Chapter Text
Crowley hesitated outside the door, He was prett sure this was the place. He'd just moved to Tadfield a month or so back and had found it hard to make friends her--oh, not that the inhabitants of Tadfield weren't friendly. The opposite was true, if anything. He just hated going into new places and meeting new people; it was something he wasn't very good at. H
But he had been talking to Tracy, who lived two doors down. Tracy, at least, was someone he felt comfortable with. A friend of his mother's from way back, she'd alerted him to the house in Tadfield when it went on sale, and lacking any other family or anywhere that felt like home, he'd bought it and moved straight in. She'd pretty much adopted him for her own, and now she'd volunteered him to help bring her shopping back to the house.
"The thing is, you need to talk to someone other than me," she scolded. "I'm not upset you didn't bring any friends along from that swish London job of yours because from what your mum told me, they really weren't proper friends at all. But there are good people here, trustworthy people who will be loyal to you, and not screw you over for their own amusement."
He winced at the veiled reference to the mighty fuckup that was his relationship with Nick. "Sorry, Tracy, can we not talk about that right now?" he pleaded. "I haven't got the brainspace and it's something I'm trying to forget as fast as possible."
Tracy pursed her lips. "Don't forget, learn from it. You are worth more than that. You're not still in contact?"
"No." And wasn't that a kicker too? "The minute the job evaporated and the Mayfair flat was gone, so was he." Just when he had moved out to nurse his mum through her dying days, his so-called boyfriend had simply stopped returning his calls. He'd never been much of a boyfriend, but along with all the fair-weather friends who had apparently loved Crowley's salary but not him without it, he'd never felt so alone in his life. If it hadn't have been for Tracy, he'd've taken the Bentley and driven it into a tree at speed on the way back from the funeral. And he didn't like to think how little of that statement was drama, and how much was a dark truth.
He was pretty sure Tracy knew it too. She'd insisted on getting a lift back with him, and stayed with him in the house until he'd finished sorting through his mother's things and decided to sell the flat. Shortly after the contracts had been exchanged, the Tadfield house had become available and she'd informed him in no uncertain terms that he was going to buy it and move in. Blitzed by the emotional aftermath of losing his mother, his way of life and all his friends at once, he'd not had the bandwidth to argue and so he'd ended up here.
"Sorry," he said. "What were you saying? My mind wandered." It was one of the side-effects of grief that had freaked him out at first, but now, nearly a year on, it was beginning to ease
Tracy didn't tease him about this, at least. "I was saying that you need to meet people. So come and meet me at the school hall at 6pm--you know the one?"
"On the edge of the Archer estate, right?" He frowned. "Why i am meeting you there?"
"It's the initial meeting of the local amateur dramatics society. They always need people, and you need to get out a bit more. It'll be perfect."
"Amateur dramatics?" He peered at her over his sunglasses. "I don't think I'd be a very good actor."
Tracy sniffed haughtily, looking down her nose. "Then you'd fit right in!" She giggled. "Actually i think you'd be an excellent actor if you wanted to be - all those hours in court waffling at judges have to be good for something, surely! But actually, I was thinking more along the lines of props, and scenery, maybe even stage-managing it."
"Oh." Crowley digested this. "That...doesn't seem quite so impossible."
"You'd be ever so good at it! I remember the pictures you used to draw when you lived with me. Beautiful, they were. At one point I even hoped you'd go to that art school."
"Ha! That's a blast from the past!" Crowley smiled a little sadly. "I wish I had. Would've been at home to spend more time with Mum. Christmases and Easters at the very least.! But i couldn't afford the fees, and i couldn't let Mum spend all her savings on it. It's not really a practical option, is it? And then i got the job in London and the money was so good. I was good at it, and i was sending money back home to Mum so she could buy her own place... I suppose I just got caught up in it all and there was no time to stop and wonder if that was where i wanted to be." It had been a work-hard-play-hard place, and between going out to clubs with his colleagues, the validation of being able to put his card behind the bar and announce the drinks were on him, after having scrimped and saved for so long, the parties, the hangers-on he had counted as friends... He sighed. "None of it was real, in the end. I was going harder, faster, more mindlessly just because it was what you did to stay relevant in the firm. And because i was good at it, increasingly they gave me the cases defending people who were clearly guilty. I hated it at first, but eventually i got invested in the intellectual game-play of it all, me against the prosecution, not whether it was actually right or not. I was flying high and it was a bit of a shock when i came to earth with a thud."
