Lost & Found [Crowley and Aziraphale]

[Aziraphale]

It was a delicate process to rebind books. Literally one slip of the finger meant life or death to a book that had seen better days. Aziraphale was pretty sure this particular book had seen all of them and therefore required emergency operation. He was gingerly removing the glue from the old binding. If he did it wrong, there was a chance that a page could rip and that would be absolutely tradgic. In all honesty, it probably would have been easier to simply miracle the repairs, but Aziraphale strongly believed in having a relationship with your books which meant giving them the kind of attention one would recieve at a spa. This way he would know it had been done properly. Miracling it would have meant the rebinding would have been perfect but perfect isn't always right in his opinion.

The only disruption he'd been getting was the occasional jiggle of the handle on the front door of the bookshop. He'd swear under his breath each and every time it occured because of just how cautious he was trying to be with the rebinding. Really, he wished people would take the hints. The door was locked (though that didn't mean too much these days, there were plenty of mutants to which locks were as simple to undo as it was to open a book), the drapes were shut, and the sign in the shop window read 'Closed' in big bold letters. If that wasn't enough then what more did these people expect of him? Briefly he considered getting one of those neon LED strobe signs he'd seen other shops (typically convenience stores) have just so he could program it to flash, 'Never Open Please Bugger Off Thank You For Your Consideration'. Maybe then people would get the point, but then he'd also have a bookshop with flashing strobe lights from the window and that was far too showy for his tastes and better suited for Intimate Books next door.

[Anthony J Crowley]

As Crowley pulled over in front of the bookshop and ignored all signs that the shop was closed for business, please come again later. It occurred to Crowley that calling before he barged in would be a better idea, but it was too late now that he was standing outside.

Shutting the drapes wouldn't be enough to deter Crowley. Knowing Aziraphale as long as he did, he knew that just because the shop was closed didn't mean that he wasn't actually inside curled up with some ancient book or just plain not running a business properly. Crowley wasn't interested any of the old dusty books Aziraphale was selling, so in his mind that "Closed" sign didn't apply to him at all. He began by rapping his knuckles on the window as a warning before trying to open the door.

Locked. Typical, just when he really needed to talk to someone. "Aziraphale!" Crowley hissed and let his hand sit on the door knob for a moment before trying again. Locks tended to figure out what to do the second time when Crowley was around. The door gave way.

"Hey, Aziraphale?" He called as he walked in and let the door shut behind him. Crowley glanced around the shop and sighed when all he immediately saw was shelves of dusty old books and no bookshop owners. "Are you hiding from customers again or are you actually out?"

[Aziraphale]

He was working on a particular fussy bit of glue on the binding when he heard the rapping on his front door. And then there was the doorknob jiggle. This was starting to get ridiculous. It wasn't often that Aziraphale's patience ran thin, but it certainly was deluding with record speed at the moment. "Oh bloody-- I. Am. Not. Open!" he shouted, though it probably didn't reach the shop front nevermind the persistent person at the door. Even when Aziraphale was yelling, it was more akin to talking loudly in a civilized fashion. Only when he heard the front door open and shut he stood right up and grabbed the nearest object he could use as a weapon, which happened to be the small paring knife he'd been using to sever and scrape off the old glue. Well it wasn't much but it could certainly do enough damage to a burglar if he decided to set it alight. He crept from the backroom to the main front of the shop. As he did so he heard the shout of a familiar voice, so he lowered his defenses and became far more relaxed.

"Oh-- Crowley. It's only you." he said with a bit of relief, though there was a bit of annoyed fluster in his tone. This rebinding had been very important work interrupted after all. "And I do not hide from customers, I just simply run my business rather different from most. If they can't figure that out for themselves then I don't believe I should take the effort to sell books to them." Aziraphale added rather pointedly. His annoyance of the interruption faltered rather quickly, however. He let out a sigh to expel whatever leftover irritation remained. "Well, nevermind, what is it? Would you like to come sit somewhere more comfortable? I've made tea, kettle should still be hot."

