Archive of Our Own

“Oh, hello! It’s…” Crowley suddenly realized that while the angel with the fluffy white hair had introduced himself when they last met, the name hadn’t stuck. Hoping his blush was hidden, he finished with, “…you.”

The angel turned to look at him. His eyes looked tired, but he smiled kindly. “Aziraphale,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name, though.”

Crowley felt a rush of warmth. Not only had Aziraphale immediately understood his predicament and not called him out on it, he’d politely pretended to be in similar difficulty. Unless, of course, Crowley hadn’t actually introduced himself. That was possible. He had a tendency to be absentminded about such things when he hyperfixated on a project. “Crowley.”

Aziraphale smiled at him again. “How’s your nebula?”

“She’s cooking up quite nicely,” Crowley said. They’d begun walking together down the corridor. He had no idea where Aziraphale was headed, but he himself had no particular place to be, so he followed along. “And your… people, I believe you called them? How are they?”

At this, Aziraphale’s face fell briefly before he caught it and yanked the smile back onto his face. “They’re quite complicated, people. Lots of details to work out. Meetings can get rather… heated.”

Crowley understood that. There was a reason he’d been tasked to design his latest nebula solo. “Would you like to talk about it?” he offered. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Aziraphale glanced at him sideways. His hands began to wring together in front of his robes. “I…” he began. Another glance. “That’s kind of you to offer—”

“Not at all! It’s just what we do for each other, yeah? Help each other out? Lend an ear when needed?”

“Yes, but…” He sighed. “I’m not sure it would be, hrm, appropriate for me to… discuss my frustrations, you see. It feels too akin to gossip. Or complaint.”

“Nah,” Crowley said, clapping him on the back. Aziraphale was such an overly anxious angel, more so than any other he’d met. “Can be helpful to talk things over with a neutral party. Maybe I can help you see things from a different side. If nothing else, being able to process those frustrations away from the source means that you’re less likely to speak out of turn.” He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I admit, I’ve been guilty of doing that occasionally. Sometimes I wish I had a, ngh, companion to speak to about my own troubles.”

Aziraphale’s hands had stilled, but he was still only looking at Crowley in quick glances. “Doesn’t it feel, I don’t know, blasphemous to have negative feelings at all? I should be happy in my work. It’s a privilege to be on this project.”

“And are you?” Crowley asked. Finally, the angel looked at him and didn’t immediately dart his eyes away. “Happy in the project, I mean. Not with the other members of your team, but the project itself. Building the people.”

For the first time, Aziraphale’s face lit up with pure joy, all worries eclipsed. It was not unlike watching the birth of a new star. “They are fascinating, Crowley.”

“Right,” Crowley said, a bit dazzled by the light. “That settles it, then. You’d better come with me. We’ll have a friendly discussion, and you can make sure that your distress about heated meetings doesn’t cloud your enthusiasm for the project the Almighty blessed you with.”

He held out an arm, and after another quick look of uncertainty, Aziraphale took it with a grateful smile.

A friend. Aziraphale had always wanted one. Other angels seemed to find them amongst each other well enough. Somehow, though, he never could seem to fit in. An outcast, he once said to Crowley after getting to know the other angel a little better.

“Pshaw,” Crowley said, blowing a raspberry. “You’re not an outcast! You’re a loner.”

Aziraphale liked him just a little better for this kind way of viewing it. Crowley actually was a loner. He didn’t mind being on his own and was happy in his own company. Why he’d decided that he liked Aziraphale was a mystery. All he knew was that it felt good to have someone to talk to. Someone who genuinely seemed to like him.

It took him awhile to realize that. At first, Aziraphale suspected that Crowley simply liked to talk, and was willing to do so with whoever would listen to him go on at length about tidal locking, interstellar reddening, and velocity dispersion. But Crowley encouraged him to speak as well, and he never interrupted when Aziraphale went off on a tangent about the lymphatic system or the complexities of hair growth cycling. He often asked follow-up questions and seemed genuinely interested in the answers.

“Are you sure I’m not boring you?” Aziraphale once asked.

Crowley made one of his tongue-heavy scoffing noises. They were sitting together on a tall mountain on a planet that had yet to be named, so far away from where Earth would be located that it was possible no human would ever discover it. Crowley had felt sorry for it, alone out here, so Aziraphale had suggested that they visit it. Now, Crowley turned and lay down with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. “You could never bore me.”

