Fiona stood outside the dingy bar with a look of moderate disgust etched upon her face, her right hand gripping the strap of her bag so tightly she could hear the leather emit a faint squeak of protest on occasion. She truly did not want to venture indoors, despite knowing full well that it was likely the only place she could go for the second job she required, should she desire to remain living in her apartment for much longer. But whether or not she wanted to go inside, it was painfully obvious that she would have to overcome her reluctance sooner, rather than later, the sigh that escaped her slightly parted lips causing her shoulders to deflate just a bit before she was squaring them, and stepping forward to place one hand upon the door to push it open and head inside.
The lighting was dim enough that she had to stand in the doorway for a moment, while her eyes adjusted to the vast difference in visibility, her nose wrinkling just a bit as the scent of stale beer and grease wafted towards her. A faint sound of clinking glasses reached her ears as she finally felt comfortable enough to move a bit further inside. And although she had somehow expected this—the almost immediate feeling of being rendered less of a person simply by passing through the front door—Fiona forced herself to continue moving forward, her hand recoiling from the bar as she felt the sticky texture upon it within moments of reaching out to attempt using it to steady herself as she approached, and she swallowed past the sudden nausea that took root in her stomach at the same time that she caught the attention of the man behind the bar.
"How you doin', darlin'? Get ya somethin' to drink?"
"Uh—no. No, thank you," Fiona replied, forcing herself to remember her manners despite the fact that the idea of a drink caused her entire body to tense as though the man had just suggested she dunk herself in a vat of toxic goo, instead, "I'm actually—I'm here to see about a job."
"Oh. Well, let me get a look at ya, and I'll see what I can do," The man changed course, moving out from behind the bar, while his gaze roamed over every last inch of Fiona's frame while he made a sound that might have been an appreciative hum, "What sort of work were ya lookin' for, sweetheart?"
"I—anything you have to offer, I suppose."
"What kind of moves you got?"
"What?"
"Moves. We're lookin' for dancers and waitresses. You dance?"
"Not—not really," Fiona informed, a faint flush adorning her cheeks, and making her abundantly grateful that the dim lighting of the interior of the bar made such a thing almost impossible for her companion to discover, "Maybe a—a waitress would be better."
"Maybe," The man repeated, once again allowing his eyes to rake over Fiona's body, a faint grin tugging at one corner of his mouth as he gestured for her to take a nearby stool so they could both take a seat at the bar, "We could always work ya into the other job later on."
Unsure of exactly how to reply to that, as she had a fairly clear picture of exactly what the man seated beside her meant by 'dancing', Fiona chewed at her lower lip as she watched him watching her, trying as best she could to make the fact that her skin had been crawling almost as soon as she entered the establishment as unobtrusive as possible. For a moment, she almost wondered if he was going to remain silent until she gathered the wherewithal to speak again, her hands twisting around the strap of her bag for want of anything better to do. But before she had fully decided whether she should speak, or simply head back out of the door, Fiona found the effort unwarranted, her body jumping in shock as she realized the man across from her was chuckling at her, his head shaking just a bit before he finally broke the silence between them.
"Relax, darlin'. I won't make ya dance if ya don't want to."
"Thank you."
"Any time. Think ya can start this weekend? We usually have quite the crowd Friday and Saturday nights—" The man inquired, aware of the startled shock that made its way across Fiona's features, and leaning forward to place what he clearly thought was a comforting hand upon her knee, despite the fact that she almost immediately attempted to flinch away, "I'll set ya up to start trainin' with Sydney. She's one of our best."
"So, I—I have the job?" Fiona verified, somehow not daring to believe that she had been accepted so readily, without any sort of real interview at all, especially when this man did not even know her name. Some small part of her felt discouraged at the prospect, as though taking the job at this point would only prove how far she had really fallen despite her best efforts to remain standing. But in spite of that gut feeling, Fiona knew that she could not afford to refuse, her tongue darting out to wet her lips for a moment as she registered her companion's almost too-eager nod, a shiver racing its way down her spine as she realized he had reached out to take her hand in his before he voiced his agreement out loud.
"Sure thing, darlin'. You're perfect. Let me just go grab the phone number of the place you need to go and get your uniform from. Then you'll be all set."
While he set to the task of returning to his former position behind the bar to ruffle through some paperwork in search of the aforementioned phone number, Fiona remained in her seat on the stool beside the bar, her eyes carefully tracking the man's movements as she focused upon the task of taking deep, even breaths. She still felt almost paralyzed by the thought of the man suddenly changing his mind, even in the face of how nervous she was about exactly what her apparent new job might entail.
Something told her she was not entirely prepared for what this man might expect from her, and yet she was still more than a little determined to persist, regardless, knowing that anything her new employer may demand would still be far better than being forced to live on the streets.
