Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a cat in the greenhouse. 

Crowley stared owlishly at the little creature curled into the large pot of his yucca plant. It was early afternoon, and Crowley had popped out to the back garden to see how his plants were getting along after a particularly nasty storm the day before that had kept him and Aziraphale inside, the shutters closed tight. Storms in London had never been pleasant, but there was something to be said about the ferocity of some of the ones that blew through the Downs from the sea. 

The cat was a small tortoiseshell, probably only a few months old, if one hazarded a guess. She was sleeping, her little paws curled underneath her little body, her tail curled over her nose, blissfully unaware that the plant she’d chosen as her bed happened to belong to a demon. 

Crowley had never been particularly good with animals. They’d always seemed to consider him with a fine degree of distrust upon sight; he supposed this could be chalked up to his being a demon, or perhaps they could sense the more snakey aspects to his nature, or maybe they could sense his general unease around them. Either way, he tended to avoid them when he could, and whenever he was faced with the prospect of having to be in the general vicinity, he tended to let Aziraphale do all the talking. 

But now, with Aziraphale having popped downtown to the market, he didn’t really have much of a choice. 

He gently and quietly sat down his watering can and crouched down close to the plant to just watch the kitten for a few moments, weighing his options.

On the one hand, he could just leave her be, and hope she left on her own. On the other, she was young enough that she might not be able to jump high enough to get out the window, and Crowley shuddered when he remembered the badger that had gotten in the one time he’d left the door open, which meant leaving it ajar in the hopes the kitten would leave were out. 

In the end, the kitten decided for him. As if she could feel Crowley’s serpentine gaze on her, her little eyes blinked open, and a (frankly adorable) yawn stretched across her face, highlighting her rows of tiny, sharp teeth. 

The kitten blinked at Crowley. Crowley blinked back. 

The demon (retired) wasn’t sure exactly what reaction he’d been expecting; hissing, maybe; a swipe at his nose with tiny claws; an arched back and fluffed out fur. He certainly wasn’t expecting the little creature to meow at him. 

It was a shrill little cry, more of a mewl than anything, indicating that she was, indeed, very young. She immediately stood up and made a beeline for him, her little eyes never leaving him. 

Crowley straightened up and watched her as she gracelessly jumped out of the yucca plant onto the shelf and mewled again. Cautiously, he held out his hand towards her, and she sniffed him for a single second before she thrust her tiny head against his fingers, rubbing her cheeks against his hand as a surprisingly loud purr erupted from her tiny body. 

“Uh,” Crowley said, uncertain. “Hello?” 

He gently rubbed a fingertip between the kitten’s ears, before he ran his palm down her back. She was so tiny, she damn near disappeared completely behind his hand. She responded immediately, arching into the contact, and she chattered happily as he repeated the action several times. 

“Where’d you come from, hm?” He said gently, continuing to pet the kitten as he glanced about the greenhouse, trying to pinpoint where she could have made her grand entrance. Nothing immediately stood out to him, and he wondered how long she’d been inside; had she been here for several days, and he just hadn’t noticed her? 

The kitten didn’t answer him, but instead rolled over onto her back and let him rub her little tummy. She batted playfully at his hand, kicking her little feet, before she abruptly rolled over and meowed at him. She bounded over to the edge of the shelf, where she stopped, surveyed the area, and then took a flying leap towards the demon. 

Crowley instinctively reached out to catch her before she could fall, but he needn’t have worried; she had calculated her jump perfectly, and her little claws caught in the worn cotton of his jeans, where she clung for a moment before she began to crawl up his clothing and onto his right shoulder, where she perched, and pressed against his neck, still purring away. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Crowley said, and reached up to try and pluck the kitten from his shoulder to set her down again. As he did so, the kitten sank her claws into his shirt and made a (yet again, adorable) growly noise, indicating that she did not like the prospect of being removed from her perch.

Crowley groaned. “Fine. But if you’re going to stay there, you’d best hold on. I’ve got things to do.”

The kitten didn’t reply; she resumed purring and rubbing her little whiskers against his cheek. 

It tickled.

Crowley sighed. This was far from what he’d been expecting; animals didn’t usually…take to him like this, and he wasn’t sure what had compelled this little creature to decide that he was worthy of her attentions, but she’d made her position quite clear, and what harm could it do, anyway? She wasn’t hurting anyone or anything, and if she were with him, at least he could be sure she wasn’t using his Pink Princess Philodendron as a litter box, or chewing on his rubber plant. 

Picking up his watering can, Crowley went back to watering his plants, whispering vague yet menacing reminders of the consequences of disappointing him. 

All the while the kitten sat and listened, her little tail curled over her paws, and not once did she try to leave. 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale expected many things whenever he returned home: the resolute shape of their cottage atop its little hill; the smell of Crowley’s rose bushes and fresh earth, book glue and aged paper; Crowley, of course. But a kitten riding about on the shoulder of his Mate was certainly a new one. 

“And who’s this, then?” He cooed, reaching out to pet the little cat pressed against Crowley’s neck. The tortie purred in delight as he rubbed under her chin with a finger, her tiny paws kneading against Crowley’s t-shirt. 

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “I found her in the yucca plant in the greenhouse. Can’t figure out where she came from or how she got in, but she, uh…climbed up there and won’t let me move her, so.” 

“Enjoying the ride, are you?” Aziraphale teased, and the kitten meowed at him. The angel chuckled.

“She’s been up there a coupla hours.” Crowley said. “Couldnt get her to budge.”

 “She seems to be quite taken with you.”

Crowley shrugged; the kitten held firm, but did blink somewhat irritably at the jostling. “She’s young and doesn’t know any better.”

“You’ve always been good with children, dear.” Aziraphale reminded him. 

“Human kids, yeah.” Crowley agreed. “But I’ve always been shit with animals, you know that. Besides, do you know how hard it is to threaten my plants with a cute little thing like her on my shoulder?! I have a reputation to uphold here!”