[Anthony J Crowley]

He made sure the door locked behind him. Crowley didn't want anyone coming in half-way through an explanation and interrupting him…and frankly, watching poor souls wandering into the bookshop was uncomfortable even when he didn't have other things to worry about. For a moment, Crowley wondered if he should come back later. In fact, coming straight here after a meeting with his superiors probably wasn't the brightest ideas, but Crowley couldn't think of who else to tell about the meeting. No one else he associated with would understand why this was an issue to begin with. Crowley resolved to at least check the back room first before leaving since he already technically broke in.

Just as Crowley started to head for the back room, Aziraphale appeared from behind a shelf, looking irritable if not relieved. "Who else? Someone looking for a book would just give up and go somewhere else," Crowley retorted as he crossed his arms. He decided not to breach the topic of actually selling books...especially after a glance at what Aziraphale was holding. He looked at it pointedly and raised a questioning eyebrow at Aziraphale before shaking his head.

"Yeah, sure," said Crowley, distracted. The prospect of sitting down for tea was welcoming, but his mind was elsewhere. "There's something I need to tell you."

[Aziraphale]

"You would be surprised at the determination of some of my customers. They're rather persistent, especially those realtors." He said absently, waving a hand as if shooing off the topic as a matter of non-importance. Aziraphale sighed and turned on his heel, leading Crowley back into the depths of the bookshop. The backroom was a mess as usual. This isn't to say that any part of the bookshop is what one would call tidy, it's just that this particular area was perhaps the worst of all. He shuffled about, moving to one of the dusty old armchairs and picking up the pile of books and old paper that had been sitting on it. For a moment he looked lost as to where to set the mess down without mixing it up in with another identical pile of books and papers. The thing was, while Aziraphale looked absolutely disorganized, everything in the room had a specific place. There was a method to his madness, it's just that no one else understood it but him. Finally, he set the pile in his arms down just to the right of the chair and patted off the dust from the cushions with his hand, "There you are, dear."

Aziraphale bustled over to the small (actually it was very tiny) kitchen area to pour Crowley a cup of tea. Even as he was preparing the tea (he'd known Crowley so long now he knew very well how the other liked to take it) there was a troubled look on his face. It wasn't unusual for him to get a visit from the other, despite them being somewhat enemies (but not really). What was unusual was how Crowley looked awfully distracted by something. He returned and handed Crowley the teacup and saucer before turning the chair at his work table around and sitting. "Well, what is it you need to tell me?" he asked patiently, taking his own cup of tea in hand and sipping from it, blue eyes focusing on the other with both curiosity and concern.

[Anthony J Crowley]

Crowley opened his mouth to point out that the realtors weren't exactly customers, but it occurred to him that it was best not to bring them up. He actually had no idea how Aziraphale managed to get rid of them, or building inspectors. The place was a fire hazard and someone had to have noticed, right? But he decided to drop the issue for now and follow Aziraphale to the back of the shop, absentmindedly running his hand over the spines of some of the books within his reach.

Crowley frowned as he entered the back room of the bookshop. The transition between the rest of the shop to the back room was like walking . He stood at the entrance as Aziraphale tidied up a bit. "Really, angel," said Crowley after a moment of watching Aziraphale attempt to clean up a spot for him to sit. He sat down on the armchair when a spot was cleared and cleaned off his shades. For some reason, he felt like they were getting dusty. (It had the be the atmosphere of the room.)

"Alright…" Crowley took the cup and paused as he wondered where to begin. The cup was warm in his hand. Another day, the feeling would comforting. Now it just seemed inappropriate. "A few years ago, my superiors asked for a kid. I wasn't sure why, but I led him to them anyway. Turns out he was a part of some super mutant experiment and he got loose." He raised the cup to his mouth before thinking better of taking a drink in the middle of the explanation. "My higher-ups want to find him and drag them into their cause." Crowley paused. There wasn't really much else he could say. He let the idea sit in the air--Aziraphale wouldn't want a powerful mutant kid running around touting the villain cause, right? Crowley sure didn't. Things were nice with the extremists keeping each other busy. He barely had to do a thing and he liked it that way.

