Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She had been so careful, she was always careful, this was the kind of thing selkies were always careful about. Leave your hide lying around sopped up on naivete, ignorance, or foolishness – then suffer the consequences of your own actions, in Crowley’s opinion. An entire life of having it drilled into her – never, ever leave your skin unattended, never let it out of your sight, never trust someone with it – had left her callous toward those who lost theirs, forced into lives they resented when their powers were stripped, and their hides were used as bargaining chips.

She never thought that her selkie skin would be stolen one day.

Saltwater dripping down the bare planes of her body, Crowley prowled around the rock jutting from the sands where she’d left her skin, shining dark and silver in the sun before clouds had eclipsed the gold. Waves cluttered with the debris of seafloors and distant shores lapped at her ankles as she circled it again, mumbling under her breath.

“Could see it fine from where I was, but I look away one goddamn second…who just snatches up a seal skin, anyway…what’s someone doing with a random hide they found on a goddamn beach…”

Without her skin, Crowley was left in this awkward, gangly human form that she took sometimes, usually to explore places that were difficult for her seal form to access. It wasn’t exactly conducive to walks through the forest or interacting with actual humans themselves, and there was something very intriguing about having hands. Useful buggers. Humans were an odd lot, and those back home saw them as lesser lifeforms…but Crowley had met enough in her years to give her contrarian ideas about the species.

Which, of course, was only a small part of why she’d been banished from her pod…but that was neither here nor there, and neither was her stolen skin.

A guttural groan rumbling from her throat, Crowley was considering an indignant belly flop onto the rock-filled, seaweed-strewn sand to sulk when she spotted a set of suspicious footprints crossing the uneven shore. Even obscured by the wind that flung the sharp grains into Crowley’s stinging legs, it was evident how they veered to her rock and down the opposite end of the sand’s stretch.

Ha! Not so clever now, thief.

The wind tore at her long, tangled, red hair as Crowley bound alongside the prints as best one could on the shifty surface, eager to reacquire her hide and leave behind this entire ordeal. She could only hope whoever took it would be reasonable and simply return it to her without issue, though she doubted it. Trepidation tightened in her chest, but she trudged onward, nonetheless. Only one way to find out.

At least it couldn’t have been a fellow selkie who took it – there were none in this area. That would be a disaster. And awkward. And weird.

The footprints took her beyond the shore and into the grasses, beyond a yellowed null stuck through with the orange puffs of sun-bleached flowers. They petered off in the dirt. Crowley stood on the rise, shivering, unaccustomed to the cold that her seal form was largely immune to; this form had nothing but thin flesh to protect her from the elements, and despite the early onset of summer, this was an English shoreline, and England wasn’t exactly known for warmth.

She needed her skin back and fast, thank you.

Crowley glanced over her shoulder at the ocean, its grey-green vastness and the speckled horizon a more welcome sight than the distant mountains. She shuddered at the idea of traveling too far from it – or maybe from the chill – but there was little recourse. She didn’t know where her mysterious hide thief had gotten off to, but she didn’t have a lot of options.

Whoever took it couldn’t have gotten far; Crowley’d only had the hide off for a few minutes, after all, to survey the area when she landed. Determined, she carefully made her way down the grassy hill, her ocean disappearing behind her, and she crossed back up the next rise in the land, like a permanent stasis of the waves, trapped eternally in unmoving stone.

There.

“Hey, you!” Crowley yelled the instant she saw them, a human nestled among a patchwork of shrubs and grass, reclining on a blanket without a care in the world…with Crowley’s black and grey selkie skin folded beside them.

They didn’t appear to hear her over the wind, so, scowling, Crowley marched toward them – only stumbling a tiny bit on the solid grass and dirt, okay, only twice or three times or something – ultimately stopping a short distance from the human’s blanket.

“What exactly are you playing at?!” she shouted over the gust as soon as she was within earshot.

“Oh!” The human startled at the sound of Crowley’s voice, her head of shorn white curls bobbing as her gaze lifted to spot the selkie, sea-grey eyes going impossibly wide. “Oh!” she exclaimed again, cheeks reddening. “Oh, goodness.”

Crowley realized under the human’s scrutiny that the human was wearing clothes. Humans were weird about no-clothes. Whatever. Clothes sucked, the few times she’d tried them. This human looked particularly stiff and uncomfortable as she tugged at one of her layered shirts in a fiddly gesture.

“You’re not a very good thief,” Crowley informed her bitingly, folding her arms. “Didn’t even get far from the scene of the crime. So how about you make this simple and give that back to me.”

The human looked bewildered for a moment, blinking wildly. “Ah, erm…”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “The skin. That you took. It’s mine. I’d like it returned to me.”

“Ah, is this…yours, then?” she finally realized, picking up the folded hide with oddly reverent hands.

Crowley clenched her teeth to see this random stranger holding something so precious but gave a terse nod.

“I’m so sorry,” the human said earnestly, standing with a slight wobble in her socked feet, still on the blanket. “I saw it out there and thought someone must’ve forgotten it. I intended to take it into town and find its owner.”

“Well, you found her,” Crowley snapped, not particularly warmed by this tale of chivalry. “Gimme.”

“Of course.”

Only when the warm skin was back in Crowley’s arms did she relax. She gave the human a sceptical look, but she had returned it without complaint, so she was likely just an honest do-gooder who had almost done something really, really bad.

“I’m sorry,” the human repeated, adjusting the wire frames of her glasses. “I, um, well, I just moved here, and someone local told me to keep an eye out for animal skins on the beach, and I thought they meant someone was missing one. Not that…that…”

“That there was a selkie in this region,” Crowley filled in impatiently.

“Erm. Quite so. This person was quite adamant, but I didn’t actually think your kind were, um…real. My apologies for the rude assumption.”

Crowley let out a big sigh, pinching between her eyes. Absolutely bloody typical. First the merfolk, then the sirens, even the nymphs, and now humans didn’t even believe in selkies? She liked humans, they were so entertaining and interesting, but they were still useless, all of them.

“I really am sorry,” the human said again.

Crowley realized she still hadn’t acknowledged her apology. “It’s…fine,” she replied, shoulders slackening minutely. Despite herself, her ire had faded startlingly quickly. “You were trying to be nice.”

“That’s no excuse,” the human insisted. “Just because I thought you were fictional doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have been more respectful.”

Maybe it was because she was so sincere and truly meant everything that she said with no intent to be funny, but Crowley burst out laughing at that, clutching her skin to her chest as she nearly doubled over with mirth.

“You – you didn’t even know…you thought I was mythical, and yet you’re…ha!” Crowley managed between wheezes as the human looked on, eyebrows pinched in contrite concern.

“I mean it, I–“

“No, no, I just,” Crowley gulped down her laughter, shaking her head. The smile stuck, though. “Do you have any idea how many humans would apologize to an angry creature they’d only just learned was flesh and blood? The answer is none. I’m amazed you haven’t fainted.” She’d heard a lot of humans were prone to it when they saw something they didn’t want to believe in.

The human’s face scrunched. “That would be so undignified. And impolite.”

Crowley full-on grinned. Oh, nevermind any of that stuff with her stealing the skin on accident. Crowley liked this one.

“I insist you let me make it up to you, erm…?”

Oh, yes. Names. She used a lot of different names, especially with fae (tricky bastards collected names and pronouns and would only trade them back for a hefty price Crowley would rather not pay again). For humans, she usually went with Anthony or Antonia, depending on if she felt more masculine or feminine.  For a moment, she couldn’t decide which one to give, and what slipped out instead was her real name, which she rarely told anyone. “Crowley.”

“Crowley,” the human repeated, stressing every syllable. “Crowley. How lovely. Ahem, well then, Crowley, I insist you join me for my picnic.” She gestured at the blanket, which, now that Crowley was looking, included a woven picnic basket. The lid sat open, revealing a glass bottle (like those ones she sometimes found with bits of paper in them), some cheese, fruit, and possibly a pastry in a little bag. “I only packed enough for me,” the human admitted sheepishly, “but I’m more than happy to share.”

Crowley could feel the presence of her ocean behind her, beyond the grassy hill. The salty scent was heavy on the air, but the wind was less intense down here. It was a comfortable spot, and she suspected this human frequented the place, considering she’d known exactly where to go. Part of Crowley was drawn back to the water, wanting to confirm she could return to her other form and swim far away from this shore, continuing the endless, directionless wanderings she’d been on for years now, ever since she was left on her own. However, she sensed the golden power in her skin as she wrapped it around her shoulders like a big fuzzy cape; her abilities were hers again. She was safe. She had nowhere else to be. Hesitantly, she stepped her wet-and-sand feet onto the blanket and lowered herself to a sitting position, limbs askew.

“Oh, wonderful,” the human sighed, relieved as she sat across from her, posture upright. She smiled, something full of warmth and light, and Crowley’s breath caught in her throat at having that expression directed at her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if under uncomfortable circumstances. My name is Aziraphale.”

Crowley couldn’t help smiling back. “Aziraphale,” she echoed. Her mouth liked forming that name. “Pretty.”

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale’s face went red again, and she busied herself, removing things from the basket and setting them out in little covered bowls and plates. She explained the foods she had brought as she revealed them, adding, when all that remained was the bottle, “Alcohol is lethal for fish, I understand. I don’t know what it would do to you, to be honest, so perhaps we’ll just…leave it be.”

Food, for Crowley, was largely a matter of survival, especially in her seal form. She didn’t even chew or have food preferences. It was just a thing one did to not die. For humans, though, she knew it was more than that. It was ritual and tradition, a process and an activity and a necessity rolled into one. In her occasional attempts at visiting human settlements, she had tried some foods, and she found it to be generally enjoyable, even if she had to remind herself to chew before her frail human body choked.

“I’ve never tried alcohol,” Crowley admitted. “It makes humans sick. Didn’t seem smart to seek out something poisonous to humans while in what is basically a human body.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, eyebrows high. “I’ve never thought of it like that. I suppose that must look rather odd from the outside. Regardless, I hope you like the other treats I brought. Here, try the cheese. This is camembert, it’s lovely with one of these water biscuits.”

A water biscuit with soft cheese on it was shoved into Crowley’s space, and she released her skin with one of her hands to take the offered bite. It smelled off, but her senses were accustomed to the ocean, so everything on land had a discomforting quality. Shrugging, she tossed the whole thing in her mouth, barely remembering in time to chew. It was pretty good. She grunted something vaguely affirmative, and Aziraphale smiled again, taking a delicate bite from the water biscuit and cheese she’d prepared for herself.

The experience, apparently, was transcendent, judging by Aziraphale’s blissful expression and the soft hum she gave. Crowley wondered if you had to be an actual human to appreciate this sort of stuff.

For the first time, she took a good look at the human she’d found – or who had found her, depending on one’s view. She was pale and close to Crowley’s own age – forty years perhaps, laugh lines and light hair prematurely giving her an aged countenance in that elegant way that human women had. Crowley never understood why they tried to cover the wrinkles and grey hair when it gave them such character, but whatever, not her face. Or hair. She wore a pair of glasses with gold metal rims. The woman’s body was fat and comfortable, even in her restrictive beige and blue clothes, in a way that Crowley’s body failed to fill so flawlessly.

“Please, help yourself,” Aziraphale said when she caught Crowley staring, and she accepted the fruit that was held out to her, enjoying the burst of juice that spilled over her blunt teeth.

“So, are you on this beach often?” Aziraphale asked lightly as they continued to snack. “The weather has only just become somewhat accommodating for trips to the water this week, so I’ve only come by a few times, and of course, we never ran into each other.”

Crowley grunted. “I drift around a lot. I’ve been offshore here for a bit because there’s a lot to eat a good way off, but it’d be easy to miss each other. I technically even missed you today.”

“But you found me,” Aziraphale said, sounding oddly pleased about that.

“Yeah.”

“Do you know Miss Device, then?”

“Who?”

“Oh, someone from Tadfield. That’s the nearby village.” Aziraphale gestured in a direction, assumedly where this village was. “She’s a…well…odd sort of person, but kind. I think she knew you were here.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “How? I haven’t seen any other humans while I’ve been here.” She was usually attuned to that in case she needed to transform quickly and swim away from potential hostiles. Humans were not always kind to selkies.

“I suspect she’s…” Aziraphale frowned, searching for the right word. “Well, connected to your world. Magic, that is.”

“I’m not magical,” Crowley replied. “Just a selkie.”

“Selkies are magical. Or, well, I thought they were. You can shapeshift, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So, there you have it.”

“Doesn’t make me magical,” Crowley disagreed, pulling her skin more snugly to her body as it attempted to slip from a shoulder. “Humans can put on clothes and take them off. No different.”

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows. “Donning a pair of gloves does not alter a human’s molecular structure, my dear.”

“It’s just a thing I can do,” Crowley insisted, weirdly defensive about it. “Just ‘cause you didn’t think I was real doesn’t mean you get to decide if I’m magical or not.”

Aziraphale pursed her lips momentarily before releasing a loud breath. “You’re right, of course. I could never claim to be more knowledgeable about such things. Anyway, that’s not my point. What was my point?”

“Magic girl.”

“Yes, Miss Device. She’s one of the first people I met when I came here, actually.” Aziraphale chuckled a little, shifting comfortably for a bout of storytelling. Humans loved storytelling when they weren’t asked to. “Only a month ago, I had recently arrived in town, and she marched right up to my door and introduced herself as Anathema Device – it’s a family name, as I understand it. She has this very intense stare, and large glasses, and hadn’t the slightest ounce of shyness to her. Before she left, she informed me quite matter-of-factly that I needed to keep an eye out for animal skins on the beach and to avoid salads for the week.”

“Is she a witch?” Crowley asked. She was familiar with witches. Good people, usually.

“She prefers occultist, but for all intents and purposes, yes,” Aziraphale confirmed. “She comes from a long line of them. I misunderstood her comment at the time, but now, I can’t help but think that she must have somehow known about you.”

“Could be.” Crowley leaned back on a palm, squinting at the sky. Darkly saturated clouds had been rapidly approaching, overtaking the brief period of pale blue that had encouraged her onto shore to begin with, and they now cluttered the overhead. It was bound to get even colder, so she should shift soon. A thought occurred to her, and she asked, “But why would she want you to take my skin, anyway?”

“Oh, no, she would never want that,” Aziraphale hastily corrected. “That was my own fault. I…may or may not have expressed some sentiments about not believing in magic – or things I viewed as magic – and perhaps she intended for me to meet you to learn otherwise.”

Crowley snorted a laugh. “Nosy.”

“I…well, yes. Perhaps. But she means well and has been nothing but kind to me.” Aziraphale finished off the last of the camembert with a satisfied sigh. She looked toward the horizon, squinting at the clouds before smiling at Crowley again. “That really was delightful. Thank you for joining me. I appreciate your swift forgiveness, and I promise to be more careful in the future.”

Crowley waved her thanks off with a hand. “No biggie. Should probably head off, though.”

“Oh. Of course. I should do the same, I imagine. It looks like rain.”

The packing was oddly solemn, and Crowley hesitated nearby as Aziraphale folded the blanket and placed it in the basket before tucking the handle in the crook of an elbow.

“I’ll walk you to the shore, shall I?” she offered with another one of her smiles. She was a very smile-y individual.

Crowley nodded jerkily, and the two walked side by side over the grass and sand, wind sailing straight through her flesh as her shivering intensified. She had never been so chilled in her life. It was awful. She couldn’t wait to wrap herself in blubber and swim around to get all the sticky sand off.

“I do hope I’ll see you around, Crowley,” Aziraphale said when they reached the seaweed-encrusted waves. “I live in a cottage, over that way” – she gestured toward a tree cluster – “only a short walk. Um, you’re welcome to visit, if you please.”

Crowley lifted her head, meeting Aziraphale’s sea-grey eyes once more, and in that instant – something sent a shock through her heart, cold and hot and electric. Her mouth gaped, the skin slipping from her fingers and falling in a heap on the sand behind her.

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Crowley, are you quite alright?” She lifted a hand as though to place it on the selkie’s shoulder before deciding otherwise. “You look…nearly ill all of a sudden.”

“Dammit,” Crowley spat with feeling.

“Pardon?”

Crowley’s wild eyes flicked all over Aziraphale’s face, searching for something, a change, a shift, the lie – but no, nothing. “With a human?” she squeaked, glaring at the sky as though it had personally offended her. “A human?” Stomping in a small circle, disturbing the sand as she went, she began muttering to herself with her arms folded tightly against her body. “This is so screwed up…I’m an idiot…I didn’t know…what the hell…”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale attempted to placate, “whatever it is that’s wrong, I’m sure we can work it out.”

Crowley couldn’t bear to look at her. She couldn’t believe she had…but of course, she was Crowley, she always had to ruin everything. “Nhh. There’s…something about selkies that you should know,” she mumbled, glaring at the sand in which she buried her cold toes. She kicked at a shell that hurtled itself into a retreating wave.

“Yes?”

“Taking a selkie’s skin is a way of…binding a selkie, in a way,” Crowley explained haltingly. “It means I’m cut off from my powers. A lot of selkies used to get captured by humans who took advantage of that.”

“You know I would never do that to you, right?” Aziraphale broke in anxiously.

“Of course!” Crowley lifted her face. “That’s not the problem!”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just – taking skins is also how selkies propose. To other selkies.”

“Okay…?”

Crowley gulped. “Yeah. So, a selkie who wanted to, er, bond, with another selkie might leave it by them, somewhere obvious. That’s the proposal. Then the other selkie could take the skin and return it to its owner, accepting the proposal, the marriage, whatever you want to call it. And then they’re, you know. Ngk. Eternally bonded.” The ritual was more complicated than that, but for the purposes of this conversation, those were the bones of the tradition. “It’s a way of showing mutual trust and respect.”

Aziraphale still looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

Crowley made a high, frustrated noise. “So, you took my skin and gave it back to me.”

“Yes…and…” Crowley could see the moment it clicked. “Wait. Wait. So, are…are you saying…?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Her voice had gone high and tight. “So – so you – and with humans, does it…?”

Crowley tossed her head back, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. “Apparently. I could feel it, just then.” Like her soul was singing. Like she belonged. Like, after years lost at sea, she was home.

But she wasn’t. She wasn’t home, or free, or anything good. No, she was just a fool who had accidentally proposed to a human she’d never met, and the human had accepted.

And now, they were married, in the oldest, deepest, most traditional sense.

“Well. Well, that’s. That’s just absurd!” Aziraphale declared, distraught. “I-I never intended – oh, oh dear.”

As Aziraphale panicked, Crowley mentally kicked herself for forgetting something that should’ve been obvious from the start. It wasn’t exactly something she thought about much since she’d assumed that if she was careful enough, her skin would never be taken from her. She had also never expected anyone to propose to her. No selkie had ever liked Crowley that much – which she was fine with.

She’d never known it would work for humans.

Sure, humans and selkies got married, sometimes. But she always assumed it was just in the human sense. It shouldn’t have worked, but…

Crowley shifted her gaze to the waters where she belonged and over to the panicking human beside her, swallowing thickly.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale was blubbering, having worked herself into an apocalyptic frenzy for multiple minutes while Crowley stood silently and processed. “If I’d had any idea, I could’ve…could’ve, oh, I don’t know, left it somewhere for you to pick up or something. I never, ever want you to feel trapped by me, and I wouldn’t want to put you in this situation without consent, or at all – I’m so sorry!”

The wind whipped faster, and Crowley – once again – collected her skin to tug around her shoulders, rising on unsteady feet. “Aziraphale, calm down.”

“How can I?!” Aziraphale countered, countenance the very picture of anguish. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. “This is all my fault! I hope you know that I-I never intended to…I had no idea about – and I know humans have bound selkies in the stories, but I never would want to hold you against your will. Surely there’s a way to reverse it?”

Crowley inhaled deeply, expelling the breath for several seconds. “There’s not. It’s permanent.”

“Oh, Crowley–“

“Aziraphale, please.” Crowley pushed a wad of wind-dried, salt-stiff hair out of her face. It crackled as she did so, and she heaved a sigh as she gathered her thoughts. “I-I don’t blame you, okay? It was an accident, I get that. You didn’t know. I should’ve known better. It’s my fault. I’m the one who proposed to you, after all.”

Crowley didn’t mean to sound so irritated, but she was irritated – with herself. Regardless, it seemed to do the trick, as Aziraphale paused to steady her breathing, face pink. “What…what do we do?” she asked after a moment. “What does this mean, exactly? I’m not abreast on the traditions of…selkie weddings?”

Crowley huffed a half-laugh. “No weddings. Not really a thing for selkies.” After the binding, the selkies would usually announce themselves in front of the pod, and there might be a celebration if they were particularly high status. Getting married was a big, big deal in her pod. Everyone was encouraged – practically required to do so. It was part of why she was disliked so much, as she had never held an interest in anyone like that and so refused to partake.

Crowley didn’t mention that selkies were excommunicated for marrying humans (in any sense), because if she did, it would upset Aziraphale, and then Crowley would have to explain that she had already left hers, and that was a long story for another day and also never.

“Well, um.” Aziraphale visibly fortified herself, meeting Crowley’s eye and extending her free hand, basket hung loose in the other. “W-Would you like to come back to my cottage? We could rest and perhaps…talk this through. Make a plan.”

Shivering weakly, Crowley simply stared. It was A Lot, frankly.

“I promise I would never do anything untoward,” Aziraphale added.

Crowley squinted at her. “What?”

“Well, I wanted to clarify…I don’t go in for that sort of thing. Bonding, as you put it. Um. Mating. So I’m not expecting–“

“I’m aware you’re not propositioning me for sex, Aziraphale,” Crowley growled, something warm lodging in her chest and flaring in her cheeks. “And for the record, I don’t ‘go in’ for it either.”

“Oh. Well. That’s tickety-boo, then.”

Crowley choked on nothing. “Tickety-boo? Is that seriously something humans say?”

“Um.” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “Not as much.”

Crowley studied the human for a moment as that wind ruffled Aziraphale’s light curls. Her – her wife. Her human wife. What a thing.

Was it really that windy? Crowley didn’t feel all that cold now.

“So, would you like to come?” Aziraphale asked again. “Only if you’d like to. We can always meet up later on, if you prefer.”

Nodding slowly, Crowley took the couple of steps that brought her before Aziraphale, hand still outstretched. The moment strained against the tension, and Crowley felt the bubble of anxiety in her chest retreating – for now, at least. She’d have a nice, long panic about this later.

Crowley accepted Aziraphale’s hand, cold fingers and warm palms.

Chapter Text

The rain began halfway to the cottage, the cold of it driving into Aziraphale’s skin. She wasn’t yet used to the climate this far out, where the rain was a mist that hung in the air and visiting the beach did not necessarily mean being warm. Thankfully, Aziraphale lived very near the coast, so the walk under rainfall was not long.

The selkie, Crowley, was quiet at her side, one hand clutching her seal skin to her shoulders and the other tightly hung onto Aziraphale’s hand, which held back just as tight, half afraid Crowley might wander off or simply disappear like a rain-drenched illusion. Everything about the past hour felt like a dream from whence she had yet to awake. From the moment she saw the selkie’s startling amber eyes, glimmering a colour as unnatural as her red hair, Aziraphale felt in her gut that her world was about to change.

She had to hope it was for the better. Her imagination was cluttered with rampant fancies of fantasy and fairytale, which she now knew may be based more in fact than she had once understood. She felt sure she should have a million questions for a selkie to answer, but her mind was shocked blank as they trudged along together. Later, perhaps, she would have the wherewithal for curiosity.

They reached the quaint little cottage, all done up with a sweet ivy on the walls, Tudor-style strips of wood around the windows, and a cobbled chimney. Aziraphale had been immediately enchanted with it when she first arrived a month ago, and she was still stunned that she lived in such a place. It was the kind of location that made it easy to believe in magic.

“Here we are,” Aziraphale murmured softly as they came to a stop under the arched entryway. She released Crowley’s hand to rifle through her pockets for a key to unlock the door. Pushing it open, Aziraphale flashed Crowley a comforting smile and gestured inward. “After you.”

Crowley stumbled inside, her sand-coated feet meeting the solidity of a carpeted floor with visible relief. As she shut the door, Aziraphale removed her glasses and wiped away the rainwater, leaving streaky smudges she would get rid of with cleaner and a proper cloth later. It was only when Aziraphale lit a lamp for them that she realized Crowley was shaking violently on the doorstep as though ill, wide eyes darting around with obvious nervousness.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “you must be absolutely frigid! Come this way. I’ll light the fire.” She gently led Crowley by the elbow to the hearth, and once the blaze was going, left her to prepare a warm bath. Aziraphale was inclined to indulge in such, but she suspected Crowley needed it more urgently than she.

She paused for a moment beside the tub, staring as the hot water puffed steam into the small, tiled room, greying the details of reality.

Aziraphale had left the house this afternoon for a picnic and come back with a wife who was a magical (?) creature she didn’t know was real when she had awoken that morning.

This was not how she expected her Friday evening to go.

Aziraphale had kept it together quite well, in her opinion. She didn’t want to be rude, after all – that wouldn’t do. But that said, internally, she was more than a little off-kilter, and she was going to have a good, healthy panic over this later.

Once the tub was at a reasonable depth and Aziraphale had laid out some items within reach (washcloth, soap if desired, a towel for after), she returned to the main room, wincing slightly at the stack of boxes behind the sofa, against the wall, beside the bookcase…suffice to say, she hadn’t finished unpacking. She would need to get on that soon, but she had more urgent problems to attend to (and if the circumstances served as a worthwhile excuse to continue procrastinating, that was no one’s business but her own).

“Crowley,” she said, the selkie jolting at the sudden sound. Crowley seemed mesmerized by the fire and only glanced at Aziraphale for a second before returning her wide gaze to the crackling logs, air spicy with the smell of woodsmoke. “Erm, the bath is ready. I thought it might help you warm up?”

“Mmm,” Crowley grunted.

Aziraphale came nearer, crouching at her side. “Have you never seen fire before?”

The selkie huffed as though insulted. “’Course I’ve seen fire – what’d you take me for? I’ve seen whole ships ablaze, swallowed by the sea.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale appeased. “Apologies. Only, you seem quite interested.”

“’M not interested,” Crowley countered, gaze unwavering on the flame. Aziraphale didn’t understand why she felt a need to deny it, but maybe it was a selkie thing. She had much to learn. “Just seems so ludicrous to have it in your highly flammable house. On purpose.”

“It’s for heat.”

“And could spread easy as anything.”

“Yes, well. Just be careful with it, and it’ll be alright. And don’t touch it.”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “What’d you say about a bath?”

“Yes, I have one drawn,” Aziraphale replied. “It might warm you up faster than the fire, and it’s not good for your skin or hair to dry with the saltwater on it.”

Crowley gave her a flat look. “I’m a selkie.”

“Yes, and your hair is stiff and crunchy, isn’t it?”

Crowley tugged on a lock. The crackle matched that of the logs. “Fine, alright, let’s see this bath of yours.”

Aziraphale led the way to the room where the tub sat. She was rather proud of how it looked, nicely laid out with new curtains in the window and a bright lamp to combat the night-time darkness that was quickly collapsing over the horizon. The gentle thrum of rain could be heard only as a distant suggestion of chill, aiding in the comfortable and inviting ambiance. Aziraphale turned to see Crowley’s reaction, sure to be one of relief and delight, perhaps even gratitude.

Crowley looked like she’d been asked to swallow a starfish whole.

“It’s pathetic,” she spat.

“Erm…”

“You have the ocean right there.”

“Yes, but this is warm.”

“Ocean’s warm, too. Sometimes.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at her. “Is it right now?”

They paused, listening to the raging storm beyond the safety of the walls.

Crowley snorted and approached the bath, hesitant but with a less disgusted expression. She stuck a hand in the water, swishing it around lightly. Apparently, it was to her liking, because she immediately stepped one long, gangly leg over the ridge, then the other, and plopped herself into the warmth, grey skin secure around herself. Some liquid splashed over the sides, but thankfully, that was what this room was for. Besides, Aziraphale couldn’t find it in her to mind when she saw the expression on Crowley’s face, one of utter relaxation, a sigh stuttering from her mouth.

“You like it, then?” Aziraphale asked a bit smugly, tapping her fingertips together and bouncing on her toes.

“Eh. I can see the appeal,” Crowley admitted, flapping a lazy hand as though she wasn’t doing her best impression of chocolate over a double boiler.

Aziraphale nodded, satisfied. Then, realizing she was just staring at the odd creature lounging in her tub, she shuffled backward to the door and said, “I’ll…leave you to it.”

Crowley’s eyes opened. “You’re leaving?”

“Just…to the other room. To give you some privacy. Call me if you need anything.”

Aziraphale exited before Crowley could reply, shutting the door with a soft click. Briefly, she pressed her back against it with a long exhale, a hand against her chest as she reminded herself to breathe deep. It was fine. This was fine. So what if her entire understanding of how everything functioned had been wrung out like a holey sock? Magical (?) creatures – or at least one magical creature – were apparently as real as tax returns, and she had a selkie in her bathtub. To whom she was wed.

“Funny,” she murmured to no one. “I always assumed I’d be an old maid.” The term was outdated and arguably sexist, but she’d always liked it as a kid when she encountered the term, reading old books during lunch period. It seemed delightful to her, one woman and a home she could make however she pleased, never intruded upon by the opinions of men…or any gender, of course, but her family was quite traditional. Perhaps that was what appealed to her so about being an “old maid” – it sure looked like a lot of unmarried women in history lived with a close female friend, and that idea appealed to her long before she understood herself and where her affections lay.

“Right, enough of that. Buck up.” Aziraphale forced herself to move. All this excitement called for a cup of tea. She set the kettle on and, in the meantime, put away the contents of her picnic basket, properly cleaned her glasses, and shuffled off to the bedroom to swap her clothes for something drier than her rain-speckled beachwear. A knitted cardigan and a wool skirt later, she made herself slow down and savour the process of steeping the leaves, stirring in the sugar, watching the tiny grains of silver dissolve into subtle sweetness. A dollop of cream. A sip. Hot, and just right.

She drank the cup a mite quicker than it deserved, all the while listening intently from the small kitchen table for any noise from the bathroom down the hall. It was suspiciously quiet. After half an hour, Aziraphale realized that Crowley would require something warm to put on when she was done. Even though the selkie was evidently very comfortable with nothing on, she would get cold in the night without coverage.

Aziraphale tore through her room – half of which was also unpacked boxes – for something suitable. She found the smallest sweater she owned (a bit tight on herself, but too cute to be rid of) and tartan joggers with a drawstring and decided that would have to do.

She laid those out and waited some more. After a full hour had gone by, she mustered the courage to knock softly on the door. “Crowley,” she said quietly. “How are you doing in there?” She eased the door open a crack, only to be confronted with the view of the woman curled up in the tub – passed out.

