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“Thaddeus? He’s in America again, of course . Never there when you need him.” Harriet Dowling was currently on the phone, unaware of her eight-year old son playing in the hallway just outside the living room.
She sighed in frustration and pinched the bridge of her nose. Warlock felt a pang in his stomach “You have no idea. It’s worse than ever. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why he picked this job. It’s like he doesn’t—”
Warlock didn’t like it when his mom used that voice to talk about his dad—which was most times she talked about him—and ran outside.
“Nanny, can we play?”
“Hm? Course, wait a second,” she said, stooped over the lavender.
“Tsk, where’s that gardener? Never there when you need him .” She growled in frustration and Warlock’s stomach twisted. “You need to pluck those weeds immediately or they get out of hand. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why he picked this job. …Ugh, never mind, I got them all.” She stood up, smoothed out her skirt and turned to face Warlock, who had already run away again. Huh. Well, time to frighten the begonias.
—
Warlock had run off to his room. No, no, no. Nanny was complaining about the gardener just like Mom always complained about Dad. And his parents were sad and never kissed like parents are supposed to. Was it the same for the gardener and his nanny? He knew that they liked each other— they always found excuses to be around each other during the day and when he tried to look for one of them on their day off, he always found them together —but now that he was thinking about it, they also never kissed.
But if you love someone, you kiss ‘em. Square on the mouth. And then you’re happy and everything is okay! He had seen films.
And he didn’t want them to be sad.
So it was easy: Get them to kiss. And then they’d be happy. And if he could fix his nanny and the gardener… maybe he could also fix his parents when his dad came back. After all, Nanny always said he could bend reality to his will.
Just… they did love each other, right?
—
“How do you know when someone is in love?”
“When I’m with my boyfriend, I just smile more,” one of the maids said. Yeah, check. That’s an easy one.
“When people love each other for a long time, it’s like they develop their own language only they understand,” another said. “You can listen to them and think you understand the words, but not what they really mean.” Hm. He really often didn’t understand them. Like, he had heard them say random numbers at each other and then laugh— just like cyborgs ! (But he knew the Transformers could feel love, so his plan would still work either way!) He was reminded of one time when Nanny had helped Brother Francis after he’d got tangled up in a net for the fruit trees. She had said “17, 93” like launch codes and then they had looked at each other funny and then both had laughed. But disappointingly, nothing had launched.
“And they want to spend all of their time together, like me with my girlfriend.” The checkmark on Warlock’s mental checklist was so big that it now looked like he had crossed out the entire list.
“Being in love is about knowing all the little things that make someone happy, like how to make their tea just right,” someone else said, and Warlock frowned. He put a mental question mark behind that one.
Warlock considered all of this and came to a conclusion: He was only pretty sure they were in love. So time to do some sleuthing.
Phase 1: Interviewing witnesses!
—
“Why do you spend all your time with Brother Francis?” Warlock asked his nanny over breakfast.
She raised an eyebrow. “Why in Satan’s name would you say that?”
“Because you do and when two people love each other, they want to spend all their time together. The cook said so.”
Nanny froze and blinked. “Did they.”
“U-huh. So?”
“Well, he and I aren’t—I don’t know where you got that idea, but I only know him to the extent my work requires.”
“No, you love him! You’ve got to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ve got to? And why is that?”
Warlock shrugged and pouted at his plate. “But you like him.”
“I don’t like,” she said and poked her fork in the direction of the window for emphasis, “anything. Or any one .”
“You like me.”
She gave a theatrical sigh. “...Point taken.”
Warlock huffed triumphantly and chewed on his toast. He didn’t buy into that at all. She hadn’t even said they
weren’t
in love. And she
did
like some people. Hm, time to
ask
interview
someone else.
—
“Do you know how Nanny likes her tea?”
“Of course; no milk, three sugars and a good dash of—erm, never you mind. Why do you ask?”
“Excuse me, Sir, I’m the one asking the questions here, thank you very much,” Warlock said to Brother Francis’ apparent amusement. “And do you love her?”
The gardener's smile dropped as if he’d just chopped too much off a rosebush. “Why, young Warlock, I love all the things on this beautiful Earth, and so should you.”
“Yeah, but like, do you like her? Like, like like her.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”
“Do you wanna kiss her and date her and give her flowers?”
“Why, I already give her—I mean, I can’t kiss her, that would be incredibly rude of me. Ms Ashtoreth is a proper lady.”
“You can’t kiss ladies?”
“Naturally, you can. Well, only if the feeling is mutual, of course...”
