Chapter Text
Crowley bounded his way up the six steps to the stoop and then let himself into the Fitzgeralds’ townhome without knocking, as was his way. He only ever knocked if Fergus and/or Ella didn’t know he was coming, and since he’d just gotten off the phone with Ella a few minutes ago, he was assured of his welcome.
When he entered the house, he could see the back of Liam’s head in the lounge to the right, sitting on the couch. He was snuggled with his blanket and apparently engrossed in an episode of Bluey, so he didn’t hear Crowley coming in. That was fine with Crowley - for the moment. He wanted to chitchat with Ella for a minute.
She’d told him she was making dinner, so he headed straight, past the staircase, into the kitchen. He found her at the cooker frying sausages, and, without ceremony, he came to prop himself on the counter beside her.
“How goes it?”
“Jesus Christ, Crowley,” she said, jumping a mile and putting the hand clenched with a spatula over her heart. “You’re going to kill me at age thirty-seven.”
“Ah, you knew I was coming.”
“I did know that,” she allowed, going back to the sausages.
“What are we having?”
“Spaghetti,” she said, not even blinking at the ‘we’. He was welcome to join them at any time, and both of them knew it.
“Sounds great. Want me to work on the garlic bread?”
“That’d be great.”
“No sweat,” Crowley said, jumping in. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”
“First, are you back getting Liam as usual on Wednesday?”
“Of course. It’s my favorite day of the week, and I’ve missed it the last few weeks. I’m gonna jack him full of sweets and send him home.”
“I know where you live,” she said, her voice dire.
Crowley chuckled. “Yeah, I’m getting him. We’ll go hang out at the park or something fun - and non-sugary. What was the second thing?”
“She was hunting for gossip,” Fergus said, coming into the kitchen.
Crowley knew exactly what they were after, but he was unwilling to give in just yet. “Gossip about what?”
“How’d your date go?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes simultaneously as he cut the baguette, preparing it for the butter. “Abysmal.”
“I don’t understand,” Ella said, transferring the ground, cooked sausage into the bubbling sauce. “You’re charming, handsome -”
“Oi,” protested Fergus playfully.
She ignored him, Crowley shot him a grin.
Ella went on. “I simply don’t understand why your dating life is so -”
“Pathetic?” Fergus volunteered, picking up a carrot and taking an inch off it.
“Rude,” Crowley said.
“He’s right, that was quite rude. And you’re supposed to be cutting those up.”
“Yes, dear,” Fergus said with a wink to his wife, turning around to grab a knife. “Seriously, though, Crowley. It’s been a while since you’ve seen anyone.”
“I’ve had two dates in the last few weeks,” Crowley informed him.
“With the same person?” Ella asked, brow arched.
“...No.”
“Did either of them have any potential at all?”
Crowley sighed. “No. They thought they did, but… no.”
Fergus sounded more serious when he spoke as he chopped veggies for the salad. “Look, mate, if you don’t want anything deeper than that, we won’t keep pushing. But it's been years since you dated anyone you even wanted to talk about.”
“It hasn’t been years!”
“It’s been since 2022,” Ella said. “I remember because that ended right around the time of Liam’s second birthday, in the autumn.”
“So years,” Fergus crowed, but not unkindly.
He sighed again, nudging Ella out of the way so he could put the bread in the oven. “I’m not opposed to the idea. I’d love to meet someone I could date seriously. I’m just opposed to dating the people I keep meeting.”
“Maybe you need to get off Tinder.”
“What he’s trying to say is that there are other places to meet people.”
“I have no desire to cruise bars or clubs. I’m too old for that shit.”
Ella aimed the spatula at him. “Language, mister. Liam parrots everything, and he’s just in there. I can’t believe he hasn’t come running yet.”
“He was engrossed in Bluey when I came by.”
“Sounds about right,” Fergus snorted. “But seriously -”
“No, I’m serious. I’m not necessarily looking to get married, but I’m not interested in short term bullshit, either. I’m well past the age of ships passing in the night.”
“So you want to go steady,” Ella observed.
“I guess, if that’s what you want to call it,” Crowley allowed. “ clubs and bars are not the places to find people like that.”
“There are tons of places to meet people. You could take up a team sport or something. Billiards, or darts. Maybe bowling.”
“You sound insane. Me? Bowling?” Crowley scoffed. “That’s a laugh.”
“What about hanging around bookshops or coffee shops?”
“You know what? I think we’re about done with this,” Crowley said, deciding to invoke his secret weapon. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard over Bluey and said, “Where’s my lil buddy??”
“Unc-Oley!”
Crowley barely had time to grin at Fergus and Ella before there was a Liam-shaped being barrelling towards him at the speed of light. Crowley caught him deftly, scooping him up and giving the boy noisy kisses when he threw his arms around Crowley.