“Oh, we can’t have that.” Aziraphale teased, and gently slipped his hand beneath the kitten’s belly and slowly tried to ease her off of Crowley’s shoulder. She resisted for a moment, her little claws catching on Crowley’s shirt, but ultimately acquiesced and allowed the angel to pick her up. Aziraphale cradled her in his hands for a moment. 

“Don’t mind him,” he said to her. “He’s really a big old softy.” 

“Oi!” Crowley protested. “Not helping, angel!”

Aziraphale chuckled. The kitten purred, as though she were laughing, too.

“I’m sure the little mite is hungry,” he observed. “She can’t be more than eight or nine weeks old, barely off of her mother’s milk, I’d say. We’d best pop down to the little pet shop in town and pick up a few things. A bed, some little trinkets for her to bat around, a litter pan.”

“You can’t be serious!” Crowley objected. “We aren’t keeping her, what would we need all of that for?” 

“Well, we’ll need to make sure she’s comfortable until we find her a home, won’t we?” Aziraphale said. “We can’t just turn her out, Crowley.” 

“I wasn’t suggesting we do.” Crowley defended. “But don’t get attached to her! The last thing I need is a cat chewing on my plants or pissing in their pots!” 

Aziraphale tutted, and stroked the kitten again. Her downy fur was as soft as the marginal covert feathers where Crowley’s wings met his back. She would grow to have lovely coloring, with her tortoiseshell pattern of mottled black and ginger; she was still young enough that her eyes were blue, but should they turn yellow in her adult years, she would be very striking indeed, and would remind him very much of a wily demon that had a bigger heart than he dared ever admit to anyone other than Aziraphale.

“Now, I’m sure she wouldn’t do that.” Aziraphale said. “Especially if she had the proper upbringing.”

“Not happening, angel.” Crowley said sternly. “We've already raised a child with mixed influences, and I’m not keen to do it again. We can keep her just as long as it takes to find her a home, and not a day longer.” He punctuated his point by pointing his plant mister at Aziraphale, who rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, darling.” He conceded. “Are you coming with me to the shop?” 

“I just spent all afternoon with her,” Crowley said. “Tag, you’re it, angel.”

“I don’t mind taking her with me,” Aziraphale said. “But I’d like to point out that I’m going to have to take the Bentley into town, and we do not yet have a cat carrier, so unless you want her potentially running amok in the car, you have two options: you hold her while I drive, or you drive and I hold her.”

That did the trick. Crowley immediately sat the mister down and took off the apron he wore, hanging it on the nail driven into the wood of the doorframe. He toed off the waterproof gardening clogs (printed with ladybirds on them, which he had picked out himself, though he swore up and down that he’d fervently deny it should Aziraphale ever tell anyone) he wore about the greenhouse and slipped into his worn pair of trainers. 

One thing that had surprised Aziraphale upon moving into the South Downs cottage Crowley had bought and Presented to the angel four months prior was how easily Crowley had fallen into domestic life. Stylish, skin-tight clothing had been traded for worn jeans with fraying cuffs and threadbare knees, hoodies with chewed drawstrings and little holes where his thumbs could poke through; worn, soft t-shirts had replaced leather waistcoats, trainers replaced snakeskin boots. They cooked and ate together, hung up laundry together, went into town together. Crowley loved to lounge on the sofa with Aziraphale as the angel read, his head in his lap, with one of Aziraphale’s hands in his hair while the other held a book. He’d had a large clawfoot tub installed in the bathroom, big enough for both of them to luxuriate together. There were times when Crowley would manifest his wings, and allow them to remain on the physical plane all day, and Aziraphale would never, ever, get used to the flash of pride he’d feel when he’d catch sight of the single white feather nestled into Crowley’s primaries. Sometimes, when they knew no one was around to see, they’d go flying together, out over the ocean and the chalk cliffs that the Downs were famous for. 

Crowley had always been sharp lines and edges, but since his Presentation, he’d allowed himself to soften, as though those lines had been gone over with a watercolor brush. That softness, and the freedom to be so, was the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen.

“Do you want to drive, or shall I?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, before he growled in resignation and held out his hands. 

“Gimme.” He said, and Aziraphale passed the kitten into his waiting palms. She mewed happily as Crowley tucked her close to his chest as he ducked into the passenger seat of the Bentley. 

Aziraphale slid into the driver’s seat, and gently eased the Bentley down the driveway and headed towards town. As he drove, he glanced out the corner of his eye at the demon and the kitten. The little cat had curled up in Crowley’s lap, and Crowley was gently rubbing his fingertip between her soft little ears. His face was inscrutable to the casual observer, but Aziraphale knew his Mate, and he knew that look; he was Asking Questions, though not aloud. 

“Are you really quite sure you don’t want to keep her, my dear?” Aziraphale dared softly. “She really does seem quite fond of you.”

Crowley hummed. “‘S for the best we find her a home.” He said, his voice sullen. “She’s just a baby right now, and doesn’t know any better, but what if she grows up and hates me? She sees a snake in the garden one day and then sees my eyes and is afraid of me?”

Aziraphale’s heart twinged. Crowley, for all his smooth, effortlessly sexy suavity and (literal) devil-may-care attitude, still struggled sometimes with his self-worth. It happened most often when he felt that he couldn’t live up to certain expectations, or when he felt that he’d be rejected despite his best efforts. Crowley had an anxiety streak a mile wide, though he often hid it behind a mask of cool nonchalance and sarcastic witticisms. The angel did his very best to always make sure his Mate knew how much he was loved, for exactly the person he was, and not just the person he could have become had he never experienced the trauma of the Fall.

“My dear,” Aziraphale scolded gently. “There is absolutely no guarantee that would happen.” 

“And there isn’t a guarantee it wouldn’t happen, either, is there?” Crowley countered. He didn’t look away from the little creature nestled so trustingly in his hands. “Best to not get attached, angel.”

