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Crowley stormed out of the bookshop with tendrils of smoke trailing behind him. As much as he loved his angel, Aziraphale could be hellishly infuriating. He’d gone and done it again: chose to appease Heaven, and keep Crowley at arm’s length. Crowley can't stand all this vague diplomacy. Armageddon would be preferable to never knowing if this was the time that Aziraphale would abandon him.
It was just for a few days of meetings, he said. Don’t worry, he said. Right. He knew Aziraphale didn't intend to leave him, but he doesn't trust Heaven. After last year’s debacle Aziraphale had negotiated an imperfect agreement, which allowed him to live at the bookshop and go upstairs for days, weeks at a time to work on the Second Coming. Or hopefully, the thwarting thereof. Since Crowley wasn't involved with the leadership downstairs, he was out of the loop this time. Which was the way he wanted it. But he hated it when his angel went away.
He fired up the Bentley. The low growl of that old engine vibrated in his bones. People stopped in their tracks - she never failed to turn heads. He smiled. Well, that throaty old V10 sounded like nothing else. Those new electric cars are much more dangerous, he mused, so quiet you never hear them coming.
He heard a strange squeaking sound, however, among the rumbles and whirs of the familiar machinery. Something was definitely out of place — he knew that engine like his own heartbeat. Crowley tilted his head and listened closely, then opened the door to investigate. He was startled by a pale visage and sharp rap on the window.
“Oi!” he shouted, pushing Aziraphale away with a shove of the heavy black door. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He found it difficult to maintain his scowl. His angel was flushed pink, and pouting, looking flustered. Crowley is as always captivated by Aziraphale’s lush mouth and upturned nose, his halo of white blond curls.
“Crowley! STOP!” The angel sputtered, flustered and inarticulate. “There’s something, someone, inside your engine!”
Crowley fixated on his mouth. Stop staring, you imbecile. His inner voice is anything but forgiving. You’re still angry, remember?
He climbed out of the car, long limbs unfurling as he stood to his full height. He sneered in an attempt to look intimidating. Aziraphale backed up hurriedly, nearly tipping into a flower box. Crowley smirked.
“What are you on about, angel?”
Aziraphale swallowed, blinking his pale blue eyes. He gathered himself up, adjusted his waistcoat, and gestured toward the Bentley's bonnet.
“You can’t just drive off. There’s some kind of creature inside your car!”
“Mind your own business, angel. What the fuck does a 19th century bookseller know about fine automobiles?” He brushed past him, ignoring the soft scent rising as his knuckles brushed the worn velvet waistcoat. His hands twitched with desire to grab said waistcoat and snog him. Now is not the time, he thought, and doubled down on his scowl. He sauntered over to the bonnet of his gleaming car, listening as he reached for the latch to the engine cover. There was indeed a quiet mewling noise coming from inside.
Hoisting the engine cover he peered into the gloom, admiring the gleaming exhaust manifolds and dark iron engine block as if he really understood internal combustion engines. Aziraphale peered over his shoulder, leaning against his slim black form. Crowley coughed.
“It’s back there.” Aziraphale pointed under the engine block into a tangle of tubes and wires.
Crowley clicked his fingers and summoned a penlight, pointing it into the gloom. Two green and glowing eyes greeted him. “Fuck me,” he muttered.
Aziraphale flushes. “Language, Crowley!” He recovered his stern demeanor. “You have to get him out of there before he gets hurt!” So Crowley reached down toward the tiny eyes… and pulled back so suddenly he nearly knocked the angel into the flowerbed again. “What in blazes?!” He held out his scratched and bleeding hand.
“Oh, my dear, let me,” tutted Aziraphale. Crowley thought he was about to minister to his injured hand. But instead he shoved Crowley out of the way and bent over the engine compartment. Crowley stared at his plush backside in astonishment as the angel murmured soothingly to the tiny beast hiding below.
“There, there my dear, it's all going to be okay, you just need to allow me to help you come out of there. You cannot stay there, little one, it's too dangerous.”
Crowley wanted to vaporize the thing right now but suspected that would go over like a lead balloon. He was still furious with Aziraphale, but was loath to upset him.
Aziraphale stood up, looking baffled by his bloodied fingers. Crowley stifled a snort of laughter. Not very well, because the angel spun and shot him a scathing look.
“What is it, Crowley? That old heap won't start?” Mr. Brown asked in a supercilious tone. Then Muriel arrived, breathlessly informing Aziraphale he had an urgent call from Upstairs. Crowley was astonished when the angel scowled and told them, firmly “Not Now, Muriel!”
Maggie joined the crowd and asked what was going on. Several onlookers chimed in with their opinion, and Muriel, having assessed the scene announced “there’s a small demon lodged inside Mr. Crowley’s car.” And everyone began to talk at once.
“THAT is ENOUGH!” shouted Aziraphale. “One at a time, please! Now, who here has experience with small animals?”
Crowley smirked. “You do, angel. Harry the rabbit? The dove?” And Aziraphale gave him a smouldering look. You know full well that was an enchantment, he does not say in front of so many mortals.
Mrs. Sandwich stepped forward. “I have cats.” She said matter of factly. “That’s just a kitten.”
Crowley and Aziraphale both stared at her, and Crowley sputtered. “No way is that hell beast a little kitten! It gouged me with fangs and claws!
