Chapter Text
One of the little advantages of the not happened Armageddon – although it would be highly unwisely to mention it Below – was the opportunity to drop in at a nice long-known bar as before and have a glass or two, possibly with some colleagues before going back to Hell.
But now the demon-messenger Saar flew from the familiar neon sign with the speed of a tornado. What was this jerk doing here? How dares he to show his face to a common Hell forces' meeting place? And should a demon deliver this news to his superiors or would it be better not to mention he had a misfortune to see him at all? The second option looked safer.
The one who scared Saar so much was currently sitting at the bar counter in a company of a gorgeous black-eyed blonde in a high-necked, hiding nothing dress. Saar would be very glad to make a mistake, but this manner to spread all over the furniture with the sleak figure, this dark-red hair and dark glasses on the pale face were hard to misidentify all together.
"You really are a bold one, to come here," a blonde succuba with a glass in her hand plucked up her courage to come at him.
He looked her up and down over his glasses:
"That much is clear, but what about you? Are you bold enough to share a drink with me?" he pushed up a brow. "Guys are so shy now".
"I'm not afraid of you, Crowley," she smiled sassy and sat on a bar stool near him.
He grinned ironically, calling upon the barman to refill their drinks.
“Are the Big Bosses not cross with me anymore... Ranyd?"
“Hastur wants to have your head, okay," she shrugged, trying not to show how much the fact that the demon remembered her name flattered her - they barely met after the 8th century. "Belzeebub keeps silent and banishes your name. Anyway, how would they know where and whom I drink with in my free time?"
"Bad girl," Crowley said sympathetically. "The Earth is a great place for a little hide-and-seek".
She cast him a side-glance beneath her long lashes: he leaned on the counter with one elbow, turning to his counterpart, and the succuba could bet there was an interest in his eyes behind the glasses.
"Do you always play so badly?"
"Oh," Crowley smirked, "this game I don't play at all."
"Which do you prefer?" she asked innocently, tipping with her lips on her cocktail straw.
"In the six millennia I invented hundreds. And most of them bored me," the demon shrugged, absent-mindedly sliding his finger upon the rim of the glass. "Ligur knew where to come. Anyone who wishes can follow."
"I heard a talk about that bookshop rather," the succuba said. "Even if the angel doesn’t burn, books and Hellfire are still a tempting mix, hasn't it crossed your mind?"
"Oh really? actually, not," the idea seemed to amuse Crowley, although there was a distant metal clang in his voice. "Who dislikes literacy so much? Let me guess... Was it Bohos with his guys?"
"No, he isn't here, he is in Syria, I suppose. A couple of big scaly guys. I don't know them. Came here a couple of days ago."
"Well, if you see them again, give a hint: it's a bad idea," Crowley said softly, leaning forward, and now danger soaked his words through. "I don't stand someone touching what's mine."
There was a pause for a couple of human heartbeats, then Ranyd asked:
"That angel of yours, is he as jealous too?"
The demon relaxedly leaned back again:
"Oh, you know. Trust. Such a comfortable thing. When someone else does it, obviously," he saluted her nonchalantly with his glass before drinking, then followed:
"But hasn't anybody in Hell understood I was just ... wrecking havoc as any decent demon should do?" There was a sincere offence in his voice.
"You betrayed Hell," this was a fact statement. "Stopped the Armageddon," there was a bit of admiration, perhaps, however fading quickly into the teasing: "Took away their war from those eager to fight. Of course, they hate you. But some tell, you deserve a commendation for the seduction of an angel. This is... rare. How have you ever managed? Those self-righteous pricks think themselves so much better than anybody else, they would rather fuck a mirror," she leaned forward, unwillingly and calculated at the same time.
A smirk slithered upon his lips like a snake while he reached and flippantly took a cherry from her glass.
"I've got many talents. Perhaps, one day I show you."
"And this made you immune to Holy water?"
