Work Text:
FADE IN:
EXT. DEVIL’S DYKE – EVENING
Snow falls gently around a very comfortable COTTAGE. It is old-fashioned looking, perhaps Victorian; two-story, stone, with peaked dormer windows. It is nestled among the trees. The light from the windows is warm and orange.
Camera closes in on the window. We can see, through the TARTAN curtains, a very comfortable if eclectic LIVING ROOM. The furnishings are a mix of modern and old-fashioned, with everything appearing very lived-in and loved.
A figure in white and tartan sits on the sofa. This is AZIRAPHALE. He looks as comfortable and as loved as the sofa he sits on.
Camera pushes through the window and cut to –
INT. SOUTHDOWNS COTTAGE LIVING ROOM – EVENING
As we pan through the room we can see in more detail: angel figurines, potted plants, a few larger statues that probably have some story behind them, and many shelves of books.
There is a brick or stone FIREPLACE with a cheerful fire inside. Above the mantel is a large flatscreen TELEVISION. A figure dressed all in black with red hair is attempting to get a movie to play but such technology is baffling to everyone, including demons. This is CROWLEY.
Between CROWLEY and AZIRAPHALE is a large coffee table, also covered in books and a small green succulent. There is a bowl of popcorn, though AZIRAPHALE has already eaten more than half.
We can see the living room extend behind them into an open-concept KITCHEN and DINING ROOM. All three rooms appear to be made on different designs that do not blend together; perhaps the kitchen is silver, sleek and modern while the dining room has rustic knotty pine beams. The COTTAGE appears somewhat larger on the inside than it did outside.
More bookcases can be seen in every corner, potted plants in every window, and tartan accents throughout.
CROWLEY finally steps back from the television, remote control in hand. When he turns, we can see he has golden eyes with narrow pupils. A pair of SUNGLASSES is folded in a pocket of his jacket.
CROWLEY: Right, I think it will play now. Are you sure this is a good idea?
AZIRAPHALE: Certainly, my dear fellow. Over the past few months I have read many stories inspired by us. They are quite delightful fun!
CROWLEY: But how can they exist? How can people know the details? And how can there be a movie – based on what happened just this past summer – that’s older than Adam is?
CROWLEY walks back to the sofa, and drops more than sits next to AZIRAPHALE. He sprawls to AZIRAPHALE’s left.
AZIRAPHALE smiles at him softly.
AZIRAPHALE: Perhaps the events echoed through the time stream, inspiring humans in the past and the future. Such things are certainly possible.
CROWLEY: (Very sarcastic and scornful) Sounds ineffable.
AZIRAPHALE: Perhaps. Try to simply relax and enjoy the film, my dear.
Rolling his eyes, CROWLEY presses a button on the remote. The television comes to life.
As they watch, the screen fades to a PAINTING of the Garden of Eden, featuring traditional Renaissance depictions of ADAM and EVE and the apple tree; there is also an ANGEL in a white robe with flaming sword and a GREEN SERPENT wearing SUNGLASSES.
AZIRAPHALE: Well who are they supposed to be?
CROWLEY: That’s us in Eden, isn’t it?
AZIRAPHALE: Don’t be absurd. Why would you be green? Who are those – they look nothing like Adam and Eve.
CROWELY rolls his eyes, but there is no anger in it.
CROWLEY: That’s you with the flaming sword, isn’t it? So that has to be me. Garden, apple…
AZIRAPHALE: Sunglasses. Do you suppose you’ll have green hair in this film?
As they talk, the screen changes. As opening credits roll, we see more traditional artworks – a cave painting, an Egyptian fresco, the death of Julius Caesar, the discovery of America, a Victorian etching, and finally a 1920s photograph. In each, at the edge of the action, can be seen two figures – one in white, one in black and wearing sunglasses.
In the background can be heard the slide-click noise of a game of CHECKERS (or draughts) being played.
CROWLEY: Look, we don’t have to watch it. I certainly don’t. It got very bad reviews. We can just -
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, hush. Look, more paintings.
CROWLEY: (Disdainful) I did not go around Egypt dressed like that!
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, your outfit does seem to be rather lacking in gold. Is this supposed to be a museum? And what is that infernal clacking noise?
CROWLEY: Search me. Still trying to figure out why we’re photobombing history.
AZIRAPHALE: That isn’t how Caesar’s assassination went at all! And I was certainly nowhere near any ships sailed by that horrible Columbo fellow.
Despite his words, AZIRAPHALE appears to be enjoying the film. CROWLEY gives an occasional indulgent smile.
CROWLEY: The 19th century one almost looks like us. If I lowered my fashion standards -
AZIRAPHALE: Shh! It’s starting!
Despite this, neither shows any sign of ceasing to talk.
The title “GOOD OMENS” appears above two men playing checkers – one in white, the other in black and wearing sunglasses. They sit in an artwork-filled office at the BRITISH MUSEUM.
CROWLEY: Eh, not bad I guess. At least I look…almost cool. Trying way too hard.
AZIRAPHALE: Well, what are you doing at the British Museum?
CROWLEY: Playing draughts with you, obviously.
AZIRAPHALE: No you aren’t. That can’t be me.
CROWLEY: Of course it is. Look at those clothes -
AZIRAPHALE: Precisely. That jacket is absolutely filthy. Tsk. Besides, if I was at the British Museum, I would be eating that lovely cake from the café.
The first line of dialogue in the film goes to SCRIPT!CROWLEY, who is looking cool and angsty: “IT’S ALL GOING TOO WELL.” Dialogue continues as they talk.
CROWLEY: What sort of opening line is that? “…going too well.” Do I sound like that?
AZIRAPHALE: You do like to complain.
CROWLEY: About real, valid things. And not in clichés.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY realizes he is about to lose the game, and pulls the “what is that thing behind you trick.” When SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE falls for it, SCRIPT!CROWLEY moves a few pieces.
AZIRAPHALE: (Gasps with mock offense) Did you just cheat?
CROWLEY: You fell for it.
AZIRAPHALE:I told you, that isn’t me. You did! You cheated that poor fellow in a game of draughts. The cheek!
CROWLEY: Angel, who else would I have been playing against every week for six thousand years?
AZIRAPHALE: Certainly not me. I would have noticed you cheating.
CROWLEY opens his mouth, possibly to object.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): Don’t think I don’t know about how you cheat at coin tosses. And knucklebones. And Nine-Men’s Morris.
CROWLEY: (Scowling) Only because you cheated first.
