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They were together on the sofa, comfortable in the new routine they quickly formed after the non-Apocalypse. Aziraphale sat with Crowley's feet on his lap, one hand holding the weekend paper and the other petting the demon’s hair. Crowley was doing who-knows-what on his mobile, alternating between playing and fomenting discord on Reddit.
The comfortable silence was disturbed from time to time when one or the other would share an interesting information (though the definition of what is considered important was different to each), or by birds chirping outside. All in all, it was a rather lovely day.
Aziraphale started to read out loud the news about a new exhibition that is about to be open at the British Museum, called "Secrets from the Past". That sparked Crowley's interest enough that he even moved his head from a mobile, an almost unprecedented event in these kinds of days.
"It all sounds rather fascinating, my dear. The exhibition will combine all sorts of secrets, from the natural world and humanity's past alike. There will even be new findings about dinosaurs, can you believe it?"
Crowley laughed, the kind of free and open laugh that Aziraphale longed to hear all those millennia. "They still hadn't figured out that joke?"
"There will also be parts about Archaeology, and findings from cultures around the world with a related theme. One display will be dedicated to the mystic and will feature paintings about that subject. I really hope we won't be there", Aziraphale looked accusingly at his partner.
"Well,", drooled Crowley, "it's not my fault you decided to stretch your wings near that human village in Mesopotamia, or you wanted to do skinny-dip in the sea just as the delegation of the artists from Anatolia were in the area."
"You were the one who invented picture flopping! Only God knows how many pictures of couples who wanted to immortalise their happiness were disturbed by your tendency to shove a strand of your hair into the frame. Even when you had short hair!" Aziraphale huffed in mock insolence, but there was no bite behind those words, and both knew it.
"Anyway," his eyes returned to the newspaper, and he continued reading, “another exhibition is A Letter for Later. It will include clay tablets from Mesopotamia, vellum from Wessex, and even a modern Palm Pilot that was found at Battersea Park full of unsent love letters. It will explore the theme of unrequited love over the development of humanity…." His eyes scanned quickly the rest of the article, and he hummed in satisfaction. "It will open two weeks from now, and apparently in high demand, so much that the article recommended buying tickets in advance. Would you like to go, my dear?"
A complicated series of emotions flickered on Crowley's face, but it was too fast even for Aziraphale to decypher. "It is sold out, I just checked, we can't go".
"When has that ever stopped us?" Aziraphale lowered the newspaper and made a gesture with his now free hand. "How convenient, a couple just got free tickets to a romantic holiday in the Seychelles Islands, so there will be a place for us after all. Or is there something else you would rather be?"
Crowley's face wore the unmistakable emotion of soppiness (even though he will deny it, and Aziraphale was too considerate to mention it) as he hurried to say "no, there is no other place in the world I would rather be, than with you".
Aziraphale relaxed, and resumed petting Crowley's hair, an action he stopped somewhere along the conversation, and now that he noticed, was only too happy (and so was Crowley) to resume it.
"All settled, then. Oh, this is going to interest you as well! Have you heard about…" Aziraphale started to talk about another article, failing to notice the fact that, surprisingly, Crowley hadn't touched his mobile once since the conversation started.
After a few moments, Aziraphale realised that Crowley was not answering him. "Is everything all right, my dear? You seem awfully quiet."
"Ngk. Yes, I'm good. Well, not good, you know what I mean. Anyway, I just remembered there is something I need to do, must run!" He nearly jumped from the sofa in his hasten to leave but stopped to turn back and kiss the angel on his cheek. "Love you, got to rush."
Aziraphale answered absent-mindedly "Mind how you go" and resumed reading his newspaper.
The demon left the bookshop in seconds, at a speed that Aziraphale had never seen before. Not even during that time in 1982, when he heard some noise outside and was concerned someone was trying to touch the Bentley*. "Well, that was a thing," he mumbled to himself, adjusting the blanket to cover his lap where Crowley's legs had been before, and resumed his reading.
* Someone did try to touch her, but it turned out the girl can hold on to herself. The man had petrol all over his clothes in a matter of seconds, despite the fact the car did not have any petrol in her.
It took him three articles and ten minutes to realise that this was the first time Crowley said he loved him, and that was their first kiss.
The demon, on the other hand, was too busy entertaining an existential crisis to notice such subtleties. How on Earth had the museum got access to those letters? He knew what was written in them, and who wrote them. And more importantly, who was never meant to read them. The whole world, obviously, but one angel in particular, the one who just miracled them tickets to the same museum two weeks from now.
---
"You want me to do what??" Newt was not a man used to showing his emotions, but now seemed like a good time for that kind of uncharacteristic display. If not when a demon asks for your help in breaking, entering and stealing from the British Museum, he thought brightly, then when?
