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Crowley sprawled in his favorite seat at the local, where he could watch other patrons play darts and mess with their shots if he chose. With an empty glass of Talisker in front of him, he kept an eye on Aziraphale. His husband was making his way back to their table with a fresh round of drinks, but their neighbors kept stopping him.
Life in the South Downs, secure in his role as co-anchor of the Neutral Alignment, agreed with Aziraphale. Free from worrying about their old sides, the angel radiated such joy humans unconsciously flocked to him for advice or simply a kind word. Crowley tolerated their intrusions into their “group of the two of us” to a point. The instant strain appeared in Aziraphale’s kind blue eyes, Crowley would slither over with an excuse for them to return home.
Sometimes an angel needed saving from the guillotine or Nazi spies, and sometimes he needed saving from ordinary humans. Particularly from the Mr. Browns of the world, the ones too smitten or too foolish to realize how taken Aziraphale was. God must love them, for although they’d left one Mr. Brown in his World of Carpets on Wickber Street, their village contained a Mr. Browne, with an “e” at the end. This one was an English teacher, which was worse because he mistook Aziraphale’s interest in books for interest in him. Someone bless it, the blond human was following Aziraphale back to their table, and Crowley’s husband was doing nothing to discourage him.
“…I know it’s an unusual request, but with Mary off caring for her sick mother and Kathryn’s grandchildren due at any moment, we’re short two actresses and have no understudies for them. And it’s not without precedent, of course.”
What isn’t?
Crowley’s suspicions increased as English Teacher Browne circled him admiringly. What was he up to? He shot a glance at Aziraphale, but his husband gestured for patience. There had better be a good explanation for this, along with lots of whiskey to make whatever nonsense his angel had gotten into more palatable.
“Oh, yes,” the human breathed. “I can see it. Our Lady Bracknell in the flesh. Except she wouldn’t slouch like that.”
“It’s my signature look,” Crowley said, shifting to lean closer to Aziraphale. “It takes years of dedication and practice to pull off an orientation like this.”
Mr. Browne’s eyes—blue-green, but not as beautiful as Aziraphale’s—widened momentarily before he shuttered his expression.
Aziraphale silently set Crowley’s new drink in front of him, extending his arm as if to shield Crowley from the human—or vice versa.
“Well, it’s nothing a little direction can’t fix,” Mr. Browne said. “And with Mr. Fell already willing to step into the shoes of Miss Prism, our play is sure to be a hit!”
“A play?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde. The production will raise funds to improve our local park.”
“And you want me to be one of the actors?” Crowley exchanged glances with Aziraphale. “The last time I was onstage—”
“It won’t be like that at all,” Aziraphale said. “That was a … very unusual circumstance.”
“You have acting experience?” Mr. Browne looked ready to jump with excitement. “Even better!”
“Not…as such.”
“Let me talk it over with my husband, Mr. Browne.” Aziraphale resumed his seat, scooting it closer to Crowley’s. “We’ll have plenty of time to review the script before tomorrow’s rehearsal. Have a good night.” He sipped his sherry with determination, ignoring Mr. Browne until the human finally took the hint and left them alone.
“Are you sure you want to get involved in this play, angel?” Crowley asked.
“It never hurts to do a good turn for our neighbors, especially since we’re newcomers here. Besides, dearest, this is a rare opportunity to tread the boards. Don’t you love the smell of the grease paint and the roar of the crowd?” Aziraphale shimmied in his chair.
Crowley repressed a soft smile at his beloved’s enthusiasm. Continuing the timeless push-pull of their relationship, he said, “That’s not what I love.”
“Well, I would love for you to appear in this play with me, and not just to keep Mr. Browne away.” Aziraphale gazed adoringly at Crowley with those wondrous blue eyes. “I couldn’t possibly do it without you.”
Crowley conceded the battle with a dip of his head. “Then I’ll take the role. So, tell me all about Lady Bracknell…”
***
Crowley wouldn’t admit it to Aziraphale, but he relished his role. Lady Bracknell was the sort of person who conveniently dammed herself with pride. He knew her type well and had no problem playing her with enough flair to captivate the audience—though keeping a stiff, upright, upper-class posture required constant focus. Once he convinced the costume designer that he had to wear his spectacles during the production for medical reasons, he had no objections to the rest of his ensemble: a rich-looking purple gown with a matching feathered hat. Crowley could have altered his figure to appear more feminine, but that would have raised questions he didn’t want to answer. Instead, he let the designer add padding where needed and curl his shoulder-length hair. When Crowley showed Aziraphale his costume at dress rehearsal, his husband almost walked off the stage.
Aziraphale made a fetching woman himself. His dress was dove gray with lace trim, cleverly designed to make the most of his curves. Mr. Browne, who had assigned himself the role of Dr. Chasuble, seemed to appreciate them almost as much as Crowley did. It was hard enough tolerating the two characters flirting with each other onstage, but when Mr. Browne lingered in the shared dressing room, never taking his eyes off of Aziraphale, the angel refused to change. He fussed over Crowley, helping him unlace both his dress and his shoes, until the former demon had no excuse for not removing his clothing.