AZIRAPHALE: It isn’t cheating to ensure the righteous triumph of good over evil. Oh, what are you complaining about now?
CROWLEY: Everything, I think. Boring? Did he say Earth is boring? Oy, get over yourself, you useless git. If you think you’ve got a better planet you’re welcome to it!
AZIRAPHALE: (Stepping over CROWLEY’s complaints without any real concern) Oh, who is this young lady?
Onscreen, the new arrival POLLY has addressed SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE as “Professor Aziraphale.” The real AZIRAPHALE’s face immediately falls, and he gives his double a scrutinizing look.
AZIRAPHALE: Well! I suppose not everything translated through accurately.
CROWLEY: Told you that was you. I can recognize genuine angelic smugness anywhere.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, she appears to be my assistant! Though in that case she should be back at my shop arranging the cobwebs to keep people out of the poetry section.
CROWLEY: (With the air of one about to deliver some very distressing news) I think you…work at the Museum.
AZIRAPHALE: Crowley, you’re being absurd. How can I work here? How could this be my office? There isn’t a single book in sight. Just a bunch of paintings and you – you’re flirting with my assistant! Right in front of me!
CROWLEY: (Angry, muttered as a threat) He really does need to get over himself.
AZIRAPHALE: (A little alarmed at CROWLEY’s tone) Now, dear, try to remember this is all good fun. I promise not to take offense.
CROWLEY: I just… I don’t like his attitude.
AZIRAPHALE: Yes, this…character does seem to be in a perpetually sour mood. Pessimistic. Brooding, even. I can’t put my finger on it, but he seems a little familiar…
CROWLEY: A little – you take that back, Angel!
AZIRAPHALE: (Grinning like a bastard) They certainly have the scowl down. Now I just need to hear you say “it’s all going too well.”
CROWLEY: I’m not playing your sick mind games. And I’m certainly not going to say –
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY says “It’s all going too well!” Our CROWLEY does a full-body cringe, while AZIRAPHALE laughs as hard as he ever has.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (To the screen) Could you – just – STOP?! No one wants to hear your pathetic complaints – oh NOW what is he doing?
Onscreen, SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE and POLLY have continued through the back offices of the Museum, while SCRIPT!CROWLEY saunters through the galleries towards the exit.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY pickpockets a Museum patron, and tosses the stolen wallet into an unsuspecting passerby’s bag. A fight ensues.
AZIRAPHALE: (Still giggling) Oh, dear. It would appear he’s much more demonic than you. Cheating at draughts. Petty crime. Starting fights.
CROWLEY: He barely inconvenienced four people. That’s not clever - (To the screen) You’re not clever!
AZIRAPHALE: It think it was very neatly done. Better than that time you glued a coin…
CROWLEY: What is this a trial?
SCRIPT!CROWLEY, now speaking to himself, repeats “It’s all going to well.” This is at least the fourth time the phrase has been uttered. CROWLEY continues to cringe every time it is said.
CROWLEY: What is that, his catchphrase? (To the screen) Catchphrases aren’t cool, you self-absorbed toadstool!
AZIRAPHALE: (Pointing happily) Finally, something familiar! Look, dear!
SCRIPT!CROWLEY is ranting about the Garden of Eden as he approaches a beautiful black vintage Bentely. A TRAFFIC WARDEN stands nearby, writing a ticket.
CROWLEY: (Smiling) Yes! You, know, it’s actually nice that even in this weird, upside-down reality I still – NAKED BIMBO?! He called Eve -
AZIRAPHALE: (For the first time, distinctly uncomfortable) Er, I suppose…sexism is…demonic?
CROWLEY is temporarily at a loss for words, hands bunching into fists on his knees. Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY crumbles up the TICKET and throws it into the back of the Bentley, where several hundred more litter the floor.
Our CROWLEY leaps half-off the sofa, clutching at the sofa arm to hold himself back. AZIRAPHALE is rather alarmed.
CROWLEY: You disgusting excuse for a – don’t throw trash in my Bentley! Take some blessed pride in – oh, for SOMEONE’s sake!
CROWLEY drops back into his seat as angrily as possible, while SCRIPT!CROWLEY races off, leaving the traffic warden with a burning notepad.
AZIRAPHALE: At least he…drives like you?
CROWLEY is not amused.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh. Er. They’re back to me now. I’m sure this will be. Um. Entertaining?
CROWLEY is not playing along.
Onscreen, several WEALTHY MUSEUM DONOR TYPES are discussing a Renaissance painting that needs to be authenticated. They appear incapable of doing so without stating repeatedly that SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE is as intelligent as he is mad.
SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE takes one look at the painting and declares it a fake, as he is sure he would remember it if it were real.
AZIRAPHALE: That scene was…entirely superfluous! What on Earth was the point of – of any of that?
CROWLEY: (Still not happy) At least you sounded like yourself.
AZIRAPHALE: I didn’t sound intelligent at all! I sounded silly and…and mad, like some doddering old – oooh, don’t you START.
Onscreen, we see SCRIPT!CROWLEY park the Bentley and begin walking towards “THE HELLFIRE CLUB (Anthony Crowley Proprietor)”
CROWLEY: And this git again. Now where is he?
AZIRAPHALE: Is that a shop? Why do YOU get a shop while I wander around a Museum making unfounded proclamations about art?
CROWLEY: Angel, nothing in this movie makes any… The Hellfire Club?!
AZIRAPHALE: (Gleeful) Oh ho! That brings back memories.
CROWLEY: I don’t know what you -
AZIRAPHALE: Fais ce que tu voudras, my dear fellow.
CROWLEY: (Blushing furiously) I swear, I never once – wait, you DID?
AZIRAPHALE: (Realizing he’s overplayed) Oh dear.
CROWLEY: What were you doing at Sir Francis Dashwood’s little get-togethers?
AZIRAPHALE: I. Er. I had a perfectly reasonable – oh, look, you own a disco!
CROWLEY is in no way interested in the bar and dance club, which has black walls accented with red-painted flames; nor in SCRIPT!CROWLEY making more comments about hating humans. CROWLEY is, however, smiling again.
CROWLEY: Don’t try to distract me with that tacky monstrosity. I know what kind of reputation that Abbey had. I think you owe me a nice long story about –
SCRIPT!CROWLEY says his catchphrase again.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (Glaring glarefully at the television) STOP. SAYING. THAT.
AZIRAPHALE: Another time.
