Happy Holidays, LadyLier (Gift 2)

[goe_mod]

Title: COMFORT ZONE
Recipient: : LadyLier
Pairing: : Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: : R
The Prompt: : Aziraphale / Crowley fluffy afternoon/night maybe they came back from “work” and talk of what they had to do (and they didn't like it) and then they comfort each other.
Warnings: : M/M, brief but rapidly resolved moment of angst.

Happy Holidays II, LadyLier. Hope you enjoy!


COMFORT ZONE


The shop door opened so forcefully that the small bell situated over the door didn't have time to wake up and jingle merrily. Instead, it made a disconsolate little "plink" noise and wobbled slightly on its curled hanger. A glowering demon barged through the door along with a freezing gust of wind and a few leaves which had managed to evade capture by the road-sweeper lorry which had passed by earlier.

"Oh, DO come in!" said Aziraphale, testily. He didn't bother looking up to see who it was. He didn't need to.

Crowley paused and glowered. "I just did," he muttered, and dropped into a chair with a low growl before removing his shades and leaning back, rubbing his eyes. He sat with his eyes closed for a few seconds then carefully flicked his tongue out slightly to taste the air. He opened his eyes and looked at the angel with a puzzled expression.

"Have you bought a new bible, Angel?" he asked slowly.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Your shop has an extra whiff of holiness about it today."

Aziraphale pulled a slightly sour face.

"Ah. Well, I can explain that easily enough. You look chilled my dear. Would you like some cocoa to warm you up? I was just making some."

"Is it alcoholic?"

"It can be." Aziraphale waved a vague hand towards the pan on the stove, doubling the volume of warming milk and bringing it to the right temperature. He poured a mug for Crowley and added a generous slug of brandy before passing it to the demon, who wrapped his fingers around the hot mug and sighed, took a gulp of the scalding liquid, and looked up at the angel.

"I'm sorry. Not been a good day." He gave the angel a tired smile and downed the rest of the drink before staring morosely into the empty mug.

"More?" asked Aziraphale.

"Please."

"I'll get it. Why don't you go through to the back room? The fire's lit and it'll be a bit warmer in there. I won't be long."

Aziraphale poured another mug and walked through to the back room to find Crowley slumped on the couch with his feet stretched out to the fire. He looked worn down and strangely vulnerable.

"Shall we go out for a meal? We could do the Ritz," suggested the angel.

"Hmmm, to be honest I don't feel up to rubbing shoulders with humanity after today. Let's just order in sushi and have a few drinks, eh?"

"If that's what you'd prefer, then that's quite acceptable to me. I think I've got a couple of bottles of that rather good port stashed away in the cupboard, and some of that excellent wine which we tried the other week."

"Sounds good." Crowley accepted a top up to his cocoa. He watched Aziraphale throw some logs onto the fire and park himself in the armchair, stretching his feet out towards the warmth and twitching his toes. Crowley couldn't help smiling to see that the angel was wearing tartan socks.

"Bad day then? I thought that was what you'd be aiming for," Aziraphale said, taking a delicate sip of his own cocoa and deciding that it could use some extra fortification. He added a large dash of brandy, then another one for good measure. Well, it HAD been a trying day, and surely the heat of the cocoa would burn off most of the alcohol.

Crowley grimaced.

"Bad in general is fine, but bad specifically for me? No, thanks. If it had simply been 'bad' then I'd be less likely to complain. Angel, it was… "

"Horrendous? I know the feeling. My day hasn't exactly been a bundle of laughs!"

"So, what happened to ruin your day then? Let me guess… something to do with that holy residue floating around out there."

"Oh. Nothing important." Aziraphale found himself blushing at the thought of recounting certain of the day's comments to the demon and made a snap decision to keep them away from demonic ears, at least for now.

"Angel?" Crowley was frowning now. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." He gave Aziraphale a brittle grin at the memory of a similar bargain, struck during a car drive to try to find a missing boy. He felt a bit concerned. Usually the angel was more than happy to recount his day's highs and lows. Why was today different? A thought scampered into his head and paused for dramatic effect. He felt his stomach knot.

"Angel? They haven't… You're not being…" His voice trailed off with a worried tightness. "Angel…?"

Aziraphale looked at him. That day had brought something into sharp focus. He noticed the look of concern in those amber eyes and wondered just at what point he and the demon had fallen into this pit of mutual dependency. He couldn't put his finger on it. Was it a month ago, or had they truly always been in that situation, both incomplete without the other? Both pretending otherwise, both claiming to be so very independent.

"Oh, nothing to worry about, my dear. Now, shall I ring for some sushi to be delivered, then we can sit and mull over our respective disasters?"

"You mean, eat and get stinking drunk?"

Aziraphale looked a little guilty.

"Well, it might help to make things seem better," he said. "It has done in the past."

Crowley shrugged. He couldn't think of anything better - leastways nothing that he could dare to discuss with the angel whilst stone-cold sober, thank you very much.


They sat at the same old table which had witnessed so many of their discussions in the past, picking through their meal and washing it down with a decent bottle or two of a crisp white wine, allowing the angst of the day to become blurred around the edges. Aziraphale wandered to the drinks cupboard and returned carrying two bottles of port, which he placed carefully on the table in front of them. He frowned and stared at the bottles. Crowley made a small gesture with his hand and two glasses appeared beside the bottles, much to Aziraphale's relief.

Crowley looked up as the angel lowered himself into his chair again and began to undo the first bottle.

"So, Angel. Let's hear all about your perfectly unpleasant day then."

Aziraphale took a hearty gulp of port and winced. His mind drifted back as he took a deep, albeit unnecessary breath and began to recount the day…


********

As days go, it hadn't started off too badly. He'd managed to scare away, put off two customers and taken delivery of a large box of books donated to him by an acquaintance who had recently retired and was selling off his stock. He'd switched the sign on the door to "closed" and locked it, and was sitting down with a nice cup of tea and a plate of biscuits to look through and catalogue the new acquisitions. He'd got through half of the box, (although some time had been taken up leafing through some of the more interesting books) and was about to tackle a couple of larger tomes when the door opened. His initial thought was that it was Crowley as he never took notice of the closed sign, or the locks for that matter, but he quickly realised that the usual sense of Crowley's aura, which he could always feel so clearly, wasn't there. The shop was filled with an aura more powerful, more … well, less demonic. Aziraphale looked up warily to see a tall man standing in his shop. His skin was the rich colour of dark wood, his hair a platinum grey and his eyes like grey ice, with a strange blankness to them.

"Uriel?"

"Aziraphale. I bring you blessings. Oh, and a message." The Archangel's expression softened slightly, his eyes warmed and his face seemed to humanise.

"A message? Not your usual day job, is it?"