“One day, using him as your human shield isn’t going to work,” Fergus reminded Crowley.
Crowley ignored him. “There’s my guy! How’s my bestest friend?”
Liam launched into jabbering, telling Crowley everything that popped into his head. Crowley only caught about half of it, but he listened as intently as he possibly could while Liam was explaining everything about his life at a mile a minute.
“...An Olivia said I could have some of her biscuit but her had drooled on it. An Mr. Azzerfel said I didn’t havta eat it…”
“Who is Mr. Azerfail?”
“His new teacher.”
“Mr. Azipalala is a angel.”
“Spinning wheels with hundreds of eyes?”
“Crowley,” Ella said firmly.
“No, hims looks like a angel.”
Crowley couldn’t help but tease a little more. “Mr. Azi-something is an angel, huh?”
“Yeah! And hims can do magic!”
“Oh, yeah?” Crowley asked, interestedly.
“Hims pulled a pound coin outta my ear,” Liam announced with tremendous awe and gravitas.
“Really,” Crowley said, trying to match the gravitas.
“And he’s single!” Fergus volunteered.
“Fergus!”
“What? I didn’t see a ring.”
“We've barely spoken to him, Fergus. Maybe he has someone and they just haven't formalized."
"Hey, if they want him they should've put a ring on him.”
“Mr. Aziraphale is not a single lady,” Ella tutted.
Crowley blinked, utterly confused. “His name is say what now?”
“Mr. Azipalala,” Liam said confidently.
Ella was gentle when she said, “Remember, Liam? He said you could call him Mr. A.”
“Come on, Ella. You know how ambitious he is.”
“You gotta come meet Mr. Azipalala, Unc’Owley! He’s a angel, for real!”
“I believe you. Why don’t you go put on Danny Go for me,” Crowley said, setting Liam down and kissing the crown of his head affectionately. “I think we could have a dance party before dinner, if we hurry.”
“Yeah!” Liam shouted, running out of the kitchen and into the lounge.
Once he was gone, Crowley turned to his best friends. “What in the f-word was he talking about?”
“He has a new teacher, Mr. A. He’s crazy about him.”
“I can see that,” Crowley said. “But it sounded like you were trying to set me up with him, unless I was much mistaken.”
“You could do a lot worse,” Fergus said simply.
“He’s a preschool teacher.”
“Yeah? And?”
“He’s also quite handsome -” Ella volunteered, earning another, more indignant ‘Oi!’ from Fergus - “and Fergus is right. He doesn’t appear to be married.”
“Is he even queer?”
Fergus scoffed. “The man is as gay as a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide.”
“He also doesn’t strike either of us as the ships in the night type,” Ella said.
“So you’re in on this, too?”
“No, I’m not in on anything. I don’t think Fergus even had the idea until just a second ago.”
“She’s right. I didn’t. But she’s also right that he’s the going steady type.”
“You’ve cracked, mate,” Crowley scoffed. “There is a zero percent chance I’m going to have anything in common with this man -”
“You have Liam in common,” Ella said.
“And you won’t know what you have in common with him until you talk to him.”
“Which I shan’t be doing,” Crowley said stoutly. “Not in the way you’re implying. I’ll be picking my little buddy up and going on my way - not going steady.”
“Unc’owley! Where are youuuu?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Crowley said, straightening his clothes just for the dramatic effect. “I think I have a date with your son and Danny Go to do the Wiggle Dance. Ciao.”
With that, he walked out of the kitchen with all the dignity he could muster.
Aziraphale Fell had been working as a preschool teacher for many years, and he still loved his profession. He had moved to Little Angels Preschool approximately a month ago, and he liked this place tremendously. The children in his class were bright little rays of sunshine who were all very good girls and boys. They were, however, typical three-and-four-year-olds, and there were days when Aziraphale was looking forward to pickup a little more than others. He often joked with his friends that he loved the little moppets in his class - which he considered as close to his own as he would ever get - but the best part of his job was being able to give them back to their parents and go home to a nice glass of wine. This particular Wednesday was one of those days, and he was not entirely unhappy about pickup.
The assistant teacher was a young woman named Muriel Scribe, whom he had worked with years before. He had been delighted to find out that they would be working together again in this classroom. The two of them rubbed along together well, and she was a tremendous support to him. They complemented each other, and the children benefited from having such a well-rounded team, he thought. Unfortunately, she had had to leave early today for a dental appointment, leaving him alone with the children for post-nap, unstructured play and pickup. That was when the wheels often fell off the wagon, and the wagon seemed rickety today.
