Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tuesday

“We need to make this the tiniest, most insubstantial, fractional half a miracle we’ve ever performed.  No traces of anything miraculous left behind.  No, no…no alarm bells ringing in Heaven.”

“Right.  Count of three.”

“One, two, three, now.”

Wednesday

A swell of chatter and the thick warmth of a crowd swallowed them as they stepped through the door.  It was very much not Aziraphale’s milieu, and that was delightful.  “The pub!” Crowley chortled.  “We never go to the pub.”

“We’re at the pub right now.”  So irritable.  And yet he’d been the one to insist on it.

“What’s wrong with the coffee shop?”

“I don’t know if this conversation can occur without a drink…or several.”  Oh.  Crowley shot the angel a concerned glance.   

“I’ll fetch those then; you get the table.”

“Thank you, yes.  What you’re having, please.”  Crowley doubled the concerned glance and nodded.  Then he strolled to the bar, collected two double Taliskers, and instructed the bartender he’d better not have to come back up for the second or third rounds.

A minute later he found Aziraphale next to an empty table huffing at an eager, weasely man in a tan blazer.  “My earnest apologies, my good man, but I simply cannot right now!”  The stranger scurried off, and Aziraphale slumped into his chair.

Crowley plunked a glass on the table in front of him, and Aziraphale cupped the tumbler gratefully in two hands like a mug of hot tea.

“So that was…?”  Crowley slid into the chair opposite.

Aziraphale shook his head and gulped far more than a sip of his whisky.  He waved a hand to indicate that the abruptly spurned human was not the point at all.  

Crowley waited.  And uncomfortably he waited some more.

His angel swallowed and kept his eyes fixed on the liquor in his glass.  “My dear, I’m so very sorry.  This is terribly awkward.  I should never have gotten you involved in this at all, and now…”

“You should never have gotten yourself involved in it.  And I should’ve followed my first instinct and stayed bloody clear.  But neither of us did that.  So now what?”

Aziraphale straightened up a fraction and grudgingly lifted his eyes.  “The miracle we did last night for…you know.  They detected it.  Somehow it was enormous — almost 25 Lazari.  The archangels came down, the rest of them, and they asked me what it was for.”

“All of them?  Right there, in the shop?”

Aziraphale nodded miserably.  “I had no idea what to say.”
“Yeah…”  Crowley stared back, all wary alarm poised for… he didn’t know what. “But I’d been talking to Maggie just beforehand, you see, about Nina.  So I said it was to help a friend with relationship troubles.  And they jumped to the wrong conclusion immediately, asked if I’d done a love miracle —”

“The fuck?”

“I said of course not!  And it was quite personal, and none of their business, and I don’t work for Heaven anymore, and…and everything!  But they just kept insisting and prying… and I’m so sorry, my dear.”  He crumpled.  “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, you said.”

“I panicked a bit, and I tried to get rid of them saying I had to be on my way to meet you.  I thought they wouldn’t want to…anyway.  As soon as I mentioned you…”

Crowley clenched his fists and whined.  Of course.  But in what new and horrible way could he possibly be more tangled in this mess?  He waved a hand for Aziraphale to continue.  And waited again.  

“You must…. you must understand what the other angels think of us.  They think I’m a fool who’s been taken in by your demonic wiles.  They think…that I’m infatuated with you.”  Behind his glasses, Crowley blinked.  “And they think you’re a callous demon who strings me along, whether you meant to…seduce me in the first place, or merely find the situation amusing.” 

Now hold on a minute.  All of that again.  His mouth had fallen open, and he swigged whisky to cover it. 

“They assumed I had done the miracle…to make you fall in love with me.”  Crowley choked and only didn’t snort the whisky through his nose because Aziraphale had waited — wisely — to drop that gem until he’d swallowed.  “They absolutely seized on it.  They forgot all about…you know…for a moment; they were so delighted.  The more I denied it, the more they were convinced.  Until I just couldn’t…I had to confess that I…miracled you to love me.”

A wave of static crackled through Crowley’s head.  “Tried to,” he heard himself correcting from a long way away.

“I told them it worked.”  Aziraphale’s voice was even lower and smaller than before.

“What —  why!?”

“I was so flustered by then, and…and I was so offended for you!  They said it couldn’t possibly work because a demon can never love when I know perfectly well you can.”

“What’s that now?!”

“My dear, I know how you feel about the Bentley.  And Warlock.  And, frankly, the whole world.”

Crowley gulped his whisky.  “Shut up, angel.”  Gulped it again.  A human appeared with another glass; Crowley snatched it and waved her angrily away.

So, this.  This.  Was…. fine.  Hearing the words “you love me” come out of Aziraphale’s mouth was nearly enough to crack him like a window in the Blitz, but all he’d been saying really was that the archangels had thought Crowley didn’t love Aziraphale and now they thought he did.  So certain celestial wankers now had the right idea about him for entirely the wrong reasons.  Wankers who were also demented enough to believe Aziraphale would do a thing like bind him with a miraculous love curse, so what they thought didn’t matter.  

What mattered was that Aziraphale still didn’t know.  Still didn't have a reason to say ‘I’m so sorry, my dear’ or ‘how disgusting’ or ‘what kind of a demon are you, anyway?’  At least it didn't sound like he’d say ‘you're delusional,’ which was one off the endless list of crushing things Crowley had imagined if the angel ever found out.  

All the archangels’ lunacy meant was that Heaven didn’t know them at all.  It didn’t mean Aziraphale ever had to realize his oldest, closest, most cool, platonic, trustworthy (and hadn’t that taken some work) friend was actually a pining lovesick fool who’d been lying to him since the world began.  This was an agonizingly fucked cosmic joke, but it was fine.

He wrestled his voice back to level and even forced in a hint of nonchalance.  “I’m surprised they believed that, actually.  What with their stance on never.”

Aziraphale crumpled another miserable inch in his seat.  “They didn’t.  They want to verify it.”

“Verify?”  This…this was not fine.

“In the worst way possible, it’s somewhat…for the best?  If they couldn’t verify it, once they got over being so viciously amused, they might begin to doubt that actually was the miracle I cast.  So if we can convince them…”

        No.  Oh, no, no, no.  Stop.  This still might not mean what he imagined, but, oh, he could imagine; his brain could run right off over a cliff imagining.  And Aziraphale had trailed off, which only gave him more time to…  He had to stop.  “How?” he croaked.

“By… your pretending to be in love with me.”

  “Yeah, how?!  Are they sending me a bleeding questionnaire?”  Please. 

“Ehmm…no.”

“Well, are they watching now?!  Should I be sitting in your lap or something?”

“Also no.”  Well, that was something.  Not constant surveillance.  Crowley clutched the edge of the table and took a long breath in through his nose.  

“They want to send someone down tomorrow.  To investigate.”  So.  Pretty much what he’d imagined then.  

He was being asked to playact loving Aziraphale right under Heaven’s nose.  Which was nothing — he could shout he loved Aziraphale to Heaven along with all the fanfare of Gabriel’s bloody trumpet, and it would honestly be a bit of a thrill.  But in front of Aziraphale too.  In front of them both at once.  

Having to do enough to convince Heaven, but not too much that he’d repulse Aziraphale or give himself away.  Impossible.  He couldn’t imagine breathing a word about loving Aziraphale that didn’t have his whole bleeding heart and soul pouring out with it.

Which was — which was a good thing.  In this comedy of horrors, anything that convinced the archangels was good.  He couldn’t care about giving up his pathetic, age-old secret.  Or fear that with an inch of space, he’d do something unforgivable, take advantage of Aziraphale somehow.  Or be appalled by his own clear insanity — by the mad corner of himself he could feel panting for this chance not to act.  

The only thing he should be thinking about was ensuring their survival — and he wasn’t.  He was a mess of a hundred pointless distractions, and he was going to give himself away.  Of course.  But he was going to give them both away.  

The only way to manage this was to get in control of it somehow.  He wrestled his attention back to the present, and there in front of him — Well, the first thing was that Aziraphale had to stop looking so absolutely wrecked.  The angel sat with his grip white-knuckled around his tumbler.  His eyes were fixed mournfully on Crowley’s face, and his lips had collapsed in a slack, sad moue. 

He looked like he thought Crowley wouldn’t even agree to try, and that was worlds of wrong.  He may have managed to hide his love for 6,000 years, but when had he ever given the angel reason to think he’d deny him anything?  Three days ago, and he’d crawled back and danced over it a day later.

“Right.  All right, so I’m in love with you.”  Aziraphale’s gaze sharpened to a point.  FUUUUCK!  He had said it.  But that was right.  Just say it.  Say it like it meant nothing.  “But not like regular in love, right?  Love spell in love.  

“So, how do we do this; what am I like?  Am I some kind of enchanted maniac?  Out of my mind?  Serenades?  Godawful poetry?” 

“I…I think not.”

“Or am I your slave?”

Aziraphale came to life.  “Lord, no!”

“Come on, it’d be funny.  They already think you’d basically brainwash me — which I cannot believe, by the way.  You could twirl your mustache, if you grew one, order me to dance for you…”

“I owe you an apology dance after all this….”

“Not that one.  Seven veils, the whole thing.  And I could refuse you nothing…”

Aziraphale choked out a shard of a laugh, and something inside Crowley eased at hearing it.  “It would be easier, wouldn’t it?  And ridiculous.”  The angel stifled another giggle.  “But, my dear, I’m sorry, you’re brilliant.  You mustn’t pretend that you’re not.  There’s still the situation with Jim to sort out, and I need you.”

The thing did not clench again; instead it sagged.  Ludicrous would have been so much easier.  But that wasn’t what Aziraphale needed.  He kept his tone light.

      “So my angel’s an artist then?  Wielding your whopping great 25-Lazari love cudgel like a master’s brush?  I’m just…normal?  But in love with you?”   

“I think so.”  Aziraphale paused, and his eyes widened as if he’d heard what they’d both said three heartbeats late.  “Lord!  What would that even be like?”

Like tasting the apple, opening Pandora’s box, drinking laudanum.  Irresistible temptation with disaster on the other side.  “I think I won’t know until I start doing it.  What can I do?  Or what can’t I?”

“What do you mean?”

       “I think once we’re in front of them, for it to be believable, I’ll have to just… go with it.  Not stop to wonder if something is OK.  So tell me now, what is and what isn’t.”  

      “My dear, this has to work.  Whatever you need — whatever you can manage.”  Aziraphale swallowed the last bit as if he didn’t think Crowley would be able to bear making a single romantic gesture toward him ever.  Which, good job him; he was officially the world’s greatest actor.  Super ironically good job him.

“If you say that…look.  I can be a bit dramatic, if you haven’t noticed.  And I frankly have no idea how people do romance.  Even trying to be normal, I’m bound to overdo it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went round, but his voice was still all doubt.  “If you really think so…but you should still do whatever makes it easier, or makes it more, you might say, natural…”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.  They think you love me too.”  As he said it, it hit Crowley for the first time that Aziraphale would have to do this too.  Pretend to love him.  He wanted to see it.  It would certainly be terrible and probably hurt more than anything Hell’d ever dreamt of, but God, he wanted to see it.

“For a certain value of love where I brainwash you.”

“Still, or especially, considering that, you’re supposed to want me to do…whatever.  So I actually can’t do anything that would make you too uncomfortable to play along.  Can I touch you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened.  Again.  More.  “Um, yes.  Yes, you can.”

“Like your hand?  Or your face, or body?” 

The angel stared at him.  Crowley couldn’t believe he was having the courage to say these things, but the possibilities were opening up before him now like a dream he could walk into — a dream garden full of perfect, tempting fruit — and quite suddenly, he needed to be told no. 

“Any of that will be fine.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Would you?”

He wouldn’t…  “Probably not — or I might?  I don’t know.”

Aziraphale licked his lips.  “All right.”  Fuck.

“Can I tease you?  You know, off-color, lewd remarks and things?”

A wry half a grin.  “I’d hardly expect you not to.”

He gaped at Aziraphale a moment.  A smile, not a no.  This was becoming too much; it was becoming the bloody dream.  He couldn’t ask for more, but he needed a no; he needed a line.

“Can I…ask you for things?  Words or touches?  Signs of affection?  Come here?  Give me your hand…?”

“You…could.”

His throat went dry.  His glass was empty.  Don’t!  No, do say it, like it’s nothing…. “Can I tell you I love you?” he rasped.

Aziraphale’s lips went as round as his eyes.  “If it… seems right.”  There was a human awkwardly hovering near their table with fresh drinks.  “Yes!” he bit out.  The drinks hit the table.  “Go!”  The human fled.  

“Can I…” It only kept getting worse; he was getting sucked further in, and all the fruit was poisoned, and there had to be a way…“bring you eclairs and feed them to you?”   

“In front of them?!”  Aziraphale yelped.

“Yesss,” intense and desperate.  Say no.

“I’d…prefer profiteroles.”

Crowley blinked.  He barked a laugh.  “Really?”

“Well, today.  Bit of a yen.”

Crowley scrubbed his hands over his face and deflated.  He wanted desperately to say, “God, I do love you,” but they hadn’t begun yet.  “I’ll bear it in mind,” he said with a crooked smile directed into whichever number glass of whisky this was. 

There was a brief pause.  “Same questions for you.”

“Huh?”

“I am supposed to be in love with you too.  Everything you just asked me — can I do the same to you?”  

He hadn’t considered that.  Surely Aziraphale would just be there receiving whatever gestures he made and trying not to look ill about it.  He’d hadn’t thought…but in theory, in the spirit of the thing…

“I mean…sure, I just asked you.”

“But it might be different on the other side of things.  So, really?”

“Yes, it’s, um, fine.  All of it.  Well, I don’t fancy the profiteroles.”

         Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Live mice?”

         Crowley chuckled, though it was a ragged thing.  “You’ll spoil me, angel.”

“You’ll deserve it if we survive this.”

“Then, fuck, please do it with Scotch.”

“You needn’t even ask.”  Aziraphale lifted his glass to him; he clinked his own against it.  They sipped and swallowed, and a shaky moment of peace stretched out as they both exhaled.  All around them the pub was quieter and emptier as well.  

Crowley spun his glass and watched the liquid swirl.  “So.  I just fell in love with you last night.  Do I think that’s weird?  Do I know I’m enchanted?  If I do, do I care?”

Aziraphale sipped again and hummed.  The conversation had wound down to the slow ramble home after the race is run.  “Well, I think it would complicate things considerably if we had to have a fight about it.  So you don’t know, or don’t care, ideally.  We try not to mention it, perhaps.  But if they do ask — say what feels right, even if it’s to be angry.  Since we’re being ‘realistic.’”

Crowley grimaced.  It was messy, but he’d had as much of trying to impose order on this thing as he could take in one night, and that had largely backfired.  They didn’t really know how the archangels would play this, and messy was at least flexible.  He nodded. 

“So… that’s the plan then.”

“I suppose it is.  And, my dear…. it is new.  It’s supposed to be new.  So I think it’s all right if we don’t know what we’re doing.”

Crowley snorted.  “Do our best work that way, don’t we?”

“It’s how we saved the world, as I recall.”

Aziraphale gave him a nervous smile that was trying very hard for impish, and he returned a fully rueful smirk.  It wasn’t fine, but they could pretend.

“Right.”  Crowley drained his tumbler and thunked it down on the table.  

He pushed himself upright and swayed on his feet.  Ahh.  The conversation had been altogether too much to let him notice the whisky and it was frankly a relief to feel it hit him now.  He stumbled and caught himself with a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.  The angel wobbled too, and they both lurched a step to end up supported by the table, pressed flush chest to chest and face to face.  Crowley’s mouth went dry.  If this were tomorrow, with Heaven watching…. His head spun, and his fingers spasmed around Aziraphale’s lapel, but there was no more balance to be found there.

     “So… tomorrow, angel.”

      “Yes…” Aziraphale’s breath hitched.  “Yes.  When I hear from them, I’ll call you.  I'll let you know.”  He’d gone suddenly pink, their many drinks catching up with him too, surely, and Crowley couldn’t bear to see it under the pub’s hazy, golden lights.  

“Right.  See you.  Then.  ‘Night.”  He bit out the words, spun, and wove his way out of the pub.

Chapter Text

Thursday

Crowley paced back and forth in front of the bookshop.  He’d been at it for several minutes now, and there was a minor miracle clinging to him to prevent collisions with other pedestrians since Crowley was quite incapable of pacing in a straight line.  All his muttering, growling, scowling, and tugging at his hair would have driven them out of range perfectly well, but it was always easier to throw a miracle at something than stop to consider whether it was necessary.  And now, in particular, he had far too much else on his mind.  

