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Anathema glanced at the kitchen clock. Her guests would arrive in less than half an hour, which gave her plenty of time to put the finishing touches on lunch.
The table had been set; the bread was cooling on the kitchen counter; the wine had been uncorked and allowed to breathe; the deviled eggs were ready to put on the table and the vegetables were ready to turn into a salad.
She only wished Newt had been able to take the day off. But an approaching deadline had to take priority over watching a show’s finale. No matter how anticipated the finale had been.
Anathema was quite sure she wasn’t actually supposed to remember anything from Tadfield Airbase.
The days after had been like trying to make sense of a particularly vivid dream; a dream she desperately wanted to hold on to. Mostly because it provided an explanation for suddenly having a boyfriend and deciding to burn her ancestor’s second set of prophecies.
But eventually the dream, as both good and bad dreams tended to do, faded into the mist.
Only to be pulled back by its collar only four years later; an early Saturday morning when a fifteen-year old Adam knocked at the door.
Adam knocking at the door wasn’t unusual. But having Adam, and a boy Anathema and Newt had never seen before, knock on the door before breakfast certainly was.
And when Adam pushed the, obviously frightened, boy into Anathema’s and Newt’s shared home, and told them to “take really good care of him”, his tone of voice had unlocked a door in Anathema’s mind.
It was the exact same tone of voice Adam had used at Tadfield Airbase when he told everyone that “I just don’t see why everyone and everything has to be burned up and everything.”
It was a tone of voice you didn’t argue with. And so Anathema and Newt had simply nodded and then proceeded to protect the Son of God, as the frightened boy turned out to be.
And along the way memories had surfaced; memories centered around Tadfield Airbase and a brave eleven-year-old boy’s decision not to follow the path created for him.
Two days later, when Adam turned up again (this time with an angel named Aziraphale and a demon named Crowley) the last few pieces of the puzzle had been slotted neatly into place. Not only did Anathema and Newt remember everything. They also decided to engage, voluntarily and freely, in a war between Heaven, Hell and humanity.
In the end humanity, helped by Aziraphale and Crowley, had been victorious. And Heaven and Hell, who had by then realized that they really didn’t have any impact on life on Earth, had walked away with their tails between their legs.
Afterwards, Aziraphale and Crowley had approached Anathema, Newt, Adam and his friends with an offer to remove certain events from their memories.
Everyone had refused. Anathema’s words (“I would like to keep the memories that made me into the person I am”) had been respected. So in the end, everyone remembered.
And an unlikely friendship between Anathema, Newt, Aziraphale and Crowley had emerged.
That the story about the almost-end-of-the-world had found its way into a book had been a major surprise.
Aziraphale had been the one to discover the book; had eventually brought it to Tadfield and recommended that everyone read their own parts.
When Anathema, Newt, Adam and his friends had read the book, and picked their jaws up from the floor, Aziraphale and Crowley hosted a lunch and subsequent book discussion. The discussion touched on a number of issues; places, names, impressions, dialogue and settings to something even more important:
How did a book that got it so right even exist?
Anathema argued that Agnes Nutter had left two identical sets of prophecies; one for her family to work on and a second for someone else to figure out. And that the second group of people had eventually cracked the code and written a book based on their discoveries.
Aziraphale and Crowley, who had obviously discussed it among themselves before handing the book over, thought it likely that it had been a parting gift from Heaven and Hell.
Adam and his friends simply thought it cool and one of life’s great mysteries.
Newt didn’t volunteer any opinions. He was mostly content with following a, often heated, discussion between especially Anathema, Aziraphale and Crowley.
Eventually the matter was resolved by everyone agreeing that they would most likely never know.
But then, twenty-nine years later, something happened.
Anathema roused herself from her thoughts and glanced at the clock. Goodness. Her guests would arrive any moment now.
She went over to the kitchen table and got started on the salad. While she chopped the tomatoes, she found her mind turning back to the four of them discovering that the book was being adapted for television.
The group’s reactions had been interesting to observe.
Anathema and Newt had been curious. Nothing more, nothing less.
Aziraphale had scoffed at the idea of a successful TV adaptation. “They’re never as good as the books. Never.”
