Work Text:
February, 1800
Soho
The grand opening of A.Z. Fell and Co. was scheduled on a blustery, snowy day, when most of London would likely rather be inside cosying up to a fire than rummaging through old books, especially when those books were shelved (as well as stacked, piled and, one might say, hoarded) in no particular order throughout the shop. The effect was quite overwhelming.
Yet Crowley was surprised, pleasantly so, by the turnout. Almost every shop owner on this street and the surrounding neighborhood was in attendance, along with a good smattering of what Crowley could only assume were local residents.
They were drinking Aziraphale's wine (and while it was a good vintage, it wasn't anywhere close to his best, Crowley noted with satisfaction) and eating savories and relishes that had been served by the nearby cookhouse, whose proprietor and chef, Daniel Bennett, had been rather astonished to find himself offering to provide these, at no cost, for Aziraphale's event.
Crowley could have told him, if he'd been so inclined, that when the angel set his mind on something and switched on his charm, very few people could say no to him.
The sun was setting, the party had been going on for hours and Crowley was fully ready to have all of these people depart so he could stop sharing Aziraphale's attention. By the looks of things, he had a bit of a wait ahead of him, so he curled up in an out-of-the-way nook. He was content, for now, just to watch Aziraphale work the room, flashing that endearing smile and making each guest feel, for the moment he was conversing with them, like the most captivating human on the planet. As he lounged, he found himself reminiscing.
December 31, 1799
Soho
Crowley and Aziraphale sat on the clean-swept wooden floor of the bookshop, surrounded by crates, shelves, various items of furniture and, of course, books. So many damn books.
The furniture was still covered in canvas dropcloth, to protect it from dust and paint during the final days of the build. They hadn't gotten around to figuring out how they wanted to arrange everything.
Crowley was laying on his side, head propped in his hand and leaning his back against a nearby settee. Aziraphale was sitting cross-legged across from him. Between them were a few empty wine bottles, several half-full bottles and lighted candles stuck in some of the empties, along with a couple of plates covered in the crumbs of their (mostly Aziraphale's) dinner.
They could hear the muffled sounds of singing and laughter from the revelers outside.
“So,” said Crowley, taking a swig of the Bordeaux. “I've been meaning to ask, what's the 'And Co' part of the name?”
“It stands for 'And Company',” said Aziraphale, gesturing grandly.
Crowley took a deep breath and blew it out loudly, attempting and succeeding to sound as exasperated as possible.
“Angel. I know what it stands for. I mean, what does it mean? S'your shop. Who is the 'and company'?”
“I knew that you knew,” said Aziraphale huffily. “I just didn't know, if you knew. What I know.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean,” said the angel.
“You, my heaven-sent friend, are drunk,” said Crowley. “'n' frankly, I'm shocked. S'not very angelic.”
Aziraphale reached for one of the half-empty (to him, half-full, of course) bottles and poured the last of it into his glass.
“If you mus' know,” he said, “I'll es'plain it to you.”
“I must, must, must know,” said Crowley.
“Well, the thing is,” said Aziraphale. “Openin' a shop. Issa big thing. A lot of reshpon … reshpons … pressure. N' I was thinkin' … maybe, if I mess up, I might need, you know, some other people to blame stuff on.”
Crowley sat up, so suddenly that his head spun a bit. Blinking, he said, “Angel! Thas so brill... brillyun. Brillyun? Smart. It's ver' smart.”
Aziraphale blushed, trying to hide his smile. “You really think?”
“I think you should give 'em names. The 'And Co' people. That way, whenever anyone complains, you can shay … say, 'Oh, my dear, that was Johnson's deshis ... desh … decision. Not mine! You'll have to take it up with him..”
Aziraphale grinned. “And Johnson, he'll always be out of the country!”
The two of them collapsed into laughter.
As they fell into a companionable silence, the church bells began to ring, marking the beginning of the new year, and the new century.
Aziraphale picked up his glass and raised it towards Crowley; Crowley reciprocated with his own glass.
