Chapter Text
Crowley zipped up their jeans with a grunt. They hated the way they felt immediately; the tight and unforgiving fabric made the nerves up and down their legs scream, a constricting pressure that bode quite poorly for the day ahead.
There was nothing to do for it by then, Crowley was already running late. The morning had been a storm of slept through alarms, espresso that spat all over their outfit, and a persistent pounding in their temple that signalled the wondrous arrival of a migraine. Everyday might as well have been a Monday when you lived in retail hell.
At least the Bentley was having a better start. It gleamed and shined under the fluorescent lighting of the car park, fresh and buffed from a thorough cleaning the day before. Which had probably caused Crowley’s flare up, come to think, but the Bentley always came first. It was the closest they were probably going to get to having a child, apart from their tetchy red-bellied ring neck snake named Wings. Her name was a private joke with themself, but they didn’t have any friends to share it with anyway. That was a byproduct of over four decades spent scorning human contact, and not something they cared about overmuch.
“Could just call out, what do you think?” The Bentley remained silent, leaving the decision to its cantankerous owner. “No, no you’re right. Can’t do that again, Beez is still pissed about last time.”
They turned on the modified cassette player, the most modern concession that Crowley would subject their car to, and screamed along to Freddie Mercury’s crooning voice. The commute to The Ark was blessedly short, punctuated by liberal honking and jeers. Crowley spun into their usual spot and grabbed a sleek ebony cane from the floor of the backseat.
It was their only inheritance when their grandfather died; a quarrelsome and rough old man who detested the very air Crowley breathed. None of his hoarded wealth passed into their hands; that all flowed over to their siblings, Shax and Furfur. The golden children of a large family who shone through all of the countless cousins, splintering the younger generations as every get-together devolved into a cash grab.
Crowley wanted nothing to do with it. They never had, not even as a toddler. Always wandering off and peeking under rocks to spy on the critters below, gathering together flowers and pretty fronds to press between the pages of their adventure books.
Most children would bound back to their parents with such discoveries and treasures. Crowley kept them secret, lest they be destroyed.
Crowley sighed and heaved themself off the bench. The air was bitingly cold, a frigid slap against their face compared to the warmth of the Bentley. There was a fine coating of ice across the sidewalk which spurred a desperate dance for balance as Crowley tried to inch along it.
The treads of their black combat boots had seen better days, slipping and taunting a fall with every step. Crowley almost made it to the door, was mere paces away when their knee locked up and they fell down, down, down.
Dark clouds menaced overhead, a murder of crows peering at them from the roof of The Ark. The view was alright, Crowley decided. They could learn to live with it, it wasn’t like they’d be able to get up on their own.
They debated phoning the store, maybe even shooting Beez a text. They would probably let it go eventually, after they had their laugh and downloaded the CCTV footage.
There was just the small matter that Crowley never did like asking for help. It made them feel itchy and useless, one of which was more impactful but the other couldn’t be discounted. They’d been sick from youth, a quivering and undefinable illness that picked at every sense of self they had until Crowley was laid bare under the threat of total consumption.
It was only through sheer willpower that they made it this far on their own, and they weren’t about to break that streak by reaching a hand out now.
But a hand did reach out nonetheless.
It was attached to a harried librarian looking man, all glowing white curls and aged fabrics. His forehead was creased, eyes wide in concern as he floated his hands around Crowley’s prone body trying to figure out what to do. He was stunning, but that might’ve been the adrenaline talking.
“Oh, my good Lord, I’m so– are you alright? No, no of course you’re not…should I call an ambulance? Or your family, or–”
“‘M fine,” Crowley spat. “There a law against being on the ground now?”
The man froze and stared at them, thrown by their brusqueness. That was the usual response to Crowley’s general being. Outwardly appealing, until they opened their mouth. What was unusual was the man’s determination to help despite their rudeness.
“Erm, no. But, I thought…well. Let’s get you off the ground, dear. May I take your hand? I just need to…there’s a love, just like that.” He helped Crowley sit up, braced the toes of their boots against his scuffed brown brogues and pulled them to stand with surprising strength.
