Happy Holidays, bravinto! Part 4
Dec. 2nd, 2017 06:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeThe Rose Thief and the Priest
Part 4
Crowley strode purposefully along the pavement of High Street, dragging his suitcase after him. The rose was carefully wrapped and tucked away in his messenger bag. He had what he wanted; he could go home now. Everything had worked out perfectly for him, and in the nick of time too. The rose would make an admirable addition to his collection, particularly since, the more time he spent looking at it, the more he thought it was an undiscovered cultivar.
Crowley continued down the pavement, the wheels of his suitcase catching on every crack. He was headed to the train station, where he would put his life physically and metaphorically back on track.
The streets were much emptier than they’d been when Aziraphale had showed him around the city, and Crowley made good time. Hopefully he’d make it back early enough that he wouldn’t have to miss too much of the rose show.
His reflection followed him in the shopfronts he passed, stride unfaltering. He had put his sunglasses on before leaving that morning, and they were a familiar burden on his nose, necessary even as they dimmed his perception of the world. In other words, things were back to normal.
Crowley was going to reach the train station, he was going to board the train, he was going to get off in London and go to the RHS’s rose show, and he was going to go back to doing what he did best: looking after plants. He would never have to come back to Canterbury again, and he could focus all his attention on his beloved roses. They’d probably be missing him, after his lengthy absence.
The Orange Triumph would need careful pruning, because it always produced more than the ideal leaf to bloom ratio. The Landmark had been about to bloom when he’d left, and if he was lucky he’d be able to catch the end of its flowering. And the Duke of Edinburgh would be producing rose hips by now.
Crowley dragged his suitcase past the Oxfam he’d bought Angels and the Heavenly Spheres at, staring determinedly at the pavement the entire time, ignoring the twist in his stomach.
He would need to look into getting some new planters for his next round of seedlings, since he’d been running a little low when he left. And the rose he had tucked away in his bag right now would need an extra special planter. After all the effort he had expended on acquiring it, he would need to lavish it with extra attention. And then, every time he looked at it, he would remember this little adventure, and the stuffy priest who had given it to him.
Of course, he hadn’t turned out to be that stuffy in the end, really. He had been kind, and interesting, and beautiful, and he had known so much about Canterbury and its history. He had loved rare books, the older the better, and, perhaps most impossibly of all, he had seemed to genuinely enjoy Crowley’s company, and had somehow felt something other than fear or disgust when he looked into Crowley’s hideous yellow eyes…
Crowley jerked his attention back to the present and picked up his pace, suitcase clicking on the pavement behind him. He fixed his mind on the rose bush he would grow from the cutting in his bag, running through the list of things he’d need to do as soon as he got back to London. He’d have to pot it right away, of course, and make sure the stem was supported and the soil well-watered. And then, when it grew larger, he would transplant it to a place of honour and proudly display it to any visitors he entertained, and he might even regale a few with the tale of how he’d climbed a fence in the middle of the night in the hopes of retrieving it. What a great story that would make. But of course he’d keep the best story to himself, and it would come back to him when he gently pruned the bush’s leaves and stroked his finger along the edges of the beautiful blooms. He’d remember the way Aziraphale had leaned closer and gently pressed their lips together, and the way Crowley’s heart had leapt, and then he’d remember how he had run away, leaving behind the person who was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him…
Crowley abruptly stopped walking, standing in the middle of the pavement next to a few displays overflowing with fresh fruit and vegetables.
“Stupid,” he said, staring down the street in the direction of the train station.
Aziraphale had called after him when Crowley had panicked and ran, Aziraphale had called after him and he’d just walked faster, even though he could hear in Aziraphale’s voice how much it was hurting him. Crowley hadn’t even looked back.
He looked back now, gazing over his shoulder down the road in the direction he’d come.
Crowley remembered their night at the pub, and how, for the first time in forever, he’d felt like he truly belonged somewhere—that he belonged with someone, instead of just being on his own, carving out meaning for himself through sheer force of will. It was just that he’d been on his own for so very long that it was hard to imagine anything else ever being the case. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be the case, not if Crowley was lucky enough to find someone who he cared about and who cared about him.
“Idiot,” Crowley said, mouth going dry as he stared sightlessly at the row of shops on the opposite side of the street. Because maybe he didn’t hav to be alone forever. Maybe he could spend more time with Aziraphale, and they could have long conversations and Crowley could find old books for him to fawn over, and Aziraphale could regale him with historical trivia until he had exhausted his entire supply, and maybe—just maybe—Crowley could always feel like he truly belonged somewhere—maybe, if he was brave enough to just give it a chance—
“I—I’m such an idiot,” Crowley said again, voice growing in volume. As he said it, he felt his resolve strengthen, coupled with a feeling of incredible lightness. He had made a mistake—possibly a string of mistakes—but he hoped it wasn’t too late to fix those mistakes. He looked back down the street again, mentally tracing the route to St Mildred’s in his head. Aziraphale would be there, he felt certain, because Aziraphale was always there, and maybe the future he wanted so badly wasn’t out of his reach just yet—
“You’re an idiot, yes, we heard!” shouted someone from behind Crowley. Head spinning slightly, Crowley turned to see the owner of the fruit and vegetable displays waving a hand at him. “Now get out of the bloody walkway if you’re just gonna stand there…!”