[Aziraphale]

Aziraphale drank from his own tea and closed his eyes, listening to the words slip out of the serpent's mouth. This was certainly more troubling than he'd assumed, honestly. Crowley did have a habit of sticking his neck out too far in certain situations but this seemed downright dangerous. This one sounded chaotic even. Super Mutant project, really? He set the cup back down in the saucer and breathed out a simple, "Ah." to signify that he had heard what the other said, he was simply processing it. Eventually he took in a deep breath and placed his tea to the side, folding his hands in his lap and beginning to look very grave, "I'd heard about this from my people. I thought it was just a wild rumor to be frank. They were saying the villians were coming up with some kind of 'Plan' or something, the Ultimate Solution. But that's rather vague, one feels. The Ultimate Solution to what?" he said, eyebrows pushing together. He brought his hands up and rubbed his temples in stressed thought. What really bothered him of this whole situation wasn't even the issue of the rampant super mutant in the city. It was the fact that his people knew it wasn't a rumor, they knew and they did nothing. They were the good ones, certainly it would have been in their best interest to smite this whole Plan of the villians? Maybe that was the point? Maybe he wasn't wrong about this? But something certainly felt off. Felt rotten to the core.

A few more good moments of silence, "Are you asking me to help you?" Aziraphale asked finally. There was a sort of bluntness in his voice, but also casual anxiousness. This wouldn't have been the first time. They were sort of enemies that were sort of friends afterall, and sometimes that meant one filling in for the other when it was necessary or in this case, working together. "To find this child? And what then, Crowley? I certainly won't allow you to just hand him over to your side willy-nilly. He could be dangerous, after all. Especially to the humans." He mulled it over a bit. Yes especially to the humans. If even Aziraphale and Crowley had some mastery over the non-mutants of the city, what could a super mutant, in the wrong hands do to them? "...Of course..." this was rather strained, "I don't suppose I'd want to give him over to my people either. I suppose the real question is what do we do if or when we find him? Have you even thought about it that far?"

[Anthony J Crowley]

Crowley waited for a response from Aziraphale, the cup in his hand warm and reminding him that he still hadn't taken a drink. He put the cup to his lips again and took a small sip, waiting for the other man to come to some sort of conclusion. The lack of a reaction so far was disconcerting and his grip on the cup tightened as he waited.

"Yours knew about it?" He asked incredulously. Crowley was having a hard time accepting that people wouldn't try to stop a super mutant from happening before it happened. He vividly remembered the "master race" idea being one of the main controversies when things first started changing. "What does it solve? Probably nothing. Someone tries to prove a point. Not that it matters." In Crowley's experience, people were going to have an opinion if they wanted to have it. No matter how you tempted or tried to convince them otherwise.

"No, I don't want to hand him over to them," Crowley said immediately, somewhat offended. "If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't be asking you for help. I wouldn't even be considering looking for the kid." He waved the cup of tea dismissively, but none of the liquid escaped from the rims. There were plenty of people who would be more willing to do a job like that. People eager for the big "who is right and who is wrong" showdown. Crowley was not one of those people.

A smile grew on Crowley's lips when Aziraphale admitted that he didn't want to hand over the kid to his own people. He set down the cup and laced his fingers together, sitting back in the armchair. "Look…I just told you what happened. Trying to stop me from tempting the kid to my side would be a feather in your cap now that you know, right? But--" He raised an index finger and leaned forward, the smile growing wider. "--I can't let you stop me either. So we find the kid and do our jobs. If we do it right, he won't favor either side. We both win." The last statement slipped before he could even think about it. Technically, neither of them would be winning in his proposal. But Crowley considered avoiding a large fallout a good thing and he was fairly certain Aziraphale would too.