That was another thing about Crowley—he didn’t seem to have the same reservations about personal space that most angels did. At first, Aziraphale had been hesitant to reciprocate, but he’d come to like the feeling of touch. “I know people aren’t your area of interest,” he said, brushing a stray red curl from Crowley’s forehead.

“Which is why it’s not boring! There's so much I can learn. Besides—” Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale’s fingers brushed through his hair again, this time for no particular reason. “—you have the nicest voice. I could listen to it all day.”

It was in that moment that Aziraphale stopped worrying about whether or not he was a nuisance.

Time passed. The universe’s corners filled in; the blueprints for building people neared finalizing. Teams were created to plan the layout of earth and the abundance of lifeforms that would inhabit it. A call went through Heaven looking for volunteers for a special, top-secret project to do with ensuring that the Almighty’s plan for humans went off without a hitch.

Crowley’s job duties lessened as his project neared completion. Aziraphale’s work days, on the other hand, grew longer and more exhausting, fraught with tension. Many times, he left hours-long meetings with dry, red eyes and his hair mussed from running his fingers through it in frustration. Often, Crowley took one look at him and dragged him to a quiet corner to chat.

“Tell me about it,” he’d say, while digging his fingers into the tightest of Aziraphale’s muscles, massaging them loose.

And Aziraphale would obey, no longer concerned whether or not it counted as gossip or complaint when he spilled his annoyances to his best friend. The fingers on his shoulder muscles (or lower back, or the meat of his palms) always felt so good, and his corporation would relax along with his mind as he spoke.

“Sometimes,” he said one evening when he’d finished his ranting and the two of them were sitting side by side, “I wish we had tiny models of people. Little simulations that we could play with and see if all our design theory works in practice. There’s so much to account for, so much that might go wrong.”

He twisted his hands together at the thought, and Crowley sighed in sympathy. “I understand. Moons are like that, actually. They seem simple enough, but there’s so much maths involved. One wrong calculation and pffft.” He made an explosive noise. “Useless. We’ve actually designated a few planets as dumping grounds for spare moons.”

“That’s smart.” Aziraphale hesitated, then asked, “What’s a moon?”

Crowley laughed. “See? This is why I like you. You ask questions when you don’t know the answers. You don’t pretend you already know what I’m talking about, and you don’t get angry with me if I mention something you’ve never heard of.”

“Why would I be angry?”

A shrug. “A lot of the other angels think I do it to show how much smarter I am or something. They don’t believe me when I say I’m a little absentminded about these things. Like when I don’t remember their names even though they’ve told me. They never believe it’s not intentional.”

“But that’s just who you are!” Aziraphale said, distressed that anyone could treat his poor companion as if his absentmindedness was a flaw rather than a lovable quirk.

Their eyes met, and something strange and shivery passed through Aziraphale. It was gone before he had a chance to analyze it, and then Crowley was standing, reaching for his hand and pulling him to his feet. “Come with me. Moons are better understood in person.”

Crowley often grew bored, now that he had so much time on his hands and Aziraphale was stuck endlessly discussing the minutia of God’s magnum opus. It felt stupid to be jealous of a creature that didn’t even exist yet, but he couldn’t help himself. He was looking forward to the day when humans were finished and distributed to their home on earth, and he could spend more time with his friend. Maybe they could even find a way to be assigned to the same team for whatever the next project would be.

Each day, he found himself looking for corners of the universe that he thought Aziraphale would enjoy. Places they could retreat to while the angel unwound under Crowley’s ministrations and settled back into himself again. It had been ages since Crowley had last seen Aziraphale’s sun-bright smile and he wanted it back, thank you very much.

He wasn’t prepared for the day when Aziraphale left work not simply exhausted, but distraught.

“’Ziraphale! Are you… What’s wrong?”

The angel only shook his head, barely meeting Crowley’s eye and rushing down the hall, away from the other angels spilling out of the conference room. Crowley scurried after him, not daring to speak again until they were alone.

“Angel—”

“Take me to your favorite place in the universe,” Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley hesitated. “I’d planned to… You see, I found a spot that I thought you’d…” He trailed off as Aziraphale shook his head.

“Not somewhere you think I’ll love. Your favorite place. I need to be in a place that is already filled with a love I can recognize wholly and without… conditions.”

