#crowleysplants

Crowley had meant, at the time, to explain to Aziraphale that they weren't Good plants.  Sometimes, they got spots on their leaves.  And he meant to explain that he made sure to be Evil to them.  No good deeds going on here.  None.  At all.  He was a demon, after all. Except....Aziraphale was just so happy that he kept plants that sharing the rest of it just seemed.... well, it wasn't something he wanted to do.  So he didn't do it.

Arizaphale learning that Crowley had plants, however, was not the part that was bad luck.  Simple knowledge of someone else's hobbies wasn't problematic.  It wasn't like knowledge of good and evil or anything like that.  No one could use the fact that Crowley liked plants against him.  He could prove his plants were part of Evil so Hell wouldn't be upset with him, and no one else really had reason to care.  No, the problem would be the part where Arizaphale remembered that Crowley liked plants.

And then gave him one.

“I have something for you,” Aziraphale had said only a few hours earlier.  He was almost brimming with excitement in that, that, that way of his - that way that made Crowley want to be excited just because Aizraphale was excited.  Demons were not supposed to be happy and excited, unless, of course, they were doing Evil.  Crowley especially should not be happy at hearing that Aziraphale was going to give him something.  Crowley was a demon.  Aziraphale was an angel.  There should be no gift exchanges between them.  

It was just...just...Aziraphale's happiness was contagious.  It wasn't Crowley's fault that he found himself eagerly awaiting what the something was.  No one had ever gotten Crowley a present before. (Well, Aziraphale got him Holy Water once, but that wasn't a present. It was the result of Crowley wearing Aziraphale down over a hundred years until he finally got what he wanted.  It didn’t count).  This was something Crowley hadn't asked for, hadn't mentioned wanting or anything like that.  Aziraphale just got it for him because he wanted to and he thought Crowley would like it.

As he'd made his announcement, Aziraphale had moved to a shelf and picked something up.  Crowley barely managed to think Oh, sweet forces of evil, not a book please not a book when Aziraphale turned around and presented him with a plant.

It was a sickly little plant.  Its leaves were droopy, and there was at least one spot.  If Crowley had gotten it any other way, his first thought would that it would need a lot of fear put into it for it to be acceptable.  

Had he been thinking rationally after being set on keeping it (of course he was going to keep it; Aziraphale gave it to him), terrorizing it was the first thing he should have done.  He should have taken it right home, introduced it to how Things Were Going To Be by giving it a particularly rough talking to, and then let it near the other plants so that they could explain why it should be afraid of him.  

Except....Aziraphale was happy about giving him the plant.  He looked utterly pleased with himself for remembering what Crowley liked and giving Crowley a thoughtful present.  Every time Crowley looked at the plant, Crowley thought of that and then Crowley couldn't think a single scary thought with regard to the plant.  Whatever insult he could muster would disappear.  It was as if his brain knew that Aziraphale would not approve of being mean to plants, no matter how much better plants were when they were scared.

Shit.

Shit. Shit.  Shit.

Somehow, he'd managed not to let Aziraphale see the problem.  He'd managed to play it off like a pro.  It was a rather masterful piece of acting if you asked Crowley.

But now, he was standing outside his flat, with the plant in one hand, trying to figure out what to do.  It was, most definitely, a problem. Had any of his other plants looked like this one, they would have been Dealt With.  Crowley did not suffer plants that drooped or had spots.  He shouldn't make exceptions.  Exceptions could set a precedent and, the next thing anyone knew, all plants would think they could look pathetic.  He could not have that.  He'd have to just...get on with it.  With his free hand, he pointed at the plant. He opened his mouth to make sure it knew it was a disappointment.

It wasn't a disappointment, though.  It was from Aziraphale.

Crowley studied it.  Okay – it wasn't a particularly terrible plant.  It was little, but it had potential.  He couldn't hold it against the plant that Aziraphale had apparently thought plants liked to live on book shelves where there was no sun.  The angel also did not, last Crowley had checked, own a proper plant mister.  What could he really expect from a plant in those circumstances?  Aziraphale probably didn't even know you were supposed to talk to plants.  Even if he did, Aziraphale wouldn't have yelled at it.  Even when Aziraphale was frustrated with Crowley, he didn't yell, he didn't threaten Crowley’s life, and he didn't pretend to kill Crowley's friends in the next room while Crowley listened.  (That the fatal flaw of this last argument - that Crowley's list of friends was Aziraphale and Aziraphale - was a minor detail Crowley decided to ignore).  Aziraphale and the plant had both done their best under the circumstances.  He dropped the accusing finger and slumped forward to rest his head against the door.

Realistically, what were his options?  He could try to treat it like his other plants, but he'd already proven to himself that he wouldn't.  He couldn't do that - not to Aziraphale's plant.  He could try to find another home for it, find someone to adopt it.  It only took seconds to accept that idea was also out.  No one else would appreciate it properly.  They wouldn't understand it was from Aziraphale.

Crowley pushed himself away from the door and looked down at the plant. Well, then.  There was only one thing to do.  Making sure the plant was shielded from view, he let himself into his flat and took the plant to the window furthest away from the others.  The sunlight was nice and plentiful here.  Better yet, the rest of the plants could not see or hear him in this room.  Crowley set the plant on the windowsill and patted it gently.  “You wait right here,” he told it.  “I'll get the mister and give you a nice drink.  We'll have you looking beautiful in no time.”

The plant gave a little shake that resembled a happy stretch of its leaves, and settled into its new home.  

“That's good.  I hope you like it here.”  Crowley paused long enough to snag the mister from the hall and return.  “The flat has good light.  The air is clean.  It's warm in here.  It's very nice for plants.”  He spritzed at the plant.  “And you'll have all the mist you want.  We can be friends, you and me.”  He paused again, this time to drop to eye level with the plant.  “Look,” he lowered his voice even further, just in case, “We can make this work, just...if you meet the other plants, don't tell them I'm nice to you, okay?”