Chapter Text
Settling against the old stone wall, Crowley pulled out his mobile and checked for available networks. Absolutely none, as expected. The trees around him were old, but not old growth old, and possibly not as random or natural as they seemed. Maybe.
Last night, he used a different mobile, it's batteries dead, as an excuse to stop by the local pub, a lost traveler without directions who needed an outlet and a meal. Along with less useful gossip, he learned the manor house behind the high wall belonged to a rich eccentric. Of course, no one had ever seen these rich eccentric. Instead, they'd met the housekeeper who did the shopping. A 'nice young man, a sweetheart but a bit awkward,' and they were certain others lived there, even if they had no concrete descriptions. It was more than he'd found on his own.
Beelzebub assigned him here on a Thursday and their town hall was closed on Fridays, leaving him only the library and internet, and the only info he found online the library had uploaded anyway, which meant Dagon could've dug up as much without involving him. The way she lorded over the archives, all her precious files, she or her cronies could at least do the basics. Regardless, "A. Z. Fell" owned that land for the past forty years, and before that other Fells lived there, all initials rather than names. First initial always a vowel, mostly A or E, and the middle name always Z or R.
Crowley's favorite was E. Z. Fell.
While a sponsor of the local library and a few festivals, Fell never attended any of them. Any article that mentioned him did so in passing and only one 1903 gossip column speculated on the Fell family. No scandals, no offshoots, no bastards, none of the Fell children ever attended a local school, no notices of marriages or obituaries. Absolutely no pictures. Neither incriminating nor absolving.
Both in this village and nearby villages had the expected death rate, no unsolved murders in the past decade, no animal maiming, no unresolved missing persons. Declining population, drunken incidents... He'd nearly called Beelzebub for a better explanation, since they only provided the manor's address. The only reason he skipped calling in, besides avoiding getting cussed at, was that Beelzebub had been on the money every time for the past decade, barely giving him any breaks between jobs. If he didn't delay his final report by a month or two, he'd never have any time off.
Not that he got any time off lately.
Which explained why he sat against the wall on, barely two whole days after his assignment. Either pop in and get a look or spend else spend the weekend befriending baristas and bartenders. This way, at least, he'd get an idea, then sleep until midweek and really get started.
A check upward confirmed the day's forecast held: mostly cloudy until Wednesday. Not his favorite. Despite being a quarter to one, the shadows were faint, but that still counted as sunlight.
Turning off his phone, not that it ever rang, pinged or vibrated, he stowed it where it wouldn't break and checked his gear again. Not much, lock picks rather than crosses, nothing especially blessed and only one small squirt bottle of holy water, securely caped. No trouble, he would go in, get a layout, and get out. Just a look.
By one thirty, he finally dragged himself to his feet and considered the wall. The real give away was the lack of security cameras. The rich tended to be big on security, while his targets could be their own security. He hated that Beelzebub would right again.
He still stood there and grumbled to himself a bit longer before finally slithering up. As far as it mattered to him, walls were made to be climbed, nothing more than vertical stairs that required his arms to work as well as his legs. For all he knew they were intended to keep people out, they really just made it harder to see inside, and he was was on the top as easily as if had just walked there, staring at the other side.
Flowers.
Day-time flowers.
Flowers that flowered in the daytime and closed at night. An amazing riot of daytime flowers. An amazing riot of daytime in full spring bloom bustling into each other. Nearby, white and pink blossoms created clouds of the fruit trees, their petals drifting through the breeze. Over there, a wide white gazebo shaded an alcove with benches and moss covered stones beneath the tree branches. Right here - and over - there were petunias and marigolds - and sunflowers! Someone planted sunflowers around the gazebo.
Beelzebub had gotten it wrong. Sunflowers? That was practically sacrilege. At the best, the expected wild flowers, maybe the remnant of a garden, something overgrown and ignored. Or maybe a night garden of moonflowers, datura and brugamsia, something well kept but only appreciated at night. That might be night-blooming jasmine over there, and possible evening primrose. And he did notice hints of neglect, spring growth hadn't been trimmed back, spent flowers were going to seed. But it was beautiful. Fell wasn't anything dangerous, just-
"Excuse me," the prim distinguished voice spoke up. "What-"
Bending closer to examine this bizarre discovery, Crowley started and toppled off the wall, his landing cushion padded by the purple flowers of a rhododendron.