She could not accept that as her fate. She would not.
Steeled by that thought, small though it was, Fiona somehow persuaded a smile to curve at the edges of her mouth, one hand reaching out to take the suddenly proffered card that the man behind the bar handed her way, while the other steadied her balance against the bar while she hopped down from the stool and placed both feet flat upon the ground. After she had taken the card, she forced herself to remain in place while the man made his way back around the bar once more, her lips pursing into a line as he stepped close enough to place a hand at the small of her back in a show of being gallant and escorting her towards the door.
"I'll tell Sydney to meet ya at the uniform place. Tomorrow, three o'clock?" He began, registering the faint nod Fiona gave in response, and taking that as leave to run his hand across her back until his palm rested snugly against her hip, "Great. I think you're really gonna love it."
"Thank you," Fiona responded, forcing all the gratitude she could manage into her tone as she did her best to extract herself from her new employer's hold upon her waist, and moving through the now open doorway so that she could take a deep breath of the crisp air outside, before her nerves could become too overwhelming for her to maintain at least some level of decorum in the face of her apprehension and resignation that consumed her in waves, "I—I'll see you Saturday?"
"Saturday. Sounds great, darlin'. Oh, and I know I never asked ya for your name, but that's on purpose. You won't be needin' it in here, anyways."
"I—I won't?"
"No," The man confirmed, another grin stealing across his features as he sent Fiona an attempt at a salacious wink, and remained completely blind to how she seemed to recoil from him in response, "None of my girls use their real names, here. Our clients aren't interested in all that. Syd's real good at comin' up with that stuff though. Ya should ask her what she thinks."
"I—okay," Fiona stammered, taking another step towards the sidewalk, and steeling herself against the resurgence of the nerves she felt at the prospect of what it was she was going to be expected to do for this new job. A part of her was almost floored by the guilt of what her poor mother would think if she knew exactly where her little girl was, right now. But a still greater part of her knew that even that reaction could not be enough to keep her from doing what needed to be done to continue to afford her rent…
She had to have a second job. Even if the one she ended up with was not all that far from what her father had accused her of being, all along.
Whore.
…
The following day, Fiona found herself rather mercifully preoccupied with the task of clearing out the bookshelves on the upper floor of Aziraphale's shop, picking out the tomes that would require any sort of maintenance due to their age, and setting them aside while she simultaneously dusted off the shelves as best she could. In truth, she had no clue how long some of them had been sitting up there on the shelves, neglected and very obviously not capable of finding their new home with a potential customer in such an out of the way place. But regardless of the true purpose behind the job, Fiona would have been a liar to pretend that she was not abundantly grateful for the way in which it distracted her mind from the outing that was going to take place later on that day, her distraction so encouraging that she caught herself humming along to the tune that wafted up to her from the gramophone downstairs, a faint smile upon her lips as she clambered back down the ladder once again, and placed another book upon the table nearby.
It was then that she heard the tell-tale tinkling of the bell above the shop door that indicated either a customer's arrival, or Aziraphale's return, her feet carrying her to the wooden railing overlooking the floor below, to determine exactly who it was that had entered the shop. Upon realizing it was her employer, and not anyone unfamiliar, an unbidden wave of relief came crashing over her, allowing her posture to relax as she watched the man glance around the bottom floor before seeming to determine that she was not, in fact, down there with him at all. And, with the small smile he sent her way as he tilted his head back to glance upstairs warming her heart far more than she felt she truly deserved, Fiona allowed her gaze to drift to the small, delicately wrapped package he held in his hands, one brow lifting as she leaned against the railing before her, and tilted her head to the side before she spoke.
"Donuts?"
"Better, dear. Crepes."
"I should have known."
"Come join me for one?" Aziraphale questioned, smiling still more broadly at Fiona's answering eager nod, though he did not miss the way the emotion did not quite seem to reach her usually expressive blue eyes. Something had been troubling her, of that he was absolutely certain. But inasmuch as he wanted to ask her what it was, for no other reason than that he desired to help her through it, Aziraphale resisted the urge, knowing that pressing Fiona for information would likely only result in him inadvertently pushing her away.
"You know, the way you keep feeding me, I'll be lucky if I don't start putting on weight," The young woman teased, descending the stairs with some enthusiasm, and reaching out to brush her hand softly against her companion's shoulder before walking side by side with him towards the cluttered back office of his shop, "I wonder sometimes if that might be your intent."
"Well it certainly would not hurt you to—gain a little. Not that I ah—not that I object to how you look, at the present."
"Is that your way of telling me I'm too skinny, Zee?"
"I—oh—oh dear."
"Oh dear?"
