Chapter Text
Crowley strolled through the garden of the Selsey house, pruners in hand, scrutinizing the plants with a practiced eye. He snipped a yellowing leaf off one of his lilies. Once he might have pulled the whole plant up and made an example out of it. He would have hissed threats at the rest of them as he did. But now he just clipped the yellow leaf and tucked it into the pocket of his black gardening apron.
He had tried to hide his newfound kindness towards the plants from Aziraphale over the last two weeks, but it hadn’t lasted long. His plants, especially the ones in the garden, were so spoiled and soft that they wilted at the barest hint of a glare from him. Not that being nice to the plants was without its benefits. The first time Aziraphale had heard him telling the gladiolus they were doing a lovely job, his angel had gone near feral, pulling him into a secluded corner of the garden’s labyrinth and dropping to his knees.
Crowley pushed the distracting memory away and continued his inspection of the plants. He moved along the raised beds, looking for any hint of imperfection among the foliage and deep red and purple blooms. Everything was as it should be until he rounded the corner and saw a little patch of yellow daffodils peeking out of one of the beds.
“Angel?” he called to Aziraphale who sat on a bench next to a nearby fountain, reading a book with a little tray of fruit and cheese.
“Yes, dear?” He said without looking up from his book.
“Why are there daffodils in my garden?”
“I would assume because they are pretty.” He sounded indifferent, almost bored as he turned a page.
“They’re yellow,” Crowley said as if that settled the matter.
“Which some people find to be a particularly pretty color,” Aziraphale countered, still not looking up from his book.
Crowley loomed over him, grasping his chin gently with one hand and pulling Aziraphale’s face up from his book to look at him, “Some people are not me, angel. We are not putting yellow flowers in this garden. This garden already has a very cohesive aesthetic. We’ve discussed this.”
“You know, my love,” Aziraphale reached a hand out and ran it along Crowley’s hip, “you really are exceptionally attractive when you’re being stern.”
“ Don’t try and change the subject, angel,” Crowley growled even as heat rushed to his cock. “Why have you planted daffodils in my garden?”
Aziraphale sighed, “ I haven’t.”
“I have!” chirped a cheerful voice behind him.
Crowley whipped around to find Muriel. Her arms were full of fresh-cut daffodils wrapped in brown paper. She had soil crusted under her fingernails and her face was radiant with pride.
“Ngk. Wha. Eh. You?” Crowley sputtered.
“Yes!” Muriel beamed, “You’re always out here playing in the dirt and it looks like so much fun! Then Mr. Fell and I were at the farmers market this morning and I saw these beautiful flowers and I thought I’d try planting them!”
“You thought you’d try planting… what?” Crowley looked from Muriel’s dirty hands to the fresh-cut flowers in her arms. He looked at Aziraphale who appeared to have gone back to his book, but whose shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Finally, he looked at the daffodils in the flower bed. As he did, one of the flowers toppled over and fell onto the stone path with a soft splat .
“They keep doing that,” Muriel frowned, “how do you get yours to stay in the ground without falling over?”
Crowley gave her an incredulous look and went to investigate the flowers, not quite believing what he was seeing. But, sure enough, he found half a dozen fresh-cut daffodils stuck into the dirt like little flags.
“Muriel,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “that is not how you plant daffodils or any flowers, really. You need to get bulbs or seeds and then you plant those and they grow into flowers.”
“Oh,” the little angel’s face fell, and looked down at the daffodils in her arms, “then what do you do with these?”
Crowley sighed again but didn’t say anything as he plucked the daffodils from the dirt. He rinsed the ends of them in the fountain and stretched out a hand for the flowers Muriel was still holding. He miracled a vase of smoked glass and filled it with water from the fountain before arranging the daffodils in it.
“You put them in water and enjoy looking at them,” he said, handing Muriel the vase. “You can put these on the coffee table inside, Inspector.” She toddled off towards the house and Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, who was hiding behind his book, positively vibrating with silent giggles. “Something funny, angel?”
“Tremendously so.”
“Did you let her buy those daffodils knowing she was going to try and plant them?” He asked with a disapproving frown.
“Oh, I bought them, dearest,” Aziraphale said, tapping him lightly with the book.
“But you knew what she wanted them for?”
“What she wanted was to garden with you.” Aziraphale beamed at him. “You must remember, dear, she’s new to all of this. She’s never had the time or freedom for hobbies. She saw something that brought you joy and she wanted to try it too.” Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, giddy and utterly enamored. It made Crowley’s heart soar to see him so happy. “You’re spreading joy , my love.”
Crowley frowned again, “I’m a demon. I don’t spread joy. I spread chaos and misery.”
