Happy Holidays, Tio-trile!

[goe_mod]

Author’s notes:

Happy New Year, Tio-trile! I wish you the best for 2018 and hope you’ll enjoy this fic based on your prompt "book characters reacting to the TV show news".

It was inspiring, which means I gave my devoted beta a lot of work. She did an amazing job, as always, and I thank her for her time and her clever suggestions. I couldn’t have done this without her help.

Foreword: For the sake of surprising our favourite angel and demon, let’s pretend the tv series does not adapt a preexisting book. And for the sake of self-indulgence… my fic, my casting (please, don’t hate me, David Tennant fans).

Limelight Revelations
(Watching the Good Omens TV series)

Synopsis: Aziraphale and Crowley find out a tv series had been made about them and the Almost-Apocalypse. Watching their own life on screen will shed a different light on some words and deeds, requiring the angel and the demon to bring up long-hidden feelings.
Plot keywords: friendship, fluff, declaration of love, philosophical discussion, humour, footnotes.
Cast: two idiots in love
Genre: romantic comedy
Parents guide: G

Note: The mods have divided this fic into 3 posts.


Chapter 1: Promo

“That film was awful,” said Crowley, pouring the remaining wine into their glasses.

“I’ve never seen so many historical inaccuracies in one place,” confirmed Aziraphale.

“And that habit of always casting white men for everything! They were supposed to be Egyptians!”

Aziraphale jumped at the chance to pontificate about the latest research on the genetic history of ancient Egyptians¹ and Crowley absent-mindedly listened to him, sipping his wine and half-eyeing the adverts following the movie, which included a promo for a forthcoming series.

[¹ He’d read it on the internet. In January 2006, he’d asked Crowley to teach him how to use it. But it wasn’t as funny as the demon had expected: by some miracle, the internet only showed Aziraphale interesting articles and rare books auctions. The moment the angel gazed at the computer screen, it was like silly memes, porn and pop-up ads with no close button had never existed.]

Crowley choked and almost spat out his wine, which made Aziraphale stop short.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Hush!” The demon grabbed the remote to turn up the volume.

“Don’t hush me and tell me what’s wr-“

Crowley insistently gestured toward the television screen, until Aziraphale looked too, speechless² and eyebrows raised.

[² A phenomenon almost as rare as a rain of fish.]

The promo ended and they incredulously stared at each other.

“What the hell…” started Crowley, breaking the silence.

“It must be a coincidence…”

“An angel and a demon who try to stop the Apocalypse!”

“Well, they could’ve imagined such a story.”

“With a bookseller angel? And a lost Antichrist? Coincidence, my arse!”

“But… how? Nobody remembers what happened… except…”

“Adam!” they exclaimed in unison.

Aziraphale frowned. “I can’t see why he’d…”

“We’ll find out later. For now, I need to see it again.” Crowley rewound the subsequent advert and the promo, letting Aziraphale baffled.

“You weren’t recording, were you?”

Crowley reran the promo and, focused on the screen, mumbled that he’d explain how it worked after checking something crucial.

“You’re right,” said Aziraphale after the second viewing. “It’s undoubtedly us.”

“Yesss!” Crowley triumphantly hissed at the same time.

“What?”

“The actor who plays my role. I wasn’t sure the first time but it’s him! It’s Riz Ahmed!”

“Is that… a good thing?”

“Angel, that guy played in Rogue One!” Aziraphale looked confused. “Star Wars!” The angel blinked twice. Crowley sighed. “Listen, he’s cool, okay.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale seemed to briefly consider the matter. “And the actor who plays my role, who is he? I’ve never seen him.”

“Richard Ayoade.” Crowley did his best to keep a straight face, because he’d thought of Aziraphale several times while binge-watching The IT Crowd.

“Is he… cool?” asked the angel, with the air of someone who’s far above such considerations.³

[³ And making “cool” sound as if there was a procession of quotation marks around the word, as was usual when he was borrowing what he used to call “a colloquial term from Crowley’s colorful idiom”.]

