Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Our fanfiction tale begins a few days after Armadidn’t, which was also a few days after two impossible miracles happened. One; A demon bathed in Holy Water. Two, an angel basked in Hellfire. If that wasn't a sign of the End of Times (or the Preventative End of the End of Times,) then what was?

Life on a rescued and restored Earth had been rather calm and peaceful after that adventure. Adam was more or less human, with no sign of any otherworldly powers (at least as far as Crowley and Aziraphale could tell.) That witchy girl and doofus-looking chap were happily fornicating (good for them) and Crowley and Aziraphale continued to fraternize with each other, undisturbed after their clever switcharoo.

It was on this day that a gentle knock rapped upon the exterior of Crowley’s door.

Now, this was not usual. Though the only visitors that Crowley received were the uninvited and unwanted kind, which included salespeople, religious converters, and demons-- all of which were ironically on par with each other. So when the doorbell rang, he ignored it, knowing it wasn't a demon. Demons weren’t so polite as to ring doorbells and knock.

When it rang again, partnered with another bout of rapturous knocking, he snarled and shoved himself out of his loveseat to stalk toward the door, ready to throw a bestial roar into the visitor’s face and give them a nightmare of an experience. It wouldn’t do any good. The visitor’s replacement would only show up some other day to make another sales pitch or ask if he had some time to hear a religious lesson.

Nonetheless, Crowley yanked open the door, preparing to unleash a magically frightful sight of scales and fangs to the visitor. But his growing grimace fell abruptly upon the sight of... her. What stood outside his door was not a salesperson, though if she were, be may have considered purchasing whatever she offered to sell him. She was neither a religious converter, per say, though if she were, he would have lent at least one of his ears for a time.

The person standing outside his door was simply an ordinary woman-- at first glance. She was shorter than him, appearing only as old as two decades or so. Imperfectly curled ringlets of hair splayed around her shoulders, bearing a color of gold-spun straw that would cause Rumpelstiltskin to faint upon the sight of it. Her flyaways gave her a slight halo effect in the morning sunlight, and her short bangs stuck up like a cockatiel’s crest, freshly styled by the infamous barber named slumber. The woman bore a grand smile upon her tired face that seemed to radiate from beneath her sun-deprived skin. And she was clad in only a shanty hospital gown.

“Hell-lo...” Crowley drawled in pleased surprise, eyeing her over. Her scent hit him a split second later, rushing forward with the vacuum of air caused by the whisked-open door. Receiving the scent, the demon scrunched his nose in confusion. “Aziraphale?”

The disguised angel answered promptly in chipper greeting. “Hi Crowley!” The angel then strode straight into his flat as if she were entirely familiar with it-- which she was. Crowley closed the door behind her and gawked after the non-stranger. “Wh-- why, why are you a woman?"

“Oh, it’s a bit of a long story,” she chuckled weakly, glancing back at the demon with a tightened smile that said ‘don’t worry about it’ before hurrying merrily off to the living room. Crowley followed her, his long arms open and awaiting answers. “Did the demons get to you?”

“No.”

“Angels?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Aziraphale waved away his concerns, having become wholly focused on Crowley’s decorative globe as if searching for something she’d misplaced-- and supposing that the Earth itself was the best place to start looking for it.

Crowley stood behind her shoulder, glancing over her again and doing his best not to criticize his friend’s unusually terrible sense of fashion. Well, at least, his more-than-usually terrible sense of fashion. A woman like that deserved to wear something much more stylish than a glorified human pillow case. “Then where’s your other body?”

“It’s fine. I froze it.” she assured him, rotating the globe and furrowing her brow in dismay, having difficulty wracking her memory. The distraction behind her was not helping her concentration.

“Froze …” Crowley emphasized slowly, his teeth biting together and his eyes widening behind his glasses. “... it?” He then peeled the optical artifact off his face, revealing his bug-eyed orbs of fire.

Aziraphale hesitated to abandon the globe and turn to face him. She knew very well that when the glasses came off, the demon meant business. “Yes.” With a short sigh, she prepared an explanation, lifting her hands to ease it out. “Here’s the thing, Crowley, ever since… I partnered with that woman, Tracy…...I’ve been thinking,” she winced.

Crowley dropped his awaiting arms and felt a muscle in his neck fall limp. Cocking his head, he drawled, “Oh no.” That was a dangerous thing, for Aziraphale, to think.

The angel continued, placing her feminine hands together and tilting her fingers forward. “If angels have the ability to possess people, as demons can-- though it’s usually for evil in that case-- ...then, why don't angels ever possess people for good?”

Crowley was appalled. “Because its possession, Aziraphale, do I really have to explain this to you?”

“I’m talking about consensual possession, of course. No tampering of free will!” she elaborated quickly, hovering her hands just shy of placing a few calming pats on his chest. “That negates all the… bad-ness of possession, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale gave him a desperate look, fearful of her logic truly being flawed. She needed his support in this.

Crowley shook his head in tired disbelief, but finally admitted with his hands thrown in the air, “Look, it’s not really my expertise, alright? I didn't make the rules concerning the morality of inhabiting a human’s body. Why are you asking me? You should know about all that nonsense better than I.” He stalked away from her to go for his wine tray.

Aziraphale didn’t exactly agree with him, since possession was a demonic thing, but she kept her mouth shut. She would not complain that dear Crowley was not as well-versed in that crime as other demons were. Bless his not-so-blackened soul.

“Now just who exactly is this lovely creature that you are ‘helping’ via angelic possession?” Crowley asked from where he collapsed into his leather sofa chair, a fresh glass of ruby wine in his palm. He appeared ready to hear a story that he’d either heard before or didn’t expect to believe as true.

The angel’s eyes darted to him for a moment, but she did not answer as soon as was expected. She sadly returned to the globe, her hair veiling her face as her fingers came to rest upon Great Britain.

Somberly, Aziraphale realized how much she loved globes. They reminded her of God’s view of the world, from the windows of Heaven. No, not the corporate windows.... The stone balcony, that was it, where there was more freedom in the nonexistent air, where there were no stringent rules, dress code, or countenance. Where there was only peace, quiet, and observation. The angel wondered if globes reminded Crowley of Heaven’s balcony as well. It had been such a long time since the fallen angel had visited that celestial deck, and had seen that view. The thought made Aziraphale’s heart clench.

Of course, a microscope also reminded Aziraphale of God’s view. The Almighty had astounding visual acuity. The technicians at Vision Express would have a conniption if He ever stepped in for an exam.

Crowley dropped one side of his head again, surprised by the length of pause Aziraphale took before she answered. He detected that she was some sort of sad.

“This woman here, her name’s Emily.” Aziraphale finally responded, still not looking back.

With an expression reminiscent of a shrug, Crowley mumbled in the most friendly tone that he could conjure, “Hello, Emily.” He spoke as if he were greeting his friend’s new pet-- which he did not necessarily agree to adopting, yet could tolerate having around as long as it didn’t shit on his polished floors.

He would not deny that she was kind of cute.

Aziraphale directed a brief smile at the globe, but Emily did not say ‘hello’ back.

“She’s… terminally ill.” she explained, removing her fingers from Great Britain to shrug mildly. “And I thought, well... maybe I could be her life support for a little while.” Throwing a glance back at the demon with one of her patented smiles of ‘everything is fine,’ she gestured back to the globe. “She wants to go out and see the world. Before she dies.”

That was horrible to say, and she couldn’t believe she had said it at all. Attempting to correct herself, she clung to her optimism. “Maybe she’ll even…. Get better? With my spirit inside her.”

Crowley’s expression had twisted in another shape of confusion during all this, and he slowly leaned forward to rest his sharp elbows on his equally sharp knees, his wine glass still cradled in one hand. “Why can’t you just use one of your miracles to heal her?” He asked with a suspicious shake of his head, convinced that something was up. Something was different, and something, daresay, was not right about all of this. Even he could tell.

Aziraphale couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. “...Because… Ever since…..” It was difficult for her, and she began wringing her hands. Finally, she forced it out, her eyes glistening. “I can’t perform miracles like that anymore.”

“You wot?”

“...My wings… they’re…. They lost some feathers.”

“No,” Crowley breathed with an ‘Ew’ strewn into the vowel. It was no small matter, an angel losing their feathers. “Show me your wings. Come on, let’s see ‘em.” He stood up, set his wine glass down, and abandoned it to step over to the girl. She grasped one of her own elbows and tried to prevent her heavy gaze from falling to the ground.

Through his greater vision, Crowley saw her tentatively open her wings. With a grimace of disapproval, he touched the leading edge of one to guide it open further, scanning the spread of feathered white with scrutiny. He peered over the other one too, gently turning her around with a tug on her shoulder. He hissed to himself under his breath, counting the missing pieces. “Primaries, secondaries… and a tertial? ” That was an important one. Couldn't fly without that one.

“I… I guess you could call it a suspension. Not really a demotion.” Aziraphale babbled during the examination.

“Who clipped you?” Crowley asked in near silence, glancing up to her face briefly with a hidden bloodlust on the brink of the vertical horizons in his eyes. “It was that fucker Gabriel, wasn’t it?” That pretty boy wasn't going to look so pretty when the demon was through with him.

“No, no. It’s more of a molting. It’s a natural thing, for angels…. When they … um. Fail to do good.” She brushed her hair behind her ear, clearly taking the suspension personally. “But... I’m trying to do good,” she protested, as if she could argue her feathers back.

Crowley mumbled amidst his continued investigation of Aziraphale’s wings. “I must have skipped that step.” He’d gone straight for the fall. Lucky him, he thought bitterly. There were indeed a few quills missing, and he understood now why she couldn’t conduct her miracles like usual. Wings were intrinsic to angelic creatures. Without them, their magic (and arguably, very soul) was lost.

For demons, well, wings weren’t as vital. Mementos, more than anything, really. But Crowley was rather proud to still possess his, and he’d taken good care of them over the millennia-- particularly by avoiding the Fighting Pit at all costs, and staying squarely on Earth.

“Do demons experience anything like this? A.... a molting, of sorts?” Aziraphale asked, craning her head to eye him with something similar to hope, even if it were a selfish hope. A hope that she didn’t have to feel so alone in her shame.

“Nope.” The demon made a face and shook his head. “We don't get punished for not doing bad. Certainly not rewarded for doing good." He removed his hands from her wings, and she closed them to her body again. "Just puts a target on your back for other demons to come rip your guts out for sport.”

“Ah.” she replied dejectedly. Crowley didn’t know how he felt about all of this nonsense. It was just stupid, in his opinion. Even if it was a better alternative to getting one’s guts ripped out. “What did you do that was so bad to deserve losing your feathers?”

“Well, you know, with everything that happened with the apocalypse... I abandoned my post, up there.” Aziraphale wandered over to a chair at the table, placing herself daintily into it and then folding her hands in her lap. "Ahm.... Right as they were handing out my uniform... I, I bailed." It was clear by the way that she looked at the dark wood surface of the table that she only wanted to lie her head upon it and folded her arms around her face.

“And… I swore.”

“You wot?! ” Crowley repeated, more profoundly this time.

Aziraphale flashed a pathetic expression towards him. She clearly felt terrible about it.

“You?”  he asked. “Swore?"

“I said… the F word.” she admitted hesitantly.

“No! ” Crowley didn't know whether to grin or gawk. “When? Why!?”

“It was that Shadwell bloke, enthusiastic old curmudgeon. Bless his soul, he was trying to be helpful. It was my fault, really, I wasn't paying attention to where I stood, which ended up right in the middle of a portal and I wasn't ready yet.” Aziraphale concluded her rapid explanation with a whine. She gave in to collapsing upon the tabletop, folding her arms around her face and sagging her chest upon the surface with a great sigh. “That was right before I found you in the bar.” She mumbled from her elbows.

“Oh, that’s what happened to your body.” Crowley pieced together the details with a lift of his brows. The girl remained deflated upon his dining room table. “And the fire in your shop, did Mr. Shadwell start that?” Crowley suddenly asked with a snarl, reminded of his prior discovery. It had not been a pleasant one.

“I don’t recall.” Aziraphale mumbled from behind her elbow. Crowley donned an expression that bode of impending consequence, but Aziraphale was quick to shut down that thought and change his mind. Lifting her head up, she professed firmly, “If he did, I’m sure it was by accident.”

Crowley wasn't convinced. “I thought a demon had got to you.” He gradually became consumed by the hateful memory.

“I’m fine.” Aziraphale shook her head slowly, easing him down from his inner rage-- which he was doing very well to hide, she might add. “The bookshop was fine, Adam fixed everything. There’s no harm done, now let it alone,” she finalized with a stern command. She had enough to worry about without Crowley cropping up a bloodlust for some poor old human.

With a twitch of his neck and a curl of his lip, Crowley snapped his gaze elsewhere and growled, “Fine.” Stupid old coot. Maybe the demon would go wreak havoc on his plumbing later. Rearrange the pins on his ridiculous map. Convince him he was being haunted by revengeful witches past. He’d come up with something clever-- yet harmless, for the already-stressed Aziraphale’s sake.

Aziraphale’s dejected state did not improve, and she laid her head upon her folded arms again like a pouting mutt having been reprimanded for the first time by its beloved master. It was pathetic. "I suppose it just means I'm... I'm quite a rubbish angel." She muttered hopelessly.

“Oh come now, you’ll grow your feathers back. Don’t be all miserable.” Crowley scoffed, at a loss for what else to do or say to cheer the girl up. He eventually came to sit in the chair beside her, his legs sprawled open and one elbow carelessly slung on the table, fingers resting only inches from her elbow. It didn't occur to him to touch her elbow. He was not good at this comforting thing.

“The only way to grow my feathers back is to perform Good Deeds.” Aziraphale told him with some fretting in her tone, looking up at him from where she lay her head with unintentional puppy dog eyes.

“Good Deeds? What the Devil are those?"

“They're like miracles. But... with me being unable to perform miracles... they’re… not magical.” Aziraphale yielded, at a loss for any better explanation. She'd never had a suspension before, not in all her lifetimes.

