Aziraphale and Crowley embark on the last day of their lives...
… however, here, we take a bit of a B-road, on the way to finding out what happens next for our favorite pair. I have my own personal reasons for thinking it's important that Aziraphale tie up loose ends pertaining to his bookshop, before disaster strikes him. Also, I happen to really like Anathema and Newt.
Most importantly, we get to find out what Crowley says about Aziraphale, when Aziraphale's not about. Worth knowing, wouldn't you say?
Enjoy!
EIGHTEEN
"You don't need to go all the way to Tadfield, angel," Crowley whined. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Hey, Google, what's halfway between London and Oxfordshire?"
The mechanical voice of his phone replied, "To reach the midway point from Oxford to London, you would drive for about thirty-eight minutes or roughly twenty-nine miles from London to the halfway stop. The best place to meet, based on recommendations from Trippy members, is Windsor. The location closest to the exact midpoint would be Wooburn Common."
"What does that mean, then?" Aziraphale asked, with a worried look. "And what's Trippy?"
"It means there are no good restaurants in Wooburn Common, so ask Book Girl to meet you in Windsor."
Anathema Device readily, if confusedly, agreed to rendezvous with Aziraphale at the Queen Charlotte restaurant in Windsor, where the angel had enjoyed quite a few good meals in the past.
It took him almost precisely one hour to drive there in Crowley's Bentley (whereas they had almost always reached Tadfield, normally a two-hour drive, in less than forty-five minutes when the demon was behind the wheel), as he travelled at exactly the speed limit the entire time, and obeyed all applicable traffic laws.
He was slightly dismayed to find that the restaurant had been remodeled and modernised, but that was the way of the world, wasn't it? Well, he ought to know. He remembered Windsor Castle being built. And it had been modernised several times, as had everything around it, including the monarch who occupied it.
Everything had changed around him, as well. And it would continue to change tomorrow. And the day after that.
He tried not to think wistfully of all the castles he'd never see built, and all the restaurants he'd never see restored. He tried to force down the fear and dismay he was feeling, reminding himself that humans, every one who had ever lived, had faced the reality of the things they would never see or do, just because they had less than a century in which to see and do everything they were ever going to see and do, and most of them had done just fine. Life is finite. Everything dies. Including now, himself and Crowley.
Six thousand years was a good run. But wasn't it natural to wish for more time? Or that one had had more of an actual run? Wasn't it natural to now think about all the times when he could have lived more? Acquiesced to Crowley's innuendos, and to his own desire to seize the day? After six millennia, the two of them had had three days to really be together, to explore everything they felt…
…God damn this timing!
He sighed as he walked into the restaurant, for what was to be his penultimate meal, ever. He assumed that Anathema would bring her paramour with her, so he asked for a table for three. All things considered, he could think of worse people to spend this time with. He was seated on a booth-bench against a wall, with two chairs sitting across facing him. He ordered one of their signature gin cocktails for himself, a pot of tea for his lunch companions, and waited to see familiar faces appear in the doorway.
He'd barely had a sip of his drink when Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer appeared, saw him, and began to walk toward him. He stood up to greet them, kissing Anathema on the cheek, and shaking Newt's hand, and gesturing for them to sit.
The three of them (and Crowley, of course) had shared a few lunches in Tadfield, during the fortnight or so that the angel and demon spent there, killing time.
"So, where's Crowley?" asked Anathema, settling into her chair, while Newt poured them both a bit of tea.
"Oh, he's off running a few errands," Aziraphle answered. "He's going to the organic butchery for filet mignons, to wine shop, and the…" He stopped short, and instead of finishing his thought, opted to clear his throat uncomfortably. His friends did not need to know that Crowley was headed to the advanced flying store. Not that they would understand what it meant.
"Oh!" Newt commented, looking back and forth between Aziraphale and Anathema. "You have a romantic evening planned, don't you?" He seemed rather too proud of himself that he had picked up on this.
"Newt, stop it!" Anathema scolded, actually lightly slapping his hand. "You know they aren't… you know…"
The four of them had, in fact, had a few awkward moments in Tadfield when the humans had assumed the angel and the demon were a couple. Though the misunderstanding had bothered Aziraphale and Crowley, who had been taken for a couple many, many times, a lot less than it had bothered Anthema. In any case, clearly, Newt at the very least, still thought of them as such.
"Right," Newt sighed. To Aziraphale, he said, "Sorry."
"No, in point of fact, Anathema," Aziraphale said, almost sadly. "He's right. We are planning a pleasant evening together. Romantic, if you like."
Anathema smiled widely, as though she couldn't contain her joy. "You are? You guys finally are? You're together? You're a couple now?"