Maggie exchanged a look with Nina and nodded. “Yup, kitten.” They both smiled, a little sweet, a little smug. They're holding hands,Crowley noted.
“Get some tuna,” suggested Maggie.
“Got any gloves?” Asks Mutt.
“I’ll just scare it out of there with my umbrella,” suggests Mr. Brown.
“NO!” Mrs Sandwich shouted. “Back off, all of you heathens! It’s scared to death and none of you are helping.” She made shooing motions and everybody backed up a step. She swished at them dramatically. “Get lost!” she insisted, then grabbed Nina’s sleeve. “Not you two.”
Crowley pressed on his forehead, fending off a headache. Aziraphale wrung his hands in distress. The three women put their heads together, then Nina and Maggie trotted off to the cafe.
“Now here’s what we’re going to do.” Mrs Sandwich spoke firmly to the two celestials, describing the plan of action.
Soon Nina and Maggie returned with leather gloves, an oven mitt, a soft towel and a bowl of cream.
“You, skinny one,” Sandwich pointed at Crowley, eyeing his tight leather pants for good measure. “Get under the car.”
He rolled his eyes and began to protest, but the scathing look from Aziraphale shut his mouth before any words emerged.
“You,” she points at Nina. “You’ve got small hands and long sleeves. Gloves on and get ready to grab this thing by the scruff.”
“Crowley, put the mitt on and gently push from below. See if you can scare it into coming up higher.”
The demon slithered under the car, begrudgingly admitting this was actually a good job for him, and snaked his hand between the exhaust pipes and wires to prod the lump of black fur he saw protruding there.
A whiny growl began emitting from the car.
“There, there, little darling, you’re going to be alright, just you wait and see.” Maggie spoke in soothing tones.
Aziraphale stood by anxiously holding the bowl of cream.
Nina muttered softly “come on out you little fucker,” and grabbed the tiny creature by the scruff, pulling gently but firmly. The beast began to howl. Crowley pushed from below, the kitten latched its claws and teeth onto Nina’s hand and she pulled it free. Mrs Sandwich dove in and wrapped the furious kitten in the towel.
“Gotcha!”
Crowley slithered out from under the car, dusting off his jeans then setting his clothing aright with a snap of his fingers. Aziraphale scowled.
”What?” Crowley murmured. “No one noticed.” Aziraphale nodded in the direction of Maggie, staring at them. Crowley began a wave of his hand as if to delete her memory and Aziraphale grabbed his sleeve and yanked. At which point the demon stared at him, mouth falling open.
Any physical contact with his angel was likely to have this effect. Crowley didn’t hear any of the details of the conversation swirling around them as time slowed down. He stared at the soft hand clutching his dark sleeve. He felt the warmth of the angel’s fingers through the fabric. He detected blood flow increasing to various places around his human corporation. His fingers itched to grab both lapels of Aziraphale’s coat and…
”Crowley! Are you listening?” Aziraphale’s face was Right There. He could just kiss him. Just like that. The demon’s eyes were glazed over with fascination. Aziraphale’s tone changed to one of concern, and he peered closer. “Are you alright, dear?” This didn’t improve the situation. That nose was barely an inch away from his lips…
Crowley found himself being bundled along, held firmly at the elbow by a determined angel who hustled him toward the bookshop. Muriel trailed behind, clutching the swaddled kitten, as Mrs. Sandwich lectured them on proper kitten care. Maggie and Nina arrived with boxes of supplies. They all shuffled into the shop’s back room. Aziraphale discreetely boosted the fire and set Crowley down on his usual spot on the sofa.
===
Why were all these humans in here, he wondered. Aziraphale presented him with a glass of whisky, clearly concerned. Then patted his hand and returned to the larger conversation.
“I’m not sure what’s gotten into him, but he’s had a shock. He loves that car, you know,” the angel chattered away and Crowley closed his eyes.
After a while when it was dark, and blessedly quiet, Crowley opened his eyes. Aziraphale was in his chair, glowing in a pool of warm lamp light, reading a small leather bound volume.
“Oh, there you are,” he smiled with kind concern. “Are you alright, my dear?”
“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley muttered dismissively. “I just had a bit of a headache or something.” Too many people talking at once, he thought better of saying. “Everything all sorted now?” He asked politely, smiling softly at his angel.
“Oh, yes, dear. Our little fluff demon is sound asleep.”
Crowley sat bolt upright and looked around suspiciously. “Our what?” he growled.
Aziraphale stood up and strode toward the fire and picked something up from a basket that Crowley had not seen before. He deposited the bundle in Crowley’s lap.
He wanted to leap up and fling the thing across the room. Fury erupted in his veins and only his desire not to upset Aziraphale kept him from doing so. He stared helplessly at the tiny black creature nestled in a lavender baby blanket. “Wot?” He was once again, beyond words.
The wee thing opened its eyes and stared up at him, then stretched out tiny forelegs, wobbling to its feet. Not finding much purchase, nor strength, it plopped back down with a little huff and sat staring at him, golden eyes ringed with a mane of black.
“What shall we name him?”
“Oh “we” are not keeping this thing, angel. You are not keeping this thing! Are you mad?” Crowley was horrified, and gesticulated wildly.
“Stop that , you’re scaring him!”
Crowley lowered his hands to either side of his lap, staring at the tiny monster. It was now pressing into him with alternating paws, looking adoringly into his eyes.