“Not magical? How the bloody Hell are you supposed to perform miracles without any magic?” Crowley barked. Why did God have all of these ridiculous contingencies, requirements, and addendums? It was mad. It reminded him why he'd been such rebellious angel in the first place.

Of course, he understood that the universe would be pretty boring if God wasn't just a little bit naughty and inconsistent in all Their ineffable-ness.

“I don't know. I’ve never had to do Good Deeds before. But... I’m going to try my very best!” Aziraphale's voice grew to a shaky squeak of desperate determination. That was how the angel yelled. It was humorous. Like a kitten mewl, in comparison to the Earth-shaking roars that Crowley had heard.

It was clear that Aziraphale was hurt. Not physically. If she’d molted, it’d been painless, and Crowley was glad for that. But rather, the angel was emotionally hurt. Or whatever. Crowley felt an unusual itching responsibility to… he didn't quite know. Comfort her. Support her? Help her? Bollocks. He didn’t even know the correct word. There was a chance she needed all three, and that was a damned tall order.

He would try his best to fill it.

“...Do you…” The corners of his nose lifted, revealing his canines in uneasy disdain. “Need a hug? ” He unleashed a breathy exhalation of the blessed word, as if it sizzled while rolling off his tongue. One who didn't know better could mistake his trepidatious tone for mockery, but Aziraphale knew better. After some hesitation, she sheepishly gave the smallest of nods into the sleeve of her hospital gown.

“Right, then let’s get it over with.” He threw caution to the wind and accepted his self-appointed task without enthusiasm. “Stand up.” He said this only because he didn’t know how to hug from a seated position. The only reason he was offering a hug in the first place was because it was what humans did to comfort each other, and they had kept doing it over the course of centuries, so it must work.

As Crowley rose, Aziraphale did as well, and by the time his arms were open, she had matched herself against his chest as if pulled by the same magnetism that drew her shameful eyes to the floor. The demon blinked upon impact and then slowly touched his arms to her back. Her wings were nonexistent in the physical realm, and therefore not in his way.

The demon had never given a hug before. But, he thought, to hell with it. He was already this far.

So he carelessly gave it his all, closing his arms completely against her-- probably a little too roughly and tightly, but he didn't know what the blazes what he was doing. Aziraphale seemed to tighten her arms around his back as well, so he supposed that was a good sign.

Crowley didn't know how long these things were supposed to last, and he didn't know how to end it. So they stood there for a few seconds, which wasn’t ‘long’ at all in their perception of time, though it would have been considered ‘long’ in a human’s.

It was enough time for Aziraphale to decide to try burying her face in Crowley’s chest, where his scent of smoke, soot, and whatever new expensive cologne he fancied lately was strongest. 

It was enough time for Crowley to decide to remove one arm from a few pinched strands of her hair, smooth them down along her spine, and then replace his arm tightly upon her back. 

It was enough time for the angel to feel much less miserable, and for the demon to feel much less uncomfortable.

So when Crowley finally asked, “You feel better?” Aziraphale nodded against the fabric of his jacket and answered, “I do, actually. Funny, how that works.” A smile crept back onto her face, but she did not initiate a parting. Neither of them did. “...She likes it too.”

Crowley had nearly forgotten all about Emily, the third wheel now stuck between an angel and a demon. Reminded of her, he initiated the part, and Aziraphale responded accordingly. Her arms slowly returned to her own sides, which was no longer where she felt they belonged. Smiling distantly, with a glowing feeling that was not entirely her own, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley’s puzzled expression. “She hasn’t been hugged like that in a long time.”

“She hasn’t?”

“No, she’s been bedridden for years.”

Crowley grumbled a noise that spoke of how not jealous he was. It would be terribly dreary to be bedridden for years. “Poor girl.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s smile faded. “Yes, indeed.” The demon didn’t know the half of it. He didn’t know of the details of the child's dreary, unfortunate life in a hospital. But Aziraphale could read it all in every moment that he shared this space with her. He knew of everything she’d been through. The treatments, the fear, the pain, the longing, the sorrow. He had no idea that humans could feel such depth of emotion. He’d never possessed one before-- except Madame Tracy, of course, but she had been more… awake during their time together than Emily was now, and the angel had bigger priorities at that time than reminiscing over the woman’s memories with her. Madame Tracy also hadn't bedridden in a hospital for more than a decade.

Emily had so much to tell him and show him. And yet, she had so little. It was heartbreaking.

“I must take her to the beach.” Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s exposed clavicle, lost in the woman’s thoughts, which were faint, but nonetheless filled with all sorts of dreams and fantasies. "She’s never been to the beach, and she wants to see the ocean waves.”

“She’s never been to the bloody beach? ” Crowley’s astounded exclamation echoed in the background of her whirling thoughts. It seemed that their hug had awakened Emily a little more, and she was entirely inspired with the possibilities before her, with a new co-pilot in the driver’s seat. A co-pilot who had given her a hug.

The angel could feel a part of the human's soul revived from that simple human act. It made Aziraphale begin to smile as more hope filled her chest. Emily’s excitement radiated in her, and she finally met Crowley’s serpent eyes with a grin. “And she wants to go dancing, and-and attend a banquet! And travel! And she wants to hold a puppy!” She drew her hands up in joy, bouncing slightly. These were all things that the angel so loved and wished to do as well, and she knew Crowley would too. The three of them would have a delightful time together.

“Brilliant! Let’s go find the cutest puppy in England!” Crowley agreed, presenting his eager challenge with a gesturing arm.

“Then we could take her to the jungles of Africa!” Aziraphale suddenly grabbed onto the demon’s forearms, still bouncing with a bright giddiness.

Crowley glanced down at her hands and reciprocated her friendly grip. “And the coral reefs of the Pacific.” He hissed with a sinister enthusiasm that would land him any job as a theatrical tour guide. “And then the ruins of the Mayans! ” Crowley let her wrists go as he threw his lanky arms to his sides, declaring his best idea yet.

Aziraphale’s unbridled laughter rang against the smooth walls of the room like celestial chimes. “Yes! Yes, we must!” She clapped merrily and spun around once in rejoice. “Let’s get started!” Crowley’s wrist was taken once more, and she charged toward the door to flee the apartment with him stumbling in tow.

“Waitwait!” The demon regained his balance and pulled her back, taking her upper arm in his free hand. “You need clothes, you moron!” he exclaimed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his thin lips as he spoke. “You can’t go off looking like that! ”

The woman glanced down at herself. “Oh. Right!” A hospital gown would certainly not do. It was much too drafty and had far too much potential for sudden immodesty. She obediently kept pace as the demon pulled her toward the bedroom instead, altering their course for a quick detour. Still holding onto his hand, she questioned, “Do you by chance have women’s clothes?”

“What a stupid question, angel. Do you even know me?” the demon spat back at her, letting her hand go and disappearing into the walk-in closet, which was practically another apartment in and of itself. He had a point.

“Alright, but let’s hurry! We haven’t any time to lose!” The angel wrung her hands and rocked on her heels again, excited to get their adventures started. Aziraphale had no idea how right she was.

Chapter Text

Before long, Aziraphale (and Emily) had decided on the dress she wanted to trade the hospital gown for. Stepping out from behind the room divider, Aziraphale reached behind her back to finish with the zipper while holding the discarded hospital gown out towards Crowley’s awaiting hand. “How’s it look?”

“Better on you than me.” the demon answered, taking the hospital gown from her and then turning to hold it well out of the way. The article went up in Hellflames one moment, and then vanished the next. Good riddance, he thought.

Aziraphale stepped to a full length mirror to rotate in front of, smiling at the reflection of the fire trick. The dress was one of Crowley’s only modest, pastel, and subtle female garments-- if not THE only modest, pastel, and subtle female garments in the demon’s diverse assortment. It was a cream-colored midi length dress with a sweetheart neckline, subtle ruffled edges, and short puff sleeves. A crimson toile de jouy floral pattern of ferns and roses decorated the cream fabric, heavily inspired by the old french reign of fashion.

Crowley placed himself behind her and started to tie the thin sash in the back, which was more for style than anything practical. “I stopped wearing this one when Warlock asked if I’d made it from his granny’s upholstery .” The demon muttered in disdain, as if he were still stung by the child’s innocent yet wildly blunt question. Aziraphale’s cheeks glowed pink, and she shared the secret of her humored smile with the floor.

Crowley’s hands appeared from both sides of her vision as a simple necklace materialized between them. Aziraphale moved her hair aside as the demon gently fastened the jewelry behind her neck. It was unexpected and sweet, but she tried not to think too much about it. Surely, the gesture was only to complete the look. And it was most certainly intended for Emily.

The angel recalled the last time she’d seen Crowley (who was then, a she) in this dress. Aziraphale (who was then, a he) had been gardening like usual, clipping some overgrown rose bushes while occasionally glancing beyond his work to the red-haired nanny and the six-year-old NotAntichrist --who were both sitting on a large picnic quilt in the expanse of grass he’d trimmed just the day prior.

Crowley always enjoyed being in the sunlight, but she had especially enjoyed it on those picnic days at the Dowling estate. It was obvious in the way she’d stretched herself upon the quilt; her legs extended forward with her bare ankles crossed, her arms spread behind her like an easel stand, and her head tilted back between her boney shoulders, basking in the full rays of the celestial orb above her. Aziraphale recalled that, in addition to the crimson and cream toile de jouy floral pattern dress, Crowley had been wearing a hat that day with a texture of woven straw and a red silken sash tied around it in a bow. The entire look appeared to originate from a summer issue magazine of luxury spring fashion. Her large black sunglasses had been the pièce de résistance.

For once, it was the sole black article of clothing that she’d wore.

Perhaps that was what had caught Aziraphale’s attention that day; the abnormal amount of white on the demon. Or perhaps it had been the radiance of the reflective light in the curves of her long, sleek, ruby hair. Or perhaps it had been the way in which she chatted on with the child at her side, who was dutifully playing with his toys. The nanny had praised him when he imaginatively enacted a particularly harsh amount of violence upon them. She’d told him he made very good explosion sounds, and Aziraphale had to agree.

Whatever the reason, it hadn’t been quite as easy as usual for the angel to turn away from the sight, and for once, the gardener had found himself not thinking about the future of the young NotAntichrist, and therefore the future of the world. In that moment, he had only thought about the glint of the sun in Crowley’s hair, the nearly-motherly tone of her voice, and a million other small insignificant details about that sight that he still recalled perfectly to this day, six years later.

Emily’s body filled the dress nicely, even if it was designed for a taller figure. The opening in the right hemline of the skirt bothered her-- rather, bothered Aziraphale-- as it had a naughty habit of revealing a good portion of her leg above the knee when she stepped forward or turned. Twisting in front of a mirror to look at herself, she kept grabbing at the side of the casual gown to hold the slit closed.

Crowley stood off to one side, arms folded. “Would you stop that?” the man mumbled sharply, his expression hitched as if he was watching an amateur poorly handle a precious artifact which they had no understanding of-- which wasn't far from the truth.

“I don't understand why this silly thing is in fashion.” Aziraphale muttered back, though mostly to herself, glancing down at the hemline and holding her curtain of blonde hair out of her face.

“It’s for mobility. Without it, you’d be trapped. Might as well be wearing a windsock.” Crowley expressed with knowledgeable disdain. He’d never don a claustrophobic pencil skirt again, even if it were in style. If he was going to inhabit a body with legs for Chri-- for somebody’s sake, then he was going to use the damn things.

“It’s drafty.” Aziraphale complained.

“It’s liberating.” Crowley corrected deeply. His folded arms fell from his chest as he stepped forward to swat her hand away from the dress. Aziraphale reluctantly abandoned the opening to allow it to behave as naughtily as it desired.

“If you think a tiny slit like that is something to fret about, you should see what else I’ve got in there.”

Aziraphale hesitantly risked a glance toward the closet door-- taken by either fear or intrigue, or both. The demon didn’t notice, as his back was turned while he sauntered to grab his jacket from the back of a chair. “You’ll get used to it.” Crowley promised, on his way to the door. “Honestly, it’s like you’ve never worn a dress before.”

Looking for something to occupy her hands with, other than themselves, Aziraphale agreed distantly, “Not as often as you.” Something in the closet caught her eye, and she poked her head through the doorway to retrieve it.

Crowley shrugged on his thin jacket with practiced motion, tugging the collar forward as it settled on his thin frame. “Why is that, anyway?” he asked with genuine curiosity as he fished his pair of shades out from his breast pocket. He enjoyed changing things up every few decades or so. He couldn’t fathom why someone wouldn't want to try a bit of everything on the biological buffet table-- if they were able to, and had the time to savor it. Some humans were willing to go through a lot of trouble in their short, limited lives to manage it to the best of their ability. Those of angel stock had an advantage of both time and ability, so what had stopped the angel?

“Well…” Aziraphale soon returned from the closet with a rose-colored, medium-sized designer bag in hand, examining it briefly before deciding that it would be suitable to carry with her on their adventures. Humans, especially females, did so enjoy lugging around containers to put things in. She had to look the part of whatever Emily had never had the chance to be. Besides, the bag was just big enough to store a book in. One never knew when the next opportunity to read would come along. 

“Oh, how do I explain this?” she hummed, placing the strap over one shoulder and resting one hand upon the bag. “Women weren’t really able to do as much, as men-- historically,” she elaborated quickly, “There was that great expanse of time where they couldn’t go to school, couldn’t vote, couldn’t buy anything, or own anything. A good portion of what they’ve consistently been able to do, for the majority of history, is bear and raise children, you know, and... that’s not something angels can do.” she explained carefully.

“I never thought it was wise to put myself in that kind of a situation. They used to do horrible things to women for not being able to have children, you know,” she mumbled sadly, placing herself in the chair near Crowley to slip on some Mary Janes.

The demon made a face and shrugged, offering what he thought was an obvious solution to that roadblock. “Well, you could always adopt. Do you know how many street urchins would be delighted to be snatched up and cared for? Hundreds. Thousands. They’d be ecstatic. And they’re the most grateful little buggers when they are, it’s astounding. It’s almost… pathetic, really.”

