Chapter Text
A notebook with ideas hastily scribbled within it and the worn state of something owned throughout the years lay face-open, somehow on a blank page. It had been that way throughout the whole journey, none of the slips of paper with nonsensical handwriting serving useful. Aziraphale had planned to have a whole host of concepts, characters, possibly even plot points by the time the train entered the station. Instead, he had not one clue.
The dawn was finally making itself known through the increasingly orange glow entering tiny windows and the myriad of train-goers slowly waking up as the train came to a stop. Not much of note could be seen from the windows; there wasn’t much to be seen in the South Downs to begin with. Aziraphale’s newly-owned cabin was merely a short walk away. It was one of the largest reasons he bought it – he couldn’t imagine the cost of a taxi ride followed by nearly three hours of a train ride just to oversee how his bookshop was holding up every time he decided to pop in. With the signature screech of the brakes signalling the passengers to de-board, Aziraphale shut his notebook and exited the train.
It had been sad to leave the place he’d lived for decades. He never intended to stay at his position for so long but he had grown so attached to all of his first-edition books that had gone through some elaborate restoration by his hand. He could never actually find it within him to sell the books, often shooing away customers and instating blatantly absurd hours to turn any normal city-goers from walking in. Anything that he sold was merely a mass shipment he received because he at least needed some money to pay the bills and his employees.
In all honesty, he hadn’t seen the cabin before dropping everything and deciding to move in. It’d previously been owned by two of his workers at the bookshop who had decided they wanted a much larger establishment to live in. Luckily for Aziraphale, that meant he paid a fraction of what he normally would, which made it much more affordable. Trying to get a home these days was near impossible with the lack of anywhere suitable to live – the remnants of millions of homes devastated London and it hadn’t been nearly enough time to start rebuilding yet. The bookshop by some miracle had made it through.
Other shop owners weren't so lucky. The ones who had made it through put together a farewell party of sorts. It truly was the perfect send-off. He didn't go to as many of the Whickber Street Shopkeeper’s Association meetings as he grew older and took on more responsibilities, but Aziraphale knew he'd miss them.
He'd seen many shops come and go through the years, but it was different going to an entirely new environment altogether. He wouldn't have as much time to juggle his newfound book deal and a bookshop on an incredibly busy street – it's why he hired employees, after all.
Aziraphale had been stuck in the idea stage of his book, and a change of scenery, he thought, might do him some good. A home in its own little world, with nothing but him and nature. He could finally live his lifelong dream of owning a personal little Writing Haven and become so much like the literary heroes he admired.
Aziraphale knew he was taking a risk by not visiting the cabin beforehand. It may have been a run-down old shack for all he knew, even with Anathema and Newton assuring him otherwise. What they’d failed to mention was that there was a tiny, unassuming mansion beside it.
The mansion was made of washed red brick and a tiled grey roof, clearly kept-up over the years despite easily being built long ago. It appeared to be three floors (not counting any basements) with several tinted windows so that Aziraphale could barely see into it. A plethora of plants were spread all across the front with a few potted ones on the deck, not to mention the entire forest that surrounded it. If the mansion itself wasn’t enough, a driveway holding an older yet completely polished (and likely expensive) Bentley sat proudly, almost as a showpiece.
The cabin was entirely shabby in comparison. From the outside, it seemed like a log hut one would stay on a camping vacation for a few days, being located right towards the edge of the forest. It was far enough away from the towering home that it would take a few minutes to walk from one door to the other, yet it still made its presence known through the massive shadow it cast over the cabin.
Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what to think. He’d certainly anticipated neighbours, maybe even imagining neighbourhood get-togethers and events. But he was practically on top of this person’s property! It’s possible they would understand if he were to introduce himself to the owner and apologise for the whole situation. The fact this layout was approved to begin with was baffling. Surely the owner had to be fine with it, right? If there’d been a problem, Anathema or Newt would have inevitably mentioned it. The last thing Aziraphale wanted was for it to be a complete surprise.
He walked along the fading dirt path, still in awe of the sheer scope of the adjacent residence. When he finally arrived at the door, he retrieved his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked it.
The inside of his home was much nicer than its outer appearance suggested. A few lamps strewn across the place gave the wooden walls a sort of orange glow. The majority of the cabin was one large room but was sectioned off to differentiate between the living space, dining room, and kitchen. There was also a small writing desk just underneath a window that was positioned in such a way that it stared directly at the side of the mansion. It was just barely angled, though, so that the doorstep could be seen. It was clear Anathema made a significant effort to keep the place very warm and inviting.
