Early evening twilight. Inside the Bentley, enroute to London. Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time starts on Crowley's "Best of the 80s" playlist. Aziraphale is riveted.

Would you play that song again, Crowley?

Crowley puts it on replay.

You know I never listened to be- . . . er, popular music. But I remember liking this simple little song very much.

Crowley turns and regards him steadily. Aziraphale glances nervously at the road ahead.

Oh, don't worry. The Bentley is pretty will trained on this stretch. See?

Crowley takes his hands from the wheel, and the car rolls steadily along in its lane, keeping a safe distance from the vehicle ahead. Demo accomplished, he places his hands back on the wheel and pretends to drive once again. Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes in his seat.

Thank you, my dear. I'm still having difficulty adjusting to a self-driving car.

Well, it's not exactly self-driving like a Google car. It's me, not Waymo.

I'm not certain that's at all reassuring.

Crowley grins.

So you liked Cyndi Lauper, eh?

I never knew the singer's name.

Funny you liked it. I always think of you when I hear it.

Aziraphale is silent for a long moment.

I suspect I liked it for the same reason. Made me think of you. And it still does.

Crowley reaches an arm around Aziraphale's shoulder, pulls him across the gap between the two seats, runs his other hand through the angel's wooly hair as he kisses him firmly. The Bentley drives steadily along, without even a slight swerve.

London. The parking garage below Crowley's Mayfair flat. Aziraphale leans over. Putting an arm around Crowley's shoulder, he unbuttons the shearling collar of the demon's overcoat, loosens and removes his tie, unbuttons his shirt, pulls his undershirt loose, and caresses Crowley's bare chest. Crowley slumps back and sighs. Aziraphale undoes the snake belt buckle, trouser button and zipper, extracts the demons giblets from his underwear and proceeds with a lovely, sloppy BJ. Crowley is off into Divine Ecstasy in short order.

A London Eric and DeeDee sit perched against a concrete girder in a shadowy corner above the Bentley.

Look at him. Wish I had an angel who could do that with me.

It must feel really good, all right.

You ever meet an angel you fancied?

Nope. Not even a demon.

Well, yeah. We're a pretty ugly, nasty lot.

Ever felt the urge to hook up with a succubus?

Eric gives her a disgusted look.

Satan's sins, what a thought. They couple with humans. It is their punishment. Ewwwww.

I feel the same way. Pretty much kills all lust, doesn't it.

It's not lust I feel when I see Demon Crowley and his angel. I can't describe it. More like longing.

You want to be loved.

Yeah, that's probably it. Just a dandy feeling to have when you're a disposable demon. No power, no glamour, nothing attractive about you whatsoever. Everyone's floor rag.

At least Demon Crowley doesn't make us go around in rags.

Yeah! These down jackets are great, aren't they.

I like the boots, too.

DeeDee holds out her feet, which sport Dr. Martens' colorful Day of the Dead skull patterns. Eric's are the Playing Card design. She looks at Eric.

There's another angel in town, you know. Besides Demon Crowley's angel. A young one.

You mean a young-looking one.

Well of course. Duh. None of us are actually young. She works at that tailor's shop the angels like to get their clothing from.

No kidding?

Yeah. I saw her while I was patrolling Savile Row a few weeks ago. She came out for a coffee. Tall. Pretty. Platinum hair. I didn't get too close. I don't think she spotted me.

You do a good street kid, that's for sure.

Speaking of coffee, you want one? I fancy some cocoa myself. There's that Starbucks several blocks down.

Sure. Doesn't look like Crowley's going anywhere soon.

DeeDee hops lightly down to the concrete floor, zips off like a moving shadow. It's a longish while before she returns, floats up to the girder and hands Eric his cup.

Took you awhile. What happened?

Had a run-in with two drunk humans on the way back. They grabbed me and spilled the coffee and cocoa all over me. Wanted sex. I smote them. Then I had to go back and get more coffee and cocoa.

Are they dead?

No. But they'll wish they were when they come to.

Didn't remove any body parts, did you?

Nah. Just burns.

Human males are a bloody nuisance, If you ask me. Had to smite a couple myself a few weeks ago. They called me a faggot. Tried to rough me up.

The little pair of guardians shake their heads, sip their drinks.

Chinatown, City of Westminster, London. Dark, but near dawn. Daji has spent the night moving from restaurant to restaurant, blissfully stuffing herself with snacks and maotai. She's walking back to her Soho hotel when two men come out of a bar, see her and begin to follow her. Three blocks later, she turns just as one runs up, grabs her, and shoves her against a building.

London, border between Chinatown and Soho. Two MP officers gaze in dismay at the remains on the sidewalk. One of them radios for assistance.

Bloody 'ell. What could have done that?

Careful, don't step in that blood. Looks like some animal attacked them. A lion. Or tiger. Anyone in the neighborhood own some exotic big cat pet, do you suppose?

Forensics will have fun with these two, that's for sure.

London. Early morning, Crowley's Mayfair flat. He and Aziraphale are in their dressing gowns, seated upon the leather couch as they work their way through smoked oysters, fresh croissants, and champagne.

Have to work today, Angel, so we can't lunch together. Beelzebub has sent up a new demon. My business partners and I are meeting to have a little conference about her.

Anyone I might know?

Doubtful. Name's Daji. The disposable demons tell me she's a shapeshifter who's mostly been stationed in Asia.

Aziraphale looks at him in alarm.

Crowley! Daji is a fearsome foe. Wily and cruel.

You know her?

Oh yes. I spent most of the Yuan Dynasty in China. Gruesome trip getting there and back. Between the deserts, mountain passes, bandits, and slave raiders, most of the humans with me perished or were taken captive. And if it weren't for the Throne Xuanwu, I suspect Daji would have succeeded in sending me back to Heaven the hard way. Fortunately the head office decided to let the Byzantines and southern Europeans take over as emissaries after the Mongols were ousted. I was never so happy to sail up the Thames.

The disposable crew tell me she's been in Hell since Liberation in 1949. Evidently the Chinese Communists knew how to deal with a demon when they found one. Guessing she has no love for the cadres. That would be good, as I plan to ship her off to Shanghai.

I hope you're successful. It would be dreadful to have her hanging around here.

Aziraphale takes the demon's hand.

You play a frightening game, Crowley.