Work Text:
There’s a chill in the air, and Aziraphale can feel it. She bundles herself up a little tighter against the harsh London winds. There’s a change on the horizon; she can feel it in her bones, just as every other human being can feel it in theirs. She’s not human, but she knows when change is inevitable; when it’s...ineffable.
The year is 1903. The month is February.
It’s a particularly colder winter than normal, and Aziraphale can feel her fingers in her thick wool gloves begin to chill. She breathes warm air into them as she steps out of an alley and into the sunlight. Just ahead of her stands a crowd of women with signs in their hands, their voices a chorus of protest. They stand in a group in front of London’s Parliament building. Aziraphale smiles. She loves when she sees humanity begin to strive towards being its absolute best.
“What’s this then?” comes a voice from behind her. Aziraphale turns, bright blue eyes catching sight of thick rimmed black glasses. She smiles.
“Ahh! Crowley! Why, it’s the beginning of a revolution!” The giddiness in her voice is something that Crowley almost recoils at. Crowley smiles and pushes a thick lock of hair from her face.
“Revolution, you say?” Crowley muses. Aziraphale nods, turns her attention back to the crowd.
“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale begins, “these women are fighting for their right to be heard. No more will they suffer under the crushing weight of the patriarchy.”
“And how do they plan on doing that, hmm?” Crowley muses.
Aziraphale turns, huffs, and shakes her head. “By doing this! Clearly.”
“Clearly,” Crowley mocks as she takes a few steps towards the crowd. They’re large, she’ll give them that, but other than that- there’s not much going for them. Crowley hums. She lifts a gloved hand and snaps her fingers. Aziraphale watches, confused at first, though her attention is dragged back towards the crowd as a new chorus of voices begins to chime against the otherwise quiet sky.
A woman has stepped forward, her sign tossed to the wind. She walks up the steps of the Parliament building. Raises her hand to the sky. The crowd hushes.
“You have to make more noise than anybody else, you have to make yourself more obtrusive than anybody else, you have to fill all the papers more than anybody else, in fact you have to be there all the time and see that they do not snow you under, if you are really going to get your reform realized.” she says.
“Who’s that, then?” Crowley asks.
“Why, that’s Emmeline Pankhurst, dear,” Aziraphale quips.
Crowley shrugs; raises her brow. There’s a smug look of satisfaction on her face as she listens to this woman suddenly take charge of the crowd. There are cheers, chants, calls and demands for action. It’s something good, sure, but Crowley reckons it’s something that could stand to be a little more chaotic.
“Speech is fine, I suppose, angel,” she hums, crossing her arms, “but actions speak louder than words.”
“I suppose,” Aziraphale responds, looking to her slightly taller, thinner counterpart, “but they’ve done such a remarkable job so far.”
“S’ppose so,” Crowley sighs, “but they could also stand to have a little help, don’t you think?”
Aziraphale gives her a look; a questioning glance that borders warning. Don’t ruin this , the looks says. Crowley gives a soft laugh. She shakes her head and snaps both her fingers.
The crowds uproar triples in size. The men in Parliament rush out to see how large the crowd is, surprise on their faces as they behold the women in front of them. Emmeline turns to see them all. She smiles.
“Votes for women!” she shouts.
VOTES FOR WOMEN , the crowd roars behind her.
Aziraphale’s mouth hangs open. She can’t believe her eyes. The pair stand on the outskirts. They watch as women begin to floor the steps of Parliament and begin forcing their entrance into the building.
It’s breathtaking.
Aziraphale has never seen a group move in such a way. Sure, she’s seen France’s revolution. She’s seen bits of the British going to war with America and the West Indies. She’s seen, mostly, men going off to war in the name of the Almighty. This, she realizes, is something she has yet to see. It’s a revolution all its own, for the sake of equality amongst men and women. Aziraphale feels her heart swell in her chest. Poetry and history in motion, and here she is to witness it all.
“Oh,” she begins with a happy sigh, “isn’t it simply marvelo--”
Aziraphale stops. She’s turned her head to look at Crowley and smile, but Crowley isn’t there. Aziraphale’s smile fades; eyes widen as she turns, looks for any sign of her demonic counterpart.
Nothing.
Aziraphale frowns. The crowd, which had sat at a reasonable level, is now once more in an uproar. Her eyes flick back to the scene, astonished. Crowley is at Emmeline’s side, championing her.
“Sssspeak it for all of them to hear,” Crowley says to Emmeline. The young woman nods, turns her attention back to the women now beholding her as their leader.
“We will continue this fight,” Emmeline booms over the crowd, “and may God and Satan see us. And let them remember us!”
The crowd cheers.
Aziraphale feels a chill run through her spine.
Crowley shuffles to the side; allows Emmeline to take center stage.
“We will not stop!” Emmeline cries out. The women cheer her on. The men inside of Parliament stand aghast at the front door. Emmeline turns towards them.