Aziraphale finished with one shoe and paused to sit up and look at the redhead with a growing smile “Are you speaking from experience?”

Crowley’s initial reaction was to sneer, but his defensiveness was short lived, and so instead of allowing his sneer to reach its peak, he glanced away and feigned the topic to be of no significance. “Might be.”

Aziraphale’s smile remained, though she tried to numb it for the sake of saving Crowley from further embarrassment. “How many children have you adopted over the centuries, Crowley?” It was no wonder he’d made such a good (Well, perhaps the better word would be ‘experienced’ or ‘knowledgeable’) nanny.

“Oh, shut up.” The man shot down that conversation right quick. “More than you,” he jabbed after brief thought. Perhaps it had been too harsh of a jab, but the angel didn’t appear to take any deep offense. And if she did, she forgave him, because she still had a soft smile on her face, and still had memories of nanny Ashtoreth and baby Warlock lingering in her mind.

She began working on her second shoe, turning the subject back onto the original one. “Well, nevertheless, I… I didn’t see much reason to change, all that often.” she concluded merrily, standing and testing her balance.

Looking up, she suddenly realized, “...Did you ever have any... trouble… in a female form?” The ancient times were quite terrible ones, in many ways, and for many people. But particularly for women.

“Oh, all the time.” Crowley scoffed with a roll of his head, then shrugged, “But, you know. Give ‘em the good old hiss and a flash of a billion fangs, and they learn to leave you alone real quick." he nodded. Another shrug, and, "Those that were more stubborn... well. Some of 'em liked being hard as a rock so much that I figured they could just stay that way.”

Aziraphale nodded with furrowed brow, hesitant to ask with a squint, “...Crowley, is that... how the tales of Madam Medusa came about?” No, that couldn’t have been Crowley’s doing-- though Aziraphale recalled that the demon had been female during a great portion of that era. "The... the one with the snakes in her hair?"

“I thought it was quite a good look.” Crowley answered with all the innocence he was capable of. There was almost a question laced underneath his harmless tone, as if he were concerned that the tales had displeased or disgusted the angel.

“I’m sure you did.” Aziraphale grinned, humored and charmed. “Just how many poor men did you turn to stone, Crowley?”

“Only a couple.” The demon casually opened the door to the hallway, waiting for Aziraphale to lead the way through it. “One was enough. Leave a few witnesses, stuff like that spreads like wildfire.”

The angel almost did step through, but stopped to glance down at her dress again. She had forgotten all about the slit, and she found that it no longer really bothered her. Instead, something else was starting to bother her. The color. Glancing back up at Crowley, she humbly wondered, “Do you happen to have anything... blue?”

She was not asking him to rummage through his closet again. There would be nothing blue in there, and she knew it. She was asking for a miracle.

He twiddled his fingers at her. In the next moment, the pattern of her dress, heels, and designer bag changed as if being washed over with cerulean paint. Triumphantly, he smiled. “Do now.”

She displayed a twinkling smile at him in thanks, but didn't thank him out loud. He usually didn't like it when she did. “You could have said ‘no.’”

“Goes better with your hair,” he admitted, uttering what was dangerously close to a compliment. He stepped into the hall with a smirk, glancing back to whine, “Please tell me you remember how to walk properly in heels.”

“Like riding a bike.” Aziraphale lifted her chin confidently as she strutted past him and out the door, aiming to impress the expert accompanying her. She did impress him indeed.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale hurried towards the passenger door of the Bentley, babbling away about more ideas that continued to pop up in Emily's thoughts like daisies. “And she’s never tried oysters! Or any seafood, really. We should take her to Wright Brothers.” 

She reached for the handle, but jumped as Crowley was suddenly at her shoulder. His hand shot out to grab the door before she could. “No, no,” There was a surreptitious smile on his lips, for he secretly got a kick out of showing manners on occasion. It was practically forbidden, for demons. He’d always enjoyed breaking the rules, no matter who made them.

“Allow me.” His tone was warm, and Aziraphale knew his eyes were too, underneath those dark glasses. She hesitated, looking between him and the open door with a cautious smile on her face. The gesture really was remarkably considerate and gentlemanly, and she didn’t know what to think of it. “Oh, Crowley, you don’t have to- that’s not necess--”

“Let me ask you this,” he interrupted her, folding his arms on the frame of the door and halting the flustered train of thought that began to color her face. “Has anyone ever opened a car door for our dear friend, Emily?”

Right. Emily. Crowley was doing all of this for Emily. “Oh.” Aziraphale relaxed, relieved by the reminder. “No, no one ever has.”

Crowley smirked and gestured into the vehicle with a poised hand. Aziraphale smiled again and slipped into the car, able to allow Emily to enjoy the chivalry.

But… there was something else still lingering in her mind that she couldn't figure out. Something that felt warm and tingly. So she glanced to her hands in her lap as Crowley circled the car. Then, as he slipped into the driver's seat, her lips spread into a smile again, and she gladly let the peculiar glimmer of emotion vanish.

Crowley drove the Bentley at a reasonably human --albeit still incredibly fast-- speed. Aziraphale held onto the inner door nonetheless, out of mere habit, but did not feel herself being pressed back into the seat nearly as much as when she’d ridden in Crowley’s car before. Aziraphale appreciated that she didn't have to ask the demon to slow down, for once.

“So, what’s it like?”

She turned to look at him. “What’s what like?”

“Having possession of a human.”

Hesitantly, she prompted, “...Don’t you know?” Because he had to know. He was a demon , and there was nothing in the world that could convince Aziraphale that Crowley had never possessed a human before.

Hadn’t he?

“Possession of Emily, of someone in her specific condition, what’s it like?” Crowley elaborated sharply, waving his hand for the angel to get on with it. “Is your presence doing her any good, or whatever?”

Aziraphale nodded, searching for the best way to explain. “I think so. She’s…” She gazed out the window at the whirring city. “It’s like I'm giving her a piggyback ride. If that makes sense. She’s just… laying there, as if she were asleep.” This was difficult to describe, both technically and emotionally. She smiled faintly, ever the optimist. “But she’s smiling, and murmuring every now and again. But um… she hasn’t opened her eyes yet. Figuratively, of course.”

If she had to put a percentage on Emily’s ‘battery life,’ which she hated to do, then it would be at about ten percent.

“...But she’s smiling.” Aziraphale repeated, as if it were all that mattered. As if everything would be okay, as long as Emily was smiling while she slept on his back.

Crowley glanced at her from behind his shades. “...Good.”  He supposed that 'good' was an adequate answer, though obviously Emily could be faring better.

His eyes returned to the road, then secretly back upon his passenger. Aziraphale didn't notice.

"So… it's mostly you, then?"

The angel looked at him with a question in her expression. 

"Piloting." The demon explained tightly.

"...Yes. Mostly me." She answered carefully. "Piloting. For now.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “Just until she gets her strength back." she affirmed with a pat in the air and a firm nod.

"Right."

Aziraphale didn't want Crowley to have any doubt that Emily would get her strength back, so she emphasized, "She is getting better. Slowly. Bit by bit. The hug helped. And… the dress, and all the other little things." Things that she was nervous to bring up again, in case that strange tingling emotion came back.

Eventually, Crowley answered again, and with the same awkwardness as before,  “...Good.”

There was a yawning silence that hung in the air for a while, and it was only broken when Crowley suddenly inhaled sharply and rejuvenated the conversation with a boisterous, "WELL, I hope she's ready to see some puppies, because they’ve got a bunch of ‘em here." With a gentle steering of the wheel, he guided the Bentley into the parking lot of a rescue center.

The blonde’s previously somber expression burst with light.

“We want to see the dogs!” Aziraphale pronounced upon her grand entrance into the rescue center. Her Mary Janes clip-clopped kindly over the white linoleum as she rushed through the reception lobby. Crowley sauntered behind her, in no great rush and sharing no such enthusiasm.

The clerk at the desk looked up from their work, very slow to catch on, even by the angel’s standards. “W-which dog?”

“All of ‘em. Let ‘em all out!” Aziraphale gestured with giddy excitement, as if she could make it happen herself. Except she couldn’t. Not without her miracles.

Instead, Crowley carelessly gestured into the air with his hand. The clerk stopped asking questions after that, and simply obeyed. “O-Okay…”

“As quickly as you can, dear, thank you!” Aziraphale bounced on her heels in anticipation, throwing a beaming expression back at her companion. “We get to see dogs.” She whispered to him, as if Crowley hadn’t quite come to realize what a treat they were in for.

"You've seen dogs before." Crowley reminded her, exasperatingly pointing out, "You've seen dogs for nearly six thousand years, angel."

“Oh, I know, but it's splendid every time." she grinned, awaiting expectantly as the clerk moved towards the door. "I do hope Emily likes them.” she added.

The clerk did not have to do anything more than open the door to the kennel room, as all of the kennels had already been unlocked. The person leapt back as a great tidal wave of pooches spilled from the door and flooded the lobby area. The dogs surged forth like a babbling brook of bobbing heads, ears, tongues, and tails.

The angel released a happy squeak, her grin as wide as the canines’ as she knelt to catch them all. Big ones, small ones, fluffy ones, scarred ones, slobbery ones, shivering ones, snaggle-toothed ones and skinny hairless ones. Ones missing a limb or an eye, old hounds with snow-dusted muzzles, and large danes that stepped daintily like gentle giants. She welcomed every single one of them with her touch-- even the gruff brutes that strut forth with squared shoulders and blocky faces, a mole or two adorning their weary smiles as beauty marks. Wiggling bodies and swishing tails swarmed her. She loved them all, and couldn't stop laughing uncontrollably.

Crowley stood behind her, his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face as he tolerated being lightly bumped into by the canine crowd. “How does she like it?” he called above the joyous chorus of whimpers and whines.

“She loves it!” the woman responded through her laughter, though it proved difficult to catch enough breath. “She absolutely... loves it!” She didn’t bother to evade their wet kisses.

The demon nodded once, murmuring, “Good.” Under his sunglasses, he eyed the scene while hiding a hint of disgust, both at the filth lurking under the beasts’ paws and at the ever-present stench residing in their pelts, neither of which Aziraphale seemed to notice in the slightest bit. That dress was going to need one hell of a thorough washing after this.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes were sparkling with moisture. She closed them for a moment as she cradled a dog’s head against her shoulder. “There is so much love here. The emotion…it’s overwhelming. I wish you could sense it.” She smiled sadly, cupping another one’s chin as its tongue repeatedly peeked out from its mouth in adoration, staring at her with its one remaining eye.

“Oh, there’s emotion here, alright. I can sense it. Though it’s none of the sort that you’re being bathed in.” he muttered, looking to the open door of the empty kennel room, which was poorly lit and reeking of old water and oily metal. “In there.” 

He then looked over at another door, solid and sturdy except for one small square window with a diamond pattern lacing the frosted glass, reminiscent of the chain fence of a prison yard. Or more appropriately, a gate. A gate to the afterlife. “And especially in there.”

Aziraphale slowed her petting and followed his gaze to that ominous door. Her smile fell as she stared over the sea of dogs toward it. 

It was where the clinic lied, where injuries were mended, where surgeries were performed, and where lives were attempted to be saved. The veterinary technicians did not always succeed. It was also the euthanasia room, for the animals who continued to suffer their ailments, or who were deemed too aggressive to be adopted, or who spent too long in the rescue center with no adoption in sight.

Some of these dogs, only Aziraphale could love. They both knew it. The angel looked back to a particular dog that had plopped down to lie against her leg, eyes blinking drowsily in hard-earned fatigue and long-awaited peace. She stroked its head. “I wish I could save them all.”

“Do you know how many people say that when they come into a place like this?”

“Many, I know. But I’m an angel. I should actually be able to,” she stressed, distressed.

Crowley did well to remind her as gently as possible, “You don't have any miracles anymore, angel.”

The woman closed her eyes and basked in the atmosphere of gratitude that the dogs gave off. What a cruel thing to do, put her in a position like this. She hated feeling powerless to do good, and for a moment, she almost felt upset at the Almighty for it. But she held tight to her faith that all things happened for a good reason in the end, and that all things were part of Their ineffable plan.

She searched for an alternate way to make a difference. Before long, she found it by asking herself the simple question of ‘How would an ordinary human help these dogs?’

Opening her eyes, she blinked. “No, but I can still save them. Even without any miracles.” She smiled again, gently parting from the dogs to stand and fumble with her blue purse. But it was empty, without even a book in it. Yet. Nearly cursing to herself for forgetting that she couldn’t simply will money to appear out of thin air anymore, she turned to Crowley, wincing desperately, “I’ll pay you back.”

The demon lifted a corner of his mouth. “What are you going on about?”

“I’m going to adopt them,” she vowed with a determined nod, stepping closer to him.

“Oh no.” Crowley exhaled, nearly in fear.

The angel continued to solidify her plan above Crowley’s brewing objections. “Every single one of them.”

“Oh, no, no, no.”

“Emily wishes for me to save them, and I’m going to.” She nodded again, more deeply this time, glancing away to listen to the voice inside her head that agreed with her.

Crowley stepped forth to wag a finger in front of her face. “No, no , we did not come here to buy a zoo , we came here to show Emily what it was like to hold a puppy. One puppy, mind you. I’ve already gone above and beyond that.” He pointed out, as if it were a great tarnish on his demonic record, which was already quite tarnished before all this Good Deed nonsense.

“I’ll pay you back every penny.” Aziraphale repeated, bending at the knees to plea.

“It’s not the money I care about, I couldn't care less about the cost. Where are you going to put them all? Your bookshop?” Crowley gestured with an exasperated arm, but no miracles came from it this time around. “They’ll tear it to shreds. Pee on the publications. You don't want twenty dogs running amok in your bookshop, Aziraphale.”

The angel withered, and her gaze plummeted as quickly as her hopes.