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were already attached’ Aziraphale thought, but knew better than to say aloud. 

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale guided the Bentley up to the curb outside of the little pet shop in town. He parked her gently, remembering the parking brake, and made sure to check for any passersby before he opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Crowley followed suit, kitten in hand. 

“Welcome to Pawsitively Pawsome Pets,” the slightly monotone voice of the teenage girl working behind the counter said as the little bell above the door tinkled merrily. She never looked up from the music magazine she was reading. 

‘Probably bepop,’ Aziraphale thought. He plastered a placid smile on his face and walked up to the counter. 

“Hello, uh,” he looked at the girl’s name tag, which read ‘Emilee.’ “Emilee? Would you mind pointing me in the direction of your supplies for cats?”

Emilee jerked her thumb over her shoulder, yet again not taking her eyes off of her magazine for even a moment. 

“Back left corner.” She said. She turned the page of her magazine and Aziraphale saw it was about a band called “BTS”.

Definitely bepop, then. Aziraphale’s eye twitched. 

“Thank you.” He said, stiffly. He turned to look at Crowley, who was looking at a chinchilla suspiciously as it gnawed on a piece of celery.

“Are you coming, dear?” He called over to him. 

“Ngk,” Crowley answered, but he turned away from the chinchilla and strode over to the angel’s side. Aziraphale led the way through the narrow aisles to the back, where a jolly, hand drawn sign proclaiming “Cats!” met them. 

“Now then,” Aziraphale said. He turned back to look at Crowley and the kitten, but found that his Mate had disappeared somewhere in the maze of the shop. Huffing, he rolled his eyes and went in search of his wayward demon.

He found him standing in front of a cage which housed a little yellow budgie, the kitten once again perched on his shoulder. The parrot was staring intently at Crowley, who was talking to it, while the kitten was staring intently at the bird.

“C’mon,” Crowley cooed in his most tempting voice. “I know you lot can talk. Just say it once for me, and I’ll leave you alone.” 

Aziraphale sidled up next to him.

“What on earth are you on about now, Crowley?” He asked.

“I’m teaching the bird to swear.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished. 

“What?! It’ll be funny. Some little old lady comes in, looking for a new budgie, takes this one home, and bam! It starts twittering swears anytime her knitting friends come round. It’ll be the talk of the nursing home set.”

“Crowley, you should not be teaching obscenities to the budgies.” The angel said sternly. 

Crowley pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“I am plenty fun!” Aziraphale defended. “I just don’t agree that teaching swear words to parrots is in my league of fun, is all.”

“Fuck!” The budgie chirped. 

Crowley grinned. “Ha! Good job. You’ll have a great time, little friend.”

Aziraphale groaned and grabbed Crowley’s arm, pulling him away from the bird back towards the cat supplies. Crowley put his hand up to his shoulder, to keep the kitten still, but she didn’t even bat an eye and grounded herself perfectly.

As Aziraphale was weighing the merits between two different mouse toys and Crowley read the back of kitten food cans, a young boy about six years old rounded the corner and jogged down the aisle. A middle aged woman with brown hair quickly followed suit, reaching out to grab the boy’s arm.

“Ollie, I told you,” the woman said. “You’re not allowed to run about in the shops!” She looked apologetically at Aziraphale. “I’m sorry if he gave you any trouble, sir.” 

“No trouble at all!” Aziraphale assured her. “You caught him before he could catch up to us, honestly. No harm done!” 

“He’s just a little overexcited,” the woman explained. “We’re here to look at getting him a new pet, since his gerbil just died, poor thing.” 

“Cheese didn’t like to be cuddled,” Ollie chirped in, pouting. 

The woman winced. “I’m afraid a rodent may not have been the best choice for Ollie,” she explained. “He did so love the little thing, but he loved him…a bit too hard, if you catch my drift. We were hoping to see if they had any cats available for adoption, you see, since my wife and I think a cat may be more Ollie’s speed. Cats have a bit more…substance to them? Than gerbils, I mean. Ollie can cuddle a cat.”

Aziraphale brightened, serendipity flooding through him. 

“As it happens, my partner and I found a young kitten in our garden just this morning,” he informed the woman. “We were looking to foster her until we found her a home, and perhaps you were put in our paths at the perfect time!” 

“Oh!” The woman said, her interest clearly piqued. “How wonderful! We’d be delighted to take her!”

Aziraphale smiled and turned to Crowley. 

“Crowley, why don’t you show this lovely woman and her son the kitten?” He asked. 

He was surprised to see a look of unease on Crowley’s face. Even with his sunglasses on, Aziraphale could still see that his eyes had gone wide, and his body posture had sharpened as it coiled tight, like a viper ready to strike. Aziraphale knew Crowley, his best friend, his Mate, better than anyone, and he knew, in that moment, that Crowley was in fight or flight mode. 

“Uh,” Crowley said, voice failing him. “Actually, angel…” 

“Kitty!” Ollie cried as he caught sight of the kitten perched on Crowley’s shoulder, partially hidden in his hair. “Can I hold it? I wanna hold it!” 

“Ollie, that isn’t polite!” The woman chided. 

“I wanna hold the kitty!” Ollie protested, stomping his little foot. “I want it!” 

Crowley took a step back, away from the child, his hand going up to the kitten, as if trying to hide her from view, or keep her on his shoulder.

“Wait, hold on—” Aziraphale tried to mediate. 

“Give it to me!” Ollie demanded, much in the way a child his age would demand another child to share a coveted toy on the playground. “I wanna hold the kitty!” 

“Young man—” Aziraphale started, but the child didn’t listen; instead, he cut off the angel by screeching, in a very (if Aziraphale were being honest) unholy way. 

“I want the kitty!” Ollie screamed. “Give it to me now!”