Already on his feet, the bush protectively between them, Crowley brushed away the twigs and leaves as if people toppled off a stranger's twelve foot wall and into their garden regularly. At least he wasn't dressed for real work, so he didn't have his face covered or any of his real gear on, but he was dressed in black, standing in a stranger's garden.
"Are you hurt?" The very English accent sounded like one of the BBC miniseries.
"Sorry," he muttered. He flubbed the whole thing, too lazy by far, should've done more research. He busied himself with the plant, trying to disguise the damage he'd done as he shifted the flowers about, searching for something to say. "About the rhododendron. Trim it a bit and give it extra water and it'll bounce back. It's strong." He'd know, he'd gotten a couple bruises from where it stabbed at him as he landed. Not enough to tear cloth, but it stung.
If they called the cops, Beelzebub would leave him in a few weeks before bailing him out.
"Could make a bouquet out of the broken ones," he offered. A silly gesture, he scooped several that had snapped off and not been crushed, arranged them into a circle as he twisted off a bad one, then held it out. "Oh."
The outfit shouldn't surprise him. It hit all the popular 'historic clothing' trends while also being accurate. Vests and overcoat, even a pocket watch, all in beiges and powdered blue. A tartan bow tie. The tartan umbrella, with tassels in the same beige, was more accurate than most would bother with, though traditionally they'd not been the size of gulf umbrellas and wouldn't be needed on an overcast day.
"Why, thank you." The man stepped forward, the umbrella's shadow moving with him, as he accepted his own rhododendron flowers. He wore white gloves, probably calf leather or such. Possibly as confused to be holding flowers as Crowley had been, he studied them moment longer and smiled. Not a full smile, but his lips pulled upward and blue eyes sparkled. Realizing he'd just amused the man with the whole ridiculous situation, Crowley smiled back, and felt a shiver down his back as the Victorian dandy lifted them reverently to his nose, holding Crowley's eyes the entire time.
The spell broke when he inhaled. He jerked his head back as he held them away. "Those are quite pungent."
"Rhododendron can be like that. Some are really strong."
"I appreciate the gesture regardless," he said, holding them closer for a more delicate sniff. "You know, it isn't everyday someone falls into my garden to give me my own flowers."
"Ah, well, that's me. Aim to please." He grinned, more at the bad joke than anything else, and trying to decide if he could climb out before the man called for reinforcements. If he needed reinforcements. There was a reason Crowley rarely got in spitting distance until the last possible moment. For all he could climb and sneak, he'd get his ass handed to him in a real fight, and he'd no idea this man's strength.
The man smiled back, his checks dimpling as he pressed his lips together and glanced up at Crowley almost shyly and Crowley found himself shifting his weight, smiling back. The stranger lacked the calculations he normally saw in others' eyes, he seemed to be genuinely amused and welcoming. No one truly welcomed Crowley.
The silence had stretched and the man remembered himself first, glancing away with a small start, reaching to repair the conversation. "I fear we have no one to nurse the road-a... the r- the flowers back to health. Our gardener recently departed and we've only just starting to interview for a replacement."
Departed was a perfectly normal word to use for someone leaving, but the 'dearly' departed meant something else entirely and it reminded Crowley why he came and that he should not be flirting with anyone within these walls. At least his thoughts remained clear, not soupy the way his brain felt the few times he'd been charmed.
All of this was one hundred percent himself messing it up. It was great at messing things up.
"That's me," he lied, still grinning back at the man. "Here for an interview. Just... was early and wanted to see the gardens." He'd call it his worse excuse ever, but he'd used a lot of bad ones.
Now the man frowned at him. Apparently he'd fraternize with an intruder but not a gardener.
"Yeah," Crowley agreed with his silent judgment "Bad idea that. Went down like a lead balloon."
"A... what?"
"Lead balloon. Just like me, suppose. Straight down."
"Not straight down," he corrected, no longer frowning but not smiling either. Crowley could've reassured him that he wasn't the first one to be baffled by his logic. "You fell outward, away from the wall, otherwise you would have landed at the base of the wall not in the roa- the flowers. For the best, I believe, as you could have hit the stone coming down and there's nothing substantial to soften your fall directly next to the wall. I would very much not like you to have hurt yourself."
"Really?" Not even Crowley cared if he hurt himself. It happened too often.
