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When Crowley had suggested to Hell that they consider adding a peer evaluation component to their performance reviews, he’d meant as a method of torture. But (as usual) his idea had been dramatically misunderstood, and now he had to suffer through not only hearing what his idiotic colleagues thought of his work, but also taking a few days out of his schedule every year to watch some other demon bumble his way through a basic temptation.[1]
He put the thing off as long as he possibly could before reluctantly logging into Soulsforce and checking who he’d been assigned to observe and evaluate this time.
FACINUS - EIGHTH CIRCLE - CURRENT PROJECT: TIMESHARE SALES
Well. That made a certain amount of sense, anyway. Timeshares had been one of Crowley’s better ideas—and one that Below had been thankfully quick to grasp, because if there was one thing that Hell understood, it was devious, nigh-unbreakable contracts.[2] At least he’d have plenty to say about Facinus’s methods.
He opened up Facinus’s Soulsforce record and scrolled down to see the details. It looked like he was running the timeshare program for a chain of resorts in Florida, in the United States. Crowley leaned back in his chair and considered. The best bet was probably a sort of secret-shopper situation, where he’d pretend to be an ordinary human interested in purchasing a timeshare. It wasn’t very likely that he could manage to get Facinus himself to do the pitch, but in a way that was better; Crowley still had a decent amount of notoriety among certain parts of the demon community, and the last thing he needed was to be recognised.[3] He could go in, see how Facinus’s salespeople performed, make some suggestions for additions to the training curriculum, and be done with the whole thing in a few days.
Crowley opened a new browser window and pulled up the webpage for one of the resorts. The thing was, basically no one wanted to attend a timeshare presentation, so he was going to have to pretend to be more interested in whatever incentive the resort was offering guests who sat through it.
He scrolled through the list of resorts, clicked on the one with the highest per-night cost, selected dates for the upcoming weekend, and checked the box for “YES, I want to save up to 40% by taking a resort preview.”
Your resort preview includes breakfast plus a fun and entertaining discovery tour of the property. You'll be introduced to the many exquisite amenities and family-friendly activities available on site. Your friendly vacation representative will also explain the extraordinary benefits and savings provided by vacation ownership at our resort. There is no obligation to purchase and the rest of your vacation is simply yours to enjoy!
Perfect. He proceeded to the payment screen and skimmed over the terms and conditions associated with the offer. You voluntarily agree to assume all of the foregoing risks and accept sole responsibility for any injury…you hereby release, covenant not to sue, discharge, and hold harmless…The offer is designed for citizens of the US, Canada, Mexico, UK, and EU who are married, engaged, or cohabiting with a verifiable annual household income—wait. Crowley frowned. Married?
It wasn’t entirely surprising, he supposed. Single people were probably even more likely just to be in it for the cheap stay. Facinus had evidently decided that they weren’t worth his time.
So, he needed a partner, then. Someone whose idea of a pleasant weekend activity was spending two hours listening politely to a sales pitch and combing scrupulously through pages of Hellishly complicated legalese in search of potential loopholes. And who on earth would find that fun?
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” said Aziraphale. Crowley ran this through his Aziraphale-to-Normal-People translator and took it as the opening for negotiations that it clearly was.
“Come on,” he wheedled gently, wishing he could see the angel’s face over the phone. “You owe me one, remember? From that time in York with the chocolate thing—”
“I’m not disputing that,” Aziraphale said. “But I really don’t know whether it’s wise for me to accompany you to evaluate the work of one of your, erm, colleagues.”
“It’s not like you’d have to meet the actual demon,” Crowley said. “It’ll be a human doing the presentation. I’ll just be taking notes on his methods.”
“Well, yes, I understand that, but—”
“I mean, when you think about it, you’d basically be doing your job by going. Wasting this representative’s time so he doesn’t end up suckering in any innocent humans.”
“Can’t you do that on your own?”
“No. I can’t go alone. It’s, uh, well, the offer for the timeshare presentation deal is only for couples.”
“For couples?” Aziraphale asked, his voice going so high-pitched it nearly squeaked at the end. “You didn’t say—”
“Oh—no, come on, it’s not like that. It says ‘cohabiting’ is fine, we don’t even have to pretend to be married—”
“Married?”
“We don’t! We don’t. I’m saying we don’t. Just—cohabiting.”
