My deepest, sincerest, and humblest apologies for abandoning this with such…abandon. I really did intend to finish it up within a week of posting the previous chapter, but I didn't.

In any case, here is the end. The actual end. It's just a short chapter, but to those who made lovely comments, those who have stoically endured the long periods of non-updates, and those who even just read one chapter and didn't think it complete rubbish, I hope you like it.

Herein, you will find: the reason why Crowley phoned Chalmers in the first place! Cheeky references to items of pop culture! Footnotes! And of course, everyone's favorite heroes, the Demon Crowley, the Angel Aziraphale, the Expert in the Occult Giles, the Con Man Chalmers, the Private Eye Laura, and the Vastly Superior to Everyone but Ever-Underappreciated Murphy.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I associated with any of the genius behind Good Omens, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Remington Steele. But I'd like to go to St. James Park one day.

A few days after the possession incident….

The ducks at St. James' Park paddled expectantly over to the two men standing by the pond. They were both fairly tall, one younger-looking and slightly darker than the other and wearing a black overcoat as opposed to the latter's brown tweed. They'd been strolling the park for quite some time, discussing things that any listener-on would probably have noted down and posted to a website, if it hadn't been 1996 at the time. They would have had some quite fantastical quotes.

At the moment, however, the pair had fallen silent for a bit, merely gazing at the ducks.

The man in black tossed a crust to the ducks. "So now we know the whole story," he said.

"Hardly," answered the other.

"Well, enough of the story."

"Hm."

"All right, let's put it this way," Chalmers was a bit exasperated: "I've been singed, beaten, shot at, hunted down by other-worldly beings, berated by my superior, possessed, exorcised, and, in short, scared entirely out of my wits all in the past fortnight, not to mention having stared into the depths of hell itself, and, frankly? Four of those activities are things I am not accustomed to encountering and hope I never shall again, so if there is anything more to the story, I would very much prefer not to know, thank you very much."

Giles smiled to himself. (1)

"Anyhow," Chalmers continued, "can I count on you?"

"In a word? Indubitably."

They shook hands and threw the rest of their bread to the impatient ducks.

"Excellent," said Chalmers, in his deepest deal-making voice. "Just make sure he's at the Ritz for Tea."

They were the picture of autumn. Oatmeal-colored and mild-mannered, Aziraphale and Giles strolled through London looking for a place to eat, conversing thoughtfully about intellectual things, supernatural things, lots of things. Aziraphale had been out of sorts ever since the demon-possession incident. Crowley hadn't come by or called, and to be honest, Giles didn't know what good it would have done. The angel seemed to be in a funk at this point, and the occultist doubted that even Aziraphale knew what his own problem was(2). But there was now a Plan. If the Plan failed….But no, they had to stick to the Plan.

"We have to stick to the Plan!"

"But what if he doesn't show up?!" Crowley was a little nervous.

"He will! I've put that Giles chap on it!"

"Oh well then, in that case…."

"Are you being sarcastic with me?" Chalmers was never quite sure with Crowley.

"Not at all."

Chalmers grabbed the demon by the arm. "Come on; we're going to be late. Don't forget the champagne…."

For the duration of the walk, Giles had been stealthily steering their path down strategic avenues, designing to end up in a specific location without arousing the suspicion of the angel. He knew his labours had paid off when he saw the glowing walls of the Ritz Hotel towering before them.

"Oh look," he mentioned casually, "that might suit."

Aziraphale looked up and sank(3) further into his funk. "Oh. Well, my dear, now, don't take this the wrong way, but isn't it a bit out of your price range?"

Giles shrugged in the most cavalier way he knew, said, "Oh, just a spot of tea, you know?" and held the door open for his friend.

Reluctantly, Aziraphale stepped through the ornate doorway and was instantly surprised at the interior.

The place was empty and decorated with streamers and balloons. In the center was a banner inscribed with "Six Thousand Years," and underneath the banner was Anthony J. Crowley, dressed in a suit and beaming(4).

"What—" Aziraphale's words failed him.

Crowley advanced towards him, through the sparkling tables and down the elegant steps. "So," he said. "This is what it was all about. Chalmers and everything." His smile faded a little. "I'm sorry that I… that you—misunderstanding….I—" Crowley exhaled. "Six thousand years with the same person is a pretty good run, I'd say, even for enemies. For friends, even more so." He held out his hand. "I look forward to another six thousand years, angel."

The angel in question was shaken to his heavenly core. Tsunamis of emotion kept slamming over him—confusion, then relief, gratitude; the guilt had been a particularly strong wave. Now he felt himself overcome with the kind of sappy joy matched only by the tone of the final scene of It's a Wonderful Life. He looked at Crowley's hand, offered with the hope of being shaken, and lunged past it, gripping the demon in an angel-bear hug.

"Oof!" Crowley staggered and chafed awkwardly, then smiled(5) and said, "Happy anniversary."

In the center of the room, the demon and angel sat jubilantly toasting each other, themselves, and the past several millennia, while the exhausted and still somewhat bewildered supporting cast sat on the fringes, helping themselves to food and alcohol. Everything(6) had been explained to Murphy and Laura, who were still bandaged and bruised from the demonic abduction, but they had decided to ignore the details for the time being and enjoy the expensive champagne. Murphy was also deciding to ignore Chalmers(7), and Laura was still peeved at him for the whole ordeal, and so the two former colleagues got reacquainted while Chalmers was shunted off to a table by himself. He fell into a chair and poured himself some champagne.

Giles sank exhaustedly into the other chair. Chalmers tipped him a glass as well.

"Cheers." They clinked glasses as two men acknowledging that their mutual friends are more than a bit odd. Aziraphale had just burst out with, "Remember that time when Bill Shakespeare thought the Globe was being invaded by aliens?"(8)

Giles tasted the champagne and had to ask, "Moet et Chandon?"

Chalmers barely hid his delight, "Actually, it's pronounced Mo-ett. You see, Möet was born in France, but the name is Dutch..." and subsequently launched into a detailed history of the champagne, to which Giles listened with varying interest.

1. He wouldn't have smiled if he'd known what was in store for him over the next seven years

2. In point of fact, he had forgotten, but he knew the reason had been a good one when he'd thought of it.

3. If possible

4. He was more relieved that Aziraphale had shown up than he would ever admit.

5. Still awkwardly

6. Or whatever...

7. Why stop now? He'd had a good ten years of practice.

8. And here's where Doctor Who finally made its way into this crossover fest.