Work Text:
Crowley hung his head off the side of Aziraphale’s couch in his bookshop’s back room, his feet slung over one of the arms and his hand flopped over the back, pretending to play on his phone as he eavesdropped.
Just around the corner, Aziraphale was standing at the counter and listening to some utter blowhard try to clumsily flirt with him, probably in the hopes that the potential customer would forget to actually buy something if he was allowed to blather on and on about how smart and clever he was and oh, Ezra, it’s so nice to have an intelligent person to talk to, we should really get dinner some time, are you free tonight by any chance—
Crowley wasn’t jealous. He had no reason to be, really. Intellectually, it was obvious to anyone that Aziraphale wouldn’t stop caring about Crowley (the love of his life! Aziraphale had said it, just the other day! Crowley definitely hadn’t almost passed out) to see some pompous human whose lifespan was but the blink of an eye in the face of eternity. But Crowley was kind of seething anyway, as he listened to the man prattle on about his scientific research and his degrees and his telescope, you should see it, Ezra, I’d love to take you some time to stargaze, it’s awfully romantic.
And then. And then the human said something wrong. Crowley sat up, clicking the screen of his phone off, and stopped pretending like he wasn’t listening. The human was talking about his research into dark matter and star revolutions, peppering in all kinds of jargon in the hopes of sounding intelligent, and he was wrong.
“That’s not right,” Crowley blurted before he realized what he was saying.
The conversation paused. Aziraphale glanced over, and from where he was standing could see Crowley sitting on his couch with a frown on his face. The man who was talking to him had to practically lean across the counter, craning his neck, in order to see into the back.
“What was that?” he said, squinting.
Crowley swallowed, and regretted saying anything at all. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. He seemed more amused than anything, and he was just enough of a bastard to be entertained by Crowley digging himself into a hole.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” the human said, and now he sounded smug. That just wouldn’t do.
“Ngk. Uh, well,” Crowley said. He heaved himself to his feet and sauntered reluctantly out of the back, joining Aziraphale on his side of the counter. The human gave him a once-over, looking remarkably skeptical, and Crowley glared at him from behind his sunglasses. He knew that the face tattoo and the man bun (demon bun?) and the skinny jeans and the leather jacket sent a certain kind of message to most humans, but so did being a fucking prick so—
“Go ahead,” the human said with a smirk. “Why don’t you think I’m right? Me, and my PhD in astrophysics, and my six years of research. Have you even got a degree?”
Crowley did, in fact, have a degree. He had a few, 6000 years on Earth had led to him popping in on a few university courses over the centuries. But he doubted his degrees in botany, herpetology, mechanical engineering, history, economics, or literature (the result of a drunken bet with Aziraphale) would be of much help in this situation.
Crowley shoved his fingertips in the pockets of his jeans and frowned. “Repeat your, uh, repeat your theory?” he said. The man did, condescendingly, like he was explaining it to a twelve year old.
“Hm,” Crowley said when he finished, thinking carefully. “Yep. Wrong. Completely. Whoever’s funding your grant should ask for their money back.”
“Dearest, be polite,” Aziraphale scolded, but his eyes were sparkling with barely concealed laughter.
The human spluttered. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know—”
Crowley smirked. “In fact, you’ve got everything basically backwards,” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets again and rocking back on his heels. He fiddled absently with the wedding band on his finger. “It’s a wonder you put your pants on the right way in the morning.” Now it was his turn to be smug, and he was having the time of his life. He adjusted his sunglasses, and proceeded to calmly rip the human’s theory to shreds, one point at a time.
He smiled nastily when he was finished, well knowing that there wasn’t much of a rebuttal to his arguments— Crowley was right, human science just hadn’t gotten there yet. He had been there, at the creation of the universe. Better than most, he would know.
The human stared at him, open-mouthed, and then blinked several times. “That can’t— that would—“ he stammered. “I mean, that would make most current theories not only off the mark, but completely obsolete! That can’t be true.”
“Well, it is,” Crowley said crabbily.
“Oh, yeah?” the human sneered, regaining his footing in the argument. “What’s your proof to back that claim up, then? Where’s your research?”
Crowley blinked. Right. Research. That was a thing he didn’t have, he just knew. “I—” I hung the stars in the sky myself, he couldn’t say. And they spin like that because I thought it looked prettier, not because I was thinking about physics when I did it. “I, uh, have research?” he said. “That’s a thing that I have.”
