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Crowley recognised the cloak as soon as he saw it. It was grey, dappled, and silky-soft looking, folded neatly with a large pebble holding it down to keep it from being blown away by the sea breezes. Despite his earlier misgivings, Crowley had to admit that it appeared the rumours were true.
After casting about a furtive glance for anyone who might be watching, Crowley snatched up the cloak and stuffed it under his shirt. It was warm against his skin and even softer than it had looked. He hurried home with it pressed against his skin, fighting the urges to run and to glance over his shoulder too often to look casual.
No one seemed to notice him, despite his odd behaviour.
Once he was safe inside his cottage, Crowley shook out the cloak and admired it properly in the watery daylight. Upon closer inspection it was almost silver, sleek and beautifully liquid in the way it gathered and pooled in Crowley’s hands. It couldn’t be mistaken for an item of human origin. Crowley stroked it reverently and, for the first time in a while, allowed himself to feel a shiver of excitement.
For too long, his neighbours and acquaintances had been gossiping and pestering by turns, obsessed with the need to find Crowley a wife. It wasn’t right, they said, for a man to live all alone. Crowley had long since ceased to entertain the topic, refusing to speak of his personal life with even the most well-meaning busybodies. Still, in his most private moments, Crowley could admit that he was lonely.
It wasn’t that he’d set out to live a solitary life, he’d not been won over by the romanticism of the sea as a savage lover. He just hadn’t met anyone that he could imagine being in a relationship with. Fishermen’s daughters and labourers’ sisters just didn’t catch his interest.
A selkie bride, though, that would be just the thing to cure his loneliness. A wife who was bound to him, loyal and adoring, with a wild streak; that sounded far more enticing than anyone he had met.
With this in mind, Crowley carefully folded the cloak and set it in an old sea chest. He locked it securely and hung the key on a cord about his neck.
The rumours and legends had never really been clear on the next part of catching a selkie, but Crowley decided that if nothing had happened by the evening then he’d head back to the beach and look for any women searching for a lost cloak. With that settled, Crowley spent the day repairing his nets and replacing some of the floats that were breaking apart.
Just as Crowley was putting together a quick meal, he was startled by a sudden pounding at the door. The heavy banging didn’t let up during the few seconds that it took for Crowley to cross the small cottage and reach the door.
He wrenched it open, ready to face whoever was so rudely demanding his attention.
Standing on his doorstep was a plump, pink-faced vision of fury. The man was a little shorter than Crowley with silvery-blond hair that curled gently about his head. His face was twisted with rage and his hands were clenched into fists, one raised where it had been hammering the door. It dropped to his side but did not relax any of the tension it held.
Despite his best efforts, Crowley knew everyone in the village and yet this man was a stranger to him. He raised an eyebrow at the stranger, asking wordlessly for an explanation, as he slouched against the door frame.
“I believe you have something of mine,” said the angry man, “and I want it back.”
Crowley shrugged and did his best to look bored.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” he said with another shrug for good measure, “I’ve picked up all sorts as looked like it needed a home.”
Crowley hoped that this man wasn’t the original owner of his fishing boat, or his compass, or his signalling light, or his nets. Come to think of it, there was very little that Crowley had come by honestly. Even the cottage he lived in had been an empty shell when he’d found it and decided to settle down.
The man bristled, managing to look even more furious than before.
“I can assure you, sir , that my cloak did not look like it was in need of a home!”
“Wait,” said Crowley, frantically fitting together mental puzzle pieces, “ your cloak?”
“Yes, the one you stole.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be a beautiful woman?” Crowley asked before he could think better of it.
Predictably, this was the wrong thing to say. The man’s fiery rage instantly solidified into an icy calm that was far more intimidating. He smiled nastily and took a step towards Crowley, telegraphing his violent intent.
“I suggest that if you don’t like the catch, throw it back.”
Crowley blinked, wondering when he had made the decision to back away.
“I didn’t say that,” he tried, “I was just surprised.”
The man took another step forward, crossing the threshold of Crowley’s home.
“My cloak, if you please.” It did not sound like a request.
Crowley’s hand rose, of its own volition, to the cord about his neck. Just as he was about to pull the key from under his shirt, a thought occurred to him.
“What if I don’t return it to you? You can’t do anything to me while I have it, can you?”
As far as picking the wrong thing to say, Crowley was scoring a perfect game. The man had to visibly wrestle himself under control before answering.
“Not directly, no,” he answered, his eyes narrowed in obvious disgust.
“So,” said Crowley, barrelling onward with no sense of self-preservation, “what would you do if I keep it?”