Crowley seemed unbothered by this outburst. He was a demon, after all, and was used to all sorts of unpleasant behaviours in his surroundings. For him, a human who was merely shouting his disagreement and not expressing his displeasure with a pitchfork, or other demons not demonstrating their bad opinion of him, was a nice change. Besides, nothing could be compared to his embarrassment if he discorporated out of shame in the middle of the museum and would have to explain to Hell why he needs a new body. No, Newt's emotions were something he could handle single handedly.
Which, as a matter of fact, he did just now. One hand cradled comfortably a glass of whiskey**, while the other drew complicated figures in the air. At least, that was the intention, but Newt was too busy to truly appreciate Crowley's art of air drawing.
** Someone bless Anathema who had the wisdom to store good booze in her house, for just that kind of situation.
"I know you wanted to rob a bank. Oh yesss," Crowley hissed in a low voice, "I know a lot about you. All your desires, the things you wanted and never got a chance to do…"
"All of them?" asked Newt hurriedly, through a suddenly very dry lip.
"Well," admitted the demon, "only a few, because Anathema told me." Newt's face travelled between shame and betrayal, finally settling on relief, and Crowley hurried to finish his offer. "The point is, this is even better than robbing a bank. I have done it a few times, and it's not that interesting. Just different kinds of papers, and not even colourful. Museum, on the other hand…”
Newt’s breath hitched, and Crowley looked into his eyes, gaze scorching all the way to his soul. “Yes”, he whispered, “I see you have another desire…”
Anathema set quietly till then, but now she couldn’t stay silent anymore. “Newt, what is he talking about?”
“Go ahead, lizard boy. Tell her,” encouraged the demon.
“Well… You know how much I love computers…” Anathema nodded, well aware of her boyfriend's interest. “And you know that whenever I go near them they break.” She nodded again, not needing the reminder. That was how they met. “I always dreamt…” he stopped, but an encouraging nod from Crowley persuade to continue talking, “to visit the TNMOC.”
“The what?”
“The National Museum of Computing. It’s not too far away from here, and has the largest collection of working historic computers, but, you know…” he shrugged and pointed towards the new mobile that set on the table, not responding after he tried to change the notification sound.
“If you will come with me,” the demon filled the silence, “I will make sure that nothing will happen to the computers while you are there.”
“Really?” Newt’s face filled with hope.
“And you promise that nothing bad will happen to him during this… What are you planning, anyway?” Asked Anathema, more concerned for the safety of her boyfriend than for the computers.
Crowley, for the first time since he arrived uninvited to their house, seemed uncomfortable. "There is something very important to me that got there by accident, which I need back, as soon as possible. And you, with your unique skills, are the perfect person to help me."
"What unique skills? I know how to cook decent rice, how is that going to help to break into a museum?"
There was an opening there, and Crowley hurried to use it. "I'm sure Anathema appreciates that kind of skill," he said eloquently, "but I meant your other abilities. The one that involves computers."
"That's not a skill, I just told you I destroy them!"
"Exactly," Crowley smiled triumphantly. "Which makes you the perfect person to help me."
Newt was not sure if he understood that logic, but still, it was nice to know his so-called ability can be used for something good in everyday life, and not just when humanity is facing Armageddon***. "But", he was still not convinced, "you are a demon with a lot of power, I have seen you stop time. Why can't you do that instead of asking for my help?"
* Even if stealing something from a museum was not first on his list of things to consider as good.
"That is a very good question, Newt", Crowley said in a tone that he knew perfectly well from his childhood, used by teachers that were asked questions they did not know how to answer but also did not want to reveal it, "but the reasons are very complicated, and a human will not be able to understand them."
If anything, that only made him more curious. "What does that even mean?"
Crowley stared at the glass, as if hoping an answer would emerge from there. When the glass remained silent, much to Newt's great relief^ he sighed. "If you must know, using my powers will alert Aziraphale, and I don't want him to know about it."
^ He could have handled demons, but talking glasses was where he drew the limit.
"Are you making him a surprise? This is so nice…" His words were interrupted by a loud hiss, but he ignored it, "nice of you. Wooing is important, even for a couple who have been together for as long as you two."
Crowley spluttered, for a number of reasons. "I'm not nice, this is not wooing, and we are not together!"
Newt smiled, satisfied that he learned the real reason for this unusual request. "Whatever you say, Crowley. Yes, I will help you gladly. When are we going to do this?" He waited for an answer, but as this didn't come, he asked another question. "Do you even have a plan?"
"Of course I have a plan," answered Crowley with much more hit than was strictly necessary, which only helped to convince Newt that the demon, in fact, did not have a plan. "I just need a few hours to fo… fine tune it, that's all".
The demon left the house, and left Newt and Anathema to their dinner^^. As they talked more about the demonic offer, it seemed like some kind of joke. Crowley was a demon, after all, who knew what his idea of amusement was. Apart from an almost empty bottle of whiskey, and a very fancy bowl with some salad leftovers, nothing was left to prove that the meeting ever happened.
