Work Text:
"Women wear men's clothes all the time. Women wear men's clothes all the time. Women wear men's clothes all the time-"
Everett fiddled with the tiny buttons on the collar of her new dress shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning them indecisively before giving up and googling how one was supposed to wear a buttoned collar. She pulled at the fold of fabric on her throat where there was enough give to accommodate an adam's apple, should she have had one, and scowled at how the material refused to lie neatly on her skin. That was one downside, she supposed, but overall the experience of buttoning up her new dress shirt had been...
...well, terrifying. Putting her arms through the light fabric and pulling it around her had sent shivers up her spine in the department store dressing room, and suddenly things that she didn't know were wrong, felt right. It wasn't even all that different from a woman's shirt- most people wouldn't bat an eye at it. But she knew, and this act of quiet rebellion left her feeling giddy. She fussed in front of her mirror, belting along to counter-culture music and fastening an enamel rainbow pin -another recent purchase- to her collar the way she'd seen people on the internet do. She hoped she hadn't missed the window of that accessory being en vogue, but she had a lot of lost time to catch up on and she was starting today. Everett was new to teenage rebellion, seeing as she was 23- it'd taken her a while to extricate herself from her parent's house and escape into the veritable metropolis of London. But now that she was here, well.
She was going to put on a men's shirt and spike some gel in her newly cut hair and stomp around the good ol' gay streets of London. Starting with Soho.
Her stomping ended up being more of a trepidatious snail's pace. Inching through the bustling streets, she kept a wary eye over her shoulder and her jacket zipped up. She popped into some stores, never staying more than a few minutes or saying a word to whatever staff were there before she slipped back out onto the sidewalk and continued her trek.
This wasn't going exactly how she'd imagined. In her mind she'd been confident, badass and stalwart; but here she was, hobbling through the queerest community in England with all the confidence of a newborn fawn. Well enough that she wore her rainjacket too, as it was quickly becoming a miserable early evening to match her mood. Very quickly, actually. Scowling, she resolved to finish her tour as soon as possible and get back to her bed with her weighted blanket and a cup of tea. She hurried around the corner and didn't notice the loose piece of cement until she had tripped over it and onto her face.
"Shit!" She gasped, sitting up on her knees and wiping her hands on her worn leather raincoat and scrambling for her hood that had fallen off of her head in the tumble and left her uncomfortably exposed to the watery deluge. She picked a piece of gravel out of her chaffed palm and winced. It could be worse, she supposed. She could've fallen a foot to her left and landed in the flooded gutter.
Until a shining black classic car came roaring up to the curve, and-
Splash
Everett sat, stunned and soaking from head to toe, as the driver of the car turned off the engine and walked right past her up the steps of the building behind her, the door banging open harshly.
"Angel!" the man hollered, and she could faintly hear a call of "Just one moment!" from somewhere in the back. Blinking water out of her eyes, she watched as the driver reappeared with a kindly-looking, immaculately dressed man on his arm, who stopped quickly to lock the door behind him.
"You really didn't have to go to all the trouble, Crowley, the conditions are simply terrible out here." White-suit man said, tucking a set of keys back into an inner pocket and giving the door a shake to test it.
"It's nothin' really, I've seen worse." The driver muttered back, hands stuffed into the impossibly tight pockets of his... leather pants? Really? She could only imagine the sensory nightmare. Everett realized she had been staring, and worse than that she was still sitting in her puddle of rainwater and getting colder by the second. She shuffled to her feet as the men took to the steps, but was interrupted by a horrified gasp and the sudden feeling of hands supporting her shoulder and back.
"My dear girl, are you alright?" It was the one in the white suit, having apparently rushed forward to examine her without making a sound. He had a round face, blue eyes, and blond hair that somehow remained fluffy under the thrum of the rain. She stepped back.
Respond affirmatively.
"Yes? Yes. Just, you know. Wet? Damp."