“Er… that’s not really the word I’d use.”

“He looks a little… weird.”

Well, Aziraphale was a little weird, especially for an angel, but that was one of his charms. Though that kind of thing was a lot easier to say when one knows they’re about to fight Satan and be saved from eternal embarrassment by their imminent annihilation. So Crowley remained silent.

“And he’s so slim,” resumed Aziraphale. “I guess they thought I… my character would look better that way.”

Crowley could recognise a hurt tone concealed under a seemingly detached comment when he heard one.⁴ Ah, maybe… maybe he could survive a bit of embarrassment after all.⁵

[⁴ He was familiar with this on a personal basis.
⁵ As if it was the first time.],

“Then they’re idiots, angel.”

Aziraphale gave him a surprised look. “You really think so?”

Since when did he care about Crowley’s opinion on his appearance? For sure, the demon wasn’t going to dig himself deeper by saying that his friend was perfect the way he was.⁶

[⁶ Because it wasn’t a demonic thing to say. (And absolutely not because Crowley suspected he wouldn’t be able to say it without blushing, even though it was silly because there was no reason to blush for saying to your friend he’s good-looking, but it didn’t matter anyway since a demon would definitely not say such things, so everything was perfectly fine, end of debate.)]

“Quit fishing for compliments, will you? We must learn more about it.”

“I’m not… Hmpf. I’ll contact Adam.”

“And I’ll search the Internet.”

“All right. It said it’ll be broadcast next week. Perhaps we can still prevent it.”

“What? Why would you want to do that?”

“Crowley! People cannot find out about what happened. They’d be upset and scared and-“

“They’ll just think it’s a fantasy. Nobody’s going to believe it’s a true story.”

“But what if that series attracts curious people into my bookshop?” whinged Aziraphale, looking really concerned this time.

“Surely it won’t be located that precisely and there are many bookshops in London. Anyway, I’m sure nothing will happen that you won’t be able to manage with just a bit more erratic open hours.”⁷

[⁷ Crowley had never paid close attention to Aziraphale’s bookshop open hours because it had always been open for him. Therefore, he couldn’t realise it was impossible to make them more erratic than they already were.]

He wasn’t sure he had convinced him, but the angel didn’t argue further and left, after they'd agreed to stay in touch.⁸ Crowley closed the door and leaned against it.

[⁸ Which wasn’t a great change: since the Almost-Apocalypse, they were rarely getting through a day without hanging out with each other or, at least, texting (with mixed results, because Aziraphale’s messages were so long that they often turned incomprehensible, while Crowley’s fanciful abbreviations and ambiguous emoticons had gotten the angel lost in translation more than once).]

“I’ll be as cool as James Bond,” he dreamily whispered to himself, a delighted smile across his face.


The next day


Online information about the series was oddly scarce. Crowley found no pictures or anecdotes from the shooting, but the rest of the casting was available. He blessed when he read it. The promo had said “a demon and an angel,” and he hadn’t thought their own names would be divulged. Aziraphale wasn’t going to like that, probably rightly. That could get them into trouble.

He scanned through the actors’ names. As a series and film fiend, he recognised almost all of them. The four horsemen were played by Natalie Dormer, Tom Hiddleston, Steven Yeun and Peter Serafinowicz. A little strange, for someone who knew them, but an interesting choice. Ruth Negga was Anathema and Matthew Lewis, Newt. It was quite fitting. The best part was Hugh Laurie playing Hastur, and Peter Dinklage, Ligur.⁹ There were other lesser-known British actors and actresses. The kids were obviously novice.

[⁹ The duke was short, but not that short. Not before he started crumpling due to the holy water, that is.]

He also learned that a certain Neil Gaiman had written the script – how that guy had known about them was a mystery.

Crowley was trying to hack into Adam’s bank account¹⁰ when Aziraphale phoned. “So what did Adam say?”

