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“Crowley my dear, what are you doing?”
Aziraphale had been feeling a little smug after successfully chasing off a loitering customer by ripping her bag open and spilling its contents on the floor. She had been frightfully embarrassed and rushed out in a huff, leaving the copy of Heritage of Britain she had been considering bless-fully behind on the counter. He had returned to the back of the shop in search of the demon, expecting some cheeky remark followed by a searing kiss (Crowley always did enjoy his sales techniques) but instead was greeted with Crowley sticking his head into the fireplace. He was clutching a handful of torn pieces of paper and sounded like he was trying to find something inside the brick.
“Crowley?”
“Is this connected to something?” Crowley’s voice echoed strangely down the chimney, his head and shoulders now completely hidden. “Do you get… Post through this?”
“Post? What are you talking about?”
Aziraphale made a grab for the pieces of paper, but even stuck in a fireplace Crowley was faster than him and spun out of his grip. He moved away, frowning at his clutches as he flopped down onto the armchair. The pieces flew together to make a single page of a4, heavy black ink clearly visible through the sheet.
“This…” He waved the paper. “This just came through the fire.”
“The fire.” Aziraphale looked at the empty grate, but it seemed exactly had it always had. “This fire?”
“No flames or anything. It just… Floated down the chimney.”
“A letter for me floated down the chimney?”
“Not for you.” Crowley looked up at him for the first time, a crease forming between his eyes. There was something in his yellow eyes that Aziraphale couldn’t immediately place. It looked horribly like concern. “There’s no name on it…”
“But?”
Crowley sighed, crumbling. “I think it’s for me.”
“Is it…” Aziraphale started, suddenly worried. “It’s not from….”
“No, no, angel, no need to get your wings in a twist. Not from Hell, or Heaven. It’s…. Well. I think it’s a job advert.”
“A what?”
Crowley’s shoulders slumped, and he handed the paper of to the angel. Aziraphale took it with slightly shaking fingers, apprehensive about what was making his partner look… Well, so troubled. So thoughtful. He hadn’t looked like that since before they’d averted the end of the world a few years ago, and anxiety itched across his skin as he looked down at the letter he’d been handed.
Wanted a nanny for two adorable children
If you want this choice position
Have a cheery disposition
Rosy cheeks, no warts!
Play games, all sorts
You must be kind, you must be witty
Very sweet and fairly pretty
Take us on outings, give us treats
Sing songs, bring sweets
Never be cross or cruel
Never give us castor oil or gruel
Love us as a son and daughter
And never smell of barley water
If you won't scold and dominate us
We will never give you cause to hate us
We won't hide your spectacles
So you can't see
Put toads in your bed
Or pepper in your tea
Hurry, Nanny!
Many thanks
Sincerely
Jane and Michael Banks
Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this. Large black letters stood out against the pale sheet, painstakingly uniform and deliberate, like a child’s. He read the large scrawl, his mouth falling open, and had to go over it again just to make sure.
“You’re right…” Aziraphale managed after reading it for the third time. “I don’t think it’s for me.”
Crowley snorted. “You think?”
“And it came from down the chimney?”
“Just floated right down when I came into a room.”
“Do you know these…” Aziraphale consulted the paper. “Jane and Michael Banks?”
“I don’t think so.” Said Crowley, running his hands through his hair. “Don’t ring any bells, anyway. Must just be some kids reaching out. Poor things. But why is it here, angel?”
Aziraphale dropped the page to look at Crowley. He was sprawled across the armchair, the very picture of casual nonchalance, eyebrow cocked in question. But Aziraphale could see the slight frown of his lips, the worried pinch behind the eyes as he looked over the page. Wanted a Nanny for two adorable children… Oh. That explained it. Aziraphale’s heart swelled a little, Crowley had always been awfully fond of children.
“As you said, dear. These two… What do they describe themselves as? Ah yes, two adorable children reached out and the letter found it’s way to you.”
“Me? Like I’m, what, Santa or something?”
“I think it’s addressed to a nanny, not Father Christmas.”
“I’m not a nanny.”
“You have been once.” Said Aziraphale softly, not missing the scorn. “You were very good at it, if I recall.”
“Yeah, working to corrupt the Antichrist.” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a demon, not exactly cheery, or whatever else it asks for.”
“Let’s see. Hmm… Rosy cheeks and no warts, check!” Aziraphale made a show of looking over Crowley’s face, and was rewarded with a slight quirk of the lips. “And you do love games my dear, plus you’re ever so k-“
“Don’t even think about it.” Interrupted Crowley with a snarl.
“Oh, and definitely fairly pretty I’d say.” said Aziraphale with a glowing smile.
“Pretty? Pretty?”
“Oh yes, darling, you are awfully pretty. And you’re absolutely excellent at outings and bringing treats.”
Crowley muttered darkly, but Aziraphale ignored him as he read the rest of the letter aloud to a stream of loud protests and indignations. He watched the slight twitch in the demon’s hands as he came to the end, the unconscious action as he’d finished with hurry Nanny. Those words were written with feeling, the angel could sense the children’s distress gleaming off through the ink. There was no way Crowley had missed it and so when he twitched again, fingers itching towards the paper, Aziraphale had to hide his smile.
Sometimes his demon was so transparent.
“The poor dears…” sighed Aziraphale, maybe with a little too much exaggeration, but Crowley didn’t seem to notice. He folded the letter and handing it back to him, who lay it open on his lap. When Crowley didn’t look like he was going to move or say anything more, Aziraphale pressed on. “I do wonder where it’s come from…”
“Wouldn’t be too hard to find out.” Shrugged Crowley. “Could follow the letter back to the source.”
“Oh that sounds to be an excellent idea, my dear.”
“I guess I could… Just see what’s going on. Check everything is... Normal.”
“Oh yes, indeed.”
“I mean, it’s weird isn’t it? How did it even end up here?”
“As you say.” Aziraphale nodded, feigning disinterest. “Can’t be too careful.”
“Exactly! What if it’s also gone to an angel? Or some mad woman with a cane? Can’t have them stopping the kids putting toads in beds, or stuff in tea. I mean, I am a demon after all. Got a reputation to uphold.”
He looked up with a shrug, eyes wary and guarded. His long fingers reached forward across his lap to the paper, and Aziraphale didn’t need to ask to know he was already trying to find out where the letter had come from. The pause stretched on for a few moments, and Aziraphale pretended to look through the pile of books on one of the side tables.
“Feels like it might be London.” Crowley frowned, clearly aiming for indifference but missing it by miles. “I could… Well, I don’t have anything going on this week. Might just check on them. Kids need a bit of demonic influence.”
Aziraphale rose and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, my darling. Do you think they’ll need a gardener, too?”