And Crowley had simply hoped that they wouldn’t replace the Bentley with a car that didn’t have ‘flash bastard’ written all over it.
But no matter what they expected, they had all later agreed that the show had been extremely entertaining.
Mostly due to the actors playing Aziraphale and Crowley. Everyone agreed that they had chemistry from here to the moon and back again.
Afterwards, over drinks, Aziraphale and Crowley had delighted Anathema and Newt with pointing out some discrepancies between the show and actual events.
Aziraphale had scoffed at him being the only one actually eating when they dined at the Ritz (“simply not true. Crowley enjoy food as much as I do.”).
Crowley had laughed his head off when the show suggested that he would need to rescue Aziraphale on a regular basis. (“Never necessary. That bastard is more than capable of rescuing himself.”)
And both of them had rolled their eyes at the numerous fights between the angelic- and demonic duo. As Aziraphale had put it “yes, we do like to bicker. But we have never threatened to abandon one another. Never.”; a statement that had made Crowley nod.
But apart from that, and the few other additions to the show (“Satan was a nice touch” according to Aziraphale; “So was breathing hellfire at the Archangels” as Crowley put it), the four of them had agreed that the show had been a wonderful experience.
Years later, when a second season was announced, everyone had been both surprised and slightly worried.
Had the failed Second Coming been observed by someone who wasn’t in on the secret? And had that ‘someone’ written a book like last time?
Aziraphale was quick to assure everyone that no, no book existed.
And Crowley, who for a demon was surprisingly honest, maintained that nobody had been looking at the group of humans involved in thwarting Heaven’s last plan.
So what would a second season be about?
Anathema, being a witch and all, used the powers at her disposal to learn more. And one afternoon, when she felt absolutely certain of having cracked the code, she called Aziraphale and told him that -
“It’s supposed to act as a . . passage of some sort. Perhaps to further events. Perhaps to something else. I’m not quite sure yet but I have no sense of either myself or Newt being included.”
Her statement was met by a long pause. And just as she was about to check the connection, Aziraphale answered.
“Yes, my dear girl. I’ve read an article on the . . Crowley, what was the thing called again?”
“Internet, angel.”
“Internet, yes. They basically said that this season is supposed to act as a bridge to a third and final season. And that it will be ‘quiet, gentle and romantic’. Which is a tremendous relief. There was nothing whatsoever quiet about the failed Rapture. so I would assume that the entire second season has nothing whatsoever to do with actual events. Anyway, I assume the four of us will watch it together, yes?”
“Of course, Aziraphale,” Anathema smiled.
“Splendid. See you then.”
Anathema put the finishing touches on the salad. Went into the dining room and cast a critical eye on the table setting.
It had taken her a few years to get used to the idea of having the Serpent of Eden dining at her table. And the Principality of the Eastern Gate praising her deviled eggs.
But enjoying the two of them had made things easier. They were excellent company. Asked questions about her and Newt’s life on Earth. Doted on their children as they grew up into adults who ultimately, as children are wont to do, left the nest.
Their own relationship was never fully explained.
But Anathema had been absolutely sure of one thing -
The two of them meant the world to each other. Had spent the last six thousand years developing the kind of relationship where one single glance and one minor touch spoke volumes.
Which was why the second season’s focus on Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s inability to communicate had left Anathema staring at the screen in disbelief.
Aziraphale and Crowley had labeled the second season “pure fiction. Never happened.”
Anathema had been a bit more vocal. Her list of complaints had been long, but the thing that had annoyed her most had been Crowley reduced to living in his car.
Would anyone from Hell really dare to evict Crowley? They knew he’d already destroyed one demon; they obviously thought him immune to holy water. But still someone like Shax simply waltzed in and threw him out?
And why wouldn’t Crowley simply find another apartment? Or, even better -
Tell his partner that he needed a place to stay?
And speaking of said partner -
Why didn’t Aziraphale notice? And why did he spent his time helping the Archangel Gabriel, organizing balls and declaring war on Hell?
But those things paled compared to the final fifteen minutes of the show; a quarter of an hour that nobody, not even a genuine witch like Anathema, had seen coming.
A heartbreaking divorce.