“Crowley?!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

The selkie shot straight up, eyes huge. She visibly took a moment to recalibrate herself, glancing around like she had no clue where she was or how she got there. Seeing Aziraphale, her shoulders eased of tension. “Aziraphale?” Crowley mumbled, a yawn cracking her jaw. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” Aziraphale’s heart was beating rather quickly. “Only, I – I jumped to conclusions. My apologies. Erm, would you like to get out now?”

Crowley nodded sleepily. “Good invention,” she said, patting the tub’s ridge twice. “I like that. Mini ocean wherever you want it.”

Aziraphale tried not to be helplessly endeared. She failed. “Would you, ah, like any help?”

“With?”

“Getting out.”

Crowley glared at her and pointedly braced herself to stand up, water loudly cascading from her body as she did so. She lifted one leg to the bathmat, then, wobblily, the other. It was obvious that she wasn’t in this human form very often – and her lack of precise motor skills was likely amplified by her weariness.

Aziraphale, feeling again like a creep, ducked away to retrieve those clothes and set them inside the door. Not looking any higher than the selkie’s knees, she explained, “I thought you might like something cosy to wear when you were all dried off, and it will keep you warm, so, ah, you may wear these if you please.” And she left to make tea again – this time, two cups.

By the time she placed them steaming on the low table before the sofa, Crowley emerged. She had apparently forgone the sweater, keeping only the joggers, which hung baggy on her frame. Aziraphale felt her face flush hot for two very different reasons: for one, Crowley was hopelessly adorable with her crumpled, half-dry red hair and large trousers and shiny hide around her like a shawl or small blanket.

For another, Aziraphale felt a hint of the usual shame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t have anything that would fit you,” she found herself apologizing, ducking her head. “All of my clothes are much too, well, big.”

Crowley continued walking until she was right next to Aziraphale, her toes an inch from socked feet. “But they fit you,” Crowley said matter-of-factly.

“Well, yes.”

“Then they’re not too big, right? They’re you-sized.”

“Oh. I suppose.” Breathlessly, Aziraphale gestured to the sofa. “T-Tea?”

“M’kay. What’s tea?”

“Oh, my dear.”

As Aziraphale explained, including rather more historical detail than was necessary, they settled on opposite ends of the long sofa (it’d looked shorter when she ordered it online; Aziraphale had no need for such a large piece of furniture, living alone). They sipped in silence for a few moments. Crowley slurped loudly.

“So,” Aziraphale said when she had the courage to break the silence that had drifted between them like grains of sand in her folds, “what should we do about this whole business?”

When Crowley didn’t respond, Aziraphale finally lifted her gaze from her lap to see her companion slumped onto the cushions, eyes shut. Her mug dangled precariously against her knee, empty, and Aziraphale plucked it from Crowley’s unresisting fingers.

Gently, Aziraphale assisted Crowley into repositioning herself across the sofa, though she seemed disinclined to participate in this endeavour and allowed Aziraphale to do as she pleased with her form. When Aziraphale lifted her head to slip a pillow under, Crowley nuzzled the soft lump with her cheek like a cat. Aziraphale pressed a hand to her lips, holding back a chuckle, and set about draping Crowley with a warm blanket.

Her task complete, Aziraphale hovered at Crowley’s side, hesitant to leave but out of excuses to stay. She couldn’t resist adjusting the blanket for another moment until it sat in some way that pleased her over the drowsy form of her selkie spouse. Soft and slow, Aziraphale pushed that long, wet hair out of Crowley’s face, at which point a most inelegant snore escaped her.

Aziraphale smiled fondly and absconded to her room, exhausted and ready to crash into bed. However, once she was there, she lay awake for several hours, unable to read or relax. She only drifted off when the rain calmed just before sunrise, settling into dreams of russet hair and the taste of salt on her mouth.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure this person will help us?” Crowley asked warily. “She doesn’t seem to have done us much good so far.”

“Well, I hardly think she did anything intentionally,” Aziraphale replied. “Still, Miss Device is our best bet of finding out if there’s a way to fix this little kerfuffle.”

Crowley mumbled something about “I’m not a human, but even I know no one says kerfuffle,” which Aziraphale ignored.

After breakfast and tea that morning, Aziraphale had suggested that giving the witch girl a visit may be the most prudent course of action, given she was indirectly responsible for the happenings that led to “a sudden alteration in our, erm, marital status,” as Aziraphale nervously put it. Apparently, she knew a lot about creatures like Crowley, though Crowley was inclined to think that no mere human could know more about selkies than an actual selkie. Still, she didn’t have any better ideas and it seemed as good a place to start as any.

The building was sat well beyond Aziraphale’s cluster of trees, out in the open air and snuggled close to the water, high legs supporting a balcony that jutted out the back. The darkened wood building was two stories tall but neither wide nor long, and every windowsill appeared to have a different herb growing on it that was of unidentifiable origin. The roof was conical and twisted, flakes of lost or loose shingles giving it the appearance of the hull of a ship covered in barnacles.

Aziraphale explained what little she knew about it. Witch girl had, upon initial arrival, well before Aziraphale came, rented some quaint place called Jasmine Cottage in Tadfield, but was forced to move out when the landlord complained of strange smells from her potions that they worried would decrease the property value. So, witch girl fixed up this old building and moved there instead as a permanent residence.

“And this is the place,” Aziraphale said unnecessarily once they stood just beyond the tiny porch.

Crowley simply nodded, squinting at the building against the sun’s glare.

Aziraphale raised her hand to knock on the old iron wrought door, but there was a loud click, and it swung open before her hand ever made contact.

Witch girl stood opposite them in a teal dress (cloak? Hard to say), her skin a warm brown and black hair piled into a messy, curly bun. She was wearing a bulging brass machine over her eyes, which she lifted to her forehead to squint at Aziraphale, then over at Crowley, who glared in response.

“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you today,” she said, flicking a pair of round glasses out of her pocket and sliding them over her nose. “Please, come in, Aziraphale and co.” There was a bluntness to her words or tone – she must’ve been from a different place than Aziraphale. Crowley knew land accents shifted across the continents just as they did in the waters and skies.

“Good morning to you, my dear. I hope you’re well.” Aziraphale crossed the threshold. “Miss Device, I’d like to introduce you to…” Aziraphale glanced back, noticing that Crowley stood stiffly at the entryway.

There was no chance Crowley was entering this witch’s dwelling. All she knew about this Device woman was that she had tricked Aziraphale into stealing her selkie skin and that she had a weird house. It was unusual for Crowley not to get along with a witch, but it wasn’t unusual for Crowley to make enemies wherever she went, so she stayed where she was and glared at the witch girl – who, surprisingly, met her gaze and stared back flatly, unimpressed.

“Witch,” Crowley said.

“Selkie,” witch girl replied calmly. “And I prefer occultist.”

Crowley huffed. She huffed a second time, then finally entered the house.

Vials, books, and various experiments with plants, cloth, leather, and what smelled like a poor attempt at stew were scattered across counters in pots and bins and bowls. In one corner was a bookshelf stuffed full of journals and loose papers, the top shelf dedicated to jars filled with mysterious concoctions. One of the pots, dangling by a rope from a beam overhead, was on fire, but witch girl seemed undisturbed by this fact, so Crowley refused to mention it.

“Right. As I was saying,” Aziraphale continued, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the room and trying to break it by persistently ignoring it, “Miss Device, this is Crowley. As you already know, she’s a selkie. Crowley, this is Anathema Device, the, ah, magic expert of Tadfield.”

“Not entirely,” witch girl disagreed, not modestly, but as a statement of fact. “And I’ve told you before to call me Anathema.”

“Well, yes, but–“

“You’re the one who made Aziraphale pick up my skin,” Crowley accused icily.

“I didn’t make her do anything,” witch girl countered, turning those large eyes on the selkie with a steady coolness that Crowley instantly hated and envied in equal measure. “I only encouraged her in a direction she was already headed. It was her choice to do whatever the hell you’ve done to your auras.”

By technicality, Crowley agreed that this was probably true. Still, selkies so love to hold a grudge. Or maybe that was just Crowley. “If you hadn’t said anything, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“If I hadn’t said anything, Aziraphale might’ve grabbed it anyway, if she noticed it, and taken it into town to return to its owner because she’s a goody-two-shoes.”

“Hey, now…” Aziraphale muttered.

“It’s not an insult,” witch girl clarified, flicking her eyes briefly to Aziraphale, then back to Crowley. “Just an observation. It’s an admirable quality, and a rare one.”

“Then why say anything at all?” Crowley demanded to know. “Why even mess with it if it was already going to happen?”

Witch girl shrugged. “I have a book of prophesies from my great-great-grandmother. One of them told me to. There’s always a good reason for Agnes’ prophesies.”

Old witches loved leaving cryptic clues for younger witches. When understood correctly, they could contain extremely valuable information. But, if misinterpreted, it could have dire effects. “How do you know you read it right?”

“I know I did,” witch girl said, arms folded. She smirked a little bit. “Besides, you’re already glad I did, right?”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry, prophesies? And what was that about auras?” Aziraphale asked.

“I think you do know, selkie,” witch girl countered. “But I trust you’ll get there on your own time. I see you.”

“I don’t need your help. Or trust,” Crowley said haughtily, lifting her chin. She hated being spoken to like this. It was just like what her pod would do – pretend they knew everything, and they knew it better than Crowley did, and they’d rub it in her face even if they were wrong later. “I’ll go now, see how much I need some witch’s prophesies screwing up my–“

“Please!” Aziraphale burst, drawing the attention of the two squabblers. Both deflated a bit, and Crowley tried not to look too cowed when Aziraphale exclaimed, “Will one of you please tell me what’s going on here? And stop arguing, for goodness’ sake!”

Witch girl’s expression softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I got worked up. You’re here for my help, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.” Aziraphale glanced nervously at Crowley, who made a face. “You see, we’ve just…that is…well, yesterday, we had a picnic, and I walked her home. Well, to the water, that is, and–“

“We’re married,” Crowley broke in a little tiredly. “We got married yesterday. In the old sense.”

Witch girl’s eyebrows raised. “Congrats on the nuptials.”

“No, you see, it was entirely by accident!” Aziraphale exclaimed, clutching her hands to her chest. “It was my fault, really. I should’ve been more careful. I didn’t believe in the things you told me about, and I should’ve taken more precaution when I realized how out of my depth I was.”

“I see. That explains all that,” witch girl said, gesturing to the empty air around them.

Aziraphale looked around too but saw no more than Crowley did. “Explains…what, exactly?”

“She can see auras,” Crowley explained. “Most witches can.” He glanced at…ugh, Anathema, fine. “Or occultists. Auras are colourful blotches that show stuff like your mood.”

“It’s a bit more nuanced than that, but that’s the short of it,” Anathema agreed. “It shows me things like your personality traits, stress levels, ability to focus, lack of sleep. How dehydrated you are…speaking of, Crowley, do seek out more liquids.”

Crowley couldn’t believe her own ears. “I’m a selkie.”

“Yes. A dehydrated one. I’d offer you tea, but I just mixed my last chamomile with sulfuric acid.”

“So, what’s happened to our auras?” Aziraphale asked before they could get distracted again. “You seem to feel there’s something off with them?”

“They’re all twisted up,” Anathema clarified. “It happens when two beings get married in the way you have. You might have trouble understanding, Aziraphale,” she said kindly, “because marriage is such a loaded word in English. It’s so much more than a legal contract, or even a public declaration of love and loyalty. For selkies, to be married is more like binding your souls together. It’s not the same as making them into one – you’re still separate beings with your own agency. But there are side effects.”

“Like what?”

Anathema sighed. “I couldn’t say for sure. I’ve read about it, but never seen it. Crowley?”

 Crowley regarded her audience. This wasn’t the kind of information selkies were supposed to share – but she was already excommunicated from her pod. What was the worst they could do if she told? Besides, Aziraphale had a right to know.

“It’s good, mostly,” Crowley explained carefully. “There’s a sense of rightness with the other selkie, like…” Belonging. “Happiness or something. But the other part is an extreme feeling that something is wrong if they get too far away. I haven’t felt it myself, but I’ve heard others describe it like emotional pain…physically.”

“Fascinating,” Anathema breathed.

“Horrifying,” Aziraphale whispered. “Why would anyone willingly do that?”

“Safety,” Crowley said immediately. “It helps you find each other, like a built-in radar. In the ocean, it’s so easy to lose track of each other. Sound doesn’t travel as well in water.” For no reason, she felt suddenly defensive. “It’s actually really practical.”

“Maybe. With a human involved, though…” Anathema mentioned.

Crowley nodded solemnly. Who knew what might happen to Aziraphale if they got too far apart? It made Crowley queasy to think about it.

“We need to find a way to break it,” Crowley said. “The marriage.”

Anathema’s gaze slowly swept between the two, then the air around them – assumedly analysing their auras. “That’s what you want?”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other. “Yes,” they said in tandem.

“Alright. I think it’s impossible, but I’ve done three impossible tasks in the past year, and I do love a good challenge.” She suddenly spun away with a dramatic swish of her skirt and began rifling through a bookshelf.

As she did so, Crowley studied Aziraphale. She had deep creases on her forehead and her fingers played an endless fidgeting dance over the buttons of her blouse. “It’ll be okay,” Crowley tried to comfort. “We’ll figure this out. You won’t have to feel that pain, I swear.”

Aziraphale managed a smile. “Thank you, but I’m more worried about you, you know.”

“Me? Why– “

“Here it is.” Anathema reappeared with a huge tome in hand. It was open to a heavily stained page, wispy cursive handwriting faded but legible. “There’s an old story about a man who married in a similar way to the selkie tradition. He married a – well, this version is by humans, so it’s a bit offensive and uses some outdated terminology, but he was most likely an ogre. Humans think they eat humans, but most are vegetarians.”

“I met one that made spectacular tofu,” Crowley put in, reminiscing.

“Good to know. Anyway, in this story, they get married. Again, not in a selkie way, but in a binding-by-magic way that could be decently comparable. However, it turns out the man had a curse on him, and when it breaks, the marriage does, too, because the conditions of the curse were complete freedom from all bindings.”

“I don’t see the relevance,” Aziraphale said. “Do we even know if that story is true?”

“It might not be,” Anathema admitted. “But it’s the only story I know of about a marriage ending without one or both parties dying, which is traditionally the only way to do it. We humans love our tragedies, after all.”

“Are you saying we should curse Aziraphale?” Crowley said angrily. “We’re not doing that.”

“Of course not. Curses are no joke.”

“Then what are you proposing?”

“Nothing, yet.” Anathema gave Crowley a particularly piercing gaze. “It’s going to take time. There’s no overnight solution to what you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

“We’ll bear it.” Aziraphale suddenly took up Crowley’s hand with a determined squeeze, and Crowley let it happen. “There’s so much I don’t understand about all of this, but I hope you’ll be patient with me as I learn.”

“I’ll send messages to some contacts,” Anathema said. “I know people who might have ideas on how to get you two, ahem, divorced. It’ll take a few weeks, at least, if not longer. My seagull is pretty slow.”

“Seagull?” Aziraphale asked. “Don’t you mean carrier pigeon?”

“I mean seagull,” Anathema replied. “Pigeons are allergic to many magical substances and can’t be trusted with occult secrets.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley. “It’s true,” Crowley said. “I wouldn’t trust a pigeon if my life depended on it. Or my marriage.”

Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley smiled.

“I’ll send you off with some books, Aziraphale,” Anathema mentioned, returning to her bookcase and selecting a few tomes of varying sizes and colours. “They should help you develop a basis. Not everything is completely accurate, but it’ll give you somewhere to start from. A lot of my notes are in there to help clarify the errors wherever I’ve found them, but remember, this is a volatile field of study and subject to constant change as we humans learn more about the magical world. Rather, as we cling to what knowledge has not yet been lost.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale beamed, eyes twinkling as she accepted the stack. She dropped Crowley’s hand to cradle the books against her chest. “Oh, and you won’t tell anyone about all this, will you?” she added, gesturing between herself and Crowley.

“Your secret is safe with me. In the meantime,” Anathema said, slipping off her glasses and replacing them with the strange goggles she was wearing earlier, “you should take Crowley into town. See the sights. You’ve spent far too much time cooped up in your house since arriving here, Aziraphale.”

“Well – I’ve been unpacking.”

“And how’s that coming along?”

Aziraphale glanced guiltily at Crowley, who thought of the dozens of boxes scattered throughout the section of the house she had seen – some half empty, others still taped tight. “Perfectly well, thank you.”

“Then you can spare an afternoon to take your wife on a date, right?” Anathema said coolly.

Aziraphale scowled at her. “This is no laughing matter, my dear girl. Nonetheless…” she considered Crowley for a moment. “I don’t see what it could hurt. Have you been to Tadfield before, Crowley?”

Crowley shrugged. “I generally avoid towns.” She didn’t mention that it was because of her fear of being away from the water. She could see it shimmering through one of Anathema’s windows, waves slumping to the shore. “But I could make an exception. Considering the circumstances.”

“Excellent.” Anathema approached the pot on her table – the one that was on fire. Before either visitor could say anything, Anathema extended her bare hand into the flame.

“Miss Device!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “What are you–“

“This should do,” the crazy witch murmured, pulling a bundle of smoking black fabric from the pot – too much to have fit in the small container. She gave it a strong thwap and a heap of ashes fluttered to the ground. She tossed the bundle to Crowley, who barely caught it in time. It was still warm.

“I’m not much of a sewist,” Anathema said, “but I hope those should do. I wouldn’t recommend going into town without being fully clothed. You’ll either get stares or people will try to sell you things. Don’t buy anything the sergeant offers you. Especially not those bullets he claims killed witches.”

“Sergeant?” Crowley, half uncertain that the fabric wouldn’t suddenly burst into flame again, unwound it to find that she was holding trousers and a button-up shirt.

“Oh, how – how lovely,” Aziraphale stammered, clearly disconcerted by Anathema’s fiery methods. “Thank you.”

Crowley squinted at Anathema. “Yeah. That.”

“Yes, yes. Now get out of here, I have work to do.” Anathema unceremoniously shooed them to the door as Aziraphale stuttered out some pleasantries and farewells.

The sunshine was an assault on their eyes as they stumbled out of the building, which was surprisingly dark within, despite all those windows. The sun was in nearly the same position, but Crowley wasn’t confident Anathema hadn’t put a time warp on her house or something. It had felt like hours.

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, their arms full of a witch’s gifts.

The door opened suddenly behind them, causing both to jolt. “Also, I’m distinctly disinclined to believe this was your fault, as you said, Aziraphale,” Anathema stated. “It was probably Crowley somehow. Goodbye.” The door swung closed again.

“You – you witch!” Crowley shouted. A faint cackling could be heard through the door, and Crowley snorted, outraged. She wasn’t wrong, though, and that made it all the more annoying.

Aziraphale poorly hid a smile from behind her stack of books. “Calm down, my dear. She’s only teasing. I think.”

“Humans have too much cheek these days,” Crowley mumbled. “No respect for their elders.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, slightly horrified. “Anathema is in her early 20s, I believe…um, how old are you?”

“Three hundred-seventy,” Crowley deadpanned.

Aziraphale went pale. “Good Lord.”

Crowley cracked a grin. “Kidding. Forty-something. Haven’t kept super close track.”

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale repeated, this time with a laugh behind it. “I’m right about there as well. I should be forty-four next February.”

“Congratulations,” Crowley said. She wasn’t sure what the human custom was for learning someone’s age, but the older the age, the more impressive, right?

Aziraphale laughed, which meant Crowley had probably gotten it wrong, but she didn’t mind. “Right, then, how about we head home to drop off these books and get you dressed, then I can take you to my favourite crêperie for a late breakfast?”

“Okay. Want me to carry some of those for you?”

“No, I’ve got them. Thank you, though.”

Crowley glanced disappointedly at Aziraphale’s full hands and her own empty one, the new clothes bundled under one arm. “No problem.”

Still, as they retraced the morning’s steps, Crowley found herself flexing her fingers as though Aziraphale’s touch lingered just below the skin, and if she only kept reaching, they might entwine once more.

Chapter Text

Those books back home were calling to her.

Aziraphale swore she could hear them whispering in her ear like a flirtatious demon who knew the best temptations were ones the victim already wanted to fall for. “Aziiiiiraphale,” they wailed, “come read us! Oh, we’re so lonely! Come read our pages, full of stories to explore and information that will transform your life…”

Miss Device was so sweet to lend them to her after their conversation. Aziraphale felt very lost when Miss Device and Crowley spoke, and with just a few sleepless nights, Aziraphale hoped she could expose herself to a wondrous land of magic and untold mysteries that might reinform her understanding.

But no, no! She couldn’t read them right now! They must wait. Oh, it was arduous, and she found herself daydreaming about the secrets of the universe she may discover within. Ogres, Miss Device mentioned? Of course, Aziraphale had heard of ogres. They were supposed to be big, ugly brutes in all the fiction, fixated on violence. Usually bald, holding a weapon, and perhaps tastefully wrapped in a loincloth?

Apparently, they made great tofu. When Aziraphale inquired, Crowley ended up instead telling her about a duo she’d met, Hastur and Ligur, who cheated Crowley in a game of cards and tried to kill her afterward. Thankfully, she escaped using her wit, charm, and good looks (or so Crowley said…Aziraphale had her doubts, though not for a lack of these qualities).

A million other fantastical species fluttered across Aziraphale’s imagination, ones she’d read about and seen paintings and drawings of her entire life. Fairies, perhaps – or little sprites, the kind that lived in flower buds and made friends with the birds. And if selkies were real, then what about mermaids? Was there an entire underwater community of merfolk? Did they have a system of government? Holidays? Leap year?

What about species like elves, dwarves, gnomes, banshee, werewolves, vampires? Across the world, dozens and hundreds of cultures shaped their own unique mythos, stories of beasts and fae and spirits. Was it possible some of those famous mythical monsters and creatures were based in reality?

How had she spent her entire life not once wondering if they were real?

Well. That wasn’t entirely true.

If Aziraphale dug back in her memory, for those years before her family convinced her to give up her “silly ideas,” she did believe. She could remember being a kid and looking in holes in trees, hoping to find a fairy painting the wing of a butterfly. She might pretend she was a mermaid when she swam, though she was not allowed to swim in the ocean itself. Oh, and she was once so certain of monsters around every corner! Be they under her bed, in her closet, haunting the hallways, or simply wandering the city, there could be no doubt in a young Aziraphale’s mind that there was too much evil in the world to believe in only the good kinds of magic.

Somewhere along the way, she must’ve forgotten to believe. Or simply couldn’t bear to, in the face of so much contrarian to her worldview and those who ridiculed it. She dredged on instead, convincing herself she was content in a world of humans.

She wasn’t. Not really. But what else could she do?

“-Phale. Aziraphale. Hellooooo? You in there?”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, all at once becoming aware of a barrage of senses her body had been filtering out. Hard, metal wire chair pressed to her thighs, the lingering sweetness of whipped cream on her tongue, sunshine creeping up her ankles as the sun shifted to expose the shade of their umbrella. The two were seated outside a lovely local crêperie, their plates empty but for a corner of a strawberries and cream crêpe on Aziraphale’s plate. She was still holding her fork but likely hadn’t used it for many minutes now.

Her gaze shifted to Crowley, seated opposite her, her billowy black top and tight black trousers cutting a striking figure against the pastels of the shopfront. There was a split on the front of the shirt with crisscrossing laces and, tucked into high-waisted trousers, the effect was that of a lounging, sinuous pirate. Somehow, the grey skin draped artfully over her shoulders, tied in the front with a black ribbon Aziraphale scrounged up, only added to it. Aziraphale had wondered from the first moment if Miss Device designed the clothes to intentionally mimic the popular culture understanding of human seafarers and plunderers. However, there hadn’t been true pirates for centuries, and Crowley was unlikely to be familiar with the modern stereotypes, so maybe it was just a joke on her part. Miss Device liked little jokes that required so many layers of deciphering as to be entirely unfunny by the time they were understood, but Aziraphale cracked a smile, nonetheless.

“Oh? Are you back?” Crowley asked teasingly, folding her arms, elbows resting on the table. Her long red hair flowed loose around her shoulders. “I’ve been talking to you for a good five minutes while you’ve been fixated on that pathetic potted plant.”

“My apologies,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been wool-gathering, I’m afraid.”

Crowley gave her a flat look. “There are no sheep here.”

It would’ve been rude to laugh, so she swallowed it and hid her smile behind her last bite of crêpe. “Did you enjoy your food?”

“Sure.” Crowley shrugged. “I still don’t get forks, though.”

Aziraphale grimaced. Crowley had tried to eat the crepe with her hands at first. Horrifying. A disrespect to the crêpe. She’d had to teach the selkie how to use utensils, which apparently annoyed her greatly, but she got the hang of it well enough to eat a meal.

“And what of the town?” Aziraphale asked. “I know we only walked straight through it to here, but there are many things to show you while you’re visiting.”

Crowley squinted around. “Towns…aren’t what I expected.”

“Right, you said you didn’t normally venture so close to human settlements at all.” Aziraphale dabbed her lips with a napkin and folded it over her plate. “How are you finding it?”

Crowley’s nose scrunched slightly, an eyebrow rising on her forehead. “Loud and dry. But…not as many humans around as I expected. From how some tell it – land-dwelling creatures – human towns are packed like schools of fish, buildings as tall as trenches deep…”

“Sounds like London,” Aziraphale mused. “Or any major city, really. Skyscrapers is what they’re called. Tall buildings made mostly of glass. Those aren’t common in little places like this.” She let her eyes drift over the street, where the tallest building was a dark brick antique shop three stories high. Most of the stores were two stories, with shopkeepers living overhead. The buildings were most dense here, on First Street, but the farther from the centre, the more spread out they became, until places like Aziraphale’s home were a five-minute walk to her nearest neighbour, and the sea nearer. Some lived more secluded in other directions, of course, like farmers, but she remained within walking or biking distance of the library. “That’s why I moved here, after all,” she murmured.

“Were you from London?” Crowley asked, tilting her head.

“Yes. I grew up there. I’ve lived there all my life.”

She must’ve looked downcast, for Crowley leaned closer and asked, “Do you miss it?”

“A little,” Aziraphale admitted, “in the way one misses a place they never wish to return to.”

Aziraphale didn’t expect Crowley to make any sense of such a statement, but there was a gentle understanding in her eyes when Aziraphale looked to her. “It’s not easy.”

“No. It’s not.” Aziraphale wanted to ask where Crowley missed, but she didn’t. “But I feel…much better here. I’ve always been enamoured by the sea, so it feels right to be here. Tadfield has a sort…timelessness to it. Sometimes I think the town doesn’t know it’s the 21^st century. Oh, but enough of that. What do you say we take a little stroll before returning home?”

Crowley looked a little shifty, scanning her surroundings with distrust, but the curiosity was obvious in her countenance, so Aziraphale was not surprised at her nod. “Sure. But not for too long.”

Aziraphale was secretly grateful. She did so desperately wish to go read Miss Device’s books.

Aziraphale led Crowley to the nearby park, which was a funny thing to have in such a tiny town. In cities like London, it was necessary to make intentional space for nature. Out here, however, nature thrived on every corner and both forests and beaches were readily available. Yet still, near First Street was the Tadfield Park, which, in Aziraphale’s limited experience, was often busy with picnickers and children, but it didn’t compare to the congestion of St. James or Regent’s.

The two walked together, slowly, soaking in the moment. It crossed Aziraphale’s mind that perhaps this should have been more awkward. They hadn’t known each other more than 24 hours, after all. Yet, it felt like walking with an old friend who was new, all the same.

Crowley’s eyes were alight with the sights of the park – normal things humans took for granted. Tiny flowers and the wet prints of duck feet and oddly shaped leaves and the kind of clouds that looked like stretched taffy. It made Aziraphale want to be grateful for the little things, seeing Crowley’s delight in them.

“I suppose we ought to stay close,” Aziraphale mentioned after a few minutes. “It would be safer, don’t you think?”

“What?” Crowley looked at her, gaze piercing as they passed through the dappling shade of a tree. They both paused there, a shaft of golden light landing directly over the selkie’s face, haloing her hair like she was a piece of Heaven itself fallen to Earth.

“I-I was saying…” Aziraphale scrambled for her wits. What was wrong with her? “We should stick together for the time being. Until we know how this marriage will affect us.”

Crowley blinked, then stepped forward, the light falling off her face. “That would be best.” She continued walking, and Aziraphale scrambled to keep up.

Their silence, so comfortable a moment before, became suddenly tense as they perambulated, and Aziraphale thought that maybe she didn’t know Crowley at all. The selkie had seemed nervous during their whole outing, which made sense, but the sudden coldness filled Aziraphale with pointless doubts.

Maybe she had offended Crowley somehow. Was this because of the handhold back at Miss Device’s dwelling? Oh, she hoped not.

“Cro–“

“Coo-ee, Aziraphale! Hello, dearie!” came a trill voice.

Aziraphale swept around to find herself face to face with Madame Tracy, a tall, older white woman with brightly coloured orange hair, shimmery makeup, and layers of colourful, imported fabrics. She must’ve been sweltering in the heat. “Oh, Madame Tracy!” Aziraphale exclaimed, flustered by the interruption. “What a pleasure.”

“All mine, truly,” Tracy said, smiling sweetly as she pulled Aziraphale into a brief hug. “I just wrapped up a customer with green, pink, and blonde stripes in his hair. I dare say he came out rather fetching. You’ve met dear little Brian, haven’t you? He wanted his hair done in colours of ice cream, and well, I said, what ice cream? And he listed me some flavours and I went for it! His parents were very supportive. You wouldn’t believe the rude nonsense some parents say to kids with dyed locks, but it was great fun. So, care to introduce me to your companion?”

Aziraphale, barely keeping up with all the chatter, realized Crowley had come up directly beside her, inches between them. A protective hand landed on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Ah, this is my friend, Crowley. Crowley, this is Madame Tracy, the lovely woman who runs the hair and nail salon here in town,” Aziraphale introduced.

“I also draw aside the veil every evening except Thursdays,” Madame Tracy tacked on. Aziraphale had not yet found herself brave enough to ask what that meant. Madame Tracy held out a hand with neon fingernails sharpened to points, which Crowley tentatively accepted for a single shake. “Charmed, Crowley, truly charmed to meet you. Your wife is such a flatterer.”

Aziraphale choked on nothing. “Wife?!”

“Don’t play coy, dearie,” Madame Tracy said teasingly. “The news is all over!”

“Who knows?” Aziraphale choked out. “No, wait – did Miss Device tell you? She said she wouldn’t speak of it.”

Madame Tracy hummed speculatively. “Well, I haven’t seen Anathema in a few days now, but I heard from Deirdre, who heard from Adam, who overheard from Carmine, who heard that Virtue and John had seen you with a handsome woman talking about being married only half an hour ago at lunch. So, of course, I was looking forward to congratulating you, though” – she waved a stern finger in Aziraphale’s face – “I do wish you had invited me to the ceremony! No need to do it all secret-like! I hope you know we’re all very supportive here of the community. We have our own Pride-themed farmer’s market in June and everything. And besides, you can hardly expect me to limit myself to men at my age! Though not often for free whichever way, of course.” She laughed as though they’d shared a joke.