“To your bookshop,” said Crowley.
“To the 'And Company',” chuckled Aziraphale.
“To Johnson!” laughed Crowley. “Poor bastard doesn't know what he's got comin'.”
“To Johnson,” Aziraphale clinked his glass against Crowley's. “And to the demon who created him.”
“You're welcome,” said Crowley.
Present Day, February, 1800
Crowley was startled from his reverie by a deep sense of impending danger. The only way he could describe it, were he to be in a position to do so, was that it felt like a lightning bolt had hit a tree very close to him, and the shock waves reverberated through the ground and up through the soles of his feet.
He sought out Aziraphale, who met his eyes with an expression that was just as fearful as Crowley imagined his own appeared.
Acting on thousand-year-old instincts, Crowley shifted into snake form and slithered under the closest bookshelf.
Twining up the shelves to a higher vantage point, Crowley noticed two things. One, all of the humans were gone. He didn't sense that anything nefarious had happened to them; just that they had suddenly been compelled to take their leave, with a lot of well-wishes for Aziraphale and his new business. Two, the shop was suddenly full of angels. Not just angels. Archangels. Specifically, Uriel and Michael.
“Aziraphale, this is quite a … unique headquarters,” said Michael. “You know, most Regional Guardians just rent a flat or something.”
“Well, I'm going to be here for a while, so, I thought I'd create something more … um, comfortable, for me,” said Aziraphale. “And a place where I could meet with humans, you know, unobtrusively.”
He was smoothing out his waistcoat in a gesture that looked casual, but that Crowley knew indicated distress.
The angel and the snake watched Uriel closely as she strolled throughout the shop, head raised.
“These are some … interesting wards,” said Uriel, furrowing her brow. “I can sense you've warded against demons, obviously. But … there's something else. Something is intertwined in your warding, from someone else.”
Michael also lifted their head, sensing. “Oh, I see what you mean. It's not just Aziraphale's wardings. Something has been added to it. But … it's not … angelic …”
Both Archangels turned to Aziraphale, questioningly.
Crowley coiled himself tightly. If he needed to strike, he would take the closest Archangel first … then he would …
“Well, of … of course,” stammered the angel. “I enlisted the aid of a local … witch. To help me. I mean, demons, yes, I definitely want to ward against them. Awful, awful beings, they are. But also, you know, just general negative influences. Overall. Only positive auras here!”
The Archangels nodded, looking mollified.
“Well, everything looks in order, I suppose,” said Uriel.
“We'll be awaiting your reports, Aziraphale,” said Michael. “Make sure they're perfect.”
And the Archangels disappeared in a flash of light.
Aziraphale took a deep breath, clutching the back of a chair. Raising his head, he looked about, frantically.
“Crowley,” he whispered. “Are you here?”
Crowley slithered down the shelving, to the floor, where he took on his human-presenting form.
“Oh, oh, thank God,” said Aziraphale.
“Don't thank Her,” said Crowley. “She had nothing to do with it.”
“They sensed your wards,” said Aziraphale.
“They sensed someone's wards,” retorted Crowley. “They didn't know they were mine. And the witch story, that was excellent.”
“Oh, it just doesn't feel right, lying … to my fellow angels,” fretted Aziraphale.
“If you hadn't lied,” said Crowley, “they would have kept prodding, and eventually they would have recognized demon warding, specifically demon warding against angels, which would have led them to me. So, unless that's a desirable outcome for you …”
“No,” gasped Aziraphale. “I don't want them to know anything about you.”
“Why not, angel?” said Crowley, digging mercilessly. “They're Archangels. I'm a demon. It's their job to hunt me down and destroy me.”
“Because … because,” stumbled Aziraphale. “Oh, Crowley. You don't deserve to be destroyed! They're wrong for wanting to!”
“Archangels … are wrong?” said Crowley, feigning shock.
If Aziraphale wrung his hands any harder, he wasn't going to have any skin left. Crowley took pity on him, as always.