“Look, his eyes are the same color as yours!” Aziraphale sounded delighted.
“What in blazes is it doing, Angel?” He tried to keep the alarm out of his voice. This can't be happening. He cannot have something, anything, taking Aziraphale’s attention away from him.
“It’s self-soothing behavior, I believe, dear,” said the angel. “Replicates the movements of nursing. Maybe he’s hungry. Here, why don't you try feeding him?”
Aziraphale held out a tiny bottle and Crowley, surrendering in defeat, took it gently from his hand. Not without allowing his fingers to linger, grazing against the angel's soft warm hand. Their eyes met. Crowley swallowed, holding his breath. I’m caught in the act, he thought, refusing to look away.
After another heartbeat he took the bottle and then looked back at Aziraphale helplessly. “What do I do?”
“Well, it's like any kind of infant, Crowley. You hold them safely and let them suckle.”
Aziraphale picked up the kitten and placed him in Crowley’s left hand. Crowley cradled the tiny creature against his body and offered the bottle. And at once Crowley remembered infant Adam, nestled in his nanny’s arms. He watched as the tiny fiend grasped at the nipple with both paws and suckled fiercely.
Something shifted inside and Crowley felt like he was falling, not in terror or panic, but into softness. He could feel the kitten slurping down the formula, and he curled his arm to make a more secure perch. He watched the tiny paws extend and retract their claws, clutching the bottle for dear life.
“What a blessing,” Aziraphale said. He was seated primly on the edge of the sofa, right beside Crowley, their thighs touching. “Such a fragile thing, imagine if you’d driven off and not found him. Thank Someone you heard him!”
Crowley wasn't going to correct the angel, and he suspected that Aziraphale knew full well that he hadn’t been the one to first hear the little cry. He sighed, and settled deeper into the couch, allowing himself to lean into Aziraphale’s warmth where their thighs met.
Aziraphale leant closer, now hip and upper arm were pressed against him, and Crowley began to see the potential benefit of this situation. Yes, that would do nicely, he thought, pretending to be cold and calculating. I will make the most of this.
Said angel smiled warmly to himself, making a little hum.
“Time for a nap now, I think,” he said softly, and took first the bottle, then the bundled kitten from Crowley’s arms.
He watched the angel nestle the soft blanket and its fuzzy black cargo into the wicker basket near the fire, and he felt like his heart was leaking all over. His eyes were brimming, he was drowning in affection. He felt a sob rising in his throat and made a small attempt to fend it off, and then sighed, as one tear trailed down his cheek. He bowed his head and put his glasses on quietly, and rose without making a sound.
Aziraphale straightened up and smiled at him with a look that completed the surrender process. The angel held a finger to his lips and took his demon by the sleeve, leading him soundlessly out of the back room into the dark hush of the bookstore. He pulled the door nearly closed after them.
Crowley shuffled himself back into his functional body, adjusting his waistcoat and glasses. “I’ll just be going, then, angel, let you two get some rest.” His voice was quiet and a bit sad.
He gazed into Aziraphale’s face, that luminous visage he loved beyond all reason, and drank in the sweetness there. He loves me, Crowley thought, helplessly. He really does. Just not that way. And he turned toward the atrium and the pair of front doors.
“Wait.” The angel said. “Please…”
And Crowley was frozen in place, like he should not under any circumstances turn around, that Aziraphale would see his whole bleeding heart and overwhelming desire all written on his damnable face, and he turned, because he couldn’t not, after all. Aziraphale was his magnetic north, and he would always turn toward him.
And in that moment it dawned on Crowley, and Aziraphale too, from the look on his face, that this was the very spot they had their devastating first kiss nearly a year ago, before the angel got Heaven sorted out, before he came home, before he asked Crowley to come back, to be his friend, and companion. As if they could return to the way it was before that terrible, vivid, unchangeable moment when Crowley begged him with heart and soul, and was sent away.
The quiet bookstore filled with the soft sounds of traffic going by in the night, with the ticking clock and swoosh of its pendulum, with the hum of a ceiling fan somewhere, and faint sound of sirens some ways away. And they looked. Not stared - staring implies a frozen breathless moment. This was a long and loving gaze, open and grieving and longing and all of it. Crowley studied his beloved’s face, remembering that moment in time, praying this would not end up the same.
Crowley felt his power rising up from the earth, not a hellish magic, but strength and power streaming up from the planet into his bones, and he supposed later that was where the courage came from to step forward, to place a long-fingered hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, to cup the angels face with his other hand and move in for a kiss.
Aziraphale met him there, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in, unequivocally this time, strong and certain. “Yesss” he murmured as their lips hovered, brushing each other. And they moved together, then, pressing together so fiercely that they stumbled, teetering until Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s massive desk to steady them.
To his astonishment the angel let go of him long enough to sweep every loose thing on the desk off onto the floor with a whoosh and a clatter as paper and books and tools and statuary, and whatever else all made their way to the floor. Crowley felt two broad hands seize him by the hips and hoist him onto the desk. He felt his breath leave him. Those hands then tenderly slipped off his dark glasses and placed them with care on the windowsill. The angel caressed his face, smiling with an expression he’d never before seen, so infinitely tender and adoring he felt himself going boneless with wonder, gazing into the infinity of stars in his angel’s gaze.