There was another angel on the other side of that door, and Crowley was meant to waltz in and play at being in love with his angel in front of them.  And that was all he knew.  Just the one, Aziraphale had said over the phone.  Not someone I know, and it seems they’re rather innocent of Earth.  Of course, they want to speak to you.  Bloody helpful.  Aziraphale could count the other angels he knew on his fingers, and angels that had the first clue about earth could be counted on one finger and lived inside that bookshop.   

What, in the name of anyone was he supposed to do?  If he didn’t know them, and they didn’t know Earth, there was no telling what they’d expect to see, nothing to play to.  And technically, Aziraphale had given him permission to do practically anything last night — no limits to work inside either.  So rushing through that door, wrapping himself around Aziraphale like the snake he was, bending him over the cashier’s counter, and snogging him like a human couldn’t survive was an option theoretically on the table.  

He’d pictured it often enough the scene sprang up readily in his mind.  And the thought that he could, that the possibility existed, right there on the other side of that door, filled him with a flush and an ache and a panicky paralysis.

The idea was insane.  Aziraphale hadn’t meant that at all, whatever he’d said.  And he did truly love the angel — he wasn’t about to assault him.  Ever.

Except.  Just a tiny bit, he had to.  He had to do something.  And the smallest thing — taking his hand, touching his cheek — Aziraphale would have no idea what it meant to him, what he’d be taking, what he’d be stealing.  He could walk in there and say it:  “I love you.”  And force Aziraphale to say back — he’d never manage “I love you too” but “thank you” or one of those other niceties humans used when they weren’t completely repulsed, weren’t absolutely rejecting you.  He wanted it so much, it would be as bad as the kiss.

He just didn’t have any other ideas. 

Flowers and chocolates were safe, but they were just the sort of obvious, overblown schtick they’d decided against last night.  That was it, the one limit — nothing too easy.  Nothing that wasn’t believable.  That ruled out everything.

It was all unbelievable.  In the absurd, impossible scenario that he’d only begun loving Aziraphale two nights ago, what would he do?  It had only been two nights, less than two days, since… since he’d wanted to give Aziraphale everything he was.  Since he’d wanted in return everything, anything Aziraphale would deign to give him.  

How had it felt two days after the first rain, when all the new world was before him and he was not in Hell, and there was a being in that world who showed kindness to the Fallen, humans and angels alike, even when he worried that God might not like it.  Crowley stopped his pacing in the middle of the sidewalk and caught his breath.  It had felt….the way it still felt.  

And if he had been give permission then to show it and speak of it…  Maybe what he needed now was not to do what he wanted to do or should do, but what he actually felt like doing.  It was worth a shot.  It was all he had to go on.

———————

It was fortunate this other angel had no concept of human manners.  Aziraphale tried, in feeble fits and starts, to chat amiably with them, but the other angel wasn’t much good at it, and they kept staring distractedly at their tea as if afraid that it would try to drink them.  Which left Aziraphale free to keep glancing just as anxiously at the door, wondering what would happen when Crowley finally stepped through it.  

The demon had been right to point out he could be rather dramatic.  Ludicrously (adorably) vaudevillian at times.  But he was also a great one for plans — cunning, subtle, and elegant plans.  And half-baked schemes.  And sudden inspired bouts of improvisation.  And for barreling through adversity on sheer bluster and bravado.  

There was never really any telling what Crowley might do, but somehow, afterwards, it always seemed to have been just the thing for the occasion.  And eventually it had become a comfortable truth that — usually — in any scrape, whatever the demon came up with would be a day-saving tour-de-force of cleverness and at least some definition of style.  But this?  Crowley had said last night that he had no idea how humans did love, and why should he?  And why should he have any notion of doing it with Aziraphale?  I’m bound to overdo it, he’d said.  What possibly bizarre, probably aggressive romantic gesture was he about to shove in the face of Heaven?  

Part of Aziraphale longed to see it — to relieve the suspense, for the likely spectacle of it, to have one expression of love from Crowley directed at him once in his life no matter how absurd or false.  And part of him dreaded that their ruse would be blown to bits in a second, even in front of this utterly innocent little tea-totaler. 

The bell above the shop door jangled, and Aziraphale’s gaze whipped over again to see Crowley push through and stop just inside the threshold.  The demon pulled off his sunglasses, and the look on his face was a revelation, something entirely new.

“Hey, angel,” he said, soft and shy and hopeful. 

Aziraphale startled.  His brilliant demon had done it again, exactly the right thing.  “Good morning.  Darling,” he added.

Crowley twitched as well.  “Darling?  That’s new.”

“Is that all r—“

“This is all still real then?”

“Very real.”  Aziraphale smiled at him.  

“Good.” Crowley let out a shaking breath while his face cracked into a wondering grin.  “That’s good.”  He crossed the shop, and his hands came up hovering around Aziraphale’s shoulders, fingers brushing the fabric of his suit so lightly as if Aziraphale were a ghost that might not really be there.  “I just…still can’t believe it, you know?”

And he looked so shockingly sweet, so astonishingly eager and uncertain that it was easy — Aziraphale ran his hand down Crowley’s arm and took his hand firmly, gave it a warm squeeze.  “I do, my dear.”  

———————

Crowley drew a sharp breath, and his eyes widened staring into Aziraphale’s face.  In 6,000 years had they ever been as close as they’d come in this one single minute?  Aziraphale was very, very unexpectedly good at this.  None of his corny stage magician bluster; he gazed back and those couple of inches up at Crowley, and he looked warm, inviting.

Crowley raised the fingers of his free hand to Aziraphale’s chin.

“Sweet, we have company.”  

Crowley swallowed.  Sweet.  “Why?” he murmured.  “I hate company.  You hate company.”

“Nonetheless, we have it.”

Crowley whined and turned away from Aziraphale, but he leaned against the counter behind him and the angel beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and neither one of them let go their joined hands.  He took in the figure seated across from them.  Every angel was older than the Earth, but somehow this one seemed fresh-faced, starry-eyed, painfully young.

“Right, who’s this now?” he snapped.

“This is a human police officer who’s just popped in to have a quick look at a cup of tea.”

They were playing at being human?  Whose genius idea was that?

“Hello, hello, hello!” the fledgling chirped.

“You might have said,” he gritted out the side of his mouth at Aziraphale.  His fingers itched to reach for his sunglasses, but there was nothing for it now.  Best just get on with it.  “Tell me, Constable…”

“Inspector.”

“Ah, you know you are…you are dressed as a Constable.”  Aziraphale put in kindly.

“Inspector Constable, that’s my name.”  

This was ridiculous. “’Course it is.  First visit to Earth is it, by any chance?”

“Yes!  I mean, it’s amazing, isn’t it?  Just…. Or rather, no, obviously.  I’ve been here for, like, 200 years.  Oh!  But when I said ‘yes’ just now, that was an error, which proves I’m human!”

“Riiiight. ’f course.  Nobody here but us humans.”  He stared straight into the baby angel’s face and very pointedly did not blink.

“Right!  Wonderful!”  Honestly, he didn’t know how that lot had stayed in charge all these years.

“Perhaps you meant this is your first time in London.”  Aziraphale threw them a lifeline. 

Crowley didn’t know what to do.  Another time it would have been hilarious, the chance to poke fun at an extremely innocent, clueless little angel.  But this featherbrained, Earth-ignorant twit was the authority Heaven sent to judge whether he loved Aziraphale?  Fucking insulting.  And now they were blathering on, Aziraphale was humoring them, and none of it was going anywhere toward proving what they needed to prove.  

And…and he was pressed side-by-side up against Aziraphale, holding his hand, and it was comfortable, and getting here had been shockingly easy.  There had been something in that moment just after he came in, and Crowley couldn’t even care that it wasn’t real.  He wanted more, and this other angel was in the way.  

Which was ridiculous considering they were the reason any of this was allowed at all.  But if this were real…  If this were real and he had brand new permission to love his angel, to touch his angel, and this angel were here, he would feel exactly the same way.  If he couldn’t get rid of them, he wanted….  He didn’t know if he should, if it was really allowed, but if this were real he would.

With a swift turn and lift, Crowley boosted Aziraphale onto the counter.  He couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve, but Aziraphale’s delightful little yelp told him he’d made the right choice.  His angel was making this so easy.  Crowley grinned.  Then he turned back to their guest, still intrusive and annoying, but he leaned back and settled himself between Aziraphale’s thighs.  Better.

“Right.  So what can we help you with, Inspector Constable?”

“Oh!  Well, sir, as you may know, as a human police officer…”

“So it’s an investigation?”

“I mean…”

      “When police officers drop in on civilians it’s generally because there’s an investigation,” Aziraphale supplied.  Crowley felt the angel’s hands come to rest on his shoulders, and he startled a bit.  Well, he supposed he hadn’t left him with many places to put them perched up there like that.

        “Oh, yes!  It’s a very ordinary investigation.”  

“About…?”

        “The usual sort of thing….”  For Satan’s sake, if he didn’t do this ninny’s job for them, it would never get done.  But he could just feel the curve of Aziraphale’s belly against his upper back, and that did make up for things somewhat.

      “Would it be love then?  Only, I know for some members of the police force it’s a bit of a hobby.”

“It is?  Oh, yes, of course!”

        “So what did you need to ask us?”

      “Well, it’s about you, Mr. Crowley.”

“Is it?  Fancy that.”

      “Yes.”  The angel fished a notepad and pencil out of a pocket and wiggled into what they probably imagined was a very official posture.  They poised the pencil grandly over the pad.  “Would you say there have been any particular changes in your love life recently?”

        “Hmmm, in that I have one?  Yes.  Big change.  Very recent.”

      “Could you describe the change, please?”

      Fantastic, finally on topic.  “Didn’t have any kind of love life before.  Then Tuesday night Aziraphale and I decided we could be a, you know, a thing.”  He reached up one hand and took hold of Aziraphale’s where it rested on his shoulder.

“Why?”

“Why?  Because.”  Fuck.  But he’d more or less said it last night at the pub.  “Because we love each other.”  The fingers in his squeezed.

        “You love him?”

      “That’s what I just said.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“That a problem?  Do I need a permit?”

  “Do you?” 

“No.”  

“Hmmm.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’s, um, irregular?”

“Is it?  Why?”

“Because you’re a…”

“I’m what?”  Crowley grinned with all his teeth.

“You’re…required to be able to state how you know!”

Well.  They hadn’t backed down, and now here they were.  It felt like the moment.  Maybe he could put this to rest quickly.  He leveled his gaze at the surprisingly plucky angel.  “Because it makes it worth existing that he does too.  Because I want to be closer to him than I do to myself.”  

There was a little gasp from up above him, and Crowley tensed.  Fuck, too much.  But what had he been supposed to do?  They hadn’t been getting anywhere with that other drivel.

He made to drop Aziraphale’s hand and step away, but his angel didn’t let go, and his thighs tightened around Crowley’s shoulders for an instant.  Then the thumb of his free hand suddenly stroked down the back of Crowley’s neck.  It must have been meant as a reassuring gesture, although it tingled.  Crowley settled down as best he could and glared at the other angel.  “Enough for you?”

The inspector plucked up some more….well, pluck.  “And this is since Tuesday?”

      “Mmm, yeah, sure.”  The thumb didn’t go away; it strayed upwards, brushing among the hairs at his nape.

      “Why?”

      “Why what?”

      “Do you love him?”

No.  Oh, no, they had not just asked that.  Crowley had things to say about that, and if his last answer had been too much, every one of these would be ten times worse.  But…but he was supposed to be under a spell.  Fortunately.  “I can’t help it.”

    “Can’t help it?”

Again?  Why had he ever wanted them to get on topic?  Aziraphale was right here.  He’d told himself last night it didn’t matter what he gave away or how he humiliated himself if it kept them safe.  But why the fuck did Heaven have to come barging back into their lives, making that necessary, ruining everything?

“That was the short answer.  You want the long one?  Could be a lot more than you want to hear.”

“Yes, please.”  The inspector nodded determinedly and brandished their pencil.  “It could be very important for the investigation.”

That wasn’t the angel he’d been asking.  But Aziraphale’s thumb gave a firm stroke down the back of his neck that could only be ‘Go on; please, do this for me.’  ‘Stop’ would surely have been more of a grip, possibly with nails.   

         Well, fuck.  But maybe, fairly warned, Aziraphale wouldn’t take it too seriously.  And Heaven — oh, he’d longed to tell Heaven how much they undervalued their Earthly guardian for millennia.  It would have been better if Gabriel were in his right mind and he could say it to his smug, sanctimonious, murdering face, but if he couldn’t shoot the Messenger, he could still shoot the messenger.  If he had to do this, he would.  He gave a sharp, toothy leer.

“All right, then.  Of course I can’t help it.  He’s supremely lovable.  He’s a real person, you know, no matter how much you… his idiot bosses tried to crush it out of him.  He’s actually good, actually loves the world.  Not your empty, hypocrites’ company line; really loves.  Really helps people because he sees them as people, like the miracles they are and not chips in a bloody game.  He’s everything the rest of his lot was supposed to be.  More.  He’s the only one like him who’d treat a… someone like me like I’m a real person too. 

“And he was told all of that was wrong.  And he tried — he ate himself up with guilt, trying to fall in line, do the fuck-ed up job he was ordered to, be that fucked-up kind of good, make himself less than he was — and he never could.  He always came out right in the end because he was always better than that.  

“He’s been my best friend for ages even though it was never allowed.  He’s braver and kinder than he has any idea he is.

“And he’s not perfect.  He’s far too real and interesting for that.  He’s completely ridiculous and pig-headed stubborn and a prig and a snob, and he’s brilliant and clever and fascinating and bloody gorgeous.  He’s a petty bastard and a fucking saint and… and an inspiration.

“And he shared all of that with me all the while my side was just as disgusting and blind as his.  He remembers ten million things no one besides the two of us do, and he’s the only one on Earth who can match me glass for glass, and no one else has ever loved him like he deserves.”

He bit off the last word with relish and lounged a little more heavily back into Aziraphale.  Well.  He’d meant to say about a quarter of that, but it had been fun once he got going.  Wait, no.  Aziraphale’s hand at his shoulder was strangling his.  God, fuck.  What had he done?

“I could go on?”  He raised a brow at the wide-eyed little angel across from them.  The only cover was to play harder.

“You could?” 

“Indefinitely.”  He turned his head making a show of pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s hand clasped in his…and suddenly the thumb brushing his neck was all of the angel’s fingers flexing into his hair, where he’d inadvertently given him better access. 

Oh.  Crowley froze.  That felt…  He was strung so tight it was like those fingers had plucked an ultrasonic chord from him.  And along with the glorious shock of the touch, it felt like approval, like “well done,” like relief flooding in so hard, it unwound him in an instant, leaving him dazed.  “Mmmm.” Aziraphale’s fingernails scritched his scalp.  His eyes closed and he hummed again.  “Am I meant to be following this conversation?”

A squeaky, sharp little titter from Aziraphale.  “I should hope so!”

Fuck, he’d been weird.  Too much again.

But then he heard Aziraphale’s voice drop from shrill to bastardly.  The exact moment he must have realized the same thing Crowley just had — the only way out was to lean in and forge ahead.  And he was encouraging him.  

“You did just offer to list an untold number of my lovable characteristics, after all.”  

Go with it.  Don’t think.  “Yeah, well, hardly need to concentrate for that.”

“I rather think you do.”  The offense in the angel’s voice was precious.

Crowley grinned up at him.  “Nah, too easy.  Could do it in my sleep.”

“Oh, really?”

“I’ll prove it.  Go on then, distract me.”  He arched his neck a bit more, and Aziraphale’s fingers pressed more firmly into his hair.

“Mmmm.”

“Go on then.” 

“Yes, you had more to say?”  Crowley blinked.  How exactly had he forgotten for even a second the other angel was here when they were the entire reason they were doing this?  “And could it be less angry this time?  I’m not sure that’s right.”

“Depends who you’re talking to.”

“Oh!  Rea—?”

“To me then, dear.”  Aziraphale coaxed his head back, and he smiled down at him.

Crowley’s throat seized up and his breath caught.  Oh, fuck, why?  “Reasons I love you, angel?”  His breath came out a rough whisper.

“Please.”

“Nicssse ones, is that right?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

Crowley choked.  “I’m not…. Did I say you’re a bastard already?”