“You will let us in,” she says in a voice so calm and assertive even Crowley has to take a moment, “and you will let us speak.”
The men stand there slack jawed and white as a sheet. Crowley gives Emmeline a wink. She steps towards the door and the crowd advances.
“We will be silenced, no more!” Emmeline hollers. The chorus of women behind her join in her calling.
Aziraphale watches in awe as the sea of women rises against the stone structure in front of her. They move in unison, connected with a singular purpose; equality. She can’t help but gasp as they make their way to the front door and begin to streamline in. The men are screaming. Crowley and Emmeline are leading the way.
Inside Parliament, the scene is absolute chaos. Women are streaming in from every door they can manage. There’s little room to stand by time they’ve all entered. Congressmen stand on balconies as they look down at the sea below them; angry women chanting over and over again.
Equality for women. Votes for women.
“Enough!” shouts a rather rotund man on the top of the balcony. He is an older gentleman, with a balding head and overzealous grey beard and mustache. He looks down at the women, beady eyes staring right into Emmeline and Crowley. Crowley smiles and snaps her fingers. The room silences to a low murmur.
“Can we please have some order! ” the congressman screams. His face is as red as a cherry. Crowley rather enjoys the look on his face as it contorts in the most unpleasant fashion. He looks down at the sea of women and fixes his suit. Crowley can’t help but cackle.
“ Thank you ,” he hisses. Crowley snaps her fingers and a few buttons pop on his shirt. The crowd of women begin a low giggle as he jumps in surprise and attempts to fix himself.
“What are you doing?” Aziraphale chides as she appears next to Crowley and Emmeline.
“Oh, having some fun with this silly man,” Crowley smiles.
“I can see that,” Aziraphale huffs. She throws Crowley a look, and Crowley can’t help but chuckle.
“Easy, Angel. I’m just giving the ladies a show.”
“Yes, well, be careful will you? The last time you went a bit overboard with ‘giving a show’...” Aziraphale chided.
“Yes, and I said I was sorry about Pompeii. I thought it would be fun to give the locals a fireworks spectacular. I didn’t realize it wou--”
“You didn’t realize that it would possibly erupt and kill everyone. Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s face softens a bit as she stares at her companion.She realizes that Crowley had never meant any harm by it. They both had come to that realization shortly after the event. It was one of the first times Aziraphale had seen Crowley so torn up over humanity. She tries to be empathetic while trying to get her point across.
“But this could lead to these women get-”
Aziraphale is cut off as Emmeline steps forward. She looks at the red faced man on the balcony. The room grows silent. Everyone stares at her with bated breath; even Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves stunned into silence.
“You will hear us,” Emmeline begins. The congressman lets out a loud, bark of a laugh. Emmeline stands her ground.
“You will hear us. You will take us seriously. You will give us equality.”
Her voice doesn’t waver as she speaks. Even as the congressman wipes a tear from his eye, the room remains quiet. Crowley looks to Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s blue eyes are plastered on Emeline’s features, her face flushed. Crowley can’t help but wonder if perhaps Aziraphale is staring in awe, or if perhaps she’s found another love for humanity that she hadn’t realized before. As Aziraphale breaks her contact with Emmeline and turns to look at Crowley, Crowley smiles and raises her hand.
“Time to show these men what women can do,” she says. Aziraphale tries to open her mouth, tries to protest, but Crowley’s fingers have snapped. The crowd roars behind Emmeline; fliers and posters raise like an ocean as they cry out.
The scene that unfolds is literal chaos. Women begin to storm through the old wooden doors of the Parliament building. They chant over and over, Rights For Women! Equality for Women! We demand Equality and Respect. We deserve rights!
Slowly, the sea of bodies begins to surge forward. Emmeline runs to the door as they all begin to push forward. Crowley and Aziraphale watch in amazement as every last woman in the building find themselves working together. The door proves minimal resistance to their efforts.
“Call the police!” the congressman calls as he retreats from the balcony. Crowley looks up, smiles, and snaps her fingers. The congressman is pulled back to the balcony. In fact, several congressmen are pulled from their offices, held at the bannister to watch the scene unfold.
The crowds push and pull in unison.
The men scream for help.
The sound of an ancient door laced with symbolism of a world on the brink of collapse makes a terrible cracking noise against the cries of women. Some of the men would have, could have sworn they felt the building shake upon its groundings that day. Aziraphale and Crowley know though. They know that the electric surge they feel through their bodies as they watch everything unfold is something good. Something needed.
The door cracks again, louder this time. Everyone grows silent, their attention and eyes drawn to the heavy doors in front of them.
“Push!” Emmeline cries. The women rouse behind her, their cheers and cries like waves crashing against a rocky cliff. The once stronghold oak door that had kept congress entirely full of men breaks at its hinges and falls forward.
The world around Aziraphale and Crowley goes silent. Both women watch as the crowd stops, takes a moment, and proceeds forward. History is witnessed, and it’s catalogued in their minds. It is a step for women everywhere, and they both know it; can feel it surge in the place where their hearts would have been if they were human.