Desperate for a distraction, AZIRAPHALE leans forward, studying the film. It now shows the club at night, filled with intense music and dancing patrons, as well as scantily-clad waitresses in red with fake horns and tails.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): Good Lord, what are those young ladies wearing? And the music! Positively atrocious!
CROWLEY: I will definitely be asking you more questions later. Lots of questions.
CROWLEY glances at the screen. He shifts uncomfortably, pulling a little more into the corner of the sofa.
CROWLEY: Ugh. What is this place? Why would anyone think I would spend one minute in a hole like that?
AZIRAPHALE: As I said, it would appear you own it.
CROWLEY: It’s ridiculous. Cheap and tasteless, dark, crowded, everyone pressed against each other with no room to move…
All the time he is talking, CROWLEY’s voice gets lower, his shoulders more hunched.
AZIRAPHALE quietly reaches over to squeeze his hand. After a moment, SCRIPT!CROWLEY leaves the crowded dance floor, and the camera follows him to his office.
CROWLEY begins to relax, nods to AZIRAPHALE. AZIRAPHALE releases his hand, but does not move further away.
CROWLEY: (Clearly trying to steady himself) At least this office isn’t bad. This was the nineties right? Or maybe the eighties? I was pretty into the bland hotel look then. Can’t really remember why.
CROWLEY glances fondly around the COTTAGE, no part of which can be described as bland or minimalist.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY sets up several candles, lights them, and begins talking to the empty air.
AZIRAPHALE: Reporting to head office…by candle?
CROWLEY: Lucky bastard. (Shrugs) The ways Hell contacted me were more… intrusive, usually.
AZIRAPHALE: (Catching some of the dialogue) Ah, this is more like it. I believe you actually DID take credit for sitcom laugh tracks.
CROWLEY: Made that one up. The airline meals were actually me, though. Ugh. Backwards messages? Definitely the eighties. Worst decade since the fourteenth century.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY has just been told something that the audience cannot hear, but which makes him very nervous.
CROWLEY: Nh. Looks like we’re getting to it now.
Once again, SCRIPT!CROWLEY says “all going to well.” CROWLEY! Clenches his teeth and growls with frustration
AZIRAPHALE: (With a sort of desperate cheerfulness) Look! No more club! We’re at the park. That’s good, isn’t it?
CROWLEY: You’re in a good mood at least.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY and SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE wander through Hyde Park. It is a warm sunny day with children eating ice cream and people smiling.
The ANGEL and DEMON discuss morality. It is rather more simplified than the discussions CROWLEY and AZIRAPHALE usually have. SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE attempts to use the example of a young woman giving her ice cream to a child as an example of spreading happiness as the ultimate form of goodness. SCRIPT!CROWLEY has a few things to say about the young woman’s motivations.
AZIRAPHALE listens in horrified disbelief, until CROWLEY bursts into laughter, head thrown back.
AZIRAPHALE: I am an idiot.
CROWLEY: She dropped an ice cream – had a dog lick it clean – then gave it to a kid?
AZIRAPHALE: He said it was a good deed. In what universe does that constitute a good deed?
CROWLEY: That’s just – cartoonish, that is!
AZIRAPHALE: “The child was happy” – utilitarian nonsense. As if happiness alone were a measure of -
CROWLEY: What’s next? Is she going to burn down a kitten orphanage?
AZIRAPHALE: (Snapping at the screen) There is nuance to this, you naïve fool! You must consider the motive, the available choices, the ultimate ramifications of -
CROWLEY: (Gleeful) Ducks!
SCRIPT!CROWLEY and SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE stop to feed the ducks in the pond.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, no, don’t talk about that pointless painting again. (Angrily at the television) We don’t know it was a forgery! It might have been misattributed!
CROWLEY: Yes. Or our Angel might have just wandered off from the painter he was supposed to be observing and joined a cult for a decade.
AZIRAPHALE: I told you there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that which I will divulge at a later time.
CROWLEY: When you’ve had time to make it up, you mean. Oops, there goes the duck.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY has fed bread to a DUCK, and the DUCK has promptly been submerged.
AZIRAPHALE: (At the same time as SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE, in precisely the same tone) Really!
CROWLEY: Oh, what? They hold their breath and I like it when they pop back up.
AZIRAPHALE glares at CROWLEY, folding his arms sullenly. He turns his glare back to the television as SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE says “It’s all going too well.”
AZIRAPHALE: Don’t you start.
As they walk out of the park, SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE asks what is bothering SCRIPT!CROWLEY.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY refuses to explain, giving the angel the brush-off.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY dismissively says “I can’t tell you that.”
CROWLEY: Tell him.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY calls SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE “the opposition.”
CROWLEY: Tell him!
AZIRAPHALE: Crowley dear…
SCRIPT!CROWLEY angrily states “You’re an angel, I’m a demon…” CROWLEY immediately leaps from his seat, preparing to charge the screen in a rage.
CROWLEY: Don’t you bloody start with that you piece of shit! Who the Heaven do you think you’re talking to? He actually wants to help you, and you shut him out? Get off your fucking ego trip and tell him -
AZIRAPHALE: (Alarmed) Crowley!
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY says they’ve known each other a long time, and SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE reminds him, in a hurt voice, “six thousand years.”
AZIRAPHALE is visibly pained by these words, but they seem to freeze CROWLEY in place. AZIRAPHALE reaches for CROWLEY’s hand, pulls him back towards the sofa.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): My dear… It’s alright. You don’t need to be upset. It’s just a film.
CROWLEY: It isn’t -
AZIRAPHALE: Yes. It is. The story may sound like us, the lines are certainly uncanny. But this never happened. We never said these things, not like this. It isn’t real.
With great reluctance, CROWLEY sits again. He can’t quite meet AZIRAPHALE’s eyes, but holds AZIRAPHALE’s hand in both of his.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): And…I’m sorry. That I wasn’t always honest with you when -
CROWLEY: (Finally looks up) No. This isn’t about you, Aziraphale. I mean it is, but. You needed to keep yourself safe. If that meant lying to yourself, even lying to me – I don’t care. You did what you had to do, and you never have to apologize for that.
AZIRAPHALE: Trust is a two-way street, and I -
CROWLEY: No. I know what Heaven does to angels who – who ask questions or have doubts. You told me what you could and that was enough. But it was different for me. And I always told you everything.
AZIRAPHALE: Perhaps it’s different for him? Perhaps he needs to keep secrets to be safe?