“The whole town knows,” Aziraphale murmured, dazed. “The. Whole. Town. Knows.”

Madame Tracy’s eyes twinkled. “Now, Crowley, I hope you’ll treat our Aziraphale right! We may not have had her long here in Tadfield, but she is family, and I won’t see any disrespectful behaviour on your part.”

Crowley looked like a deer in the headlights – or maybe a fish in a net, her eyes wide and jaw slack. Madame Tracy had that effect on people, but Aziraphale had come to appreciate her oddness rather quickly, even if it wasn’t particularly welcome right now.

“Madame Tracy, if you would only give us a moment to explain…” Aziraphale tried. “You see, this was all purely accidental, and we don’t really want word of it to spread everywhere, right, Crowley? That could cause problems.”

“Oh, tosh!” Madame Tracy patted Aziraphale’s cheek in an affectionate but undeniably condescending manner. “You two are made for each other. I can tell these things. You’ll get along swimmingly, won’t you?” She winked at Crowley, who startled and seemed to find herself.

“And what exactly are you doing here?” Crowley asked, folding her arms. Aziraphale winced. Was it impossible for her to get along with anyone? “I’ve never heard of one of your kind leaving those coves for long.”

“Oh, there you go, spilling all my secrets.” Madame Tracy’s bright red lips pursed in a pout. “You’re no fun, are you?”

“And all you know is fun,” Crowley shot back.

She shrugged, her dazzling, sparkly fringe catching the light with the movement. “It’s a jolly time, I’ll have you know. Lose the scarf and live a little. Have you heard of yoga? It’s a wonder for the joints. Though my knees…aren’t what they were.”

Before this odd conversation (Aziraphale was witnessing many of these lately) could devolve into an argument, she interrupted gently, “Crowley, do stop antagonizing her. She means well.”

Crowley looked like she wanted to stick her tongue out at both of them. Aziraphale frowned at her, and Crowley huffed a breath, shoving her hair out of her face. “Fine, whatever,” she mumbled.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. She leaned in, trying to make eye contact, but the selkie turned defiantly away. “Madame Tracy is a friend of mine, as is Miss Device, and I don’t appreciate your behaviour today toward either of them. I know it wasn’t your choice to be here with me, but I’ll not allow you to insult my friends like this.”

It took another few seconds, but Crowley finally angled her head enough to catch Aziraphale’s eye. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Oh my, aren’t you sweet,” Madame Tracy breathed, a hand pressed to her chest. Aziraphale had forgotten she was even there, for all she was partially the subject of discussion. “Was that your first fight as a married couple? Well done, I must say. My first husband suffered far worse, but look at you two! Absolutely precious.”

“I…I can’t stay here.” Crowley spun on her heel and immediately dashed off, leaving Aziraphale standing in her wake and as lost as could be.

How did everything go wrong so fast?

“Aziraphale,” Madame Tracy said. Aziraphale turned to see the woman smiling with a gentleness Aziraphale hadn’t anticipated. “Go catch your nervous bride, dearie.”

“She’s not–“

“It’ll all work out.” Madame Tracy’s eyes were impenetrable and mesmerizing, voice even. Aziraphale felt the breath run out of her. “Now, don’t you want to go get your wife before she swims off?”

Aziraphale found herself nodding and backing away without conscious thought. “Yes, of course. Yes.”

She had never been one for running, but she raced through the park and beyond the labelled streetcorners to the most obvious place an upset selkie would go: the ocean.

Chapter Text

It was that first touch, bubbling and dense with the sun’s kiss where light cut through shade, the tang in the water filling her nostrils, that consumed Crowley with the absolute sense of rightness that allowed her mind clarity. From the moment she saw the ocean glistening gold past the hills, her throat tightened, and she sprinted for its slippery edge, collapsing into the froth-spotted waves without a second thought.

Silently, she drew her hide closer, and the water lifted her, carried her, captured her, her body shifting and stretching to take on her other and first form, that of a grey seal – in the ocean where she was born. While she had spent time in her human form, enough to be comfortable in it, it was the distance from the water that caused panic to gouge at her peace, even with Aziraphale at her side.

Aziraphale. As she drifted through the water, algae and seaweed and sand swirling over her skin, a drumbeat of guilt struck her, remembering that hurt expression as Crowley had abandoned her.

The sensory overload of the day had been building in her for hours, but it was when that other woman, Tracy, spoke to them as though they were really newlyweds, it cut open a yearning in her that she didn’t expect or recognize. For the sea, for escape, for some sense of home, for belonging, and she’d run off without bothering to explain anything to Aziraphale, who had been so kind to her.

Back in Crowley’s old pod, the culture of bonding was ubiquitous. Selkies were encouraged to bond with each other for the sake of safety. That was what the pod leaders said, anyway. It didn’t matter if you even liked each other. Some did, probably. But not all of them. But for safety, they were heavily encouraged to. It was never totally clear what they were trying to be safe from, exactly.

While it was not technically required, those who did not bond after a certain amount of time were outcasts, not dissimilar to the human custom of shaming those who did not find a partner by whatever arbitrary age. Crowley knew personally how that felt.

Time passed in the way of the ocean, its whims ever wild. Crowley had the wherewithal to stay within a short distance of shore, wary of how the bond might hurt Aziraphale or herself. Simply being in the water did a lot to soothe her anxieties, and she calmed herself enough to decide that she needed to talk to Aziraphale about some of this.

Not all of it, but Aziraphale had been right to confront her over her attitude toward Anathema and Tracy. But if Aziraphale knew why Crowley was wound so tight on land, maybe…maybe she would help her?

Or maybe she would laugh in her face.

She had been nice so far, but it did not escape Crowley’s notice that they had only met yesterday, and they’d already managed to have their “first fight,” as that Tracy woman put it. The sooner this bond was broken, the better.

From somewhere very deep and very cold, Crowley let herself drift toward the surface, fish darting about her when she disrupted their schools. Her head broke through the water with a crack. The sky was filled with feathery clouds.

On the shore, a lone figure stood, staring out to sea, and Crowley swam toward her.

It became evident that Aziraphale was shouting her name, and by the hoarseness of her voice, had been for some time. When she spotted Crowley, she immediately quieted, hands falling limply to her sides.

The waves crawled forward, pulling Crowley gently with them.

Aziraphale met her partway, wading until the water reached her knees, dragging the lower hem of her skirt in the rhythmic sway. Her pale hair was a raucous storm in the wind.

Crowley lifted her seal snout, nose cold, and Aziraphale wordlessly cradled the side of Crowley’s face.

Aziraphale’s eyes were shiny, the waves reflecting in them with flecks of enough colours to lose track of what was her, and what was an imprint of the environment, rimmed with the gold of her glasses. Crowley stared back, whiskers gently brushing Aziraphale’s wrist.

Wordlessly, Crowley’s form melted away, leaving her knees dug into the sand and her hide wrapped loosely off her bare shoulders. Aziraphale’s hand remained pressed to her cheek, tilting her head just so as to keep their gazes connected.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley croaked.

“I’ve been calling for you for nearly two hours,” Aziraphale replied, more worn than upset. “You didn’t come.”

“I couldn’t hear you,” Crowley tried to explain, then immediately gave up. “I did come, eventually. I shouldn’t have run off.”

Aziraphale’s hand fell away, and it felt like a punishment, cutting through the selkie’s flesh. “Why did you?”

“My ocean,” was Crowley’s immediate response, but she knew it was insufficient. “I can’t…the ocean is part of me, Aziraphale. I’m a selkie. I belong here. To be away from it…”

Aziraphale’s brows creased. “Does it hurt you?”

She considered that. “Not physically.”

“But it does.”

“I’m…” She so didn’t want to say that it scared her. “It makes me feel very small.”

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale cracked a small, amused smile. “That’s how most humans feel about your ocean.”

“How does it make you feel?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale stared at her a moment longer, then gazed out at the sea. The sun was lower than expected and half obscured by distant clouds; Crowley had swum for longer than intended. “London made me feel insignificant,” Aziraphale said eventually. “Out of place. Stretched in too many directions. Too big, in more ways than the physical. But here, I feel that I take up the amount of space that I truly do.”

Crowley extended a hand to her. “Then you’re like me.”

Aziraphale let out a huff of laughter, small but present. “Perhaps I am.”

The human pulled the selkie from the water, and the selkie went willingly to the shore. Neither let go until they stood on the dry sand, their respective feet and shoes coated in granules. Their silhouettes stretched and warped over the broken, devoted sand, strewn with rocks, seaweed strands, and the occasional black or white feather of a bird.

“I found your clothes,” Aziraphale said, gesturing to a black mound of folded fabric lain over a driftwood log that was sun-bleached and etched with pictures. “You must’ve torn them off on your way down.”

Embarrassed, she scooped them up and held them under her arm, heedless of her own dripping body. “Your socks are wet.”

Aziraphale shivered. “We don’t have much in the way of warm summers here, do we? I ought to head home and change. Are you…” She hesitated, glancing between Crowley and the water. “Are you, erm, coming with me?”

Crowley swallowed. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

***

Upon their return, it crossed Crowley’s mind to perform a gesture by starting the bath for Aziraphale now that she was the one chilled through. However, Crowley didn’t know how to turn on the faucet, and as Aziraphale shut the bathroom door, Crowley silently cursed that she couldn’t watch her to learn.

After wiping her feet off outside, Crowley wadded up the clothes from Anathema and tossed them onto the sofa she had slept on last night before taking the opportunity to poke around the house a little. There were many gadgets she didn’t recognize, but some she did from exploring shipwrecks. Human houses had always interested her, as no creature in the sea was inclined to completely cut themselves off from nature and the Earth. Even those who lived in caves or built structures did so with the intent to blend with their surroundings, but human buildings were a no-nature zone, it seemed.

While Aziraphale had some artwork depicting the countryside and a frankly unreasonable number of lighthouse paintings, it bothered Crowley to see no plant life. Perhaps she would have to find out a way to bring some in.

Not, she reminded herself, that she was staying for an extended duration.

“Crowley?” came a muffled voice from upstairs. “Crowley, could you come here a moment?” Instantly, Crowley raced up the steps to the room with the tub. She burst in, expecting danger or an emergency.

“Oh, goodness!” Aziraphale was in the water still, and when Crowley came in, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Some startled water plopped to the floor.

“Um.” Crowley paused. “Hi?”

“Hello.” Aziraphale blinked owlishly at her.

“You called for me?”

“Y-Yes, erm, I hoped you might grab something for me?”

“What do you need?”

“A book. There’s one on my nightstand – beside my bed? It’s a mass-market paperback so it’ll be okay in the tub. I keep a few for just this purpose.”

Crowley nodded. She was pretty sure she knew which room had the bed in it, so she left the door open and went to find it. When she did, she caught herself staring at Aziraphale’s bed, temptingly soft and smelling strongly of her, but Crowley felt she had no right to touch it, knowing the importance of one’s nest. She couldn’t help but be honoured to have such access to the place Aziraphale slept. It was such a vulnerable location.

Crowley quickly retrieved the small book without disturbing so much as a smudge of dust. The cover of it depicted something that resembled a mermaid with very large breasts reaching toward a man on the land with a large chest of a presumably different biological purpose but no less shiny and bulging.

“This the right one?” Crowley asked when she returned to the bathroom. Aziraphale was still positioned as before, curled around herself. The position reminded Crowley of a napping otter.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the book, cheeks reddening, but she nodded. “Er, yes. I-I forgot the cover was so, erm…anyway, just put it on that small table, if you would. Thank you.”

Crowley did so, a creeping sense of awkwardness overtaking her as she hesitated by the doorway. There had been such a comfort between them before, and she couldn’t help feeling that she had permanently ruined it. That sounded like the sort of thing Crowley would do.

“Sorry,” Crowley heard herself say.

Aziraphale frowned. “Whatever for?”

“You seem uncomfortable with me here.”

Aziraphale made a half-choked noise.

“I’ll just go. I don’t need to stay here. I’ll go back to the beach until Anathema figures out how to–“

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cut in. “We are both very naked!”

Crowley blinked at her. “Yes?”

“Humans don’t tend to be comfortable being naked together outside of a very specific context!”

“Like what?”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to her face, a subtle shake to her upper body. It took Crowley a moment to realize she was laughing.

“I don’t understand,” Crowley said plainly.

“Of course, you don’t,” Aziraphale said in a gentle tone. “I was being silly, I suppose. I’m just not…used to being seen like this.”

“I can turn around, if that would help.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows popped up. “Are you staying?”

“If you want me to.”

“Then close that door. The cold air is getting in.”

Crowley did so and approached the tub before sitting with her back pressed to it, enjoying the heat-infused surface. Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley thought she’d done something wrong again, but then she hummed, and the sloshing of water indicated she was relaxing.

“Do you want your book?”

“Well…it has crossed my mind,” Aziraphale said softly, “that we have made little effort to get to know each other. Would you tell me more about yourself, instead?”

“What, like a story?”

“If you like.”

Crowley considered this. It was quite common in the ocean for creatures to trade information in terms of stories. Sometimes, you might trade something useful for something beautiful, as stories of both varieties were of equal import. Crowley was very used to telling stories. But…not usually ones about herself.

She couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face, but she could sense her curiosity, and Crowley was always one to indulge curiosity. She took another moment to think.

“The first time I ever met a human, I was six years old,” Crowley began. “My human form wasn’t much. I had no strength and very little hair. Selkies have always had a special contempt for humanity because of how they’ve treated us in the past, but our ability to transform was – is – still a useful skill everyone in the pod needed to have. It came more easily to me than others, I think because I wanted to. A lot of the others didn’t. The turning, the walking, the running. I started running one day while the others my age were practicing by the water. I remember being very excited about legs.

“I went a bit too far and realized that I couldn’t see the water anymore. The hills and grass were endless, and it was even colder than these shores. I didn’t know it then, but I suspect now that I was in Ireland on some vacant coast. I kept moving, but my human skin and organs weren’t built for the exposure. Panic was starting to set in as I got colder and felt a stiffness in my limbs that hadn’t been there previously.

“But then, a human found me.

“She was only a little older than me at the time, with dark skin and dressed in clothes, which were new to me. She saw me and the seal skin around my shoulders and said that I looked lost, and did I need any help? I was scared, to be honest. Selkies aren’t supposed to talk to humans, and I still believed, then, that they were dangerous.”

“Do you not think that anymore?” Aziraphale cut in.

Crowley startled, having drifted off into her storytelling. “I think you’re very dangerous,” she said honestly. “But no more than anything else.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale seemed to accept that. “And what happened next?”

“Right.” Crowley cleared her throat. “The girl could tell I was scared. So, she said her name was Eve, and what was mine? I told her a name I can no longer use because some bastard fae took it a few years after the fact. It sounded a lot like Crowley, but…more slithering-at-your-feet-ish. Fins. Whichever.

“Eve asked me where I wanted to be the most. I had been told before to never, ever talk to a human, but she made me feel safe. I wanted to trust her. I told her the ocean was where I always wanted to be, and she nodded like she knew that and pointed in a direction.

“Over there, she told me, I’d find the group of selkie children that visits that shore every seven years, according to her mother. The locals knew about us selkies, apparently, and did their best not to bother us when we came by. I trusted her knowledge and ran in that direction. I found the ocean in only a few minutes, safe and sound.”

That was the end of the story, and they both sat with it for a moment. Eventually, Aziraphale prodded further, “Did you get in trouble for talking to a human?”

Crowley grinned rakishly, closing her eyes to tilt her head in Aziraphale’s direction. “Are you kidding? I didn’t tell them. I would’ve been kicked out of the pod, even at that age.”

“Is that the punishment? For talking to a human?”

“Yeah. Usually.”

A warm, wet hand landed on Crowley’s shoulder, startling her. “Were you…kicked out of your pod? Do you not have one now?”

Crowley’s eyes flung open, realizing far, far too late what she had revealed. “Well, erm, gghh…not…I didn’t…” She sighed, gaze landing on the ceiling.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I spoke out of turn. It’s none of my business.” Aziraphale’s hand made a soothing caress from Crowley’s shoulder to her neck, and the selkie closed her eyes again, humming low.

“Now you owe me a story,” Crowley murmured.

“I’ll need to think about which one I want to tell,” Aziraphale replied.

“That’s okay.”

A calm silence settled over the room, and Crowley was half asleep when Aziraphale suddenly spoke.

“I apologize for Madame Tracy’s behaviour earlier,” Aziraphale said. “She’s very kind, but…nosy.”

Crowley snorted. “One way to put it.” She paused. “Liked her fingernails, though.”

“I can speak to her later and…hopefully dispel those rumours. I’m sorry they made you so uncomfortable.”

Crowley frowned. “What?”

“The rumours she spoke of, about us being married. I’m dreadfully sorry. That must be difficult for you to be bombarded with–“

“Aziraphale, can I look at you?”

A pause. That warm hand on Crowley’s shoulder lifted. “Alright.”

Permission given, Crowley kneeled by the tub, gazing up at Aziraphale, who was curled up again. “I wasn’t upset by what she said. I just…it all got to be a bit much. The town, the people. I think it’s still catching up to me that we’re married at all. It wasn’t my best moment.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “Then you don’t mind that, well, everyone thinks we’re married? Or knows, I suppose, since it’s true…”

“Human opinions have never been high on my list of priorities.” Except for Aziraphale’s, lately, but she didn’t need to say that. “Does it bother you?”

“Well, no, only I thought it might complicate things when you go. But I suppose we can leave it be.”

“Doubt you could do anything about it, now,” Crowley pointed out. “Sirens are famously convincing, after all. I think they’d believe that Tracy person even if we tried to tell them differently ourselves.”

“I’m sorry…” Aziraphale’s face scrunched up in bewilderment. “Since when were we talking about sirens?”

“Madame Tracy is a siren.”

“She’s what?!”

“Sirens are very persuasive, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“It damn well wasn’t!”

Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale shook her head, chucking in disbelief. “That must’ve been why she spoke like that when she encouraged me to chase after you. I felt so utterly convinced by her…what is even happening anymore? Have I not been paying attention to how weird everything is and only just noticed?”

Crowley grinned. “It’s always possible. Welcome to the real world, Aziraphale.”

“The real world, huh?” Aziraphale’s eyes searched Crowley’s like she would love nothing more than to strip away Crowley’s every barrier and see who she was deep inside. It made the selkie feel very helpless. “I like what I’ve seen so far,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Y-Yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled at her again, and Crowley’s breath was snatched into the steamy bathroom air at the beautiful sight.

Oh, fuck. She had a crush on her own goddamn wife. This was so embarrassing.

Chapter Text

After seeing Crowley to the sofa, which the selkie assured her was plenty comfortable, Aziraphale retired to her room with tea and a stack of borrowed books on magical history.

What felt like ten minutes later, the sun rose.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale murmured through a yawn when she noticed the blaze of pink and orange glaring through her open curtains. “Whatever are you doing here? Go back down, I say.”

The sun stubbornly continued its trek into the sky, undisturbed by sleep-deprived book-obsessed beings who genuinely and foolishly believed that surely this time they’ll mean it when they say, “One more chapter.” This subset of humans is especially skilled at being in denial.

Aziraphale glanced guiltily over the two tomes she had already read cover to cover, a third in her lap. She hadn’t even moved to get more tea after the first mug-full ran dry.

As it turned out, the world was very big. See, humans thought that the world was big because there were tigers and elephants and chameleons and aardvarks that all lived in places and existed with beetles and bees and bacteria. Humans thought the world was big because humans knew what was in it, and what was in it was many different things.

Aziraphale scoffed as she slipped a bookmark into her present read. Humans had no idea, did they? She laughed again, remembering that she was a human, after all, and one night of binge reading does not an enlightened creature make.

Information swirled through her head, each bit trying to find somewhere to land. Where might one file the knowledge that vampires are more commonly allergic to parsnips than garlic? Does that go under practical knowledge that might be applicable one day, or as a pub night trivia fun fact to share with friends in the hopes of receiving a “that’s interesting” or “oh, cool”? Did the existence of an entire species of bat that was invisible to all but the most trained of witches (at least, according to those witches) go next to things like “dolphins are mammals” as basic animal kingdom factoids?

Aziraphale drifted off thinking about the plant compendium that described the secret magical properties of common household herbs. Who knew rosemary was a primary ingredient in love potions? Who knew love potions were a real thing? Apparently, their results were deeply inconsistent and had gotten at least one individual head over heels for a kitchen spatula. They were buried together somewhere in Venezuela.

The second that Aziraphale was awake, shortly past noon, she made more tea and continued reading, this time at the kitchen table. The outside of this book bore no markings, which was why she hadn’t been as drawn to it as the others. It was a faded green with a fabric cover and what appeared to be a handstitched binding holding the thin, rough-cut pages together.

Carefully, she ran a gentle hand over the top and opened it to the first page. Aziraphale immediately felt foolish for not reading this one at the offset. It was about selkies, and it was very, very old.

The text was handwritten, not a print book, causing Aziraphale to handle it with especial reverence, smoothing a delicate finger over the ink as she imagined a long-gone hand penning the words. As she read, she discovered it was a collection of stories about humans who married selkies, making her feel even more foolish for poring over writing on herbs when she could’ve been handling something so directly relevant to her present circumstances.

Some of the stories were transcribed from the very mouths of selkies or their partners at the time of writing, while others were myths, legends, or fairytales common to the areas that the writer travelled. It was scientific in nature, a study on selkie love. Aziraphale’s heartbeat quickened.

Some couples were men and women; others were men and men; others were women and women; others still were a combination of genderless, all-gendered, or multiple-gendered individuals. According to one story, a selkie claimed their culture didn’t even have genders at all. Aziraphale made a mental note to ask Crowley about that.

Not every story was a happy one, and Aziraphale generally skimmed those as fast as she could or skipped them altogether. A great, deeply useless resentment filled her at the mentions of humans harming selkies, as did a protectiveness she didn’t know how to channel.

Eventually, she found a section that caught her particular attention:

A universal reality amongst all selkie love stories is that selkies are not permitted to remain within their pod after marrying a human. The exact implications of this vary. Some selkies I’ve spoken with stated it was a total banishment while others meet up with their relatives for brunch on Friday afternoons.

Like human communities, the capacity for forgiveness and empathy is a spectrum of possibility.

It was clear that Crowley’s was a less forgiving type, by what the selkie had described the evening before. Aziraphale felt a sad kinship at the idea.

The book ended with the writer, who never named themself, describing that they had also found love with a selkie and looked forward to the broadening horizons between the worlds of humanity and magic. Aziraphale let out a sorrowful chuckle, knowing the idealistic dream of the writer hadn’t come true.

It had for herself, though. Aziraphale was finally in a place where things made a certain amount of sense, where a world of magic that she had lost connection with was made real.  Someone else in her position may have felt lost or in disbelief at all the information she had encountered in the past 12 hours. But this was Aziraphale, and she had wanted to believe in magic her entire life. Then she married a selkie, and already she didn’t think she could ever go back to how it was not to know.

Speaking of being married to a selkie…

Where, exactly, was her selkie wife?

Aziraphale popped up rather suddenly from the kitchen table and poked her head into the livingroom where Crowley slept. It was empty. As was the bathroom, her own bedroom, and every other room Aziraphale checked.

Crowley was gone.

Yesterday had been such an emotional day for both of them, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if Crowley had changed her mind and gone away after all. How long ago had she left? It was well into mid-afternoon by now and Aziraphale hadn’t even seen her when she first awoke.

Just as she was about to panic, the front door opened with a click and a squeal, and Crowley walked in, dripping wet.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed in relief. “There you are!”

Crowley was in only her pants again, and her long hair was a mess from the wet and wind. “Went swimming,” she explained brightly.

“I see.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, silently cursing herself for jumping to conclusions so hastily. “Did you…have a nice time?”

Crowley shrugged. “Seagulls have too much sass in them.”

Aziraphale smiled, then. “I’m sure.”

After that, Aziraphale set about making their supper, a family dish that she had loved since she was a child, shepherd’s pie. As she prepped all the ingredients and began sauteing, Crowley hovered at the edge of the kitchen, and they chatted lightly about some of the things Aziraphale had read. Crowley expressed that humans were seriously behind on a lot of “basic shit” and “very good at screwing up their own records” as she corrected some of the details of Aziraphale’s reading. Occasionally, there were even things Crowley didn’t know at all.

“How am I supposed to know that the cyclops are skilled metalworkers? Why would I have that knowledge?”

“Well, you’re a selkie, my dear.”

“Just because I’m a selkie doesn’t mean I know every little thing about every ‘magical’ creature. Do you know everything about every human culture there is?”

“Well, no,” Aziraphale admitted. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Crowley smirked. “I do know a lot, though. Ask me anything and we’ll see if I know.”

Aziraphale glanced at her over the rim of her glasses. “What’s a pirate’s favourite letter?”

She frowned. “I…guess they’d all have different ones.”

“No, it’s a C, because they love the sea.”

Crowley snarled at her, which was the exact opposite of threatening. “That was terrible. Besides, who has a favourite letter? That’s weird.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, I do, of course.”

Cocking her hip against the counter and folding her arms, Crowley raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Do tell.”

“B.”

“Okay. Why?”

“To B, or not to B, that is the question…”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

With a gasp, Aziraphale gaped at Crowley, spatula held aloft and dripping to the tiled floor. “Do you not know Shakespeare?” She shook her head. “Of course, you don’t. When would you have had the opportunity? We’ll need to fix that, my dear. Immediately.”

Crowley mumbled something about “don’t see what’s so fun about a shaky pier,” which became a long explanation from Aziraphale of who Shakespeare was and why he mattered, as well as a rather botched retelling of the plot of Hamlet so she could discuss the historical significance of Ophelia. Crowley bore it surprisingly well – most people would cut Aziraphale off at some point, but Crowley listened patiently, like she cared, and asked select questions that demonstrated she was paying attention. Aziraphale felt warm inside at Crowley’s interest in her thoughts, even if the selkie ultimately declared that the play sounded too gloomy, and were there any funny shaky piers instead?

Eventually, when Aziraphale petered off and the shepherd’s pie was baking in the oven, they sat at the table to wait (with tea, of course).

“I wanted to ask you something else about my reading,” Aziraphale mentioned. “One book said selkies don’t have genders the same way humans do. Or don’t view it the same way. Is that true?”

“Yeah, basically,” Crowley replied. “More accurately, it’s just not that big of a deal. Selkie seal language isn’t gendered like a lot of human languages are – from what I’ve heard.”

“I see. It must be very confusing for selkies to interact with humans, then. It’s a big deal for a lot of cultures. Not all, but…many.”

“A bit odd, yeah.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “I think I need to apologize. I never asked how you identify. In stories, selkies are always women, so I assumed…”

“I’ve noticed that,” Crowley replied thoughtfully, leaning back and sipping her tea. “Not sure where it came from. Anyway, I don’t know what the human word is for it, but I like to switch it up now and again. Might go by one thing for a few days or years, then switch to another. ‘S not really a big thing for me.”

“That’s good to know,” Aziraphale said, folding her hands. “Do let me know if you want to change anything, please. I would hate to use the wrong word or pronoun.”

“Thanks, Aziraphale.”

They talked about identity and queerness for a while, in that comfortable way that Aziraphale was not terribly used to but greatly appreciated when it did occur. It felt good to meet people who were a bit like you, wasn’t it?

Once the food was done, they decided to eat in the livingroom in front of the fire. It wasn’t chilly enough for it, but Crowley seemed to love watching the embers with a level of fascination that Aziraphale was inclined to indulge.

“Do you like fire?” Aziraphale found herself asking after they’d settled in on the floor, pillows under them for comfort, though her back was already complaining.

“No fire in the ocean,” Crowley said around a bite. She swallowed and continued, “I’ve seen fire, obviously, but not from very close. It’s always been a dangerous thing. Downs ships and harbours. I had no idea humans invited it into their homes like this.”

“Yes, well. We humans have to be very resourceful, even if it does carry a risk. I’m sure I’ll be glad to have this come winter.”

“I’ve never spent much time in this form during the cold months,” Crowley said, casually undoing the ribbon holding her coat around her shoulders. The grey skin fell in a thick pile around her seat. “It’s too, well. Cold. Could do this time, though. If I’m…still here, I guess.”

Aziraphale couldn’t answer. Her eyes had followed the movement of that hide, shimmering so beautifully in the light of the fire. In that moment, she realized that as much time as Crowley had spent naked around her (which was almost all of it), Aziraphale had never seen Crowley’s bare back.

She knew she had never seen Crowley’s back, because if she had, she would have noticed the bright pink scar that cut in a long, painful arch from Crowley’s right shoulder to the lower hip.

Aziraphale didn’t mean to stare. Obviously, it was inappropriate to stare. She knew this. It wasn’t in any way her business and scars were perfectly normal things. She forced her eyes back up to Crowley’s gold ones, even as her mind raced to the worst conclusions.

It looked like a scar from a blade. A sword. A human sword.

“Got too hot,” Crowley said in explanation, clearly thinking that Aziraphale was staring because she removed her coat.

“Of course. Please make yourself comfortable however you need,” Aziraphale replied faintly, trying not to let her discomfort show. How selfish it would be, to make this about herself and her questions.

Still, however much Aziraphale tried to put it from her mind that someone, someone human, dared to hurt Crowley so terribly…the rest of the evening was a blur.

Chapter Text

Crowley was nervous. She didn’t like being nervous. It felt, well, unnerving, for her nerves to be -ous.

Aziraphale told her many times that there was no pressure to come with her into town. Aziraphale had to go to work, but Crowley was welcome to stay in the house or roam the oceans as she pleased. Crowley did at first, but she felt somewhat restless, stuck between the house and shore, all because of her fear of being away from the ocean.

The two spent laidback evenings together as Aziraphale complained about all the people who returned books to the library late or, worse, with stains, and how she had regaled those unfortunate patrons with a strict speech on book care. Crowley, who knew full well what books were but had little experience with them, what with that whole thing about books not liking to be wet, didn’t understand what was so terrible about a small marinara stain on page 236 of Pride & Prejudice, and so was likewise regaled with that same strict speech on book care. Who knew there was a “proper” way to pull a book from a shelf to avoid damaging the binding?

Still, after a few days, Crowley’s curiosity, as usual, got the better of her, and she decided she needed to make the best of this time with Aziraphale by exploring human culture more and learning their ways, her anxiety be damned. So, when Aziraphale walked to town that day, so did Crowley.

Fully clothed. See, she was already adapting so fast to the culture.

As Crowley had already visited Tadfield once, she felt better prepared for this second excursion. The library was toward the centre, but she found, to her delight, that she was more excited by her surroundings than anything. She itched to explore the space, noticing many strangely shaped buildings and mysterious crevices and tiny furry beasts – cats, Crowley recalled. They sometimes accompanied ships to catch rodents.