Aziraphale moved forward, shoving Crowley’s thighs apart, and pressed against him, touching foreheads. Crowley struggled to find his breath again. Didn't need to breathe, not really, but all these eons among humans made it a habit. His eyes drifted closed and he focused on the heat at their point of contact, at the soft warmth of their breath brushing each other's features. He leaned in further and tilted his head just enough to slot their mouths together, as if drinking from a sacred well.
How extraordinary, he thought. He had been here in daydreams so many times. This was nothing like that. His oh so human corporation apparently knew exactly what to do. Their lips moved and tongues explored the wet softness of each other. Crowley wrapped his long legs around Aziraphale to pull him closer. His hands were filled with soft angel hair, then he stroked down Aziraphale’s broad back, squeezing him close.
“You really are a serpent, aren’t you, darling?” The angel murmured in his ear. He wiggled in faux distress, clearly not wanting to escape. The muscles in Crowley’s arms and thighs were electric, his hands felt like they were glowing every place they touched.
“I can't get enough of you,” he said in a low growling purr. Aziraphale shivered at the soft touch of lips on the shell of his ear. His hands found the bottom hem of the velvet waistcoat and wormed their way under to grasp the pale blue dress shirt beneath. He gripped, pulled free the shirt tail, and slithered his hands up the angel’s plush, warm back.
“Oh, Crowley,” that voice just melted all of Crowley's wiring. The sensation vibrated all the strings, sending sparks of joy shooting skyward as he enveloped his angel in strong wiry arms. Aziraphale pushed back, resisting, and Crowley panicked at the cool air rushing between them. He clutched at his arms, hanging on like a limpet. No, he begged the universe.
The Angel regarded him from this small distance, his eyes tracing every detail of Crowley’s face. His hand followed. The demon relaxed into the touch, feeling Aziraphale’s fingers stroke his cheek, trace his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked a finger inside, and smiled wickedly when Aziraphale moaned in surprise. The angel's other hand was in his hair, and oddly Crowley thought don't muss it, angel, you have no idea what it takes to get it like this, and then he laughed at himself and shook his head a bit. Aziraphale giggled and grasped a handful of infernally red hair, pulling gently. Now it was Crowley’s turn to make a sound he had never heard coming from his mouth before.
Aziraphale’s wet finger traced the length of his nose, up across first one brow, then the other. “Your eyes,” he whispered, and Crowley cringed. “…so lovely!” Astonished, Crowley fondled the velvet and gazed at that luminous face he had loved for so very long.
“Angel…” he groaned, feeling how crowded his tight trousers had become. “Can we…”
The silence was split by a sound so piercing, so alarming and so pathetic that both celestials moved their heads toward the alarming noise. “What on earth!” Aziraphale pulled his hands away and pushed Crowley’s shoulders back.
“It’s our kitten!” he exclaimed, extracting himself from Crowley’s thighs with a firm shove. No no no no no this cannot be, not now, not after all they’d been through! He groaned. “Grrrrr, Aziraphale!” he muttered and got up to follow the angel.
===
It was nearly dawn when they finished feeding and resettling the cat, and Crowley announced it was high time for a proper cup of tea. “Let’s go to Nina’s place rather than rattle around and risk disturbing that… creature.”
Aziraphale frowned, eyed the nearly closed door to the back room, and fidgeted with his waistcoat. “I am not sure we should leave her, um, them all alone.”
“Good Morning!” A bright voice rang out, startling them both. It was Muriel reporting for duty. “I know I’m early, but I just couldn't wait to see how our kitten was doing!“
“Shhhhhh” Crowley shushed her in a furious whisper. “Don't wake that thing up!”
“Oh, Mr Crowley, how nice you are here. The Supreme Arc… I mean Mr. Fell is always wishing you were.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who looked at his shoes, blushing. The demon allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Is that so, Angel?”
“You’re in charge now,” Crowley informed Muriel with a regal wave. “Angel, come with me, it's time for tea.” And he towed Aziraphale out of the bookshop and across the street.
“Well, look who didn't get much sleep.” Nina greeted them with her signature smirk.
“Shut it,” Crowley growled. “Six shots…
“Yeah I know, Mr. Six Shots of Espresso. I know what you drink. Go take a seat.”
Crowley steered his Angel to the back corner and plunked down wearily. He took his glasses off and briefly massaged the bridge of his nose.
Aziraphale reached up to touch Crowley's hair and the demon swatted his hand away. “What are you doing?” He hissed, looking around for humans.
“Your hair, darling. It's a bit mussed. I must say I do like it like that, but we're out in public, so …”
Both of Crowley's hands fly to his head and he makes a horrified expression, attempting to finger comb his red locks into some semblance of normal. Finally he huffed and muttered, “I know, frivolous miracle,” then snapped his fingers. His hair formed into a perfect wave of dark red. He pulled off his glasses again, using them for a mirror.
Aziraphale smiled at him. “Well, that's alright then.”
“What are you planning to do with that beast, Aziraphale? Have you thought this through? It’s cute now, but it will grow up to be a CAT, you know.”
“Well of course dear. Lots of bookshops have cats, don't they? I’m sure it will be fine. Oh, good, here’s our tea.” He smiled at Nina who rolled her eyes, and winked.
They argued back and forth, Crowley describing unpleasant scenarios and Aziraphale romanticizing every aspect of pet ownership, neither persuading the other. But it was apparent that the kitty was here to stay, and Crowley would just have to deal with it.