CROWLEY: Now you sound naïve. Trying to find the good in everyone.
AZIRAPHALE: Not everyone.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE’s wounded puppy-dog look has done its job, and SCRIPT!CROWLEY promises to tell everything the following night. Our AZIRAPHALE smiles.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): See? He is going to tell me. Maybe there’s some hope for him yet.
The film abruptly cuts to club again, music and dancing in full swing. CROWLEY releases AZIRAPHALE’s hand, retreating into the corner of the sofa again, arms crossed tightly.
Onscreen, a fabulous if flaky red-haired woman is celebrating riotously with a group of friends. There is something undeniably familiar about her sense of style.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, who is this, er, charming lady?
CROWLEY: I think that’s Madame Tracy.
AZIRAPHALE: No! Well. Perhaps she’ll liven up his grumpy face a little.
MADAME TRACY and her friends are loudly drunk, in a bar full of loud drunks. SCRIPT!CROWLEY approaches to ask some questions. MADAME TRACY drunkenly explains that her crowd mostly have come because they think she’s rich, that she has just been paid by her “very important friend” who thinks she is “getting too old.” She was paid in cash.
CROWLEY: (Setting new records for sour expression) Why is he bothering her, anyway? Nosy git.
AZIRAPHALE: (Completely innocent) Perhaps he thought their party was going to well.
CROWLEY: Don’t you even –
Onscreen, a DRUNK MAN WITH TOO MUCH MONEY attempts to grab MARJORIE THE SCANTILY CLAD WAITRESS in an inappropriate way. She immediately trips, breaking glasses and spilling drinks. Possibly the music pauses in a dramatic way.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY leaps into action.
AZIRAPHALE: Sensing what is coming) Ooooooooooh!
CROWLEY: Oh no. No. I am not going to believe he’s nice just because he helps a waitress. Don’t even try to do that now because -
AZIRAPHALE: (Slapping CROWLEY’s arm in excitement) Look! He waved the muscle-bound bouncer away! He’s standing up to the drunk man!
CROWLEY: No.
AZIRAPHALE: He’s turning down a bribe!
As SCRIPT!CROWLEY confronts the unruly customer, CROWLEY hides behind his hand.
The CUSTOMER turns away, and SCRIPT!CROWLEY addresses him as “Sunshine.” At this point, AZIRAPHALE can no longer hold it in, and laughs until he falls off the sofa.
The CUSTOMER attempts to punch SCRIPT!CROWLEY, who easily catches his hand and squeezes it under crushing pressure.
CROWLEY: Oh, what the fuck?
The CUSTOMER completely subdued, SCRIPT!CROWLEY instructs the MUSCLE-BOUND BOUNCER to “show the gentleman out.”
AZIRAPHALE: (Still on the ground, laughing) My hero!
CROWLEY: Was that supposed to make us like him? Or make us think humans are arseholes? I honestly can’t tell.
AZIRAPHALE climbs back onto the couch, still giggling. Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY has gone into the restroom to stare moodily at the mirror.
AZIRAPHALE: Ah, but we were able to see the power of your fisticuffs!
CROWLEY: Shut up. See if I ever stand up for you again.
AZIRAPHALE: Oooh, next time I’m in trouble, you can come out swinging like a –
Onscreen, SATAN’s eyes suddenly fill the mirror in front of SCRIPT!CROWLEY, and an echoing, menacing voice calls, “CROWLEY.”
On the sofa, our CROWLEY flinches, and goes very still. His jaw is clenched. One fist has grabbed the pocket where he keeps his SUNGLASSES.
AZIRAPHALE slides closer on the sofa, until his shoulder is pressed into CROWLEY’s. The demon does not relax. AZIRAPHALE is watching CROWLEY, not the television.
AZIRAPHALE: Is this…what it was like?
CROWLEY: Close enough.
The scene is very brief. SATAN tells SCRIPT!CROWLEY to meet him in half an hour, at a location exactly half an hour away. A map briefly flashes on the screen to show the location.
AZIRAPHALE considers making a Google Quest joke, but senses this is not the time.
CROWLEY does not move, blink, or breathe until the eyes fade.
CROWLEY: I know it isn’t real. But it’s just…
AZIRAPHALE: I understand.
CROWLEY stands, runs his fingers through his hair, circles behind the sofa.
CROWLEY: Look, I’ll just. Popcorn. Do you want more popcorn?
AZIRAPHALE: Crowley. We don’t have to watch this.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY has run into MADAME TRACY, who is either asking for financial advice, or hitting on him. It is unclear. CROWLEY cannot bring himself to make a joke.
CROWLEY: This is…no. I’ll be fine. Just. I need a minute. What do you want? Popcorn? Ice Cream? Sushi?
AZIRAPHALE pauses the film just as SCRIPT!CROWLEY reaches the Bentley.
AZIRAPHALE: Probably not all three. Do you need me to come with you?
CROWLEY: (Trying to sound dismissive) Only if you want to.
AZIRAPHALE follows CROWLEY to the kitchen, taking the popcorn bowl, which is still about one quarter full.
The camera lingers near the sofa, so we only see them from a distance, speaking in hushed voices. As the popcorn pops, AZIRAPHALE places a hand on CROWLEY’s cheek, saying something indistinct.
CROWLEY covers the hand with his own and nods. Impulsively, he reaches out and pulls AZIRAPHALE into a tight embrace, and just as suddenly lets go, turning back to the popcorn as if to cook it by sheer force of will.
AZIRAPHALE bites his lips and reaches for CROWLEY’s shoulder, hand hovering for a moment, then lets it fall.
When the bowl of popcorn is ready, they return to the sofa. CROWLEY holds the popcorn while AZIRAPHALE tucks a tartan blanket over their laps. CROWLEY then places the popcorn bowl between them.
Throughout the next scene, AZIRAPHALE eats popcorn almost continuously, while CROWLEY picks at a few pieces.
CROWLEY: Right. Whiny git version of me meeting actual Satan. Let’s go.
The movie starts: the Bentley racing towards its destination through dark London streets.
CROWLEY (CONT.): At least there’s no Hastur and Ligur, right?
AZIRAPHALE: No Gabriel either. Count our blessings, I suppose.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY puts a cassette into the player. Instead of Queen, it plays a hard rock version of “Every Day” by Buddy Holly.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh! I like this song! Though it’s usually less…abrasive.
CROWLEY: You like – you are full of surprises today, Aziraphale. Where did you ever hear “Every Day”?
