Chapter Text
The Crowley family's visits had gotten rarer over the years. Where they'd once congregated weekly after church, things had fallen by the wayside as wars had begun to stir. Australia, Ireland, Sri Lanka, Napoleon.
Oh, Napoleon was quite the sticking point between the Eastgates and the Crowleys. The omegas of the two families had conspired to forbid political discussion in order to make Sunday dinners palatable, but without politics the two alphas heading their families had very little indeed to chat about.
Their sons, however, had much to discuss. Plays and music and schooling, a shared distaste for maths and differing skill levels in reading. The young Eastgate had enjoyed helping the young Crowley when it came to sussing out words, however, understanding where others didn't that it wasn't a matter of distaste for stories but a difficulty in his eyes. They didn't always see the ways they ought, and the young Eastgate had the patience and, well, the interest in helping diminish those wretched difficulties.
He was also quietly, desperately in love with the lanky ginger, but that was neither here nor there.
The visits between the two families picked up again when Admiral Eastgate was called upon to sail towards victory across the sea. Less arguing between the families when the most stubborn of alphas was gone.
Though there was little liveliness the last Sunday the two families met.
Still reeling from a very sudden presentation after what his doctor was calling hysterical suppression - he wasn't hysterical, thank you - the young Eastgate had been met with another drastic change to their family dynamic thanks to a very official letter with very official details on his father's very official loss to the sea.
A tragic loss to the Royal Navy, it had read, though the remaining Eastgates each bitterly thought that was more in reference to the ship. There was no true funeral to be had, however, with no body available to bury, but the memorial service was well-attended.
As had been the will reading.
Nothing had been better, however, than the opportunity to step out of the stifling house and be alone with an alpha who smelled of worn leather and warm amber. Who, when one stood close enough, also carried the sweetest of vanillas.
“Thank you. I don’t think I could've spent another minute stuck in there with so many greedy… fellows,” the twelve year old Aziraphale Eastgate complained, still quiet, still wary of being heard. His designation came with expectations now, and he'd always done his very best to meet expectations. He just hoped his dearest friend wouldn't turn away from him now that he smelled like a bouquet waiting for a chance to be given away.
Anthony J. Crowley, perhaps the youngest but certainly not the last nor the least of the extensive Crowley family, couldn't tear his eyes away. It had been some weeks since the families’ last Sunday get-together and, despite the unfortunate circumstances, he'd been looking forward to being here and seeing his friend again. He'd never seen Aziraphale in black. The boy had always preferred lighter colour pallets, tans and light blues and whites, and the black suit made his curly white hair stand out more than it usually did. He was handsome in it, for sure, but it was the scent, too, that Crowley couldn't turn away from. Floral mimosa, warm cardamom and something he couldn't quite place, something woody and earthy, wafted from him and Crowley had to clear his throat just to be able to speak.
“'S no trouble. Will reading's always awful. Dunno why this stuff has to practically be a public spectacle.”
“He would’ve preferred that.” And he would’ve hated his son’s presentation. Aziraphale tugged at his uncomfortable jacket, the deeply dark shade of it uncomfortable to see. “There’s already bickering going on in the family over the shares they were bequeathed. The only agreement seems to be that mother and I were given far too much.”
Crowley's head swivelled to glare over his shoulder. “That's ridiculous. What do they expect the two of you to do without what he's leaving you?”
Aziraphale’s smile lacked its usual warmth. “Marry well.”
“Well, yeah, I mean before that.”
“I don’t know,” Aziraphale sighed, also looking over Crowley’s shoulder before letting his own sag on a sigh far too heavy for them. “My grandmother mentioned moving in, but I’m not so sure that she will. My aunts and uncles seemed very against the idea.”
Crowley hummed at that. He didn't know much about the Eastgate family as a whole but from the little he'd heard over the years none of them really liked any of the others, not that his own family was much better. “Is your mother alright with any of that?”
Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “I’m… not sure. She hasn’t spoken to me very much since I…”
“Since you…?” Crowley didn't understand why his friend only seemed to shrink in on himself until it clicked. His presentation. Aziraphale was an only child. He couldn't even properly inherit as an omega. “Oh. Oh.” Crowley grimaced. “Right. Bad time to present.”