So Crowley took him to Alpha Centauri. It wasn’t the first time they’d been to the star system, though Crowley hadn’t admitted that it was his favorite at the time. The concept of a favorite, much like the concept of a best friend, was not quite in keeping with the philosophy of Heaven. He didn’t mind this, himself, but Aziraphale was always stricter about these things. It had been jarringly unusual for him to speak of favorites, and even more so, about Crowley’s love rather than the Almighty’s.

“What happened?” he asked when they reached their destination.

“I’m scared,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley wordlessly put his arms around him, pulling him close. It was a strange impulse and not a thing he’d ever done before, but Aziraphale clung to him, making him think it was the right choice.

“I’ve learned something… new,” he continued, face pressed into Crowley’s shoulder. “You see, people—they’re meant to breed and populate the earth with their species. We’ve built in all sorts of complex systems of pleasure and connection to make sure they do so. Erogenous zones, instinctual sexual drive that kicks in once their bodies reach a certain maturity, an innate helplessness that requires them to rely on other humans to thrive on earth. They’ll band together to survive. Their hormones will drive them to seek out sexual contact, and the erogenous zones will activate so that they want to repeat the procreative act often. Their young will require extensive care for years to come, long enough to learn how to create deep, interpersonal connections.”

Though Crowley understood only a fraction of the detail Aziraphale was giving him, he nodded. “It sounds very well thought-out.”

The angel in his arms shivered violently. “I thought so, too. Only today, we got word that… that… this project… it’s not what we believed it to be.”

The words poured out now. A perfect garden meant to test God’s pet creatures. A forbidden fruit, placed not hidden away on an inaccessible mountain, or as far out of reach as the planet’s one moon, but right in the middle of the garden, luscious and tempting. When the people inevitably gave in to temptation, however long that took, they would be ripped from the Almighty’s light, ejected from the garden, and sent out to live in the harsh wilderness of the earth. They would be plagued by storms, diseases, wild animals, and worst of all, each other. Without a direct link to God’s love to guide them, they could use and abuse the systems built into them however they wished. They could band together, or abandon each other. They could help, or kill, or love, or hurt their young, or martyr themselves in pointless wars, or provide acts of service, or use God’s name to prey on each other.

“It will be a gamble every time,” Aziraphale cried. “We built their systems to encourage connection and love and kindness, but it was always with the Almighty’s guidance at the forefront. Now that it’s too late to change the plans, I don’t know that we’ve done nearly enough. It’s all going to fail. It’s almost like it was meant to fail from the beginning.”

By this time, they were seated together, Aziraphale still curled up in Crowley’s arms. Crowley pondered his words for a moment, then asked, “Then what was the point of building the people in the first place?”

Aziraphale sighed. “To test them. To see how many of them will resist their baser instincts and the temptations of their world, and instead return to God’s light.”

“But that’s…” Crowley held his tongue. He remembered Aziraphale’s reaction the first time he’d called one of the Almighty’s plans idiocy, and he didn’t want to insult his best friend’s work in the same way.

Chuckling against Crowley’s skin, Aziraphale said, “Idiocy? I know. I don’t understand, either, and I’m so desperately sad for them.” He sniffled. “It might be blasphemous to admit this, but I’m sorry that I was ever part of the project.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Crowley whispered, stroking Aziraphale’s white curls.

“It’s nice, holding you,” Aziraphale said. “Other angels don’t like to touch, but it feels very comfortable with you. I… I used that as inspiration in our planning. I hope you don’t mind. The original plans called for the erogenous zones to be limited to the genitals, since they’re what’s involved in procreation. But touch feels so nice, and I thought the humans might find their way to interpersonal connections better with a few other points of, hrm, erotic contact.”

Something strange stirred in Crowley. He kept his voice low. “Oh? Where else did your team add them?”

“The skin, fingers, hair, the underside of one’s chin, down the side of the neck, the earlobe, lips… Honestly, most of the body ended up on the list under the right circumstances.” He buried his face more deeply into Crowley’s shoulder, hiding. “I might have gotten a bit carried away. Sandalphon was particularly distressed at the idea of the tongue. He said the tongue already had enough uses, what with its roles in digestion and speech, but he was overruled in the end. Turns out, its ability to lubricate won most of the team over.”

Crowley considered this for a few moments. Then he darted his tongue out and licked the curls that were tickling his chin. Aziraphale jumped back.

“Crowley! What was that?”

