Chapter Text
Crowley’s fingers idly drummed on the age-polished leather of the Bentley’s steering wheel as he swooped into a vacant parking spot just outside his destination. He double-checked the map on his phone and compared it to the fascia of the building before him. It certainly didn’t look like a cat rescue with its Georgian-style pillars and gilded lettering, but it was London, he supposed; he had ordered fish and chips in the blitz-wreckage of a church before, so this wasn’t too far from the realm of possibility. His phone confirmed the address so he swung himself out from the car, inspecting the signage as he approached the stoop. It was a fresh winter day and the sun shone low and bright on the claret-red panels, making it an eye-catching shopfront, even in rainbow-saturated Soho.
A.Z. Fell & Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books
A bookshop? Crowley frowned in confusion, glancing down at the phone screen again. The cat rescue was operated out of a bookshop? Unorthodox, but okay… Maybe the cats had found a better use for the books by shredding them for enrichment. They were resourceful little buggers. He grinned to himself and drifted towards the entrance.
The door creaked and an old brass bell jingled as he pushed his way in, blinking as the cold winter sunshine gave way to warring shadows and sparse haloes of golden lamplight. The warm spots of light were placed throughout a labyrinth of bookshelves like Will-o’-the-wisps that all converged on a central clearing, illuminated by the most magical oculus Crowley had ever seen. A column of natural light poured into the room in a stream of heavenly white that set dustmotes alight like a tiny cosmos. What a gorgeous building. It was well-heated and there was a delicate herbal scent that nestled up against something like vanilla which was oddly comforting. Crowley felt like he had just stepped into a wizard’s sanctum where the cobwebs were sentient, whispering in the shadows, where ancient secrets were bound in paper and ink.
“Hello?” a musical voice called from within the warren of stacked leather book spines, the source of the unseen greeting quickly resolved itself into a pale-clad figure carrying a cup and saucer, an orange cat winding round his ankles. So Crowley was in the right place then.
He almost laughed as he beheld the man in front of him. He looked like the perfect bookshop owner, the way he was fitted out in a well-loved waistcoat and Oxford brogues that were shined to a mirror finish; he was even sporting a gold pocket watch! The threadbare-edged waistcoat seemed incongruous with the otherwise immaculate outfit and Crowley found himself enraptured by the man – he was a sucker for quirky styling. Garments aside, Crowley was captivated by his affable smile and gentle eyes; he could almost imagine the man hosting a Saturday morning kids’ show.
The cat, on the other hand, looked stoic; Crowley knew he was being sized up by the curious, unblinking eyes. He quickly removed his sunglasses, stuffing them into his blazer pocket to put the cat at ease and offered a wave of greeting to its human. “Hey, you must be A.Z. Fell?”
“The very same. But do call me Aziraphale, please,” he said with a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Crowley found himself dopily matching the expression, caught off guard by the intrigue of his surroundings and host.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sounding every syllable out slowly, precisely. Unusual name. Old-worldy and grand but it seemed to suit the man with his posh, clipped pronunciation and vintage attire – he was wearing a bowtie. A tartan bowtie! “This must be the co, I take it?” He smirked down at the inquisitive bundle of ginger fur, trying to dismiss the way his mind was waxing poetic over Aziraphale’s pearl-blond hair and magnetic smile. He was here for a cat, not an infatuation.
“Indeed he is. This is Vork. He takes his greeting duties very seriously, but just mind your feet as he hasn’t got the hang of not tripping guests yet.” Though he sounded scolding of the behaviour, there was an obvious affection overwhelming Aziraphale’s voice that Crowley felt blossom in his chest too.
“Got it,” Crowley chuckled and stooped down to offer his hand to Vork, pleased to see the sweet creature eagerly approach to give his outstretched fingers a sniff. He was apparently deemed worthy enough to permit Crowley a good tickle of the cat’s chin; Crowley happily indulged, sinking his hand deep into the blaze of thick marmalade-coloured fur. “I’m Crowley, by the way.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said enthusiastically and Crowley could feel that he truly meant it. It made his chest dip in a funny way that he wasn’t keen to look too deeply at. What on earth was happening here? Why did this man have him in such a tizzy?
“Uh, yeah, you too.” It was difficult to speak past the turbulence thrashing inside of him.