“You would find it very difficult to get rid of me,” said the man, clearly trying to make it sound like a serious threat.
Crowley gave him a slow once over, making sure to linger on the man’s hips and broad shoulders. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip before responding.
“I’m not sure that’s quite the threat you think it is,” Crowley said, slouching further and jutting out his hip, refusing to be intimidated in his own home, “I just want to make it clear that I’m doing this because I want to, not because of any threat you’ve made.”
The man looked fit to explode with rage as Crowley turned to walk the few paces to his chest. He unlocked it with the key around his neck and lifted the lid slowly, revealing the cloak. Carrying it respectfully, Crowley returned it to the arms of the angry man standing just inside his house.
“There you go, no hard feelings, eh?”
The man clutched the cloak to his chest and looked at Crowley with naked disdain.
“I suppose you think I should say thank you?” he spat.
Crowley dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.
“Not really, this just seems the right thing to do, is all. Not really how I thought this would happen.” Crowley paused and gave the man a measured look. “Might be good to know your name, though.”
The man’s indignation seemed to flow out of him as he was denied even a scrap of the fight he so obviously expected.
“Aziraphale,” he said.
Crowley nodded, tucking the name into his memory.
“Good to know you, Aziraphale. I’m Crowley.”
The pleasantry seemed to offend Aziraphale further and he spat on the floor at Crowley’s feet, glared at him for a moment, and stomped away.
The whole interaction had been so bizarre that Crowley felt unable to do anything but laugh and wave at Aziraphale’s retreating back. At least now he knew that there were selkies in the area. The idea of forcing one to be his bride no longer held any appeal, but it couldn’t hurt to at least manufacture chances to meet them, surely. He’d have better luck next time.
~~~
Crowley spent the next few days fishing and selling his catches at the market in town. He barely had time to think about selkies, cloaks, or adorably angry men with soft-looking hands. He finally allowed himself a day of rest and spent some time cleaning his cottage. By mid-afternoon, he found himself craving some fresh air and open sky, so he took himself on a walk.
Without meaning to, Crowley made his way back to the spot where he’d found Aziraphale’s cloak. He wasn’t even looking for a cloak today, but he spotted it all the same. Deciding that he shouldn’t ignore such a gift, Crowley picked it up and hurried back home,
He had no idea if it was the same cloak or not. It certainly looked similar when he admired it in the late afternoon sunlight, but maybe all selkie cloaks looked the same.
This time, he hung the cloak by the door so it was ready to return as soon as its owner came calling. He had decided that he would far rather attempt to win over his selkie bride with whatever charms he might possess than force her to stay against her will.
The sun was almost set when someone started to pound on the door of Crowley’s cottage, making the wood creak in its frame. Crowley laid the cloak over one arm and moved to open the door before it could be hammered off its hinges.
“Hello, Aziraphale,” he said as soon as the door swung open.
“I suppose you think this is funny, do you?” Aziraphale demanded as he reached for his cloak. Crowley offered his arm forward to show that he was making no attempt to keep the sealskin.
“You have to admit that it is a little funny,” he said, grinning.
He wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t holding anything over Aziraphale; that, other than making him come to the door, Crowley would do nothing to force Aziraphale to be anywhere he didn’t want to be. Now that Aziraphale had turned up twice, Crowley thought he might as well try to make a friend. He was so very lonely here, at what seemed to be the end of the world.
“I was just about to start making some supper, if you wanted to join me,” Crowley offered, his hands making a gesture of peace. He felt faintly ridiculous as Aziraphale looked just as wild and angry as he had at their first meeting.
Aziraphale lifted his chin imperiously, managing to look down on Crowley from several inches below him.
“I should think not,” he snapped before turning on his heel and leaving Crowley to shrug and return inside.
“Well,” Crowley said to himself as he closed his door, “that went down like a lead balloon.”
~~~
The next time that Crowley saw the cloak, it was tucked inside a small sea cave. He had ducked inside to avoid a passing rain shower and found it completely by accident.
Carefully folded as always, the cloak was sitting on top of a large rock above the high water mark so it was protected from any seawater that might enter the cave mouth. Crowley found himself torn on whether to take the sealskin when he left the cave. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to achieve by winding up Aziraphale, but he was oddly reluctant to pass up a chance to see him again. While the rain lashed down outside, Crowley argued the various points with himself.
Ultimately, though, the decision was made for him when Aziraphale returned before the rain had lessened.
“You again!” Aziraphale said, grabbing up his cloak as if he feared Crowley getting to it first, “Is this a game to you?”
