I know that at least a couple of you folks reading this story are also "Doctor Who" fans. So, it will be hard not to feel that there's some Doctor-Whoiness bleeding into this story now, especially considering who's doing the talking. Just know, this is not an intentional Who-nod, it's just the way this story shakes out. But feel free to have a chuckle!

Enjoy!

POSTERITY AND THE RUSE

Crowley was agitated, that much was clear, but as of yet, Aziraphale couldn't see why.

"So, the primary reason you wanted to find it was a bunch of squishy Aziraphalian reasons. You're allowing yourself to be cowed and mocked and threatened by a fucking Archangel who tried to burn you with hellfire, who is clueless about the actual world, and about you, because in your heart, in your gut, you feel it's right?"

"Yes."

"You desperately would have loved to find that book."

"Yes!"

"All right then. I have something to tell you, Aziraphale."

"What is it?"

The demon sighed. "I can manipulate time. Hell can, I mean."

"I knew that. I've seen you do it."

"No, you've seen me stop time before," Crowley said. "But if I wanted to, I could fold it back on itself and screw with events."

"You could?"

"Well, technically, Beelzebub could. It's her power. She figured out how to do it, and how to hide it from the Almighty, during Antiquity, when all the alchemists were doing weird stuff along ley lines and whatnot. But she's been known to lend it out to operatives, for various… missions."

"Well, that's diabolical!"

"Erm, hello?"

"Turning back time, and trifling with what's already been, when things have been put in place, for better or for worse… that's…"

"Extremely dangerous," Crowley said, nodding. "Yeah, even we know that. Time paradoxes can destroy the universe. But as you may have heard: we're meant to be evil."

"This is… this is…"

"This is worse than knowing about the shagging?"

"What?"

"Look, honestly, angel, we haven't used it much – just once in a while to cause true, unholy havoc. During the Crusades, the Holocaust, the Black Plague - have I ever told you how much I hated the fourteenth century? Oh, and Khmer Rouge. All of that stuff was basically human-inspired, but some of my nastier colleagues used time loops to really muck things up."

"Dear me. Oh, Crowley, you're not suggesting that we…"

"Go back in time and take the Nutter volume off Anathema's hands before she burns it? That's exactly what I'm suggesting! Are you just now catching up?"

"Well, that would be wrong!"

"But it would work, and you'd have your book. Posterity would be complete. Gabriel could go back to practising Celestial Wankery, or whatever it is he does when he's leaving you alone."

"But the danger, Crowley…"

"It's only a two-week turn," the demon said. "We wouldn't be able to leave Tadfield until the time-turn is over, which means hanging about for two weeks – that's no problem is it? And there might be a localised paradox of sorts, but I reckon that if Adam felt it (and he would), he could just fix it."

"You think it would work? I'm… not saying yes, I'm simply… hypothesising."

"It would work. We know when, we know where, we know Anathema didn't want to keep it, but she also didn't like the idea of burning it - she'll give it to you, no problem. It's a perfect solution for her."

"I suppose that's true."

"But to do it, I'd have to do two things I don't fancy. I'd have to tell Beelzebub about the book. Then, I'd have to actually interact with her, and find some angle that would convince her to let me borrow the time-turning… thing."

"We can't do that – she can't know about the second volume. Hell can't know."

"Why not? You're just going to hand it safely off to your Higher-Ups, aren't you? I'll just let her think she might get her hands on it, but really, she won't get close. I'll just tell her I didn't get there in time, or something."

"Go back into the fold, possibly put yourself in the line of fire, grovel to Beelzebub. You'd do that for… erm, Posterity?"

"I would. If Posterity is incomplete without those prophecies…"

"Crowley."

"Posterity is important to me."

Aziraphale stared at him as he drove, in practical disbelief of what he was hearing. Crowley, as he sometimes did, pretended not to notice, as if he really needed to keep his eyes on the road in front of him.

"Well, truth be told," the angel said, after he'd had his moment of beatific wonder. "I don't think you'll have to do much groveling. You didn't see the look on Beelzebub's face when I ordered her to leave you alone."