The library where Aziraphale worked was not particularly grand, but nothing in this small town was. It was two stories, an eclectic mix of red brick and white stone that made it look both old and classy. Crowley could only nod and shrug as Aziraphale explained how this library’s system differed from the electronic, modern version used in…basically everywhere else.

“I applied for an opening here on a whim,” Aziraphale admitted with a chuckle as they approached the door. “Well, not so much a whim as a gamble, I suppose. I was finally ready to admit to myself that I needed to…leave the situation I was in. And I decided that if they accepted me, I’d take it as a sign. And they did.”

“What did you do before? You mentioned you lived in London.”

Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up. “Oh, a family business. Law. The environment never suited me, though I certainly did my best. But enough of that.”

Like a giddy child, she pulled open the double doors and gestured inward with a flourish. “After you,” Aziraphale said with a mock bow.

Crowley grinned at her and stepped inside, her hands stuffed in her pockets.

And faltered beyond the step.

Books were by no means Crowley’s thing, but she had still been vaguely impressed by Aziraphale’s collection, in the way one is when a friend proudly showcases their collection of obscure knickknacks you know nothing about, like beanie babies or those vintage baby statues. Even knowing nothing about it, you can still look at it and say, “Wow, that is a lot of time, money, and effort that you put into this thing. Neat.”

But Crowley had never seen a library before, so even a relatively small one like this – at least, in comparison to the gigantic libraries Aziraphale must’ve left behind in the city – seemed endless, with rows upon rows upon rows of colourful book spines, dust hanging in errant sunbeams as Aziraphale closed the doors behind them. The front wall of the building carried a long expanse of square wooden drawers, each bearing a small, bronzed handle and a paper label.

“Those are the card catalogues,” Aziraphale explained when she saw Crowley staring. “It took some getting used to again after the convenience of digital holds and all that. The Tadfield Library hasn’t upgraded in decades, so they still use all these cards to keep track of stock and who has a book out, et cetera. It was very nostalgic for me to see when I arrived.”

Crowley had only a moment to wonder what half of that even meant when a woman appeared from a door behind a long counter.

“Good morning, Deirdre,” Aziraphale called with a little wave.

“Good morning, Aziraphale,” the woman replied cheerfully. She was short with cropped blonde hair, sharp cheekbones, and a friendly smile. “And this must be…?”

“Yes, allow me to introduce you! Dierdre, this is Crowley.” Here, she gestured to Crowley. “Crowley, this is my co-worker and friend, Deirdre Young.”

Deirdre approached and politely extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you, especially from Aziraphale. You’re all she’s talked about since you arrived. You’re a selkie, aren’t you?”

Crowley’s eyebrows popped up as she shook Dierdre’s hand. “You know?”

She smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid the rumour mill demands to be heard around here, even if you aren’t one for gossip. I try to avoid it myself, but I got my hair trimmed the other afternoon and, well…”

“Tracy,” Aziraphale filled in knowingly. She glanced at Crowley, concerned. “I should have mentioned before, but I’m afraid everyone’s quite curious about you. I’ve received many questions and well wishes I was supposed to pass onto you. The news spread rather quickly.”

“I promise everyone means well,” Dierdre put in. “It’s not exactly rare around here for a magical person to come by our little town of Tadfield, but it still always causes a stir to have a new resident or visitor, magical or not. Are you staying long? I’m sure once you’ve met a few people and they see that you’re a normal person, it’ll all settle. Though goodness knows it took some time before we adapted to the way Pepper–“

Dierdre was cut off suddenly by a bloodcurdling screech, raspy as though pulled from the deepest depths of a darkened soul, wretched by utter agony into the clotting air. Crowley was immediately on the defensive, an arm tossed across Aziraphale’s front as Crowley glared around for the source.

“Oh, speaking of!” Deirdre said with a cheer that suggested utter obliviousness to the tension that usually accompanies a mysterious scream. Humans, no sense of self preservation. “Looks like she’s here now. Oh, and Adam is with her. Adam! Why aren’t you kids in class right now?”

A swarm of children appeared suddenly, trailing in through the front door. Three were white boys, one with curly hair, one with glasses, and one with a streak of dirt on his cheek and colourful hair, and the fourth was a Black girl with her curls pulled into a ponytail.

“It’s for an assignment, Mum,” the curly-haired boy replied. “Mr. Cortese sent us for materials. He gave us a list.”

Deirdre took the paper and sighed. “Right, then. Let me find these so you can get back to your school as quickly as possible. Tell Mr. Cortese to come here himself next time. It’s not right to use children for your own errands.”

“Do you need help with that, Deirdre?” Aziraphale asked.

“Would you? It shouldn’t take but a moment with both of us.”

Aziraphale spoke to Crowley, who had lowered her arm by now with the sense that she had missed a step on a flight of stairs. “Will you be alright for a bit?”

Crowley growled at her. “I’m perfectly capable of being by myself. I’m an adult.”

Aziraphale only glanced to the children. “Not quite what I meant. Well, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With that, she and Deirdre left Crowley to the kids. The second they were out of earshot…

“So, you’re the sea monster everyone’s talking about. Do you have big fangs?”

Crowley crossed her arms as she looked to the four kids again. The curly-haired one was looking at her expectantly, so she surmised he was the one who asked.

“Adam, you can’t just go around calling people monsters,” the girl said, her hands on her hips. “It’s derogatory.”

Adam shrugged. “Whatever. I just want to know if they have fangs.” He addressed Crowley again. “Do you?”

Crowley levelled him with an unimpressed look. “I’m a selkie, not the kraken.” Though she supposed the kraken might not have fangs, either. She’d never met them.

Glasses kid coughed. “Um, my mum said the kraken isn’t real.”

Crowley scoffed. “Of course, she did. Humans.”

“You can say that again,” the girl exclaimed, crossing her arms. Giving Crowley a scrutinizing look, she said, “I’m Pepper, by the way. She and her. They’re Adam, Brian, and Wensleydale, but we call him Wensley. All he and him pronouns for them. You?”

“Crowley. She, her, hers pronouns. For now, anyway. What did you mean before? Aren’t you a human?”

“Half,” she sighed, “so I don’t get to be non-corporeal like my mum. She’s not around much. Having a banshee around isn’t ‘conducive to a healthy home environment,’ apparently, and she and Dad are divorced anyway, so I live with my grandparents. They’re alright.”

Crowley was learning very quickly that kids liked to tell random strangers anything and everything if they so wished. “You’re half banshee, then,” Crowley gathered. She remembered the loud scream from before. “So…is someone about to die or something?”

“Oh, that’s not how it works,” glasses kid – Wensley – said. “For a full banshee, a scream would portend the death of a loved one. But for Pepper–“

“Yes, I was gonna say that,” Pepper interrupted with a scowl. “Anyway…my screams aren’t nearly as depressing. Mine just portend a minor inconvenience.”

Crowley had never heard of such a thing, but hey, hadn’t she just been talking to Aziraphale about how she didn’t know every little thing about all magical creatures? Guess she knew something new, now.

Wait – not magical, just–

Oh, nevermind. She silently conceded the point.

“What minor inconvenience did you portend this time?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask.

All four kids grinned wickedly. “Us,” Adam stated confidently.

Crowley believed that.

“Why in the world,” Aziraphale said suddenly, appearing from the shelves with a stack of books under one arm, “does Mr. Cortese need a copy of How to Appear Normal at Social Events for your class?”

Adam shrugged. “Science.”

“Mr. Cortese does have his foibles,” Deirdre said with an awkward chuckle. Everything about her was a little bit awkward. “He and his husband, Mr. Harrison. They make quite a couple.” She and Aziraphale distributed the books between the children, so each was carrying an equal load. “Now, these are all checked out on Mr. Cortese’s name. Be sure to tell him. As I’ve told him before, I’m not waiving fines on books he wanted for ‘academic purposes.’ Now, you kids get back to class.”

“But Muuuuuuum,” Adam said in the universally bratty way of children that Crowley recognized even in selkie pups. “We’re talking to a selkie!”

“Yes, I know, but you have classes.”

Adam implored his mum with wide eyes.

Deirdre crossed her arms. “Go on.”

Pepper glanced to Crowley, who felt suddenly like she was being surveyed for how potentially interesting she was. She must’ve passed because Pepper suddenly said, “Will you hang out with us later, Crowley? I don’t get to meet non-humans very often.”

Adam brightened. “That’s a great idea! We could meet after school and show Crowley our spot!”

“Mrs. Crowley,” Deirdre corrected.

“Just Crowley, actually,” Crowley said.

“Oh, my apologies.”

“No problem.” Crowley regarded the group of kids again. She had always liked pups for how chaotic they were, but these ones looked to be pre-teens, which was a messy age where a lot of them thought they had to conform to societal expectations and therefore became extremely boring.

A hand landed on Crowley’s shoulder. “You don’t have to agree,” Aziraphale murmured close to her ear. “The kids can be…rather a lot.”

Crowley smiled at her, gratitude welling in her chest. Facing the kids, she said, “Alright, I’ll meet with you. In exchange, you have to show me around this town of yours.”

“Deal! See you after class, Crowley!” Adam exclaimed, and the kids all sprinted for the exit with a whoop as though afraid that if they lingered, Crowley might change her mind – or Deirdre might forbid them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Deirdre said wearily. “Those kids, bless their hearts, are quite a rowdy bunch. No need to put out if you don’t want to.”

“Kids are often more interesting than adults,” Crowley commented. She glanced sideways to Deirdre. “Erm. No offense.”

She chuckled awkwardly again. “None taken.”

***

“Can you turn into a walrus instead?”

“No.”

“Can you, like, enchant people to do your bidding?”

“No.”

“Can your giant seal teeth rip through your enemies?”

“You’re still thinking of a walrus.”

Pepper gave an exaggerated sigh. “Do any of you have intelligent questions for her,” she asked, “or are you just going to keep proving that you’ve never read a book in your life?”

“I read books!” Adam contradicted. “So does Wensley!”

“I finished Plato’s The Republic last night, actually,” Wensley said. “It was quite thought-provoking.”

“I mean important stories,” Pepper replied. “Like ones about magical creatures! Banshee and selkie and sirens and such.”

“I would argue that the nature of justice and its role in government is just as important as magical creatures,” Wensley replied, pushing up his glasses.

“You just say that ‘cause you’re a human.”

While the kids bickered, Crowley took the opportunity to glance around the fort. After the kids returned to the library that afternoon, they had taken Crowley for a “tour” of the town, which largely constituted exclusively pointing out the parts that they frequented or found noteworthy. Highlights included the ice cream shop, the haunted antiques shop, The House Where No One Has Lived For a Long Time So It’s Also Probably Haunted, the park (which Crowley had already partially seen), R. P. Tyler’s house (a grumpy elderly man they loved to play pranks on), and, most importantly, Hogback Woods.

More specifically, their little fort constructed of a lot of broken things: a torn umbrella, paled planks of driftwood, chipped ceramics, toys missing pieces, flat bike tires, discount Halloween décor, and a musty pillow on the “throne” where Adam currently lounged. The others all perched on various stumps, tree roots, or leaned against surrounding, moss-covered nursery logs.

“So!” Crowley said with a loud clap that startled the kids to attention. “My turn to ask questions. What’s the fort for?”

The kids all gave her a flat look. “It’s our HQ,” Pepper said, like it was obvious.

“Base of operations,” Adam put in. “Headquarters. It’s where we plan stuff. Our games and pranks and stuff.”

“What games do you play?” Crowley asked, dooming herself. Pepper screamed, then giggled madly.

The next hour was spent being dragged around the forest playing a variety of games, from battling dragons to pretend-robberies. Crowley had never climbed a tree and found her limbs didn’t want to cooperate with the more complex movements required to do so.

“You’re out, Crowley!” Brian called from above her. “The werewolf would’ve already eaten you by now.”

Crowley made a face at him.

Though she wouldn’t admit to it aloud, it was the most fun Crowley had experienced in a very long time. She remembered in a sickly sweet, tinted sour way, all her days in the pod taking care of the pups when parents were busy, or simply because they liked her, and they fled to her, liking the way she encouraged their imaginations and told them silly stories and made-up lullabies. She had always been good with kids, and it tugged at something long buried in her heart to be around them again. She may have never wanted kids of her own, but she delighted in others’.

Sometime later, they found themselves back in town, as the kids needed to return to their respective homes for supper soon. “Can we ask you one more thing?” Adam asked speculatively as they walked.

Crowley shrugged at him. “Go for it.”

“You’re married to Miss Aziraphale, right?”

“Er, yeah. By technicality.”

“And you love her?”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Um, uh – well, the thing is– “

 “You are,” Adam declared confidently. “That’s good. That means you’ll be staying for a while. I think you belong here.”

Crowley sucked in a shocked breath. “Gotta go,” she mumbled, darting off the path without another word, roughly toward the library. The kids all gave her a chorus of goodbyes that she acknowledged with a wave, not looking back.

She knew, as she stomped her way down the sidewalk, that Adam was just some preteen boy who didn’t understand their situation at all. He didn’t have any sway in the matter, no real knowledge of their circumstances, and he had met her only a few hours prior.

But somehow, the way he said it…

Crowley couldn’t afford to go around believing that she belonged in a place like this. Selkies belonged in their pods, and Crowley didn’t have one anymore. She would be adrift her whole life. Never settling somewhere comfortable. Never having a home to return to, or friends.

“Don’t get it twisted,” she muttered to herself as she awkwardly stumbled along. She would never belong anywhere, and it was dangerous to forget that.

Chapter Text

Somehow, living with and being married to a selkie became…normal.

Well, Aziraphale supposed it would never truly be normal, normal. As in, not worthy of note, utterly ordinary and mundane. That type of normal. But as the days turned into weeks, they settled into a routine of coexistence. Their days were usually spent apart, though Crowley occasionally visited the library, and evenings were filled with cooking together as Crowley slowly learned how to use human utensils, walks on the beach, and other domestic doings that made Aziraphale feel truly at home in Tadfield. These were the sorts of activities she would expect of a middle-aged couple living in a cottage by the sea, in the way that they were only in name. Even if the usual romantic feelings were not involved in their temporary partnership, it was…pleasant. Yes, pleasant.

Sometimes, Aziraphale even forgot that they were only here because of a mistake, and that at any moment, one of Anathema’s contacts may find the solution to separating their eternal bond. It was only a matter of time, after all. There had to be a way to free Crowley from this.

Most of the time, though, she didn’t think about it. She found herself simply enjoying the company of her unexpected houseguest, and idly wondering how she would get used to the silence again when she was gone.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said one afternoon as she peered around the bookshelves in the children’s section of the library. Crowley had come with her to work today. When she did so, she usually would disappear into the shelves for multiple hours. Aziraphale had caught her flipping through the picture books more than once, a gentle hand stroking the glossy pages.

Sure enough, the selkie was sitting on the floor (there were many open chairs around her, but she seemed to have a propensity for lounging positions that defied the nature of chairs), a scattering of thin, vibrant books around her.

“Crowley, we’re closing in a few minutes,” Aziraphale told her when she had her attention. “If there’s anything you want to check out and bring back to the house, you’re welcome to.”

Aziraphale always offered this when she found Crowley reading, and as always, Crowley shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.”

Aziraphale helped her reshelve. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the books here,” Aziraphale commented as they did so. “We have an impressive selection of picture books. We hold a big reading program each summer with the kids, so we want to make sure they have a lot of options.”

“They’re pretty,” Crowley replied. “All the drawings.”

“Aren’t they? Very talented artists. I’m especially fond of watercolour illustrations.” Aziraphale looked at the book she was holding. “Oh, did you enjoy this one? I think the ending is especially sweet, don’t you?”

Crowley shrugged, gently scooping up the last two books on the floor. “Dunno. Can’t read.”

Aziraphale opened her mouth to express disbelief, then flushed.

Oh, she could be such a fool sometimes.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale babbled. “I just assumed – but of course you wouldn’t’ve had the opportunity to learn! How presumptuous of me! I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Crowley, looking startled and then amused by her outburst, simply shrugged again. “No problem. I don’t see the appeal, anyway.”

“The appeal of books?” Now Aziraphale was outraged. “They’re wonderful, Crowley, wonderful! You can learn just about anything. Tutorials and history and science. They’re full of stories of all sorts, too, from daring adventures to meditative self-exploration to heart-warming romance…”

“But then the stories are stuck.” Crowley’s nose scrunched in distaste. “It’ll just…stay the same, forever. Never shifting, never moulding itself to what the storyteller or the listeners need. How could anyone like that?”

Aziraphale was taken aback for only a moment, but her curiosity about selkie storytelling immediately overtook her surprise. “I suppose selkies must all tell stories vocally?”

“There’s not exactly a lot of options for writing things down,” Crowley replied with a gentle uptick to her eyebrows. “Too many things aren’t permanent enough. You could write in sand, but the currents will wash that up in a few hours. Most plant life won’t last, either. The only thing you could write on is stone, and if you’re going to go the effort of carving, it’s much easier to use pictures.”

“Ah, a bit like hieroglyphics, I suppose,” Aziraphale said, fascinated.

“Sure, I’ll pretend I know what that is. Point is, we just tell stories ourselves without these” – she flapped one of the books in the air – “wobbly shapes.”

“Are you a storyteller, then?” Aziraphale asked. “Keeper of the stories for your pod, or something? You seem so passionate about it.”

“Aziraphale, stories are selkie culture. They’re our way of living,” Crowley replied, not even noticing as Aziraphale took the books from her hands and put them away. Crowley just kept talking. “Every selkie is a ‘storyteller,’ as you say. A storykeeper. We all bear the responsibility of our general and personal history. Stories have a lot of value, and they’ve gotta be remembered and told with care. The idea of leaving them available for anyone to take, for free…” Crowley gazed over the stacks. “It’s probably the most foreign thing about humans.”

Aziraphale thought back to that evening in the bath, when Crowley had told her a story and replied that Aziraphale now owed her one in return, like it was a given. Aziraphale hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she recognized the cultural difference.

“A lot of humans use oral tradition, too,” Aziraphale commented. “Older civilizations especially, like ancient Greece, did, though it’s still alive in some places. The Indigenous cultures in the Americas come to mind. Besides,” she murmured, “even these stories aren’t exactly stagnant. Some readers take it upon themselves to add to the stories they love most, or even change the content. Then they share their versions on the internet.” It had been a chore to explain the internet to Crowley, considering Aziraphale barely understood it herself, but Crowley didn’t seem to care, anyway.

Crowley looked slightly placated. “Do they really? Then I suppose books aren’t entirely a lost cause.”

Aziraphale chuckled. She had never imagined that the existence of fan fiction would improve a selkie’s opinions on the habits of human media consumption and circulation. And yet, here she was. She began leading the way to the library exit when a thought struck her. “Crowley, would you like me to teach you how to read?”

Crowley looked like she was going to immediately say no, but she paused to consider. “I think I’d rather listen to a story than read it to myself. But…it might be nice to know.”

Aziraphale smiled and immediately began wondering about reading lesson plans for adults as they exited and locked up the library. In the meantime, she was determined to see how to make her phone play audiobooks.

***

The boat was a rental, which was to say that Aziraphale idly mentioned Crowley’s idea of a day on the water to Deirdre, who passed it on to her husband, Arthur, who mentioned it to his neighbour R. P. Tyler in an uncomfortable conversation about “the evils of city folks,” who went on to complain about it to Shadwell (a man who claimed to be an ex-veteran of a covert army he wouldn’t tell anyone about [except that he also loved to tell anyone and everyone who asked that he hunted witches in his youth; Anathema didn’t get on with him]), and Shadwell made a kid (technically an adult) named Newt bring Shadwell’s archaic rowboat titled Dalrymple to Aziraphale’s home one Sunday morning.

“Um. What is this for?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing the ancient little boat that sat in the trailer attached to a horrifically ugly blue vehicle with one fewer wheel than usual.

Newt shrugged as he exited the vehicle, easing the car door shut as though the whole thing may fall apart if it closed too harshly. “Mister Shadwell told me to bring it your way.”

“Ah. Um. Why?”

Newt looked uncomfortable. “He heard you needed it. And he, well…hoped you would do something in return.”

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows. “What might that be?”

“Waive the fee on his overdue book. Something about witchcraft, by someone named Russell. Maybe. I should’ve had him write it down.”

“W-Well, I don’t know if I, um…”

Crowley appeared from behind her quite suddenly. “Ooo, you got a boat!” she exclaimed, red hair falling in broad curls over her selkie shawl. “Brilliant. Guess we’ll set out soon. Who’s that?”

Aziraphale gave her attention back to Newt, who was very, very carefully staring at his boots. “Oh, this is Newton. He goes by Newt. He’s a very sweet young man who moved here only a bit after I did. He…well, I don’t really know what you do, my dear.”

Newton adjusted his glasses. “Erm. Just. Odd jobs, I guess. Couldn’t find anything in London, so I…yeah.”

“I see. Is that why you brought this boat here for Shadwell? You work for him?”

“We share a small flat complex,” Newt admitted. “He has me do errands sometimes. I do stuff for Anathema, too, and a few others.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale said, beaming.

Newt shuffled his feet. “Thanks.”

“No need to be shy. Now, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you get this boat closer to the water?”

It wasn’t until Newt left Aziraphale and Crowley standing on the beach, the poor boy’s gaze still determinedly set away from the two of them, that Aziraphale realized Newt hadn’t been embarrassed by the compliments. Crowley, once again, didn’t have a shirt on.

Aziraphale laughed and laughed. Crowley didn’t seem to get the joke.

As it happened, Aziraphale knew nothing about boating. She was, in fact, amongst those “city folk” that R. P. Tyler complained about. He was a crotchety old man with a disdain for youth, strangers, and cats. The latter point was why he and Shadwell got on so well.

While Aziraphale was familiar with the boating done, for example, in various books about sailors and pirates on grand adventures, she was still very new to this whole ocean business. The occasional family trip brought her to the ocean’s edge in childhood, but she had never been on it.

They set out around noon. Thankfully, Crowley did know something about boating, as she apparently had made a habit of disguising herself as a human on ships over her years of exile. A rowboat was a slightly different story, but they figured it out together and took turns rowing as Crowley regaled Aziraphale with tales of pretending to be a stranded human, sneaking onto boats, and causing havoc.

“That’s not very nice,” Aziraphale chided.

“I’m not nice,” Crowley replied.

“I don’t know how you expect me to believe that. Though I suppose I owe you another story, now.”

“Nah.” Crowley grinned toothily at her. “That one’s free.”

Eventually, when they had rowed far enough for the shore to be small on the horizon, Crowley stopped the boat, stripped off what little clothing she had bothered with that morning, and dove sleekly into the water, hardly rocking the boat at all with her movements. Aziraphale watched as, below the murky surface, her pale figure shortened, widened – and a grey seal head appeared on the other side.

“You clever thing,” Aziraphale said fondly, reaching a hand low over the water. She suddenly wondered if you were supposed to pet seals, or if it was rude to pet a selkie, but Crowley briefly bopped her head against Aziraphale’s palm and soothed any concerns.

Crowley made a low yipping sound, somehow not unlike a disgruntled dog.

“Oh, I’m not getting in,” Aziraphale protested. “Please, swim to your heart’s content.”

Crowley made a sound that somehow perfectly conveyed, then why the bloody hell are you in a swimsuit?

“The swimsuit is in case I fall in,” she replied with a huff. It was also because she felt very cute in it. It was a vintage reconstruction of a high-waisted, polka-dotted two-piece, styled after the 1940s with a little skirt. She had bought it years ago and hadn’t had an occasion to wear it since. She used to never be sure enough to wear a two-piece swimsuit at all, but she was becoming more comfortable with her body, with being fat and not fearing the word. So, it felt good to wear it.

Crowley ducked and appeared again on the other side of the boat, back to her human form. Her red hair was dark, flat against her head, and her selkie skin, wrapped around her torso, floated buoyant in the salty water. “You can’t come out on the ocean and not get in it!” Crowley protested.

“I most certainly can.”

“Then what are you going to do all day? Sit there and float around?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll watch you, of course.”

Crowley’s cheeks pinked, and she immediately disappeared underwater.

Aziraphale did exactly as she said (after applying a thick layer of SPF 100 sunscreen to every inch of her exposed skin). Crowley was more than happy to perform what twists and twirls she could do as a seal, including a particularly impressive leap over Aziraphale’s head that she was quite sure a normal seal wouldn’t’ve been able to do.

Once, Crowley transformed mid-air, which unfortunately resulted in her getting water up her very human nose when she crashed into the water’s surface.

Aziraphale probably shouldn’t have laughed quite as hard as she did. “It’s not funny!” Crowley growled at her. “It burns! It’s water; why does it burn?”

Crowley made such an absurd face that Aziraphale fell into another fit of giggles.

With a grunt, the selkie transformed again and began flopping in the water until the rowboat nearly toppled over in the waves. Aziraphale screeched so loud, she could’ve been heard on the coast.

Aziraphale hadn’t known a seal could laugh before today, but those tiny barks were definitely an equivalent, and she joined Crowley sheepishly in laughter as the water calmed. It felt good to laugh freely. Aziraphale couldn’t remember doing so with such relish since she was a child.

Out here, it was easy to forget about things like jobs and the new stresses of house ownership, or even where you came from and where you were going. Everything was so blue in every direction that even the sun’s tones were muted against the coolness of the reflecting gradiented sky, dotted through with clouds like dove’s feathers.

White seagulls with grey wings and black tails floated on the shifting sea, bobbing their heads and congregating near the boat as though expecting to be tossed a spare chip. Some seagulls sailed startlingly close overhead as their throaty cackle broke the monotony of water crashing into the sides of the old dinghy.

Eventually, the two seafarers paused for the lunch that Aziraphale had packed in her little basket. Crowley grumbled about having to get out of the water, but accepted Aziraphale’s hand when she offered. Crowley draped her seal’s hide over the side of the rowboat, ends dragging in the wet, like she couldn’t bear to be apart from the ocean entirely, even for a moment.

“Do you like oysters?” Aziraphale asked. “Perhaps it’s not exactly usual picnic food, but it seemed so fitting that I couldn’t resist.”

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley replied. “They’re too small and difficult to get to as a seal.”

Aziraphale looked horrified. “Well! Well. Let me tempt you to…”

It turned out that Crowley liked them very much, especially having never eaten seafood cooked before. She made a game of tossing the empty shells into the water, trying to hit the bobbing seagulls. Aziraphale objected, obviously, but stopped when she realized Crowley was intentionally missing.

“Reminds me of when we met,” Crowley mentioned, chewing on the lemony, buttery insides of the oyster in her hand. “You were eating out of this same basket.”

“I am very fond of picnics,” Aziraphale said. “I used to take my lunch to St. James’ Park a couple of times a week. I always wished…” She trailed off.

Crowley leaned forward, her amber eyes bright. “Wished what?”

Aziraphale couldn’t meet that earnest gaze. “I always wished I had reason to pack lunch for two.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, which wasn’t even a word.

They ate in silence for a moment.

“We should go on lots of picnics,” Crowley said suddenly. “You like ‘em, so we should do ‘em more. And we can – we can come out here or go to your spot on the beach. Or somewhere else.  Anywhere you want to go. We should go there, and…have a picnic.”

Aziraphale felt a warmth blooming inside her, and she regarded Crowley with that same warmth. She could never have expected that the surly, grumpy selkie that appeared on the null that day would turn out to be, not-so-secretly, such a kind soul.

“Yes,” she agreed softly. “For whatever time we have left together…I would be honoured to picnic with you.”

“Whatever time we…” Crowley leaned away. “Right. Yeah. ‘Course.” A pause. “Um. I’m gonna swim some more now.”

Aziraphale watched her dive back in, a little bit more clumsily this time.

As Crowley swam, she began venturing farther from the boat than she had earlier. It made Aziraphale a tad nervous, as the boat had drifted over the past few hours, and she wasn’t certain of the direction toward home. Crowley probably knew, but if she was alone, she would be stranded.

But…she trusted Crowley. And Crowley always came back to yip at her with that adorable seal’s face; her long whiskers, and brilliant, round eyes demanding Aziraphale’s adoration.

It was very hot under the direct heat of the sun, and Aziraphale found herself splashing her arms and legs with pathetic scoops of seawater to cool off.

“You sure you don’t wanna get in?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale started. She hadn’t realized Crowley was nearby, nor in possession of a human mouth. She spotted the selkie over the edge, one hand braced on the side of the rowboat to keep her steady.

“I don’t know…” Aziraphale eyed the water. It was grimy and so, so deep. That darkness stretched on forever, disrupted only by the occasional fish or seaweed clump or driftwood. She couldn’t help but think of sharks – though she knew full well how skewed their reputation was compared to their reality.

“You’ll be safe,” Crowley said, correctly guessing a part of Aziraphale’s hesitation.

“I-I know. It’s just that…you see, I…”

Understanding dawned on Crowley's face. “You’ve never swam before.”

“I know the – the theory behind it…” Aziraphale murmured, embarrassed.

Crowley awkwardly pulled herself up enough to place a hand on Aziraphale’s knee. “It’s okay. I can teach you.”

Aziraphale lifted her head. “You would?”

Crowley grinned rakishly, like something out of a 60s film. “What better teacher could you ask for than a creature of the sea itself?”

Aziraphale sighed in relief. She hadn’t truly expected Crowley to judge her for her lack of ability, but she felt so silly compared to Crowley’s obvious grace and ease – and love for swimming.

“Want to get in, then?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s heartrate increased as she considered the shimmering green surface. “Erm. Perhaps closer to shore?”

Crowley grinned. “Good call. That’s what pups do to walk, after all.”

The day neared its end, the sun a descending mass of unseeable light that struck the surface like a burning sword, stratified oranges and reds straining toward that directionless light. The two rowed back to land. And as they walked exhaustedly to the house, sunshine quickly fading, Aziraphale almost reached out and took Crowley’s hand in hers, like that very first evening together, so long ago and not long ago at all. But she didn’t.

***

Caught up in the card catalogues (the record of all the books the library presently housed), Aziraphale found her mind drifting from her work to the day on the ocean a few days before. She thought of the sun creating a crown of gold on Crowley’s damp hair as they ate oysters together. She thought of the joy in her chest at the selkie’s attention, and the way they talked so easily together as though years had gone by in one another’s company. She knew, logically, that they had met such a short time ago. Three weeks, give or take a few days. Yet, Crowley had folded herself into Aziraphale’s life with an ease she could never have predicted.

And it wasn’t just her – Crowley had gotten to know people in Tadfield, too, from the rambunctious children, Pepper and Adam and the others, to Tracy, with whom Aziraphale had found Crowley making plans to meet later, so they must’ve been hitting it off, despite their rocky first meeting. She’d even seen Crowley discussing gardening with the man who ran the plant shop, Francis.

The people of Tadfield had accepted Crowley as easily as they had herself.

And together, they had cultivated, by pure chance and accident, a domestic little seaside life together.