“Besides, you couldn't even get them there. They wouldn’t all fit in the Bentley, even if I was crazy enough to allow it.” Crowley cringed at the mere idea of it. All those dirty paws, slobbering jaws, and tearing claws on his nice leather seats…

The stunned clerk, who had hovered by the desk all the while, and who was dumbfounded by the conversation that was unfolding before them, and who would be forever puzzled at how all of the dogs had escaped their kennels, slowly began to stutter and speak up. “...We have transport vans… for adoption events….”

Aziraphale grinned at them with appreciation for the backup, but Crowley snapped at them. “Oh shut up, this doesn’t involve you. We’re having a private argument here.” They were not helping, in his opinion.

Aziraphale felt better about her plan now that small solutions were starting to pop up. Looking up at the redhead, she murmured with only a slight amount of smugness, “They’re offering their vans.”

“Brilliant, so you can get twenty dogs crammed into their bloomin’ vans.” Crowley shrugged dramatically. “ Then what?”

The angel did not answer him, though a timid smile still lingered on her face as she gazed up at him, then tipped her head, and only slightly made her expression resemble that of a puppy dog. “Crow-leeey...” she began to ask with a singsong tone, “My dear, sweet, wonderful Crowley…”

He saw what was coming, and cut her off with a firm, “No,” and then a lift of his chin and a vigorous shake of his head. “No.” She was still giving him that puppy dog look, and that mischievously doting smile. He waved his hand as if he could banish it from her face, and banish the forthcoming question from her mind. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. We are NOT cramming twenty bloody dogs in my flat! I keep that place very clean , and it’s going to stay that way.”

She tried to calm his panic, gently assuring, “Just until I find another spot for them!”

“No.” he repeated, turning away from her as if he could escape this situation. He almost tripped on a dog. She hurried to follow him, slipping in front of him to beg with a wince, “Crowley, please? For Emily? Please?”

He kept his nose turned up, and shook his head again, having a hard time deciding on what to do with his arms since he was too anxious to keep them folded across his chest.

“For me?” she attempted with a grin.

Dropping his fidgeting arms, he dragged a low warning through his teeth and glared at her. “Aziraphale.”

“Temporarily! I promise.” She lifted her palms, making one last attempt to persuade him to help her. “I need to do Good Deeds to get my feathers back! What better deed than rescuing twenty poor dogs? It’s just twenty dogs!” She stomped quietly, gesturing to the pack of awaiting pooches.

The awestruck clerk once more raised a hand and cut into the conversation with their hopes elated at the prospect of having all of their animals rescued in one day. “It-it’s actually the cats that get put down most often.” They hesitantly smiled, hoping that the man with the red hair wasn't hiding any death lasers under those sunglasses. They had no idea how close that was to being a reality, after their last genius interjection.

“The cats?” Aziraphale repeated, in shock. She abandoned Crowley’s steaming presence to step towards the clerk eagerly. “Show me the cats!”

“Oh, for Earth’s SAKE.” The demon snarled in desperate rage.

 And thus, Crowley’s flat became cram packed with twenty rescued dogs and thirty rescued cats. They teemed about the space, all merrily exploring and sniffing and frolicking and making all sorts of delighted sounds. Among them, the angel chimed in, “Look! I got a feather back!” She craned her head around and reached over her shoulder to touch what used to be a gap in her wing, now filled with a fresh new tertial.

“Congratulations.” Crowley muttered in a deathly deadpan tone, white animal fur clinging to his black designer clothes. They weren’t designer clothes anymore. They’d be tossed in a garbage bin at the local flea market, now.

“Oh, I got two! Two feathers, Crowley!”

“Bloody fantastic,” he sneered, with more bitterness than before. A Saint Bernard rubbed past his thigh, depositing more slobber and white hair upon the fabric of his pants as if it were a lint roller.

Aziraphale stopped her self examination and dismally dropped her arms to her sides, her wings sagging low behind her. “Crowley,”

“Wot?” He pulled his heated glare away from the sea of critters in his flat, saw her sadness, and then rolled his head with great exaggeration. “Look, I’m happy for you,” he yielded, then gestured around them, “I’m just also surrounded by animals, and-- there! You see that? ” He pointed sharply to a convict in the act of taking a grand shit on his polished floors.

In the next second, the accident was miracled away. “That’s going to happen a dozen more times within the hour, I guarantee it!” he growled with a burst of upset energy.

Aziraphale held her knuckles and rested her hands upon her stomach. “I’ll pay for a caretaker,” she offered.

“That won’t do any good!” Crowley declared, gesturing with both arms. “The second you step foot out of here, they’re all going to go for each other’s throats. This mad, utopian…” What was the blessed word? “Peace,” Yuck. “between dogs and cats, battle-hardened and half-fixed-- it’s not going to last! They’ll go to war as soon as you leave!”

Aziraphale listened to his rant, and then an idea came to her. “...Not if they’re all asleep, they won’t.” She was yet again asking him for a miracle, and she felt mighty guilty for it.

Crowley sighed and snapped his fingers.

Every canine and feline in the apartment simultaneously blinked drowsily, nodded off, and then gently flopped over before commencing to snore. Some twitched in their sleep, chuffing or chattering as visions of delightful hunts ran wild in their little dreaming minds.

“Aw, look at them.” Aziraphale held her heart, turning to cast her doting gaze over them all. “So precious.” She stooped to adjust one kitty’s tail so it curled more comfortably, then smoothed its fur along its back. “How long will they sleep for?”

“We’ve got three days.” Crowley rubbed his temple. “That’s all I can afford for this miracle.”

Aziraphale looked up with a concerned expression at the word ‘afford,’ and then stood up. “How many miracles do you’ve left?”

“Not many, if you’re going to be this high of maintenance.” The demon wasn't made of miracles. He couldn’t toss them about willy nilly. They didn’t grow on bloody trees, like apples.

The angel approached him to repeat in earnest, “As soon as I get all my feathers back, I’ll repay you. I promise.”

“I know, I know.” Crowley waved her promise away while glancing down to carefully dislodge one of his feet from beneath a dog. “I just hope I have enough to get you there first, or we’ll both be shot out of luck for another decade .”

“I won’t ask for any more favors.” Aziraphale diligently vowed. Then, humbly corrected, “Large scale favors.”

“No more bloody animals.” He bore his teeth at the minefield he’d laid for himself, which he tried to navigate with high steps, but did not growl harshly.

“No more animals. Yes,” she agreed with a merry bounce to her stance. “...I really do appreciate it, Crowley.”

He stepped over another clump of snoozing creatures to point a warning finger at her. “Don’t say it.”

Lifting her hands, she assured him, “I’m not going to.”

Having successfully reached what could be considered a clearing in the room, the demon sighed again and put his hands on his hips, giving the place one more survey of mild disdain before turning back to the girl. “...Right, what’s next?”

“.....I feel bad for asking, now.”

He scoffed and shook his head, not in the mood to deal with the angel’s guilty emotions. “Don’t. We have a job to do, now don’t we?” He lifted his arms to show he was more than open to the necessity of continuing in this mad charade. “We’ve come this far, and we’re nearly there. Let’s the rest of your feathers back.”

The angel was successfully uplifted by his tired but honest reassurances, and she smiled.

“What’s Emily want to do next? Travel?”

She nodded, her excitement bubbling.

“Right. Off we go, then.” Crowley gestured in the air as if tossing a To-Do list that he no longer needed to read. “A couple of seats just opened up on the next flight to Nigeria.” Lowering his hand with his palm up, a suitcase suddenly dangled from it. He extended his other hand towards her, where a bundle of new clothes suitable for hiking now were folded, complete with boots and binoculars lying on top of a women’s button up shirt and khakis.

Aziraphale had to bite her lip to prevent a squeak of delight from escaping it, and she took the bundle eagerly. “What shall we do in Nigeria?” she asked, hugging the artifacts to her chest and peering over them to watch where she stepped.

“Explore the jungle, of course.” Crowley held out his hand to help her balance across the furry obstacles. She took it, finding it to be quite strong and helpful indeed. "Perhaps we'll spot a lion in the hunt."

“I thought you said no more animals.”

Chapter Text

In the airport, Emily opened her eyes.

The angel knew it when she experienced a flutter in their shared chest. He could feel Emily stir as she metaphorically lied on his back. Her arms came to life around his neck, no longer hanging limp. They tightened slightly around his collarbone, and then she did indeed open her eyes. He felt Emily’s pure awe like a wave of warm light upon their shared skin. The angel stopped, turning to face a large window where the docking and slow taxiing of airplanes could be witnessed by those waiting to board. She smiled, pulling her gaze from the outdoor scene to look at herself in the glass.

There, instead of Emily, stood Aziraphale in their reflection. He smiled at her, and she smiled at him.

Hello, Emily. Sleep well? He asked pleasantly, like a parent happy to greet their dear groggy child.

I’m glad to be awake. She breathed in response, exhausted and exhilarated all at once.

I’m glad too. He nodded. There is much for you to see.

I can’t believe it. She took another breath, and her eyes began to tear up. She was no longer in the hospital. No longer in the dark slumber of a coma. She was in an airport. Standing in an airport, with other people-- a great, churning, diverse array of people, and she was going on a trip for the first time in her life.

She tried to peel away from him, but if she succeeded, she would fall.

Steady, now, my dear . Aziraphale’s warm voice held a kind humor as she nearly lost her balance. He caught her from within and stabilized her. Let’s wait until you’re better before you start stumbling all over the place on your own, shall we?

She laughed, agreeing. Alright.

“Angel?”

The woman turned to grin at her companion, informing him, “She’s awake.”

The demon tilted his head, computing this new development. “Oh.”

“And a little overwhelmed,” Aziraphale chuckled, glancing back at the window, where her reflection remained Emily’s. “But in a good way.”

“...Good.” Crowley nodded to himself slowly, then took a renewing breath and directed, “Now come along. We’re boarding.”

The woman was engrossed in the sights beyond the aircraft's window for the duration of the flight-- and even while rolling down the runway. Her blue eyes watched the workers scurry about like ants across the blacktop with their funny little cars and baggage belts. She felt elated when the massive vessel ascended into the sky, and she grinned at the cumulus clouds they passed through.

Crowley looked over from his aisle seat as well, nowhere near as engrossed in the sights of the land and sky, but rather, perhaps, simply in the sight of her. Her wonder, her happiness.The demon’s smile brightened beneath his glasses as Aziraphale turned to flash him a giddy smile. “She’s loving this.”

“Good.”

Emily did love flying. She thought it was a grand accomplishment; humanity making wings for themselves. Aziraphale agreed, though he had to express that riding along in a cozy pressurized cabin with cocktail carts was much different than actually flying with your own feathers. Had he the proper amount, he might have offered to show Emily the difference, at another time. But as things were, he could only share the memories of the sensation with her. They seemed to be more than enough.

Upon landing, she remained riveted by the sights, smells, sounds, and suffocating heat of Africa. Aziraphale had always appreciated the world, but with Emily behind the windows of their eyes, he couldn’t help but appreciate it even more. She metaphorically pointed from her place upon his back, directing his gaze and asking questions and marveling at the simplest of things, much like a child. The teeming city was nearly too much for her, and Aziraphale’s attention was tugged every which way with every crooked step upon the foreign dirt.

Is that a real donkey?

Yes, dear, that’s a real donkey.

What language was that man speaking in?

Igbo, I believe.

Look at that!

Remarkable, isn’t it? Now where did Crowley disappear to?

These streets are so crowded. Those buildings are so tall. Where are the wild animals? What’s that over there?

The wild animals aren’t in the city, Emily, they’re in the wilds. And that’s a taxi bus. We’re going to board one of those, I suspect.

What’s over there?

That’s a vendor’s booth, dear.

What are they selling? Can we go look?

Jewelry, it appears, but we must--

She would have been smashed into by a caravan if Crowley hadn’t appeared in the nick of time to yank her out of its way. He yowled a rightful scolding after the bumbling driver, throwing one arm in the air, “Watch where you’re drivin’, you wanker! We’re walking here!”

Turning to the girl, the demon asked with a less harsh tone, but with a curious sneer nonetheless. “Are you drunk , Aziraphale? Have you forgotten how to use your feet?”

“No, I’m just distracted is all.” The woman caught her breath, her response torn between excitement and fear. Forcing her wild gaze on the demon, she smiled with a twinge of irritation. “She’s very chatty .”

Sorry. Emily apologized. However, she was quickly back at it, internally asking about everything they saw. Crowley scrutinized his friend’s very distracted state and then proposed, “Right, then hold onto my arm, will you?” He lifted his elbow to her and she hugged it absent-mindedly. “We don’t need you getting run ovah.”

Aziraphale was able to calm herself and focus on Emily’s questions while they were being towed along through the bustling city by the redhead. Crowley was an excellent navigator; just bold enough to confidently push through the crowds, and just considerate enough to make sure his partner didn’t get bumped around by any strangers or trip upon the terrain. And while he may have been more of a skinny man, he had just enough muscle on his bicep for her to hold onto.

Before long, they were leaving the city in some sort of trolley bus or other. “Where-- where are we headed?” Aziraphale asked, calling above both the noise of the bus and Emily’s questions, which continued to ring through her head like brass bells. This juggling act was going to take some getting used to.

Crowley craned his neck to speak into her ear clearly. “We’re headed out to a local village to meet up with a pair of tour guides.” One slender arm was raised to clench onto the strap of an overhanging bar, while his other hand was wrapped solidly around a standing pole. Aziraphale held onto the same pole with both hands, jostled slightly by the terribly bumpy ride, but remaining close within Crowley’s subtle semi-circle of protection. She’d rather bump into him than a stranger, and with the way he had his arms stationed, he was as sturdy of a structure to lean against as anything. “Word has it, they’ve got the best safari service in the country,” the redhead declared, noticing a seat that had opened up, which he promptly transferred her over to.

Aziraphale obeyed his guidance and then settled herself on the old seat, smiling briefly at the Nigerian woman beside her with a “Hello.” She continued looking around the bus nervously. Traveling in this manner was stressful even without a voice nagging in one’s head.

Talk to that woman. Emily urged.

Why?

I want to get to know her. She looks nice.

Wull, alright.

Aziraphale looked back at the woman on the seat beside her and smiled again, nodding, “What’s your name?”

