Three - Reunion
Crowley was pacing up and down his villa, hissing and swearing like a madman.
He desperately wanted to jump into his car, get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. He could turn it into a spacecraft. He could be on Alpha Centauri in a blink. Nothing had changed. He could go. Now.
But what if they found him there?
He'd thought he'd cheated his way out of punishment. The sense of freedom after his and Aziraphale's little double trick had been intoxicating. Literally. He'd let himself go, with all the results that had brought.
But he wasn't free. He would never be free from Hell (or Aziraphale from Heaven. It seemed Aziraphale had realised that earlier than he). Crowley could have known Hell wouldn't leave it at this. But never in six thousand years could he have predicted that they would come up with something like this.
We will Strip you.
Crowley shuddered.
Or he could agree to Astaroth's proposal. Become a Duke of Hell. It mightn't be too bad, he'd have a high position, some measure of freedom to do as he pleased... and some authority. Some power to place against Aziraphale's sudden elevation. Make them equals again.
It would also hijack any hopes Aziraphale might still have about raking him into the ranks of Heaven. A lowly renegade demon, they might rehabilitate. A Duke of Hell, never.
That would certainly change the game. He felt a slight thrill at that thought, which was more than he'd felt in three weeks.
'Maybe I'll do it,' he said out loud. 'Hm? Maybe I'll become a Duke. What would you think of that?'
'I think you're being very dramatic,' said a croaking voice.
Crowley whirled around.
In the door frame stood a woman. At least, Crowley guessed it was a woman, since she was wearing a dark green niqab in the local fashion, which hid everything but her eyes. From the voice, it was impossible to tell. Beyond a certain age, the voices of human men and women tended to become indistinguishable, and this person had certainly reached that age.
'Who are you?' he asked when he had recovered himself.
'Call me Gee.' Not a common name around here, but her dialect of Arabic clearly marked her out as a local.
'Hello, Gee. Sorry, this is not a great time. I suggest you...' He trailed off when she walked into the room. She was short, only a little over five feet. Old eyes twinkled behind a pair of spectacles. They were half-hidden under sagging eyelids, but he could still see that one eye was brown, and the other blue. 'What are you doing here exactly?' he asked.
'This place is mine,' she said matter-of-factly.
Crowley frowned. 'No, I'm pretty sure it is mine,' he said slowly.
Her eyes smiled and she waved dismissively, before sitting down on the coffee table. 'So, what is it that you're muttering about, exactly?'
Crowley stared at her, completely taken aback. His first instinct was to tell her to get out and leave him to despair in peace. But Hell, he needed someone to talk to (and talk back to him – the ceiling didn't count). An elderly human woman in the middle of the desert was as good as anyone. It was not like she was going to gossip to the neighbours.
'Since you ask, I've been offered a choice between becoming a senior officer in literal, actual Hell, and I do also mean that figuratively, or being Stripped of all my powers and being condemned to a finite existence in which I cannot even drive my car much above the speed limit.' Followed, he realised now, by an eternity in Hell after all. Or Heaven, on the slim chance he could become a saint, or fake it convincingly. Not that it mattered. He didn't want either.
Gee raised an eyebrow. 'And your main worry is... driving your car above the speed limit?'
Crowley sighed. 'The speed limit is a metaphor.'
She chuckled. 'Right. So who were you asking about their thoughts on the matter, just now?'
Crowley began several different answers, but ultimately he just said: 'No one.'
Gee's eyes crinkled in an amused smirk. 'You're lying.'
'I'm a d–'
Crowley's phone rang.
He fished it from his pocket. For a moment he feared it would be Astaroth, telling him he had changed his mind and Crowley's time was up. But it wasn't.
He'd changed the contact, of course. It now simply said Bookshop. The picture was that of a book, though the title changed every time Bookshop called him.
He looked to Gee. 'I better take this, would you mind...?'
She had gotten up. 'Of course, I'll leave you to it.'
She left the room, and Crowley pressed the green button.
'Hello, Muriel, what is it this time? There should be another chocolate stash hidden in the third drawer of the big desk in the study. I recommend you read 1984 next, it should be under the O for Orwell. The bigger heptagonal coins are worth fifty pence. Any other questions?'
There was a moment's silence on the other side. Then, in a familiar voice filled with indignation: 'Have you been telling her where I hide my chocolate?'
Crowley's heart made a somersault. For a brief moment all manner of emotions came rushing up through his throat – he felt like crying and laughing and screaming at the same time. Then he clenched his jaws and composed himself. He managed to sound reasonably nonchalant when he said: 'Oh, it's you.'
'Listen, Crowley, I –'
'Oh, no. We're not doing this,' Crowley said loudly into the phone.
A sigh. 'Please, I just –'
'No.' He pressed the red button, and Aziraphale fell away.
Crowley sank onto the couch, breathing raggedly. He put the phone down on the coffee table, for fear of dropping it, so much did his hands shake.
He was already regretting it. What had Aziraphale wanted to say? Not that Crowley was going to let him back into his heart. Not way. But it would be satisfying to watch him grovel – he was going to have to do a four-hour choreographed apology ballet – he wanted Aziraphale to beg him for forgiveness before he realised he was too late...