^^ Surprisingly, the rice stayed warm, and there was a vegetable salad on the table, even though neither of them made it.
Newt tried to convince himself it was for the best. True, while the apocalypse loomed, he felt regret for missing out some experiences in life, but he caught up on other experiences since then. Waking up with Anathema every morning, hearing the sound of the birds, living far away from London (and the crowded streets)… Those were even better than he ever imagined. Yes, some desires are better left unfulfilled, he managed to convince himself.
Anathema, on the other hand, was less convinced that it was a simple demonic joke. Crowley seemed far too stressed when he came to ask for Newt's help, and besides, as jokes go, she could think of quite a few that were far better. So, when Crowley showed up at their doorstep in the dead of the night, she was not surprised.
"Let's go," the demon wasted no time with small talk.
"Go where?" Newt had just made his preparations for the night, and wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Anathema, in the peace and quiet of their house.
"Rob a museum, obviously," snapped the demon.
Not a man to back off his promise, Newt grabbed his coat, kissed Anathema for good luck, and stepped into the dark night with the demon.
---
The drive was long and gave Newt some time to reconsider his decision. Being a man of his word was one thing, breaking into a museum with a demon was something else. As doubts started to build in, he tried to think of a polite way to call off the operation.
"Do we need special tools" seemed like a good question, so he led with that. Crowley barely glanced at him, mumbled something that sounded like "no", and continued to focus on the road.
"What is the size of the items you wish to steal? I have been working out lately, but I sprained my shoulder last week and can't carry too much weight."
"Don't worry, it's not heavy. The worst that can happen is you will get paper cuts."
Newt's interest ignited. "Are we stealing a book? Is that for Aziraphale? Anathema speculated it might be something for him, I had to know she is always right. Is it a rare book?”
Crowley let out a strangled voice and smoke started to come out from his nostrils, and at that point, Newt thought it was better to stop talking. After a few stressed moments, Crowley managed to calm down, at least to a point of not smoking himself, and turned to look at Newt^^^. "if you must know, it's letters."
^^^ The Bentley, much to Newt's horror, continued at the same speed. He wanted to ask about that as well, but decided, wisely, to let Crowley speak without interruptions.
"What's so special about those letters? Are they correspondence between two great philosophers, and Aziraphale wants to study them? That would make sense…"
Another strangled sound made Newt silent. "It is not correspondence. As a matter of fact, those are love letters that were not meant to be read, and definitely not publicly displayed."
"So how do you know about them?"
"Because I wrote them!" The demon shouted into the small space of the car, causing Newt to flinch. The car continued to drive much over the limit, and all of a sudden, the situation was not as amusing as when they discussed it in the kitchen.
Crowley must have noticed Newt's reaction, because he visibly tried to control himself. After a few long breaths his shoulders relaxed, and even the car drove a little bit slower~. "I'msrry. It's a delicate situation."
~ But still much above the limit. She had standards.
Hesitantly, Newt set a hand to the demon's shoulder, and pressed it lightly. Crowley seemed surprised, but hadn't moved the hand (or bite it), so Newt saw it as a good omen. "Are those letters you wrote to Aziraphale?" The demon nodded miserably, and Newt continued to enquire gently. "And it contains information that you do not wish him to know?" Another nod. "I understand." Crowley's head snapped towards Newt like a snake, but the human didn’t flinch.
"Trust me, you are not the only one who wrote embarrassing letters that somehow got into the wrong hands. When I was a kid, I was madly in love with a girl from the next class, and wrote her letters, but never had the courage to send it. One day my mum saw that, and thought they were cute, and read it to all her friends during their weekly brunch. One of her friends was the mother of the local bully, and…" Newt smiled bitterly. "It has not helped my social status at school, as you can imagine."
Crowley was shocked. He knew humans could be cruel, but that was too much, even for him.
“But”, Newt continued his story, “I met her by chance a few years after we finished school. We had a short conversation, and she told me all about her husband and her kids. She also told me, just before we parted ways, that she had a crush on me at that time, but was too embarrassed to approach me after the whole thing was discovered in such a way. If only I had sent her those letters…”
Newt turned silent, deep in thoughts about possible pasts and futures. But that would mean not meeting Anathema, not saving the world, not having the chance to do a museum robbery… He could feel Crowley’s gaze on him, and chose carefully his next words. “I don’t regret the way things turned out. It was just a school crush, not more than that. Somehow, I get the feeling that it is different for you and Aziraphale.”
The music suddenly started playing, in a volume that drowned any chance of a conversation, and stayed like that until they reached the museum.
---
It was the dead of the night when they arrived, the streets dark and quiet. The Bentley settled down on a street corner, somehow managing to block two parking spaces and a cross walking all at once. Crowley and Newt got out of the car and stood next to it, impressed by the magnitude of the building.
