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Maggie wiped at her eyes, well aware she was only making it worse.
She didn't want to cry.
Her gaze swept over her little shop, mentally counting the number of boxes she would need to pack it all up. 10 boxes ought to be enough. 8, if she put Mozart and Salieri together but she knew neither of them would want that.
She knew exactly how she looked, nose red, eyes swollen. She hadn't meant to cry. But she loved this place so much, had done so ever since she was a toddler and her mum would bring her here, to visit her grandparents, she would say. They all knew it was so she didn't have to take care of Maggie for a day but she didn't really mind. Not really, especially when her grandma would be waiting for her with cookies straight from the oven and her grandpa would let her listen to songs not entirely suitable for a child.
She hadn't meant to cry. She didn't want to come across as manipulating poor Mr. Fell into letting her stay, despite her unpaid rent. He was a kind, gentle man. But nobody could be that kind. Maggie couldn't expect him to be this kind.
The bell above the door rung and she pressed at her eyes and the fresh moisture gathering in the corners. She was going to be strong. She was going to tell him she was going to leave. That way it wasn't an eviction, not really. That way it had been her choice.
Maggie rolled her shoulders and straightened her back. She felt a spark of conviction light up inside her, all empowering and, she suspected, far too short-lived. She was going to make the most of it, still...
It was a customer. Dressed in all black, shades covering his face and she was gesturing toward their rock section before the man had even closed the door behind him. For a moment, something in her stomach quivered. Doing this was bad enough, the last thing she wanted was to have an audience while she lost her home and business. On the other hand, she couldn't really chase away a customer. Not usually and especially not now, when every little could help. She could only hope the stranger would leave before Mr. Fell made his way to her shop.
But the man didn't even look at her records, his head rolling towards her till, before his hips were rolling in her direction and she could only stare as he slithered closer.
"Hello?" she aimed for polite but it came out as a question, instead. "Can I help you?"
Had she seen him before? Now that he was coming closer and she was actually looking at him, he looked strangely familiar. At the cafe perhaps?
The man leant over the counter, sharp elbows digging at the wood. He looked unhappy to be there.
"Mr. Fell got your note." The lower part of his face, the only visible part, scrunched in annoyance. Maggie couldn't even begin to guess why, too busy with trying to get her lungs to let oxygen in again.
The bookshop. That's where she had seen him before. Lounging on the sofa as Mr. Fell puttered about. She had always assumed he was a friend, or a particularly dense customer with boundary issues. But Mr. Fell would have never sent a friend to see her.
Unless... Unless he knew why Maggie had asked him over. Unless he thought it would be easier to get rid of her if it was his friend doing the eviction. Unless he suspected she would try to manipulate him out of paying the rent.
She felt her lips tremble and she bit into them. Damn it, she was not going to cry and prove Mr. Fell right.
"I'm sorry." She shook her head, well and truly after the silence had stretched long enough to be awkward. "I was expecting Mr. Fell himself, Mr..."
"Crowley. Just Crowley," the man introduced himself somewhat begrudgingly. He didn't move to offer her a hand. "And he is busy. Stocktaking."
Ah. She knew what this was code for and she smiled, despite herself. "Which book is it this time?"
The man before her went very still, except for his eyebrows, which were doing a funny little dance up and down his forehead.
"Pride and Prejudice," Crowley ventured finally, voice carefully blank.
Maggie felt herself grin. Mr. Fell wasn't avoiding her after all, he had simply lost himself in his favourite book. Again. The relief that washed over her made her forget the precarious position she was in, for a moment.
She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "Feels like he ought to know it by heart by now."
The man's grin spilled over his face almost uncontrollably.
"Oh, he does. Could recite it word for word. For my money, he is reading it to avoid doing actual work," the man drawled easily and Maggie couldn't help it, she giggled.
It felt like they shared a knowing look. She couldn't be sure if their eyes had even met through the thick lenses, but she could feel it, still.
"I think I'm going to like you." There was a sharp edge to Crowley's smirk. Not cutting, not really, but just enough to show he didn't say that lightly. Maggie felt herself nod. There weren't a lot of people with whom she could bond over all of Mr. Fell's weird quirks.
She watched as the man finally took in her shop, looking around for the first time since he had come in, and felt herself relax. She hadn't known him for more than a few minutes and he already felt like a familiar presence, like someone she could easily see herself leave to look after her shop as she popped across the road for a coffee. She was already making a list of what she wanted, when Crowley's glasses turned to her.
"So," he started, drew himself up from the half-lean, half-sprawl he had been doing all over her counter. "What did you want to talk to him about?"