“Well, why can’t we just be…I don’t know, flatmates?”
“Because that’s not what they mean.” And because introducing you as my ‘flatmate’ is going to fool approximately nobody.
“Well, if we’re going to be anything, we’d better be married,” Aziraphale said. “I certainly don’t want to be going about saying that I’m living in sin.”
“Living in—I’m a demon!”
“And I’m an angel,” Aziraphale said. “No, we’d better do the thing properly or not at all.”[4]
“I—sure, fine. Whatever. So you’ll do it? You’ll come?”
“It seems as though I have to.”
“Well,” said Crowley, because he never could resist shooting himself in the foot, “you don’t have to. I could scrounge someone else up.”
“A human?”
“I—er, ah, no, probably not a human. Might be a trifle awkward to explain. But, you know, one of the younger demons, some of ‘em actually look up to me—down to me—whatever. Could probably get one of them to come along.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale said. “Your little fan club can’t help. They’ve barely been to Earth. Do you seriously expect them to blend in with humans?”
“As opposed to you?”
“Well, yes. I mean, I’d like to think I have a great deal of experience—”
“Yeah, no, right, no human has ever found you the slightest bit uncanny or off-putting.”
“At least I haven’t got any reptiles on my face.”[5]
“Hey!”
“And do you really think you could convincingly pretend to be married to some upstart little imp—”
“Angel. Are you jealous?”
“I’m merely looking out for your best interests,” Aziraphale said stiffly.
“Right. Sure. Very much appreciated,” Crowley said, grinning.
“Where shall I meet you, then?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll come round and get you. This Friday, three o’clock. Oh—and pack for hot weather. Bring a swimsuit, the whole bit.”
“A swimsuit?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to look like an actual human tourist. Which means we’re going to have to have a proper holiday.”
Aziraphale’s idea of appropriate summer resort wear was, unsurprisingly, singular. He hadn’t bothered to change trousers, but had swapped his usual top layers for an open-necked linen shirt and opted for sandals over brogues. Still, Crowley supposed, repressing a mental image of the angel in a garishly printed shirt and cargo shorts, he should be thankful it wasn’t worse.[6]
Crowley reached for the wine. They were on their balcony, sitting side by side in lounge chairs, with an improbably high-quality vintage on the ground between them. Aziraphale was holding his glass with both hands, cradling it above his stomach. He’d been staring into its depths, but glanced over at Crowley’s movement, favouring him with a smile nearly as bright as the sun that beat down on their heads.
“You know what I like best about places like this?” Crowley asked.
“No, what?”
“No one bats an eye at sunglasses,” Crowley said cheerfully, pushing his own back up his nose from where they’d slid down a bit due to sweat.
“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale said, shading his own eyes with his hand and squinting ahead. “It is bright, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got too used to London. Here—why don’t you borrow a pair of mine until you’ve had the chance to adjust?” He conjured up an extra pair and handed it over.[7]
“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale took the glasses from him, unfolding them and placing them on his nose with the same precision he used for his reading spectacles. “What do you think?” he asked, turning to face Crowley.
Crowley made a small inadvertent noise of dismay.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “What is it? Am I wearing them incorrectly somehow?”
“No! No. They’re fine. You’re fine. I just—’m not used to seeing you wearing them, that’s all.”
What he really meant was I’m not used to your eyes being hidden. He hadn’t fully realised how much he depended upon Aziraphale’s eyes—how much he appreciated the conspiratorial looks and the twinkles of delight and, of course, the little back-and-forth glances he shot in Crowley’s direction when he thought he wasn’t looking. The glasses shuttered that door, cut off that channel of communication entirely and left Crowley adrift.
“So,” Aziraphale said, “this presentation you’re evaluating, it’s not until tomorrow?”
“That’s right. First we’ve got the tour, then they lock us in a room with whatever unlucky salesperson’s drawn the short end of the stick this time and attempt to dazzle us with creative accounting and carefully worded promises.”
“So…what do we do until then?”
Crowley blinked. “Uh—enjoy ourselves, I think.”
Aziraphale took another sip of wine. “Just…like this?”
“Well. Yeah, basically. Why? Did you have something you wanted to do?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “No, no, it’s just—well, it feels a bit wrong, being here and not doing anything. It’s not as though we’re meant to be on holiday.”