"Yes. Oh dear," Aziraphale confirmed, the faint flush that adorned his cheeks causing Fiona to become unable to resist the soft laugh of amusement that escaped, despite the fact that she truly had not wished to back her employer and, dare she say it aloud, friend into a metaphorical corner with her jests, "I seem to have found myself in a situation where no matter how I answer your inquiry, I risk offending you."
"Oh Zee, you could never do that."
"But my dear—"
"You could never do that," Fiona pressed, stopping about half of the way to the back room, in favor of placing a hand on Aziraphale's forearm in hopes that the gesture might persuade him to look her in the eye, "I'm—I'm sorry, Zee, I never meant to make you uncomfortable."
"You haven't, Fiona. Not really."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I am," Aziraphale assured, finally summoning another smile as he placed the hand that was not holding the box of crepes atop Fiona's own, and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "I simply hope I never make you feel such a thing."
"Trust me, I think that's the farthest thing from an issue you need to worry about," Fiona began, frowning a bit at the thought of a man like Aziraphale even contemplating putting her in any sort of uncomfortable situation, especially when compared to how nervous even a simple glance from certain other men in her life could make her feel. But, determined not to allow even the thought of said men ruin her morning, especially when her companion seemed so intent upon searching her face as though he could sense that there was something on her mind, her attention turning to the task of completing the journey to the back room so that she could lean up on tiptoe to reach for the plates that had been placed upon a high shelf, while Aziraphale set himself to the task of opening the box of crepes.
"That is quite the relief to hear, my dear. I hope you know that."
"I do. Trust me, I do."
"Good. I suppose that might count as one less thing for me to worry about," Aziraphale said, placing the now-opened box of crepes on the table that was placed before the sofa, and following Fiona's movements carefully as she toed off her flats and padded over to sit down with plates held firmly in hand. For a moment or two, he did what he could to simply school his expression into a more neutral tone, knowing that his sudden confession of worry over something outside of their admittedly unique bond had already caught his young companion's attention, as evidenced by the slight furrow of her brow. And although he truly had hoped that the comment could slip by unnoticed, he knew almost as soon as she sat down and glanced up at him once again that he was not about to be that fortunate.
The girl was far too perceptive, sometimes, and as soon as he recognized the silent question in her gaze, Aziraphale found himself rather fervently hoping that he would be able to come up with some suitable reason for his slip that would not seem like too much of a lie…
"What is it that has you so worried?"
"I—what?"
"You said you were worried about other things. Or—or you implied it," Fiona explained, running her palms over the fabric of her jeans, and forcing herself to continue to meet her companion's gaze head-on rather than looking away, "And I just—I want you to know that I'm here to listen to you since you're always so willing to do the same for me."
"Oh my dear—" Aziraphale enthused, momentarily ignoring the box of crepes so that he could sit beside Fiona on the sofa, and reach a hand out to take her own as slowly as he dared to avoid startling her, and forcing her to pull away, "You truly don't have to do that, you know."
"I know. But I—I think I want to. I should, if for no other reason than to repay you for your kindness in taking me in, and allowing me to work here."
"You don't need to repay me at all, Fiona. Please never think that."
"I—I'll try," The young woman managed, forcing a tentative smile to her lips as she glanced at the steady weight of Aziraphale's hand resting upon her own, and took a deep breath before going on, "I promise, Zee. I'll try."
"I suppose that makes two of us, then. Trying, I mean," Aziraphale noted, his gaze following Fiona's towards their conjoined hands, until his companion gently withdrew her hand from its place beneath his own, "And I do intend to be more forthcoming, myself, you know. I simply—"
"You aren't accustomed to having someone around for long enough to care?"
Stunned at the startling amount of insight in such a seemingly simple statement, Aziraphale could do nothing save for managing a slight nod in response for a moment, his expression turning to one of concern as he caught himself marveling, yet again, at how such a seemingly innocent young woman could have encountered so much already in her young life. It made him tremendously sad to think of what she could have been through, both before the fire he now knew the cause of, and after, to give her such apparent knowledge of the more distasteful characteristics of the majority of the world's population. But he also knew very well that given such a fact, the idea of keeping Crowley away from her for as long as he could was a wise decision, even if a part of him was aware that the demon would never deliberately do anything to put the poor girl in harm's way.
She had been hurt enough as it was, and he would be damned if he did anything either directly or indirectly to make the reality of her situation even worse.
With such a thought in mind, the angel once again returned his attention to the young woman seated beside him, his expression catching hers as he broke the silence between them in an attempt at easing their apparent discomfort, and returning them both to the better mood they had been in before.
"What would you say to starting in on those crepes, my dear? They certainly aren't going to eat themselves…"
If the smile that had dawned on Fiona's features were any indication, the mere mention of taking a brief amount of solace in the food he had procured for them proving both that they were remarkably similar, in spite of their vastly different experiences, and that perhaps, for the moment, each of them could allow whatever haunted them to simply fade away.