The words shouldn't have slashed across her chest quite so deeply. It was her fault, entirely. She knew that. A few minutes of light banter and she had forgotten the reason behind the tight ball of limbs in her shop. That all this friendliness was temporary, its shelf life just long enough for her to reveal the reason behind the note she had sent Mr. Fell.
She took another deep breath, steeled her insides. She was going to be strong. She was strong. She could do this.
"Mr. Crowley," she started quickly, hoping to get it all out before her nerves had abandoned her.
"Just Crowley," the man in question corrected her absent-mindedly, waving in her direction. He also appeared not to be listening to her anymore, instead opting to push himself off the counter and wander aimlessly around the shop.
Another breath. She could do this. "Crowley, I can be out of here in a week."
The man didn't even look up from the records he was currently running his finger over. "Why? Do you not like it here?"
Maggie shook her head desperately. She wished that was the problem. "Oh, no, Mr- Crowley. I love it here. It's just-"
"Is it the rent?" The man's head snapped up, gaze burning holes into her even through the dark lenses. "If you've found somewhere cheaper, I'm sure Az- Mr. Fell would be more than happy to negotiate. He speaks very highly of you, I'm sure he wouldn't want to lose you as a tenant."
Maggie could feel the heat burst in her cheeks. Oh, yes, never pays rent on time, calls on her landlord every few months with an excuse. She was the perfect tenant, she was. There was fresh stinging in her eyes and she shook her head to dispel even the notion that she could cry in front of the man. This kind stranger who had apparently been discussing her with Mr. Fell.
It occurred to her that maybe Mr. Fell hadn't revealed her short-comings. He didn't strike her as a man to gossip behind someone's back, especially the vicious kind. It was up to her then, to reveal why she needed to leave. She flushed again, for an entirely different reason.
"I haven't- Ever since the lockdowns started, I haven't-" Why was it so difficult to say? Just do it, she told herself, just say it. It was just words. "I owe Mr. Fell hundreds of pounds in rent."
But it wasn't just words, she realised just as they left her mouth. It was an admission, it was her failure, staring her in her face. And that was just the beginning, Crowley's cue to now look at her with pity. Or maybe yell at her, threaten her into paying rent money she didn't have. He didn't look the type but then again maybe there was a reason why Mr. Fell had sent him over instead of coming himself.
But no pity followed. No encouraging words, no threats of violence. Crowley's glasses weren't even turned towards her.
"One week," she pleaded, softly, as she searched the man's face for even a hint of mercy. "Just give me a week and I will be out of here."
This got her a glance. A fleeting one, before Crowley was focusing once again on the 'Best of Queen' tape in his hands.
The silence was deafening. Maggie watched as the man picked up a few records, seemingly at random. ABBA, Frank Sinatra and then finally a Shostakovich, she was pretty certain she had ordered just yesterday and hadn't yet received.
"Do you want to stay?" Crowley asked, finally letting his shades settle on her for more than a second. A simple question with an even simpler answer. Maggie nodded hesitantly, still.
A languid shrug as an answer to what had been keeping her up for months.
"Then stay. I'll speak to Mr. Fell."
She opened her mouth, unsure whether she was about to thank the man or question his sanity. She never had the time to find out which, as he was waving her off before the first word had even left her lips. No matter how shaken she was, that could have only bought the man before her a few seconds before she was stubbornly demanding to know exactly what he was planning.
A few seconds he used wisely, slinking up to the counter with the Shostakovich and a smirk, before asking, "Now, what would you recommend for someone who absolutely despises Bebop?"
It had taken a few minutes for Crowley to decide which records to purchase and another half an hour before Maggie was anxiously wringing her hands again.
What had the man meant when he had said he would speak to Mr. Fell? Even the implication that the kind bookshop owner could possibly forgive her almost a year of unpaid rent was absurd. And Crowley expected to achieve this with a simple conversation? He had looked odd but she would have never thought he was insane.
And who even was Crowley, to be speaking so surely about the other man? He felt like a friend, judging by the soft exasperation he had shared with her over Mr. Fell's antics. But there was more, there had to be. He had discussed her tenancy with her, the rent she owed. He had taken over Mr. Fell's duties in every way she couldn't have expected. A business partner maybe? Judging by the fact he had felt confident enough to negotiate on behalf of Mr. Fell?
Could she trust him, was the question. Would he be able to talk Mr. Fell into forgiving her her rent? Should she allow him to?
Maggie was a lot of things, but a coward she was not. She couldn't bear the thought of someone else fighting her battles for her. No matter how tempting it was to sit back and avoid the humiliation of having to beg for another week so she could pack her things. Again.
