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Aziraphale nervously checked the clock for the fifth time in the last three minutes. 2:04 pm. That was close enough, right? If he left now, then he should get there at exactly 2:28, without too much foot traffic, of course.
That would be an appropriate amount of time to arrive before the set meeting date, a precise 2:34 pm. Crowley was being silly again, picking such a miscellaneous time for their meeting, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but to entertain the demon’s wishes.
He checked the clock again. 2:06. Aziraphale stopped pacing around his bookshop, having made up his mind. He would leave now. If he waited any longer, he might be late and if there was anything Aziraphale found more distasteful than broken book spines and dog-eared pages, it was tardiness. Grabbing his waistcoat from its hook by the door, he stepped outside.
Aziraphale took in the quiet sounds of the street as he locked the door behind him. He didn’t believe he could actually be robbed—especially not with the angelic wards around his shop—but one could never be too careful! Especially not when there were book-stealing ruffians afoot!
For some reason, the street always sounded peaceful, despite nearby traffic from the surrounding city. If he didn’t know better, Aziraphale might even assume there was a miracle at work. The sounds of birds and friendly chatter floated through the air.
The serene nature of the street was actually one of the main reasons Aziraphale had chosen this location for his store when he first bought it in 1801. What better place to settle at then somewhere that reflected his own comfortable sensibilities?
Finishing his locking-up, the angel turned on his heel. He started strolling down the street, greeting familiar faces along the way. Some people he rented building space out to waved as he passed by. He exchanged a handshake with the gentleman that lived above the antique store two buildings down.
After a swift walk, he arrived on the sidewalk across from his destination.
Aziraphale drew his pocket watch from his vest. 2:29. He smiled to himself. Even with his delay, it seemed he’d arrived 5 minutes early. Wonderful. The angel gently placed the watch back into his pocket, patting it twice while thanking it for its good work.
With that, he crossed the street before standing at the steps of the building to wait for Crowley.
Not even two minutes later, the distant sound of cars honking alerted the angel to Crowley’s arrival. He turned to face the street as the Bentley screeched to a halt on the street in front of him.
As Crowley stepped out of his car, Aziraphale clasped his hands together, moving toward him.
“Crowley, dear.” Aziraphale smiled. “I was almost scared you wouldn’t make it.” He jested.
Crowley smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, angel.” To anyone else, the words might have sounded sarcastic, but Aziraphale knew his demon, and could tell that Crowley was just as excited for that outing as himself.
The two of them began making their way up the granite steps towards the large front doors. Once they were inside, Crowley made a beeline towards the front counter, cutting the few people waiting in line. Aziraphale trailed slowly behind him, marveling at the architecture of the building’s interior.
The foyer had tall, rounded ceilings with delicate clouds painted on them. The granite walls lining the room had elegant columns carved into them, giving the building a historical feeling.
His marveling was interrupted by the sound of Crowley’s voice.
“Two tickets.”
He quickly stopped his ogling and made his way to the demon’s side.
The young girl behind the counter glanced up at them, obviously bored. “Adult or child?” She drawled.
Crowley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Adult.” He replied flatly.
The girl took the money he had placed on the counter and slid two admission tickets towards the demon. He snatched them up quickly.
“Thank you for visiting the Soho Museum of History.” She mumbled the obviously forced response as Crowley and Aziraphale began walking away. “Enjoy your date.”
Aziraphale sputtered and nearly tripped over his own feet, using a small miracle to remain upright. Meanwhile, Crowley flushed, his cheeks turning bright red, which Aziraphale found interesting considering he’s a snake demon and snakes were unable to thermoregulate.
The two hurried into the museum to avoid further embarrassment. (After Crowley shot a glare at the attendant, of course. He had a reputation to uphold. The angel and him were enemies, yes. Mortal enemies..)
As they entered the first exhibit, a maze of hallways lined wall to wall with glass cases full of Greek artifacts, the pair slowed down to their normal speed.
Aziraphale was quickly distracted as they moved down the hallway, pointing out different artifacts that he found interesting to Crowley. “Oh, the things humans come up with.” He gushed.
The pair stopped in front of a case filled with old, metal contraptions.
