"Now, love, you're in a mood. What's got your knickers in a twist?"
Crowley was slinking back up to the house. He'd gone early in the morning to retrieve his bicycle from the side of Aziraphale's house. It had been left at Tracy's place by a past flame and had given Crowley a bit more freedom when Tracy needed her car. He'd been quiet, feeling like a thief sneaking about, but there was no way he wanted another run-in with the unstable man. The few hours of truce they'd had the day before was clearly over when the fussy man had kicked him out. He'd left angry and knew he was in no condition to ride his bike back home, so he'd walked. Briskly. If said pace had resulted in him taking a nosedive into some bushes when he'd misjudged the height of a curb, then only he and the squirrels were wise of such a fact.
After he'd picked up the bike, he'd gone in to meet Sara at her office. He felt a little ridiculous arriving on a bike with a litany of scratches on his neck and cheek, but she was kind enough not to draw attention to them. She was a lawyer, but she really only needed help filing and entering a huge backlog of paperwork into the computer. Grunt work. Mostly, she handled real estate, but being the only lawyer in town, she also was a bit of a jack of all trades, handling wills, occasionally divorce papers, and nearly whatever else the townsfolk might be in need of from a lawyer.
Crowley was wildly over-qualified for the position, and when Sara had looked at his resume, she frowned, but Crowley insisted that this was what he was after for now. She needed a summer helper to get her office back into shape, and he needed the cash. It wasn't much. He would have laughed at someone offering him an hourly rate that wasn't in the three digits before this past year. But that year was a lifetime ago, and he needed the cash. And perhaps proof that he was still hirable.
He'd thought the feeling of getting a job would make him feel better, but it only served as further proof of how far he'd fallen. He used to be the golden child, and now he was a filing clerk with a degree from the University of Cambridge that he would probably never really get a chance to use again.
"S'been a rough morning," Crowley answered. He was so practised in hiding his true feelings that he was almost surprised at himself for being so honest.
"Come on in then. Let me get you a good strong cuppa." Tracy gave him a warm smile.
"Whiskey strong?" Crowley teased.
"Why not? It's as they say. It's past dinner somewhere."
Crowley was about to tell his aunt that it was not what people said, but he let it drop, knowing he would rather have the drink than argue semantics. If his aunt was going to serve him whiskey tea at eleven in the morning, he was going to take the opportunity to have an extremely alcoholic breakfast.
"How did things go with Sara?" Tracy poured a healthy dash of whiskey into his tea. Damn, he loved his aunt.
"Well enough. I'll start tomorrow. It's only part time, but it's something."
"That's a good boy." Tracy took a sip of her own tea, which had also been topped up in solidarity. "It'll be good for you to get out of the house. Get your mind working on something that isn't the past."
Crowley didn't have the heart to tell her the dreadfully dull job would give him all that much more time to think. Mindless work was the perfect breeding ground for unchecked thoughts. But that was a problem for the next day. He was still focused on getting through this one first.
The extremely alcoholic breakfast turned out to be the one tea. Crowley was reminded that he was not still in his thirties, and he'd drunk enough the day before to still be feeling a bit off. He spent some time in the garden, plucking out weeds, including one that prompted a tug-of-war through two metres of dirt.
He couldn't help but think about his time in Aziraphale's garden the day before. It felt like a fever dream. He really hadn't intended on bringing the wine to share. He was going to drop it off with the vest but had forgotten it in the basket on his bicycle. And then they had actually gotten along. Crowley knew he wasn't for everyone. An acquired taste, his mother used to tell him. It wasn't that he'd wanted to get along with Aziraphale. He was actively trying to be a pain in the arse to the man. So why had it felt so natural to joke and laugh with him?
He shook the thought from his head; it didn't matter. He wasn't for Aziraphale, and the posh bastard was definitely not for him.
Crowley missed having a car, but in a town as small as Tadfield, the bike was just as good. The exercise was helping a bit with his mood, but he wouldn't tell a soul if they asked. He wasn't done sulking about his life.
He leaned the bike up against the wall of the cafe and made his way inside.
"What can I get you?" the woman behind the counter asked in a gruff but not unfriendly voice.
He looked into the display case and almost smiled when he saw one lemon tart left. "I'll take that one."
"I googled you."
He took the plate and turned around to see who had addressed him. A woman with long curly hair he recognized from art class was standing behind him.