“It was never going to be a good time to present as... as this.”
Crowley felt for him, he did. He'd been worried about presenting as an omega himself and had been beyond relieved when he woke up one morning to find a scent that was strong and deep rather than light. “Well, I mean, at least you smell nice? It's not a bad one, anyway.”
Aziraphale swayed a bit, looking at Crowley through his lashes. No one had yet complimented his scent, and any compliments from this particular person had always made his heart flutter. Now was no exception. “You really think so?”
“Ngk-” It was embarrassing enough to say it aloud once already. Crowley felt his face warm and quickly looked away. “Have I ever lied to you?”
Unlike others... “No.” Some of the warmth returned to Aziraphale's smile. “Thank you. Yours is…” He took a deep breath, taking in a scent he’d been able to smell before but never quite like this. Never so fully before his presentation. “It's very handsome.”
“Yeah?” Some of the embarrassment faded into a sly grin. “You like it?”
A giggle escaped, Aziraphale truly helpless to that expression sometimes. Really, every time. One sly look from Anthony J. Crowley and Aziraphale was liable to go anywhere or do anything. “Perhaps.”
Crowley knew that giggle, knew that shy smile. He might have presented but this was still his friend, the boy who didn't treat his issues with reading like they were some big inconvenience, the boy who only needed a little prodding to go along with whatever scheme Crowley had cooked up. “That wasn't what you said. You said it's handsome.”
“I don't think you have any proof of that.” Aziraphale lifted his nose in the air, as haughty as could be while that delighted smile betrayed him. “As a matter of fact-” He broke off with a shriek when he was lifted off the ground entirely, Crowley's grip firm about his waist. Aziraphale's hands found his shoulders, their gazes meeting. Crowley's eyes were such a pretty gold, like the honey Aziraphale liked in his tea, and his grin was so wicked and pleased with himself that the newly presented omega found himself melting in his arms. He was handsome, from more than just scent.
The vanilla, he noted, was even stronger now that he was happy. If he wasn't so high up, Aziraphale would've given in and nestled his nose right into the crook of his friend's neck just to breathe him in. “Wicked demon,” he accused instead, cheeks pink and laughter in his voice.
“You like it,” Crowley accused, knowing that when Aziraphale called him wicked or a demon it was entirely different from when his teachers did. The grin fell, however, at the sound of rising voices from inside and something strong and instinctual rose up. There was an omega in his arms and hands gripping his shoulder and Crowley didn't even think before he stepped off the back patio and into the garden.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale wondered. “Where on earth are you going?” Though he, too, had heard the voices inside and was far from keen on discovering what new supposed disaster was going on within.
“Away from that.” He couldn't go very far but being able to set Aziraphale down on a stone bench, hidden from the main house by tall rose bushes, calmed the sudden urge to flee with him. “They're grown-ups. They should know better than to act like that.”
“They should,” Aziraphale agreed with a sigh, trying not to be sad that Crowley had put him down. It was nice to still be with him, though. “Mother said he was supposed to have left a portion to your family, you know, so my family might be angry over that as well.”
Crowley crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. He did know; he'd heard his father and mother talking about it when they thought he was supposed to be abed with his father’s brother prodding to know all about it. “Honestly, I'd be fine if what he left us went to your family if it'd make them stop bein' arseholes.”
“Oh, don't swear. It isn't becoming of your station,” Aziraphale scolded, very much quoting something he'd been told after quietly whispering ‘damn’ after a papercut.
“Fuck my station. You're the only one here to scold me for it anyway.”
Where Aziraphale may have bickered with him over it before, and even opened his mouth to do so right then, he quietly pressed his lips together and said nothing at all. He was the only one about to scold Crowley, and an omega telling an alpha what to do was... It was far too improper.
