As it turned out, the fight between Aziraphale and I was pretty big. I didn't hear from, or see her, for the rest of the 1860s. Or the 1870s. Or the 80s, or 90s, and well into the twentieth century. She was all I could think about for decades. I tried to find her, some twenty years after our fight having had enough, but she obviously did not want to be found. Sure, we had gone a while without seeing each other before, but this was different. This time, we both knew it was because there was something wrong. And that terrified me.

As the 1900s began, I decided I would try to forget about Aziraphale, that I didn't need her. Unfortunately, it's very hard to rid yourself of someone you've known for almost six thousand years, but I did my best. I would be lying though, if I said I wasn't overcome with joy when I came across the name Angel Z. Fell while keeping tabs on the Nazi spy ring.

I knew Aziraphale must have thought she was some heroic, double-dealing spy, because there was no way that she would voluntarily help Nazis, and with some more digging, I found that Aziraphale, who thought she was double crossing the Nazis, was being double crossed herself.

I determined that the culmination of encounters was to occur at a church in London, so I made my way over there, trying to listen to the exchange from outside the church so I didn't have to go in until absolutely necessary.

I couldn't make out much, but I heard Aziraphale giving over her books, then trying to double cross the spies with her agent friend, who then double crossed her. I heard the clicking of guns, and decided that was my cue.

As I entered, I heard the last-minute pleaing of the angel, who was about to be killed. "You can't kill me!" She protested. "There'll be paperwork!" She exclaimed sadly, reminding me of when I had caught her under similar circumstances in Paris all those years ago.

As I went farther in the church, interrupting the scene, everyone stared at me. I forgot what it was like to be in a church, my feet burned horribly, so I had to hop around like an idiot as I made my way down the aisle. "Sorry, consecrated ground." I explained as I neared everyone up front. "Oh! It's like being at the beach in bare feet!" I cried mournfully. But it was nothing compared to the emptiness and pain I'd felt in the decades since my fight with Aziraphale.

"What are you doing here?" Aziraphale demanded, approaching me. My God, she was a vision, a real sight for sore eyes, which I desperately was in need of; the two most recent world wars had been exceptionally gruesome, and made me lose more faith in humanity. She had on the cutest little get-up, a tight maroon dress with matching brown gloves and a little hairpiece that covered the top of her head and had large flowers of sorts attached to one side. Her hair wasn't as long as I was used to seeing it, but it wasn't short exactly. It was straight everywhere, except the ends, which curled slightly upwards. It looked like she had bangs also, which were arranged in curls very fitting with the 40s. Her hair color was different though, I think it must have been the low lighting, but it made it seem almost red, kind of like a strawberry blonde, very different from the usual light gold I was used to.

I was forced to return to the present, given the intensity of the situation. "Stopping you from getting into trouble!" I shouted. I would be a rich man if I was paid every time I saved Aziraphale from one thing or the other. The angel rolled her eyes and scoffed, annoyed that I was treating her like a small child, but also annoyed with herself, because she did need rescuing.

Aziraphale mistook my actions though, just as she had every time before. "I should have known, of course. These people are working for you." She said, looking back and forth between me and the Nazis.

"No," I defended myself, "they're a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people!" At this, the Nazis began to give me odd looks.

"I just didn't want to see you embarrassed!" Or killed, I added in my head. I tried to explain myself to Aziraphale, who at least seemed to be warming up to me.

"Mr. Anthony J. Crowley." One of the older men said addressing me. "Your fame precedes you." I cringed inwardly, knowing that just when I was getting into Aziraphale's good graces, some Nazi had to go and speak highly of me.

Aziraphale wheeled around to look at me. "Anthony?" She said doubtfully, scrunching up her face, trying the name out on her tongue. "You don't like it?" I asked, feeling a bit sad at my old friend's disapproval.

Sensing my dejection, because Aziraphale just knew me that well, even after not having seen me for so long, she hurriedly added, "No no, I didn't say that. I'll get used to it."

"The famous Mr. Crowley?" The German woman asked, her mouth curling into a sneer. She looked me up and down hungrily. "That's such a pity you both must die." I didn't like her attitude, or the way she looked at me. I was about to deliver the bad news, that the three of them were going to die, something I thoroughly enjoyed doing to evil people, but Aziraphale interrupted us again.

"What does the J stand for?" She asked bewildered. I began stammering, feeling like I was under intense scrutiny, "It's just a J, really." I then turned my attention to something that had just caught my eye; the source of Aziraphale and I's whole disagreement.

"Look at that! A whole fontful of holy water! It doesn't even have guards!" I exclaimed giddily, knowing Aziraphale was looking at me reproachfully.

"Enough babbling. Kill them both!" One of the Nazi men proclaimed, and the guns were once again drawn to Aziraphale and I. I don't know why they didn't just shoot right away, but I was grateful, because it allowed me to deliver the bad news yet.

"In about a minute," I began, "a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here." I pointed downwards at the floor of the church, still dancing awkwardly around because of the holy ground, which thankfully wouldn't be that way for much longer. "If you all run away very, very fast," I continued, "you might not die. You won't enjoy dying, definitely won't enjoy what comes after."

"You expect us to believe that?" The old man asked, still pointing his gun at me. "The bombs tonight will fall on the East End." He clarified. A devilish grin, pun intended, began to make its way across my face.

"Yes, it would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes. You're all wasting your valuable running-away time. And if, in about thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it." I finished, looking at Aziraphale, whose eyes were big as saucers.

"A real miracle?" She said, asking for confirmation. "Kill them, they are very irritating." The man said again, before I could reply. I bit my lip to keep from laughing as the sound of bombs falling resounded inside the church. I pointed upwards as if to enhance my point. Everyone looked up, the Nazis in fear and disbelief, Aziraphale in pity, as we heard a bomb failing directly over us. A second later, it landed, and there was a big explosion that knocked the whole church down. I used a miracle to protect Aziraphale and I, and her precious books.

As the dust began to clear, and the air raid sirens went off in the distance, Aziraphale walked around through the smoke and ashes and took her hat of sorts off, clutching it to her chest. "That was very kind of you." She said, staring intently at me.

"Shut up." I said, forcing myself to not break character and get emotional, slipping my sunglasses back on to help. I couldn't deny the feeling of pride shooting through me though, knowing I had saved Aziraphale, that she was safe because of me, and very grateful.

"Well, it was." She reasoned cautiously, knowing she couldn't be too grateful, lest Hell become suspicious and look into the matter. "No paperwork for a start," She started, and then her expression melted, and she looked very sad.

"Oh, the books!" She cried out. "Oh, I forgot all the books!" She exclaimed miserably, beating herself up for not getting them, for not using a miracle to save them in the bombing.

"Oh, they'll all be blown to…" The angel continued to ramble on. I walked over to the bookcase and pried them out of the dead man's hand, and handed them to Aziraphale, who looked dumbfounded.

"Little demonic miracle of my own." I explained smirking. It had definitely been worth it, to see the way Aziraphale looked at me in sheer awe and gratitude as I handed her her books. "Lift home?" I asked casually, walking away from all the debris, as if I hadn't just saved her life, quite literally, and in more ways than one. As I kept walking away, I could feel the glow from Aziraphale's smile as it grew, looking back and forth between me and her books.