Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was, Muriel found, a comfortable way of finding a routine on Earth. And the wonderful, brilliant part of it was they didn’t even have to try to find it, it just happened. In the beginning - the beginning of being in the bookshop, though, obviously, not the Beginning beginning - they spent whole entire days lost in books, before remembering that oh, right, they had a job to be doing and they ought to get doing it.

It started with the coffee shop. They mostly went there first because it was the only other place they had been before, aside from the vegetable stand on the corner, and because even though drinking coffee seemed suspect it … it did smell good. And smelling it was probably alright, as long as nothing passed their lips.

“You know,” said the grumpy human lady behind the counter on the second day Muriel showed up and ordered “tea, please, er, the sort with leaves?”, “if you’re going to pretend to be human you’re doing a shit job at it. At least Mr. Fell could pass most of the time.” Her face did something funny after she mentioned Mr. Fell, but whatever it was was over quickly and she resumed the usual neutral expression she always wore. 

“I … I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Muriel hazarded. 

“Mm, sure you don’t.” The woman sighed and handed over a cup of tea. “Enjoy looking at it then. You’re not doing divination or something on it, are you?”

Muriel’s brow furrowed. “What? No, that’s … I’m pretty sure that’s witchcraft anyway.”

“Of course it is,” and then, in the remarkable way Miss Nina could always turn a conversation off, she looked away and yelled, “Next!”

So it started with the coffee shop. Muriel would go in the morning, order a cup of tea to look at, and read a book. And they would watch. Not for anything, not at first, but just watch. Watch the humans as they did human things, like walk and talk and play and argue, and get themselves all worked up about things that wouldn’t really matter, not in a few decades anyway. Every now and then Muriel debated telling this to a particularly distressed human, but then remembered that Aziraphale had been very clear that they were not to interfere unless directly asked to do so.

“You encourage them,” he had said during the last time they’d spoken, in the form of a hovering incorporeal manifestation. “You encourage them to be good and do good, but really unless directly charged you’re not to actually do anything at all. Within reason.”

“Right,” Muriel had said, and they’d meant to ask exactly what ‘within reason’ meant, but Aziraphale had already moved on, and they weren’t about to interrupt the supreme Archangel. 

“And, er, has Crowley been ‘round?”

Muriel shook their head. “No. But I haven’t sensed any temptation or wickedness, so that’s good!” and they couldn’t quite understand why Aziraphale would look a little sad about that. 

“Ah. Well. Jolly good. If you see him tell him … Well. Just say hello to him for me, will you?”

“Okay!” they had agreed cheerfully, waving as Aziraphale faded back into the ether. 

They kept reading. That was definitely part of the routine, reading: books were like little people, and Muriel realized fairly quickly that they needed to learn about people all they could, because people could be weird and confusing, and the stories helped. 

It took three weeks for them to have any meaningful conversation with Nina again, this time at the table outside of the cafe, while Nina was wiping down the table next. “You look ridiculous."

Muriel stuck their finger against the page to mark their place and looked up. “What?”

“You look ridiculous. Look around,” she said, standing up and propping one hand on her hip, waving the wet rag in the other at the mass of people on the street. “Who’s dressed like you?”

“I …” Muriel did look around. And then they looked down at themself, in all cream and white.

“You look like you’re about to go to a fancy dress party,” Nina added. 

“But I -” Muriel frowned at their clothes. It was a costume, of course, because Heavenly raiment would look even more out of place here on Earth, but Muriel hadn’t yet been invited to any fancy dress parties. They had read about them, though, and were rather hoping when autumn rolled around they would be. “I don’t know what I would wear. This is what I was given.”

“Right, but it looks ridiculous,” Nina repeated. “Maybe,” she went on, nodding to the crowd, “you could see what people are wearing, yeah? Pick out bits you like.”

“I can’t just take it from them,” Muriel pointed out. “They’re wearing them.”

Nina huffed and rolled her eyes. “No, of course not, I mean … I mean buy the same pieces then, or magic them up, or whatever it is you do. Ask Heaven.”

Muriel frowned. “Well if Heaven gave me this -”

“Alright, fine, don’t ask Heaven then, but for Go - uh, whatever, fuck’s sake, find something besides that -” this said while gesturing toward Muriel expansively with the rag, “- to wear.” She thought for a second. “Why don’t you ask Mr. Fell’s friend? He’s weird but he knows how to dress. Where’s he been, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Muriel said, still frowning. “I haven’t seen him. He left a few weeks ago.”

“Shame. He seemed alright, for a weirdo.”