[¹⁰ He had stolen a letter from Adam’s bank the last time Aziraphale had insisted to “pay the boy a courtesy call”. Crowley had always been a bit of a kleptomaniac.]

“Hello, dear.” The mild rebuke was unmistakable. “He wasn’t there. But I met his neighbour. A lovely old lady who knows everyone in Tadfield. She had a delicious Earl Grey and-“

“Get to the point, angel. Where is he?”

Aziraphale huffed. “On holiday, and for a long time. Showing his children Earth, she said.”

Crowley smirked as Adam’s account history finally displayed. He skimmed it.

“No wonder with the tidy sum that Neil Gaiman paid him. Either Adam sold him ideas for the script, or he’s even Gaiman’s ghostwriter. I can’t believe he’s stepping on my toes. Television is my field.”

“Was, dear. He retired us.”

“Mmh. I see Adam also made a substantial donation to Greenpeace.”

“There’s at least something good from this whole affair. And I won’t ask how you’re in possession of such information.”

“Yeah, I’d rather you tell me why you sound less worried than you were yesterday.”

“He left us a note. The neighbour gave it to me.”

“Why didn’t you say that sooner?”

“I was about to when you cut me off. Rather rudely, I might add,” retorted Aziraphale petulantly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out!”

“He wrote…” started Aziraphale in a prim tone. He paused and Crowley knew he was unfolding the note to quote it exactly. “Hi, guys. I guess you’ll show up sooner or later. Don’t worry about the series. It’s all for the best, I swear. I think you’ll understand, at the end. And I promise no trouble will come from it.”

“Is that all?”

“There are two postscripts. The first one says, Don’t bother trying to contact me during my trip. I’ll be under the radar for several weeks. And the second, Zira, your shop will be ok. With a… winking emoticon,” said Aziraphale.¹¹

[¹¹ His tone made it clear that an emoticon in a handwritten note was absolutely inconceivable.]

“Do you trust him?”

“He said we wouldn’t be in trouble after the Almost-Apocalypse and he was right,” cautiously answered the angel.

“You've got a point.”

“Anyway, since it’s confirmed he’s behind it, I doubt we could foil it. So… I suppose we could just… do nothing?”¹²

[¹² They were incredibly good at it.]

“Right. Just enjoy the show.” Crowley was relieved. Nothing was getting between him and his future Coolness.¹³ “Erm… angel… you’ll watch it here with me, of course?”

[¹³ No, Additional Coolness. He was already cool. Of course. Right? Right.]

“Gladly, my dear.”

Crowley heard the smile in Aziraphale’s voice and couldn’t help grinning.


Chapter 2: Episode 1

“Ready, angel?”

Crowley was overexcited. He’d been talking nonstop about it for a week.

“As ready as I can be, I suppose.” Aziraphale sighed and sat down. He couldn’t get rid of a persistent foreboding, but he had kept quiet, so as not to ruin his friend’s enthusiasm.

Crowley was fidgety on the couch, but when the opening credits started, he leaned toward the television then stayed very still, sitting cross-legged and holding a cushion tight against him.

Eden was somewhat stereotyped, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but it felt a little weird to see it on screen anyway. Though it would have been worse if he'd had to watch his own buttocks¹ so he was grateful the angel was wearing a robe.²

[¹ Technically, Richard Ayoade’s, but still.
² He was less grateful about his very badly groomed wings, because it would only add grist to the mill for Crowley, who’d always made a big fuss about them. Checking out his own wings wasn’t easy but Aziraphale was pretty sure they weren’t such a mess.]

Crowley let out an ecstatic squeak. “Look at the Serpent! I’m gorgeous!”

“Of course, dear,” murmured Aziraphale. Crowley was always gorgeous, no matter his form.³

[³ Alright, maybe not the one with the maggots. And yet, Aziraphale found them less disgusting than ordinary maggots. (Not that he was officially allowed to think they were disgusting - creatures of God and all that.)]

