Work Text:
☆ ⋆｡°✩ °｡⋆☆
“Good friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they’re always there.” ― Christy Evans
☆ ⋆｡°✩ °｡⋆☆
Aziraphale was working at his desk, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain. It was so dark and overcast outside that he’d had to turn on the lamps. People moved to and fro beyond the window as the rain hammered down on those brave, unfortunate or mad enough to be out in this devil weather. The angel wondered absently if this rainstorm was natural, or if a certain romantic demon was helping two people find a canopy with which to shelter and marking the “awning” of a new age.
As the lashing of raindrops increased at this thought, the shop bell rang as the bookshop door opened, letting in the noise of traffic, rain and the hubbub of pedestrians outside, and then closed, silencing them.
Aziraphale looked up in surprise. How odd. He had definitely flipped the closed sign. And the shop was miracled locked. And no sign of Crowley sauntering in. Though his shop had been known to be obliging to the weary traveller in need. Taking off his spectacles, the angel moved over to the door to check. No one there. The door was definitely locked with the ‘Definitely Closed’ sign on. And the crowds had thinned as people struggled through the downpour to get home, bypassing all the shops, except Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Then Aziraphale heard the unmistakable sound of a hearty sniff coming from within, hidden amongst the rows of books. So, the shop had allowed someone entry. He followed the sound, fully intent on politely evicting the customer from the shop. He really had a lot of work to do after Gabriel – or Jim – had reorganised his inventory. And whilst Muriel had been an excellent caretaker in his absence, they had taken the “keep everything as he left it” order a little too literally.
He located them in the aptly labelled ‘Tragedy’ section. What the angel found made him completely forget about telling them to leave. How could he? The customer, a young woman, stood with her back to him, sopping wet, like she swam here, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, choking back sobs.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Aziraphale, distressed by her distress, hand pressed to his heart in the face of such palpable misery and hopelessness. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’
The angel jumped as the customer gasped and whirled around, startled by his presence as much as he was by her turbulent emotional state. She sniffled, her cheeks ashen, looking deeply embarrassed at being found in such a state. As if it were against the law to be upset. Though she tried hurriedly to pull herself together, her body seemed limitless in the amount of tears and mucus still fighting to escape her from where they had been bottled up.
‘Oh, come, come now,’ said Aziraphale desperately, hand hovering awkwardly, entirely out of his depth on how best to handle the situation. ‘Um. Here.’ He discreetly conjured a tartan box of white tissues from nowhere behind his back and offered it to her. ‘Dry your eyes.’
The customer took a few tissues. ‘Th-thank you –’ she choked out, before blowing her snotty nose. She took it away, sniffed and wiped her eyes.
‘There. That’s better. Hm?’ said Aziraphale kindly, surreptitiously vanishing the tissue box with a slight of hand. Still got it, Professor Hoffmann. ‘Now. What’s troubling you, my dear?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she muttered, not meeting the bookseller’s eye.
‘Doesn’t seem like nothing from here. You’re crying.’
‘I’m not,’ denied the girl sniffily, hiccupping slightly.
Aziraphale frowned in confusion. ‘Do you actually think you aren’t? Because I –’
‘Yes, I know I’m crying! It’s just… a thing you say.’
‘Oh. Right. Of course. Then, may I ask why you a-a-a-a-aren’t crying?’
‘It just all got a bit much.’
‘What did?’
‘Life. Everything. I guess it just hit me today that it’s never going to happen.’
Aziraphale had heard of that human expression. Weren’t humans supposed to “cheer up” because it’ll never happen? But clearly that wasn’t the case here.
‘What isn’t?’ he asked.
‘That –’ She caught herself, perhaps realising she was talking to a complete stranger about problems what were not his. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.’
Hastening her departure, she balled up her damp tissue, pocketed it and picked up the rain speckled plastic container at her feet by the handle, along with her bag.
‘I shouldn’t be bothering a perfect stranger with this. I only came in to get out of the rain. I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘No, no, no, I shan’t hear of it,’ said Aziraphale, holding up his hands to stop her leaving. ‘Not in this beastly weather. Why don’t I make us both a nice cup of tea? And you can tell me all about it.
‘I don’t want to be a bother.’
‘Not at all. Just until you’ve had time to collect yourself. Perhaps it’ll help to talk to a daft old man who’ll probably forget all this by tomorrow.’