“Get. Them. Out. Of. Here!” the congressmen cry. Their faces are as white as sheets, their hands shaking against the bannisters. The women continue to surge through the building, their chants echoing through empty hallways and rooms. The fear on every man’s face as they hear the impending, thunderous cry through hallways and stairwells is evident on their faces, and Crowley’s smile only widens. She’s a little too pleased with herself.
“See, angel?” Crowley hums, “all they needed was a little push.”
“I suppose,” Aziraphale breathes, her face still awe-struck as she watches the women begin to enter the building enmasse.
Time feels as though it’s slowing, and Aziraphale is pleased for that. She can’t help but smile widely at the progress made; can’t help but realize what this means for women everywhere.
The sound of a whistle breaks that train of thought. Crowley and Aziraphale turn towards the entrance as several police officers run through the entrance of the Parliament building. Aziraphale frowns. She lifts her hand to snap her fingers and snap them away, but isn’t fast enough. A rather pudgy officer runs to her and pushes her to the ground. Crowley recoils, only to be tackled by another officer.
As fast as it had come, it was ending. The congressmen, now red in the face and screaming obscenities watch from the balcony as slowly the women are arrested and sat around the edges of the building. It takes almost an hour to get every last protester. Aziraphale and Crowley watch as they’re all slowly loaded up into police wagons and taken away.
“Could have been worse, Angel,” Crowley muses as she looks at the scene in front of them. It takes three police officers to remove Emmeline from the building.
“Yes,” Aziraphale sighs, “but it could have been much better.”
Aziraphale throws Crowley a look as she sheepishly looks away. Not as bad as Pompeii, but would it really make a difference?
The next several hours were perhaps some of the worst in Aziraphale’s life. She was not one for prison, let alone the treatment of prisons. She had been in one before, back in 1793, and had very certainly decided she would do her best to avoid that situation ever again. Yet as the officers set her, Crowley, and Emmeline into a cell she can’t help but laugh.
“I do hope the bookshop will be okay while I’m away,” she sighs.
“Oh don’t be so dramatic, angel.”
“I’m not being dramatic, Crowley,” she huffs. Aziraphale throws Crowley a look and a frown, “I told you to be careful.”
Crowley turns to look at Emmeline, and then Aziraphale. The entire jail seems to be full to the brim with women from the protest. Crowley merely shrugs and smiles.
“Okay, maybe I got a bit carried away,” she admits. Aziraphale huffs and crosses her arms.
“So now what?” comes the strained voice of Emmeline. Aziraphale and Crowley turn to look at her. Aziraphale’s face floods with concern as she looks at the woman in the corner of the cell looking so small and tired.
“What now? Why, my dear,” Aziraphale begins, “we keep fighting! We don’t stop here! One set back can’t be the end of this!”
“I...hate to agree with my friend here,” Crowley muses, “but she’s right. You can’t just give up on something like this. It’s important.”
Emmeline looks up to both of them. Aziraphale smiles. Crowley turns and looks towards the center of their dungeon keep. She hums, and both Aziraphale and Emmeline find their eyes snapping to look at Crowley.
“Do you have some sort of idea?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley smiles. She nods her head.
“Depends,” Crowley says after a moment. She turns to look at Emmeline, “do you promise to keep fighting? For yourself? Not for the good of everyone else; for you.”
Emmeline’s brows furrow- she’s confused by the question- but she nods slowly.
“Yes,” she says, her voice low, steady, determined.
Crowley smiles. She looks to Aziraphale and winks.
“One little miracle on my part wouldn’t hurt, right?” she says. Aziraphale balks, but smiles.
“No, dear,” she says, “I don’t think anyone downstairs would really notice.”
Emmeline looks at them confused as Crowley snaps her fingers. There’s a cacophonous sound of metal locks unlocking. Emmeline looks astonished as she stands up. Crowley laughs and pushes the door to their cell open.
“It would be ever so wonderful, “Aziraphale says with a smile, “if you could keep this between us.”
Emmeline looks at them both, her mouth open.
“Are you my guardian angels?” she asks, breathless.
Crowley shoots Aziraphale a warning look. Aziraphale simply smiles, her eyes catching Crowley’s glance but ignoring it all the same.
“Between us, dear, yes. But you must keep this our secret, and you must keep up the good fight, yes?”
The three of them smile as they exit their cell. The rest of the women in their cells slowly begin opening the doors to their holding and exit. Some whisper of miracles, others of divine intervention. Emmeline leads them out saying God is on their side and that they must keep up the good fight. Aziraphale and Crowley watch as the women file out of their cells.
“You know,” Aziraphale begins. Crowley lifts her hand in the air.
“Don’t,” she says, “I have my own reasons for doing it.”
“Of course you do, dear,” Aziraphale smiles, “of course you do.”