Though she knew it couldn’t be, she couldn’t help but wish…

Aziraphale fumbled with a card in her hand and watched it drift to the floor as a strange ache overtook her body, then a sharper pain in her chest. She had hardly a moment to be afraid before her legs gave out and she crumbled to the floor like her unfiled card.

Chapter Text

As soon as she woke up, she felt…itchy.

Blearily, Crowley stretched, rose from her bed on the sofa, and stepped outside, where the salty air was a balm to her soul. She wasn’t itchy in a traditional sense. Her skin was fine (if a little sunburnt). No, it was more like a yearning deep in her organs, in her blood.

She recognized it as a yearning for the ocean. She hadn’t swum since that day with Aziraphale. Crowley had been staying close to shore since landing in Tadfield, but it had felt so good to be out where it was deep, and she felt truly relaxed.

She followed the itch.

Aziraphale was at work (Crowley had already come to revel in the joy of sleeping in), so Crowley set off at a jog to the nearby waterside. It had been some time since that panic had seized her when she was away from the ocean, though some discomfort, if not fear, lingered. She had adjusted well enough, though, and it got easier with practice. She couldn’t explain what that anxiety stemmed from, but she was glad to be overcoming it, little by little.

Still, barefoot, from grass to uneven sand to the water, Crowley didn’t stop, not until the water was deep enough to dive into, her body shifting as she did so into her seal form. It was like wrapping herself tight in the warmth of a thick, fluffy blanket, this return to herself. Not that her human form was any less her – but she spent so little time in it compared to this one.

She swam.

She had no destination in mind, only an itchiness that pervaded her even now. She let out a low grumble, lazily curving her body through the currents and spinning as though the saltwater may scratch at this edge. She glided through the ocean’s embrace, subject to its whims.

She dove deeper.

Down here, everything was tinted slightly green, and the seabed of rocks and sand and the many creatures that lived there were brought into sharp focus; her seal’s vision was superior to that of a human’s, and she was adept at seeing in the dark waters of the sea. Her first time witnessing the night as a human had been terrifying, but that was a long time ago, and now she found a strange comfort in it when she, on a rare occasion, watched the world go dark from a human’s point of view.

That said, the late morning was far from dark, as light flooded in from the white surface, illuminating the yellow undertones of the sand that puffed around her when she ducked low enough to disturb it. There was a rushing music to the seafloor, a sense of stillness even when the water was endlessly dancing. She dove deeper still, seeking that feeling of detachment.

The world was so large around her.

Crowley had been on her own for many years now. She was well accustomed to swimming alone. She had mucked up the dormant sand of many oceans and shores, with no one to witness it but the anemones, the crabs, the clams, the sea cucumbers, the fishes. Human words. Selkies had their own names for these things, but she liked the human ones.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? She liked the human way of doing things. She liked them so much so that her pod had seen fit to banish her for it, for her allegiance and protection of the very ones that ensured this seabed she drifted over was occasionally spoiled by glass bottles, plastic, fishing nets. The coils of stones and patchy seagrass could not hide the human disturbances of decades, centuries. There was no denying that.

Yet still, Crowley was drawn to the land again and again. She walked on stable legs, and with dry skin, and she balanced these sides of herself, a creature destined to be caught between two worlds. Even if she picked one side, as her pod had done, did that erase the other side? No, of course not. She was both, as sure as the Earth was water and stone.

She swam.

Gliding on her back, the water’s surface looked like a broken chain of light, strung and shattered in glowing flickers that now reminded her of the fire in Aziraphale’s home. The way it shivered in shape, uncertain of itself, wary of declaration or exactness. Distantly, she recognized the irony of seeing fire in water, of opposites colliding and making something beautiful.

Bits of algae floated across her vision, spots and strands of bacteria that thrived on the marine depths of the sea. She used to do this for hours, for days, drifting in any direction with no mind to where she landed. What was a selkie with no pod supposed to do? She had no idea. With the way humans had become, she couldn’t be certain of her welcome there. She supposed, then, that she was free. And she supposed that freedom meant going anywhere she liked.

Crowley had enjoyed that for a while. But one can only be free for so many years before one’s disquiet cannot be cured with new oceans. Was freedom worth it when home became unattainable? Not for the first time, she wondered where her pod was and what they were doing. And if they ever thought of her, too.

“Do you miss it?”

“A little. In the way one misses a place they never wish to return to.”

It had been unnerving, to feel so seen when Aziraphale said that, like she understood this feeling of longing for something you knew you didn’t truly want anymore. The way it hurt now, deep in her chest, tightening around her like physical heartache. She drifted, had drifted, for years, utterly alone.

Her itchiness was gone. Her body thought she wanted to be free again, to go where she liked. But she had done that before, and one day she would return to it, and somehow, that was terrifying. Moreso than leaving her pod had ever been.

Why did it hurt so badly?

Crowley stretched, shifted, trying to ease the misery in her chest, but it was persistent and getting worse. It felt like something was pulling at her, tugging at her heart from the outside, dragging her out of herself until she might rip at the seams of her scars. Pain wasn’t the right word for it. But Crowley wasn’t certain there were words for it at all.

Oh. Shit.

Panic resting at the base of her throat, Crowley swam up suddenly, toward that fire atop the ocean and lifted her head gratefully into the air, whiskers dripping saltwater beads. In every direction, the ocean encapsulated the world. She hadn’t been paying attention. For hours, she hadn’t been paying attention and she wasn’t certain which way led back to Aziraphale’s shore.

Now the bond between them, that accidental and eternal bond that was only supposed to exist between selkies, was strained thin.

Fuck.

She closed her eyes, focusing inward. She could feel Aziraphale calling for her. Not literally, no, but like her heart was crying out at Crowley’s distance, and her own was responding in kind.

It had been so long since Crowley had somewhere to return to. She hardly recognized the feeling at all, and hardly knew what to do with it now that it was here. She hated that it came at this cost.

Keeping her eyes shut, the selkie faced it. Faced Aziraphale.

And she swam home.

***

By the time the shore came into view, Crowley was exhausted. She had swum for days at a time before, yes, but slowly, leisurely, taking breaks – not with the intent that came with having a destination.

The sun was low on the water, so much so that the reds it cast on the waves had dimmed and the darkening blue expanse overhead was pricked with droplets of seaspray light. The shore was a relief, though the urgency had yet to recede. Crowley’d had no idea that was what the selkie marriage bond felt like. It was…bad, though her instincts rebelled against the thought. There was something so wrong, insidious even, about a bond supposedly built out of love that would hurt people like that. And for what, not being glued together? There was anger building inside her, but she couldn’t pay that any mind right now.

Crowley’s belly brushed sand as she shifted, knees digging into the earth when she stood and surveyed her surroundings, chest heaving from her exertion. She wasn’t far from where she had emerged, that first day when she and Aziraphale met. She knew the way to the house from here. Hopefully Aziraphale was okay. She couldn’t be anything but okay. Crowley refused to entertain the thought. The pain had slipped into uneasiness and all she knew was that she needed to see Aziraphale immediately.

Whether that had to do with the bond or not was, well. Unclear. It could just be Crowley and her attachment issues.

Her weary legs carried her up the bank, away from the waves as sand stuck to every part of her dripping skin. It was dark now, the sunset receded like the tide, and she was doubting her ability to navigate the night with human eyes when she saw a figure appear from the grasses.

“Miss Crowley?” came a startled voice. “Oh, that explains a lot.”

Crowley squinted. “Are you that boy from yesterday?”

“Newt,” he offered. He moved closer, and she could barely make out his glasses reflecting off the water, where a slim moon sent its borrowed light. “Um, I brought you this.” A bundle of fabric was thrust into Crowley’s arms, and she unfolded it to find a fluffy coat of sorts. Aziraphale had one like this in a pure, fluffy white that she wore after bathing. Crowley slipped it on gratefully, settling her hide overtop after tying it at the waist.

“Why are you here?” Crowley asked suspiciously.

“Um, Anathema sent me,” he said.

Crowley’s eyebrows popped up. “Witch girl, huh? Occultist. Whatever. You two get on?”

“Ah, uh, well, yeah,” Newt stammered. “I’m – I’m her – um, Something. Sometimes she tells me places to go, and it seems best not to question it most of the time. Usually works out.”

“Witches,” Crowley muttered. “Well, alright. I guess you can tell her I said thanks or something. I’m going now. I need to–“

“Ah, wait! Anathema also wanted me to–“

“Newton? Newton, is that you?”

Crowley started and scanned the area quickly, breath caught. It was too dark to properly see the figure that approached, but how could that voice, laced with such deep concern, be anyone but Aziraphale?

“Ah, Miss Aziraphale! I–“

“Have you seen Crowley?” she cut in. She only then seemed to notice the second figure beside Newt. “Oh–“

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed in relief. “Hi.”

“You…!” Aziraphale cut herself off by flinging her arms roughly around Crowley, causing them both to stumble but not to fall. “You terrible, horrible thing! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

Crowley returned the fierce embrace without hesitation, grasping Aziraphale like an anchor to joy. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to. I’m okay, and I won’t leave again, I promise.”

“You’d best not!” Aziraphale replied hotly. They clung to each other as the crescent moon sang streaks of pale light around them. Eventually, Aziraphale pulled back partially, calmer. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I just…I needed to confirm something, I think.”

“And…did you?”

“I think so.” The shape of it was clearing.

Aziraphale deflated further, pressing the crown of her head against Crowley’s chest as her hands slipped down the selkie’s arms to her wrists. “Good. Good.”

They stood together breathing, taking a long moment to recentre, recalibrate themselves. Guilt sat heavy in her stomach for causing Aziraphale so much trouble.

“Um.” Crowley jumped, having forgotten that Newt boy was still here. “Hi, Miss Aziraphale. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

Aziraphale lifted her head. “Oh, hello. Why did you think that?”

“Anathema sent me here to help Crowley get to your house in the dark,” Newt explained. “Guess she thought you’d be in bed.” There was a clicking sound. “Brought a torch and everything, with new batteries. But you know how I am with tech.”

Aziraphale chuckled, though there was a strained quality to it. “Indeed, I do know. At least you thought to bring one. I was in such a rush, I – nevermind. Thank you for your help, but I can get us home from here. Would you like to come for tea?”

Newt was already shaking his head. “Nah, An’s – that is, Anathema’s waiting for me, so I should go. Uh. Bye.” With that, he took off.

“Awkward kid,” Crowley commented.

“Be nice.”

“Have you ever known me to be?”

“Many times.”

“Slander.”

One of Aziraphale’s hands was still clutching Crowley’s wrist, but it slid until hands met and their fingers intertwined. That was new. Crowley hadn’t realized you could hold hands like that, her only experience being the less intimate hold from their first day. She immediately decided that she liked this one more, so long as it was Aziraphale on the other end.

“Come back with me?” Aziraphale asked.

“Of course.”

Perhaps explanations should have rushed from her lips, but instead, Crowley was silent as they walked to the house, her feet unsteady but hands held firmly.

Crowley thought to herself that there were many ways to hold someone. To make sure they couldn’t leave was one…and asking that they choose to stay was another.

Chapter Text

It felt nostalgic, in a way, for the night to echo one so recent as Aziraphale pulled Crowley inside, flicking on the lights as they went. This time, however, Aziraphale didn’t let go of Crowley’s hand until they were in the bathroom and the tub was gushing warm water into the basin. Crowley was conspicuously quiet beside her, and Aziraphale almost asked if something was wrong, but decided against it.

“I’ll let you clean up, first,” Aziraphale murmured, shattering the silence with a soft word. “Shall I sit outside? We can talk when you’re done.”

Crowley frowned. “You could stay. If you like. Drag in a chair.”

Aziraphale dropped her hand. “Better not.”

Aziraphale, as she had before, and many times since, made tea while Crowley bathed. A wave of drowsiness was chasing Aziraphale, and she suddenly doubted her ability to climb the stairs to her bed if she waited until after they talked about what happened today. She was so worn, emotionally and physically, it was a miracle they’d made it back alright at all. Aziraphale elected to pull out her two biggest mugs (one had a whimsical little cactus on it, and the other had a scale pattern like a fish) and fill them with tea.

When Crowley finally wandered out to the living space looking strangely hesitant, her hair stringy and dripping, Aziraphale took up the freshly steeped mugs and lifted them in her direction. “I thought we could sit upstairs,” Aziraphale said, half a question.

Crowley nodded, accepting one mug (the fish scale one) and followed Aziraphale to her bedroom.

Crowley had been in here before on some occasions, but it felt different to invite the selkie there to stay, even if only briefly. The room was less orderly than the livingroom, though with fewer boxes and books. It was nearly eleven according to the wall clock, Aziraphale noted as she flipped on the table lamp, the only light in the room. The shadows were deep and dark.

Aziraphale, having already changed into her tartan flannel nightgown before unexpectedly running out to the beach when a strange – urge – overtook her, settled onto her side of the bed, the one with the cluttered nightstand. Rather, the one with a nightstand in general, as the other end was pushed directly against the wall. There had never been an occasion for someone to access that side. When she saw Crowley teetering awkwardly in the doorway, Aziraphale patted beside her. “You can crawl across if you like. Or sit at the end. Whichever is more comfortable.”

Crowley shuffled over and sat at Aziraphale’s side, legs curled close as she held the mug against her chest, leeching its warmth.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aziraphale had to ask. “Didn’t you get hurt?”

Crowley looked at her, eyebrows tilted in concern. “Did you feel it, too?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I was…it took me by surprise. It kept getting worse and worse, and then suddenly got better. I thought I was having a heart attack, initially.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I know none of this was purposeful. Still, Deirdre insisted I go home early, so I did, and found that…it was empty. You weren’t here. And that’s when I remembered.”

“Remembered?”

“What you told Anathema. About the selkie marriage. And how one might feel a pain like this if they…if their partner was in trouble.” She swallowed as her throat tightened. “Or got hurt.”

“Oh, Aziraphale, that’s not–”

“And y-you weren’t here, and I couldn’t find you,” Aziraphale stammered hoarsely, her hands shaking as a burning gathering behind her eyes. It was all catching up to her, suddenly, all the things she had tried so hard not to think about as the lonely evening wore on, but her mind had cluttered with images anyway. Bad ones. She set aside her tea before she spilled it. “And I thought – what if you were out somewhere being hurt by – by humans again? And I couldn’t d-do anything?”

“No, I–“

“I waited here for hours. Hours, Crowley. I searched, I called your name over and over, b-but I didn’t know what to do.” Aziraphale pressed a palm to her mouth as a sob heaved through her chest, squeezing her eyes shut too late; tears rolled down her cheeks. “I-I didn’t know where to look, and when the pain started to recede…I thought maybe you had…”

Aziraphale could hear Crowley’s intake of breath. There was the sense of Crowley leaning across her, followed by a clink of ceramic on wood. The heat of her nearness didn’t diminish, though. Instead, Crowley’s hands landed on either side of her face, warm and solid, trembling breath slower but matching her own as long fingers landed in her hair. “You thought I had gone. I had died,” Crowley stated faintly.

Aziraphale could only nod.

“I’m okay. I’m right here.”

“I-I know that…”

“Look at me?”

Aziraphale did, embarrassed and ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry for being ridiculous. I shouldn’t be so…”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about this,” Crowley said, her eyes shiny with the depths of seas as bits of lamplight outlined her jaw and half-dry hair. “About feeling. You were worried about me. You cared what happened to me.” She visibly swallowed back a lump of her own. “No one has done that for me for a long time.”

As she felt her heart shatter for the lonely selkie, Aziraphale could do naught but pull the creature into a hug. Softer, slower than the desperate one on the beach. Crowley fell into it immediately, like she had been waiting years to be held like this, to hold in return. Aziraphale was more than happy to play that role, the smell of citrus wafting from the shampoo Crowley had used as she pressed a hand into the plush hide Crowley wore around her shoulders, desperate to keep her close for as long as she would allow it.

Perhaps it was absurd. Perhaps this began as nothing but an accidental crisis, and two people from separate worlds with separate lives should never have found something like this. Like friendship.

But Aziraphale knew, then, that she had desperately needed this. Someone to hold. Someone to…

Her mind grasped for it, mere centimetres away.

“I felt it, too,” Crowley murmured eventually, her mouth lost in the layers of fluff around and between them. “That pain. I wasn’t hurt. I was just far away.”

“Far away…?”

“I mentioned before, right? It’s a safety measure. Or, so I was told by my pod. I’m…feeling less sure about that part now.”

“So…you were never hurt?”

“No. Not until the same time you were, and for the same reason. Our bodies don’t like us to be apart.”

Aziraphale exhaled slowly. “My brain doesn’t either,” she admitted as relief flooded her senses once again. “What a…terrifying side effect. Nonetheless, how foolish of me. I’ve…never been more glad to be wrong.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Crowley replied. “It won’t happen again, I swear.”

I’m okay, and I won’t leave again, I promise.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale made herself pull away, and Crowley mirrored the movement until they faced each other, hands lingering. “I need to apologize to you. I made you promise something before, on the beach, and I shouldn’t have. I never want you to think that you aren’t a free person. You are always welcome to leave and do as you please.”

“With this…fucked up bond tying us together, I can’t leave. Even if I wanted to. Which…” Crowley didn’t continue.

“Then, when we figure out how to break this bond, don’t stay just for me, my dear,” Aziraphale insisted. “You deserve your freedom.”

Crowley’s face shifted slightly, obscuring its features in shadow. “I…”

“Yes?”

“I would stay. If you asked me to.”

Aziraphale’s heart shuddered, a painful lurch she couldn’t identify. “I can never ask that of you,” she murmured.

Crowley didn’t reply. After a moment, she sat at Aziraphale’s side again.

A solemn, melancholy sensation coated the dimly lit room.

It had been an emotionally fraught day, and Aziraphale simply wished it to be done with. Her tea would go cold soon, but she made no move to retrieve it. After a few moments, she yawned, then yawned again.

“We should probably part ways for the night…” she murmured, facing Crowley. Her eyes widened. The selkie had sagged rather thoroughly on the bed, head awkwardly propped against the headboard and limbs askew – fast asleep. The poor thing had been swimming all day, from the sounds of it. She had looked terribly exhausted before, hadn’t she?

Aziraphale uncertainly rested her hand on Crowley’s side, intent to shake her awake and help her downstairs. But she couldn’t bring herself to do so. The selkie’s face was gentle and soft in slumber, deepening lines of age evident in the meagre light in a way Aziraphale couldn’t help but find beautiful. There was something she had always admired in the body’s ability to provide evidence of existence, testimony that you had lived in the creases.

The selkie’s lips twitched into something like a smile. She must’ve been having a pleasant dream.

Aziraphale withdrew her hand, instead rising to rummage for an extra blanket to drape over Crowley before slipping back under the covers herself. She adjusted her pillow, allowing her companion a bit more room.

This was okay, wasn’t it? It was okay. Crowley needed rest, and truly, that sofa never looked terribly comfortable to lay on. This was fine.

Aziraphale turned off the lamp, allowing the room to be swallowed by the night, which wrapped itself comfortingly around them both. They fell asleep facing each other.

***

A beam of sunlight landed directly across her face.

Aziraphale grumbled, half a mind to simply roll over and go back to sleep. Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but if the sun was up then it wouldn’t be long before it did. But she was warm, wrapped in softness and with a comforting weight around her, and she didn’t want to get up.

A warm puff of air caressed her ear, and her eyes flung open.

In the night, Aziraphale had ended up on her back at some point, so her gaze found the ceiling, lit with strips of orange sunbeams. Frizzy red hair cluttered the edges of her vision, and after taking a moment to breathe deep and calm her rapidly pounding heart, she realized that Crowley, in her sleep, had flung herself across Aziraphale’s body like a heated blanket and stayed there.

“Oh, goodness,” Aziraphale breathed. She could feel her own body press into Crowley’s with each inhale, her stomach rising and falling, and Crowley’s, too, a steady beat of expansion of deflation. Even with a blanket separating them, one of Aziraphale’s arms had found its way around her, and Crowley’s likewise loosely held her back.

Aziraphale felt her cheeks warm. The idea that they had done this in their sleep…

This would’ve been a very good moment to start freaking out, she felt. This was a mutual invasion of privacy, or something. Surely this was something to worry about?

Instead, the longer Aziraphale sat there, unmoving, cataloguing sensations, the more contented she realized she was. Her heart rate calmed; her breath evened out. She didn’t mind waking up like this at all. Especially after the loss she had felt yesterday…she needed this.

Aziraphale had dated in the past, back in London, but never wound up in a bed with someone. Few people stuck around after learning that clothes-off activities were off-limits, and when they did, it had never lasted long then, either. She thoroughly enjoyed having a huge bed all to herself for all these years.

That said, she could get used to something like this. Crowley deserved to be held with kindness, and Aziraphale wanted to douse her in it.

“I hope you won’t be upset about this come morning,” Aziraphale whispered. “I love you.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!

Aziraphale gasped as she scrambled for her phone to shut off the alarm, nearly dropping it in the process. Oh, god! What had she just said? She prayed silently that Crowley was still asleep as panic gnawed at her ribs, multiple minutes too late.

Unfortunately for her, the sudden movement had been enough to dislodge the selkie from her dreams, and she lifted her head, blinking sleepily. When Crowley spotted Aziraphale’s face only inches away, she froze, golden eyes widening.

“Ah, um. Good morning, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, heart in her throat.

The selkie was all motion then, removing herself from Aziraphale entirely and flinging herself against the side by the wall. “Yeah. Er. Morning. Um. Why are we…”

“It, ah, seems we fell asleep while talking last night,” Aziraphale explained, hoping her voice didn’t sound too shaky. She extricated herself from the tangled covers, standing on weak legs. “I have to get to work, but please, uh, feel free to, er, sleep here if you’re still tired.”

Crowley stared at her like a wild animal, that wild red mane doing little to suggest otherwise.

Aziraphale gulped and quickly exited the room without waiting for a response. She took a dreadfully cold shower, hoping to wash away the feeling of realization clinging to her. Her mind raced as she poured far too much shampoo into her hand, and the scent of citrus enveloped her senses, the phantom sensation of Crowley in her arms.

Oh…oh fuck.

She let the shower water wash the shampoo down the drain, unable to face the idea of smelling it all day.

Aziraphale had gone and fallen in love with the selkie she married. What a horribly inconvenient thing to do.

Chapter Text

As Crowley walked to town that afternoon, she wondered idly what Tracy wanted.

She had run into Madame Tracy last week, and the sparkly woman had talked at a rapid pace about something to do with an ex-husband, over the course of which Crowley learned that Tracy had in fact been married to each of the grumpiest men in town in the past, R. P. Tyler and Shadwell. Crowley had managed to interject and ask which one was the first husband that Tracy mentioned in a previous conversation, which only made the siren laugh.

“Don’t go making assumptions about my age, now,” she teased with a long-lashed wink. “You were doing so well.”

“Immortals,” Crowley muttered derisively. Thought they knew everything just because they lived forever. Sirens weren’t technically immortal, they just had very long lifespans, but they lived long enough that it hardly mattered to someone who would be lucky to live a century, so the difference was moot in Crowley’s opinion.

Somewhere in that conversation, Tracy had insisted that Crowley come by her salon. Crowley didn’t remember agreeing, but Tracy had acted like Crowley had when they parted ways. Crowley didn’t have anything on today, so she decided to go see what the woman wanted. Maybe she just hoped to hear more gossip about Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship to spread around.

Tadfield was never busy, but there was a farmer’s market that day and the place was bustling with activity and little stands with wares. Crowley wandered, fascinated by the lumpy vegetables, hand-carved bowls, stinky candles, explosions of flowers, and food stands. She understood the concept of human money but didn’t have any, so she contented herself with watching as the happy humans bought crates of fruit and souvenirs and gifts.

Crowley felt a peculiar feeling well up inside her at the fact that so many people waved at her in recognition, drawing her nearer for a chat or just to say hello. Pepper was helping her grandparents sell baked goods, and she was such an insistent salesperson that she made Crowley take a cookie, even though she couldn’t pay. “It’s marketing,” Pepper insisted. “Word of mouth. Pay me back by telling everyone to swarm our stand!” Crowley was sure to do so. The cookie really was very good.

Adam and Brian were selling weird drawings they’d done as “cards for loved ones” at a makeshift “booth” that certainly wasn’t registered; both boys stared at Crowley blankly when she asked what kind of person would want to receive a picture of a cowboy in space riding a dinosaur. Stupid question, of course.

There were several others Crowley had come to know since moving to Tadfield, from people who ran the little shops or even regulars at the library who’d become accustomed to seeing Crowley haunt the shelves and shadowing Aziraphale when she was bored. A few asked after her wife; she was doing well, Crowley replied without elaboration.

Crowley supposed the feeling of being known and recognized was…a good thing.

Yes. It was good.

She spotted Newt at one of the stands and wandered over to see what he was selling. The tables set up beneath the ratty cabana appeared to be covered with bits of random metal.

“Uh, hey,” Crowley said, ducking into the shade. Everyone seemed to be giving the shop a wide berth.

“Miss Crowley,” Newt replied, perking up. “Hello. I hope you’re feeling better after the other night.”

“Er, yeah, great.” Crowley didn’t want to get into it. “So, what’s this junk?”

Newt winced. “Shadwell’s bullet collection. That is, used bullets. Says they’ve been used to kill witches in the past. He’s hoping to make some extra cash.”

Crowley raised her eyebrows, picking up a piece from the table. It didn’t seem very interesting. “People buy this crap?”

Newt coughed. “Erm. That is. No. I haven’t sold anything today.”

“Is Shadwell paying you to be here?”

“He promised me a third of our sales income, so…”

Crowley tried not to laugh. That was probably mean. Still…

“Maybe you should stop doing these jobs for Shadwell,” Crowley suggested.

Newt shrugged. “I don’t mind it. Anathema doesn’t like it either, but I’ve had worse jobs than this.”

Crowley put the metal lump back on the table, smirking at Newt. “So. Anathema.”

Newt’s face immediately flared a bright red. “What about her?” he squeaked.

“You like her.”

“Everyone likes Anathema.”

“Eehhh,” Crowley bobbed her head back and forth. “An acquired personality. Anyway, not the point. Are you two together?”

Newt’s gaze shifted around. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve mentioned her at least once in every conversation we’ve had.” Which was only three, counting this one, but a trend was a trend.

“Well, I-I do jobs for her too, sometimes.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“And – I mean, she’s just an amazing person, you know? She’s so smart and I…respect her very much.”

“Mmm hmm.”

Newt deflated. “I’ve been in love with her since I met her. Is that weird?”

Crowley didn’t think she had much room to judge. “Have you told her?”

“Are you kidding?” Newt shook his head. “There’s no way she’d be into me. Besides…”

“Besides?” Crowley echoed when he paused too long.

Newt glanced around and leaned closer. “The truth is,” he whispered, “we sorta slept together the same night we met? And, um, we haven’t talked about it since?”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “She slept with you. And then kept you around. Of course, she likes you.”

Newt shook his head, eyes wide. “Not so loud. I don’t want people to know…”

“You should tell her how you feel,” Crowley replied frankly. “She seems like a reasonable enough person. Even if she rejects you, she’ll be nice about it. Won’t hex you or something. Doesn’t seem the type.” Crowley would know; she had met some very vengeful witches.

Newt shook his head. “You don’t get it. I mean, you and Miss Aziraphale – you had some sort of whirlwind romance, yeah? And you both know how the other feels! It’s totally different when you aren’t sure. And I don’t want to…push my feelings onto her, you know?”

Crowley swallowed thickly. “Whirlwind romance. Yeah. Right. Um…You do know that I, uh…what I am?”

Newt blinked. “Course I do. Anathema told me. And you’re married to Miss Aziraphale.”

“Yeah, um, the thing is…it was an accident. Ancient selkie magic stuff. She doesn’t view me that way. We’re trying to fix it so I can free her and…get out of her way.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

There was an awkward pause.

“But you said she doesn’t feel that way,” Newt commented. “So, do you?”

Crowley stammered something that only theoretically contained words.

“That’s a bit hypocritical of you. Why don’t you tell her?”

Crowley frowned, crossing her arms. “This is different. I basically forced her into this. It’s not…fair to her.”

Newt’s expression softened. “I think I understand. Unrequited Love Club, unite!” He awkwardly gave Crowley a fist bump. Crowley felt embarrassed for him.

Shortly after, Crowley continued to Tracy’s hair salon, which she’d yet to visit but had seen from the outside. Big windows full of garish drapery, hanging flower baskets, and ads of models with shiny, coloured hair.        

Crowley pushed open the door, which jingled loudly, and was immediately confronted with the smell of chemicals and flowery perfume. It was a small space with a counter and four salon chairs behind it. The room was only made smaller by the extravagant décor: vintage floor lamps, thick golden bezels on the mirrors, wall scrolls, painted vases, a tapestry, and lots of pink and purple everything. It reminded Crowley of Aziraphale’s clutter, but chaotic in a distinctly unique way.

“Ah, dearie! Here you are, right on time!” Tracy appeared from a back door, dressed in as many layers and colours as any other time Crowley had witnessed her. The only difference was that her hair was blonde instead of orange now.

“Hey,” Crowley said, shoving her hands in her pockets. “What did you want me to come here for today?”

“Your appointment, silly,” Tracy exclaimed, grinning a red-lipped smile before tugging Crowley toward the nearest chair. “I took the liberty of setting one up for you.”

“Appointment?” Crowley blinked owlishly at her own reflection as she half-tripped into the seat. She didn’t make a habit of looking at herself, but confronted with her face, she realized she was much less pale than when she had first arrived here, having gained a bit of a tan.

“Yes, do keep up, now,” Tracy said. She began patting at Crowley’s hair, pawing and combing through it with her long fingernails. “Just look at this mane! Poor dear, I doubt you’ve done a thing to it in your entire life, have you?”

“Uhh…” Crowley began, but it seemed her input was unnecessary.

“I’ve been itching to get my hands on it, you know. Ever since we met. You were much too jumpy to dare back then, but oh, how I yearned to clean it up! I know how tough it is out in the sea. We sirens have forms for all three, you know – the sky, the land, the water. And let me tell you, my hair while in my aquatic form was a right mess no matter what I did to take care of it! Such a terrible trouble. It’s why I keep it so short; you know. Much more manageable. Oh, flying, too! You wouldn’t believe the knots! But for you, my dear, don’t worry. I don’t judge one bit. After all, how are you supposed to know? Not many selkies spend such a long time in their human form, so you never get the opportunity to learn! Oh, dearie me, it’s dreadful. And just look at this! Beautiful natural colour, such a deep auburn tone, but it’s utterly ruined by the nest your curls become when you don’t care for them! Tangled and unkempt and dirty. Trust me, I know, curls are no laughing matter, but as a curly hair specialist myself, I think I’m up to the challenge. Hopefully we can work something out to make it more manageable for you, too, hmm? Don’t you worry. You’re in capable hands. Let’s start off with a wash and detangle and go from there. Is that alright with you?”