It burned him that something, even something that small, could take even a flicker of the angels’ affection away. His mood teetered from panicky to fuming and back. He sighed a lot.
“Are you feeling alright dear, I know you didn't get as much sleep as you’re accustomed to. Perhaps you should go home and take a nap?”
Crowley stared at him. Last night he was sure the angel had been about to take him to bed. For real, like a lover. Before that monster intervened. He didn't want to go home. He had no desire to go back to his cold gray Mayfair flat. Home was Aziraphale.
“Oh, I’m fine angel. So what are you going to name it?”
“Well, I was thinking about something sweet, like Grace.”
Crowley snorted his coffee. “Grace! More like Abaddon - The Destroyer of Worlds!” He grinned, hoping he looked just a tiny bit evil.
“Don't be silly, “Aziraphale scolded. How about Miracle?”
“No! More like Demigorgon!”
“Crowley, you're awful. But I realize we don't actually know their gender, do we?” Aziraphale pondered this.
Does that matter for cats? he wondered. “Wait, didn't you look?”
“Well,” the angel says sheepishly. “I did look, but I really couldn't tell.
“You’re kidding me, it can't be that difficult! Angel, you just have to get a good look at its bits!”
He heard a giggle and looked up to see Maggie, cracking up at the next table.
“You two are so sweet! But you really know nothing about cats, do you?”
They both looked at her, haplessly.
“No cat books in your bookshop?” She inquires with a kindly smirk.
Aziraphale puffs up. “I run a serious bookshop, I’ll have you know.”
“Well this explains why you have so few customers,” she quipped.
Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale shot him a look.
“Kittens can be a challenge to sex properly when they’re that small. You’ll need to get him or her to the veterinarian soon, and they’ll help with that.”
Indeed as with any new pet, there was a lot to do. Aziraphale and Maggie discussed the choice of veterinarian. Despite the six shots, Crowley began to drift off.
“I’m going to go take a nap, Angel. I’ll see you later.”
===
Maggie accompanied them to their first veterinarian visit, where they learned that their kitten was indeed female, about 4 weeks old, and likely to grow into a ‘domestic long-hair.’ She was given deworming medicine (under protest) and vaccinations (which she didn’t seem to notice), and expressed great indignation over having her temperature recorded. They dutifully made arrangements for her spay surgery, to take place in two months.
When Aziraphale had called to make the appointment he was asked for a name. “Wait one moment, please” said Aziraphale, and covered the receiver with his palm. “A name - we must choose one it seems.”
Muriel: “from a book!”
Aziraphale: “Of course!”
Maggie: “We don’t know the gender.”
Crowley: “Hellion!”
Aziraphale, rolling his eyes at Crowley. “Perhaps something from Shakespeare?”
Crowley: “Grimalkin”
Muriel: “Hamlet”
Maggie: “Peaseblossom”
Exasperated, Aziraphale returned to the call. “Their name is Ariel. That’s A-R-I-E-L. Yes, it is commonly a female name today, my dear, but in Shakespeare's play Ariel was a male spirit. So we’re good either way. Yes, see you tomorrow, thank you.”
“Ariel? Bit of a troublemaker, no?” Crowley smirked.
“Well, they are a cat,” noted Maggie. “I like it, it's cute.”
After a few days the bookshop began to settle into a new routine. Muriel took on more of the storefront duties so Aziraphale could spend more time with the kitten. Crowley eventually went off to do demon things but returned each afternoon, ostensibly to take a nap, but in fact he became a capable kitty minder.
Aziraphale was quite pleased. Relieved, actually, as he had worried Crowley would not take kindly to anyone or anything that required Aziraphale’s attention. Crowley was obviously enjoying inventing new toys for the wee cat, and clearly appreciated how much sleep the creature required. Perhaps cats were part demon, he mused.
Auntie Mags came by almost daily with some little treat or trinket for Ariel, and loved being asked to look after her.
“You and Aziraphale can go out to the Ritz, or whatever, and not have to worry about her. I mean, she is a cat, and can take care of herself for the most part, now that she’s eating solid food. But I know you want her to be looked after, and I thought…”
“Excellent idea Maggie,. Angel, let’s get dinner.” Crowley was immediately on board. He hadn’t been able to get Aziraphale all to himself for weeks.
The angel looked nervously between Maggie and Crowley, who was trying mightily not to look irritated. “Okay, I think we can arrange that. Thank you my dear,” and he followed Maggie into the back room going over instructions in great detail.
Maggie threw a smile over her shoulder and winked at Crowley, who made inarticulate grumbles and paced.
Dinner was lovely. The angel checked his watch a bit too often at first, but soon relaxed as course after course of delicacies and wine pairings appeared before him. Conversation ranged beyond the needs of small felines and by the end of the evening he was proposing an outing to the theater.
Strolling along Piccadilly their arms brushed, and Crowley held his breath and took Aziraphale’s hand, tucking it into his arm without glancing at his face. He felt Aziraphale tense momentarily, then relax into him, moving a hair closer, matching his stride.
“It’s such a lovely night my dear,” he murmured, and Crowley shivered, despite the balmy breeze.
“Indeed,” he replied, and squeezed just a little tighter. Not too much, he cautioned himself.
As they approached the bookshop, his heart beat faster. What is the right move now? He pondered. Will he invite me in, invite me upstairs?
