***

When it came to clandestine meetings, St. James' Park was the place to go. Secret agents would speak in hushed tones, holding the latest editions of The Times or The Daily Mail. In the case of one angel and one demon, this was one of their favourite spots to meet.

On this day, however, they were not too thrilled by the future's prospects. Maren knew there was something up with them, but she was too happy seeing her fathers together to care. She ran into Aziraphale's arms with a wide grin. "Daddy!"

"Hello, little one." Aziraphale received a visitation from the Supreme Archangel Gabriel the night before, and the news was earth-shattering indeed. With this newfound fear of the end, he held onto his daughter for dear life. "Did you have a good day with Crowley yesterday?"

"We took down the phone network!" she exclaimed.

"Oh," he nodded with a tight smile, "lovely." As she hugged his legs, Aziraphale glowered at Crowley. "Really?"

"What? She's the one who was interested in my work." Besides, he couldn't help being a bad influence on people. It didn't take much willpower to turn a pure heart evil, nowadays -- humans learnt to do that themselves.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line as he petted Maren's unbrushed hair. "I suppose you let her sit in the front seat, too."

Crowley shrugged, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. "She was perfectly fine."

"You know she's not old enough to sit there."

"Well, she survived, didn't she?"

Maren tilted her head back, smiling up at Aziraphale. "Daddy almost crashed into a truck."

The angel shot him an immediate glare, and though Aziraphale wasn't the type to fight back, Crowley felt a little intimidated by his stern expression. He rubbed the back of his neck, stammering. "Er, it came out of nowhere, really."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes before crouching to the ground and addressing his daughter. "Maren, your father and I need to have a little chat."

Her enthusiastic tone softened. "About what?"

"Oh, boring stuff, you know." But her dads were never boring; it was impossible for them to even try. In recent years, Maren had learned to appreciate their strange tales and adventures across time. They were older than the Earth itself, and that intrigued her. "Why don't you feed the ducks, dear?"

Her father reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic bag full of peas. He opened her palm, handing her the bag. Maren's forehead creased, bewildered by the strange gift. "Why no bread?"

It was a classic stereotype of modern human culture to feed ducks with bread, and she knew Aziraphale embraced those sorts of things. But to her surprise, he told her. "Because it's actually very bad for them."

"Yeah, it's a little too thick for their throats and clogs up their stomach." Crowley elaborated, his tone blunt. Maren's eyes widened; she didn't want to murder ducks. "It doesn't kill them, obviously -- it just doesn't leave in their tummies for much else." He patted her on the back, edging her towards the river. "Go on."

Her fingers dug into the plastic, clutching the bag against her stomach. She commenced a slow jog towards the riverside, her tousled hair fluttering in the summer breeze.

"But please don't wander off!" Aziraphale called after her. "And stay behind the fence!"

"She's not dumb, you know," Crowley replied as they approached a bench, not before carefully surveying their surroundings. With Heaven and Hell on high alert, they would have to be more careful over the next several years.

As they spoke in private, Maren wandered along the river's edge, approaching a pack of ducks nestled by the grass. Timidly, the young girl peered over the fence and muttered. "I promise I'm not a duck murderer."

She tossed a couple of peas into the water, drawing the ducks towards her. Maren threw a few more, their beaks widening as the small vegetable landed in their mouths. They seemed to enjoy the free food, quacking at her and begging for more.

Like most children her age, Maren found birds to be quite fascinating, especially those who lived on the water. For a species that is meant to soar through the sky, creatures like ducks and swans float peacefully in lakes and rivers. It was almost like they didn't care if they were sitting targets for predators.

Her parents told her once they had wings too, but like ducks, they never took to the skies. When she asked if they could show her, Aziraphale and Crowley both refused. Apparently, it had been years since they used them, and when living amongst mortal folk, it can look a bit inconspicuous.

They said they'd show her one day -- but she was finding it hard to believe them.

"Good choice." A female voice spoke. Maren lifted her head and glanced to her left, finding a young woman beside her. She wore a flowery jumpsuit, and her brown hair was just as untidy as Maren's, though she seemed to like it that way. The child was silent, unsure what the stranger meant. "The frozen peas." She pointed at the bag of peas with a light smile. "I didn't know bread was bad for ducks when I was little, so you're doing a good job."

