Something had happened between the accident and art class. Crowley had been sure they had found some sort of—if not entirely friendly—amenable ground, but Azriaphale was as prickly as ever. He hadn't seen the man, so he couldn't figure out what had happened. Maybe he really should return that bike. The trouble was Crowley was liking it. A lot. It was clearly not new, but it had been taken care of immaculately. It was polished clean and well oiled, or whatever you did to a bicycle to keep it in good condition. Riding it had been much easier than the old forgotten one his aunt had pulled out of the garage for him. It had gotten him to and from work that week. He felt a sense of freedom with it that he was loathe to give up.

He couldn't afford to buy himself a new one. Maybe after a few paychecks he could check into some used ones. And it wasn't like he could ask Aunt Tracy to buy him one. She was retired, and she had already done more than enough for him.

Still, he couldn't quite understand why Aziraphale had bolted as soon as the credits rolled. Sure, Crowley knew he was getting under his skin when he stayed where he sat. But he wasn't about to back down. Needling each other felt like their thing. He didn't know why the "friend" comment had stung so much. He knew they weren't friends. He didn't have any friends left. But remembering the afternoon in Aziraphale's garden, there was something there. A kinship that felt like it could have grown into a friendship. Maybe if they were both different people. The past couple years had layered something in him. He wasn't sure if he was actually fit for human interaction anymore.

Crowley spent the early evening in Tracy's garden. The weeds had finally been eradicated, and the next job of pruning had begun. The plants that Crowley wasn't familiar with, he turned to his mobile to google, making sure he knew what each needed to flourish. Crowley had never done much manual labour in his life, but he found a sense of peace with his hands deep in the dirt. His small hobby of keeping houseplants had definitely transferred to a larger scale.

Tracy came out, a glass of ice water in her hand.

"This place hasn't looked this good in years. You really are a dear." She handed the glass to Crowley.

"It's really the least I can do. I find I quite enjoy it." He took a long drink, not having realised how thirsty he'd become.

"You know, there are a lot of older folks in town who could use the help. If you're looking for some more to do. Most of them pay the neighbourhood kids to mow their lawns, but a lot of them could use a good clean up I bet."

"I'm not a professional, and I wouldn't want to put anyone out that might not have the extra cash …"

"Those miscreants really did a number on you, didn't they? The little boy I remember with his paper round. The one who used to corner both spouses separately at every given house just to be tipped twice each Christmas. That little boy was ready to take over the world."

"You are not encouraging me to rip people off." Crowley levelled an unbelieving look at his aunt.

"It's not ripping them off if they're happy to give it."

"You know, avoiding this kind of advice is what kept me out of prison."

"Oh, you old silly," she said, playfully hitting his arm. "Go inside and get yourself cleaned up. We'll eat, and I'll read your cards for you."

Crowley had an aunt named Madame Tracy, of course he'd had his cards read before but not since he was a child, and even then, he hadn't really believed in it. The cards seemed to always point him towards the things his mum was always telling him to do already, like the importance of good marks and not to be a little shit to the other kids. Crowley was better at the first one and not as much on the second.

Still, even with his reticence around the practice, Crowley happily sat down at the table after they ate and waited to hear the card's wisdoms. In fact, the scepticism was a boon in this case; Crowley just really wanted to hear some encouraging words from his aunt under the guise of fortune telling.

He had been feeling better overall since arriving in Tadfield, but his emotions were minefields still. It took very little for him to feel like crawling back into bed for the day. Tracy handed him the deck, and he began to shuffle.

"Just breathe, love, and think of something that you want answers about."

There was only one thing he'd wanted to know. Did he have a chance of shoving what was left in his life into something worth living? Had he used up what happiness that was allotted for himself. Was all that was left misery? He could be a morose bugger sometimes.

"When you're all done shuffling, cut the deck, and then flip three cards face up."

Crowley watched the cards as Tracy watched him. The deck was old; the same one she'd used since he was a lad. The edges of the cards were yellowed and rough with use, and the deck had a curve from being shuffled so many times. It smelled musty and of cigarette smoke, but there was something comforting in them. He flipped the three cards and set them between them on the table. Tracy took a sip of her tea as she studied them.

"The Tower for your past. This speaks to the sudden upheaval of your life. A disaster that has broken your pride."

This was not what Crowley signed up for with the reading so he made a motion for her to move along.

"The Hermit, reversed for your present. You are feeling lonely and isolated." Tracy looked up and gave him a pitying look. "This could mean being separated from the life you were familiar with, or it could mean lonely in love."

"Definitely the first one." Crowley was not in the place to have a partner again. He wouldn't want to have anyone obligated to be in this mess with him.