Crowley blinked and turned to see that he had indeed been blocking the pavement from a stream of pedestrians coming from the direction of the train station. The train station.
For a moment Crowley just stared past the people trying to get around him, remembering the ticket in his pocket.
Then he collapsed the handle on his suitcase, grabbed it by the nylon strap on the side, turned, and sprinted back the way he had come.
Crowley’s lungs were burning by the time he reached St Mildred’s, legs searing and arm stiff from carrying his suitcase. He’d pulled off his sunglasses somewhere along the way, and they bounced against his chest from where he’d tucked them into the collar of his shirt. He slowed his pace as he approached the church, dropping into a gasping trot and then finally coming to a stop by the door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, panting slightly, and that was when he realised that, unlike every other time he had been at the church, it wasn’t empty.
And of course it wasn’t; it was Sunday.
Crowley rocked to an embarrassed halt, still breathing heavily and with his suitcase in hand. Luckily, no one except a few people in the back pews seemed to notice his entrance, casting him curious or disapproving looks. And Aziraphale, of course, who broke off with a stutter in the middle of something that sounded rather important.
Crowley moved the rest of the way inside and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could, setting his suitcase down next to him. Then his eyes roved back to Aziraphale, who was gaping at him from his spot on the pulpit.
“And—uh—” Aziraphale stammered, voice magnified by the microphone. Though Crowley felt a little bad about having not realised he was interrupting, he was still far too exhilarated to let it bother him much. He gave Aziraphale a little wave and the priest visibly collected himself.
“And so…um….in summary, really what Christ was trying to say with the whole mustard seed business was don’t let appearances be deceiving, good things come in small packages, and, uh, a little bit of faith is all you need. Amen.”
The congregation stirred as Aziraphale shuffled some papers on the pulpit and started to retreat down the steps. Then, a moment later, he returned, grabbed another sheet of paper, and made his way back down the steps, looking visibly flustered.
“Please stand for the hymn,” Aziraphale directed, and the congregation obediently clambered to their feet. It wasn’t a particularly large group—the cathedral must have provided challenging competition—but they had their own choir, which started singing as Aziraphale bustled off to the side aisle and started making his way towards the rear of the church, where Crowley was.
Crowley watched him approach, a grin already beginning to steal across his face. Aziraphale looked slightly ridiculous in the white robe and long black stole of his office, but Crowley found he didn’t mind one bit. As he neared and Crowley saw the pained expression on Aziraphale’s face, though, he felt the smile begin to slide off his own.
Aziraphale motioned to a small space behind a moveable coat rack near the door, just out of sight of the congregation. Crowley stepped obligingly behind the coat rack as the congregation joined in the hymn with the choir, filling the nave with lilting, slightly out-of-sync singing.
“Crowley, wh—what are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked as he reached him. “Don’t you have a train to catch? Was it you that left that book for me? Do you want it back? Or did something happen to the rose? I can get you another one—”
Aziraphale’s stammered ramblings were replaced by delightful silence as Crowley grabbed him by the edges of his ridiculous stole and pulled him into a kiss.
For a moment Aziraphale just seemed surprised, and then he melted into it, hands finding their way to Crowley’s waist as one of Crowley’s migrated to the side of Aziraphale’s neck, thumb resting on his jaw.
They stayed like that for a long minute, the congregation moving on to a new verse in the hymn, and then Aziraphale gently broke the kiss off, pulling away slightly.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Crowley said in a rushed undertone before Aziraphale could speak, awkwardly moving his hand from Aziraphale’s neck to his shoulder, which seemed like safer territory. “I shouldn’t have run off like that. I just—it’s been a long time since I—since I felt anything like this.”
Before Crowley could even finish, Aziraphale was already shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, please, I get it.”
Crowley felt the part of him that had been weighed down with guilt begin to lighten, and it was incredible to have the load off his shoulders. “Really?”
Aziraphale gave him a sad smile. “Well, you came back, didn’t you? Though…” Aziraphale’s expression shifted to worry. “But what about the rose show? And your train?” Aziraphale moved his hands off Crowley’s waist to check his watch. “You’ll miss it if you’re not quick—”
“Forget about the train,” Crowley dismissed, wondering distantly how much time they had left before the congregation ran out of hymn and Aziraphale would be required again.
Aziraphale gaped at him a little, and it took Crowley a moment to work out what he was so surprised about. “But—the rose show! It’s your third year there, and you need to do…do…networking and sales and things! And you sounded so excited about it…”
“It’s overrated, to be honest,” Crowley said, moving a little closer to Aziraphale and boldly sliding his hand back over to Aziraphale’s neck. “And I’m excited about this, too.”
And he pulled Aziraphale into another kiss.
“Hmm, hello, my dear,” Aziraphale’s voice murmured from behind Crowley, joined a moment later by Aziraphale’s arms snaking around his waist.