Lightning flashed outside followed by a rumbling of thunder, rain running like waterfalls down the windows.
‘Maybe just until the rain stops,’ she conceded.
Aziraphale beamed. ‘That’s the spirit! Do take a seat. I’ll see to the tea.’
The woman sat down in a chair with a tartan blanket wrapped around her shoulders, looking interestingly around the bookshop with fascination. Aziraphale came back in holding two cups of tea in saucers, offering one to the girl.
‘Cup of tea?’
‘Thank you,’ she said politely, accepting the hot beverage.
‘You’re quite welcome.’ Aziraphale sat down and took a sip of tea with his little finger sticking out and an accompanied “Ah!” of satisfaction. ‘My name is Mr Fell.’
‘I know.’
‘You do?’ said Aziraphale intrigued.
‘I’ve seen you around. And also you’re name’s above the door?’
‘Ah yes. Of course it is,’ said Aziraphale smiling.
The girl blushed as she drank her tea, slightly self-conscious. People always told her she was too direct.
Aziraphale waited patiently and expectantly for the lady to reciprocate introductions.
‘Angie,’ she mumbled.
Just hearing her name made the bookseller light up like a Christmas tree angel. She could’ve been called Hortense and he would’ve found it charming.
‘Very nice to meet you, Angie.’ Aziraphale set his cup down, giving her his full attention. ‘So, you were saying. You’ve had quite a day, I gather.’
‘Do you ever look at your life and ask yourself, “why am I here”?’
‘Ah, well. That’s the age-old question. Six thousand years and we’re still waiting for Her answer on that one.’
‘“How did I get here?”, “This isn’t where I thought I’d be at this stage of my life” … I thought I’d be happy.’
Aziraphale looked sympathetic. ‘And you’re not?’
‘What gave it away?’ said Angie dryly.
‘I’m insightful.’ Aziraphale leaned forward and added in a stage whisper, ‘And a little bit psychic.’
Angie’s mouth twitched in amusement. This did not go unnoticed by Aziraphale.
‘Oh. Was that a smile?’
‘No,’ said Angie, fighting to keep a straight face. No easy task as Aziraphale had an infectious smile that could brighten even a dreary day like today. Was he some kind of magician?
‘I think that was a smile.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘You smiled,’ he teased.
Angie rolled her eyes rather than confirm it and drank more tea.
‘You said “it’s never going to happen”?’
That extinguished the spark of a smile. ‘Tale as old as time. You take a sensible job so that you’re earning while you try and do the thing you really want to do, and then the job takes over your life and when you get home you have no time or headspace for the thing you really want to do. You work to live, now I feel I’m living for work. A job I hate. Well, I didn’t used to.’
‘I see. And what is it you do?’
Angie shook her head. ‘Nothing exciting.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true, dear.’
‘Not like you, anyway. Selling and reading books all day for a living. Every bookworm’s dream job. You’re very lucky, Mr Fell.’
Aziraphale chuckled, glowing with pride. ‘Well, I can safely say no one’s ever called me lucky before. I suppose I am. So, come on. Tell me about this job of yours.’
Angie stared bashfully into her tea.
‘Oh, go on. Tell me.’
Downcast, slightly red hazel eyes met twinkling, endearing and most interested blue ones.
‘Please,’ wheedled Aziraphale, his voice going high, absolutely dying to know what she did less he popped with anticipation.
Angie smiled properly for the first time. ‘I, uh…’ She sniffled and wiped her eyes, clearing her throat. ‘I… I work in a café. A couple of streets away. A teashop – Slice of Heaven.’
Aziraphale nodded. Then his eyes lit up. ‘Oh, I know the one!’ he said keenly. He thought he knew her from somewhere. That must be it.
‘Really?’
‘Yes! Oh, I go in there all the time! I bought those Belgium buns on my last visit.’
‘Oh yes, you did. Did you enjoy them?’
‘Oh, very much so! Though I’m sorry to say I was unable to enjoy the second, due to illness.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Are you all right now?’
‘Oh, yes. Perfectly tip-top. I have been meaning to pop back. The cakes there – mmm! They live up to their name! I’m surprised how we’ve never crossed paths more often.’