Tracy nodded as she moved onto the next one. "Your future—The Devil."

"That's ominous," Crowley joked.

"This could mean a few things, but mostly, it's about restoring control, you taking charge of your life and releasing the things that no longer serve you."

"Do the cards say how I go about doing any of that?"

"If they did that, I would be a lot richer than I am."

Crowley ran his hand through his hair. The cards hadn't really told him anything, only offered a vague hope for the future. Not that he'd expected any different. Still, the thought of getting his life back into his control sounded nice.

Tracy reached over and patted his hand, and then gathered up the cards and went to put them away, giving him a moment alone to ponder. What did freedom look like? Did he want to be a gardener? Crowley had grown used to some pretty lavish things in his youth, but had he really missed any of them once they were taken away? Being a gardener didn't really translate going back to the city. Which was the plan. Everything he knew was in the city. In any case, while he was in Tadfield, it wouldn't be a bad idea to make money where he could. The job at the law office was part time; he could fit in some lawn care on the side. Maybe the little boy who knew how to hustle was still in there.

The next morning, it took only a few calls to line up three clients who needed some work done in their gardens. Crowley decided to celebrate by taking a pack of frozen peas to the pond. He was only partially surprised to see Aziraphale standing by the edge of the water, tossing his own peas. He was on a high and wasn't sure he should approach. Aziraphale had been so hot and cold with him. He really had no idea where he stood with the man. The goal wasn't friendship; the town was so small that he just wanted to settle on friendly. His version of it anyway.

"I see you're no longer poisoning the ducks."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale turned as he said his name on a breath. The pureness of it made Crowley stumble as he approached.

Aziraphale looked at him as if in disbelief that he was actually there, and then his face dropped into a scowl.

"Are you following me?"

"Hardly. You do know that this is a small town. There are limited public spaces."

"Fiend." The word didn't have much bite in it so Crowley stepped up next to him and opened his bag of peas, tossing a few into the water.

"And I suppose you're some sort of angel?"

"Compared to you? I'm practically ethereal."

Crowley snorted, and then narrowed his eyes. "Did you talk to Anathema about me?

"No." The response came too fast for Crowley to believe the answer was actually no. "I have better things than you on my mind."

"So she told you about my past." Crowley sighed. Anathema didn't seem like the type to gossip, but he couldn't help but notice since Anathema had talked to him, Aziraphale had been even more prickly around him.

"No. She didn't tell me anything specific." The fussy man worried his hands together, making the plastic bag of peas crinkle.

"You googled me then?"

Azirphale's attention snapped to him. "I beg your pardon, did I what?"

Crowley smiled. "Maybe you are an angel because everyone here on Earth knows what Google is."

"Oh. I know what The Google is. I must have misheard. Why would I google you?"

"It's what people do. It's hard not to be nosy."

Aziraphale studied him for a second, and then turned back to the pond. "I don't think I'm entitled to your business. Harmless gossip is one thing, but I get the sense this isn't that."

Maybe Fell really was an angel. Crowley had had more people he didn't know in his business than he could count. For someone to know information was out there and not go looking for it. It was a level of respect for his dignity that he hadn't expected from anyone, much less Aziraphale.

"No, this is not that," Crowley agreed.

They stood quietly for a moment as if neither of them really knew how to follow that up. Crowley didn't find it uncomfortable though. Fell wasn't pushing him. He clearly knew there was something shady in Crowley's past. He must have pushed down so much curiosity to not have looked him up on the internet. Although imagining Aziraphale didn't know how to use a computer didn't feel like that big of a leap to Crowley.

In the end, it was Aziraphale who spoke first. "You know, I assumed you were a teenager."

"I know I take pretty good care of my skin." Crowley wasn't about to admit to botox, especially since it had been so long, and any positive effects he'd had from it were long gone. "But mid-thirties is the youngest anyone has took me for in a long time."

Aziraphale laughed, a twinkling sort of thing. "Your aunt. When she told me you were coming, she made it sound like you were a young boy, hanging around with ruffians."

"Well, that is an interesting take. Tracy means well, but she does like the dramatics of a situation. I'm grateful she's let me stay. 'S been a good break for … my mental health. I needed somewhere quiet and cheap. Until I figure out what's next."

"I'm afraid I haven't helped with the quiet, have I?" Aziraphale was worrying his hands together again. "You're clearly going through something, and I've been awful."

"You have," Crowley teased but that only made Aziraphale frown harder. "Look, I'm no picnic. I may not have given you a fair shake either."

"Still, I feel terribly embarrassed."

"Don't. Fighting with you has been one of the more fun things I've done in a long time."

