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It's almost like old times.
Crowley is sprawled in an armchair in Aziraphale’s flat while Aziraphale paces and the two of them discuss how to deal with a problem that they probably shouldn't have to deal with, but no one else is going to. In this case, it's the twin problems of the Metatron specifically and Heaven’s plan to end life on Earth generally, and they're once again stalled out about what to do with it.
“I don't think he realizes how upset I am,” Aziraphale is saying, and Crowley is thinking about him saying very much so when Serpentine asked if the dance had been romantic. Which is half of why it doesn't actually feel like old times, with the other half being the holiness Crowley can feel in his blood, a constant, pumping reminder that he's not a demon anymore. “He might even think he's done me a favor, although I can't decide if he really believes that or just likes to pretend.”
Serpentine had thought the same thing, that Aziraphale had come out ahead on this one, and Crowley can still understand why. On paper and from a certain perspective, Aziraphale got everything he wanted after their fight in the bookshop: Crowley, an angel again, reporting to him, while Aziraphale rules in Heaven.
If anyone had asked Crowley about it first, he would have said Aziraphale wouldn't want it, not like this, and he would have been about 95% sure he was right. It's a little bit nice to know for certain.
“Personally, I think he's just a sadistic bastard. Wouldn't have put me with all those scrolls if he wasn't. That's the kind of punishment Hell comes up with.”
“I thought Hell was rather more bloody.”
“Well, there are different types of torture. Bored to death is what some people deserve.”
“I'd prefer that to seeing you drawn and quartered for all eternity, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs, almost absently. “If he wanted to make us miserable, he had many other ways to do it.”
“Yeah, but that's not what you lot do, is it? You’re not supposed to anyway.”
“We’re not.”
“Hm?”
“You're an angel too now.”
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. I feel holy. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Still, if you're going to pretend to be Serpentine, you'll need to get in the habit of including yourself among the Heavenly host. You're not even supposed to know you used to be a demon.”
Crowley rubs his face. He misses the layer of protection his sunglasses afforded him, but the two of them agreed that there was no way for him to wear them without raising suspicions. He'll catch Aziraphale frowning at him from time to time, upset to see brown eyes instead of yellow, and every time, Crowley doesn't know what to do. He'd tried kissing him again, after all. His memories had flooded back and he'd come back to himself with Aziraphale’s mouth on his and been more than ready to have that be his entire afternoon, at minimum. But Aziraphale had pushed him away. Serpentine had to talk him into kissing him in the first place; he hadn't even wanted to.
Very much so, he thinks, and drags his brain back to the matter at hand.
“Let's assume Heaven doesn't do things just to make people miserable. That's not our style. But that doesn't mean it can't happen. Heaven and Hell are both fine with collateral damage. So let's say making me miserable wasn't the main goal. What is?”
“He might have been hoping to distract me, which he did. But that doesn't make any sense!”
“No?”
“If he didn't want me involved in Heaven’s affairs, all he had to do was not invite me into them.”
“Mm, yeah, but that hasn't gone so well for them historically, has it? We screwed up the last war, he probably wanted us dealt with so we wouldn't try it again. What's that phrase, friends close, enemies closer?”
“So he didn't trust us to stay out of things.”
“Can't blame him, really.” He straightens up in the chair, fixing his attention on Aziraphale leaning against the wall. “Does it matter? If he’s pure of heart and his intentions were good, is that it? We can be on his side after all?”
“No,” Aziraphale says firmly. “It doesn't matter why he did it. You were right.”
“Hang on, let me get my phone, I want to record that.”
Aziraphale’s mouth twitches. “I can do the dance, if you'd like.”
“Maybe once this is all sorted.” He's grinning, a little stupidly. It's still hard to believe Aziraphale really is with him on this, that he's turned against Heaven, and even harder to believe that what did it was Heaven possibly trying to do him a favor. “You're going to have to be the one to figure out his plan, I'm afraid. I don't think the Metatron deigns to speak to scriveners on my level.”
“I'm sorry I'm not able to promote you,” Aziraphale says, with what sounds like genuine remorse. “I thought about it, but…”
“Nah, don't worry about it. Even if you could, it would be too suspicious. Serpentine’s not really ready for the big leagues.”
“You do remember everything that happened, don't you?”
“Yeah, course. Why?”
“You talk about it like he really was another person, not just you without your memories.”