His class was the three-and-four-year-olds who were preparing for kindergarten, and while they were all (hypothetically) potty trained, there were still accidents at least a couple times a week. There had been two today, which was unusual, and Aziraphale had to admit that cleaning up puddles - or worse, solids - from the floor, chairs, or cots was not his favorite part of the job. He much preferred reading stories to the children, singing songs, leading them in art, or teaching them their letters and numbers. All of them were so very, very bright, and all of them were a delight. He had, however, had what his mother would have called An Afternoon, in a tone that indicated the capital letters.
His class was small, containing mostly boys. There was Adam, who seemed to be the de facto leader of three other children: Brian, Wensleydale, and Pepper. The four were known around Little Angels as ‘the Them’ for reasons Aziraphale didn’t know - or really care about. He loved how inventive all of them were. Much like other days, they’d been playing a game about building a fort out of cardboard blocks, and it was quite fun to watch them play pretend. Today, however, they had decided to play snowball fight, using wads of toilet roll Aziraphale wasn’t sure how they’d gotten a hold of. That had taken a while to clean up.
Also in his class was Warlock, who won the imaginary prize for most unusually named child he’d ever taught. Warlock was generally a good boy, but he had something of a mischievous streak. Aziraphale had been warned early on that Warlock’s father, the ambassador to the United States, was not very present in his life, and his mother seemed to think he could do no wrong and would blame anyone and everyone else when Warlock got into scrapes. He was treading lightly with that situation. For the moment, until he got a better feel for the situation, he was attempting to minimize scrapes that Warlock got into. Thankfully, there had been no scrapes today, and when his Nanny picked him up, there’d be no negative report.
Then there was Lily, who was joy incarnate. She was an adorable little girl who reminded Aziraphale of fairies, and, indeed, carried herself much like a fairy would. She was the sort of child who would run in circles just for the joy of it, and watching her in action brought him joy. Today, however, when his nerves were a little ragged, he was catastrophizing that she might fall down and hurt herself, and seeing her run made him a little anxious.
There was also Rebecca, who was a wonderful little handful. She loved craft time more than any of the other children, and the crafts she made were advanced for her age. Unfortunately, she also had a penchant for biting, and an eye had to be kept on her.
Ollie - affectionately called OlliePop by the other staff and children - was very dear to Aziraphale. He had a diagnosis of autism and required more support than the other children. His speech was somewhat delayed, and he was a bit behind, developmentally. He had the most tenuous grasp on toileting of the children, and therefore, he had the most accidents. He was, however, ahead of the other children in several other ways, including that he could identify all of his letters - upper case and lower case - and numbers up to fifty. He could read a little already, and was the snuggliest of the children in Aziraphale’s class. Aziraphale was always ready to give a hug when requested. Teachers weren’t supposed to have favorites, but Ollie was one of the favorite children he’d ever taught.
For now, though, he was concerned about Liam, who was sitting at the window, looking out onto the playground with a forlorn look on his face. Aziraphale really didn’t have a great deal of time to devote to him, since turning your back on a room full of preschoolers was akin to turning your back on a tornado, but he felt compelled to go have a chat with Liam.
So he walked over and had a seat in the tiny chair next to where Liam was still staring out the window.
“Liam, dear, are you alright?”
“I don’t know.”
Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Remember how we talked about feelings?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you can tell me what you’re feeling?”
Liam looked to be thinking. “I’m sad.”
“Why are you sad?”
“Because the sun is shinin’ and it’s pretty outside.”
Aziraphale tilted his head to the side. “You’re sad because the sun is shining?”
Liam nodded solemnly. “If it’s pretty, Unc’Owley won’t take me to see the sting rays.”
That made almost no sense to Aziraphale, but he was somewhat used to four year olds saying things that made no sense. “Who is Unholy?”
“Unc’Owley is comin’ to get me today, and hims said if it was rainy, we’d go see the sting rays and octopuses at the science center.”
“I see,” Aziraphale said, although he didn’t entirely. “So Unholy is…”
“My best friend,” Liam said, very seriously. “Him’s the best. Hims always does the funnest stuff.”
“Aha,” Aziraphale said, deciding they must be talking about an imaginary friend. “Well, I’m sure Unholy will take you to look at the sting rays and octopi soon. I look forward to meeting him.” He gave Liam’s head an affectionate pat and went back to work, monitoring the other children. He did, however, keep an eye on Liam, quite curious. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with an imaginary friend, but -
The door to his classroom opened at a few minutes after three, just when they were cleaning up from snack, and Aziraphale looked up, ready to greet one of the parents and caregivers he was still getting to know. He was shocked into stillness, however, when he saw the man standing there.