The man regained his supercilious smirk. “Let us see it.”
Crowley glanced sideways at Aziraphale for help. Aziraphale gave him a smile that was positively angelic. “I’d love to see it too, Crowley dearest,” he said innocently. “I know you’ve been working very hard on your paper.”
Crowley glared at him, and then cleared his throat. “Right. Uh.” He looked between Aziraphale and the human, and considered turning into a snake. But Aziraphale would tease him relentlessly about this for ages if he did. He was probably going to tease him relentlessly anyway. “I’ve, hm, I’ve got it in the back room,” he improvised. “Let me just—”
He swaggered off to the back room, scrambling. After a moment of panic, Crowley gathered up some loose papers from Aziraphale’s desk (takeaway menus— Aziraphale would forgive him) and then imagined as hard as he could that they were the best fucking astronomical research in the world. The papers grew considerably heavier in his hands, the color bleeding out as they were covered in row after row of tiny black print, and Crowley imagined a paper clip into being before stepping back out again.
“Alright,” the human said, his eyebrows raised. “Let’s see your little book report.”
Crowley wordlessly handed over the thick sheaf of papers, and Aziraphale gave him a covert look of suspicion. “Have at it,” Crowley said, using bravado to cover his nerves and hoping desperately that his miracle would stick.
The man flicked through the papers quickly, a satisfied smile already curling his lips. And then he paused. Squinted as he read a passage. Turned back to the front page, reading more carefully this time.
Crowley stood in expectant silence, inexplicably nervous. He had no reason to be nervous, he knew for a fact he was right, even if humans needed silly things like research to back up his wild claims. But there was something about standing in front of a person reading his work (not that Crowley had worked on research at all, but it counted enough since performing demonic miracles was technically in his job description, retired or not) that made him oddly twitchy.
“I…” the human said, trailing off. He turned the page, his mouth working as he slowly read the text. Crowley hoped absently that his miracle had made a paper in English, instead of Latin or Aramaic or Enochian or something.
The human swallowed hard, and looked up from the papers. “Listen, mate,” he said quietly, his eyes on Crowley. “Er, Dr. Crowley, rather. I’m sorry, I should have taken you a little more seriously. Will you let me keep reading this, though? This research is, is, I can’t—“ He broke off, his eyes wide.
“Fine, whatever, tickety-boo,” Crowley said mockingly. He draped himself over Aziraphale and said plaintively, “Angel, can we go to dinner tonight?”
“Of course, dearest,” Aziraphale replied, and there was an edge to his smile. “We’re getting sushi, though, I need to pick up a new takeaway menu.”
Crowley winced. Busted.
Aziraphale turned to the human, who was watching their exchange distractedly. Aziraphale smiled at him. “You’re welcome to find a seat if you’d like to read that here,” he said kindly.
“Thanks,” the human muttered, already looking back down at the papers in his hands. He shuffled off in search of a chair, almost bumping into another patron as he read while he walked.
“The scientific community is also wrong about string theory!” Crowley called after him with a wide, satisfied grin, just to cause trouble.
“Really, dear,” Aziraphale said once the human was out of earshot. “This is going to cause such a ruckus.”
Crowley hopped up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs. “Isn’t it just?” He slid his sunglasses down, looking at Aziraphale over the tops of his lenses. “I haven’t done any proper demonic mischief in months, now, it was about time.”
Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, and then he smiled slowly. “Mischief?” he repeated. “Oh, Crowley, dear, your ‘research’ is going to revolutionize the field of astrophysics, I imagine. You’re going to do so much good for the advancement of science at large.”
Crowley stared at him, and then groaned dramatically. “Ugh!”
Aziraphale laughed, patting his knee. “Isn’t this nice, I’m in love with a brilliant astrophysicist,” he said, pleased.
Crowley flopped back and sulked until Aziraphale kissed him.
***
BREAKING: SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN DISARRAY AS NEWCOMER UPENDS DOZENS OF ACCEPTED THEORIES
Up and coming British astrophysicist Dr. Anthony J. Crowley has rocked the science world this week with his research that proves many previously-accepted scientific theories about dark matter and the nature of our universe completely wrong. Dubbed the ‘Devil’s Theory,’ Crowley’s research has made the astrophysicist a star practically overnight, and one of the most sought-after scientists in the country.
