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"How does one go about searching for an apartment?” Dirk asks.
Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other from where they’re sitting in the back room around their little table. Aziraphale’s reading a book. Crowley’s playing with one of those wire puzzle games where they’re all entangled.
“Walk into a place and state that it’s yours now,” Crowley says. “Worked for me.”
Aziraphale gives Crowley a severe look. “Don’t do what Crowley says.”
“I’m way ahead of you.”
Crowley goes back to the puzzle game, mumbling something about “asking me for advice when you don’t even want it” and “don’t know why I even bother”.
“To be fair, though,” Aziraphale says thoughtfully, tapping his book. “I haven’t had to go looking for an apartment in, well, a very long time, really. So I might not be able to offer much advice in the matter, times have changed since my day, you know.”
“Yeah,” Crowley mutters. “They’ve invented apartments since our day, for a start.” He earns himself another one of those severe looks.
“Can I go on Craigslist?” Dirk asks. “Is that a thing?”
“Who’s Craig?” Aziraphale asks at the same time Crowley goes “don’t.”
“Well, why not?”
Crowley points at him with the wire puzzle games. “Because it’s always a sex thing, human, even when you think it isn’t.”
“What if I just want something like a desk lamp?”
“Especially if you just want something like a desk lamp.”
“What if I want a sex thing?”
Both Aziraphale and Crowley make a face at him in synchronization.
“Please don’t,” Aziraphale says.
“You can do better than Craigslist,“ Crowley says.
Dirk relents, dropping the sex thing line of enquiry. “What about newspapers? Do people still get newspapers?”
Aziraphale sniffs. “I get a newspaper every day.”
Crowley tugs at his puzzle. “Which should tell you that the answer is no.”
“Plenty of people read the newspaper.”
“Old people read the newspaper.”
“You’re both old people,” Dirk says, which earns him a double glare. “But I can be old people. Can I draw on your newspaper?”
“I.” Aziraphale deflates a little. “Well.”
“I don’t have to, I can go out and get-“
“No, no. It’s quite all right.” Aziraphale pulls a newspaper off a desk. “There you are.”
“Do you have a pencil?”
Crowley snaps his fingers in a sweeping motion and procures a pencil in his hand, holding it out to Dirk.
“That,” Dirk says, fascinated, taking the pencil. “Was excellent. Do it again.”
Crowley holds out another pencil.
“Do it-“
“I’m not going to just sit here and procure pencils for you, human.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have better things to do with my time.”
“Clearly, you don’t."
“Stage magic,” Aziraphale quickly blusters, looking alarmed as Crowley gives Dirk one of those looks that makes him reasonably confident he’s narrowing his eyes at him. “Crowley’s a, a talented stage magician, really quite spectacular, has a specialty in… pencil tricks.”
Crowley looks appropriately horrified at being called a stage magician. “I don’t do tricks, angel.”
“Yeah,” Dirk says. “If he was any sort of satisfactory stage magician, he’d probably be clever enough to get that puzzle untangled. Can’t you just magic it done?”
“Stage magic."
Crowley switches his affronted gaze to Dirk. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“Then why don’t you just undo it?”
“It requires finesse.”
Dirk takes the wire puzzle from him and undoes it in one go. He hands both pieces back to Crowley, who’s looking at him like Dirk farted in the direction of his mother. Aziraphale looks like he’s struggling to keep a straight face.
“I’ve killed people for less,” Crowley tells him.
Dirk hefts the newspaper under his arm and heads to the main room so he can sit on the floor and squint at apartment listings. “Go for it."