He was dressed in all black from head to toe, and some of his clothes - specifically his trousers - appeared to be painted on. Aziraphale had only ever seen trousers that tight on one other man, and that was Noel Fielding. While they looked ridiculous on Noel, though, they looked devastating on this man. When his eyes drifted higher, he saw that the man was wearing a loosely-buttoned silk shirt - also in black - with some manner of silver tie around his neck. All of that was very attractive, but Aziraphale gasped to himself when he got to the man’s face. It was angled in the most beautiful way, like God Herself had carved him out of marble to defy renaissance artists. He wore sunglasses that covered his eyes, and had red hair that fell in waves to his shoulders.
Aziraphale’s first impression was, of course, that this man was stunningly gorgeous. His second was that this man looked nothing like the parent of a preschooler.
Then the man smiled brilliantly, taking his breath away, and crouched down a little - to receive a streak of Liam Fitzgerald, who barrelled into his arms, making the man say ‘oof’.
“How’s my buddy, eh?” the man asked, smile on his face, scooping up Liam and cuddling him. “Happy to see me?”
“Yeah!” Liam shouted. Then he turned around and announced to the class at large, “Unc’Owley’s here!”
Realizing he needed to be in action, Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat as best he could, put on a smile that was more nervous than it should have been, and stepped over to greet the tall, lanky, gorgeous man in black, who still had an armful of Liam.
“Hello,” he said, as warmly as he could. “You must be Unholy.”
The man caught sight of Aziraphale and the first look on his face was surprise. Aziraphale was used to that - most people were surprised by a male preschool teacher. Then the man’s face (which was even more attractive up close) melted into confusion. “Beg pardon?”
“Liam told me that someone named Unholy was coming today.”
The man’s smile grew brilliant again, and this time it was directed at Aziraphale. The flutters in Aziraphale’s belly were ridiculous, and he tried to ignore them. “I’m Uncle Crowley.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale said, embarrassed. “Yes, I might have known it was a mispronunciation. I do apologize.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, dropping a kiss to Liam’s head and setting him down, where he immediately ran off to look at a bug the children had found in the corner. “I’ve been called worse.”
“At the very least, you don’t seem unholy.”
The grin grew. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“Perhaps I should keep Liam with me, then.”
“Nah, I really am Uncle Crowley. I’m on the pickup list, under Anthony Crowley. I pick Liam up on Wednesdays.”
Aziraphale tilted his head to the side. “I’ve been here a month and haven’t seen you.”
“I’ve been out of town for a while. I’m legit, I promise. You must be Mr. Azipalala. Liam has talked a lot about you.”
Aziraphale was so flustered, he didn’t even correct Mr. Crowley about his name. “He did?”
“Yeah. He told me you were an angel who did magic.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale said, flushing. “I do like to entertain the children with magic tricks from time to time.”
“He mentioned a pound coin in his ear.”
“Yes, they were all quite excited about that one.” Aziraphale was distracted by a tug on his leg and looked down to see Ollie, clearly seeking to be picked up. Without a second thought, Aziraphale scooped up the little one and held him close, but he continued his conversation with Mr. Crowley. “Liam has been talking quite a bit this afternoon about going with Unholy.”
"Well I've been called a lot of things, but... nah, who am I kidding? 'Unholy' has absolutely been one of them."
Aziraphale was flirting before he could think to stop himself. "Should I be breaking out a crucifix?"
“Nah. But maybe keep me out of church so my feet don’t burn.”
He was patting Ollie’s back. “I suppose you don’t go to many weddings or funerals, then.”
“Not since Fergus and Ella got married. Had to soak my feet for days after.”
"Well, good thing that's done, then, isn't it? I hope your shoes were all right?"
“They were too shiny for my taste,” Mr. Crowley said, smiling again. Oh, heavens, Aziraphale liked that smile. “Is there anything I need to pass along to Fergus and Ella?”
“No, he had a wonderful day. His artwork from earlier is in his cubby, along with his blanket.”
“Yeah, that blanket goes with him everywhere,” Mr. Crowley said, going over to retrieve the blanket and art while the children - minus Ollie - continued to gawk at the bug in the corner.
“I understand that entirely,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not uncommon.”
“Good. I will be passing that along to Fergus, because he’s been concerned.”
“Oh, there’s no reason to be concerned. It’s not at all uncommon for children to have a safety item.”
“Good to know,” Mr. Crowley said. “I reckon I’ll be seeing you on Wednesday afternoons, then?”
“Yes, I suppose you will,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll certainly be here.”
“Looking forward to it,” Mr. Crowley said, then turned towards the corner. “Is my buddy ready to go?”
Again, Liam was a small, towheaded streak directly into Mr. Crowley’s arms. Mr. Crowley scooped him up and kissed the side of his head when he hugged him. “See you later, Mr. Azipalala the magical angel,” he said with a grin, then turned and left the classroom.
Aziraphale stood there for a couple of moments, stunned and holding Ollie, until he decided he’d be best served to go check on whatever poor bug had made its way into his classroom and was being inspected by inquisitive four year olds.