‘Because I’m mostly out back in the kitchen baking, listening to Gabrielle, Urielle, Michaela and Sarah Quill taking all the credit.’
Aziraphale frowned, not least because the angel-like names were similar to his former Archangel superiors. ‘Well, naturally. Must be exhausting unpacking those Greggs boxes and then having to carry them to the cake stands.’
‘You knew they didn’t bake them themselves?’
‘My dear, they thought Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte was a character for Game of Thrones. I’d be surprised if they even knew how to turn the oven on without trying to light it with matches first.’
They laughed.
‘Sounds about right,’ said Angie. ‘They actually tried that once before they realised that it just wasn’t plugged in.’
‘Truly. Your creations are a work of art. I remember when you made those egg nest cakes for Easter – so realistic.’ Aziraphale’s mouth began to salivate. ‘Oh, I’ve made myself peckish just thinking about them. And I’m afraid we’re out of teacakes.’
‘I have some cakes if you’re interested?’
Aziraphale perked up at this admission. ‘Really? Oh, wonderful! Well, I won’t say no if there’s one going.’
Angie dragged the container towards her, unbuckled the claps to remove the lid that protected the trays of cupcakes. ‘Well, due to recent events, there happens to be twenty going.’
‘Goodness. What happened?’
‘Twenty vegans happened.’
‘And these are…?’
‘As vegan as the egg, milk and butter they contain.’
‘Ah. Yes, I can see that would be a problem for vegans.’
‘And all because I conveniently didn’t get the email Gabrielle sent, but the other “Angels” were well aware of the dietary requirements.’
Aziraphale’s frown deepened. ‘This underhand sabotage happens to you a lot, I suspect.’
‘So much so I’ve become a “liability”. Even more so than Murielle was. They made her so nervous she dropped everything and made simple mistakes. My colossal error was the final straw. They dropped the hammer on me this morning.’
Aziraphale looked outraged. ‘They cast you out? I mean, they fired you?’
‘I’ve “fallen from grace”, they said. I’ve disappointed them.’
So, the poor girl had been made redundant. ‘Well, it’s no wonder you’re upset. I’m so sorry. That’s dreadful. And most unjust.’
‘It’s okay.’ Angie’s eyes watered, her throat burning. ‘At least there’s cake, right?’
Fresh tears fell down her face.
‘Oh, my dear.’ Aziraphale hastily handed her more tissues.
‘I wasn’t going to stay there forever,’ said Angie, dabbing her eyes. ‘But if I had to leave, it should’ve been on my terms. And not as an instant dismissal without pay or good reference.’
Aziraphale leaned across and patted her hand.
‘Well, may I just say, you are too good for that place. They didn’t deserve you.’
Angie sniffed. ‘Thanks. How much does that pay an hour?’
‘Well, as the old saying goes: “When God closes a door, She opens a window.” Now you’re free to do what you really want to do. What might that be, if I may ask?’
‘I… I do love books.’
‘Ah. Well, you’re in excellent company.’
‘I… I write stories,’ said Angie, as if admitting something shameful or embarrassing.
‘Oh, marvellous!’ said Aziraphale, delighted. He had a front row seat to the beginnings of new literature. ‘Anything I might have read?’
‘Doubtful. Just fanfiction stuff. And the rest is all scribbles in notebooks that’ll never see the light of day.’
‘That’s more than I’ve ever written. Well, except my diaries. And not one people would want to read.’ Not strictly true, but Aziraphale’s confidential journals of his and Crowley’s adventures were exactly that – confidential. ‘What are you working on right now?’
‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’
‘It might be.’
‘It’s certainly not in league with the immortal works on your shelves.’
‘Well, I can guarantee that not every great author’s manuscripts were picked up by the first publisher they tried. Or well received during their first run. And that all of them doubted the worth of their work. Do tell me about this story of yours. I do love a mystery. Is it a mystery? Or a romance? Ooh! A romantic mystery?’
Aziraphale waited eagerly for a preview.
‘Um…’ Angie couldn’t believe she was about to share her story with a complete stranger. But Mr Fell had an aura that put her at ease. And he was a kindred book lover, so she really was in good company. Especially if he was serious about his short-term memory. And if he had notes, at least he would tell her gently and constructively, and in return offer some positive encouragement. ‘… it’s a kind of Beauty and the Beast retelling.’