“It's quicker to say. And he was different. Just because I remember what he said and why he said it doesn't make him me.”
Aziraphale frowns a little. “I suppose not.” He nods to himself. “Well, even if you can’t help with the Metatron directly, I think you'll still have plenty to do.”
“Oh yeah, I'll be slithering everywhere, seeing what I can find. Serpentine is the perfect cover. No one would believe it if Crowley was playing dumb.”
“You’ll still have to be careful. I wouldn’t be surprised if Michael and Uriel don’t really believe you’ve been reformed.”
“I’ll be careful, Angel.”
“I’d also like you to get to know some of the lower-order angels,” Aziraphale says, looking away with a slight flush on his cheeks. “They won’t speak to me, they’re all too frightened. I know you’re not used to being the nice one, but I think it’s time for you to give it a try.”
Crowley pulls a face. “I am supposed to be nice now, aren’t I? Serpentine was nice. Very helpful, very eager. Have to get back in the mindset.”
“It’s difficult,” says Aziraphale, to his surprise. “I knew I wasn’t a perfect angel, but I’d forgotten how strange it was to be among the hosts of Heaven.” He clears his throat. “I haven’t thanked you, have I?”
“Thanked me?”
“I know none of this is what you wanted.”
“Oh, Angel, you know all I’ve ever wanted is for you to turn against Heaven,” he says, with a smirk like it’s a joke. “Just be careful you don’t Fall.”
“If we do Fall, I think we’ll Fall together. I hope.”
“Hope?”
He turns to the door. “I shouldn’t like to leave you behind again. I didn’t like doing it the first time.” He nods again. “As soon as we leave this room, you’ll have to be Serpentine. I don’t think it’s safe to speak openly of your memories having returned to anyone else, not even Muriel.”
“No, probably not. Good kid, not the best at keeping their mouth shut. And we can’t say a word about it in Heaven. Walls have ears.”
“Like ducks. I’m terribly glad to have you back, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Come on, let’s get a move on. Heaven isn’t going to overturn itself.”
*
Even without his memories, Serpentine had known that he didn’t quite fit in with Heaven, that he couldn’t really trust most of the other angels. It was less that he thought they were malicious or conniving and more that he was sure they either didn’t understand or didn’t believe in nuance, and they certainly weren’t interested in exploring the idea that Heaven had some cons and not only pros.
But Aziraphale was right: Serpentine, and by extension Crowley, is the nice one now. As Aziraphale’s assistant, he’s seen as the gateway to the new Supreme Archangel, whom all the angels want to know more about. Just because he doesn’t like or trust them, it doesn’t mean they feel the same way about him.
Ariel, for example, is thrilled to have a new ally, and more than happy to gossip.
“One hears such wild things about him,” they’d told Serpentine, right after his promotion. “He likes to consume matter, he doesn’t burn in Hellfire, and he even has a demon for a lover. I didn’t think archangels were allowed to have lovers, or talk to demons, but everyone says it’s true. They took him off Earth just because he was too powerful there. Had to keep an eye on him.”
The strangest thing is that almost all the rumors are true. Serpentine had found them unbelievable, but Crowley’s only real objection is that lover is a bit much. Other than that, they’re all right, and they probably should be afraid of Aziraphale. He can think of himself as the nice one all he wants, but he did all those things and more. They haven’t even heard about the halo thing yet. Crowley almost wants to tell them.
But he’s not supposed to know about that, so the next time he runs into Ariel, he just greets them with a cheerful wave and a, “Hullo!”
Ariel bobs their head. “Serpentine. You’re in high spirits.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Lovely glory of God’s creation and all that.”
Judging from the way Ariel’s eyebrows shoot up, he may be laying it on a little thick. Already the memory of what it was like to actually be Serpentine is fading. He could have been much worse--Crowley remembered his angelic self as much worse, so naive and bright and stupid--but it’s still embarrassing. Like seeing a picture of himself from one of those time periods where he had a very bad hairstyle.
“What are you working on?” he asks, when Ariel doesn’t bother responding. “Need any help? I’ve got some free time while the Supreme Archangel is meeting with the Metatron.”
Serpentine and Ariel are not yet and may never be at the point in their relationship where Ariel can admit to being unhappy with their lot in life, but they are willing to accept help. Millennia of doing all the archangels’ grunt work mostly on their own has clearly taken its toll, even if they refuse to admit it.