Aziraphale fought a smile. "You really are a fiend."

Crowley turned back to the water and threw another handful of peas. "That I am, angel; that I am."

Crowley had forgotten how much fun it was to be him. Mischief had always been part of him, but the turn in his life had left him raw and in survival mode. It felt good to joke. He didn't look too closely as to why it seemed easy to pull that long forgotten part of himself out around Aziraphale, all he knew was it felt good. He felt like himself. Still, he wasn't sure he trusted Fell completely. He'd seen how fast the man could change his mind about something. Being kicked out of his garden had left an imprint on him. In order to make sure his real self was safe, he knew he needed to lay out what had brought him to Tadfield. Most people would assume that laying out your personal hell might be the hard part, but Crowley had already had uncountable amounts of people see that part of him. The broken part. Seeing how someone reacted to that would tell him if the rest of him was safe to truly come out.

"The ruffians? They were my partners. The law firm had been embezzling long before they made me partner. I was the only one who didn't know about it. Lucifer, Hastur, and Ligur. I think they might have only promoted me to have a scapegoat. They took millions from our clients. But they were sloppy, and my work was meticulous. It's the only thing that saved me in the end. I had documentation. Nothing I touched personally had ever had a single issue. The trial took over a year. Fighting it drained my savings; I lost everything."

"But you were cleared?"

"I was. It doesn't matter though; I can't practise anymore. No one will touch me. It's hard to believe that I wasn't involved. You can't trust lawyers to begin with. When three out of four go to jail, they don't see the fourth as innocent, just more slippery than the rest."

"That seems so unfair."

"Doesn't it just."

Aziraphale was looking at him so intensely that Crowley had to look away. Even with his sunglasses on, the eye contact was too intense.

"Crowley, I …" Aziraphale stopped when Crowley's mobile rang. "Go ahead."

Crowley almost didn't pick it up, but he was still waiting on several calls back from job leads; he didn't want to let anything go to voicemail. Aziraphale walked away a few steps to give him some privacy as he answered.

"This is Crowley."

"Mr. Crowley, this is Lisa from the impound lot, we have received the paperwork to release your 1933 Bentley back to you. There are some forms for you to fill out and a fee that will need to be paid before release. We don't have a forwarding address for you. Where would you like the documentation sent?"

"Can you email it to me?"

"Of course, sir. Whenever you're ready."

Crowley looked over and watched Aziraphale as he rattled off his email address. When he hung up the phone, he was feeling somewhere between hopeful and defeated. Lisa had let him know that the fee would be a hundred pounds, not great for him right now but with a paycheck coming, he could make it work. He luckily was only spending a few pounds here and there for coffee and pastries. The bigger problem was the thirty-day deadline to pick up the car. There would be a much larger fee if he left it there longer, and any more than thirty days over that, they would consider it abandoned and the car would be auctioned off.

"Everything okay?" Aziraphale stepped back toward him.

The Bentley was his pride and joy. The only possession that really had meant anything to him. He could sell it, and it would fetch a fine price. He could live off that money for a couple years. Give him enough time to sort out his future. It would be the smart thing to do. But he'd given up so much he didn't think he had it in him to lose her too.

"Just some unexpected expenses. Do you know when there is a train to London?"

"Mondays and Thursdays it leaves from Wentworth station, about fifteen minutes east of town."

Crowley did the mental math on how much it would cost, the train ticket, the release fee, the petrol to get the car back to Tadfield. This summer was supposed to be a break from digging the hole in his finances, but there wasn't much he could do about this. He would have to figure out how to make it work, even if it meant selling the Bentley if needed.

"You know, my friend Alistair usually goes to London for the weekends. I was thinking about joining him. There is a showing at the West End I was hoping to catch. Perhaps the three of us could go in together. It would save you the train."

The Crowley of five years ago would have bristled at the thought of taking the charity, but now, he was just grateful to anyone helping him lighten his load even just a little.

"You don't think he'll mind?"

"Well, I can certainly ask him."

"Thanks." Crowley lifted his glasses off his eyes long enough to give them a wipe.

"Now don't go thinking that means you have to be nice to me now." Aziraphale's smile turned cheeky. "I'm still working off a life debt here."

"Me? I'm not nice. Never nice. Wouldn't dream of it, angel."

Crowley stayed and stared at the pond for a long time after Aziraphale left. The water evened out as the ducks moved on when the peas ran out. Crowley found even good news could put a weight on him. He grasped as much peace as he could in his surroundings. The changing light darkened the horizon, and the wind brushed through his hair. It took until the sun was almost down before Crowley found he had enough spoons to make his way back to the cottage.