Crowley had been expecting an argument. Their bickering had never really been serious and feelings (almost) never got hurt, so it was unexpected when Aziraphale put his head down and folded his hands in his lap and didn't scold him for swearing. Crowley's arms slowly uncrossed and he sat beside him, not at all sure why Aziraphale's pretty floral scent suddenly seemed more muted than it had been. “Hey… ‘M sorry about your father. Even though he was a bit of a prick.”
He would've been so angry to come home to an omega for a son. He would've shouted and raged and been utterly awful. Aziraphale could almost feel the cane against his backside and hear the enraged bellows of, “No son of mine-”
Aziraphale sniffed, blue eyes wet and shining, big and devastated when he looked up at Crowley. Not because he was sad, no. There was no sorrow in him for the loss of his father, but there was insurmountable shame for not being sad. “He was awful,” Aziraphale whispered.
Crowley wasn't nearly as rough or tough as he liked to pretend to be and quickly had an arm snaking around Aziraphale's waist, encouraging him to be close. “I know. Hey, at least now he won't be yellin' at you no more.”
Or any of the things he'd never told anyone. Not even Crowley. Not to him or to his mum. “I liked it better when he was just at war.”
“'Cause at least then he was just gone?”
“And the rest of the family kept away. There wasn't all this... this arguing.”
“It'll stop soon,” Crowley promised. “And in the meantime we can stay out here so you don't have to deal with it.”
Aziraphale quickly wiped beneath his eyes. “You'll really stay with me?”
“'Course I will. You're my best friend.”
“You’re mine too,” Aziraphale mumbled, taking his favourite kerchief from his pocket. He carried it everywhere and had for even longer than he’d been presented. It was pale blue with lace edges and it carried his scent stronger than anything else. It was also very handy to dab away tears, though he didn’t have a chance to do that.
He’d barely retrieved it before one of his cousins stormed outside. She was older, just over twenty and quite severe in expression and poise. Her anger was like a whip crack as she approached, latching onto Aziraphale’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “There you are. I should’ve expected you to be fraternising with some young alpha.”
Crowley jumped to his feet with a growl and attempted to put himself between them though his head had to tilt comically back to look up at the older alpha. “You leave him alone! We're not hurtin' nobody!”
“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale whispered, and she scoffed.
“Oh, I see. The youngest Crowley. Haven’t received enough of our family fortune, have you?”
“Cousin Michael-”
She cut him off with a sharp growl that frightened him enough that his kerchief fluttered to the bench, unnoticed as she began to tug him back towards the house. “You will not speak unless spoken to, Ezra,” she snapped, a name he hated but all the family seemed determined to call him.
“But-”
“And absolutely no backtalk.”
“Hey! Wait!” Crowley rushed after them, not at all liking that his friend was being pulled away for seemingly no reason at all. “Where do you think you're going? You're not his mum!”
“His mother, you wild thing, has fainted. And I will be telling your parents about this wretched behaviour.”
“Do it,” Crowley dared with all the self confidence of an alpha who hadn't yet been knocked down any pegs. “I'm sure they'd love to listen to you.”
“But what happened to my mum?” Aziraphale asked, torn between fretting over her treatment of Crowley and the unknowables inside. She’d seemed paler than normal and had developed a small cough in recent weeks, but she’d never fainted.
“I told you not to speak unless spoken to,” Michael scolded, then neatly closed the door in Crowley’s mutinous little face as if he wasn’t there at all.
Crowley growled at the door. Just because she was a grown up didn't mean she could talk to him that way, but he didn't go inside. His parents had sent him out here to keep him from being underfoot and he didn't much want to make them angry even if he was mad about Aziraphale being rushed away like that. He scowled for a moment, unsure of what he should do, when his nose caught a whiff of Aziraphale's scent. And it wasn't the quickly fading kind but one that stayed. It was then his eyes fell on the pale blue kerchief, left and alone. He'd seen Aziraphale use it for years. It was a comfort item for him.
He wasted no time in rushing over and picking it up, the kerchief silky and smooth between his fingers. Even without pressing his nose to it Aziraphale's scent was strong, almost as if he were still here. Crowley knew he should try and return it, it would be The Right Thing to do but he also didn't want to. It smelled like Aziraphale and Crowley wanted to tuck that smell away and keep it with him forever.