As Crowley had hoped, Ariel’s face immediately clears with relief. “Oh, could you? Archangels Michael and Uriel have me reviewing records of the Supreme Archangel on Earth, and it would go much faster if I wasn’t doing it alone.”
“Sure, of course, not a problem at all. What kind of records?”
“Just his reports, I think. It’s kind of interesting reading, if I’m honest. Humans do get into scrapes!”
“What am I keeping an eye out for?”
Ariel slants a slightly suspicious look at Crowley, but it actually is a normal question. If Crowley’s going to help with whatever Michael and Uriel are planning, he needs to know the plan.
“They think he’s still consorting with his demon lover,” Ariel says in low tones.
“Do they really,” says Crowley.
“If he is, that’s something we should all know about, isn’t it?” asks Ariel. “That’s the kind of thing we should be looking into. It’s not wrong.”
“These are the reports the Supreme Archangel submitted to Heaven?”
“Yes.”
“Then he can't be upset with us for reviewing them. They were submitted to be reviewed.”
Ariel’s face clears. “When you put it like that!”
Crowley follows Ariel to an office and grabs one of the reports. It's from April 2004, about an incident that Crowley remembers, so that's fun. He always likes seeing how Aziraphale presents these things.
“How can something from decades ago tell us what the Supreme Archangel is doing now?”
“We're looking for Clues,” says Ariel, so maybe saying Clue with a capital letter is just an angel thing. Crowley hopes he's not going to start doing it. “Anything suspicious.”
“Right.”
This is why Crowley struggles to really worry about Michael and Uriel. Obviously they hate Aziraphale, and that means Crowley hates them on principle, but they believe in rules and order. They'll try to take Aziraphale down by tattling to the Metatron, who was the one who brought Crowley here in the first place. They're not going to try to assassinate him or anything. Especially not after the first time didn't take.
“I wonder whatever did happen to the demon,” Ariel muses as they work. “Everyone knows they really were friends, if nothing more. Strange that the Supreme Archangel just left him behind.”
Crowley’s heart twinges. “Well, like you said, archangels probably aren’t allowed to be friends with demons. And it would be hard to turn down such a big promotion. I left some friends to take on working for the Supreme Archangel myself.”
“It would make sense if the two of them had some evil plot, though. The Supreme Archangel infiltrates Heaven and then sneaks a demon in.”
“God wouldn't let that happen,” says Crowley, and even manages to sound like he believes it.
“No, I suppose not. Then again, God helps them as helps themselves, isn't it? Maybe it's a test.”
“Mm, could be.”
Crowley returns to his report, smiling as he reads along: Performed a minor miracle on a couple having a fight in a restaurant and repaired their relationship. They’d seen the couple looking uncomfortable at the next table and tossed a coin to see who would get to “win” the night. Crowley, who had not, in four centuries of coin tosses, ever done an honest one, lost, so he upgraded them to a full-on row, and then Aziraphale had gotten to make them make up. After, he and Aziraphale had gone for a walk in the park, and Aziraphale had rambled on about a book he'd just bought for so long that Crowley had no choice but to go to the bookshop to have a drink and take a look at it.
He could have said something so much earlier. If only he'd found the right words, maybe Aziraphale would have said yes.
Very much so.
“Ariel, I have some--” Michael stops short at the sight of Crowley at the desk with Ariel. “What is he doing here?”
“Just helping me check over these reports,” says Ariel.
Crowley makes sure to show nothing but innocence in his expression. “They’ve very interesting. Humans, eh?”
Michael’s lips purse in annoyance. Crowley has to assume the other Archangels went to the Metatron to make sure that Aziraphale hadn't smuggled Crowley into Heaven, which he can't even really fault them for. He would have been suspicious too, in their place. But since Aziraphale didn’t do anything and didn’t even know, any confrontation they had with the Metatron would have been deeply unsatisfying.
Crowley can’t say he’s upset about it.
“I'm sure Serpentine has things to do for the Supreme Archangel.”
“No, not at the moment!” says Crowley cheerfully. “Free as a bird. Happy to help out however I can.”
“How considerate of you.” But Michael is looking thoughtful, sizing him up. “What has Aziraphale told you about the memories you lost?”
They did talk about this, make sure their stories were straight. “That we were friends, and he'd like for us to be friends again.”
