Chapter Text
Six months after the kiss…
Crowley woke unwillingly, dragged from a dreamless sleep where the pain had not followed him. He rolled over groggily and moaned, irritated by the return of consciousness. What was an immortal being to do, when even death was not a possible escape? Although of course it wasn’t the escape many people thought. His thoughts rambled, wondering how human souls felt when they turned up in Hell or, worse he thought, Heaven. Torture or boredom… what a choice. His thoughts almost touched on Aziraphale but he stopped that before it started. He would not think about him.
He rolled over again and groaned as a stray sunbeam caught his eyes. Where were his glasses? He thrust his hand out looking for wherever he had left last night’s pair, knocking a very empty glass off the table beside the bed to shatter on the floor, just as he swung his feet onto the ground and heard the glasses crack. Damn it. He sat on the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands. He had no idea how much he’d drunk the last few days but he was extremely hung-over. This wasn’t really supposed to be able to happen to demons but if you knew the right plants to add to the right drinks you could get yourself nice and wasted. The downside was the hangover.
“Right”, he thought, “time to drink away the hangover”. He stood back up and walked unsteady into the large living area of the flat. He had reclaimed it four months ago when, not really knowing what else to do, he had returned to London. Hell had, oddly, left him to it. He hadn’t given that any thought beyond vaguely thinking that maybe Shax had appreciated his help settling in or something. That didn’t seem right at all but, who cared? It was his damn flat.
The plants had all been moved back into the spare bedroom that he allowed to have light – the rest of the flat swam in gloom. He reached into his bowl of sunglasses and put a new pair on, sighing with relief at the dimming of the wretched daylight, even though all that made its way into the room were stray beams that caught dancing dust particles that slowly waltzed onto the increasingly grimy floor. He opened one of the cupboards and took out a fresh bottle of whiskey. He didn’t bother to check which one; nothing in the flat had a low alcohol content so it would do. Around the country, whiskey connoisseurs felt a collective unexplained shudder as the 37 year old Lagavulin was opened like it was a cheap bottle of home-made swill. He lowered about a quarter of the bottle in one go and plonked it back on the countertop, breathing a sigh of relief. He held the bottle in his left hand and rubbed his temples with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He vaguely wondered if this, the new bottle, was a good idea but dismissed the thought on the basis that he didn’t have any others right now.
Sighing, he took a glass down from one of the other cupboards and, opening a third, took out a handful of his dried plant extracts. Piper methysticum, known as kava, which had a relaxing effect and should help the drunkenness return a bit faster; ground Valeriana officinalis for its varying interesting effects quite different to in humans but it was calming for him; and some dried Digitalis purpurea, poisonous to humans but for him, pleasingly intoxicating. The mixture would kill humans if they were stupid enough to try, but hopefully, it would help him slip back to unconsciousness easily and quickly. Mixing the dried plants in with the whiskey should have the desired effect of removing him from consciousness for another few days. No nasty thinking for him today!
He poured his botanical concoction into the glass and then filled it with the whiskey. He gave it a cursory mix with a spoon that was already lying on the counter top. He picked both glass and bottle up and wandered over to the sofa to sit down. He drank and stared at the wall. As the drugs and alcohol took their desired effect, he thought he heard a knock on the door, too faint and not his voice so no point in responding.
***
“Any answer?” asked Maggie.
“No,” said Nina. “I thought I heard him in there but maybe not. Or he’s drunk, more likely. He’s a pissy drunk so not worth it while he’s like that. I left a note to say he could come by the shop if he wanted but who knows. I didn’t think whatever he is could get drunk. Then again, what do we know?”
“Mmm,” said Maggie. “Pity but if he’s not wanting to talk, nothing we can do.”
They left.
***
Two days later, Crowley was struggling to consciousness again. This time his sleep had not been entirely dreamless and something was niggling at him as he lingered between sleep and wakefulness. Lattes and plants danced in front of his eyes, chased away by the pain of the kiss. Oats and almonds and visions of peace, the thunderous silence of just after and the unbelievable pain of unrequested forgiveness. He tried to ignore the visions and thoughts, tried to go to sleep again but then he was just simply awake.