AZIRAPHALE: On a radio.
Onscreen, a POLICE CAR spots the Bentley and gives chase.
AZIRAPHALE: Aha, now your other self will face the consequences of his actions.
CROWLEY: Does he really seem the type to obey traffic cops?
Onscreen, the POLICE CAR’s engine gurgles, forcing it to come to an emergency stop. SCRIPT!CROWLEY is seen doing some ABSURDLY FLASHY MAGIC that was probably intended to look impressive, but the special effects have likely not aged well.
CROWLEY: As I said. He is not a nice demon.
AZIRAPHALE: Didn’t you once fill a police car’s engine with hedgehogs?
CROWLEY: I did nothing of the sort! I made the driver hallucinate hedgehogs in the engine. Same effect, no animals hurt.
The song fades out as the Bentley reaches its destination.
CROWLEY: Ah. Here it comes.
AZIRAPHALE: Are you sure…?
CROWLEY: I’m sure. Keep talking. It helps.
The Bentley arrives at an abandoned Abbey, walls broken and collapsed, ivy growing up the sides. It is as dark and spooky as a location can be.
AZIRAPHALE: Well. If the goal was to find the most cliché possible location, I believe they succeeded. All that’s missing is –
A swarm of bats flies out of the bell tower.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): - nothing, apparently.
CROWLEY nods. He holds a single piece of popcorn between finger and thumb, but doesn’t eat it. The other hand clutches his SUNGLASSES tightly.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY bursts out of the Bentley, terrified. His is late to his meeting, and his superior does not like to be kept waiting. SCRIPT!CROWLEY stumbles and falls as he runs, and from his sprawl on the ground looks up in terror at –
SATAN, a very attractive, confident businessman in a dark, fashionable suit.
AZIRAPHALE: Ah and there’s…does he really look like that?
CROWLEY: (Shrugs. Does not relax his grip) When he wants to. Something like that.
AZIRAPHALE: Ah. He looks… You know, he looks rather like Gabriel. Only darker clothes.
Everything SATAN says is intended to keep SCRIPT!CROWLEY off balance. He makes threats disguised as jokes. He is dismissive of everything around him. He gaslights. He moves in ways that leave SCRIPT!CROWLEY struggling to keep up.
From the sofa, CROWLEY is trying to find something to say, but the words escape him.
AZIRAPHALE: (Softly) He… Well. He sounds rather like Gabriel, too. It’s very…
AZIRAPHALE stops reaching for the popcorn. His hands twist in front of him, pulling at the well-worn edge of his waistcoat. He seems to sit straighter and shrink at the same time.
Then SCRIPT!CROWLEY blurts out “If you were thinking of transferring me somewhere a little more interesting, I wouldn’t say no.” This breaks the spell.
CROWLEY: What?
AZIRAPHALE: (Tentatively) Well, it would appear he truly is bored -
CROWLEY: No. No.
Onscreen, SATAN says “It’ll all be over soon.” SCRIPT!CROWLEY is delighted.
CROWLEY: (Throws his popcorn at the screen) You cowardly little shit! You brainless toady!
AZIRAPHALE: Crowley! We must make allowances for -
CROWLEY: No, we do not! How can you defend him? He wants the world to end!
AZIRAPHALE: He doesn’t. He wants to be somewhere more exciting, and his…superior is not being clear on what that means.
CROWLEY: (This has only made him more upset) More exciting? Where else could he want to go? What other planet has anything worth a damn? Wines or motorways or those – those stupid little robots that vacuum your house while the cat rides on it?
AZIRAPHALE: Or duck ponds. Or dinners at the Ritz.
CROWLEY: Exactly! But this – this fake Crowley…
Onscreen, SATAN mentions Alpha Centauri, and SCRIPT!CROWLEY eagerly jumps in to say “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
CROWLEY growls, and squeezes his SUNGLASSES so hard they break, pieces of metal and glass tumbling to the floor beside the sofa.
AZIRAPHALE: (Trying to soothe him) Come now, dear. When you thought it was over, you wanted to run to that same system.
CROWLEY: No. I wanted us to run. Not the same thing.
CROWLEY reaches out, gently cradling AZIRAPHALE’s face with his hand.
CROWLEY (CONT.): There’s only one…one reason I would want to leave this stupid, brilliant planet and all the terrible, clever beings that live on it. Not because I’m bored. Not even to save myself.
AZIRAPHALE: (Not sure what to make of this confession) Ah. That’s…I…(Glances at the screen) Oh, we’re missing Adam’s introduction!
CROWLEY: Hm?
CROWLEY turns to look at the television, his hand falling away. AZIRAPHALE’s eyes linger on him a moment longer, filing away what he’s heard to process later.
Onscreen, SATAN has manifested a basket that can only contain THE INFANT ANTICHRIST ADAM. He solemnly informs SCRIPT!CROWLEY: “Your job, Crowley, is to raise my son.”
CROWLEY: What?
AZIRAPHALE: (Genuinely excited) Oh! Is this one of the stories where we raise the Antichrist together? I love those!
CROWLEY: Wh – That’s – That’s a thing?
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, indeed! You’re always so good with children. It’s utterly charming!
CROWLEY: (This is all news to him) People think – what is that based on?
AZIRAPHALE: You being such a good nanny to Warlock, I believe.
CROWLEY: Eh, fair point.
AZIRAPHALE: (Practically giddy with anticipation) One look at the baby and he will melt, mark my words.
CROWLEY: Just because I get on with older kids doesn’t mean –
Once again, SATAN has offered SCRIPT!CROWLEY a promotion off Earth in return for his service, which the demon welcomes delightedly.
CROWLEY: And again. This absolute coat hanger has no appreciation for –
SATAN: (Said in the calm, matter-of-fact voice of one stating a fact, not making a threat) But mess up on this, Crowley. Mess up on this and the most pitiable pus-choked damned soul in Hell, in the deepest, fieriest pit of the inferno, undergoing the vilest torments ever devised will be laughing down his leprous nose at you. Because I’ll create a whole new pit, just for you. And no matter how bad anyone’s ever suffered in the past… You’ll have it worse. Do I make myself clear?
As soon as the speech began, CROWLEY’s mouth shut with a click. From the change in his posture and the way his eyes go wide, it is very clear that in his mind he is no longer sitting in a comfortable living room watching a movie.
At the end of the speech, CROWLEY nods, in exactly the same way that SCRIPT!CROWLEY does.