As the end credits rolled across the screen, Newt abruptly got to his feet. Walked over to the wine cabinet and brought forth a bottle that made Aziraphale hum appreciatively and Crowley smile.
While Newt found the glasses and poured the drinks, Anathema turned towards Aziraphale. “That never happened, right? I mean, you don’t have to tell me, obviously, but -”
Aziraphale shook his head. “I was never asked to come back to Heaven.”
“Of course he wasn’t,” Crowley agreed. “You both know what happened. We were left alone after the failed Armageddon. We then thwarted the Second Coming. And retired to the South Downs. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Nothing more, nothing less,” Aziraphale smiled at his partner. “And if you decide that living in the car is preferable to living in our home -”
“I’m sure you’ll go all Principality on me.” Crowley grinned.
The rest of the evening had been spent discussing various events from the second season. And discussing various clues as to what would happen next.
Although the last part was mostly Aziraphale. Solving puzzles had always been a genuine passion of his.
The sound of an approaching engine made Anathema snap out of her recollections.
Ah. It was time for lunch.
Anathema opened the front door and admitted a beaming angel and a smiling demon into her home.
Crowley gave her a bouquet of flowers (“should last for more than a month if they know what’s good for them”) and Aziraphale opened his valise and presented her with a book on witchcraft she had craved for more than ten years (“found this at an auction last month and remembered you talking about it”).
As always, lunch was quite enjoyable. Aziraphale and Crowley talked about current events in the South Downs (“a lovely bakery opened up last week and we have already fallen completely in love with their scones”; “some ducks stopped by and now we have a family of ducks and ducklings living in our pond.”)
And after a while talk turned towards the Finale they were about to see. Aziraphale had spent time reading teasers while Crowley had amused himself by posting hint after hint on social media.
As for Anathema, she just hoped it would be better than the second season. And that the conflict would be resolved in a satisfying matter.
After lunch, they cleared the table; Anathema opened a new bottle of wine, and the three of them went into the living room. Aziraphale and Crowley sat down on the couch while Anathema settled down in her chair. She turned the screen on, turned towards Aziraphale and Crowley and asked -
“Are you ready?”
Aziraphale gave an excited little wiggle. “I’m more than ready.”
Crowley fondly rolled his eyes. “Angel, it’s not real. It’s make-believe.”
“But after that cliffhanger -”
“Yes, all right. I have to admit being curious myself. How on earth are they going to reconcile? That breakup was pretty bad.”
Anathema nodded. “And only ninety minutes to solve everything.” She smiled. “But I suppose we’re about to find out.” She pressed a few buttons on the remote and settled back to watch.
Less than half an hour into what would end on a note nobody had predicted, Anathema was having trouble believing her eyes.
Not only was Whickber Street pretty unrecognizable.
So were Aziraphale and Crowley.
The demon had lost his car. And his miracles. Especially the latter made Anathema shake her head in disbelief. If Hell were capable of this, wouldn’t they had removed his abilities after he’d been involved in thwarting their scheme to end life on Earth?
But of course his car and his miracles were only two things he’d lost. He had apparently also lost the will to carry on.
And when the angel finally came down to Earth, he didn’t really seem to care. Oh, he helped Crowley get his car back, but apart from that? No sign of compassion. No remorse for abandoning his old friend.
How could he be so heartless? How could someone like Aziraphale, who practically oozed love and compassion, simply not bother?
And the plot itself . .
Jesus wandering the street and engaging with the humans was obviously a nice touch. But wouldn’t it had made more sense to make him engage with Adam?
And wasn’t this supposed to be the story about Heaven and Hell against humanity? But where were the humans? The demons? And the angels?
And why was so much time wasted on things that didn’t really matter? Wouldn’t it had been better to see Aziraphale and Crowley actually reconcile?
Anathema would occasionally glance over at her guests. Aziraphale was watching the screen with an unreadable expression while Crowley divided his attention between the screen and his phone.
The third time he caught her glancing in his direction Crowley placed the phone on the table. “The humans are really arguing about the ending. Some like it, some really, really don’t.”
“No spoilers, remember?” Aziraphale said.
“Of course, angel.”