The man hummed back, casting about for a new subject rather than answering that. "Well? What did you think of them?"
"What?"
"The garden - the flowers. You did come here to interview?"
"Right!"
"Then?" And he motioned for Crowley to join him walking back down the path.
Having worked on several landscaping crews, which hired more frequently than indoor staff without a full list of references, Crowley started rambling about the plants and conditions they were in. Peppering an excusable mistake or two, neither of which the man responded to, and he relaxed enough to indulgence his own interests without fear his companion would recognize he only half knew what he talked about. Though he noted, without commenting, the absence of hawthorn, ash, willow, juniper and aspen trees, instead he talked about what he did see. The annuals spreading and the brush growing into the gazebo and the overgrowth in general. As they circled though the colorful beds, the topic meandered until they discussed oysters. Crowley had no idea how they hit the topic.
From the fruit trees, with branches trimmed high enough to allow the umbrella easy clearance, the path opened to a trim lawn. The manor beyond was snug in the shade of towering black popular and beech trees. On the smaller side for a manor, maybe quaint, it still had two stories with a number of windows. The majority of the curtains seemed to be open, houseplants inside a few of them, while others were reflections that he couldn't discern.
This place pinged every not-normal instinct without alerting any of his gut threats. For all it felt off - he chatted like an old friend with a Victorian dandy carrying a giant tartan, tasseled umbrella, after all - he felt entirely at ease. Well, a little uneasy, the whole thing was weird, but not in a life threatening way. He might still be interviewing for a job, or he might be about to be arrested. He really wasn't sure.
"Oh, dear, but I haven't asked. What about the stipulations?" The man paused in the shade of the last tree before the open drive. "They won't be an issue, will they?"
"Wouldn't be here otherwise," Crowley promised. As he was here otherwise, which meant he wasn't really agreeing. Right? When the man's checks dimpled again as his eyes sparkled, still keeping his lips pressed tightly together rather than smiling broader, Crowley was rather certain he understood him exactly.
Unable to believe he never called the intruder's bluff, nor that the intruder ever let his facade drop, Aziraphale lead him to the alcove at the front door and only here did the man hesitate. For the first time since starting this silly farce, really since he stood up and thoughtlessly straightened his shades and his shirt, he paused. Neither of them should have kept it up for so long, regardless if the stranger knew an amazing amount about plants and had fallen so easily into conversation with him. Best to end it now, before inviting him in. It would be easy enough to call Shadwell to escort the stranger out the gate.
"I haven't asked if you have any requirements," Aziraphale said instead. "We can be flexible on some conditions but not all of them. We really can't be lenient on the stipulations though. Mr. Fell is very strict on it." The man had no idea what those stipulations were, even if he verbally agreed with them. Aziraphale really shouldn't let this get so out of hand just because he enjoyed a conversation.
"You're not Mr. Fell?" the intruder asked. Since the stranger wouldn't be a lost traveler, not when he came equipped to climb the wall, knowing the owner of the grounds only made sense.
"I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? I'm sorry. I am Ezra East. I'm the property manager and Fell's assistant, however there are so few of us that we often assist each other. You can call me Ezra." Starting to extend a hand, he realized he still held the flowers, while the other had the umbrella yet. As easy as anything, the intruder took the flowers back then grasped Aziraphale's hand with his free hand.
"I'm Crowe- James B. Crowe." He still wore the gloves that protected his hands while climbing the wall, just as Aziraphale still wore his, so their skin didn't touch, but his longer fingers were sure and his grip confident, and Aziraphale barely resisted the temptation to pull him closer. "I'm glad to meet you, Ezra."
"And I, you, Mister Crowe." With an effort, he released his hand.
"Just Crowe. Everyone calls me Crowe." Not an entire truth, Aziraphale would wager, but neither was the name James B. Crowe offered. Not that Aziraphale offered an entirely truthful name either.
"A pleasure to met you, Crowe," he said, wishing he could see the man's eyes yet grateful he couldn't, and trying to hold them all the same. The shades made even accidentally hypnoses, or persuasive suggestions, impossible. Every offer and invitation, every comment and question, came wholly from Crowe. So was that smile.
Aziraphale busied himself folding the umbrella before stepping up to unlock the door and pushed it wide. "After you."