He head was pounding… too much of something in that last round of whiskey and botanicals. At least he was technically already out of bed, out of sofa too he realised as he registered the cold floor on his face. “Ughhh.” He sat up, somehow smacking his shoulder into the beautiful mahogany coffee table. He cursed silently and tried again. He pushed himself up onto the sofa. His glasses were still on and intact, so that was something.
Coffee and almonds flashed across his eyes again. He ignored them. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and tried to breathe deeply. He needed to water the plants and rethink the measurements or possibly the mixture that he had used in that last whiskey. He, unfortunately, needed to clear his head and think at least a little to do either. Almonds and coffee, coffee and almonds, the oats probably weren’t important.
He blinked. “What?” Then totally unbidden, unwanted and certainly unsought, clarity pounded into his head, feeling like he was a small boat being trashed onto ancient Dalradian rocks in a Scottish storm. “No…” He shook his head hoping that the thoughts would fall back out. He did not want to think and most definitely not about this. “The coffee… that bastard.” This was said softly, intensely but laced with worry. What was it that almond was meant to do again? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t make demons drunk or sleepy or provide interesting hallucinations. He could be very wrong, setting himself up for yet more failure and pain. And anyway, he could look after himself, he didn’t need Crowley, no one did. He was no use to anyone or anything. He was a mess.
But he was too awake and the thought had now latched on to his mind like a parasite. He needed to check. He struggled up to his feet and thought about where the list was. He didn’t like to read but had a couple of texts that had turned up from Hell. Texts that told about dangerous substances, places to avoid and the angelic adversaries the Earth-bound demon might come across – he’d edited some of them to make sure that a certain angel was left alone. He shouldn’t have bothered, he thought bitterly. Where were they? He couldn’t do this hungover. He turned on the coffee maker for the first time in months. It gurgled happily making what others might consider a coffee-flavoured sludge rather than actual coffee. He wracked his reluctant brain for where he might have put the stupid list of things they were meant to avoid on Earth. He’d glanced at it and ignored it but he was sure he still had it.
The coffee machine binged and he transferred the sludge to a cup. It was liquid enough to drink, strong and tongue-curlingly bitter. Or to put it another way, perfect. The first sip was like a slap across the face and helped him to focus his thoughts a little. A few more and he felt like he was starting to be able to think straight again. Oh yes, probably in the back in the box.
He wandered into the plant room. They all seemed suddenly to be glowing, at their absolute best, not a spot in sight and all leaves gleaming. They trembled slightly. They missed the car, they’d been allowed the odd spot in the car and the demon had been happier there. They’d liked visiting the other one too. He didn’t mind spots or really notice them much at all.
Crowley pushed some plants to the side and bent down to drag out a steel box. Somehow he once again, hit is shoulder on the table. He groaned. Doing things was not worth the effort. He dragged the box out further and carried it back to the living area. He placed the box on the coffee table and sat back down on the sofa. It was decades since he’d opened it. He’d briefly considered giving the contents to the angel some years ago but never did. He entered the combination and opened it. Inside were several small books and rolls of text. He routed around until he found the one he was looking for “Dangerous photosynthetic organisms of Earth”. He rolled his eyes. Demons and the written word were a bad mix. Although at least it was spelt correctly.
He opened the little booklet and saw the list of plants. It had about 20 pages and was not in any particularly useful order. He sighed again and began scanning each page until, finally, on page eight, between garlic and bamboo, he found almond. “Almond: a symbol of Heaven. Indicates divine favour and purity of soul. Avoid ingestion as it can cloud your evil intent”.