Crowley reconsidered their appraisal of the man as a librarian, then considered it again. Hauling around books all day would probably build some decent muscle.
“Cheers,” Crowley muttered. Their hands were still stuck in the dry heat of the man’s grip, which he noticed with an excessively long utterance of apologies. Jumpy, then. Jumpy and strong. An odd combination, but this was definitely an odd man.
“Um…I, I’m going to go now, I think. Unless you need anything, I’m still happy to call someone for you, only if you want, of course.”
Crowley liked odd. They barely listened to the man’s rambling, instead focussing on the stuffy but fitting layers of his outfit, the sky blue of his eyes which managed to shine through their dark sunglasses. He looked like an angel, a cherub pulled directly from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. At least to someone who had read the Bible approximately zero times and refused to step foot in Italy to research that claim.
Cool aloofness was Crowley’s game, however, and love at first sight just wasn’t in the cards for someone who conversed almost exclusively with their car and pet snake.
“All good. Thanks, really. Have a nice day.” Crowley didn’t look back as they spun to The Ark’s door, clicking their cane along the sidewalk and into hell.
The Ark was a pet shop, one that was owned by a man who found himself far too clever for its name. The space was small, glass terrariums built into the walls housing exotic reptiles and overly common rodents. There was a large room out back for animal care but no storage area, so the floor was littered with boxes of overstock cat and dog food. It was an accessibility nightmare, but Hastur wasn’t known to care for such things. And as far as Crowley was on his payroll they didn’t dare raise a fuss.
Beez swore at them from out back, presumably cursing their late arrival. Crowley didn’t react, it was their usual greeting anyway. One never had to do much to incur Beezelbub’s ire but feeding the fire only led to a more hostile work environment.
They threw their thick wool coat over a free hook and clocked in with a sigh, sitting heavily on a stool behind the front counter. Their back ached from the fall, another slight against the day and it was barely half nine. Crowley stretched the best they could and started in on inventory.
The bell over the door chimed happily, a gust of wind stinging needles at whatever exposed skin it could find. Crowley grunted what could be construed as a greeting and kept their sore eyes on the paper in front of them. It was less ‘taking inventory’ and more ‘vaguely counting bags and packages’ that they could see from their vantagepoint, the best they could do and the most effort they were willing to put in. Hastur could give them a raise if he wanted them shuffling around.
A series of muted thuds echoed around the shop as the customer walked around it in a circuit, until they finally came to a stop in front of the counter. Crowley only looked up at the pointed clearing of the customer’s throat, right into the eyes of the man from outside.
“Ah, hello again. I’m so sorry to come in, you looked like you wanted nothing to do with me, but I…” He trailed off nervously, finding no reaction through Crowley’s glasses. “Crickets!” he blurted, and grimaced at Crowley’s confused mien.
“Wot?”
“Crickets, I need crickets. Anathema said that roaches were fine as well, but I really don’t want those in my bookshop. I called ahead and talked to someone named Beezlebub about it, they said they’d have them ready for me.”
Crickets. Crowley could do crickets. They could get this strange man his crickets and move on. No problem. Except, slight problem, because they knew for a fact that the shop was out of crickets and that Beez was a bloody liar.
It wasn’t even the first time that week that Beez had thrown them under the bus, set them up for an angry customer taking their annoyance out on them. Crowley didn’t understand the thought process.
“No crickets, sorry. They don’t do well with the cold.” They felt strangely empathetic at the man’s crestfallen look, usually more geared towards impolite dismissal as they were. “But, um, we do have roaches. Here, I’ll show you.”
They limped out from behind the counter, muscles tight from the jarring slip outside and the overexertion of the day before.
The man didn’t protest or hover awkwardly in a misguided attempt to brace them, which was a point in his favour. Sometimes people would just reach out and grab Crowley’s arm to save them from the unsteadiness they’d lived with their whole life, or insist that they stay seated and verbally direct them around the room in a game of wretched broken telephone. He simply followed Crowley and frowned when they came upon the tank hosting roaches big and small.