Crowley shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure you could find some poor soul in need of a little divine intervention. This is Florida. There’s probably six potential miracles in today’s paper alone.”
“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I don’t think that would be wise. My people don’t know I’m here, remember. I can’t just be going around blessing everyone willy-nilly. They’d be sure to notice.”
“Do they really watch you that closely?”
Aziraphale looked down. “Ah—just now, yes, they do.”
Crowley tilted his head interrogatively.
“I’ve gone over budget again,” Aziraphale admitted. “They sent down a written warning and told me I’m not to do anything that’s not absolutely necessary without prior authorisation for at least the remainder of the fiscal quarter-century.”
“Well. Sounds like you can laze about with a clear conscience, then.” Which is what you wanted me to tell you in the first place, Crowley thought, biting back a smile as he watched Aziraphale relax further into the chair. Aziraphale’s conscience was overactive but easily distractible, the sort of small but vocal dog that never hesitated to bark at post vans and neighbours and its own reflection for fear of missing an actual intruder. But Crowley had long ago learned exactly what sort of meat was best suited to calm Aziraphale’s inner watchdog,[8] and he’d come to find it a pleasant sort of challenge, framing things in a way that allowed the angel to placate his nobler instincts.
“What’d you do, anyway? That got them all riled up about your miracle usage? Speed-age cheese? Wangle particularly desirable theatre tickets? Conjure up a cigarette after we—”
“I stopped a bus crash,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I, well, I didn’t quite manage to do it quite as subtly as I had intended, and I had to use an awful lot of miracles to prevent the humans from getting too suspicious.”
Crowley groaned. “All that trouble, and you didn’t even get to have any fun with it?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” said Aziraphale haughtily, “but some of us consider virtue to be its own reward.”
“Of course, of course. Well, I was going to increase the thread count of the sheets on that bed in there, but I must’ve forgot how righteousness makes for softer bedding than any eiderdown.”
“Oh—” Aziraphale said, managing to look beseechingly at Crowley even with his eyes hidden, “well, I don’t know about that.”
Crowley grinned. “Only teasing, angel. I upgraded everything as soon as we walked in the door. I haven’t got virtue in bed with me, after all.”[9]
Aziraphale smiled, in the small, half-guilty way he did sometimes, as though he wished he weren’t as happy as he was. “Oh, thank you.”
“...And this is our indoor pool, which many of our owners believe provides an excellent refuge from the summer heat. It’s a wonderful alternative to outdoor exploring.”
“Mmm,” said Crowley noncommittally. “Does it get crowded here, then? On hot days?”
“Oh, no,” the agent said quickly. “We find that enough families are willing to venture out on any given day to allow the pool to maintain its oasis-like atmosphere. Have you had a chance to visit any of the theme parks while you’ve been here?”
“No,” Aziraphale said. “My, er, my husband’s driving is quite enough of a thrill ride for me.” He twisted the signet ring on his finger. Crowley glanced at his own hands and the nearly-identical ring he’d conjured up to place on them before the meeting. It had taken embarrassingly little effort to imitate the exact pattern.
The timeshare human laughed politely. “I can certainly understand that.” He motioned them out of the pool area. “Over here are our conference facilities, and while we don’t generally show them on this tour I can certainly oblige if you’re interested.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Crowley said.
“Understood. Uh—well, then, the only other thing on this floor, before we get to the unit itself, is our function room. Owners of a unit receive exclusive discounts on the rental fees, and it’s an excellent resource for anything from quinceañeras to wedding receptions.” He swung open a door.
Crowley poked his head inside and glanced around. It was more or less your regular hotel ballroom, all round tables and neutral walls.
“A lovely space,” Aziraphale said. “It must be so nice for dancing.” Crowley raised his eyebrows at this. Aziraphale hadn’t danced since the gavotte went out of fashion.[10]
The salesman, on the other hand, grinned, obviously thinking that he’d hooked a real sucker. Crowley’s own grin was internal, remembering the hundreds of merchants and shopkeepers and travelling salesmen who’d thought exactly the same thing over the years.
“It must be so nice for dancing?” he hissed under his breath as the timeshare human led them out of the ballroom and into the lift.
Aziraphale sighed. “I’m only attempting to be encouraging to the poor fellow. He’s trying terribly hard.”