He crossed his arms, glaring at Mr. Browne. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd.”
“No need to be shy, gentlemen.” Lust rose off of him like the stench of rotten cheese, but underneath it were the pangs of envy. “I’m sure you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
Aziraphale put on his haughtiest expression. “And we would prefer you not see us, Mr. Browne, even if that means we have to change at home before the play tomorrow.”
He raised his eyebrows in alarm. “Those clothes belong to the theater.”
Crowley put a hand to his spectacles. If putting a demonic edge in his voice didn’t work, he’d mesmerize the director. “Leave. Us. Alone.”
Mr. Browne finally got the hint and left. For good measure, Crowley miracled all of his tyres flat, a choice he regretted when the human was still lingering in the parking lot as they got into the Bentley.
“We really have to do something about him,” Crowley said as they headed home.
Aziraphale sighed. “He’s more lonely than anything else, dearest. He didn’t even realize he was gay until we moved here. If only we could send him to Soho, or anywhere else he could meet someone willing and able to reciprocate his affections.”
“Can anybody find me somebody to love?” Queenie played.
Crowley said, “You may have something there. What if we were to invite some of your old associates from Whickber Street to see the show tomorrow, including a certain carpet salesperson?”
“It would certainly be better than inviting only Mr. Brown,” Aziraphale replied. “Carpet Brown, not Teacher Browne. But even if the two of them meet, there’s no guarantee they’ll hit it off. Remember how well our efforts to pair Maggie and Nina went?”
“They got together eventually.”
“Without miracles,” Aziraphale emphasized.
Crowley groaned. “The Browns ought to take a hint from this play and fall in love with each other’s names.”
“Crowley, dearest, you’re a genius!”
“I am?”
“You are.” Aziraphale loaded enough fondness into his voice to make Crowley melt. “You’ve inspired me with the perfect way to get Mr. Brown and Mr. Browne together!”
Aziraphale explained his idea as they turned down their private lane towards the cottage. Crowley pursed his lips as he listened. It wasn’t anywhere as risky as Aziraphale’s bullet catch from 1941, but it still made him uncomfortable.
“Promise me you’ll fake the injury,” he said. “Or I assure you, the show won’t go on.”
His husband smiled. “If I fooled Heaven for six thousand years, tricking a few humans should be a breeze.”
That didn’t make Crowley feel any better.
As they pulled into the garage, Brahms, Aziraphale’s car, flashed his headlights at them. Aziraphale patted Brahms’ yellow bonnet and promised the Beetle they’d go shopping as usual tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, Crowley texted Eric and explained the situation. Hopefully the other demon would be able to come up with a way to get Carpet Brown to the South Downs without making him too suspicious.
***
Eric did his job a little too well, informing not just the Wickber Street Trade Association but also the entire Neutral Alignment about the play. Ticket sales doubled overnight, prompting suggestions that the cast add a second show. Crowley had to explain several times to curious demons and angels that he and Aziraphale didn’t want their legs literally broken, thank you very much. Then he and his husband had to convince the other beings not to pop into the dressing room for a quick chat while the cast was getting ready.
Crowley could feel angels and demons taking their seats in the audience. Eric and Muriel were in the front row with several humans; hopefully Carpet Brown was with them. Tabitha and Lunael had transported themselves over from America. Even Solisel and Saraquel had descended from Heaven to attend. Crowley confirmed the details of their plan with Eric. Then he and Aziraphale helped each other change.
“Painting the lily,” Crowley murmured as he emphasized Aziraphale’s eyes with liner. He’d heard the original line at the Globe long before humans altered the phrase. “To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish is wasteful and ridiculous excess.”
Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled. “Thou art wise as thou art beautiful,” he replied. Raising his voice a little, he added, “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”
Before Crowley could continue the exchange, Mr. Browne cleared his throat. “Interested in Shakespeare, gentlemen? Perhaps we can perform the Bard this winter.”
Crowley hoped he’d move out of the village by then.
Aziraphale’s character didn’t appear onstage during the first act, so he lingered in the wings in case anyone needed prompting. He snuck a kiss on Crowley’s cheek just before Lady Bracknell made her entrance; Crowley had to miracle the lipstick away as he walked on. Even though he’d sensed the other demons and angels earlier, their presence distracted him for an instant. He managed to get back into character and make it through his lines without incident.
Crowley wasn’t onstage during Act Two, so he was able to watch Aziraphale and Mr. Browne from the wings. By Someone, Mr. Browne’s wooing grew more ardent every time he uttered his lines. Aziraphale kept his expression under control until his exit, when he shared a grimace with Crowley.
“That was brilliant, Mr. Fell. You too, Mr. Crowley.” Mr. Browne stepped toward him. “There’s tea and biscuits in the dressing room if you’re interested.”
“Just a moment,” Aziraphale said. “I want to make sure Miss Prism’s handbag is ready.”