“What’s next? How do we do this?” asked Newt, waiting for Crowley to reveal his plan.
“Ngk. Plan, the big one, yes. We go in, grab what we need, and go out. Simple,” said the demon as he leaned on the Bentley. It was a masterclass in leaning, the exact combination between relaxed and threatening. Too bad there was no one there to appreciate it.
Newt nodded, and realised he will have to take initiative if he wants this night to end in something close to success, or at least progress into something more fruitful than staring at the building. “How do we get in?”
“Oh, getting in!” Crowley perked up immediately. “I had contacted a group of very sophisticated humans, who told me that there is a backdoor that will lead us straight to the exhibition.”
Well, thought Newt, that’s a good start. “And where is that door?”
Crowley liked questions, but mostly when he was the one asking them. Now he started to understand the cold shoulder he received for his questions, all that time ago. “It’s somewhere in the back, obviously,” Crowley answered cheerfully. “Probably should have asked for more specific instructions.”
They started circling the building, and finally found their destination. It was an unassuming grey door, like all the security doors in the buildings of the world. Crowley was rather proud of that development, claiming to Hell that boring architecture crushes human souls faster than any torturing device they can think of.
Like all the grey security grey doors around the world, it was closed. And, following the well-known pattern of security systems, it required a code to open the door.
Crowley stood in front of it and snapped his fingers confidently. Nothing happened. He snapped again, waving his hands more dramatically, but only managed to grab the attention of a bored pigeon who stood on a nearby telephone pole.
Newt looked at the code, and noticed it was similar to one he tried to build as a kid. If he remembered correctly, he needs to push that button, followed by this one… A sudden “blup” cracked the quiet street, followed by a flash of light so bright he was blinded for a moment. When his vision returned to him, he saw that the door was open, the lights were off in the streets (including the security cameras), and even the pigeon seemed mildly interested in them.
Before anyone bigger than a bird would pay attention to them, Crowley pushed Newt through the door, following closely on his heels, and closed the door behind them.
“Well, that was easy-peasy, right? All that is left is to find the exhibition, locate the letters, take them and get out without getting noticed.” Crowley smiled with just a bit too many teeth to Newt’s likening, and started walking confidently towards the second staircase.
“How do you know where it is?” Asked Newt as Crowley turned into a small corridor, bewildered and impressed with the way Crowley navigated in the big building.
The demon preened with satisfaction. “I helped to design the place. Well, maybe helped is too strong of a word, I mostly sat at the architect’s office and shuffled their designs, so all the floor plans got mixed up. It was a good time, but that’s a story for another night.”
Another night? Was Crowley planning to make a criminal out of him? He only wanted to get a taste of being an outlaw, not actually become one. Newt opened his mouth, about to protest against the future he envisioned for himself, when Crowley raised his hand in the signature move that everybody who saw too many action films recognises immediately. Newt froze in his place, straining his ears to hear what alerted the demon. After a few nervous moments, he heard the unmistakable sound of another person walking in their direction.
The steps were getting closer and closer, until Newt saw the person that approached them. It was one of the security guides. Usually, they stayed in the control room, listening to the radio, playing cards or entertaining themselves in the ways that all security guards around the world do. Tonight, though, one guard was sent to investigate the reason for the power outage, and, by sheer luck, managed to find the two who were the reason behind it.
Newt looked around him, in a vain search for a weapon. They were in the Medieval Europe room, and the gallery was full of ancient looking pots. They were pretty, he had to admit, but not very practical during a fight. And even if they were, say, in the sword section, it wasn’t like he was about to pick one and slash his way out. It was more likely he would cut himself along the way, and that would be highly counterproductive.
Too busy with a spiralling panic attack, Newt hadn’t noticed what Crowley did. A loud noise shook him from his thoughts, and when he looked towards the source of that noise, he saw that the guard fell on the floor, conveniently on a big cushion that, if he remembered correctly, had not been there before the guard had arrived. Newt approached him carefully, looking for life signs, and relaxed after hearing a loud snore.
With no desire to investigate how that happened, or what powers exactly the demon possesses, Newt settled with knowing that the guard was neutralised without being harmed. “Thank…”
“Don’t thank me,” hissed back the demon. “It was purely convenient, making him sleep is easier than anything else. Besides, Aziraphale would have never forgiven me if something happened to the Lewis chessmen, he was the model for the queen.”
Newt mentally filed the information for later, and preferred to focus on the task at hand. “We should probably go, before more guards will come.”
They started walking again, Crowley navigating them expertly between the narrow corridors, when Newt spotted something familiar. “Hadn’t we been in this corridor before?”
“Ngk”. Newt glared at him, and the demon reluctantly elaborated. “Maybe? They must have been remodelled, things have changed since the last time I was here.”
“And when was that?”