No hesitation this time, long legs striding in and hips - goodness, should real human hips move like that? Hurrying after him, thankful he wouldn't blush, Aziraphale tried to straighten his thoughts. Were he anyone else, he should be worried about allowing an intruder, especially one so confident, into his home. Nothing good would come of such a thing. But Crowe should really be more careful, too. Did anyone know he was here? Who would notice if he disappeared here? Aziraphale could simply say he never saw him and no one could prove otherwise. Not that anyone would come asking.
Crowe didn't comment on Aziraphale locking the doors once inside. Sliding the umbrella into the rack, he smiled up at Crowe.
"These are for you," Crowe said before Aziraphale could speak, holding out the flowers once more. "Picked 'em myself."
Accepting them once more, he held them before his face again, ready for the strong scent, and fluttered his eyes like a childhood crush. It was absolutely foolish, even compared to the game in progress, but Crowe blushed as he grinned, so it wasn't the most foolish indulgence. It was the first time they'd faced each other, compared to walking side by side, and for the first time Aziraphale spotted the red on his neck.
"My dear, you're bleeding!"
Just a nick, already dry, near the back just out of sight. Amazed he'd not noticed immediately, either the flowers stronger than he thought or having a man fall out of the sky enough of a distraction, Aziraphale quickly offered him a handkerchief then held the flowers before his nose again. They didn't help, not now that he caught the scent of it, but they hide the motion of him licking his lips.
Surprised to have a handkerchief, Crowe held it against the back of his neck, and his frown deepened when he looked at it and saw the stain. Had already told him. But it took only a few more dabs to clean it away. Which left him with a faintly bloody handkerchief.
"Sorry about that. I'll get it cleaned up."
"Oh, no. We can launder it here," he insisted, holding out his hand. "We have a proper motorized laundry machine." He was rather proud of that, only it was the twenty first century and he probably deserved the look Crowe gave him. "It really is nothing. Especially when you so kindly gave me flowers - twice." Though perhaps he shouldn't take it back; their game would end even sooner if he'd fresh blood to scent.
"A favor from an angel," Crowe replied, his grin back. With a flourish, he held it to his chest, above the pounding heart Aziraphale could hear in the quiet room, then somehow fit it into a pocket. Aziraphale never thought blue jeans could be black, though he supposed it was only a matter of dying them. He'd definitely never considered they could fit that tight.
"I'm hardly an angel."
"You look angelic to me," Crowe shot back, and Aziraphale tried to frown at him, though he couldn't battle down a grin at the outrageous flattery.
"I wasn't the one falling from the sky."
With a bark of a laugh, Crowe shifted his weight again, still not standing straight. This man, this intruder, so relaxed in his company. As if he'd nowhere else to be and no one else he'd rather spend his time with; the best part of his day happening right now. Surely he was after something. "Naw, I fell from the sky already. I'm a fallen angel."
"You'd make yourself a demon and me an angel?" he asked, losing the moment. A living man, Crowe was not the monster here, and the monster knew well enough not to entrap an innocent near him. He should break the game and send him away. He should... "Are you certain a demon should work for an angel?"
"Don't think there'd be anything better for a demon than to be near an angel."
Oh dear. He really should... But Crowe looked so happy and turning him away... "If you wait a moment, I'll get the paperwork."
"Be here when you return, angel."
Before he could reply, Aziraphale turned the doorknob, and, leaning against the door already, didn't quite stumble though as it opened. At least he'd not said anything overly foolish. Anything else foolish. With the door firmly closed behind him, in the dim, indirect light before the staircases, he tried to lecture himself on all the reasons he really must be paying more attention, and why he should go back through that door and tell that man to leave. The intruder. Instead he just stood there, picturing Crowe's smile, the way his voice caressed angel, the way he so blatantly lied, which allowed Aziraphale to dodge truths he'd rather not face as well.
A gardener? A property manager!
Rather than to the offices, he headed to the kitchen. He needed water for the flowers, needed to keep them alive in their new life for as long as possible. They weren't like people, which he could sustain himself after they'd been separated from life.
They'd remodeled ages ago, given the small staff, lack of visitors and his own eating habits, but the kitchen and staff's dinning room remained close to the original. Appliances and such added, of course, otherwise Tracey kept it as original as possible.
"And what has gotten you in such a mood?" she asked as he opened the door, her smile wicked and eyes glinting.
"Could you put these in a vase for me?" he replied, holding out the flowers. "I think I'll bring them into the reading room. Add some color."