AZIRAPHALE: My dear…Crowley…are you – quite alright?
CROWLEY: ‘S’fine.
AZIRAPHALE: Crowley –
CROWLEY shakes himself, clearly trying to pull himself back together. He looks at the shattered pieces of his glasses, seriously considering putting them back on for the first time since moving into the cottage.
Realizing that AZIRAPHALE is studying his face, Crowley redoubles his efforts to look unaffected.
CROWLEY: No. Really. So – melodramatic. The – the “leprous” thing just – just put it all over the top. Nh. Far too wordy. Trying too hard to – to scare the audience.
AZIRAPHALE: We don’t have to -
CROWLEY: (Totally unconvincing) Look, baby Adam. Isn’t he just a precious little Lord of Darkness.
AZIRAPHALE: (Totally unconvinced) Yes. Very sweet.
CROWLEY: I bet stodgy Museum-You goes absolutely gaga for him. Probably says “toesy-woesies.” Or something even worse.
AZIRAPHALE: You think he’ll call, er, me?
CROWLEY: I would. First chance I got.
Onscreen, we cut to a CHILD’S BEDROOM, where a young girl is asleep in bed. Her room is almost painfully occult.
CROWLEY (CONT.): Oh, now who is this?
AZIRAPHALE: Stuffed alligator on the ceiling – witch doll – pentacles everywhere – oh, I know this one! This must be young Anathema! I do hope they explain about Agnes Nutter and the Witchfinders.
CROWLEY: Seems a bit complicated for this film.
AZIRAPHALE: Well. Obviously they will simplify a bit, but it’s all necessary to understand the Book.
CROWLEY: They’ll probably just have it show up without explanation. Seems more this movie’s style. Maybe a prophecy comic book or something.
ANATHEMA wakes up screaming. CROWLEY and AZIRAPHALE jump, spilling half the popcorn. They are more confused than afraid.
AZIRAPHALE: Did – did I miss something?
CROWLEY: Why is she screaming?
AZIRAPHALE: Did something bite her? A rat? A caterpillar?
CROWLEY: Did she realize what movie she was in?
ANATHEMA’S MOTHER comes in to try and soothe ANATHEMA, assuring her it was just a dream. ANATHEMA begins sobbing about the end of the world.
AZIRAPHALE: A…dream?
CROWLEY: Just…dreams? No book?
AZIRAPHALE: What does this film have against books? I haven’t seen a single book in nearly half an hour.
CROWLEY: Hold on. This is too weird.
CROWLEY pulls out his MOBILE PHONE – it is a sleek new smart phone, with more bells and whistles than he could ever use. He taps the speed dial and waits for it to pick up.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (Over the phone) Hello? Book Girl? It’s me. You’re not going to believe this…
CROWLEY tosses the blanket aside, circling around behind the couch towards the DINING ROOM as he talks.
We stay with AZIRAPHALE, who is gathering the spilled popcorn into a pile.
AZIRAPHALE: (Glaring at the television) I want you to know, I’m not mad, just disappointed.
CROWLEY: (Returning from the dining room)…right. Talk to you later.
CROWLEY hangs up his MOBILE and leans against the back of the sofa. He is too anxious to sit again just yet.
AZIRAPHALE: What did she say?
CROWLEY: “Stop calling me on my honeymoon.” What did I miss?
AZIRAPHALE: Madame Tracy – if that is Tracy – is upset because. Er. Her friends took a taxi without her?
Onscreen, MADAME TRACY is quite drunk, babbling to the BARTENDER about her past “I’ve slept with princes. I’ve bathed in champagne.”
CROWLEY: Good for her. The friends, not so much. Are these the friends that thought she was rich?
AZIRAPHALE: Yes? Most likely?
CROWLEY: Is she rich?
AZIRAPHALE: I’m not actually clear on any part of her story so far.
Scenes of MADAME TRACY gathering her bag and being escorted out by the BARTENDER are intercut with scenes of SCRIPT!CROWLEY racing his Bentley back towards the bar. ADAM’s basket sits on the front seat.
CROWLEY: Still hasn’t called, I see.
AZIRAPHALE: What is he doing, just leaving the child in a basket on the front seat! That is criminally negligent!
CROWLEY: I know! The basket goes on the back seat.
AZIRAPHALE: I beg your pardon?
CROWLEY: Yeah, if you have to swerve to avoid a lorry or whatever, the basket might flip over. On the back seat it has room to slide around.
AZIRAPHALE: (His parent!AU fantasies have taken a hit) Crowley! Are you telling me you drove around with a baby in an unsecured basket in your back seat?
CROWLEY: They only gave me a basket! What else was I supposed to do?
AZIRAPHALE: Miracle up a car seat!
CROWLEY: I – ah – nnh – glk – er…yeah.
AZIRAPHALE: And why is Tracy carrying a large bag of money?
CROWLEY: She did say she just got paid.
AZIRAPHALE: With a duffle bag full of…of ten pound notes?
CROWLEY: Is that a lot of money?
AZIRAPHALE: Quarter of a million, I should think. Ah, no, only half full. A hundred thousand, absolute minimum.
CROWLEY: And she said she wasn’t rich.
AZIRAPHALE: That bag must weigh at least two stone!
CROWLEY: At least we know she’s strong.
CROWLEY begins dialing his MOBILE PHONE again.
Meanwhile, onscreen, MADAME TRACY is trying to unsuccessfully to hail a cab, and has wandered away from the now-closed bar.
AZIRAPHALE: And now she’s leaving the money behind!
CROWLEY: Tracy! You’ll never guess. We’re watching a movie, and you’re in it!
Seeming to have finally relaxed, CROWLEY circles the sofa again, and drops back into the corner he had abandoned. AZIRAPHALE immediately begins settling the blanket over him, though he appears not to notice.
CROWLEY (CONT.): What do you…Oh, do tell. (To AZIRAPHALE, with a wicked grin) She says she was in several movies back in her 20s.
AZIRAPHALE: (Unphased) Yes, I know. She showed me some. Oh, here comes you again!
CROWLEY: Not that prick. (To TRACY, over the mobile) Not you. Ignore that. So this character that’s supposed to be you was paid a big pile of cash to…I dunno…wear diamonds and travel the world with some bloke?...Ooooooh. That makes sense…A hundred thousand? Mh. (To AZIRAPHALE) Sounds like she was underpaid.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY has picked up BABY ADAM to walk him into the club. It is incredibly awkward looking.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (Shouted at the screen) That is not how you hold a newborn! Support the head, you turnip!