The lift doors opened, and they emerged into a carpeted corridor very like the one outside the room they were staying in. The salesman opened a door on the right and ushered them in.
“After you, my dear,” Aziraphale said sweetly. Crowley made a face at him and went inside.
“This,” the salesman said, letting the door close behind him once they’d all entered, “is our model one-bedroom unit. While there are some minor floorplan variations, if you do choose to buy in today, you would own a unit that would be basically identical. So as you can see, here’s the entryway, and then if you’ll just follow me, right down here is the living room. It’s a really nice space just to spend time in together. You can watch TV…or read,” he added, with a glance at Aziraphale.
“What a cosy-looking chair,” Aziraphale said obligingly.
“You’ve got a much cosier one at home, angel,” Crowley said, committing to his rôle as the sceptical one of the pair. “Don’t see why we’d need to go all the way to America just for you to sit in an armchair.”
“It’s also a great space to come back to after a day of exploring all that Florida has to offer,” the timeshare human said quickly. “I don’t know whether you’re, uh, outdoorsy types, or…”
“We adore Nature,” Aziraphale said, which might have been true in the abstract but was certainly not in the sense in which the salesman had meant it.
“Well, the beaches around here are just great, and I can tell you, there’s certainly nothing like coming back from a long day of laying out in the sun and relaxing somewhere that’s really yours.”
“That’s one-fiftieth yours,” Aziraphale said.
“What?”
“Oh—well, it’s just, were we to, ah, purchase a share in this lovely property of yours, this unit—or, not even this unit, but whichever practically-identical one we ended up with—would only really be one-fiftieth ours, wouldn’t it? Because it would also belong to all the other people who buy a week. Or am I misunderstanding the nature of the venture?”
“Uh—no. I, um…”
“Why don’t you show us the rest of the place?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.
“Right. And…this is the kitchen—do either of you cook at all?”
“I’ve been known to bake,” Aziraphale said. “From time to time.”
“Oh, great, well, we do have a full kitchen setup, as you can see, with an oven, so there’s definitely no need to give that up while on vacation. Every appliance in all of our units has been upgraded within the last five years, and the microwave and dishwasher are standard as well.”
“Wow,” Crowley said blandly.
“And here’s the bedroom and en-suite bathroom with rainfall shower and Jacuzzi.” The agent looked as though he might be about to say something else, but stopped.
Crowley cocked his head. “That’s all you have to say? No other…enticing details?”
Aziraphale tsked gently and followed the salesman into the bedroom, Crowley close on his heels.
“Well,” the agent said, making eye contact with Aziraphale rather than trying for Crowley, “we strive to make our bedrooms a place that you’ll look forward to coming back to at the end of the day, not simply a place to lay your head.”
“Lay your…head?” Aziraphale asked.
“He means sleeping,” Crowley said helpfully. “Like people do. In bedrooms. Generally.”
“Oh! Of course. We all, er, definitely sleep.”
“So tell me,” Crowley said to the salesman, “why should we buy a timeshare? I mean, the place is nice enough, but I don’t really understand what the advantage is over hotels. You lose the flexibility, the variety…why should we lock ourselves into this?”
“There’s a very significant financial savings. When we’ve finished with the tour I’ll go over the paperwork with you and I think you’ll see that it’s far more cost-effective to buy and ensure our competitive prices than to take a risk on hotel rates every year.[11] But I think there’s also…well, let me put it like this. Have you ever wished that you could freeze time?”
“...No.”
“Oh,” the salesman said, evidently stymied. “Well—how about this. Have you ever wished that you could just step away from the world? From all your worries? Problems with coworkers, responsibilities at home, fears about the future? In our modern world, it’s so important to take time that’s really for yourselves and step back and relax. And that’s the beauty of owning a timeshare, I think—not only do you get to have an actual stake in this lovely property, but you also ensure that you have a week set aside every single year where you can get away. You can forget about all those external forces, and just be together.”
Crowley very deliberately did not look at Aziraphale. He had a feeling that he knew, anyway, exactly what he’d see on the angel’s face; the reflection of the same pang of longing that had just shot through Crowley. You can forget about all those external forces, and just be together. Only they couldn’t, could they? Because they didn’t have the sort of “problems with coworkers” that the human had referred to so breezily. They had the sort of “problems with coworkers” that resulted in one-way tickets to very unpleasant places.