So that's exactly what he did.
Fifteen Years Later
Life was not always fair or easy. Life was rarely both.
In Aziraphale’s experience, it was never either.
He was supposed to be in the back of the building, and he knew that. He understood that. An omega with a job was still something of an absurd oddity, unfortunately, even one which relied on so many of the skills omegas were “supposed” to have. He hadn’t enjoyed learning needlework, trapped often by his mother’s bedside with fingers stinging from needle pricks, but it was serving him well now. It had helped him acquire employment which would hopefully lead to independence so long as he could keep saving the meagre pay he was given for three work days a week.
But there had been an emergency and his boss had begrudgingly asked him to stand at the front counter and sell. He’d even been given very fast, dizzying instructions on jotting down transactions and where to tuck any notes he was handed. He was not looking forward to having to do maths, sending up more than one prayer that his employer returned before he did something disastrous to the financials.
And perhaps he’d sent up a few about not having any customers at all, but that was between him and the Almighty.
A sudden whiff of leather and amber had him whipping his head up, but it tangled instantly with something more like iron and stagnant water. Scummy. It was hard not to wrinkle his nose at the pale blond alpha who took one look at him at the counter and sneered.
“Oi,” he called to his companion, Aziraphale only able to see a tall black top hat above a few shelves. “They’ve got an omega at the counter.”
Crowley's eyes rolled dramatically, though there was no one able to see and appreciate it, as he slowly perused a dusty shelf packed with too many leather tomes. He hadn't exactly wanted to come into some stuffy old bookshop, but Hastur had gotten it into his head that the omega he was trying to woo would like a book. Idiot. “Am I supposed to have an opinion on that?”
Hastur elbowed him, only barely lowering his voice. “Bet we won’t even have to pay. Put a little pressure on an omega as soft as that one, they fall apart.”
“Why would you not pay?” Crowley sneered. “It's not like you're hurting for money.”
“Why pay when you can get shite for free?”
“U-um.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, fretfully wondering just what sort of pressure they were planning on putting on him. He couldn’t hear the fellow in the top hat - rude to wear one indoors - but the other was not as quiet as he believed. “I do insist on you paying for any product you wish to leave with.”
Crowley motioned through the shelf to the counter with a black gloved hand. “If you're going to be a thief, at least learn to be quieter about it.”
“If you aren’t going to be fun, I’m not letting you in the backroom anymore.”
“Listen,” Crowley said, even quieter, “why don't you let me smooth talk the omega, keep your trap shut, and I'll turn a blind eye to the sticky fingers?”
He grinned, wicked and delighted and already eyeing just what he wanted to walk out with. Those backrooms could use some supplies. “Always said you weren’t so bad, Ant.”
“Don't call me that.” Why Hastur and his cronies insisted on the ridiculous nickname he would never know, but was more than happy to slide his way around the shelf and come to a dead stop. He hadn't smelled him - the dust and lit scented candle had masked it - but Anthony Crowley would recognize Aziraphale Eastgate anywhere.
The omega had never been a particularly slim child and age had only made him plumper and softer. It had also put a few lines around his eyes and mouth, but it hadn't changed the fluffy cloud-like hair or the striking stormy blue eyes that looked just about wide enough to pop out of his pretty head. Crowley grinned and swung the snake-headed cane he didn't need in a little spin. “Aziraphale? Is this where you've been hiding?”
“I haven’t been hiding anywhere.” Though he had only seen Crowley from a distance a time or two. After the will reading, his grandmother had bullied her way into their house and cut off any communication with the Crowley family. As incensed as everyone else had been at their family’s place in his father’s will, there had been no chance to speak with him when they happened to cross paths. Be it family intervention or his own decision to keep away from him as the gap between their places in society had widened, they hadn’t spoken since his older cousin had pulled him away from their little hiding spot.