Aziraphale sniffed.  “Repeating yourself?  I think you may be more susceptible to distraction than you admit.”

And, lord…Someone, Crowley needed that to be true.  Aziraphale’s eyes were so blue he couldn’t bear to focus on them, but his fingers were still in his hair.  So much for his “Dear — no, sweet — we have company,” and thank fuck.  He concentrated on the glorious circling little points of pressure, the nails on his scalp.  Pretend this was real.  If it were real, his brain would absolutely be too much happy mush for him to care what he babbled or to whom.  He willed it to be true, let himself be lulled, and smiled lazily up at Aziraphale.

“Nah, just warming up.  All right so…you give bloody fantastic scalp massages.”  

The scratch of the inspector’s pen; a grumble from Aziraphale.  “Not very creative.”

Crowley grinned wider.  “Didn’t promise you creative, just true.

“Also — my car likes you.  You wear glasses you don’t need.  You don’t speak French, for no good reason on Earth.  Your calligraphy’s a work of art.  Inked me my own copy of The Decameron.”

A little gasp.  “Do you still…?”

“Of course I still have it.  ’s beautiful.  Still can’t believe you took the time.”  

“You were having a rough century.”

Crowley smiled.  No he didn’t; he kept smiling.  He’d started a while back and never stopped.  

“You do stupid things for crêpes.  That time time you did the most stupid thing for crêpes, you wore this — oodles of lace, pink stockings, looked fantastic.  Sparkling little shoes, even.  Ridiculous, gorgeous.  You get along with all the ducks at St. James except that one…. You’re funny.  Good to talk to.  Know more about tempting than 99% of demons.  Make all these little sounds when you’re remembering not to call me nice, but I know you’re thinking it anyway.

“When you like something, you can’t ever sit still.  You wiggle, or you bloody twirl, or even if we’re sitting quietly in the theatre, if it’s good, you just vibrate.”

“They used to let you shout at the stage.”

Softly, “I know, angel.”

Did they expect him to do this all day?  He could do this all day.  It was nice.  Better than anything he’d ever dreamed would be a part of his life, really.  Soaking up the feeling of Aziraphale’s fingers in his hair, barely thinking, saying (almost) everything he was never allowed to say.  Watching his angel’s expression shift between amused, astonished, blushing, and pleased…never distressed, somehow; wonderfully, never offended.

“You’ve got fantastic taste in music — haven’t updated it in about a hundred years, but spot on up to a point.”  A sudden jolt ran through Crowley.  That, that was not his hair.  Aziraphale had brushed over the serpent sigil in front of his ear.  “You…you’ve got a better wine collection under your sink than any restaurant in the city.”  

Crowley shuddered.  He didn’t think it was visible to the inspector, but it might have been noticeable under Aziraphale’s fingers.  Which had stayed.  Settled over the demonic brand and started rubbing tiny circles.  It wasn’t so much the sensation, although it wasn’t not that…it was that it was the literal mark of Hell seared into his skin, and Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away.  He was petting it.  

He couldn’t look at Aziraphale while he was feeling this.  He shifted his gaze to the other angel, who was watching them intently, brows knit and lips pressed in comical concentration while their pencil scribbled away.  Just focus on them.  That would surely vanish this…thing.

“He’s, um…so proper sometimes.  So silly others.  Never backs down when he’s being silly.  And thinks he’s being the one thing, sometimes, when he’s really being the other.  Then he comes out with these flashes of, of brilliance.  And so alive.  Alwaysss.”

It didn’t vanish anything.  The feeling of it.  Incredible.  Like Aziraphale’s fingers were electric, sending a current zinging into Crowley’s skull and buzzing all through his body.  And it only made his tongue looser. 

“Scares the life out of anyone tries to buy one of his books.  Calls me dear.  Got hair, um, like a cloud, like with the sun coming through it.  Pretty.”  He was just babbling now.  Weren’t they going to stop stop him?  They weren’t stopping him.  And Aziraphale’s fingers weren’t stopping.  Petting it.  Petting him.  

“He’s, um, the right size, good shape.  And hands, very good hands, always used to have ink on his fingers…”

This was mad.  It was so much, so quickly, and it was becoming more, so fucking quickly.  His jeans might be tight enough to keep everything strictly in place…or they might not.  Not that the other angel would have a clue what that meant, thank Someone.  But he had no idea what he was saying, or if in another minute he’d be begging or just moaning.

  Petting it.  He bit the inside of his lip.  Fuck.  Fuck.  His hand shot up, pulled Aziraphale’s away from his mark, and tucked it under his chin.  He leaned back to look up at the angel, his head practically in his lap.  “More?” he asked shakily.

Aziraphale’s eyes were tipped too deeply down at him for the inspector to see, and they were full of alarm. His voice was brittle-teasing.  “That’s it?  Only you did say indefinitely.”

“One more.  You are, actually, bloody distracting after all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.  Very.”  He let out a ragged breath.

“My apologies.”  Aziraphale squeezed his other hand and glanced up.  “Was there anything more you needed, my dear?”

“I, um…” Inspector Constable was looking between them, wide-eyed and a little pink and bemused.  “I think that’s…I think that’s good, actually.”  They glanced over their notes in a responsible fashion.  “Just…just one more thing.  This is all since Tuesday?”

“ABSOLUTELY,” Crowley croaked.  

They made a scrunched-up thoughtful look and made a mark on their pad.  “Alllll right.”  They squinted at the paper.  “All right!  I think then…Yes!  Very good.”  The inspector beamed.

“Well, then.  So happy we could be of help.”

“Delighted.”  He’d meant to drawl; there was a catch in it.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll need to be making your report.”

“You’re right, I will!”  The other angel clasped their notepad and gave a delighted wiggle.  “Right away!”

“Then we won’t keep you.  I’ll just show you to the door.”  Crowley slipped aside, turned, and took a steadying grip on the counter as Aziraphale hopped down to escort their guest out.

“Thank you both so much,” they were gushing as they went.  “It’s my first report, you see, and I think it went very well.”  The sound of the door opening.  “And I just want to say… Congratulations, both of you!”

“Thank you, my dear.”  Crowley raised a hand and flapped it over his shoulder.  “Do take care.”  The door closed.  Aziraphale’s steps hurrying back to him.  “My dear, are you quite all right?”

“Fine, angel.” Crowley hung onto the counter and didn’t turn around.  Aziraphale might be pure, but he wasn’t the naif that other angel was.  

“Crowley.”  Aziraphale put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  He didn’t turn.  Just a few more calming breaths.

“‘m fine.”

“You’re not.  What is it; what can I do?”

Crowley whined.  Let this be a lesson to him — yes, it could always get more humiliating and revealing.  In case this wasn’t over, Aziraphale did have to know.  “NnnnghRrrrrrfffhhffhh!”  The whine made a Grand Tour involving several exciting new ports of call.  He turned.

“Look.  It’s nothing.  It’s just, touching this, yeah?”  He waved at the sigil.  “Could get embarrassing in front of company.  All right?”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment uncomprehending, then his eyes went ludicrously wide.  “Oh!”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’”

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry!  I didn’t know!”

Crowley twitched.  It wasn’t eww! and backing toward the door — or rather, backing Crowley toward the door, which was quite strange.  “I mean, I didn’t know, so of course you didn’t.”

“Oh, lord, I’m really very…”

“’s fine, angel.”

“But I was horribly forward!  Sitting there and, and molesting you like that!”  

How Aziraphale’d gotten from Crowley being a being a creepy hypersensitive creep to the idea that he’d done anything wrong, Crowley couldn’t fathom.  It would have been a relief, if it weren’t utterly unconscionable.  “Aziraphale!  Angel.  You did exactly right; you were brilliant.  I didn’t know to warn you because it’s not like I sit about petting my own face, but it’s fine.  Felt amazing.  Was weird.  Nobody knew.  It’s nothing.” 

Aziraphale subsided unhappily.

Crowley squirmed with mortification.  “So how d’you think…”

“You were…”

“Too much, right?  Sorry.”

“No!  My, dear, you were very good.  Amazing.  How you managed to come up with all of that…”

“Come up with?  What, are you kidding?”  

Aziraphale gave him the most thoroughly blank and perplexed look.  “Not at all.”

“Seriously?  I’ve known you for 6,000 years.  If I did…you know…it’d be all the same reasons I like you.  ’t was all just true, angel, and you deserved to hear it once.  I mean, except — don’t know what I was saying there at the end.  Don’t put too much stock in whatever that was.” 

Aziraphale looked like a flashbulb had gone off in front of his eyes and possibly inside his head at the same time.  “Th-thank you.”  

“Don’t thank me.  It’s super awkward, right?  Diabolical.”

“…of course.”

The clock against the wall ticked, dust settled, and the ceiling creaked where Jim, banished upstairs for this interview, must have been stirring.

“So, you think we did it, then?”

“I…I. think we did.”   

“Thank fuck.”  Crowley sighed out the most enormous breath.  Then, “Congratulations,” he snorted.

“They seemed…sincere.”

“Congratulations on miracling your friend’s emotional free will away.”

“An auspicious start to any relationship.  Well done, me.”

“Well done you, angel.  You know what?  I would drink to that.”

“Oh, lord, yes.  I’d join you.”

Chapter Text

Friday

Crowley woke up the next day uncomfortably crunched in the Bentley’s driver seat with his head pounding.  He and Aziraphale had gotten roaringly drunk yesterday morning then sobered up to nominally open the shop for a few hours in the afternoon.  The angel had finally found a chance to tell him about The Clue, and they’d pressed Jim to try to remember anything at all.  They’d closed up, ordered delivery, and tried to piece together something from the one Clue plus the total nothing they got from Jim.  

And they’d proceeded to get drunk again. 

It had been part consolation for the massive zero they got from puzzling, but squeaking through that love miracle jam with nothing more than one fairly mortifying conversation had felt worth a second celebration too.  

And so he couldn’t help but grin as he miracled the hangover away.  They were still in the middle of a right mess, but only the one mess.  It felt wonderfully manageable.  And then he realized what had woken him up in the first place.

His mobile was starting up again as someone re-tried their call.  He fished the phone out from under the seat and picked up.

“Sorry to wake you, darling.”  Crowley jumped.  Still ‘darling.’  “But I have some less than good news.”

“I guessed.”

“Tell him to get here,” sounded faintly from the other end of the line. “I will not,” Aziraphale snapped back at the voice.  “We humored your appalling intrusion yesterday.  He may do precisely as he chooses.”

“’cept that’s not really true, is it, angel?”

“Of course, it is.  I was merely calling to tell you that if you come by the shop today, there will be archangels here.”

Crowley sighed.  “Then I’d better come over, hadn’t I?”

“Darling…”

“What else am I going to do, angel?  Leave you alone with them?”

“Thank you, dearest.”

“Thanks, nothing.  Two shakes, all right?”

—————————

Ten minutes later the Bentley screeched up outside the shop, and Crowley swaggered his way through the door.  Aziraphale was hurrying up to meet him.  Michael stood scowling in the background.  If he weren’t being generous, he could even have called it lurking.  And he wasn’t.  Definitely lurking.  

Over the fading jangle of the door’s bell, Crowley aimed his words past Aziraphale right at Michael’s pinched-up face.  “So we’re doing the whole meet the family thing, are we?”

“I’m so terribly sorry, my dear.”  Aziraphale glowered and sent his reply the same way. “My “family” doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word “estranged.”

“Not your fault.”  Crowley gave his hand a quick squeeze as he swept past.  Uriel and Saraquael were there too, he saw, hanging a bit farther back with yesterday’s little fledgling in tow.  Michael was nearest, though, so he rounded on her.  

“Right so, g’ morning, crazy weather we’re having, lovely to see you all — leaving.  Get out.”

“Yes, well, we’d like nothing better, so perhaps this can be quick.”

He felt Aziraphale slip up beside him.  Well…of course.  It was his bookshop, after all, and the angel was hardly chained in the corner awaiting the guillotine.  But it did ruin his image of dashing defender a bit.  He was being ridiculous.  Well, if he was, so be it.

“‘This’ being a bizarre intrusion into our personal lives?”

“Oh, please.  We’re not here for more of the charade you fed to Muriel yesterday.”

Crowley tipped a glance to the side.  “Report didn’t go well then, Inspector?”

The junior angel jumped and then looked absolutely crushed at being recognized.  “I’m not…”

“Very good at playing human?  No, you’re not.  And what’s the matter?  Didn’t you tell them how it is?”

The sad little thing hunched their shoulders and cast their eyes at each of their superiors in turn.  “I did, but I guess I was…wrong?”

“Yes, well, aside from being shockingly gullible,” Saraquael cut in, “Muriel did an acceptable job.  The purpose of the investigation was never to determine if you love Aziraphale.  Merely whether the idea was a delusion he dreamt up without your knowledge or a scheme the two of you are conducting together.  And that was proven quite conclusively.”

Aziraphale bristled at his side and slid a hand into his.  “I’d be interested to know your definition of ‘proven.’”

“Yeah.  Start an investigation by ruling out the truth, do you?”

“Enough.  We’re here to tell you not to bother.  It will be much quicker and less painful for everyone if you give up now.”

“We already know,” Uriel added.

“And what do you know?”

“That the only reason a demon would claim to love anything is to hide something else.”  

“So nothing then.”

“Aziraphale’s up to something, and for some reason, you’ve decided it’s in your interest to help him.”  Ridiculous as anything, Crowley dropped Aziraphale’s hand and shifted a few inches in front of him.

“If you’re so sure, force us.  Make us confess.  Oh, that’s right, you can’t.  There’s an agreement we be left alone.”  

“If you stay out of Heaven’s business.”

“Exactly.  And Aziraphale isn’t Heaven’s business anymore, so my loving him has nothing to do with you.  So.  Get out.”

“Except that’s not what’s going on.”

“You can’t prove it.  Can’t prove it, can’t interfere.”

“But we can prove it.  This bookshop’s a Heavenly embassy.  We have as much right to be here as he does, and it’s not interfering to watch.  Until you crack, demon.  Or you could save yourself all the trouble.  You needn’t be involved in his mess.  Heaven has no issue with you.”

“No issue, really?  The whole tossing me out into a lake of fire — that wasn’t a thing?”  He felt Aziraphale’s hand light on his back.  Ah, that would bother him.  He was sorry.  Still felt nice.

“No current issue with you.”  

“Mmm, yeah.  Some things just don’t go away.”

“This can, right now.  Just tell us where Gabriel is.”

“Gabriel!  The fuck’s he got do with anything?”

“Hey, you know, I’m a Gabriel.  Sometimes.  Or maybe half Gabriel, half Jim.”  Oh, FUCK.  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…. The bumbling, great, half-witted goose had just popped out from among the shelves at the sound of his (true) name.  Could angels be summoned?  Aziraphale had proven they could possess mortals…  Whatever.  And now…

“Shut up!” Michael snapped at Jim.  Crowley’s jaw dropped.  He hiked it up again as she turned back to him.  “Gabriel is missing.”

His eyes were still flicking between Jim-Gabe and the other archangels, fortunately behind his glasses, though that might not matter.  He wanted to giggle.  He made himself sneer.  “What a tragedy.”

“Just tell us where he is, and you can be on your way.  Or drop this ruse, and leave Aziraphale to us.  We’ll get it out of him.”

He didn’t feel like giggling anymore.  “You’re the biggest fools in Creation if you think I would do that to him.”

“Oh, come off it.”

“Off what, exactly?”

“It’s not like you care…”

“What have we been talking about this whole time?”

“…and it’s certainly not like you have any reason to be loyal…”

“Sssay that again!  Just say again that I would ever betray him.”

“It only makes sense.  Do you want to be on the wrong side of He—” an irate glance at the presumably mortal Jim “— all of us?  For him?  And all over a lie we’ll expose soon enough anyway?”

Crowley took a step toward them.  “You couldn’t have said something more ineffably stupid if you’d called me Gabriel.”

“Oh, are you a Gabriel too?”

“Take him out of here, angel!” he barked.

Aziraphale grabbed his coat, dragged him back, and hauled him around. “Not at all!  And leave you with them, like this?  You’re about to do something foolish.”

He was so hot and furious, his hand was sunk in Aziraphale’s hair and he was growling against his lips before he realized it. “I’ve got this.”

“Hardly!  And you’re smoking.  Not in the bookshop, Crowley!”  Aziraphale gave him a little shake.