"I'm sorry you had to, but I think it was for the best." They paused to wait for a passing car before crossing the road. "You'd got in awfully deep, and we were worried about you. From what you were saying, there were a lot of drugs about and it seemed like only a matter of time before someone persuaded you that you could work a bit longer, party a bit harder, with just a sniff of the old white powder. And moneyed or not, that never ends well."
"Yeah..."He thought back to Hastur's parties, and Ligur urging him to "just try a bit, see if you like it, on the house." It probably had been for the best.
"So come and spend a bit of time with honest people instead," she urged. "Stage-managing it would be perfect for you. That way," she told him kindly, "you can hide in the dark and still take part. And you don't have to even speak to anyone apart from to shush them if they're talking backstage."
"That does sound good," Crowley murmured. "In fact, a little too good. I have a feeling you're leaving bits out. Like the meeting, maybe?"
Tracy laughed and nudged him in the ribs as they walked down the road together. "Yes there will be a few meetings and run-throughs and stuff like that, but honestly, if you have a job to do and you're working on a shared objective it's just so much easier to talk to people. Tadfielders are generally nice anyway but between Aziraphale and Anathema and the kids, these are the best of the best."
"I don't know." He followed her up the garden path with her shopping. "I've not done any theatre stuff before. What if I mess it up?"
Tracy opened the door and let him in, leading him to the kitchen where they both set their bags down on the neat counters. "I tell you what, love." Tracy turned to lean on the counter. "Come tonight, I'll introduce you to some people, and if you hate it you don't have to come again." She grinned, watching him hesitate. "That, and first pick of my next batch of ginger buns."
He had to laugh. "Damn, Tracy, you know how to read a man! Fine, I'll come along tonight but it will cost you no less than three of your finest,"
"Three, or a small ginger loaf?"
He held out a hand. "A ginger loaf, and it's a deal."
"Done!" She shook his hand. "Though i should add, I'm not in the habit of negotiating myself upwards so don't get used to it."
"I find it best not to underestimate the older lady," he replied, "even one as dashing as yourself."
She whacked his arm, laughing, "You cheeky devil! High time you went home and checked your wardrobe. You need all-black clothes and I'm worried you won't have enough."
He rolled his eyes. "See you later, Tracy!"
"See you later, pet."
Now, he found himself stuck on the threshold of the school hall, filled with uncertainty. He looked at his reflection in the door: It was coming up to dusk and he was wearing sunglasses--it made him look like a real wanker, he knew, but it covered up his eyes at least. People always freaked out when they saw his eyes. Nick had hated them, and made sure he always kept them covered up. Nick had asked why he couldn't be more normal, more like everyone else, and Crowley had tried, he'd genuinely done his best. But it hadn't been enough. It was never enough--what was he doing here anyway? He pushed his sunglasses up a little more and turned to flee, rebounding instead off something soft and nearly falling over.
"Oh my dear, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" The something soft was a person, with blond curls and the kindest eyes Crowley had ever seen in his life. "I wasn't paying attention, entirely my own fault."
Crowley blinked. "Erm...sorry. I was going to--" Wait. The gorgeous blond was staring at his eyes. Panicking, Crowley slapped a hand to his own face. "My sunglasses!"
The blond looked around. They'd been jolted off his face and had landed in one of the bushes alongside the path. "Let me--" He and Crowley lunged for them at the same time and knocked into each other again, but this time the low wall along the steps took him by surprise. Losing his balance, he grabbed the blond, and with a wail the pair of them toppled over sideway, landing somewhat uncomfortably tangled in the bush.
"Goodness!" the blond huffed.
"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry," Crowley babbled in panic. He'd really done it now--he'd spoiled everything, and he couldn't get free to run away either! Cringing, he braced himself for the tirade that was sure to follow.
There was a bit of wiggling, during which Crowley became uncomfortably aware that not only was his body was pressed alongside the other man's from shoulder to knee, but it was a very long time since he'd had that sort of body contact and it felt.... wonderful. Not so much the branches sticking into his back though.
"Aha!" The exclamation was unexpected enough that Crowley opened his eyes, and found himself looking straight into a merry pair of blue eyes.
"Aha..?" he ventured.
"Got the glasses, at least!" And then he burst into joyous giggles.
Crowley looked at the man, and at the glasses, and then he too lost it. Giggling, he tried to turn over and get up, but apart from a couple of vicious stabs from the branch currently sticking into his arse, it had no result. There was nothing sturdy enough to get hold of, and nothing he could stand on. It was ridiculous. "Stuck!" he managed to blurt out between sniggers.
