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The first time Brother Francis saw Nanny Ashtoreth was during the official staff presentations by Mrs Dowling. Trough a happy coincidence, she had arrived on the same day as him. He stopped to look at her. The first detail he noticed was her red lipstick, which highlighted the structure of her thin, bounced lips. She was wearing sunglasses covering the color of her eyes that he couldn't help but imagine. Her hair was perfectly styled under a black hat. All her clothing was black, showing only the shape of her hips. Her outfit was enhanced by a red ribbon forming a bow tie. She had a strict look. She was perfect, Brother Francis said to himself.
She has always been perfect, Aziraphale instantly added in his head. Seeing her like this, in front of him, the end of the world only eleven years away from them, his heart was tightened. She had always been there for him, taking him out of a lot uncomfortable situations. He had almost always known why she did it and obviously his feelings were mutual. He decided at that moment, in front of her, after their first meeting, after their thousandth, to act. He would not lose these last few years, if they were really to be the last, and be undecided. He would seduce her. He would tell her everything. He would throw himself at her feet and tell her that she was the only one, she always had been.
Brother Francis took Nanny Ashtoreth's hand and kissed it.
"Nice to meet you, Nanny Ashtoreth.”
And he could have sworn he saw her blush.
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At the beginning, they often met each other thanks to the summer season. She was going out for a walk with Warlock in his stroller after his afternoon nap. Each time, Brother Francis took the time to prepare Nanny's coffee exactly as she liked it: very black. He would take it to her no matter where she stood, under the tree to read a story (he pretended not to hear stories about bloodthirsty kings) or on a bench. It was a small simple gesture, a small domestic gesture. Sometimes he would bring tea to talk with her about his morning. Often, he would simply give her the cup and go back to the garden. He complimented her every time.
"You look absolutely gorgeous today, my dear girl.”
"I like your hair that way.”
"You are the most beautiful flower in this garden.”
At first, she would answer him with a simple "Oh do shut up". Then, as the days went by and the routine set in, she said nothing. She just nodded her head when he left. After days turning into weeks, turning into months, the season changing to a colder weather, after yet another coffee and yet another compliment, she did something he didn't expect. He was about to turn around and leave when she grabbed his wrist. She got up from the bench and planted a light smack on his cheek. She also added in a whisper:
"Thank you, Brother Francis."
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After a few months in the Dowling service, Nanny Astoreth was exhausted. She hadn't known how much attention a baby required until she had taken the job. She sometimes thought of using her slight advantage to make him sleep, but after all, it was better not to try something on the antichrist. It was already late and she had to go to her room to freshen up before joining Aziraphale to talk about their respective influences. She was tired but seeing Aziraphale was always a pleasure especially since they didn't have much to talk about with Warlock only being a baby. So they drank and talked about something else. It was so simple and easy.
She went to her room to remove her makeup. She loved that moment when she could take care of herself and not think about others. She loved the ritual almost as much as she loved sleeping. When she let her mind wander, it arrived, like always, on Brother Francis. She didn't understand his attitude, or rather, she hoped for something from it. She hated to hope. Her heart felt like it was cracking a little more each time she was rejected. She didn't know how many more times she could bear it? The truth was that she did know. Every time he looked at her with that light smile and sparkling eyes, she would pick up the pieces. There were so many bandages on her heart, more than she could count, but she would leave it. She couldn't do otherwise, she didn't know how to do otherwise .
She decided to let her hair lose. She would change her clothes when she was in the gardener's house. She was just leaving when she noticed a flower on her pillow. A simple violet (I love you in secret). She took it and slightly changed the way her hair was arranged to put it over her ear. She finally went to see the gardener
“Good evening, Aziraphale, may I?”
“Of course, my dear, please come in. I pulled out a bottle for us. "Aziraphale noticed the flower in her hair. "A secret admirer?"
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, you know I'm a gardener now.” Crowley laughed slightly at this information. “Shush. Violet means: I love you in secret.”
“Yes, I know.”
Aziraphale stared at her as much as he could with her glasses still on her nose. She was absolutely not going to take them off tonight. "It doesn't bother you, does it?”
"What?"
"Having an admirer send you flowers.”
"Mmmmhh no. And it's not like you can do anything about it, is it, angel?"
"No, it's true, you're right, dear. So, on the antichrist, any news?”
And they went on to another subject. When she entered her room later that day, she put the flower near her jewelry. And every night she would arrive in her room, exhausted from her day, sad about something, as soon as things didn't go well, she would find a flower. A pink rose, I love you with a sincere love. A buttercup, your beauty is breathtaking. A pensée, do you remember our whole history. An orange rose, I want you. An aster, you're the only one for me. On the evenings when she found a flower, she would fall asleep to it's smell thinking of the perfume of a familiar cologne.
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Sometimes during the nights, the birds, the squirrels, all animals and insects heard a voice in the garden. A black shadow was talking to the plants and flowers.
“If you know what’s good for you, you will behave.”
“I won’t accept anything but perfection.”
“If you disappoint him, you disappoint me. And you don’t want to disappoint me.”