‘Ah! La Belle et la Bête! Oh, that’s one of my favourites!’
‘Crossed with Rumpelstiltskin,’ Angie continued.
‘Intriguing. Not two fairy tales that usually go together.’
‘Once Upon a Time tried. It started of great the first couple of seasons, even its Wonderland Spin-Off, but halfway through their run they retconned and destroyed everything that made it beautiful. Almost made me didn’t want to go see the Disney remake because they tainted my favourite story. That’s what prompted me to do it.’
‘And how does your enchanting tale begin?’
‘It might not be your cup of tea,’ Angie insisted, her crippling self-doubt already expecting criticism.
But Aziraphale would not be dissuaded. ‘Angie, my dear: Books are my business. Try me. A fine tale over tea and a slice of cake.’
‘Well, cup – cakes.’
Angie opened the container, revealing the first tray, containing cupcakes in starry cases decorated with fondant models of heroes from storybooks. Aziraphale marvelled at her confectionary artistry. These were worthy of the Great British Bake Off. It seemed such a shame to eat them.
‘Oh, they look too beautiful to eat. I couldn’t possibly bite off Paddington Bear’s head. Or Hermione.’
‘Fear not,’ said Angie, lifting the top tray to reveal the one below. ‘I have a tyrannical tray here.’
‘Ooh!’ Aziraphale leaned over to see.
The second tray consisted of villain cakes; from Sergeant Troy, to Aro, to Voldemort, Gaston and the Evil Queen.
‘Ah yes. I shall have no qualms about devouring the Red Queen of Hearts. Off with her head!’
‘Well then,’ Angie rubbed her hands together: ‘Let’s see how many of these cunts we can finish in one sitting.’
Aziraphale, who had just taken up his tea for another sip, choked into his cup at the unexpected expletive. ‘Good gracious.’
Angie flushed, ducking her head. ‘Sorry. I swear I don’t swear this much. It’s been a bad day.’
‘Not at all. Quite understandable,’ said Aziraphale, setting his cup down in case of further surprises. ‘My friend would applaud your choice of words. And it would be a pity to see these go to waste.’
‘Well then. Can I tempt you to a colossal-cunt-character-cake-consumption-challenge?’
Aziraphale feigned brief consideration and said, ‘Temptation accomplished.’
They indulged.
‘Blessed are the sweet,’ said Angie, which had been Slice of Heavens mantra after every sale.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Aziraphale, selecting a cupcake and tapping it against Angie’s as though clinking glasses. ‘I’ve never asked. What is the end of that refrain? Obviously, it’s a play on: “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth”. How would that go? Blessed are the sweet…?’
Angie shrugged. ‘“For they shall inherit the girth”?’
There was a moments silence, during which Angie feared she had offended Mr Fell and his pear-shaped physique. Then Aziraphale started to laugh, and the relief caused Angie to laugh too.
‘Perhaps less is more,’ chortled Aziraphale.
‘I really don’t know. I don’t think there is a second bit. You’re the first person to question it. Gabrielle didn’t seem to think we needed to finish the quotation. You don’t question the Supreme Archangel. Not after what happened to our Star Baker.’
‘Yes,’ said Aziraphale, reminded of his own former Supreme Archangel, and his part in ensuring the Star Maker’s fall into the Demon Crowley. ‘I can imagine that.’
But the angel forgot his disapproval of Angie’s former boss as he took a bite out her cupcake with a decorative red coat soldier on top.
‘Mmm. Truly scrumptious,’ said Aziraphale in satisfaction. ‘Not something I ever thought I’d say about Sergeant Francis Troy.’
‘I know,’ agreed Angie who was devouring Professor Umbridge, and her little cat, too. ‘I cheered when Mr Boldwood shot him.’
‘Shame he ended up in prison.’
‘Yeah, I don’t like thinking about that part.’
‘Have you written a retelling for Mr William Boldwood?’
‘Yes. A happy ending with a woman who actually loves him. Though not without its trials.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be a hard-won happy ending without a few bumps along the road.’
‘And not all resolved in the last chapter either.’
‘Yes. It’s good to have moments without drama.’
‘I have a soft spot for underdogs and characters I feel have been wronged by their own writers.’
‘And how does the Quill Queen seek to right the wrongs inflicted on Rumpelstiltskin?’