"You're picking flowers?"
"Not I, our new gardener, who I am about to hire. He gave them to me. Twice," he added, with a wiggle.
"That was quick." She finally took the flowers, inspecting them. The scent didn't seem to overwhelm her. "Would've thought they'd mention it."
"No, he wasn't found by Newt or Anathema," he said with a nod, already turning away. "He hasn't died. He's perfectly healthy, I believe, and knows a thing or two about plants. When Shadwell arrives, will you ask him to stay inside until I can talk with everyone?" Rather rudely, which Tracy would call him out for later, Aziraphale had already left again, now heading to the nearest staircase even as he spared a thought toward Shadwell, calling in him from his chores. It wouldn't do to have him stumbling on Crowe before he understood what was happening. The youngest of them, he wasn't use to new people, not here. Of all them, he'd be the most used to living people.
"You're happy," Anathema said, only just glancing up from the piles of folders on the table before her and Newt. "Tell me why you're happy. I could use something happy just now."
"I have just hired a gardener," he said and added the solution that occurred to him just now. "A temporary position for the summer. That will seem less unusual, he's alive and so can't stay indefinitely, but he will keep the garden for the season and we will have more time to find our next gardener. A 'full-time' gardener." He nodded to the piles around them. "Better not to rush these things."
"Well, yes, but..." Anathema stopped, searching for the right phrase to express herself.
"He's alive? He's healthy? How'd he get here?" Newt asked, saying everything that occurred to him.
"We cannot have someone here who is alive," Anathema said, stating a fact.
"We can. He'll be outside, not inside, and you'll likely only see him at meals." As he spoke, he moved to the cabinet of official papers. They liked to keep this up to date, not using these papers themselves but leaning on the terminology and appearance to ensure their offer would be somewhat familiar to those they interviewed. They would be in enough distress otherwise, and appearing somewhat archaic was expected but too much scared them off. "He'll sleep in the gardener's cottage, just as Adam and Eve did, and you'll be inside most of the time. If it doesn't work, we can fire him easily."
"But why hire him?" Anathema pressed.
"Where did he come from?" Newt persisted, not actually aiming his question at Aziraphale, just repeating himself so it wouldn't be forgotten.
"I am hiring him for the sake of the flowers." Not because of his smile nor because he so readily offered flowers. Finding the papers he needed, Aziraphale finally answered Newt's question. "He climbed over the wall. He's most likely a bugler or a tourist of sorts, but he recognizes our plants and is quite amiable. Honestly, he may climb back out at any time and is just avoiding arrest." As if they would call the police. Aziraphale had dealt with the last intruders himself, but they'd come with a completely different intent. "It's just a lark, all around. Don't worry unnecessarily."
"I think it's good you're having fun," Newt said. With a long suffering sigh, Anathema threw her hands up.
"You'll be going by Ezra again?"
"And blaming Mister Fell for any eccentricities or troubles," he agreed, glad she'd come around. Now he'd just need to convince Tracy.
"All summer?" Not as far around as he hoped.
"Yes, my dear. Don't frown so. We'll talk more later but it really is fortuitous. This will stop Shadwell from grumbling about extra chores and give us more time to find a suitable replacement. Better than last time." Anathema, who had vouched for Taylor, deflated at that. But she'd also vouched for Newt, who was lovely, and Aziraphale had accepted her proposal for both of them. "We were all too optimistic there, and this will give us the room we need to move forward. He will provide a much needed distraction."
"One way or the other," she agreed.
"We'll talk about emergencies and plans afterward," he promised. "Take a serious look at the possibilities and drawbacks, and you know I can handle him if he is a problem. We'll talk - after I talk to him."
While Newt wished him luck, Anathema hummed skeptically, not pressing the argument further.
Hurrying back, he realized he'd not locked the door after him. Crowe could be anywhere within the manor, finding any manner of- well, of manuscripts and books. Mostly books on the first floor, and none of them that exceptional. Not that it'd do any good to have him wandering into Anathema or Newt's bedrooms, since no one locked any of the doors. Surely Crowe wouldn't be one to snoop. Ignoring how he arrived.
Far more worrisome if Crowe found the kitchen. Goodness, Aziraphale hated to think what Tracy might say to him.