Crowley, gaping unattractively at Tracy through the mirror, managed, “I don’t have any money.”

“Pish posh, consider it a late wedding gift.” She led Crowley to another chair and had her lean back. “Yes, yes, I know your marriage is a bit complicated for you, but aren’t they all? My goodness, my third wife was a piece of work, let me tell you. The sweetest thing, though…”

***

Sirens were famously persuasive. They had a naturally enchanting aura, and most used their singing to lure people in, in some manner. It sounded malicious but wasn’t always; sometimes they used their voice to keep people away from danger or to encourage camaraderie and revelry at parties. Some had successful bands. Their reputation wasn’t great, but they were not a monolith.

Nonetheless, as Crowley stepped out into the sunlight of late afternoon, she had no idea how Madame Tracy had convinced her to do this. She could only guess that instead of singing, Tracy talked her customers’ ears off until they did her bidding if only to get away.

Crowley didn’t hate it though. She suspected Tracy used this for good, to encourage people to make daring hair choices they might be too shy to make without her influence.

“Not so long as to get tangled all the time, but not so short that your wife can’t play with it,” Tracy had said with a wink when she suggested the length. Crowley hadn’t dared to ask for clarification on that.

As she made her way through the dwindling crowds, the farmer’s market stalls half gone as they closed shop, Crowley hoped Aziraphale would like it. Not that she needed her approval…but she wanted it all the same.

She found Aziraphale outside the library, locking up. “Hey.”

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale lifted her head, a big smile on her face. “I didn’t expect – oh my goodness!”

Crowley shrugged, scratching her cheek. “Heh…got a bit of work done. Gift from Tracy, she said.”

Aziraphale continued to stare, the light from the sun making it look like she was blushing.

“Do you like it?” Crowley asked. She internally rolled her eyes at herself for how desperate she sounded.

“Like it? Crowley…” Aziraphale moved closer, a hand lifting as though to touch, but she snatched it back before doing so. “You – it’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “I loved your hair before, too, but this…do you like it?”

Crowley nodded, her newly shorn curls bouncing with the movement. They fell roughly above her shoulder, below the chin. Tracy had used some fancy product that brought out her natural curl pattern and apparently would help it from getting so frizzy. She had never, not once, cared what her hair looked like. They were technically just dead protein strands. But Crowley loved how light her head felt, and that it wouldn’t get in the way as much. Apparently, it would dry faster too.

“Well, that’s what’s important,” Aziraphale said with a firm nod. “Tracy can be very firm in her ideas. I was concerned she had forced you somehow.”

“Nah. She’s alright.” Crowley grinned. “Did my nails, too.” She presented the backs of her hands.

“Black.” Aziraphale smiled, gently grasping Crowley’s fingers and inspecting the professionally rounded and painted nails. “They suit you.”

“Thanks. Home, then?”

“Ah, to the post office, first.”

It wasn’t a customary practice in these modern times, as Aziraphale had explained it, but Tadfield used an old system where residents had to pick up their mail from the post office rather than delivering it to their doorstep. It had taken Aziraphale some adjusting, after the convenience of delivery in London, but she claimed that she now enjoyed the errand.

There was just one thing, aside from a couple of scummy promotionals: a white envelope, so blindingly white Crowley wasn’t certain it didn’t glow.

“Geez,” Crowley said. “Where do you even get an envelope like that? Who sent it?” Aziraphale had been teaching her to read, but it was a slow and painful process. She preferred if people would just read things for her, but she was trying.

Aziraphale roughly shoved the envelope into the inside pocket of her jacket. “It’s nothing. Forget about it,” Aziraphale said flatly. She walked briskly away without waiting for Crowley.

“Huh? Wait!” Crowley sprinted to catch up with her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all. I’m tickety-boo. Just rather tired.”

Crowley frowned, but Aziraphale didn’t look at her and kept her face carefully blank.

Crowley didn’t know who sent that letter, but she immediately didn’t like them for upsetting Aziraphale. She would just have to wait and see if Aziraphale was willing to share what troubled her.

Chapter Text

Dear Aziraphale,

What is wrong with you?

…

Aziraphale took deep, deep breaths, in and out. In…out…in…out…wasn’t she supposed to count or something? She could never recall exactly what the numbers were. Her every faculty was focused on trying not to cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having made her cry, even if she was the only one who would know.

How dare he? Here she was, trying to make a better life for herself, to do what she wanted for once, and yet…

Closed away in her bedroom, Aziraphale took to pacing the short space when laying on her bed didn’t make her feel better. She suddenly became so aware of how messy the room was, having never finished moving in. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. What did she know about being a homeowner? She couldn’t even take care of her own possessions. She had too many things, she was disorganized, she was subject to so many pointless whims, her body was-

“No,” she reminded herself aloud. “Not anymore. I don’t talk to myself like that.” Old habits were so hard to shake, and self-doubt was one of her most long-held companions.

She jolted at a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Aziraphale said automatically, before remembering she might not want to be seen in this state.

The door opened with a squeak and Crowley appeared, looking apologetic. “So, funny story.”

“I’m…not terribly in the mood, my dear,” Aziraphale said tiredly. “Another time.”

“Not like that,” Crowley clarified, and only then did the smell hit her. “I kinda tried to make some food, and I kind of maybe started a fire? A small one! It’s fine, I put it out, but your cutting board miiiiight look a little different…?”

Aziraphale, vaguely horrified, followed her to the kitchen, where the stench of burning rubber strengthened. Somehow, the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off, but a haze still lingered. She could see where the fire had started on the gas stove. A glistening, stinky pool that had once been a spatula dripped like oil from the counter to the tile, and the cutting board – in the sink – had a large black spot. It was still smoking. Various ingredients scattered each available surface.

“What…were you trying to make?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Remember I helped you with the shepherd’s pie that time? Well, I found the book you used, and I was pretty sure I could read it okay, and I thought…”

“You thought you’d make it, despite having never cooked by yourself before?”

“Well, you didn’t eat when you got home!” Crowley exclaimed. “You always do, but you said you were going straight to bed, and I got worried!”

Aziraphale wanted to sit down and sob right there. There were too many emotions in her. But instead, a manic laughter bubbled out of her chest, causing Crowley to stare at her like she had truly gone mad. Aziraphale couldn’t blame her.

“I just wanted to help, if I could,” Crowley explained, hands flapping uselessly as though to reach for her, then the melted spatula, then back again. “You seemed upset, so I just–“

Aziraphale cut her off by placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Those wild arms fell still. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “That is very sweet, my dear.”

“’M not sweet,” Crowley mumbled. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure how to, uh, clean this up. You don’t have to help. It was my mess. Just a little direction?”

Aziraphale shook her head, making a decision. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Alright.”

A few minutes later, waves caressing the sand with the touch of a lover, Aziraphale and Crowley walked side by side down the stretch of beach, feet uneven on uncertain ground. It was impossible to walk quickly on sand, the way it tipped her feet sideways and threatened the stability of her ankles, but she was in no rush. The wind had whipped up dramatically during the day, and Aziraphale’s eyes lingered on Crowley’s newly short hair, and the way it moved so differently in the breeze. Before, Crowley was always tugging it roughly out of her face. Now, it gently swirled about her cheeks and ears, and she merely tucked it back uselessly now and again.

This was the woman Aziraphale had realized so recently that she was in love with. Or at least, she was well on her way. She hesitated to believe one could truly love so quickly. But the potential was there, and given time, it might deepen to a sweeter affection than she had ever known.

If only it didn’t feel so temporary.

Eventually, Aziraphale came to a stop and gazed over the sea. The sun was not yet setting, but the slightest sprinkle of pink edged the farthest cloud, illuminated from behind.

“I…still owe you a story, don’t I?” Aziraphale said, shattering the quiet with soft words.

“Do you?” Crowley replied. “That’s right. I told you about when I met a human for the first time.”

“Indeed. I think I should tell you about myself, as well.”

Crowley shrugged. “I’m certainly curious, but you don’t have to.”

“Let me rephrase. I trust you, and so I want to tell you.”

Crowley followed her gaze out to the water. “You…okay. Okay.”

“I don’t have your knack for storytelling, but…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “This story is about the first time I left home and didn’t come back. About two months ago…no, earlier than that, maybe three, I had a change of heart. My family’s legal company was draining me of life and joy. I was unhappy. It took me a long time to admit that to myself. I told you before how I applied for that librarian job in Tadfield. I found it online; applied on a gamble. I came here in secret one weekend for the interview, and I was offered the position. I accepted on the spot.

“I tried to make the break clean. I really did. I spoke with them weeks in advance. My siblings, that is, and my mother. Head of the company. I told them what I was doing, but none of them took it seriously. They didn’t think I’d go through with it until I had already rented the van, packed up my things, and drove out of the city.”

“That must have been very liberating,” Crowley interrupted, clearly thinking of a memory of her own.

“It…was. But not until later. Then, I was just scared. I didn’t think I could make it on my own. I worked for the same company since I was a teenager, Crowley. I already had a job there before I had my degrees. That’s more than twenty years in the same…the same damn rut.

“Anyway, I got a lot of phone calls in those early days. I couldn’t unpack a single box, I was so busy fielding calls and texts, yelling at me like I was…a runaway. Like I was Cinderella, gone to the ball without doing the laundry first.”

Crowley nodded. They had read that story together as part of Crowley’s reading lessons.

“The only person who never called me was my mother. After about a week, I tried calling her, wanting to explain again…but she didn’t pick up.”

 The silence in that room, she remembered it. The endless ringing tone clattering its way through the empty hollowness of a home laden with cardboard; the quiet of God before the suffering. Aziraphale had blocked every single one of their numbers.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley murmured.

She realized she hadn’t spoken for at least a minute. “So…” she continued, “that’s when these letters started. They got a hold of my address. I’m not certain how, but they’re all lawyers and paralegals and the like. They have their connections. Not all of them savoury enough for my taste, which is one of many reasons why I had to leave. They were willing to do anything to win a case, even if it went against the very ethics they claimed to serve.

“They all sent me letters for a bit, seeing as that was the only way they could reach me without coming here in person. I feared for a while that they would, and I suppose I still fear it some days. But what used to be a daily letter became weekly. I’ve only gotten two while you’ve been here, both from Gabriel, my oldest sibling.” Aziraphale sighed. “And that’s my story. I’m sorry it’s not as interesting as yours.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I don’t want pity, to be clear,” Aziraphale said. “I just wanted you to know. This is my history, and this is the first time I’ve been free.”

When Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze again, the selkie’s eyes burned. Aziraphale forced herself to not look away. “Shitheads,” the selkie spat.

Aziraphale nearly smiled at the protectiveness in that one word. “Language, my dear.”

Crowley made a face, which immediately softened into something full of unnameable things. “Is that…is that why my freedom is so important to you?” Crowley asked with a sense of realization. “With the whole…bond thing?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, blinking rapidly. “I suppose it is. I just…I would never want to do to you, or anyone, what they did to me.”

“You won’t,” Crowley said immediately. “I know you won’t. You’re better than them.”

I’m not, Aziraphale thought. Because I want to keep you.

Aziraphale pulled the letter out of her jacket pocket, where it was already creased from being gripped tight earlier.

“May I…?” Crowley gestured to it, and Aziraphale passed it to her. There was a certain amount of gratification in watching Crowley’s expression shift and grow darker, until by the end she was snarling like a cat. “What is wrong with humans?!” she exclaimed. “Not you, obviously, but...ugh. You mind if I destroy this?”

“I was just going to throw it away.”

Crowley made a face and tore the paper with her blunt teeth. Then again, until it was in nearly a dozen pieces.

“I think that’s enough,” Aziraphale said, trying not to laugh, despite the tension. Crowley’s more animalistic traits were so endearing.

Crowley growled at her, then collected the pieces from the ground and shoved them in her pocket. “Don’t want to litter,” she grumbled. “Ocean’s full of enough shit as it is.”

“Very true, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale smiled. “And thank you.”

“You didn’t deserve any of that crap.” Crowley kicked at the sand. “I know it’s all done, but…is there anything I can do to help you?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “You being here, and listening, is enough. It’s everything.”

“We’re alone together, then, huh?” Crowley said wryly.

Aziraphale gazed at her selkie wife, whose hair was starting to look pink as the light shifted on the horizon. “Are you alone, my dear?”

Crowley shrugged. “I was kicked out of my pod years ago.”

Aziraphale had long suspected as much. “May I ask why?”

“I like to say it’s because I asked too many questions.” Crowley chuckled and shook her head. “The leaders of the pod hated being questioned. They were always looking for an excuse to drop me, honestly. They got that chance when they caught me helping a human.”

“You helped a human?”

“Do you remember that girl I mentioned, Eve? I met her again when we were both older. I didn’t recognize her at first, but she knew me. Guess meeting a selkie makes a big impression, eh? Well, she had gotten pregnant. Was expecting really, really soon, and I guess she and her person weren’t married, so their parents weren’t super supportive of the whole thing.

“I met her on a beach. Might’ve been the same one, or just a different spot in Ireland, and she was…Aziraphale, she was hungry. That’s not right for someone carrying a baby to be hungry. I wasn’t sure what humans ate but took a guess and gathered some things. I even stole food from my pod. And I gave it to her.”

Aziraphale’s heart swelled with both pride and fear. “What happened after that?”

“They found out,” Crowley said wearily. “Banished me. Told me I was never welcome in their midst again or else. Gave me a little souvenir to be sure I’d never forget my ‘betrayal.’” Crowley rolled her eyes. “Dramatic, right?”

Aziraphale took up Crowley’s hand. “What…did they give you?”

Crowley stared at her, wind whipping her hair violently. “You sure you want to see?”

“Yes.”

Crowley stepped back and loosened her hide, laying it carefully at her feet. The shirt she pulled over her head was dropped more carelessly atop it. A shiver wracked her thin frame as she turned to reveal her scarred back.

Aziraphale’s breath caught in her throat.

It didn’t look so painful as she’d thought the first time she saw it, that day by the fireplace. But it still tore her in half to know Crowley had ever suffered such a wound. It was the kind of wound she’d read about characters receiving in a fictitious, bloody battle, but she had somehow never considered the fact that some carried scars like that in their every day.

“Your own people did that to you?” Aziraphale whispered, horrified. She had thought a human blade responsible before, but now that she looked closely…

“You’d be amazed what seal fangs can do to you,” Crowley said in a forcibly light tone. “One of our pod members, Hastur – wasn’t the sharpest around mentally, but those teeth were something to behold.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. She approached carefully, eyes focused on that ragged cut, the indents of surrounding teeth outlining the primary gouge. “May I touch you?” she asked.

Crowley shivered again. “If you want.”

With light, trembling fingers, Aziraphale followed the edge of the wound, from the top of the right shoulder down to the waistband of Crowley’s trousers. The skin was smooth, no longer stretched thin with the delicacy of new wounds. This was multiple years old, but she treated it with the care of the freshest cut.

Eventually, she spread her hands over Crowley’s back, flat, and held them there like she could call forth some sort of magic and heal everything in Crowley that hurt. But even in a world where magic existed, Aziraphale was human.

“You can…more, if you like,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale took that as the invitation it was and wrapped her arms fully around Crowley’s torso, pulling that chilled body against her warmer one. Crowley leaned back and let Aziraphale support her. She tilted her head until their cheeks nearly pressed together. They allowed multiple moments to pass like that.

“Some say we used to be humans, you know,” Crowley murmured, eyes closed. “Selkies, that is. They say we used to be humans, but we did something bad. Not personally, but an ancestor. Someone in a past life. And that we’re selkies because we were punished. Some even call us fallen angels, instead.”

Aziraphale made an annoyed sound. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“No. Humans would have to be flawless for that to make sense. It’s not logical. But humans like you make me believe humans could be unfallen angels.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I think you’re an angel,” Crowley said, quiet as a lapping wave. “Just a regular one. And maybe I’m a fallen angel like they say, and that’s why we’ve been separated all these years.”

“Because…we’re not meant to be together? Like an angel and a fallen angel aren’t?”

“Well, I never said that.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, but eventually, it became too cold and Aziraphale made Crowley put her shirt back on. Back at the house, they cleaned the disaster in the kitchen and ate something easy and quick. Afterward, the two lingered in the livingroom, knowing they would have to part ways for the night. It hadn’t seemed so hard before.

“That sofa cannot be comfortable,” Aziraphale finally said, eyeing it distastefully. “If you are amenable…you may join me again. If you’re comfortable with that.”

Crowley was already nodding before Aziraphale finished speaking. “Amenable, that’s me. Only if you want me there.”

Aziraphale didn’t trust herself to respond to that. So, after they changed into sleeping clothes, Crowley helped her shift the furniture in the bedroom, making the bed accessible from both sides.

They slipped under the covers, facing each other as they had the night before, only this time, both were awake and fully conscious of what they were doing.

“Um, Aziraphale…” Crowley whispered, the darkness of the room encouraging quietness. “Tracy said something before that didn’t make sense.”

“What was it?”

“She told me you would want to ‘play with my hair’ at this length. I don’t know what that means, exactly. Is it a game?”

Aziraphale groaned at Tracy and her meddling. “Don’t mind her. She’s just putting her oar in where it doesn’t belong.”

Crowley’s face scrunched up. “What does any of this have to do with a rowboat?”

With a laugh, Aziraphale shuffled closer. “I can show you if you like. With your hair.”

Crowley nodded.

It was a little bit awkward with them both laying as they were, so they adjusted until Crowley’s face was nearly pressed under Aziraphale’s chin, and she began running her fingers through Crowley’s silky, salon-smooth, perfumed locks.

Crowley made little noises that suggested she was very much in favour of this, so Aziraphale continued, smiling to herself.

“This…is a wicked tool,” Crowley muttered around a yawn. “If you keep this up, I’ll fall asleep.”

“That’s what a bed is for.”

“Evil. Not ‘sposed t’ be evil,” Crowley said, almost drunkenly. “You’re ‘n angel. ‘S’posed t’ do good things.”

“Is this not a good thing?” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley said something made entirely of consonants that was possibly a curse word.

Aziraphale sighed happily. “Goodnight, my dear selkie.”

There was a pause in which she thought Crowley was already asleep.

“’Night, angel,” she managed.

Aziraphale held her a little bit closer and fell asleep in minutes.

Chapter Text

The witch’s house looked just as strange and ugly as the last time Crowley had visited. The cone-shaped roof, aged wood, and windowsills springing with infesting herbs and nonsense. Aziraphale had visited several times in the past five-odd weeks to ask for updates, but Anathema always told her she needed to be patient.

However, Crowley had come now in her stead. Aziraphale was going through Anathema’s magic books at a rapid pace and was borrowing them in stages like the witch’s house was a black-market library. Aziraphale was desperate for more but hadn’t had a chance to swing by, so she asked Crowley.

Well, technically, Crowley offered. She liked to feel helpful, okay?

As before, when Crowley raised a fist to knock, the door swung open before she could. Witch girl – right, yes, Anathema, she had to be friendly and such – immediately stepped back to allow Crowley entry.

“You sense I was coming with your cauldron or whatever?” Crowley asked.

“Don’t be absurd,” Anathema replied. “I looked out my window. Come in already.”

“I’m just bringing something from Aziraphale. She finished these three already and wants anything you have on magic in eastern countries.”

Anathema adjusted her glasses and gestured inward again. Crowley, despite herself, entered. Anathema accepted the books after closing the door.

“Talk to me about that accident last week,” Anathema said, not so much a question as a demand as she returned them to her bookshelf. “Newt told me what he could manage, but he only knew so much and I’m curious for the details.”

Crowley frowned. “Why should I tell you?”

Anathema raised her eyebrows at him. “Because I’m literally your only hope at divorcing you from your wife and releasing the magic that binds your souls together?”

Crowley had to concede that.

“I know we had a rough start, but we’re allies, so work with me here,” Anathema said.

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, okay, fine. Let’s talk.”

Crowley followed Anathema up a set of rickety spiral stairs to a pleasant sitting room. Still full of occult nonsense that Crowley didn’t get, but it smelled less like bleach, and she spotted some drawings of non-human creatures tacked on the wall. There were several selkies. For some reason, that made her more comfortable. There were very few humans in the world she could be around these days who understood or even believed in selkies.

Crowley filled her in on what happened that day when she swam out too far. She left out most of the details, especially anything regarding Aziraphale and hugs. She got the sense that Anathema was filling in the blanks anyway.

“It’s bizarre,” Anathema commented, reclining in her seat with her knee propped on the other. She had very impressive black heeled boots and Crowley, having never worn heels, was vaguely jealous. “I had a…the language is complicated, so a ‘vision’ isn’t technically accurate, but to put it in layman’s terms, I had a vision of sorts that you were going to be in trouble on the beach. Having Newt bring the robe was an educated guess. But in none of that was Aziraphale there, because if she had been, I wouldn’t have needed to send Newt at all.”

Crowley didn’t find this particularly interesting. “So? You were wrong. Not a big deal. Happens all the time.”

“I suppose,” Anathema agreed. “It’s just strange. I’m supposed to be able to act where my help is needed, but both times I have intervened where Aziraphale was involved, it has crossed my mind that I didn’t need to in either case.”

“Guess so. Does it matter, though?”

“It doesn’t have to…it’s more that Aziraphale is an anomaly in my calculations, and I can’t figure out why.”

Crowley squinted at her. “You’re not planning to run some experiment on her, are you?”

“What? No!” At Crowley’s flat stare, she added, “Not without her written consent.”

“No experiments. You may be affiliated with the occult, but you’re still human. It can be dangerous to poke in these places, for both of you.”

Anathema smirked. “Aw, are you worried about me, selkie?”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “Try to do a good deed and look where it gets me.”

“Yes, your suffering is immeasurable.” Anathema rolled her eyes in return, then settled into a more contemplative expression as her gaze drifted from Crowley to the selkie illustrations on the wall. “You know…I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Go for it. No promises I’ll answer.”

“Are you certain this selkie marriage is something all selkies do?”

Crowley stiffened. “Yes.”

“Okay. So, even outside of your group?”

“I guess…there could be those who didn’t participate here and there,” she allowed. It wasn’t common for Crowley to meet selkies outside of her pod, so she didn’t know.

“It’s just that something has been bothering me ever since you showed up–“

“The fact that I’m ‘needlessly belligerent,’ as Aziraphale put it?”

“Aside from that.”

Crowley smiled a little. Maybe she did like this woman.

“No, it was your auras. It’s extremely rare to find magic that affects your aura, you know. That’s supposed to be nearly unchangeable, except under extreme circumstances, and most of those have to do with magic that humans like me, as you say, really shouldn’t poke at. I’ve never heard of a trick or ceremony or potion that changed the aura without it being used for bad purposes.”

“What are you trying to say?” Crowley asked warily, folding her arms.

“I’m asking,” Anathema said evenly, staring directly into Crowley’s eyes, “if selkie marriages are really for safety, or if they’re for controlling people.”

“That’s absurd,” Crowley mumbled defensively, but as soon as she heard the words…they snagged at something. Forgotten memories, snippets of her life that fit snugly among the things Crowley didn’t like to think about. Doubts she had already harboured herself, following recent events.

Selkie marriage was a huge deal in her pod, and it hadn’t escaped her notice even when she was in it that the partnerships were more political than anything to do with love or romance. If a selkie was bonded with someone, they were physically restrained to it. Crowley had watched as her more rebellious friends, more outspoken against the internal hierarchy, were bonded to the most loyal, or to leaders themselves.

There had been much pressure for her to marry, especially as she got older. She wondered if they could have banished her if she’d had a partner in the pod. Perhaps they would’ve used the bond against her instead…

Her experiences with them had left her wary of every pod she encountered that offered to take her in. Sometimes she had considered it seriously, but she no longer knew how to trust her own kind. Maybe that was why she was so enamoured with humans. Sure, lots weren’t trustworthy on land, either. But her experience was limited and therefore, a bias arose.

Adding to that her recent experience with Aziraphale, where the bond was something that had caused such fear and pain simply because of some distance…it was wrong, the more Crowley considered it. Even if they had been genuinely together and in love, didn’t people in a partnership have every right to some distance here and there? They were still two separate people. Forcing them together like this was absurd. What about individual autonomy?

Anathema watched silently as Crowley worked through this, eventually speaking when the selkie seemed calmer. “It’s merely an observation,” she said gently. “I could be wrong. But I wanted you to be able to consider that. With that in mind, it is extra important that we unbind you and Aziraphale soon and that we do so very, very carefully. I don’t know how it will affect your auras, to be torn apart, but it might be even more complicated than I initially thought. I’ll need to send some more letters.”

Crowley nodded an acknowledgement. She didn’t know what to think yet.

“That said…” Anathema gave Crowley a smug look that the selkie met with a glare. “You need to figure out what you’re doing if and when we figure out this divorce situation.”

“What are you on about now?”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Are you really planning on leaving?”

“I…I can’t stay.”

“You could. Even if you and Aziraphale aren’t together, you could live in Tadfield.”

Crowley blinked a few times, trying to parse this. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re happy here. And the townsfolk like you a lot. Pepper ranted about you for ages when I ran into her last week. Says you’re ‘neat,’ as far as adults go.”

“Huh. That’s a high compliment from her.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve been trying to make her my apprentice. Her warnings at minor inconveniences could be useful in my experiments.” She frowned at herself. “Anyway, all I’m saying is, you should at least consider it. Staying here.”

For the first time, Crowley considered the implications of Anathema having an accent so different from everyone else in town. “Why are you in Tadfield?”

Anathema looked at her hands. “Honestly? Agnes told me to.”

“Agnes?”

“My great-great-grandmother. I have a book of prophesies she left behind. Most of them have passed by now, but after some deciphering, I found that I was being led here.”

“What for?”

“Magic stuff. Ley lines. But, um, also…” Anathema huffed. “One of them said something about…well, it encouraged me to…”

Crowley hadn’t seen her so hesitant to speak before. She leaned forward, grinning. “What did the old witch tell you to do?”

Her gaze flitted about. “One said I was prophesized to sleep with someone who would become important to me.”

Crowley laughed. “Newt, right?”

She looked up, horrified. “How did you know that?”

“Newt told me himself.” She grinned wider. “You like him, don’t you?”

Anathema’s nose scrunched up. “Don’t you dare try to tease me about my love life. I have way more ammunition than you do, lover girl.”

“Wha – don’t call me that!”

“Only if you hush about Newt!”

Crowley desperately wanted to argue, but her sense of self-preservation kept her mouth shut. For now.

“Thank you.” Anathema tsked and stood up. “Anyway, as I said, I didn’t just come here for Newt, of course. I came here for research purposes initially. There aren’t a lot of places in the world where magic is accepted or believed in. It’s nice to call myself a witch and not be seen as a weirdo for it.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were an occultist.”

Anathema smiled. “Well, maybe I said that because ‘witch’ used to be an insult to me. I’m trying to embrace it now.”

Despite herself, Crowley beamed, no snark in sight. “That’s good.”

***

Somehow, Aziraphale’s sofa turned back into a sofa. The blanket recommenced its purpose as a throw, but the spare pillow was relocated to a much flatter surface in another room.

Somehow, Crowley found herself following Aziraphale there every night, resting side by side under the same covers, tucked together by fate and convenience and choice.

Somehow, they woke up nearly every morning much closer than they had been the night before.

Tracy visited one afternoon for tea and noticed that the sofa had returned to its usual state.

“Well done,” she said to Crowley with a sly wink.

“Shut up, siren,” Crowley bit out. But she was a little bit happy about it. Even if it wouldn’t last.

***

“Come on, you’ll be fine! It’s a great day for it.”

Aziraphale made a face as she shuffled forward, still seated in the sand with the water to her waist, cute polka-dotted swimsuit obscured by dusty waves but for the top. The sea was calm today, which was why Crowley suggested this, but apparently, Aziraphale was still very wary.

Crowley, who had pre-emptively swum out farther, chuckled and approached the shore, sitting in front of Aziraphale and extending a hand.

“I promise you’ll be safe, angel,” Crowley said. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Aziraphale scoffed, head tilted down in embarrassment, perhaps at the nickname Crowley insisted on using lately because Aziraphale always reacted so adorably. Her double chin creased, and Crowley smiled at the pretty picture she made, lit by the high sun and curls haloed by blue sky. “I know I’m being unreasonable,” she said. “The ocean is just…it’s so very large, you know!”

“Yes, I do know. I’ve swam most of it.”

“Most?”

“Well, some.”

Aziraphale huffed and accepted Crowley’s hand, and together, they shuffled out into the water, Aziraphale’s legs stretching to keep her toes on the sand. Crowley encouraged her to lift her feet, letting go of her hand to demonstrate how to keep herself afloat.

They spent some time out there, bobbing on the waves and alternating between floating, swimming, and splashing each other. At one point, Aziraphale daringly dunked Crowley underwater in their play, and Crowley bobbed back up as a seal to bark at her. Aziraphale laughed so hard, she could barely keep her head above water.

Later, back on shore on their towels, enjoying the sun and snacks they’d packed together, Aziraphale sighed happily.

“Thank you for your patience, dear,” she said. “I really do appreciate it. I mightn’t’ve ever bothered if you weren’t here.”

“You live by the sea! You have to swim in it sometimes,” Crowley insisted, flapping a hand about. Her shortened hair was already mostly dry from the sun, bouncing with her movements. “Anyway. I’m sure you would’ve figured it out one day. But I’m glad I could, you know. Lend a hand.”

“Quite literally.”

“Haha.”

“I suppose we’re due for another reading lesson.”

Crowley groaned dramatically. She had discovered homonyms and homophones last time and was not happy about either.

Aziraphale laughed, knowing exactly the reason for Crowley’s ire. “I’m sure you’ll figure them out.”

“Flower, flour. It’s dumb.”

“It’s English.”

“Exactly.”

“If you don’t want to learn anymore, we can stop. Just say the word. You’re already quite good as it is.”

“Nah, nah, we’ll keep going. But only if you promise to practice your swimming, angel.”

Aziraphale groaned the way Crowley had earlier, sending them both into a fit of giggles.

“I can live with that,” Aziraphale murmured after a moment, sunlight a pool of gold in her eyes, mouth stretched in a smile. “It’s a deal.”

***

During her time in Tadfield, Crowley had gotten into the habit of meeting up with that group of kids she’d met before, Adam and Pepper and Wensleydale and Brian. She really liked them. Human kids were fascinating and even though they asked a lot of uncomfortable questions, Crowley couldn’t help but foster their creativity. And they seemed to like involving the selkie in their games and mischievous schemes – harmless pranks, really.

Crowley was on her way to Hogback Wood when she saw something unexpected.

A nymph.

Crowley was immediately on alert, mostly out of habit, but also because a magical person among humans could have all sorts of implications. Folks like Tracy were fine, since she meant no harm, and Pepper lacked malice (at least, for all of humanity. The patriarchy was another matter). Until Crowley knew the motive of this nymph, she couldn’t leave this be. Not in her town.