“Somewhere around 1800? Aziraphale dragged me to see the Rosetta Stone, as if I didn’t already know what’s written in it. It was awfully boring, at least until a waiter slipped and a big tray of beverages found its way, with its content, into some of the women's cleavage.”
Newt chuckled but sobered up. “Well, there's no point in walking around in circles, isn’t it? Here is a map, let’s look at it.”
Reluctantly, the demon acknowledged that his navigation skills are not as good as he thought, and together they tried to decipher the map. Luckily, it was a paper pamphlet, as all the electricity in the museum was still not operating.
They started walking towards a different corridor, and indeed, found themselves in the right wing after a few minutes. The room they entered was one of the smaller ones, much to their relief, and full of glassed boxes, each containing old-looking papers. Newt stopped next to the closest box and read aloud one of the letters in it, as he waited for Crowley to find the ones he wrote.
Crowley wandered between the aisles, clearly not finding those he was looking for. Suddenly his head snapped, and in a quicker than lightning steps he stood next to Newt, blocking his sight to the box. “Ngk. Yes. Good job, finding them. Very nice,” mumbled the demon, and Newt could see, even in the relative darkness, the blush that spread all the way from his cheeks to his ear tips. “Now all we have to do is take them, and get out. And you,” he turned suddenly towards Newt, who stood silently, “will not say one word of it to anyone, most of all to Aziraphale, unless you want to feel my wrath. Are we clear?”
Newt swallowed. Crowley could have been terrifying when he wanted, and now was one of those times. “Yes, of course, I promise.” He looked at the box, and lifted his hand, about to break the glass.
Crowley stopped his hand, gently but with unmistakable force. “We can’t break the glass, it might harm the letters”
Upon closer inspection of the display, Newt had to agree. Some of them had been quite old, and even the tiniest pressure might tear them apart. “Can’t you miracle the box to open?”
The demon snapped his fingers. A noise was heard, and both held their breath, but it was just the sound of the giant grandpa clock, ticking loudly from a nearby room.
“It doesn’t work on locks, OK?” Said Crowley in frustration. “This is why I brought you with me!”
“Well, if we can’t break it, and can’t break into it, how are we going to take the letters from it?” Newt voiced the logical question.
Apparently, it was not very helpful at the moment. “I don’t know, it’s not like I have been to many robberiesss in my life!” Hissed the demon in frustration.
“But you said…”
“I lied, that’s what demons do. Now, can we focus on the problem and discuss it later? Or better, never?”
It was, Newt agreed, not the best time and place to talk about the demon’s powers, or his lack of experience in burglary, or the reason he was asked to join this operation in the first place. “You are not going to wipe my memory, right?” Asked Newt, the suspicion was clear in his voice.
“Of course not,” answered the demon impatiently. “I’m a demon, not a monster. But first, what are we going to do about this box?”
“Maybe you can make it float and follow us outside? I’m sure Mr. Fell has the required tool to open it at the bookshop.”
“The bookshop? Aziraphale? He must never know about it” squeaked the demon, in a most un-demonic fashion. You promised not to tell anyone, and that includes him. Especially him.”
“Fine,” Newt held his hands in the world known gesture of surrender. “We can bring it to Anathema.” He saw Crowley was about to protest, and hurry to add: “she will know what to do. Got any better ideas? Got one single better idea?"
"No,” admitted Crowley. He remembered the last time he had that discussion, and hoped this time it won’t end with a near Armageddon.
"Well, then. It could work.” Crowley snapped his fingers again, and this time the box obeyed. To Newt's amazement~~ the part of the box with the letters detached from the main body, floated in the air for a second, and started following them as they hurried to leave the room.
~~ And to Crowley’s, who hadn’t really thought it through.
“See, told you all will work out eventually” said Crowley cheerfully, just as another security guard approached them from a hidden corridor. The guard saw the flying box and was so distracted by it that he walked straight into a pillar, got knocked in the head and crashed on the floor. Newt ran to him but much to his surprise, the man was not hurt.
“Don’t say anything,” warned Crowley in a voice that was meant to be frightening, and was anything but.
Newt closed his mouth and swallowed down his words. Instead, he searched in the guard’s belt, and found a master key. “Let me try this,” he said while approaching carefully towards the flying box. With a hand sign from Crowley, the box stopped moving and kept suspended in the air at a comfortable height, giving Newt a convenient angle to try the key. To the surprise of them both, it took only six tries to find the right one, and at last the lid opened, allowing Crowley to remove the letters and slide them carefully into an envelope which was water / fire / bullet proof, and, just like the cushion, had not been there before.
Crowley guided the box gently towards the ground, petted it affectionately, and both continued walking towards the exit. Or, at least, to follow the big, glowing sign, saying “Exit”. It took them a few minutes to realise they were actually walking towards the cafeteria, which under more normal circumstances would have been marvellous as Newt started to get hungry after all the physical activity and the adrenalin rush, but now was not the time for a snack.