He blushed. “Sorry. I’d never tried putting my tongue on anything, and I thought, since your hair was so close…”

“Well, you must remember that I also said under the right circumstances. Besides, we’re angels, not humans. We have no need to procreate!”

“We don’t have genitals, either. Procreation isn’t the point.” Crowley shrugged. “You said it feels good, the touching.”

“And it does, but…”

“And you said that it helps foster connections. Love.”

Aziraphale put his hands on his hips. “But I already love you.”

“And I love you,” Crowley agreed with a nod. “We’re angels. We love all of the Host, and our Creator, and the things She creates. But I love you different. I love to listen to you, and talk to you, and be near you, and to touch you. Maybe it was the touching that made things different, ’Ziraphale, because it used to be normal, and then bam! Just like a nebula exploding into existence, you suddenly became my whole world.”

He felt so vulnerable admitting it, and bit his lower lip, praying that his best friend wouldn’t fly off and leave him here alone with his favorite star system.

The shock that ran through Aziraphale’s corporation at Crowley’s words paralyzed him for several seconds. He’d known for a long time now that he cared for Crowley more than was expected for a fellow angel. It had been easy enough to pretend that the excess love was an innocent reaction to being treated with kindness, a rarity thus far in his long life. It should have been simple to make the correlation between their physical and emotional relationship. Especially given his work on the humans. Somehow, though, he’d never done so.

Crowley watched him, biting his lip, anxiety vibrating in every tense muscle as if he expected Aziraphale to sever their friendship for the admission. He had no intention to do so, but all the same, he had a decision to make. If he told Crowley that this type of talk was inappropriate, that they needed to preserve their boundaries better, his friend would not press him. Crowley respected him, respected his choices.

But could Aziraphale really pull away, now that he was in so deep? Regardless of what was expected or appropriate, he loved Crowley, and it wasn’t only with the steady, constant love of the Almighty.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley mumbled, looking away. “Shouldn’t have said anything.”

That wouldn’t do. Aziraphale reached out and took his hand. “I’m glad you did.” When Crowley looked back to him, gratitude and hope in his eyes, he said, “I feel the same. Yet, I would appreciate it if you didn’t lick my hair again.”

Crowley burst into laughter. “You’re so funny, Aziraphale.”

That was something no one had ever said to him before. He smiled. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“That’s why it’s so brilliant.” Crowley shook his head. “Okay, I won’t lick your hair again. I didn’t mean to do it wrong.”

“It’s not about doing it wrong.” Feeling particularly daring, Aziraphale raised the hand he held to his mouth. “Hair has no nerve endings, so to activate those zones, you have to handle it in a way that excites pleasure where it meets the skin. As for the tongue, it’s best used in conjunction with other erogenous zones.”

He flicked his tongue out to sweep along the pad of Crowley’s index finger and watched the other angel’s face go slack with a soft, “Oh.”

Drawing the finger into his mouth, Aziraphale pressed his lips around its base and sucked lightly. Crowley squirmed and whimpered. When Aziraphale withdrew and let his hand go, he held it up in front of his face, staring intently, then tried to suck on his own finger. He frowned and said, “Doesn’t feel the same when I do it.”

Aziraphale nodded. “People can use their zones to self-pleasure, of course, but it’s not the same experience as with another person.”

“Teach me,” Crowley whispered hoarsely.

Well. Aziraphale had never turned down an opportunity to educate before. No need to change things up now.

Crowley grew even more distracted than usual. It was a good thing he had no more work to complete, because he doubted he could pull together even the simplest satellite orbit in this state. He and Aziraphale spent every spare moment they had exploring this new aspect of their friendship. Alpha Centauri became their refuge, a place to hide while they held each other skin-to-skin and explored bodies with hungry lips.

They were not human, and wore no human bodies, so the experience wasn’t the same as it would be on earth. They shared touch, their essences mingling along the planes of corporations and through open-mouth kisses. He would never, ever tire of it, and he had no idea how other angels had failed to discover something so tantalizing and beautiful.

Of course, if they ever did, perhaps such things would be forbidden. By unspoken agreement, both angels kept this secret for themselves.

Crowley had hoped that Aziraphale would have more free time, now that his project was complete, plans turned in and true purpose revealed. Unfortunately, the Almighty rejected the people-blueprints and sent them back to Aziraphale’s team with the directive to improve them.