When he opened the door, the intruder and soon-to-be gardener still waited, setting aside the book he'd been reading. A reader? Perhaps- But his smile no longer had the same ease. Left alone, he'd come to his senses and would want to be on his way. Once again, Aziraphale took too long. No one had time to go at Aziraphale's pace.
"I apologize for the wait," he said quickly, bracing himself for the refusal. "Have you changed your mind?"
"Me? Never!" And he smiled, that quick, inviting smile, which meant Aziraphale could smile back without feeling foolish in his relief. "Well, that's not true, I change my mind all the time, but not on this." He raised a hand, gesturing, to emphasize his dedication. "Steady as a stream, I am. Constant as a creek. I - ah - don't suppose we could review those stipulations, though? Make sure I've the right of 'em?"
"Yes, of course," he said, this time going into detail. If Aziraphale meant to spoil the game between them, it'd not be by withholding such basic information. "You'll be staying onsite for the duration, through the end of summer. Mr. Fell insists on no comings or goings. Since you'll always be here, your room and board will be covered, obviously. You'll have the cottage to yourself. Our last gardener left it much as the previous previous couple left it. They were with us for quite some time." He added the last wistfully, dearly missing Adam and Eve. They'd brought Shadwell on first, a decade back, for the lawn and grounds, as their interest started to wane. They dearly loved the flowers and fruit trees, caring for those until the end. They started the garden themselves, since the very beginning.
"Ezra?" Crowe asked, voice far too soft on his name, starting Aziraphale back to the moment.
"Terribly sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "We should have done a better job in hiring their replacement and it's left us all - well." He gave himself another shake.
"I'll see it right," Crowe promised. "Those are healthy plants out there. Their roots are strong. They'd survive more than one careless gardener - which they won't have to. They've slacked off, I'll get them back to rights in no time."
"Indeed. Thank you." Which wasn't what he meant to say at all, so he rushed on. "The cottage is yours, fully furnished, and though it has a kitchen you can eat with the rest of the staff as well, here - in the manor. Tracy is always glad to show off her skills and she'll see the cottage is supplied as well. Currently, everyone but Shadwell has rooms in the manor, he is above the garage. He takes care of the grounds - other than the gardens - as well as any equipment and so forth."
"How many other staff are there?" Crowe asked, tilted his head. "Other than Shadwell and Tracy?" Unsure if he covered all the stipulations, Aziraphale pressed his lips together.
"Just two," he said a moment late, deciding to press on. "Newt, the housekeeper, and Anathema, the librarian and researcher. She's smarter than her years," he added in her defense, as she wouldn't look old enough to have achieved all that, not to Crowe. All of them, except Shadwell, were far older than they appeared.
"And you."
"And- oh, yes." He dropped his eyes, trying to dodge the sudden guilt. Not 'and him', he wasn't one of them, and he wouldn't ever be someone like Crowe either. "That is - I eat with Mr. Fell when I bring him his meals, so I won't be eating with you, but I assure you the others are fine company. They are all wonderful people. I would vouch for any of them."
"Then I look forward to meeting them," he replied. "What's Fell like?"
"Very particular." He didn't want to make himself seem mean, but he also didn't want Crowe wanting anything to do with Fell. "Withdrawn. He has his schedules and his habits, and wants most to keep to them. He isn't well enough for a 'turn about the garden' but does enjoy all the bright colors from his windows. It's very unlikely you'll be meeting him." Having already met him, Crowe couldn't meet him again, but cutting off the possible entirely would be rude. "He is deeply affected by Eve and Adam leaving, and to have Taylor be such a disappointment, he's not ready to reach out again. I'm sorry."
"And I'm only here this summer," Crowe agreed with a shrug. Oh dear, Aziraphale was over explaining again and he'd no reason to. This whole thing was nonsense, he shouldn't be so invested in Crowe's feelings, if he accepted or refused. It was only a lark. He shouldn't feel so relieved when Crowe grinned and nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought, right? With those stipulations? Sounds like a vacation - no worry about rent or eating, tend an amazing garden, and avoid the rest of civilization. Best stipulations ever."
"Oh - Well you need any - ah - vacation time?" No one here took vacations. The few times they left, Aziraphale encouraged them to enjoy themselves as much as getting the job done allowed, but they never just wandered. None of them had anyone outside the manor to visit. "Any celebrations with family?"
"Me? Naw, they stopped inviting me an age ago. Bad influence on the kids and all," he said with a lopsided grin. "They probably got the right of it."