It should have felt easier, now that she had uttered the words, now that she had admitted her failings. But her conversation with Crowley had ignited a spark of hope in her heart, a desperate little thing that refused to be extinguished no matter how many times she reminded it that they were leaving. That this was over.
Mr. Fell beamed at her the moment she entered the bookshop. It made her heart skip a few beats. Crowley hadn't spoken to him, then. She couldn't decide if that made it easier for her, or harder.
"Ah, Maggie," Mr. Fell greeted her as if she was an esteemed guest and not the leech she was currently feeling like. She hesitated, but it was already too late. Mr. Fell was waving her closer.
"I was just about to come over to speak to you, dear girl," the man was saying, rummaging through his desk, while Maggie ran over the script she had prepared for their meeting. Of course, she hadn't expected Mr. Fell to not be looking at her, but she could run with this. It was even easier, not having those soft eyes on her as she revealed her shame.
"Mr. Fell, I wanted to speak to you about the rent." Her voice only shook slightly. Good! She knew she could do this.
The man nodded, head dangerously close to the edge of his desk and she almost yelped at him to be careful. Whatever he was looking for was surely not as important as having an injury-free brain.
"Yes, yes. I understand Crowley went over everything with you?"
The man was finally straightening up, an envelope clutched in his hands, and once he was looking at her, Maggie nodded. She wasn't entirely certain what 'everything' was, nor the version that had reached the bookshop owner. But she supposed that's why she was here, wasn't it.
"I see. Now I understand you paid him your rent, for him to pass to me?" Mr. Fell waved his hand and the envelope in his grasp slashed the air. Slashed the air in her lungs, too. She was too shocked to respond either way. "You should not have done that, Maggie. I thought we already had this conversation the last time. I am not going to collect your rent while all of this is happening. If I had known this is why you wanted to meet, I would have come personally."
There were so many wrong things with what Mr. Fell was saying that she hardly knew what to focus on first. Finally, she mumbled, "I never gave Mr. Crowley any money."
"Nonsense," Mr. Fell huffed. Then turned the front of the envelope towards her. There, in neat writing was her name. Her name. Her handwriting. She gasped, took a step back. She would have wondered if she had been the one with the brain injury, only she knew she didn't have the money to pay the rent, even if she had tried to.
Mr. Fell tried to press the envelope in her hands and she shook her head, somewhat wildly, even as she danced out of reach. "Mr. Fell, I did not pay the rent to M- Crowley. I have never seen this envelope before."
For some reason, this was what made the man pause in his insistence. He took another look at the envelope, twisted it in his hands as he glared at the words on it. Almost as if he was expecting them to change under his stare. Maggie almost expected that, too. It almost felt like a day for them to.
Nothing happened, of course. The envelope kept its rectangular shape, its white colour. Her name did not wiggle off of it. Of course it didn't.
And yet, Mr. Fell was smiling, a dazzling thing that she had never seen before. She had seen him happy, of course. Spotting a smile on his soft features was a regular occurrence. One had to only visit the cafe when he was there to see him beam at a piece of cake or a pastry. Or simply take a peak in the bookshop when it was suspiciously empty to find him happily lost in a book. This... this was different. The joy was radiating from the man, his golden hair almost shimmering in the light like a halo around him.
"Well," Mr. Fell finally said through a wide smile that he didn't quite look like he could control. "In either case, this is yours. You should have it."
Maggie shook her head again but the gesture felt empty, somehow. Like a moth, she knew her fate had been sealed the moment that smile had turned blinding.
"It has your name on it, Maggie, therefore it's yours," Mr. Fell tried again and this time when he pushed the envelope in her hands, her fingers curled around it. She didn't know how, especially since she had not told them to do that. "Now, if you don't mind, dear girl, I have some urgent... business to attend to. We can speak later."
There was a hand on her back and before she was even allowed to think, she was being gently escorted out of the bookshop. Mr. Fell opened the door for her, one final soft push and she was outside, blinking dazedly up at him.
"Please do not worry about the rent for the foreseeable future," the man said, smile twitching even wider for just a moment, before he was closing and locking the door.
Maggie stared as the sign was quickly flipped to 'Closed' and the curtains were drown. She had come to tell Mr. Fell that she could leave her shop within the week, and not only had the man told her he was forgiving her rent but he had also given her money. Money that he, apparently, believed she had given him first. How had things gotten so turned around so quickly?
She wasn't sure how she made her way to her shop. Or what she did with the envelope in her hands. But as she went over the strange events of her day, there was one thing she was certain of.
A. Z. Fell And Co.
It seemed she had finally met the mysterious 'And Co'.