There Will Come a Day: A Good Omens Fanfic

Kiss and dance like no other

The book sale was held neither in Sotheby's, where Aziraphale was accustomed to pursue the kind of manuscript that left his beautifully soft palms sweaty, nor in some smoky public house that he vaguely felt forgers would frequent. Instead, they delivered their cards—Crowley adroitly managing to present his without Aziraphale seeing what he listed as his name and occupation—at an elegant townhouse in Belgravia. The footman looked at the cards as if both names were expected, and ushered them into a surprisingly uncluttered and modern drawing room.

Aziraphale waited to be introduced, but a rather glamorous old lady in autumnal greys cried out "Anthony, darling!" Crowley kissed her cheek and established himself on the settee with his hand in hers, and Aziraphale found himself unceremoniously abandoned and feeling a little lost.

He looked around at the fashionable people sipping tea and sherry, wondering if the whole thing was some kind of terrible joke. He relaxed a little when his eye fell on an old acquaintance from the trade, a portly man in an expensive suit and hair almost as beautifully brilliantined as that of the demon.

"Surprised to find you here, Fell," the man said cheerfully, hailing a maid who was trailing around with drinks. Aziraphale strove for his name. Green? "Here, a sherry for my friend Mr Fell. I didn't think it was your scene—but, actually, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised after all," he corrected himself, shrewd blue eyes sizing him up. "No one could amass a collection like yours and still be on the up and up."

"I have no idea what you mean," Aziraphale said firmly, although he was beginning to have suspicions. Crowley was leaning considerately towards his companion, but Aziraphale was sure he detected a malicious tilt upwards to his lips. He was certain Crowley was listening to every word.

"I'm not saying anything. Discretion, that's the keyword. I suppose you are here for the palimpsest and not the pornography?"

Crowley's lips were definitely twitching.

"Certainly not for the—not in my line at all, my dear fellow!"

"I did wonder for a moment. Please tell me you didn't turn up with the Duchess's dago and just met at the door."

"Dago?" Aziraphale said vaguely. He had always liked Green well enough, with the indulgent and distant affection he felt for humans who didn't get in his way and were interested in important things like books. He seemed rather less endearing now. Aziraphale wondered if it would be too cutting to stop calling him dear.

"The greasy kept poodle in the fancy glasses. Maybe not a dago, but you can't tell me he's from England. Something odd about that one."

"Oh, no, Crowley's not from England," Aziraphale said firmly.

"So you do know him?" Green looked speculatively at him, taking in the immaculate suit, the plump manicured hands, the exquisite buttonhole. "Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised after all. Oh, well, no harm. You're a good book man, I've always said that, whatever else you are. But I'm not letting you get hold of these codexes."

Codexes. Palimpsests. Through his discomfort at this glimpse into Crowley's twentieth century world, Aziraphale's ruling passion held true.

''To be precise, Mr Green, I haven't had the opportunity to learn much about this sale. It seems most irregular—most irregular indeed."

"Well, of course it is irregular." Green seemed a little surprised. "I mean, they couldn't really come out on the open market, now could they? Bit of explaining to do."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "My friend, tell me exactly what is going on here, and—well. I might have a second copy of the Buggre All This Biblethat has suddenly come up for sale."