Just as Newt turned towards Crowley, and started to say, “I have a bad feeling about this”, more guards arrived. This time there was a whole unit of them, and Crowley decided it would be easier to escape from a police station than from this lot. The duo surrendered without a protest~~~, and were escorted outside, into a police car, and to the police station, the sealed envelope now in the hands of the commanding officer.
~~~ Much to the chagrin of the guards, who were all very annoyed to have woken up in the middle of the night.
---
It was all very exciting for Newt, and he studied every detail carefully at the station. From the different uniforms the guards wore to the variety of communication devices they used, all was fascinating for him. Crowley, on the other hand, was less than pleased. It was not his first time in those kinds of places, though usually he was on the other side of the bar. They sat together on a bench, waiting for someone to take them somewhere, when suddenly they heard a commotion outside.
“Where is he? I demand to see him this instance”, said an unmistakable voice, sharp and as pointed as a sword. Crowley breathed in relief, followed by an almost uncontrollable desire to turn into a snake. That would have been easier to explain than creating a giant hole descending to Hell right in the middle of the police station, he figured.
The voice was followed by another one, less dangerous but just as strong. “You have no right treating people like that, this is a violation of human rights. If you don’t want the media to swarm here, you better release him, and right now!”
This time, it was Newt who wished the earth would swallow him whole, knowing fully well that nothing can stop Anathema from getting what she wanted. It was sweet, really, the way she came to protect him, albeit a bit unnecessary, in his opinion. He had a demon on his side, that must have counted for something.
Crowley silently mouthed “sorry”, mere seconds before Aziraphale entered the room they were in. It would probably be more accurate to stay he stormed in, which Crowley thought was rather endearing. After all the times Crowley helped the angel to get out of trouble, now was his turn to be on the receiving end. He quickly discovered that it was a double edged sword.
“What were you thinking?” demanded the angel, and before Crowley had the chance to answer, engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug. “Breaking into a museum? And with a hum… I mean, with a young person? Something could have happened to him! Or to you! It is dangerous! You could have been in trouble… I would…” he stopped his berating to take a not-needed breath, and continued in a lower, calmed voice. “I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you.”
“Danger?” Crowley chuckled. “I am what danger is afraid of. Nothing can happen to me, and as long as the human stayed with me, he was safe as well. You know I would never let him be harmed.”
“I sure hope so,” said Anathema, loud enough that the officers who watched the scene till now suddenly found themselves better things to do, like filing papers or washing cups. Every officer worth their salt knew how to stay out of trouble, and that woman meant trouble to anyone who dared to cross her way, or endanger her beloved. “What were you thinking, mucking about in the museum like that!”
Newt tried to calm her down. “It’s alright, Anathema. We are both safe, and as soon as the nice policeman finishes their work, we can all go home, drink tea and laugh about the whole thing. Please?”
Anathema looked at Newt’s face in a searching look, and, after a few moments, sighed. “Fine, let’s just go home.” The whole station seemed to release its tension, as police officers returned to perform their tasks and the station was full of noises again.
In all the hustle and bustle, nobody paid attention to a certain man-shaped being, dressed in an unassuming cream coat and light brown trousers, who snapped his fingers quietly. Not the policewoman who brought them to the station, not the investigator who was about to take testimony from Crowley and Newt. And no one, conveniently, noticed how a certain black dressed man-shaped being grabbed the precious envelope that was left on the table.
The quartet walked out of the police station without being noticed, and turned to the car park. Dick Turpin awaited them there, along with the Bentley. Seeing the question forming on Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale explained: “Anathema was kind enough to pick me up in Newt’s car. The Bentley decided to get here on her own.”
Both man and man shaped person walked to their cars, followed by their significant other, each laying a fond hand on it. They opened the door to their partners, closed the door after them, and went to the driver seat. Before they entered their sides, Crowley caught Newt’s eye. “Much obliged, human. You shall be compensated for your service.”
Newt blinked in surprise, both for the thanks and for the promise. He agreed to help with the whole thing because of Crowley’s promise, but once he learned what it was that Crowley wanted to steal, and the meaning it held for the demon, knowing that it was accomplished was enough of a reward. Yet, he did not want to argue with a demon, nor to reject such a generous offer. And, besides, visiting that museum had been on his bucket list since he learned about it.
The loud noise of the Bentley’s tires, screeching in the driveway, returned him to the present. He saw the other car already at the end of the street, and thought about the conversation these two were going to have. He looked at Anathema and smiled in gratitude. They believed in honesty and open communication, and while it was difficult, and sometimes even embarrassing, at least they hadn’t spent such a long time concealing their feelings from each other.
Anathema smiled back at him, even without knowing the reason. “I’m just glad that you are safe, Newt. Now please start the car, and let’s get home. I have a feeling that your explanation for the events of this night will be long, and require at least one pot of tea.”