[Aziraphale]

"I said," Aziraphale began, a bit put off at Crowley's initial tone, "that it was simply a rumor. I had no idea that it was actually a...a thing. I'm not high enough on the list for any heroes to feel it is necessary for me to know certain information. Nevertheless, I still needed to ask you of your intentions. After all, you are still technically a villian, as much as I'm still technically a hero." He didn't really mean too much by this, except that he did. He appreciated Crowley, and his help, but it never completely left his mind that the other was by all definitions on the other side of the fence. It was just of luck that neither of their superiors cared much about their actions. They, the superiors, were too busy plotting each other's demise, he supposed. He had his tea in his hand again, and at this point he almost wished it was a bottle of sherry, but you can't have everything now could you?

"Yes. That idea seems sounds. You get to show your superiors that you're doing your best to get him to your side, and I can show mine the same." he said, nodding gently, "And if we can keep him neutral, then we won't have to worry about him causing any destruction in the wrong or right hands. Now I suppose the next step is finding him. Really how does one even go about losing a super mutant? Your side really doesn't have much for being cautious and careful do they?" He decided you could have everything (with in reason) if you wanted it and waved at one of his old cabinets nonchalantly, "If you'd like something stronger than tea, I do have sherry in the pantry." Aziraphale suggested simply.

[Anthony J Crowley]

Crowley nodded along, understanding. He was surprised that his own people picked him of all people to bring them the kid in the first place. It wasn't as if he had done anything particularly impressive in the recent years. Or maybe it was because of that. It would be hard for one of the famous villains to get the attention of an eleven year old without attracting attention.

"Technicalities," Crowley dismissed, but there was no heart in it. In reality, he was sure that they would be in a lot of trouble if anyone cared to look. "And don't ask me. I did my job of bringing them a random kid, they're the ones who botched up the rest of the job." He tried remembering whom exactly he handed off the child to. An employee, a go-between who knew even less than he did. He took a long sip from his cup. The warm liquid felt odd for the situation. It called for something stronger, in his opinion.

"Well, we have a first name," Crowley said confidently. It wasn’t much, but he was convinced that was all they would need, somehow. "Adam. I didn't get his last name, but he was on a school field trip, so there's a good chance he's still in the city." He paused for a moment and tried to think back to he day. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time, although escorting some ten-year-old to his superiors felt like a shady kidnapping. It was why he remembered it a little better than other orders. "Yeah, sherry sounds good." He placed down the teacup and stood up, going to Aziraphale's pantry. "Do you want a cup too?"

[Aziraphale]

"Yes, dear, of course. That was precisely why I brought it up. You know where the clean glasses are." he said simply. A grin tugged on Aziraphale face, though he kept his expression as dignified as it always was. It had fast become a tiring night and the prospect of having a drink (or maybe more than a drink) with Crowley was the best kind of stress relief. Not that he would openly admit that. It was just that despite his desire and hardwork to always be the better half of this Arrangement, being around Crowley was somehow a bit freeing for the spirit. It was alright to indulge in this sort of carelessness every now and then, as long as he remained concious of the checks and balances. Or at least that is what he was constantly reminding himself. It was simply okay because he didn't do it all the time (though probably more than he'd care to admit).

Aziraphale began rolling up the sleeves of his collar shirt while he waited for Crowley to prepare the drinks for the two of them. "Adam." he repeated thoughtfully, "How fitting for the supposed first super mutant. A clever coincidence or a very precise omen. Well, in any case, if he is here in the city on a school trip we really should consider our plan of...er, attack. Or er...non-attack more like. Where should we start? There's always the monuments, local tourist areas, though the museums might be having some lovely exhibits." he pondered. It would be divine to visit those places without purpose of course, but he'd have to find an excuse for that some other time. He highly doubted Crowley would be much interested anyway.

[Anthony J Crowley]

"Yeah," answered Crowley. He didn't bother turning around to address Aziraphale, sliding through the mess with ease as he located two clean cups. Crowley probably spent more time looking through Aziraphale's cabinets than his own. (That wasn't saying much, seeing as he never spent much time in his flat anyway. It was just a place to sleep in at the end of the day.) It was an odd thing, but Crowley didn't spend much time thinking about it. Everything worked out pretty well and Aziraphale was easier to talk to then other villains who were obsessed with whatever part of the plan was to come next.