Crowley held up his hands in a show of innocence.
“Total coincidence,” he protested, “I only nipped in to avoid the worst of the rain.” He peered out of the cave mouth to illustrate his point as though Aziraphale wasn’t soaked to the skin himself.
Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously, clutching his cloak tightly to his chest.
“It seems awfully convenient,” he said with a cold edge that made Crowley shiver.
“Yes, I love being trapped in damp caves with angry selkies. This is a dream come true.” Crowley made no effort to disguise the sarcasm in his tone, too cold and uncomfortable to care.
Surprisingly, Aziraphale softened at this. His face lost its angry expression and he seemed almost regretful.
“Well, when you put it that way,” he started, fidgeting with the edge of his sealskin, “you must see how it looked, though.”
Crowley tried to look understanding, his own sharpness being tempered by Aziraphale’s apparent remorse.
“No harm done, yeah?” Crowley said before deciding to push his luck, “Look, why don’t you come back to mine for a drink, let me make up for before? Start afresh?”
The offer clearly confused Aziraphale and Crowley delighted in the range of naked emotion readable on his face. Aziraphale was so expressive, it was a joy to watch him sort through his reactions. He settled on a mild frown that said ‘I don’t think I should’ rather than ‘I don’t want to’. He had definitely considered accepting before shaking his head which was more than Crowley had honestly hoped for.
“Better not.”
Crowley watched him walk out of the cave into the pelting rain, glancing back only once. Aziraphale drew the cloak over his shoulders and appeared to drop to his belly. He pushed at the ground and slid towards the water fairly gracefully, completely indistinguishable from any other seal that Crowley had ever seen. He kept watching long after Aziraphale had disappeared into the rain-beaten waves, aware that he had witnessed something that few souls ever would.
~~~
Crowley didn’t find the sealskin cloak again for over a week. In fact, it may be more accurate to say that the cloak found him, with a seal inside it.
He was attempting to haul in his nets, fighting a growing squall, and cursing his inability to retain a crew or mate, when a sleek, silvery head popped up beside the boat. Despite the rolling waves, the seal seemed quite still and, for a moment, it simply watched Crowley with inky black eyes.
“Hello,” said the seal.
“Fuck!” said Crowley, almost dropping his line.
The seal laughed, a harsh honking noise that did nothing to settle Crowley’s nerves.
“Looks like you could use a hand, there,” the seal said before swimming around the boat and out of sight.
Crowley could only shake his head and mutter under his breath about bloody weird sealife before refocusing his energies on fighting the elements. He really couldn’t afford to lose another net this year, and he was relying on the profits from this catch to fix the new leak in his roof. Bracing one foot against the gunwale, Crowley threw his weight into hauling the rope.
The wood creaked, the boat rocked, and the rope moved an inch. With a burning ache in his shoulders, Crowley pushed up with his legs and, suddenly, the world gave way. The net surged up out of the sea, almost jamming in the pulley on the swinging davit, and Crowley fell backwards onto the deck with a wet smack.
Standing above him, with rope coiled around his forearms, was Aziraphale. Aziraphale who was now holding the entire weight of the catch and tugging the davit over so he could release the net. As soon as Crowley’s senses returned to him, he jumped to his feet and began helping, heaving the bulging net over to the hatch and signalling for Aziraphale to release.
A glistening mound of fish slithered into the hold, shining like polished silver, and, for just a moment, Crowley forgot about the state of the sea and the perils of the return journey in favour of the satisfaction of a successful catch. The boat yawed violently and Crowley had to catch hold of the mast to keep himself from being thrown overboard. He glanced up, worried for Aziraphale, only to see him braced against the cockpit railing and laughing joyously.
Crowley lurched over to him and ducked down into the cockpit, signalling for Aziraphale to follow.
“Thanks for the help,” Crowley said once they were sheltered from the worst of the wind, “can I drop you anywhere?”
Aziraphale grinned, his cheeks wind reddened and his hair stiff with salt.
“No need, but I’ll stay with you until the harbour wall, just to see you safely inside.”
Crowley didn’t know what to do with that answer. No one had looked out for him in decades, he was used to managing on his own. And, yes, sometimes he was overconfident in his ability to handle things, but he’d always figured that it was his fate to push his luck a step too far one day and pay the price. He gave Aziraphale a nod and a tight smile before pushing himself back up into the elements to make ready for the journey home.
To his surprise, Aziraphale followed and helped. He appeared to know his way around the vessel and worked extremely well in tandem with Crowley. Each time that Crowley drew breath to bellow an instruction across the deck, Aziraphale stepped to it before the words were formed. It was unlike anything Crowley had experienced with another person.