While they drove away, the atmosphere in the Bentley was less than ideal.
“What on earth were you thinking,” Aziraphale demanded to know. “Was that an assignment from Hell?”
“No,” squirmed Crowley, as much as he could in the suddenly too tight seat. He glared at the dashboard, and the seat returned obediently to a normal size. “It was more of a personal mission.”
“Is there something you are not telling me?” Aziraphale was suspicious, but more than that, he was clearly hurt. “After what happened in the morning, well, it was already yesterday, anyway, after that, I thought we had…”
“What happened in the morning?” Crowley asked, genuinely baffled.
Aziraphale deflated. If Crowley wishes to pretend nothing of importance had happened, he will not be the one to push the point.
“Never mind, I guess it was not that important after all. Can we just get back to the bookshop, please? I believe you deserve a nice glass of Talisker after all that excitement.”
---
Anathema had cooled down during the drive, and by the time they got back to Tadfield she was more annoyed at Crowley for putting Newt at a possible risk than at Newt himself.
They entered the familiar cottage, and Newt finally allowed himself to relax. Spending the night with a demon had been stressful, and finishing it at the police station hadn’t helped to relieve his tension. Anathema must have noticed his mood, because she offered him a hug, which he accepted willingly.
After a few moments, she gently broke the hug. “Go sit on the sofa, and I will make breakfast.”
Newt sank gratefully into the comfort of the padded sofa, and allowed himself to close his eyes. Flashbacks from the night scrambled in his mind, and he remembered something important. “You would never believe what it was that Crowley stole from the museum.”
“Unsent love letters”, the answer came without hesitation.
“How… how did you know? Had Agnes written a prophecy about it?”
“Not all, just common…” The blender started working, and drowned her answer. After it stopped, Anathema answered again. “It was very simple, really. Aziraphale loves reading books, so it made sense Crowley would have written to him about his feelings. But, they are both afraid to acknowledge their feelings, so it made even more sense that Crowley wouldn’t show him what he wrote. It was only a matter of time before those letters were found out, even though it had taken a lot of research.”
Newt inhaled in surprise. “You… you knew about those letters all along?” Suspicion crawled into his mind. “How do you know about the research it requires?”
“Simple, my dear,” the smile in her voice was obvious, “I was the one who made it.”
“So that’s why you went to all those auctions, and garage sales? I thought you just wanted to decorate the house!”
“Well, that too, sure. That painting of ducks really adds character to the living room, don’t you think?”
Newt had to agree on that point. It was a rather lovely change from the usual pictures that were hung there till then, and he was not sorry at all when the scary painting of Satan himself went down. He still dreamed about it sometimes.
“And let me guess, after you found the letters, you were the one who donated them to the museum?”
“Of course. What else could I have done with them?”
“Give them back to Crowley, maybe? They are his! Did you really want the whole world to see these letters?”
“Of course not, honey, I would have never let THAT happen. These two spent so long without truly speaking with each other, and I thought a small push in the right direction will help them. Plus, I had an agreement with the curator that if the letters were still there the night before it’s open, she would have returned it to me.”
“But… Why do it like that? Why not just give it to them? Meddling like that in other people's lives, even if they are powerful beings and not humans, is just not right.”
“I know,” answered Anathema softly, as she came from the kitchen. She held a tray with vegan sausages, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, fried bread and fried grated potato.* “After they meddled with ours for so long But… I just wanted them to be happy. You know, like us,” she added, intertwining her hand with Newt’s. “Besides, I promise you, no one else would have seen them.”
* The only thing that wasn’t fried was the tea, and she hastened to add a generous dash of brown sugar to Newt’s cup. After such a night, he needed all the nutritious boost she could supply.
Newt was still doubtful. “They had good reasons to hide their feelings for all that time. And you, of all the people, should know how hard it is to break old habits.”
“You are right, Newt, they had their reasons. But now things have changed, and they can change as well.” She smiled at him with adoration radiating from her eyes, so bright it reminded him of the way Aziraphale lit the room when he looked at Crowley in that way. “You were the one who showed me that a change is possible, and just because I have done something in a certain way my whole life, it does not mean I should keep doing it. Do you want them to be professional deniers for the rest of their lives?”
“When you put it like that…” Newt couldn’t help but return the smile. Deep down, he knew she was right, even if he disagreed with her method of operation. “Let’s just hope it works.”
“Of course it will,” answered Anathema with confidence. “There was a prophecy in Agnes’s book that we never understood, and now I believe this is what she was referring to.”
“In that case…” Newt took a long drink from his tea, which was now in the perfect temperature, just the way he liked it. “Let’s eat, I am famished after all the excitement of tonight.”
---
Meanwhile, the couple at the bookshop had a very different conversation. Theirs hadn’t contained tea, to begin with, but a big tumbler of whiskey.
