1862, St. James Park
The three supernatural beings found themselves standing on the bridge in St. James Park. Altaira was cooing sweet nothings to the ducks, occasionally throwing bits of bread into the water and encouraging the other two to do the same. Dressed in a salmon-pink and white high-necked gown, complete with crinoline, corset and little sunhat, she looked like a doll, a stark contrast to the black-garbed red-headed gentleman in dark glasses, or the ivory-garbed blond gentleman on her other side.
"Look, I've been thinking," Crowley started, glancing nervously sideways at the angels. "What if it all goes wrong?"
Altaira perked up from where she'd been transferring handfuls of breadcrumbs into Aziraphale's top hat. "Right? That's what I've been saying!"
Crowley smirked, but it did not reach his eyes. "We have a lot in common, you and me," he mumbled, waving his hand carelessly to encompass the three of them.
Aziraphale sniffed. "We may have both started off as angels, but you are fallen."
"I didn't really fall," Crowley sulked. As the angels looked askance at him, eyebrows raised, he added, "I just, you know... sauntered vaguely downwards."
As they turned back to watching the ducks, Crowley appeared to remember what he had wanted to say. "I need a favour."
"We already have the agreement, Crowley," Aziraphale replied. "Stay out of each other's way. Lend a hand when needed."
Crowley swallowed. They were not going to like the next bit. "This is something else, for if it all goes pear-shaped."
"I like pears," Aziraphale mumbled, as Altaira narrowed her eyes.
"If it all goes wrong," Crowley continued, still beating about the bush, "I want insurance."
"What?" Altaira asked, a warning note in her voice.
"I wrote it down," Crowley mumbled, passing the piece of paper to her while avoiding her gaze. "Walls have ears. Well, not walls. Trees have ears. Ducks have ears. Do ducks have ears?" He knew he was rambling. "Must do. That's how they hear other ducks."
But Altaira would not be distracted. "Out of the question."
"Why not?" Crowley knew his voice was creeping dangerously close to a whine.
"It would destroy you," Altaira breathed, trying to catch his eye again. "We're not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley."
"That's not what I want it for," Crowley argued. "Just insurance."
Altaira scowled. "I'm not an idiot, Crowley."
"Do you know what trouble we'd be in if... if they knew we'd been... fraternising?" Aziraphale hissed. "It's completely out of the question."
" Fraternising ?" Crowley's tone was one of incredulity.
"Well, whatever you wish to call it," Altaira shrugged. "I do not think there is any point in discussing it further."
"I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel." Crowley protested, stung. Altaira doubted it, but was too polite to say anything. Not Aziraphale though.
"Of course you do." The other angel sounded dismissive.
"I don't need you."
"Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously!" Aziraphale shot back, though Altaira could tell he didn't quite mean it. He angrily emptied the last of the crumbs from his hat, forced it back on his head, and strode off. Altaira lingered a little longer, unsure. She agreed with Aziraphale, but it did not seem right to leave Crowley on such a bad note, either.
"Look, Crowley," she began. "We care. You know that I've been against this for a long time because of the risks involved. And Aziraphale obviously cares, or he would not have gotten so angry."
Crowley was still refusing to look at her. "Obviously," he mocked.
Altaira sighed, stepping back slowly. "Look, take care, alright?" She couldn't say that she hoped they'd meet again, even though she did.
She stared at the mutinous set of his shoulders. Altaira had never had someone she cared about this angry at her before. Normally, her first reflex would be to pacify whoever was displeased with her in any way she could, but there wasn't much she could do in this situation to make it better. Unhappily, Altaira wondered if this would be the last time they spoke.
1941, unknown church, London
As Altaira fingered the gun in her pocket, she was thinking that this was a horrible idea. Angels were not suited to this whole covert spy business. Human affairs were best left to humans.
Still, she accompanied Aziraphale as he strode confidently into the church to meet some Nazis. Apparently, their Fuhrer had some occult beliefs, for he'd requested to purchase some books of prophecy.
"Mr. Glozier. Mr. Harmony." Aziraphale greeted the two. A clock chimed rather ominously, set off by the shrill wail of air raid sirens in the distance.
"Mr. Fell. Miss White. You are late," Glozier replied curtly. "But not to worry." Altaira had a bad feeling about this.
"You have the books for the Fuhrer?" Harmony inquired.