AZIRAPHALE beams, having recovered some of his parent!AU joy.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (To TRACY over the mobile) No, this is supposed to be me, I guess. He’s holding baby Adam the way Aziraphale holds birds in his magic act.
AZIRAPHALE: (Annoyed) Look at that, he made the baby disappear.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY is now holding BABY ADAM behind his back as a surge of BAR EMPLOYEES make their way to their cars.
CROWLEY: Behind his back?! (To TRACY over the mobile) Look, I need to go. This is getting out of hand…I’ll text you any updates.
CROWLEY drops the MOBILE onto the arm of the sofa, where it will be in easy reach.
CROWLEY (CONT.): Shadwell says hello.
AZIRAPHALE: That seems unlikely.
CROWLEY: It was more like angry shouting from another room, but I think it was a greeting. How many people have walked past that bag of money without taking it?
AZIRAPHALE: Three? No, four. He must pay his employees very well.
CROWLEY: Did they say why he’s hiding the baby behind his back?
AZIRAPHALE: Er. It would seem he doesn’t want his employees to know about the child for some reason.
CROWLEY: Then why take him out of the basket? Wait, is he planning to keep Adam behind his back for eleven years?
AZIRAPHALE: My dear, I feel I am forced to concede that this alternate version of you is exceedingly stupid.
As they watch, SCRIPT!CROWLEY puts BABY ADAM into the bag of money left behind by MADAME TRACY before he rushes into the bar to take care of business.
CROWLEY: No arguments here.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh dear.
CROWLEY: He…just left the baby.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh dear.
CROWLEY: He put the Antichrist in a sack full of money on the street and then he walked away?
AZIRAPHALE: That would appear to be the case, yes.
CROWLEY: Why not take the bag with him? Or –
Onscreen, a TAXI returns, and MADAME TRACY rushes out to grab her SACK OF CASH faster than SCRIPT!CROWLEY can react.
AZIRAPHALE and CROWLEY can only watch in horror as MADAME TRACY quickly picks up the bag and returns to the taxi.
AZIRAPHALE: (Immensely disappointed) Well. That settles that.
CROWLEY: Oh, that kid is going to be dead in a week.
CROWLEY picks up his mobile and quickly texts TRACY: “CONGRATS UR A MUM NOW”
AZIRAPHALE: Well. I suppose that gives us our lost Antichrist.
Onscreen, MADAME TRACY is trying to get the TAXI DRIVER to bring her home, but realizes she doesn’t know what country she lives in. Finally settles for “One of those nice little seaside towns. With a pier.” She then falls asleep.
CROWLEY: Somehow this is even more unlikely than what actually happened.
CROWLEY texts ADAM next: “TRACY IS UR MUM NOW I DONT MAKE THE RULES”
CROWLEY: Speaking of, why was Hell’s best plan to have the Antichrist raised in a bar by this smoldering trash fire? Satan said – repeatedly – he wanted the boy to be extremely but nonspecifically evil, but Turd-face there is just whiney and…mean.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!CROWLEY is pacing in a clear panic. CROWLEY is unimpressed, but AZIRAPHALE softens.
AZIRAPHALE: Look at him. Poor dear is so distressed.
AZIRAPHALE glances over to CROWLEY, remembering how he reacted to SATAN’s threat. CROWLEY scowls at his mobile phone, though he has run out of people to text.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): Well. I’m sure he’ll think of something. Or call me and we’ll think of something together. As we always do.
CROWLEY: (Looks up with a fond smile) With you resisting every step of the way.
AZIRAPHALE: It keeps things interesting.
They look back at the television in time to see SCRIPT!CROWLEY begin systematically drinking everything in the bar.
CROWLEY: What? That’s it? He’s already giving up?
AZIRAPHALE: (Rapidly running out of optimism) He’s had rather a frightful day…
CROWLEY: Stop defending him. We’ve all had hard days – all he’s got to do is track down a bloody taxi.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY summons a bottle of alcohol and pours himself a glass.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (At the television, tensed to jump up again) That’s not going to help! Get your head out of your ass, call Aziraphale, get to work!
AZIRAPHALE: I’m sure…one drink first won’t hurt…or two…or…oh, dear.
CROWLEY glances at his MOBILE to see a new text from ADAM: “im not sposed 2 talk t u when ur drunk”
CROWLEY texts back: “NOT DRUNK. WISH I WAS.”
AZIRAPHALE’s mobile phone dings. He pulls out a very small, old-fashioned FLIP PHONE to find a text from ADAM: “how drunk is Crwly?”
AZIRAPHALE looks at the television, where SCRIPT!CROWLEY has drunk nearly ¾ of the bar’s contents. AZIRAPHALE texts ADAM: “svrl butts worth”
CROWLEY: I do not sing when I’m drunk.
AZIRAPHALE: No, you shriek off-key. And rant about marine biology and philosophy.
CROWLEY: I don’t rant, Angel, those are finely tuned arguments.
CROWLEY’s mobile buzzes as a new text arrives from ADAM: “how drunk is azriaphle???”
AZIRAPHALE: Well, whatever you wish to – oh, finally.
SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE comes into the bar. He has miracled the door unlocked and is confronting SCRIPT!CROWLEY about the extreme amounts of alcohol he has drunk.
AZIRAPHALE (CONT.): Here’s someone who will stop all your nonsense and get you back on track. Practically my job, really.
CROWLEY: When have I ever needed you to drag me out of a bar when there was work to do?
AZIRAPHALE: I seem to recall a certain occasion, on a Saturday, right before visiting an airbase…?
CROWLEY considers this quietly.
CROWLEY: I take it back. ‘S absolutely your job. Which is why this dipshit should have called you the second he got that baby.
AZIRAPHALE smiles and pats CROWLEY’s hand.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY attempts to tell off SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE for breaking into his bar, gets confused, and winds up saying “Can I tempt you to have a little drink with me?”
AZIRAPHALE: Good Lord! Is that how he tempts me to drink?
CROWLEY: To be fair, it doesn’t usually take much.
Onscreen, SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE gives the “evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction” speech.
AZIRAPHALE: Oh, I sound like a self-righteous fool!
CROWLEY: Aziraphale, you once gave me this exact speech, almost word-for-word.
AZIRAPHALE: (Genuinely worried) Context, my dear boy. It isn’t fair to say such things when you’re too, well, addled to defend yourself. Did I come all that way just to insult you?
