Chapter Text
He doesn’t go by the name Gabriel anymore. While the name is opulent, like he is, he finds it no longer suits him. After running away it just seemed like the thing to do. He had been afraid at first; abandoning the name his mother gave him. But perhaps She wouldn’t mind. She was unconditionally merciful after all, and surely changing his name was very low on Her radar.
He rolls over in bed and looks at the naked figure lying beside him. She no longer goes by her old name either. He watches her silently, amazed at how something so grotesque and horrible can likewise be so lovely. Their home isn’t much. After all, what could they possibly need? He has taken a page out of Aziraphale’s book and created a pseudo human lifestyle that he finds he rather enjoys. There is a kitchen, large and modern. He has discovered that he likes to cook. While food still doesn’t particularly interest him, crafting dishes is delightful. He wonders if this is what She felt like when She created the universe. Did She enjoy it the way he does?
He doesn’t flinch when Beatrice’s eyes open. She smiles at him and he offers one back. She stretches her wiry little body for a long time before she finally gets out of bed.
“Coffee?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t need to tell her how he likes it.
She doesn’t bother getting dressed. When she returns she has two mugs and hands one off. She immediately gets back into bed.
“You’re not going to get up for the day?”
“Jim, I may no longer be a prince of Hell, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to indulge in one of my favorite deadly sins.” She stretches a dark, hairy leg out and for a moment Jim thinks she is propositioning him. But then she sets her mug down and rolls into a duvet cocoon and immediately falls back asleep. Ah. Sloth, then.
Jim knows he could join her. After all, there really isn’t a whole lot left to do when you’ve abandoned your post as supreme archangel and run away with your evil lover to another galaxy. Time is irrelevant. He could spend an eternity in this bed and it would mean nothing. And yet somehow this is not enough. Certainly he doesn’t wish to return to Heaven, but he needs something to keep him busy besides cooking and sex and Big Brother reruns.
He wonders back to Aziraphale. The tidy little angel seemed very content with his life. He had his bookshop, he went out for lunches and dinners, and he had companionship. Although… that last part was rather complicated, wasn’t it? Perhaps nobody had it all. Still, there was something to keep Aziraphale happy and Jim decides he wants to know how to go about achieving it for himself.
. . .
It is wet and rainy in London. Muriel is still adjusting to life on Earth and though they know they like it (a lot, actually) they have not yet made their mind up on the subject of England’s climate.
It is easy enough to keep busy. Inside there are shelves to dust (carefully) and rugs to beat (gently.) Outside there are people to wave at and all kinds of birds to index. So far most of them seem to be something that is called a pigeon, but there have been other exciting species on occasion.
The main responsibility of Muriel’s, however, is undoubtedly Crowley.
The demon goes back and forth between the bookshop and his flat. He sometimes disappears for days at a time but he always returns. Muriel worries for him on those nights. Muriel is still learning about love and life and emotions, but they know that Crowley is struggling. His heart hurts. He will never show it, but he feels it. Today is one of his gone days. He left two nights ago without saying a word after finishing a bottle of wine on his own. He had actually offered some to the angel.
“Fancy a drink?” He was lounged over the couch in a way that would not have left much room for another person.
"I’ve never had a drink before,” Muriel said.
“Well this here is a fantastic place to start. This is one of Aziraphale’s oldest cabernet sauvignons. What do you say we crack it open?”
His eyes were mischievous, but Muriel had learned very quickly that Crowley was rather benign as far as demons go. They would go so far as to say they liked him, in fact. Quite a lot. He was a confusing sort of fellow and said strange things, but they found it amusing. And he was never unkind. Even with an angel as naive as they were, he was patient and understanding. They didn’t know a lot about Hell or the outside world, but they knew Crowley was a safe person. Safe enough to say,
“No thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” the demon scowled back. The issue with the wine was it always exacerbated Crowley’s emotions. Muriel watched anxiously, knowing that things were about to get messy. It didn’t take long before his voice grew in volume and he began to speak very emotionally about the angel that had lived in the bookshop before. His face got red and his voice sounded wet and his breathing was heavy. That was when he had quickly tidied up and disappeared.
Muriel sits by the window, watching the water droplets wriggle down the glass, sometimes morphing into one large blob. They look up at the bright white sky and wonder what the angels are doing. Do they know anything of books or wine?
There is a sudden displacement of air, strong enough to make a sound but gentle enough that they don’t topple over. Muriel looks to where the disturbance is and sees a very familiar old face.
“Archangel Gabriel!” Muriel stands and does a clumsy little curtsy.