“How can I help you today?” Aziraphale’s head tilted with the question, his eyes as bright and cheerful as his voice.
“So, you run a cat rescue… from a bookshop?” Crowley asked, looking up at Aziraphale from his crouched position. There was something so easy about how conversation flowed with the man – an aura of authentic care that lured Crowley in hook, line and sinker. It was hard to look away from those lovely eyes; summer-day blues framed with lines that spoke of a lifetime of easy smiles and joy.
“Oh, well yes, it is primarily a bookshop and always has been since it was established all the way back in 1800. When I took over the business, I noticed a clowder of stray cats that always seemed to congregate on this particular corner. So I started to feed them, and took them for veterinary care when required. I managed to rehome a few of them with some of my regular customers, and... well, it was such a natural progression from there to turn this place into a proper cat rescue!” Aziraphale chuckled, his eyes tender as he watched Vork trot back the way he had come.
“You could say that you were their guardian angel,” Crowley murmured with a half-cocked smirk as he carefully unfolded his creaking limbs to stand. He wanted to slam his palm into his forehead – he was flirting… badly. No wonder he was chronically single and had accepted his future as a cat dad. He was already a vintage car nerd who attended car shows at the weekend; the cat was just another step to eternal bachelordom.
“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale replied in a low chastising voice, dipping his gaze to the coffee-dark hardwood as he did. Crowley could swear there was a blush tinting his bunched up cheeks as he started to turn away. “Come along then, you can meet the rest of my motley bunch. I assume you are here to meet them and not my dusty old tomes?”
Crowley bit his lip to suppress his amused (and nervous) laugh and shoved his hands into the shallow pockets of his jeans, following Aziraphale deeper into the enigmatic heart of the building. “Yep, not much of a reader, me. But I do have a flat that gets excellent sunbeams and lots of napping spots that are unforgivably absent of cats.”
“Well, let’s remedy that, shall we?” Aziraphale replied with an adorable titter. That euphonious sound of soul-healing laughter had him frantically thinking of ways to hear it again so that he could commit it to memory.
“As long as we are remedying my cat-less flat and not book-less flat, sure, lead the way.” Crowley grinned while his heart collided with his ribcage; hoping deliriously that his asinine comment would amuse Aziraphale.
Aziraphale threw a sidelong glance over his shoulder; there was a fiery glint of disapproval in his eyes but it was suffocated by waves of joy that came from their burgeoning repartee.
“Don’t be intimidated, I do stock some illustrated books if you prefer a pretty picture over big words,” Aziraphale said with a wicked smile that made Crowley’s stomach pirouette.
Crowley snorted a laugh, shocked and delighted by the utter bastardry exhibited by someone who appeared to be so mild-mannered. They both chuckled as they walked on into the heart of the shop where they found a feline utopia; cat trees stretched tall into the bright rays of the skylight, age-etched Chesterfield sofas boasted plump tartan cushions in every shape and size conceivable, snug cat caves were stuffed under side tables and on top of bookcases and an impressive set of carpeted shelves were attached at regular intervals on the walls, leading up to hammocks and perches galore. And sprawled like the luxurious mini gods and goddesses they were, there were cats snuggled high and low, soaking up the sun pouring through the dome above. Crowley had to give it to him – Aziraphale was dedicated to his charges. The cats were obviously completely content in the domestic jungle gym that he had created for them.
Aziraphale drifted to an ornate desk that was overflowing with paperwork and books, to which the cat using it as a bed was indifferent. Aziraphale scooped up the arm full of familiar orange fur. “Of course you already know my good friend, Vork.”
Crowley nodded and scratched the lolling head, “Yes, hello again,” he said, beaming. He already struggled to coordinate his own spider-limbs, so a cat with a reputation for being a tripping hazard probably wasn’t the best fit, no matter how sweet Vork was.
“And there’s our lovely little old lady, Ryan. She’s a mother hen type.” Aziraphale jerked his chin towards another stretch of stripey caramel-orange laid on her back on the desk chair, all four of her limbs suspended in the air as she dreamed, blissfully unaware of her adoring audience. Crowley was instantly envious; it looked like an incredible kip. She looked like she could be a good nap buddy.