The nameless woman didn't appear unfriendly, and if she were a threat, Maren knew her parents would have stepped in by now. "My dads just told me."

"Yeah." She nodded. "I can remember feeding the ducks with my parents." Maren lowered her arms, listening to the young woman's story. "Obviously, I can't remember where or when we did it, but I just have this fond memory of standing in front of this large pond and holding a bag of bread."

"Do you still do it?" she wondered.

"Feed the ducks?" The woman shook her head, chuckling. "Oh, no. I haven't done that in years." She looked out at the river, pondering for a moment. "I liked it, though. It was great when my mum and dad were with me."

Maren lowered her brows, looking around. "Where are they now?"

"Oh, they're not here. My mum's at home," she paused for a couple of seconds, her smile faltering, "but my dad passed away when I was younger." All those silly emotions were rushing back again; the woman could feel it. "I barely got any time with him." 

The child continued to stare, uncertain of how to respond. This older woman treated her like a close confidant, even though they had never met before.

The woman sighed, her muscles tensing as she wrung her fingers together. "I don't know why I'm talking to you about this. You're too young to understand." Her eyes twinkled in the midday sun, the woman angling her head away from the child. Maren heard the woman murmur to herself, appearing ashamed. "... Why am I doing this?"

A part of her felt sorry for the unknown woman. Though they had never met, the two girls seemed to have a strange connection with one another. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just..." she sniffed, her eyes watering, "... I don't know why I'm here." The woman wiped a tear away, refusing to meet Maren's curious gaze. "God, this is so stupid -- I'm so stupid." She began to walk off, barely making an effort to finish their conversation. "Um, see you around, Maren."

The younger girl frowned, confused by the woman's sudden hastiness. Someone her age shouldn't dwell on these things, but Maren couldn't help but wonder who the stranger was and how she seemed to know her. She could have sworn she'd never told the woman her name -- so how did she know it?

"Maren?" She turned her head, observing Crowley approach her. Her other father stood in the background, dusting off his clothes. "You finished with the ducks?"

"Uh..." She looked back -- but the woman had vanished. Maren could have sworn she wasn't that far away.

The demon cocked his head to the side, acknowledging his daughter's hesitance. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." There wasn't much point in telling him about the woman. Crowley didn't care much for humans, except for his adopted daughter. In his eyes, she was the only human who mattered. Maren brushed off the strange experience, her mouth widening into a large grin. "Can I have a piggyback?"

He scoffed, his lips twitching into a small smirk. "Alright, if you want."

Crowley pivoted on the spot before crouching down. She wrapped her little arms over his shoulders, her hands clutching the collar of his jacket. The demon hauled her onto his back before adjusting his posture, ensuring his daughter was secure.

They trailed Aziraphale, the demon still trying to talk some sense into him as they began to exit the park. "We've only got eleven years, and then it's all over. We have to work together."

"No." To nobody's surprise, Aziraphale outright refused to go against Heaven's wishes. He'd done it before, and he wasn't fond of doing it again.

Crowley hung his head back, having anticipated his response. "It's the end of the world we're talking about. It's not some little temptation I've asked you to cover for me while you're up in Edinburgh for the festival." He acknowledged. "You can't say no."

"No." Okay, so he can say it.

"We can do something. I have an idea." Crowley declared, despite not actually having one -- he just needed Aziraphale to be on his side, and then the idea would come to him shortly after.

"No!" The angel reiterated, turning his back and beginning to walk away. "I am not interested."

"Well, let's have lunch, hmm?" Aziraphale paused, intrigued by his proposition. "I know this little one's probably hungry, and I still owe you one from..."

"Paris." Slowly, he spun back, wearing a reminiscent smirk. "1793."

"Yes," Crowley recalled, thinking back to those days of bloodshed and revolution. "The Reign of Terror."