Aziraphale hadn’t brought a ton of luggage with him – he was planning on visiting the bookshop often over the coming weeks both to oversee how Anathema and Newt were faring and to retrieve the lesser important items. In his small bag of luggage sat several suit options not unlike his current outfit, basic toiletries, writing supplies, and various other essentials. The cabin was almost entirely furnished so there was no need to spend dozens of pounds to simply have a place to sit.
He was pleased to see that some of the cabinets were stocked with non-perishable items (although there wasn’t much, seeing as rationing was still in effect) and a small selection of dishes and utensils. After he was done unpacking, which didn’t take very long at all, he decided to unwind with a relaxing cup of Earl Grey and his notebook. It wouldn’t hurt to look through some of the past drabbles he’d written to see if inspiration struck. With a quick peer out the window, however, Aziraphale formed an idea not related to his writing.
He had some time before his planned rendezvous with Anathema and Newton at a local cafe and what better way to spend the time than to acquaint himself with his new neighbour? The Bentley had been the only car he’d seen, and unless this person could afford two cars in this day and age, they were presumably home.
Aziraphale fashioned another cup of tea and walked over to the mansion, promptly ringing the doorbell. After a few minutes with no response, he rang it again; perhaps they were asleep? Again, no immediate answer. He was sure the doorbell was functioning as he heard the faint ring from inside the home. Aziraphale wasn’t one who typically enjoyed resorting to knocking on a door, but it was the only alternative. To make it as friendly as possible, he left little space between the second and third knocks, putting them quickly together.
Either the owner had no interest in meeting him or they were simply away. Three tries and nothing. Looking around awkwardly, Aziraphale placed the teacup down on the doorstep. “I’m just going to…leave this here. Whenever you want it,” he said to no one. While he certainly didn’t want his neighbour ignoring him, it would be completely embarrassing if there was no one inside and he was truly speaking to a wall.
With that stint done in a relatively short amount of time, he still had time to familiarise himself with the area. He didn’t want to be looking through his notebook with the tea on the doorstep staring him down as he read. That could wait until later. He collected the notebook from the desk and set off to Midhurst.
𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘
By the time Aziraphale actually entered the cafe, Ana and Newt were already seated with their respective drinks. The cafe was only a few minutes from where he was exploring but he’d gotten so caught up in touring and admiring the shops that he lost track of time. As it had been with most of England, there were still a few destroyed buildings and bits of rubble scattered about. The specific block they were at was lucky, though - only one bomb fell in the vicinity and therefore lessened the amount of destruction.
Aziraphale joined the two at the middle table and sat in the chair opposite them. “I’m terribly sorry for the wait. I seem to have gotten lost in all the establishments Midhurst has to offer.”
Anathema placed her cup down and vaguely waved his apology off. “You’re fine. We haven’t been here long. The waitress practically flew out as soon as we took our seats.”
The waitress decided that was the perfect moment to arrive and Aziraphale ordered one of the pastries on the menu. It’d been a long time since he was able to enjoy the comfort of baked goods – with all the time he spent in the bookshop, he never had much time to stop in a cafe. It was especially disappointing when he no longer had time to frequent the cafe just across the street from the bookshop.
“So,” Aziraphale folded his hands over his lap, “how has house life been treating you?”
“Well, there are still a lot of boxes around. It’s been quite nice otherwise,” Newt said.
“Tadfield really is a beautiful place. I’m surprised my father moved out,” Anathema added
“Ah, yes. Tadfield has been one of the only places not devastated by the war. I imagine it’s reassuring to live in such a peaceful area after…well, everything.”
Aziraphale’s pastry was swiftly delivered and he began to dig in. It was comforting to have the opportunity to go out and savour the scarce delicacies that were available. Many didn’t have the same chance.
Anathema finished her coffee and pushed it over to the side. “Now that you’ve brought it up, how have you been settling in? I did some spring cleaning to make it as nice as possible.”
“I greatly appreciate it, dear. It’s certainly made the transition a lot easier. Though I’m not sure I’m used to the neighbours yet, so to speak.”
“We thought it would be a nice surprise for you to discover,” Anathema grinned.
“I wanted to tell you, but Anathema made me swear not to.” Newt flinched not a second after, presumably after receiving a small (but loving) kick to shut him up.
“It certainly was a surprise. I tried to introduce myself to the owner, though they didn’t appear to be home – or they didn’t wish to speak to me. I can’t imagine what I could’ve done to muck this up already. How did you get along with them?”
Anathema had an amused look on her face. “Funny you should ask that. I’ve never seen the man myself.”
“What? You’ve never seen him before? Surely you must’ve run into him at some point without knowing– how do you know it’s a man if you don’t know what he looks like?