“I still can’t believe you lied directly to God,” said the demon, with a hint of admiration in his voice.

Aziraphale made a noncommittal noise. Crowley nudged him. “Oh, please, don’t pretend you’re not proud as a peacock about it! You couldn’t help bragging in the Buggre Alle This Bible.”

The angel couldn’t hold back a smirk.

The series was now showing them through the centuries. Enemies, first.⁴ Then associates. Then friends. Sort of friends, Aziraphale had once overheard Crowley saying to a shared acquaintance who was surprised they knew each other. The angel had mentally crossed out the “sort of” that was most assuredly for show.

[⁴ They had never been very zealous in this, to be honest. Too tiring.]

He uncomfortably observed that Adam hadn’t lied when he’d said he knew all about them. For instance, he knew how Crowley had traded his idea for a helicopter – the demon was so smart – for Leonardo da Vinci’s sketch of the Mona Lisa. Nostradamus’ appearance – a true lookalike – brought back nice memories. Though Aziraphale’s smile froze when he saw Riz Ahmed hanging out with Shakespeare. A question had been lingering in the back of his mind for a long time, and it was the perfect opportunity to let it slip offhandedly.

“So, uh… you two were very close, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s smile was tinged with nostalgia. Aziraphale’s stomach cramped. Obviously, the second cream cake at tea time was a bad idea. The demon nodded his head toward the screen. “Just like you with Oscar, I guess.”

“We were close friends, but nothing more,” replied Aziraphale, more curtly than intended.

“That’s what I’m saying.” Ah? Aziraphale had always thought… Well, it was… good to know. To avoid any faux pas in conversation, that was all. “Why do you- Oh, fuck!” Crowley stared wide-eyed at Riz Ahmed in various 20th century clothing and stammered, “I never wore such ugly suits! And those haircuts! Ha! As if-“

“I’m sorry to disagree, dear boy, but I distinctly remember them.”⁵ Aziraphale felt better now that the cream cakes had ceased to torment him and he added mischievously, “I might have even kept some pictures somewhere.”⁶

[⁵ After his interminable nap, Crowley had been experimenting with a lot of unlikely fashion styles, until he gave up in the eighties. Everybody has a limit.
⁶ He actually knew exactly where they were stored.]

Crowley turned to him, mouth open, about to argue, but instead he just squinted and mumbled, “Okay. What do you want in exchange for them?”

“Oh, I’m afraid you couldn’t afford it. But I’ll think about it.”

The demon looked back at the television and observed wryly, “At least, one of us has changed his look since the fifties.”

“Only one of us had to,” replied Aziraphale, tongue-in-cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley’s attempt to glare at him being ruined by the chuckle the demon was unable to restrain.

Ah, Crowley’s laugh! Not his too high-pitched giggle that invariably revealed more than concealed his nervousness, but his genuine laugh when he was feeling good and comfortable. That one never failed to arouse a sweet warmth within Aziraphale’s chest.

“That’s a bunch of memories,” said Crowley softly.

Aziraphale caught his fond glance. He cherished that his friend had ceased to wear his sunglasses when they were alone together, as Crowley’s beautiful eyes always expressed what he was reluctant to say.

Not that Aziraphale was very effusive himself. In his opinion, 6000 years together exempted one from saying obvious things out loud. But he could, for once.

“Thank you, dear.” Not so obvious, by Crowley’s disconcerted look. “For always being around,” clarified Aziraphale. The demon’s furtive surprised and delighted smile took him aback. All right, he wasn’t as eager for company as Crowley, but he could hardly imagine his life on Earth without him and he’d thought his friend knew it.

“Likewise,” replied Crowley with his eternally mock apathetic tone.

“They’ve set Adam’s birth in 2007,” pointed Aziraphale, to avoid dwelling on Crowley’s smile. “Oh, listen, Queen! I’m glad they – Dear? Are you crying?”