“How many d’you want?”
“Oh, um. I’m not sure.” His voice trailed off in question as if Crowley could possibly discern the right number with no information. He continued at their blank look, going from no context to perhaps too much to be useful. “It’s for a spider…a tarantula. Agnes, that’s her name. She’s my friend Anathema’s, named after her ancestor, she’s gone to Thailand on her honeymoon and didn’t want to leave Agnes alone.”
“Right,” Crowley drawled. “When did she last moult?”
“I don’t know, should I know that? It’s just, I don’t like bugs all that much. I try to ignore Agnes most of the time.”
“Then why'd you agree to take her?”
“Well, Anathema asked. I couldn’t possibly say no to such a simple request, I just didn’t expect it to include bugs other than Agnes.”
Crowley snorted but took pity on the man. It was a good thing to do, watching a creature that subjects a decent chunk of the population to primordial distress. “Two should do for now, they don’t need to eat all that much.”
The man nodded, fully trusting Crowley’s judgement and visibly relieved that he didn’t have to take an entire tub of roaches home. Just two of the smaller ones, nestled together in a mesh-topped cup under a shred of kale. Crowley placed the cup into the man’s hands and smiled reassuringly when he eyed the lid’s integrity with distrust.
“How do I give them to her? I was more prepared for crickets, if I’m honest, the last thing I want is a roach infestation. If any of them went after the books I’d be devastated.”
“Oh, just take the leaf out and shake ‘em in. She’ll find them, tarantulas are attracted to movement.”
“Okay.” The man looked a little green around the gills, now, holding his worst fears in his trembling hand.
“I’m Crowley,” they offered. The man looked up from his death stare at the poor little buggers and thrust his hand toward Crowley. The hand holding the roaches. He grimaced and passed it to the other one and subjected them to a distinctly clammier embrace than the one from outside.
“I’m Aziraphale. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Crowley. Thank you for all your help, really.”
“‘S no problem, what I’m here for. And, I owe you, for…y’know.” They shrugged a shoulder to dislodge the discomfort of acknowledging their vulnerability and took off to the front end before Aziraphale had a chance to open his mouth and ruin their mental image of him.
Aziraphale walked to the counter slowly, seemingly worried that any haste would wake the beasties and drive them to form a coup. Crowley perched back on their stool with a groan and rested their protesting legs on the support bars.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Mm, don’t worry about it. Beez knew we didn’t have crickets and sent you here anyway, ’s on us this time.” Beezlebub flipped them off through the backdoor, the weird little voyeur. They were most likely avoiding having to do any real work by petting the baby lizards that just hatched and listening in on Crowley’s uncharacteristic venture to be a person.
“I couldn’t possibly,” Aziraphale protested.
“Nah, we don’t gotta do that whole thing. Just take ‘em, Aziraphale. Can’t have Agnes going hungry.”
Aziraphale’s eyes were near glittering, which was an adorable overreaction if Crowley had ever seen one. Give a man some roaches for free and apparently he turned into a puddle of sentiment. Crowley didn’t remember it being that easy, though they’d been out of the dating pool for at least ten years.
Not that they were considering Aziraphale in such a way. Even the thought was ludicrous, Crowley had enough self-respect to know that ending their lifelong self-imposed isolation for a stranger who offered kindness freely was…well. It was rather appealing, actually. If that stranger wore this cherubic face.
Once bitten, twice shy. Bitten for your whole life and surrounded by snakes, and evidently one was liable to inconsistent whims.
Aziraphale floundered under the removal of the usual social dance he was clearly very ready to perform. “Are you sure?” he asked meekly. Crowley looked at the two roaches on the counter, then back up at him. They were hardly offering him a silver platter.
“Positive. Call us if you have any questions or anything– actually, screw that. Beez is useless.” They scribbled their number on the end of some receipt paper, crossed it out when it was too shaky and illegible to write it with more care. “Text is usually better.”
Aziraphale took the scrap of paper gently, ran his finger over the harsh lines scratched into it. He looked awestruck, and Crowley privately thought that his face should always carry that expression. Happy and pleased was their favourite look yet.