Crowley held the glasses together in one hand and grabbed the bottle of sherry with the other. He took his seat once more and handed Aziraphale one of the cups. "A coincidence," Crowley said with certainty as he poured the liquid into Aziraphale's cup first, then his own. He really did not want to think of what kind of omen the kid's name brought up. It didn't sound like a good one. it didn't sound like a GOOD OMEN. I can't believe I made that joke kill me now
"Yeah, places a lot of people would be. Not sure I'd recognize him after all this time though…" He frowned and took a long sip from his cup. He had to recognize the kid, it was the only lead they had. "I'd say check local school records for that year, but there are probably hundreds of Adams." The frown deepened. Sitting around looking through school records didn't seem very entertaining at all, even if they did still exist. "How about those tourist traps then?" He backtracked with a grin.

[Aziraphale]

Aziraphale thanked the other when he filled the glass and brought it to his lips. Ah yes, that was much better. Tea was a good soothing agent for most things but a drink could help all of them. It really didn't take him all that long to finish the drink. Actually, probably much faster than would have been considered polite by the majority of humans. Luckily there was no human company here. He swirled the little bit at the bottom of the cup around a bit, glancing back up at Crowley, "Ah...tourist traps..." he was still rather annoyed with the idea of tourist traps. Back when things were fresh, before the the Incident, the city was far more peaceful, at least less...touted as an ideal destination. That was something the villians who had their claws deep into marketing had cooked up. He fussed to Crowley about these tourist traps relentlessly, but it usually fell on deaf ears.

He held his arm out with the empty cup as a hint to the other, "Well we could certainly try those places..." Aziraphale visibly cringed at the thought of doing so, "but with the crowds of people...even with the chance that you recognize him, it's going to be extremely difficult to work with all those other humans around. I mean I don't suppose we could just pop up to him and ask him if he'd like to have afternoon tea and a chat." That certainly would have made their lives so much simpler, but ces't la vie.

[Anthony J Crowley]

Crowley took a long sip, downing the rest of the liquid in his cup. He took no note of how quickly his companion managed to also finish his glass, being in no place to judge in this situation. Crowley caught the other cringing and raised an eyebrow. "Museums are for tourists too, you know." Granted, there were better choices of tourist areas if one wanted to see a wide variety of people (and probably have a little fun short circuiting digital cameras) but tourists were just not worth the hassle. They were enough trouble on their own, in his opinion.

He refilled his own cup before leaning forward to refill the glass presented to him, setting down the bottle next to the teacup he abandoned in favor of spirits. “If we do manage to run into him…” He glared into the glass, looking as if he was searching for an answer in the liquid. “…we don’t have to approach him.” He looked up from the glass. “I mean following him around and making sure no one tries to recruit him should do the trick. You can try talking to him if you want. I can’t.” He said with a shrug. Crowley was fairly certain his appearance hadn’t changed a bit since he last saw the kid. He would rather not take the chance of being recognized.

[Aziraphale]

Aziraphale's face lit up slightly when Crowley made the mention of museums. He leaned back in his chair when his glass was again full and didn't try to look too pleased with the idea. In all honestly, though, he was positively beaming at the thought of a museum trip. There was a book on display he'd been trying to convince the curator to let him buy for ages. It was a very rare, very old, illuminated manuscript. The pages and illustrations were simply divine and he had to have it (even if that meant being slightly more of a silver tongue that usual). "Ah yes. The museum. I would suppose...it could be a good place to start." he said, nursing the second glass of liquor, a small smile tugging at the side of his lips. "Strictly business reason of course. To find the super mutant boy." He would really like to bother that curator again, and maybe with Crowley's help he could gently convince the man to sell him that book.

"And yes. I don't believe I would think it best for us to approach him unless it is positively necessary." Aziraphale added. This was partly because it would be fair if he didn't speak to the boy since Crowley couldn't and also because if he were to talk to him, he would need to know the right think to do and say. There was no telling what this super mutant could do and perhaps it was safer for self preservation if he first observed.