“For a demon,” Muriel corrected her, before they could stop themself. And then they squeaked, “Oops.”

Nina stared at them for a minute, blinking. “Was he really?” Muriel, their hands now clapped protectively over their mouth, shrugged. “Well, you’d never know. Anyway, if he comes back you should ask him. He’d probably help.”

They were about to say they didn’t really think he would help, on account of him being a demon, but Nina had gone back inside.

-

They started with a skirt. They’d had a skirt in Heaven, and overall found it much more comfortable and pleasant to wear than the pleated trousers. Initially, they miracled one up in brown, but it felt weird to wear something so close on Earth to what their uniform in Heaven had been, and so they took to the streets to look around some more. There were just so many colors, and patterns, and designs and it was a bit overwhelming, but they picked something eventually.

It happened on a rainy afternoon in the park. Muriel was on a bench, alone, and saw two people hurrying through what at the moment was a moderate rain. One had an umbrella, the other didn’t, and they weren’t talking to one another. Did they know each other? Their body language seemed to suggest no, but then -

“I’m heading toward the tube, want to duck under?” asked the one with the umbrella, and the other nodded, expressed thanks, and they hurried off together.

“Thanks a bunch, I was getting soaked.”

Muriel watched them go, and took note of the kind, helpful umbrella-holder’s green skirt with yellow sunflowers printed on it, and decided that was how their skirt should look too. And so it did, in that very moment.

It started with the routine, and the skirt.

-

By just over a year on Earth, Muriel’s daily routine went as thus:

• 7am: Read book and smell tea at cafe. Speak with Nina if she appears willing, study humans.
• 9am: Return to the bookshop, write and file any important notes about humans. Write reports. 
• Noon: Go to the park. Observe humans. Also read book.
• 1:30pm: Return to the cafe for a second cup of tea. Explain to Nina that smelling the tea is just fine, really, and she should try it some day without the drinking part.
• 2:30pm: Walk up and down Whickber Street and ensure safety of the street and its inhabitants. 
• 3pm: Return to the bookshop, write notes about humans and Whickber Street. Communicate with Heaven if scheduled.
• 5pm: [redacted]
• 9pm: Read book.
• 1am: Ensure patrons of local evening club and also Mrs. Sandwich’s make it home safely.
• 4am: Read book. Possibly [redacted], depending on mood.

It was a very comfortable routine, even the redacted bits that Muriel tried not to think about too much because they were pretty sure Heaven wouldn’t approve. But, well, aside from occasional meetings with either Saraqael or Aziraphale, nobody ever really checked in. They weren’t to know, and although that sort of bothered Muriel a little bit* they also knew well enough to keep their mouth shut because it was fun , really fun, and it’s not like it was hurting anybody, right? So no harm done.

(*A lot)

Aziraphale, they were pretty sure, would understand, anyway. But less said the better.

Muriel had updated their clothes too, over the prior year. It had started with the skirt, but just as Nina suggested they kept noticing things, kept picking out things they liked and incorporating it until the Inspect Constable costume was gone, neatly folded away on the bed upstairs**, and Muriel’s raiment was a colorful riot of their own making.

(** Lying in wait, Muriel hoped, for a fancy dress party which they had not, regrettably, been invited to last autumn.)

There was the green skirt with the sunflowers, of course. And a few weeks later, they had been helping someone into a cab at the end of the night when one of the other club-goers saw Muriel unsuccessfully coaxing the person along and lent a hand, thus ensuring the person’s safe return home. The woman who had helped had had on a light, bright orange shirt with puffy, billowy sleeves and she had been so kind, and Muriel had decided that that shirt certainly would be required.

Eventually they also added Aziraphale’s gray cardigan from the shop, a pair of knee-high lavender socks similar to what they’d seen a little girl wearing as she’d helped a friend of hers carry an armful of school supplies, and, on special occasions, a little pillbox hat like Mrs. Sandwich’s, because it was so pretty and Muriel loved the way it looked atop the woman’s beautiful chestnut hair, especially when she was making sure customers at her shop knew the rules and wouldn’t dare step out of line. Muriel’s hair wasn’t nearly as long as Mrs. Sandwich’s, but they fancied the hat looked pretty good on them anyway.

“It looks like you’re playing dress-up,” Nina had said one morning when Muriel had shown up to ask Nina how she liked the new hat.

“Well, because I am! It’s really fun.” They did a little twirl, and grinned at the way the skirt and the shirtsleeves billowed around with the movement. 