Maren perked up behind his back, peeking over his shoulder. "That's when they chopped Marie Antoinette's head off." She'd read about the event in a Horrible Histories book, an appealing alternative to Aziraphale's old textbooks -- they had too many words.

"Indeed, they did." Crowley strolled to the driver's side of the car, ignorant of the parking enforcement officer nearby, writing up a fine. He didn't care for it, of course. The demon had a "park anywhere" policy, so a parking ticket barely affected him. "Was that one of ours or one of yours?"

"Can't recall," Aziraphale answered, his eyes brightening. "We had crepes."

Maren slid off his back, asking. "What are crepes?"

"Oh, I'll have to take you to France someday," Aziraphale told her as her other father opened the car door, letting her inside.

As she climbed into the backseat, Crowley remarked. "Best make it quick. We're on a deadline now."

***

The Ritz is known for its formality, and, unless you're loaded, it's almost impossible to grab a table there. Luckily for those with otherworldly abilities, Aziraphale and Crowley knew how to get what they wanted.

Crowley held his chin in his hand, watching Aziraphale finish his meal, his eyes glued to the angel's face. "Mm." He wiped his hands with a cloth napkin, swallowing the last few bits of food in his mouth. "That was scrumptious." Aziraphale dabbed the cloth against his mouth. "So, what are you in the mood for now?"

"Alcohol." The demon tapped the tip of his wine glass with a small fork, the sharp clink echoing. "Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol."

"Not for the little one, right?" Simultaneously, they turned their heads, glancing over at their daughter who was seated on the other side of the table. Before they arrived, Aziraphale miracled her a new outfit, along with a more fitting choice of hairstyle. She didn't like it, but The Ritz had a specific dress code they had to follow -- even though Crowley outright ignored it like he did most rules.

"Depends." Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbow on the table. "You want some alcohol?"

She sighed, slumping in her chair. "I want orange juice."

Satisfied, Crowley leaned back and smirked at the angel. "See?"

Though Aziraphale was somewhat glad she refused the offer, he soon mentioned. "But you haven't even finished your water."

"I don't want to. It tastes weird, and there's a random lemon slice floating in there." Not only that but the food wasn't to her liking either. There wasn't much on her plate, and some bits were too seasoned or were drenched in an unknown sauce. "I want Capri Sun."

"Darling, this is The Ritz -- they don't do Capri Suns." Aziraphale took a sip of his champagne, briefly taking in its sweet taste of citrus.

"You could just miracle her one," Crowley stated.

"I already miracled this table and her clothes." He argued, swiftly pointing out. "And you know I prefer to keep my miracles to a minimum."

He folded his arms. "So it was fine when she was a baby?"

"That was different." Looking after an infant is hard; lots of things can happen to them, especially in their sleep. Aziraphale didn't want to risk anything bad happening to her, so he did all he could to keep her safe and well.

"Alright." Crowley clicked his fingers and, from under the table, a Capri Sun appeared in his free hand. He revealed the pouch to the young girl's excitement, handing it to her. "Here you go, pet."

She could always count on her demonic father to give her what she wanted. "Thanks, Daddy."

"Isn't it bad for you to do a good thing?" questioned Aziraphale.

"Well, I didn't give her the straw, so..." They eyed her again, watching her struggle with the packaging. She poked and picked the small plastic hole with her nails, trying her best to pry it open. Her father suggested. "Prod it with your fork."

Maren eyed the silver cutlery on her table. They varied in size and shape, and most were untouched or spoiled by food stains. She grasped a tiny cake fork and her lips curved into a devious smirk. She raised her arm, preparing to strike.

Aziraphale's eyes bulged, a swift panic washing over his face. "No, not with that much-" Maren thrust it in with such gusto, and the pouch burst, orange juice squirting onto her dress. Her father sighed, his arms dropped onto his lap. "- Force." The young girl giggled to the angel's dismay. He glared at Crowley, who wore a proud grin. "You're lucky this outfit changes back to her original one after we leave."

"Now that's a miracle." He took another swig of wine, perfectly satisfied with their dining experience.

***

She'd never been up this late before, watching her fathers reminisce over several glasses of wine. Maren was sitting back on a leather chair, picking at the skin around her nails and yawning with inelegance.