“She’s asked us to make sure they have a greater chance of success,” Aziraphale told him, eyes shining. The joy had come back into his smile after they’d made love for the first time, and now, it seemed, his determination to succeed at his assigned task had returned as well. “We’ll be working very closely with the top-secret group.”

“Really?” Crowley said, eyebrows raising. He hadn’t heard much about the team, only that it was still taking volunteers to help with an Important Project.

Aziraphale looked around despite their isolation and lowered his voice to a whisper. “It turns out, they’ve been tasked with working against the humans, creating motivations for them to forsake the Almighty.” He shuddered. “Apparently, it’s all part of the Great Plan. They’ll provide obstacles, and each time the obstacles are overcome, the humans will be one step closer to the light.”

That didn’t sound… entirely aboveboard. “What kind of obstacles?” Crowley asked.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands together. “We aren’t allowed to have the details, only the combination of emotions, instincts, and sensations each obstacle will stimulate. My team will build shields against that, giving the humans weapons to use against the temptations.”

“Prayer?” Crowley said, trying not let his skepticism show.

Aziraphale grinned as if he could see exactly what Crowley was hiding. He probably could, given how well they knew each other by now. “Prayer is always appreciated. And if we left it all some of the team, that’s all the humans would have. But no, there will be other avenues of help. Love—the earthly kind—will be a big part of that.”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows. “I’m glad to see our explorations have proved useful.”

“Stop that,” Aziraphale said with a blush.

“You love it.”

“I do. And if this kind of love can save an angel, save me, from despair, I’m sure it will be a godsend—literally—for many souls.”

Conversation halted for a time as their mouths were otherwise occupied. Later, as Crowley trailed fingers up a soft belly covered in white hair, he had an idea. “’Ziraphale? Would it help if there were someone, you know, on the inside? Of the top-secret team, I mean?”

Aziraphale propped himself up on one elbow, a furrow between his brows. “I assume you’re referring to yourself? You’d be sworn to secrecy, Crowley. You couldn’t tell me anything.”

“Couldn’t tell you, no,” Crowley said slowly. “But maybe I could find other ways to get the gist across to you? And even if I couldn’t, I could help guide the team toward obstacles that can be defeated more easily by the weapons you’re building, which are not top-secret. Besides, if I was working opposite you, we’d at least be on the same project, and eventually, we’d be working together.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, his voice thick with worry. “Is it really a good plan? Besides, wouldn’t you miss working on…” He waved his hand out at the endless stars in the distance around them. “All this?”

“All this,” Crowley said, “is pretty much done. I haven’t had any work for ages now. Come on, ’Ziraphale. We’d make a good team. A group. A group of the two of us. You and me, fighting for people together.”

Aziraphale smiled then. “A group of the two of us,” he said. “I like that. Alright. If you’re sure.”

Crowley volunteered the next day. His application was approved quickly by a mousy angel he’d never met before, and he was led into a conference room to be introduced to the rest of the team.

“Lucifer,” the mousy angel called from the door. “Newest recruit here for you.”

A tall angel with dark hair turned and smiled warmly at him. “Excellent. Welcome! Come in and make yourself at home.”

While Aziraphale wasn’t entirely confident in his team’s success, he was far more confident after months of planning with Crowley’s inside information. The plans were approved, and Project Earth was set to start within the week.

“Good job, everyone,” Baraqiel said as the team disbanded for the last time. “The whole of the Host is being summoned to an all-hands meeting in three days to present our work, as well as that of all the other teams involved in the creation of the universe. Make sure to look your best.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help beaming as he left the conference room and sought Crowley out. His smile faltered as he saw his friend’s fearful expression. “What—?” he began, only for Crowley to put a finger to his lips.

“With me,” he said, leading Aziraphale not out into the stars where they usually went, but to a tiny room filled with excess cleaning supplies. Crowley performed a miracle to lock them in. Then he sighed and said, “I messed up.”

Worry had been eating at Aziraphale’s insides since he’d first seen Crowley, but now a jolt of fear skidded through him. “Is it something to do with your obstacles? Or, oh goodness, did someone find out about us?”

He wasn’t sure which was worse—the thought of someone witnessing their intimate caresses or the discovery of their arrangement on behalf of the humans. Neither seemed to be the problem, however, as Crowley shook his head. “I never should have volunteered,” he fretted. “Angel—we’re to be banished. My team, I mean; not you and me. We’ll be cast out of Heaven so that we can properly tempt the humans on earth. We’ll be removed from God’s light.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t understand. Surely, they can’t just… just strip you or any other angel of your birthright… not if you don’t…” Understanding dawned. “…volunteer,” he finished, the word barely audible.

