Aftermath in Mayfair
London. Mayfair. Aziraphale and Crowley are holding hands as they weave homeward after drinking until closing time at an Islington tavern. Although it's a Saturday night, their neighborhood of Mayfair is comparably deserted at this early hour. Crowley breaks into song during the last block, doing a countertenor version of I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls. He finishes the last verse, complete with coloratura, as they wait for the lift to their flat.
But I also dreamt, which charmed me most, that you loved me still the same, that you loved me still the same. . .
The grill opens and they tumble into the tiny old lift. Crowley flops against Aziraphale, hugs him and kisses his neck.
They make it as far as the new couch. Discover that Divine Ecstasy is possible even when lovers are tipsy.
Early dawn.
I say, Crowley, this couch is so perfect. We don't even need to levitate much.
The demon writhes around and lays his head upon the angel's chest.
Yep. Feeling peckish enough for breakfast? Or maybe just a cappuccino?
After last night's gorge, I cannot even contemplate going out for breakfast. A cuppa would be welcome, though.
It's Sunday. We could just fuck all day instead.
Until Sunday dinner at the club? You love that.
Mm. Sounds like a plan. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom? I'll go fix our coffee and tea.
Crowley ambles into the kitchen, starts the electric kettle, goes over to the expresso machine, which always mysteriously manages to produce a perfect giant cup of cappuccino sans beans, water, or milk. Complete with foam depicting an angel wing. The demon takes a sip as he scrutinizes the selection of teas Aziraphale has accumulated. Selects a Scottish breakfast tea heavy on the Assam.
The kettle having reached the correct brewing temperature (it always does, and promptly), Crowley gets out the Meiji lacquer tray with its antique black Jackfield tea set, lace doily, and silver spoons. Crowley would have preferred crockery that was black and contemporary, but picked out this antique set instead because he thought Aziraphale would enjoy it more. The set obligingly fills itself with milk, sugar, and the proper amount of brewing tea.
Cappuccino in one hand, tea tray alarmingly balanced upon the other, Crowley waltzes into the bedroom, where Aziraphale is now comfortably propped on the giant pillows at the head of the bed. Sets the tray down upon the angel's lap so he can have the pleasure of adjusting his cuppa to his own satisfaction. Aziraphale lightly levitates the tray so it doesn't tip as Crowley hops into bed close alongside him. The angel pours his tea, adds sugar and cream, sends the tray over to a landing on the bedside table. They hold hands as they sip.
Beverages imbibed, Aziraphale magics away the cups and try to the kitchen. Grins at Crowley
How I love doing trivial miracles.
Crowley slides an arm across the angel's shoulders, gives him a smooch as he caresses Aziraphale's delightfully fuzzy chest.
As if on cue, both their phones sound. Crowley's makes a quacking sound like a mallard duck. Aziraphale's chimes celestially.
Fuck. Knew this would happen.
They both magic their phones to hand.
Uriel.
DeeDee.
No! You don't say! . . . My word. How extraordinary. . . . Where are you? . . .
Where are you? . . . The fucking roof? You're out of sight? . . . Good. . . . We'll be right up.
The Twins are still in China? . . . Good. . . . I'll call you back shortly.
The angel and demon disconnect and regard one another. Crowley tips a finger toward Arizaphale, who takes the cue to speak first.
That was Uriel. There was some sort of demon riot in the lobby of the Main Office. They have abducted the Angel Hekla.
They didn't abduct her. She's in the rooftop stairwell right now with Eric and DeeDee. They fucking flew there.
In broad daylight?
Not exactly broad yet. Get dressed, we need to get Hekla out of London. DeeDee says angels are flooding out of the Main Office and searching the streets.
The two leap out of bed, magic on clothing, and are out the door and up the stairwell in less than a minute. DeeDee and Eric cringe a bit at Aziraphale's close presence.
Do not worry, my dears. I will not harm you. Come with me, Hekla. We must get you out of London, and quickly.
He gently takes Hekla's arm and escorts out the rooftop doorway and into the little Cabri G2 helicopter. Takes a helmet off the seat, hands it to her to don. When she's seated, adjusts the safety straps. Puts on his own helmet, straps himself into the pilot's seat, goes through the safety and start up sequence. Some minutes later, the little helicopter takes off in magical silence and flies away westward over the Thames.
Now then, you two. Let's have a little chat over coffee, shall we? Nothing's open in Mayfair at this hour, we'll have to slope off elsewhere.
He gets on his phone, make a brief call. An unremarkable Ford Fiesta pulls up just as they exit the building. Crowley hops in the front, the two disposable demons in the rear, and the car zooms off. Several minutes later, what appear to be a man and a woman in cream colored jogging suits race around the corner. Too late, angels.
Elena Garanca on YouTube pMaLhIbYJoM