"Er, yes," Aziraphale answered sheepishly, unable to contain the smile, in spite of himself.
"That's fantastic!" And she poured some tea for herself and Newt, then held it up for a toast. "To you and Crowley!"
The gesture charmed Aziraphale, and he lifted his cocktail to clink with her cup. "Indeed," he said, with a little bit of a sinking feeling, but nevertheless a smile, then took a sip.
Smiling knowingly now, Anathema said, "Do you remember that afternoon when the four of us went to the Angler's Stop, in Tadfield, and had those God-awful crab cakes?"
"Oh, yes! Those were absolutely dreadful! I'll remember those for…" Aziraphale began. Then, he remembered what he was about to say, and how fraught it all was. "…for the rest of my life." He gave them an uneasy smile.
"Well, I have to confess something," she continued, conspiratorially, delightedly, not seeming to notice his darker, diffident reaction. "When you got up to wash your hands, I attacked Crowley with questions."
"You didn't!" Aziraphale said, genuinely half-appalled.
"She did," Newt told him, with a distasteful look on his face. "It was awful. Thank goodness you were only gone for two minutes."
"Well, I'm sorry," Anathema sighed. "But I could see it all over both of your auras. It was practically screaming at me – you guys are in love. Or at least, you know, meant to be together somehow. And I couldn't understand how you could not be a thing."
"A thing?"
"Yeah, you know, in a relationship."
"Well," Aziraphale said. "What did Crowley say?"
"He tried to play it cool, tried to deny it altogether," Anathema told him. "But I pressed, because that's what I do. I said auras don't lie. I said I picked up joy and longing from him at the same time, and longing and trepidation from you. But when you look at him, there's joy. And when I told him that, he cracked. He talked very quickly until you came back, though somewhat reluctantly."
"Somewhat reluctantly? He just talked so you'd shut up," Newt told her.
"I don't care," she told him. "He cracked."
"You told him all that? About the auras, and when I look at him…" Aziraphale asked.
"Yep."
"Is it all true? This was what you saw?"
"Yes, absolutely," Anathema said, quite seriously.
"And when you say he cracked, what exactly does that mean?"
"He said you'd been friends for about six thousand years," Anathema said. "That the friendship and respect between you has been palpable for as long as he could remember, and some brand of love and lust at least for the last few centuries."
"I suppose that's fair enough."
"He said he begged you to help him save the world, so he could be with you, but that he didn't come right out and tell you that's why he wanted the world saved, because he was a bloody coward," Newt offered.
"Excuse me?" Aziraphale asked.
"His words," Newt qualified.
Anathema went on. "Then he sort of sighed, and said that you can't be pushed. He said you're an ethereal being with so much more to give than just to him, so he hasn't wanted to ask for too much, because an angel's got a job to do, and a demon's got to keep his shit together."
"He said…" Aziraphale mused. "I have more to give than just to him? So he hasn't wanted to ask…"
"Yeah. I expect he doesn't want to take up too much of you. You've got bigger fish to fry, he's just a kipper. I know that feeling," Newt confessed, taking Anathema's hand, and giving her an exhausted, warm smile.
"But he already does take up a lot of me. He has for a long, long time," Aziraphale said, staring into the distance, not really in the moment anymore.
"Well, anyone could see that," Newt said with a smile.
"And I don't mind at all," the angel continued.
"Listen, Aziraphale, it all came tumbling out of his mouth like a combination of machine-gun fire, and vomit," Anathema shrugged. "I don't even know if he'd remember saying it."
"But he did say it," Aziraphale said, still staring off into the distance.
"Yes. And that was more or less when you came back from the washroom, and we resumed our discussion about Anathema's psychedelic mushroom collection," Newt told him.
"But while it lasted, it was beautiful," Anathema said. "His aura, the love and longing, pushed through so hard, I couldn't see his face for a few seconds."
"I think the idea that you guys wanted to save the world, just so you could be together, is absolutely gobsmacking," Newt confessed.
"I think it is too," Aziraphale said with a smile. He was filled with a flush of love, that he supposed Anathema could see quite clearly, and the whole thing became overwhelming. Tears burned behind his eyes, and he couldn't quite blink them back in time to stop them spilling over. They coursed quietly down his cheeks, and he quickly wiped them away with an, "Oh, my. I do apologise."
"That's all right," she said, reaching her free hand across the table for his hand. She squeezed it. "Makes you want to get home to him, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Aziraphale said, now unable to stop the tears. "But oh, you two. This is just… this is just crushing."
"What is, hon?" Anathema wondered.