Crowley was slumped on his usual chair, recovering from the events of the night, still clutching the sealed envelope in his hand. He had every intention of leaving them inside until the end of the world or the second coming, preferably the later of them.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was less calm. He paced back and forth in the room, so untypical for him that Crowley finally (and after half a bottle) asked him about it. The angel stopped in his tracks and stared at the demon. His mouth worked a few times, and closed again. Eventually, a sentence blurted out, seemingly without his awareness. “Have I done something wrong?”
Despite his tiredness, and being slightly intoxicated, Crowley straightened up immediately in his chair. “No, Aziraphale, not at all. Why would you even think about it?”
“Because of what happened in the morning, and the museum business, and now you are not even talking to me…”
“This is the second time you are saying it, angel.” Crowley was tired, but he always listened to what Aziraphale said**. “Would you mind telling me what you are talking about?”
** Even in the times he pretended he didn’t.
“If you truly don’t remember, maybe it was not important to you. Maybe you do it with others, as well.” Tears started to gather in his eyes, and he turned away, trying to hide them.
“Doing what with whom? Angel, you make no sense.” Crowley got up from the chair and got closer to Aziraphale. So close he could see a tear rolling down his cheek. He wanted nothing more than wiping it, but touching each other was something they simply did not do. Instead, he tried a different approach. “You already know where I’ve spent the night, mind tell me how yours was? Read any good book?”
“No, Crowley, I had not read any good book,” sighed Aziraphale in frustration. “I spent the entire day thinking about the kiss!”
“What kiss?” Crowley felt it was a silly question, but hadn’t found anything better to say.
“The one you gave me! Yesterday morning! And told me you love me! And then you rushed out to who knows where, and hadn’t talked to me for the whole day, and the next thing I get is an enraged phone call from Anathema that you and Newt broke into a museum and are now arrested!”
Crowley scratched his neck with his free hand, completely at loss. “A kiss?” Through the fog of the alcohol, a memory surfaced. “"I can't cope with this while 'm drunk," he said. "I'm going to sober up." Once the alcohol left his blood stream, the rest of the memory surfaced, and he winced. “I’m so sorry, angel, I hadn’t meant it…”
His words were cut short by Aziraphale. “For a moment, I thought that you did. I should have known better.” He stepped back until his back bumped into the shelves. “I think I need to be alone.”
“Ngk. That’s not what I meant, angel. I had meant it, just never meant for it to be like that.” The glimpse of hope on Aziraphale’s eyes was evident, but so was the hurt. “Do you want to know what was so important that I had to break into the museum?” A nod was all the answer he got, but it was enough for Crowley. “If you must know, Iwroteyouletters.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I wrote you love letters. Are you happy now? There were years, decades, centuries when we haven’t seen each other, and even when we did, we couldn’t really talk about it. And there was no one else I could speak with, so… I wrote down my feelings. I don’t even know how they arrived at the museum. I destroyed them after the writing, or at least I thought so, but I guess there were a few times I was too drunk to pay attention, and somehow some of the letters passed into the wrong hands. But it did not have your name on it, so don’t you worry, no one has to know about it. You don’t even have to think about it again.”
Crowley grabbed the envelope with his other hand, opened it, and started to rip it. Before he managed to do anything, he felt Aziraphale’s hand on his. “And why would I want that, my dear?”
“Why would you want to keep them? I know you don’t feel the same way as me. Let’s just get it over with, so I can go away. How long will it take you to forget about it? Do you think a sleep of twenty years will be enough?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s shocked face. “Yes, forty years is more like it.” He started to rip it, but was stopped again.
“And what makes you think I wouldn’t want those?” Aziraphale asked in a gentle voice, almost as if talking to a scared animal.
“What would you do with them? Use them to mock me, and retrieve it to the museum for further academic studies?*** It might not seem like that, angel, but I do have some shreds of self-respect.”
*** Aziraphale, even in the midst of the argument, was impressed with Crowley's ability to air quote his words.
“On the contrary, my dear. You see, the thing is, I have been feeling the same. And for the longest time I wanted to tell you this, but was not sure if you felt the same way. And after yesterday I knew, but you were gone before I had the chance to speak with you, and then this whole thing with Newt happened and I didn’t know what to…”
Crowley never learned what the rest of the sentence was, because he quieted Aziraphale in a very efficient way. So efficient that by the time they broke up their kiss (kisses, actually, but no one counted), it was well late in the afternoon.
“Oh,” was the first thing Aziraphale said.
“Yes,” agreed Crowley. “I think that rather sums up the whole thing. And now, would you like me to read you this letter?”
“Oh, Crowley,” said Aziraphale with a heart bursting with love^. “There is nothing I would like more?”
^ Flowers suddenly bloomed all the way from the Bookshop to Mayfair, even those out of season.
“Are you sure,” teased the demon. “Not even angel cake?”
“Oh, you wily fiend. Maybe both?”
“Anything you want, angel.”