“Thank you,” he breathed. The roaches were retrieved with much less regard after he buttoned up his coat to guard against the cold. “I’m very glad to have met you, Crowley. I hope you don’t feel too poorly from your fall.”
Crowley hummed and leaned on their elbows, feeling as though they might be making a mistake letting him leave without a reassurance of contact. But Aziraphale seemed to be full of surprises, it was very much the only thing they knew about him.
It was a start, at least. Their therapist would be proud.
Aziraphale waved when he reached the door, smiling brightly at Crowley’s lazy salute. The bells chimed again, and Aziraphale was lost to the chill.
Crowley blew out a breath at his departure. That was more social interaction than they usually got in a day, preferring to communicate exclusively in grunts and raised eyebrows. The Ark was not known for their congeniality, only their expertise. One of the walls out back was covered in print outs of negative Yelp reviews. Hastur’s name somehow featured more than Crowley and Beezlebub’s combined.
Beez finally deigned to grace them with their presence, a bundle of thick layers that pointed more towards ‘child on a snow day’ than ‘fully grown adult in their workplace.’
“That the guy from the phone?” they asked.
“The guy you told to come in for crickets despite the fact that I saw you cleaning out their empty tank last night?”
“Yeah, that one. He didn’t say he was cute.”
“Hold on, he didn’t say he was cute? You expect people to phone us up and just announce their appeal to you?”
“Would be nice, not like we get much other entertainment here,” Beez grumbled while tossing a tennis ball up and failing to catch it every time. The bearded dragon clutching his nails into their cardigan was less than impressed by the jostling.
Crowley shook their head. Beez was only their boss on a technicality, having been hired one day before and thus holding all of Hastur’s confidences. Crowley didn’t mind too much, they couldn’t work the hours required of a managerial position. But every day was a new glimpse into Beez’s mind, and every day they wondered how they hadn’t gotten fired yet.
“Did you at least get his number?”
Crowley pushed their glasses higher up their nose and studiously returned to the inventory sheet. Beezlebub seemed to take a sick pleasure in forcing Crowley to be sociable, to the point of harassment if Hastur ever cared.
On one infamous occasion they invited Crowley out for drinks and neglected to mention that they were sending a friend in their stead, a strong play on the blind date scheme. The night ended with Crowley’s knuckles bruised and Ligur’s nose bleeding. Not Crowley’s worst date, at least Ligur hadn’t pressed charges.
“C’mon, Crowley,” Beez wailed, “Give me something to work with. If you didn’t get his number I can grab it off the call list, it’ll be my good deed for the day.”
“Leave off, Beez. I gave him mine, he’ll reach out if he wants.”
Beezlebub mimicked them under their breath and picked up the beardie to use as a ventriloquist dummy. “I’m Crowley and I hate everyone,” they taunted in a poor imitation of Crowley’s voice, the lizard tolerating being swung around like a doll with only slightly narrowed eyes. “I work in a pet shop because I can’t stand people and I’m determined to die alone”
“I’m telling on you to my therapist.”
“For the last time, Nina is not your therapist. She’s a barista, for God’s sake, and you really should stop trauma dumping on her.”
Somehow, Beezlebub managed to catch the ball thrown at their face. They were overly impressed with themself which just made Crowley feel worse.
The bell jingled again, a new wave of cold splitting up Crowley and Beez’s upcoming fight. It was one of their regulars, Maggie, bundled up tightly in knee length neon green parka. Only the tip of her nose was visible poking out of her hood, pink and frosty looking.
“Hello!” she greeted with far too much enthusiasm for her audience. She was the single ray of sunshine in their days, always looking to try new locally made treats for her massive cane corso, a black tank of a dog that met her about waist height.
Her name was Linna after Maggie’s favourite flower. Linna could not abide the cold, so The Ark had to make do with just her bubbly owner for a good five months of the year. In effect that meant less messes to clean up from her steadily beating tail and significantly fewer slobber stains, but Crowley didn’t mind that in the face of such a loveable pup.