"Ha!" Crowley laughed. "Maybe I'll go down there with a plant mister filled with tap water or something. A bit of leverage."

"Now, now, no need to resort to death threats," Aziraphale said. "And anyway, we can't do this. It's too dangerous. I'm saying no."

"Oh, I'm not asking your permission," Crowley said. "If Posterity hurts, then so do I. I'm getting that book."

Aziraphale could not contain a goofy, shy smile. "Thank you, Crowley, for taking it out of my hands."

"Shut up."

He drove the Bentley back into central London, to an unmarked office building that actually existed in a different dimension. Aziraphale decided to stay in the car.

"I'll listen to some of your modern music," he said, clearly not convinced that this was something he fancied. "Get a feel for it."

"Hope you like Queen," Crowley muttered, climbing out. Before shutting the door, he bent, and asked, "Is Freddy Mercury one of ours, or one of yours?"

Aziraphale stared off into the distance for a few moments. "Do you know, I have no idea."

"Yeah. Me neither," Crowley mused, with wonder. "Right, well, I'll be back… soonish. Don't get into trouble."

With that, he shut the door, and approached the barely-existent building. To his mild surprise, the escalator that lead downward was still perceptible to him. This was a good sign that though he was no longer in the ranks of Hell's "trusted" minions, they were leaving the light on for him. Perhaps because they still wanted him, but more likely because they were at least mildly afraid of him. Or it was simply an oversight, the same sort of thing that Gabriel had called "clerical confusion."

He took the escalator down, then walked through a cloudy, ethereal wall into an infinite, dank hallway, where trillions upon trillions of the damned walked aimlessly, wordlessly, for all eternity.

Within seconds, there was a ripping sound in the air, and Beelzebub appeared before him, the giant insect on her head squishing disgustingly, and the small ones around her buzzing irritatingly, as ever.

"Lord Beelzebub!" he said, exaggeratedly boisterously. "Just the thing I wanted to see!"

"Demon Crowley," she snarled, as the lost souls groaned and slipped around them. "Or should we revert to your original name, Crawley, as you've come back. Crawling. You know… in an undignified manner. Like a thing… that crawls. Like a snake, because you're a snake. Beneath us all."

"Erm, yeah… no offence, but you might want to practise your impromptu bravado," Crowley suggested. "I mean, when you've got a script, you're brilliant, but when you're taken by surprise, you just sort of… trail off. It's not very commanding, you know?"

"Still talk too much, I see," she commented.

"That's all you've got? Seriously, Lord Beelzebub. Just run drills with Hastur every now and then, you know? Improvisational menacing. Look into it."

"You're impertinent."

"Oooh, burn!"

To his great amusement, Beelzebub grabbed him by the lapel of his designer jacket, and hauled him through a door that had just appeared nearby. She slammed it behind them, and suddenly, they were in a room that looked like an office. An endless office, with poor lighting and more paperwork than even hell could fathom.

There, behind a desk, was Crowley's old favourite, Duke Hastur.

"Blimey," he grumbled, looking Crowley over. "Look what the cat dragged in. Come crawling back have you, Crawley? That is your real name isn't it? Crawley, like a snake? You know…"

"Oh, dear Satan, please stop with the crawling and the snake references," Crowley groaned. "It's tragically unfunny, and as it happens, I haven't come crawling back!"

"Then you've got five seconds to state your purpose before we destroy you," Beelzebub said, colourlessly.

"Ah-ah, careful," Crowley warned, with one index finger. "Let's not forget that the last time you saw me, I was quite happily bathing in holy water, much to your great personal terror. Remember that? Eh?"

Her face turned down slightly, but just enough, and she nodded. Crowley looked at Hastur, who broke eye-contact.

"How do you reckon that was possible, oh, Lord of the Flies?" he asked.

"I'm sure I do not know," Beelzebub responded, back to feigning boredom.

"Exactly," Crowley spat. "And Hastur, me old mate, if you've been chatting with our friend Michael, up in the top floor office, you might know that a certain annoyingly persnickety angel achieved something similar when his bosses decided to get revengey."

"Maybe I knew it. Maybe I didn't," Hastur grumbled.