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Crowley snarled, and snapped his fingers. Everything around them crawled to a stop, and Aziraphale knew he’d just stopped time. 

“My dear, is there any reason for that?” He asked. 

“Yeah, angel, there bloody well is.” Crowley growled. “The kid’s being a little shit, and there’s no way he’s getting his grabby little mitts anywhere near her!” 

“I can agree that he is a…less than desirable child,” Aziraphale said. 

“He’s not getting her, and that’s final, angel.” Crowley said.  

He didn’t say another word to Aziraphale, but instead focused his attention on the woman and child, still mid-scream. He waved his hand at the mother. 

“Get the kid a pet rock,” he instructed. “Can’t cuddle a rock too hard.” He then looked at the child. “And you, young man, are going to go home and be a delight for your mothers. A veritable saint among boys, got it? No more of this grabbiness or screeching business. And no more aggressively cuddling small animals, got it?”

With that, he snapped his fingers and restarted time. The mother looked a little dazed, and Ollie gapped for a moment before he closed his mouth and looked at his mother, confused. 

Aziraphale stepped up, and waved a finger discreetly, sending a minor miracle their way to help ease them along.

“Mind how you go,” he said gently, and the woman and child turned and walked away. 

Turning back to Crowley, he found that he’d removed the kitten from his shoulder, and was stroking her back. She arched into the touch, her little purr loud and clear. 

“You really are quite taken with her, my dear. As much as she is with you.” Aziraphale said softly. “By all accounts it seems that she’s chosen you.”

“I guess I could train her to keep away from the plants.” Crowley said quietly. “She’ll be great to have around to keep the mice away.” 

Something warm and fond settled itself deep into the angel’s bones as he watched Crowley gently help the kitten back onto his shoulder. She rubbed her whiskers against his cheek and nestled down, kneading her tiny paws into the demon’s red hair. 

“I think it’s settled, then?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Well,” Crowley said. “When a cat chooses you, it’s only right you choose her back, yeah?” 

Aziraphale hummed. He smiled and kissed Crowley’s cheek. 

“You really are an old softy, you wily serpent.”

He could tell Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed. “Don’t go ‘round telling people, yeah, angel?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” Aziraphale said. He turned back to the aisle of pet supplies. “I suppose we ought to get everything we need then, yes? Now that we’ll be keeping her long term.” 

Crowley gave a responsive “ngk” from where he was looking at the selection of breakaway collars. He plucked a green one with a floral pattern from the row. 

“Seems fitting,” he said, holding it up so Aziraphale could see it. “Found her in a greenhouse, after all.” 

“You’ll have to choose a name for her,” the angel informed him. He brightened at the thought. “Oh! What about Martha?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “No, too old fashioned.” 

“Ace is quite nice. Gender neutral.” Aziraphale tried again. “Or maybe Reinette; she does seem quiet regal. Or perhaps Rose, since you found her in the greenhouse?”

“Are you only suggesting the names of Doctor Who companions on purpose?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Those are all perfectly respectable names, thank you.” Aziraphale defended hotly. 

Crowley hummed in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe the angel even a bit, and Aziraphale felt his ears burn just slightly in embarrassment. 

“Fine,” Aziraphale conceded. “What about Evangeline?”

“That’s a mouthful,” Crowley said. “Four syllables is too many.”

“My name has four syllables,” Aziraphale reminded him. 

“And it’s a mouthful.” Crowley said.

The angel huffed. “I didn’t see you protesting that it’s a mouthful when you were screaming it last night.”

Crowley choked just slightly, his face turning as red as his hair, and Aziraphale felt a very unangelic flash of pride at having been the one to fluster him. 

(Aziraphale 1, Crowley 0. Checkmate.)

“You’ve made your point,” Crowley said after a few deep breaths. “But it’s still as long as she is big.”

“Alright, what about Felicity?”

“Still four syllables, Azi. Two or less, please.”

“Grace?”

“No.”

“Cleo?”

“Meh.”

“Mia?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Agnes?”

Crowley just glared at him for that one.

Aziraphale threw his hands up. 

“Alright then,” he said. “You name her. I’m going to get a shopping trolly.” 

When Aziraphale returned from getting the trolly, he found the kitten sitting on the front desk, Crowley passing over a slip of paper to Emilee. She took the paper and typed something into a computer that Aziraphale couldn’t see the monitor of.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

Crowley beamed. “I picked out a name, and I’m getting an ID tag made for her, so you can’t make me change it.” He announced proudly. The kitten was batting at a bell on the counter. 

“Oh? What did you decide?”

Crowley grinned. “You’ll see.”

After another minute or so, Emilee walked back to the counter and slid a star shaped tag over to Crowley, who thanked her and held it out proudly to Aziraphale. The Angel reached out and took it, and read the name engraved on it, with Crowley’s cell number underneath. 

“Yucca?!” He demanded. “You named her Yucca?!”

“What? ‘S a great name. She picked it out herself.” He scritched the kitten behind the ears and she closed her eyes, purring, looking all the world like she was smiling. 

Aziraphale, smitten to his core, didn’t have the heart to argue when his demon looked as soft as he did in that moment. 

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose Yucca it is.” 

And so it was. 

Chapter Text

Yucca had no troubles whatsoever settling in. She folded herself into every crevice of their lives, as though she had always been there to begin with, and before long, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley could imagine life without her. 

That first night, after it had been decided that she would be staying for the long term, there had been much debate on where she would sleep. She was much too young to sleep outside, where a hungry owl or badger could make off with her, and Crowley was adamant that she was not allowed in the greenhouse without his strict supervision. The wine and cheese cellar was much too cold, and Aziraphale, much in the same vein as Crowley, did not trust her enough to allow her into his library, so the bathroom was agreed upon. 

“There you go, my dear,” Aziraphale cooed as he sat down a fresh pan of litter in the corner as Crowley filled her water bowl in the tap. “Until we can get a cat flap put in for you when you’re a bit bigger, you’ll just have to do with this.” 