As the show lurched towards the inevitable ending, Anathema found herself wishing that the story had been allowed to end at season one.
Because seeing Crowley so defeated that he decided to end everything -
And Aziraphale simply go along with the plan -
And the two of them trust God and Satan to create a new universe without any Heavenly or Hellish interference -
When earlier events clearly showed that humanity, and a certain angel and his demon, had never actually bothered with Heaven and Hell’s intentions -
Well. Let’s just say that by the time the end credits rolled across the screen Anathema got to her feet and went in search of more alcohol.
She refilled Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s glasses. Sat down in her chair and poured herself a fresh drink. “Well?”
Aziraphale shrugged. “Good thing this actually never happened.”
Anathema shook her head. “That ending didn’t make one ounce of sense to me.”
Aziraphale turned towards Crowley. “You said the humans were arguing?”
“Yeah.” Crowley picked up his phone. “Some of them think this new couple -”
“Asa and Anthony,” Aziraphale nodded.
“Yeah, those. Are us. Reincarnated.”
Anathema scoffed. “Really. Reincarnation. At the exact same time and the exact same place. In an universe not influenced by God or Satan. Make it make sense.”
“Perhaps this wasn’t the first time they met?” Aziraphale suggested. “The story rather seems to indicate that millennia have passed by.”
“But we shouldn’t be guessing, should we?” Anathema argued. “If they keep meeting over and over and over again, why didn’t we see that?”
“I don’t know.” Aziraphale admitted. “But I do know that this story has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with us. The two of us never destroyed the universe.”
“On the contrary,” Crowley said. “We helped save it. Twice, actually.”
“Quite.” Aziraphale smiled at Anathema. “And were left alone. To enjoy Earth. Humanity. And of course our friends. Which reminds me. Adam and his family are paying us a visit. The third week of July. And we hope you and Newton will join us.”
“We would love to,” Anathema replied. “But I must admit, I’m rather surprised by seeing you react so calmly to this so-called finale.”
Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other. Aziraphale crooked an eyebrow and Crowley nodded.
“My dear girl, why would we be upset?” Aziraphale asked her. “This story was pure make-believe. With an ending decided by the writers.”
“That’s my point.” Anathema glared at the screen as if it had somehow displeased her. “They didn’t have to go in that direction.”
“But they decided to do so. And that’s really all there is to it.”
Anathema nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But I still wish -”
“That it had ended differently.” Aziraphale smiled. “But our story is different. And the last chapter hasn’t been written. Perhaps it never will be.”
Anathema looked at both of them. Really looked. And for the first time she allowed herself to acknowledge that -
Aziraphale and Crowley would be around forever. Would continue to see civilizations rise and fall. Would be there to witness humanity’s greatest triumphs and failures.
And to them, this story of an angel and a demon destroying the universe was simply that.
A story.
One of thousands, if not millions they had spent millennia observing while they were busy writing their own story.
A story that included an angel and a demon sharing a cottage in the South Downs.
She smiled at them. “You’re right.”
“Of course he is,” Crowley grinned. “He usually is.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Aziraphale smiled at his partner. “Well. Perhaps we should be getting on home? That duck might need a handful of frozen peas before bedtime. Raising a family is hard work.”
“Definitely.” Crowley emptied his glass and got to his feet.
“It’s been lovely,” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Anathema’s cheek. “Give our love to Newton, will you?”
“Of course,” Anathema replied. “And thank you. For everything.”
Aziraphale waved a hand. “Don’t mention it. See you in July, yes?”
“Count on it.”
Anathema cast a longing look at the book from Aziraphale but decided to wait until tomorrow to read it. Instead she spent the rest of the evening taking care of minor tasks around the cottage. She did the dishes, folded the laundry and prepared a meal for Newt to enjoy when he got home.
None of these tasks required her undivided attention.
Which was just as well.
Because she would much rather think about Aziraphale and Crowley.
The angel who was just enough of a bastard to be worth liking. And the demon who was always an optimist.
Two beings who had found each other. And happiness in a shared cottage in the South Downs.
And really -
Did it even matter that some writers had imagined a different ending?
No.
She really didn’t think it did.
Not when another ending might be written differently somewhere else.
The end.