“I…Nnnnng!” Oh.  He was.  It hit him like an icy fist punching a hollow inside him, and his fury collapsed into horror.  “Right.  Right, sorry, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s hands smoothed down the lapels of Crowley’s jacket, and he nodded, lips pressed to a firm line.  “I’ll take him.  But if a single one of my Dickens is singed when I get back, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“You’d have every right.”  

Aziraphale gave him a stern glare, gave his hand a squeeze, and rocked a hair onto his toes to peck a kiss to Crowley’s cheek.  Then he turned away, grabbing hold of Jim’s sleeve to haul him along.  Crowley stared wonderingly after them.  Then he screwed his eyes shut, clenched his fists, and forced his voice level to speak to the archangels. 

“You see that, right?  If there were anything to betray, how can you think I would betray that?”

——————

Crowley’s words followed him, and Aziraphale fought against a blush and a smile as he guided Jim through the stacks.  He shouldn’t be flattered, merely grateful that such a flair for acting was among the vast store of Crowley’s talents.  Or perhaps that the serpent found the archangels so truly infuriating.  

No.  What he should actuallybe thinking about right now was doing his own part, however small, to make sure their ruse succeeded.

“Sooo…lots of hostility there, huh?”  Jim nodded his head back the way they’d come and gave low, conspiratorial whistle.  Gossip with Gabriel, who would ever have thought?

“Yes, you could certainly say that.”

“Uh…I just did?”

“Ah, quite.”

“Should I say it again?”

“For the love of…  No.  That’s not the point.  Look, Jim,” Aziraphale glanced over both shoulders even though he was perfectly certain the other occupants of the shop were otherwise occupied.  “While Crowley and the rest of them are…talking, I might as well explain a few things to you.”

“Oh, that’d be great.  So, first, I’d still really like to know who I…”

“No!  Not that, I’m afraid.  In fact…very much not that.  You see, Jim, it seems these….people…will be with us for a little while.”

“Oh, where are they going to stay?  They can’t stay in my room; there’s only one bed.”  

“I don’t think they’re going to need a bed.”  

“Oh, then, I guess that would be OK.  If I can have the bed and they just want to stand around.”

“They…could.  I think they’ll probably…stand around just anywhere.”

“Hmm, OK.  Weird.”

“Now, another thing — I’m quite sorry, but we won’t be able to work on your situation while they’re here.”

“What?  Why not?  Why can’t we keep trying to get back my…”

“Well!  You see.  It’s a tradition.  Yes, a very special human tradition.  That when unexpected guests invite themselves into your home you have to address the issues first of whichever one arrived last.”  

“Oh.  So if I were to leave and then come back I could be first in line again!”

“No!  I mean, that is technically right, but you can’t leave because you have nowhere else to go.”

“Hmm.  That’s true.  So how do we get rid of them faster so we can get back to me?  What’s their issue?”

“They want to verify whether or not Crowley and I are in love.”

“Well, that’s dumb!  You guys are totally in love.”

“What?!”  Aziraphale’s hand shot out and grabbed hold of the nearest bookshelf.  It was wonderfully real and solid, which was a surprise because for a moment it had seemed like none of this could be.  

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, umm…. Thank you.  But they want to play a game where they try as hard as they can not to believe it.”

“Woooow.  Those guys are a piece of work, huh?  OK, I’ll help.”

And now Gabriel wanted to help him.  Goodness.  “How do you propose to do that?”

“I’ll tell them.  Everything I know about it.”  

“I… suppose you could.  It would also be helpful if you could look after the shop as much as possible, in case Crowley and I have to spend extra time, um, convincing them.”  

“Sure.  Selling books is fun.”

“Not!  Not selling.”  Oh, lord, he hoped Crowley was having a better time with the….ahhh.  Crowley was certainly not having a better time.  “No selling.  Looking after.”

“Hmm.  I think selling would be more fun.”  

“Not just yet.  Perhaps…we can get you some new books to sell once these guests are gone.”

“Oh boy, they really need to go.”  

——————

“You see that, right?  If there were anything to betray, how can you think I would betray that?”

The archangels glowered at the back of the “mortal” disappearing into the depths of the shop.  When he was fully out of sight and presumable earshot, Michael turned back to Crowley, her face puckering into a tart frown.  Then she hauled on the reins and took the conversation into a sharp swerve.

“You do understand the source of all this is that Aziraphale claims he miracled you to love him?”

Oh.  Well, Jim had some use after all, getting Aziraphale off stage for this part.  This was  about to get immensely fucked up, and he never wanted Aziraphale to have to hear it.  

“Sooo… yeah, what’s the problem?  Explains everything for you.  You don’t have to believe I could do it on my own.”  

Saraquael sniffed.  “More proof, as if we needed it.” 

“How’s that?”

“If this ludicrous story were true, you would be disturbed to learn that your feelings are false.”

“Not false.  Assisted, sure.  But not false.”

“Compelled.”

“Yeah, fine.”

“And you’re saying you knew?  You don’t care?  You expect us to believe you have no concern at all for your free will?”

“Do you give a fuck for a demon’s free will?  Or you’re just pissed that I’m not more bothered?  Sure, it’s creepy or whatever, but you’re saying Aziraphale, whom I love, wanted me enough to make sure I’d want him too.  And now he has me, which is the person I love getting what he wants, and I’m with him, which is where I’d rather be than anywhere in the world.  So, yeah, no complaints.” 

They all looked a bit ill, but mostly incredulous.  Oh, why they hell not?  It was a jab at them, not himself.  “Besides.  Demon.  Might be a power play like that really does it for me.”  And for the first time they looked doubtful.  Of fucking course.  But they recovered quickly. 

“You can’t keep this up.”

“I can’t keep up something I’m literally compelled to do?”

“He didn’t enchant you!”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It’s not possible!  A demon can never love.”

“So it was a really big miracle.”

“No miracle is that powerful.”

“Certainly not any Aziraphale could do,” Uriel snorted.

“Why are you so fixated on thinking he’d fail?  It was a great, bloody fuck-all of a miracle, wasn’t it?”

   “And that’s why it must have been for Gabriel…”

  “He helped me thwart all of you out of ending the world.  You can’t kill him with Hellfire.  You think someone like that couldn’t miracle one demon into loving him?  Could he do it with — I don't know — Dagon?  Maybe, maybe not.  But me?  I was his…ally here on Earth for 6,000 years.  I’m compromised.  Me?  Lob a massive fucking warhead of a miracle at me and I’ll worship him.  Gladly.”

Of course they ignored all the parts about Aziraphale being amazing.  “His ally, really?”

“His ally, yes!”  Oh, fuck it…  “His friend!  There’s a reason this worked.  Give him some credit — there’s a reason he…wanted me.”  He just managed to force those last words out, only breaking stride a little.  They were by far the most difficult, the most insane, in Crowley’s view of the world, the most blasphemous that he’d uttered in the last several days. 

“We'll certainly give him credit for being as gullible as poor Muriel.”

“You think I’ve been tricking him?”

“Of course.”

“For 6,000 years?”  

“It’s not hard to keep someone fooled.  You only need to do it once, and after that they’re afraid to admit they were wrong.”

“Clever.  Your Mother teach you that?”

The three of them reared back.  Some kind of hydra, three heads of one body.  And Muriel just looked ready to cry.  Uriel’s voice dropped into a register that wanted to break kneecaps.  “How dare you, demon?”

He rolled his eyes, though it was a bit beside the point with his glasses on.  “Feel like that should be pretty obvious.”

“And you still claim to be capable of love.” 

“’Course.  Didn’t say I love Her.  Said I love him.  I have taste.”

Michael hissed.  He couldn’t have done it better himself.  “It seems you actually enjoy these lies.”

“Not surprising,” Uriel loathed.  That word hadn’t even meant that before they made it so. 

“But we are neither Muriel nor Aziraphale,” Saraquael cut in, crisp and contemptuous.  “And talking is very different from doing.  How long can you perform?”

“Another 6,000 years?” he drawled.  “Stamina’s never been an issue.”

There was a muffled choke-snort from behind him, and there was Aziraphale leading Jim back to the group.  Stifling a smile and failing to stifle a delightful hint of blush as every other angel in the room looked on blankly.  Aziraphale schooled his features into something proper and disapproving.  “So, no progress, I take it?”  Oh, someone, he loved him.

“Ah, not as such, no.  Mostly just fighting.  Getting to it now.”

“Please.”  Aziraphale made a little shooing motion, and Crowley turned back to the archangels.  They scowled.  He bared his teeth.

“Right.  I’m going to make you the same offer you wanted to make me.  Give it up; save yourselves the trouble.  You’ve got a missing archangel running around somewhere out there, seems like you should have better things to do.  You really want to hang around here waiting for me to stop loving Aziraphale?”

“Waiting to reveal that you never did.”

“Is that all?  Then just ask yourselves whether you’re prepared to do this forever.”

“Guys, guys!  Whoa!  No.”  Jim barged forward, and Crowley bristled.  Mr. Tabula Rasa might be doing a lot more ridiculous hand-waving, but he certainly boomed like Gabriel.  “Look, there’s no need for that.  Listen, guys, you don’t have to stick around.  Of course Crowley and Aziraphale are in love.”

“Did he tell you to say that?”  Michael’s eyes narrowed at Aziraphale.

“No, I told him I’d say that to help out since you’re being dumb.”

Three jaws dropped, and Muriel’s squeak was nearly hypersonic.  “…Dumb?”

Jim was entirely unfazed.  “Yeah.  If you can’t see it.  It’s super obvious.”

“Yes, we’re aware Aziraphale is in love with the d—, with Crowley, in some sense.”

“Oh, no, it’s totally both of them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, they make these faces at each other.  And if one of them sees the other one making one of these faces they stop breathing for a minute.  And if they start talking to each other, they usually forget that you’re there, which is really rude, especially since what they’re saying is silly, and sometimes it sounds like fighting but like they’re happy about it.  And when they drink a lot from the bottles under Aziraphale’s sink they have a hard time not touching each other.”

He did retain a certain presence, the presence of an oblivious steamroller.  It had the remaining archangels of Heaven drawing back slightly and shooting one another glances of consternation.  Then Saraquael rallied.

“And this is new since Tuesday?”  A bit flustered, but overall a good attempt at clinical.

“Well, I wasn’t really here before Tuesday.”

“So you don’t posses a very good basis for comparison.”

“Wow, you guys are tough.”

“We are merely not fools.  Unlike the the rest of you seem to be.  But if you insist, there’s no reason to continue this interview.  Go about your business; we’ll be watching.  If you refuse to cooperate, we can settle this another way.”   

——————

It was a miserable day.  

It was even more miserable because it was the bookshop.  Every other day (save one) in the past 200 and more years, the bookshop had been a haven for Crowley.  It had been snug and secure, filled with good company and dusty, golden sunlight.  Or glowing, warm lamplight, depending.  If it had been that for Crowley, he knew it had been ten times that for Aziraphale.  And everything they’d done here had been comfortable, whether it was was to chat or argue, banter or drink or scheme, whether it was Crowley lounging about in perfect sloth while Aziraphale read or puttered or battled an intrepid would-be customer.

But now.  The archangels had breached the fortress; the two of them were trapped in the den with the lions; and it was simply not clear what to do.

They couldn’t talk; the archangels were listening.  They couldn’t do nothing; the archangels were watching.  Had it been an ordinary bookshop, they could have attended to sales or inventory, orders or stocking, or instructed Jim how to handle any of those things.  But as it was, it didn’t matter if Aziraphale’s “assistant” reshelved the collection alphabetically or by number of pages or by width of the left-hand margins.  And that was another thing:  Jim.  Normal would have been addressing that somehow.  But now they were trapped simply staring at the problem.

He should…he should do something to chip away at the archangels’ fanatic, rock-hard disbelief.  Something to take Aziraphale’s anxious misery and make it less.  But none of the things he knew would fit — going on a manic, amusing tirade against Heaven would be picking a fight.  “Hey, remember when we got out of such-and-such awful situation by doing this-and-that forbidden thing?” would give away secrets.  They could drink — it was fucking tempting, but it felt like it would only be depressing. 

If it were him, he’d feel better with Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him, the bulk of his corporation softer and warmer than a stone in the sun.  If he could bury his face in his neck, breathe in the dusty parchment and sunshine smell of him, and block out this whole blasted mess for a minute or a day. 

But that was just him.  It would have the right look, but, Satan, he didn’t want to make Aziraphale more uncomfortable.  It was incredible how well the angel was playing his part.  And he couldn’t make it harder — smother him with a show of comfort when all the while he’d only be seeking his own.  

And so.  The two of them drifted aimlessly about the shop while Jim pottered away in merry oblivion.  

——

He was sitting and scowling out the window when fingertips landed on the back of his hand.

“My dear, what I said on the phone is true.  Just because they’re making nuisances of themselves doesn’t mean you have to stay here all day.”

Well, that was just mad.  “I’m not going anywhere, angel.”  But then he looked up into Aziraphale’s face, and his eyes were so very, deeply anxious.  Fuck.  He hadn’t even considered — was he making it harder for Aziraphale by being here?  He’d thought the angel was doing so well, but of course it must come at a cost, and pretending to love the absence of him might certainly be easier than pretending to love the reality.  “Unless…you want me to?”  But, no.  It wouldn’t look right if he left, and also he couldn’t.

“Well, it’s just, this is awful.  And you shouldn’t have to suffer for my mess.”

“Our mess.”

“That I dragged you into.”

“You think I didn’t know it when I let you?”

“I know you’d come back.”

“Of course I’d come back!” Crowley snapped.  It didn’t bear suggesting that was something that had to be said.

“Precisely, so if you wanted to get away for a few hours…”

“Are you daft?  You think I’d be all right out there?  Think I’d enjoy myself?  Doing what?  Killing time, knowing you’re back here with them?”

“Oh, darling.  It’s only, I’m just terribly sorry, and…I know you wanted to leave before.”

“That was before, and that was wrong!  I apologized.  Did a whole dance over it.”  And what must that sound like to the archangels?  Well, they could have it; it was a gift.  

God, that had better be why Aziraphale had started this.  He couldn’t really prefer being left alone with the archangels; that was maybe the one thing Crowley could never give him.  “I came back, and now you want me to go?  Is that really what you want?”

“Of course not, but that’s terribly selfish of me!”  Oh, thank fuck.

“Then be selfish!  Be selfish, and don’t be sorry!  You’ve got me, angel, no matter what scrapes you get us into or what awful company you keep.”

“Oh.  …Good.”  

“So you’d better not regret this.  You’ve got me no matter what.  I don’t want to go.  How selfish is it anyway, to let me do what I want?”

“My…”  For a moment his voice didn’t seem to work at all.  “My dear.”  

“Yeah.  Well, what did you expect?”

Aziraphale shook his head, and his eyes were gleaming.  “That I would never be so lucky.”

“Shut up.”

It should have helped.  

It should have helped, but it didn’t.  The archangels were looking on, not with any sign of a change of heart but with disgust.  And they were left staring around the inside of a prison cell that should have been a sanctuary. 

——————

The one one saving grace — so to speak — was Jim.  He drove the archangels livid.  He wove through the stacks making unforgivable humming and thrumming noises.  He dusted in their personal space.  He popped up suddenly among them to blurt out, “They’re normally much more in love than this.  I think they just don’t like you.”  And he had no idea how much he infuriated them.  

Crowley drew him aside for some private instructions.  

Not much later, he sidled up next to Aziraphale where he was leaning on the cashier’s counter.  He settled his elbows beside Aziraphale’s — closer than he usually would but that much was probably all right — and bumped his shoulder with his.  “Watch this,” he murmured.  

Jim emerged from the back kitchen with a laden tea tray.

“Honored guests!” he boomed.  “I invite you to the human hospitality ritual of tea!”

Every archangel frowned in unison.  Muriel looked distinctly nervous.

“That…that won’t be necessary.”  Michael replied, flustered and icy at once.

“Oh, but it really is.”

“No.  Thank you.”  Uriel this time.

“Yes.”

“No.

“See, I didn’t know this either, but I just found out — it’s super rude not to offer tea to guests.  And it’s just as rude if they refuse.”

Beside him Aziraphale snickered and bumped his shoulder back.  Crowley hid a grin.  The backs of their knuckles brushed together.

“I’m sure it’s more rude to insist after the offer has been declined,” Saraquael attempted.

“No, nope.  It’s an absolute failure not to offer something your guests will like.  So we’ve got English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, Earl Grey, Lady Grey, orange pekoe, Darjeeling, mint, chamomile…”

“Really, please, it’s all right.  Just take that away.”