"I'm curious," Crowley said. "How many meetings have you had about it?"

"Seven," Hastur said, before he could stop himself.

"Shut it," Beelzebub warned him.

Crowley cackled with laughter. "I can just see it now! A really riveting Powerpoint presentation entitled, Can Angels and Demons Become One?"

"It was called The Ying and Yang of Angels and Demons," Hastur said. "But you've got the basic gist."

"Would you shut up?" Beelzebub growled at Hastur, growing very agitated.

"Well, that question, sadly, remains to be answered," Crowley muttered. "But what about When Demons Fall? Have you lot talked about that? What happens to the substance of a demon when we start to stray from the fold? I might have been your guinea pig! Is it like when we fell from heaven, or is it a much more concrete, fleshy process? And what does it mean?"

"That one was terrifying," Hastur said, uncomfortably. Well, everything he did and said, he did and said uncomfortably.

"Hastur, you complete moron!" Beelzebub shouted.

"My presentation was called Is There a Domain Other Than Heaven and Hell, and What Are Its Interests?" Hastur confessed, with his usual total lack of finesse, and utterly not hearing Beelzebub at all.

"For Hell's sake, Hastur, are you fucking kidding me?" Beelzebub screamed.

And then after that, there was silence. Crowley studied both of their faces. He could tell from the complete lack of pretention that demons (other than he) tended to portray, that this concept had been the one that had stuck, the one they'd been grinding on, ever since the "meeting" where Hastur had brought it up. Of course they'd never suspect the truth about the body-swap, because that required imagination. This lot were assuming that something had happened to Crowley and Aziraphale, and not that they'd have done something.

Thus, the theory of a third domain. It wasn't bad, as theories went, and actually, it bordered on the imaginative.

Crowley knew that there was, in fact, a third domain: it was called humanity. It's what made him and Aziraphale unique, and rather kindred spirits. They both understood this, having lived in the "third domain" for quite some time, having seen its interest, its powers, its lack of goodness and badness, and yet its terrifying depth of both. If Satan's minions had really wanted an apocalypse, Crowley reckoned, they should have been asking this question thousands of years ago! They would have realised eventually that humanity was to be a part of everything, and it was not to be trifled with, and they'd have come better prepared. But by underestimating humanity, they allowed Crowley to run amok, as it were, and sabotaged their own great war. The same could be said of heaven, of course.

But it had not occurred to Beelzebub nor Hastur that humanity was the third domain, as important and powerful as heaven or hell. No, what they were wondering was, was there actually another metaphysical kingdom, ruled over by an analog of God or Satan, with its own operatives like him and Aziraphale, Hastur and Michael, Beelzebub and Gabriel. And if there was, they feared it like mad, because they didn't understand it, and it had remained hidden from the cleverest on both sides of the game, for over six thousand years.

This possibility petrified them. And they had begun working with the notion that this third domain had highjacked one of their demons, and one of heaven's angels, and had perhaps caused the epic fails that were Crowley's non-obliterating holy bath, and Aziraphale's equally non-obliterating stroll through hellfire. But to what end? How had they seduced both and angel and a demon? What could this third domain do? What, indeed, was its agenda? What would hell's PR department need to do to prepare?

Inwardly, Crowley laughed – here was his angle. A fictional "kingdom" that could potentially rain down untold horrors. This was the sort of ruse that played straight into Crowley's wheelhouse!

Outwardly, he said, "A domain other than heaven and hell? What an interesting question."

"If you like," said the fly-infested Lord.

"Maybe you lot aren't as daft as I thought," he said, again, laughing on the inside.

"Indeed not," she replied. She looked Crowley over rather conspicuously, with disgust in her eyes.

"You're wondering if my very presence here is dangerous, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You're wondering what I am now, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You're right to worry. And you're wondering what's coming, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"Well, Lord Beelzebub, have I got a book for you!"

(Pssst: this chapter may or may not contain the seeds of a sequel... but let's get through this story, shall we?)

Reviews make me smile, sometimes when nothing else will. Do with that info what you will! ;-) Thank you for reading!