He sat back into the sofa and thought. So almond would be a sign of favour from Heaven but could also cloud your thoughts, make you want to be good, pure? Aziraphale was already those things – well not in favour with Heaven at the time, but he was good and pure. Stupidly so. What about in the presence of the bastard? He leant forward and riffled though the box again. Ah yes, here. “The arch-demon’s guide to heavenly counterparts, a summary”. He vaguely thought that comma should be a colon. He couldn’t remember the Metatron’s powers, exactly. He was probably the strongest angel in Heaven and could essentially do what he wanted but what were his actual “talents”? He found the entry and read. It was long and detailed, which was surprising but then again, demons feared Metatron and rightly so. Crowley grew more and more irate as he read. He should have remembered this but his hurt and then months of drinking and pain really had dulled his brain and this thoughts. “Metatron’s most underrated power is the ability to push thoughts in the direction he desires. If you feel a sudden change of mind and cannot understand why, take care for the Metatron may be nearby and taunting your mind. Unnaturally positive thoughts are his particular specialty.”
Crowley slammed the booklet shut and threw it on the table. That utter bastard. Between the almond and his own magic tricks, he had softened Aziraphale and bent him to his will. A choice the angel may well have made anyway, but what if he had had the cards so stacked against him that he was left with little or no choice? But what if Crowley was wrong? It had been easy to pretend that Aziraphale was not really an angel just as he wasn’t really a demon. But every time, the angel had chosen heaven or certainly not chosen Crowley anyway. He should just accept that Aziraphale was Heaven’s creatures and mostly likely exactly where he wanted to be. He ran his hands through his greasy, knotted shoulder-length hair and groaned. He should just go back to the whiskey. But he couldn’t now. He had to think. But what if…?
“Ok,” he said to himself, “Think and shower. Maybe this is stupid, but maybe not and it’s not like you have anything else to do today anyway. The whiskey will be here all day, waiting for you so you may as well try to figure this out.”
***
About an hour later. Crowley was clean and dressed. His hair, no longer greasy or knotted, was tied back in a stylish knot. He still felt like shit but he was thinking a bit clearer. Painful as it was he thought back over that last conversation. He had been nervous and not listening so carefully but some of it just wasn’t right. Aziraphale had never referred to him, personally, as bad or evil, not seriously, and never in years had he referred to Crowley as part of Hell. That wasn’t right. As hurt as he was, Crowley didn’t believe that at that point in time, Aziraphale would have considered him part of Hell so why “you’re the bad guys” and not “they’re the bad guys”? That had hurt so much because it wasn’t true. He knew the angel lied to him sometimes and kept things from him, as he did in return, but he really didn’t believe that Aziraphale considered him to be part of Hell. The angel had been hyper. More so than usual even when he was excited, almost like he was a little drunk. Something had indeed been off but maybe it was the excitement of being finally accepted by Heaven and of being able to offer Crowley a truly heavenly punishment. How could he have thought Crowley would go back? How?
He took a deep breath and tried not to go back down the line of thought that inevitably led to whiskey. He couldn’t think about the kiss. His last desperate attempt to make the angel see, to understand.
Another deep breath. He needed to think more about the coffee. There was a piece missing. Almond alone wouldn’t do it for an angel. The effect wasn’t strong but it was a primer. Aziraphale had said the taste was strong and clearly hadn’t liked it. He didn’t like coffee though, he liked tea. But he would know if there was something that shouldn’t be in the tea… he knew tea like he knew books. But coffee he did not know. Crowley had convinced him to try some a few centuries back and the resulting coughing and face-making had been more than enough not to repeat the experiment. He’d complained about it for several hundred years. Tea was civilised apparently and coffee “nasty”. Crowley liked coffee and found tea boring and weak but the angel did not drink coffee. So he would have no idea if it tasted how it was supposed to. Crowley had to try the coffee to see if the flavour matched the strained response from Aziraphale.
He walked over to the flat door and noticed a note slipped underneath it. He considered ignoring it but bent down and picked it up. “Anthony, come by the coffee shop when you feel up to it. It will do you good to get out. Nina.” Humm. Good timing. Now it would look like he was just taking her up on her offer rather than pining. Well it probably would look like pining but he couldn’t do much about that.