“Um,” said the agent, after a moment. “Were there any other questions you had about the unit, or should we move along to the hospitality room and get you some breakfast?”
“Breakfast,” Crowley and Aziraphale said in near-unison. Crowley gave in and glanced over at him; Aziraphale still had the vestiges of wistfulness on his face, but he looked up at Crowley and smiled.
And now Crowley did want to freeze time, to keep Aziraphale looking at him like that for as long as he possibly could.[12] Resisting the impulse, he followed the salesman out of the sample unit and down the corridor to the hospitality room.
“Please,” the agent said, ushering them in, “help yourselves to some breakfast—I’m just going to step out to get the paperwork together and then I’ll be right back to go over the specifics.”
“Well,” said Aziraphale, once the human had left, “I don’t think this is anything to write home about, do you?” He gestured to the buffet table. “I mean, really, not a single chafing dish? And those danishes look distinctly stale.”
Crowley glanced over at the spread. It all gave off the general impression of having been purchased from a mediocre grocery store bakery approximately five days ago. “Were you really expecting anything better?”
Aziraphale used tongs to gingerly place a croissant on a compostable paper plate, then peered at it doubtfully. “No—I really don’t think I can possibly eat this. I do have standards.”
“You don’t have to eat it,” Crowley pointed out. “They’re just trying to instil a sense of obligation in you so that you feel like you’ve got to stay and listen to the entire spiel.”
“But we’re going to do that anyway. It seems foolish to pass up the free incentive.” Aziraphale looked down at the croissant, then up at Crowley again from under his lashes.
Crowley sighed with more annoyance than he felt and snapped his fingers. The croissant was surprised to find itself five days younger, significantly warmer, and made with the highest-quality Irish butter.
“Oh,” said Aziraphale, poking at it slightly. “Thank you.”
Crowley made a noncommittal, wordless noise and shrugged. “Well, not going to stand here and listen to you whine about it all day, that’s all.”
“Of course.” Aziraphale drifted over towards the beverage carafes and picked up a cocoa packet.
“Seriously?” Crowley asked. “It’s thirty-five degrees outside. It’s hotter than Hell. Literally. I would know.”
“Well, yes, but the air conditioning in here is dreadfully chilly…” Aziraphale emptied the cocoa packet into a paper cup and filled it with hot water, swishing the mixture around with a wooden stirrer before tasting it. He made a face. “Or perhaps not.”
Crowley snapped again, and the cocoa joined the croissant in marvelling at the sudden speed with which it seemed to have come up in the world.
Aziraphale twinkled. “Thank you.”
They were just sitting down, Aziraphale with his croissant and cocoa, Crowley with an empty cup for camouflage, when the timeshare human came back in holding a sheaf of papers. “Enjoying breakfast, I hope?”
“Oh yes,” said Aziraphale sincerely. “Scrumptious.”
The agent looked mildly disbelieving at this, but evidently passed it off as Aziraphale merely being polite, and continued: “So what I have here is the full purchase agreement for a unit just like the one you viewed today. I’ve included a breakdown of what weeks we have available and the associated pricing on the back page. Now, I’m really not supposed to do this, but you two seem like a lovely couple, so I’ve given you our exclusive friends-and-family discount.”
“Have you really,” Crowley said.
“Just for you,” the salesman said unblushingly, which Crowley figured was probably worth an extra point or two on the peer evaluation form. “But unfortunately, because I’ve had to bend a few rules to do this, this offer is only available today. And because it’s so exclusive and time-limited, I do have to include this additional form where you waive your right to cancel the purchase.”
“Actually,” Aziraphale said politely, “cancellation waivers aren’t legally enforceable in the United States, and Florida law mandates a ten-day post-purchase cancellation period.”
The salesman looked somewhat taken aback. “Uh—I can assure you that all of our documentation has been reviewed by our legal team and is entirely within the bounds of the law.”
“Oh, well,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood.”
“I’ll give you some time to discuss in private,” the human continued, “but before I step out again, do you have any questions for me?”
Crowley shook his head. “Don’t think so. Angel?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Great,” said the salesman. “Well, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Again, this exclusive discount is only good today.”
“Got it,” Crowley said, and grinned.