"The fallen angel?" he asked and sighed theatrically. "I can't agree, you know. You were so dedicated to this position you climbed a twelve foot wall to check on the plants before we hired you. That's commendable."
His face shifted, possibly to object to the compliment, tell Aziraphale off for the outrageous lie, or melt under the kindness, but Crowe recovered and replaced uncertainly with a brilliant smile. "Exactly! Someone finally appreciates all the work I put in."
"And I expect I'll see the results of that work in the garden," he said, offering the paperwork and binder of Taylor's notes, which had been Adam's before. "If you could fill that out and return with it dinner? Tracy will bring you a late lunch in the cottage, which I'll show you to now."
"Right. Thanks." He murmured the words, overwhelmed, and Aziraphale could hear his heartbeat pick up.
He busied himself with the umbrella before approaching the door, giving Crowe a chance to speak up. However, there he paused, key in hand, Crowe was all smiles again.
"I feel obliged to warn you against telling a near stranger you have no one expecting you for months on end when you are locked in said stranger's house, Mr. Crowe. Some people who guard their privacy, as we do here, do not take kindly to visitors." He paused, glad to see Crowe stiffen, guarded, even as his brows raised over his shades. It was all the warning Aziraphale would give him though, and he softened with a smile. "You'll adore the cottage. It's very cozy."
He unlocked the door and ushered Crowe out.
He really was hiring him.
Keeping the conversation on the matter at hand, entirely professional, Ezra pointed in the direction of buildings spread throughout the property. The side entrance to the kitchen, where the people who lived here ate real food - and Crowe would be responsible for the kitchen garden as well. The winding drive at the front lead to the only entrance large enough for cars, which was where Crowe could store his car. Newt would take him into town to fetch that and his other belongings, 'town' said with arched brows that implied Ezra knew Crowe had left his jeep up the road.
The truck and car, which belonged to Fell, were also stored in the garage, along with the mower and small tractor, and anything else Shadwell needed for the grounds. While the shed for the gardening tools was in the far back, the gardener's cottage was closer and as cozy as Ezra promised, which made it the opposite of Crowley's style and the nicest place he'd every stayed.
A little thing, though not tiny, it would happily fit a close couple. Natural wood walls and thatch roof, though unlikely to be as traditional as it appeared. Awnings covered the windows, ensuring the high sun never invaded while allowing the early and late sun, and indirect light, full access. Meanwhile, dandelions had overtaken everything, adding cheerful yellow and whimsical puffballs, periwinkle and creeping charlie had invaded the neighboring beds and the sidewalk, and any order to the violets was lost. It looked like some of the original beds around the cottage had been dug up not too long ago, encouraging the more invasive plants.
"The binder has the gardens' histories," Ezra offered, taking a step back. "It's been added onto since the outset. We tried to make sense of it after we lost Taylor, but our knowledge of plants is rather hypothetical rather than practical. I wasn't able to make heads or tails of it. I'll let Shadwell know you're here, you'll recognize him when you see him, and Tracy will come out with food soon. You'll meet Anathema and Newt at dinner. Until then, make yourself at home." He nodded to do the door and stepped back, and Crowley realized he was about to be left alone.
"Should I be on the lookout for anything?" he asked, which was a bit of a leading question. "I mean, you mentioned cats earlier, right? And the houseplants?"
"Yes, of course," he said, blooming into smile again, eyes dancing even in the shade of the umbrella. Not a full, open mouth smile, not yet, just as Crowley had yet to win anything more than a quiet chuckle, but he was getting closer. "Taylor didn't care for either, you know, and we would had to bring the houseplants up to the manor regardless as of late."
"Taylor sounds like a prick," he declared then quickly added "sorry.".
"Well, I had not thought to mention the cats to him. We took to fixing them after an incident ...several years back, but people are always releasing them into the forest and the lucky ones find their way here. A number of them viewed the cottage as their own, and Taylor did not take kindly to them."
"What? Cats are great." Animals, in general, were great in his line of work, especially cats. Dogs would bark at any intruder, including Crowley, but he could count on cats to either disappear or mull as good indicators. He hadn't expected to find any here.
"Wonderful. They really are quite charming. I'll let Tracy know to bring you some scraps for them. We'll see what plants can be brought down later."