Beez nodded at Maggie and turned tail back to the animal care room, leaving Crowley to deal with her.
“Maggie, what can I do for you today?”
“Linna’s paws are sore from the salt on the sidewalks, do you have any of that balm you carried last year? I swear, those tins are only good for one foot each.”
Crowley leaned across the counter and slid one of the display tins toward Maggie, smiling slightly at her embarrassment for missing the bright yellow sign. “You should try some epsom salt soaks for her, works wonders for the irritation.”
“Yes, well, you try getting an eight stone lump into the tub. I think she’d rather lick her paw pads clean off than get damp.”
They laughed at the image and typed her phone number into the till by memory, one of the few repeat customers that bothered coming back and signing up for a paltry rewards program.
“You’re due for a free bag of food next time you stop by, don’t let Hastur try to talk you out of it.”
Maggie scowled at the mention of Hastur, seemingly the only person that even she couldn’t see the good in. “If he tries to take that away from me I swear I’m showing up at his house with Linna. Honestly, what is wrong with that man?”
Crowley kept their mouth shut on the matter. They were never sure when he was watching the cameras from the comfort of his home, only showing his glowering face in person when he felt like it. For the most part it was just them and Beez, which accounted for the truly bizarre shop hours.
They rang Maggie up and threw the notes in the till, tried to hand her change back. But Maggie just shook her head and wrapped Crowley’s fingers around the bills and coins, surreptitiously mouthing ‘keep it’ to them.
She really was kind. Kind and tolerant of their stormy personality. Another lonely person who hid it behind effervescence rather than standoffishness.
The harsh trill of a ringtone chimed out and it took Crowley a moment to realise that it was their own mobile. They pulled it out distractedly and answered the call, tucking it between their ear and shoulder with most of their attention still on Maggie. “‘Lo?”
“Can you confirm that there were two of them?” a frantic voice came through just a touch too loudly.
“Huh?” They stuffed the tin of balm in a small paper bag, half trying to smile apologetically at Maggie and half trying to puzzle out what on earth was happening.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. This is Aziraphale, hello!”
“Aziraphale, sorry, didn't expect to hear from you so soon.” Crowley caught Maggie’s eye. She seemed surprised, though whether or not that was because Crowley was taking a social call was anyone’s guess. Beez popped out of nowhere and wrenched the phone away from their ear, put it on the counter and hit the speaker. They stuck their tongue out at Crowley’s resulting sneer, wiped away to return their attention to Aziraphale. “What’s the problem?”
“I’ve only just got home, but there appears to be one bug in the cup. And I’m praying that the other one is somewhere on the bus, but…”
“Is that Mr. Fell?”
“Maggie? What are you doing…nevermind. Crowley, what do I do?” He sounded truly panicked, utterly terrified of the chaos a solitary roach could conceivably raise in his mind.
“Um…” This was a bit out of Crowley’s area of expertise. They put up with loose crickets on the daily, never really minded a few critters around the house. Most of them served purposes, but roaches were not ones you’d want wandering about. “You’re sure there’s only one? Could be in the leaf, I mean, it’s possible the other one ate it, but not likely.”
“Oh, this is exactly what I was worried about. I suppose I’ll just feed Agnes the other one and hope for the best.”
Crowley frowned. They didn’t like hearing Aziraphale so defeated, angels were meant to be victorious and defiant. And he was certainly shaping up to be an angel in Crowley’s mind. “Uh, I mean, I could…” Beez and Maggie leaned close in anticipation, both flashing them thumbs up for the bravery they were about to muster. Crowley took a deep breath and blew it out unsteadily. “I could come look for it, if that’s not too weird. That is weird, isn’t it, sorry, I don’t really–”
“That would be wonderful,” Aziraphale breathed, audibly relieved. Crowley’s heart pounded, their hands slick with nervous sweat. “Oh, you don’t know where my shop is. I can give you the address, or just the name, it’s my name, actually–”
Maggie cut him off before he could launch into another wordy babble. “I’ll bring Crowley over, Mr. Fell. They were just about to go on break, isn’t that right?”