But no, he'd done the right thing in hanging up. They were over. Over and done. No need to drag it out.
Crowley took a shuddering breath.
Right, that decision was made, then. Alpha Centauri it would be. He sprung to his feet and began to put his plants into boxes again.
'Problem solved, Gee!' he called. 'I'm going. You can keep the house. Better forget everything I said.' He threw a little miracle over his shoulder to make sure she would. There was no answer, but he was not going to waste time looking for her. She'd be all right.
He put the plants in the Bentley, slung himself behind the wheel and started the motor. He hit the gas and drove out of the house.
A figure appeared front of the door frame.
Crowley jammed on the brakes. He surged forward and hit his head on the front window. He saw stars.
When his vision cleared again, he saw no one standing in front of the car. 'Oh, no,' he muttered. He got out of the car, slammed the door shut and walked to the front, fully expecting a body on the floor.
But there was none.
Crowley frowned. He'd hit his head, maybe he was seeing things –
'Oh, dear. Are you all right?' said a voice behind him. 'I thought it would be better to materialise in front of the door rather than inside. I didn't want to scare you.'
Crowley gritted his teeth. 'Oh, didn't you?' he grated.
'I'm sorry...'
Crowley slowly turned around. 'Are you now?'
Aziraphale stood beside the car, looking thoroughly shamed. 'I am. Really.' His eyes shot to Crowley's forehead. 'You're bleeding...'
'Bugger off,' Crowley said.
'Crowley...' Aziraphale said, then fell silent. He bit his lip and looked down.
The silence endured.
At length it was Aziraphale who spoke. 'Could I have a glass of something? Teleportation makes one so very thirsty.'
'Oh, does it now?' Crowley said acidly. 'I wouldn't know. I've never been such a bigwig that I've been able to teleport.'
But after a moment he jerked his head towards the house. 'One glass. Of sparkling water. That's all you get, then you're out of here.'
.
Aziraphale drank three-quarters of the glass in one gulp and then put it down. Crowley gave the almost-but-not-quite empty glass a glare, then transferred it to Aziraphale. 'So, what brings you here? Come to grovel?'
Aziraphale let out a giant belch. He put a hand in front of his mouth. 'Excuse me.'
'Not good enough,' Crowley said.
Aziraphale gave him a look. Crowley returned it.
After a moment, Aziraphale shook his head. 'Look, Crowley, it's going horribly wrong. They are planning the Second Coming of Christ, and it will result in the utter destruction of billions of humans!'
Crowley kept his face straight. 'So?'
'Well, He can't Come Again. He has to be stopped.'
In spite of everything, Crowley felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Going against the Divine Plan after only three weeks in office? Typical. Amazing.
He bit down on the smile. He'd made the mistake of thinking that before.
He yawned profusely. 'Well, stop Him then. You're Supreme Archangel.'
Aziraphale threw his hands into the air. 'I can't just... do it on my own, I – please, Crowley, I need your help.'
Crowley pointedly looked away. It was silent. He pointed at Aziraphale's glass. 'Your sparkling water is losing its sparkle.' Drink it and be gone, he meant.
Aziraphale didn't pick up the hint. 'I wouldn't have come to you, only Gabriel and Beelzebub refused and –'
'You went to Gabriel and Beelzebub!?' Crowley spluttered.
'Yes, well, to no avail. They are really quite aloof. They didn't seem to care at all.'
'They're Gabriel and Beelzebub. What were you thinking?' Crowley hissed.
'I was thinking about everyone who would be destroyed with the Second Coming! That would include you, Crowley!' Aziraphale said hotly.
The silence stretched itself out.
'All right, I'll help,' Crowley said. Aziraphale's eyes already lit up, but Crowley raised a finger and pointed it at him. 'On one condition. You came to me this time. I only agree because I don't like the thought of that Second Coming, so you will not back out halfway muttering about the Good Side or any of that nonsense. You're in or out.'
Aziraphale looked down, but then pressed his lips and nodded firmly. 'I promise.'
'And we're not friends. It's pure business.'
'I understand,' Aziraphale said dutifully. 'Thank you.' He raised his eyes to Crowley again. They were shining once more. Crowley made himself look into them, decidedly ignoring the annoying spark of joy rising in his own chest. He better get used to it. The sooner he could make himself feel nothing when Aziraphale was near, the better.
'Well, excellent then.' Aziraphale smiled and drained his glass of not-very-sparkling-anymore water. 'Let's make a plan.'
'Yes,' Crowley drawled. 'Let's.'
One thing, at least, he could be proud of: Aziraphale hadn't caught his lie. Crowley's agreeing to help had nothing to do with the imminent destruction of billions of people. Nor with the thought of working with Aziraphale again. Not even with the faint, stupid glimmer of hope that there might be something to be restored.
It was because of the thrill of adventure that coursed through him the moment he'd said yes. Crowley had only three days left to fuck with the plans of Heaven and Hell, and he was going to make very good use of them.