Not for the first time, Crowley was struck by the desire to be reincarnated into a cat in his next life (should he be so lucky) – specifically a cat cared for by someone like Aziraphale. He could easily imagine curling up in one of those sunbeams, the rustle of pages turning, a gentle hand carding through his hair with blunt, well-tended fingernails as he dozed. Idyllic.
He briefly wondered what sort of lives these creatures had been rescued from. Brawling in dark alleys, lonely wandering, forgotten by their mother and left to fend for themselves? Mm. Maybe that was a bit too introspective. With a heavy inhale, he shoved the unwelcome thoughts back into the designated corner of his mind where he left them to gather dust. He fixed his focus back on Aziraphale who focused on his diligent fingers raking through Ryan and Vork’s fur, murmuring doting little noises as he did, completely oblivious to Crowley’s existential inner vortex.
“Right. Who else can we find?” Aziraphale hummed, finally turning away from the pair of gingers who immediately coiled together into a furred pretzel shape with Ryan vigorously grooming a very satisfied Vork’s face.
Crowley watched quietly as Aziraphale wandered a few steps into the centre of the seating area and found a thick fleece bed beside a stacked set of Enid Blyton novels. “Hello, Oscar,” he said adoringly to the circle of glossy black coat he found burrowed within. A bleary eye opened, revealing a citrus-green glare of disinterest, quickly closing again when Aziraphale gave him a soft scratch along his spine. “Oscar is an elderly gentleman who doesn’t do much more than nap, but does occasionally stretch his legs at night while he takes his little stuffed rabbit for a wander round the shop. I must warn you, he does like to caterwaul as he goes.”
“We all have our hobbies, I suppose,” Crowley said, mirth colouring his words as he admired the obsidian shine of Oscar’s fur. He was definitely in-keeping with Crowley’s preferred colour scheme, which was a plus, and another potential napping partner. This was going to be a hard choice.
Aziraphale laughed and scouted their surroundings, presumably for more adoption candidates. “Aha, here we have Gabriel and Beelzebub.” He moved over to a bookcase where a pair were tucked together, observing with explicit boredom in their heavy-lidded eyes. “This proud fellow is Gabriel.” Aziraphale patted the large, pale grey one, “and she is Beelzebub.” He gave the tuxedo cat a brisk stroke; lingering on neither of them for long, unlike he had with the others. “They are a bonded pair and like to keep to themselves, usually. It’s a funny tale, actually. They both came from separate barn colonies that were known in the area for getting into scuffles whenever they crossed paths. Well, one day these two were found huddled together and were promptly ostracised by their colonies, so they were brought here.”
“Huh.” Crowley pouted. “Interesting name choices – God’s messenger and a prince of Hell. What made you come up with them?”
“Well Gabriel’s original home was a church-owned farm and the priest there liked to give the colony biblical names, so he was already named when he came to me. Beelzebub, on the other hand, was not-so-affectionately known as devil cat by her previous owners. I couldn’t very well continue calling her that! She’s a sullen little thing who only purrs when she’s with Gabriel – it’s a strange buzz of a purr, so I named her after the Lord of Flies. I thought it was very Romeo and Juliet,” Aziraphale explained with an adorable flip of his lip as he observed the saccharine twosome with delight.
“Not a fan of the gloomy ones,” Crowley mumbled, scrunching up his nose at the mention of the tragic lovers.
Typical, Crowley groused internally; of course a pair of sodding cats had a better love story than he ever had. Making the reasons for his choice of adopting one even more pronounced.
His flat had been amazing to come home to when he first bought it, but now it echoed too loud for his lonely heart to ignore. He’d had cats growing up – three (perhaps more) black cats who were all identical in looks, vocals and behaviour; they were all named Eric due to the fact that no one was ever able to tell them apart. Crowley had conceded to himself that an animal companion seemed more sensible than attempting the dating apps again. The thought of fending off more advances from BrownsCarpetsMatchingDrapes on every single dating app made his soul shudder with revulsion. Cats, at least, had a far better sense of boundaries than humans.
“Oh, Alfur, hello, dear boy.” Aziraphale’s smile was radiant as he turned to greet the fluffiest tabby that Crowley had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Alfur pounced down from a cat tree with an almighty yowl that shook Crowley right out of his contemplation with a laugh. “This wonderful creature does like to make his presence known, he’s very talkative.”