“Oh, I can see that,” his angel said with mock seriousness, “that’s why you showed her what to do with them, instead of, say, stomping them on the ground?”
“Yes,” he snapped, “all part of my demonic plan. Do-gooder like you wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.”
Crowley laid down on the bench next to Aziraphale, resting his head in his angel’s lap, kicking his feet up over the back of the bench, and balancing the little tray of fruit and cheese on his stomach. Aziraphale picked up a scarlet strawberry and fed it to him. It was sweet and sun-warmed. He didn’t usually go in for human food, but he could get used to this.
Aziraphale’s fingers ran through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as they went. Crowley let out a quiet, contented sigh and closed his eyes. Of all the things that had changed between them since Aziraphale’s return from Heaven, this was his favorite. He loved the kissing and the sex. He loved all Aziraphale’s little pet names, and being told that he was beautiful and loved and good— though he’d never admit to the last one— on a regular basis. But this, this quiet, gentle intimacy, this feeling of complete contentment and wholeness, was something he never thought he would have and he knew he’d never be able to live without it again.
“What are you reading?” He asked after a while.
“Just a little research for our trip tomorrow.”
Crowley heard pages rustling above him and he peeked up to see the cover Aziraphale was showing him. It was an old and well-loved copy of Dante’s Inferno .
“Angel, you know nothing in that book is accurate, right?” Crowley said, closing his eyes once more.
“I know. It’s not really for research. I just haven’t read it in a long time and…” Aziraphale paused and when he spoke again his voice was distant and a little sad, “my interpretation has changed.”
“How so?”
“Just… changed.”
The tone in Aziraphale's voice told him not to press the issue. He knew his angel was struggling to reconcile his newfound enlightenment when it came to Heaven. It must be excruciating, he thought, not for the first time, to realize that most of what you believed to be true for the last six thousand years was a lie.
Unfortunately, Crowley had been of little help. He felt he should have been more useful. Aziraphale was, after all, having all of the exact same doubts and asking all the same questions Crowley had before the Fall. But for Crowley, all that had come naturally. He had always been one to ask questions, and when the answers weren’t to his liking, it felt natural to push back and ask why. Crowley never had the same attachment to Heaven as Aziraphale did, so it had been much, much easier for him to let go of it. Falling hadn’t made him question his whole identity. His questions had only ever been for Heaven, not himself.
“Mr. Crowley,” Muriel shouted from the back deck, “I think you’d better come here. The doorbell is ringing and I don’t know what to do!”
Crowley sat up and exchanged a worried glance with Aziraphale.
“It can’t be the archangels back again,” Aziraphale said, eyes wide.
“No, it really can’t be.” Crowley stood and held out a hand for Aziraphale. “They wouldn’t be able to ring the doorbell. Wards, remember?”
“Then who could it be?”
“I have an idea,” Crowley sighed. He was actually surprised it had taken them so long.
“Oh, look Dev, he lives!” Nova said sardonically when Crowley answered the door. She and Dev waited on the porch, but only she looked murderous. “You bailed on me for the plant sale.”
“I did,” Crowley admitted, “but—“
“And you bailed on Dev’s gig Friday.”
“I did. Something came—“
“If you’re still in here moping,” she leveled a finger at him, her Irish brogue became more pronounced with every word she uttered, “just know I’m prepared to drag you out of this house by—“
“I’m not! Something came up. Why don’t you come shout at me inside.” He held open the door and ushered them into the living room.
“Hello!” Aziraphale greeted them brightly from where he stood in the kitchen replenishing the tray of fruit and cheese.
“Who’s this, then?” Nova eyed him suspiciously.
“He’s, erm,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale with overwhelming fondness, momentarily at a loss for words, “well, he’s something.”
Nova looked from Crowley to Aziraphale and back again. “And that’s his name, then, is it? Mr. Someting?”
“Right, sorry, no. Erm, Aziraphale these are my friends, Nova and her partner Devan. Nova, Dev, this is Aziraphale. He’s, erm, well, he’s eh, he’s my, erm—”
“Partner.” Aziraphale finished for him. “I’m his partner.” He came around and shook Nova and Dev’s hands. Dev smiled broadly and clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. Nova continued to glare suspiciously.
When Aziraphale ushered Dev into the kitchen for refreshments, Nova leaned over to Crowley and said, “Is this Mr. Ten Months, Twenty-Tree Days, and About Two Hours, then?”
“He is.”
“And it’s good?” She asked, trying to make eye contact through his sunglasses. “It’s good that he’s back in your life?”
“Yes, very.”
“Good. As long as you’re not settling for an ex ‘cause you’re sad.”
“Being with him could never be settling,” he said, trying and failing to mask the emotion in his voice.