The man wriggled a bit, and damn if that didn't send Crowley's mind running down paths that really weren't appropriate with someone he'd only just met, never mind if he was pressed up against them in a bush. "Oh dear, me too." With an apparent effort, he suppressed his giggles. "Well. Under the circumstances, I suppose I ought to introduce myself." His eyes twinkled. "I'm Aziraphale Fell. And i hope you won't think it rude of me to say that you have the most beautiful eyes of anyone I've ever seen."
"Anthony Crowley. But I go by Crowley." He looked at the other, but the blond seemed to be completely in earnest. "Don't like them much myself. Weird."
Aziraphale frowned. "I suppose there will be people who have said that to you. Children can be horrible to each other, and it's difficult to get past that sort of thing as you get older. I should know." He patted his tummy. "But for what it's worth, I think they're beautiful." He giggled again. "I don't allow myself to get stuck in a bush staring into just anyone's eyes, you know!" And he was off again.
"This is not how i was expecting the evening to go, I grant you." Crowley hoisted himself up slightly. "I'm taller than you, i think? Which means that my feet are probably nearer the wall than yours."
Aziraphale nodded. "So if I can hoist you up a bit...?"
"Exactly. Are you stuck on anything spiky? I don't want it to hurt you."
Aziraphale wriggled again, and Crowley gulped.
"No, I seem to have escaped the spikes. So if you roll over me, I can push you upwards on three, yes?"
"Er, yes..." Oh God, this might very well kill him. Crowley moved cautiously on top of his new acquaintance, and together they counted "one-two-THREE!" Aziraphale shoved upwards at his shoulders, the bush creaked and groaned, and Crowley managed to walk himself backwards on his hands (across the other man's body, he desperately tried not to think) until his feet hit something solid, and then more as he worked himself upright enough to grab the railing by the door. "Got it!"
He turned, still holding onto the railing, and leant forward precariously over the bush to reach out to Aziraphale. "Take my hand, and I'll pull you up."
"Bugger, I can't reach. I can't get enough purchase to sit up." The blond began to giggle again. "At this rate you'll have to throw me some twigs and i'll make a nest to live in."
Crowley looked down. Below him the bush wasn't quite so thick. "I can probably get a bit nearer. Hang on..." Stepping down off the wall cautiously, he worked his way two steps nearer into the bush, swearing vociferously when a branch whipped back and slapped him in the face.
"Do be careful!" Aziraphale exclaimed.
"S'alright." Crowley tapped the side of his glasses. "Came prepared. Protective eyewear and all that." He grinned, set his feet and then reached out towards the blond again. "Try now."
Aziraphale took his hand. "Oh thank goodness! I thought we were going to be in there all night!" With Crowley drawing him closer, he managed to half-clamber half-fall through the bush far enough to be able to set his feet on the low wall. Crowley hoisted him upright (trying not to think of the delectable arse he had a hold of), and Aziraphale finally grabbed the railing and got himself out. Then he reached back and steadied Crowley as he fought his own way back to the little wall, and stepped up and back onto the path, hot, sweaty and covered in scratches.
"Phew!" Aziraphale pushed the door open, gesturing Crowley to precede him. "We should really go and wash up. Rehearsal starts in fifteen minutes and the pair of us are covered in twigs and look like we came off worse in a fight with a gang of tomcats!"
Crowley followed him in, still grinning. "Just wait till i see Tracy. 'Come to rehearsal' she said. 'It'll be fun,' she said," he mimed.
Aziraphale laughed and led him into the kitchen, gesturing him over to the sink. "Ah, so you're Tracy's mysterious young man!" He caught Crowley's expression. "Oh, I don't mean it like that. But she's been talking about her boy Tony for years now." He rummaged in the cupboard for the first aid kit and took out Savlon and plasters, before turning back more seriously. "I heard about your mother. I'm very sorry. She was a lovely lady."
Crowley busied himself washing the smears of barkdust and blood from his hands and face. "Thank you. She's very much missed."
"I should imagine. If you ever need to talk about it, do please come and find me. But in the meantime, she was very popular and people will want to pass on their sympathies. Would you rather they sent cards than mention it to you? I can pass word round if so."
"Please." Unexpected tears came to Crowley's eyes. It was a kindness he hadn't been expecting. He blinked them away hurriedly and dried his hands.
"May I see?" Aziraphale took his hands again, and the dry warmth of skin on skin made him shiver. "Nothing too bad except this one, which could probably do with a plaster." He looked through the assortment in the first aid kit. "Ah yes, the Head of Primary refilled it last time. You have a choice of--" he held two plasters up, "glittery unicorns or pirates."
That made Crowley smile again. "I always wanted to be a pirate, me."
Aziraphale laughed as he applied the plaster. "You'll love this year's show then. We're doing the Pirates of Penzance."