Proxima Centauri - Good Omens

17. Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell

(That was not it. Not even close.)

The Bentley rumbled its way into a parking space, and soon enough, Crowley and Freddie had gotten a table and ordered food. Freddie's stomach rumbled as an older woman with a kindly smile placed tea and tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches in front of them. She tucked in eagerly, taking a giant bite of her sandwich. Crowley shook his head.

"You must have inherited some of my snake traits. I'm pretty sure your jaw just came unhinged, there."

Freddie rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the Demon, but there was no malice there. Just childish teasing of the fondest sort. It made Crowley laugh.

This was nice, Freddie thought to herself. This was familiar. Routine. Sniping back and forth jokingly with her Dad, sitting in this cafe that she'd sat in at least a dozen times before. It was the same as talking with Maggie or feeding the ducks - something she could do with her eyes closed. Muscle memory and all that. It was exactly what she needed when everything was in turmoil around her, when her future was full of uncharted territory. (When everything she thought she knew about the Antichrist had been false, when the Apocalypse was drawing closer like a storm on the horizon, when Pops was acting cagey and uncharacteristically closed off...)

She couldn't picture living any other life than this one. Full of old books and out of the way restaurants, Golden Girls reruns and Queen's discography, and most of all family. She wanted to stop Armageddon, yes, but more than that, she just wanted to keep doing this, living life day by day with her fathers, without the looming presence of Heaven and Hell casting a shadow across them. (And suddenly, Freddie understood, at least a little bit, why her dads were so afraid to act on their feelings towards each other, to take the risk. Because the future, even if the world didn't end, was one big question mark. Because the life they were living now was good, and they didn't want to ruin it, to see things change for the worse.)

Maggie had said that it was better to face an unknown future than face a certain end, and Freddie agreed wholeheartedly. But that didn't make either option any less frightening. That didn't stop her from wishing she could pause time and exist forever in perpetual teenage years, working at the bookshop, driving the Bentley, and holding on to her dads with everything she had. (If she could, she'd do it in a heartbeat, and never have to worry about Armageddon, or adulthood, or her own mortality. All the things that scared her dizzy.)

"What's on your mind?" Crowley asked, lowering the newspaper he'd been reading. They'd finished their food and were now just waiting for Shadwell to show. He was late, but that was normal for him. "You look very thoughtful."

There was something cautious and kind in his tone, and Freddie knew he was trying to question, subtly as possible, if she were being overwhelmed by thoughts of the Apocalypse. His concern was a palpable thing, like bubble-wrap cocooning her, reminding her that he would always try and protect her, even if it was from her own anxieties. 

"I'm stressed," she admitted. "We all are. But I'm alright. I was just thinking about something Maggie said, that's all."

"Maggie as in records-shop Maggie? The one who used to babysit you?"

"Yeah, we rode the bus together, earlier," Freddie said.

"Oh, that's nice." 

"Yeah, it was." 

Crowley went back to his paper. Freddie engaged in people-watching, mentally trying to guess where the various customers bustling in and out of the cafe were coming from. Some were easier - the man in scrubs was clearly a nurse, the woman with her company name printed across her briefcase an accountant. Others, it was just a matter of guesswork. Imagination. The lady in a neat blazer and suit-pants was probably some regular corporate person, not an espionage agent, but the latter option was a lot more fun to think about.