The demon clicked his tongue and shook his head:
"Not to many secrets at once, baby. So, the Downstairs liked the idea?"
"Many do. Although they would like it more if the angel Fell."
"The rules on this account... are a bit ineffable nowadays," the demon frowned.
"Anyway, until this ... Aziraphale eats from your hands, Heavens sent another wanker in his place – and guess what? He has already done more for our side, than for his own."
The demon snorted:
"So, what did this wigged wonder do?"
In a quarter of hour he went out of the bar, leaving the slightly disappointed succuba alone. For anyone's sake, to work with lesser demons was even easier than with humans.
Coming out of the door, Crowley withdrew all traces of alcohol from his blood. Here and now, he couldn't let himself be not a hundred percent sharp and battle ready, although it didn't show in his sauntering movements in the slightest.
He looked at his watch. The night was young. Enough time to find out more about someone's plans on arson – and come to Aziraphale for breakfast.
***
Crowley's flat reflected what changed in the last months, perhaps, more than anything.
The demon liked quality staff, but didn't get attached to. His places of living could be perfectly stylish but didn't contain anything to tell about the owner. The same way Crowley visited Aziraphale's bookshop on many occasion since the day it opened, but left no traces of his presence. Yes, Aziraphale did have matching glasses and a special mug for Crowley, but this was his doing. And it was not only about hiding and being discreet – sudden Heavenly visitors could detect traces of a demonic aura and this was dangerous enough. It didn't change now when there was no reason to hide anymore.
Aziraphalew was another matter altogether. He began to rearrange and to fill the space around him sometimes without even noticing. It was just the way his love to the world poured freely out of his being. And now, when he started visiting Crowley's flat on a regular basis, it began to accumulate evidences. Everything for making a nice cup of tea appeared in the demon's kitchen. In some corners of the flat a couple of comfy armchairs came out of nowhere, and a sofa for two before the TV. There were tartan patterned plaids here and there. And there were much more books here now. Not that they really were absent here before - try to survive on the Earth till the 20th century without reading and you will understand how much pose there was in Crowley's loud statements on the matter. But now there were more, and if for Aziraphale these were not the most precious examples, human librarians would probably give a hand for some of them.
These things partly were miracled by a whim and stayed, partly brought by Aziraphale, partly acquired by Crowley himself. He liked to indulge his angel secretly or quite obviously, now the same as the previous four and a half thousand years.
These were the strange months. Nearly idyllic if not the thought looming on the edge of his mind that they couldn't just go away with everything so easy. Heaven and Hell were silent. No new attempts to get rid of the traitors, no official dismissal (one could expect the Heavenly office to send a severe termination letter in the convoluted style, but no)... No new assignments. Nothing.
For the first time in the six thousand years they just had all the time they wanted to spend it together. And strolls, dinners, long talks didn't lose a bit of their charm being no longer forbidden and dangerous. They two got spoiled in the last eleven years. Looking after the Anti... the son of the American ambassador they spent more time in the close proximity than ever before, although they needed to be extremely cautious (and no one could reproach nanny Ashtarot with fraternizing with a gardener). If they came back to the usual "see you in some dozens of years", the life would get incredibly more boring.
They didn't even need to talk about. There wasn’t almost a day they spent without going out together or visiting each other. It happened as if by itself.
But demons are not made for idyllies. Crowley hoped they had time, but couldn't get rid of anxiety. He watched his angel and spied on their enemies, and the last days proved he was absolutely right in the latter.
The demon clicked his fingers, and a laptop on his table opened and turned on, launching a search engine at ponce, although it was never connected to electricity or the Internet.
Crowley ran his fingers across the keyboard. For the start, the news about all mysterious sightings, disappearances, fights and killings in the neighborhood. And security video footage from the bar.
The memory of the bookshop on fire scorched his eyelids for a second. Crowley stopped and made himself take a pair of long deep breaths.
Anyone who tries to repeat it will be sorry God has created him once. Now, to work.