Aziraphale reached for the papers the moment the agent had left the room. “A bit obvious, the whole ‘only good today’ bit, isn’t it?”
Crowley nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t do nearly enough to back it up. Just saying we seem like a lovely couple, who’s going to buy that? Should’ve gone with the old ‘you remind me of my parents’ or something so that we might actually think he had any personal feeling about us whatsoever.”
“I’m fairly certain the only personal feeling he’s going to have about us is going to be annoyance at losing his commission,” Aziraphale said, paging through the contracts. “Did you want to take a look, or shall I go through and see whether there’s anything too obviously scammy in here?”
Crowley waved a hand. “You go ahead. I’ve seen too many of these contracts before anyway.”
“Jolly good,” Aziraphale said, and pulled out his spectacles.
They were silent for a few minutes, Aziraphale mouthing the clauses of the document to himself as he read, Crowley watching him do it.
He found himself thinking again about what the agent had said. You can forget about all those external forces, and just be together. Crowley, for all his faults, was at heart an optimist—he rather had to be, under the circumstances. Because if he hadn’t had hope—even just the tiniest sliver—that maybe, someday, that you can just be together might actually be true, he might have driven himself half-mad asking over and over and over again: If this is all we can ever have, is it enough?
He knew Aziraphale’s answer already, had seen it in his face dozens of times, heard it in the pauses between words: It has to be.
Aziraphale looked up. “What?”
“Just wondering if you’d found anything thwartable yet.”
Aziraphale smiled smugly. “Oh yes. They have got some rather clever bits of language here, but I should think any halfway decent human lawyer would be able to find a loophole or two that could get the purchasers out of it, even if they didn’t know about the ten-day cool-off period laws.”
“Not very impressive, then,” Crowley said. “I’ll have to mark Facinus down for that. There’s no excuse in this day and age for not having absolutely watertight contracts, whether they’re for the immortal soul or a reasonably priced vacation property.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Aziraphale said, and then, quickly, “although, of course, I do disapprove on principle of trickery being used to frustrate humans—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said. “I know all about your principles.”
Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. “Just because I occasionally condescend to collaborate upon matters of mutual advantage—”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“That’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to state with perfect integrity that some of your side’s methods are offensive to my moral standards.”
“That’s sort of the point,” Crowley said.
He was spared from Aziraphale’s response by the re-entrance of the agent, who asked, smiling widely, “Well? Any questions I can answer for you, or are we ready to go ahead and get these signed?”
“I do have a few questions, actually,” Aziraphale said.
“Oh! Okay. What can I help you with?”
“These maintenance fees,” Aziraphale said, pointing at a paragraph. “They seem to be significantly higher than what would be reasonable for a unit of this size, particularly when one considers that they’re shared among all the owners.”
“Unfortunately, that one’s pretty much out of our hands,” the agent said. “A large percentage of that fee is property taxes. Our hands are tied.”
“Property taxes in Florida are less than one percent of the property’s value,” Aziraphale said. “These fees seem to be nearly twenty percent. Where on earth is the rest of it coming from?”
“Uh—”
“Although I expect most of your customers haven’t read the tax codes. Silly of them. They can be quite diverting. And there’s often ways to save money while staying perfectly within the law, particularly if one owns a small business and can deduct certain—”
Crowley pulled his hand across in an “enough” gesture. “I don’t really think he needs to hear about how you saved money on the bookshop, angel.”
“Oh—yes. Right. They audited me, you know,” Aziraphale said, apparently unable to stop himself entirely. “They said I was perfect.”
“Yes, you got top marks in taxes, wonderful, can we move on?”
“There’s also this bit about only being able to exchange weeks through the resort company itself, disallowing the use of any third-party exchange services? And it appears as though there are also some rather hefty fees associated with exchanging through the resort.”
“I’m afraid that’s boilerplate, we really can’t touch it—”
“Mmm. Well, it doesn’t seem like there’s much of anything that you can touch, is there? Is there even any point in my continuing to ask questions?”
“Well, that’s just because, like I said, I’ve already done everything I can to get you the best possible deal—”
“I really do hate to accuse anyone of lying, but I simply can’t see any evidence of that.”