“I saw a video of a cat that was taught to use the toilet like a human,” Crowley said. He crouched down to set the bowl on the floor next to the door, where Yucca wouldn’t be able to flick litter pebbles into it. “It even knew how to flush when it was done.”

“Ah, that’s clever!” Aziraphale mused. “I don’t think we will need to take it quite that far, since we have plenty of room outside for her to use, but isn't it marvelous what the humans have taught their pets to do?”

Crowley hummed in agreement as he scratched underneath Yucca’s little chin. She purred and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. 

“She’ll be alright, d’you think?” He asked the angel. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek anxiously. 

Aziraphale smiled at him gently. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” He assured the demon. 

Crowley nodded and rose to his feet, following Aziraphale out of the bathroom and across the hall into their bedroom. They settled into bed, Crowley winding around Aziraphale (appropriately) like a snake, his nose buried in the angel’s curls at the base of his neck. 

Sometime later, Aziraphale would awaken, unsure exactly what had roused him from his slumber, to find Crowley snoring softly beside him, Yucca tucked into the crook of his elbow. 

***

Yucca grew quickly, as kittens were wont to do. It wasn’t long before her blue eyes began to darken, and Crowley was pleasantly surprised when they settled into an amber yellow color, just as Aziraphale had predicted they would. 

Her personality began to emerge, and it was apparent that she had a lick of fire in her veins. They both spent many an hour playing with her; her favorite toys being the little plastic ring from the milk bottle and their wings; Crowley had taken to manifesting his and playing keep away with her, where she’d jump for the feathers he’d dangle in her face and pull them away as she kept and twisted in the air. Every once in a while she’d actually hit her target, and dig tooth or claw into the nest of his wings, which was never any fun, but never stopped him, either. 

She still loved to ride along with Crowley wherever he’d let her go, sitting on his bony shoulder as he poked about the greenhouse. She even began to bat angrily at any plants Crowley was cross with, much to the demon’s delight. 

“Angel! She’s like my little minion!” He gushed to Aziraphale. “She keeps them in check. Soon enough I can leave some of the work to her! You should have seen the way she got that syngonium in line, angel, it was a work of art!” 

With Aziraphale, she had a much gentler side. At the end of the day, she loved to curl into his lap while he read a book, or wrote an entry in his diary. She loved to sit in the bow window by the breakfast nook and watch him make tea or cook. She loved to have her coat brushed with the horsehair brush Aziraphale had bought just for the occasion, often purring delightedly as he ran it along the curve of her spine. 

Crowley had insisted they install a cat flap for her, so that she could come and go into the garden as she pleased, miracling it into the door. Yucca had taken to it almost instantly, and had reveled in her newfound freedom; she’d thanked them with a fresh vole, which she deposited right onto the counter as Aziraphale was preparing his breakfast one morning. (He’d had to stop Crowley from eating the thing. Snake tendencies be damned . Crowley had pouted, but had praised Yucca for the gift nevertheless.) 

About three months into having her, it occurred to Aziraphale that they were going to need to take her to the vet. She was a growing girl, and the last thing they needed now that she had the ability to roam was for her to fall pregnant. He looked up the village veterinarian in the phone book, and gave her a call to go about getting her looked at. 

Crowley went along, insisting that Yucca didn’t need a carrier, that she’d ride on his shoulder, like she always did. 

“She’s not going to go anywhere, are you?” He cooed at Yucca, who meowed and rubbed her face against his affectionately. 

The vet’s office was small, situated on the corner block of the village high street. Crowley parked the Bentley by the curb and got out, Yucca draped across his shoulders. 

“Hullo!” A cheerful Irish accent greeted them from behind the counter. A person of indeterminate gender smiled at them jollily. Their nametag read “Indigo.” “Did you have an appointment with us today?” 

“Yeah, hi,” Crowley drawled. “I believe my partner called yesterday?” 

“That’s me,” Aziraphale piped up. “The name is under Crowley-Fell, I believe.” 

“Ah, yes!” Indigo said, “I remember you calling yesterday. I have a few pieces of paperwork I’ll need you to fill out,” they handed the clipboard to Aziraphale. “Just so we have everything squared away before we take you back.” They looked at Yucca, and reached out a hand to scratch under her chin. “And who’s this, then?” 

“Her name’s Yucca,” Crowley informed them, proudly. 

“Yucca, eh?” Indigo said. “That’s an unusual name for a cat.” 

“She picked it out.” Crowley shrugged. “Found her in my yucca plant; seemed to fit her just fine.” 

“Smart girl, knowing what you want,” Indigo praised. Yucca purred, obviously loving the attention. The feeling of it vibrated against Crowley’s scarf necklace, tickling his neck.

Aziraphale finished filling out the paperwork and handed the clipboard back to Indigo, who checked it over. 

“Everything looks good,” they said. “Let me enter it into the system and Dr. Joplin will be with you shortly.” 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. He took a seat in one of the four chairs available in the tiny front room, while Crowley strolled over to the far wall and flipped through some of the various books and pamphlets scattered on the shelf there. 

“Hey angel,” he said. “D’you know that house cats share 95.6% of their DNA with tigers?” 

“No, I didn’t.” Aziraphale answered.

Crowley hummed. “Also says here that they spend 70% of their life sleeping.” 

“Well, I’m sure that’s something that you can appreciate,” Aziraphale teased. 

It didn’t take long before a tall woman with blonde hair stepped into the room. She was dressed in scrubs covered in rainbow pawprints. 

“Yucca?” She announced. 

Crowley raised his hand. “That’s us.” He said. “Well, that’s the cat. ‘S not my name.” 

The veterinarian smiled. “I’m Dr. Joplin,” she introduced. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you into an exam room just about the corner.” 

They follow her into the little exam room, not much bigger than their wine cellar. Dr. Joplin closed the door behind her and looked at the clipboard in her hands. 