“Angel,” he said. “It's fine. The wards worked. I sensed them before they arrived, and I was able to conceal myself. They had no idea I was here, and no clue that it was my hand in the wards on this bookshop. That's what we wanted, right?”
Aziraphale nodded. Crowley could see him starting to relax, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching.
“So,” Crowley said, attempting to divert Aziraphale from his worry. “Your grand opening. It seemed quite successful.”
Aziraphale continued to slowly relax his guard, breathing deeply, sinking cautiously into a nearby armchair.
“It … it did seem so. There were so many humans,” he marveled. “And they were so kind. And welcoming. I think I'm going to be able to do a lot of good here.”
“I know you are,” said Crowley, taking a seat in a chair across from the angel.
“Oh Crowley,” said Aziraphale, leaning forward, his storm-blue eyes gazing into Crowley's. “I couldn't have done it without you. Any of it.”
“Well,” said Crowley. “Don't forget about Johnson. I mean, he's the most important one of us all.”
Aziraphale burst into surprised laughter – his glowing smile causing Crowley to catch his breath.
“I will never, ever forget Johnson,” chuckled Aziraphale.
The lanterns in the shop were burning low, and there was silence in the streets. It was obviously quite late, in human terms.
“I don't know about you,” said Aziraphale, “but I'm tired. I think I could actually sleep. Which makes me very grateful that we decided to add a bed upstairs.”
“Yep, you should get some rest,” said Crowley, trying and mostly succeeding to sound casual.
“Are you … um. Are you tired, too?” asked Aziraphale. “I mean, there's just the one bed, but …”
Crowley shook his head, maybe a little too quickly. “I'm not tired at all,” he lied. “I think I'll just … take a walk. Get some fresh air.”
Aziraphale nodded, but somehow he looked dismayed.
“Angel,” said Crowley. “Your grand opening was a tremendous success. And our wards worked exactly as we wanted them to. There is absolutely nothing for you to be sad about.”
“Then why do I feel sad?” whispered Aziraphale, moving closer to Crowley. He was within arm's reach now.
“I dunno, angel. Why do you feel sad?”
“I guess … I don't really want you to go,” said the angel, looking into Crowley's unshaded eyes. “I know, that's so selfish … I'm so sorr ...”
“If you don't want me to go, then I won't go,” said Crowley, who knew he could deny this angel absolutely nothing. “Don't worry about me. You go upstairs, go to sleep.”
“But ...”
“No, Aziraphale,” interrupted Crowley. “I'm a snake. I can make myself comfortable anywhere.”
Aziraphale looked torn, and he was starting to wring his hands again.
Crowley reached out and grasped one of his hands, interrupting his nervous fidgeting. Gently, he led Aziraphale up the spiral staircase.
Reaching the top, Crowley released Aziraphale's hand, moved to the bed and pulled back the covers. He patted the mattress, raising an eyebrow.
Shaking his head, smiling softly, Aziraphale sat on the bed.
Crowley placed both hands on the angel's shoulders and pushed him gently down onto the bed, trying very, very hard to ignore the sharp intake of breath from the angel.
Once Aziraphale was laying down, Crowley pulled the quilt up, covering the angel in its warmth.
“Good night, angel,” he said, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes.
“Crowley,” breathed the angel. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Crowley glanced up. Their eyes met. Aziraphale looked so inviting... so cosy...everything in Crowley's entire being was screaming at him to curl up next to the oh-so-appealing angel, to wrap him up in his arms and lay his head on the angel's chest and feel Aziraphale's heartbeat pulsing throughout his body.
“Angel,” he whispered, desperate. “Please.”
There was a long pause while Aziraphale studied his face, inquisitively. Finally, the angel nodded.
“OK, Crowley,” he said, seeming reluctant. “Thank you … for … so much. Everything. Go … get some rest now. I'll see you … in the morning?”
Swallowing, Crowley nodded, numbly.
Aziraphale said,”You will be here, right? In the morning?”
“Of course,” said Crowley, as he walked towards the door.
Of course, he thought. How could I be anywhere else?