"Yes, I do," Aziraphale announced, placing them on the table between them. "Books of prophecy. Otwell Binns, Robert Nixon, Mother Shipton. First editions, as requested." He gave them both a nervous smile.
"What about the other book we told you to bring us?" Harmony demanded. "The Fuhrer was most definite that he needs it. It has the prophecies that are true. With the true prophecy book, the war is as good as won."
"The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch." Aziraphale nodded, "No luck. I'm afraid that is the Holy Grail of prophetic books."
"The Fuhrer also wants the Holy Grail. And the Spear of Destiny and the Ark, should you run across them." Glozier said, to which Altaira had to struggle really hard to stop her eyeballs from rolling. Altaira had retrieved the Spear and deactivated the Ark at God's orders eons ago, when She finally thought better of giving humans access to such powerful artifacts. Whatever was left had been dumped somewhere in the Judean desert, because they had been heavy and she hadn't wanted to go to the trouble of ferrying them back to Heaven. And had they still existed, how exactly had the Nazis even planned on using them without them backfiring? The Ark, in particular, would destroy whoever tried handling it. Ridiculous.
Harmony cleared his throat impatiently. "Why are there no copies of Agnes Nutter's books? We have made it clear that money is no object. You will be very rich."
Altaira coughed to cover her snort. As their attention shifted to her, she took up the explanation. "The unsold copies of the Nice and Accurate Prophecies were destroyed by the publisher, which is, well, all of them. It never sold a single copy."
"But," Aziraphale interjected, in an effort to placate them, "I found the publisher's catalogue for 1655, and it does list one of Agnes Nutter's prophecies."
"What was it?" Harmony asked eagerly.
"Her prophecy for 1972. 'Do not buy Betamax.'"
"Who is Peter Max?" Glozier asked, puzzled.
"We have no idea." Altaira shrugged.
"I will pass it on to the Fuhrer." Harmony said, taking one of the books from Glozier.
"These volumes of prophecy will be in Berlin by the end of the week," the other Nazi said. "The Fuhrer will be most grateful."
"You have been exceedingly helpful. Mr. Fell, Miss White," Harmony purred as Glozier cocked a gun. "Such a pity you must be eliminated, but take heart, just another death in the Blitz."
"That's... not very sporting," Altaira sulked, because it wasn't. Aziraphale better have had a plan for this.
"You do not appear worried, my friend."
"He's not worried," a woman announced, stepping up and cocking a gun. Altaira breathed a sigh of relief. This must be part of Aziraphale's plan.
"She, my double-dealing Nazi acquaintance, is the reason why none of those books are going back to Berlin, and why your nasty little spy ring will be spending the rest of the war behind bars." Aziraphale said confidently while the Nazis looked at each other, putting their hands up slowly. "Let me introduce you to Captain Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence."
"Thank you for the introduction," Rose said gracefully, a smile on her face that Altaira did not like.
"Our side know all about you two. She recruited us to work for you," he continued, keeping his gun aimed on Harmony while Rose trained hers on Glozier. "And now, she's going to tell you that this building is surrounded by British agents and that you two have been—What is that lovely American expression? Played for suckers."
"Yes, about that—" Rose started to say.
"Right. Everyone! Come on!" Aziraphale called loudly as Harmony began to smirk. "Round them up!"
Silence reigned and there was no sign of movement inside and outside of the church. Altaira slowly cocked her gun, stepping slightly in front of Aziraphale.
After an awkward pause where they all waited for something to happen, Aziraphale turned to Rose, puzzled. "Where exactly are your people?"
"We are all here," Harmony laughed. Altaira decided she disliked Harmony most, followed by Rose, and then Glozier.
"Allow me to introduce," Glozier began, pausing slightly as Rose and Altaira turned their guns on each other, "Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt. She works with us."
"'Played for a sucker.'" Harmony repeated, with a smile. "I must remember that. I am played for a sucker, you are played for a sucker, he, she, it... will be played for a sucker."
"Now, where were we?" Glozier asked rhetorically. "Oh, yes. Killing you."
"You can't kill us," Altaira piped up, a panicked note in her voice.
"Yes, yes," Aziraphale agreed. "There'll be paperwork."
"Horrendous," Altaira agreed. "Terrible waste of time. A holdup." She was considering what else to say to buy time when a door suddenly slammed open. All of their attentions shifted to a dark figure who was gasping as he trotted rather stiffly towards them. Crowley! Was he here to help them? But after the argument they'd had...