Crowley looked at their watch. They’d only been in for about an hour, definitely not enough time to call for a break. But Beez was near glowing with excitement at the proceedings and nodded enthusiastically.
“Just go, ya pillock. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened ‘round here in years, I’ll watch the front.”
It was a sad reflection on both of their lives. A lost roach in a stranger’s shop and suddenly no one knew how to act. But realistically, it was the most that Crowley had gone out on a limb for someone, especially in the four years they’d known Beez.
“Right, uh, yeah. I can head over now…” Crowley glared at Beez’s whoop of joy. They tolerated Maggie’s grin, if only because she was a significantly more tolerable person than their coworker.
“Excellent, I’ll leave you in Maggie’s capable hands. I’ll see you soon, my dear. Be careful on the road, it’s even worse out there than it was this morning.”
“Ta.” Crowley hung up before Aziraphale could reply. It had been a long time since anyone wanted their presence. It had been longer since they wanted anyone back.
Maggie grabbed their coat off the wall and tossed it at them. “This is so exciting! Mr. Fell is wonderful, a bit strange but you’ll never meet a kinder soul. It’s been so difficult for him since…oh, that’s not my place. Do you want to take the bus?”
“No, take the Bentley. Guys love cars,” Beez insisted with the confidence of someone who knew nothing about men.
Crowley looked between them, long-suffering and slightly irritated. Figures that the first time they made an effort there would be a peanut gallery lending their not so helpful hands. They tugged on their jacket and pulled their keys out of the stiff breast pocket. “I can drive us if you’re comfortable with that, Maggie.”
She smiled brightly and handed them their cane, her usual mothering despite being younger. It never grated on Crowley as much as it did coming from anyone else, mostly because they had a feeling she was like that with everyone.
“Just keep us on the road and we’ll be fine. Bye, Beezlebub!”
Beez watched them go from behind the door, a thick fog spreading from around where their face was pressed against the glass.
Crowley opened the passenger door and helped Maggie in, swung around and tread extremely carefully over the icy pavement. They fell into their seat with a punched breath of air and turned the key in the ignition.
“It’s a lovely car you have, Crowley. Thank you for the ride, I wasn’t looking forward to waiting for the bus in this weather.”
“‘Course. Just tell me when to turn. Where is Aziraphale’s shop anyway?”
“It’s in Soho, just across the street from Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death.”
“Really?” That was Nina’s coffee shop, Crowley was in there nearly every day for their lunch. It was only a fifteen minute drive even with traffic, which still ate into their hour break but was so worth it for good coffee and bad advice. “I didn’t know there was a bookshop down there.”
They pulled out into the road, unusually quiet given the perilous conditions. They could have taken the bus but there weren’t any benches at the nearby stops, not even one of those shattered plexiglass shelters that were meant to protect commuters from the weather but functioned more as target practice and free space for graffiti.
“Mhmm, A.Z. Fell & Co., that’s what it’s called. My record store is down the next street. He’s been there longer than me and Nina, he inherited the space from his…ah. I’m getting into his personal business again.”
Crowley found they were quite interested in Mr. Fell’s personal business. Maggie seemed to know him quite well, but then again, Soho’s retail spaces were mostly just a slapped together found family of oddballs.
Maggie kept a firm grip on the door handle as Crowley whipped through London. At least it was better than Beez’s whinging. Crowley had to teach themself how to drive and they’d never had any issues, if they couldn’t trust their body to get them around safely then at least they could trust their car to do so.
There was only one cramped space to park, forcing Crowley to back into it and swing the car around. Maggie seemed relieved to be out of motion and parked given how quickly she opened the door and stood as soon as the Bentley was off. Crowley rose with a little more difficulty but followed her obligingly when she waved them over to a large corner shop.
They’d definitely seen the building before, it was hard to miss, but it was always either closed or so outwardly unwelcoming that they had no interest in checking it out.