“Oooookay…”  Jim ducked away into the kitchen and was back in an instant with a second tray.  “And we’ve got jasmine, oolong, matcha, toasted matcha, rooibos, puer….”

“You offered them my puer?”  Aziraphale shot him sharp glance, torn between mock and truly scandalized.

“They won’t take it.” 

“We don’t need anything to drink.”

“Fine.  But you’ve got to have something.  Biscuits?”

“No!” yelped Michael.

“Even worse if it’s food,” Crowley smirked.

“I recall you used the opposite argument on me.”

“Didn’t have tea to offer you at the time.  But the ox was more fun.”

“No tea!  No biscuits!”

“I mean, I know.  It’s pretty stupid, right?  But we gotta make this work.”

“We do not have to.”

“Nah, there’s gotta be something.  I mean, this is all kinda gross, but cocoa is so much better.”

“Really?” Muriel’s voice piped in, small and surprising.

“Oh, yeah.  It’s really great.  Like, it’s all warm and sweet in your mouth, and you think it’ll be weird to swallow it, but then it’s good on the inside too.”

“Oh!”

“Ah.”  Saraquael breathed a sigh of insight.  “You, uh — “

“Jim.  Also known as Gabriel.”

“Yes.  Well, Jim.  Would it satisfy your human hospitality ritual if Muriel tried this cocoa?”

“Mmp!” Muriel squeaked.

“Oh, yeah, that should work.  And trust me, you’ll like it way better,” he added to Muriel as he disappeared again into the kitchen.

He was gone for several minutes.  Crowley waited side by side with Aziraphale propped against the counter.  The archangels stared stonily across the way at them, but nonetheless, Crowley saw them begin to relax.  “So how’d you think it works?”  He pitched his voice too low to carry.  “Do they just forget about him completely when he’s not talking to them?”

“Here we go!”  Jim burst in again, one cup of cocoa borne triumphantly aloft.  The other angels jumped.

There was the hint of a snort from Aziraphale.  “Makes a rude surprise for them every time he returns, if so.”

Jim bore down on Muriel who awaited his arrival like a wide-eyed, wild creature caught in the headlights of a cocoa delivery truck.  Their hands fluttered as he thrust the cup at them, missing and nearly spilling the chocolate, once and then again.  On the third try the cup was finally transferred into their hands.  

“Oh…mmm…ahhh…”  Muriel let out a series of new squeaks as they held up the cup, turning it this way and that before their eyes.

“Go on, Muriel,” Michael pressed.

The junior angel brought the cup under their nose and sniffed.  “Ohhhh….”

Saraquael sniffed.  “This year, if you please.”

Muriel squinched their eyes shut, sipped, paused a moment, and swallowed.  “Oh!”  Their eyes popped open, and they turned a beaming face up to Jim.  “Oh, that’s really very…”

“Muriel!”

“…quite enough, thank you.”  Their eyes fell and their shoulders hunched a bit.  They handed the cup back to Jim, who shrugged and wandered yet again back to the kitchen.  

“Well now, if it comes to violence, Muriel has guest right,” Aziraphale murmured.

“We don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Wasn’t bread and salt.”

“Well, now, which culture are we following here?”

This.  Yes, this.  They could whisper and bicker, and two of his fingers had drifted to overlap the angel’s, which would have been a terrible breach any other time but in the circumstances was actually useful.  He could even turn his hand to lace their fingers together. 

“Exactly.  How about none that…”

But Uriel was peeling away from the archangels’ huddle and stalking toward them, into earshot.  The quip withered up unspoken.  The moment stretched out awkward and silent.  Their hands fell apart.

—————

For the rest of the day the archangels made a clear point of not getting cornered all at once by Jim again.  They spread throughout the shop, seen and unseen, one of them always looming near enough to be completely oppressive.  And so, back to drifting.  For wanting to observe them together, their unwelcome guests were doing a fine job of keeping them apart.  

Crowley watched Aziraphale set himself down to read, crack open the book, and sit, too nervous and distracted to turn the pages.  He picked up his phone and scrolled through a series of sites malevolently optimized to be absorbing and distracting and found they didn’t even register.  He put the phone away.  He caught voices drifting out from between a set of shelves. 

“And the big ones can be used as flyswats!”

“No, no, that’s not what they’re for at all.”

He caught Aziraphale’s eye and twitched his head toward the sound.

“What really?  How do you know?”

“Well, I’m a scrivener, you see.  In my…other job.  And we know quite a lot about books.”

“Oh!  Then you must know how to sell them!”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh, no.  I don’t know about that.  But I do know what they’re for.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re full of information and stories.  They tell you all about the world.”

“The world!  You know, I saw the world once.  On my way here.  It was really big.”

“I know!  It’s amazing!”

Aziraphale was smiling.  At him, in a way that encompassed the voices too.  Crowley gave a demonically acceptable smirk back.  

“Yeah, I thought so.  But I’m not allowed to go out and look at it.”

“I…I know.  My job is like that.  But the books can tell you all about it.”

“Neat.”

“Yes!”

“Muriel!  Michael’s voice snapped.  

“Yes, Your Grace!”

“Why are you here?”

“To take notes, Your Grace.  Bye,” they whispered to Jim and scampered away.

Heaven only knew what they were going to take notes on, Crowley thought.  There was nothing bloody happening.

Aziraphale sat and drummed his fingers; Crowley slouched as deep as he could into another chair and tapped his foot. 

The light slipping through the shop windows turned soft and orangey and sunk into a lower slant. 

They changed it up.  Aziraphale took up foot-tapping.  Crowley levered himself to his feet and paced.  One thing to be said for pacing, it kept Michael, who was currently on looming duty, hopping constantly out of the way. 

“Fuck it,” Crowley growled.  “Enough of this.”  

He strode over to Aziraphale’s chair and grabbed his hands, pulled him to his feet.  “Dinner time, angel.”

“Oh.  I…I’m not sure I’m really in the mood.”

“No, listen.  They’re wankers, but they don’t get to ruin everything.  Ignore them.  We could go out.  That new place you’ve been wanting to try, where they disguise all the foods to look like other foods.”

Aziraphale huffed a weary laugh.  “Oh, dear.  I wouldn’t be in the state of mind to enjoy it properly.  Something more familiar.”

Crowley nodded sagely.  Aziraphale’s hands were still in his so he gave them a squeeze.  “You need a good curry.  We’ll order some, yeah?  And watch a film.  Take our minds off them.”

Aziraphale let out a soft “oh.”  Distantly, he heard Muriel’s pen begin scratching.

“What?”

“It’s just, that will be perfect.  Thank you, my dear, truly.”  He hesitated, then cupped a hand to Crowley’s cheek.  

Crowley was leaning into the touch before he realized it, and… that was all right.  Aziraphale was giving him this.  He wanted to put on a good show for the archangels that badly, and he was giving Crowley this opening to play along.  He was asking him to.  He was asking for things Crowley had always wanted to give.  

“’S no sacrifice.”  His voice had gotten buggered up because it came out rough.

“Honestly, that’s not true.  You’ve been here all day.”

“‘Course I have.  We talked about that.”

“And it really has been awful.  I’m so sorry, my dear.  I wanted our first days…together to be perfect, and instead, I give you this.”

"It’s not ideal, yeah…” — Aziraphale was asking —“but it’s with you, so it’s still better than anything else I’d be doing.” 

“Oh, come now.”  He dipped his chin with a perfect shy little smile.

“Not better than anything we could be doing, but, yeah, still better than anything I’d do on my own.” 

“You’re quite good at this, you know.”  

“Ngk?”

“Cheering me up.  Taking care of me.”  

“’s what I do.” 

“You always have.”  What?!  That wasn’t relevant at all to a love spell that was four days old.  He was going to say that?

“Noticed that, did you?”  His voice was worse than before.  

“My dear!  My dear, of course.  You’re so…”

“Don’t, angel.  I may be retired, but I still have my pride.” 

“Let me appeal to that, then.  You’re much better than nice.”  

“Worse.” 

“Oh, yes, quite.  Much worse than nice.”  Oh, Satan, that should never have happened.  And if this desperate scheme of theirs failed and they ended up obliterated, it might still be worth it because it had.  

“I’ll…I’ll see to the curry then?  You choose the film.” 

And somehow, somehow it felt right to brush the lightest kiss over Aziraphale’s lips.  The angel’s eyes widened, and for a moment he stood there looking absolutely struck.  Then he beamed as he tipped Crowley a silly little salute with a “yes, dear” and turned toward the back room.

Crowley watched him go.  Oh.  Oh lord, oh fuck.  He had dared to do that, and now… this was incredible.  This was a drug he thought, as he hazily tapped their dinner order into his phone.  

Aziraphale wanted him to do this.  That.  For the span of this situation, for quite particular reasons, Aziraphale wanted this, and he would give it to him, and his angel would see and thank him for it.

And now Aziraphale was in the back puttering with his hilariously ancient television set with its hilariously ancient cassette player and his collection of six VHS tapes that miraculously always included whatever the angel thought it ought to that night.  And Crowley was going to carry in dinner and…insist the angel leave his usual armchair and join him on the sofa.  He was.  He was going to do it.  And it was going to be right.

——————

But when he passed through to back, Aziraphale was already on the sofa with plates and a bottle of Maison Jaffelin’s Burgundy waiting on the coffee table.  Crowley only paused for a split-second’s double take before he plunked down the delivery bag beside the bottle and himself deliberately close to Aziraphale.  His voice managed to behave itself.  “So what have we got on?”

“The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Crowley smiled fondly.  “Nice.  Which one?”

“1934.”

“’Course.  Far be it from you to go for something 40 years old when you could have 90.”

“Well, they’re both excellent.  Would you rather…”

“Nah, we do ’82, I’ll have to worry you’re watching Sir Ian’s cheekbones the whole time.”  Oh, fuck, he’d never made a joke like that to Aziraphale about Aziraphale ever before.

His angel gave him a look that said he was very deliberately not looking at the other angels.  “Well, I could never resist a pair of devilish cheekbones.  Though Chauvelin is perhaps too villainous for me.” 

He only choked a little.  It would sound all right disguised as a scoff.  “Too villainous says he with his own personal demon.”

“Indeed.  I prefer the loyal heroine, unfairly doubted for her unsavory connections, proven true in the end.” 

A more forceful scoff.  “I am not Marguerite in this scenario!” 

“My dear, who else?”

“Which one of us actually saved a hapless gentleman from the guillotine, eh?”  He poked Aziraphale in the chest. 

“But, darling, do you know how to tie a cravat?” 

“Do, actually.”

“Properly?” 

“Mmmhmm.”

“Sink me!”  Aziraphale exclaimed with a flourish so theatrical it hurt.

Crowley rolled his eyes, pulling off his glasses so Aziraphale could see it.  “You can be Percy,” he grumbled.  He began extracting items from the delivery bag — a variety of chaats and naans, a rich curry filled with eggplant and another with lamb.  

“Goodness, did you order everything?” 

“Just everything on the it’s been a rough day list.”

“Did you remember the…” 

“Course, angel.”  He handed over the extra container of mint chutney and pulled something else out of the bag.  

“Oh,” he mentioned, oh, so casually.  “They give this free when you order a certain amount.  Any of you want it?”  He held out the cup of lassi and grinned as the flock of voyeur angels cringed.  “I mean, someone who likes cocoa would probably like this.”  He watched a spark of curiosity light Muriel’s face. 

“Jim!” he called.  “Next important custom for you to learn.  Regarding free food — you must never rest until everyone who wants to try it has tried it.”  He handed him the lassi.  “OK, go.”

Jim stared at the cup in confusion.  “I don’t see how…”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake.”  Crowley reached out and jammed a straw through the lid.  “You suck on that.”

“That sounds kind of rude.”  But he took a sip.  “Oh, wow, yeah!  It’s like the opposite of cocoa, but also good.”  Muriel’s expression sharpened with excited longing, and Crowley waved Jim across the room where he promptly began bullying the archangels into letting them try the lassi. 

Aziraphale watched with a nearly hidden grin while he poured the wine and Crowley plated their food.  “Fiend,” he whispered. 

“Oh, please.  Doesn’t even count.” 

——————

The food was as delicious as ever and the familiar film just as clever and delightful.  Which was a complete surprise to Crowley.  He’d been sure that with the length of Aziraphale’s thigh resting alongside his on the sofa, he wouldn’t be able to spare a scrap of attention for anything else.  But after the first few minutes, the warmth and presence of the angel softened to a mild though wonderful distraction — not the entirety of the experience, but a part that made the whole more pleasant.  

It was the same when they put their plates aside and Aziraphale settled a bit deeper into the cushions and draped his arm around Crowley.  His heart raced, but after a tense spell holding his breath, he slowly, slowly exhaled and laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.  Even the archangels glaring from behind the television set and the scratching of Muriel’s pen (at least they’d scooted their chair into position to watch the film as well) helped quiet the guilt that told him he should leap away from anything that felt so good.
Percy and Marguerite sailed safely back to England, and Aziraphale gave a little stretch — though not enough to dislodge Crowley from his position.  

“I do hope that bag isn’t empty, darling.”

“’Course not.”  And then they did have to move, though not much — Crowley fished the bag still holding dessert off the table, and Aziraphale miracled the sherry and appropriate glasses from the kitchen.  They traded, and Crowley poured while Aziraphale rummaged in the bag.  

“Goodness, how distraught did you think I was?”  The angel pulled out the dish of pirhni still perfectly chilled, followed by a container of gulab jamun.

“Don’t even think about it; those are mine.  Didn’t say it wasn’t a rough day in the end.”  He swiped back his order of donuts.  “I mean,” he corrected himself, “you can have one, if you want.”

Aziraphale chuckled.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, dear boy.”

Crowley grumbled, and they settled back in place on the sofa.  He pulled the lid from the container of little dough balls swimming in their sugar syrup.  If there’d ever been a comfort food more perfectly designed for a humanoid snake, Crowley hadn’t found it in 6,000 years.  

He popped the first one into his mouth and rolled it around.  It was soft and fragile and yielded up a bit of its sweet-spice syrup when he sucked on it gently.  Then he closed his eyes, tipped back his head and opened his throat to coax it down whole and unbroken, like the yolk of an egg.  The rest of them followed in steady, luxurious succession, and truly it was good the restaurant gave so few of these because comfort food was not far from confectionary crack.  

Aziraphale was staring at him, his gaze flicking between Crowley’s sugary lips and his once-more human throat, and it was rather embarrassing.  Foods were fun, but there were very few he felt as strongly about as Aziraphale felt about most of them.  And it was very seldom he showed it.  But fuck it, it had been a day.  He picked up his sherry glass and lifted an eyebrow.

“Your turn.”  He nodded to Aziraphale’s pudding, which had gone remarkably untouched while Crowley was making a fool of himself.  

He leaned into Aziraphale again and sipped his wine while the angel savored his pudding like a civilized, non-reptilian being.  Or nearly.  It was very curious to feel those little hums he made with every bite for a change.  An odd little thrill in the midst of an otherwise tired and companionable quiet.  Nearly peaceful and nearly perfect…except.  

Jim had already gone up to his room, the end of the night was drawing close, and their audience was still sitting across the room, watchful as ever.  What next?  He didn’t want to leave Aziraphale alone with these gits even if nothing ought to happen overnight, but traditionally it was time for him to head out.  If he did that there would probably have to be a production around it… a goodbye kiss or something, beyond what they’d gotten by with so far.  They’d just…see what happened, he supposed.  It was all they’d been able to do all day.

“So that’s the night then,” he tried.

“It was lovely, my dear, thank you.”

“Need a hand with this?”  He gestured at the glasses and containers left over from their meal.

“I’m not sure how I’ll ever manage,” Aziraphale replied drily and snapped his fingers.  Every bit of clutter vanished.  Well fuck.  He’d been playing for time, hoping to give Aziraphale a hint that something might be coming.  

Try again.  He stirred himself on the sofa and glanced about.  “Right then.  You see where I left my sunglasses?”

And now the archangels caught the hint too, and from the way they started flicking glances amongst themselves and the two of them, they were deciding who would follow him to what passed for home these days.  Fan-bloody-tastic.  That was an indignity he didn’t need.  And probably couldn’t avoid.   

Aziraphale took note of their little conference too, and he frowned.  “Find them in the morning,” he said.  Then he reached out and threaded his fingers into the hair at Crowley’s nape.  “Come upstairs, love?”

Crowley’s breath caught, but that was alright, that was an acceptable response.  “Yeah?”  Satan, how could he sound so ragged in one second?