"Anathema, right?"
"Yes. I googled you," she repeated.
Crowley sighed. He knew it was bound to happen. He had been surprised no one in Tadfield had confronted him about it yet.
"Sorry to disappoint, but that onlyfans account isn't really me." He had learned quickly that deflecting and embarrassing was the quickest way to dissuade someone from prying further.
Anathema didn't look at all shook by Crowley's statement. Instead, she studied him in a way that made him want to squirm. He might have if he weren't so practised at keeping his emotions at bay.
"I'm sorry you went through that. The way you were treated was awful."
Crowley felt off balance. "You … ah, yeah. 'S grim."
"Coffee, three sugars," she said to the woman at the counter, and then slapped down a note before taking Crowley's arm and leading him to a table. Crowley wondered if this was what vertigo felt like—he felt like he was on a roundabout, and while he wanted to get off, sometimes it was safer just to wait out the spinning.
"No one trusts the legal system." Anathema kept going. "If they locked you up, you're probably innocent; if they let you free, you're guilty."
"Well, sometimes they get it right." While Crowley had understood how to bend a rule here or there, he wasn't involved in any of the things he was charged with.
Anathema had a way of looking at him that made him feel flayed open. It wasn't unkind, but it was knowing in a way he didn't appreciate from a stranger. "This time they seemed to."
"And just looking at me, you knew I was innocent? Wish you'd been in the jury; might have been quicker."
"Your aura wouldn't look as it does if you were involved."
She wouldn't have been allowed on the jury then. Not if she was basing his innocence on some occult sight. Still, it was nice to have someone give him the benefit of the doubt. Anathema's coffee was set down on the table.
"Is she bothering you?"
"Nina." Anathema gave an exaggerated sigh. "I don't bother people."
"You let me know," Nina responded and gave Crowley a light tap on the shoulder and a smirk so small someone might miss it.
"You have to let me read your cards," Anathema said as soon as Nina left them again.
"She's bothering me," Crowley piped up looking over at Nina, who looked back and saw the good humour on his face.
"Sorry, I'm on break now; you figure it out yourself."
"You aren't what I expected though," Anathema said softly.
"People rarely are."
"Cheers to that," Anathema raised her coffee in salute.
~~0~~
Crowley felt a bit discombobulated after leaving the cafe. Anathema had somehow managed to get his phone number and a couple of childhood secrets from him. He was terrified to get that Tarot reading as now he believed her to be an actual witch. He could admit that he did kind of like her though, even if he was only admitting it to himself. He doubted he would ever have an easy time trusting again, but it would be awfully lonely to never try to make a new friend. Especially as all the old ones were gone.
Not wanting to go home yet, Crowley found himself riding around Main Street on his bicycle. The town was small, but there were enough green spaces that provided stopping spots to enjoy. He missed having access to nature like this; living in the city, the few outdoor parks seemed to overfill on nice days. It could still be pretty, but it was rarely serene.
Crowley leaned his bicycle against a tree next to the pavement and turned around to see a car coming straight for a cyclist. The car was driving at an angle across the centre line. Crowley couldn't see the driver, but he registered it was Aziraphale on the bicycle as he reached out into the road and grabbed a hold of him, pulling him and his bike off the road and tumbling onto the ground. There was a moment of silence, and then an awful crunching sound. Crowley instinctively rolled his body over Aziraphale's, covering his own head as he felt tiny splinters of wood pelting his back.
"Are you okay?" Crowley lifted his head once the onslaught finished. Aziraphale looked up at him dazed. "Shit, Aziraphale are you okay?"
"Yes. What happened?" Aziraphale went to lift his head, but then winced, and it sank back to the pavement.
Taking off his coat, he bunched it up and tucked it under Aziraphale's head. He scanned over the man's body for injury, and then slid his hand into his hair gently to check along his skull. Aziraphale sucked in a breath.
"Does it hurt?"
"I'm okay, just a little dizzy from the fall."
"You should be wearing a helmet," Crowley scolded.
"It squishes my curls."
Crowley didn't think a grown man could pout without looking ridiculous, but somehow Aziraphale managed to pull it off.
Crowley scanned over him again, looking into Aziraphale's eyes closely. His pupils seemed to widen, but he seemed alert enough. "Don't move okay? I'm going to check on the driver. Call nine-nine-nine." Crowley retrieved his mobile and handed it to Aziraphale.