“Hmm.” Michael holds up yet another file. “Well, if you see yourself in any of these photographs, let me know.”
Crowley would love to ask what that would prove, but Serpentine wouldn't, and Michael is already leaving.
“Were you on Earth?” Ariel asks, and Crowley opens up the file with a shrug.
“Guess I'll find out.”
*
Pretending to be Serpentine with most of the heavenly host is easy, but he wishes it was safe to be himself around Aziraphale. It's not worth the risk, of course--if the Metatron finds out he has his memories back, they'll probably get taken again, and he'll make sure that Crowley can’t recover them so easily the next time--but he hates not being able to just talk to Aziraphale. It's not hard to communicate the things he needs to communicate, as of course Serpentine would be reporting things he did to his boss, but they can't really discuss what's going on. Aziraphale meets with the Metatron without him and Crowley only gets the broadest strokes of their conversations. Any answers Aziraphale might have, he can't share, and any danger he might be in, Crowley not only can't help but doesn't even know. And he can't even be irritable about it, because Serpentine isn't the irritable sort.
Even worse, they can’t just coexist. He hadn’t even realized how accustomed he’d grown to being with Aziraphale since the apocalypse. It might actually be good he didn’t have the opportunity to have to be without him; he wouldn't have done well with it.
Aziraphale must realize he's feeling restless, because they'd been planning to wait a full week to return to Earth to check in, but Aziraphale comes up with an excuse to do it after only three days. They spend an hour or two scouting locations for the new celestial agents to be assigned first, but then they go back to the bookshop and up the stairs to privacy again.
Crowley slumps against the wall, rubbing his face. “Was I ever really like this?”
“Polite and enthusiastic? It's hard to imagine, but I assume so.”
“You're making fun of me.”
“You can leave if you need to, I won't stop you.”
Something like ice twists in Crowley’s chest, but he pushes past the feeling. “That would be worse. Then I wouldn't know anything. Tell me you have news.”
“I think you should be able to reasonably know you used to be a demon. I've heard it enough that I would have told you as a courtesy. In fact, the Metatron was surprised to hear I hadn't.”
“If he wanted me to know that badly he could have said something himself.”
“I said the same. He seems very curious about you. I tried to talk to him about the Second Coming but all he wanted was to find out how you were settling in.”
“D’you think he suspects I've got my memories back?” Crowley asks.
“If he does, he's being awfully cavalier about it.”
“So maybe you were right the first time. He's trying to distract you. Doesn't want to talk about anything else because the whole point is that I'm supposed to be all you're thinking about.”
“I am slightly better at multitasking than that,” Aziraphale says, somewhat offended. “I have some experience thinking about both you and the end of the world.”
“Well, you should still probably try to go with it. See what happens. Maybe he's trying to catch you out doing something wrong too.”
“Trying his hand at temptation.” He sighs. “I do worry he's gearing up to use you against me. If I don't go along with him then he'll do something awful to you.”
It's a tactic Crowley has some experience with from the other side. “Well, you could always try to convince him you don't care anymore now that I don't have my memories. If we're not friends, I'll make a bad hostage.”
“If I'd wanted to do that, I shouldn't have asked you to be my assistant.”
“Should’ve planned ahead.”
“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Aziraphale asks, not rising to the bait.
“What, you pretending to hate me? If you think you can pull it off, go ahead. Just don’t send me back to genealogies. Anything but that..”
“I meant being in Heaven. Doing this. You never wanted to be here. And now you’re helping me, even though…” He clears his throat. “After what happened. Are you sure?”
“If I say I am one more time, will you stop asking? It’s already getting old.”
“We’ll go to Alpha Centauri,” he says. “If you’d like. Once we’re done here, I’ll go anywhere you’d like.”
A lump rises in Crowley’s throat. “No need for that. You don’t need to ask me to help overthrow Heaven twice.”
Aziraphale looks absolutely wretched. “Crowley.”
“It’s fine, like I said. You can owe me a drink.”
“A drink,” Aziraphale repeats. “I’ll at least owe you dinner.”
“You’re the only one who eats dinner. But you can get yourself a meal if you’d like. I don’t mind, Angel. Demons are supposed to overthrow Heaven. Lucifer’s going to be so jealous when we pull it off.”