“I messed up,” Crowley repeated.

“If they didn’t tell you that that’s what you were signing up for, then they can’t force this on you, Crowley. We’ll appeal. It isn’t right. It’s—”

“Angel. I… um… didn’t read the fine print. When I signed the volunteer forms. I’m sorry.”

The truth settled between them, heavy and painful. Aziraphale put a hand to his mouth to hold back a sob. This wasn’t fair; they couldn’t be separated now! Why should Crowley have to live through this, simply because he’d tried help Aziraphale feel better about his work? Crowley was meant to live amongst the stars, not spend the rest of his life in servitude without even God’s light to comfort him. Now, here he was apologizing, when this was all Aziraphale’s fault!

“Don’t cry, ’Ziraphale.”

Crowley gathered him into his arms. Always comforting him, always giving, so selfless, so kind. “I’ll go with you,” Aziraphale said.

“Even if they were still taking volunteers, I wouldn’t let you, angel. It’s always been your job to take care of the humans from here.”

“But—”

“Listen.” Crowley leaned in to speak directly into his ear. “I overheard something I wasn’t meant to hear. It’s the reason I’m telling you this. After they banish us, the rest of the Host will have their memories altered. You won’t remember that we volunteered. You won’t remember that there was a team working on this for the Almighty’s purpose. They don’t want angels to remember demons—that’s what they’re calling us—fondly. So you’ll remember a war where we rebelled and were cast out. You’ll remember that we were banished for our hubris and greed and whatever other sins we’re accused of. That way, you’ll never be tempted to work with us.”

Aziraphale took this in, anger rising up inside him. “That’s not fair.”

“The others don’t mind,” Crowley said with a shrug. “They understood what they were signing up for. They chose this role in the Great Plan. I tried to back out already, ’Ziraphale. I can’t. I know too much; I know too many of the players to properly believe in their Fall even if they alter my memory. I’d be a loose end.”

It felt like a noose tightening around his neck. “Crowley,” he sobbed. “I can’t lose you.”

“And I have a plan to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Of course he did. Crowley always had a plan. He was the smartest, most wonderful creature that had ever existed. Aziraphale smiled up at him through watery eyes. “Tell me?”

He did. It was not a plan that Aziraphale liked. He was reluctant to write the note for himself: “Volunteer to be an envoy to earth. It’s crucial that you get placement there.”

“Put it someplace where you’ll find it easily,” Crowley told him, “but not too quickly. My team is being sequestered and prepped for the exile until the big meeting in a few days. Lucifer will show his face before the Host so everyone will remember it, and Gabriel will perform the miracle to change everyone’s understanding of the situation.”

“What if something goes wrong? What if I never find the note? Or what if you accidentally grab a crucial memory and I don’t even remember who I am afterwards?” Aziraphale really, really didn’t want to go through with this.

Crowley stroked his cheek. “Trust me, angel. I’ll take care of you.” A noise from outside the cupboard startled them both, and fear washed over Crowley’s expression again. “I don’t have a lot of time. Lucifer only reluctantly let me come say my goodbyes. We need to do this quickly.”

There were far too many unknowns. “How can you be sure that I won’t try to hurt you when we next see each other? I don’t want to hurt you!”

“I’ll be careful,” Crowley said—a reassurance that didn’t quite reassure. At Aziraphale’s expression, he huffed out a small laugh and said, “I’ll leave you the memory of our first meeting. Long before we became friends. So you’ll know who I am when we meet again and you’re less likely to, I dunno, destroy me on sight. And I’ll approach slowly, feeling out the situation.” He took Aziraphale’s hand. “This is our best chance. As soon as it’s safe to do so, I’ll return the memories to you exactly how I take them.”

“I don’t want to be without them,” Aziraphale whined, though he knew, logically, that the plan was as solid as it could be under their current constraints.

“Better to be without them temporarily, my love, than to have them distorted forever.”

It took everything in Aziraphale not to start sobbing again as he pulled Crowley into a fierce hug. “I will always love you. Even when I don’t remember you. You told me once that I was your entire universe. Well, you are my whole heart.”

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, and kissed him.

“Said your goodbyes?” Lucifer drawled when Crowley skidded back into the room where his team was preparing for banishment.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yep. Done.”