“There’s so much you humans don’t understand about the universe, it’s not my fault that I do,” he said in a statement to BBC reporter Jane Smith. “Just you wait!”
The Devil’s Theory is an astronomical theory that posits that stars at the center of our galaxy are..... [READ MORE]
***
Crowley burst into the bookshop about two weeks later, several envelopes clutched in one hand and a distressed expression on his face.
“Angel!” he shouted, stomping into the back room where Aziraphale had been enjoying a nice glass of red wine and a new book. Catching sight of the expression on Crowley’s face, Aziraphale wordlessly conjured another wine glass and filled it, handing it to Crowley after the demon dramatically collapsed next to him on the couch.
Crowley took a large sip and then waved the envelopes in the air. “I shouldn’t have opened my fucking mouth,” he complained, tugging his glasses off and tossing them generally in the direction of the desk. “And I definitely shouldn’t have gone with bloody Roger the astrophysicist to meet his bloody colleagues and talk about my bloody fucking research! Nghhh, I hate this.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Aziraphale said, gently taking the envelopes from Crowley’s hand. He flipped through them before removing a few of the letters, humming thoughtfully and taking a fortifying sip of wine as he read. “Well, my dear, you did kind of get yourself into this.”
Crowley made a whining sound in the back of his throat. “I should just fake my death again or something,” he mumbled. “This is just like 1323, for Somebody’s sake.”
“Oh, but that would be such a hassle,” Aziraphale said, glancing up from the letters. “And I’d have to pretend to be a grieving widower this time, most of my neighbors know we’re together.”
Crowley sighed, but unless Aziraphale was mistaken he saw a smile tugging at the corners of the demon’s mouth. “I haven’t actually read those,” he said, changing the subject and gesturing lazily to the letters in Aziraphale’s hands. “Just saw they were addressed to the fucking Esteemed Dr. Crowley and assumed. What’s in there?”
“Well, there are quite a few letters of congratulations,” Aziraphale replied, turning his attention to the envelopes again. “And oh, this one is asking you about a book deal to publish your theories! And one, two, three invitations to give a talk at different conferences and universities, isn’t that lovely? Are you going to?”
“Going to?” Crowley repeated. His voice was muffled, and his face was covered with one of Aziraphale’s throw pillows as his wine glass dangled precariously from his fingers.
Aziraphale tugged the pillow away and said, “Going to give a talk about space.”
Crowley made a face. “It’s not exactly like I can roll up and say ‘hey, guys, actually I know all this because I was a celestial being who helped create the stars and BTW I’m an immortal demon.’ What would I even talk about?”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Well, I know you don’t have your degree in astrophysics yet,” he started, and Crowley grimaced. He should have guessed that Aziraphale would figure out his plans to finish up that degree, honestly it was just like him to get a PhD fueled by spite.
“But you do know plenty about the heavens,” Aziraphale continued.
“Fuck Heaven,” Crowley replied automatically, and Aziraphale sighed.
“I know you could speak at length about the stars if you were really so inclined,” he finished, reaching out to smooth Crowley’s hair out of his eyes.
Crowley huffed out a sigh. “This is so inconvenient for me,” he grumbled.
Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, you did bring it upon yourself, my dear,” he pointed out calmly.
Crowley scowled. “Shut up, Aziraphale, this is just like the time you got to fisticuffs with that professor for Oxford who had his Shakespeare trivia wrong. He couldn’t have known, he wasn’t even born when Will died and certainly never had dinner with him—!”
“And human astrophysicists weren’t around at the creation of the universe to watch you spin nebulae and ignore physics,” Aziraphale replied mildly.
Crowley’s scowl deepened, and he took a sullen sip of wine. And then he brightened. Aziraphale watched the moment (what Crowley thought was) a brilliant idea popped into his head.
“Alright, yeah,” he said with a sly grin. “I’ll give some talks. Only thing is, they’re gonna have to start taking me a little less seriously.” He jumped up from the couch and began to pace, muttering under his breath. “Gonna need a crop top... and see if Anathema can post me some of those American shoes with the little wheels... figure out what drink I want...”
Aziraphale just sighed fondly and hid his smile behind his wine glass.
***
Aziraphale settled on the (new and comfortable, he had insisted) couch in Crowley’s flat with a nice warm mug of cocoa cupped in both hands, and gazed expectantly at the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. “Turn on, if you would,” he said politely, and the TV complied as he expected, despite the fact that its plug had never seen an electrical outlet.