He’s smiling now, but it’s faint and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”
*
The problem is that Crowley has already tried the whole feelings thing. Three times, he’s asked Aziraphale to be with him, and every time, Aziraphale has said no. And every time Crowley had thought that it might go his way. It’s not new, thinking that Aziraphale might return his feelings. He always thinks that, and he might always be right, but it's never enough.
He's not sure what he's going to do if it's not enough again.
“I think you can stop worrying about this,” he tells Ariel as they review more files the next day. Crowley is looking through the pictures of Aziraphale over the years, and it actually stings a little that he hasn't found himself yet. Of course he's not supposed to be in any of the pictures, they both put a great deal of effort into keeping him out of pictures, but it feels wrong. He was there for so much of this; there should be a record of that.
“What?” asks Ariel.
“Obviously do what the archangels tell you to, but it turns out I'm the demon.”
Ariel drops the report they're reading. “What do you mean, you're the demon?”
“Just what I said! That's why I lost my memories. To forget about how demonic I was. But I'm not anymore.”
“You can't stop being a demon.”
“That's what I thought! But you probably should be able to, right? If angels who do enough bad become demons, then demons who do enough good should become angels too.”
Ariel still looks suspicious. “That doesn't sound right.”
“Probably what the other archangels think. That's probably why they have us doing this. Looking for a trick or something.”
They keep working in silence for a moment, and then Ariel asks, “Was it true about the two of you?”
“Oh, the lovers bit? No, I don't think so. But it makes a more exciting rumor.”
“Hmm,” says Ariel, like even they don't believe it.
Crowley doesn't let himself argue the point; he learned his lesson about protesting too much from Nina. “You'd think Heaven would be happy to let demons come back,” he says instead, because he is supposed to be gathering information here. That was his whole plan, not getting sidetracked talking about himself and Aziraphale.
“Why? They're traitors.”
“Yeah, but we're at war, right? Always smart to let defectors join you in a war.”
“We don't need anyone to defect, we can crush them all.” They pause. “Can I say that to you? Is it offensive?”
“I'm not a demon anymore. Can't wait to crush them, personally.”
“But you might have had demon friends.”
“If I did, I don't remember. And I probably wouldn't have had an angel friend if I had demon friends, right? They would have talked me out of doing good.”
Ariel takes a second to work through that sentence, but it does seem to convince them. “Probably not a lot of demons trying to do enough good to become angels again. Maybe you'll inspire them.”
Crowley’s not sure what, exactly, the other demons will think when they find out that he's been redeemed, but he's guessing it'll be less inspiration and more pointing and laughing.
“Maybe,” he agrees anyway. “So, do you--”
A piece of paper zips into the room and lands in front of Ariel.
“Duty calls, eh?”
Ariel opens it up. “For you too. I'm to bring you before the Metatron.”
It’s not as if he can object. He could try to run and probably make it pretty far, maybe even get away, but then what? Aziraphale would be here, alone in Heaven, and even if it would be his own fault, Crowley couldn’t just leave him. It's the same problem he’s had since the apocalypse: of course he could leave, but leaving, all by itself, has never been the appealing part. If he can't find Aziraphale and convince him to come along, what’s the point in going?
“What an honor,” he tells Ariel, plastering a smile on. “Lead the way.”
If he’s lucky, Aziraphale will be there anyway. It’s just good form, isn’t it? Aziraphale is Crowley’s boss, and the Metatron is Aziraphale’s, so if the Metatron meets with Crowley alone, that’s skipping a management level. Surely not something the celestial bureaucracy would ever approve of.
Not that Aziraphale being there would necessarily be a good thing. If the Metatron is onto Crowley, he might be trying to catch the two of them out in a lie or punish them together. But at least if that happens, they’ll have a chance to say goodbye before the worst happens.
“I’ll be waiting here when you’re through,” says Ariel. “Maybe you’re getting a promotion! A new rank to match your new title.”
Crowley smiles weakly. “Maybe so.”
He knocks on the door and watches it swing open. The Metatron isn’t sitting at his desk, but standing off to the side, looking out a large window with his hands clasped behind his back. “Ah, Serpentine. Please come in.”
“It’s an honor to be meeting with you, Metatron.”
“Now, now, no need for all that. We’re just having a friendly chat! You’ve been here for a few weeks now, I wanted to see how you were settling in.”
“Oh, brilliant. Everyone’s been very welcoming. Very accommodating.”
