the end of his finger under Crowley’s chin, pulling him down and closer. Crowley comes as easily as he always does and when they kiss, it’s blissfully natural and just as incredibly effortless.
They become wrapped around each other in the middle of this exotic plant store and it isn’t until someone lightly clears their throat that they spring apart.
A very short, very old woman is peering at them from over her half-moon glasses from the counter.
“You’ll give the plants ideas,” she admonishes.
“Sorry,” Crowley says breezily as he saunters over to the counter. “He can’t keep his hands off me.”
Aziraphale huffs as he walks up to the counter and raises his eyebrows. “While true, we shouldn’t in front of the plants,” he agrees as he hands the woman their basket. “We’d like to take these ones home.”
She smiles and as she rings them up, she tells them how to care for their new plants and what sort of environment works best for them. They’re a bit more expensive than your every day daisy but Aziraphale and Crowley don’t particularly have to worry about that.
They leave the shop and put the plants in the back of Crowley’s Bentley. They get in themselves and begin the drive back to London.
“What shall we name the other plants?” Aziraphale asks.
Crowley thinks about it. “How about Angel for the flowers and Sebastian for the Lobster Claw?”
“Sebastian?” Aziraphale asks. “Why Sebastian?”
“The lobster!” Crowley says as he darts in and out of traffic. “From The Little Mermaid, yeah?”
“The Little Mermaid,” Aziraphale repeats. “Do you mean the singing crab?”
“Is he a crab?”
“He didn’t have a tail, did he?”
They sit in silence for a while as they both try to remember.
“Well, either way,” Crowley says. “Sebastian’s a good name.”
“Then Sebastian it is,” Aziraphale says with a smile. “Though I’m not sure about Angel however, for the Desert Rose.”
“How about Rose?”
“You’re very bad at this.”
“They’re plants!”
“They have feelings, Crowley.”
Crowley makes a disgusted sound. “Feelings that are easily hurt.”
Aziraphale thinks that Crowley’s dictatorship over his plants means something much deeper than simply being able to yell at someone. They’ve never talked about it in depth, with Crowley too skittish about it, but Aziraphale thinks that perhaps one day soon they should.
Plants aren’t the only ones with feelings that are easily hurt.
“How about Jay?” Aziraphale asks with a grin at Crowley. “Somewhere in the middle.”
“Ugh,” Crowley says, but he’s laughing, “that was awful. Jay… Jay, Jay, Jay. Not much of a plant's name. I like it.”
“Aziraphale, Jay and Sebastian. What do you think?” Aziraphale asks as he turns to look at the plants sitting on the backseat.
They flap their leaves (and mouths) in approval.
“Wonderful!” Aziraphale cheers and reaches over to pat Crowley’s thigh. “They like them.”
“I suppose that means I have to name the others,” Crowley says with a heavy sigh.
Aziraphale clears his throat a few times.
Crowley groans. “You’ve already given them names.”
“Well, they’re growing still,” Aziraphale says. “Every growing thing needs a name.”
“And what have you bestowed upon them?”
“Simple names,” Aziraphale says, dawdling until Crowley looks at him expectantly. “Well,” he says breathlessly, “I rather thought I’d name them after our friends.”
“Which friends?”
“Anathema, Newton, Madame Tracy and Warlock. Rather pure souls, besides the teenage angst.”
Crowley laughs. “Hah! And erotica.”
“Well, yes,” Aziraphale says fairly, “but still a pure soul. I would know, I shared her body for a time.”
“No plants named after our dear Sergeant Shadwell?”
Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably. “All that nipple talk,” he says, waving his hand dismissively.
Crowley snickers. “There is that,” he says. “I suppose those are good enough names. No wonder they’ve been so haughty lately.”
“Everyone deserves a name,” Aziraphale says again.
“Not arguing that,” Crowley says as he raises his hands. “I’ll try not to yell at them, alright?”
Aziraphale’s heart soars and he beams at Crowley. “Fantastic, my dear,” he says. “Aziraphale will appreciate that.”
“Both Aziraphales, I think.”
Aziraphale chuckles and offers his hand to Crowley. Crowley takes it and lifts it to press a kiss to the back with a loud mwah.
They drive back to Soho hand in hand, their new plant friends trembling with excitement in the back, and Aziraphale thinks heaven really is a place on earth.