Warlock didn’t exactly remember how it had happened, but he suddenly found himself with a stag beetle in his hands and Brother Francis encouraging him to look at it. Hm. Fair enough, that was more interesting. And that seemed to be about all the gardener wanted to tell him about the subject. (Why were they so uncooperative? …But it was fine, he’d fix it for them, anyway.)
So that concluded his inquiry: Smiling? Check. Secret language? Check. Spending time together? Check. Tea? Check. That’s 4 out of 4!
Yeah, they were definitely in love. The math was clear ! Now he just had to get them to kiss. So time for…
Phase 2: Romance !
—
“I was wondering if we could talk for a moment, if you’re not too busy?” Aziraphale approached Crowley in the garden near the house. Warlock was off playing with a friend inside.
“Sure, what is it?”
“Erm, well, I’m not exactly sure what brought this about, but I seem to have received a—well, a few letters from ‘you’.”
“Oh?”
Aziraphale reached into his coat pocket to retrieve a few notes he’d found over the past couple of days just in there. They were written in the scrawled handwriting of someone who hadn’t quite figured out the correct amount of pressure to apply to a pencil yet.
Dear Brother Francis,
when you smile, your eyes look like the good kind of marbles.
-Nanny Ash
“The good kind, you hear that?” Aziraphale chuckled.
“He means his glass ones; they have this shimmer in the sunlight… Actually isn’t a bad comparison,” Crowley said and Aziraphale hoped he was too distracted by the letters to notice the blush on his cheeks.
Dear Brother Francis,
I prays the Lord, because creation is
wonderful
fine, I guess. But I think the flowers you make are much better. Except gingko, whose in-genius design is timeless.
-Nanny Ash
“It’s the casual blasphemy that does it for me. …Wait, does that devil child actually think I’d say ‘ praise the Lord ’?!”
“I can’t believe he can spell ‘gingko’ but not ‘praise’. Did he get that last line from you?”
“Ha!”
Dear Brother Francis,
I really like- like you.
Do you wanna go on a date with me? I know I’m a proper lady, but it’s ok.
[ ] Yes,
[ ] No,
[ ] Definitely yes
-Nanny Ash
Crowley snorted. “Romantic. Love the fact he crossed out the ‘no’.”
“I gather these aren’t from you, then?” Aziraphale chuckled, and now it was Crowley’s turn to reach into his pocket.
“I’m afraid not. But look what I found under my pillow. These from you?”
Dear Nanny Ash,
you are the fairest in all the land, which means very very pretty. Even though you cheat at Uno, which is very un fair. You should let Warlock win sometimes.
-Brother Francis
“That one mysteriously appeared after I beat him at Uno.”
“I see.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Wait, you don’t let him win?”
“Oh, don’t you start. Anyway, here’s the rest of the collection.”
Dear Nanny Ash,
your hair looks like an ocean wave, if the ocean was made of cherry juice.
-Brother Francis
“Oh, now, that should be ‘if the ocean were made of cherry juice ’,” Aziraphale commented absent-mindedly.
“Yeah, that’s what gave it away, isn't it?”
“Oh, well, better than ‘ocean of blood’, I suppose.”
Dear Nanny Ash,
I think about you in the morning and in the evening and when I sleep I dream about you. But it’s nice dreams, not like you’re a dinosaur chasing me or something.
-Brother Francis
“That one was almost sweet.”
“Why a dinosaur?”
“No idea, but one of us needs to sit him down and explain to him why this isn’t going to work, or else we’re soon going to have another Shakespeare on our hands. And I don’t think either of us wants to find out what that kind of apocalypse would look like.”
“No, perhaps not,” Aziraphale chuckled. “But what exactly should we tell him? He’s got it all wrong and I can’t just tell him that I don’t like you…”
“I told him I didn’t like anything, but clearly that didn’t work either.”
“I wonder where he got the idea from. I mean, it is quite silly,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously, “isn’t it?”
“What, Ashtoreth and Francis? Yes, yes, very silly.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Kid’s bored, is all. Apparently one of the cooks said something.”
“Really? Which one? What did they say?”
“Don’t know, didn’t ask. Anyway, it’s fine, I’ll handle it.”
Aziraphale’s face softened. “Oh, would you really?”
“Yeah, yeah, but you owe me a bottle of wine for this. A nice one.”
“Consider it done. Perhaps in the gardener’s cottage…?”
“Erm, maybe not right now. Don’t need the boy to see me coming over and give him more ideas. Or anyone working here. Or Hell , for that matter. Another time, maybe.