“M’not.” Crowley furtively wiped a tear. Oh, surely, the poor boy was emotional because of Aziraphale’s token of affection. Aw, it was so… Hang on. No. Crowley was actually lovingly watching the (other) Bentley like a parent would be gazing at their child during their first school play. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know if he had to feel relieved or offended that Crowley’s emotion had nothing to do with what he’d said.⁷

[⁷ Let’s say he was 30% relieved and 70% offended.]

Hastur and Ligur’s appearance brought Aziraphale’s attention back to the screen. “Do they really look so funny?”⁸

[⁸ He should have used a past tense about Ligur, who presumably looked now like nothing but a handful of mashed slugs (and certainly not a funny one) on the old carpet Crowley had sent God knows where. But Aziraphale had always had trouble reminding himself that Crowley had once killed someone for real.]

“No. In real life, they look like assholes.⁹ You have no idea what’s like to work with such jerks.”

[⁹ As for Crowley, he didn’t like to remember that incident.]

“Don’t even get me started on Gabriel.”

“And them!” Crowley accusingly gestured toward the television as the nuns misplaced the Antichrist a few minutes later. “Must I do everything myself?”

“Aren’t you the one who invented subcontracting? As I always say, evil contains the seeds of its own-“

“I know the adage, thank you very much. And I reiterate: mere incompetence.”

“It was for the best anyway. Incompetence – if you insist – saved the world.”

“You should have that printed on a t-shirt.”

“Oh, look! The third baby! We’ve always wondered if they…”

Crowley looked like it had taken a load off his mind. “The Johnsons… Does that ring any bells?” Aziraphale shook his head. The flames from the burning convent illuminated Hastur’s satisfied smile.¹⁰ “Told you it was him! What an idiot.”

[¹⁰ If Crowley had a tendency towards pilfering, pyromania was unquestionably Hastur’s thing. Everyone has their little hobby.]

Anathema’s childhood was interesting.¹¹ And, as a child, Newton was… Newton, only smaller. They were cute. At least, Aziraphale wanted to think “cute” but “weird” won the battle. Weirder than the average child, that is.¹² Although he felt affinity with Anathema, who had a proper vocabulary and her nose always in The Book.

[¹¹ Mostly because Aziraphale could learn more about The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and about Agnes Nutter, if he had to be honest with himself. Which he wasn’t very often.
¹² According to what he had read about children.]

And then, he saw the bookshop, where Riz Ahmed was trying to convince Richard Ayoade to disobey and counter the Divine Plan. It was like watching a half-accurate portrait of oneself. He could recognise some features – the dirty window and the narrowly-spaced bookshelves, bowed under the weight of countless books¹³ – but the whole representation gave a sense of incongruity.

[¹³ Figure of speech. There were exactly 58,497 books in the bookshop.]

He didn’t like the way their conversation was recounted, either.

First, they were both utterly ridiculous. Admittedly, they’d had a few glasses of wine and he couldn’t remember their discussion in detail but he certainly hadn’t said such nonsense.¹⁴ He was about to ask about Crowley’s memories but the demon looked as sceptical and ashamed as himself.

[¹⁴ A bird in a space ship? Really.]

Besides, his character looked like a dupe the demon had easily led around by the nose. That was not how it had happened. Only idiots don’t change their mind when confronted by relevant arguments. Implying it was by being manipulated was acting in bad faith.

And speaking of Crowley’s arguments! Aziraphale was depicted as a self-righteous angel who’d agreed to save the world only for his own interests – and frivolous reasons like sushi and snuffboxes, on top of that! Granted, they’d had a little part in his decision. But he had also, of course, had more noble motives. Like people and…pfff… a plethora of other altruistic reasons.¹⁵ As if Crowley was the only one genuinely concerned about Earth!

[¹⁵ He could perfectly provide them if he wasn’t distracted by this absurd series.]

No, really, he was shamefully and unfairly portrayed! And Crowley should have the good grace to look scandalised.