The deep red facade shone handsomely through the dank grey hanging overhead. Gold lettering proudly proclaimed it to be a ‘purveyor of books to the gentry,’ which made Crowley snort in amused disbelief. It somehow fit Aziraphale’s whole schtick, despite the man himself being slightly meek and much less pompous than the shop would suggest.
Maggie pushed the doors open and sighed happily at the comfortable air inside, dry and warm enough to be cosy but not too hot to be strangling under winter layers. She ushered Crowley in and shouted for the shop owner, who made his presence known with a thud as he tried to rise from the table he was half underneath.
“Yes, hello. I still can’t find it,” he moaned, “I’ve looked everywhere twice but it’s so small.”
“I’m sure Crowley will get it sorted, Mr. Fell.” Maggie patted Crowley’s shoulder and handed them their cane, something they never forgot. Bless that woman, maybe they really did need a village. “I’ll be off if you don’t mind, I need to open for the day. Good luck!”
She left with a thump as the heavy door swung back into place, and suddenly Crowley had no idea what they were doing.
Their mobility was too poor to get down on the floor, and it wasn’t like they could see any better than Aziraphale behind the glasses shielding their eyes from visual stimuli that would whip up a full migraine at the slightest provocation.
They didn’t even know this man, who seemed to be coming to the same conclusion as he fidgeted with the buttons on his threadbare velvet vest.
“Hi,” Crowley drawled, then cursed themself for immediately being awkward. But Aziraphale smiled brightly, and it occurred to them that two people who didn’t know what they were doing had a better chance of forging the same path. One of them just needed to lay the stones and the other could follow. They could even take turns.
“Hello, my dear. It’s very kind of you to have come, I do appreciate it.” Aziraphale looked caught between wanting to shake Crowley’s hand and hugging them, the former too businesslike and the latter too personal. He settled for a strange little wave that Crowley returned with a quirked lip. “Would you like some tea? I could put the kettle on.”
“All set, cheers. When did you last see the roach?”
“Ah, well, I don’t really know. I saw you put two in the cup, but when I went to feed Agnes there was only one. The lid stayed on the whole time, though. I gave her the bug that was left, the cup is still on her terrarium.”
Crowley looked around the cluttered shelves and overstuffed furniture, spotted the warm light of a heat lamp across the room. They slogged over to the wide glass enclosure, hummed appreciatively at the proper substrate and decor. Agnes seemed to be a terrestrial tarantula, one that stayed on the ground and burrowed rather than building webs in the foliage above.
“She’s very friendly, apparently. Anathema holds her all the time, but I don’t like the feeling. She’s just so slow until she sets her sights on something, and I don’t want to lose her.”
“N’yeah, wouldn’t recommend bringing her out. They can be pretty pissy when they wanna be.” Crowley opened the glass front and peered down at the damp layer of leaves. There was a lump at the front of the tank, the roach that Aziraphale had clearly thrown in and slammed the door shut after. Crowley poked it, Aziraphale’s breath hot on their ear as he leaned in close. “Look, it’s both of them. They’re just, like, hugging, I guess. Don’t have much of a concept of personal space.”
Aziraphale sighed in relief, looking like he might actually swoon from it. It was endearing, the way he seemed to feel his emotions so strongly there was no point in hiding them.
Crowley was mostly just glad they didn’t have to crawl around on the floor. Their day had been exhausting enough already.
“Thank the Lord, I don’t know how I would have slept tonight. Oh, but I’m so sorry for making you come all the way over here, I should have looked more closely but this whole thing is already a bit much for me.”
“No worries, Angel.” Crowley blinked and swallowed heavily at their slip. Aziraphale didn’t protest, perplexed but undeniably flattered. There was a pink dusting of blush rising across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Erm, anyway. Nothin’ could be worse than the time a mouse broke out of Wings’ tank and started a family in my flat. Took months to find ‘em all homes.”
“Wings?”
“My snake. She went on a hunger strike a few years back and would only eat live mice, wasn’t fun for either of us.”
“No, no I can’t imagine it would be. Still, Wings is a wonderful name for a snake.”