Approaching the front steps Aziraphale turned abruptly, extracting his arm from Crowley’s. Who shivered now, feeling the chill cascade down his body as Aziraphale tugged nervously at his waistcoat, shuffling his feet. Crowley was filled with dread.
“Um, my dear, I am so sorry, but, erm…” he stammered.
”Spit it out, angel.” Crowley was hardening, raising his emotional armour, as if that were even possible, but it resulted in a stiff posture and a raised eyebrow. And a bit of a scowl he was trying mightily to restrain.
“Crowley, I’m afraid I have to make a trip Upstairs, and I might be gone for a few days.” He looked at his shoes.
The demon was awash in worry now. How he dreaded these ‘visits.’ Every time Aziraphale went to a meeting he was terrified that he would never return. And not for no reason. He remembered all too well that column of hellfire taking the chill off the cold emptiness of Heaven.
Aziraphale didn’t. It’s too bad he didn’t, thought Crowley. But I could never tell him, not how much hate seethed from the eyes of Uriel and Michael, nor how cruel the words of a vengeful Gabriel. I shouldn’t have protected him. Maybe he’d look out for himself more if he’d felt the intensity of their hate for him.
“I have preparations to make tonight, my dear, I’m sorry. We can do this again when I return, yes?” He gave a wan smile and a tentative glance at Crowley’s glasses, as if trying to read through them. “Crowley, can you continue to come by afternoons and look in on Ariel? She looks forward to seeing you so.”
Crowley deflated now, his rigid stance melting into a slouch as he looked away. “Sure angel. I can do that.” His voice was sad and quiet. “I’ll see you, whenever…”
“Oh I shall return three days hence I am quite sure, sooner if I’m able. Muriel and Maggie will see to it that the shop is tended, so if you could spell them a break each day I know it would be greatly appreciated.”
Crowley turned and moved toward the Bentley. Then he stopped, having not heard Aziraphale open the door, to find him standing there, nervously moving his hands and looking forlorn.
“Good night Angel. Be safe.” He made eye contact, nodded, then turned away and swiftly climbed into the black car and sped away.
“Oh, dear,” muttered the angel, and slipped inside the shop.
===
You’re pathetic, Crowley told himself. Hanging around this shop, taking care of this cat, because you hope and pray that he’ll come back. Because you know he’ll come back for the store and the cat. Can’t risk finding out that he wouldn’t come back just for you.
He scowled, considered leaving his glasses on, but it was dim inside the shop, and he left them on the bronze centaur as he always did.
“Good morning Mr. Crowley!” Muriel beamed at him, they were so relentlessly cheerful. He sighed, “Good day, Muriel. How is the beast?”
“Oh, Ariel? You wouldn’t believe it, she climbed up the drapery, then she scratched the velvet chair, and then she dug all the dirt out of the potted plant. She’s a demon!!”
Crowley’s face must have betrayed his horror, hearing how the prized draceana he’d gifted Aziraphale with had been desecrated.
“Oh, dear, I am so sorry, Mr. Crowley, I know not that demons are all bad, I mean, you are rather nice…”
“Shut it!” He glowered at them, then regretted how that angelic face crumpled in dismay. “Er, I’m sorry, Muriel. It’s nothing. But I am really not nice.”
They knew better than to argue with him on that count.
“Where is the little fiend?” He strode briskly toward the lounge, Muriel scurrying alongside, wringing their hands.
“She doesn’t know she’s bad, Mr Crowley, she’s just a baby!”
“I’m not going to hurt her, for Hell's sake!” Crowley realized he was radiating too much fiery energy, and took a breath to cool his system. And spoke gently. “Muriel, please. It's just Crowley.”
“Yes Mr. Cr… I mean Crowley, sir.”
He sighed. As he opened the door he was greeted by a room festooned with trails of white paper, streaming out from the loo and draped over all the furniture. Shreds decorated the entire room.
“How on earth!” Muriel was astonished. Crowley laughed.
“You are a little demon, aren’t you, you sweet thing?”
Ariel had climbed up on the soft padded arm of the chesterfield to greet him, her eyes bright, pointy tail straight out behind her for balance. She stretched up to meet his hand, and he stroked her head, scratched behind her ears. She leaned into his touch with her whole body, rumbling a purr he could feel more than hear.
He sank down onto the sofa and she climbed onto him, striding up his flat chest with a kitten’s waddling strut, until she was almost to nose with him. He booped her with his nose.
Muriel was scooping up the trails of loo roll and straightening the doilies. They looked up to see this greeting between devil cat and demon, and smiled.
She left them headed back to the front desk to continue the inventory.
Crowley busied himself by returning the potted plant to its upright condition, scolding the wee beastie as he did so. Then he scavenged for a few items and assembled for her what was in essence a fishing pole: a length of curtain rod, some tape and string, a bit of twisted foil at the end like a butterfly. He flicked the makeshift fly rod as the kitten watched with rapt enchantment, then leapt into action chasing after the silver wings.
He waved it artfully as sent her scampering all over the room, up onto and over the sofa, on and off the table, under the chairs, around behind. She was capable of prodigious leaps, death-defying plunges to the floor then back into the air once more. Crowley decided her name must have multiple meanings.
After this romp, they relaxed on the settee, and both kitty and the demon fell asleep.
When he awoke Ariel was nowhere to be found. He looked about, bleary eyed, expecting to find her curled on a cushion or tucked under a chair, but a thorough search was unsuccessful.