The Archangel curled his lip and said something which sounded remarkably un-angelic.

"And how is dear Gabriel?" asked Aziraphale.

"Oh, his usual pompous self. Since that fiasco with the Young boy, he's been put in charge of a new department aiming to upgrade record keeping. Computers and all that modern gubbins. He and his team are away on a training course at the moment, hence me having to step in with the memo and all that. I was passing through, so thought I'd offer. Acting as messenger for The Messenger, so to speak."

Uriel made a casual gesture and a small scroll appeared in his hand. He passed it to Aziraphale, who was still boggling slightly at the idea of Gabriel using a computer. He undid the scroll and started to read the ornate lettering at the top of the page.

"Department for Administrative Modernisation, Methodology and Information Technology???"

Uriel raised an eyebrow and inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Indeed. He thought that one up himself."

"D. A. M. M. I. T???"

Uriel nodded again.

"Dammit??? Seriously?" said Aziraphale, staring at the sheet of paper and trying to keep from laughing. "Erm, does he realise?"

"No. And I most certainly won't be the one to tell him," Uriel said, twiddling a pencil between agile fingers. "You know Gabriel. Once he decides to do something, he's not easily distracted, so nobody felt they should rain on his parade…"

Aziraphale read the memo with gradually expanding gloom and foreboding. The basic gist of the communication was that Heaven had realised the need for updating their systems and intended to start using computers to do so. He felt a pang of nostalgia as he realised that the scroll in his hands would be one of the last ones produced Up There. Soon they would be moving over to digitized print-outs and files kept on hard drives and backed up onto the main system, which was tentatively being called "Cumulus". Worst of all, the memo was requesting that future correspondence be carried out using the new electronic mail system and sent directly to gabriel1@heaven.org. Aziraphale frowned. Bureaucracy - Crowley had a lot to answer for!

Uriel wandered slowly around the shop and casually pulled a few books from the shelves and thumbed through them. Finally, he took one from the shelf in front of him. "Who is this Biggles?"

"Human fictional hero," replied Aziraphale vaguely, still reading the memo and frowning at it when he got to the point where Gabriel had requested a progress report by the end of the week. He'd hoped that reports were going to be abandoned now that the Tadfield Incident was past and, in most minds, forgotten, or at least fuzzed over.

Uriel paused with a hand outstretched towards another book, glanced around, and looked suspiciously at Aziraphale.

"Strange, Aziraphale… You know, the atmosphere in this shop has a certain taint of evil. Do you not feel it?"

Aziraphale looked up at Uriel with a defensive expression which did not go un-noticed by the Archangel.

"Evil? You… you must be mistaken… I can't sense anything."

"Yes, evil. Definitely a taint to the atmosphere." Uriel gave a couple of exaggerated sniffs with his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"It, er… it's probably some of the books in the back room," Aziraphale muttered, flustered. "I…er… I do have a few texts pertaining to er… the other side and their practices. Purely for research purposes, you understand."

"Hmmm," said Uriel, casting another casual glance around the shop, "and there was I thinking it might be more due to the company you keep. More specifically, to the company which you allow to enter, and spend time in, this dwelling, ever since that fiasco a month ago. Company which one might think would be superfluous to your current remit. Some might say that they could understand your collaboration with your opposite number to avert something which may, or may not, have been part of the Great Plan, but most would assume that this, once done, should mean an end to your fraternisation." His eyebrows were raised in question and his look was direct and cool. Aziraphale coughed quietly and stared solidly at his fingers which were toying with a marker ribbon in the book on his desk. Uriel stepped closer and bent down to lean on the desk and waited until Aziraphale looked up at him.

"Personally, I have no thoughts either way on your ' friendship', whatever that might involve." Uriel straightened up again, holding Aziraphale's gaze. "Others, however, might have less tolerant feelings about your continued consorting with the Serpent of Eden in such an intimate manner."

"Intimate?! You make it sound as if we're… " Aziraphale broke off, mouth stumbling over unfamiliar words and his mind reeling with unfamiliar yet suddenly very meaningful thoughts.

"We are simply… acquaintances." He saw Uriel raise an eyebrow and muttered, "Okay then, friends… Nothing more."

"Of course." Uriel looked at him shrewdly, with what might have actually passed as a smirk. "Blushing becomes you, Principality."

Aziraphale found himself looking anywhere but at the Archangel. He tried to speak but no words seemed to be audible. He felt like a proverbial rabbit in the proverbial headlights.

Uriel replaced the pencil on the desk with exaggerated precision.

"Some may say that thought of an act is as powerful as the act itself, even if you try to deny it."

Aziraphale wanted to say something, anything, to derail the conversation and inform Uriel that he was mistaken, but the words died unspoken and he blushed as his mind confessed to itself that what the Archangel had said was not far from the truth. To say that the thought of being 'closer' to the demon hadn't occurred to him would have been a lie. It was a thought which crept into his mind during quiet moments when the weight of loneliness bowed his shoulders, during moments of anxiety or stress, during moments of extreme beauty which were made better by being shared.

Uriel stood, watching him. He saw the Principality's expression change, saw uncertainty melt away and saw a strange, almost un-angelic strength in Aziraphale's eyes. Uriel gave a half smile and nodded slowly. He turned and headed for the door, where he paused and looked back.

"Be careful, Aziraphale. Watch your back!"

"I have no fear of Crowley. I trust him."

"I wasn't referring to the Serpent," said the Archangel as he stepped out into the street and walked away without a backward glance.

Aziraphale sat staring at the door. He was still staring at it some time later when he finally decided that he should finish the book-cataloguing and try to steady his shaking hands.


********

The rest of Aziraphale's day was not destined to run quietly either. Firstly, he had a sudden rush of people in the shop and some of them even bought books, which always left the angel feeling as if he’d had a limb torn off [1]. His customers always drifted out, and they never came back. This wasn't because Aziraphale had clicked his fingers and banished them to another dimension, he reserved that for pushy men seeking to purchase his shop. No, it was because the customers felt rather uneasy having to go through some sort of interrogation, answering questions about their intentions towards the book, questions about the planned accommodation for said book, and finally being made to promise that if they found that they were unable to keep said book for any reason, that he, Aziraphale, should be given the first chance to buy it back. Nobody expected that sort of inquisition [2].