Jim takes a minute to look around. Nothing looks immediately different but something is missing. The energy is different somehow.
“Can I get you something?” the angel asks with practiced politeness.
“Where is Aziraphale,” he responds, not intending to be rude but still being a bit so.
“Um, well h-he…” They clear their throat. “He left with the Metatron. He doesn’t live here anymore.”
This seems to catch Jim off guard. That explains why the atmosphere feels so…thin. Drafty, somehow.
“Why did he leave?”
“Well the Metatron made him the new supreme archangel. He’s gone to Heaven to discuss some things.”
“What things?” Jim demands.
“I-I don’t know. I mean the Metatron surely wouldn’t be sharing all that important sort of stuff with me!”
Jim feels annoyed. He is annoyed with the angel standing before him (whom he knows doesn’t deserve it) and with Aziraphale. The nerve of him leaving when Jim needs him! And going to Heaven? To discuss, what, angelic duties? No, this was all very inconvenient.
“Well did he say when he would be back?”
“I… I don’t think he is coming back.”
Jim scowls. He’s getting sweaty with the anticipation of what he's about to ask. He hates this.
“Well what about the demon? Would he know anything?”
“Mister Crowley? I can’t really say. He’s not here at the moment but even when he is here he doesn’t really like talking about Mister Fell.”
“What are you talking about? They’re friends aren’t they?”
“I don’t think they are anymore, Gabriel.”
“That isn’t my name,” he snaps.
While Muriel seems unimpressed with his attitude, they do take a step back, more likely to give him some space than out of intimidation.
“Look, where can I find Crowley?”
“Well he has a flat here in London,” Muriel says. “But I’m afraid I don’t know where it is.”
“Well will he be back any time soon?”
And almost as if in answer to Jim’s question, the front door flies open with a loud boom. Crowley lowers the foot he used as a battering ram and saunters in, a gloomy sort of energy following. The door shuts on its own behind him and the cold air that had snuck in begins to warm. Crowley and Jim instantly make eye contact but the demon’s expression is unreadable. He walks past the two and into the kitchen where Muriel hears the familiar sound of the kettle being put on.
“What crawled up his ass?” Jim asks, mostly to himself. Muriel looks scandalized by the rhetorical question and tries to stammer an answer when Jim holds a hand up to silence them. Jim follows Crowley into the kitchen, not wanting a confrontation but preparing for one anyway. Once he is there however, he doesn’t seem to know what to do, so he just stands.
“And what could you possibly want?” Crowley asks without looking up. Jim decides he is not going to respond to that kind of attitude, so he remains silent. “What, trouble in paradise?” Crowley sneers. “Bored already? Beelzebub not tickling your fancy anymore, eh? What, can’t the former duke of Hell perform for y-”
“Hey!” Jim points an angry finger at the demon. “Leave her out of this. This has got nothing to do with her. I’m sorry you’re moping and can’t keep your emotions in check but that is too far!” In the ensuing silence Jim wonders, for the first time in his life, if he is a hypocrite.
The quiet remains as Crowley is stunned into silence. He feels his face burning. Shame. He’s felt it a million times.
“I’m sorry,” he finally murmurs. Neither one knows where to pick up from there but the kettle clicks and Crowley suddenly reaches for two more cups. Jim doesn’t even know what he is preparing but he knows one of them is for him. He awkwardly jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating that he will wait in the other room, and Crowley nods. Muriel has not moved from their spot, looking a little worried but mostly curious. They step aside for Jim, who moves to the settee and sits. Crowley emerges from the kitchen soon after and hands off the two cups before retreating to grab his own. When he returns he slumps into an armchair, watching the two angels watching him. Muriel, at this point, has learned what to do with a cup of tea. They blow on it (important) and hold it politely. Jim is also aware that what he has in his hands is a beverage of some sort. He knows it isn’t coffee, he can tell by sniffing the steam, but it feels comfortable in his hands, which he likes.
“Beelzebub know you’re here?” Crowley asks, finally breaking the silence.
“Beatrice,” Jim corrects. “Yes she does.” Crowley hmphs. Eventually he asks,
“So what do you want?”
“I wanted to see Aziraphale,” he cuts off briefly when Crowley scowls deeply at this, then pushes on. “But he apparently doesn’t live here anymore.”
“That would be correct.” Things stay quiet for a little while longer. Jim finally decides to examine the drink he’s been given. He’s pretty sure it’s tea, which is something he knew Aziraphale drank while he lived in the bookshop with him. He leans closer and decides it’s cooled enough to drink.
“Is it something I can help you with?” Muriel asks shyly.
