Crowley had always been rather fascinated with Mary Poppins. She was a whimsical character who whisked children off to fantastic worlds of adventure with just a bit of a magical twist, but there was a bit of mischief about her as well. Well, Crowley may have personally had a hand in the creation of that side of her to begin with, but that was hardly the point. The demon was somewhat inspired by her character when he was deciding how he was going to assume his role as the Antichrist's mentor in the ways of evil. He rather liked her better in the book, though he wasn't much of a book person. If only they hadn't made her so sweet and cute in the movie.

His imitation of the classic nanny from every child's greatest dreams was almost perfect, though, from the instantly recognizable black hat to the stylish flat-bottomed shoes, which were more true to the book. He may have actually looked a bit too much like the fictional icon than he probably should have. Whatever the case, it seemed this would be their only choice for a nanny, as mysteriously not a single other person was there to answer the advert the Dowlings had put in the paper.

It was a bright and sunny day as Nanny Ashtoreth strode along the way toward the looming wooden door at the front of the mansion. Gravel crackled and crunched under his shoes. His fingers tightened slightly around the handle of his umbrella as he stepped up to the door and promptly rang the bell. A short time after the bell let out a loud but not altogether unpleasant melody, the door opened to reveal an elegantly dressed butler.

"I understand you need a nanny," Crowley said matter-of-factly.

The butler nodded and held the door open a bit wider as he mumbled, "Yes, of course, come in." It wasn't his place to say so, but the butler found something deeply unsettling about this character.

A remarkably short time later, there was a knock at the back door, answered by a young woman who had been tasked with finding a new gardener. The previous gardener, a kind old man who always seemed to have a passion for his work, had mysteriously quit for no given reason only a few short days ago.

The woman pulled open the door to reveal what looked to be a batty old man with crooked buck teeth and soft white mutton chops on his cheeks. He turned to face her and removed his brown cap as he gave her a warm smile in greeting, showing off a row of those goofy teeth. He looked a bit odd, she thought, but something about him made her think pleasantly of Santa Claus.

In a thick West Country accent the man said cheerily, "They do say as you might be lookin' for a gardener."

"Why yes, of course," the woman answered with a warm smile of her own. "Come right in Mr..."

"Call me Brother Francis, ma'am," the man told her pleasantly.

~

He didn't look anything like he usually did, but Crowley easily recognized him all the same. Maybe it was because he didn't see exactly the same as humans tend to, or perhaps it was more the innate feeling of something familiarly supernatural nearby that tipped him off instantly to who Brother Francis really was. Not that it really mattered, of course, since their jobs wouldn't interfere with each other anyway, but at least now he knew where the young Warlock would be most vulnerable to the disgusting exposure that was the light.

And, of course, Crowley could "unwittingly" bring Warlock round to such exposure without his side suspecting his treachery. For now, though, the Antichrist was still but a small babe who slept most of the day, leaving the poor nanny with nothing to do most of the time. Still, Crowley was able to fill the child's dreams with glorious nightmares and horrors as he slept. Even there he could sense some resistance though, as every dream he felt being corrupted by pleasant thoughts and happy little daydreams as the angel seemingly had the same idea.

Everything was going perfectly according to plan. None of the other workers suspected a thing about them, though there was talk of that peculiar Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis was doing a remarkable job for the whole estate, despite the fact that not a single soul had seen him lift so much as a finger to do any real work. The garden, the house, and the child all seemed to be in perfect condition with the newcomers. Not that it really mattered, since the Dowlings themselves were hardly ever even seen on the property between one responsibility or another, or at least that's how they seemed to think of it.

Things began to fall into a sort of rhythm for a while, where Aziraphale spent most of the days sitting out in the garden with all the little critters that most gardeners loathed, and Crowley spent a great deal of time simply being around the young boy and overseeing his growth. He made a point to venture out into the garden to make sure he "accidentally" got some exposure to the light as well.

About a month into the experience, on one such walk, Crowley happened across Aziraphale directly as the angel was sitting in the grass passing out birdseed to a small flock of pigeons. The birds were startled as the demon approached without any attempt at stealth. It was only when a tall shadow loomed over Aziraphale that he looked up and realized someone was standing there.

"Crowley," he breathed with surprise. He lost all traces of his Brother Francis accent as he asked, "What brings you out here this morning?"

The demon glared at him through his shaded spectacles and glanced around to make sure there wasn't anyone else nearby to overhear them. Once he was sure the coast was clear he said in his own usual voice, "Please, I'm trying to be discreet here. We can't let anyone know you know that I know that you're here."

"Er, I know?" the angel said confusedly. After a moment he said, "Sorry. But what does bring you out here now, if there's such an exigent need for secrecy?"

Crowley made a dismissive hand gesture, as if it were obvious. "I only thought that we should talk about our progress so far."

"Here?"

"No, not here!" Crowley told him in exasperation. This was stressful enough without him being a complete imbecile. "When you're done here, tonight...we can go for dinner and drinks—on me."