“Nothing matches,” Nina went on, eyebrow raised. 

Muriel looked down at their clothes. “Is that important?”

Nina considered it for a minute. “No, not really. Just something most people do. Same tea as always this morning? Any chance you might try drinking it?”

“Oh, no.” Muriel laughed a little when they demurred, holding up a hand. “I mean, yes to the usual, but no I won’t be drinking it today either.”

“You know that’s absolutely insane behavior,” said Nina, but she poured the hot water anyway. “What do you do all day, anyway? After you leave here, I mean, but before you help take all the drunks home.”

Muriel blinked. Nobody outside of Aziraphale had ever asked that sort of question before, and at first they weren’t sure if it was alright to answer. But then, this was Nina, and for a human Nina was very good, really. Kind, and helpful, and … and just good . And something about that stuck in Muriel’s mind, because Nina was good, but when they’d peeked at her celestial file once, just a quick peek, just a look -

They stopped thinking about it and smiled at Nina instead.

“I read a lot,” said Muriel, while the tea steeped. The late summer rain was hammering down outside so the clientele of the cafe was a bit lighter than usual. “I write my reports. I go to the park and observe the good deeds, and I …” they stopped. “I … read some more,” they finished, voice wobbling a little with the lie.

Nina definitely noticed, and Muriel’s belly twisted a little as they tried to think of a good lie in response to the inevitable challenge. But then … it never came. Nina raised her eyebrows and made a face like always, but rather than asking anything else she just handed over Muriel’s customary mug of tea and said, “Any good books lately?”

“Uh?” It was not the question Muriel had been expecting, although they weren’t entirely sure what question they had been expecting. They scrambled, and then looked down at the book in their hands. “I’m quite enjoying this one,” they said, and held up the cover for Nina to read.

Nina scowled. “You never are.”

“I am!” Muriel insisted, and then took a calming look into the tea. “It’s really good.”

“ Nobody likes Middlemarch. It’s what you have to read in school to pass, and everybody just looks up stuff about it online so they don’t have to actually read it.”

Muriel looked at the cover, brow furrowed. “People ought to try reading it,” they said. “I really like it.”

Nina looked like she wanted to say something in response to that, but she didn’t for a second. Then she took a breath and said, “Well, as long as you like it. Now move, you’re holding up the line.”

Muriel looked back and saw just one customer, a sheepish-looking woman soaked from the rain, and apologized profusely before stepping out of the way and off toward their usual table. As they did, they sent a little miracle the woman’s way, just to make sure her clothes would dry a little bit faster, and be a little less cold as they did.

Hardly counted as interfering, right? Just a little help, spreading a little good.

Although rain didn’t really bother Muriel, when the time came for their usual return to the bookshop they found themself reluctant to go just yet. It was still pouring down outside, buckets and buckets, and the quiet music playing over the speakers in the cafe along with Nina’s silent but constant presence felt … comfortable. Nice. Muriel decided that maybe today, just today, they could shake up the routine, just a little. They could always skip the park; it wasn’t a good day for that, anyway.

“Great day to be a duck,” Nina said idly as she wandered by Muriel’s table on the way to tidying up another. 

Muriel laughed. It was a phrase they’d heard before a few times, and they always liked it. Because it was true: today was a great day to be a duck.

Perhaps they ought to re-think their plans to skip the park and go later anyway, just to watch the ducks having a great day.

Or, they thought, when the bell over the door tinkled lightly, perhaps not. A dark, soggy figure stood in the doorway, and Nina and Muriel froze. 

“Six shots,” said Nina, at the same time Muriel whispered, “Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley looked over, as if realizing they were both there staring at him, although Muriel would not believe for a second he didn’t already know, and stood up just a bit taller. “Hey guys.”

Nina offered a nod in return. “Six shots?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She strode back off to the machines behind the counter, leaving Muriel alone, staring dumbly at the demon, their book held protectively in front of them like some kind of shield. Crowley stared back.

And then, eventually, he said, “No one likes Middlemarch, you know.”

“I like it.” They swallowed and wet their suddenly very dry throat. “Do you want to - to sit down?”

Mr. Crowley considered the offer and then, without a word, sauntered over and sat down across from Muriel, draping himself in his chair like they were old friends. “We need,” he said, fixing the angel with his bright yellow eyes over the rims of his dark glasses, “to talk.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Muriel noticed about Mr. Crowley was that he didn’t look at all like they remembered. Sure, he was wet from the rain which had made his hair go a bit funny, but it wasn’t just that. His hair was longer, for a start, nearly down to his shoulders. He had a beard, which was a sort of scruffy thing that was in fashion these days but that seemed out of place with his usual slick style.