“I may not have seen him but I’ve heard a lot about him. It ranges from ‘he went to Cambridge back in the 20s’ to ‘he killed a man.’ Of course, they’re nothing more than rumours. The only thing anyone knows for sure is that his name is Crowley.”
“I once heard that he was a German spy in the war and changed his name so the government wouldn’t find him. That’s why no one ever sees him,” Newt suggested.
Aziraphale was baffled. Rumours are rumours, but who’s to say that they’re not true? It would explain why he didn’t answer the door. Was it too presumptuous to assume there was any truth to them? There was no way to truly know unless he had a conversation with Crowley…which wasn’t looking likely. Aziraphale was never one to shy away from a mystery, though – maybe if he made a real effort to talk to Crowley, he’d be the first to find out who he really was. It almost seemed like everyone was content with sharing absurd rumours rather than discovering the truth for themselves.
“I think it’s best for me not to speculate about the man. I don’t exactly want these rumours to keep me up at night,” Aziraphale said. “Is there anything else I should know about? Perhaps a shop selling something ridiculous like…I don’t know, a flaming sword?”
“I don’t believe there are any flaming weapons being sold. Nat and I went to this one restaurant just down the street, though. The Ophidian, I think it was called. The food is impeccable.”
“And there’s a bar to the side. It’s a whole adventure.”
“Er– yes, that too.”
Aziraphale did recall passing a sign entitled The Ophidian with some sort of serpent on it. He thought it was an odd symbol to be associated with a restaurant, of all places. “I’ll be sure to stop by. I will hold them to high standards after hearing your impression of the food and… well, the presence of alcohol.”
Anathema and Newt informed him about a few other notable features, including a few colourful figures they regularly saw, a theatre, and what they claimed was the “best spot in the park,” mainly due to the ducks that occasionally walked up to the benches.
Aziraphale promised he would visit the bookshop in the near future as he left and decided to spend the rest of the day navigating the town.
𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘
The attractions in the town, Aziraphale noticed, were quite homely. Despite being right at the heart of Midhurst, it seemed everyone shared a similar fond sentiment for the adversity it showed. Many of the shopkeepers greeted him with a smile and recognised him as a new face, often delving into small-talk before Aziraphale moved to the next store. By the time the sky was steadily growing darker, he’d entered and examined most of the shops that were of interest. He was disappointed he couldn’t make it to the park before nightfall, but he resolved that he would stop by the next day. It wouldn’t hurt to get in some writing time and the park was the perfect place for that.
When he arrived at his block, Aziraphale noticed the tea from earlier still laying at the neighbour’s– Crowley’s doorstep. It was too dark to see whether there appeared to be tea left inside but the line of small insects leading up to the cup proved that it hadn’t been touched. Now knowing some of the rumours about him, the ‘German spy’ theory was looking more and more likely. The thought made Aziraphale shudder. There was still the possibility that the man simply wasn’t home, though the Bentley in the driveway all but disproved the idea.
He entered his cabin, turning on the lamp just beside the door. He did not bring the tea back in. Normally Aziraphale would think it an insane idea to leave a perfectly nice cup outside where pests and dirt were clearly invading. His curiosity with the man next door got the better of him, though. Crowley would have no other choice but to bring the cup into his own home to stop the infestation of insects from spreading. Better yet, he could personally return it and Aziraphale would see his face– a feat never accomplished before. And if neither happened, well, at least it made for a nice treat for the bugs.
With not much else to wrap up with the shack, Aziraphale decided to make progress on his novel. Rather, he attempted, but after several hours the only words he’d written were food items to buy at the grocery store.
He couldn’t help it. Every time he focused on the notebook in front of him, flipping to see the various bookmarked pages, the window just above his desk called out to him. Aziraphale found himself looking at the adjacent doorstep more often than he would have liked to. If the neighbour was some sort of spy, it’d make sense for him to leave his mansion at the waning hours of the night.
Nothing of the sort happened, unfortunately, and two hours of Aziraphale’s little free time was wasted on the enigma next door. He’d deal with the consequences with the inescapable lecture he was sure to receive from his literary agent in just a few weeks’ time. He could only hope that he would make more progress the following day. Somewhere he could go without distractions. Even with something as trivial as tea.
𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘
Aziraphale was seated on the left side of a dark bench overlooking a pond with scattered trees around it. Just like Anathema had suggested, there were a handful of ducks flapping around in the water. None had waddled over to him yet, though.
Despite holding his book open with the intent of forming something of substance, his mind was blank. That blasted tea was still distracting him.