Downstairs the Bentley was sitting outside the building looking forlorn. He got in and glared at the car as the radio turned on. It turned off immediately. He drove to the coffee shop and tried not to look at the bookshop. He parked the car in its usual spot and got out.
He walked down towards the coffee shop and noticed the badly spelt chalk board inviting people in for “The best coffee around twon.” Weird, he thought. Nina was a perfectionist. It was mid-morning and quiet. A young couple sat in one corner, not paying that much attention to their slowly cooling coffees and an older man sat beside the window reading his paper and drinking a tea. Crowley walked up to the counter. “I thought I’d take you up on your suggestion” he said.
Nina turned around and almost smiled at him. “You look like shit Anthony, but actually not as bad as I’d expected.” In a softer tone, she asked “How are you doing darling?” “Fine. I’m fine. Making plans, time to move on.” “I know some nice guys you might like to meet,” she said. He looked at her startled, “No not that type of move on. Not really my bag these things. I’ll start with a coffee. Well two coffees. I want a double espresso and an oat milk latte with however much almond syrup is usual.”
“That’s an odd one. I haven’t made one of those since the day after the bookshop invasion, for this slightly odd old man.”
“Oh yeah? Make it exactly the same as you did for him. How was he odd?”
“Oh you know, old lads are often a bit odd. He asked about the name of the coffee shop, seemed confused by it.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well he ordered the coffee and then said “does anyone ever ask for death?”. I didn’t get what he was on about at first but then he said about the name of the coffee shop. I said no, obviously and gave him the coffee. He gave me the creeps a bit to be honest, that’s why I remember it. Usually only remember the regulars but he was just odd, a bit unnerving, you know?”
“Humm. Yeah sounds creepy. Is it an odd coffee order?”
“Not odd just not a common one. But you can’t talk Mr Six Shots of Espresso. Or two shots I guess today. Here you go”. She handed Crowley the espresso and went back to finish the latte.
“Look Anthony, you need to get out a bit more, do something other than wrap yourself around bottles. I know it probably doesn’t have the same effect on you as,” she lowered her voice, “us. But still, it can’t be good for you. Particularly not drinking alone all the time. I’ll come for a drink with you if you want to vent. Anytime, after closing of course.”
“Yeah maybe,” he said sipping the coffee. He really wanted to knock it back but he was sure the latte would be unpleasant so he was saving it. “Thanks. Maybe. Em. That morning, you were busy right? After the whole invasion thing? How did you get the coffees going so quickly? You were saying you were out of things the night before.”
“Oh Maggie popped to the market. She does that now a fair bit. It’s nice of her.”
Crowley wasn’t really listening. “Humm. Yeah, nice.” Nina handed him the latte and he went to pay. “It’s ok darling. This one is on the house. Come back and pay for the next one.”
Crowley smiled slightly at her. “Thanks Nina. You’re sweet.” She glared at him. He turned to leave, sipping the latte. Ewww, he thought. Milky. And weirdly sweet but the almond flavour was pretty weak. Even Aziraphale couldn’t complain that this was really unpleasant. The coffee was barely detectable – it was flavoured warm milk. Could something else have been in the coffee he was given? He took a bigger slug, pretty much emptying the cup but not quite. “Humm. Not sure about this. Prefer proper coffee. There just is not a whole lot of taste here other than slightly sweet milk.”
“Yes, that’s why it’s a latte. It’s for people who like to drink coffee but don’t really like coffee.”
“Ha. Oh Nina were you asleep when you did your chalk board sign this morning? It’s spelt wrong.”
“Oh god, that’ll be Maggie. I let her do it sometimes and she always has some spelling mistake in there. I think she might be slightly dyslexic and I don’t like to say anything. She means well.”
Crowley stopped. She got the milks, she couldn’t spell well. She knew about Edinburgh. No! No, not innocent Maggie, who loved Nina and was just slightly odd but pleasant. Maggie whom Aziraphale adored for no obvious reason. No. He turned to look at Nina. “Nina, on the night of the invasion, how did they get into the bookshop?”
