Our favorite pair were reading into the Agnes Nutter prophecy that suggested they might have kicked off Hell's and Heaven's inquiry into the Third Domain. More importantly, they've realized that this probably means "the big one" that Crowley talked about at the end of the series, Heaven/Hell vs all of humanity, is probably this, and it's coming sooner than we think!
Now, they are in preliminary talks about how to stop it... but the end of the chapter ends on an interesting note. ;-)
Hope you enjoy!
TWELVE
Mid-afternoon saw the angel and the demon doing what they do best, when there's a conflict needing their attention: having lunch. With alcohol.
Well, Aziraphale was having lunch – a rich one with Chicken Cordon Bleu, arugula and blood orange salad, truffle risotto, and a fantastic Pouilly Fuissé. Crowley was sitting across from him with his second, nearly-drained Bloody Mary, and a plate of untouched lobster ravioli (because he'd been informed that he had to order something, and he'd heard Aziraphale fretting over the choice between Cordon Bleu and lobster ravioli). They talked, and meanwhile, Crowley watched the angel enjoy his food.
If Aziraphale's favourite creature comfort was eating, then one of Crowley's had to be watching.
Is there such a fetish as culinary voyeurism? he wondered. He felt certain that there must be. He also noted how odd it was that in six thousand years, there was a fetish he hadn't encountered.
Until now, that is.
All of a sudden, the angel's eyes turned down, and he sighed.
"What?" Crowley asked.
"I think we should just tell them what we did," Aziraphale said.
"Tell them… what?" Crowley wondered, imagining himself confessing to Beelzebub that he'd canoodled an angel and liked it (as if she didn't know), and that it might have (sort of) brought about their Third Domain obsession. "What we did… what, last night?"
"No! Oh, now, really, Crowley!"
"Well, how the Heaven should I know what you're thinking, unless you say it?"
"I mean, that Sunday. When we body-swapped."
"Oh," Crowley answered, flatly. Then, he took a breath, and said, "I really don't fancy shooting you down, angel, so I'm truly sorry for what I'm about to say. Why the living fuck would we do a thing like that?"
"It would make all of this Third Domain nonsense disappear," said Aziraphale. "They're going to attack humankind in the next couple hundred years – Heaven and Hell on a united front. They don't know it yet, but I can see it coming, and so can you. The only reason they think there's a Third Domain is because your man Hastur brought it up, and you didn't see fit to debunk it!"
"So this is my fault?"
"No, it's not your fault," Aziraphale dismissed with a frustrated growl. "You didn't start this – Hastur did. Or rather, you and I did, but only to save our own lives, and each other's. But you haven't… well, neither of us has done anything to stop all this. But we could. It would be a selfless act. Confess our sins."
"I'm a demon," Crowley said flatly. "I don't do selfless, unless it's for you. And I sure as Hell don't confess my sins. I relish them."
"Well, if you don't want to wind up on the hot tail of another Apocalypse, then you might want to consider it."
"Hot on the trail, Aziraphale, not on the hot tail. Unless that was a Freudian slip of some sort."
"Pardon?"
"Listen, if we told them how we did it, they would properly kill us," Crowley reminded him. "And this time, they'd get it bloody right."
Aziraphale stared into the distance. "But it might save humanity."
"Come on, angel," Crowley groaned. "You know as well as I do, they'll come over all Apocalyptic again sooner or later. Us coming clean – all that would do is delay it. And if we were destroyed, you and I, there would be no-one to counter it."
"Crowley…"
"No! Out of the question!" Crowley said, loud enough to turn a few heads. "I'm not confessing anything, and neither are you. I've only just got you. I'm not losing you by letting you calmly orchestrate your own hideous murder."
"All right then," Aziraphale said, sardonically. "Better ideas?"
Crowley gazed at the angel through his dark glasses, with annoyance in his hidden, yellow eyes. Then he took a deep breath, took a big swig off his drink, and said, "We could do something to arm humankind, I suppose."