They both chuckled, watching as Alfur yelled at them both and earned himself a few glares from the sleepier felines in the immediate vicinity.
“Quite the chatterbox,” Crowley smirked, giving the talkative little thing a gentle chin scratch. He did want to dispel the silence of his cavernous flat; perhaps this conversational fella could be the answer?
“And Alfur does have a sibling – somewhere,” Aziraphale muttered distractedly. “There she is! Hilda is less likely to give you such a greeting, she does take quite a while to warm up to people.” Aziraphale pointed to a mass of even fluffier grey fur that was balled up in one of the hammocks above them, an apathetic green stare gleaming through the steel-coloured fur.
“You’ve got ‘em in every flavour, haven’t you?” he observed, restraining himself from approaching Hilda – her coat looked so silky and soft, but her demeanour gave quite the opposite impression, so he kept his respectful distance.
“Absolutely, as Cowper said: variety is the spice of life.” Aziraphale nodded. “Now, I may have to resort to baiting some of the hideaways to show their faces. Excuse me, just a moment, will you?”
Aziraphale slipped away through the shop, leaving Crowley to properly take in his surroundings. The bookshop gave the combined impression of a hobbit hole and an endless cave housing a scholarly dragon’s hoard. It was a blend of comfort and chaos that intrigued Crowley – it was just so different from what Crowley was used to but he found himself strangely drawn into the disarray, wanting to lean in and be a part of it.
“Now, let’s see who we can entice out.” Aziraphale reappeared, beaming as he came prepared with a floral china plate that held two heavily buttered crumpets.
Crowley cocked a brow in question. He had expected one of those smelly yoghurt tubes or something… but crumpets?
“These are Winnie’s favourite treat. She might ignore the presence of a stranger if she smells these,” Aziraphale explained, wafting the steam in all directions, as if it were holy incense.
A blur of sandy-brown swept by Crowley’s legs, almost making him yell in surprise as the newly-appeared tabby cat started to bump up against Aziraphale’s shins and mew beseechingly at the amused bookseller’s toasted lures.
“This is Fitz,” Aziraphale laughed, quickly tearing a piece of crumpet off as Fitz started to stretch his way up his trousers, pawing for the morsel. “I should have guessed you would be the first to appear where the food is!”
Just as quickly as Fitz appeared, another tabby had materialised on the desk, eyeing up the scene with a hopeful tilt to its head.
“George! Hello, dear polite boy, there you go,” Aziraphale said adoringly, tearing off another scrap of crumpet which George eagerly wolfed down.
“Just how many cats do you have in this place?” Crowley breathed a surprised laugh.
“At the moment? Twelve – I think,” Aziraphale replied, squinting his eyes as he searched through any cat-sized hiding places that were in his vicinity (there were a lot). “I’ve had as many as twenty at a time, though.”
Crowley whistled, eyes wide. “You really are an angel.”
“You must stop with all that angel nonsense,” Aziraphale chided, and it was hard to tell in the soft lighting of the place but Crowley was sure this time that he could see the man’s cheeks pinken. It was odd – Crowley had never found a blush so appealing before, but there was just something about Aziraphale… Something in the way his smile came so naturally, kindness shining out of him in waves, the way his smile was brighter than any Crowley had ever seen before. The way he gathered the lost and broken creatures to his sanctum and cared for them with unlimited love and patience.
“No can do, angel,” he teased, earning a pantomimed frown and tut from Aziraphale that absolutely delighted him.
“Found you!” Aziraphale cried happily, grinning up at a pair of pale yellow eyes belonging to a softly mottled tortoiseshell cat who was doing an incredible job of blending into a tartan blanket nest box, high up near the ceiling. “That is Stormy. She’s a sweet, shy little thing.”
As they were distracted by admiring Stormy from afar, a sudden burst of movement through the aisles had them swivelling just in time to catch a particularly large tabby peeling away into the shadows.
“And that was Winnie. She’s petrified of strangers but once she’s comfortable, she’s an excellent lap cat and very talkative,” Aziraphale chuckled, shaking his head at her cartoonish exit.