“Yes,” Aziraphale leaned in and whispered close to his ear.  He ran his free hand down the length of Crowley’s arm, and squeezed his hand.  He could tell it was meant to be a steadying gesture, “Don’t worry, we’ll put this over on them together,” but there had been wine, and touching, and humming already, and steadying was not what it was.  

Fortunately, he didn’t freeze.  He scooted closer, and his own free hand came up on pure instinct and mirrored Aziraphale’s caught in his hair.  “I thought you’d never ask.”

The angel laughed.  “Then why didn’t you?”

“I like to hear you say it.”

“Terribly sorry — never before dessert.”

They were knee to knee and nose to nose, speaking in low, breathy voices.  If this went on there would have to be more touches to keep up the right appearance.  

“Then don’t keep me waiting any longer.”  He stood and pulled Aziraphale to his feet.

The archangels stood as well.  

They headed for the back staircase hand in hand, and the archangels followed.  Aziraphale spun to face them.  “Are you even going to follow us into our bedroom?” 

“Our?” Michael treated the word like lemon in her mouth and raised her brows.  “The demon lives here?  So soon?”  

“It’s his room as much as mine, wherever he lives.”

“Why do you even have a bedroom?” Uriel demanded.  “Do you actually sleep?”

Aziraphale gritted his teeth.  “For privacy.”

Great bollocksing mother of fuck, Crowley had no idea how he was going to manage this, but Aziraphale had been doing nothing but asking him to do his part all day.  He’d said he trusted him to take care of him.  

“Politenesssss,” Crowley hissed.  “Most people don’t want to watch.  Though if you’re the sort that do, we can get started straight away.”  He wove his fingers back into Aziraphale’s hair and pressed his lips to his temple pointedly.  He willed himself to to keep a steady glower pointed at their audience and his fingers not to tremble as his other hand began plucking apart Aziraphale’s bowtie. 

The archangels looked on disdainful and unmoved, and he and Aziraphale both glared back.  Then Aziraphale sighed, closed his eyes and tipped his head to give Crowley better access.  He moved his lips down to the spot just below Aziraphale’s ear, and his fingers strayed down to the top button of his collar. Oh fuck, oh fuck.  He held the rest of his body a careful inch away so Aziraphale wouldn’t feel his heart hammering.  But would that matter in another minute?  Where was this going?  Wherever it was, there was a great chance that he’d lose it entirely.  

Aziraphale hummed.  “You know, I thought we might try it with you as a snake tonight, dear.”

Crowley startled back.  “You did?!”

“If you’re agreeable, of course.”

“I didn’t think you would be.”

“Hmmm, you’re not venomous are you?  Lord!  In 6,000 years, I never thought to ask.”

“Nah, constrictor type, me.”

“Oh, I think I’d like that.”

Crowley absolutely goggled at him — subtly, he hoped.  He swallowed.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yes.”

“All right, then.”  The archangels were still staring stonily so Crowley faced Aziraphale and let his forked tongue flicker over his cheek.  He appreciated what the angel was trying to do here, but, oh, the taste and the smell of him like this were going to haunt him until the end of time.  He let himself change and flow forward, draping himself over Aziraphale’s shoulders, his scaled head gliding along his cheek as he passed.  

“Oh!” Aziraphale caught his breath.  “You’re cooler like this.”

Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle.  “I’m alwayssss cool, angel,” he hissed in his ear.

“And you tickle!” 

“Yeah?”  He flickered his tongue slowly out again over Aziraphale’s cheek, then his neck.  He lingered.  He was going to absolutely discorporate himself like this, and the archangels were still staring — but damn them, and he would know.  Aziraphale shivered, and attuned to heat as he was in this form, Crowley felt the flush rise in the angel’s neck under his belly.  His tail looped around Aziraphale’s middle and squeezed; the angel dropped one hand to run along the length of him and raised the other to guide Crowley’s head right in front of his face.  His fingers stroked his scales lightly, and then strangely, unbelievably, he put his lips to Crowley’s snout.  Not briefly either, and his fingers kept up their gentle caress all the while.  

Crowley was fighting and savoring delirium at this point, and when Aziraphale tipped his head again and tugged at his collar, he was blind to anything except the invitation to more heat, more taste, more skin.  He began slithering his head inside.

Michael’s sharp “Enough!” went about halfway to bringing Crowley back to his senses, but Aziraphale’s chest was warm and lightly furred, rising and falling with high, shallow breaths.

“I’m sorry; if this makes you uncomfortable, you can leave.”  The words came out between strangled and stern with a hitch-rumble Crowley could feel and, ohhhhh he only hoped his angel would keep speaking.  His coils tightened, and Aziraphale gave a small gasp.  “Or you can stay here.  The bedroom is much more comfortable, so we’ll be going.  And if you absolutely must come along, just know that you’re not welcome.”  

Aziraphale turned on his heel, marched them both out of the room and up the stairs, and thank someone the archangels didn’t follow.  Aziraphale slammed the bedroom door and let out a shaking breath.  Crowley slithered free, switched back to man-shaped, and found his legs wouldn’t support him.  He dropped to the floor.  

“Fuck, angel.”  At least folded up like this, he had a chance to get matters between his legs arranged again before it was completely obvious.  As if it wasn’t completely obvious.  

Aziraphale flopped down on the edge of the bed, a hand pressed to his heart through his rumpled collar.  “Yes, fuck,” he agreed.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up.

“I am so incredibly sorry, my dear.  That was so presumptuous of me, and I gave you no warning, and it wasn’t something we discussed at the pub…”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you, though?” Aziraphale eyed him where he sat on the floor.

“Yeah, yeah.  Just, that form’s…sensitive.”

“Oh!  Oh, I thought it might make it easier for you…”

“I know you did…”

“And instead I keep taking the most horrible liberties.”  

Fuck, between this and the sigil, he looked absolutely pathetic.  One big demonic erogenous zone, apparently.  And Aziraphale looked utterly stricken.

“I just thought, if they think I’m the sort to brainwash you, they might think I’d want to…use you for your demonic attributes.  And I did!  I’m horrible; you needn’t forgive me at all…”

“No!  No.  You were creative.  Bloody devious.  Here.”  Crowley held out a hand, and Aziraphale pulled him up to sit beside him on the bed.  “And for the record, that wouldn’t be using.  That’d be…experimenting.”

“Thank you my, dear but…”

“No buts.  You didn’t know.  Even if you did — was brilliant.  You got us a few hours alone.  It’s fine.  Better than fine.” 

Aziraphale hmmphed and fell silent.  He squirmed and finally came out with an uneasy, “For science, then?”

“For science,” Crowley declared firmly.

“So now what?”

They should probably — definitely, although that was an ugly word — discuss it more.  It was a lot, and Aziraphale had seemed affected too.  But there were a lot of things that could make someone’s breath shudder like that, like stress, or being a phenomenal actor, or just a purely involuntary physical response…to snake kisses.  Also horror.  Maybe later, but they would absolutely not be discussing it now.  They just needed to be sure it didn’t happen again.  

“Right.  We tried to talk this out at the pub but there’s clearly no way of predicting everything that could come up.”  Everything that could get Crowley up, more like it, obsessive satyr that he was, and somehow leave Aziraphale blaming himself.  “So,” he growled, “we need a code.  To let each other know when something is too much.”

“A safe word!  Like red.”

“Red?”

“Well, it’s the most common one.”  Crowley stared at him.  “In the context of BDSM play, and particularly important with edge play.”  …and continued to stare, mouth dropping open for good measure.  “Oh, for goodness sake, Crowley!  I live in Soho, and it’s been my role for eternity to guide the humans toward more responsible choices.  I suppose…your former side didn’t encourage harm reduction in temptations of that nature.”

“Angel, I do know what you’re talking about!  But we can’t go saying ‘red’ in front of the archangels!”

“Well, no.”

“And!  And… Nnng!  We are not having a kink negotiation here!  We are developing a secret code for use in an undercover operation!”

“Ah…just so.”  Aziraphale pinked with embarrassment and paused.  Then his glorious stubbornness reasserted itself.  “I’m only saying it’s similar.”

“Codes, angel.  What would you say to me if I were doing something you didn’t like?  I mean normally.”

“It hardly seems like I’ll need one for you.”

“I crawled inside your shirt!”

“I asked you to!”

“Well, yeah… so that’s all fine.  But if something weren’t.”

“I suppose I’d say something like “Don’t be a menace, or a nuisance, or something.”

“Make nuisance the code.  And menace is still OK.  You probably need something like that to call me for all the normal annoying stuff I do.”

“Well, certainly.  Now, what about you?  What would you say to me?”

“I guess… ‘That’s not very angelic.’”

“I thought you liked it when I do something unangelic.”

Too much, obviously.  “Nothing better.  But they don’t know that.”

“Well, good, that’s settled.  So what else?”

Crowley groaned.  “Does there have to be something else?  I mean, I know we should plot some more, but right now…”

“This is exhausting isn’t it?  Oh!”  A little pop followed by a fizz of excitement like champagne uncorked.  “As you can see, I do have a bed.  You’re quite welcome to it.”

“Yeah?”  A thousand flares of longing suddenly ignited inside Crowley.  

“Of course.”

“I could sleep for a week.”

“Well, I can’t permit that but tonight, certainly.  Let me just…”  Aziraphale bounced up and began miracling the bed bigger, plusher, and less dusty.  “There.  No, wait, I’m sorry.  You should do it however you like best.”

Crowley glanced at him.  “’s your bed.”

“No, go ahead.  Just leave space for me to sit on one side.”

Crowley tested the mattress with his fingertips and miracled it firmer.  “Great.  And thanks, really.  I haven’t slept well in…”

“Thanking me!  When I got you into this ridiculous mess.  It’s the least I can do.  It’s not nearly enough.” 

There was a pause, awkwardly large in the small room.  

“What’ll you do?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.  I’ll just read.”  Aziraphale toed off his shoes and swung his feet up onto the bed.  His socks were bloody tartan.  Every room of the flat held books that had spilled beyond the confines of the shop, and he pulled one off of the bedside table with only a small grimace to indicate that it was not perhaps one of his favorites.  He nodded at the empty side of the bed.  “Go on then.”  And he smiled.  

“Seriously, though, thanks.”  Crowley snapped himself into a set of black silk pajamas and crawled under the covers.  

Ohhh.  It was perfect.  He and the angel had done a number here, and there was plenty of room to stretch out even with Aziraphale sitting over on his side.  His side of their bed.  The thought should have been enough to keep him fretting all night, but he hadn’t slept properly once in the years since he’d lost his flat.  He tossed about a few times for the sheer bliss of it, smiled at the amused huff he heard from the direction of the angel, then settled down to fall asleep in minutes.

———————

Aziraphale did not read.  He tried to.  After he watched Crowley sink into sleep and marveled at the sharp lines of his face softening into something close to peace — then spent a good while longer just gazing at him, admiring every dear, lovely feature — he tried.  He noticed the smallest sound and realized with wonder that Crowley breathed in his sleep.  It was the most remarkable sound.  He listened. 

Then just when he had finally told himself ‘enough’ and cracked open his book, Crowley rolled.  Rolled was really too small a word for it.  He heaved, flung out an arm and somehow landed a hand on Aziraphale’s thigh despite the expanse of bed between them.  

Then it was as if a line had been cast and a hook set.  Crowley’s reptilian heat-seeking sense, most likely.  Aziraphale watched, fond, fascinated, and horrified, as Crowley slowly wriggled his way across the bed to him, deeply asleep the whole time.  

He ought to wake him, but he’d already blessed his dreams and didn’t want to interrupt whatever niceness Crowley was enjoying at the time.  And the longer he waited, the more draped over him Crowley became, the more embarrassing waking would be.  

Finally, Crowley fetched up fully against him with his legs tangled around Aziraphale’s and his head nestled in his lap, and he could get no closer.  

Well, he’d surely roll away again before morning, and in the meantime, Aziraphale would not…wouldn’t…  

No he would.  He wouldn’t do anything disrespectful, but he would admit there was no way he’d be able to read with the incredible distraction of Crowley’s quiet, beautiful body wrapped around him.  He would sit and simply marvel at this wonderful creature.

Crowley had done so much for him, always, but in the past 48 hours, the demon had shown him so much niceness he was likely to come out in hives — or at least claim he would the moment they could speak freely again.  Despite all his reservations and better judgement, he’d agreed to this terrible scheme — to help Aziraphale.  And now he was doing it, throwing the most beautiful and surely humiliating declarations of love into the teeth of three beings who could bless him out of existence.

Why hadn’t Aziraphale told him to run, that night in the pub?  Why did it have to be the archangels who pointed out that they weren’t interested in Crowley; he could save himself?  And then he’d railed at them like some hero out of a romance…Aziraphale’s hero.  

Perhaps he hadn’t asked him to run because he knew he’d refuse.  That was close to it.  But really, he simply couldn’t imagine being without him; he’d asked him to stay and save him because he always did…and he always did. 

There may have even been a tiny kernel of hope that if Crowley didn’t join him in this insane act, it would be because he came up with a better plan, something that spared him….  But Crowley had never been particularly good at sparing himself, and now here was Aziraphale with all this love…nonsense…asking him to walk across consecrated ground not for minutes but days.  

Would it harm him?  No.  No, he knew well enough that Crowley could love.  He knew all too well that love was not Her especial purview.  And all the deceit — that ought to be healthy for a demon.  

All the deceit — here was Crowley putting everything on the line to help him, and here was Aziraphale using their truly perilous situation as an excuse to grab at him.  To…to molest him.  In ways the dear boy had not even known to anticipate.  Which went to show how little Crowley thought about that sort of love and…carnal pleasure.  

He could not take advantage anymore.  He could not take any more from Crowley.  

Lord, he was so weak.  He still wished just a bit that the archangels were watching to give him the excuse to sink his fingers into Crowley’s hair, to caress his cheek.

He would still not roll Crowley politely back to his side of the bed, and he would cling to this unbelievable closeness with his — not his, but in a way, almost — his almost-his demon, because when else could he?  He would savor it — not inappropriately at all! — just store it up against all the rest of eternity when he would never have it again.  Just rest his hand on Crowley’s shoulder because it had to go somewhere, close his eyes, admit that he was very tired too, and drift a bit.  Just have this for a moment and not think about having to give it up.

Chapter Text

Saturday

The sun was slanting through the window blinds laying gleaming stripes across the demon’s face, and still Crowley didn’t stir.  He hadn’t moved an inch since he’d gotten himself as fully twined around Aziraphale as possible last night.  The sun picked out golden strands in his fiery hair, as enchanting to watch as sparks crackling up from a hearth fire, fireflies blinking on a summer evening, or stars wheeling across the sky.  Watching was almost as good as touching, Aziraphale told himself.  It almost was.  

      Two more hours passed in the slowly shifting sunbeams without even a quiver from Crowley.  Staying put exactly like this would be a much more pleasant way to spend the day than facing any of the mess on the other side of their bedroom door, but that simply wasn’t an option.

     He poked Crowley.  Nothing.  He poked him harder.  “Hhnngh.”  Crowley gave the smallest shiver and dug his fingers into Aziraphale’s thigh.

      Aziraphale shook his shoulder.  “My dear, it really is quite late.”  Crowley shook his head.  “You have to get up.”  Crowley slitted his eyes and hissed at the light in the room.  He rolled over and buried his face in the darkness of Aziraphale’s crotch.

       “Crowley!”

       “Uhhhmm,” Crowley nuzzled.  Aziraphale yelped.  

       “You!  You absolutely have to wake up this minute!”

       “Nuhhhh.”

       “You can sleep again tonight dear, but…”

     “Nuh, don’ wan’ sleep in the car.”

     “What?”

       “Don’ wan’ sleep in the car ehmore.  Bed’s better.”

      “What?!”  Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and manhandled Crowley up to a sitting position.  “Crowley, why are you sleeping in your car?”

    Somehow the demon had gotten more tousled in the last 30 seconds than he had all night.  He pushed a lock of scarlet out of his eyes and peered at Aziraphale blearily.

    “Wha?”

“Your car, Crowley!  Why are you sleeping in your car?”

     “Din’t say I was.”

     “You did!  You said you don’t want to sleep in the car anymore.”

      “I was dreaming.”

      “You were not!  You said you didn’t like it, and I specifically blessed you to dream of nice things!”  

       “Gnngnngh!”  Crowley threw himself back down on the bed.

     “No, you don’t!”  Aziraphale prodded him. 