…
"You must be Fiona," The dark-haired woman greeted, rising from her seat in the far corner of the little shop with a surprisingly welcoming smile, her heels clicking against the wood flooring as she crossed to where the store's new arrival stood, frozen in the doorway, "I'm Sydney. I think—I think Sal might've sent you?"
His name is Sal?"
"He didn't tell you?"
"He—no, he didn't," Fiona confirmed, summoning a weak smile of her own as the young woman before her drew her into an unanticipated welcoming embrace, and then leaned back with a hand holding each of her shoulders to give her the once over, before she spoke again.
"Well that doesn't really surprise me."
"It doesn't?"
"No. He never discloses that little tidbit until he decides you're going to stick around. But—my God, you just—perfect. You're perfect."
"Perfect for what?"
"For what I have in mind," Sydney explained, a winning smile once again tugging at the corners of her mouth as she dropped both hands to her sides, and cocked a brow as she realized her newfound companion appeared to be far more nervous than was truly needed, given the circumstances, "Hey—you okay?"
"I—yeah. I am."
"You're sure?"
"I kind of have to be," Fiona stated, shrugging a bit in an effort to hopefully minimize the risk of her obvious nerves somehow giving Sydney the wrong impression, namely that she was not the right fit for the job, "I really—I need this job."
"Trust me, you aren't the only one," Sydney assured, acting on impulse and reaching for Fiona's hand, and grabbing onto it to give her fingers a squeeze before she had the wherewithal to flinch away, "And you're going to do just fine."
"You really think so?"
"Of course I do! Hell, if Sal puts up with me, he's going to absolutely love you."
"I—I'm not so certain that's a good thing."
"It's probably not. But he never does anything too terrible to any of his girls. He wants the frisky business saved for the customers."
"Too—too terrible?" Fiona stammered, unable to help the way in which her voice cracked mid-sentence as she suddenly found herself taking a tentative step back towards the door as though tempted to bolt. For her part, Sydney seemed to register that very fact almost immediately, if the softening of her already stunning features were any indication. And before Fiona could fully reconcile herself to the fact, she found herself once again far closer to a practical stranger than she had anticipated, Sydney's brown eyes holding her own as she squeezed both of her shoulders in a gentle attempt at grounding Fiona's obvious apprehension before moving to provide verbal reassurance, as well.
"Hey—hey, look at me. Nothing is going to happen that you don't feel comfortable with, okay? Sal may be a sleaze, but he puts his girls where they fit best. And if that means waitressing is it for you, that's what it means."
"Is that—is that what you do?"
"It's what I used to do," Sydney corrected, rubbing her hands up and down Fiona's arms for a moment, before pulling back and smiling at the obviously nervous young woman before her once again, "But Sal wants me to train you in what's what before you're let off on your own. Apparently, I'm the best of the best."
"Well I suppose I should be honored," Fiona remarked, managing a slightly less wavery grin of her own, in the wake of her companion's rather obvious attempt at a joke, and exhaling as a means of beginning to force the lingering tension in her frame to the back of her mind, while Sydney took the liberty of her obvious improvement in mindset to manage a shrug of her own, and simultaneously allowed a genuine laugh to escape as a result.
"I don't know that you'll feel so honored when you see what I've picked out for you to wear. But the sentiment is appreciated, regardless."
"What did—what did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I really think you'd have more fun with it if you just waited, rather than me spoiling the surprise right off the bat," Sydney quipped, sending a mischievous wink Fiona's way, and stifling a giggle as she realized that the young woman had flushed a bit in response. When Sal had texted her to tell her to meet his newest hire, in tandem with a minimal description of the girl's attributes, she had already started to form an idea in her mind of what to do in terms of wardrobe…
And now that Fiona was there, in person, Sydney knew that her initial gut instinct had been dead on. The only thing that remained was getting the girl to agree to such a thing without scaring her off, for good.
It would be wonderful to have someone that she might just be able to count as a friend, particularly when the other girls that worked for Sal at the bar weren't exactly what she would call women they could trust.
…
Hello there, my darlings! And welcome to a brand new chapter in the first of the three Good Omens stories my crazy mind decided to create! I hope that none of you mind my apparent obsession with this fandom, because I can't really promise that the madness is going to stop any time soon. And of course I appreciate all of your interest, enthusiasm, and feedback more than words can say! It is so, so wonderful to read everyone's reviews and thoughts each time a chapter goes up, and it definitely helps motivate me to continue writing more.
As always, special thanks go out to last chapter's reviewers: ChiTown4ever, and Guest (CJ/OddBall) for leaving such encouraging comments the last time around! I am beyond thrilled that you are enjoying the story so much thus far, and of course I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter as well!
Until next time, my loves…
MOMM