“So this is Yucca, then?” She said, walking forward. She smiled as she held out a hand for Yucca to smell before she gave her a pet between the ears. “Go ahead and set her on the table, if you would.” She said to Crowley. 

Crowley walked over to the table and tapped on it with two fingers. Yucca dutifully followed his command and jumped down. He miracled a treat into his hand and gave it to her. 

“Wow, she’s a smart one!” Dr. Joplin gushed. 

“She will do just about anything for a treat,” Crowley said, grinning. 

“Crowley works with her nearly every day,” Aziraphale informed her. 

“A lot of people think cats can’t be trained, but that simply isn’t true at all.” Dr. Joplin said. She smoothed a hand down Yucca’s back, gently prodding at her sides and belly as she did so. “About how old is she?” She asked. 

“Dunno,” Crowley shrugged. “We’ve had her about three months now, she was probably only about nine weeks when we found her? Could fit in the palm of my hand.”

“So that would make her about five months old, then, give or take a week.” The vet said. “She’ll be coming into her first heat soon, so you’re going to want to consider spaying her as soon as possible.” 

“How soon can that be done?” Aziraphale questioned. 

“I perform surgeries on Tuesday mornings,” Dr. Joplin explained. “I have an opening in two weeks, if that would work for the two of you and your schedules?” 

“That would work splendidly.” Aziraphale said. “We’re retired, you see, so our schedules are wide open.” 

Retired. That word felt good to hear, even after all this time, Crowley thought to himself. Retired. Free. Our side. Us.

“I’ll have Indigo add her to my calendar, then,” Dr. Joplin said. “Otherwise, she seems like she’s in good health, but I’m going to take some bloodwork to be sure, yeah?” 

She scooped Yucca into her arms. Crowley twitched slightly, wanting to follow, but he stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on the balls of his feet as Dr. Joplin walked with her to the door. 

“I’ll be right back with this sweetie,” she promised. “Won’t be a mo.” 

“She seems lovely!” Aziraphale said brightly of the veterinarian. 

“Yeah, she’s nice enough.” Crowley agreed. Dr. Joplin and Indigo seemed to be jolly good people, and Yucca had seemed to like her just fine, though Crowley still questioned her judge of character based on the fact that she’d chosen him to be her master. 

“Do you suppose we should get her microchipped?” Aziraphale asked out of the blue.

“What?”

“Microchipped.” The angel pointed to a poster on the wall, which had a cartoon cat smiling as it cuddled a little girl. “The poster says that microchips ensure that your pet is always identifiable, even if they lose their collars, so they can always be returned to you.”

Crowley read the little blurb below the cartoon. It informed him that the microchip was about the size of a grain of rice, and usually went right between the shoulder blades of the cat, and that the pain was no worse than a usual vaccination shot. 

“Might as well.” He concluded. “Can never be too careful these days, eh?”

“Quite right.” Aziraphale agreed. 

The door opened and Dr. Joplin came in, Yucca under her arm. She smiled at them as she sat Yucca on the examining table.

“Your girl is exceptionally healthy.” She proclaimed proudly. “We’ll get her some routine vaccinations today, and then get that spay finalized at the front desk.”

“We were wondering if we might also get her a microchip?” Aziraphale spoke up. 

“Of course, that’s easy!” Dr. Joplin said. “I’ll go get Indigo and we’ll get it ready.” 

Several minutes later, Indigo appeared with a small try of syringes. Crowley couldn’t help but wince at the sight of them; needles were always a bit brutal, in his opinion. Like tiny little swords. Sure, the benefits they provided far outweighed the negatives of pinching and a sore arm later, but still, Crowley was grateful that he was both immortal and supernatural, and would thus never have to experience being on the business end of a syringe. 

“Alright,” Dr. Joplin said. “This shouldn’t be too bad, but since it’s her first round, we usually have the owners hold them, so they’re more comfortable.” She looked at Crowley. “Would you mind? She seems to have a particular bond with you.” 

Crowley didn’t hesitate; he scooped Yucca into his arms and held her steady, stroking her head as Indigo grasped her scruff and administered the first shot. Yucca didn’t even seem to notice, nor did she notice the second shot. The third needle was bigger, and Dr. Joplin instructed Crowley to maneuver her that made her shoulders more accessible. 

“This one usually pinches a bit more.” Indigo explained. “It’s the microchip.” 

Sure enough, Yucca growled as Indigo inserted the needle between her shoulder blades. Crowley instinctively held her closer, a protective flare rising in his chest; he stamped down the urge to hiss at Indigo, knowing that they were not intentionally hurting his cat. 

His cat. 

He had a home, a Nest he had prepared himself and successfully Presented. He had Aziraphale, his Mate, his partner, his husband. He had his Bentley, his greenhouse, his plants. And how he had Yucca, his cat, his pet, his companion. 

Crowley had never felt more human in his life. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” Indigo soothed, slowly removing the needle. “All done, pretty girl!”

Dr. Joplin handed a piece of paper to Aziraphale. 

“That’s the chip registration,” she said. “You’ll need to fill that out for me before you go so I can enter it into the system, and then Yucca should be all set.” 

“I’ll let Crowley handle that bit,” Aziraphale said. “He knows her best.” 

Crowley stroked Yucca’s head, muttering apologies under his breath to her for subjecting her to the greater good of the needle. She purred, and he knew he was forgiven. 

“I’ll give you a few minutes to get Yucca settled.” Dr. Joplin said. “Be careful of her back today, she may be a little sore, and a little sluggish. Don’t forget the chip registration papers, too.” 

“Thank you!” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “We will be right out!”

Dr. Joplin smiled and closed the door, leaving them in peace. Crowley glanced at the chip paperwork and waved his hand at it; it dutifully filled itself out. 

Crowley tapped his shoulder and Yucca obediently jumped onto it. He miracled her a treat and gave it to her. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised.