Angie explained the outline she had in mind, including twists she hoped to embellish on the original story.
‘Yes. I always thought it was odd that he asked for payment in gold when he makes gold – even for a fairy tale. Well, I do hope you’ll let me read a bit some time.’
‘Maybe. If I’m not living out of cardboard boxes.’ She looked around. ‘Your shop really is beautiful.’
Aziraphale beamed. ‘Oh, thank you.’ He regarded her for a moment.
‘I’ve always wanted to see inside, but every time I’ve tried you always seem to be closed. Until today. I’m glad I finally got the chance, seeing as I may need to move somewhere cheaper.’
‘What if you worked here?’
Now it was Angie who almost choked on her cake. Aziraphale clapped her own the back, performing a subtle miracle to clear her airway. ‘I’m – I’m sorry?’
‘In the bookshop. As my assistant bookseller. My last assistant’s room is sitting empty.’
‘You want me to work for you?’
‘With me.’
‘But you’ve known me less than a day. Don’t you want to see references?’
‘I’m quite certain you will fit in very well here. The hours are good, the pay more so, and it leaves you time to write.’
‘But I know nothing about running a bookshop.’
‘You have the most important qualification – you love books. And anything you don’t know, I’ll teach you.’
This had to be a dream, Angie thought. Or some cruel joke.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’
It was a fair question. ‘Because I hate to see good potential go to waste. And my heart goes out. And you’re… good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re heart… it’s nothing but good. I sensed it the moment I met you.’
‘Stop…’
‘No, no. I will not stop. I’m a good judge of these things.’
‘So that’s it? We’ve only just met, and you want to offer me board and lodgings?’
‘Yes,’ said Aziraphale brightly.
Angie considered. ‘Do I have to decide right now?’
‘Take as long as you need. There’s always a place for you here, whenever you’re ready. And I shall be sorry if you didn’t come and visit.’
‘With cake?’
‘I could be tempted. But seeing you would be pleasure enough.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘The choice is yours. Though I do hope you say yes. What do you say?’
Angie stared at him for a few moments, then she impulsively reached across and gave Aziraphale the hug of all hugs.
‘Oh!’ gasped Aziraphale, overwhelmed as he hugged her back. He had felt flashes of love in Tadfield, but this? It was like embracing a love-burning sun. ‘Goodness, Angie,’ he said, practically tearing up with the exposure to such a loving aura. ‘This is the biggest hug in the world. You’re going to hug all the air out of me.’ He could feel her smiling and the aura grew brighter and warmer. ‘I’ll take it that’s a yes?’
‘Yes. Thank you, Mr Fell.’
They parted. Angie’s eyes were shining. Literally. For the angel saw it in her left eye. Gold flecks in her iris shining brightly. The exact shape of a star. The same as Eve had in the People Plans.
‘Find us,’ said the Angel Aziraphale all the way back at the Beginning. ‘We’ll never stop looking for you,’ he vowed. He pressed his fingers to his lips and touched his kiss to Astrid’s stardust, before rolling up the plans…
Could it be? After all these millenia?
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Angie.
‘Hm? Oh, no, no. Not at all.’ Aziraphale eyed her eye. ‘If… if you don’t mind my asking: what is that in your eye?’
The gold light dimmed to dull flecks as Angie brought up a hand to cover it. Yet the angel couldn’t unsee it now that he knew they were there. ‘Contacts,’ she muttered.
Aziraphale’s heart sank under crushing disappointment. ‘It’s a contact lens.’
‘No.’ Angie lowered her hand, exposing her heterochromic eye. ‘I mean I usually wear contact lenses. I took it out when I was crying.’
Aziraphale’s heart both rose and clenched at the same time. ‘To hide it? Why would you want to hide part of yourself?’
‘The same reason we all hide certain aspects of ourselves away from the world. To be accepted. When I was small, I loved it. I could pretend it was some kind of symbol, like Harry Potter or something. But when I didn’t get my letter to Hogwarts, and the prevalent view of everyone was that I’m a genetic freak, it kind of took the magic out of it. Different is a defect. It’s all it is. A defect.’
Aziraphale smiled. ‘It looks like a star to me.’
Angie didn’t smile. ‘Well, it’s a defect.’
‘At least it’s a defect that looks like a star.’