“Yes, yes, all right!  I’m up, I’m up.”  Crowley peeled himself up from the mattress again.

———————

He made a fuss of straightening his cuffs into a very dignified and orderly pyjama-clad presentation.  “There!  We can go do whatever song and dance they’re waiting for out there.  Happy?”

“I most certainly am not!  “Crowley, why?”  Aziraphale glared at him.  He kept glaring until Crowley gave an enormous, full-body shrug and dropped his gaze. 

      “I’ve been living in my car, all right?  Since Hell sent Shax up — they gave her my flat.”

       “You what?!  Why didn’t you tell me?”

       “It’s not a big deal.”

       “You…you absolute bloody idiot!  I demand an apology dance right now!”

        He shrugged again.  “It’s nothing to worry yourself about, angel.”

        “Not to me!  To yourself!”

       “I’m fine!  Really, I'm fine!”

    “Well, I don’t care how fine you are.  You are moving in here right this minute!  Today!”

     “What?” Crowley goggled at him.  

     “You are!”

      “Angel, don’t be crazy.”  He said it, he thought, in the most perfectly reasonable, inarguable way.  Matter settled.

      “What crazy person has been living in his car for four years?”  Aziraphale shot back and glowered as if he thought things were settled in precisely the opposite way.  

      “What!?  Wha-wha-wha… I can’t possibly!”

       “If I let you argue, you’ll only be too proud and horrible to yourself.  You’re moving in.  You’re supposed to anyway since we’re in love now…  You know what I mean.  It’ll be perfect, for real reasons as well as those.  And I won’t accept ‘no.’”

Aziraphale’s lovely blue eyes were narrowed to slits, and he settled subtly into the mattress, an immovable object amidst a heap of pillows.  It was unnerving to see the steel in someone so soft.  

Crowley was used to caving under Aziraphale’s sweet, beseeching puppy dog gaze, prided himself on it, actually.  That had something to do with things Aziraphale wanted but wouldn’t do for himself.  This glare was about something the angel would get for himself, by force if necessary.  It made it difficult to think of the future and all the ways this idea was terrible and impossible.  Difficult to come up with any excuse that wouldn’t crumble under that steely gaze or any response at all other than giving his angel what he wanted.  

“You’re really sure?”

“Honestly!  In what way have I suggested I’m remotely unsure?”

       Crowley opened his mouth, and all his better judgement utterly failed to speak up.  “…All right.”      

“Well!”  Aziraphale’s face un-squinted, and he beamed so brightly he seemed to push the sunlight back through the window.  He bounced a bit on the bed.  “All right.  Excellent.  So come on, then, we’ve a lot to do.”  

And he bounced up, grabbing Crowley’s hand and pulling him along.  Crowley snapped his fingers, more than a bit bewildered, to change his pyjamas for his regular day clothes as Aziraphale hurried them both through the door.

————————

Saraquael was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps with Muriel hovering just behind her chair.

       “Finally,” the archangel sniffed.  “It seemed you might try to hide up there all day.”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Aziraphale snapped.  “We’re very busy.”  He poked his head through the door to the front of the shop and glanced around.  “Ah, yes — Jim!  Thank you so much.  Spiffing job opening up this morning.  Can you please be all right to watch the shop the rest of the day?  It’s just that Crowley and I have so much to do.  Thank you again.  Just don’t sell anything.”  Then he ducked back, dragging Crowley with him as he’d dragged him out of bed and down the stairs, and brought them both to a stop on the carpet squarely in the center of the sitting room.

“Now dear, you can’t do anything to the shop, I’m afraid — well, you can, but small, please.  But back here,” Aziraphale gestured all around them, “what would you like to do?  Do you want to miracle it?  Or go shopping?” 

          “Angel, what are you on about?”  

“You’ll need things of your own, of course, to make it comfortable.  And we can change it around, make it larger or redecorate — a bit — if you like.  Once Jim…has his own place…you can do whatever you like with that room, but for now…”

    “Aziraphale!  What is the meaning of all this?”

       “He’s moving in of course.”  Aziraphale shot a glance of pure annoyance at Saraquael.  

       “Oh, is he?”

       “Would you shut up?  You mentioned it yourselves just last night.”

He turned back to Crowley, who was simply staring at him.  “Would you like to get started?”

        “Angel, this is your place.” 

       “But it has to be yours as well.”  He gestured around, looking expectant.

  Crowley stood there.  Just stood.  This wasn’t what he’d thought Aziraphale meant — how was it only minutes ago? — up in the bedroom.  He shook his head.  He felt hollowed out and helpless and it was so much that he itched with it.  If this were any other time, if the past few days hadn’t wreaked havoc on every level of his ordinary defenses, if they weren’t being watched, Crowley would leave.  He would growl some nonsense about demons and niceness, disappear for a few hours, and come back when he could keep his shit together.  But now…

“My dear?”  Aziraphale peered at him worriedly.

“Mmmhnn.”

“Are you all…”

“Yeah, all right.  Just...come here.”  He pulled Aziraphale into a crushing hug, sank his fingers into his hair and buried his face in his neck.  He was a wreck; he was a fucking wreck.  “Just…don’t go anywhere for a bit, OK?”

      “Gladly, my love.”  Crowley froze, and the bottom dropped out of the world.  Oh, fuck.  He’d misunderstood all of this.  But Aziraphale must have felt the way he tensed because he dug his fingers deep and grounding into Crowley’s back.  “My dear,” he said.  So it seemed to be real after all.  

      They clung together several moments longer, then Crowley pulled back with a long breath that was embarrassingly necessary.  He met the angel’s eyes.  “So let me be sure I’ve got this right.  I’m allowed to redecorate your flat.”

       “Our flat.”

He nearly lost it again, but he managed to pull off a sly grin instead.  “So if I said all the tartan is going, you’d say….”

      “No!  Fifty percent, Crowley!  Ours, half yours!”

———————

They spent the next couple of hours going over the flat, and Crowley was boggled by the glee with which Aziraphale encouraged him to change things.  Oh, he dug in his heels and had near conniptions at the suggestion of actually getting rid of anything, but adding things, pushing about and rearranging all his beloved bits, bobs, treasures, and junk to make room… 

“Oh, it’s hideous, where can we put it?”  Of a vast flatscreen television.  The bespoke AV shop on Oxford Street had not been aware it offered instantaneous delivery until that very moment.  “Ugh, that’s still awful.  Never mind, you’ll bring Mona, won’t you, so I feel it evens out.  She can go here, do you think?  Wherever you like.”  

The angel went out of his way to think of things Crowley might need.  “We can enlarge this window, if your plants would like more light?  Is this chair good?  Do you want to change it?”  

“That’s my chair.  Don't touch it!”  

“This carpet?”  

“Satan, yes.  That should never have been yellow.”  A wave of his hand.  “How’s that?”  

“Beautiful, my dear.”  Aziraphale dragged him through to the kitchen.  “Do you want one of those fancy espresso makers?  I could move this here….”   

“Angel, we live across the street from a perfectly good coffee shop.”  He stopped.  Replayed what he’d just said.  We live... We live…  He stared at Aziraphale a bit stunned again.  Aziraphale squeezed his hand with a soft smile back.  The angel hadn’t been out of easy reach if not actual contact since he’d woken up.  

“They’re not always open.  I thought if you wanted…”

“I do not drink coffee like you drink tea.  Any hour the shop isn’t open, I’m either sleeping or drinking something better.”

“All right,” Aziraphale allowed.  “So then you’ll just need…”  He turned and opened one of the cupboards.  “Oh.”

If the angel could do all this hand-holding and tugging him about, then he could…  He hooked his chin over Aziraphale’s shoulder.  

“Not that,” Crowley snorted.  There was already a black stoneware mug sitting beside the angel wing-handled one.  “Or that.”  There were very fine whisky tumblers on the shelf above.  “Or anything here.”  There were a few plates matching the mug interspersed with Aziraphale’s china.

“Darling, are you sure you are a snake?  Not a mouse?  Or a cockroach, perhaps?”

“Let a lot of vermin in here, do you?”  He flicked his eyes at the two angels trailing their every move.  “Present infestation notwithstanding,” he muttered.

Aziraphale sighed.

“I’ll tell you what we do need.  Is extra space for my statue.”  

“You are not bringing that statue in here!”  Aziraphale swatted his arm.  Always within reach.  

“Why not?”

“Why not?  It’s appalling!”

“Is it now?”  Crowley lifted an eyebrow and leered. 

“I…ah!  I suppose… When we get Jim’s room back.  Storage until then!” 

“How ‘bout out front?  Could scare the customers away.”  

“It would bring in even more people who believe this is a different sort of Soho bookshop!”

“More of them, fewer real customers.  You wouldn’t mind, right?”

“…It bears considering.  But storage for the moment, please.”

———————

It was absurdly fun.  And if he overheard Saraquael issuing Muriel smug orders to note down “clear evidence of malice” whenever he teased the angel — his angel— he wasn’t about to change that.  Aziraphale flustered and giggled and sniped back at him.  It was right, and if Saraquael didn’t understand that, she could fucking learn.  

But eventually they reached a point where there were no other changes that were obvious or easy to make.  They stood side by side and surveyed the results — a bit greener, a bit tidier, and containing a few more items of commercial rather than sentimental value, but not terribly different than before.  

“Is it all right?”

“’S great, angel.” 

“Well, it’s a start anyway.  It’ll do as you settle in.”

Crowley cast a small, wondering glance to his side and covered it with a shrug.  “So what now?”

“Well, I could point out that in all the excitement, we’ve quite missed breakfast.”

“A veritable crime.  Lunch too.”

“You do sleep horribly late.”

“I’ll order us something then?”

“Is that what you’d normally do?” Saraquael’s dry tone cut into the conversation as unwelcome as knife between ribs.

Crowley turned.  “Are you suggesting there’s a normal in this particular situation?”

“I’m suggesting that you’re attempting to hide inside this shop just as you hid upstairs all night.  Because you’re aware that your foolish charade will be as transparent to anyone else as it is to us.”

“You want to observe us living our lives and then tell us how to live them?”

“You’re afraid or reluctant to show your relationship,” Saraquael sneered, “outside these walls.  We don’t find such behavior convincing.  That is all.”

The very first instinct was to say damn Saraquael and damn him again if he let that celestial bitch order them around.  

But secondly, horribly, she was right.  Taking their act out in public, into Aziraphale’s neighborhood, which was more-or-less his, no was his now as well, in front of people who knew them and would know better…. How could they?  And that could not appear to be a problem.

And third, he remembered the awfulness of yesterday.  Trapped and staring at the insides of these otherwise dear walls, penned in with the enemy watching and judging.  The dread of another day like that was certainly as great the dread of venturing out.  

He turned, oh-so casually back to his angel and asked, oh-so lightly, not influenced by Saraquael at all, “What d’you fancy?  In or out?”

“It…would be rather nice to visit the coffee shop,” Aziraphale answered, his eyes a trace too wide.  

“Sure, right.  So where did my glasses get to last night?”

They rummaged about, came up with Crowley’s sunglasses and Aziraphale’s coat and bid Jim a good day as they headed through the shop.  At the door Aziraphale murmured nearly too low to hear, “Goodness, how will we come back from this?”  

And there was a thought — assuming their neighbors didn’t see through them in an instant, assuming they actually bought this ruse, how would they undo it in a day or two?

“Cross that one when we come to it, won’t we?” he muttered back.

“Indeed.”

“For now…”  Crowley held out his hand.  

Aziraphale took a steadying breath, but he smiled as he laid his hand in Crowley’s.   “Thank you, my dear.”

They crossed the street trailing their shadows behind and pushed into Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death.

———————

Nina gave their joined hands a deliberate look and raised an eyebrow as they stepped up to the register.  “So it’s not like that, is it?” she smirked at Crowley.  And it was happening.  The very first person to speak to them outside the shop was calling out a lie.  But calling him out for lying before.  That was rather wonderful.

Crowley smirked back.  “Well, it wasn’t.”

“Monday it wasn’t?”

“Exactly.”

“You move quick, don’t you?”

He let go and slid an arm snug around Aziraphale’s waist.  “Not nearly enough.  Finally.  Finally got it right.”

“What are you two talking about?”

“I asked your man here how long you’d been together.”

“Goodness, forever!  Or three days.”  Aziraphale’s shy-smug little smile was absolutely precious.

“Three days, Christ.  Well, congratulations.  Sorted out the naked man thing, I take it.”

“Oh, no, that’s still very much ongoing,” Aziraphale replied mournfully.

“Is it now?”  Nina’s brows rose nearly off her face.

“Not like that!” Crowley yelped.  “Not your business!”

“Excuse me…” spoke up the customer behind them in line.

“Shhhhh!” hushed the one behind him. 

“All right,” Nina groused at the impatient man.  “You going to need two straws or something?” back to them.

“Drink his poison?  I could never!”

“He’s still got no taste.”

“Impeccable taste — I ended up with you, didn’t I?  I’ll let you share mine, if you like.”

“You’re too bloody sweet for me already, angel.” 

“Enough of that.  Go sit down before you make the rest of us ill.”

——————

About 20 minutes later, they were seated with their drinks and half-eaten nibbles before them, and Maggie was inching toward their table, her hands clasped in front of her, pink on her cheeks, and a barely tamped down grin on her face.  She looked for all the world like a pleased teapot simmering and just about to whistle with delight.

“Mr. Fell!  Mr. Crowley!  I wanted to say congratulations!”

“Oh, yeah?  For what?”  Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand from the table and pressed an ostentatious kiss to his knuckles.  It was a bit much, of course, but Aziraphale enjoyed a bit of spectacle even more than he did.  Certainly, the combination of pleased little smile and eye roll he gave him was perfect.  

“For becoming a couple.”  She nodded gleefully at their clasped hands.

“Wot?  He gets cold hands.  No reason to assume…unless someone’s been gossiping?”

“Nina did tell me…but only after I asked when I saw how cute you were being.”

“Cute!”

“Why thank you!”

“I am not cute!

Maggie tilted her head at him doubtfully.  

“Really, dear.”

“Not cute.”

“Of course not.”  Aziraphale swiped a fingerful of whipped cream off his plate and dabbed it on Crowley’s nose.  “Now you’re cute.”

Crowley sputtered.  “What!  You!”  He turned his face away from Maggie and shot out his serpent tongue to lick off the cream, tipping down his glasses to give Aziraphale a venomous glare.

Aziraphale burst out in the most glorious peal of laughter and pressed Crowley’s other hand still joined with his to his own lips.

Crowley softened.  “I’ll be cute for you, angel.  But I’m not as regular thing.”

“Not to worry, we never said you were.”

“So’s that’s clear…”

“Anyway, I’m just so happy for you.”

“We’re very happy too.”

“I can see that.  Can I ask, how did it happen?”

Crowley grumbled, smiling.  “Gossips…”

“Well, if you’d like to know, do sit down, dear girl.”  Maggie pulled up a chair.  “Although…I may have made you sit down for nothing.  There’s not much to tell.”

“That’s all right.”  Maggie’s face wasn’t a bit less eager, and Crowley was quite curious to hear this himself.  How would Aziraphale explain this to a human with their cursed heavenly shadows sitting two tables away?   

“Well, we’ve been friends a long time.  Very good friends for a very long time.  Tuesday night…it was sudden, but it was more a matter of suddenly realizing it was long overdue to ask if that’s all we were.” 

“And I just never thought it would be possible.  But the minute he asked, changed everything.  Put it all in a completely different light.”

“Ohhhh!” Maggie squealed.  “You mean all along, you really had no idea he was interested?”

“Ngk.  Not that exactly.”  Maggie kept looking at him expectantly, and why had he opened him mouth?  Aziraphale had been handling this one.  “Ah, not getting into it because we’re only talking about the good stuff today, but we’ll just say, the first — too fucked-up to call it a relationship — I had made me think I’d never have another.”

There was angry rustling two tables away.  Maggie’s eyes flew wide.  “Oh!  I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be.  Ancient history.  And what I said — only the good stuff.  You know how fucking incredible it is to finally be over that?”  He looked across to Aziraphale, who was staring at him lips parted and eyes slightly gleaming.  The angel squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, hard.  It was true; even if it wasn’t like that between them; they had what they had, and that was just as precious.  

“Ohhhh,” Maggie breathed out.  She looked blissfully happy and a mite teary.  Fuck, he was a bit choked up himself.  He gave a small shake of his head and a half smile to let them know he was fine, and made a little shooing motion for “talk amongst yourselves.”  Then he hid all the awkwardness behind a sip of espresso, sat back with his hand still tight in Aziraphale’s and basked.