“And I believe the Supreme Archangel told you about your origins.”
“He did, yeah. It’s a real honor,” he adds, taking a stab at what the Metatron wants to hear. “Being the first demon ever to come back. Huge honor.”
“Remember that you earned it,” he says, which does not actually make Crowley feel better. “Between the two of us, I think you’ve done more good than most angels up here have.”
That’s probably true, but Aziraphale’s done more bad than some demons too. It’s not like Crowley was the only one blurring the lines.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll try to do more.”
“I’m sure you will. Are you enjoying working with Aziraphale?”
“Oh, yeah, loads. Great to work with.”
The Metatron nods. “And he’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”
Crowley’s brain screeches to a halt. “Sorry?” he asks, which is at least something Serpentine would also say in this circumstance.
“He’s a good-looking fellow.”
As a rule, Crowley doesn’t spend a lot of his time coming up with words about Aziraphale’s looks and his opinions on them, because if he did, he’d be here all day. And he certainly doesn’t discuss his opinions on Aziraphale’s looks with anyone, let alone the Metatron. Looking back, the genealogy scrolls were nothing; this is torture.
“No need to be shy,” the Metatron says encouragingly. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the glory of Her creations.”
Crowley clears his throat and tries to get into Serpentine mode again. “I hadn’t thought about it much but yeah, he’s very well made.”
Unfortunately, it seems to be the wrong thing to say, because the Metatron frowns. “You don’t like him?”
What’s the normal amount of being attracted to your best friend when you’re pretending to have lost all your memories of him and are still building the relationship back up? Even if he were just Crowley, he’d be struggling with the question. It feels so reductive. Aziraphale is his favorite thing in the entire universe. He’s handsome as an afterthought, as a byproduct. It would be impossible for him to be anything but the best thing Crowley has ever seen.
“He’s amazing,” Crowley says, hating how honest it is. He shouldn't be saying this to the Metatron, of all people. “Of course he's amazing.”
The Metatron’s face clears and he's smiling again. “He is, he is. And I know he thinks the same of you.”
“Yeah,” Crowley agrees.
“Well, I'm sure we'll discuss this again. I'm glad you're doing well, Serpentine. Who knows, perhaps this will be a pilot program! We may have more demons hoping to return to Heaven once they find out it's possible.”
“Might do, yeah.”
“You're dismissed,” the Metatron says, already moving over to his desk and other business.
“Thank you, sir,” Crowley reminds himself to say, and leaves with a bow.
As promised, Ariel is waiting for him. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” he lies. “He just wanted to check in.”
“Quite an honor, having the Metatron take a personal interest.”
“You have no idea.”
*
Crowley knows he should figure out a way to tell Aziraphale they need to go to Earth immediately for an emergency meeting, but he doesn't actually want to have this conversation, so he tells himself he's waiting because he probably misunderstood. There's no way the Metatron was actually trying to gossip with him, so he needs the extra few days to come up with an alternate explanation.
By the next time they're meeting in the bookshop, he still doesn't have anything. “What does the Metatron ask you about me?”
“Oh, the usual questions. How you're settling in, if it's nice to have you back, that sort of thing.”
“Nothing about--” Crowley makes a face, followed by a noise. “Nothing about how I look?”
Aziraphale blushes, which is an answer all by itself, but Crowley isn't going to let him get away with that. “Why do you ask?”
“Humor me, Angel.”
“He asked if I thought the white didn't suit you. And if I liked your hair. It was…uncomfortable.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Honestly, I don't think the white does suit you. What's this about, Crowley?”
His jaw works for a moment, then he finally admits it. “I think the Metatron wants us to date.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He called me into his office to ask if I thought you were handsome!”
It's Aziraphale’s turn to gape. “What did you say?” he finally asks.
“That's not the point! The Metatron wants us to get together, that doesn't worry you?”
“It's a little bit the point,” Aziraphale murmurs. “And why should we worry? He can't force us.”
“Why would he want that?”
“I assume you'd be more distracting if we were…” He trails off, blushing again, and Crowley can think of a thousand things he'd rather be doing than having this conversation. “In any event, if that is his plan, it's easy.”
“Oh, is it?”
“We just tell him we're an item. Then we can find out what the next step of his plan is and proceed accordingly.”
“What if it's a test?” Crowley asks. “As soon as we succumb to temptation, that's it, show’s over.”