“Isn’t it?” Crowley grinned. “Used to crochet little sweaters with wings on them for her, she hated them.”
“Is it still a sweater if it doesn’t have any arm holes?” Aziraphale lost himself into picking that apart, not noticing Crowley’s fond smile. Really, this man was a wonder.
There was a soft but committed tap against their leg and Crowley looked down to see the flattened face of a soot grey Persian cat half sitting on their boot. It was well groomed and fluffy, and scowled up at Crowley imperiously as though questioning what they were doing in its bookshop.
Crowley never really got on with cats. Not because they didn’t like the little beasts, but because they didn’t know what to make of a dependent being that ruled all around them with an iron will. It was too strange of a dynamic to wrap their head around.
“Gomorrah, no. We’ve talked about this, you’re only allowed to bother people who try to buy the books.” She let out a contented purr when Aziraphale scooped her into his arms but still glared at Crowley with piercing green eyes. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I probably should have warned you.”
“Uh, don’t worry about it. She seems…nice?”
Aziraphale laughed and scratched under her chin. Crowley was beginning to wonder when they had stooped so low to be jealous of a cat. “She’s a right terror, this one. Nowhere near as bad as her brother, though. I’m afraid to know what he’s up to right now.”
As if on cue, a scraggly looking ball shot past them and scaled one of the tall freestanding bookshelves with extended claws. Crowley jumped as Gomorrah was thrust into their arms while Aziraphale attempted to retrieve his wayward cat.
“Sodo, get down! I’m not calling fire and rescue again, if you get stuck you’ll just have to live up there.” Aziraphale huffed and crossed his arms, tapped his foot waiting for the tabby to climb down.
Crowley choked on the laugh they were desperately trying to swallow, catching a glimpse of the fury leaving Aziraphale’s eyes when he turned to them in concern.
They coughed and spluttered, the cat in their arms jumping down in annoyance. Crowley leaned against their cane and cackled, Aziraphale’s hand hovering over their back.
“Are you quite alright, my dear?”
“Sodo?” Crowley wheezed. “Sodo, as in Sodom? As in, Sodom and Gomorrah?” Their laughter only grew at Arizaphale’s helpless look. “Just– just gimme a minute. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages.” They were nearly incomprehensible through gasps for air, uncontrollable giggles sneaking through.
Aziraphale, so prim and proper, who named his cats after cities razed by God for their wickedness. A dark horse, that one.
He joined in with a snicker of his own but still tried to defend himself. “It wasn’t on purpose, they just showed up on the stoop one day tucked together in a box filled with loose pages from the Bible. And when I let them inside they tried to destroy the place, it seemed fitting enough.”
“Yeah, but, Sodo…you named your cat after Sodomy, you beautiful weirdo,” Crowley managed, finally gaining control over their fit. “What does their veterinarian think of that?”
“Oh, they’re very much not impressed with us as a unit. He bites.”
Crowley set off into another series of howls at the image of Aziraphale getting a stern talking to about his hellish children. Aziraphale withstood the indignity with an indulgent smile, clearly pleased to get Crowley in such a state. They never wanted to leave this shop, with its vanilla scent, dim lighting, nightmare cats, impossible owner.
Their mobile vibrated in their jeans pocket, and then again, and again. Crowley drew it out, shoulders still shaking, and swiped through the incoming texts.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, I…I gotta go. Hastur’s coming in, won’t be pleased if I’m not there.” They sobered quickly, exhaling through their nose in amusement when Sodo jumped down from his perch and onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. He only grunted and shifted to give the kitty a more solid footing, movements sure as though that happened quite often.
They supposed that it probably did. And they really, really wanted to find out if that was true.
“I’ll, um. I’ll let myself out. But, just…”
“I’ll call you, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured. He swung Sodo into the crook of his arm like he was holding a baby and ran his hand boldly down Crowley’s shoulder. “Take care, and thank you again.”
“Should be thanking you, Angel. Call whenever, ’m happy to help with Agnes if you need.”
For the third time that day, Crowley and Aziraphale parted. But this time, Crowley didn’t think it was for good.