And rarely, in a whisper, they could hear “Be good for my angel.”
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It had been almost a year since Brother Francis started gardening for the Dowlings. He had no idea what he was actually doing. He didn't really understand how the garden could be so well. Maybe a miracle but more likely someone came and threaten the plants into good behavior if they knew what was good for them
After the flowers, Brother Francis had returned to something more traditional for him, words. He had started by writing simple sentences on pieces of paper that only she could find. For a long time he had hesitated whether to sign. He had chosen to be honest with her. She had always been with him. So he signed A.F.
In the kitchen, he positioned a first paper “I miss you every moment away from you.” A few days later, in the dining room “Did you dream about us for almost a hundred years? Like I've been thinking about you all this time?” In her bathroom, "Here and now, I think of you." The simple sentences quickly became insufficient. On her pillow, a year after he entered service, he placed these few words for her.
« Plus proche de toi que je ne l’ai jamais été,
Je me retrouve à imaginer,
L’or de tes yeux plongé dans les miens,
L’odeur de ta peau logée sur ton sein,
La douceur de tes lèvres durant des baisers,
Qui ne nous sont jamais arrivés.
Quand je ferme les yeux à chaque fois je rêve,
Que nos deux familles puissent trouver une trêve,
Pour qu’un jour mon cœur, qui est déjà tien,
Puisse, à jamais, se loger dans tes mains. »
(Closer to you than I've ever been, I find myself imagining, The gold of your eyes immersed in mine, The smell of your skin on your breast, The softness of your lips during kisses, That never happened to us. When I close my eyes every time I dream, Of our two families being able to find a truce, So that one day my heart, already yours, May be in your hands forever.)
In a year, he hadn't gone any further. And yet, it was the furthest they had ever gotten. Every day he asked himself the question: who would I choose between her and heaven? Am I ready to fall for her, for him, for us? He wanted to know, he wanted to talk to Her and ask Her blessing. She had to know after all. His wings were always white. He loved Her so much but sometimes, he loved her more. He wanted more.
The next day, near his tea mug, he found a simple post-it with "me too" written on it.
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When Aziraphale and Crowley met for their updates on the antichrist, they didn't talk about it. The silences were heavier. A bottle of wine took longer to pass when the hands brushed against each other. The bodies were often closer to each other, both on the sofa in the gardener's small cottage. The words, the flowers, the compliments, the little attentions continued between Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.
A year and a half had already passed. Their hands were next to each other in the middle of the sofa. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and intertwined their fingers. Crowley didn’t react. He didn't remove his hand. Every time they found themselves together on the gardener's couch from that night on, their hands ended up like that.
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During the third summer, Nanny Ashtoreth offered Brother Francis a picnic in the garden at nightfall one evening to watch the stars together.
"It would be a pleasure, Nanny Ashtoreth.”
She had prepared everything when he arrived, still wearing Brother Francis' clothes but with the face of an angel. She had been very clear about his new physical appearance: she didn't like it and frankly, Aziraphale why did you choose that? She had asked the cook what she needed and had done everything herself: the sandwiches, the cake. Simple little things for him. She even chose a tartan plaid. She almost hated herself for that fashion faux pas.
"You know, you can take off your glasses my dear girl. It's just the two of us after all.”
She took them off and if she had been naked, she would have felt less exposed. Without this rampart, she knew that her yellow eyes were saying everything she wasn't. She decided to lie down but before she could do so, Brother Francis / Aziraphale took her chin in his hands and turned her face towards him.
“Crowley, talk to me, please.”
Talking was impossible, too many feelings in her throat for thousands of years. So, she did the only thing she thought she could control, she kissed her angel. She pressed her lips gently against his with all the restraint she was capable of and that was a lot, as it had built up over 6000 years.
"Oh, angel, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t ha..."
Her lips were already being claimed again. Her apologies were buried, and she let herself be rocked by the warmth of the angel who kissed her with such passion that her eyes were wet. She let him gently push her down on the blanket and they kissed for what seemed like an eternity. It was a blessed night.
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Since that night, every time they met, Brother Francis took her hand and kissed it. Since that night, every time they were alone together, they would end up kissing. Whatever their form and identity.
One evening, a hand went too low, lips went astray too long on a throat and the desire that had been rising for weeks exploded. They barely had time to arrive in the gardener's bedroom when they were on top of each other. They kissed passionately, took the time to discover each other's bodies, to laugh at small details, to tell each other their feelings in the hollow of their ears between two waves of pleasure. I love you, I want you, I need you, my dear, my angel, I love you. They came again, and again and again until they were too exhausted to continue. They fell asleep for the few hours they had left in a perfect hug. The one they had always dreamt about.
In the morning, they were happy. They did not talk about the future, about the fact that all this was probably temporary. They let themselves be loved for all the years that followed, spending more nights together than separate. Sweet words, flowers, nights spent together seeking only the pleasure of the other. On the last day, under an apple tree, Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis promised each other that, one day, this would be their life, forever.
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Armageddon arrived and you know the story. The apocalypse did not happen and one evening after dinner at the Ritz, a nanny and a gardener kissed on a bed above a bookshop.