SCRIPT!CROWLEY has finally spilled the whole story to SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE, who has yet to say anything comforting.
CROWLEY: (Growling at the screen) You wouldn’t be in this bloody predicament if you hadn’t tried to be so blasted clever and aloof.
AZIRAPHALE: (Still quite distracted) I really think that version of me could be a little more sympathetic.
CROWLEY: No, this baboon’s ass is getting exactly what he deserves.
SCRIPT!CROWLEY knocks a table over in his excitement to offer to defect and rejoin Heaven.
CROWLEY (CONT.): Defect? Go back?
AZIRAPHALE: It’s a fair question. (SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE disagrees) Well it is! I can’t imagine this version of you has done anything more evil than tie his own shoelaces together.
CROWLEY: (Disgusted) I don’t go crawling back to Heaven. Not for anything. That’s not how I do things.
Just as they are both getting distressed, SCRIPT!CROWLEY announces that he put down THE INFANT ANTICHRIST for a second “and voom.”
SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE responds “Babies don’t voom.”
AZIRAPHALE and CROWLEY share a look
AZIRAPHALE: Voom?
CROWLEY: Voom.
AZIRAPHALE and CROWLEY pull out their phones and text ADAM at the same time: “VOOOOOOOOOOOM.”
They laugh, though not as openly or warmly as at the beginning of the film. There is still tension.
Onscreen SCRIPT!AZIRAPHALE convinces SCRIPT!CROWLEY to accept his help in finding the INFANT ANTICHRIST in return for a chance to exert a good influence on the child.
AZIRAPHALE: There, see? I’m offering to help. Everything is back as it should be.
CROWLEY: Except why are you asking me? It’s just…weird is all.
AZIRAPHALE: Perhaps in this universe, you are always in trouble, and I am the one always saving you.
CROWLEY: Is that how this works?
AZIRAPHALE: Must be. I’ve read stories where we are…reversed in different ways but I must admit, this is the strangest reversal I’ve yet seen. Look, I’m the one suggesting influencing Adam, not you.
CROWLEY: And that’s another thing – do we not know this is about the end of the world? You never even mention it.
AZIRAPHALE: That…would make sense. Although we also seem less attached to Earth. But, no, billions of people, I wouldn’t be calm about all that death.
CROWLEY raises his eyebrows, but does not remind AZIRAPHALE of how he reacted eleven years ago when AZIRAPHALE first received the news.
CROWLEY: But we’re talking about the Antichrist – what else do we think it means? What’s the point of influencing Adam to be good if not to avoid the end of the world?
AZIRAPHALE: My motivations do seem rather shallow. Have I no concern for the danger this plan would put us in? How would we even hide such a thing from our head offices?
CROWLEY: Angel. We’re just going to have to admit – they’re both idiots.
Despite having no plan for finding the INFANT ANTICHRIST, SCRIPT!CROWLEY says “how hard can it be?” Both CROWLEY and AZIRAPHALE groan at this.
AZIRAPHALE: No argument here.
The screen fades to black, preparing for a time skip. CROWLEY pauses the movie.
CROWLEY: I mean just…that arsemonger, that absolute walnut – how is that supposed to be me?
AZIRAPHALE: I hardly feel any better about that angel from the Museum. He’s daft as a bush and mad as…as…
CROWLEY: As an angel in an art museum?
AZIRAPHALE: “The child was happy” indeed. As if all of morality could be brought down to what feels good in the moment.
CROWLEY: Sounds more like something my side would have said.
AZIRAPHALE: Precisely! Oh, I know I shouldn’t expect nuance in a silly little film, but to make good seem so, so foolish -
CROWLEY: Probably just want that prick to look cool and clever by comparison.
AZIRAPHALE has been gauging CROWLEY’s levels of self-loathing throughout, and is not pleased with what he sees.
AZIRAPHALE: Really, dear, I know you dislike him, but he’s not so bad.
CROWLEY: Not bad? He’s sullen, and rude, and arrogant…
AZIRAPHALE: (Voice soft) That doesn’t sound like anyone we know.
CROWLEY: (Scowling) He cheats, he makes bloody moronic mistakes…
AZIRAPHALE: Still doesn’t sound familiar?
CROWLEY: And he doesn’t even try to fix those mistakes – blessed coward just gives up!
CROWLEY bunches his hands on his legs and stares at his fists. He knows perfectly well what AZIRAPHALE is getting at.
CROWLEY (CONT.): (Sighs) He’s…the worst possible version of me. All I can think is how much I must have hurt you, over and over, because I didn’t know how to just – be – nice.
AZIRAPHALE slowly runs a hand through CROWLEY’s hair. CROWLEY turns, leaning into it, but doesn’t meet AZIRAPHALE’s eyes.
AZIRAPHALE: My dear, my darling Crowley. Don’t even think such things. I know you would never hurt me, not on purpose, no more than I would hurt you. We’ve both made mistakes, yes. I had my turn as a self-righteous fool. I never knew how to trust you until it was almost too late. But that’s behind us now. We’re here, together. That’s what’s important.
CROWLEY: I can’t stand to look at him. How can you?
AZIRAPHALE reaches for CROWLEY’s hand, takes it in both of his, and uncurls it, laying fingers and palm bare. As he speaks, he punctuates each sentence with a gentle kiss on CROWLEY’s palm.
AZIRAPHALE: Because I love you. Even at your worst, I love you. Even when you cannot love yourself, I love you. And for the sake of that, I can tolerate a ridiculous parody of you without much pain.
AZIRAPHALE folds CROWLEY’s hand closed, as if to keep the kisses safe inside. He guides CROWLEY’s fist back to rest against CROWLEY’s heart.
With his free hand, CROWLEY cradles the back of AZIRAPHALE’s head and pulls him into a kiss, slow and infinitely tender. When they part, AZIRAPHALE rests his head on CROWLEY's shoulder.
CROWLEY: (Softly) I don’t deserve you.
AZIRAPHALE: Yes. You do.
CROWLEY: I love you. So much.
AZIRAPHALE: As do I, dear. As do I.
The camera pulls away, returning to the darkened window in a reverse of the shot we came in with, pulling through to -
EXT. DEVIL’S DYKE – NIGHT
It is fully dark now. The snow has begun to pile up all around the COTTAGE, but the warm orange light from the windows spills across the nearby snowbanks. In the sky above, brilliant stars are blazing.
FADE OUT.
THE END