"Oh...well that sounds more reasonable," Aziraphale said with a bright look on his face. "See you then?"

Crowley gave him a brisk nod and quickly strode away back to the mansion. It was just a casual social gathering like a hundred others they had had previously. A night to meet up for a time and discuss the all-important matter of the proper raising of the son of Satan. So why was he so nervous? Despite being a demon, he decided it was still a bit stressful to be juggling this supernatural atomic bomb, as it were.

Surely that's why his heart did a somersault in his chest when the angel accepted his offer.

~

The sun was starting to go down by the time Crowley stepped away from the Dowling estate for the day. When he was sure that no one was around he willed his appearance to change, feeling the clothes shift and mold about him until he was fitted into his more comfortable attire. His black nanny hat disappeared, and his perfectly styled hair fell about his face in straight, soft waves. He breathed a sigh of relief as he fell out of his role as Nanny Ashtoreth and snaked his way toward his precious Bentley with his usual, more natural stride.

As he slid into the driver's seat of his car he felt a surge of relief, the end to another long day of working to bring about the end of the world and hoping that his plans would be foiled by his righteous counterpart. As he replaced the small glasses Nanny Ashtoreth wore for a pair he dug out of his glove compartment, he began to wonder, where was the angel now? Crowley was sure he had seen him leaving the property not too long ago, and surely he would have remembered that he was supposed to be meeting with him tonight?

But what if he didn't? What if he forgot and scampered off to his dingy old book store, leaving Crowley to waste his valuable time waiting for his miserable ass to turn up. He almost jumped out of his skin when the passenger side door popped open and a familiar shape entered.

It was none other than the bane of Crowley's existence himself, dressed in his usual style and looking just as he always had for the last six thousand years. He had a cheery smile on his face as if nothing whatsoever was the matter.

"Took your bloody time," Crowley grumbled as he started the car with a snap of his fingers.

Aziraphale frowned. "Sorry, I wanted to make sure I looked decent for-"

"You're telling me you took the time to change clothes even though you can use magic?" Crowley interrupted moodily.

Aziraphale was mostly unfazed by the demon's sharp retorts. "Well...if we're playing the part of humans, it's better to keep up appearances, you know."

Crowley rolled his eyes as he put the car in drive and sped off down the road. He wasn't annoyed at Aziraphale at all, not really. The angel was just a quirky individual and it was something that he had trouble getting used to, even after all this time. Truthfully, him acting so damn human all the time just made him easier to talk to and be around, since most any other supernatural entity would use their abilities to make life easier. This one was a rare exception, doing painstaking tasks by hand.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was troubled. He couldn't tell what Crowley was thinking, and with his continuous mood of, well, moodiness, it was difficult to gauge how he was feeling sometimes. Or maybe that was just because Aziraphale didn't consider himself gifted in reading others' emotions. So he sat somewhat miserably in the passenger seat, wishing he hadn't kept Crowley waiting.

He reluctantly decided to be brave and disturb this fragile silence of theirs. "Do you know what occurred to me just earlier this day?"

Crowley glanced over at him questioningly. There was no hint of deep-seated hatred remaining in his expression, so Aziraphale was moderately assured that it wasn't anything too bad after all.

"It occurred to me that you must have a soft spot of some kind for humanity."

"What are you on about?" Crowley asked defensively, though not unkindly, to the angel's relief.

Aziraphale cleared his throat before explaining, "Well, you seem to know all too well the things that I most appreciate about life on Earth, but I only just thought today about why you tried so desperately to get me to work with you. What could you possibly stand to lose in the event of Armageddon?"

"What could I stand to lose?" Crowley echoed with a frown. "Well, I don't think that's your business, now, is it?"

"Oh, come now," Aziraphale persisted stubbornly. "What is it?"

Crowley shrugged and answered, "It's sleep."

"Sleep?"

"I know you don't go around there much, but Hell doesn't like the idea of ignoring your problems and pretending to be dead for hours at a time every single day. I'd be miserable not being able to get sleep," Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale didn't believe him for a second, but let the conversation end there. At the very least he was assured now that the demon wasn't truly angry with him in any way. They continued for a time in silence until his thoughts started to drift elsewhere.

Crowley really did love sleep, and it definitely was something that he would thoroughly miss should Earth actually be destroyed in the near future. But, of course, Aziraphale knew more than he thought he knew, and Crowley had other reasons for hating the idea of all this going up in flames. Some of those reasons he still denied even to himself, but others entailed the simpler, albeit still embarrassing pleasures of human life.

Namely among those and rather high up on the list was consorting with the enemy, not that he would ever dare to say it aloud. Not that it was even consorting, per se. He certainly enjoyed spending time with the angel when he got a chance, but he never let himself admit it. At least not out loud, though his mind was a rushing torrent of unbridled emotions that he couldn't seem to tame for the life of him.

Of course, he had other reasons to enjoy life on Earth. He just couldn't think of them so clearly with Aziraphale around.