“And who is that magnificent fella?” Crowley asked, captivated as a large, sullen-faced cat wandered into their midst. His coat was ash-grey and as imposing as a cloud hiding the rumble of thunder in its depths. The cat strode past the pair of them as if they were invisible, not even a flicker of interest registering in its emerald eyes. There was something bewitching about its calm, self-assured manner.
“Ah. That is Lucifer. You would probably have more chance bonding with a Sumatran tiger than with him, I am afraid. I’m certain he only puts up with me because I share scraps of my dinner with him,” Aziraphale said wryly, sending a fond, but regretful smile in the direction of the umbra-embodying cat. “I’m quite resigned to the possibility that he will be a permanent resident. Not that I mind, of course.”
Lucifer swished his tail, lazily but purposefully. It was a gesture that sat somewhere between a challenge and an invitation and Crowley was, thankfully, not so stupid to take the bait. He had learnt his lesson as a kid with one of the Erics, who’d taught him with scarring claws and a vicious hiss.
“So! Do you have any idea which of my cherubs you are interested in?” Aziraphale grinned, cheeks pushing up his eyes into an amused squint. Crowley felt the air rapidly leave his chest with the weight of attraction bearing down on him. It was one thing to find the man charming, but his cheeky sense of humour was the nail in the coffin. Crowley was one breath away from being smitten. Bloody hell.
“With their guardian angel speaking so highly of each of them, it’s a tough call.” Crowley’s throat was tight, making his voice reverberate like he was being throttled. He wished someone would throttle him and make him shut up.
“You flatter me, but they are all absolute darlings in their own way, and I am just blessed to watch over them,” Aziraphale said softly, setting the plate down and regarding Crowley with a smile that set his heart off at an uncoordinated gallop.
With a heavy swallow, he looked away and tried to focus on the cats instead. That’s what he was here for…
So, who was he most interested in? For some reason, his head swivelled straight towards Lucifer, who had settled into a very prim loaf, impassive eyes barely cracked open. There was a gut feeling stirring within Crowley that convinced him that Lucifer needed him. And Crowley needed Lucifer. Maybe it was the concrete unbothered exterior because he knew how similarly he built his own walls, but Crowley somehow knew he could be Lucifer’s person. “But I have to say, something is telling me Lucifer is the one.”
Aziraphale’s brow creased with concern, carving trenches in the serene expression he’d maintained so far. “Lucifer – are you sure?”
“Ah,” Crowley waved the question away nonchalantly. He didn’t want to sound like a nutter, explaining the way he just knew Lucifer was supposed to come home with him. “I’m sure I can tempt him to give me the time of day.”
“I’m sure you are very… charming.” Aziraphale’s gaze locked onto Crowley’s and there was a sense of something ethereal in his lingering scrutiny, like Aziraphale was reaching into Crowley’s soul, seeking out his intentions in crevices long forgotten and overlooked. Crowley tried to hold himself steady as he felt the heat of blood rushing to the surface of his skin, breathing shallowly as Aziraphale’s eyes trailed down to his faux-snakeskin boots; he could almost feel the tangible drag of perception; the appraisal made his heart stutter dangerously before Aziraphale continued. “But Lucifer does have quite severe trust issues; I have had customers and friends who stop by regularly and even they struggle to gain any sort of connection with him. Are you sure that someone else isn’t a better fit for you ?”
Crowley’s lip slipped out into a thoughtful pout. So what if Lucifer’s walls were a little thicker than most? That was fine, Crowley could be patient. He didn’t mind going the scenic route. Lucifer just needed someone who could be a balancing force for those gravity-claiming black moods until they paled into shades of grey.
The thought of regularly visiting this cosy little Eden and bonding with the fascinating creatures inhabiting it? Yeah, he could do that. Especially if Aziraphale kept looking at him like that…
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” he assured Aziraphale, his stomach knotting in tangles. “What if I pop in a few times a week so he can get used to me? And if he doesn’t, then that’s his prerogative and I’ll respect it.”
“Oh, well… Excellent,” Aziraphale stammered, twisting his gold pinky ring round and round. “If you have time to stay now, I’ll go and make us some refreshments?” Aziraphale gestured at the sofa opposite Lucifer’s perch in invitation.
“Sounds great, angel.”