Crowley’s keen selkie senses led her to a section of Tadfield Park she hadn’t noticed before. There was a reasonably sized duck pond hidden among some trees and standing on the edge in heels was what appeared to be a woman. She had short, cropped hair, and wore a tailored black suit.

Crowley approached from behind. “What are you doing here?”

The woman jumped slightly, stumbling, and Crowley quickly grabbed her arm before she fell into the lake. From up close, Crowley could see her dark skin and darker eyes – ancient, but somehow youthful, as well. There was a kindness in them that immediately disarmed the selkie.

“Oh my, almost stumbled there!” the woman exclaimed with a sheepish smile, righting herself and brushing off her clothes. “Much appreciated for the catch.”

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley replied, stepping back. “But I would like an answer to my question.”

The woman smiled at her a little wider. “I’m here to feed the ducks. Care to join me?”

Crowley glanced at her hands. “With what food?”

“What?” The nymph held up her hands, puzzled, before spotting the baggie of peas that had already drifted a few feet from the water’s edge. “Oh, no! That won’t do.” She lifted a hand in the air and gave a little twist, and Crowley watched as small ripples with no apparent source nudged the bag back toward them. The woman squatted to retrieve it.

“So, you’re a water nymph,” Crowley commented, impressed despite herself. “What are you doing in a place like Tadfield? I thought your sort tended to stick in packs. Big families, I’ve heard.”

The woman chuckled, continuing tossing the peas out into the water. Ducks, which had been floating nearby and quacking occasionally, suddenly dove for the offerings. “Such a personal question,” she said. “How about we start with names? I’m Mary. Mary Hodges.”

Crowley frowned. That name was familiar. “I’m Crowley.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“I’m honoured. Selkies don’t usually share those.”

She shrugged.

“Selkies also don’t usually live alongside humans. So, I could probably ask you the same question,” Mary told her keenly. “Why are you here, Crowley?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, ducks quacking incessantly at their feet. Mary broke first.

“Oh, it’s not like it’s any big secret, anyway!” She smiled again. She seemed like a very smiley person. A bit like Aziraphale. “You’re right. Nymphs do usually stick close to home. I had hundreds of sisters back home and we were all, well, the same. I wasn’t particularly skilled, even as far as nymphs go. But I was resistant to their expectations, try as I might. And I did try! But it simply never worked out. So, I left. Eventually, I found my way here, and I’ve stayed ever since.”

“Huh.” When Mary held out the bag of peas, Crowley accepted them and stood beside her, continuing the feeding in small handfuls. “What sort of expectations?”

Mary frowned. “You know nymphs aren’t considered powerful. So, we’re expected to either stay at home, or, if we leave, to marry someone strong who will protect us. It’s an old-fashioned way of seeing things, but it’s how it goes.”

“And you didn’t want to get married, I assume?”

“I didn’t want to have anything to do with any of it!” She shook her head. “Still don’t. Never have and never will. My sisters were obsessive about the lot of it, all the swooning and…well, you know. Relationships. Intercourse. But I never understood their enthusiasm.”

“Fair enough. No reason to if you don’t want to, then.”

“Sorry. That might’ve been a bit too personal for a first meeting.”

“No problem.” Though it wasn’t exactly the same, Crowley felt a certain comfort in knowing they related to each other. “Guess there are a lot of us here then, huh? Creatures of the sea, the sky. Tadfield is a weird place.”

“Isn’t it? There aren’t many human settlements like it. I used to think it was because of me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You see, I’ve been here for several decades. I wondered before whether it was somehow influencing people, having a nymph for a mayor.”

“Mayor?” Crowley gaped at her, and Mary’s lips twitched upward. Crowley scoffed. “Of course. Mayor Hodges. I’ve heard the townsfolk talk about you. They’re very fond.”

“They’re a sweet lot,” Mary replied. “I try my best to take care of them. They keep the magic alive.”

“So, it’s not you who makes the place like this? Believing in magic and so accepting of, well, creatures like me?”

“Nope,” she said, folding her hands behind her back and gazing gently toward the town centre. “The humans do it themselves. The special ones who keep telling stories and singing old songs. They remember us, and that helps them remember who they are, too. Humans are their own kind of magic, after all. It’s just a different kind than you or I.”

Crowley thought of all the humans she had come to know. Not just Aziraphale, but all the residents of Tadfield. And Eve. She hoped Eve was okay, wherever she was, and that she still believed in magic.

“Doesn’t hurt, though,” Crowley pointed out. “Having a nymph in government.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure it helps, yes. But I like to believe it’s their individual choices that keep this place so enchanting.”

Crowley emptied out the last of the peas and handed the bag back to Mary, who folded it and put it in her pocket, assumedly for reuse. “I can see why you chose to stay,” Crowley commented. “It’s a tempting little town.”

“Are you staying, too? We’d be happy to have you. You’ve already been a lovely influence on our community.”

“Oh? You’d heard of me?”

“Oh, yes. As soon as I heard there was a selkie here, I had to investigate it, for safety reasons. You don’t mind, I hope?”

“Nah. I was suspicious of you at first, too.”

“Oh, good.”

Crowley laughed. “Can I ask you something, Mayor Hodges?”

“Oh, just Mary is fine. And yes.”

“Do you think humans will ever forget about us completely?”

“Oh, that one’s easy,” Mary said. “That won’t happen.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“Because,” she said brightly, “humans always want something to believe in.”

Crowley didn’t draw much comfort from that but decided not to ask for further clarification. Maybe she would learn how to carry that optimism herself, someday.

“Anyway, I ought to head back to work.” Mary stretched and ran a hand over her hair before walking back toward the main path of the park. “I have a meeting I’m already late for. Oh, it’s going to rain this evening, by the way.”

With that, she hurried off, and Crowley stood by the pond a little longer, thinking. The ducks had given up on getting any more food out of her, so she watched them from a distance, bobbing for fish or bugs.

Crowley had long thought that it wasn’t possible for her to belong anywhere after leaving her pod. Even with other pods she encountered, they never felt like home. She would never have a home again, and maybe never had at all when those she had called her family had no qualms about kicking her out over something so minor as a difference in belief. Loathe as she had long been to admit it, she liked humans and she cared about them. That was just who she was. But humans were such a complicated bunch, capable of the most inspiring good and horrifying evil. She had forced herself to keep a certain distance that, in such a short time, was completely erased.

Crowley thought of Aziraphale, who had come here to escape a place that hadn’t respected her for who she was. She thought of Mary, too, who left in defiance of who she had been told to be. There were countless others, whether they were born here or arrived by choice, that knew they belonged where they were.

Despite it all, the selkie resisted the thought that she might have found a place where she was truly welcome. It seemed as impossible as holding the very sky. But maybe…maybe…she could belong somewhere.

Maybe she already did.

“Shit,” Crowley muttered, setting off at a sprint as she remembered the kids were waiting for her. She smiled to herself as she ran, wondering what mischief they were getting up to today, determined to enjoy whatever time she had left here.

Chapter Text

“Thanks for your help, Miss Fell,” Adam said, heaving his stack of books from the counter. “These will be great for my story I’m writing.”

“I did wonder why you needed all these texts about dinosaurs,” Aziraphale replied, amused. “Writing a historical piece, perhaps?”

“Well, there’s gonna be pirates who’re riding the dinosaurs in space, and I couldn’t remember all the names of ‘em.”

“Ah, um, I see.”

Both Aziraphale and Adam startled when the doors to the library banged open with a loud clatter, revealing Anathema, hair and vaguely Victorian dress a chaotic swirl in the wind. She didn’t seem to notice how she had caught everyone’s attention, instead marching straight for the counter where Aziraphale stood.

“Well, I’m gonna go, Miss Fell,” Adam said, wide-eyed as the witch approached. “Good luck.” He darted away and out the door before Aziraphale could reply.

“Hello, Anathema. How can I help you?” Aziraphale said.

Anathema placed her palms on the counter and leaned forward, eyes wide. “We got it.”

“What?”

“I know how to break the bond between you and Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s heart gave a great thud, and she released a shuddering breath.

All at once, time was up. Two months. That was all she’d had. For just a moment, it felt like the world was ending.

***

The library wasn’t meant to close for a couple more hours, but Deirdre took one look at Aziraphale’s expression and told her to take the day off to deal with her troubles. Aziraphale was desperately grateful.

Aziraphale and Anathema ventured outdoors, where the wind tugged violently at their bodies. Anathema suggested a café to talk, but Aziraphale didn’t think she could handle being around people as she heard what she was about to hear.

As they sat at a bench in a shockingly empty Tadfield Park, Anathema asked, “Are you certain you don’t want to go get Crowley and I can tell you together?”

Aziraphale nodded again, hands twisting. “Y-Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t think I…can see Crowley until I’ve…calmed down some.”

It was selfish, of course it was. Cruel, even, to withhold this information from Crowley, but Anathema only gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I understand.”

There was a pause, and Aziraphale burst out, “Oh, could you just say it?”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But the good news is that it’s really easy and really painless. It shouldn’t take long at all, either.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, savouring the marine air, letting it ground her. “That’s good. What do we have to do?”

“Basically, it’s like a mockery of the proposal that started all this,” Anathema explained, gesturing in front of her as she crossed her legs at the knees. “Or a reversal of it. Crowley has to offer you her skin again and you take it, like before.”

“Okay…”

“Then, all you have to do is refuse to give it back.”

“What?!” Aziraphale cut in. “Are you – I’m not doing that! That would be cruel!”

“I wasn’t finished!” Anathema replied strongly, leaning back into the bench. “Of course, that’s not all there is to it! If it was, that would only bind Crowley even more than this whole marriage thing. She wouldn’t even be able to transform.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“You trade it.”

“Trade?”

“Yes. When you take her skin, you must refuse to give it back unless Crowley gives you something for it in return.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale considered the logistics of that. It was almost insultingly simple. “So…that’s it?”

“Yes. The only problem is that whatever Crowley trades has to be as valuable as the skin. We’ll have to find a magical artifact that can be traded. After the transaction is complete, we can return it. No harm done.”

“Alright. That’s not bad at all.” Aziraphale waited for the heaviness in her gut to lift, but it didn’t. “Erm, and you’re certain this will work?” Some terrible, horrible, greedy part of her hoped Anathema would reply to the negative.

“Nope,” Anathema said, much to Aziraphale’s surprise. “There’s no guarantees to this. But of the people I sent letters to, two of them came back suggesting this method. And the others my contacts suggested…were a bit…unsavoury. Involved more…intense sacrifices. Life and limb if you understand me.”

“I…think I do. Yes, I think we’d all rather avoid that.”

“Agreed. Besides,” Anathema continued with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, “if this method doesn’t work, you could always try kissing each other.”

Aziraphale choked on nothing. “I feel as though you are attempting to sabotage us!”

“Not exactly.”

The answer was much too sincere for Aziraphale’s taste. “Then what are you trying to do?”

With a sigh, Anathema lifted her eyes to the sky, blotted by the fluttering leaves of the trees. “You’ve been messing with my visions, Aziraphale.”

“What? I’ve certainly not–“

“Not on purpose. I’m not accusing you. It’s only that you keep defying my expectations and being where I don’t think you’ll be.”

Aziraphale felt lost but was at least distracted from her greater worry. “What are you talking about, my dear?”

Anathema met her gaze. “You fell for her faster than I expected, is all. I thought she was going to have to tempt you a bit, first. I dare say it may’ve been the other way around.”

Heart in her throat, Aziraphale stood suddenly, certain her face was red. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a too-high voice, “but thank you for all your work. I-It means a great deal. I promise I’ll repay you somehow.”

Anathema watched her very seriously as Aziraphale brushed herself off aimlessly. “Pay me back by not screwing this up, Aziraphale,” she said.

“I’m sure I don’t…”

“You do. You know you do. Crowley cares about you a lot, you know.”

Aziraphale looked away. “I know. But not like you’re thinking. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She should be free, regardless.”

“I agree with you on that. This selkie bond is screwy as hell. It’s what you do after that I’m worried about.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I-I’d best get going. I should find Crowley and tell her what you learned.”

“Want me to come with? Help explain?”

“No, I…need to do this alone, I think.”

“Okay.” Anathema stood too, suddenly pulling Aziraphale into a hug. Aziraphale melted into it immediately, feeling heat gather behind her eyes as she wrapped her arms around this dear and unexpected friend. Anathema held her close for a long moment, giving Aziraphale space to just…breathe.

“I care about you a lot, too, you know,” Anathema murmured. “I know I don’t show it much, and maybe you need that. But you’re my friend and I want to see you happy.”

Aziraphale blinked away an onslaught of tears. She couldn’t speak, and instead nodded against Anathema’s shoulder.

They drew back, and Aziraphale offered a damp smile.

“Let me know how it goes,” Anathema said.

“I will.”

They parted ways, and as Aziraphale walked slowly in a daze back to the cottage, she felt a wave of gratitude and peace wash over her. It was easy to forget that she had friends now, friends who truly cared about her. For all their teasing, there was love there, and she clung to that as the wind tore at her hair, determined to survive whatever came next.

***

The house was empty, a hollowness that told Aziraphale that Crowley was likely down by the water. Aziraphale took a moment to change clothes, as the day had gotten colder than she expected when she dressed that morning. For a long moment, she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her face and not thinking anything. There was a blankness there.

Why did this scare her so much, she wondered?

She took the stairs one at a time. One shoe, the other. She remembered the last time she put on shoes in London, the day she left the city behind to create a life where she could be happy.

She crossed the sand, wind biting her exposed skin. She remembered the first day she met Crowley, and how that moment had torn her understanding of the world into tiny, shredded pieces, and not just because she discovered selkies were real.

Sure enough, Crowley was on the beach not far from the house. She was in seal form, twirling around and arguing with a seagull in little barks and yips. Aziraphale remembered hands entwined, long walks, comforting touches.

She remembered, and oh, how she would remember and cherish for years to come – her first and only true love, gone before she dared say a word.

Whatever Anathema said, Aziraphale wouldn’t intervene. She couldn’t bear to. Crowley needed to have the freedom to put her shoes on for the last time, so to speak.

Crowley noticed Aziraphale nearby and flopped toward shore, a head of shorn red hair appearing from beneath a shimmering hide as she stood in the shallow water. “Aziraphale!” she called, waving madly. “Come here, I found a–“ A wave knocked into the back of Crowley’s knees with such a force that she tumbled back into the water with a yelp.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale stumbled in her hurry, but Crowley was already flailing free from the retreating wave, laughing. “Are you alright?”

“I saved the shell!” Crowley brandished her find proudly as Aziraphale rushed down the beach, feet sliding in the shifty sand. When Aziraphale neared, Crowley held it out to her, grinning. “Found it way out, and thought it looked just your style. Would look great on that shelf in the kitchen, yeah?”

“Oh my.” Aziraphale’s voice trembled as she lifted the conch from Crowley’s hands. It had an unusual pattern of browns, creams, and pink, almost red. Sand and saltwater clung to it, and she thought of the creature that must’ve once made its home there. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“’Course. It was a struggle to get it up without fingers and thumbs, but I managed,” Crowley said, hands on her hips as she looked back out over the water. Her expression eased, brushing a palm over her forehead to push dripping hair out of her eyes. “Can’t believe it’s almost the end of the summer. Water’s gonna get colder soon. We’ll need to get as many swimming lessons in before that as we can, huh?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I…don’t think we’ll be having those swimming lessons anymore.”

Crowley looked at her, incredulous. “What’re you talking about? You’ve improved dramatically! A couple more lessons would help you be more confident about it.”

Aziraphale shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Are you concerned about the weather? I know we might not have a lot of nice days left, but…”

“No, Crowley, I…” Oh, it was so hard, with Crowley looking at her like that. “I spoke with Anathema today.”

“Oh? Did you get any new books from her? Seems like you’ve worked through her whole library by this point.”

“No, I…we didn’t talk about books. The thing is, Crowley…” She took a deep breath. “She figured it out.”

There were a few painful seconds of silence. There could be no doubt as to what Aziraphale meant. “Oh,” Crowley whispered, a sound like it was punched out of her. “Right.”

Aziraphale waited for Crowley to say something else, but she didn’t. “Um, it’s painless, she said. We should be able to do it at any time.”

“Right.”

“I’m – I’m sure you’ll be glad to be free of this place.” Aziraphale forced herself to chuckle. “I doubt a selkie is meant to stay in a place like this for so long.”

Crowley swallowed visibly, and Aziraphale, noticing she was staring, looked away to the sea.

“Anathema said–“

“Let’s go back to the house,” Crowley interrupted, already brushing past her. “Too cold out here.”

“…Of course.”

The walk back was loud with thousands of unspoken words. But there was nothing else to say.

Chapter Text

“So, Saturday, then,” Aziraphale said, a wistful edge to her voice. “Two days from now.”

“Yup.”

“I’ll go by Anathema’s to confirm her availability. And then…it’ll be done.”

“Mmm hmm.”

Aziraphale sighed, leaning into Crowley’s side. They sat together on the sofa, which they had moved closer to the fireplace as the evenings gained a chill. Crowley had wound herself comfortably around Aziraphale, legs over her lap and arms around her torso, which Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. Much as Crowley tried not to, she couldn’t help but think that this was one of the last times they would have this, and so she ultimately had spent the conversation documenting sensations for her memory.

“Say…I’ve been wanting to ask you something, angel,” Crowley murmured, thinking of all the people she’d met here and all the ways it would ache to say goodbye. “What would you think if I was to…not leave Tadfield?”

Aziraphale seemed to pull her closer, just a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Well, selkies aren’t supposed to be among humans. But neither are sirens, and Tracy gets on fine. She’s even married a bunch of them! And since when do I give a shit about what I’m supposed to do, anyway? So, I thought…maybe I could stay for a while. Get my own place nearby. That way, we could still see each other, you know?”

Aziraphale twisted so that her cheek rested against the crown of Crowley’s head. “Is that something you want?”

“Would it make you happy if I did?” Because, pathetically, that’s what it came down to in her head.

“Of course, I would love to have you near,” Aziraphale admitted in a near-whisper. “But please, don’t…don’t stay for my sake. I’ll be okay, alone. I’m used to it. You should only stay if that’s really what you want.”

Crowley grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut. Aziraphale didn’t mean for that to bite the way it did, Crowley was certain, but it still hurt. Because Crowley didn’t think she would be okay alone, without Aziraphale, loathe as she was to admit it.

She cared about her a lot. More than she ever had cared about anyone. She still didn’t know what to do with that.

“Alright, well.” Crowley shifted closer. “I don’t get the concept of land ownership anyway, so it probably won’t happen.”

“Well, you could…” Aziraphale stopped herself.

Could stay here. Is that what she had been about to say?

“You could…stay a little longer,” Aziraphale continued after a pause. “Please don’t think I’ve only allowed you here because of this…kerfuffle. I like you, as a person. We’re friends. Good friends. And you are welcome back here during your journey, should you wish to visit. Please know you’ll always have a home here.”

“…Always?” Crowley asked a little timidly.

“Always.”

Crowley pressed her face to Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in deep. The stories spoke of love, but how was a person to know? Could a selkie really love a human?

How foolish of her to even ask. She knew the answer.

She had known for a long time now.

***

They agreed to a dinner on Friday evening to commemorate their last day as a married couple. It had sounded cheeky when they joked about it before, but now, when it was real, it struck Crowley as simply depressing.

Still, when she appeared at the library at closing time, she smiled wide when Aziraphale stepped out from those big doors, as beautiful as ever.

“Oh my goodness,” Aziraphale breathed, looking Crowley up and down. “You look…darling, you are radiant.”

Crowley shrugged, like she hadn’t sought out both Tracy and Anathema for help in figuring out what to wear and had stressed about it all the way until the very moment Aziraphale’s soft eyes landed on her. She wore a dress, a sparkly, black thing that gathered in a knot at the front and trailed to the ground in a slim cut. The sleeves were long and sheer, glimmering – and her grey hide, as ever, hung about her shoulders like a fancy fur coat.

She had never worn anything like it, but found she enjoyed the look a lot, even if clothes still weren’t her favourite.

It made her feel rather human.

“None of your humility, my dear,” Aziraphale chided as she approached, eyes still tracing every edge of the shimmery fabric before returning to Crowley’s face, softening an imperceptible amount. “You look stunning. I’m sure everyone will only wonder what you’re doing with me.”

Aziraphale herself was done up in a suit with brown trousers, a velvet waistcoat, and a beige jacket. She even had a patterned bowtie tucked into her freshly starched collar and looked positively sweet. Crowley reached out and smoothed a hand over a lapel. “I won’t let you speak like that about my wife,” Crowley said, half joke and half sincere. “In all seriousness, you look great. Amazing, really. Everyone in this town will be jealous of me, with such a handsome woman accompanying me this evening.”

“Oh, you,” Aziraphale murmured, blushing and slipping her hand into Crowley’s. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

There were no truly fancy restaurants in Tadfield, not like Aziraphale was used to. If they were in London, Aziraphale had explained, she would’ve reserved a table at the Ritz and treated Crowley to the finest dining and drink. As it was, they were going to the small pub on the main street, a place of old panelled wood, yellow lights, and red barstools that played live music most evenings. For a pub, it was quiet and reserved, perfect for a polite dinner between friends and soon-to-be divorcees.

It was a Friday evening, so it was busy, but there was a table reserved for them – not because the place did reservations, but because Aziraphale had put in a special request and the owners liked her. The two found themselves seated at a small table tucked away in a nook near a window by the street, where they could watch the sky darken and stars appear.

Light chatter surrounded them, a word or phrase occasionally discernible from the hum as folksy, soft music emanated from the other end of the pub, occasionally accompanied by singing. The walls were a menagerie of photos and tin signs, alcohol logos and wooden crates and shelves of gold and green bottles. There was also a bicycle hanging from the ceiling and Crowley didn’t know what to think of that.

It was just posh enough of a place for a waitress to come by and hand them menus, which Crowley was proud to be able to read in its entirety (including the names of all the drinks – Aziraphale was a peculiar teacher). They ordered some food to share and settled in to wait.

They didn’t talk about tomorrow – there was no need or desire to. Instead, they talked about music. Aziraphale loved old, classical music, but Crowley had heard of Queen and was certain they were the pinnacle of human musical invention. Then they spoke of the weather, and how Crowley savoured summer where Aziraphale preferred the winter.

“It’s so cosy!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I can’t help but enjoy it.”

“Cosy? Winter is cold. Nothing thrives, nothing is green unless I travel to a different hemisphere entirely! How can you call it cosy?”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale replied sheepishly, “you make a good point. Winter is only cosy for me because I’m able to make it so. I like to wear lots of layers and fuzzy socks and sit with blankets and a good book. I drink my weight in cocoa and tea, and while I’m not much for the typical winter holidays, goodness knows I don’t mind some peppermint-flavoured treats here and there…”

Crowley, overwhelmed with the soft mental image she had just been presented with (both of them under a shared blanket, fire roaring, a story read aloud), could only nod rapidly. “Yes, yes, I see that.”

“Perhaps I can show you what a good winter in is like,” Aziraphale said warmly. “Erm…if you…”

“Yeah.” Crowley refused to dwell on that thought. “So, what else do you do in winter?”

“Well…”

They talked deep into the evening, until the after-dark crowd became too rowdy for their taste, and they finished their drinks. A peace washed over them as they stepped into the night, the background noise falling away with a click of the door, passing into the quiet of the small-town street. Bold streetlights lit the way, cool air kissing their cheeks as stars dotted the horizon beyond the light pollution.

“This is nothing like London,” Aziraphale commented wonderingly as they made their way down the path, dodging the occasional person or couple or group of friends. “I’m not sure it will ever stop surprising me – how peaceful it is here. I can’t imagine leaving a pub in the city and feeling restful of all things.”

“I do kinda want to see it,” Crowley replied, drawing her hide over her arms for more coverage. “The city. Skyscrapers. Maybe you can show me some day.”

“Yes, I…” Aziraphale sighed. “I didn’t think I’d ever want to go back there. But…with you? I think it would be rather fun, to show you my old haunts. Take you out somewhere fancy enough for your dress.”

“Sounds like a plan, angel,” Crowley said as they both steadfastly ignored the obvious.

“I’m quite excited to see autumn here, though,” Aziraphale rushed onward the way they had all evening when either of them alluded to the future. “To see the leaves turning orange and yellow. See how well the house keeps its warmth. The walk to the library will be more difficult, I imagine. Mayhap I’ll acquire a velocipede.”

“A what.”

“A bicycle, my dear.”

“Why would you call it a veloci-what-y? It has a name!”

“Yes, and velocipede is a perfectly acceptable alternative–“

Crowley groaned, and they both laughed.

The house was dark when they returned. Each changed into more comfortable, casual clothes to continue chatting the night away.

Crowley couldn’t help but think to herself that this dinner, which was supposed to be a way of saying goodbye to what they had, instead had exemplified everything she loved about the way they were together – comfortable, happy, themselves. Crowley never felt unsafe with Aziraphale and could be honest in her feelings and thoughts even when they disagreed. There was something about Aziraphale that came naturally. Even when they had to work at it, to understand each other through cultural barriers and miscommunications, it was worth it, and it wasn’t a hardship. Not really.

Loving Aziraphale was easy.

Crowley couldn’t let it end this way.

That night, long after Aziraphale fell asleep in her arms, Crowley lay awake, thinking.

***

At noon the next day, Anathema came knocking at their door.

“Hey,” she said when Aziraphale answered. “You ready to do this thing?”

“Oh, yes, let me – Crowley! Crowley, Anathema’s here!” Aziraphale called. Crowley wandered from the kitchen, unrelenting bedhead a swirl and one of Aziraphale’s beige sweaters pulled over her own black clothes.

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “You two look comfortable.”

“Ah, um–“

“Don’t respond to that. It’s rhetorical. I brought Newt, by the way.”

Crowley spotted the nervous boy as he ducked his head through the opening. “Hey, Crowley!”

“Hey.”

All in all, it was an anticlimactic start.

The four of them set out toward the shore – Crowley took off Aziraphale’s sweater before they went, not wanting Anathema to comment again – and found the jutting rock where Crowley had first laid her skin at the beginning of the summer, having no idea it would lead to the greatest upheaval of her life.

“Okay. Let’s see,” Anathema said authoritatively, having designated herself the officiator of the ritual – and for good reason. In her hand, she brandished several pieces of paper, one a creased letter that must’ve come from a contact. Newt was holding a book. “You two, stand over there. Newt, by me.”

The three of them followed her directions without complaint, though Crowley was a bundle of nerves. In her arms was her selkie skin, shimmering in the sunlight. Aziraphale cast her a nervous glance, and they both looked to Anathema.

“’Selkie, present your offering to your human companion,’” Anathema recited from the letter. “’Human, take what she gives, and withhold from the beast her rightful cloak.’”

“Beast?” Crowley echoed. “Seems a bit…”

“Yeah.” Anathema made a face. “My seventh cousin once removed. He’s a bit old-fashioned. Just do what it says.”

Crowley held out her skin to Aziraphale. The moment was fraught, so different from the transaction that had occurred initially. There had been no knowledge of the other, no brushing of hands, no trembling eye contact as there was now. Aziraphale accepted the skin like it was the most precious thing her hands had ever touched, cradled to her chest with a warmth Crowley knew well.

“Right. ‘When the human is in possession of the cloak, the selkie must ask for it back, and the human must refuse the return of the offering.’”

Crowley made a face. “Hey, Aziraphale, can I have that back?” She looked to Anathema. “Good enough?”

Anathema frowned at her. “Take this more seriously.”

“I am.”

“You’re not. You have to mean it. Probably. Magic doesn’t like to feel like it’s being toyed with.”

Crowley sneered at her, expression softening when she looked back to Aziraphale. “Angel, could you hand that back to me?” she asked.

Nervousness was obvious in Aziraphale’s posture as she swallowed and tucked the hide closer. “Er, um. No.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “You two are insufferable. Okay, Newt. The book.”

Newt handed it to Crowley, who accepted it curiously. This was the thing she was meant to trade for the hide back. “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch,” Crowley read aloud, offended. “You really think some old, tattered book is as valuable as the skin of a selkie?”

Aziraphale and Anathema both made affronted noises. “Agnes was my great-great-grandmother,” Anathema informed her snippily, “and this happens to be the only copy of her book of prophesies. All the rest were destroyed by the publisher without any being sold. It’s one of a kind.”

“It is incredibly rare,” Aziraphale put in. “I’ve heard of it, in my hunts for antique books. It’s worth more money than I’ve ever seen in my life put together.”

“Plus,” Anathema continued, “it has great personal significance to me and many other members of my family. The sentimental value it has, collectively, is almost certainly equal, or close enough, to your selkie skin.”

Crowley still wasn’t so sure about that but decided not to push the point. It wasn’t liable to matter in a moment, anyway. “Okay, fine. What next, witch girl?”

Anathema consulted the letter. “It says that Crowley has to offer the book, then Aziraphale takes it and hands back the skin. It must be one transaction, smoothly, or it won’t work. If it does, you should feel…something…happen. The point is, you’ll know right away if it worked.” She looked back up, eyeing them. “The rest is up to you two.”

Crowley nodded, facing Aziraphale again. She looked scared. Crowley hated to see that expression on her face and felt a desperate, cavernous yearning take root in her chest as she stepped forward. Sunlight illuminated her angel’s hair, gold frame glasses shimmering with the light of the sea and the sky. It seemed the entire ocean stood between them.

“Do it,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m ready.”

I’m not, Crowley thought fleetingly, but she held her hand out all the same as her heart threatened to crack through her ribcage.

“Wrong hand,” Anathema murmured from somewhere.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley looked her wife directly in the eye, swallowing back her apprehension and fear. What did she have to lose? Everything, if she didn’t say it. “Angel,” she said, her voice trembling, “I’m in love with you.”

Aziraphale’s jaw fell open.

“I’ve fallen in love with everything about you,” Crowley continued, heedless, “including the way you get so deep in your books you forget I’m there, and the way you abandon mugs of tea everywhere, and how you can’t seem to keep your kitchen organized at all, and how you like to complain about all your boxes of unpacked stuff but never bother to try unpacking any of it. And I love your hair, and your hands, and the fact that you let a stranger into your home and let her stay, and you let me fall in love with you. I love the way you talk about the world, and I love how you try so hard to see the good in everyone you meet. I love how you’re so gentle with the kids who visit the library and get on with the crankiest old men in this town because you refuse to be anything but kind. I love that you let me be vulnerable, and just…me. And you have never once asked me to be anything else. I…I don’t know if–”

Crowley’s voice faltered, and she closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself on the smell of saltwater and seaweed, the distant call of a gull. “I don’t know if it’s valuable to you, or if you even want it…” She met Aziraphale’s eyes again, from which a cascade of tears flowed. “But in exchange for my coat, I offer you my heart and my love in return.”

Against steady, rapid heartbeats, Crowley’s angel fell forward, and the selkie caught her as a book tumbled toward the sand.

Chapter Text

Somewhere, someone cried, “My book!”