Aziraphale's smile slid onto his face with well-practised ease to hide his disappointment. “Yes, quite right. Good thinking.”
Crowley nodded and gave a sigh. “Alright, then. Should go back inside now. It’s been suspiciously quiet in there.”
“Right, of course. Warlock and his friend will be up to mischief. See you soon.”
Crowley gave a non-committal hum and went inside, Aziraphale looking after him. …Strange where kids got their ideas from sometimes.
—
Crowley carefully broached the topic later over supper. Thaddeus was overseas, Harriet was in Brighton and the cooks had gone home by now, so it was just the two of them, sitting at the small kitchen table. They were eating omelettes Crowley had whipped up; Warlock had helped cut the vegetables. It was only appropriate for a Prince of Darkness to know his way around knives, after all. That’s what he’d told the kid, anyway, and it was something to put in his field reports. It was also just good for fine-motor skills and Warlock seemed to enjoy getting involved in the kitchen.
He’d thought about bringing the letters up then, but Warlock had a way of throwing him, so it was probably best to have a conversation like that away from a hot stovetop and small, sharp, cutty things. Not that Warlock was violent, Crowley was just easily startled. Although… there’s an idea for the next report.
“So, I got these letters,” he began, and Warlock perked up.
“From Brother Francis?”
“Now why would you say that?”
“…No reason.”
“No? Because I have a suspicion you know exactly what’s in those letters because you wrote them. Is that possible?”
Warlock slumped in his chair. “I just wanted to help. So you can kiss and be happy. Like Susan said with her girlfriend!” Susan was one of the cooks.
“I’m sorry, Warlock, but that's not how that works. You can’t just put words in other people’s mouths to force some big confession.”
Warlock crossed his arms in front of his chest; apparently that’s not what he had wanted to hear. “And how do people make big confessions?”
“Erm, under awnings… I hear. In the rain…” His eyes glazed over for a moment until he realised where he was and cleared his throat. “ Works in romance films, anyway. Makes people realise they’ve already been in love. Which is why it doesn’t apply to Francis and me, alright?”
“U-huh. So rain's romantic?”
“If Richard Curtis is to be believed. Flowers are romantic too. Spotless ones, anyway... or spending time together.”
Warlock seemed to be lost in thought and Crowley frowned at him. He wasn’t sure if the silence was better than the love questions, but he’d take it. Aziraphale had better get a bottle of that good French stuff.
—
Warlock was hunched over his writing desk, nose-deep in a top-secret project that no one could know about. He’d thought a lot about his conversation with Nanny. ‘Makes people realise they’ve already been in love,’ she’d said. And he knew that they were already in love. (He’d checked !) Just like his parents. ‘Spending time together ’, ‘rain and awnings and flowers’ she’d said. They only hadn’t had the big speech in the rain yet! Of course!
And then they would make their big confession and kiss and have their happy ending. It worked for Mary Jane and Spiderman. And he would masterplan it so well that it just had to work for Nanny and Brother Francis too. He just had to get them to the right place; and maybe hang up a mistletoe for good measure. Just so they took the hint. Because he had a feeling they weren’t so good at taking those when it came to love . Nowhere near as good as Warlock, anyway, hehehe…
Now he just needed an umbrella, cue cards, the garden hose and lots of chocolates…
—
The next morning, Crowley put on his dressing gown, only to discover in its pocket a new little note in an annoyingly familiar handwriting. He frowned.
Find me!
Oh, for—“You’d better still be in your bed where I left you. It's too early for this…” he muttered under his breath and strode to Warlock’s bedroom, carefully opening the door just in case he was still asleep. But he needn’t have bothered. The curtains were open, the bed was empty— and made? (Wait, had someone kidnapped him?) Crowley frowned and closed his eyes, reaching out over the manor to try and detect a demonic presence, apart from himself, anyway. Nothing. Okay, so no demons and Warlock himself had never felt particularly demonic, anyway. He reached out again to check for the familiar, slightly mischievous aura of his charge and …Ah, in the garden. Okay, good good. It really was just a game, then. He wondered if Aziraphale knew about this.
Still surprised by the almost unnerving sight of the made bed, he went over to it and ran his hand over the sheets. That’s when he noticed it, just peeking out from under the duvet: Another note, like the on before.
I’m not in /my/ bed. But check out a different bed! Hint: It’s purple and smells very good!
Was that little hellspawn sending him on a literal treasure hunt to come find him? He couldn’t even tell Warlock off without finding him first!