Not only did he have the problem of customers, but, halfway through the afternoon, while he was adding his new stock to his stock files, his computer started to make odd beeps and pings every few minutes. He cautiously peered round the side of the screen and then underneath the desk at the body of the computer itself. "Ping ping." He lifted the keyboard and replaced it, frowning slightly. "Ping ping ping." He didn't dare do anything. He'd tried to sort out something technical once before and ended up losing a load of data which he had spent hours typing in, so he'd vowed at that point that he'd not try that stunt again. He went back to his stock lists and tried to filter out the pings, steadily ignoring the little icon which had started flashing at the bottom of the screen. He made a mental note to ask Crowley to sort it all out when he was next over. Far safer, if you ignored the inevitable porn pop-ups which Crowley always made sure to download onto his computer with a time-lag built in so that they would appear at a later date, often with embarrassing results. He wasn't likely to forget [3] the incident with the Soho Pensioner Ladies Group for eternity.

An hour later, he had finished the stock lists and saved them. He closed the window on the screen to find a small dialogue box had been hidden behind the spreadsheet.

"You have mail. You have 524 new messages."

As he watched the screen, there was another series of pings and the number went up to 537. With some trepidation, he accessed his mail account and went to the inbox. To his horror, there were around 11 pages of mails, all originating from the same account, namely gabriel1@heaven.org. Around 95% of them appeared to just contain the words, "Testing my mail", while some others said, "Testing my m", indicating a sender with an itchy trigger finger who had managed to hit the "SEND" button before completing the mail. Aziraphale growled in frustration. The mails seemed to have stopped, but he still had to open and check each single one, just on the off-chance that Gabriel had actually sent something important through in the midst of the plethora of rubbish. He remembered Crowley mentioning something about blocking incoming mail, but realised that this would probably not be a good idea. It took nearly two hours and seven cups of tea to trawl through the mails and delete them. By the end of it, Aziraphale was ready to walk out and disembowel the first person he met. If that person resembled a certain Archangel, then so much the better.


To be honest, it had been a relief when Crowley had burst in. Aziraphale finished recounting his saga, carefully omitting the comment about being intimate. Somehow, he thought Crowley might find that one fact too many. Crowley was staring at him with a look of mock horror on his face.

"Gabriel on a computer?"

"Apparently so. I imagine we'll be spending the next century getting misdirected mail from him, or mails with missing attachments if today was anything to go by." Aziraphale sighed.

"Not to mention all the spam you'll get sent." Crowley nodded sagely.

"Sorry? Why would he send me tinned meat products?"

Crowley groaned and shook his head. Considering that Aziraphale had lived through the entire computer age and had even managed to get to grips with setting up a gmail account [4] he was still not quite up to speed on terminology. Crowley suspected that he never would be, and the thought of Gabriel trying to get to grips with a computerised system was beyond ludicrous.

"Reports, Crowley. More wretched reports." Aziraphale thumped the desk.

"I know," muttered the demon. He looked at Aziraphale and tried for a concerned and comforting smile, but the angel was looking at his hands anxiously and didn't notice the gesture. Crowley refilled their glasses and sighed. "Maybe they won't be too vigorous about content now all the hoohah in Tadfield has passed and been smudged in everyone's minds."

Aziraphale shook his head. "With Gabriel in charge and running a new department? Come on, Crowley, he'll be out to prove himself and make sure we all know how well he's coping with all the new systems. He was bad enough when they invented parchment! Remember all those wretched scrolls he kept sending out? "

"Well, yes. But they did make a good fire every winter," Crowley said, lightly. Aziraphale scowled.

"From Uriel's comments, I still worry that they have me in their sights." Aziraphale ran agitated fingers through his hair and shook his head slowly. "Anyway, enough of my woes," he said, straightening up a little and craftily moving the bottle a little nearer to himself. Crowley pretended not to notice. "So, my dear. Tell me about your day."

Crowley stretched and yawned, reaching for the port and pouring himself a decent amount before he winced and began his recount. Happily, the alcohol seemed to be scraping the rough edges off the day's events and turning everything into a nice, mellow warmth which was curled up somewhere in the base of his stomach. He caught the angel's eye at that point, and the warmth spread gently outwards. Good stuff, he thought, glancing appreciatively at the drink in his hand as he began his tale.


********

Crowley's day had started badly before he’d even got out of his bed, when he’d woken up with a start out of one of those dreams which he had experienced a few times in the past but which had become more frequent since the Tadfield debacle. Last night's dream had been particularly vivid. He sighed and put it down to making the mistake of eating a plateful of mixed cheeses before leaving Aziraphale's bookshop the night before. That Stinking Bishop had seemed remarkably powerful. Yes, that was it… cheese.

He'd woken hot and unsettled, with his mind and body in overdrive. He felt exhausted... Apart from one part of him, which had obviously enjoyed the dream sequence rather too much and was clearly feeling, well… perky. He glowered downwards in the hope that it would calm down and go away. It didn't, and continued to perk at him with insolent enthusiasm. He contemplated a really cold shower and wondered briefly whether this was part of Adam's doing or some twisted punishment from Hell as a sideswipe for his part in the proceedings of a month ago. Adam seemed to have put some form of protection over him and the angel, but that wouldn't stop the bureaucrats of Hell from having a quick go at him whenever possible. Maybe they'd fitted him up with a corporation that had a built-in obsolescence and it was starting to malfunction. He had one more idea to try before the cold shower. He conjured up an image of Hastur dancing naked along the road to Hell.

Success. Guaranteed to work every time.

He dragged himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

As he meandered into the kitchen to bully his coffee maker into action, he switched on the radio. This was a mistake. The Radio 4 News crackled, fizzed and morphed into a deep voice with the background sounds of screams and wails [5]. Crowley blessed. When Dagon got in touch directly it was seldom a good thing.

"CROWLEY?"

"Erm. Yes."

"THIS IS JUST AN INFORMAL WORD OF WARNING, CROWLEY."

"Warning? For what?"

"YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN GIVEN SOME BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT BY OUR LORD AND MASTER'S SON, BUT THE FACT REMAINS THAT YOU ARE STILL AN EMPLOYEE AND AS SUCH YOU ARE STILL BOUND TO YOUR CONTRACT. TO PUT IT SIMPLY, CROWLEY, YOU NEED TO UP YOUR INPUT! STOP GOING OUT THERE AND GLUING COINS TO THE PAVEMENT AND START BRINGING IN MORE SOULS! YOUR SUCCESS RATE AT THE MOMENT IS LAUGHABLE!"

"I was indulging in Sloth. Thought that would be approved of, all things considered," Crowley said hastily.

"THE IDEA IS TO LEAD HUMANS INTO SIN, CROWLEY, NOT INDULGE IN IT YOURSELF! MAYBE FEWER MEALS AT EXPENSIVE DINING ESTABLISHMENTS… "

"I understand, Lord," sighed Crowley.

"IF THINGS DON'T IMPROVE, CROWLEY, WE WILL HAVE TO TAKE STEPS TO SEE THAT THEY DO!"

"Oh?" Crowley went cold. When Hell 'took steps' it was usually a bad sign.