The woman was humbly beautiful, probably in her mid forties, and shy to respond, but she did nod in return and speak up, “Orisa.”

“Orisa?” Aziraphale repeated, a brighter smile growing on her face as she recognized the name and the meaning behind it. “How lovely.” Taking note of the blue and white paisley pattern on her shawl, she complimented it, and then asked her if she spoke much English.

Orisa nodded, then gave a shameful smile and shrugged. “A little, yes.”

“That’s splendid. What is your first language?”

“Igbo.”

“Igbo! I believe I remember some Igbo.” Aziraphale wracked her memory, flipping through countless files of languages she’d learned over the centuries. Orisa laughed and grinned at the blonde’s attempts, and together they became wrapped in a conversation, each stumbling through their respective imperfect, and broken languages. Emily influenced the course of the discussion heavily, with Aziraphale being all too happy to play the middle man (or woman) and facilitate.

They discovered that Orisa was a teacher. She had four children, two of which had sadly died within the past three years. Orisa was trying to push for an English program in her school, but was struggling to find English teachers willing to work for pennies.

“I could teach them.” Aziraphale found herself offering, backed by Emily’s enthusiasm. “I could help you. When is your next class?”

“Now. That is where I go.” Orisa gestured merrily.

“Now?” Aziraphale craned her neck to see around the other passengers and peer through whatever windows she could. The bus was just arriving in the village on the outskirts of the city.

Crowley’s voice chimed in. “Well, what are the chances?”

Aziraphale looked up at him with hope. “Crowley, do we have time for a quick stop?”

He nodded with a shrugging expression. “Yeah, why not?”

“Terrific, we have time to visit your class now, Orisa.” Aziraphale grinned at her new friend, then asked her best friend, “Is that alright with you, Crowley?”

The bus came to a stop and then began to empty. “‘Course it is. Off we go, then,” he gestured forth and offered his hand to each lady in turn to help them stand. “Let’s not keep the wee rascals waiting."

The children adored Aziraphale, and it was obvious that Orisa was delighted to introduce her. Crowley hung around the back of the old brick classroom, watching the blonde engage with the children and review the English alphabet with them. They had all practiced it very diligently, and before long, they were on to spelling out short words and playing a comedic game of charades.

There was one boy, about eight or nine years old, who would do his best to write but would not speak, though he did babble lightly at odd times. Orisa, who was standing beside Crowley, followed his gaze and explained, “That one cannot hear.”

“I can see that,” he mumbled solemnly.

Aziraphale had noticed the child too, and paused in her lesson to ask Orisa, “What is his name?”

“Ifechi.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded, smiling with a muffled sadness. She instructed the class to copy the short sentence she’d written on the chalkboard, and then moved over to the deaf child. “Hello, Ifechi.”

The child smiled shyly, recognizing the greeting from watching others’ mouths. Aziraphale began signing to him, 'Would you like to learn with us?’

But Ifechi didn’t understand. Aziraphale tried American Sign Language instead of British, but still, there was no recognition in the child’s small eyes. Turning back to call to Orisa, she frowned, “Does he know sign language?”

Orisa shook her head, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “No. He was never teached.”

Aziraphale’s heart plummeted. “Oh.” She wished to help the boy, so very badly, but hadn’t the time, materials, nor miracles. All she could do at the moment was offer him a kind, helpless look.

“Well, better fix that, then.”

Crowley strut forward, grabbing one of the children’s books from a shelf and then dismissing Aziraphale. “Go on, tend to the rest of ‘em. I’ve got this one.” Kneeling in front of the boy, the demon opened the picture book to a random page, which now held much different pictures than it had when it was published. On this page, there sat the exact image of Ifechi’s school house. 

Using his knees to prop the picture book up and open, Crowley placed both hands in front of his chest, one palm up, one palm down, and patted them together as if clapping twice. The boy grinned, and copied him. He had just learned how to convey the word, ‘School.’

Aziraphale glanced between them, warmth brewing in her chest and coloring her cheeks once more. “Wonderful, that’s perfect, Crowley, thank y--!” she burst, bending her knees in rejoice.

Crowley stopped her quickly, snapping, “Ah-ah! Just go back to your chalkboard, angel, before I change my mind.” The woman buttoned up her enthusiasm and pranced away. “Right! Yes!”

Throughout the rest of the lesson, The angel carried a grand smile upon her face, and her eyes twinkled every time she looked up to see Crowley and Ifechi exchanging new signs. Her gaze lingered the longest on Crowley’s nearly peaceful expression and calmly motioning hands when he taught the boy how to sign, ‘I love you.’

When the dismissal bell rang, she glimpsed Ifechi throwing his arms around the man’s shoulders to deliver him a tight hug.

The safari tour was led by two local gentlemen, Akachi and Chimaobi, who were very talkative and excited about all of the nature they had to show them. As they departed the village in a worn Jeep Wrangler, Aziraphale was more than happy to carry on a lengthy conversation between the lot of them, with Crowley interjecting his own questions, advice, and opinions along the way. He often made their guides laugh, however unintentionally.

A prompting from Emily guided Aziraphale to cast a glance behind them, at the settlement they were leaving in the dust. 

Those kids were so delightful. I’ve never seen anyone smile as big as dear Ifechi.

They were darling, weren’t they? Aziraphale agreed.

Do you think that we--

But the angel’s attention was dragged back into the conversation within the Jeep when Chimaobi asked from the front of the vehicle, “This is your girl?”

It took Aziraphale a second to comprehend what they were asking. Shifting in his seat, Crowley called up to the front of the Wrangler, “Yes.” without a drop of hesitation, and well before Aziraphale could even take a breath to answer.

Aziraphale then leapt into the conversation, now understanding the context and completely abandoning her internal dialogue with Emily. “No, no, just friends!” she corrected strongly, but with a tight grin nonetheless.

The other tour guide, Akachi, chimed in. “Girlfriend, yes?”

“No, just a friend, who is a girl.” She waved away any confusion and looked to Crowley for help.

“Girl, friend?”

Crowley wasn't as much of a help as she wished he would be, calling ahead, “Yes, girl friend.” He could have placed much more of a separation between his words, and Aziraphale gave him a tiny glare. She spoke up firmly. “Female friend, yes. Girlfriend , no.”

Chimaobi grinned a large smile and glanced at the pair in his rear-view mirror. “Love? Your lover?” He was just teasing with them now, but Aziraphale did not think it was funny.

“No. No love, not lovers. We are not together in any romantic way, whatsoever,” she continued arguing her case as politely as she could. Emily was laughing on the inside, which aided in the honesty of the angel’s otherwise uneasy smile, but also made her cheeks flush with heat.

Crowley concealed his humor behind his grin rather well, finalizing, “Lady friend is fine, gentlemen.”

The safari guides nodded enthusiastically. “Lady friend, okay. Lady friend, it is.”

Aziraphale didn’t think ‘lady friend’ was much better, but Crowley tilted his head to give her a look. It was a look that said, ‘Let them call it what they want, it’s not worth the battle.’ Aziraphale reluctantly calmed, and left it alone. She believed the guides got the message that they were strictly platonic pals, however silly the English wordplay was.

Their safari was exquisite. It was everything one would expect, if they were expecting a perfectly exhilarating journey through the wilderness of Africa. The Wrangler bumped along the savanna terrain alongside the gentle stepping of giant giraffes and elephants, who were happily waving ‘Hello’ with their dusty trunks and blinking fondly with their long luscious eyelashes. The vehicle then plunged into the heart of a galloping herd of a zebra, racing with them to some unknown destination upon the sun’s horizon. And finally, they witnessed a pride of lionesses’ hunt. Because what safari would be complete without witnessing a spectacular hunt?

When they ventured into the more richly vegetated and elevated regions, they left the Wrangler at a base camp before trekking through the lush jungle, leaving the blonde savannas behind. Equipped with machetes and walking sticks, they climbed through the brush.

Before long, Aziraphale began to notice the toll of the exercise on her borrowed vessel. She could feel her warm blood pump through her veins. Her heart worked hard to beat in time to a steady rhythm. Feeling as if she were a heavy iron steam engine dragging herself uphill, she tried not to let her feet drag, and bore more of her weight on the walking stick she wielded.

This is exhausting for you, I can feel it. I’m sorry, my dear. Aziraphale apologized internally.

Don't be sorry. It’s great. She answered, a smile on her tired face. My body has never done this before. All it’s ever done is just... lie in a bed.

I’m not in the best of shape either. He admitted with a chuckle.

It’s amazing what the human body can do. She marveled. I feel alive. Tired, but alive.

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed how far behind she’d fallen from the others, but apparently Crowley had been in the middle of one of his rants. This one had been about how he should have brought one of his houseplants along to show it how cozy of a life it lived in his flat. With another clumsy swing of the machete in his hand, he removed a vine from their path and then just noticed that she was no longer directly behind him. “Are you even listening, angel?” His voice brought Aziraphale’s focus back. “Angel?”

“Yes, I’m listening, I’m just… let’s take a rest, shall we?” she panted, practically hanging onto her walking stick. Further ahead, the tour guides agreed apologetically. As they returned to their British guests, Crowley lingered near her. “Are you alright? Your cheeks are quite rosier than usual.”

“Yes, she’s just tried.” The woman leaned against a tree and smiled despite wanting to just lie down and take a great long nap for a while. “We both are. Not the most fit of persons, either of us.” Feeling slightly guilty and embarrassed, as all stragglers do, she made an effort to spur up some small talk. “She’s looking forward to seeing more animals.”

“Wull, she doesn’t have to wait much longer.” Crowley made a face as if he was surprised that she didn’t know, “There’s one right there.”

Aziraphale followed his lazy point, squinting into the treetops above them and expecting to spy a primate or a bird. “Where?”

“There. Along that branch.” He stepped beside her and pointed again, so she could follow the line of his arm. “D’you see it?”

Once the shape was detected, she smiled in surprise. “Oh.” A large python lie pressed against a thick branch overhead, camouflaged perfectly, and lying still in slumber. “Remarkable.”

Emily, look.

A flash of fear passed through the human's subconscious, though it was quickly calmed by the angel's. Holy mackerel. Emily laughed uneasily at herself. She knew there was no reason for her to feel fear as long as Aziraphale was with her. I've never seen a snake. She marveled.

Beautiful, isn't he? Aziraphale smiled.

“Taking a nice afternoon nap, he is.” Crowley murmured, lowering his hand to place it in his pocket, but remaining close beside the girl.

“Best not wake him.” Aziraphale’s voice lowered politely, as if she were within earshot of a delicately sleeping infant.

“He’s due for a shed.” Crowley drew his hand out again to point once more at the serpent. “See that ghostly color to his spots?”

“That’ll be a big skin.”

“If it comes off in one piece. He’ll be rubbing up against these trees for days, itching it off.” He muttered, turning his torso to scour the other branches in the canopy. Great big branches they were. Superb for climbing, and providing just the right amount of shade and sun spots. This jungle must have been a little slice of Heaven for that boa.

Their tour guides noticed the creature they were pointing at and burst into wide grins. “Are you familiar with snakes, sir?”

Crowley shook his head and shrugged. “Augh, just a smidge.” He then smiled brightly to hide his humor, and then shared a quieter, more knowing smile at the angel. She gave him a quietly humored smile right back.

Finding a piece of knowledge she didn’t understand, Emily asked, Crowley is ... a serpent?

Yes. It’s his lesser form.

What does that mean?

The guides began to talk more about the constrictor. Crowley was blatantly tuning their ‘expertise’ out-- only chiming in occasionally to correct their trivia with facts that no one but he and his fellow serpents could possibly know. Aziraphale concentrated on Emily.

It’s a form he can use to disguise himself when he goes about causing mischief upon the Earth. Like in the Garden.

The Garden of Eden? That biblical story is true?

It is. He shared a file of his memories with her, and could almost audibly hear her gasp.

Oh my good Lord.

Humored and proud, he smiled internally.

Crowley’s voice floated into focus. “Oh, sometimes it’s by accident, you know. Big huggers they are. Tree huggers, especially. But you see, trees don’t suffocate if you squeeze ‘em too tight. Sometimes they forget that other things do .” Aziraphale glanced up to see the guide’s perplexed expressions, and then felt a charmed smile spread across her own face while witnessing Crowley’s diplomacy. ”Their bodies are literally built for hugging, they can’t help themselves.”

Then Emily asked, pulling the angel back into the depths of their mutual mind, Do you have a lesser form?

Not a particular one. But I was a dove once. I brought an olive leaf to Noah.

Noah, as in Noah’s Ark? That tale is true as well?

Again, he offered her his memory. It is.

Emily was in such awe, she almost felt like weeping. Christ, I feel like I need to go fetch a Bible now.

He chuckled. Oh, no need for that, my dear. You have it all right here. You may peruse my memories as much as you’d like. I’m practically an open book. And Christ was, in fact, a rather kind young man.

Chapter Text

While Akachi and Chimaobi prepared the campsite for the night, Aziraphale brought Emily to the rocky ridge of the small mountain they’d climbed. There, a vast view of the jungle stretched toward the edges of the horizon where the hot sun set. The Niger river lay snaking through the tropical trees, glistening with a fading summer light as clouds dissipated and shifted at the pace of a snail overhead. Warm hues of peace and hope bathed the sky, composing a masterpiece of natural art that even Heaven would envy. Birds, insects, and distant creatures called for their little ones to come bed, singing their last songs and warning cries.

The woman stood solitary, eyes unblinking yet growing moist with tears as she watched the beauty of the world from that ridgeline. They stood together, Aziraphale and Emily, both in only one entity. Alone, but not. Silent, but deeply immersed in a conversation that took the form of thought. For nearly two hours, they watched their small scope of the Earth shift and change with the gradual but all too rapid passing of time. It was a very spiritual sight they witnessed, each mesmerized by the unmatched grace of the world.

Emily’s spirit became buoyant within her body, achieving a tranquil state of total serenity that not even the most seasoned monks could achieve through meditation. She listened dutifully to Aziraphale’s stories, soothed by the golden warmth of his voice.