Aziraphale's eyebrows went up with interest. "That's not a bad idea."
"Of course it isn't," Crowley shrugged.
"What do you suggest? Because the only thing I can think of is… well, if only there were a way for us to share some of our magic with the humans," Aziraphale said, with a low, conspiratorial voice. "That would really be something."
Crowley thought about this. "Well, when the Almighty decided to end things, what was Her plan? Multi-nation, thermonuclear war. How did She go about it? Computers."
"Ah!"
Crowley speculated, "Could we lend our powers to computer science to somehow tap into, or monitor, or synchronise with Infernal and Celestial Forces?"
"What, so that the humans could see another Armageddon coming for themselves, and learn how to avert it?" the angel wondered now. "They'd witness the wiles of the evil one, and… thwart!"
"Yes, for a start. But could the humans act on the plains of Heaven and Hell, to affect it, to make stuff happen, using computer strokes?"
Aziraphale's shoulders went limp, and his fork-in-hand stopped midway between his plate and his mouth. "That's… that's…"
"Drastic."
"Diabolical!"
"Erm, hello?"
"Crowley, we couldn't do that! We can't give humans the ability to affect the supernatural plains! They're not even supposed to know for sure that those plains exist!"
"It wouldn't be all humans," Crowley practically whined. "Just the advanced ones."
"The advanced ones? They're not chimpanzees or Border Collies."
"They're chimpanzee-like, in many ways."
"All right, and whom, pray tell, would you consider to be an Advanced Human?"
"Someone like Einstein. Intelligence, knowledge, plus perspective."
"He's long dead, Crowley. Hawking is out of the picture now, too."
"Then… who's the astrophysicist, the one with the clever Tweets, the one at the Rose center in New York?"
"Neil DeGrasse Tyson?" Aziraphale said. "Okay, fair enough. Who else?"
"I dunno… Bono?"
"What's Bono?"
"He's not a what, he's a… ugh, okay. Never mind. Too much context would have to go into that explanation," Crowley sighed. "All right then, something in-between. Not just monitoring, but also not weaponizing, which is, let's face it, what it would become if we gave the human brain a tool like that. It wouldn't hurt to look into, say, guiding the next fifty years of computer technology, just in case."
Aziraphale's fork finished its journey to his mouth, and he finished the last bite of his chicken. For a few minutes, he concentrated on the arugula and orange, having already cleaned away the risotto. Crowley watched with his usual fascination, drained his Bloody Mary, and flagged the waiter for another.
"But here's the dilemma as I see it," Aziraphale said, mouth full. "While this could be a brilliant idea, and could be used in a brilliant way, my fear is that it would only do more to draw attention to the fact that the humans are not to be underestimated. And our two organisations underestimating them is one of the things that's kept them around thus far."
"Then you and I will have to… finesse it," Crowley offered. "We'll take every opportunity to downplay humanity's powers in the eyes of Heaven and Hell."
"At best, that would buy us time."
"Time - exactly. We're all just on this linear forward-slog, toward God Only Knows What, and everyone is just trying to get more time. If we aren't giving the humans time, then what else is there?"
"Security. Certainty. Life. Joy."
Crowley shook his head. "No, angel. You know as well as I do, those things don't exist as institutions. They are ideas, constructs of sentience, and we just have to seize them where we can find them, because Heaven and Hell aren't doling them out. Isn't that how the two of us got here? Today, of all days?"
Aziraphale finished his meal, and Crowley tipped his plate of ravioli at him with an inquisitively raised eyebrow. To his surprise, the angel shook his head, and waved it away. Unfazed, Crowley put the plate aside, and leaned forward on his forearms.
"Perhaps we could put our energy into teaching the humans how to fight," Aziraphale said.
"How?"
"Educate them about the wiles of Heaven and Hell, make sure they're well-versed in the coming of End Times," Aziraphale said.
