Picking and Planting

The first time the liver-spotted plant arrived in his small storeroom, hidden behind the bookshelves was in the year 1795. It was a sickly agave, which was supposed to resemble an exploding star in green, was curling up in London's winter. "You are not supposed to be here, are you? Ain't you a native plant of a warmer climate?"

Aziraphale, nipped the curling edges of the succulent that night, repotted it in a terracotta bowl and placed it under the heavenly light. London weather was harsh; it froze the water in the roots at times and sucked away the moisture from the air on other days. But the plant was lucky, as its new owner was gentle and kind. It lapped up the love and care that was provided to it. The constant humming from this new owner soothed its aching roots.

The agave survived its first winter! The liver spots disappeared. The brown curling stopped. Its root became resilient to the cold. The plant's memory of warm Mexico was long forgotten, it was as a British citizen now as it enjoyed the tea leaves mixed in it's now a china pot. It also preferred opera music over carols.

"Oh you have grown so lush my dear!" saying this one fine day, Aziraphale walked out of the bookshop and went to St. James Park.

"Hello, Aziraphale!"The agave noticed a similar voice it almost forgot.

"Why are you carrying a pot with you?" the owner of the slithering voice asked. "Oh, hello there, Crowley! Meet agave, agave meet your former owner Crowley, a demon." Aziraphale took a seat beside the demon. The lake was clean and the ducks were playing, it was a good London summer day. The agave didn't feel so good anymore. His previous owner didn't listen to opera.

"Is that my plant you are carrying?" Crowley asked, closely examining each spiky leaf at a time. "No spots! No brown curls!" Crowley almost hissed in excitement. "Well did you not send the plant to me to cure it?" the angel with snowy hair under the hat asked.

"No! I just... I picked many of them from my trip down South America, remember the ships I had to lead ashtray before the French Revolution? This one just couldn't make it. It was sickly, no matter what I did." Crowley sighed. "Why was it at the bookshop then?" the angel was now curious.

"I.. Ahh.. I miracled it to someplace warm. I didn't think it would end up among its dead relatives who are tattooed with ink and bound in their own skin!" Crowley murmured. "They are books, Crowley! Books! Don't make it sound like I am a necromancer." Aziraphale cried.

"Dead trees none the less Angel" The demon smirked.

"So what do you plan to do with it?" Aziraphale asked.

"I can't take it back, other plants will realize that their sissy* is not dead and stop growing. Plants communicate with each other, this will talk." Crowley stood up from the bench.

"I would love to keep it, but I think more people can yield from the plant if they have access to it. You can use its nectar as a sugar replacement for tea." Aziraphale stood up hugging the pot to his chest.

"We can plant it here you know, the park is home to many plants and trees that are native to this land. They all survive, the summer is not over, if we plant it here, it may reproduce and spread out." The demon suggested.

"That would be wonderful! Let me find a spot! You can dig it and we will plant it!" the angel glowed under the sun.

"Why am I the one digging?" Crowley asked.

"I am wearing white and you dug your way into Eden remember?" Aziraphale pointed.

"Umm... okay." The demon nodded.

"You know Crowley, every time your plant is sick, why not send it to me. I will try to heal it and then we can come and plant them here. Imagine the variety of plants and trees we can have here?" Aziraphale asked excitedly.

"I will think about it angel" the demon nodded as he took his hat off and began to dig the soft spot.

"That's a good start then!" the angel placed the agave pot beside the demon and began digging.

"But you said... " Crowley asked.

"I know what I said Crowley, it was a bit of jest" Aziraphale smiled.

"Alright, let us plant you here little sickly" Crowley pulled the pot towards himself and began emptying it. For the next few centuries, Aziraphale found decorative plants, flowers, cactus, herbs, in his storeroom. Each riddled with their own ailment and the angel spent hours reading botanicals and florilegium to heal them of their ailments. And Crowley spent time looking for discreet places in St. James Park to plant them.  

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*Sissy is not meant as a degrading term, sissy meant sister in its original form, it is feminine of the word buddy.