And he looked … tired. Tired, and somehow much older. They didn’t remember the lines on his face looking quite as deep last time. But then, it had been over a year. Maybe they didn’t remember right. Maybe he had been busy. But then where was all the evil? There didn’t seem to be enough evil around London for him to have been busy. Muriel desperately wanted to ask if he had.

But he had said he wanted to talk. Nina brought the six shots of espresso in a big cup, and put it down, and then, in another surprising development, pulled over another chair and sat down. Before Muriel or Crowley could say a word - and Crowley looked like he was about to - Nina demanded, “Where the hell have you been?”

Crowley shoved his glasses more securely up onto the bridge of his nose, then sat back and crossed his arms. “None of yours. I’m here to talk to Muriel.”

“Mhm, I understand that,” Nina said, also crossing her arms and very distinctly not budging from her seat. “Muriel, who has been running your boyfriend’s bookshop after the two of you disappeared . And then you turn up looking like a drowned rat -”

Crowley had always been grumpy, but although Muriel hadn’t known him long he’d never been scary . But oh dear, he was scary now. His teeth seemed longer, and something glowed red behind his sunglasses. “It’s none of your business ,” he snarled, and the s’s seemed to stretch into a range of sounds humans could not make. Muriel leaned back, away - he was a demon, after all - but to their utter shock and horror, Nina leaned in .

“I rather think it might be ,” the cafe owner insisted, prodding the table with a finger. “And cut out the demon bullshit, you don’t scare me.”

Muriel, for a moment, seemed to be forgotten. “You wanna make it your business?” Crowley hissed. “It ended so well the last time, sure, why don’t you sit in, actually. After all, you and that record shop owner really helped me out last time.” Muriel was new to sarcasm, although they had been getting better over the past year. They probably, however, would not have needed very much practice to pick up on Crowley’s: his tone was practically dripping with it. “Any ideas on how to help, of course, are welcome. Worst that can happen is it’ll all blow up directly in my face again.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault?” Nina scowled at him, as if his eyes weren’t still glowing red. “You two buried whatever issues you were having for God -” Crowley hissed, “- knows how long and we give you a little piece of advice and that was the nail in the coffin?”

“ Yes .” His face twisted. “Before you two there wasn’t a coffin! And then - and, well, alright it started, arrived, whatever with Gabriel but then you two -”

“Us two? Us two that you two decided to fix up to hide whatever weird lies you were telling to those other weirdos?”

Muriel looked back and forth between them, one to the other, like a spectator at a tennis match. Crowley, for a second, appeared to be lost for words. “If you’d just minded your own business -” he started, but Nina made a noise like half a laugh, half a shriek.

“ Us ?! You think me and Maggie were the ones who needed to mind our own business? Oh, that’s rich.” She sat back again, one eyebrow raised, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why, Mr. Crowley, were Maggie and I even involved to begin with? Hm? Why did we even take the time to say a single word about your personal lives to either one of you?”

He didn’t respond. He tried to - opened his mouth and made a few noises several times - but ultimately nothing came out. Until, that was, a strangled little grunt and something that sounded an awful lot like “Fuck you,” but was masked with an aggressive sip of espresso.

Nina nodded as the red glow faded from behind his glasses. “I rest my case.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Crowley grit out. “Feel like I’ve paid my dues for that one by now. A few times over, even. Got my just desserts .”

Muriel was surprised to see Nina’s face soften, just a little, at that. “I don’t doubt it. He left, didn’t he?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

But ah, this was something Muriel could help with! They still weren’t very good at dealing with conflicts - it made them really nervous - and so to smooth things over they chirped, “He got a promotion!”

It had been the wrong thing to say. Nina’s disappointed sigh was one thing, but the glare that garnered from Crowley was quite another. Muriel shrank down in their chair. “Sorry.”

The uncomfortable silence went on for another few bars of the song playing - something bouncy and fast, rendered in strings - until Nina finally sighed and said, “Transfer out of the country?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Sorry to hear it. Have you - Never mind. Forget I asked.” And then, like a peace offering, she prodded the mug of six shots of espresso a bit closer to Crowley. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better. Or warmer, at least.”

He did. And he didn’t say thank you, but he looked at Nina and somehow, even with the dark glasses, he seemed to communicate something to her. Nina nodded, and turned her attention to Muriel. “I’m still sitting in on this.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You’re not invited.”