This…This was something.  Out in the world with Aziraphale and acceptance coming from all sides save one very specific table.  Other people’s happiness over the two of them, together.    

It had felt like this would be impossible before they left the shop, but apparently, all they had to do was present themselves holding hands, and everyone assumed, easily, without doubt or condemnation.  They’d left their linked hands resting on the table earlier as they ate and drank, and complete strangers had passed by with little smiles.  Good to be in Soho.  And people they knew, who ought to know better, offered glad, sincere congratulations.

It would be miserably embarrassing when they’d have to break up in a few days, declare themselves nothing but a fling — but then he really was moving in with Aziraphale.  Holy fuck, he was really moving in with Aziraphale.  So maybe they could simply stop being physical, pass out of the honeymoon phase, as it were, say nothing, and let people assume what they would.  And maybe some secret souvenirs of this insane week would remain, remnants of belief floating around the neighborhood that he and Aziraphale really were a couple.  

Maggie was rising from her chair.  “I’ll leave you and your boyfriend to it.”

“Boyfriend!” Aziraphale gasped.  “That’s a terrible word.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!  What do you prefer?”

“I…I don’t know.  It’s only been three days; we haven’t discussed it.”

“Well, what would you like it to be?”

“Yeah, what are we, angel?”

“Partner?” Maggie suggested

“Hmm — I know it’s quite popular these days, and you are, dear, but to me it always sounds so sterile.”  Crowley gaped.  Aziraphale had just said ‘partner’ was too sterile for their relationship.

“Companion?”

“That’s so much worse!  I believe it’s for dogs.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Well, he’s my angel.”

“And he’s my dearest nuisance.”

Crowley swallowed.  “Bit of a mouthful for everyday, isn’t it?”

“Well, sounds like you have some things to discuss.  Ta, lovebirds.”  Maggie gave a little wave and an impish grin. 

She disappeared out the door, and Crowley flicked his gaze to check on Saraquael, frowning and berating Muriel over something.

“Fuck, was that the code?  I’m sorry,” he mouthed with only the barest hint of air.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened.  “What?  No!  Why?”  He made the mouth shapes back at him.

Crowley let out an enormous, silent sigh of relief.  But still.  Almost as silently:  “Well, that’s going to sound weird forever now, isn’t it?  ‘Angel.’  I can stop, when this is all over.”

“Absolutely not!”  Aziraphale caught himself and shushed himself.  “It’s only the code if I say ‘don’t.’  They are not taking a perfectly normal thing we’ve had for thousands of years.  Things are strange right now.  But we will get them back.”

It was such a fierce and endearing scowl, and he was so bloody in love with Aziraphale.  He wasn’t getting any break at all from showing it, either.  Or unbelievably from feeling loved in return.  This whole morning had been dizzy with it.  

He ought to be on the highest alert; he ought to be terrified, and there were moments; there just had been.  But mostly he was nigh-on stupidly happy, and getting worse.  It felt like he was heading for some kind of freefall where he’d tip over the edge and be utterly useless.

He was being useless.  He’d moped all day yesterday, and today he was doing nothing but trailing along after Aziraphale in a delirious, giddy cloud.  And this when his angel had told him from the beginning that he needed him smart.  Needed him to help with the very real problems they still very much had.  

“Where to next?”  Aziraphale asked. 

“Some real things for the flat, yeah?”  Crowley reached out, snagged an abandoned newspaper from the next table over, and handed it to Aziraphale.  Demolish the crossword for a bit while I make a list, all right?  Then we’ll go.”

    “Lovely, my dear.”

Aziraphale took the paper and unfolded it with solemn concentration with one hand.  His other turned over Crowley’s hand on the table and began tracing idle shapes with his fingertip on his palm.  Crowley laced their fingers back together, still.  “Don’t distract me.”

Aziraphale looked stricken.  Eyes widened in distress, and he tried to pull his hand away.  Crowley hung on.  He smiled.  “Distract me as much as you like later, all right?  Just not now.”

     Aziraphale stroked a thumb over Crowley’s knuckles, and that was lovely, but not too much.  He could manage to think.  He set to doing it, not about shopping for the flat, but about Aziraphale’s clue.  

   It wasn’t that hard, he’d just needed a bloody minute. 

      “Angel, something I realized.  We’re going to be so busy moving me in and all, we’re not going to be able to go on our trip to Edinburgh.”  

    “No,” Aziraphale answered carefully, “it’s a shame, but our timing couldn’t have been worse.”

        “I think you should offer our reservations to Nina — her partner just left her, apparently, bet she could do with a change of scenery.”

      “You’re absolutely brilliant, darling!”  Aziraphale’s smile was radiant.  Ah, break time from overwhelming impressions of love was over then.  Perhaps he didn’t need his sanity.  Perhaps he could fake it.  “Maggie too!”

     “Ah, that would be awkward.”

      “Yes, but perhaps even better if they both will agree.  And Maggie will be just the one to look into those records I wanted for me.”

       “You’re right about that.”

       “But I expect Nina will be a great help with…negotiating.  And I do think the trip would do them both a world of good.”   

————————

They managed to convince both women without resorting to a single miracle to nudge their decisions, not technically.  Aziraphale would never have allowed that, which was bloody ironic.  Crowley held that the angel’s sunny persistence and beseeching looks were exactly the miracles that won them over or wore them down in the end.  Not to mention that flinging a few compulsions around would have made a good show for the archangels…if they needed any more convincing that Aziraphale was into that kind of thing.   

As it was, a little tweak to the cosmos ensured a certain collectible figurine appeared on Ebay just in time to make Nina’s niece desperate for overtime hours when she called, and that was the only intervention needed.  That was entirely different and well within Aziraphale’s ethical code.  And, yes, Natalie did have a uni friend who would love to come for a visit.  She could shop-sit a nice, quiet record store and study by day, and they could paint Soho red by night?  Gabi could be on the train yesterday.  So that was settled.

Afterwards they did stroll out to do a bit of shopping.  

“So what did you come up with?  What’s on the list?” Aziraphale asked.  It was the smile that was far too knowing for his sweet face.  His bastard smile.

“Not much, actually.”

“Oh, dear.  I wasn’t too distracting, was I?  I was making a particular effort…”

“Not to be distracting?”

“Quite.”  Calculated innocence melted into a smug little smirk.  Oh, lord, he was simply proud of himself for making the joke.  It wasn’t that he had any idea how effective it was, his saying even a few words like that.  Or doing that with his mouth.  

Right, back on topic.  “I can miracle anything I need.”

And Aziraphale was all earnestness; he really didn’t know (yet), thank someone.  “Yes, but there are some things that it’s nice when they’re consistent.  And yours.  That are there before you need to miracle them.  You must have things like that.”

“Towels,” Crowley said.  

Aziraphale laughed, surprised and delighted.  “Towels?”

“Yessss.”  Four years was nothing in the span of his immortal life, but it was long enough that he’d nearly forgotten.  Crowley was suddenly acutely glad that he wore his glasses in public because he knew otherwise he’d look like a mad person.  “Angel, do you have a shower?”

“No…”

Despair.  “But you have a bathroom?”

“Yes.  It has a very lovely soaking tub.”

“And you don’t mind if I change things?”

“My tub…”

“I’ll keep the tub.  But I’m making you…me…. Well, I’m making a shower.”

“All right…”

“No, you don’t understand.  I wouldn’t care if it were a human shower.  But I can do things with water pressure.  You’ll see.”

“But first you need towels.”

“Shower first, obviously.  But you need the towels ready for after.”

“And where would you like to get them?  Lead on, dear boy.”

Uriel showed up just then.  There was some fuss as they traded off with Saraquael, the archangels clearly wanting them to ask about the obvious rotation system they’d set up.  No relief for Muriel, he noticed, but he wouldn’t comment.  It was far more satisfying to sweep onwards and drag the voyeurs in their wake.  It would have been spectacular to lead them somewhere truly offensive to Heavenly sensibilities — a fish market, perhaps, or a slum — but a home goods store would do.  

They bought towels and a glorious plush robe.  And after that Aziraphale wasn’t nearly done.  

“But you don’t know, sometimes, until you see it, and if you don’t know, you can’t possibly miracle it.” 

And so they browsed through design boutiques and antique shops and sinfully high-end liquor stores.  There were a few interesting items to pick up — a vase that would be perfect for threatening his plants should they try anything as garish as producing too many blooms, a case of the 1980 Château de Pommard they thought they’d drunk the last of in 2001.  

Everything continued to be so easy.  The shopkeepers always assumed they were together.  They always had, but they were meant to now; it made sense, when they walked in arm in arm.  Now it was nice, and easier to nod and agree than it had ever been to watch the angel fluster, hide his own flash of panic behind an acid denial, and wonder why when they’d usually been doing their best to look as if they hardly knew one another.  Now it was beyond nice to watch Aziraphale puff up with a little glow of pride — how had he decided that would be the act he’d give in these situations?  And it was beyond easy to let his own face fall into a softer smile than he’d ever allowed himself before.   

In one shop they found an exquisite box of ebony and ironwood edged with silver around the lid that would be perfect for holding the small collection of real rings, cufflinks, and so forth that Crowley had actually kept through the years.  They carried it up to the counter, and Aziraphale cut sharply in front of him.

“Budge over, angel.”

“But you always pay!” Aziraphale pouted. 

“’xactly, and I’m doing it now.”

“But then it can’t be your welcome present!”

“Why are you giving me a welcome present?”

“Really, darling, it’s in the name.”

“What can you possibly give me on top of half your flat?”

“This!” Aziraphale snatched the box and presented it to the cashier along with a slim stack of notes.  “And could you gift wrap it, please?  With that ribbon, yes, thank you.  And extra tape.”

“Menace…”  Crowley grumbled as the woman wrestled with a smile and wrapped up the box with perfectly crisp corners and several extra curls of ribbon.  

“There,” Aziraphale beamed, handing over the package.  “Would you like to hold your present?  But no peeking!”

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” the clerk told them warmly as they turned to go.  It was intoxicating.

They stopped for sushi on the way back to the shop at a place where the chefs sliced and crafted each morsel of art on the other side of the counter where they sat.  It wasn’t quite a fish market, but Muriel’s open horror and Uriel’s shaky attempts to mask equal dismay with disdain were almost enough to tempt him to look away from  Aziraphale’s delighted little wiggles and chatter with the chef.  Almost.

After a pleasant hour, they rose to leave.  Over the course of the day, walking hand in hand had turned to arm in arm, but when he reached out to Aziraphale now, somehow he missed, and his arm wrapped around his waist.  The angel’s mirrored his, and then they walked home.

———————

Back at the shop Aziraphale took a seat on the sofa.  “I’m just going to write up the list of albums I hope Maggie can find for me.  Can you work on changing over the reservations?”  

“Sure thing.”  Crowley plopped down on the sofa and swung his feet up and his head into Aziraphale’s lap.

His angel gave a pleased little huff.  And then an irritated little huff as he tried to position his sketch pad around Crowley’s head.  “Dear, you are entirely in my way.”

  “Mmm, good for me.”  Crowley pulled out his phone and began searching for reservations to make for Nina and Maggie in the first place.  They would be damned nice ones if they were coming from him.  Them.  But his part in it ensured they would be expensive.  

“Jim, it’s not generally done to hang about the shop after closing,” Aziraphale called out.  You’re welcome to come back here.”   

      Jim popped in as if summoned.  “Thanks, Aziraphale.  Aww, you guys are sweet.  See, I told you they were in love.”  In their corner, Uriel’s mouth thinned.

“Sweet…”  Crowley grumbled.

“Thank you.  Do make yourself comfortable.  You can take that chair right there.”  Aziraphale nodded to the one opposite him.  

“I’m gonna make myself some cocoa first.  You guys want anything?”  

       Crowley perked up, a sly smile creeping onto his face.  “Left-side lower cabinet in the kitchen, bottle of Domaine Jamet and two glasses for me and the angel, if you would, garçon.”

    “Crowley!”  Aziraphale poked him.  Jim looked puzzled.  “Am I Garçon now?”

Crowley sniggered.  “If the shoe fits …”

     “No!  Jim is perfectly right.  The wine will be lovely, though, thank you.  Would you like anything, Uriel?  Muriel?”

      “Nothing for me,” Uriel replied icily.  Muriel’s eyes slid to Uriel.  “…no,” they answered glumly.  The other three shrugged, and in a few minutes Jim returned with their drinks and plunked himself down in his seat.

        Aziraphale took up his sketchpad again and began working as he chatted with Jim about the daily operations of the bookshop and Jim asked about Crowley moving in.  

      “Is he going to be an assistant bookseller too?”

      Crowley snorted.  “Adding me to your stable, angel?”

      “Goodness, no.”

      “’s all right.  Assist you with anything.”

     “I know, darling.  That’s why, co-proprietor, I think.”

      “Really?”

     “Why not?”  

     Crowley shrugged.  “Drink to it then.”  They managed to clink their glasses although it was a bit awkward with the way Crowley was still lying in Aziraphale’s lap.  

      “Me too.”  Jim leaned forward and clinked his mug with their wine glasses.  

      “This means I’m your boss, you know,” Crowley said.

       “Oh, I thought you already were.’

Crowley choked a bit on his wine.  “Yeah, yeah, makes it more official, like.”

    Jim nodded pleasantly.  Aziraphale shifted from sketching to writing a note to Maggie and Nina.  It began:  This is a secret message!  Please do enjoy yourselves in Edinburgh, but if you could do just one thing for us while you’re there, we’d appreciate it ever so much…

“They make these transfers bloody impossible,” Crowley muttered for the show of the thing, even though he’d long since moved on to adding breakfast upgrades and spa packages.

        “Just miracle it if it’s impossible.”

       “Last resort.  I’m giving their help desk absolute Hell,” he grinned viciously.  

Eventually, Aziraphale put a last few strokes to his page and asked, “Can you think of any titles I might have forgotten, love?”

       “The Resurrectionist?”

       “Got it.”

        “Every Day?”

     “Yes.”

         “That Old Familiar Face?  Suspicious Circumstances?”

       “Yes, both.”

“No Detail Too Small?”

      “Ahh, excellent.”  Aziraphale jotted down another line.

“Bohemian Rhapsody?”

     “No…I don't think so…”

“Not to worry, angel, I’ve got that one already.”  Crowley peered at the page.  “That one might be too hard for them,” he tapped the first line of the note.  “Wouldn’t want to trouble them on holiday.”

Aziraphale sighed and vanished the line.  “I think we’re done then.  I’ll give this to Maggie in the morning.  Shall we turn in?”  

“Yep, sound good.”  Crowley levered himself up and pulled Aziraphale to his feet beside him.

“Goodnight, guys.”

“Goodnight, Jim.”

“Good night, Uriel, Muriel.”  Uriel scowled.

———————

They climbed the stairs hand in hand, and Crowley snapped to pyjamas the moment they were inside the bedroom door.  He almost pulled Aziraphale into the bed after him before he realized and dropped his hand. 

“Sorry!  Sorry.”  

Aziraphale looked down at his empty hand in puzzlement and then back up at Crowley standing there with his hands awkwardly clutched in close to his body.

“Oh.”  He paused.  “My dear…things are confusing right now, and I think it might be best…” if you at least tried to keep your half-wit head on straight and your clingy hands to yourself when there’s no one watching and not the least excuse….  “if we simply don’t worry about it too much.  I mean, of course we’re alone here, but if we worry now, we might worry about it in front of them, don’t you think?”

Crowley gaped at him.  “D’you mean… what do you mean?  Don’t stop?”  

“Oh!  I mean…. of course, there’s no need for that.  That would be, ahh, a bit much when we’re alone.  I just mean not… not to worry.  If it’s a bit odd, or a bit of a mess.  I’m sure we can worry later.  But not now.”  

“Yeah… yeah, we can do that.”

“We can?”

“Sure.  Yeah, fine.”

“All right.  Good!” Aziraphale pronounced.  And then he reached out and lightly shoved Crowley over into the bed.

“Gah!  Whhuu! Nnnn!”  Crowley floundered about spluttering far more than was really called for.  Then he glowered at the angel.  “Bastard,” he hissed, scooting far over to his side of the bed.

Aziraphale flashed him a grin that perfectly matched the epithet as he toed off his shoes.  Then he climbed onto his side of the bed.

They settled down with a great swath of mattress between them.  It wasn’t where Crowley woke up.