When Aziraphale had woken up that morning with a stretch, his eyes immediately went to the window. It had been nearly eight hours yet the cup was still there. At that point, he was worried that the man was dead. No one would know if he was, really.
He knew he had to start his day eventually, so he went through his morning routine (which included making a cup of tea for himself and pointedly not for the neighbour) and left for Easebourne Park.
He did not bring the tea back.
Even with miles of distance between Aziraphale and the mansion’s doorstep, he could feel it intently staring him down. That’s why the page in his notebook that he’d been mindlessly looking at was blank. He did have something to solve his incessant writer’s block. The last time this sort of thing occurred, he found writing a list of random words that popped into his head and trying to find a way to connect them made for an excellent exercise. The main concept for his last novel was created through this very method so it was almost sure to ignite his brain somehow. Almost.
After about a few minutes, Aziraphale’s list read something like:
Bristles, ducks, splash, engraving, flaming, rock, rockstar, tight, tick, beetle, leaves, tea leaves, doorstep, mansion, mysterious, neighb-
At least the beginning started off well.
Seeing as that was getting nowhere, he shut the notebook and placed it beside him, abandoning his objective. He went back to observing the ducks in the pond, some of which were actually starting to climb out.
Just as one appeared as if it would walk up to the bench, it quacked and quickly ran off. The reason for such a frantic departure was now standing right at Aziraphale’s side, unquestionably waiting for him to face them.
Looking at the person, she appeared to be a fair bit older than him though the exotic clothes and bright red hair could easily be mistaken for one of the more vivacious youths. “Oh– I’m sorry for interrupting, dearie, but I noticed I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to the area?”
It wasn’t just the shop owners that noticed his new arrival to the town, then. It was amazing how well the people must know the town to be able to tell a new visitor apart from everyone else. “Yes, I happened to have moved to a home just nearby. I believe the name had something to do with a hollow.”
“Ah! So you’re the young lad that’s moved in with Crowley! How has it been?”
“Oh– I didn’t actually move in with Crowley. I moved in on top of his property, rather. I haven’t even met him. There’s a cabin just to the side of the mansion that one of my companions nobly passed on to me,” Aziraphale clarified.
“Well, if that Crowley ever gives you trouble you go right ahead and give me a ring. But I’m sure he’ll be nice to his new neighbour,” the woman said with a wink. For whatever reason, the prospect of Aziraphale relocating to the mansion with the man with a thousand secrets seemed more viable than moving into Anathema’s cabin. Did this woman know something about Crowley that no one else did?
“I’m sorry, but do you know if he’s home? I’ve tried communicating with him but it seems that he’s not a very…social person. If you know anything at all, that’d be extremely helpful.”
“He’s always home. The spirits inform me of his presence every time I pass by. They also tell me that he’s hiding a secret that no one’s discovered. If you ask me, I think the soul of a cat took over his form and he spends all day lazing around. That’s why the spirits are so interested in him. Others say he’s a smuggler of some kind.”
“I see. Thank you for your…input. I suppose I’ll end my endeavours to speak to him. Although I have no idea how he could have a problem with me already.”
The woman’s expression shifted into something much more earnest as she looked much more intently at Aziraphale.
“Never give up on someone, love. I’m sure Crowley will come around. He just needs some constant nagging from someone he’ll be sure to listen to.” She patted his arm and stood up, now looking back to the ducks that had tried to reapproach the bench but were now running away again.
While Aziraphale was attempting to decipher her cryptic message, the woman left. In her place lay a deep crimson business card with the name ‘Madame Tracy’ in large golden letters at the centre. What was odd, though, was that there was no address or phone number to be found. He recalled hearing about a Madame Tracy from Anathema, but even with a description he hadn’t thought she’d be quite that…eccentric.
With that baffling interaction now clogging up his mind, he determined that his writing session was a lost cause and packed up his things. There was always tomorrow, at the least.
𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘𐩘
The tea was gone. Aziraphale couldn’t have imagined why the neighbour would have waited until the next day of all times, but it was a sign of life. He couldn’t quite place why it made him so excited.
With newfound hope (and possibly an ounce of naivety), he knocked on Crowley’s door expecting some sort of change in the response he’d receive. Despite this, he was left with nothing more than silence.
The man simply didn’t make sense. It was almost like he had waited for Aziraphale to leave to retrieve the cup from his doorstep. If that were the case, it’d be fruitless to form a connection with Crowley if he already hated him without speaking to him once.
Maybe some pestering was all it took, like Madame Tracy suggested. The only way he could accomplish that, given his options, would be to leave another cup of tea the next day.