Where the hell…?
The door into the bookshop was ajar. He prowled into the front of the store, assuming Muriel had the cat for some reason. He found neither angel nor kitten.
What time was it? The shop was quiet, the lights were on, but it was empty. Crowley checked the front door. Closed but unlocked. Then he made a thorough search of the bookshelves, reading nooks, sales counter, and even went up the spiral stairs, finding no one on the mezzanine and all the doors closed. He conjured a torch to examine the deep bookshelves, checked overhead, and peered under any furnishings, no matter how low. If she’d crawled into his engine compartment she could probably squeeze in just about anywhere.
He would resort to bribery. Dashing down the stairs, cast iron ringing, the demon fetched the box of treats and rattled it loudly calling her name.
“Ariel! Where are you little fiend? C’mon out now, you monster! this isn't funny!”
His panic rose as he strode about the empty shop calling for the cat.
Aziraphale could return at any time. Crowley sunk to the floor in despair, head in hands. This had the unfortunate effect of reminding him of when the place was engulfed in flames, and he believed his angel gone forever.
Crowley crumpled, long legs folded under him and he sunk his head until his ruby hair hid his face in the shadows. He scrambled for a brake on his emotions, despising this feature of his human corporation. He considered reverting to snake form in order to quell these terrible feelings.
There was a thought. If he were crawling on the ground he would have a different perspective, and be more likely to spot tiny hiding places. Perhaps even lure her out of hiding. But he’d have to prepare to be pounced on, and shivered imagining how monstrous those claws could be.
In the midst of this reverie he thought he heard a tiny mew, but it was so quiet he wondered if he’d imagined it. But no, there it was again!
He unfolded himself and strode to the tall bookshelf where he thought the sound was emanating from and frowned. Just an ordinary shelf, floor to ceiling and packed with tomes. He ran an elegant finger over the spines, noting the leather stamped with gold, the muted colors.
There it was again! Louder now, as he was closer. Clearly it came from behind this bookcase. But he couldn’t find a gap between books, much less a way for a small cat to get behind it. He got down on the floor and peered under. He miracled a torch and took a good look. Dust bunnies were undisturbed. The moulding appeared solid and there was no gap to go behind the shelving. He scowled.
When he heard a more plaintive cry, he sprung up and seized the wooden shelf, rattling it in frustration. Use your miracles you moron! He scolded himself.
He stood back and studied the shelf wall once more, and tilted his head, puzzling over a way in. Then he closed his eyes and snapped, and then pulled one end of the shelving and it swung into the room like a door, just as he had when putting the shop back in order after the ball.
The wall behind looked solid at first, but then began to shimmer. He reached out to touch the surface — and his hand slid right through it into open space. Astonished, he swept his hand in a gesture and cleared the illusion of a wall, and was stunned to see a rough stone archway framing a dimly lit tunnel curling downward.
Oh, shit, he thought. Tell me this isn't a portal to Hell? He stepped inside, adjusting his small torch to shine brighter and wider in the ominous gloom.
“Ariel?” He called, and was answered by a faint, tremulous mew, some distance away.
“Where are you, you little fiend! Come here right now!” He growled, then cringed, realizing he was pretty scary when he did that. He heard a tiny meep that seemed further away.
Dammit, Aziraphale. The things I do for love…
He swept a creepy cobweb off his forehead with a shiver, headed deeper into the tunnel.
After a few strides into the curving, descending pathway he could smell the brimstone, and felt a dank chill oozing from the rocks. Indeed a portal to Hell, and it had hidden in plain sight in his angels bookstore, all this time. Had Hell been spying on them the whole time?
It was silent now, except for his footfalls and a slow dripping sound that echoed somewhere in the deep. He turned a corner and felt a chill air cross his face.
“Ariel! Where are you?” He called out, shining the torch around the dank walls.
His ears buzzed with silence, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he imagined having to tell the angel that their kitty had been kidnapped (kitnapped?) by Hell. He felt nauseous, yet pressed on.
Then he heard an unholy screech that could only be a small and furious or terrified feline. He began to run.
“Ariel! You idiot, Where are you?” Tears were streaming down his face. Maybe he would fall into a pit and never have to face Aziraphale, having failed to do the one simple thing entrusted to him.
As he skidded down the increasingly steep tunnel he rounded a pillar and came into a vast and arching space, high domed ceiling, dozens of alcoves surrounding the vaulted space. He spotted a glowing lamp and saw the silhouette of the tiny cat. Thank Someone! She was safe… sort of. She stood at the edge of the abyss, tail puffed out and teetering on the narrow railing, facing into an alcove where a brilliant golden light was glowing.
Crowley leapt into the chamber and grabbed for the tiny cat. She turned her head and caught sight of him and turned, eyes wide, and reared up, spreading her tiny paws into the scariest claws she could muster.
He was shocked, how could she be afraid of him? And what on earth was in the alcove? He paused a short distance away and peered through the gloom.
Inside the alcove there stood a glowing lion! Well, okay, a large, very orange cat, that was not only fierce and fluffed and giving them both a menacing look, the beast was actually glowing from within. Crowley watched in astonishment as the beast unfurled iridescent wings and raised them high. At this point, Ariel tumbled backward in shock and fell off the stone railing.