Aziraphale and Crowley didn't appear to realise their child was still there. It was a summer night, and school wasn't starting again until September rolled around, so it wasn't like Maren had somewhere to be in the morning. Besides, they were too busy ranting about sea creatures and the size of their brains to care.

"And you know what's worse?" Crowley strolled around the room, his gait lopsided. "When it's all over, you've got to deal with," he took a deep breath and exclaimed, "eternity!" The word drawled on his tongue as his saliva drooled into his wine.

From the look on the angel's face, he was not fond of the insinuation. "Eternity?"

"Yeah, it won't be so bad, at first." He claimed before the demon grasped an old programme for Into The Woods and waved it in Aziraphale's face. "Although, no Stephen Sondheim first nights in eternity, I'm afraid. Although, I have heard rumours that your boss really loves The Sound of Music." That's when the angel shook his head, disagreeing with the choice of musical. "You fancy spending eternity watching that? You could literally climb every mountain over and over and over and over and over and over and over."

"I don't like it any more than you do, but I told you I can't diso-" his throat thickened, his mouth dry from the amount of liquor he'd drank, "- not do what I'm told. I'm an angel. I..." Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "... Oh, God. I-I can't cope with this while I'm drunk." He straightened up, shaking his wrists. "I'm going to sober up."

To his surprise, Crowley agreed. "Yeah, me, too."

The supernatural beings inhaled sharply and their breath hitched in their chests, almost as if they were constipated. They released strained groans and Maren observed with a strange curiosity as empty bottles of wine began to refill on their own accord. The aftertaste wasn't to their liking, grimacing and pushing their tongues forward, airing them out.

Aziraphale sighed, glancing down at his empty glass. "Even if I wanted to help, I couldn't. I can't interfere with the Divine Plan."

They'd mentioned "the plan" many times over the last few years, but she never understood what it meant. Her fathers never divulged what it entailed or how it would come to pass, though it seemed to worry them now.

Maren's tired eyes narrowed, yawning as she asked. "I thought it was the Great Plan?"

Their heads snapped in her direction, their newly sober brains acknowledging her presence. Maren sat cross-legged on the large chair, patiently waiting for their response.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, his brows furrowed. "I thought you put her to bed?"

He met his confused expression, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you put her to bed." They soon realised that getting drunk around a five-year-old child was a bad idea. It's a good thing they sobered up or else they'd be in trouble. "I better clean up. Would you...?"

"Sure." Crowley sauntered over, his legs crossing in front of each other. "All right, time for bed, little miss."

"But I'm not tired." The young girl insisted, her head drooping ever so slightly.

The demon crouched down to her eye level. "Sweetie, one of your eyes is half-closed." Her blinks were slow, and Maren soon found it difficult to keep them open. "Come on."

As he picked her up, hauling her little body over his shoulder, she faintly murmured. "No..."

"The morning will come faster with sleep." Sleep for him could be manipulated in a number of ways. Sometimes, he would spend days in his bed, rejuvenating himself through a long hibernation. He hadn't done that in a while, not since he became a father.

With Maren, he didn't want to miss a single day. It hurt to stay awake sometimes, but it was worth it to watch her grow up.

As he expected, she fell asleep in the comfort of his arms, her head drooping over his shoulder. Crowley carried her up the stairs and wandered through the hallway at the back of the bookshop, heading into her bedroom. They crossed the threshold, and her clothes instantly transformed into a black-and-white pair of pyjamas, courtesy of Crowley's abilities. His angelic friend didn't even know the full extent of the demon's powers, but if he wanted to -- he could take him down.

But Crowley would never. He might be a demon, but he knew who his friends were -- and none of them were from Hell.

The demon laid the child in her bed and tucked her in. She squirmed under the duvet, a slight smile growing on her face.

He kinda wished she would stay this way forever, young and innocent -- she did not deserve the fate awaiting her and the rest of humanity in the next eleven years. They would have to leave her there, burning in endless hellfire as a spoiled brat reigned supreme. Things would have been so much easier if she was the Antichrist.