“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped. “Look there.”
He pointed to an object near the bottom of the case. It was an astrolabe. The metal was worn, but they could still see the intricate lines laid into the brass.
Aziraphale turned to the demon. “Wasn’t this one of your first prototypes?” He asked. “It looks marvelous. The detail…”
“ngh.” Crowley appeared disgruntled, but he secretly preened as he leaned away, hiding his expression from the angel.
He straightened up (ha), schooling his expression.
“Not my best work.” Crowley said. “Although, it’s probably been mucked up by years of humans using it.”
He turned, trying to swagger away. Of course, his supposed bad boy image was ruined by his angel trailing after him, babbling about the exhibits they passed.
The angel had been much more invested in the inventions of humans than Crowley ever had been. He owned a bookshop for God’s sake. Crowley had only ever really paid attention if it was a special interest of his or something major was happening that he’d have to report back to hell.
He would much rather work on his own inventions than marvel over what some old guy had created years ago. Half of them had only had the idea because Crowley was whispering in their ear anyways..
It was hard to appreciate something when you knew it wasn’t original.
The two continued through the museum, passing through different exhibits. Crowley had been especially interested in the astronomy exhibit, while the room of British Victorian artifacts had garnered Aziraphale’s attention.
They stopped around four o’clock at the museum’s cafe, to have a moment to settle and catch up as well as satisfy Aziraphale’s stomach. Crowley watched as Aziraphale tasted the tiramisu. It wasn’t the best he’d ever had, and it was a tad on the expensive side, but Aziraphale quite enjoyed it. It was museum food after all, so the price was to be expected, of course.
After their snack break was finished, the pair set off into the museum once again, this time headed towards the special British Victorian Era exhibit. Some displays had been taken out of the regular exhibit to be showcased.
They wandered aimlessly down through the halls, passing roped-off displays and glass cases. It was nearing five o’clock and their crowd had thinned out considerably from what it had been when they’d first arrived.
They pointed out different things to each other as they roamed.
Both of them mocked a painting of an old baron they had known. He’d been a real arse. Crowley laughed at a few different items he had made to spread Hell’s influence. And Aziraphale gushed over an authentic book set that he would, in his words, “Just love to get my hands on, Crowley dear.”
They were almost at the end of the exhibit when Crowley let out a loud gasp, stopping abruptly in place. “They did not !” He seethed.
The demon marched over to a display case. This particular case had a set of old clothing on a mannequin. On top of the mannequin sat a worn top hat, made of dark silk with a red ribbon and a snake pin with yellow-jeweled eyes nestled on the top of the brim.
Crowley stomped over to the case, vanishing the glass with a small miracle and a wave of his hand.
“I’ve been searching for this hat for years!” he cried, reaching his hands into the case.
Aziraphale heard the security guards exclaiming in the background as Crowley gently lifted the hat from its fixture. He clasped his hands nervously. It’s not that they would be in trouble, but the angel would be rather embarrassed if they made a scene in the middle of the hallway.
Crowley whirled around towards Aziraphale, the hat cradled against his chest. “It’s one of my favorites.” he huffed. “I had it custom made from this guy over in Derby.”
The security guards were upon them now, yelling at Crowley for touching the display. A round, young man held his hand out in front of his, the other resting on the handle of his baton strapped to his belt. “Sir, I need you to put that down.” He commanded.
Two more guards were now behind the man. Crowley huffed. “Put it down?” He asked incredulously. “You lot are the ones who stole this from me! Do you have any idea how much I paid to have this made?”
The guards seemed caught off guard for a moment, but they quickly righted themselves. One of them, a lady, put her radio to her mouth, speaking quickly into it. Their little commotion had attracted a crowd it seemed, as Aziraphale looked around. People were crowded into all of the nearby arches and doorways to see what all of the commotion was about.
The guard took a step forward. “That hat is property of the museum. I need you to put it back.”
Aziraphale felt pity for the poor security guards. They were just trying to do their jobs. But oh, Aziraphale had learned better than to come between Crowley and his things. The demon tried to hide it, of course, but he got just as attached as Aziraphale to the items he had collected over the millennia.