So a purple bed that smelled good, and he sensed Warlock was in the garden… (yup, that’s cheating, go cry about it) …oh, Aziraphale had just planted that lavender plot—a flowerbed ! Crowley peered out of the window and scanned the garden, spotting Warlock behind a bush from which he had a perfect view of the lavender. He smirked and went downstairs, grabbing a jacket from the boy’s wardrobe and snapping his fingers to get dressed himself.
—
Despite the fact it was a chilly April morning, he went over to the flowerbed, note in hand, and decidedly did not look over to a certain bush.
“Alright, I’m here. Very funny. Come out now, it’s cold,” he said and waited. But the only thing that came out was a crumpled up piece of paper, aimed straight at his head. “Hey!” He picked it up and threw it right back over the bush. A few seconds later, it bounced back with a giggle. “Okay, that’s it.” Crowley made his way over to the shrub, when suddenly it spoke.
“No, you’ve gotta reaaaad it!”
Crowley glared, but he picked it up and opened it. “Is this Jehova’s Witnesses? I didn’t know they were recruiting bushes these days...”
“Nooo.”
WAIT HERE FOR GARDENER!!
What?
“Is he coming too?” he asked out loud but only heard muffled giggles. He sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, because apparently he was now going to wait.
“Fine. Five minutes. But I am also going to turn around for one minute and when I turn back, this thing had better have vanished,” he said and hung the jacket over a piece of garden furniture before turning around. Playing along with Crowley’s game too, Warlock collected it, and so Waiting For Godot started. A solo production. With one hidden audience member. Lovely.
Lucky for Warlock, Aziraphale made his way over to the flowerbed about 4 minutes later, because Crowley’s patience was wearing thin.
“Ah, good morning! You here too?” Aziraphale called.
“Summoned here just like you, I’m guessing,” he said and held up his note. Aziraphale looked held up a matching one.
Come to your purple bed in front of the house when Nanny’s there.
“Found this stuck to my window earlier. Came here as soon as I saw you,” Aziraphale explained.
“Pff, my riddle was harder.” Crowley showed Aziraphale the other card, looking around to see if Warlock had come out yet. Nope again.
“Well, it certainly looks like we are supposed to do this together.”
“Ah. And what exactly is it that we’re supposed to do now?” he asked, just when he spotted a paper plane gliding in their general direction and then making a sharp turn farther into the garden.
“Collect further instructions, I should think,” Aziraphale said and led the way.
Crowley reluctantly trotted after him onto the grass.
Aziraphale wiggled his fingers excitedly, before he picked the note up and opened it. “Oh look! It’s another
Clue!”
I sting like a bee but cannot fly. I’m red like blood and can make you bleed.
“This whole thing is ridiculous. He’s right there in the bushes,” Crowley grumbled under his breath.
“Oh come on, it’s fun! And look how much effort he’s put into this,” Aziraphale said, before adding, “And there might be a treasure !”
Crowley let out a sigh and eyed his note again. “What kind of insect are we even supposed to chase after? Or not an insect… maybe a platypus? The males have stingers and they’re kind of… brown. Eh…”
Aziraphale thought for a moment, before his face lit up. “Ah, that will be the roses, just behind the trees back there. I planted these deep-red ones.”
“Oh, right, yeah, that. Fine, that’s not a bad riddle.”
“But if I’m wrong about the roses we can always try the platypuses afterwards.” Bastard.
Crowley mouthed Aziraphale’s words sourly before frowning. “Wait, you’ve got roses blooming at this time of year? In that alkaline soil?”
“Oh, is that not good?” Aziraphale frowned.
“Makes nutrients less available. Should lead to stunted growth; would definitely take a miracle to make anything in it bloom months before it’s supposed to.”
“Oh, is that so? Lucky us.” Aziraphale smiled.
“Can’t believe you’re the gardener here,” he muttered under his breath.
“To be fair, I mostly just read.”
“Big surprise.”
Once they’d got to the rosebush (which was covered in a
paranormal
abnormal amount of flowers)—without turning around and directly looking at the origin of the rustling that was following them—they began to search for the next Clue. Crowley, a bit more enthusiastic at the sight of the flowers, was the first to notice the umbrella vertically stuck into the rosebush. The pole was swallowed up completely by the blooming flowers. Right now the only thing it was protecting from potential rain was the handful of flowers it lay right on top of. Had that been Warlock?
“Oh, look, I found it,” Aziraphale said. “It’s down here. But it’s just an arrow, huh…”
The note with the arrow was stuck to the bottom of the rosebush, pointing at a hole on the side just large enough for an adult to climb through.
“You know, I think we’re meant to go in there.”