"That's great." He never had his own house plants before. He'd never had a cottage with half-feral cats around either, or gardens big enough to require a full time gardener. Or a boss like this. With a touch of daring, he added: "Thanks, Ezra."
"I - Of course. You're our gardener, you should have plants indoors as well." Another pause, a touch too long.
"What about..." Crowley shouldn't have asked about the houseplants and cats at the same time. Too much of a rush. He couldn't think of anything to ask now, the strangeness of the situation pushing all his common questions out of his head. Couldn't ask about Ezra's family, not really, and he already asked after the other employees. Couldn't ask Ezra to help him with the binder, not if he just said he didn't know, and he said the plants would wait. Couldn't ask about anything they just spent the afternoon talking about, all the topics deserted him and he'd no ready followup. Could he ask more about the cats? Might Ezra have a favorite?
"I fear my tea break has lasted longer than planned and I must be getting back," Ezra said with an apologetic smile. Right. His boss would want to know why he hired an intruder as a gardener, and so would his coworkers. "Tracy will be able to answer any questions you have after that"
"Will I see you again?" he asked, blurting the question than leaning away with a casual shrug. "You're the only person I know here. Be nice to know who I'm working with before I sign on."
"Oh! You are certainly correct." He glanced back to the house than shook his head. "That will need to wait for dinner, I'm afraid, as they're all already at their jobs. You won't be working with any of them, unfortunately, even Shadwell keeps to his own schedule. However, you will share meals and I quite understand wanting to meet them first. Perhaps prepare the paperwork but hold on to it until tomorrow? You can return it after Newt drives you back."
"Okay," he agreed with a slow nod, noting Ezra offered him another chance to leave while not answering his question. "Do you stroll in the garden every tea time?"
"No, sadly, only when time allows. Most of my tasks are indoors and you will see the others more than me." Again, he seemed to be backtracking his earlier openness, perhaps remembering how Crowley arrived or imagining the fate Fell could have planned for him. Anything, really, and Crowley should take the opportunity to put space between them.
"I'll make sure the garden is irresistible then," he said, because his brain wasn't working. He'd no reason, no real reason, to keep talking with Ezra. Obviously, Ezra wasn't the one he'd come here to find, even if he probably worked for him.
About to speak, Ezra changed his mind and shuffled back instead. "I leave you to inspect your summer home," he said.
"A-" But he didn't have anything else to say. "Thank you, Ezra."
"You're welcome, Crowe." His checks dimpled and just before turning away, he added. "Welcome home, Crowe."
Watching him go, Crowley decided if this was where he died, he'd be okay with that. He outlived most everyone else by this point anyway, except Hastur and Ligur who knew how to avoid the nasty jobs and always had someone to watch their backs. But Crowley had always been on his own, ever since the beginning, and his luck would eventually desert him. Ezra's smile would do him in.
It already got him to walk into the freaking manor and stand around looking at books instead of doing more practical snooping in the name of simple curiosity. There was no way this would work out well, and yet Crowley turned the door knob and pushed the cottage door wide open.
When nothing came rushing out at him, he walked in. The room wasn't much bigger than the foyer, with a sofa and floral rug, a little bookshelf in the corner and, of all things, a flat screen TV on the wall opposite the sofa. On the far side was a corner kitchenette, a table pressed into that wall and only two chairs. Cozy indeed, like a grandmother's house with doilies and pictures of flowers decorating the walls. Poking around, the bookshelf held a collection of gardening and botany books, but dedicated a shelf to thin, battered paperbacks, romance and mystery, some as old as Crowley. The kitchen cupboards held little: salt and pepper, a nearly empty box of teas, a jar of peanut butter, and five plates, three bowls, a couple pots, silverware and a kettle. The oven had boots inside, which he decided to ask about before removing them. The water worked, at least, and he plugged in the fridge, which was empty.
A side door in the kitchen led to a little back garden, even more disorganized than the front. The table out there had four chairs and a dead flower in a vase.
The hall on the left, next to the couch, had three doors - a linen closest, the toilet and, across from them, the bedroom. He set himself to a quick search before anyone could interrupt.
Walking toward the manor, Aziraphale felt the moment Crowe claimed the cottage. He must be a bit of a vagabond if he could so quickly find a place to be home, but Aziraphale knew he couldn't cross the cottage's threshold without invitation.
Whatever else, Crowe had come home today.