The news was already playing when the TV turned on, and Aziraphale settled back to watch about two minutes of a fluff piece before the topic changed to the story he was watching for— the appearance of star astrophysicist Dr. Crowley, on to talk about his research.
Aziraphale smiled as the display changed to a photo from a talk Crowley had given a few weeks before, where he had snaked about and postured and insisted on being difficult in a pair of (frankly ridiculous) striped overalls and tall rainbow socks before accidentally delivering a serious and insightful lecture on the mysteries of the universe. In the photo Crowley was gesturing wildly, talking about one of the nebulae Aziraphale knew he had made with a wide smile on his face.
“We’re here with Dr. Anthony Crowley, whose theories have disproved many long-held beliefs about our universe,” the news anchor said, and the screen changed to show her sitting across from Crowley on a nice little set.
Aziraphale stifled a fond, frustrated sigh. Crowley had forgone his usual black-on-black wardrobe in favor of a bright green shirt, the exact color of the green screen on the set behind him, and seemed far more amused with fuzzing out his torso than the interview he was in the middle of.
“Dr. Crowley, it’s wonderful to have you on,” the news anchor said, smiling brightly.
“Oh, please, just Crowley is fine,” Crowley drawled, sprawling back and kicking his feet up on a coffee table that hadn’t been there a moment before but had also definitely always been there. “Dr. Crowley was my mother.”
“Oh?” the anchor said, clearly refusing to be thrown. “Did she inspire your passion for the sciences?”
Crowley’s eyebrows went up, and it was clear to Aziraphale that he had expected her to be a little more flustered. “Uh, no, she was, uh, a doctor of religious studies?” Aziraphale snorted out loud at that, and refused to look up at the heavens.
“Lovely,” the news anchor said blandly. She shuffled her notes, and then said, “Your research is in the process of being published right now, you must be very excited.”
Crowley smirked, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Crowley had come into his shop the month before cackling about his scheme to get a book about his research very transparently ghost-written, and had brought over champagne to preemptively celebrate the scandal it would certainly cause. The only problem was that he didn’t trust anyone to actually ghost write it for him, and so had gone with a previously unknown author very cleverly named J. Anton Crálley.
Aziraphale suspected no one would ever level ghost writing allegations against him, that was the kind of luck Crowley had when he was trying to cause this particular brand of mischief.
“Oh, yeah, it’s gonna be great,” Crowley said with one raised eyebrow. “Real game-changer, yep.”
“I’m sure many of our viewers know how much significance your ‘Devil’s Theory’ has on our conceptions about space,” the news anchor prompted. “Would you talk a little about that?”
“I could,” Crowley mused lazily, lacing his fingers together and resting them behind his head. “But I think there’s a much more important thing we ought to discuss.”
“Is that so?” the news anchor said, looking thrilled. She probably thought she was going to make a big break, the hottest new story. Aziraphale sighed, and prayed that whatever bullshit Crowley was going to pull wouldn’t be too ridiculous.
“Yep,” Crowley said. He sat up, leaning forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Ducks,” he said somberly, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on his knees, the absolute picture of a serious academic. “Who gave them the right?”
That got the effect he was probably looking for— the news anchor blinked in surprise, momentarily speechless. “Pardon?”
“Cocky little bastards,” Crowley continued, his lips curling into a smirk. “Think they’re hot shit, just because they’re waterproof and people give them bread all the time. They don’t appreciate the full scope of the world, because everything they want is in their park and their pond, and if they quack loud enough some poor sods will throw breadcrumbs at them on demand.” His expression changed, and Aziraphale wondered for the first time if he had an actual point in mind. “Actually, that’s a bit like humanity, isn’t it?” he mused, almost to himself, but whatever mic he was wearing picked his words up perfectly. “You humans think you’re pretty swell since you’ve got air conditioning and vaccines and revolving doors and all, but you haven’t really left your little pond.” He focused in on the news anchor again, his gaze clear in his body language. “Then I guess that would make my question: humans, who gave you the right?”
“Well, it’s human nature to always be asking questions, isn’t it?” the news anchor said quietly. “It’s human nature to wonder, and hope that someday we can make it out of our little pond.”
Crowley sat back a little, and Aziraphale was surprised to find that he seemed to be genuinely thinking about that.