"WE DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO SEND A SENIOR DEMON UP TO REMIND YOU OF YOUR DUTIES AND TO TAKE YOU IN HAND," the voice said, with a slightly threatening tone. The voice changed slightly, and purred with barely concealed malice. "UNLESS THE RUMOURS ARE TRUE AND SOMEONE ALREADY HAS!" The following chuckle was devoid of mirth.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Crowley glowered towards the radio.

"OH, JUST SOME IDLE GOSSIP. I'M SURE THERE'S NOTHING IN IT."

"Gossip?"

"JUST HASTUR BEARING GRUDGES. HE SEEMS KEEN TO HELP YOU TO GET BACK INTO THE SWING OF THINGS… VERY KEEN!"

"Oh… erm, good?"

"I HAVE A SPECIFIC TASK FOR YOU HOWEVER. THERE IS A BUSINESS MAN WHO RUNS A LARGE COMPANY AND WHO WAS CERTAINLY HEADING ALONG THE ROAD TO OUR SIDE. YOU KNOW, INSIDER DEALING, BLACKMAIL, A SPOT OF EXTORTION. WE HAD HIS PLACE ALREADY BOOKED, ALONG WITH SEVERAL TENS OF OTHERS WHO HELPED HIM. BUT WE SEEM TO HAVE A PROBLEM. SOMEONE'S GOT TO HIM AND THE LATEST REPORT SUGGESTS HE IS THINKING OF MAKING MASSIVE DONATIONS TO CHARITY AND TURNING HIS LIFE AROUND. I NEED YOU TO DO A SPOT OF SURVEILLANCE, FIND OUT WHAT'S GOING ON."

"Surveillance? Hardly my scene, Dagon. That's more up Hastur's alley!"

"PROBABLY, BUT WE REALLY DON'T NEED ATTENTION DRAWN TO OURSELVES BY HALF OF LONDON GOING UP IN FLAMES!"

"That's a bit extreme, surely?"

"HMPH. NEED I REMIND YOU OF 1666? A CERTAIN CONFLAGRATION LINKED TO OUR ATTEMPT TO BRING THAT WRETCHED PEPYS MAN UNDER OUR CONTROL? HE WAS ONLY MEANT TO BURN THE BLOODY DOORS OFF."

Crowley winced at the memory.

"I'll do my best, Lord," he said. "Where will I find this per…"

"YOU WILL BE INFORMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."

"Thank you, Lord."

"DO NOT LET US DOWN THIS TIME, CROWLEY!"

"No, Lord."

"OH, AND CROWLEY?"

"Yes, Lord?"

"I WANT A REPORT ON MY DESK WITHIN TWO WEEKS. A FULL REPORT. UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes, Lord."

Crowley switched off the radio and sat down on his sofa, resting his head in his hands. He'd really hoped that this sort of stuff was all over. Now he was going to have to try to work his way through the minefield that was looming in front of him. Did he go back to wiling and risk the wrath of Adam Young, or dodge sideways and risk the wrath of the bureaucrats of Hell? He glanced at the 'phone and fought back the urge to ring Aziraphale. No, surely he wasn't THAT needy. He'd get out there and try a few wiles, then at least he'd have something to put in this bloody report and, hopefully, avoid someone like Hastur being sent up to make his existence a misery. Gossip? About him? The bastard.


********

Crowley jogged down the steps into the road and sauntered towards the busiest area that he could think of. He paused and gave a small nod, then raised his left hand and drew a wiggly sigil in the air above him. People walking past swerved dramatically to avoid the arm-waving lunatic, then promptly forgot what they had seen and continued on their way. As Crowley waved his hand, every sat-nav device in the area gave a quiet 'beep' and did a sudden route recalculation. Crowley stood quietly for a while, then started to hear the results of his work getting nearer, and louder. Car horns were starting to be heard, along with the rumble of engines belonging to some very large vehicles. He smiled as the first of the fleet of juggernauts tried to wind its way along streets which had only just been wide enough to accommodate a Hansom Cab. Within minutes, ten of the massive vehicles had blocked several of the roads with no chance of moving anywhere without the assistance of a large crane and, in one case, the dismantling of several sections of a strategically important flyover. The air was filled with the cacophony of car horns and angry voices. It should have been music to his ears, but it reminded him of the recent events on the M25. He suppressed a shudder as he remembered that awful feeling he had experienced when he had been sitting in the Bentley, reading Aziraphale's notes and wondering whether the angel had gone for good. As a scuffle broke out between two lorry drivers and a group of angry car drivers over some scratched paintwork and a slightly dented Renault front bumper, Crowley slid away and headed for the quietude of St James's Park.

He sat at the bench which he would usually share with the angel and stared around for inspiration. He resisted the urge to dunk any of the ducks. Aziraphale would have given him a stern look and even though the angel wasn't there, Crowley could almost feel the glare. He contented himself by massing almost all of the ducks to one area, then ensuring that they waddled in a block formation through several groups of picnickers, leaving footprints of mud and even more unpleasant deposits across woollen rugs before snaffling all the food and moving on, quacking derisively. The sound of screaming mothers and wailing children peaked and dropped again. He managed to ruin a few more days by causing ice-creams to drop off their cones, resulting in crying children and fraught parents. Serves them right for eating ice-creams at this time of year, thought Crowley bitterly.

In a final attempt to add to his list of wiles, he planted the suggestion in the minds of a few middle aged men that it wouldn't hurt to take a somewhat longer look than necessary at some young women walking around in a chattering group on their way to get food and then head to a club. Across the park, the voices of accusation from irritated wives floated on the breeze. Crowley sighed. He felt pathetic. Some example of a demon for Someone's sake. Oh yes, this would look fantastically demonic in the report.

Crowley decided to try one more wile before giving up. He headed for a large department store where a sale was being held and where he knew that greed would be simple to inspire. He might even be able to add envy, gluttony and wrath to his total. He walked around the store and, within a short time, he'd managed to start up a few arguments and squabbles over who had claim to various items, leading to several articles of clothing being ripped apart and more than a few breakages in the chinaware section. He had just managed to create mayhem in soft furnishings, by steering a large group of children waving greasy hotdogs and melting ice-creams directly towards the display of very expensive oriental rugs and tapestries, when he heard the sound of sirens.

The small scuffles had escalated into all-out violence, spilling out onto the street and attracting the sort of people whose main pastime was finding trouble and making it worse. Before he could get onto the street himself, people were trading blows and several were staggering around with bloodied wounds and bewildered expressions. He paused to help a frightened looking elderly couple away from the fighting, noticing that the old man had a cut to his hand and that the elderly lady was pale and shaking. He sat them down and looked around for an assistant to get them some attention, but was interrupted by a small, fragile hand on his wrist.