A new idea sparked from the dark recesses of Crowley's mind, his yellow eyes brightening. If he could get Aziraphale on board, then it might just work.

Crowley reached for her nightlight, flicking its switch. It began to spin, and light poured through cut-outs of tiny stars. A soothing melody began to play as the demon delicately stroked her fine brown hair. He had to remind himself that they had time -- that she wouldn't die tomorrow.

He leaned over her, pecking a light kiss on her forehead. "Night, pet."

Quietly, the demon slithered out of the room, closing the door behind him. Crowley made his way back downstairs, his palm gliding down the freshly varnished bannister. Surely Aziraphale would miss this: the fresh scent of a new book, reading by candlelight or an open fire, and, of course, drinking tea.

They were more than Earth's representatives -- they had lives here. Now they had a child too, so why would they want to throw all this away?

Once he'd reached the ground floor, he noticed the bookshop was no longer in disarray; Aziraphale didn't waste a second cleaning this place. As the angel sorted out his books, Crowley mentioned. "She's sound asleep now."

A light chortle escaped him. "We must have really worn her out today."

His muscles tensed slightly as he stepped towards Aziraphale. "Are you really willing to let her die?"

Their eyes met, and Aziraphale noticed the fear in the demon's expression. "What?"

"We've only got eleven years, and that means Maren will be sixteen when her life is brutally ended." The angel froze, a flash of horror washing over him. "You didn't think of that, did you?"

No, he did -- Aziraphale just didn't want to think about it. He turned his head away, returning a book to its shelf. "What do you suggest we do then?"

"Why don't we help raise him," he started, "the Antichrist?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, sitting back down.

"Well, it's the upbringing that's important -- the influences." The demon explained. "The evil influences, that's all going to be me." Crowley settled down on the leather chair opposite him. "It'd be too bad if someone made sure that I failed."

"If you put it that way," Aziraphale considered the thought, "Heaven couldn't actually object if I was thwarting you."

"No. Be a real feather in your wing. I mean, if you think about it, we've already been influencing one human, haven't we?" The angel's brow quirked upwards, and Crowley elaborated. "I'd say Maren's an okay mix of good and evil -- why don't we do the same for the Antichrist?"

At first, he hesitated. Aziraphale didn't enjoy going against the will of God, and he already knew his kind upstairs would not agree with his sentimental feelings toward Earth. He'd be all alone up there without Crowley by his side, and Maren wouldn't be there either -- she could end up somewhere truly dreadful.

He would not allow it.

Against his better judgement, the angel stuck out his hand. With a proud smile, Crowley leaned forward and shook it, sealing the deal.

"We'd be godfathers, sort of," he did a little wave with his hands, "overseeing his upbringing." "We do it right, he won't be evil. Or good." Crowley leaned back, shrugging. "He'll just be normal," he said, "like Maren."

"It might work." The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. "Godfathers." Aziraphale's mouth curved upwards, chuckling. "Well, I'll be damned."

"It's not that bad once you get used to it." Aziraphale wasn't fond of that remark, but his focus remained on what was important.

With an apocalypse looming, Aziraphale and Crowley were prepared to do anything if it meant Maren would live a long and happy life. So, as she slept, the pair concocted a foolproof plan -- nothing could go wrong.

***

I feel like this chapter was shit, but hey, that's just me and my stupid, anxious brain. I'm proud of the dialogue, though.

I linked the music box cover of the Good Omens theme above because that's what I imagine Maren's musical nightlight to sound like.

I actually hate posh restaurants. They're so focused on detail and adding odd things, and you're paying expensive money for something so minimal. Like, is it even worth it? I like the simple stuff. Seriously, I eat a burger without lettuce, tomato or cheese. I just have the burger in the bun -- I'm that bitch.

We're gonna have another time jump in the next chapter, so slowly but surely, we're getting to the main plotline of this part. Most of this was outlined before the Crowley and Shax clip was released, so the feeding the ducks part was purely coincidental.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a vote and comment because it honestly makes me really happy. Thank you for 3k reads. I honestly wasn't expecting it so soon, but I'm glad xx

- Alice.