“Hm, too bad you’re meeting in my cafe, then.” She waved a hand. “Muriel is a regular, and I know them well. I want to make sure you aren’t going to try anything funny.”

Muriel’s mouth fell open into a little ‘o’ for a second, before they forced a chuckle and said, “I don’t think -”

And then Crowley, like he was just seeing the angel for the first time, blurted out, “What are you wearing ?”

They froze and looked down at their outfit, considering how best to answer. When nothing seemed readily clear they looked back up to the demon and said, cautiously, “Clothes?”

“Pick them out yourself, did you?”

“Yes!” They grinned. “Yes, I’ve been watching humans and -”

“Oh, for someone’s sake.” He leaned forward onto the table and shoved his face into his hands, pushing his glasses up towards his hairline. “They really did just dump you down here, didn’t they? Typical.” His glasses plopped back down onto his nose as he moved his fingers to his temples. “Muriel, I’m bloody colorblind and I can tell that combination is awful.”

“Oh.” Muriel frowned. “Is that why you always wear black?”

“No,” Crowley answered, clearly trying to be very patient. “That’s because it looks - listen, it doesn’t matter what I wear. What matters is that there is no way you’re blending in with the humans dressed like that.”

Nina raised a hand. “They also come here every morning at seven, order a cup of tea, and then look at it for thirty minutes before they start reading their book.”

Crowley’s expression would best be summarized, Muriel thought, if it were to be described in a book, as ‘horrified fascination’. “Every morning?”

“Every morning,” Nina said, nodding solemnly. “Without fail.”

Crowley leaned forward over the table, the better to peer into Muriel’s mug which was, of course, full of very cold tea. He looked up. “Never once got curious as to how it tasted? Not once?”

“Oh, well.” Muriel forced a little laugh and a shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Of course I’ve been curious. I mean, I read about it a bit in the books, they’re always describing food and drinks and stuff, but I don’t need those things, of course, so I’d rather just, you know. Smell it?”

“But you don’t need to smell things either,” Nina pointed out reasonably, while Crowley carried on staring. “You do it because it’s pleasant, right? Same with eating and drinking in your case.”

Crowley turned his attention back to his espresso. “Or because it … well. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, go on. Have a sip. You’ve been down here long enough, you have to try it sometime.” He lowered his voice. “People are going to start noticing, and trust me, the last thing you want is people noticing .”

Muriel, suddenly anxious, looked down into the tea. “It’ll be cold,” Nina said, and they weren’t sure if it was more directed at themself or Crowley. 

“Probably for the best,” the demon replied. “Getting the hang of taste comes first, worry about burning your mouth later.”

Slowly Muriel wrapped their hands around the cup. They might have been shaking, just a little. Tea was always so pleasant to look at and to smell - meditative really - but the thought of drinking it was … Well, and then what would they do after? The shaking was getting worse, they realized distantly, and things were suddenly sounding very far away, which was strange, because nobody had moved, but maybe it’s because there were drums? Music? Pounding a loud beat in their ears.

They looked up sharply when Nina suddenly pulled the drink away and Crowley snapped his fingers in their face. “Ground control to Muriel,” Crowley said. “Breathe. It helps.”

“What’s happening?” Muriel asked, and they realized the pounding in their ears was their own heart, not music or drums. “Something’s gone wrong with -”

“You’re alright.” Nina put her hand on their shoulder and started rubbing soothing circles. “Deep breaths, okay? It’ll feel alright. You’re just a bit anxious is all.”

Crowley was frowning into his own cup. “Happens to the best of ‘em,” he said. “Breathe through it and forget the tea.” 

Still making soothing circles on Muriel’s shoulder, Nina looked to Crowley, who had picked up his mug to hold it just under his nose, steam from the espresso fogging up his glasses. “Is that normal?”

“Mneh …” the demon started, and then finished off the sound with a shrug. Eventually, after a sip of his own drink, he elaborated, “They’re not big on gross matter where Muriel’s from. Eating and drinking and that kind of thing. Can’t imagine you’ve ever been offered something to eat or drink, have you?”

Muriel shook their head. The world was trundling back in again now that the mug was gone, the music just as bouncy as before, emanating from the speaker just above their table. “I mean,” they said then, with a look in Nina’s direction, “of course I have , plenty of times, but I’ve just never really accepted. I, er, I’m not sure how, really.”

“We can work on it later, if you like,” said Nina with a surprising gentleness. “I don’t think today.”

“No,” Muriel agreed. “Not today.”