"Sorry, consecrated ground," Crowley gasped, as Altaira nodded in understanding. "Oh! It's like being at the beach in bare feet." Huh. The last time he'd tried that, it had been more akin to bare feet on a heated griddle. Either he'd gotten more powerful, or this land wasn't as holy. Probably both.
" What are you doing here?" Aziraphale hissed distrustfully.
"Stopping you getting in trouble," Crowley replied, still dancing off the ground.
"I should have known," Aziraphale said derisively, misinterpreting his words. "Of course. These people are working for you." No, they weren't, or they wouldn't have looked so surprised at Crowley's presence.
"No," Crowley replied incredulously. "They're a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people."
He shifted his gaze to Altaira slowly. "I just... didn't want to see you two... embarrassed."
Something in her blossomed at that. Had he so easily forgiven them? Truly, it was her fortune to have befriended someone like him. How many situations had he bailed them out of already?
Glozier stepped up, breaking the moment. "Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you."
"Anthony?" Altaira repeated, shooting him a questioning look.
"You don't like it?"
"No, no, it... suits you," Altaira placated him.
"And I'll get used to it," Aziraphale added.
"The famous Mr. Crowley?" Glozier continued. He was making it to the top of her dislike list now. "That's such a pity you must all die."
"What... what does the 'J' stand for?" Altaira wondered, racking her brain for names starting with J. Jekyll? Jeremy? James? Come to think of it, why was he famous?
"I-It's just a 'J', really," Crowley shrugged, putting a stop to that as he glanced idly about. "Look at that!" he mumbled almost to himself, catching sight of something in the corner. "A whole fontful of holy water! It doesn't even have guards."
Altaira's eyes narrowed. So he hadn't given up on that, had he? Altaira was going to have him watched closely.
"Enough babbling. Kill them all." Glozier had evidently lost all patience with them.
"In about a minute," Crowley announced, "a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here. If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won't enjoy dying, definitely won't enjoy what comes after."
"You expect us to believe that?" Glozier scoffed. "The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.
"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 30 seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friends and I to survive it," Crowley said, giving the angels a pointed look.
"A real miracle?" Altaira repeated, even as Aziraphale nodded in understanding. It was rather nice of Crowley to warn the humans about this, though.
"Kill them." It was Harmony's turn to lose patience. "They are very irritating." Well, he was one to talk.
Whistling sounded, and Crowley pointed upwards as the Nazis looked up. The sound grew louder, and suddenly, their surroundings exploded.
The debris from the explosion settled on three disheveled but otherwise unharmed beings, turning them a powdery grey. Crowley tutted, waving a hand over them to clean them all up while taking off his glasses to wipe them.
"That was very kind of you," said Aziraphale.
"Shut up," Crowley drawled in a dismissive manner, seeming more concerned with putting his glasses back on.
Altaira agreed, though. It was very kind of Crowley to come save their gullible necks while getting his feet burnt, and after the row they'd had, too. It was very kind of Crowley to at least warn the humans about the diverted missile, even if he hadn't allotted much time for them to make a getaway, had they been so inclined.
Crowley studiously avoided looking at Altaira. He would eat his glasses if she wasn't looking at him with that thrice-accursed soft, melty look of admiration that got him every time. There was almost nothing he wouldn't do for that look, and consequently, he was trying to wean himself off it. Like a drug, indeed.
"Well, it was," Aziraphale insisted. "No paperwork, for a start."
Altaira sidled over to Crowley, hooking her arm around him and attempting to pull him into an improvised square dance. "He's too fond of us to let us die, eh? Crowley?" she teased, nudging him.
Crowley was glad that he was able to control the blush before it spread from his ears to his face. He was doubly glad that Aziraphale had chosen that moment to interrupt.
"Oh, the books!" Aziraphale cried, dismayed. "Oh, I forgot the books!"
Altaira's expression changed to one of horror, matching the angel's. She knew just how important they were to her friend. "O-oh, they'll all be blo- Um..." she paused at Aziraphale's stricken face. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think about them... I... Maybe we could..."
Crowley sauntered over to where a hand stuck up from the rubble. He bent down, yanking a leather case out of its death grip and holding it out to them.
"Little demonic miracle of my own," he said, sauntering away, but not before he caught sight of Altaira's Look again. It was, if that was even possible, twice as soppy. He sighed, trying to ignore that addictive, warm feeling blooming in his chest. He just couldn't help himself, could he?
"Lift home?"