Aziraphale didn’t hear it. Instead, the world was this:

Familiar, lanky arms curling protectively over her, pulling her in, not a cage but a space where outside hurts were kept at bay.

Hands that sought only to hold, clutching at her with a desperation that spoke of desire for her exactly as she was.

Breaths, soothing but rapid puffs caressing her cheek, ear, neck, as the nervous creature whose delicate fingers had tied knots and strings around Aziraphale’s silly little heart tugged her forward, closer, until they fit together, like this, like this.

A soft bundle, a gift and a curse and a blessing and a representation of so much, crushed between them, absorbing their warmth and reflecting it back with a softness that spoke to the nature of the one to whom it belonged.

And then, inside, was the shattering.

Where newfound warmth had bloomed, likewise was there loss, and where there was loss, there was air, cool and trembling through Aziraphale’s lungs like an open door as she greedily drank the sky of its essence, filling herself as her arms were with the safety of truth, of vulnerability. Of love.

“I love you, too, you ridiculous thing,” Aziraphale murmured. “Of course, I – how could I do anything but–“

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, voice broken, grated through like the broken sections of fingers in hair. “Angel, angel, angel…”

Aziraphale pulled back enough to cradle Crowley’s face in her hands. “Is this real? Did you mean what you said?”

“Angel, I meant it. With everything I have in me,” Crowley replied, arms contented where they were. Her eyes glimmered amber, swimming with light and hope. “If – if you’ll have me–“

“Of course I will–“

“I just – I feel like maybe I can belong somewhere when I’m with you, and I–“

“You make me feel at home, and you make me feel safe, and I’m–“

“I didn’t know how to tell you–“

“I wanted you to be free to go, and I didn’t want to force you into anything–“

“I’m the one who literally forced you to marry me–“

“Oh my!” Aziraphale exclaimed suddenly, blinking and looking around. “That’s right, we were – did it work? I was distracted–“

“Yes, it worked,” came an extremely dry but nonetheless amused voice. Anathema stepped forward, her arms folded. She raised an eyebrow at them but couldn’t hold the stern expression and smiled. “Aziraphale accepted Crowley’s offer, and Crowley is the only one holding the skin right now, so…”

“Right.” Crowley reluctantly drew her arms away to gather the hide into her arms. She quickly tossed it over her shoulders, back where it belonged. “I, um, wasn’t paying attention to, ah…”

“I noticed,” Anathema said with a small laugh. “You’re lucky Newt caught Agnes’ book, or I might’ve clobbered you.”

From behind Anathema, Newt held up the book triumphantly, not a speck of sand on it.

“Shit. Sorry.” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, and the sweet dear grinned at her like Aziraphale was the moon, the sun, the very stars. Aziraphale was helpless before her gravity.

“No harm done. More interestingly…” Anathema’s eyes went slightly unfocused as she gazed around them. “Your auras are absolutely wild right now.”

“Are they…okay?” Crowley asked, remembering Anathema’s concern from before.

“Very much so. I didn’t know how they would handle being torn apart when the selkie marriage was broken, but…they weren’t, really.” She hummed speculatively. “I think it’s because of the nature of the trade. It was unconventional, something non-tangible being offered…but there is a power in that kind of thing. Love breaks curses in fairytales all the time for this very reason. Your auras are not tied or connected, but they do…lean together. Reach for each other, even. That’s rare. I’ve only ever seen that sort of thing for couples that’ve, say, been married for decades and are still happy together. Not a common occurrence, frankly.”

“Then did it really work?” Aziraphale asked, twisting her hands together. “If they’re still…?” Crowley reached over and took one of those nervous hands in her own, and Aziraphale felt a calmness wash over her.

“It did, yeah,” Anathema confirmed. “There are no caveats and conditions like before, no punishments tied into it. No genuine way that they’re bound together. Only…” She scrubbed a hand over her face with a groan. “This is gonna sound cheesy, but your goddamn love for each other is making your auras wind together. And they’re brighter than before.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand, and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment.

“Erm, congrats, by the way,” Newt broke in, adjusting his glasses. “On the, you know, love confession thing. Glad that went over well, Crowley.”

Crowley squinted at him. “Thanks. So…” She flicked her eyes repeatedly over to Anathema.

“Oh, er – I…she did already. Yesterday.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah.” Anathema reached over for Newt’s free hand and took it. “Newt’s my boyfriend now. He’s brilliant but shit at picking up at my hints that he should ask me out properly after our fling, so I decided to take the initiative.”

Newt grinned at her like he couldn’t believe his luck. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

“Oh, goodness,” Aziraphale murmured, alight with joy. “We’ll need to go on a double date sometime.”

Crowley made a face. “Why would I want to go on a date with other people around?”

Aziraphale grinned. “Because it will be fun, and you’ll like it.”

Crowley grumbled some but didn’t protest further. The group laughed at that – the lightness of a weight lifted from their collective shoulders.

“So, you’re staying?” Anathema directed at Crowley.

Crowley looked to Aziraphale shyly. “If she’ll have me,” she murmured. Uncertainty lingered in the gaps between her fingers.

Aziraphale adjusted their hands so they were entwined. “You absurd thing,” she said. “Of your free will, I fully intend to keep you. For as long as you wish to remain by my side, there will be space for you there.”

“Ngk.” Crowley swallowed thickly. “That’s fine,” she wheezed.

Newt and Anathema were whispering together, and Aziraphale glanced over as Newt announced with exaggerated gravitas, “Hey An, I think we have somewhere to go be.” He glanced at her for approval.

She snorted. “Gosh, you’re right,” she replied, deadpan. “Guess we should go, then.”

“Oh, you don’t have to–“ Aziraphale tried.

“Bye,” Crowley said at the same time.

“Crowley.”

“What? They want to leave, so let them leave.”

Aziraphale spoke to the other couple again. “Don’t feel you need to rush out on our account.”

“I figured you’d say something like that,” Anathema said fondly. “Frankly, the absolute in-loveness you’re emanating is suffocating, and I think you two need some time alone. Let’s meet up later, okay?”

Aziraphale blushed but couldn’t protest the accusation. She wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway, now knowing it was a reciprocated affection. “Of course, my dear. Thank you for all your help.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a Pointed Look.

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley griped. “Good work, witch.”

“You flatter me with your praise, selkie.”

“Bah.”

They smiled at each other then, and Aziraphale got the impression that the teasing that began in a less-than-kind place was all for fun, now. It made her happy to see the people she loved getting along.

Anathema and Newt went on their way over the sands and hills, and Aziraphale and Crowley were left holding hands on the beach, a new breadth of feeling exposed between them like gathered seashells spilt from their pockets.

“…Up for a walk?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Please.” She needed a few minutes to process all of this.

Their footfalls were familiar over the riotous sands. Even their touch was one they’d come to know, on occasion, though not as often as Aziraphale had wished. Crowley couldn’t have known, as they meandered down the beach, hands swinging between them, that they were the very picture of every romantic cliché Aziraphale had ever seen. It was the sort of image you might see in an advertisement; it was that common.

But it still felt special to Aziraphale because she had never expected to be the sort of person who was one half of a romantic cliché, and she chose to indulge it. This feeling was hers, and she got to share it with someone who reflected her own heart back. There was something so extraordinary about that, something beyond the ability of words. Something ineffable.

“Did you…mean all of that?” Crowley asked softly after they’d covered a long stretch of shore.

“All of it,” Aziraphale replied easily. She had this outpouring of affection now, overwhelming her and desperate to escape. She had no interest in staunching the flow. “I said it before, didn’t I? I’m happy with you here. Even when I didn’t…know how you felt…that was true. I’m sorry, but I…needed it to be your choice. I couldn’t bear to put that on you.”

“I think I understand,” Crowley replied, soothing her with a simple brush of her thumb over Aziraphale’s knuckles. “I was so convinced I couldn’t belong anywhere that I couldn’t make that choice on my own, I think. Not until…I was faced with the reality of losing you.”

It was the kind of statement that might make one’s knees go weak, but Aziraphale only felt stronger. “I’m grateful,” she said, “for your bravery.”

Crowley shrugged, ever one to shy away from praise. “Not bravery.” She scuffed at some sand. “Selfishness, really.”

And, oh, Aziraphale did feel weak at that. But in a way she didn’t mind at all. “There’s no selfishness in this, my love.”

“But it–“ Crowley stumbled, tugging on Aziraphale’s hand to keep herself upright. She stared at Aziraphale, eyes wide as she regained her footing. “My love?!”

“Is that okay?”

“Is that okay, she asks. Is that okay.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to call you that for a while, so I–“

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted, eyes wide with emotion. “Thoughts on kissing.”

Aziraphale started and aborted several sentences. “E-Excuse me?”

“I’d like to know your thoughts on kissing. For, against, cheeks only, whatever. As soon as possible, preferably.”

“Ah, well.” Aziraphale swallowed, throat dry. “I’m…rather a fan of it. Cheeks, yes. Forehead. And, um. Lips.”

“Perfect.” Crowley surged forward, her unclasped hand catching Aziraphale’s soft jaw and leaning in to brush their lips together.

Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she released Crowley’s hand to toss her arms around the selkie’s shoulders. Crowley made a soft, surprised noise that wasn’t complaint, drawing Aziraphale closer.

The moment was soft.

When they drew back, Aziraphale’s vision was dotted with stars. Crowley blinked drowsily at her with a dopey smile. “Hey,” she murmured, brushing a delicate kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Hello there,” Aziraphale replied, breathless. “How are you doing?”

“Fuckin’ brilliant.”

Aziraphale giggled. “I could get well used to the way you’re looking at me right now.”

“Is it any different than I was before?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale considered her love, heat building in her face. “No.”

“’Zactly.”

“You dear, dear darling.”

Crowley blinked a few times, clearly trying to regain some sense of Coolness. It wasn’t working. She settled for hiding her face against Aziraphale’s neck, which was so endearing that Aziraphale had to restrain herself from pulling the selkie into another searing kiss.

Later, she promised herself.

They turned around at some point, meandering their way back to the house, tucked away in trees. It was so different from the first time they had done this, at the beginning of what was now a waning summer, strangers tossed together by…was it Fate, perhaps? Aziraphale was realizing what an old romantic she was and couldn’t help but wonder.

Whatever it was, she was very grateful.

“What was it that you said,” Aziraphale asked as they crossed the threshold, a teasing lilt in her voice, her gaze lingering over the cardboard mountain still stacked in her living room, “about me and my unpacked boxes…?”

Crowley, on one leg as she tugged off her shoes, froze. “Erm. Nothing.”

“No, do remind me what you said, my love.”

“Um. Gnnh. That it’s very cute how inefficient you are?”

Aziraphale pecked the fiend on the cheek for that, a hand on her elbow steadying the selkie from falling over. “Not quite,” she murmured lightly. “But I think I have an idea of what to do after some lunch.”

“Oh yeah?” Crowley raised a sceptical eyebrow at her.

Aziraphale grinned smugly. “You’re going to help me unpack.”

“Angel…”

“It’s only fair for you to have a say in how we organize our home,” she said innocently as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Our–” Crowley squeaked from the hallway. There was some indignant sputtering, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled. Crowley appeared a moment later, her hide half-slipping. “If I’d know what an absolute bastard you are…”

“Then what?”

Crowley huffed, caught. “Well. Probably would’ve fallen in love with you faster.”

“Oh, darling.”

It was several minutes before they got around to making lunch.

A log made a soft thunk noise as it split, flames crawling high against the cold. Crowley shivered, her long fingers wrapped around a warm mug that steamed wildly. It smelled like dirt in a way that was soothing but prevented her from taking a sip, wary of the taste.

Aziraphale paused in her reading at the movement, glasses slipped halfway down her nose. “You alright, dearest?”

“Mmm? Yeah,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale softly closed her book, setting it aside. “Seems like winter is on its way, isn’t it?”

“Feels like it’s already here.”

“It’s only mid-October.”

“It’s cold.”

“You’re a seal most of the time. Aren’t you used to the cold?”

“Yeah,” Crowley complained, “as a seal.”

“You’re welcome to switch forms, if you need.”

“Wouldn’t be so cold if you were holding me instead of your book.” Crowley made a face at her, aiming for tempting.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, wiggling her fingers, “you’re in luck. I’ve recently found my hands to be quite thoroughly empty. Whatever shall I do?”

Crowley wordlessly crossed the small space between them, draping the blanket she had made her cocoon over their legs. Aziraphale automatically lifted her arms to make space for Crowley to wedge herself, who instantly sank into the familiar warmth of Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale gently pulled the mug out of Crowley’s hands, setting it aside, allowing them to erase even more space between them.

“Better?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley grumbled happily, contented to stay there for the remainder of the cold months. Seals didn’t hibernate and neither did selkies, but she thought she could give it a go if Aziraphale wasn’t interested in moving for a while.

“Did you not like the tea?” Aziraphale asked. “I noticed you didn’t drink much of it.”

Crowley made a noise. “Smelled like dirt.”

“It’s chamomile.”

“Eh.”

Aziraphale laughed, a rumble that Crowley felt throughout her own body. What a wonderful feeling.

“Did give me an idea,” Crowley said, cheek smushed against Aziraphale’s knit sweater. “There’s space for a garden out back, yeah?”

“Yes, and the flowerbeds out front. I’m afraid I don’t have much of a green thumb. I’ve managed to kill succulents.”

“I was in the gardening section of the library the other day,” Crowley said. “Thought…maybe I’ll give it a try, when spring comes.”

Aziraphale began running her fingers through Crowley’s hair. “That sounds like a lovely idea. Perhaps we could find some houseplants in the meantime. I’m sure Francis at the gardening centre would be happy to help us find something suitable.”

“’Kay.”

“Oh, and don’t forget about the brunch with Deirdre. It’s very kind of her to host a get-together.”

“Suppose so.”

“Hush, you know you like those little muffins she makes.”

“Mm.”

“Are you falling asleep, my dearest?”

Crowley growled. “No.”

“You’re all slumped against me. You seem tired. Perhaps you should go to bed.”

Crowley shifted closer. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a bit early for me…”

Crowley recognized that tone of voice, and she smiled, pulling herself up to face the woman she adored. “Oh, but doesn’t an early night sound nice? You could make cocoa and drink it all cosy in bed. Put on your tartan flannel nightgown, which is an afront to God, and curl up with a good book…”

“Tartan is stylish,” was all Aziraphale got out of all that.

Crowley turned it up a notch, rising from their warm nest on the sofa with the anguished dramatics of an ailing Victorian maiden. “Well, I suppose if you’re forcing me to go all alone, to a dark room and cold sheets, since I am clearly unwanted here…”

With a huff, Aziraphale reached out, grabbing Crowley’s wrist. “Enough of that, you fiend! That’s not something I can even let you joke about. You are wanted everywhere, always.”

Crowley grinned triumphantly. “Even sleeping in your bed?”

Sighing in defeat, Aziraphale planted a kiss on Crowley’s hand and stood. “Alright, alright. Temptation accomplished. And it’s our bed, as you well know.”

Crowley bent over to place a lingering kiss on Aziraphale’s mouth. “I do know that,” she said softly. “Which means it should have both of us in it.”

“I already agreed! You don’t need to keep tempting me, you silly…”

They continued their banter as Aziraphale gathered what she needed, Crowley unhelpfully trailing after her. Shortly thereafter, the selkie fell asleep beside her beloved human, contented and warm.

Aziraphale read well into the night before succumbing to the same slumber, one where dreams contained snippets of a sweet reality:

Two pairs of sand-scuffed sandals by the door.

Two towels hung in the bathroom, one blue and one red.

Two aprons in the kitchen, one beige and one black.

Several blankets in the living room, new mugs alongside Aziraphale’s old ones, kitschy beach house décor, a coffee machine beside the tea box, two toothbrushes, stones and seashells cluttering every windowsill…

And a house, with every box unpacked.

Chapter Text

At the sound of a frantic knock one autumn afternoon, Anathema swung open her front door, prepared for an emergency. It wouldn’t be the first time. The residents of Tadfield had long since come to appreciate the benefits of having a witch around for minor spells or potions, and various forms of insight that came with being tuned in to the disconnect between this world and the overlaying others. Some thought she could commune with the dead like Tracy claimed to, but that wasn’t the kind of work she did, thank you very much.

Instead, on her doorstep was her neighbour and friend, Aziraphale, eyes wild, windswept curls askance.

“Can I hel-“ Anathema began.

“I panicked!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I-I bought a ring at the jewellers. Help.”

Anathema gave her a blank stare, immediately understanding the situation her friend had gotten herself into as her eyes flicked down to the black velvet box clutched in Aziraphale’s hands. The poor woman looked like she was about to faint.

It’s about time, Anathema thought to herself. Aloud, she asked, “Do you genuinely think Crowley will turn you down or something? Are you dense?”

“Well, marriage is rather a fraught topic with us! We’re technically divorced!”

Anathema adjusted her glasses. “That was over a year ago.”

“Yes, and…” Aziraphale fiddled with the ring box, gaze skittering. “What if she’s not interested in marrying me again?”

“Aziraphale…” Anathema sighed and gestured her friend to come inside before closing the door. “You do realize that last marriage was…not a legal one? I called it divorce as a joke. She knows that selkie marriage and human marriage are completely different things.”

Aziraphale didn’t seem placated, pacing in the cluttered room in a way that made Anathema vaguely nervous about her experiments being trodden upon or knocked over. “Nonetheless, there’s a very real possibility that she isn’t interested in the human one, either!”

Anathema found her thermos of coffee in the chaos of her workspace and took a swig, leaning against her desk. “Would that be such a big deal?”

“Well…” Aziraphale considered this. “Perhaps not. We don’t need to be married to prove our love for each other or something. It’s only…”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale turned red. Well, redder. “I, um, miss being able to call her my wife. And I want to call her my husband when she’s so inclined, or spouse…”

Anathema placed a hand over her heart. “You two,” she mumbled. “Alright, okay. You trust me, right?”

“Of course! That’s why I came to you for help.”

“Then believe me when I tell you this.” Anathema caught Aziraphale’s eye and spoke firmly, returning the thermos to the desk with a loud thunk. “Crowley loves you. She is every bit as much of a sap as you are – no matter how much she protests that – and will say yes immediately, especially if you tell her your reasoning. She will literally melt into your arms like she’s made of rubber.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you hearing me? Ask her.”

Aziraphale gulped, nodding several times like she was trying to fully convince herself. “Yes, yes, I…I can see your logic. I suppose…there’s not much to lose, is there?”

“Considering the chance of her declining is less than zero, yeah. Or zed. Whatever.” She was never going to get used to British English.

“Then…I’ll do it.” Aziraphale pressed the small box to her heart, visibly gathering courage. “I’ll…make us a picnic. And ask her at sunset.”

Anathema would’ve rolled her eyes if she wasn’t aware Aziraphale meant it with every fibre of her romantical soul. “You do that. Let me know how it goes.”

Two days later, Crowley arrived at Anathema’s door looking ragged. Crowley held out her left hand, whereupon a ring sparkled. “I think I just got engaged. I don’t know anything about human marriage. Help.”

***

Tracy marched steadfastly down the sidewalk, her many frilly layers fluttering about her. The library was a short walk from her salon. She could hardly contain her excitement as she burst through the doors, her large bejewelled earrings clattering and swaying.

“I’ve heard the news!” she exclaimed, sweeping past shelves and confused patrons to find Aziraphale, tucked away in her hoard of books.

“Madame Tracy!” Aziraphale cried as she neared, eyes wide. Glancing around, she cleared her throat and spoke more quietly, “Erm, that is, Madame Tracy. What a surprise. Are you in need of a book?”

Tracy clucked her tongue, still speaking at full volume. “Oh, please, don’t act coy with me! I want to hear all about your engagement to your selkie wife!”

“Ah, erm-“ Her face took on a fetching shade of pink. “I’m, ah, working. Perhaps another time?”

“Pish posh. Take your lunch break. I’ll pay, and I won’t take no for an answer. We need to start planning your wedding right away! I’m more than happy to consult, you know. I’ve planned dozens and dozens of weddings, after all.”

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were a wedding planner.”

Tracy chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t be silly. I’ve had to plan each of my own weddings, haven’t I?”

“Oh dear.”

“Come now, do tell all,” Tracy continued, bustling the poor librarian outside and down the steps. “I’m sure you must’ve popped the question, am I correct? Oh, you’re blushing, I must be. Did Crowley cry? I need details, then we can talk napkins.”

***

Sergeant Shadwell sniffed mightily. The marine air was especially salty today. He was quite certain that witch to the south-east was to blame, but he had yet to find any evidence for conviction, and the laws of today were ignorant to such wickedness. He had enlisted that Newton boy to scout information for him once, to keep a careful eye on her, but the skittish lad, last he’d heard, had instead moved into her den of sin. He felt a responsibility to protect him from her wiles, but no matter what Shadwell said to him, the awkward kid refused to listen to reason, always returning to the witch’s clutches. He was likely lost already.

Speaking of dens of sin, Shadwell spotted that selkie girl the librarian was living with, walking down the street near where he picketed with his usual sign on Saturday afternoons, warning the populace of witchly concerns (calling a cat funny name, crop blights, dancing naked, etc.). Shadwell didn’t believe that such things as marrying selkies was appropriate, but Aziraphale had avoided him rather efficiently ever since he questioned her about nipples.

“Aye, you there,” Shadwell called, catching the redhead’s attention. What was the lass’ name? “I’ve ‘eard you’re set to be wed.”

The creature loomed nearer, an eyebrow raised and hands in her pockets. “Yup. Seems like the whole town’s heard about it,” she replied evenly.

“How many nipples has your lady got?” he asked.

“What?”

“Nipples.” He gestured with his sign. “Surely you know, in your nest of depravity.”

The selkie blinked a few times. “Never asked. The usual human measure, I assume.”

“Which is…?”

She frowned. “Uh. Six? Six seems a nice number.”

He clucked his tongue. T’was exactly as he’d feared. The librarian was a witch as well. Only witches would dare wed the sea, after all. “And yourself, lassie?”

She looked down at her black-clad self. “Haven’t checked. Four in my other form. Are human nipples retractable, too?”

Shadwell shook his head, despaired at this revelation. The town was overrun with sin, and with his best (and only) soldier lost to feminine wiles, the fight was a tough one. Perhaps he’d have to go to London to find new recruits.

“Begone, devil spawn!” he exclaimed, waving her away.

The woman laughed as she did so, a witchy cackle that spoke of pure evils. “I’m gonna have to tell Anathema about this,” Shadwell heard her murmur.

***

“I think it’s sweet,” Brian insisted as he, Adam, Wensley, and Pepper walked along the main street of Tadfield with their ice cream cones, all in different colours.

“Marriage is a social institution,” Pepper explained loftily, “that historically made women the legal property of their husbands. There’s nothing sweet about it if you ask me.”

“That’s past though, right?” Brian asked between licks of his rapidly melting chocolate ice cream. “You don’t even have to share last names now.”

“I’d never give up my last name for a man,” Pepper declared. “That’s just stupid.”

“Me either, “Adam agreed.

“You’re a boy, Adam. You wouldn’t have to.”

He made a face. “Well, I’m not anyway. And whoever I marry shouldn’t, either. Saves a lot of trouble, keeping names the way they are. Like Dog. He was already a dog, so he stayed Dog.”

Brian and Wensley nodded at this profound wisdom.

“I don’t believe Crowley has a last name at all,” Wensley pointed out, carefully biting into his cone. “Do you think selkies have a preference on taking surnames?”

All four pondered this.

“We’ll have to ask her,” Adam decided. “And find out if she’s also gonna be a Mrs. Fell.”

“I think she’d use Mx., actually,” Pepper said. “Since her gender changes. But I’m not sure.”

“Mx. Fell, then.”

 “I still think it’s sweet,” Brian put in, sloppily wiping his cheek with the back of his hand, which only further spread the stickiness from his chin. “Them getting married again. I hope it’s better than my cousin’s wed-“

He was cut off when Pepper suddenly let loose a great scream. The other three either plugged their ears or shrugged and kept eating, well used to Pepper’s screams.

“What this time?” Adam asked.

Pepper coughed through a giggle. “I think Mr. Tyler’s about to find the biodegradable glitter bomb we put in his mailbox!”

Adam muttered a word his mother wouldn’t like to hear him say, and all four raced for Hogback Woods before Mr. Tyler could find them “lollygagging about,” laughing the whole while.

***

Deirdre eyed her co-worker as Aziraphale dropped another book while reshelving. She’d been doing so all day, alongside catalogue cards, pens, and even her own lunchbox, which had thankfully still been sealed.

Closing time was still hours away, but the library was empty, so Deirdre decided she needed to say something. “Aziraphale, are you alright?” she asked carefully.

Aziraphale dropped the book again. She glanced over guiltily before scooping it back up and firmly putting it on the shelf. “Yes, I’m fine. Of course. Jolly good.”

Unconvinced, she pressed, “Is it about the wedding? It’s only a few weeks away now, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale visibly deflated, sighing. “Yes.”

“Nervous?”

“I suppose.”

Deirdre approached from behind the front desk. “It’s normal to be nervous, you know.”

“I know, but…” Aziraphale avoided her gaze, hands twisting. “Were you nervous before marrying Arthur?”

“Oh, very,” she admitted. “I didn’t sleep a bit the night before, in fact.”

“How…how did you move past it?”

A fond smile lifted Deirdre’s lips at the memory. “Well, I called Arthur.”

Aziraphale looked surprised. “You did?”

“Yes. It was nearly three in the morning. I woke him from quite a deep sleep, I’m afraid. I told him I was nervous about the wedding, and he replied…” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll never forget it. He said in that gruff voice of his, ‘We could always just eat the cake.’” She laughed fully as Aziraphale blinked at her, perplexed. “Not the most romantic thing, I suppose, but it was very Arthur. Utterly pragmatic. And that helped me calm down.”

Aziraphale finally smiled. “I think I understand,” she said. “And here you are, all these years later.”

“Our fifteenth anniversary is coming up. We’re taking a weekend trip.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Deirdre studied her friend. Yes, they were co-workers, but after all this time, they were friends, too. “Just talk to Crowley. It’ll help. You’ll see.”

“Thank you, Dierdre,” Aziraphale replied, sounding calmer. “I’ll do that.”

The two finished shelving, chatting about marriage and life and everything between.

***

Anathema leaned closer and muttered under her breath, “These two getting married on the same stretch of beach where they met is just overkill.”

Newt shrugged. “Aren’t you always talking about the power of symbolism to make your magic stuff work properly?”

“Well, yeah…but…”

He grinned. “But what?”

“Fine, fine, you got me.” She rolled her eyes at him but took up his hand as she did so. “I guess it’s very them. Even if the ocean-themed reception is a little tacky.”

Newt knew his girlfriend wasn’t the type for dramatic romantics. She liked a bit of flirting and fun sometimes, but she was so logical about everything that she usually preferred things to be efficient and sensible. That’s why he hadn’t even bothered with an engagement ring, which she’d expressed disdain for once as a practice and he’d made a mental note of at the time. Instead, he purchased matching wedding bands that he planned to present to her some casual evening, whenever he could work up the nerve.

Today, though, was about their friends. The not-so-unrequited Unrequited Love Club was doing well for themselves, Newt figured as he watched Crowley and Aziraphale winding around on the dance floor. The town put on a heck of a show for their beloved selkie and librarian. Though some had expressed confusion; didn’t they get married years ago…?

“Be nice, An,” Newt replied after a too-long pause. “You know how long it took to plan this thing.”

“Do I ever.” She shook her head. “Apparently Aziraphale is the type who put on play weddings for her dolls, so she was picky as hell. Geez, and Crowley – Aziraphale and I had to explain every wedding custom to her in triplicate, Newt. Triplicate.”

“I know,” he said. “I was there.”

“They wrote their own vows, you know. Aziraphale’s first draft was eight pages long. She made me listen to her read it. Everyone here should be grateful I convinced her to cut the sonnet recitations.”

He winced. “You mean that was the shortened version?”

“Very shortened.”

“Wow.”

She sighed, but it was fond. “I’m just glad they’re happy together.”

“I know, An. I’m glad, too.”

Newt and Anathema took a moment to watch the newlywed couple dance. They looked incandescently happy, and the two basked in that joy, in some way honoured to bear witness to their love story.

Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t remarry in the old, selkie way, Newt had heard. The symbolism of being free to leave and choosing to stay was not lost on anyone who knew the details.

Anathema tapped a finger with the beat of the music over their joined hands. Newt had never expected to hear Queen at a wedding reception but couldn’t deny that “Seaside Rendezvous” was a little too fitting not to include in the playlist.

“Do you want to dance?” Anathema asked eventually, pulling his gaze back to her.

Newt grimaced. “You know I can’t dance.”

“I can’t either. Besides, no one can dance well on the beach.”

“I’d embarrass you.”

“You don’t embarrass me, Newt. Ever.”

He squeezed her hand. “You sure?”

Anathema stood, setting her champagne glass aside. “Come on. Let’s see those two left feet of yours.”

Newt laughed. “Okay, but you were warned!”

The two of them whirled onto the sand dancefloor, where they, predictably, failed to have anything resembling rhythm, but, also predictably, had lots of fun while doing so. Once, they ran into the newlywed couple while they were sharing a kiss, and Anathema laughed at the snarl Crowley gave her afterward.

Life was good with friends in it.

***

It was going to take Crowley some time to get used to the weight of a wedding band on her finger.

“What if I lose it?” she asked Aziraphale one night as they lay in their bed together, having stayed up way too late talking. They’d already shared this bed for years now. Getting married hadn’t actually changed anything about how they lived. It just gave them an excuse to take a train to London and eat at fancy restaurants for a week.  “What if I forget to take it off when I go swimming,” she continued, “and it sits somewhere on the ocean floor forever?”

 “Then we get a new one,” Aziraphale responded simply, snuggling further into her soft pillow. “The jeweller can make a replica.”

“But what if I lose that one, too?”

“Then we do it again,” Aziraphale reassured, taking Crowley’s ringed hand in her own. “Or we don’t have to bother with it at all. It’s just a human thing, my darling.”

“I like human things,” the selkie replied with a scowl.

Aziraphale sighed affectionately. “I know. We’ll manage. Just be careful and it’ll be fine.”

“I’m careful. I’m always careful.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? What’s that face?”

Aziraphale pointedly swept a gaze over the selkie skin that was currently laid out over the blankets. “If I recall, when we met…”

Crowley made various grumpy noises that Aziraphale silenced with a kiss to the forehead.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll remind you about your ring.”

Crowley sighed, expression softening as Aziraphale laid another kiss on her cheek, then chin. “What would I do without you?” she murmured.

Aziraphale didn’t even want to think about it, instead laying a final kiss on Crowley’s lips. “Who knows? Go to sleep.”

As the waves gently curled and splashed toward shore, the sun low on the horizon with the promise of a glorious sunrise in a few hours, Crowley took Aziraphale in her arms and held her close, and they reshaped their futures together.