"Thank you, young man," said the woman, with a watery smile. Crowley smiled down at her and, for that moment, hated it all.

He headed out onto the street, stepping over boxes, broken household appliances, shredded clothing and, in some cases, people, and walked slowly away as the riot police began to move in. Messin' people about, Adam Young had said. Humans! They just took an idea and made it umpteen times worse without him having to do much "messin' about" at all. It was all depressing, really.

He began to head for home when Hell, more particularly Dagon, sent through the details of his task. Chilly knowledge, again. He felt slightly sick. Blessing quietly, Crowley extended a thought and rounded a corner to find the Bentley waiting for him. For this job, he would need to drive a few miles out of the city and into a small Buckinghamshire village where his target would be meeting some associates in a rather nice pub beside a river.


********

It really was quite nice, mused Crowley as he drew up in the car-park. He made an almost unconscious mental note to bring Aziraphale out there for a meal one day. t was just the sort of place that the angel would love, and the fact that there was an antique book shop a few doors away was sure to act as an additional lure. Crowley wandered into the bar area where his 'target' was nursing a pint of beer and welcoming people into his little group. Crowley got a drink from the bar and took a seat close by, but it didn't work as the businessman, once all his party had arrived, stood and said, "We'll go out onto the balcony. It's more private out there," and led the group outside.

Crowley blessed. He could hardly follow them outside without it being too obvious. He needed an alternative strategy. He walked back out of the front door and around a corner, then, after a quick glance round, he reached into his inner being and thought of a different form - scales, subtlety and grace. The Serpent of Eden slid silently through the long grass by the river which flowed beneath the balcony, coming to a halt at a spot where he could hear the conversation. It was cold and damp, and he could feel himself getting tired, but forced himself to keep listening. He wasn't sure what Dagon thought he would hear, but he waited dutifully in the grass while the conversation rambled from the weekend's football scores through to a new sci-fi film which a couple of them had been to see the previous week. Apparently it had a very hot scene in it, which the remaining members of the group insisted on hearing about in detail. Crowley yawned and spent the next few minutes counting minnows as they darted through the current in the shallows. A voice drifted down to him. Crowley slowly moved closer.

"Now, shall we turn to the reason for this meeting? Project Amethyst. You all know the background to the project which was discussed in the mail we sent out last week. You have also been told what role we would like you, as respected business owners in the community, to play in launching Amethyst and getting it running. Now, if you could all pass these round, you will see that there is a suggested forward plan of action. Your views, gentlemen, would be welcome at this point, particularly regarding the issue caused by…"

The speech was interrupted by a second voice, more clear than the first and clearly coming from directly above where Crowley was currently hiding.

"Look! Look, a snake!"

"Where?"

There was a sound of several pairs of feet moving across the balcony to look over the edge.

"There - look! "

Crowley had heard this sort of alarmed shout many times before. It was usually followed by the phrase "Quick, kill it!" and a few near misses with a blunt object. He lowered his head and slid silently into the water, gliding effortlessly into the reeds and safety where he caught the tail end of the shouting.

"That's not a snake, you idiot. Snakes don't like water. It's an eel."

Crowley had never felt so insulted in his entire existence. An EEL?!!


********

Aziraphale became dimly aware that Crowley had stopped speaking and glanced up. Across the table, Crowley looked miserable…

"I don't look like an eel, do I?"

Aziraphale put his glass down and squinted at the blurred Crowley sitting opposite him.

"Angel? Do I?" Crowley persisted.

"Of course not, dear boy. You have never even vaguely resembled one. Ugly things, eels. You've always been a most definite serpent, a fine specimen of snakiness… serpentness… er… " He reached out to pat the demon's hand and emphasise his feelings on the matter. It was meant to be a simple pat, a comforting gesture, that was all. But his hand covered that of the demon and refused to move.

Crowley went very still and stared at the angel's hand over his. To drag his hand away from the contact would have been sensible, but for some reason, he found his hand turning so that they were palm to palm, and, to add insult to injury, his traitorous fingers had curled around the angel's hand. How had they decided to do that??!!

"He… Uriel, that is… said something else." Aziraphale took a deep breath as the alcohol in his system fought and beat his natural reservations for discussing subjects which could fall into the category of embarrassing. "Well, he implied that our association was 'intimate', " said Aziraphale, eyes slightly blurry and one hand waving an empty glass around in a slightly less than sober manner. He squinted at Crowley, who had gone suddenly and worryingly silent, save for a very low, drawn-out hiss which seemed to go on and on like background white noise.

It seemed like forever before the moment was broken by Crowley, saying in a very quiet and seemingly emotionless voice, "And is it?"

"Well…" the angel blinked rapidly and stared at the clasped hands on the table. "Sort of, I suppose." He found himself frantically searching for words. "But not in the way he suggested."

He couldn't remember a more awkward silence between them since Babylon. He gently extracted his hand from that of the demon and closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out the issues which had suddenly emerged snarling into their combined personal space.

Crowley's next words made him jump. The words were barely audible, but felt as though they were spoken close to his ear, so close that he fancied that he could feel the ghosting of Crowley's unnecessary breath against his skin.

"And would you like it to be?"

Aziraphale looked up into golden eyes which held his, the question hanging in the air between them. He tried to speak and couldn't, but found himself giving a small nod. Crowley gave a small hiss and sat back with a sigh, pouring himself another glass of port and downing it in one. He refilled the glass and moved, slightly unsteadily, to the sofa where he sat and stared into the fire. Aziraphale stumbled across the room carrying one of the bottles of port, and slumped down on the other seat of the sofa.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I shouldn't have mentioned it. Just forget that I said anything."

"What if I don't want to?" Crowley's words were slightly slurred, but Aziraphale wasn't sure whether this was because Crowley was actually slurring, or whether his own ears were under the influence.

"Sorry?"

"What if I don't want to forget?"

Aziraphale frowned, the alcohol in his bloodstream seeming to slow everything down around him, to say nothing of what it was doing to his thought processes. He became suddenly aware of a gentle hand on his face, fingers sliding tentatively around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and then a soft brush of lips against his own, before the touch stopped and he saw the demon sit back again. His mind was trying to process this information and he found himself holding the bottle out towards Crowley and saying "Erm. Port?" with a somewhat flustered look on his face.

Crowley gave a small huff of amusement and took the bottle, not bothering with a glass, simply taking a good swig from it before passing it back, his eyes almost daring the angels to complain. Angels? He shook his head slightly, wondering which of the two fuzzy Aziraphales he should be speaking to. He settled for reaching forward and trying to pat the angel on the knee with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He was a little disappointed to get no response whatsoever, so he gave the angel's knee a slight squeeze. Still no response from the angel; not a thing. He'd expected at least a raised eyebrow, or admonishment for being too forward too soon… Crowley glanced down to find that he was squeezing a cushion and hastily changed the move into a grab for the port bottle before the angel noticed his faux pas. Dutch Courage, he decided, groggily, was definitely needed here. And lots of it.