"You're soaked, and you've scuffed up your poor hands- actually, do you mind having this conversation indoors?" The man looked imploringly at her, his own suit becoming darkened by the rain and his hands wringing in front of him.
Explain why you're wet.
"Your boyfriend hit me with a puddle." Everett blurted out, staring at the soft-faced man's ear and slightly behind him where the the owner of the car was standing. He at least had the presence of mind to look anywhere except for at her.
"Crowley!" The blond one was raising his voice now, sort of, and marching back up to where Crowley was, tugging him into a close conversation. Everett shuffled more as she waited. It didn't feel right to just walk away, so she stayed.
"Crowley." Blondie returned, dragging a reluctant Crowley behind him and staring at him. He ran a hand through copper-red hair and grunted.
"I'm sorry I hit you with a puddle."
He asked you to come inside.
"Okay." Everett said, and walked up the stairs to stand under the porch canopy.
"Angel-" Crowley whined, but 'Angel' walked up the steps and pushed the door open without bothering with keys. Not locked after all, then. Everett followed, and Crowley trailed behind her.
"You can take off your jacket right over here, I'm afraid there's quite a few antiques laying around so we can't be having any stray drops of water." Angel shrugged off his own coat onto a bare coat rack and gestured for Everett to follow suit. She surveyed the environment as she tugged the raincoat off, spotting the rows and rows of bookshelves that filled the musty space and nodding with understanding. Crowley made himself comfortable on a sofa, his entire person somehow already dry.
"We'll call you up a cab and get you wherever you were going in a jiffy, but in the meantime you must allow me to apologize again. Crowley's an absolute demon on the road." He shot another annoyed look over his shoulder where the supposed road-demon was still sprawled over the couch.
"'s not like I did it on purpose." Came a petulant reply.
"Of course not, but it still happened. Now then." Angel turned back and studied her, giving her a brief once over before nodding like he understood something.
Introduce yourself to the nice old gay man.
"I'm Everett." She offered.
"Everett, you can call me Mr. Fell. If you don't mind it I have plenty of old shirts you could wear, I won't have you catching your death of cold." Mr. Fell aimed a positively radiant smile at her, which prompted a small smile in return. She was already feeling warmer in the comfortable bookshop.
"No you don't, angel-" interrupted Crowley's raspy voice, which was interrupted right back by Mr. Fell.
"Yes, I do. They're shirts that... don't fit me anymore." He gave Crowley a pointed look that Everett couldn't decode before vanishing into a back room. Maybe he gained weight recently or something and needed new shirts? Now she was alone with Crowley, who was hanging his head backwards over the arm of the sofa to stare at her from an upside-down vantage point. He had dark glasses on, she finally noticed, but they appeared cosmetic. She frowned.
"Maybe if you didn't wear sunglasses in the rain you wouldn't have splashed me with a puddle."
"Maybe if you weren't taking a nap on the pavement you wouldn't have been within my puddle-splashing radius."
"I fell down."
"Then it seems neither one of us was in that situation on purpose." Crowley shifted to sit upright on the coach with his back to her, stretching his leather-clad legs and leather boots over the cushions with reckless abandon.
"The kettle is on, dear girl, and I'll call a cab in just a moment, but first things first-" Mr. Fell bustled back into the sitting area, holding a pile of cream-coloured fabric in one hand and a crumpled plastic bag in the other. "For your wet clothes," he explained, as Everett took both of the proffered items. "Crowley and I will be in the back for a moment, for modesty's sake. Just give a shout when you're ready and we can get you that taxi cab." Mr. Fell dragged his partner off the couch and the two disappeared down the back hallway, leaving Everett alone in a cavernous symposium of old books.
This day can't possibly get weirder.