“Honestly… I don’t even know what I wanted to know. Things are…” Jim trails off. Crowley’s brows raise and so he continues. “Things are fine, but I just feel a little… incomplete.”
“Incomplete,” Crowley parrots.
“Well, I guess it just comes down to what comes next. Beatrice and I have our place, she has her bugs, I cook. But what comes after that? I don’t really have a purpose anymore. I spent all my time following the orders God gave me and that was it. Now I don’t have to live that life anymore but I feel like something’s missing.
“Seeing you and Aziraphale and how you’ve gotten on for thousands of years, you guys just seem to know what you’re doing. You seem happy.” The demon snorts into his mug. Jim ignores him. “I mean, aside from whatever is going on now, you two seemed to have this sort of routine. So what is it? What is your purpose?”
“Mine,” Crowley asks. “Or the royal ‘you?’”
The bell in front jingles and Muriel immediately stands up.
“Feel free to look around but nothing is for sale,” they say, cheerily. The would be customer furrows their brow and then promptly leaves.
In the brief moment the door is left open a small bird manages to find its way inside.
“Oh! Oh, Mister Crowley! What do I do?” Muriel sounds positively distressed at the new situation.
“It’s fine,” he shouts over his shoulder. “It’ll find its way out eventually.” After a moment he adds, “It won’t hurt the books.” Muriel seems relieved by this and then quietly pulls out a notebook they’ve been carrying around. While they’re occupied, Jim addresses Crowley.
“So what happened?” The demon scowls again. It’s a look that should seem natural, being of Hell and all, but Jim saw the way Crowley lit up around the angel and he thinks that look suited him much better. “Look,” he carries on. “Believe it or not I’ve been around longer than the two of you have. I know that I didn’t allow a lot of room for genuine emotion but when I lived here I saw the way you two looked at each other. If you feel a fraction of what I feel for Beatrice then you two are crazy about each other. We’ve seen you two together on numerous occasions over the millennia, numerous enough that we took note of it. And now you’re suddenly apart? Seriously, what happened?”
“You want to know what happened? I told him how I felt and he ran away. That’s what happened.”
“What, you said ‘I love you’ and he said ‘no thanks?’”
“Well… not in so many words…”
“I’m starting to think that things didn’t actually go the way you think they did.”
“What’s it to you whether it did or it didn’t,” Crowley snaps. “Listen, you’ve never given a shit about him before so why do you give a shit now?”
Jim is taken aback by Crowley’s words. Now, he knew he wasn’t exactly the most saccharine of all angels, but that was business. Never question the Lord, carry out tasks in a timely manner, etc. It wasn’t his fault if Aziraphale decided to indulge in food and music and needed a reminder of his place every now and again. And he tells Crowley as much.
“You think this is about your criticizing his eating habits? This is about you telling him to go and kill himself.”
Kill himself? Jim mentally steps back into the shoes of Gabriel and tries his hardest to remember. He goes back to before he was Jim. Before he and Beatrice had begun their secret meetings. Before an eleven year old boy told Satan off for being an absent father. No wait… it was after that. Somewhere in between…
“Starting to recall?” Crowley sneers.
There was a fire. Hellfire. A long column of it and he had instructed Aziraphale to walk into it. The same Aziraphale who took him in when he had amnesia. Jim feels his heart pounding in his chest. His face burns. He feels an awful feeling he hasn’t felt before. He can’t put a name to it so Crowley supplies it for him.
“That’s shame, by the way, that you’re feeling. If ever there was an angel worthy of Heaven it’s him. You’ve always been a right bastard.”
“Why did he do it?” Jim asks, morosely. “Why did he take me in after everything I did?”
“It’s the definition of love, isn’t it? Love is patient. Love is kind. Doesn’t boast, something something. It keeps no record of wrongs.”
No record of wrongs. Even before becoming supreme archangel, Aziraphale had been a testament to all that is good. Gabriel, on the other hand, had not been. But he isn’t Gabriel anymore. He’s Jim now, and Jim can do whatever he likes. He can start fresh. He can fix things.
“We’ve got to get him to come back,” he says suddenly.
Crowley has long abandoned his tea, and Jim still hasn’t decided if he likes tea or not. He’s leaning toward not. Muriel is intently sketching the bird from a new angle.
“He belongs here. With you. On Earth. Not whatever it is they have planned for him up there.” Jim points a finger upward to emphasize this. “And I have questions. So it’s settled.” He sits back down and picks up his tea. He takes another sip. No thank you, he decides.
“What is?” Crowley asks.
“We’re going to have to go and get him.”