“Whoever it was, they won’t remember that goodbye in a few days. I don’t know why this was so important. And I sincerely hope you emphasized that they cannot say a word to anyone, else I’ll make sure it’s your neck on the line instead of mine.”

“It’s taken care of,” Crowley said. “He won’t say a word. I swear.”

“He’d better not.” Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust you. Why in the name of all things holy would you sign a binding contract without knowing what it says? This team is meant to be made up of volunteers, not reluctant hangers-on.”

“Lesson learned,” Crowley said. What else could he say? “Always read the fine print.”

Several nearby angels leaned in close to whisper together. One turned to look at him while the others sniggered. Crowley’s heart sank. He already missed Aziraphale.

Something was missing. Aziraphale searched, but he couldn’t remember what he was searching for. He wandered aimlessly until it was time to meet with the Host for debriefing on the Earth Project. Somehow, he made it through the presentations, though the something missing nagged at him throughout.

When the top-secret team was announced, however, he looked up eagerly, wanting to know who it was that he’d been working with all this time. Only one angel went up to the podium.

“Hi everyone,” the angel said. “Some of you already know me. My name is Lucifer and I’ve been leading the group responsible for making sure the humans are properly tested on their journey. My team will be continuing that duty throughout the millennia of earth’s existence, as it’s a project that needs ongoing maintenance. Thank you all for your support.”

With that, he swept from the room. A few angels around Aziraphale murmured about how that hadn’t been a proper presentation. Before much more could be said, Gabriel reclaimed the podium and said, “Everyone! Thank you for your attendance and attention. I have one more duty to perform before you go. For the next stage of the Great Plan, it’s my privilege to introduce to you the opposition.”

Aziraphale didn’t have a chance to question what that meant. He left the chamber with the rest of the Host, heartened by Gabriel’s rousing speech thanking them all for the hard work they’d put into casting the rebels down to Hell. The war had been exhausting, and while angels didn’t need sleep in the way that the people he’d designed did, Aziraphale found a quiet room to lay down. He itched to fly out to sit on a spare moon somewhere, and had no idea where that urge came from.

When he turned onto his side, something in his pocket crinkled. Confused—he never put things in his pockets—he pulled out a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and read, “Volunteer to be an envoy to earth. It’s crucial that you get placement there.” He recognized his own handwriting. Goodness. Had he been so focused on work, then on the ensuing battle in Heaven, that he’d forgotten writing this? Oh! This must be what he’d been searching for!

Suddenly, Aziraphale felt enormously better. It felt good to put his finger on what had been missing. He didn’t remember why he’d written this note, but he must’ve had a good reason. Probably something to do with overseeing the humans and making sure they stayed on the right path. After all, demons had never been part of the original plan. It only made sense for one of his team—the team who had given the humans tools to use against earthly temptations—to act as their guardian against Hell.

Feeling slightly more energized now that he had a plan, Aziraphale abandoned his intended nap and set off to inquire with Gabriel about how to volunteer for earth duty.

“That went down like a lead balloon.” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. His angel had done it. He’d won himself a placement on earth. It was the one part of the plan that Crowley hadn’t been able to control.

“Yes, it did, rather,” Aziraphale said, only looking at him in short bursts.

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.” Crowley couldn’t help talking to him the way he’d always had. The angel looked so beautiful there on the wall, wind whipping at his robes. It had been far too long since they’d seen each other. “First offence and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.”

Aziraphale still wasn’t looking at him, not really, even though Crowley couldn’t stop staring at him. He seemed uncomfortable, but he wasn’t running away. Or smiting Crowley, which had been a possibility. “Well,” the angel said eventually, “it must be bad…”

He blinked as if confused, and Crowley rushed to speak. “Crawly,” he said, giving the demon name he’d been assigned. He didn’t ask for Aziraphale’s name, and if the angel noticed the lapse, he didn’t say anything. Likely he thought that Crowley, too, remembered their first meeting long, long ago, a meeting where Aziraphale had introduced himself. He probably thought Crowley remembered his name from that moment. The irony, really…

Aziraphale ought not to be having a conversation with a demon. And if it were any other demon, he would have sent the creature from his sight at once. He recognized Crawly, though, despite never knowing his former name. He’d watched him birth an entire nebula on his own. What a shame, really. Aziraphale had suspected even back then that the angel’s questions might lead him astray.

