The Interlude, Chapter 5-The Letter, Part 2 (Good Omens fanfiction)

The next morning started with Muriel and Crowley eating hearty omelets and screwdrivers to drink. Surprise, surprise, I’m a corrupting influence yet again, Crowley thought. He couldn’t imagine Aziraphale would care that Muriel was technically drinking on the job, but hopefully the inspector didn’t go past their limits. A couple patrons did knock on the door, but Muriel put up a,sign that the library was closed for repairs. That the repairs were not for the building but for two immortal broken hearts was left off the sign.

As she was cleaning up, Crowley noticed that Muriel was wearing a large necklace, a yellow-orange stone that looked like his own eyes. “Interesting fashion choice.” He muttered.

“Oh, this?” Muriel played with her necklace. “Yeah it’s….not fashion, and not quite a choice. It’s our Mark, you see.”

“Our? Thought there was only one of you. And isn’t a Mark like a big old brand on the chest?”

“Down here, yes it’s just me, but he has more staff Upstairs to help run things. I don’t know them that well, but we all have this Mark. His Holiness had to start issuing Marks to his staff to keep them on, but wasn’t particularly keen on branding us. So he checked the rulebook and realized that it only specified a size, being near the breastbone, and not being removable by the Acolyte. I’d seen him admiring this necklace at a Turkish bazaar, so I stole it. Not intentionally. Hadn’t learned how money worked yet.” Muriel laughed. “The original was a bit smaller, but once he enlarged it and strung it on a binding cord, it made the perfect Mark.”

“So you’re telling me there are angels in Heaven right now wearing a snake-eyed necklace?”

“Yep. About 40 or so Acolytes of the Supreme Archangel, I believe. Heaven’s most exclusive club, not that many angels are clamoring to enter. At one point I heard they would only hiss at each other in the hallways to make the others think His Holiness had removed their ability to speak.” They laughed again. “Remember how I said most of Heaven is terrified of him?” Crowley nodded. “We were too, at the start. No one knew when he was going to drop the nice act, and being chosen as an Acolyte for the Archangels isn’t exactly Heaven’s most desired position. The work itself is often tedious and downright unpleasant, and you are expected to anticipate the Archangel’s every desire without a word. And if they’re Unhappy, you need to fix it before they even realize they’re Unhappy.”

“Sounds impossible. How shocking.” Crowley deadpanned.

“Exactly. So with His Holiness, the new staffers have a hard time accepting that the Unhappiness is just…there. They don’t know the cause and they can’t fix it, so they just have to…sit with it. Which goes against our very nature, seeing as we were designed to be eternally joyful in the service of the Lord or whatever.”

“So the angel makes you all wallow in his misery?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think he realizes how attuned we are to it. It’s not like he blames us or Disciplines us for it. Actually, he does Discipline out of necessity. It’s sort of like molting or shedding snakeskin for Archangels. It’s regularly scheduled, the staff take turns so no one Acolyte is getting it too often, and he always soothes them and offers tea and pastries at the end. Not exactly typical for Archangels.” Muriel poured herself and Crowley another glass of wine. “Anyway, the best thing an Acolyte can do to reduce the Unhappiness besides just doing their job is to let him be nice to you. If he says you’re doing a good job, he actually means it, so no need to figure out what you secretly did wrong. If he gives you some silly little trinket from Earth, say thank you and accept it with a smile, there’s no hidden motive to look for. Don’t prostrate or grovel outside of required rituals, he hates that. Be kind to each other, unless you want to watch the Marvelous Magic of Mr. Fell on loop for the next year.” She stopped and looked at Crowley, making it clear she wasn’t laughing. “That’s not me pulling your leg, by the way. That is literally the punishment on those occasions when he is truly angry and not just enforcing a silly violation.”

“No fucking way.” Crowley laughed. It was strange to hear himself laugh again. He still wasn’t sure if any of this was real or just a fever dream, but could his imagination have ever come up with that? Also, The Letter did appear to be Aziraphale’s authentic handwriting.

“Yes way. And accepting that Mr. Fell is truly kind despite the Unhappiness is difficult for a lot of angels. Many of them would rather have proper Discipline than be a little Unhappy, I guess.” Muriel fidgeted with her Mark again. “The turnover rate for temps is high. But those of us with the Mark? Well, if in the end it boiled down to all the legions of Heaven and Hell versus Mr. Fell with only a stick, we all know what side we’d choose.”

*

Crowley returned to the letter. After the long examination of time and mortality, the next few pages were…math problems? He recalled his wisecrack about the homework, but when he asked, Muriel said it looked like some of her and Aziraphale’s calculations on how to possibly circumvent the whole full moon rule must have slipped in there by accident. They took those out, leaving Crowley with the next page of words. This page had a couple paragraphs, some cross-outs that seemed readable, and a mini-portrait of Crowley’s face, long hair cascading in the wind with a braid on the side. “I think that was me at the Flood.” Crowley said out loud. “Wonder why he chose to draw that?” He read on silently.

“First, I am worried that my offer to make you an angel, an offer made only under extreme duress, has given you the false impression that I need you to be an angel in order to return the love you have always offered me. This couldn’t be further from the truth. I love you, my demon, and I imagine I would love you in any form. Though I do find your demonic corporation very…pleasing to the eye.” Crossed out was “I do miss the long hair though. Not the styles with the silly fringe.” Crowley’s hair started to grow in response. Not quite as long as the Flood Crowley drawing—that had been a bitch to manage—but long enough to hopefully satisfy his angel’s also crossed-out daydream of running his fingers through it.

“He said it. He actually fucking said it. Without any flowery bullshit to hide it.” Crowley still wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to for…accept this apology, but it was a start. “Love you too, angel, but…you’re moving too fast for me!” He shouted at the ceiling, laughing for a solid minute.

He looked back down at the page, reverently tracing the words “I love you” with his finger. Then he noticed something. Crossed out next to the bit about his pleasing corporation were the words “hot” and “sexy”. He had only ever the angel say “hot” in regards to food and tea. And “sexy”? He had not heard that come from the angel’s lips in any context, and he couldn’t even picture him saying it. He looked back at the first page which was mostly obliterated. Clearly the angel could have made those words unreadable, but chose not to. “How very cheeky, angel,” he murmured. His serpentine brain had started going down a path that he rarely indulged when Muriel interrupted with lunch.

“So, how’s the letter-reading coming along? Still a lot of pages left?”

“He said ‘I love you’. Isn’t that something?” Muriel was relieved that Mr. Fell had finally said it, or at least written it. Might be hard to say in person still. And to see the demon smiling? And with actual sincerity in his voice? It was kind of endearing. “Maybe that means I can stop reading now,” he joked. And back to the snark.

“I think he’d prefer you at least skim the whole thing. Besides, the absolute soonest I can get him down here is tomorrow night, and even that’s a little dicey.” Normally they’d wait one more night for the moon to be unquestionably gibbous, but given the circumstances, they were willing to chance it. “So you might as well spend the time reading it.”

“Fair point. Also, did I mention he called me ssssexy?” The sound system decided to play Rod Stewart in response.

“Did not.” That would be oddly direct for Mr. Fell, Muriel thought as they changed the music back. 

"I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against a wall with me..."

"Ssstop it!" Muriel hissed at the speakers and switched back to "I Want to Break Free", as they had originally intended. 

“I mean he crossed it out and decided to go with ‘corporation very pleasing to the eye’. But he could have made it unreadable and didn’t. Feels intentional.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Mr. Fell’s thoughts on his partner’s apparent physical attractiveness was not a matter Muriel wished to dwell on further.