‘I’ve been thinking of getting it fixed.’
‘Oh no! You mustn’t do that. It’s beautiful. It’s unique. It’s you.’
Angie looked genuinely touched by his sincerity. ‘Not like an alien?’
Aziraphale shook his head. ‘No. Like the brightest star in the heavens.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Fell. You’re an angel.’
Aziraphale looked a little panicked by the claim. ‘Oh, nothing of the sort!’ he said with a nervous laugh.
‘I’m serious. You say my heart is good. But you’re good. You’re the Good in this world. You must hear it a lot.’
‘No,’ said Aziraphale truthfully. ‘Never. That’s very kind of you.’
Angie smiled. ‘Shut up.’
Aziraphale smiled too. Her resemblance to Crowley was uncanny in that moment. Hard-bitten like him, and yet still believes in magic and the good in the world. Just like Aziraphale…
And speak of the demon –
‘Angel!’ barked Crowley as he stormed in from outside, which was sunny and bright again.
‘Yes?’ said Aziraphale and Angie together as they stood up.
They looked at each other, surprised.
Crowley stopped short, momentarily distracted from his annoyance that another responded to his favourite term of endearment.
‘I understood your name was Angie?’ Aziraphale wanted to clarify.
‘It is,’ she said. ‘My name’s Angel. Well, my work name. My friends call be Angie. Or at least they would if I had any friends.’
Aziraphale looked sympathetic.
‘Who’s this now?’ asked Crowley, jerking his thumb at Angie.
‘Ah, Crowley. Allow me to introduce you to my new assistant bookseller. Formerly master baker of the Slice of Heaven Teashop.’
‘Angie,’ said Angie. She held out her hand to Crowley. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Crowley.’
Crowley didn’t take it. ‘No.’
‘You’d prefer a curtsey?’
‘No. Sorry, cake girl. The position of Angel in this bookshop has already been taken. You can go.’
‘Crowley!’ said Aziraphale. Not only saw it extremely rude, but Crowley would deeply regret his words if Aziraphale’s suspicions about Angie proved to be true. ‘Whatever you’re peeved off about, do not take it out on my guest. Now, what is it I have done?’
‘You turned the Bentley yellow again!’
‘Oh, is that all?’ said Aziraphale sarcastically.
Crowley’s eyes bulged behind his shades. ‘Is that all?! Why? Why do you insist on turning my car –’
‘– our car –’
‘– into a giant egg yolk! And altering the playlist – it’s like being at a wake!’
‘It’s perfectly lovely classical music!’
‘You’re teaching the Bentley bad habits!’
‘I’m giving them culture!’ Aziraphale took a deep calming breath. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve changed it back.’
Crowley did the same breathing technique, less his anger caused him to do something he couldn’t take back. ‘What is your obsession with yellow anyway?’
‘Your eyes are yellow,’ piped up Angie.
Crowley turned slowly round to face Angie, a faint hissing escaping him. Aziraphale swallowed hard, remembering what happened to the last person who had made a comment about Crowley’s serpentine eyes.
‘They are,’ Crowley said dangerously. ‘What of it?’
Unfazed by his tone or eye colour, which tend to be exposed from behind his shades in the right light, Angie continued, ‘Then the reason is you. Clearly Mr Fell likes the colour yellow – vavoom yellow I might add – because it reminds him of the most important person in his life. And when you two are apart, it’s like having a piece of you with him.’
Crowley hadn’t thought of it like that. He looked at the yellow pillars, the yellow walls, the yellow feather duster, and remembered the yellow rubber duck on the side of the bath, and then to Aziraphale for confirmation and found it in the angel’s warm smile. Crowley smiled back.
Vavoom.
‘I’m sorry – you were fighting,’ said Angie, motioning half-heartedly for them to carry on, taking a step back to make room for Crowley’s now defused rage.
Crowley returned his attention to Angie. ‘So, what’s your name? Angie, was it?’
‘Di.’
Crowley raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I’ve been called worse,’ he said airily. ‘And been told to go worse places.’
‘No, Di. D – I.’
‘Ah! Short for Diana? Diane?’
‘Short for “die.” My mother died when I was born. My grief-stricken father was struggling with what to call me, so a nurse suggested how he was feeling. And my father looked down at the foul fiend that killed his wife and said, “Die.” I guess the nurse chose not to hear the “e.”’