Aziraphale had moved from flustered to dithering. Should he stay where he was? Move nearer to the demon? Move to the other chair to give him more room? This hadn't been how his mind had played this scenario [6]. Reality wasn't pink and fluffy. Reality didn't come up with derived speeches waxing lyrical about romantic feelings. Reality, he was fast discovering, was a feeling of panic about something dark and unknown, a need almost like hunger and a fear that this was the only opportunity he might get to do something and that one wrong word, one wrong gesture, could ruin it all, causing the being staring at him to stand up and walk out. Well, more sort of reel, but anyway.

Time stood still.

The silence was broken by Crowley dropping a now-empty port bottle on the floor, giving a small hiccup and leaning closer to the angel with a worried expression.

"Gone… " He reached down for the empty bottle, intending to wave it at the angel to prove his point, but missed and ended up slumping forward into the angel's side.

"Ooopssss," he muttered into a faceful of jumper and soft midriff, and tried to peel himself away. This was made difficult by the amount of Dutch Courage which now swirled through his entire body and threatened to make itself known by emerging as a fit of giggles, and the fact that Aziraphale had also moved forward to retrieve the bottle, resulting in a demonic arm being trapped between the back of the sofa and a softly padded angelic body. Crowley gave a nervous cough. Even with enough alcohol to immobilise a rhino washing around his system, he still felt wary. He'd already revealed more of his feelings than he felt comfortable with, yet his body, his wretched human form, was aching for more of that beautiful warmth and security that was Aziraphale.

"Mmmm, comfy," muttered the demon, sliding slowly down the angel's side and ending up as an undignified heap somewhere in the proximity of the angel's left hip, his arm still trapped and now at an unusual angle, his head unnervingly close to the angel's lap. He tentatively wrapped his free arm around a slightly plump stomach and realised that Aziraphale was trying to haul him back up again. He hissed at having the warm softness wrenched from him, and wrapped his arm back around the angel. For Go… Sa… For Someone's sake what was he doing? Was he deranged? Did he want smiting to Hell and back by an indignant angel? But Aziraphale wasn't pulling away, he was holding him closer, and those elegant and beautifully manicured hands were moving in soothing circles against his back, and…

Crowley's mind, full of reservations [7] had a brief scuffle with his physical form which was full of quite another set of emotions - and his body seemed to be winning. Then Aziraphale gave a soft moan against his neck and Crowley's body told his mind to just shut up and enjoy it… Whatever "it" was going to be.

"Crowley, I'm not sure…. " Aziraphale's voice was shaking. Crowley sat back and stared at him with a frown. The Dutch Courage was beginning to seem like a mistake. His mind felt fogged and slow.

"Do you want me to stop? Should I go?" Crowley stammered out.

"No! I mean… " Aziraphale blushed. "I don't want you to go. Crowley, I …"

Aziraphale's phrase was cut short by a finger touching his lips before the demon leaned in and Aziraphale felt Crowley's lips against his again. This time though, Crowley didn't pull away, and the angel surprised himself by putting an arm back around the slim waist and pulling the demon nearer, relishing the sensation of closeness. He felt Crowley slide a gentle hand down his back, pulling up his shirt and running his hand across the angel's skin, giving a quiet sigh as he splayed his fingers and sent his other hand to join the first. Aziraphale shuddered at the touch and moved to let his lips trace along Crowley's jaw and nuzzle his neck. He felt as if he had just swum a little too far out and was out of his depth, fighting down a wave of panic but not wanting to swim back to safer waters.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" Aziraphale managed to murmur.

Crowley looked puzzled. "Upstairs - where - why?"

"Erm, the bedroom… to bed…" Aziraphale blushed, amazed at his own forwardness.

"S'okay, Angel. I can sleep on the softer… suf… sop… sofa. It's not a problem."

"I er… I wasn't thinking about sleeping… and I didn't mean on your own."

Crowley's mouth opened incredulously and he stared at Aziraphale as if he'd just suggested inviting Gabriel over for a round of drinks and a few games of strip poker [8].

"You mean…?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"You mean…??!

"For Someone's sake, Crowley, do I have to spell it out?"

"You mean…??????" Crowley's voice came out tight and slightly higher pitched than normal. Aziraphale pulled him to his feet with an exasperated look on his face. How could Crowley be so slow off the mark? Crowley swayed dangerously as he raised a hand and pointed unsteadily towards the back stairs, peering drunkenly at the angel.

"Up there? With you? To not sleep?"

"Well, yes. Unless you'd rather not."

Crowley tried to think of something to say, something suave and sophisticated. All he managed though was, "Ssssss ss sssss ssss s," which was far from eloquent but would have to do for now. He pondered vaguely about sobering up but felt that he still needed the Dutch Courage, if only to get him as far as the bedroom without his body going into total panic mode. Aziraphale stumbled forward to help the demon towards the steep stairs, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him unsteadily to the bottom of the stairs. He reached out to switch on the stair light. There was a sharp 'pink' sound, a brief moment of light, then darkness.

"Bulb's blown," muttered the angel.

"Lucky bulb," murmured Crowley, unaware that his comment had been more than a thought kept within the privacy of his own mind.

Aziraphale started to giggle uncontrollably and slid down the wall into a heap on the bottom step. Crowley stared down at him for a few seconds.

"I am not," muttered Crowley with a supreme effort of will to enunciate the words without a slur, "carrying you up those sssstairsssss!" He stepped over the angel and managed to drag him to his feet and up the stairs. An advantage of being able to see in the dark. They stumbled up to what Crowley assumed was the bedroom door and stopped. Aziraphale looked somewhat bashful as he paused with a hand on the door handle.

"I'm afraid it's not very big."

Crowley's head snapped up, which wasn't the best move under that level of inebriation. The corridor span round. Crowley blinked and opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and reached out to place a hand on the angel's shoulder before he leaned closer and looked both ways along the hallway as if he was checking to make sure there was nobody listening. He took a deep breath and, with a suddenly serious expression, waggled a finger in the angel's face, which suddenly seemed so close…

"Angel, s'ok. Size doesn't matter. That's what humansss say all the time... It's not the size, it's what you…" He gave a small hiccup and tried for a look of sincerity, managing to achieve queasy mixed with worry, which he decided would have to suffice, "…what you do with it. I'm sure it's OK. Really, it doesn't matter to me… " He gave the angel's shoulder a friendly squeeze to make his point.

Aziraphale gave him a bemused look as he continued to fumble for the handle.

"Eh?"