“Alright then, I think we’re good to head out.” Aziraphale said, glancing over the chip paperwork. “Everything seems to be in order here, all addressed and phone numbers correct.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said. “It knows better than to be wrong.”

They walked out into the waiting room, where Indigo waited for them. Aziraphale handed them the paperwork.

“We’ll get this on file for you,” Indigo promised. They read off a total for the visit, and Crowley handed them his credit card. It was sleak, matte black, with no numbers or letters visible anywhere on it, but it had never and would never decline, regardless of where and when he used it. 

“Alright, you’re all set for today, and you’re confirmed for Yucca’s spay in two weeks.” Indigo said, handing Crowley his card back. 

Crowley thanked them, and taking Aziraphale’s hand, they headed back towards the Bentley.

***

The night before Yucca’s spay, Crowley couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, even after Aziraphale had finally drifted off, his book not enough to keep the newly discovered call of sleep at bay. Yucca, from her place on Crowley’s pillow, had not stirred, to her credit. 

Anxiety was normal to some degree for the former demon; millennia of living in the margins of Hell’s bad books would do that to anyone. There wasn’t a demon in the legion that didn’t have some level of anxiety or another, but Crowley had always hidden his well under an air of nonchalance and sardonicism. 

Now, though, Crowley was finding it harder and harder to hide that anxiety as it roiled deep in his belly, a monster trying to pry its way out. He knew that it was silly, to be nervous for what was a very routine and relatively simple veterinary procedure, but he couldn’t help it. Scenario after scenario flashed their way across his mental stage every time he tried to close his eyes, allowing him not even an iota of respite. 

What if something went wrong? What if Yucca responded badly to the anesthesia? What if she died? 

Unable to bear it any longer, Crowley sat up, swinging his legs over the bed. He scooped up Yucca from her place on the pillow and cuddled her close as he stood and quietly walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He manifested his wings as he opened the back door and padded, barefoot, out to the greenhouse, grateful for the insulation of his bed-warm feathers as the night’s chill bit into his face. 

Inside was nice and warm, the large humidifier Crowley had bought whirring away in the corner. He closed the door behind him, and clicked on the string of fairy lights he’s strung up around the room. He sat down at his workbench, and Yucca wiggled out of his arms to sit on the desk, cleaning her face with her paws. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, teasingly. “Didn’t mean to muss your fur there, princess.” 

Yucca blinked languidly at him, as if to say, Yes, you’d better be sorry, demon.

Crowley sighed. He rested his chin on the desk and reached out to run a finger through Yucca’s fur. He admired the marbling of her colors, easing gently from black to ginger and back to black, like a watercolor painting. Yucca purred contentedly and snuggled down on the desk, tucking her little feet under her and closing her eyes. 

Crowley didn’t say anything, just allowed himself to be for a moment, to just exist in the same place and time as his pet. He was still getting used to it. 

After a few minutes, he decided that the best thing he could do was put his anxious hands to work, so he stood and began to stalk about the greenhouse. Yucca, sensing his movement, also got up and quickly claimed her place, settling down on his shoulder as usual, albeit a bit awkwardly with his wings, her claws pricking at his skin through his shirt. He picked up his plant mister and filled it in the little tap in the corner, screwing the lid on tightly. He then misted the leaves of the alocasia reginula in the terracotta pot, giving the velveteen leaves a thorough examination as he did so. 

“Yeah, you better keep those leaves nice and supple,” He groused quietly. “You don’t wanna know what’ll happen to you if you don’t.” 

The alocasia shivered slightly, and Crowley was satisfied he’d gotten his point across nicely. 

The sound of the door clicking open some time later pulled his attention away from the golden pothos he was pruning, the clippings destined for the propagation station in the eastwardly window. Aziraphale smiled as he stepped inside, clad in his dressing gown and slippers. 

“I thought I might find you here.” He said quietly, walking over to press a kiss against Crowley’s snake sigil. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Crowley said by way of an explanation. “Figured I may as well whip these slackers into shape.” 

The little clippings, too young to properly cower, vibrated in their little test tubes. 

Aziraphale hummed and ran his hands through Crowley’s hair. The demon sighed, his shoulders dropping and wings relaxing, and he felt his jaw click as he unclenched it. Something about having his hair played with, especially by his Mate, made his insides turn to jelly. 

“Worried about tomorrow?” Aziraphale said softly. 

“Ngk.”

“Yucca will be just fine, my dear.” Aziraphale assured him. “She’s in good hands with Dr. Joplin, and it’s all routine, and as soon as she’s home, you can heal her and she won’t be in any pain.”

“Yeah but what if there’s—there’s complications or something?” Crowley asks, the anxiety starting to creep back up like bile. 

“Hush,” Aziraphale soothed, stepping even closer and sinking his fingers into the downy feathers at the base of Crowley’s wings. Crowley looped his arms around the angel’s waist and buried his face in the worn, soft terrycloth of the dressing gown. “It’s perfectly normal to be worried about something you care about, my love. You've never had a pet before, and you’re really quite attached to the dear thing, so it’s perfectly reasonable for you to be concerned. But I promise you, Yucca is going to be just fine. This time tomorrow, she’ll be riding on your shoulder like she always does.”

Crowley didn’t say anything, but he sighed when he felt Aziraphale raise a hand to gently stroke at his hair again. He felt his heavy limbs begin to relax, tight muscles unwinding, leaving him completely pliable, like clay in the angel’s hands. He leaned heavily against him, allowing his Mate to keep him upright on his little stool.

“You’re exhausted, Crowley.” Aziraphale said gently. “Come back to bed.” 

“Ngk, alright.” Crowley conceded. 