Aziraphale put his fingers to his mouth in horror. Even Crowley felt sympathy.
‘But Angie’s fine.’
‘And Angie it shall be,’ said Aziraphale.
‘You a classical music person, cherub?’ asked Crowley. ‘Cos you’re gonna be hearing a lot of it working here.’
‘I’m eclectic. Classical. Rock. Pop. Love a bit of Queen.’
Box ticked in Crowley’s Pro column. ‘Bebop?’
Aziraphale looked less than enthused and a little worried. Everyone is entitled to their tastes, he reminded himself.
‘That’s a funny noise,’ commented Angie.
Crowley snorted. ‘I think you’re safe there, Angel. Unless you’re a musical person too? The Sound of Music, say?’
‘Would it save some time if any controversial compositions I’ll happily listen through headphones?’
‘None at all,’ assured Aziraphale, looking more than a little relieved.
‘I like your snake,’ said Angie, indicating Crowley’s tattoo.
‘Oh, cheers,’ said Crowley. ‘I…’ His voice tailed off as he spotted an identical snake hanging as a pendant around her neck, ‘… like yours too…’ He glanced at the cupcakes in starry cases, the cogs turning in his celestial brain. ‘Stars… Why stars?’
‘Why not? I’ve always loved stars.’
‘And snakes?’
‘They’re beautiful creatures. And they’re a symbol of eternal love.’
The stars were replicated on her bag – the constellation of Alpha Centauri – with a moon and stars snake keychain on the zip. Then Crowley spotted something on an open page in her sketchbook that made him pull it out for a closer look.
‘Crowley –’ Aziraphale began. But his words of not rootling through a lady’s bag died as Crowley turned the book around to show them.
It was a sketch design for a cake depicting the garden of Eden, an angel and the serpent sitting on the wall facing each other, holding an apple between them.
‘What is this?’ Crowley asked.
‘It was just an idea for a cake. Too complicated, as you can see. And one Gabrielle squashed. But it felt a shame to throw it away. I always thought, after Adam and Eve left the garden, it would’ve been lonely for the Serpent and the lone guardian of the Eastern Gate. I thought he needed a friend. Sounds daft.’
‘No, it’s not. He needed… that cherubim.’
‘And the cherubim needed that wily serpent,’ said Aziraphale.
‘They needed each other,’ said Angie.
‘Word in private, Angel,’ said Crowley pointedly, heading for the back room.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ said Angie.
‘No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing’s wrong,’ said Aziraphale. ‘We’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes, of course! Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Your tone of voice. Just feels like something’s wrong. Something to do with me.’
Aziraphale looked anxiously between Angie and Crowley’s “come on” head jerk. ‘Two shakes. Nothing’s wrong. Just… wait here, please.’
Angie was left alone in the middle of the bookshop. Something was rotten in the shop if A.Z. Fell & Co. Then she heard it, or rather she felt it. Some irresistible force turning her head towards the spiral staircase. A musical twinkling pulling at her heart…
In back room, Crowley was wearing out the carpet aspacing up and down as Aziraphale closed the door.
‘You see it too?’ said Aziraphale. ‘It’s not just me.’
‘Twice was a coincidence. But three times? The universe is trying to tell us something.’ Crowley sighed, coming to a halt. ‘Or maybe we’re just seeing what we want to see. Just some cruel trick of Heaven or Hell – or both – they knew about Alpha Centauri. Maybe it’s just like all the other times we thought we’d –’
‘No, no. We combined our miracles. We each put a bit of ourselves into her. She’s the right one. I’m certain of it. She has stars in her eyes.’
‘Well, you are very handsome.’
‘Oh,’ Aziraphale looked flattered for a moment, then turned serious again. ‘No, no, I’m serious. When I… tampered with the plans. Eve’s eye had a star in it. She has one too. It’s exactly the same, Crowley. It can’t be a coincidence. Can it? When she hugged me, I felt –’
‘What?’
‘Love. Ineffable love. Like ours.’
Crowley looked at the front of the book patterned with ducks and black and white swans. He showed Aziraphale the name. ‘DI STAR.’