“What? Oh well you know it was all scary and confused.”
“Nina. This is very, very important. Please.”
Nina looked away. “She didn’t mean it. She got stressed and they were being shits and well… she sort of invited them in by accident.” The latte cup was crushed in his hand, the dregs of the milky coffee spilling over his hand and onto the floor.
“Now, Anthony if you’re going to go nuts, do it outside. I don’t need the power knocked out again!” Nina said running around the counter to try to calm him. She didn’t understand why he was so annoyed. She grabbed a black handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to wipe the coffee off his hand and stop it dripping onto the floor. He pushed her away gently.
“She was in here with you that night too. She just wanted to talk to you but that was what ended your previous relationship, yes?”
“Well yes but it was for the best and she didn’t do anything, nothing happened! We just talked.”
“But you noticed her properly that night. Didn’t you? Got you thinking a bit, didn’t it?”
“Well yes, I suppose so. Crowley you’re starting to smoke. Please don’t wreck the coffee shop! I don’t know why you’re so angry but please, please calm down. Take a breath.”
“Has she been into the bookshop in the last few months?”
“What? I don’t know, no, not that I am aware of. But I don’t go in much. I check on Muriel now and again and sometimes bring her over her tea if it’s quiet here, but no, as far as I know Maggie has not been in the bookshop since the last time the three of us were in there together.”
“I bet she hasn’t. The protections are back up.” Crowley was furious. He hadn’t seen this at all. Neither had Aziraphale. Neither of them had noticed her. When had she turned up? He couldn’t remember. The stupid record shop had been there for decades but when exactly had Maggie arrived?
“It was her who sent him off to Edinburgh. Why would a pub in Edinburgh buy records from a shop in London? And why keep buying them if there was something wrong with them? She told him about being in love and not knowing what to do, that’s why it was in his head when the rest of them turned up. Why did I not argue with him – because it seemed fine, why was that fine? She then let them into the bookshop. It’s been her in the background all this time!” He was breathing heavily now and could feel an absolute rage boiling, so much more than when he’d found bloody Gabriel in the bookshop. That bitch! She was a demon! Or working for them or… or… something. But neither of them had noticed her – how could both of them have been fooled? A sleeper… she was a bloody sleeper. He hadn’t seen one in a very long time. Ok, ok, breathe and think. Don’t destroy the coffee shop.
“Nina, listen to me very, very carefully now and do not argue. You know what I am. You know, at least a little who I am and I am not lying to you. Aziraphale and I have been set up. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself, too angry, to see it and he’s too bloody stupid and blinded by his desperate need to be accepted by the assholes in Heaven to see it, but we have been absolutely, what was his expression, “Played for fucking suckers”. Without the fucking. Anyway, no shut up and listen. Maggie is too involved in all of this for it to be coincidence. I would know if she were pretty much any type of demon or angel and she didn’t register. Aziraphale the same and he didn’t notice. We might be idiots about talking to each other but we are both very, very good at being on Earth. The only thing that makes sense is that she is what we call a sleeper. A demon who can hitchhike in a human. They’re basically spies. They see the world through the human’s eyes and report back. It’s very hard to do and very few demons are willing or even able to do it. It’s dangerous and generally forbidden. Any angel who comes across a sleeper will annihilate it immediately if it can. So this comes from the absolute top. Maggie probably doesn’t know. If you alert the demon that you know, it will kill you both and I can’t protect you right now. I’m sorry I didn’t figure this out faster but you are in danger again. If Maggie is triggered and goes to hurt you, run to the bookshop. You will be safe there, unless you bloody invite her in. If you can, tell Muriel not to let her in. I’ll try but I have to go and explode somewhere else now. Be careful. I will try to sort this out but…” He trailed off and ran out of the coffee shop, dove into the Bentley and drove like a lunatic until he was miles outside of London and away from any people, as much as possible here anyway.
He got out of the car and screamed.
A lot of sheep discovered how fast they could run and a small pine plantation discovered that it couldn’t at all and was totally flattened.