Since Crowley had called him his best friend and Aziraphale’s silly little self had believed it wholeheartedly. And, blast it, his silly little heart was racing just at seeing him. He’d gotten taller, growing into those gangly limbs, and he was still handsome even with dark glasses covering eyes Aziraphale knew were the prettiest of golds. “How do you do, Lord Crowley?”
Crowley's tongue clicked, not quite chastising as he sauntered to the little counter Aziraphale was standing behind. With getting closer he could actually catch a whiff of his scent and- yes, that was it, the scent he'd been missing all these years. “None of that, now. Are we not still friends?”
The vanilla Aziraphale had thought was missing from Crowley’s scent was there now, drifting sweetly across Aziraphale’s nose as he demurely lowered his gaze. “If you like.”
He was still ridiculously adorable and Crowley leaned his hip on the counter. “If you like,” he corrected. “I wouldn't presume to be overly familiar with an omega should he dislike my company.”
Blue eyes flicked up. “Then don’t allow that friend of yours to waltz out of this shop without paying for the things he’s pushing into his coat pockets.”
Crowley blinked behind his glasses, mouth agape before it spread into a wide grin. “Why don't I just cover whatever he thinks he's taking since we can both tell he's about as subtle as a bull in a china shop?”
“How do I know I’ll receive everything I’m owed? There can’t be a discrepancy or I’ll be discharged.”
“Well, I definitely can't have that. What if you just name a price and I give it to you?”
Aziraphale lifted his chin. “Then you’ll just have to wait until he’s finished and I’ve taken inventory.”
Crowley chuckled and met Aziraphale's stern gaze evenly from behind his dark glasses. “I have no problems with that. We have much to catch up on, after all.”
Aziraphale’s gaze fell again, fingers fidgeting with a corner of the seller’s log. He wasn’t a young pup liable to fall head over heels for a wicked grin anymore. He was an adult, and it would be just fine. If Crowley wanted to continue thinking of them as friends, he could humour him. “Alright. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time. I'm very good at inventory.”
“I have no doubt about that. When we were young, you were always the more organised of the two of us.”
“Someone had to be. There was always some sort of flaw in your silly plans that was sure to get you into trouble.”
Aziraphale’s easy smile vanished, though, when Hastur shouted, “Ant! Let’s leg it already.”
Crowley took a calming breath in through his nose, getting a good smell of Aziraphale's lovely floral scent. “I'll be right back.”
And he slipped away from the counter, leaving his cane leaning there to find the idiot with too many papers and books shoved into his coat. “Fucking hell, Hastur, I told you to keep your trap shut.”
“Like you would’ve noticed me leaving with the way you were flirting. ‘Bout to pop your hip out of joint with all that leanin’.”
“Don't you worry about my flirting.” And it wasn't like Hastur needed to know Aziraphale was an old friend. “I'll catch up with you later. This omega intrigues me.”
“Oh, come off it. He’s a cream puff.”
“Not as much as you think.”
“Tch. Right. I’ll see you later then. Gonna show Ligur what I got for ‘im.”
“You do that.” Crowley clapped him on the shoulder and didn't say he thought the dark skinned omega would appreciate something a little more… unconventional. Let him figure it out on his own.
Aziraphale watched him leave before he plucked up his inventory book, this one riddled with his own handwriting. As much as his stitching was valued in the back for book repairs, his inventory skills had been honed to be made use of before and after opening hours. Crowley’s cane was tucked behind the counter, out of sight just in case. A lot could change in fifteen years, after all. A lot had.
“Oh,” he sighed as he rounded the corner, “he made quite the mess…”
“I know,” Crowley said apologetically, doing his best to put things back in a more orderly fashion. “You should see the messes he leaves everywhere else.”
“I think I would rather not.” Aziraphale set his feathered pen and book aside to help Crowley since the alpha didn’t know what actually belonged where. “If you could just get the things he let fall to the floor, please.”
“Oh, er, sure.” He wasn't exactly used to cleaning things up - there were servants for that - but he still knelt and began picking up pens and papers. “I do apologise for my cousin. He was left to his own devices often and isn't exactly the most cultured.”