Aziraphale waves his hand. Letters rearranged themselves into… TARDIS. Crowley gave Aziraphale a cool look, cocking his eyebrow. The angel waved his hand again, the letters switching round to spell… ‘Astrid.’ Aziraphale clutched at his heart again. ‘I thought she felt familiar.’
‘So how do we break it to her that in a past life she was a star at the beginning of the universe? And that we co-created her?’
‘Carefully.’
They went back out, ready to deliver this lifechanging news.
Only to discover that Angie was gone.
‘Angie?’ Aziraphale called. ‘Where did she go?’
‘Oh, well that hasn’t changed, has it?! Shooting off!’
‘Well, she can’t have left, her things are still here. Where could she be?’
‘Wait. Is it… Do you still have it?’ asked Crowley.
Aziraphale knew what Crowley meant. Before he Fell, Crowley, while he was still the Star Maker, had given Aziraphale their star to remember him by and to keep safe, knowing that the last memory of Astrid, as well as certain memories of his time as an angel, would be destroyed by the pool of burning sulphur or confiscated once he arrived in Hell.
‘I’ve never let go of it,’ said Aziraphale.
The lightbulb in his head flicked on as he realised. Or rather realisation dawned on them as a shaft of heavenly starlight shone down the staircase, much like the star leading the shepherds and wise men to Bethlehem. Then it vanished.
‘Oh!’
They hurry up the spiral staircase.
☆ ⋆｡°✩ °｡⋆☆
Like Princess Aurora being hypnotically drawn to the cursed spindle, Angie followed the call of the star. It led her into Aziraphale’s bedroom, where hanging over the window like a crystal Swarovski suncatcher was the diamond star, pulsing like a homing beacon with an inner light. Angie reached out and touched it with the tip of her index finger.
Memories of the eagle nebula bursting into life out of the Dark Matter, fuzzy images of a blonde and red-headed angel opening their hands, being crushed by awful Gabriel, a flash of light, Aziraphale promising to find her, bestowing a kiss upon her, Aziraphale and Crowley stand before her in the angel’s place. Then memories of the people her essence had been most potent in throughout the ages, including little Jemima in 2500 BC, Elspeth in 1827, Maggie’s great-grandmother in 1920, and the real Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence before Greta Kleinschmidt killed her and stole her identity in 1941.
Angie – Astrid – gasped as her eyes flew open. She looked down at herself to see pure starlight shining out of her skin before it retreated into her. The star on the chain shone brightly. As did the star in her eye. She peered at her reflection in the glass, just as fascinated as she was by her temporary starlight form Gabriel had forced her into.
Then to right she saw two additional reflections. Her blonde and red-haired angels, who at a blink turned into Mr Fell and Mr Crowley standing in the doorway.
Astrid turned slowly to look at them. All three of them seemed to be holding their breaths. Even their hearts refused to beat until they knew for certain.
Then Astrid raised her hand and pointed it at Aziraphale. She smiled and her eyes shone with love; her star shining happily. ‘Aziraphale.’
Aziraphale smiled, a sob and a laugh escaping him. ‘Astrid.’
They moved toward and embraced like a father and daughter.
‘You found me. I knew you would,’ said Astrid.
‘You found us, dear,’ said Aziraphale, stroking her hair.
Astrid drew back to look her him. ‘How do I look?’
Aziraphale looked her up and down. ‘Pretty Gorgeous.’
They hugged again.
Astrid looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder at Crowley, extending her arm to him, inviting him to join the hug. But to her disappointment, Crowley hung back. ‘Star Maker?’
Crowley bowed his head. ‘I’m not a Star Maker anymore. I’m not even an angel. I’m a demon. I’m not the same as I was before.’
Undaunted, Astrid gently disentangled herself from Aziraphale and walked up to Crowley. She took of his dark glasses, folded them carefully and set them aside, not once breaking eye contact with his gorgeous yellow snake eyes.
‘You’re still you.’ It wasn’t a question.
Crowley looked stunned for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’m still me.’
Astrid beamed.
‘My little star.’
Crowley hugged her. The biggest hug. Aziraphale joined in from behind. Astrid wrapped her arm around his, nestled between them, like two emperor penguins and their chick, glowing like a star.
All three of them together again.
Outside on the windowsill beneath the hanging star, the only witnesses to their reunion were a nightingale family; a mother, father and their baby chick, singing in their nest, as if celebrating this homecoming.