"Oh, like, say, via a book? That could be translated and handed down through generations?"
"Absolutely! Humanity could learn a lot from something like that!"
"Sure. And we'll get them on-board with some good spiritual tools to make sure they land on the proper side, when it all comes crashing down!"
"Yes, exactly!"
Crowley looked at him flatly. "Think it through, Aziraphale."
"I know it sounds ambitious, but humans can be quite clever!" the angel said, with gusto. "They can understand the physics of it, the motivations behind each domain. We'd tell them the stories of how it all began, and…"
"Build temples where they would gather, say, once a week, to hear the stories, work on their spiritual tools and be reminded of what's coming?"
Aziraphale's eyes were struck with realisation. "Oh, right. It's been tried."
"Ad nauseam."
The angel sighed. "Well, Crowley, you and I will have to fight for them one way or the other."
Crowley nodded. "If we knew more about how they'll come at it, then we could sabotage it like before. But there's no Antichrist this time, no Great Plan… Heaven and Hell both, they'll be flying by the seats of their pants."
"Sorry – you know me and the modern vernacular. Does that mean they'll be improvising?"
"Yep," said Crowley. "It'll be a big, bloody mess."
"I should think that you and I would do well to spend some time over the next few decades, getting really well-versed in Agnes Nutter's newer prophecies," Aziraphale said, with a greedy twinkle in his eye.
"We've already read the thing cover to cover," Crowley whined.
"Yes, but how many of the prophecies did you, personally, understand upon first reading?"
"All of them," Crowley replied, audaciously. "I was all over it. I'm very keen on prophecy."
"You're also very keen on balderdash," Aziraphale muttered. "Thank goodness we saved the prophecies on your device, Crowley. We'll need to cross reference, do research, know them inside and out, if we're going to protect humans. It probably wouldn't hurt to talk to Miss Device again. She's probably got the inner lane to the way Mistress Nutter thinks."
"The inside track, Aziraphale. Not the inner lane. For fuck's sake."
"Yes, well. The point stands."
"Oh, wonderful. Quality time with books. Hurrah."
As it turned out, the restaurant had a tiny wine shop attached, and Aziraphale bought a case of the Pouilly Fuissé, and had it delivered immediately to the book shop.
Crowley went home to pick up the laptop, and arrived back at the shop at the same time as the delivery.
"Why here?" Crowley asked the angel, as he held the door for the courier.
"We've got to have something to drink while we're combing through prophecies," answered Aziraphale, absently signing for the delivery. "Don't worry, we'll bring a few home."
"Meh, I'm not really a white wine kind of guy," Crowley said.
"You'll change your mind when you taste this."
Although, truth be told, Crowley didn't wind up finding anything at all special about the Pouilly Fuissé. He drank it because Aziraphale seemed to want him to, and it got him right tipsy right quick, just like a good wine should. And because, he needed something to take the edge off reading for hours on-end.
Aziraphale had already set up the shop for a long night of research. He was going to work at his desk, and he prepared a spot for Crowley on the sofa at the coffee table. He had purchased two brand-new spiral notebooks, both of which were lying, all crisp and new, on their work surfaces with a felt-tip pen on top.
The two of them sat down to work, one with enthusiasm, and one with not-quite-concealed disdain for the task.
But, Crowley understood the implications of all this, and that it needed doing, if they were to avoid the cock-ups that turned the last Apocalypse into a complete clusterfuck. Not to mention, his incredibly lovely angel was keen on it, so he towed the line.
As they both knew, the book's very first prophecy was, "Giveth the Pages to the Angel, and you will finde felicitous Union with Adultery's Spawn." This was the thing that had allowed Anathema Device to allow herself to allow Aziraphale take the volume off her hands. Agnes was giving her permission to let go, and promising a happy relationship with Newton Pulsifer.