Crowley snorted. He turned his nose up at the guards. “No, I think not.” Then the lights in the exhibit cut out, descending the room into pitch black darkness. The next thing Aziraphale knew, the two of them were standing in his flat above the bookshop.
The demon still had his hat cradled to his chest, grumbling about thieves and incompetent museum staff. Aziraphale huffed exasperatedly. After performing a quick miracle to turn the museum’s lights back on—he found that Crowley had shut off the entire building, not just their exhibit—Aziraphale turned to the demon.
“Really Crowley, must you be so dramatic?” He chastised. “You caused a scene .”
The demon looked unrepentant. He was too busy trying his hat back on in one of Aziraphale’s mirrors. “Sure, sure, Angel.” He replied. “I’ll be sure to keep my cunning schemes unnoticed in the future.”
“In the-” Aziraphale cut himself off. Sighing, he trudged to the kitchen to start a pot of tea. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to change the demon’s mind on this one.
“Oh, how you test me, dear,” he muttered under his breath.
He looked back to his companion as he set the water on the stove. Crowley was still in front of the mirror. Aziraphale laughed fondly as the demon went through a myriad of poses while admiring himself with his hat.
Oh, Crowley.
__________
The night after their museum outing, Aziraphale was seated in his living room watching his television—he hadn’t wanted to buy one, but Crowley insisted—to watch his program, a “soap opera” as it was apparently called.
When Crowley had first suggested he acquire a television, Aziraphale hadn’t seen the point. What could be on the little screen that the angel couldn’t find in a good book? But he did have to admit he had quite fallen for the little stories that played on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.
He was currently watching a silly little show called Days of Our Lives. The angel had stumbled upon it one night when he’d given in and decided to give the television a chance. Now, watching the show had become a bit of a weekly ritual for him.
Sitting with his legs pulled under him on his chair, the angel gasped at something one of the characters said, nursing a glass of wine. He’d pulled the bottle from his collection. It didn’t have a label, so it must have been a gift.
Aziraphale turned his head back to greet Crowley, who had just miracled into the entryway of his flat. The demon grunted a greeting back, swaggering through the room before flopping onto his unoccupied couch, slumping into the plump cushions.
“What are you watching then?” Crowley asked, inclining his head at the television.
Aziraphale smiled at him. “It is called a soap opera! I admit, I’ve grown quite fond of it.”
Crowley huffed a laugh at him, seemingly amused. “I told you you’d enjoy the telly. You get too attached to those books of yours angel.”
“Well I wouldn’t say it is better than a book,” he scoffed, then looked at Crowley curiously, “The Discovery channel? I haven’t watched that particular program yet..”
“Not a program angel..”
After Crowley had explained the difference between a channel and a “show” (because according to the demon, calling it a program made him sound “uncool.” Aziraphale thought he was plenty “cool”), he ended up asking the angel for his remote to show him the channel.
Aziraphale moved to sit next to Crowley on the couch, handing him the remote. The demon flicked through the channels quickly, searching for the correct one. Aziraphale startled, staring at him when the demon suddenly exclaimed,
“Hell! I went past it!”
The demon moved to click back, growling, but he fumbled the remote, clicking on the wrong button. He went to click on the right one this time, but Aziraphale stopped him.
“Angel?” Crowley gruffed. He was staring at Aziraphale in confusion, as the angel was staring ahead with a rather unimpressed look on his face. The demon followed his gaze to the telly. He had changed the channel to a news station, where a familiar setting was the focus.
“And who did you say is responsible for this heinous crime?”
“A real seedy-looking guy, yep. He was wearing sunglasses, get this.. inside!”
The security guard was displayed on their screen, giving a witness report on a theft at the museum that had taken place that day. He was standing next to a reporter on the steps of the museum the pair had visited earlier that day.
The angel finally took his gaze off of the television, raising a brow at his companion.
Crowley huffed, “I think heinous is a bit much..” He grumbled, “And what’s wrong with my sunglasses?” The demon pouted, somehow sinking further into the couch.
Aziraphhale just pinched the bridge of his nose and took another sip from his wine. Silly demon..