 At camp, Akashi had just started to spark a fire, though he appeared to be struggling. He was in the process of futilely cultivating some embers when Crowley came back from the jungle without his lady friend. “Lost her already?” The Nigerian joked.

“She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Akashi’s smile faded, and he asked, “Is she okay?” The lady hadn’t spoken in a while, even before she went off on her own. Chimaobi looked up from his dinner preparation to tune in to the conversation, also concerned.

“Just occupied. Got a lot on her mind, that one.” Crowley answered before waving the men away from the fire pit, then kneeling, blowing once into it, and then stepping away from the now-fully-fledged flame. The two guides stared at the lively fire in disbelief.

 Aziraphale spoke with Emily about various religions, histories, and languages of the Earth. He shared a great revelation of knowledge with her that evening, answering as many of her questions as he could. But even he did not know everything. He did know what Heaven was like. However, when she asked him about that, he hesitated.

…..It’s very clean. And bright. And it echoes. He smiled weakly. It’s also… rather frigid, up there. Frigid, and pure white, like the arctic. And, well, it can get lonely, too, at times.

Aren’t there billions of people up there?

Yes, there are. His empty smile remained fixed upon his face.

So how can it be…? She began to ask, but then found the memory, and felt it. Oh. That is lonely.

Oh, that’s just my personal opinion, Emily, please don’t think-- He clarified, Really, it’s quite nice. The human souls love it up there. But they, ah, are in a different... building, per say, than us angels. Usually.

Emily commented, I understand. Earth can get quite lonely too, even though there are billions of people here.

Oh, I’ve never been lonely down here. Aziraphale huffed with a more genuine smile. Earth was far more preferable, to him.

But you’ve been alone down here.

No, not really, I…

The only angel, for so long.

Well, it’s nice to have some peace and quiet from the... peace and quiet, of Heaven. He uneasily and inaccurately explained.

She called him out on it. You’re not expressing that right.

He hesitated as she picked apart his words to uncover their true message.

What you mean is, ‘It’s nice to have some fun and freedom down here.’

….I-I suppose so, yes. His eyes searched to regain his certainty and composure. H-How much of me… do you have access to, my dear?

A good bit. Maybe all of you. She answered honestly, looking around at the endless library of his thoughts, memories, and emotions. They floated around her, glowing and glittering like stars in a vast universe. She was capable of reading much more of him than he thought she would be able to. Living in a coma for years had clearly given her quite the talent for exploring the realm of the subconscious.

Oh. Works both ways, then, I guess. He tried to be optimistic about her unexpected ability, though it was still slightly concerning. Losing his control and privacy was a new experience for him, and he didn’t think he liked it. But she was no threat, and he figured that it was only fair that he was subjected to the very kind of invasive knowledge that she was, in their act of possession.

It’s Crowley. She identified, smiling at one particularly large and passionately burning star.

What? Aziraphale started, feeling a flash of fear and surprise. No one had ever been allowed to look very closely at that star of his before, especially himself. It was his most prized, and most closeted ball of fire.

Crowley is the reason you don’t feel lonely down here. She continued to grin and admire it, and he felt himself trying to hide it away from her, to no avail, before she discovered--

You l--

Emily.

He stopped her with a burst of uncharacteristically harsh force in his tone. She stepped away from that star, and he calmed.

I’m... not comfortable with this. Please, let’s not talk about…

Okay. She accepted his redirection, leaving the star alone. I’m sorry.

It’s alright. He sighed. Did you have any other questions? About Heaven, or, anything? Anything else.

She searched, and then found another discovery. You’ve heard God’s voice? 

I have.

What’s it like? 

Well, here, I’ll show you. He reached for the memory, but it was somehow locked. Oh. I can’t seem to replay it for you. That’s strange. But, anyway, it’s… it’s gentle and wise. He struggled to find a way to describe it. She’s very astute.

She?

Y- well. She doesn’t particularly have a gender, you see. It’s just easier, when using human language, to give her one.

I thought God was a he.

He is. Sometimes. Aziraphale winced. It’s complicated. Either works, she doesn’t mind.  Then, he awkwardly attempted a correction, They don’t mind. 

Giving up, he waved away the dilemma. When you meet her, it won’t be so confusing.

Emily fell sorrowfully silent at his choice of words, and he realized what he had said. Trying to salvage the situation, he stammered, I mean, e-everyone meets God, eventually.

Have you met God?

….No, not yet. He admitted with a deeply buried disappointment. Not in person. God had never actually shown herself to him. It seemed that only a special select few angels got to directly meet with The Almighty. But perhaps that wasn't true. Perhaps he had just been unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time, up there. And then, contentedly stuck down here, for the rest of it. Or perhaps, he was simply unworthy. That thought gnawed at his heart a little, but he tried to ignore it.

How funny would it be if I met her before you did? Emily smirked.

Aziraphale felt uneasy at her hollow joke. Hah, yes… very funny.

I look forward to it.

He shared his confusion with her, not that he had any control over it.

Like you said, everyone meets God eventually. You’ve helped me not feel so afraid for when I do. She explained.

Oh… Well... good. He forced a smile, but a faint sadness still lingered with them.

We’re cold. She informed him. The sun had set a quarter of an hour ago, and all that was once bathed in warm hues of sunset was now bathed in the cool hues of twilight.

Yes, you’re right. We are. Let’s go back now. It looks like they have a fire going at camp.

I haven’t felt the warmth of a fire before.

Oh, you’ll love it. It’s very toasty and inviting. Just don’t get too close, or it’ll burn you. He chattered on merrily, looking forward to the sensation.

She glanced back at the forbidden star in his mind. Like Crowley?

--What?

Crowley is connected to fire…? She observed from within.

Oh, right. Yes, well, he can, uh, he can breathe fire. Though it’s technically called-- He waved away the explanation. It’s a demon thing.

That’s fascinating. She marveled.

Yes, it’s quite ‘cool.’ He agreed, making an effort to use more modern vocabulary. It’s also of the Devil. He couldn’t leave that little important fact out, though he smiled fondly as he said it nonetheless.

She was drawn to the flame like a white moth to a crimson candle. With a grin on her face and hands extended, the woman soaked in both the heat and sight of the campfire. Akoshi and Chimaobi perked up at her arrival, chattering about what she had missed while she was gone, and asking if she enjoyed the view of the sunset on the ridge. She answered them as best she could while under the distraction of her internal glee.

It’s beautiful.

It is, isn’t it?

The flames flickered and danced, their glow hypnotizing.

Everything you’ve shown me has been so wonderful, Aziraphale.

Yes, well. Unfortunately, not everything is always so wonderful in the world.

Oh, I know. Trust me. But without the horrible things, the wonderful things wouldn’t be so wonderful.

Yes. I suppose you’re right.

They both wanted to stare at the fire forever. It was full of magical serpentine shapes that lasted only for a moment, before being followed by another shape, and then a swirl that flickered with an even shorter lifespan than the one before it. The occasional pop, sizzle, and spark ensured that the sight was never a dull one.

She hugged her knees and felt her face grow hot, looking up to spot Crowley, standing across the way with the performance of the firelight reflecting in his round glasses. Contrary to what it appeared, he wasn't staring at the fire. Instead, he was perhaps smiling with a gentle smugness at the successful yet harmless lure he’d laid for the angel.

Aziraphale couldn’t tell that his gaze was on her. The woman’s smile spread upon her warmed face as she glanced at him across the fire pit. But, in case the demon would catch a glimpse of her joy, she proceeded to hide it behind her knees as she forced her gaze back to the flames-- only to have her attention stolen by the glorious food Chimaobi offered her.

 When the time to sleep arrived, Aziraphale and Crowley politely receded into their tent. A brief chorus of “Goodnight Mister Crowley” and “Goodnight, Mister Crowley’s Lady Friend.” babbled from their safari guides as they waved their fingers and then snickered to each other. Apparently it was a very lewd thing to share a tent with someone, according to humans-- and a hilariously lewd thing at that.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and muttered, unlacing her boots and then gathering the blankets to form a plump nest around her sleeping bag. “Humans. So ridiculous.”

“Careful, now.” Crowley warned. The zipper shrieked against the silk of the tent as he secured the entrance flap closed. “You’ll offend Emily.”

“Oh, Emily agrees with me.” Aziraphale informed him, making the last arrangements of her nest before plopping back onto the pillow. “Oh, God,” she sighed, unable to help herself. “It feels so good to lie down.”

She was suddenly very aware of a dull omnipresent tingling in her muscles. She was going to be sore tomorrow. It had been a long time since Aziraphale had felt sore , and she was not looking forward to it. She may also be sunburnt , she fretted. Another peaceful sigh was released, and Aziraphale closed her eyes. Emily kept hers wide open, however, and the angel suspected that this was what a tired parent felt like when their infant was far from being ready for bed after an exhausting day.

“Are you actually going to sleep?” Crowley asked, shifting to sit upon his own sleeping bag, one wrist slung over his knee and his other arm propping himself up from behind.

“I think I just might, actually.” Aziraphale prayed. God willing.

“You’re that tired?”

“I’m that bloody tired.”

“Terrific.” Crowley was nearly in awe. Making a face, he shrugged, “I usually have to miracle myself to sleep, when I want to.” Slumber was not a natural thing for those of angel stock like it was for humans. There was no rest for the wicked, as they said, and no lay-me-down-to-sleep for the righteous. Busy bodies, the lot of them. Or, that was the intent, anyway. Both Crowley and Aziraphale quite enjoyed lazing about. But falling asleep without any kind of miraculous intervention upon their consciousness was impressive. The demon was mighty envious. He could go slither laps around the jungle for hours and still suffer insomnia. Perhaps it was part of the whole suffer-in-Hell-for-eternity thing.

“You should do it.” Aziraphale muttered encouragingly, practically drunk with mental and physical fatigue. “Sleep with me.”

Shite.

Before she could panic enough to clarify, Crowley answered, “Oh, I dunno. I think I’ll stay up.”

Aziraphale relaxed, believing it was better not to mention her mistake if Crowley hadn’t caught the unintentional double meaning. Thank the Heavens.

“It doesn’t feel right, them two staying up. To keep watch, or whatevah.” Crowley sneered at the closed door flap of the tent. “While us two drift off in here. That’s like having mice keeping guard while the rottweiler sleeps.”

Aziraphale slowly opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling of the tent, but truly, she was eyeing the demon in her peripherals. Did he just say something… nice? She tried to hide her smile, believing that he had indeed. “You’re going to use a miracle to send them to bed, aren’t you?” she mused mischievously, predicting her friend’s deviously kind plans.

“No,” he snapped with a petulant tone before unlacing his own boots and then starting to unbutton his safari jacket. He fumbled with some of the buttons, she noticed. After a while, Crowley muttered, “...It just doesn’t make sense, is what I’m saying. I don’t give a damn if they get enough shut-eye. I’d just rather not be eaten by a lion because two dimwit humans did a piss poor job of defending camp, is all.”

“We’re not going to be eaten.” Aziraphale revealed her teeth in a grin and chuckled.

Crowley peeled his glasses from his face and shrugged out of his jacket. “Speaking of, did you hear what Akoshi said earlier about a crocodile-eating python?”

“What? No, I didn’t.” She turned her head to look at him as he recited the tale.

“He said that he’d heard of a python who swallowed a damned crocodile whole.”

“That’s absurd.” Her expression was half confused, half concerned.

“You’re telling me. No serpent in their right mind would want to do such a thing. Can you imagine?” Crowley gestured, tucking his folded glasses into his boots and then leaning back on his propped elbows. His orange eyes practically glowed in the darkness of the tent, though they cast no light. Aziraphale realized she hadn’t seen him without his glasses in quite a while.

“I can’t say that I can, but... I mean, serpents have been known to swallow cattle whole.” The angel advocated.

“Cattle are soft. Crocodiles are not.” Crowley turned to lean on only one elbow, so his other arm could gesture expressively about the space above them. “It’s not the size that matters, per say, it’s the texture. That’d be like eating a great big ol’ rock, with those scales. It’d take a millennium to digest. The poor thing would be immobile for ages.”

“Yes, it’d certainly take quite a while.” Aziraphale nodded, turning her gaze to the ceiling of the tent. After a few moments, she couldn’t help herself. “...Crocodile.”

Crowley appeared as if he’s been pricked with a needle full of disgust, and he heartily scoffed, “Was that the best gag you could come up with? That was wretched ."

It had been wretched. Aziraphale began rubbing her face, laughing pathetically, “I’m so tired.” She was giddy with exhaustion. It felt astoundingly delightful. Emily was internally giggling as well, amplifying the angel’s humor.

“Then go to sleep. D’you need help? I’d be more than happy to knock you unconscious after that miserable joke.” Crowley offered with a lift of his brows, struggling to keep the grin off his face.

“No, no, it’s fine. Save your miracles.” The angel waved, slowly rubbing her other hand away from her face while catching her breath.

“I wasn't plannin’ on using a bloomin’ miracle.”

Aziraphale burst into more laughter, her eyes squeezing shut and one knee lifting. Crowley began to join her with some gentle huffs of his own, which turned to chuckles as the lady commenced to roll from side to side.

“Oh, come now, you w- you wouldn’t hit a girl.” The angel declared playfully amidst her laughter, pouncing upon the topic of her temporary gender as a means of defense.

“I would, too!” Crowley nodded, unashamed and still grinning. “I certainly would. I have before, and I will again. They’re no better than men.” Making a face, he boldly mentioned, “Gender equality is the newest fad in the world, these days, innit? About bloody time.”

Aziraphale giggled and shook her head, her smile spreading from ear to ear. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m a demon, what’d you expect?” He emphasized, smiling. His eyes shimmered when he smiled like that. When he smiled genuinely, without bitterness, or sarcasm. When he smiled with only pure delight, as he often did when they chatted and joked together as they had on so many occasions prior.

Aziraphale continued to banter in her charmed, playful tone, emphasizing in a counter-argument, “You’re my-- ”  She halted herself just in time, yet all too late. Quickly cropping up another, more appropriate ‘M’ word, she floundered past her embarrassment to correct herself with as much composure as she could muster. “You’re... most... definitely a demon.”