She beamed at him and reached out to squeeze his hand, “Good. You deserve to be happy.”
She took his arm and he led her out onto the deck where Aziraphale had relocated and was opening a bottle of wine to go with his snacks. Crowley didn’t know why he was so nervous. He’d told Aziraphale about Nova and Dev and had fully intended to introduce them at some point. But it was one thing to intend something and another to actually do it.
So much of why he’d come here, why he’d bought this house, why he’d made these friends, was to try to forget Aziraphale. He had shown up here utterly broken and Nova and Dev had been here to help him put himself back together. They were the only things now that he had to himself. The only proof that he could be someone separate from his angel. Sharing them meant making memories that would be painful if Aziraphale ever left him again. It meant creating more places for Aziraphale to haunt him.
“Here you are, my darling,” Aziraphale handed him a glass of wine, curled an arm around his waist, and planted a swift kiss to the tattoo on his jaw. The public display of affection was a balm to Crowley’s doubtful thoughts. Aziraphale turned to Nova and said, “It’s lovely to meet you, Nova, dear. I‘ve heard so much about you and Dev. Can I get you anything?”
Nova nodded and Aziraphale bustled off again.
“Crowley, mate. Your garden looks unreal, bruv.” Dev sidled up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s only been in the ground for, what, a month? Impressive.”
“Yeah,” Crowley smirked, “it’s a real miracle.”
“Miracle!” Muriel poked her head out onto the deck. “Mr. Crowley, is that how you garden? You should have said! Why do you walk around with the pruners and such if you’re just doing miracles.”
“Figure of speech, Muriel,” Crowley said, trying to signal to her with his eyebrows to shut the Heaven up about miracles.
“Ooooh!” Muriel cooed, spotting Nova and Dev, “Are you Mr. Crowley’s human friends?”
“Human friends?” Dev asked, looking from Muriel to Crowley and then exchanging a dubious look with Nova.
“Yes, Muriel. These are my friends, Nova and Dev.” He did some more pointed eyebrow-raising. “No need to specify species.”
“Right,” said Muriel said, blushing slightly as she caught on, “because, erm, because everyone here is a human.”
Crowley resisted the urge to smack himself, and possibly Muriel as well, on the forehead.
“I see you’ve met my sister, Muriel,” Aziraphale said, rejoining the conversation and saving Crowley from having to think of an explanation for Muriel.
“Your sister?” Nova accepted the glass Aziraphale handed her and looked skeptically from one to the other of them. Not only did the pair look nothing alike, but Muriel appeared young enough to be Aziraphale’s daughter.
“Ah, yes. My much younger sister,” Aziraphale amended. “And we only share one parent.”
“Yes! It’s God.” Muriel said matter of factly.
Crowley choked on his wine. Nova and Dev exchanged another confused and mildly concerned look. Aziraphale just smiled indulgently at his ‘sister.’
“Would you be a dear, Muriel, and fetch another bottle of wine from the cellar?” Aziraphale said, “The 1921 Châteauneuf-du-Pape would do nicely.”
Muriel bounced back into the house and Crowley turned to Aziraphale, masking his words with a quick miracle, “We don’t have any more of the 1921, angel. We finished that years ago.”
“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale smiled, “I am aware.”
“So, Crowly,” Dev said, drawing Crowley and Aziraphale’s attention back to their guests, “Now that we know you’re not dead or moping, do you fancy coming out with us tomorrow? We were going to get drinks and dinner and go to Shakespeare in the Park. They’re doing Midsummer and a mate of mine is playing Titania. Azirphale, you’re invited as well, of course.”
“And Muriel,” Nova interjected. Crowley thanked Someone that both of his friends seemed willing to overlook the little angel’s odd behavior.”
“Oh, that sounds just lovely!” Aziraphale looked at Crowley with big, pleading eyes, silently willing him to agree.
“Yes, it does and if it were any other day we would be there, but tomorrow’s no good. Remember, angel? Our trip?” He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale meaningfully.
His angel’s face fell, “Oh, right, of course, the trip. Well, thank you so much for the invitation, Devan, but I’m afraid we’ll have to take a rain check.”
“No worries, mate, there’s another show next weekend, if you’ll be back by then. Where are you off to, anyway?”
“Oh, erm,” Crowley tried to think of a plausible story and came up short, “Just eh, a little day trip up to, erm--”
“Are you talking about tomorrow?” Muriel said from the door. She was back too soon with a bottle of wine that Crowley was certain she had selected at random. She beamed around at them and exclaimed, “It’s all very exciting. We’re going to Hell!”
And Crowley, the last of his composure dissolving at the words, buried his face in his hand and made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a frustrated scream.