Crowley winced as he went to stand. He was definitely adding some new scratches that would pair well with the ones on his face from that morning. Also, his designer pants were sporting a slash along his thigh where he landed.
It took a moment for Crowley's eyes to adjust to the scene in front of him. Partly because he was still a bit winded from his tumble and partly because one of the lenses on his sunglasses had fallen out, and the light was affecting his sensitive vision.
"Un-fucking-believable." The car had veered and hit the tree that had been holding up his bicycle for him. All he could see of it now was a very bent wheel sticking out from the front of the vehicle.
The car had deployed the airbags, but Crowley still couldn't see a driver. He glanced surreptitiously, just to make sure he was still moving. Or perhaps not moving in this case. Crowley pulled open the door and finally saw the driver inside. She was slumped sideways in the car but appeared to be breathing.
"Ma'am, are you okay?"
"Found it!" the elderly woman said as she sat up in a woosh, but then wobbled as her body readjusted to the new angle. She was holding a lipstick, a line of it smeared from her lips to her cheek.
"Are you telling me that you nearly ran us over and turned my only mode of transportation into scrap metal because of a bloody tube of lipstick?"
"Ran you over? Oh dear." The woman looked at Crowley, and then her eyes rolled back as she fainted.
The ambulance came and took away the woman. One paramedic had cleaned the gash on Crowley's leg and given him a plaster, and another had checked over Aziraphale, giving him the all clear. Crowley was pacing by the abandoned car while he waited.
"Thank you; that was incredibly kind of you." Aziraphale stepped up next to him, stopping his pacing. He held out Crowley's jacket.
"I wasn't about to let someone get run over right in front of me. I'm full up on issues for therapy already."
Crowley sighed and looked again at his bicycle trapped between the car and the tree.
"Maybe it can be fixed?" Aziraphale sounded doubtful as he expressed the thought.
"God herself couldn't fix this." Crowley tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. "Oh Lord, heal this bike." After a dramatic pause, he looked back at Aziraphale. "See. Nothing."
Aziraphale gave him a look. "In lieu of the divine help you needed, perhaps I could help."
"No offence, Fell, but you don't look like a whiz with a spanner."
"No offence taken. I am quite okay with my desire to not get my hands dirty. I merely mean… perhaps you could use my bicycle. Until you are able to secure another one." He added the last part after Crowley looked at him sternly.
Crowley didn't like the idea, but he liked the idea of not having a quick way to get to work. "You sure you don't need it?"
"Quite sure, my dear. I think I'll stick to walking for a bit. My body is fine, but I'm afraid my nerves are a touch frayed."
"Just until I can find a new one."
Aziraphale lit up with a smile, like Crowley was the one who was doing Aziraphale a favour. "Thank you."
"Aren't I the one s'pose to be saying that?"
"You saved my life."
"Oh yeah, that."
"Yes, that."
Crowley swallowed. "Don't mention it." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Well, the tops of them, his jeans were far too tight to get much past the first knuckle. Aziraphale followed the movement, but then blushed and looked away. Crowley looked down to see his thigh hanging out from where the paramedics had cut his jeans to get better access to his cut.
A car pulled up alongside them, a concerned looking Mr. Brown bursting from the car.
"Aziraphale? Are you okay?"
"Quite so, Alistair. Thanks to Crowley here."
Crowley saw the disbelief flicker over the man's face before he was able to school his face back to neutral. "R.P Tyler saw the whole thing and put out a blast on the Tadfield Facebook group. I came as soon as I saw."
Crowley huffed. "Someone saw Fell here almost get hit by a car and didn't come to check on him? He just immediately put it on social media? Looks like small towns aren't much different than the big cities after all."
"Well, Mr. Tyler is not known for his tact," Alistair agreed. "Can I give you a lift home?"
"Yes, I think I would quite like a strong cup of tea and a rest." Aziraphale turned back to Crowley to address him. "Will I see you next Saturday?"
"Art class? Yeah, I'll be there."
Aziraphale's smile wasn't quite as large after his adrenaline slowly released its hold on him, but it was still bright. "I'll see you there then."
As Crowley watched Aziraphale climb into Mr Brown's car, he grabbed the bike, suddenly feeling his own energy wane. He grabbed the handlebars on the bike and began to walk it towards home.