“Are you sure?” Aziraphale looked unhappy.
“Yeah, pretty sure. Don’t worry, they won’t scratch your clothes, isn’t that right? ” he said and gave the roses a dangerous smile. The thorns at the entrance seemed to slightly bend away.
“Oh come now, that really wasn’t necessary.” Aziraphale’s tone was disapproving, but a small smile had crept onto his face. He pulled a branch aside to make the entry larger for Crowley. “Please, after you.”
“Hm, haven’t been in one of those in a while,” Crowley commented and got on all fours. Now intrigued, he began to crawl through the little tunnel to the middle of the bush, using a minor miracle here and there to make sure Aziraphale would be able to get through without a problem.
Once he’d reached the middle, a larger hollow, he moved to the side and sat down with his legs folded to the side, waiting for Aziraphale. This was pretty, truth be told. Reminded him a bit of Eden, being surrounded by large foliage like that; well, bar the umbrella pole floating in the middle and… were those chocolates in the corner? A few ants surely seemed to be interested. How long had those been out here?
“Why has he been doing all of this?” Crowley frowned.
“Good question,” Aziraphale said, sitting down next to him, looking around. “Is that a mistletoe? There, stuck to the umbrella handle. …He did ask me for one yesterday.”
“But it’s April.”
“He asked nicely.”
There it was, about on eye-level; for Warlock this would hang above his head. “Oh for—, do you think this is about the letters?”
And then the rain started. Only that it was quite spotty for normal rain, one moment in one corner, then another, but not spread out evenly. And Crowley’s weather senses told him that the clouds above them weren’t ready to rain yet. …Ah.
“Now that’s odd timing.” Aziraphale scooted over and huddled together with him under the umbrella. “And very peculiar weather.”
Crowley gave a wry smile. “You know, I may have told Warlock that humans fall in love when they’re in the rain. Sheltered under an awning.” He looked up. “I think he improvised.”
“You did what?”
“I didn’t know he was gonna try it out on us!”
“And he’s making it rain?”
“Maybe. I don’t think this water is coming from the sky. But he does have a water pistol…”
“ That’s from a water pistol?”
Crowley shrugged. “If you point it at the sky and wiggle it around a bit.”
“Right, I see. Oh, but that is quite sweet of him.”
Crowley miracled the box of chocolates back into the condition it had been in two hours ago, when it had been left there (which appeared to be half-full, with Warlock’s favourites missing).
“This is all your fault, then; I’m certainly not influencing anyone to do anything ‘sweet’,” he said and held out the sweet treats. “Anyway, breakfast? Pretty sure these are for us.”
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and took one. “So you talked to him about the letters, hm?”
Crowley glanced up at the makeshift-awning-mistletoe umbrella and snorted. He couldn’t believe that kid had lured them into a bloody red rosebush. “Yeah, I feel like I might need to have another shot at that particular conversation.”
“Not that I would have done much better.”
“I was just about to suggest you try it this time,” Crowley said and popped a chocolate into his mouth.
“Maybe I’ll be present and we’ll do it together.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said and sighed. “You know, the kid asked me about love and I didn't know what to say. Told him you couldn’t force these things. Free will and consent and all that.”
Aziraphale hummed. “You were right to tell him that.”
Crowley shrugged. “Everyone goes at a different speed.”
Aziraphale looked over, a bit surprised, and then away again. He bit his lip. “Quite.”
Crowley sighed and leaned back. “Do you remember those rosebushes in Eden? I used to hide in them as a snake. They were smaller than these, but it looked like this.”
Aziraphale looked at the roses around them. “That sounds lovely.”
Crowley hummed. “It was a lot like this.”
“I used to wonder what it must have been like, there in that bush.”
“Wait, you saw me?”
“Dear, you were bright red.”
“Just like the roses! And only the belly!” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Now that I say it out loud…”
Aziraphale looked over and they shared a laugh.
“But there were moments I wanted to join you in there, wriggle past the thorns. Silly, isn’t it?”
Crowley hummed.
“Gabriel would have never let me hear the end of it.”
“Just like old times, then.”
Aziraphale frowned and reached out so that his fingertips brushed Crowley’s hand. “Right now, I’m here.”
Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s expression softened. “Bit better, then.”
And so they sat, side-by-side, fingers touching and waiting for Warlock’s water pistol to run out of water.
–
Warlock didn’t see them come out for a long while, which could only mean one thing: They were smoochin’! (Or short-circuiting, if they were cyborgs ) He looked down at the garden hose in his hands and grinned. He couldn’t wait to try this on his parents next week!