“Being an alpha doesn’t hurt his ability to do as he likes, I’m sure.” Aziraphale inspected bits and pieces to make sure nothing had been damaged. There was an unfortunate scent to some of them, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as if they’d been whisked away entirely. All sorts of persons came in and browsed, after all. “Though I do appreciate the assistance.”
“It's no trouble. I'm always running around behind, making amends for his idiocy anyway.”
“A very good cousin, then.” Aziraphale offered a smile. “I’m glad you’ve gotten closer to some of your family.”
Crowley looked up at him - and it was such a strange sensation to be the one looking up for a change. “I wouldn't say close. I put up with him because I have little other choice.”
Aziraphale hummed. That, he could understand. “I see. Did you require anything while you’re here?”
“Not for me, no. I'm not sure if it will make his attempted theft more palatable but he was looking for a courting gift and I was unfortunately dragged along.”
With a small nod, Aziraphale picked up his book and began to count. It was very clear that Crowley was watching him, more distracting than he really had any right to be. “Are you… sure you don’t need anything?”
“I'm just fine.” Though he had picked himself up off the floor and was now leaning casually against a shelf. It had just been so long since he'd been in Aziraphale's presence, he was determined to catalogue the subtle and not-so-subtle changes, the notes of his scent that hadn't truly changed but had grown more full in his absence. “I do hope my presence isn't a bother.”
Aziraphale shook his head, quietly resuming his counting and jotting down the, er, purchase. He did hope Crowley kept his word, unable to keep from glancing at him now and again as he worked to find out just what had been taken from the shelves. Horrible, messy alpha, that cousin of his. Like so many others Aziraphale had come across.
At least Crowley seemed clean, nothing in the way of his scent. Rich and warm and heady enough to make an omega want to burrow in close and get enveloped in it. “I need to… add all of this together. It may take a few minutes.”
Crowley gave a wave of his hand. “That's fine. I did say I'd pay for it.” And later he'd hound his uncle about reimbursement. It wasn't his job to ensure Hastur wooed the omega of his choosing after all.
“I do appreciate that, really. I couldn't bear to lose this position when it was so difficult to obtain in the first place. It’s my first time being trusted at the counter during opening hours, you know.”
“How lucky for me,” Crowley said, following him back to said counter like a tall dark shadow. “And how awful for us both had you not been up front when we came in.”
“How awful for my employer, perhaps. He doesn’t tend to notice when things go missing, and he’s rather quick to write off any discrepancies as being my fault somehow.” Aziraphale set his book down, opened another to confirm prices. “I know he doesn’t actually mean it, however, or he would have removed me by now. I think it would be very different if there were discrepancies while I’m alone.”
“Possibly.” And he definitely didn't want to be the reason Aziraphale was dismissed. “It's quite rare to see an omega running a shop like you are; you must have done well to earn the owner’s trust.”
“I hope so,” Aziraphale murmured, eyes as wide and nervous as they’d been the last time Crowley had seen him. “And you won’t tell anyone you’ve seen me here, will you?”
“Seen you-” Crowley's head tilted. “Are you not supposed to be here?”
“I am in that I am an adult who is capable of making his own decisions,” Aziraphale said firmly. “But… if… if my cousins discovered I was earning a wage, it would be…” He shook his head, smile weak. “Best not to think on it.”
Crowley nodded in understanding. He didn't personally see what was wrong with an omega making a wage for themselves but he knew it wasn't the most popular opinion. “My lips are sealed… so long as you do not mind if I stop in on occasion.”
“If my employer knew an alpha was coming to see me, I think he’d be very displeased,” Aziraphale replied smartly, the feather on his pen fluttering when he swayed it. The way Crowley’s face fell was as devastating as it always had been, apparently, since the next thing he said was, “However… there is an entrance in the back.”
“The back, hm?” Crowley's grin returned. “That's certainly interesting information.”
“If you can behave yourself, I may let you in now and again.”
“I can try. I fear I never fully outgrew my mischievous streak from childhood, however.”
“Clearly not if you had plans to rob me alongside your cousin,” Aziraphale said lightly, then gave him the total.