And then he began to talk, clearly and with little difficulty, about his research. Aziraphale smiled. His demon had always had a bit of a soft spot for asking questions, hadn’t he? And a bit of the more technical jargon was beyond him (astrophysics had never been his forte), but Aziraphale did so love seeing Crowley animated, talking unrestrained about the things that interested him.
“Many have wondered, Dr. Crowley, what inspired your research,” the news anchor asked. “What brought you to pursue the particular line of questioning that led you to your conclusions?” Crowley hemmed and hawed for a moment, and then said, “You know, sometimes it just happens.” He smirked a little. “My husband would say it’s ineffable.”
He looked right into the camera and winked dramatically, the action clear despite his sunglasses. Aziraphale wiggled happily.
***
The thing was, though, that Dr. Anthony J. Crowley’s shenanigans didn’t make the scientific community take him less seriously.
Despite his irreverent behavior at lectures, his dismissal of the social mores of the serious academic circles, and his very clear desire to be thrown out of science on his ass in disgrace, they loved him. He was a breath of fresh air, even critics said, and his revolutionary theories and presentations were getting the public interested and involved with the mysteries of the universe in new and exciting ways. When it got published, his research became a near immediate bestseller, further catapulting him into celebrity.
Which was why Sadia James was standing in line one evening, clutching at her copy of Dr. Crowley’s research and waiting excitedly to get it signed by the man himself.
In front of her, a middle-aged man with curly blond hair and a bowtie was paging through the same book, humming thoughtfully to himself as he read. Sadia clutched at her book with barely-contained anticipation as she shuffled forward in line until she was finally able to catch a glimpse of the legendary Dr. Crowley. He was, as always, wearing a pair of black sunglasses, along with a black beanie over long auburn hair and a cool black jean jacket.
The man in front of her reached his turn to get his copy signed, but to Sadia’s surprise Dr. Crowley groaned loudly when he set the book down. “Ugh, why are you here?” he said, not sounding very annoyed. “I didn’t tell you I was going to be here tonight.”
“Dearest, I have connections at every bookshop in this city,” the other man said sternly. “Besides, what you’re doing is lovely, and I want to support it.”
“Blegh,” Dr. Crowley said, and Sadia watched him pull the book over and scribble something on the inside cover. “There.”
“Dearest, this is for my official collections, fuck off is not an appropriate inscription,” the man said with a huffy sigh. “Please do it again.”
Dr. Crowley looked up at him, his mouth set in a petulant frown, and then scribbled something else without looking down. “Thank you,” the man said warmly, and then somehow produced another copy of the research from somewhere. “Now, be nice, this one is for Anathema.”
“I thought she didn’t believe in science,” Dr. Crowley muttered as he dutifully wrote on the cover page.
“She telephoned and specifically asked for it,” the man said with a shrug. “I suppose she thinks the source is… occult enough to be credible in her books.”
“Whatever,” Dr. Crowley muttered. To Sadia’s surprise, he leaned up as the man leaned down, and they shared a quick kiss.
“I’ll see you later, dearest,” the man said with a smile.
Dr. Crowley blushed. “Yeah. Yeah, see you later, angel.”
The man left with a cheerful spring in his step, and Sadia stepped up nervously, her fingers clenched tightly around the cover of the book. “Um,” she stammered, and managed to unlock her grip enough to give it to him.
Dr. Crowley didn’t take it for a moment. “How old’re you?” he asked.
Sadia swallowed. “Um, sixteen?” she said.
Dr. Crowley’s eyebrows went up. “And you understand all this?”
Sadia flushed. “Not… not completely,” she admitted, and then straightened her spine and added firmly, “But I’m going to. I’m going to keep studying until I do.”
Dr. Crowley tilted his head. “This is important, to you,” he observed.
Sadia took a deep breath. “It always has been,” she answered honestly. “But this, this—” She paused, unable to properly put into words the thrill it gave her, to see some of science’s greatest questions answered so beautifully. To see, to know that it might be possible to understand.
Dr. Crowley’s lips twitched into a small smile. “That, I get,” he said wryly, and then scribbled something in her copy of his research before handing it back.
“Thanks,” Sadia gasped, and then fled. She didn’t get a chance to look at the inscription until she got home, and when she read what Dr. Crowley had written she didn’t stop grinning for an hour.
Sadia——
Keep asking questions, one day you’ll find some of the answers.
Crowley