The Tertiary Territory prophecy, what Aziraphale had once called the Tinkerbell Prophecy, was on page twenty-three.
"This seems to suggest that the prophecies are not in chronological order," Aziraphale said. "Which is what I was afraid of. That makes our task so much more difficult."
"How do you figure?"
"If the first prophecy is from a month ago, and twenty-three pages later refers to last night, then it would be a mightily full month for Agnes Nutter's prophecies! She must've known every move we'd make!"
"Unless she thought that you would take longer to become grounded with me."
"Well, only one way to find out. Let's dig into the real meat of this thing!" Aziraphale said from his roll-top desk, with Crowley's laptop in front of him, piles of holy texts (today removed from storage) up to his waist, and fingers twinkling and itching to tap at the keys.
Crowley sat on the sofa, having sent a copy of the file to his phone. He, too, had stacks of holy texts nearby (though he didn't see the need) and HazMat equipment on standby, just in case.
"So, how do you want to do this?" the demon asked the angel. "You take prophecy number two, and I take number three?"
"Seems as good a way to start as any," said Aziraphale. "Anything you decipher or find or reference or what-have-you, record it in your notebook, with the prophecy number, and as much detail as you can. For example, if you find a Biblical reference, make sure to properly notice the book, the verse number…"
"If I find a Biblical reference, angel, I'm handing it off to you," Crowley growled. "I'm not going all HazMat unless I absolutely have to."
"Fine," Aziraphale said, annoyed. "Just… begin."
"Great," Crowley sighed. "Let's get this show on the road."
After an hour, Crowley asked, "What've you got?" He pinched his angular nose, and squeezed his reptilian eyes shut, as he leaned back on the sofa and groaned.
"Prophecy two says, Twoscore Centuries plus One, and you shall see a Bluebird conveying Language, but who does not speak, as well as a Book of Faces that is not a Book and contains much more than Faces."
"Oh. Twenty-first century social media. Twitter and Facebook."
Aziraphale looked at Crowley with annoyance. "Blast it. I've been looking up the mythological and Biblical and archetypal significance of bluebirds, and trying to find legends in which they either speak, or pointedly don't," he said.
"Well, that's why you've got me," Crowley shrugged. "My sensibilities aren't stalled out in the 19th century."
Aziraphale gave an exasperated tsk, then continued. "The rest of the prophecy says, Disenchanted Children born of this Age shall cause the Downfall of the infantile Form of these Conveyances, and shall seek to use similar Means to disseminate Meaning, Verity, Science, and Art."
Crowley smiled. "If you ask me, it sounds like Agnes is predicting that vapid social media will fade into the background because the generation being born now will backlash at it. They'll try to see that in their world, similar technologies are used for things that are actually meaningful and/or useful."
Aziraphale stared at the screen for a few moments, then his face lit up at Crowley. "My goodness, I think you're right! What does number three say?"
"Erm…" Crowley said, blinking hard, and picking up his phone. "Amassing Truth is of import, as there will exist an Objectivity, sorely missing from the Information Age. The Market for Authenticity becomes grander. Governance of false Witness intervenes, following the frivolous Decay of two cousin Empires."
"Hm. Any thoughts?"
"Many. None of them helpful. Some of them should be censored in your presence, frankly."
"What have you been doing, as far as interpretation?" Aziraphale said. "Maybe I can help."
"I Googled objectivity missing from the information age," Crowley said. "I've been reading articles about political polarisation, Fox News, media spin, stuff like that. Old-school journalists – well, those who were reporting on television in the sixties, seventies, and eighties, are saying that there's no objective truth these days, the way there used to be. But I don't know what it's got to do with the market for authenticity becoming grander."
"Well, let's, as you said, break it down," Aziraphale said, delivering the last three words with a dorky enthusiasm that made Crowley smile in spite of himself. "Amassing Truth is of import. Well, gathering truth is important."
"Thanks, I got that much."