Dirk circles each potential apartment with one of Crowley’s pencils, studying it carefully. He doesn’t need a lot of space. He’d prefer his own bedroom, for sure, and he’d like a window or two. Potentially a kitchen could be ideal, but he’s willing to budge on that. Eventually, he picks out a place to go to and shows up in his best clothes, trying to look like a rich person who could afford to live in an apartment and say things like “but the economy” and “have you seen the state of Soho these days?” and “well, I just had my butler whip up a suitable evening jacket for the tennis court”. He’s not actually sure what rich people say. The biggest examples he has are Crowley and Aziraphale, and Aziraphale seems baffled by the concept of money and Crowley doesn’t buy things that aren’t expensive meals or tight jeans.
So Dirk shows up to the apartment a reasonable distance from work that he’s chosen first. It’s very small, and the realtor, Bethany, is very eager, and he nods along to what she’s saying. She disappears into the kitchen, and Dirk is left to stand in the rather spacious living room. He could fit two of his apartment in here. He doesn’t know what he’d do with all this room.
“This,” a voice says unexpectedly behind him. “Is awful.”
Dirk yelps and turns around. Crowley’s expression is even judgier than normal as he looks around the apartment, hands shoved in his pockets.
“How did you get in here?” Dirk hisses.
“Magic.”
“Really?”
“No, idiot, there’s a door right there.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“You left your newspaper in the bookshop and Aziraphale told me to stop hovering over his shoulder making comments about whether or not Bram Stoker was a raging pain in the arse and go away, so, got bored, came here.” He looks around. “You really want a place this big?”
“I don’t know.” Dirk looks around. “There’s an awful lot of it. What does your place look like? Do you even have a place?”
Crowley looks vaguely affronted. “Course I have a place. Why wouldn’t I have a place?”
“I dunno. I figured when you weren’t at the bookshop you lurked around graveyards and high class restaurants and vintage record stores where everyone’s too cool to look you in the eye.”
Crowley squints at him. He opens his mouth to say something.
“Oh.” The realtor reemerges from the kitchen, looking startled. “And who… are you?”
“Oh.” Dirk flails internally. “Um, this, this is, this is my… uncle. Anthony. Who wanted to come tour with me but is, um. Late.”
Crowley looks horrified. The realtor, Bethany, looks momentarily startled, then smiles winningly. “Of course. Pleasure to meet you, sir. Would you like to see the bedrooms?”
“Yes,” Dirk says quickly. “Yes, we, myself and my uncle, that is, who is… my mother’s youngest brother, which is why we are so similar in age, would very much like to see the bedrooms.”
She doesn’t seem to notice his word vomit, or if she does, perhaps she doesn’t care. She turns towards the bedrooms, cheerfully listing off the amenities of the place.
“Anthony?” Crowley hisses to Dirk.
“Well, it’s your name!”
“I never told you my name.””
“Aziraphale did!”
“That is a work name-“
“And here we are,” Bethany says cheerfully in a bedroom that is so huge that Dirk does a double-take. “Ample space, as you can see. Uncle Anthony, will you be staying here as well?”
“Anthony,” Crowley glowers. “And no, I will not.”
She seems undeterred. “Well, I’m sure you can see there’s no reason not to sign today, so-“
“Did you tell him about the mold?” Crowley interrupts.
Dirk gives him a startled look. Bethany blinks twice.
“I’m sorry,” she says, smile still on her face. “What was that?”
“The mold.” He gives a smile just as winning, but twice as predatory. “In the walls.”
“I’m sure I-“
“And the rat problem you have. I’m sure you mentioned it.”
“Hang on, there’s a rat problem?” Dirk asks at the same time Bethany’s smile becomes more strained and she says “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Course there is. You think I wouldn’t notice a rat problem?”
“I don’t know the things you notice.”
Bethany’s smile grows increasingly strained. “I’m sure, sir, that I would know better than you about-“
Crowley whistles. Four rats pop out of a hole Dirk hadn’t noticed in the room, line up in front of Crowley, and as one, make an inquisitive noise. Crowley gives a slow, unimpressed look to Bethany, who’s gaping, and then looks at Dirk.
“You wouldn’t have known what to do with all that space, anyway,” Crowley says as they walk down the street away from the apartment. Dirk nods, conceding that one.