Surprise tempered his outrage when he noticed that, in the show, he and Crowley in person had applied to work for the Cultural Attaché. Ha! This proved him right: the script had taken liberties with the truth. Like they would do that themselves. They’d had more essential tasks to carry out.¹⁶ That’s what subordinates are for.

[¹⁶ Like reading for the 62nd time “The Importance of Being Earnest” while awaiting the next business meeting with one’s associate.]

Now Crowley huffed indignantly at the screen. “And why would you be the gardener, mmh? You can barely water a plant.”

“Because you’re better than I am with children.”¹⁷

[¹⁷ His angelic patience ran out amazingly fast when confronted to those little noisy creatures who put their dirty hands on everything – including books.]

It was a heartwarming scene, indeed. Aziraphale, his bitterness temporarily assuaged, found himself looking fondly at Crowley-the-nurse singing a lullaby to Warlock. They should have considered applying, in retrospect. Not to mention Crowley had always looked good in skirts.

It was only a short respite, though. Those scenes were interspersed with Adam growing up and playing with Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale, as if to underline how stupid he and Crowley were, busily taking care of the wrong child.

“Anyone would’ve made the same mistake,” growled Crowley, seemingly following the same train of thought.

Warlock’s eleventh birthday took the cake.¹⁸ Aziraphale couldn’t deny that his performance had been less successful than expected, but there was no need to make a fool of him like that. The angel gave a sideways glance to Crowley, expecting him to be snickering. It was even worse. The demon was sinking into the couch, carefully avoiding eye contact, a painfully embarrassed air across his face, obviously dying for the scene to be over. A shared feeling.

[¹⁸ Not literally, unlike Aziraphale’s face and coat that day.]

They could have highlighted how Aziraphale had saved Crowley from the bullet but no, no, instead they had chosen to show how oblivious the angel, covered with cream, had been to the dead dove, and how it was the demon who’d brought the bird back to life.

Fine. Crowley was going to be shown in the better light all through the series. Wonderful.


Chapter 3: Episode 2

Crowley had waited for the first episode like a child does for their Christmas present. But, once unwrapped, the gift had been slightly disappointing. Riz Ahmed hadn’t looked as cool as anticipated. And his outfits had been a dirty trick.¹ Though, it could have been far worse, he reminded himself as he opened the door to Aziraphale, who was already making a face. Balance is all well and good but Crowley would rather not be exposed in that way. How could he have let his enthusiasm for the series stifle his good old paranoia? The memory of the Antichrist reading his entire life history at first sight made him shudder. This time, it wasn’t a beribboned box he was expecting, but a potentially incriminating report card.

[¹ He was plotting something seriously demonic against the costume designer. Like sending them an angry email.]

The episode opened with the Them. How were Adam’s friends reacting to the programme? Had he forewarned them?

They were playing with Dog – the short-legged sausage that the fierce hellhound had become before their eyes last week.² Their joyful games contrasted with the menacing appearance of the Horsepersons, introduced one by one. One glance at Pollution was enough to feel the urge to take a shower. Famine looked a little more approachable,³ unlike War, who was positively spooky.⁴ They were all busy, born from human minds and doing more harm than Hell could ever do, waiting for their big scene.

[² The transformation was meant to be funny. It wasn’t, if you considered the extent of Adam’s power. And Crowley had been considering it very carefully since the first time his gaze had met Adam’s.
³ A thought Crowley kept for himself in front of Aziraphale, who wholeheartedly detested the businessman – as much as an angel is capable of such a feeling. Crowley had once asked why, and the angel had mumbled something about tricking with food. Crowley could swear he had added, “Some things are sacred”.
⁴ Crowley didn’t say things like “This feels spooky”, but he thought them.]

That was twenty solid minutes of show with no sight of Riz Ahmed or Richard Ayoade, and Crowley was torn between disappointment and relief.

They eventually appeared, on their way to search for the proper Antichrist, and Crowley immediately regretted it when Richard said, “There seems to be this great sense of love. I can't put it any better than that. Especially not to you.”