“I—you really can’t find a better deal. If you walk away now, I think you might regret it for the rest of your lives.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I can get my supervisor?” the agent offered weakly. “She might be able to find a smaller unit that has correspondingly smaller maintenance fees, if that’s your main sticking point—”
Crowley, judging he’d seen more than enough, stood up. “I think we’re done here.”
Aziraphale patted his face with a napkin to remove the few remaining croissant crumbs and stood as well. “I’m afraid we are. Thank you very much for your time, but it’s simply not the right fit.”
“I can show you our points system if you’re really concerned about the exchange thing—”
“Bye,” said Crowley, holding the door open for Aziraphale, who nodded fleeting thanks on his way out. “Thanks for breakfast.”
They emerged into the corridor.
“Well, that was fun,” Crowley said.
“It was, rather,” Aziraphale agreed. “Almost as good as the crossword. Have you got everything you need for the evaluation?”
“Oh, yeah. Not very impressive, really. Facinus hasn’t done nearly as much to nail down the souls of his salespeople as he could have. That guy wasn’t nearly slimy enough. Just…not a very good temptation, all around.”
“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, unexpectedly. He twisted his signet ring. “Some bits of it were tempting.”
Crowley stopped short in the middle of the corridor. “Come here.”
“We’re in public!”
“We’re supposed to be married.”
“Oh—I suppose it couldn’t really hurt, then, could it?” Aziraphale stepped obligingly closer and raised a hand to Crowley’s face.
“Couldn’t hurt a bit,” Crowley echoed, and kissed him thoroughly.
“I wish we could, you know,” Crowley said, when they’d finally broken apart.
“Could what?”
“Have this.”
“A terrible-value timeshare in Florida?”
“Not that. Just the—the being away from everything whatsit. That he was going on about. Not having to worry about work. Or who’s watching.”
“Oh. Yes. Maybe someday we could—go halves on a holiday cottage. Trade off weekends. Cover the other’s business while he’s away. Not in Florida, I shouldn’t think. Somewhere closer to London. Much easier to get to.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale glanced away. “Yes, well. I suppose it mightn’t always be trading off.”
Crowley made a mental vow to start looking into cottages within reasonable driving distance from London. He had a sinking suspicion it might end up as a Pinterest board.[13]
“But,” Aziraphale continued, expression lightening as he looked back at Crowley, “I think very definitely not a timeshare.”
Crowley relaxed into a grin—because, after all, even if this was all they could ever have, it was still well worth the having. “I couldn’t agree more, angel.”
Footnotes
1. Yes, said schedule consisted mainly of “coming up with ways to avoid work” and “convincing Aziraphale to stick around for an after-dinner drink,” but Hell didn’t know that. As far as they were concerned, he might have been engaged in some extremely crucial efforts to corrupt human souls.back
2. The timeshare-exit companies that took your money for months on the false promise they’d get you out of your timeshare, though? Those had been all humanity. Crowley was almost jealous.back
3. He was still trying to live down the indignity of being asked to make a speech for the benefit of the honorees at the 30 Under 3000 celebratory event in 1432.back
4. Crowley resisted the urge to bring up the various activities that Aziraphale had previously had no problem engaging in while very much unmarried.back
5. This had not always been, in the strictest sense, accurate.back
6. He was also thankful for the rare glimpse of Aziraphale’s clavicles afforded by the shirt.back
7. The sunglasses themselves were real, not miracled; Crowley had a stash of them in a storage unit and summoned them with a snap of his fingers whenever they were needed.back
8. In more ways than one.back
9. Not a Virtue, no. Just a Principality.back
10. This was not entirely accurate. Around the turn of the century, Aziraphale had evinced a surprising affinity for the “Cha Cha Slide.” When questioned on this at the time, he’d informed Crowley that he’d “appreciated the directions.” Crowley hadn’t inquired further.back
11. Crowley highly doubted the truth of this statement.back
12. Crowley had, in fact, found himself accidentally stopping time on more than one occasion, nearly always because Aziraphale had smiled at him. He was fairly certain he’d managed to recover quickly enough that the angel had never noticed, except in the one memorable instance when they had experimented with the ability’s effect upon the culmination of a particular activity.back
13. Crowley had attempted to take credit for Pinterest, but someone had misheard him somewhere along the line and ended up putting down Interest, and now he had a whacking great commendation in a drawer somewhere that read USURY.back