It was more than Crowley had ever thought he'd spend at a bookshop, but he didn't complain as he opened his wallet and offered the exact cash. Yes, his uncle would absolutely be paying him back for this. “I'd never planned on robbing anyone.”
“So you say. I suppose it's a good thing I'm me and not some meek little thing who'd let just anyone go.” Aziraphale neatly placed the money where he'd been taught, then scrawled out a receipt. “But, really, you won't breathe a word of my being here to anyone? It's my young cousin's first opportunity to be presented, so my family will be at all the usual parties for her. If anyone else knows, it could reach them.”
“I won't,” Crowley said, voice low and soothing. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Thank you. I haven't been allowed to attend in a long while, so I suppose... I suppose I have little choice but to trust you.”
Crowley's eyebrows rose up above his glasses and into his hairline. “They won't let you go to the parties? How do they expect you to find a mate that way?”
Aziraphale pressed his lips together briefly, needlessly tidying up what was already tidy. “A penniless orphan isn't of interest to the gentry, Lord Crowley.”
“A-” Crowley blinked rapidly and gave him another look. No, he didn't look like the son of a decorated naval captain but he hadn't thought… “Penniless? Orphan? Aziraphale- What in the world happened? I was under the impression your father left you and your mother a substantial sum.”
“Mother decided a... less than reputable doctor - and I do use that term loosely - was the best use of our funds. He charged her quite a bit for a prescription of sunshine, fresh country air, and weekly visits with him. On Sundays, naturally, so he might use his healing powers of... prayer. Which meant extensive travel back and forth until we simply had nothing left. Not even her, soon enough.” He kept his voice even, though it was as tiring to talk about as it had been to live through. “It took three years.”
“Oh, Aziraphale…” In the moment Crowley wasn't thinking about differing stations or their presentations or what anyone might think, all he wanted was to comfort a dear friend, so his gloved hand found Aziraphale's arm in what he hoped was a comforting touch. “I'm so sorry.”
“It's... It's quite alright. My cousins brought me to theirs and have allowed me to stay. I've been a- a nanny, of sorts, for their daughter.” He'd had a heavy hand in raising her. To the point that she'd mistakenly called him papa in front of her mothers once. There had been swift and severe punishment. Aziraphale smiled. “She'll turn heads this summer, I'm sure.”
Had he been allowed to go, Crowley was certain Aziraphale would turn just as many. “Shall I keep an eye out for her and keep the scoundrels away?”
Aziraphale laughed. “You are a scoundrel, so I've heard.”
“Exactly. So I know who to look out for.”
“Wicked demon,” Aziraphale chided and it felt familiar. Familiar and easy and theirs. It was such a nice feeling that he gave in and laid one of his hands on Crowley's gloved one. “Her name's Muriel Archer, and I would appreciate that very much.”
“Muriel,” Crowley repeated back with a nod. “Alright. I'll keep an eye on her for you. You have my word.”
As he'd already proven to make good on that, Aziraphale fetched his cane and returned it with a smile. “Thank you. Now you have a lovely day. I'm sure you've much better things to do than spend it around an old bookshop.”
Crowley was sure he did, but at the moment he couldn't think of a single thing better than being here. “Kicking me out so soon?”
“I'm afraid so. I wouldn't want my employer to think I was shirking my duties for a chinwag.” Aziraphale's smile shifted apologetically. “It really has been so nice to see you, though.”
“It has, yes,” Crowley said softly, hooking the cane over his arm. “And now that I know you're here, I'll be sure to stop by. In the back, of course.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you. Farewell, Crowley.”
Crowley tipped his hat, smile soft as he stepped away and towards the door. “Goodbye, Aziraphale. I'll try not to let so much time pass before our next meeting again.”
“I do hope not. And don't wear that silly hat indoors. Terribly impolite.”
“Wicked demons need to be impolite sometimes,” Crowley said back, tossing him one of his patented smirks as the door opened and the bell above chimed. Yes, he would be back here even if only to get more of that lovely floral scent.
Aziraphale quietly looked forward to seeing him, even as he told his silly heart to stay put and not follow him out the door.