Crowley wasn’t exactly keen to remember how hard he’d tried to cling to the thought he had no heart when something had tightened in his chest. He’d hoped Aziraphale would have known him better. He’d been on the verge of saying that he could feel it too – like he could always feel Aziraphale’s love for God’s creation⁵ - when Anathema had hit the Bentley. A blessing, really. It had given him time to realise it would have been a mistake. He might as well get a tattoo proclaiming “I’m not a proper demon” on his forehead. And if he had to say it out loud for Aziraphale to know it, what was the point? Better to leave the angel indulging in his beloved clichés.

[⁵ Almost imperceptible when a customer crossed the doorstep of the bookshop, but still present.]

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley was scrutinising Aziraphale who frowned, squirmed on the couch and opened his mouth. Was he about to ask what Crowley had nearly said before the accident? Maybe now he could answer honestly. Who still cared if he was a proper demon? Why did he still pretend to conform to that role? Can’t sense a thing. Surely, Aziraphale wasn’t fooled by it anymore. Not after everything they’d been through together. I’ll have known, deep down inside… It was only an old habit. Their dynamic for so long. He could break it.

But it was comfortable. Reassuring. Their relationship was built on that routine.

Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t say anything and busied himself with a thorough inspection of his nails, sneering when Richard argued that tartan was stylish.

“Oh, I see. That’s why he’s been wearing tartan clothes from the beginning. As if I wear tartan every day! Really, one can’t make a trivial comment once without it leading to an undue generalisation!”

Crowley pointedly looked at Aziraphale’s tartan jumper.

“Sheer coincidence,” grumbled the angel, crossing his arms.

Geez, he was in a foul mood. Better walk on eggshells.

“And I wonder why Anathema thought we were a couple,” Aziraphale muttered at Ruth Negga’s amused remark after she’d been dropped off in front of Jasmine Cottage.

He sounded genuinely surprised. But everybody thought they were a couple. So he’d really never taken notice of the waiters’ whispers in restaurants? Crowley had just always assumed that, like him, Aziraphale wasn’t willing to broach the subject.

There was something hurtful in the way he’d said it, wasn’t there? Crowley replayed the sentence in his head. Yes. A “That is such a ludicrous idea” under his intonation. Pretty sure. One might not be interested, but it was still offensive. Angels’ sensitivity? Bullshit!

Great, now the angel’s bad mood had infected him.

Aziraphale’s “Tut tut” when Riz Ahmed changed the paint guns into real ones, and his smug air when Richard Ayoade admonished him not to let anybody be killed⁶ couldn’t have come at a worse time. Some eggshells were going to be trampled.

[⁶ Crowley had already made sure of that. He wasn’t a serial killer or something. Angels were unable to savour a good prank.]

“Remind me who wanted to kill a child, again?”

He shouldn’t have. It was a low blow. He didn’t dare glance at Aziraphale,⁷ who remained quiet. Pouting, probably.

[⁷ And he did well. If looks could kill, Aziraphale and Anathema could have competed for the “most lethal glare” award.]

They watched their interrogation of Sister Mary in tense silence. Crowley was unable to handle it. He was about to apologise when Richard’s nit-picking about occult and ethereal made him cringe. Maybe not, after all.

“We’ll be in touch then, shall we?” Richard Ayoade entered the bookshop with Anathema’s book. The door slammed in Riz Ahmed’s face.

“Wildly exaggerated!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “I wasn’t so-“ He abruptly cut himself off.

Riz Ahmed was a terrific actor. Even with his sunglasses, he succeeded in making the face of the saddest puppy in the world.⁸

[⁸ The kind they show you in TV spots to push you into adopting a dog that has been left on the roadside before summer holidays.]

The real Crowley barely refrained from whining. For some obscure reason, Adam had decided to publicly humiliate them, and now it was his turn.