He scooped up Yucca and allowed Aziraphale to lead him back into the cottage and up the stairs to their bedroom, where he deposited Yucca on the foot of the bed. He rolled his shoulders and his wings faded back into the ether; he peeled back the duvet and climbed in. Aziraphale hung his robe on the peg on the back of the door and set his slippers under the bed before he, too, slid under the covers. Crowley instinctively shuffled closer to the angel’s warmth, and threw his arm over him. 

“Night, Angel.” He said, yawning. He felt Yucca press against the small of his back as she settled in, her purrs vibrating through his spine.

“Goodnight, dear.” Aziraphale answered. “All will be well.”

***

The next morning found the two of them in the vet’s tiny waiting room, awaiting the news that Yucca was out of surgery and was ready to be taken home. They’d been there for a few hours now; Aziraphale had, of course, brought a book with him, but Crowley had been far too nervous to even consider anything even mildly entertaining to help him pass the time, and had instead resorted to pacing the length of the small room.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded him gently. “You’re going to wear a trench in the floor with all your prowling. Sit down, dear.” 

Crowley glared. He was a snake demon; snakes didn’t prowl. But then again, they certainly didn’t pace, either…

“Sit down, Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently, reaching out a hand to cover Crowley’s wrist. 

“It’s taking too bloody long,” Crowley complained. “She should have been out of surgery ages ago.” 

“Sometimes these things take time, my dear.” Aziraphale said. “I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned about. Just be patient.” 

Crowley huffed, and slumped down into the seat next to his angel, shoving his fidgety hands into his hoody pocket. 

“Everything should be wrapping up soon,” Indigo provided helpfully from their position behind the reception desk. They smiled at Crowley. “It’s normal to be nervous when our babies are in surgery, but I promise, Dr. Joplin is taking good care of her.” 

Crowley didn’t say anything, just leaned his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and let the sound of Indigo clacking away on a mechanical keyboard and the swish of paper as Aziraphale turned a page lull him. Not a snooze, but a light doze. 

Eventually, the sound of the door opening snapped him out of it, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose where they’d slipped down, and jumped up, startling Aziraphale. He looked towards the door, where he found Dr. Joplin smiling. 

“Yucca is out of surgery and the anesthesia is starting to wear off,” she informed them. “As soon as she’s fully awake, you can take your girl home.” 

“But she’s alright?” Crowley pressed, unable to stop the way the anxiety rolled out of him. 

“She’s perfectly fine,” Dr. Joplin assured. “She did very well, as young as she is, and she should be healed up and nice and easy in a few weeks.” 

Fat chance of that, Crowley thought. I’m healing her as soon as we get in the Bentley!

Aziraphale, probably sensing the prickling impatience Crowley knew was likely rolling off of him in waves, sat his hand on Crowley’s elbow, and smiled at the vet. 

“Thank you for taking care of her, Dr. Joplin.” He said. 

“Give her ten minutes and you can come get her.” The vet said with a smile, and disappeared back into the office. 

Indigo came around the counter and handed them a stapled packet of paper.

“These are Yucca’s discharge papers and care instructions,” they explained. “She’ll be pretty sore for a few days so make sure she takes it easy, and don’t let her lick the stitches. They’re dissolvable so she shouldn’t have to come back in unless they rupture or otherwise need to be looked at.” 

Aziraphale took the paper and thanked them. Crowley shoved his hands into his hoodie so that his Mate wouldn’t see the anxious way he was wringing his hands; the sooner he could take Yucca and heal her, the faster his anxiety would dissipate. 

After what felt like forever - even for an immortal being - Dr. Joplin finally came back and told him that Yucca was ready. Aziraphale smiled and told him to go and get her while he pulled the Bentley around from where they’d parked her on the corner, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s chin as he did. 

(Indigo tried very hard to muffle the “aww!” that involuntarily came out of their mouth behind a yawn, but Crowley still noticed.) 

Dr. Joplin took him down the hall past the two little exam rooms, into what he assumed was the operating room beyond. A row of cages lined the back wall, and Dr. Joplin opened one of the top ones. Yucca blinked blearily from a nest of blankets up at her as she did so, her eyes glazed. 

“She’s still a bit loopy from the anesthesia,” Dr. Joplin said. “But she’s good to go home. Be very gentle with her when you pick her up.” 

Crowley stepped forward and tenderly stroked Yucca’s head. She mewed at him in recognition. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” he cooed softly. “Ready to go home?” 

Yucca didn’t respond, just closed her eyes and leaned heavily into Crowley’s touch; he took that as a yes. 

As gently as he could, he slipped his hands underneath her and lifted her into his arms. Yucca meowed at him as he did so. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. 

“She’s just tender,” Dr. Joplin said. “She’ll be fine.” 

“Thank you again for taking care of her.” Crowley said, settling Yucca more comfortably in his arms. His hands itched to heal her right then and there, but he knew better than to do it in front of the vet. 

“Truly, it’s my pleasure. Let me know if you have any concerns, yeah? We’ll see you back here in a coupla weeks for her next shots.”

Crowley made a noncommittal hum and made for the door. Dr. Joplin held it open for him and wished him a good day, and Crowley all but bolted from the office.

True to his word, Aziraphale had brought the Bentley around and was waiting patiently for them. Crowley hurriedly ducked into the car, and Aziraphale gently eased them onto the road. 

“Alright, love,” Crowley said softly to Yucca as she tried to settle down on his lap. “Give me a tick and I’ll have you all healed up, yeah?” 

He waited until they’d cleared the end of the high street before he gently - so gently - ran his hand down Yucca’s back, healing her as he did so. 

“There you go,” he said, and the anxiety that had been brewing within him instantly evaporated as Yucca meowed and jumped up onto his shoulder. She rubbed her whiskers against his face. 

Aziraphale reached over and took Crowley’s hand, smiling. 

“Ready to go home, my dear?” He asked.

“Yeah, angel,” Crowley said, squeezing his hand. “Take us home.” 

Chapter Text

Here is the absolutely INCREDIBLE art that @freedomattack_thereal did for me!!