Looking down at the clothes she'd been given, she sighed and began to unbutton her prized dress shirt, lamenting inwardly that it's debut outing was spoiled by fear and bad weather. She removed her pin and tossed it on the nearby table before stuffing her shirt and undershirt into the plastic bag. She quickly threw the new shirt over her shoulders and buttoned it up, fingers fumbling a bit over how good the thick, soft material felt. Mr. Fell was apparently a man of expensive tastes, and she wasn't going to complain. She could stay like this forever- or at least until Mr. Fell wanted it back. She shook that thought off and noticed a pair of black silk lounge pants on the floor. She blinked, not sure how she had missed them before, but her soggy jeans were getting unbearably uncomfortable and she could hardly be anything now but grateful. Changing quickly and stuffing the last of the offending fabric into the plastic bag and tying it off, she called into the back of the store.
"Mr. Fell?"
"Coming!"
After a moment both men reappeared, Mr. Fell carrying two steaming mugs in his hands and placing them on the coffee table and Crowley tossing a hand-towel onto her head before slinking off again. "If you'll just follow me to the telephone, dear..."
Mr. Fell had a single landline phone from 1915, apparently, and he pulled the circular dial with practiced ease before launching into polite talk with the cab company. He rattled off the store address and listened briefly before placing his hand over the speaker. "Where will you be going?" He mouthed, and Everett recited her apartment address while she roughly dried her hair. "10 minutes, is that right? Perfect! Thank you so much, drive safely." He hung up the phone with a satisfying clunk and turned back to his unexpected guest.
"You like tea, correct?"
Silly question. Say yes anyway.
"Yes."
"Perfect!" said Mr. Fell, seeming delighted but not surprised by the answer and the pair made their way back to the sitting area, where Mr. Fell settled into a plush chair in a corner beside a gramophone, sipping from his mug and giving a sigh of satisfaction. Everett tried hers as well and was pleased to discover a sweet, subtle lavender flavour, already the perfect temperature for drinking.
"Do the clothes suit you?" Said Mr. Fell after a minute or two.
Amazing. Excellent. Good feeling. Say thank you.
"It's a good shirt. Fits... perfectly."
Did not say thank you.
Her mouth was dry and her hand trailed up over the line of buttons and to her throat where the collar sat snugly, but not restrictively against her skin, and she pet the fabric in absentminded bliss.
"Here, if you'll allow me..." Mr. Fell suddenly stood up and walked towards her, grabbing one side of her collar gently in his soft hands. Everett was briefly concerned until he drew back with another of his signature beaming smiles. Her hand flicked to where he had touched and she felt the metal of her rainbow pin. When did he find that? "Now the ensemble is complete, I would say."
Everett stared, as she was wont to do; some would say to an unsettling degree. Mr. Fell didn't seem to mind.
"I'm not a very good conversationalist." She told him, breaking the stare in favour of reaching for her mug.
"Then you needn't say anything. Just enjoy your tea and try to warm up."
Only a few minutes later, Crowley wandered back into the room from wherever he had disappeared to. "Cab's here," he announced, and Everett opened her mouth to ask how he could be sure before a horn honked loudly from outside.
"I do believe that's for you." Mr. Fell looked pleased, and he quickly went to meet the waiting driver. Everett bundled up her things and followed him out in time to see him pass several folded bills over to the cabby. He gave a small wave as Everett walked up.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Everett. Terribly sorry about the circumstances though."
"That's fine. I'll bring your shirt and stuff back tomorrow-"
"I wouldn't hear of it. Come back if you so desire, but the shirt is yours. I don't need it anyway."
Say thank you.
"Thank you."
Nailed it.
Mr. Fell stepped back and opened the back door, offering an arm that Everett ignored but still appreciated the thought of nonetheless.
"You're brave, dear girl." Mr. Fell's voice came softly as she stepped a foot into the car.
"... hm?" Everett stopped mid-step and blinked up at him.
"Very brave, and don't forget that just because of a little wind and rain. If you want to know where to go in Soho, don't hesitate to ask." He winked, and Everett felt an inexplicable sureness fall over her.
I was brave.
It was all she could think as she slid into the back seat of the cab. She was brave.
And then she was carried off into the dark evening storm, feeling as warm as if the shirt were a reassuring hug around her. It was a successful outing after all.