“Leave it to Andrew,” Mr. Browne said. “It’s his job.”
Aziraphale injected a note of sternness into his voice. “I’d feel much better if I saw to it myself.”
“If you don’t mind fetching the tea, Mr. Browne.” Crowley focused his spectacled gaze on the human until he left.
“Finally!” Aziraphale sat on a nearby bench to remove his shoe. He cast a miracle while Crowley set the scene.
By the time Mr. Browne returned with a mug and plate, Crowley was kneeling in front of Aziraphale, gently examining his swollen ankle. “Does it hurt when I do this, angel?”
(It shouldn’t, since Aziraphale’s miracle had literally been skin deep. His muscles and bones were still in perfect condition.)
Aziraphale moaned, then gave the director a tight smile. “What dreadful luck, Mr. Browne. I’m not sure what I tripped on, but I’m afraid I can’t go on during the final act.”
The actor’s mouth gaped in horror. “But without Miss Prism, we can’t finish the play! We don’t even have an understudy for you!”
“Fortunately, a friend of ours is in the audience. He’ll be able to step in.” Crowley texted Eric the signal to proceed at intermission. “Don’t you have anything cold for Aziraphale’s ankle, Mr. Browne? A bag of frozen peas, maybe?”
“Why would we have something like that in a theatre?”
“Just check.” Crowley surreptitiously wiggled his fingers.
By the time Mr. Browne returned with the bag, Eric and Muriel, sporting a baby bump, had managed to drag Carpet Brown backstage. Aziraphale and Crowley had used miracles to change Aziraphale back into his normal clothes and create a new costume for Mr. Brown, complete with a wig that roughly resembled the angel’s fluffy white-blond hair.
“I’m flattered you thought of me first, Mr. Fell, but surely there’s someone else who can step in….” Mr. Brown faltered as he regarded Mr. Browne.
“Mr. Brown, meet Mr. Browne,” Aziraphale said.
“So good of you to volunteer like this.” Mr. Browne clung to Mr. Brown’s hand longer than was polite. “Such a big help not only to our play, but the entire village!”
“Oh, yes, that’s me, always being civic-minded.” Mr. Brown preened.
He allowed himself to be cajoled into the costume. Eric ensured it fit, while Muriel adjusted the wig and powdered Mr. Brown’s mustache, using a miracle to temporarily hide it. When they were done, Mr. Brown’s appearance was close enough to Arizaphale’s to fool the audience.
Mr. Brown’s grin faltered as the play continued onstage, drawing closer to his entrance. “But I haven’t a clue what to say.”
“I can help out there.” Aziraphale wriggled his hands. “I’ve picked up a fair amount of unusual skills, including that of ventriloquism. I can say the lines and project them so they sound like they’re coming from you. You just have to move your mouth.”
“And you can definitely do that,” Crowley added.
“Crowley! Your cue!”
“Blast it!” As Merriman called again for Lady Bracknell, Crowley took an instant to get back into character. Lady Bracknell had a fair amount of lines before Miss Prism returned to the stage. He’d almost forgotten about the switch until Eric pushed Mr. Brown on stage so hard he almost lost his balance. Mr. Brown kept glancing offstage as he mouthed Miss Prism’s lines, as if following Aziraphale’s lead. It made his reluctance to approach Lady Bracknell more realistic.
Crowley added venom to the words, “Prism! Where is that baby?”
Mr. Brown cringed, wrung his hands, then gave his speech so fluently Crowley wondered if a miracle was involved.
The rest of the play passed in a blur. Miss Prism recognized her handbag, Jack discovered his original name really was Earnest, and the three happy couples embraced. Mr. Brown and Mr. Browne didn’t hesitate as they clung to each other. As the cast took their curtain calls, Crowley darted to the wings and hauled Aziraphale onstage. His angel clung to him as if for dear life, playing up his role as invalid. The applause from the audience surged.
Crowley and Aziraphale let the other actors, including Mr. Brown, proceed to the dressing room without them. “Looks like your idea worked, angel,” Crowley said.
“At least for now. They have to take it from here. I don’t want to keep interfering with their relationship.”
“Not a good idea,” Crowley agreed. His mobile blew up with texts from the rest of the Neutral Alignment, demanding to know if Aziraphale was all right. “Feel up to showing our friends that you’re fine?”
Aziraphale picked up his shoe. “We can tell the alignment that it’s just an act, but I should probably pretend to the humans that I need a day or two to recover before I remove the swelling. I’ll have to stay off my feet, of course.”
“Of course.” Crowley lowered his voice. “And we’ll just have to find some reason to keep you in bed, won’t we?”
Aziraphale grabbed the collar of Crowley’s dress. “I don’t care what Teacher Browne says, you’re wearing this outfit home.”
Cackling, Crowley drew his angel closer to him and led him out to the front of the theater, where their friends waited. A half hour at most with them, then they’d speed home so Crowley could carry Aziraphale into Eden Cottage.
No matter how important it was to be Earnest, it was even more important to be Husbandly.