“Thank you for that. Don’t,” Dirk adds when Crowley opens his mouth. “Thank you for anything, I know, it gives you boils or whatever it is you complain about when I thank you for things. Can you teach me how to do that trick with the rats?”
“You wouldn’t be able to do it. What d’you want to know for?”
“I just thought it might be neat.” He holds up his hands, trying to make it seem more dynamic. “Dirk Gently, Rat Charmer.”
“I think you think that sounds better than it does."
“You really have an apartment?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like?”
“Tasteful.”
“Really?”
Crowley scowls. “Uncle,” he mutters. “Do I look like an uncle?”
“Maybe somebody’s uncle.”
“Not yours.”
Dirk feels a little offended. “You could be my uncle.”
Crowley pulls a face. “Absolutely not. Look at the state of you.”
Dirk glares at him. “Impossible to be related to someone with any sort of respectable style?”
“A refusal to acknowledge anyone who thinks wearing yellow in public is an acceptable decision to make with their lives.”
Dirk touches the yellow scrunchie in his hair in a way he refuses to acknowledge is self conscious. “I bet your apartment looks like a crypt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with crypts.”
Dirk goes back to the newspapers, looking at other places that could be a possibility. Smaller ones, he thinks.
“Crowley told me about the last place.” Aziraphale sits across from him, looking distressed. “Mold. And you never would have known.”
“I’m pretty sure my current place has mold, so I’m sure I could’ve survived it.”
Aziraphale looks pained. “Perhaps a trip to the doctor’s, dear boy-“
Dirk squints at the newspaper. “This place looks good, don’t you think?”
Aziraphale peers at the proffered newspaper. “It doesn’t have a kitchen, Dirk.”
“I don’t need a kitchen.”
“How are you going to eat?”
Dirk scoffs. “Who needs a kitchen when you have a Bunsen burner and a mini fridge?"
Aziraphale stares at him for a moment.
“Right ho,” he announces, putting his hands on his knees decisively. “I’m going with you for the next one.”
“What?”
“Well, clearly you require assistance, and Crowley may have been helpful for the last one, but as far as style goes, really, you need a guide from someone with an eye for the more comfortable things.”
Dirk hesitates. “I don’t want anything fancy,” he says. “Nothing too big. I’m trying to be reasonable with money. I really don’t need much.”
“And I will be extremely respectful of that, I promise. I’ll just go with you to, you know, poke around. Make sure everything’s in tip top shape. Certainly make sure you have an adequate kitchen."
“I don’t necessarily need-“
“Dirk, every time you say you don’t really need a kitchen, you cause me enormous pain.”
“You don’t have a kitchen.”
“I can afford to eat out for every meal I so choose.”
“I thought it was just going to be you,” Dirk says when he approaches the new place. Aziraphale is standing on the corner, waiting for him with a pleasant expression on his face. Crowley is standing next to him, slouching artfully.
“I needed a lift,” Aziraphale says. “And then he got all sulky he wasn’t invited.”
“I don’t sulk,” Crowley says, sulkily. “What do I care what you do and where you go?”
“And yet you’re still here, my dear-“
“This place is much more your speed,” Crowley interrupts, looking up at the flat window. “Lot smaller. The last place had two bedrooms, what d’you need two bedrooms for?”
“I suppose if you have two people, they could come in handy. But I don’t know anyone who aren’t the two of you, so.” Dirk looks back at Crowley. “Do you have a bedroom?”
“Course I have a bedroom. Where else would I keep my sheets?”
Dirk is sure that Crowley probably has very nice sheets. Silk, maybe? He’s heard that’s a good sheet to have. “Do you sleep?”
“Everyone sleeps,” Aziraphale says quickly, glancing nervously between Crowley and Dirk. “What a silly-“
“From time to time.” Crowley seems determined to interrupt for the sulking comment. “Took a nice long nap for a bit in the 1800s.”