He wondered if demons could be redeemed, the same way humans could. Could talking to him, perhaps, be an exercise in testing that hypothesis? Aziraphale supposed he could use that excuse if any of the higher-ups questioned his actions in this moment. He hadn’t been told not to try to bring demons back into the light.

Something about Crawly’s voice was strangely familiar, and not only from their first fleeting interaction. In the years before the war, Aziraphale had spotted the angel a few times, always from a distance. Perhaps he had heard him speak, too, out of sight in an adjacent room or corridor, so that his voice was never attached to his face. That might explain it.

The soothing quality of it, though… that was harder to understand. Perhaps something to do with him being a demon of temptation? After all, he’d easily persuaded Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit that was not hidden on a mountain or high up on the moon—and why did that sound so familiar?

The whole conversation flustered him, and Aziraphale was just thinking about how to escape from it without being rude (and certainly without more bloodshed, if you please; not that he had his sword any longer…) when the rain began.

Crawly stepped closer to him, ducking slightly, and without thinking, Aziraphale sheltered him under a wing, the same as the former-angel had once sheltered him. Then his brain caught up with him, and his heart began to gallop in his chest. This was dangerous. He was standing right next to a demon. Right next to a creature who was his sworn enemy, a creature who could turn into a snake at will, a creature who was now close enough to strike him if he so chose. What in the good lord’s name was he doing?

But Crawly didn’t strike. He didn’t move again. He only spoke two words: “Thanks, ’Ziraphale.”

“And I would like to spend… ngh.”

There was nothing more for it. Six thousand years. Crowley had tried to make it work, tried to keep Aziraphale safe from the truth of the Fall. He’d always planned to return the memories, once he could count on not being smitten from existence when getting close enough for a kiss. Then time passed, and Heaven and Hell both changed, and Crowley changed, and then too much time had passed…

He was a coward, really. He could have returned these memories centuries ago, perhaps longer. But Crowley had kept them, selfishly, because he wanted Aziraphale to love him for who he had become, not who he’d been back in Heaven.

It was time, however. If Aziraphale was reentering the lions’ den…

Crowley kissed him. It was nothing like their kisses from before time began. It was hard and painful, and Crowley clutched the angel to him, making sure he didn’t pull away before all the memories were returned, close enough to catch him in case he collapsed under the weight of them.

But Aziraphale didn’t collapse. And when the last memory—those final moments in the storage closet in Heaven—passed from Crowley’s mouth to Aziraphale’s, Crowley pulled back. He watched Aziraphale, begging him to understand not only the way his reality had just shifted, but the reasons why Crowley had withheld the truth for so long.

“I…” Aziraphale said, his voice trembling. He drew himself up. “I forgive you.”

Crowley deflated. He didn’t want to be forgiven. He wanted to be loved. “Don’t bother,” he muttered before turning on his heel. At least Aziraphale had the information now. He would be armed with the truth about Heaven as he went Upstairs and tried to make a difference.

He reached the Bentley and stopped. This wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault. How could Crowley expect him to cope with having his entire history rewritten in a matter of seconds, especially with the Metatron breathing down his neck?

Patience. Crowley had never been particularly fond of waiting, but he could manage. Somehow, this wait seemed worse than all the thousand-year gaps he’d been forced to keep apart from Aziraphale in the early days.

Across the road, the bell over the bookshop door tinkled. Crowley straightened where he stood by the car and watched as his best friend trailed behind the Metatron. He watched as the elevator was called, as Aziraphale hesitated and then looked in his direction. Their eyes met, and a thousand unspoken words passed between them.

Aziraphale was angry.

Oh, not at Crowley, though he had no doubt he’d one day get a bollocking for keeping those memories to himself for so long. This anger was for Heaven. For the lies they’d propagated, for the time they’d stolen, for the life the two of them could have had. Something else flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes. Determination. Resolve. Strength. Aziraphale had a Plan.

Then he turned away and entered the elevator. Crowley watched him disappear, simultaneously itching to flee and to act. The message from Aziraphale had been clear, however. Stay here, be safe, and wait for him.

So Crowley swung into their Bentley and drove off to find someplace safe to wait for further instructions. He didn’t have any faith left in Heaven, Hell, or the Great Plan, but he certainly had faith in his angel.

And because somehow, after all this time, he was still an optimist, Crowley had hope that maybe this time, something would change.