With the sails shortened and trimmed, the boat began to head back towards the safety of the harbour. Not half an hour later, the squall passed and Crowley cast a weather eye over the horizon.
“Reckon we can let out the sails now,” he said, mostly to himself.
He went to fix the tiller to keep their course when Aziraphale stilled him with a hand on his arm.
“I’ll get it, you stay here.” He climbed out of the sheltered cockpit and made for the mast.
Crowley noted the sealskin tucked into his belt and felt a wave of relief. If Aziraphale were to be knocked into the water, he’d be in no danger at all.
With the full sails set and the wind no longer fighting them, the little fishing boat made much better progress towards home. The sun even broke out between the clouds and began to dry Crowley’s drenched clothes.
The long shadows of the harbour walls were almost upon them when Aziraphale stood again and stretched his arms up.
“This is where I leave you,” he said, cracking his neck audibly, “I assume you can moor this thing alone?”
Despite the obvious debt of gratitude that Crowley owed, he bristled at the implication.
“I can assure you that the Bentley and I have been through worse before.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Aziraphale said mildly, “just probably without a successful catch in the hold at the end of it?”
He had Crowley there, that was true. Crowley acknowledged the point with a slight incline of his head. Aziraphale barked a laugh at that.
“You should try being less stubborn,” he said, pulling his cloak free of his belt, “and toss me two big mackerel in a minute?”
Crowley nodded, dumbfounded that the price might be so low.
“Is that in addition to your cut of the profit?” he asked, needing to be sure.
Aziraphale shook his head.
“What need do I have of money? No, this has been payment enough.” With that, he leapt from the side of the boat, wrapping his cloak about him as he went.
By the time his nose touched the water, he was completely transformed. A moment after he disappeared below the surface, his silvery head bobbed back up and Crowley had to scramble down the length of the boat to access the fish hold. He pulled out two beautiful mackerel and tossed them, one at a time, into Aziraphale’s waiting mouth.
“Thanks!” Aziraphale said and he was gone again, just a pale streak racing under the surface.
After that, Crowley began seeing the cloak almost every time he went to the beach. It would be draped over a rock to dry in the sun, or hanging from exposed tree roots in the cliff face, tempting and testing him. Crowley felt like he’d learnt his lesson, though. Clearly, Aziraphale did not like having his cloak taken and was well able to find Crowley should he wish to develop a friendship. Crowley had made offers of hospitality and been twice rebuked. He would let Aziraphale set their course from here.
Whenever Crowley was upon the water, he kept a lookout for seals. Each grey head he encountered was greeted with neighbourly courtesy, and any seals hanging about after he hauled in the catch could count on a fish or two to be thrown over the side.
The result was that the local seal population began to follow his boat from the harbour to the fishing grounds, recognising Crowley and fancying a free meal. Except, and Crowley wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone in town, he was certain that the seals were helping him. His catches grew in volume and quality, with more expensive fish finding their way into his nets. Eventually, he had to start dealing with the man who took fish to the market in the city. Crowley’s fortunes improved significantly, but he did not see Aziraphale.
The cloak seemed to haunt him, appearing further and further from the beach until Crowley was seeing it daily. He dare not take it and risk angering Aziraphale, but he wondered at the reasoning behind leaving the cloak so exposed and visible. More than once, he let his fingers caress the soft folds as he thought fondly of the selkie who wore it.
One day, before dawn, with a light wind and calm sea, Crowley sailed out of the harbour and towards his usual fishing grounds. There was a smudge of light on the horizon and a blanket of stars above him, putting Crowley in a fine mood. He was barely past the harbour wall when the first silvery back broke the water beside him, racing just ahead of midships.
“Good morning,” Crowley said with a nod, “glad to see I’m not the only one awake at this ungodly hour.”
Two more seals arrived shortly after and Crowley greeted them each in turn, pleased with his companions. He watched their sleek bodies as much as he was able, admiring their ease in the water, until it was time to shorten the sails and pick a spot to cast out.
As the boat slowed and Crowley let his instinct take over, three whiskered faces popped out of the water and began barking insistently.
“Hush! You’re so loud! You’ll scare the fish!” Crowley scolded.
The seals did not cease their harsh, honking cry.
“What? What do you want?” he asked, struggling to keep the boat steady.
The seals moved in unison, swimming a short distance ahead and then barking once more.
“I swear this had better not be a joke,” Crowley muttered to himself as he prepared to follow the seals, setting his sails once more.