Deciding that the door needed a little assistance as it was clearly not willing to cooperate without putting up a token sign of resistance, Aziraphale gave it a small shove with one shoulder. The door, faced with the options available to it, decided to forget its stubbornness and opened just as the angel went for another quick shove, which ended with the pair of them staggering into the room and stopping in the middle of it with arms flailing and legs not totally under control. They ended up facing each other, Crowley was still swaying dangerously back and forth. It reminded Aziraphale of a snake trying to decide when to strike [9] - perhaps that was what he was doing… but he decided that it was mostly the effect of too much alcohol. After all, it was Crowley's alternative form to be legless. He sniggered a bit at his own joke. Crowley, in an effort to stop the room doing strange things, draped an arm over Aziraphale's shoulder and peered into the angel's eyes with what he thought was a sincere and, hopefully, smouldering look.

"Y'know… " he continued, "Anyway…" He hiccupped gently and gave up trying to focus on the angel's face in favour of trying to focus on anything. "… if it worriessss you that much you could alwayssss miracle it buggerer…er... biggerer… er," he blushed.

The angel squinted owlishly at Crowley, brows knitted questioningly.

"What?"

Crowley tried to formulate another sentence but stopped himself before another hiss could escape. He took a deep breath, hiccupped again and with extreme concentration managed to mutter, "B-hic-igger. You know. Down. There." He waved his free hand in a vaguely downwards motion, letting his gaze travel down the angel's body fleetingly before dragging it back upwards guiltily to stare at a region somewhere around a foot to the left of the angel's right ear. Not as interesting, his soused brain said to itself, but safer…

Aziraphale stared down at the floor where Crowley had seemed to be pointing and wondered why Crowley had thought that he would be interested in him miraculously altering the dimensions of Hell, before it occurred to him what the "Down There" was that Crowley was actually talking about. He managed to create a very un-angelic noise somewhere between a snort and a snigger, which made Crowley recoil slightly with a small hiss.

"I… I was talking about the size of the room. Small room!"

There was a moment of drunken silence which Crowley broke with a somewhat high pitched giggle.

"Ssssssorry. I thought you… er… meant… down there." He pointed downwards again and stole another furtive glance down, which proved just enough to unbalance him so that his legs decided to fold up. He slumped against the angel for support, letting his forehead drop to rest on the angel's shoulder. Aziraphale managed to grab his elbows and keep him upright, which was a minor miracle in itself, as he himself was having severe problems with gravity at that point. Crowley inhaled and sighed…

"Crowley?"

"Mmmm hmm?"

"D' you think we should sober up a bit?"

Crowley nodded and they both winced as they removed most of the alcohol from their bodies.


********

Aziraphale stepped away from Crowley and crossed the room. He sat hesitantly on the edge of the bed and coughed nervously. "Crowley… I've never done this before. I ... er… well ..."

"Never? As in ... never?"

"I am an angel!" huffed Aziraphale, going slightly pink and looking faintly exasperated.

"Ngk," said Crowley, eloquently. He became aware that his fingers were plucking nervously at the seam of the duvet and sent them a stern reprimand, which they ignored totally. Aziraphale scowled and plunged on.

"I'm sure you find this very amusing," he muttered. "All I'm saying is that you'll have to be patient, and… and don't expect fireworks."

Crowley continued to stare at his disobedient fingers in silence. Aziraphale glanced sideways at him and wondered what was wrong.

"Crowley?"

Crowley gave a shaky hiss and a slightly nervous sigh. "I erm... I have a small confession to make, but please... promise me that you'll never EVER tell anyone Down There!"

"Of course I won't. Let's face it, I'm hardly in the habit of chatting to your erstwhile colleagues now am I?" Crowley's behaviour was starting to worry him.

"I... well, the thing is... er... I... I..." Crowley babbled. He looked up into Aziraphale's concerned expression and swallowed nervously. Aziraphale raised a questioning eyebrow.

'Angel... erm... let's just say... well... erm... you're not the only 6000 year old virgin in this room."

Aziraphale's eyes widened in surprise. He stared at the demon open-mouthed. Crowley was blushing to the tip of his aura.

"You mean you've never..." Aziraphale stammered, eyes still wide and staring.

"No," growled Crowley, whose fingers had stilled at last in favour of clutching the duvet anxiously.

" But... but you're... You're YOU!"

" I know... I know... I'm me...the Serpent of Eden...the master of Temptation... the bringer of Original Sin to the world of Man... and I've never… Well, you know. Feel free to have a good laugh, why don't you..." He slumped slightly and relaxed his grip on the somewhat relieved duvet. The silence seemed suddenly oppressive. Then he felt a gentle, hesitant touch on his knee and looked up into serious blue eyes. Aziraphale smiled softly...

"I'm sure we can manage," he said, an embarrassed look passing fleetingly across his face. "We both know the theory, just…" Crowley nodded. After all, it wasn't as if they hadn't seen humans in the throes of passion before. One couldn't spend 6000 years in the presence of humankind without the occasional embarrassing moment of opening a door to a room and finding its occupants in some improbable position or another, necessitating a hasty retreat and guaranteeing a certain degree of awkwardness for a few days afterwards. Indeed, Aziraphale had even had to be present at several bedding ceremonies [10] for various royal marriages when he was holding high office at court [11]. Crowley had always shied away from anything like that and despite the fact that humans appeared to find it an acceptably pleasant thing to do, it seemed to be too messy, too awkward and too uncool. He’d just had no desire to try it himself… until now.

They sat in slightly embarrassed silence for a while, neither sure quite how to move to the next stage. Crowley's fingers decided to revert to plucking at the duvet again but were halted as Aziraphale reached out and pulled the demon closer to him. He murmured, "We'll be fine," before pressing his lips against those of the anxious demon, feeling him melt into the kiss and realising that Crowley was trembling against him.

Dealing with buttons and zips wasn't easy when hands were shaking, and at times when laughter overtook them at the absurdity of it all, but finally they were lying together, flesh against flesh, uncertain lips and hesitant fingers touching, learning, seeking. Limbs entwined and soon their bodies were moving against each other with growing urgency... both unsure what was going to happen but both by that point desperate to satisfy that building pressure. Nothing else mattered. It was just them. One angel, one demon - absorbed with each other in a re-created Paradise.


********

Aziraphale lay on his side in Crowley's arms, feeling the demon's fingertips stroking softly up and down his back and sides while lips traced lazy patterns of adoration across any flesh within easy reach. Crowley was murmuring sleepy endearments in several ancient languages. Aziraphale sighed and felt the warmth spread within his chest as he listened to the hissing whispers and felt Crowley snuggle even closer before he was aware that the demon was starting to drift into a sated sleep.