“Right.” The kind, soft look from Nina shuttered abruptly as she turned her attention back to Crowley. “You said you wanted to talk. I can’t imagine you wanted to talk about Muriel’s clothes, so what are you here for? And what have you been doing ?”

Crowley sniffed. “Confidential, that.” He glanced at Muriel. “Between us.”

“You’re in my cafe,” Nina reminded him again. 

“And you’re a human,” Crowley said quietly. Outside, thunder rumbled. “Not really the conversation for you to sit in on, Nina.”

Nina didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, at least not right away. Instead, she looked from Crowley, to Muriel, back to Crowley, and then back to Muriel again. Finally, she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, and declared, “Well then you’re gonna have to have your conversation somewhere else.”

Muriel sort of expected he’d be angry with that. But instead, he raised an eyebrow, downed the last of his coffee, and said, “Fair enough. You eavesdrop on all your customers, then?”

“Maybe. What’s it to you if I do?”

“Nothing.” Crowley shrugged. “Just making a mental note not to discuss any sensitive information here, is all. Right, Muriel, you ever ridden in a car?”

They had not, and they told him so. For some reason, that made him smile quite a lot. 

“Oh,” said Crowley, leaning on the table and levering his skinny frame upwards, “aren’t you in for a treat.”

Chapter Text

Muriel’s experience with cars thus far had only consisted of either avoiding them in the course of their daily walks, or helping intoxicated people into them after a night out at the club. They had never even been in a car themself, although they did understand the basic mechanics of it. Crowley, demon though he was, was helpful as well, seeming a little too over-eager to open the door for Muriel, usher them into the passenger seat, and close the door firmly behind them.

“Is this your car?” Muriel asked once Crowley had slid into the driver’s side, although they were fairly certain they knew the answer was yes. It was the only car they had ever seen Crowley drive. 

“Oh, yes. Bought her new in ‘33. We’ve been through a lot together,” he added, flipping a couple switches before firing the ignition. Muriel jumped a little at the sudden growl of the engine. “Best car on the road.”

Cars, Muriel had thus far understood, were just machines. They didn’t have souls or personalities. And yet, somehow, Crowley’s car’s engine changed pitch just for a second, as if it was participating in the conversation. Muriel frowned. “That’s nice,” they said. “Er. Does it - she -” they hedged, when Crowley’s face twitched, “- have a name?”

“The Bentley.”

Muriel nodded. “That’s a nice name.” And then they found themselves unable to say anything else, mostly because they were being pressed firmly back against the seat by the sheer G-forces created when the car pulled away from the curb.

In their admittedly sparse experience with cars, Muriel reflected that they had never really seen anything quite like the Bentley driving on the roads. Probably for good reason. Crowley somehow appeared entirely at-ease driving, piloting the massive machine through crowded streets and congested roundabouts without so much as a wince. Muriel watched a few pedestrians dive to safety as they hurtled through a zebra crossing, and made a mental note to be more conscious of the surrounding vehicles whenever they were out walking. Although, in honesty, they very much doubted many people in London drove like Crowley.

It was a bit scary but also strangely … fun. Fun? Enjoyable. Muriel’s heart was pattering away in their chest anyway, different from how it had been just a little while ago with the tea; it was weirdly pleasant this time, although mechanically not that different at all. They were smiling, rather without thinking about it. “It’s quite fast,” they said.

“You never rode a horse, did you?”

Muriel shook their head and risked letting go of the door handle, hands in their lap, the better to feel the swings and bounces as the car went along. “No. This is my first assignment to Earth.”

“Well it’s way better than horses. Trust me.”

Trusting a demon seemed like an ill-advised thing to do, but then again this wasn’t something that seemed important to lie about. Muriel considered it for a little while during the drive. He probably was telling the truth, they concluded, although maybe it would be best to ride a horse some time, just to be sure. 

Experimentally, they lifted their feet from the floor and felt themself sliding around on the leather seat a little when Crowley swung through another roundabout. Their smile grew wider still. “Where are we going?” Muriel asked, and a part of them hoped it would be somewhere very far away.

“My flat. We’ll be able to talk there without anyone listening in. And I do mean anyone ,” he added, before seizing the steering wheel with both hands and punching the car into a sharp left.

Muriel still had their hands in their lap and their feet off the floor, the better to feel the rumble and sway of the car. But as the car swerved, they realized too late that they really were sliding, not just a little but a lot , and halfway falling over, until they came to a stop only because they had collided with Crowley’s left side. And, in spite of everything, Muriel was laughing . 