Aziraphale shoots Crowley a weary look. “I’m sure we’re keeping the realtor waiting.”
The realtor is a friendly young man named Jeremy, who has nice blue eyes and an affable smile.
“As you can see, there’s not much to show around here,” he says charmingly. “But I prefer to think of it as homey than small.”
“I’m sure you do,” Crowley mumbles, looking around. Aziraphale elbows him in a way that Dirk is sure he thinks is surreptitious.
“I think it’s very sweet you’ve brought your uncles, by the way.” He directs that smile again at Dirk, even more winning and charismatic than before, although perhaps a little shy this time. “Very nice of you.”
“Yes, well, I… value their opinion.” Crowley and Aziraphale both look vaguely startled at the sincerity Dirk is sure they can hear there. He determinedly ignores that because if he doesn’t he’ll probably start having emotions. “Do you think the three of us might have a moment alone to… discuss things?”
“Of course. I’ll just be in the bedroom.” Jeremy leaves the three of them in peace and Dirk turns to the other two.
“Well,” Aziraphale says, sounding extraordinarily pleased. “He seems like a very nice young man. Very polite.”
Crowley’s surveying the windows. “Yeah, cause he’s hitting on Dirk. Poorly."
Aziraphale looks scandalized. “Crowley-“
“I know,” Dirk interrupts, a little smugly. Crowley looks more than a little amused at the smugness. “Are there any rats or mold or anything?”
Crowley shrugs. “No more rats or mold than in any other apartment building.”
“That’s… comforting, I think.”
“And,” Aziraphale adds hastily. “Should you wish to move in here, I’m quite sure that any underlying issues be it with rats or mold or perhaps… roaches? Is that a thing in apartments? I know only about the sorts of things that eat books.”
Dirk gives Crowley a slightly panicked look. “Are there roaches?” Roaches are definitely more than he would be capable of handling. He’s not big into bugs.
“No more roaches than in any other-“
“Any underlying issues,” Aziraphale repeats, a little louder. “Would find themselves suddenly quite nonexistent. I have quite the amount of faith in it.”
Crowley arches an eyebrow. “Faith,” he mimics. “Our Father Who Art in Heaven, blessed by thy name, please bestow unto this home a miracle-“
“The question is not,” Aziraphale cuts in primly. “Whether or not the home would have any issues that would potentially be solved by divine intervention, of which I would know nothing about. The question is whether or not Dirk would like to live here.”
Dirk looks around. “It’s pretty small,” he says. “But it’s. I don’t know.”
“Cozy?” Aziraphale supplies.
“Yeah. And it’s cheap. And I'd have my own bedroom, which I don’t now. And a kitchen, which is… evidently important for some reason I’m not seeing.”
Aziraphale sighs. “Correct.”
“I don’t know.” He looks at the two of them. “What do you think?”
“I don’t care what you do.” Crowley peers at the kitchen. “It’s a good size, though.”
“It’s small, which you wanted,” Aziraphale points out. “And you know, I think it could be really very pleasant.”
Dirk looks again at Crowley, who shrugs. He looks back around the apartment, which isn’t in a basement, or infested with rats or mold, which could really be his, if he put his mind to it, his own space. More home shaped than any place he’s ever stayed.
“Yeah,” he says, quiet and thoughtful. “Yeah, I think I’ll take it.”
Aziraphale beams. “Marvelous. We can drive you back-“
“What is this we?” Crowley demands. “It’s my car, I get to decide-“
Aziraphale ignores him. “And we can celebrate with something nice. A, a pizza slice. If you wanted, you know, I’ve been curious to try a, what do you call it, a heated dog-“
“Hot dog,” Crowley corrects. “And no, angel, you haven’t.”
“Well, if Dirk wanted to try it-“
“It’s okay.” Dirk looks at the walls that will soon be his, and feels a smile creep onto his face. “We can figure it out when we get there."