The three swam ahead, far enough that he could see the direction they took when their bodies broke the surface and reflected the waning starlight. They led him to a sandy cove, inaccessible from land on account of the towering cliffs. A number of seals were gathered on the beach but, even at a distance, Crowley could see that something was wrong.
Beaching the boat, Crowley leapt down into knee deep water and waded ashore, watching the way that the gathered seals gave him room. Before that moment, Crowley hadn’t thought seals capable of crying but that was the only word for the sound coming from the two seals at the centre of the group, a mother and her pup if Crowley was any judge.
The pup was tangled in fishing net with a loop around its neck. It looked as though the attempts to free it had only tightened the net, acting like a snare.
Crowley drew the knife at his hip and knelt by the pup, watching the mother carefully. She bared her teeth at the knife on instinct and then lowered her head, letting Crowley work without challenge. He cut the net away in sections, feeling for injuries and stray fibres as he went. The pup stayed as still as it could, merely whimpering to its mother. Crowley had never seen trust like it, certainly not directed at him.
Finally, the pup was free, and Crowley slid his knife back into its sheath. He gathered up the scraps of net, refusing to leave them where they might do further harm.
“Why did Aziraphale not help you?” he asked whilst accepting the grateful headbutts of mother and pup, “Where is he that you needed to wait for me?”
Crowley didn’t expect an answer and certainly not in the form that it arrived. A commotion at the shore had him looking up as a seal bounded out of the water and flung off its skin, leaving Aziraphale marching up the sand and looking frantic.
“Crowley?!” Aziraphale sounded both relieved and furious at once. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping, I think,” Crowley said, sitting back on his heels and gesturing at the seal pup.
Aziraphale dropped onto the sand beside him and began speaking to the pup in a low voice, other seals appeared to join the conversation but none of it was intelligible to Crowley. At least Aziraphale wasn’t barking or honking with them.
Holding up one hand, Aziraphale silenced the group. He turned to Crowley with a grave expression clearly visible in the early morning light.
“I owe you an apology. It seems that, when they couldn’t find me, the seals decided to seek your help,” Aziraphale said, “they appear to trust you. I am glad they do, for you surely saved this pup’s life.” Crowley ducked his head as if he could avoid the praise. “Whatever you did to earn their trust, I know you to be a good man,” finished Aziraphale, rising from his crouch.
“I just fed them the odd fish,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his neck and getting to his own feet.
A seal barked and a few others chittered.
“You talk to them?” Aziraphale said, looking wryly amused, “I do hope you haven’t been under the misapprehension that every seal you see is me?”
“No!” Crowley spluttered, “I can tell a lot of them apart now, I just figured that it was worth my while being polite. The seals have made for good friends these past weeks.”
Aziraphale hummed, a small smile playing at his lips. The moment seemed to have a weight to it, leaving Crowley feeling as though something was expected of him.
A seal nudged the back of his knee, forcing him to take a stumbling step forward. Aziraphale caught his arms, holding him up, as their eyes met once more.
“You stopped taking my cloak,” Aziraphale said, not dropping his hands from Crowley’s biceps.
“Well, yeah, you didn’t exactly seem to like me taking it.”
Somewhere to his left, Crowley heard a seal groaning. It sounded very much like ‘I told you so’ but he couldn’t work out the context.
“You are obscenely stubborn, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, although Crowley didn’t feel as though he was being chided, “You always do the opposite of what I expect.”
Crowley shrugged, careful not to dislodge the warm hands still holding him.
“That’s me, always the disappointment.”
Aziraphale frowned and Crowley hated himself for making it happen. He was made for smiles and sunshine, not whatever emotion Crowley managed to instil in him.
“That’s really not what I meant,” Aziraphale said.
The upper limb of the sun chose that moment to break over the clifftops, illuminating Aziraphale’s silver hair into a soft, golden halo. A noise of awestruck appreciation lodged itself in Crowley’s throat at the sight.
Partially blinded by the light, he missed the subtle movement of Aziraphale’s body as he shifted closer. Only the touch of cold, metal buttons through the thin material of Crowley’s shirt alerted him to their new proximity.
“I wanted you to take it,” Aziraphale said, little more than a whisper, “I thought I was being very obvious. Short of leaving it on your gatepost, I don’t know what more I could have done to show you.”
Before Crowley could protest that a simple conversation would have worked far more effectively, Aziraphale’s lips were against his, and strong arms wrapped around his waist. The shock passed in less than a second and then he was kissing back, gripping just as tightly.
The cacophony of seal celebration could be heard all the way back in the harbour.