“That's why it would help to know what you told him when he asked if I was handsome. I thought he was rather put out when I said I didn't like the white on you.”
“What was I supposed to say? Serpentine barely knows you.”
“You don't have to know someone to think they're handsome.”
Crowley frowns. “You don't?”
“You do?”
“What, you're just seeing blokes on the street thinking they're good-looking?”
“Not regularly. But the first time I saw you--” He realizes what he's saying and puts a hand over his mouth.
Crowley smirks. “Go on.”
“You are quite handsome. I'd say the same thing if I didn't know you.”
“I told him you're, you know.” He gestures vaguely at Aziraphale. “Well made. That wasn't enthusiastic enough for him so I told him you were…good.”
“And that was enthusiastic enough for him?”
“I said it more enthusiastically. Look, we need a plan here. You have to figure out what he wants.”
“Me?” asks Aziraphale.
“You're the one who meets with him regularly, I only get called in for special occasions. Let him think he's distracting you with whatever he's doing with me, and then we strike.”
“Strike?”
“Steal the plans for the second coming, bridge the gap between Heaven and Hell with a pizza party, I don't know! We'll figure it out. Maybe we set up a dating service, the Metatron seems like he'd been keen on that.”
Aziraphale’s mouth twitches. “Between us and Gabriel, perhaps he's feeling lonely. Who was that ambitious demon who took over for you, Shax? Perhaps she's single.”
That mental image will haunt Crowley. “Let's not think about it. Look, there has to be something more going on here. The Metatron did not do all this because he wanted us to have a sleepover and talk about crushes!”
“What if he did?” Aziraphale asks. “I'm not saying it to defend him--if anything, it makes his judgment worse--but what if there really is nothing more to it than that?”
“What about the second coming? That was all just a ploy to get the two of us in the same room?”
“If you're an angel, you'll survive the rapture,” Aziraphale points out. “Maybe he thought my only objection to the plan was that you'd die.”
The statement hits Crowley uncomfortably, somewhere near the ribs. Coming from the Metatron, he hears exactly how absurd it is. Of course Aziraphale would never give up on the world and everyone in it. His objections to the end of the world have never been about keeping Crowley safe, or not just about that. It's obvious to anyone who cares to look.
And yet Crowley keeps asking him to leave everything else behind and taking it personally when he says no. As if the problem is that he doesn't care enough for Crowley, and not that he cares so much for the world.
He manages a smile, somehow. “Then he'll find out he's wrong, won't he?”
*
“Okay, don't tell anyone and don't ask any questions, but I have my memories back and I need your advice.”
Nina gives him an unimpressed look. “Who exactly am I going to tell? No one I know except Maggie even knows who you are.”
“Well, don't tell Maggie. And don't tell Aziraphale either, you know him.”
“You are wildly overestimating how much I talk to him. What do you want?”
“You humans get hurt a lot, don't you?”
“Strong start.”
“How do you do it again? How do you pick yourself up from being hurt and let yourself get hurt again?”
“I haven't yet, actually. Still licking my wounds.”
“But you will.”
Nina lets out a long breath. “Well, either I will or I won't. If I don't, I'll never be happy again. Not that kind of happy, anyway. I'm not the kind of person who thinks you have to be in a relationship to be complete and fulfilled or anything.”
“But you want to be in one anyway.”
“I think I would be happier if I got over myself and took Maggie on a date. Might not go anywhere after all. Might get hurt. But it's worth it to try.”
“And if I tried and it didn't work?”
“Obviously you think it still might. You're not asking me about this because you think he's going to say no.”
“No,” Crowley agrees. “I always think he's going to say yes, and then he never does. But it's recently occurred to me that I might have been asking the wrong question.”
“And now you can't get up the nerve to ask the right one?”
Crowley’s face scrunches up. “I wouldn't put it like that.”
“You get hurt,” Nina says. “Every relationship, you get hurt. Big things, small things. You decide it's worth it or you don't.”
“And it is.”
“I keep telling myself, but I'm not there yet.”
“I'll ask him if you ask her,” Crowley offers. “Check back in a week, keep each other honest?”
“A week?”
“Business upstairs. I don't get to just bum around Soho these days.”
“One week,” says Nina, and offers her hand.
Crowley shakes. “One week.”
Oh, the Metatron is going to be thrilled.