I do not own Good Omens.

I love it. So much.

The Man Who Fell

The Very Best

"What is this?!"

No, not that hand thing.

Not that.

Not yet.

"Where are we?!"

They're standing on a sidewalk at night, city lights and city people here and there and everything.

Cars and buses and humans afoot, all around.

"Uh, don't know exactly. About nineteen-sixty something."

Rock and jive music is blaring, it's the sixties club scene and it is rockin', as the Americans would say.

"How did we get here? What is going on?"

Crowley has miracled them back to the moment, the very moment he realized there was something whispering to him he really wasn't prepared to hear.

"Look, I know it sounds weird-"

And the feathered-haired angel next to him is positively indignant.

"Weird?! It sounds quite a bit more than that-"

And if Crowley the Demon doesn't get his angel to pay attention, remember, he may never be his angel again.

"Listen, it's one of those It's a Wonderful Life things."

If he ever really truly could have been.

Alphi Centuri, one little jaunt was all we needed-

"Only, not like that at all-"

They're going to miss it and if they do, all his energies will have gone for nothing and he'll have to give it another go-

"Watch! This is the moment-"

And Crowley the Demon directs the bewildered, alarmed, amnesiac bookshop owner angel to the black car stopped on the corner.

Their car.

"Is that a Bentley, oh, that's a classic-"

"No, it's not the car, it's what's going on in the car!"

Rarely before has he ever so completely dismissed praise/interest/notice of his beloved car but-

"My dear man, I am not a voyeur-"

"What? Shut up, no it's us, you idiot-"

And they watch as the 1967-Aziraphale carefully hands over an cylindrical aluminum container to a long haired-

Not my best look-

-1967 Crowley-

But it was the sixties.

-and-

"What is that? Are they drinking alcohol?"

And his impatience boils over again.

"Wot? No, it was holy water!"

". . . the holiest."

And he forces himself to calm down.

"I had begged you for help, for insurance, against getting caught working with an angel."

Speaks low and quiet.

"You refused, thought I was plannin' on offin' myself, we had a fight and you left. We didn't see each other again for almost a hundred years but . . . but then, here . . ."

He can see them talking, himself and Aziraphale, he can remember exactly what was said . . .

". . . the holiest."

. . . and exactly what it had meant to him.

"You gave me what I asked for, more than what I asked for. You went against everything you had been created to do, risked more than I realized at the time . . . and you helped me."

The man next to him is silent.

"You gave me the very best you had to offer. You didn't have to do that. Some bargain-bin barely blessed would have sufficed. But you didn't. You gave me the best."

Crowley the Demon feels oddly choked up.

"I still don't know where you got it. And you wouldn't even allow me to say thank you."

". . . too fast for me, Crowley."

"Or let me drop you off somewhere."

It matters to him.

It matters a great deal.

Especially knowing now what he didn't know then, how harshly they would have dealt with his friend, what they might have done to him for, what was it-

". . . fraternizing-"

-that they might have tossed him into hellfire like they tried to do years later.

"What is this, what did you do to me?"

But it's not working-

"Was there something in my tea?"

-the angel still doesn't remember-

"Wot- no-I - you're the one who made it!"

-and so he does the thing with his hands again.

"GrrrrRRAAHHH!"

It's a blink and there they are.

Rome. 41 A.D.

A crowded, smelly inn.

He hadn't realized at the time how grimy and dim everything had really been in those places.

Millenia later with the advent of electric light and disinfectant cleaner, it was much easier to keep a tidy, non-disease-infested place.

It was one of his favorite things about the twentieth century.

Creature comforts.

Rome had been a very low point for him, not that he'd ever told anyone about it.

The crucifixion of the man from Bethlehem had really affected him.

". . . kind to each other."

"That'll do it."

He had begun doubting the possibility of the human race.

Not unto dissolution such as Aziraphale's tetchy God had once done but . . .

Bloody humans.

Bloody Caligula.

And he had been meant to go up and further the cause, whisper a few new brutal bizarre thoughts into the lunatic ruler's head but . . .

". . . Cluvius Rufus, what do you think, hmmm?"

. . . had opted instead to whisper into the ears of a certain Roman senator.

"Ten, twenty?"

Who had taken suggestion a little too far.

Thirty stabs? Bloody hell. Isn't that what they gave Julius?

And then, temptation accomplished, had decided to go have a drink.

Work had been Hell lately, he had been thinking of going to sleep awhile and waking up in a hundred years or so to see if the human race had gone for their better selves, Satan forbid.

Had just about made up his weary, discontent serpentine mind to do it when . . .

". . . -ncy running into you here."

Aziraphale the angel had shown up and . . .

"Still a demon, then?"

. . . stuck his foot directly in it.

Crowley hadn't really felt like talking just then.

". . . an aardvark?!"

Bloody angel.

". . . Rome long?"

Not if I can possibly help it.

Especially with someone so blatantly . . .

". . . Petronius' new restaurant."

. . . shallow and self-centered.

Aren't you supposed to be busy thwarting or something?

It's as if you don't even care in winning.

'Acourse I suppose if the plan's ineffable, there's no point in really pushing for the gold then, is there?

". . . things with oysters."

Those slimy things in shells?

"I've never eaten an oyster."

How's it compared to say, an ox rib, then?

"Well, let me tempt you-"

Sorry, what was that again?

"-your job, isn't it-"

Yeah. Top marks.

But it had been something to do.

And with the angel footing the bill . . .

". . . my, how absolutely divine - I mean-"

. . . it had been an amusing way to pass a few hours.

And . . .

"- do this again, sometime."

"Sure, angel. If you like."

"Well, I, uh,-"

. . . watch another fellow eternal . . .

"Relax, angel. I'm not going to sully your halo."

. . . saunter vaguely . . .

"Well, what a thing to say, I-"

. . . downward.

And so with all that in mind . . .

". . . place?! One of those interactive theater experiences?"

"Oh my god, you leave the bookshop less now than you did then, angel!"

"Stop calling me that! And tell me how you are doing this? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm doing this because . . . look at them, look at us!"

He points, invisible as they are to the people in the realm they've dipped into, they can see themselves perfectly.

"Don't you see us, angel? Us there? We've always found each other, right across the ages! We've always reached out to each other! Always found each other! I'm trying to find you now! Help you find yourelf!"

And his confused companion's countenance crumples, overwhelmed with thoughts 'human' brains aren't supposed to manage, Crowley's pushing him too far and it's not even working.

"No, I don't! That can't be us, we're here, not there, it's some sort of . . . some sort of magic!"

Crowley the Demon grits his teeth, growls in his throat.

"Magic?! I'll show you magic! GrrrrRRAAHHH!"

I made up the Caligulia part because he was offed in 41 AD and well, why not?

Thanks to AdmiralCheese, Trudy A-M, Bunny's Daughter, CamiluLupin, gothicmetal, and mlle02000 for adding your support to this story. That's awesome!

:)