“Oy, watch it, I’m driving.” And it was the strangest thing: His tone started sharp, like it had teeth behind it, but the harder Muriel laughed the more it softened, and when they finally did manage to look at his face there was something there that almost hinted at a grin. “And the other way,” he said quietly, and swung the car right this time, sending the still-laughing angel back the other way across the bench seat, until they were slumped against the door, consumed by giggles. The car, gently, rolled to a stop.

Crowley looked over at Muriel, draping himself over the steering wheel as he did. “Liked that, did you?”

“Yeah.” Muriel wiped a tear from their eye. “It’s - that’s how driving is, yeah?”

“Not usually,” Crowley admitted. “Unless you take up formula one.”

“What’s that?”

“Another time.” He looked thoughtful. “Have you run across something called rollercoasters in all those books you’ve read?”

Muriel shook their head. “No, I don’t think so. I did read a book about airplanes though, and I think if it ever came up I’d quite like to ride in one of those.”

Moreso to himself than anything, Crowley muttered, “We’ve gotta get you on a rollercoaster.” He turned the key, and the grumble of the Bentley’s engine died away, rather to Muriel’s disappointment. “Right, well, another time. Here we are.”

It was a different part of town than Soho, and no mistake, thought Muriel as they disembarked. The buildings were taller, and more uniform than they were in Soho. The building Crowley was walking towards, with shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets, was a brutal-looking gray thing, with shiny dark glass all the way up to the top. It didn’t look welcoming at all, and certainly not like a place where there ought to be flats. They hesitated, and then gave the Bentley a reassuring pat on the roof and trotted off after him.

The doorman didn’t say a word to either of them as they passed. The elevator was deserted. The whole building was an echo-ey, quiet place, dark and gray and almost like Heaven but in all the wrong ways. It made Muriel feel instantly uncomfortable.

They felt the need to break the silence in the elevator. “Lived here long?”

“Off and on,” replied Crowley, and he didn’t elaborate on that. Muriel didn’t press, instead turning their eyes forward to the shiny elevator doors, and hanging onto the last flutters of excitement in their stomach from the car ride. If nothing else, it had been a fun car ride.

They tried not to think too hard about the snake-shaped doorbell they passed once they reached Crowley’s flat. If he was going to harm them, he probably would have done it by now, right? Only he’d said at his flat no one could listen in …

The door swung open to reveal a barren, dark concrete box of a room. Well, nearly barren: there was a single ornate table to the left which held an equally-ornate vase. Which, somewhat anticlimactically, held a dead plant. Muriel looked pityingly at it as they passed, crossing through the cell of a room and into the next. 

The second room wasn’t quite as barren as the first, so that was something. There was a massive desk and what appeared to be an actual throne facing a huge bank of glass windows that overlooked a slim balcony and, more distantly, Parliament. There were signs here that someone might actually live here, too: an empty wine glass on the desk, a still-living plant in front of the windows, and a television that was turned on, although to what Muriel wasn’t able to say. They hadn’t really watched any TV yet, but in any case this appeared to be a video of a woman talking to the viewer about current events. Crowley waved it off, and then flopped into the throne with a groan.

“So the second coming,” he said without preamble, and Muriel froze where they stood, just a bit behind and to the right of Crowley. The demon twisted around in his chair to better look at them, presumably in the eyes, although it was so hard to tell with the glasses. “What do you know?”

Muriel stammered for a second and then managed to choke out, “Nothing?”

“Hm. Don’t believe you.” Crowley turned back around, away, and propped his feet up on the desk. “You’ve been talking to Heaven, I’m sure - they haven’t given you any instructions?”

They haven’t , thought Muriel, and I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you even if they had . Instead, they said, “Well, I have a meeting at least once per month to review the good deeds I have done here on Earth, and any observations I have made about the behavior of the humans, specifically in relation to any good deeds I have witnessed.”

Crowley was waving a hand, motioning for Muriel to keep going. They shrugged. “That’s really all there is, Mr. Crowley. The plan for the second coming is in process, but as of now I haven’t received any specific instructions about how to accomplish it. Oh …”

This could be a bad idea, they realized, and stopped hard mid-sentence. This could be a very bad idea. He’d gotten so angry back at the coffee shop, and now they weren’t there, Nina wasn’t here, and if he got angry again maybe no one would know. Muriel bit their lip and stayed firmly quiet, although Crowley turned around to look at them again.

“Oh?”

“Nothing.” They forced a smile and a laugh. “I was just - looking at your plant! It’s a lovely plant.”