“Poetic licence!” he grunted hastily. “I was fine. I had to take care of my plants anyway.” Was Aziraphale, staring at War unpacking a sword, even paying attention? “Tell me you…” don’t believe this, Crowley wanted to continue.

But the angel didn’t let him say another word and turned to him, exasperated. “I already told you it wasn’t mine.”

“I just…”

“Really, I’d have recognised it!”

“But…”

“There’s no but. It must… it was another flaming sword. Cherubims misplace them all the time.”
Aziraphale looked very uncomfortable. Crowley didn’t know if it was or wasn’t his sword, and he suspected his friend didn’t know either. He shrugged.

An “If you say so” almost passed his lips, but he’d been mean enough already⁹ and he’d rather avoid adding fuel to the fire.¹⁰ “I’m sure you’re right. It was another sword.”

[9 Plus he hadn’t been discorporated for a while and he didn’t miss it.
¹⁰ Whereas it was Hastur’s guilty pleasure.]

It wasn’t enough to soothe Aziraphale who left quickly and rather coldly after the closing credits. He walked through the hallway and took the lift without looking back. The demon sighed. How things could have gotten so messy?


The next few days, Aziraphale’s answers to Crowley’s texts took longer than usual and were atypically succinct. Maybe he just had his nose buried in a captivating book, but Crowley knew him well enough to suspect he was sulking. The demon should have phoned or gone to the bookshop so they could talk about it, he knew, but why did he have to make the first move? Aziraphale was being unfair. Obviously, he didn’t like the way he was being depicted in the series, but it wasn’t like Crowley had written the script, right?

Yeah, the angel was acting like a prick. Again. Especially not to you. Fuck, Crowley didn’t want to feel that way. He couldn’t really blame him. Angels were programmed to regard themselves as the Good Guys, untarnished and righteous, always on the straight and narrow, whilst demons were failures who had disappointed their Father and therefore had lost the ability to do Right and feel Love. Questioning the order of things was distressful to them. If they weren’t better than their fallen brothers, where was divine justice? Or were they slowly leading themselves astray, on the verge of falling as well? Nobody wants to see themself as a failure. Crowley knew that firsthand. And Aziraphale had always done his best to be more open-minded than his fellow angels, claiming there was a spark of goodness in Crowley¹¹ and offering him his friendship. Really, the demon could hardly ask for more.

[¹¹ If only he could just have not claimed it so loudly.]

Sure, Crowley, we could think of a solution to prevent the Apocalypse together. And even if we fail, we’ll have spent our last hours on Earth in each other’s company. But I’d rather read that book in peace so, if you don’t mind, go away. Have fun with your anxiety. Alone. Ah, that bloody series was bringing up too many things he didn’t want to remember!

The Internet could be a welcome distraction. Before he realised it was a bad idea, he was browsing forums about the TV series.

It must have been a joke. A troll. An isolated occurrence, at least. Several webpages later, he had to face the facts: admittedly, his character was popular but he was described as “a cinnamon roll”, “an adorable nerd”, even “a poor marshmallow”. People found him “cute”. Cute. Baby animals were cute. Demons were hot, sexy, dark. Frightening, if nothing else. Anything but cute. What was wrong with them? Weren’t they supposed to fear demons?

In contrast, Aziraphale’s performance at the birthday party was still a laughingstock and his behaviour toward the demon was harshly criticised. Crowley used multiple aliases to post fiery replies to the morons who’d had the audacity to call his angel a bastard – he was the only one entitled to do so.¹² Then he turned off his computer, for the sake of his self-esteem.¹³

[¹² And making a mess of forums was a proper demonic activity.
¹³ Thereby missing the posts declaring he and Aziraphale were probably married.]

He spent the rest of the week checking his phone. What was Aziraphale doing now? More than once, he’d put his coat on with the intention of heading to the bookshop. Each time, he’d eventually taken it off and sat on the couch, pondering the relevance of watching the next episode and, above all, assessing the probabilities he would have to watch it alone.

Next: Part Two!