The demon’s smile was slightly more agape than before, but he worked to press his trap closed, and then slowly nodded, partially accepting the correction with a splash of fond mockery. “I… most… definitely am.” The twinkle in his burning eyes remained, and she found herself unable to look away, despite her embarrassment.

She stared up at him with a dulled smile, which had turned goofy and distant as she remained distracted by the pleasant thing she saw. He held her gaze for a while, though his smile soon faded, and he started to turn his head as if he were about to surrender the staring contest and flee. “Wot?”

“What?” Her trance was somewhat broken, and she blinked. Overall, her stare remained, darting only a few inches away from target before honing right back in on his vertical irises. “Nothing.”

“Wot are you staring at?” he asked suspiciously-- almost shyly-- and appearing as if he were about three seconds away from finally breaking eye contact with her and bolting.

“It’s not me, it’s Emily.” Aziraphale explained hurriedly, helpless to stop staring. “She’s... she’s fixated upon your... eyes.”

Crowley broke their eye contact then, turning to look upon the closed entrance of the tent. Aziraphale stared at him still, though his eyes had been stolen from her sight. She knew they would not voluntarily return. She knew that Crowley was usually very shy about his demonic eyes, though he’d never admit it. But, in addition, he seemed suddenly disappointed.

Hesitating, she flashed a weary smile that he did not see. “She thinks they’re beautiful.”

But Aziraphale, I didn’t--

Shh, Emily. Please.

Crowley slipped into his sleeping bag and lied on his back, muttering drearily, “Tell her I’m flattered.” His tone was pretty flat, that was one thing.

Struck with a pang of guilt, Aziraphale continued to try and salvage the man’s spirit. “They remind her of the fire. She loved the fire.”

“I bet she did.” Crowley turned to lie on his side, deciding to face towards her, though it was still with a slight reluctance. As a compromise to his internal conflict between avoiding or accepting her attention, he closed his eyes and tucked his chin into the bag. From beneath the fabric, he mumbled, “Fires aren’t all that common in hospitals.”

“Oh Heavens, no.” Aziraphale agreed, trying very hard not to stare at the demon’s closed eyelids. What a terrible thought, fires in hospitals.

After a few moments of silence, and once Crowley’s self-consciousness had faded, the man spoke up again. “...She does know I’m a demon, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. She doesn’t mind.” Aziraphale nodded casually, glancing all across the man’s half buried face. She was convinced that he could have been one of Michelangelo's greatest masterpieces. He had a face that would have put all the sculptor's other models to shame, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “She thinks you’re…. Not so bad. Actually.” she murmured distractedly.

“She hasn’t seen all of me.”

Aziraphale wanted to argue. She wanted to say, ‘No, but I believe I have, and you are indeed not so bad.’ But she didn’t. She stayed quiet. Because she realized that she hadn’t seen all of him, and she couldn’t accurately make the statement that she had. Because there were some parts of him that she had made a point to ignore, over the past few thousand years. She felt guilty about that now, as if she should have seen this moment coming. Unfortunately, all she could give instead was a weary, “...Well. Best not show her, I suppose.”

Crowley’s answer came paired with a brief smirk-- a dash of self-bitterness beneath it. “I don't plan on it.” He still did not open his eyes.

With a long, quiet sigh, Aziraphale tore her gaze off him, giving him some kind of mercy, and instead looked up at the ceiling of the tent again. “...She’s tried. I think I exerted her too much today.”

“Best to let her rest, then,” the demon suggested gently.

“Yes. Goodnight, Crowley.”

“Goodnight.”

But Aziraphale remained staring at the ceiling. Emily remained silent for a while, sharing his guilt.

He didn’t like you staring at his eyes. Emily identified softly.

I couldn’t help myself. The angel whined. I didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable.

You also used me as an excuse.

Aziraphale’s spirits sagged further, but he admitted apologetically, I did. I’m sorry, that wasn't right of me.

It’s okay. It was just… a curious thing to do. Emily pondered.

It was a cowardly thing to do.

Cowardly? I don’t think you’re a coward. She scoffed. You were a knight, Aziraphale. You were a soldier. You’ve fought in wars. You’ve faced Foul Beasts as a guard of the Eastern Gate. How can you call yourself a coward?

I’m a coward when… when it comes to him.

Emily focused upon the demon again-- though not actually him. Rather, his star. His bundled essence of forbidden firelight in Aziraphale’s subconscious.

He isn’t scary.

Oh, he is. He is to me. Aziraphale assured her. He did not take in the view of Crowley’s star with her. He kept his attention upward, his focus fixed to the ceiling. Towards his God and guiding light. I am scared of Crowley.

No.... She looked deeper. You’re scared of how much you love him.

Yes.

I suppose I am.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale bore a forlorn expression on her face as she stared at the ceiling of the tent. Emily attempted to cheer him, offering optimism and comfort through her empathetic reassurances. He gently dismissed her efforts, requesting some quiet for a while.

“Are you going to be able to fall asleep, angel?”

Aziraphale sharply turned to glance at Crowley, caught red handed in the act of worrying. She’d expected him to feign his nap for longer. “...I don’t know.” She tried not to stare at his eyes again, pulling her gaze downward at the rim of the sleeping bag that concealed his mouth. 

His ember eyes watched her with a peaceful intensity, never blinking, and appearing almost soulless with their reptilian slits-- to one who didn’t know any better. “Do you want help?”

A guilty smile tugged at her lips, and she glanced up to apologetically wince into his eyes, attempting some bit of humor. “I suppose I do deserve a right clobbering, don’t I?”

Crowley shook his head and performed a slow, incomplete blink of his eyelids. “No.” In the lengthy moment of silence that followed, he non-verbally told her that she had nothing to be sorry about. She could read it in his eyes, as if they were a beloved book. Then, the demon elaborated, “A miracle."

The offer was considerate, but Aziraphale hesitated. “….I worry that… it would shut down her life support,” she admitted with hushed breath. The attempt to conceal her fear was in vain, since apparently nothing could be kept hidden from Emily anymore.

“Don't worry about that.” Crowley muttered, believing it was a stupid thing to worry about. “She’s got a backup generator, nothing bad’s gonna happen,” he informed her, as if it were obvious.

Aziraphale’s smile returned. Her real one. The one in which joy triumphed over worry and guilt. The one that only Crowley could bring to her face. After a moment, she whispered an earnest and hardly audible, “Thank you,” accepting his offer.

It was audible enough for Crowley’s sneer to appear from behind the edge of his sleeping bag. “Oh, shut up.” With a gesture of his revealed hand, he snapped his fingers. 

Aziraphale’s smile faded as her eyes drifted closed. Her head bobbed into its final resting spot upon her pillow, her expression falling into a truly angelic one. Crowley did not replace his arm within his sleeping bag, instead extending it the short distance forward to slide his fingers through the curls of her blonde hair and rest his hand upon her skull.

His smoldering eyes studied her closed ones as he monitored her through his touch. Her scent dulled, her breathing stilled, her body heat faded, and her pulse slowed. And slowed. And slowed. Her vitals were plummeting toward concerning levels, but as the demon’s eyes drifted shut his spirit surged forth before any harm was done.

Good Hell , child.

Staying just outside her subconscious, he made a face.

You’re weaker than a bloody newborn.

Emily blinked drowsily and smiled wearily. She was sitting by herself, with Aziraphale nowhere in sight. Not that she could see much at all through the darkness. The lights were out, and the stars that composed Aziraphale’s mental library had all dimmed, frozen in dormancy. A few of her own stars floated about like tiny fireflies in comparison to the sleeping angel’s galaxies of memories and knowledge. 

Crowley? Where are you? She asked.

I’m out here. He answered, his hand firmly resting on the external surface of their subconscious.

Aren’t you going to come in? She asked, still searching for the source of Crowley’s voice. It felt strange to communicate through a wall after she’d grown so used to direct contact.

No.

Why?

I’ve got you just fine like this. He assured her, working like an external HVAC system to maintain the levels of her living quarters. A reverse parasite.

Emily wandered alone on the inside of the barrier, curiously looking through the darkness until she found a sort of door. Oh. It’s locked. A click, and then she smiled. Now you can come in, can’t you?

No. There’s a second lock, Emily.

Where? I don’t feel a second lock.

That’s because it’s not yours. He explained with practiced patience. It’s his.

Oh. She rested her hand upon the door, feeling the heat radiating from the other side. But you could still break in, if you wanted to. Couldn’t you? I can tell. You’re equipped for it.

I’m not going to do that.

I know.

She turned to look back into the heart of the dim chamber. It’s really nice in here.

I imagine it is.

Is there anything you can show me through this door, Crowley? Any memories? She asked, hopeful.

No . He repeated, entirely disinterested.

She tried not to become discouraged. Starving for interaction, she requested, Tell me more about The Garden. And Christ. And Noah’s Ark. You were there for those moments too.

I think I will leave the biblical tales to Aziraphale.

Why?

Because my opinion of God is not a good one.

That’s alright. I’d like to hear your side.

I’d rather not tell it.

Alright. Growing tired, she sat against the door and tried to connect with her babysitter again. Pardon me asking, but, have you been to Heaven?

Yes.

Is it frigid and lonely, like the arctic?

...Yes. His interest became piqued and he spoke more openly with her. Yes, precisely. What a fantastic description. Where did you...?

Aziraphale. He thinks of it that way.

Oh. There was more thought and emotion packed into that one syllable than all the rest he’d spoken to her thus far.

It doesn’t seem like anything humanity dreams it of being. Emily commented.

It’s better than the alternative, take it from me.

Can I ask you questions about what Hell is like?

I would prefer if you didn’t. And, I can assure you… you don’t wanna know.

Right. She knew she should try to stay away from sensitive topics, but she couldn’t help but ask, Have you heard God’s voice?

Oh yes. The demon answered. I’ve met them.

You have? She gasped.

I have.

That’s amazing. She grinned.

Well, it... was amazing, at some point. He recalled disjointedly. Granted, I don’t remember it at all. But I do vaguely remember that it was , once, a great thing.

I can imagine. She dreamed. Did you know Aziraphale hasn’t met God?

...I did not.

He’s pretty self-conscious about it. He wants to meet her, so badly. He also--

Emily.

She ceased her rant, feeling a chill pass through the walls.

Leave him be. Crowley advised. You don’t need to go digging around in there, snooping through things that aren’t yours. It’s not polite.

You’re right. I’m sorry. I just get so excited.

It’s alright. His warmth slowly returned.

After a few moments, she hummed, He’s fascinating.

He agreed, though it was something he’d known for a very long time. He is.

...What’s it like to be a snake? She wondered.

It’s wriggly.

She giggled.

You’ve no limbs! He expressed.

Obviously! She bantered with humored delight.

And you’re very prone to being stepped on.

How terrible. She giggled with a roll of her eyes.

You have no idea. He lamented.

When the time came for the breaker to be flipped, Crowley said goodbye to Emily and pulled a lever. Lights brightened and stars began to glow. The warmth of the door was sucked away as Crowley’s hand departed, but in the same moment, Emily’s shoulder was warmed by the touch of a different hand. The girl looked up and mirrored an angel’s smile as he helped her to her feet. The transition of her life support was seamless.

In the physical world, Crowley opened his eyes and removed his hand from the gentle nest of her hair. Aziraphale shifted and blinked across from where he lay. The tent was illuminated with gentle morning sunlight, and the greeting calls of the African wildlife resonated from outside. Crowley lied still, watching the girl yawn into her pillow and stretch with the grace of a celestial princess. A celestial princess with terrible bedhead.

“Sleep well?” The demon murmured hoarsely.

She closed her eyes and snuggled back into her blankets to savor the morning. “Re mark ably,” she sighed, realizing she wasn’t even sore. Or sunburnt. Must have been a spell of luck. Or the product of such a miraculously deep sleep.

Good morning Aziraphale. Emily beamed, embracing him.

Good morning, dear. He beamed and embraced her back. Did you grow too cold in the night?

Not at all. Crowley kept me warm, like the--

The fire. The angel finished knowingly.  For once, he allowed himself to turn and glance, just for a moment, upon Crowley’s burning star. The hearth of his heart. The centerpiece to his subconscious. Perhaps he had ignored it for too long. Perhaps he had taken its steadfast presence for granted over the centuries. But now, he really looked at it, and his guilt gradually became replaced with adoration and gratitude.

Crowley was already getting up from his sleeping bag, but Aziraphale was much slower. Nestled tightly, the angel soaked in the peace of the morning as she lied serenely on her back. She watched the demon beneath lazily lowered eyelids as he got to work on lacing his shoes before hauling himself to a stand. She studied the way his body moved, tall and lanky and clumsy in the most human of ways. Everything about him was captivating to her, from the tendons of his feet to the shadow of his sharp jaw to the boney shapes of his knuckles.

“Let’s find out if any lions got to our tour guides, shall we?” Crowley proposed, finishing the last buttons of his beige jacket. Whipping out his shades, he replaced them upon his nose and then stepped out of the tent.

Aziraphale snickered, confident that no harm had come to any of them in the night. She could already hear Chimaobi and Akoshi bickering from their own tent about what to make for breakfast. Breakfast very effectively enticed her out of her cozy sleeping bag.

Their trek through the jungle was easier that day than the one prior, as it was all downhill travel. A trickling stream bounced along beside their trail, widening and narrowing and branching off on occasion. In the reflection of the dancing water, four men laughed and chatted as they made their way through the foliage with machetes and walking sticks in single file. Outside of the reflection, two men laughed and chatted while the third paused to help a lady down a steep incline.

The group came to rest halfway down the mountain, where the stream flattened to form a slow-moving river. Whilst sitting upon a rock, Aziraphale drew in the moist dirt of the riverbank with her walking stick, dotting the eyes of a smiley face. It’s you.

Emily giggled and suggested an addition to the drawing. Dragging the stick in a circular motion above the face, she gave it a halo. The girl teased back, Now it’s you.