“Don’t you have books to be selling?” Crowley chided, smiling despite himself as he felt Aziraphale prop his head up on Crowley’s shoulder, peering down curiously at where Crowley was carefully pruning one of his rose bushes, shears poised in his hand.
“Those pesky customers can’t buy books if I’m not at the shop,” Aziraphale commented idly, “and you know how inconvenient it is when they buy things.”
“Mmm,” Crowley agreed, returning to his careful pruning. “Lord forbid you should pay your part of the rent.”
“Our rent,” Aziraphale corrected smugly, nestling his head further into Crowley’s shoulder. “Which is paid for by our rose.”
“Which I look after, breed, market, and sell,” Crowley said mildly, running his thumb gently over one of the rosebuds and already imagining the bloom it would blossom into.
“Yes,” Aziraphale allowed, wrapping his arms further around Crowley’s stomach, “but I keep you company, so that makes it our rose.”
Crowley laughed a little and set down the shears, turning so that he could stretch his arms out over Aziraphale’s shoulders, twining his fingers together and bracing them with his palms outward. “Is that so, angel?”
“It is,” Aziraphale said, planting a tiny kiss on Crowley’s nose.
“I suppose you want to go get some tea?” Crowley asked mildly.
“You know me so well.”
“Before we go,” Crowley said, turning his head to indicate the rose bush behind him, which had grown just as lush and vibrant as its parent, the only other known specimen of this new, previously-undiscovered subspecies, “I think I finally found the perfect name for our rose.”
Aziraphale, already beginning to draw Crowley in the direction of the door to the greenhouse, looked back over at Crowley. “What’s that?”
“Angel’s Kiss.”
Aziraphale paused for a moment, hands stilling on Crowley’s waist. “That’s a good name for a rose.”
“Do you like it?”
Aziraphale smiled, moving one hand to caress Crowley’s cheek, a motion which hadn’t been hampered by the presence of sunglasses for years now. “I do,” he admitted. “Even more so, because it gives me…all sorts of excuses…to do this…”
Crowley decided that this was most definitely an excellent name for a rose.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-02 01:46 pm (UTC)Dear author, thank you SO much for writing this for me! This story is everything I wanted when this prompt popped up in my head. It got the achey excitement of a budding romance (pun intended), it got the lazy and not-so-good at his job Aziraphale, it got the nervous wreck Crowley, it got a lovely tour around Canterbury, it got beautiful flowers and belonging. I groaned in frustration and hooted in delight several times while reading this awesomely paced fic. Thank you very much again, I really loved it <3
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 05:34 pm (UTC)HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
–Your Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-02 02:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-02 05:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 06:03 pm (UTC)–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-02 06:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-02 06:22 pm (UTC)This was SO beautiful, I cannot even express.
Especially the epilogue.
This story was full of warmth and love, and it was so well done with the rose-hunting as the "main" plot, it grounded the whole thing and added such a beautiful tone to it.
It was also really well researched, with the roses and Canterbury and everything.
And it was so well written, you have a wonderful writing style!
Thank you for creating this beautiful, beautiful piece of fiction and for filling my day with so much enjoyment.
Normally, this would have taken me over a day to read, but I did it in... 7 hours?
Which for me is lightning speed!
I had so much fun reading this, it was funny, thrilling and romantic all in one and - like already mentioned - really well written.
Thank you for this <3
(also, sorry that my comments were anonymous, I don't have a Dreamwidth account. I'm Staubengel on AO3 and tumblr :))
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 05:47 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it overall; I had fun writing it and doing all the necessary research (rose breeding is more interesting than you might expect! And Canterbury is such a lovely place).
I thank you for taking the time to read the entire thing, but I do hope that I didn't distract you from any important tasks! :o
–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 06:12 pm (UTC)And even if, reading this fic would have turned into the more important task, anyway ;D
Thank you for your reply! <3
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-02 07:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 06:04 pm (UTC)–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 03:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 05:58 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it!
–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 11:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 06:16 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting!
–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-03 08:46 pm (UTC)It was very well documented (bonus for Crowley's eyes!)
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-05 11:01 am (UTC)*sideways look through sunglasses at anon who claims to know my secret, secret identity*
–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 03:44 am (UTC)OH GOSH IT'S SUNDAY THAT'S SO AWKWARD
But then it turned out so wonderfully :)
Angel's Kiss :') This was beautiful!
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-05 11:18 am (UTC)–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 06:59 pm (UTC)This is so in-character and sweet at the same time! Good job with the AU!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-05 11:22 am (UTC)–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 07:46 pm (UTC)Ugh that dinner, though. The angst! So glad Crowley went back! That kissing behind the coat rack in the church, though. xD Absolutely loved this great plot and characterisation!!! <3
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-05 11:37 am (UTC)Thanks for your lovely comment!
–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-05 04:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-04 11:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-05 10:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-19 08:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-24 07:22 am (UTC)–Secret Author
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-21 08:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-24 11:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-01 06:09 pm (UTC)