“It’s a shite plant and I’ll kill it if it picks up one more leaf spot,” said Crowley brusquely. The plant began to shake. “What were you going to say, Muriel?”

“Just about the plant,” they repeated. Their hands itched to do something . Wasn’t there something around here to hold? To touch? Surely there must be.

“Hm.” He swung his feet down from the desk and rose from the chair, swaggering over until he stood over Muriel, those black glasses fixed on their face. They could see their reflection in the lenses. They looked terrified. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“I know,” they squeaked, before they could think of anything else to say.

Crowley leaned down a little, uncomfortably close, and through the dark glass Muriel could just make out his narrowed, yellow eyes. “What,” he asked, voice low, “were you going to say?”

“Just that …” they trailed off, took a breath, and then plunged into it. “Just that the Supreme Archangel keeps asking about you, and how you’re doing, and last time I talked to him he said he hopes you’re doing alright, and to say hello if I ever ran into you.” It all came out in a rush, one word tumbling on top of the next, and when they’d finished Muriel’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

The demon didn’t speak for a second. He didn’t move, either. And then his eye twitched and abruptly he spun away, striding toward the door out of the office, and yelled, with a voice that sounded like he was being choked, “Stay there!”

They did. They stayed exactly where they were stood for quite a while, and they didn’t run away or move a muscle, although part of them very much wanted to. They stayed there, even though there were noises coming from the next room that were fairly alarming, yelling and crashing and curses upon curses, although everything was scrambled and unintelligible through what Muriel could sense was a demonic miracle. Still, it didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure out what was happening.

And one thing Muriel had been practicing over the past year, through all of their routine reading, was imagination.

Eventually the noise died down. Eventually, the sounds of crashing were replaced by the sounds of broken glass being swept up. Eventually, the unintelligible yelling gave way to silence. 

Eventually, Crowley returned. He wasn’t soaked with rain this time, not at all, but Muriel was reminded again of how he’d looked when they’d seen him in the coffee shop first thing this morning: exhausted, and small, and somehow very, very old. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied Muriel from the doorway, stood right where he’d told them to a long while ago.

“You really don’t know anything?” he asked, quietly.

Muriel shook their head. “Just that it’s coming. But that’s all. I’m supposed to observe the humans, and they’ll give me more instructions when it’s time.”

He slumped up against the doorframe. “Fine. Then you can go home. Or back to the bookshop. Whatever you’d like.”

They didn’t move. For his part, neither did Crowley; he stayed leaned against the frame, tiredly regarding Muriel from afar. There was so much sadness there, enough that even Muriel could feel it, permeating into their corporation like a cold, soggy mass, a tumor growing in their guts and sending tendrils all through their limbs. They hated it.

So Muriel took a chance. They had read about gambling, but hadn’t tried it yet. They supposed this must be similar. “Are you trying to stop it?” Crowley didn’t answer. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he snapped, and then he waved a hand at the door. “Leave. I said you could go.”

“I heard you. But -”

“But you’re still here.”

“I have a question.”

They expected him to look intrigued by that, or just something besides tired. But he didn’t. Muriel carried on anyway. “I’ve been observing and making notes on the humans for a while now.”

“A year isn’t a while.”

They ignored him. “Humans are, almost always, pretty good. They can be so kind, and so caring. They help each other so often.” They thought of Nina, who was so good, even if she didn’t seem like it all the time.

Crowley was frowning. “They can also be terrible, vindictive things.”

“Yes.” Muriel nodded. “I’ve noticed that too. But usually they’re good.” They thought of the person with the green and yellow skirt and the umbrella, and the woman with the orange shirt. The girl with the lavender socks. Crowley didn’t answer. “But I think … well, I’m not sure, because I’m not qualified to make a final determination,” they took a breath, and plunged in on the one thing they had been bothered by through all of the time, “but I don’t think any of them will be good enough .”

“Finally arrived to that conclusion then? Good on you.”

Muriel set their jaw. “And that’s not fair.” Another silence without response. “They’re doing their best,” they went on. “We all make mistakes. I thought it was a human thing, when I first got here, but I’ve made loads of mistakes since then. I can make them too. And just because you make one mistake doesn’t mean you should be punished forever.”

Crowley had stopped breathing - it was a subtle change, but one Muriel noticed. He still wasn’t talking. 

“You said,” he croaked, after a while, his voice shaky, “you had a question?”

“Yes.” Muriel folded their hands in front of themself - in front of the green skirt and orange shirt - and made a decision. “Can I help you?”