Diving into action, Crowley unfurled his great black wings and dove after the plummeting kitten, heart pounding. He reached out for her tiny body and she panicked, tumbling through the air, and just as he was about to grab her she manifested two gleaming black wings of her own and, flapping furiously, reoriented herself in space and began to soar. Away from him!
“Hey, no! Come back here!” Crowley was aghast, and flew frantically as if clawing through the thick and humid air, trying to reach her.
But she flew back to the alcove, back to the railing, and back to the glowing cat demon who waited there for her. His jaw dropped as he watched them touch noses.
As if things couldn’t get any weirder, he turned to listen when a deep rumbling growl rose up from the bottomless pit below them. All three creatures stared into the abyss in rapt attention.
Crowley swept into the alcove and, grabbing one feline under each arm, flew like mad toward the top of the cavern. The two cats squirmed madly and started to yowl.
“Just stop it, and hang on, I am trying to save your sorry asses! You do NOT want to meet the thing that’s coming to devour us.”
He scanned anxiously for the tunnel he had originally emerged from and realized he had no clue which one they had come through. He couldn’t use a hand, but he focused within and visualized a light going on and prayed fervently show me the way.!
He was flooded with relief when a dim light began to glow among the shadows. He sailed toward it.
Furling his wings he skidded onto the gravelly floor, stumbled and then ran, curving up the steep passageway with two furry demons scratching at him. Grateful for the leather waistcoat, he was.
Finally they burst into the bookshop and fell in a heap on the floor. He released the cats and hurriedly miracled the shelving back over the hellmouth, adding a sealing spell for good measure. Then he just lay there panting. Eyes squeezed shut to hold back the tears he was not crying. He gave in to the backwash of panic and fear, sobbing quietly on the floor. Thank someone, Muriel wasn't about, and Aziraphale hadn’t returned yet. He buried his face in his arms and sobbed until he calmed.
And felt a tiny soft paw patting his arm. He resisted the urge to swat at the prickly sensation then he sat up suddenly, staring at the green gold eyes.
“Ariel, you gave me such a scare,” he said softly, as she kneaded his arm and purred, staring soulfully at him. The little beast was clearly trying to comfort him. He sighed.
“So who's your friend, then?” He looked around for the orange cat, nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t imagined it, that was a solid feline body that he’d hauled up to safety.
Patting Ariel gently he stood up, dusted off his skin tight trousers and straightened his hair. “So where are they?” He asked the black cat.
Ariel confidently strutted out into the center of the shop looking purposeful, so he followed her.
===
“Shhhh!” Muriel held a finger to their lips and gestured toward the back room. “They’re sleeping!”
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and stepped quietly toward the door, ajar just a crack. Wary of squeaky floors and hinges, he pushed the door gently and peered inside. Sprawled on the velveteen sofa there lay a long limbed demon, one leg trailing onto the floor, the other up on the armrest. His other arm curled protectively around a tiny puff of black.
Aziaraphale’s heart melted and his face glowed. Muriel smiled knowingly and pulled him back into the shop.
A bit later, Crowley emerged, carrying Ariel in one arm, yawning.
“Hiya, Angel.” He smiled sleepily.
Aziraphale studied him, charmed by the disheveled hair and unguarded look. He smiled at how smug both the cat and the demon appeared. But wait…
"Who's THIS then?” He exclaimed, as a regal orange tabby followed Crowley out of the back room.
“Er, ngk,” said Crowley. “That’s Dante, he followed us home.”
Crowley hadn’t decided just how much to tell the angel about their scary adventure, but realized he better fill him in on the hellmouth lurking right there in the shop.
“Come sit down angel, uncork some wine.”
===
“Well, dear boy, that is quite a tale.” Aziraphale sat back and took a deep draft of his wine. Crowley sat on the sofa with a black soot sprite on one shoulder and the orange cat curled by his side. He felt Aziraphale’s eyes on him and it gave him a little chill. He held the angel’s gaze, softly.
“I’ll admit I was a bit worried,” he began, “but you should have seen her, Angel! Fierce little thing, and obviously magical. Makes me wonder why she couldn't have miracled herself out of that car.” He had a sneaking suspicion that she planned the whole thing.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale began. “I missed you so. I hate those trips, you know, I spend every moment waiting for the time I can come back to you.”
Crowley swallowed. His mouth was dry and there were no words available, so he just looked. Watched his angel’s soft warm face in the creamy lamplight, watched those soft lips curl into a smile. He drained his wine glass, and wished he had the perfect clever remark.
He stood. “Come here, Angel.” He held out his hand.
Aziraphale rose and stepped toward him, enveloping him in his strong arms. Crowley sighed and burrowed his face into the softness of his sweater.
The angel pulled back, holding his shoulders gently regarding him. He nodded toward the chesterfield, and Crowley turned to see the black cat curled up with the big orange tabby.
“Our little family,” the angel said, and touched Crowley's face to turn him back to facing. “They look content. Shall we go upstairs and leave them in peace?”
His heart leapt and he commanded his hands not to tremble, but he wasn't going to miss this one. Crowley took Aziraphale’s warm hand in his own and led him toward the spiral stairs. He turned on the first stair and moved closer, leaving a kiss on the angel’s nose.
Aziraphale gave him a little shove. “Keep going, dear.”
Crowley scampered up the stairs, and swore he could feel the angel’s eyes on his backside. He grinned. Now this was more like it.