"All of it. What you've told me about Crowley, him and me together, and how electrifying it's been, and how fraught with every emotion imaginable. And… the reason why I've asked you here."
"What's the reason?" she asked.
Anathema had cried when he explained to them what would happen at midnight, how their bodies would be robbed of their supernatural essences, leaving only empty shells. Heaven and Hell had no appreciation of the depth of what would happen, but there was really no way out of it.
She had not, however, readily agreed to take ownership of the book shop, upon his death.
"I'm sorry, Aziraphale," she sniffed. "Part of me really, really wants to. But the rest of me knows that it would be a huge responsibility that would eat me alive… and probably also my descendants."
"Yes. I understand," Aziraphale said, solemnly.
"What if I did it alongside you?" Newt asked. "I'll help you run it, I'll help you manage the stock, and I'll help keep you from getting to immersed in the prophecies…"
"Or all of the obsessive-compulsive minutiae that could come from owning a whole store full of rare, old books?" she asked, looking at him worriedly.
"I don't necessarily know what that means, but I'll try," he replied.
"Oh, sweetie…" she groaned.
"I quite fancy the idea of a livelihood selling books," he told her. "They're made of paper. I've never caused paper to stop working."
"And all of the shop's records are on paper," Aziraphale assured them. "No computers."
"But what about…" Anathema trailed off.
"What about what?" asked Newt.
"What about if we have kids?" she asked.
"You think we'll have kids?" he asked, wide-eyed with surprise.
"Maybe. Agnes thought so. I don't want them to be our descendants for the rest of time. Something like an antique book shop, that could become a family business. A family burden."
"It doesn't have to," Newt said.
"Look," Aziraphale said. "I can understand your reticence. How about this, then: all I would ask you to do is make sure that the prophecy books get into the right hands – whose those would be, I don't know, if not yours. But they will be yours to bestow upon someone worthy. A church, a scholar, someone like you, perhaps. The rest of the shop is… well, I won't say the rest of it is expendable, because there are quite a few valuable and rare volumes in there, but… anyhow, you could see the stock sold off, along with the property, and keep the proceeds for yourselves."
"My family already has plenty of money," she argued.
"Then we'll donate it," Newt said. "Share it with Tracy and Shadwell. Set up a charity. Something."
Aziraphale pressed on. "The point is, dear girl, you could inherit the book shop, and fairly quickly wash your hands of it. It's on a busy corner in a trendy part of London - you'll have no trouble selling it off to a night club owner, or some such. Your children won't have to know anything about it, should you have any. If all I can ask is that the books of prophecy are seen-to, then so be it."
Anathema stared off into the distance for quite some time, until she finally relented.
Aziraphale looked about to make sure that no-one was watching, and then snapped his fingers to produce a document, stating that upon the death of the current proprietor, A.Z. Fell, the so-named bookshop would become the property of Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer. The three of them signed the document, and Aziraphale folded it, and stowed it in an envelope.
"Oh, one last thing," Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers again, producing a deed to a 1926 Bentley, currently in immaculate condition. "Would you mind seeing to the car, as well?"
Three hours after leaving Kiptyn's Coffee House, Aziraphale arrived at the bookshop. He knew that Crowley would be expecting him at home, so he telephoned, just to say he'd be one more hour, because he was going to arrange the records in a way that would be easy for Anathema and Newt to locate the prophecies, and identify which books, beyond that, were the most valuable. His bookkeeping was, as always, scrupulously up-to-date, so all he really wanted to do, in that area, was leave a note, explaining his fussy system. In addition, he simply wanted to say goodbye.
"I'm sorry, angel," Crowley said, through the phone. "Would you like me to bring all of the supplies there, and we can spend the evening on your turf? We can cook the filets on a hot plate, I suppose… given the right spices, it wouldn't be so bad. Or we could commit one last gross misuse of miracling, and conjure them, already grilled to perfection."
"That's all right, Crowley. Thank you for the offer."
"Are you sure? I mean, I don't have any particular attachment to this flat. I'm fine with leaving it now."
"No, no," Aziraphale said, sadly. "Once again, I feel I should let go, before I make things worse for myself. The bookshop won't mind. Honestly. I'd rather just be home tonight."
"Home," Crowley sighed. "Okay. I'll see you in an hour. Don't be late."
Thank you for leaving reviews on the previous chapter. As you know, I'm extremely needy, and I really appreciate your efforts.
Thank you for leaving reviews on this chapter as well. Hint, hint. ;-) Please let me know your thoughts! I realize this wasn't the most exciting 2,500 words of fanfiction ever written, but we are headed somewhere.
The next chapter begins the business of Aziraphale and Crowley's final night together. Stay tuned! And thank you for reading!