As he lay there, Aziraphale couldn't help his mind going back to the events of a short time ago - how quickly their bodies had learned to move together, how natural it had felt to give and receive touches, to delight in seeing how his caresses had made the demon writhe in pleasure and in the way that his demon had returned these actions in a way which had actually surprised him. He had thought [12] that Crowley's more demonic nature would have come to the fore during love-making, but he had been almost shocked to find that the demon had been a gentle lover. Indeed he was slightly embarrassed to realise that the only mark resulting from their coupling was a bite mark on Crowley's shoulder which had been caused by him during a point where control over his body had flown right out of the window.

Aziraphale reflected that that had been something of a revelation too. Almost frightening in its intensity... but also glorious... As for the sound of Crowley's shuddering gasps and seeing the demon's expression reflect his own moment of desperate need mixed with sheer panic before he had clung to the angel, crying out in surprised ecstasy... Beautiful.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him.


********

Aziraphale awoke to find a sleeping demon sprawled across him, one arm across his belly and head against his chest, giving gentle hissing snores. He felt the demon's body move slightly, stirring from slumber to drowsy wakefulness. Crowley raised his head, face wearing a slightly puzzled frown. Aziraphale saw a flash of amber gold as those eyes cracked open slightly and looked down at him. Crowley gave a sleepy smile.

"Hello, Angel," Crowley mumbled and planted a sloppy kiss against the angel's chest before snuggling back against him.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the lithe body, drawing him closer and kissing dark hair.

"Hello, Serpent," he replied, softly.

"Any regrets?" murmured Crowley sleepily

"Just one," Aziraphale replied, feeling that he was about to state the obvious.

"Oh?"

"That we took 6000 years to get to this point."

"Perhaps we weren't ready for this until now..." Crowley said, pulling the angel closer and breathing in his scent.

"Hmmm?" Aziraphale stroked a stray wisp of hair from the demon's temple.

Crowley pulled away slightly and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at the angel.

"I mean," he said, "if this is all still part of the blasted Ineffable Plan then, well, maybe we weren't meant to get to here before this point in time. Even though we both had 'feelings' before now, it just wasn't the right time."

Aziraphale frowned slightly and looked up into the demon's suddenly serious expression. "You mean we didn't really know each other well enough?"

Crowley bent to plant a brief kiss on the angel's collar bone. "No," he said. "More that we didn't know ourselves well enough."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly. Crowley was right… he usually was. He bit his lip nervously. There was just one more thing he wanted to say, and he was dreading the response that he might get from the demon, who, at that moment, was staring at him with a look of concern. Aziraphale cleared his throat and sat up, looking down at his hands.

"I, er… I've been thinking," the angel said.

"Careful, Angel. No good will come of it," replied Crowley, trying to sound flippant. But his voice had gone tight and shaky. He looked at the angel and sighed. "Okay, now what?" he said with a resigned note to his voice. He'd known Aziraphale for so long that he could tell when the angel was about to say something which he thought might not be received well, and all the signs were there that this one was going to be a doosie.

"The future. I… I was thinking about moving out of London. Finding somewhere quieter, fewer people."

"M...moving? B...but your books? The shop?" Crowley babbled. He felt as if his world, which a mere few minutes ago had been filled with something almost too beautiful to think about, had started to crash around him and burn away to leave just another flaming, stinking pit of Hell.

"I was thinking of setting up an on-line shop. It seems to be all the rage these days. I'll rent the shop out… Keep it as a failsafe, should things not work out… You know… Insurance, sort of." He reached out to touch Crowley on the shoulder but the demon flinched away and turned to sit on the side of the bed, eyes downcast and his shoulders tense.

"Where?" Crowley muttered.

"I've found a couple of places which might be suitable. The better of the two is a place on the South Downs. Nice and quiet. The…er… the details are on-line. I… I just need to arrange a viewing." Aziraphale could feel waves of anxiety rolling off the demon. Why, he wondered…

"When?" Crowley's voice was a mere whisper. is mouth had gone dry and his whole body felt cold. He wanted to run, to get away from the feeling of embarrassment and stupidity. That would teach him to let his guard down! He should have kept his feelings to himself…

"As soon as possible. It all really depends on one thing." Aziraphale looked very nervous. He was chewing his lip and had gone pale. This was the moment he'd been dreading.

"What 'thing'?" Crowley could hear the bitterness in his own voice.

"Come with me…" Aziraphale said.

"What? You want me to trot along with you to view some… some… some back-of-beyond place to give my verdict on your potential new residence and then calmly go back to my flat while you and your books swan off to some rural idyll?!" Crowley had turned and was glaring at Aziraphale with something between anguish and anger written across his face.

"No… I meant to live… Crowley? Please?"

Crowley felt as if the bubble of his outrage had been jabbed with a pin. He tried to speak, but no words were forthcoming. All he could do was look at the angel and nod. Eventually he managed a very quiet and very shaky "Yessssss", as he slumped back onto the pillows and allowed the angel's arms to tighten around him possessively.

Aziraphale held Crowley tightly against him, shaking with relief. He knew that Crowley would like the cottage, and that he'd pretend that he hated it, because that was Crowley through and through. He wouldn't have it any other way. He wasn't foolish enough to think that there would be no problems, both in their relationship and with the Powers That Be on both sides, but he also knew that together they would work their way through them. After all, they'd stood together before, and that had all worked out for the best, hadn't it?

Finally, they had found their mutual comfort zone.


********

Fin.


[1] And he should know. Some of the early fights with Crowley, when the earth was still quite new and only just out of its wrapping, had been particularly vicious. You try signing for a new corporation Up There when you are right handed and said hand was still on earth, lying in the sand somewhere in the area which is now Lebanon.

[2] Aziraphale had seen a programme once about people adopting abandoned puppies and kittens and had decided that the pre-adoption questions were a sensible way to go before the prospective home for his precious books was given the thumbs up.

[3] Or forgive!

[4] Heavenly_books@gmail.com

[5] It was actually just a soundtrack playing over Hell's public address system, but the management felt it was what was expected and that it was good for moral within the workforce.

[6] And he was embarrassed to admit to himself that it had played it quite a number of times and had been strongly influenced by a particularly bad genre of romance novels which he had become quite hooked on during the 1970s.

[7] Of a kind he wasn't meant to have and which rated alongside the other sort of reservation which he had always believed were for other people.

[8] Trust me, this was never going to happen.

[9] Which was more or less the case apart from the fact that snakes about to strike are not normally three sheets to the wind and trying to work out which target out of the four blurred ones to aim for.

[10] Just Google it, okay?

[11] Although he had made sure that he averted his eyes throughout and had always prayed that it would all be over quickly. It usually was.

[12] And he had to confess that this thought had occurred many times in the past, but especially since Tadfield.