Leaning against a tree, Crowley watched as Aziraphale grinned and chuckled to herself. A smile pulled upward at the corner of his lips, but he left them alone with each other, staying outside of their conversation.

The angel turned her head to smile into the edge of the river, her tattered blonde curls falling over her shoulder. In the reflection of the water, Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled at her.  Are you enjoying yourself out here, Emily?

Very much.

She spoke down to the river as he spoke up from the river, but it was all one in the same. For a moment, Aziraphale’s gaze wandered. Emily remained looking down into the water, but in her reflection, the angel watched Crowley’s own image as the demon inspected a few large jungle leaves. He was quietly muttering something along the lines of, “That’s the best you can do? Really? Is it? Pathetic.”

So wonderful.

Aziraphale’s gaze snapped back to its proper place. What?

The water. It’s so wonderful. So calm and gentle. Emily observed, infatuated with its magical shimmer in the sunlight.

Oh, yes. It is. He forced himself to admire it with her. But not always. Not when it’s a hurricane, or a waterfall. After a moment, he added sheepishly, Or, a flood.

I want to see a waterfall.

The woman looked up from the water, glancing behind herself to call politely, “Gentlemen? Is there, by chance, a waterfall nearby?”

Akoshi and Chimaobi conversed briefly, then nodded, “Yes, the hot springs has one-- just a few miles east.”

Hot springs and a waterfall? Emily was ecstatic.

“Did you bring swim clothes?” Akoshi asked.

The blonde’s expression dimmed, but Crowley abandoned the now-ashamed tree to call, “Yes, we did.” 

Aziraphale sent him a grateful smile.

The water raged as it flung itself over the rocky outcropping of the cliff, plummeting for ages before crashing into the steaming pool below. The hot springs were nothing short of paradise, a perfect hideaway carved into the world, surrounded by the lush jungle and secluded from all civilization. Emily’s awe and excitement buzzed within Aziraphale, and she too, was taken aback by the picturesque locale. So much so, that she forgot all about the embarrassment she felt when their tour guides had waved goodbye to them in the same teasing manner as last night.

“That’s... quite high,” she hummed, taking a cautious step forward to peer down at the hot springs below.

“Nonsense, it’s only a couple dozen meters.” Crowley was already unbuttoning his shirt. She tried not to glance over at the action. “I’m quite disappointed, actually,” he sneered, fighting with the fabric to wriggle it off his shoulders and expose his bare chest. Aziraphale’s heart rate increased.

She flinched in surprise as he placed a drawstring bag into her hands. “Pick your favorite,” he ordered before stepping away to finish discarding his outfit. Inside the bag, various blue and white swimsuits were neatly stuffed. All appropriately modest, as far as swimsuits go. One-pieces with skirts, and the like. The atmospheric steam from the hot springs prevented the girl from feeling too cold after she had changed. She returned to the cliff with her bare arms folded, carefully stepping over to where Crowley stood, already in his ink black suit, sans glasses. They stared down at the pool below as the waterfall churned nearby.

Are we going to jump? Emily questioned eagerly.

Don’t be ridiculous. Aziraphale chuckled to herself and shook her head. Only a moron would….

Then, her smile vanished from her face, and she sharply turned to look at Crowley, who was intensely examining the chasm in front of him. “Don’t you dare ,” she demanded.

“Wot?” he protested, craning his head over to gape at her.

“Don’t you even think about jumping, you fiend.”

He was flabbergasted, and caught completely in the act of thinking that exact thing. “Oh, come on, now, why not? It’s not that high!”

“Don’t you do it.” She gave him a stern look.

He pouted toward the cliff as if it were an expensive luxury that he was about to purchase on a credit card despite his lacking budget. “You know, I think I will, actually, now that you mention it.”

“You’re going to get yourself in a heap of trouble,” she declared, following him as he stepped away. “We don’t know how deep that pond is!”

He snapped his fingers into the air and smirked back at her, solving that problem. “There, now it’s plenty deep.” Turning around to face the cliff, he prepared himself, content with the distance he’d built for a running start.

She stepped in front of him with a sour look on her face. “Crowley, if you get hurt, I’m gonna--”

He looked at her, calmly waiting.

“...Be very, very angry with you.” She finished with an exasperated yip.

A deep smirk curled across his mouth as he tilted his head and spread his arms. “Best not get myself hurt then,” he crooned in a cocky tone. With one final nod that practically piped ‘Cheery-o,’ he made a run for the cliff.

Aziraphale rotated to stare after him, worry streaking across her face. She hurried behind the man, stopping at the edge of the cliff to watch him lean forward and send himself into the open air. He was almost the most graceful diver she’d ever seen, but she supposed it wasn't difficult to appear as such when one had the aerodynamic qualities of an arrow. While airborn, he pointed his hands above his head and locked his ankles toward the sky, piercing through the surface of the pool like a bolt. Aziraphale crouched on the cliff, ignoring Emily’s internal cheers as she exhaled a “Dear God,” that was either a result of awe or fear.

The demon resurfaced before long, whipping a sopping tuft of red hair out of his face and sending an elated cackle ricocheting through the rocky cliff side. “Oh, Aziraphale, you must try it!” he called merrily. The woman exhaled nervously at the thought, but her expression softened with fondness at his joy. “Oh, what fun! You’ll love it, come on. Try it!” He tread the warm pool and yapped up at her excitedly. “The water’s lovely down here.”

She stood up carefully, turning her attention to the cliff. Emily bounced in their mind, encouragingly wildly. Let’s do it, Aziraphale! Let’s jump! Let’s jump!

The woman wrung her hands nervously in front of her belly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea...” She murmured out loud, uncertain who she was talking to.

The angel looked back down at Crowley as he goaded teasingly, “What are you afraid of, you great big pansy!? ”

Reminded of her conversation with Emily last night, she pouted with a small huff, tightening her grip upon her own wrist. A quiet mutter escaped her frown. “ You , you daft gremlin.”

Not him. Emily corrected with a smile. Your love for him.

Aziraphale changed topics promptly. We’re not jumping off that cliff.

Don’t worry about me. Just do it.

I’m responsible for your well-being, Emily, I’m not launching you off a bloody cli--

Crowley’s bark snatched their attention. “Angel!”

Aziraphale worried in his direction again. Treading methodically, he quirked a questioning expression up at her, blinking with the sun (quite literally) in his eyes. “Seriously, what’s stopping you?”

“...I fear it would break her, honestly,” she called back. Emily could practically see the angel’s metaphorical fishing pole, but she kept her observations to herself.

“Oh, it’s not gonna break ‘er.” Crowley scoffed loudly.

“You don't know her like I do, Crowley, she’s very fragile.” Aziraphale warned. She was starting to grow slightly colder with the cool morning breeze, and she rubbed her arms again.

“Oh, I know. Trust me, I know.” The demon nodded with a tilt of his head. After waiting for another few moments, he pleaded, “Let the girl jump!” Sorting through the rest of his vocabulary, he tried to piece together the right words to encourage her.

The angel waited, until finally, the magic words were spoken.

“I’m right here, Aziraphale. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you.” The demon supposed it would have been more proper to say ‘nothing bad’s going to happen to her,’ but it was too late to change it now. Little did he know, he could have said nothing more perfect. The angel’s spirits warmed, and she basked in his gentle tone. His words echoed in her head like the heavenly bells of Notre Dame. She clung to their melody for as long as possible.

You’re such a sneaky bastard. Emily marveled proudly.

I did nothing sneaky at all. He claimed, contentedly allowing his fears to evacuate the premises of their psyche.

Smiling mischievously, she hurried off to measure a running start. In the pool below, Crowley revealed his teeth in a triumphant grin. Suddenly she launched herself over the rocky outcropping of the cliff, executing a rolling somersault. Crying out with elated fear, she opened her body to flail like a buffoon-- losing all grace and form. Crowley’s grin shattered with shock, and he spat, “Point yer feet, pointyerfeet!” At the last moment, the girl obeyed, straightening upright and pressing her hands to her sides with an expectant wince. Crowley submerged himself before she broke the surface of the water.

The violent shift of pressure and temperature in the matter surrounding her was enough to dislodge anybody’s senses, but Emily specifically took quite a dizzying hit. 

Easy, dear, easy. Aziraphale reached to steady her. Emily was laughing through her disorientation, sounding like a madwoman as she sank heavily against the angel, almost slipping out of his hold.

Underwater, she felt the texture of slick scales, which spooked Emily back to her senses, but didn’t faze Aziraphale in the least bit. The serpent curled itself under her arms, unexpectedly buoyant like a pool noodle. She returned to the surface in seconds, gasping to regain her breath. She didn’t notice that she had closed her arms around the man’s back. Wrapped in an embrace, the two of them bobbed in the water. The residual waves of her dive lapped against their skin, and the jungle seemed to fall silent except for the eternal crescendo of the waterfall behind them.

Aziraphale blinked the water off her eyelashes, breathing into his bare shoulder and realizing his hand was securely holding her head against his neck. The touch of his palm was warm. Warmer than his bare chest, which was matched perfectly to hers. Warmer than the spring water surrounding them. Warmer than her own blood, which pulsed heavily through her body. Stunned by their physical, intimate proximity, Aziraphale did not notice a far more intimate, metaphysical proximity. The angel did not notice that a familiar presence passed over the exterior surface of her subconscious, checking on the ‘house’ to ensure it was alright, and inhabited properly.

Emily was the one who recognized it first, and called out a “We’re alright, Crowley!”

By the time Aziraphale turned to face the door, their guest was gone.

Back in the physical world, the demon removed his hand from Aziraphale’s head, removed his other arm from around her back, and touched her shoulders only to part from her. She looked at him with a stunned vacancy, but he only chuckled, “Who the Heaven taught you how to dive?”

She forced herself to tread water as the rest of his body left the rest of hers. Blinking as the warm waves clapped against her chin, she took a breath and snapped out of it. “Um… n-no one.”

“Obviously.” He scoffed, leaning away to float on his back like a piece of driftwood, acting as cool and casual as always, as if he hadn’t just recovered her from the depths of the pool or paid a forbiddingly close visit to her spirit.

Aziraphale struggled to regain her senses, feeling much colder without him against her, which was ridiculous considering the temperature of the hot springs.

Crowley began chattering away about the proper way to dive, and why it mattered, and reciting horror tales of dimwitted folks who had jumped off cliffs improperly, but Aziraphale looked around at the springs. She focused on something other than the demon to calm herself down.

There’s no need to be frightened, Aziraphale. Emily tried to soothe him. He would never force his way through.

It was difficult for Aziraphale to form coherent thoughts. But Emily was wrong about the source of his fear.

Oh . She discovered. You’re not afraid that he would let himself in. You’re afraid that you would let him in.

Like a housewife greeted by unexpected royal company, he would be put into full panic mode, desperately tidying things up, attempting to hide skeletons that he did not wish anyone to find. Most obviously, towering like a great sun in the center of the room; his love for the demon. But there was no hiding anything when possession was involved. Aziraphale had learned that the hard way with an awakened Emily as his co-pilot. Yet his yearning to allow the demon inside was almost as powerful as his determination to avoid it at every cost.

Would it really be so terrible if he knew? Emily questioned, unhelpfully. If he saw how grand that star of yours is, with his name burned upon it?

Yes. Yes it would.

His stubbornness was met with her kind patience. I think you’ll find it’s not quite so terrible, if you find the courage in yourself to open up to him.

“Angel?” Crowley had lifted his head to look at her again, pausing in his lazy backstroke. 

She hadn’t been listening, and there was no denying it. “Sorry, I… I was speaking with Emily again.” Aziraphale apologized. “Go on, dear.”

“Oh, no.” He waved away the topic, muttering, “It was nothing. Jus’ nonsense.”

She smiled at him, begging for pardon, and telling him earnestly. “Nothing you say is ever nonsense to me, Crowley.”

He processed those words of hers for a moment before curling his lip and trying very hard to ignore her. She did not make it easy.

“...Emily wanted to thank you.”

The demon sneered at the sky, trying his best to pretend that he hadn’t heard those blessed words.

“For, ah…” Aziraphale carefully paced herself through her fabricated lie, literally putting words in Emily’s mouth. “For being there for her... in case she needed you.” She glanced down to the water she was treading, and then back up at him.

“Wull, what else am I supposed to do, let her slip away?” the demon snapped sourly. “You’d wring my neck. Can’t do anything righ--er, wrong, now can I?” He stumbled over the terminology.

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, and she let it alone, changing subjects. “Show her your serpent form again,” she requested kindly.

The demon warily looked over at her, floating aimlessly upon the heated water.

“Please?” She tilted her head hopefully.

After some self-conscious brooding, Crowley sighed a snarl. “Fine.” Muttering to himself, he arched his back and submerged beneath the pool.

Aziraphale’s smile grew with a victorious smugness, and as the water shifted around them, she extended an arm. Scales rolled up into view and the water swished as the obsidian serpent whipped himself back and forth, swimming towards her. He slipped over her arm and then curled his body around it for support. 

At his scaled touch, Emily startled, but Aziraphale assuaged her human instinct of fright.

It’s alright, dear.

I’ve never touched a snake before. Emily slowly calmed and grew accustomed to the creature.

Keeping her arm somewhat lifted to ensure the snake was not submerged too deeply in the water, Aziraphale leaned back against a rock at the edge of the pool. She smiled at his little fiery eyes and peeking forked tongue. They stared at each other for a while, until--

“Sssssso?” the serpent hissed, shyly. “Whatssssshe think?”

He’s fucking adorable. Emily answered internally.

I can’t tell him that, or he’ll have a fit.

Then tell him he’s very scary indeed.

Aziraphale hummed a laugh. “She says you’re absolutely dreadful .”

The snake carried its head higher with a sinister pride, water droplets glistening on his black scales. The angel could almost detect a smile on his reptilian face.

Aziraphale’s expression changed as she furrowed her brow, and then translated, “She also says you’re... ‘indeed wriggly?’” The angel did not understand the reference.

“Very wriggly.” The serpent affirmed. He had not lied to the child last night.