Aziraphale stared at the prophecy in the computer screen, and then said, "What if it means, gathering fact is important."
"Okay. Synonyms are good."
"No, Crowley, look at the rest of it. Objectivity missing from the Information Age. If what you're discussing, the polarising media, is really what this refers to, then it could be about actual facts. The Market for Authenticity is the demand for fact-checking. Or, even more literal than that, the job market for fact-checking expands. Authenticating what's in the press becomes much more of a viable profession."
"Oh wow. That makes sense," Crowley muttered, studying his phone. "I was thinking pop culture. Like all that bloody autotune going the way of the Dodo, and buying knockoff designer goods…"
"Well, that's why you have me," Aziraphale said. "Sometimes it pays not to have one's sensibilities grounded in the precise here and now."
"Touché," Crowley muttered, grudgingly. "I guess if I'm going to interpret seventeenth-century prophecies, I'll have to stop thinking like a twenty-first century hipster. Although, to be fair, I've always been a hipster. Even before there were hipsters."
"What's a hipster?"
"It's… never mind. Okay, so, Governance of false Witness intervenes, following the Decay of two cousin Empires. So, does that mean fact-checking is going to become a government thing?"
"Two cousin Empires… Two cousin Empires… that sounds familiar somehow…" Aziraphale mused. He stood up and crossed to a shelf in the middle of the book shop, and pulled down a volume. Crowley watched him open it, and hold the spine in one hand as he earnestly flipped pages with the other.
It occurred to the demon then that moments like this were when the angel was at his most Aziraphalian. It was an adjective that Crowley had long ago privately invented, mostly to describe someone adorably pedantic, incredibly innocent, aggravatingly good, and who took an almost unholy joy in books, and posterity.
Observing Aziraphale from across the room, in his element, immersed in a problem, a book, his own thoughts, it also occurred to Crowley that he absolutely loved this side of the angel. Actually, he loved all sides of the angel, but this thoroughly Aziraphalian quality was what he had always known, and it was what truly made Aziraphale who he was. Forget all that Heavenly rubbish, and the magic and the and the immortality. This view of him was what Crowley lived for.
He stretched back on the sofa with his white wine as chosen by this exquisite companion of his, the glass dangling casually between his thumb and index finger, and just watched. Aziraphale's brow was furrowed, his lips were moving subtly, his voice was a low whine, as he advanced through the volume he was studying. Every now and then, he would lightly lick one of his fingers just before turning a page, which Crowley found almost unbearable to watch.
Crowley had done this plenty of times – stopped to indulge in a tableau of Aziraphalian beauty, without the angel ever noticing (or ever letting on that he noticed). And he had always done so quietly, secretly, stewing in his own feelings. Although, eventually desire would rear its head and he'd have to shake it off.
A wicked smile crawled across his face as he realised that he didn't have to shake it off anymore. In all of this talk of protecting the human race, another possible Apocalypse, interpreting prophecy, he'd almost forgot what they were now: lovers. Not just friends, frenemies, companions, partners, or mutually desirous supernatural analogs. But proper lovers. They had confessed their feelings, had tasted each other's mouths, had their hands all over each other, seen each other's off-guard faces whilst pleasure overtook them. The thought gave him a chill up his spine… memories of last night flooded him – both the tender moments, and the scorching ones. This morning, there had almost been a replay, until the Archangel Michael had changed the game on them, for better or for worse…
In a moment when, before, he might have chastised himself, "Stifle it, Crowley. You're not a bloody snake anymore. He's an angel – leave him be," instead, he actually let in a flood of buzzing anticipation. He stood up, and set his wine glass on the coffee table.
Prophecies could wait.
Did you laugh? Cry? Make little woo-woo sounds?
Okay, I suppose you know what I'm going to say now: please review! I'm incredibly needy and a little juvenile, so I need lots of metaphorical pats on the head. :-D
In any case, thanks so much for reading!
