Come up and see me (make me smile)

by ineffably-effable (ineffably_effable)

Summary:

Aziraphale isn't what Crowley expected.

Chapter 1: The Garden of Eden, 4004 BC

Crowley found the culprit on the eastern gate, sitting hunched over, with his knees hugged to his chest. He was watching the exiled humans with an expression of regret clouding his face. His wings were slumped off his shoulders, grey feathers spread askew on the ground. The dejected countenance sparked curiosity in Crowley. He moved to sit down next to the demon, dangling his legs off the edge of the wall and carefully spreading his wings out behind them.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” Crowley said amiably.

The demon startled. 

“I’m sorry?”

(His eyes were owlish, bright yellow - almost gold, really, Crowley thought - with jet-black pupils. Captivating.)

“I said, that went down like a lead balloon.” 

“Oh,” the demon looked back at the humans, wincing, “yes, it did rather.”

“Still, I guess it’s a victory for your side eh? Quite cunning of you...” he trailed off.

“Aziraphale.” the demon supplied, still very much preoccupied with watching after the humans. 

“Right, Aziraphale...” That name’s a mouthful. “ You must have been planning it for ages,” he drawled, “whispering in her ear, and laying the foundation to lead her astray...” he paused, leaving room for a response. When none was forthcoming he continued, “You must be very proud of yourself”. 

If Crowley sounded more inquisitive than disapproving, it was only because the demon was acting so strangely.  He looked miserable and shame-faced - which was good, wasn’t it? He should feel ashamed - Crowely had liked the humans, and now, well, God only knows what would happen to them.

It was just- well- weren’t demons meant to revel in their evil deeds?

He said as much to his companion who pursed his lips and glanced fleetingly at Crowley, seemingly unsure as to whether he was being mocked.

“I er- didn’t know it was forbidden” he mumbled.

“You what?!”

“I didn’t know it was forbidden!” he cried out, anguished. “It’s not like your lot keeps us in the loop about these things. I was told ‘Get Up There And Make Some Trouble’ but she was so kind, and curious, and she was struggling to reach the brightest one, and- oh- it looked harmless enough, so I grabbed it for her.” He fidgeted with the fabric of his robes. “You would think they would put a sign up if it were that terrible.”

Crowley stared. The creature in front of him was unlike any demon he’d ever heard of. The fallen were supposed to be wicked and foul fiends - but this one was something else. He looked so genuinely distressed by what had happened - More distressed than Gabriel or Michael by a long shot - that Crowley couldn’t help but believe him. As ridiculous as it was, Crowley felt an urge to comfort him. He cleared his throat. 

“If I’m honest... I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway. I know it must be bad for them to be kicked out like that...”

“Obviously,” the demon said morosely.

“... but it must also be part of The Great Plan, and that, well, it’s ineffable isn’t it?”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Ineffable?” 

“That’s right, and you can’t go around second guessing ineffability,” he said with a grin, feeling like he had finally landed on a convincing argument. 

The demon smiled wistfully. “No, you definitely can’t do that.” There was a sadness to his tone that made Crowley feel like an utter fool. What a thing to say.

He was about to apologize when he was interrupted by a loud roar in the distance - beside him Aziraphale flinched violently. “Oh, I wish they had something to protect themselves, there’s vicious animals about and it’s going to be so cold out there.” 

Crowley gazed up at the brewing storm clouds, and then down at the lion approaching the couple. He had to concede the demon had a point.

He flexed his hand and felt the comforting weight of his sword. With a thought he ignited it. 

Aziraphale gave him a nervous look, and shifted away slightly. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m hardly going to smite you in the middle of a conversation. I just- ”  he clicked his fingers in a sweeping, downwards motion. The sword disappeared from his hand, and reappeared in Adam’s. The mortal looked surprised (as one might reasonably be if you were to find a useful object in your hands when you least expected it)  but wasted no time in dispatching the beast. 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, mouth agape.

“Are you quite sure you’re allowed to just give that away?”

Not at all, Crowley thought. He shrugged. “Too late to worry about it now.”

Aziraphale gave him a slightly impressed, slightly baffled look.

“I suppose, as an angel, you can’t technically do the wrong thing.” he sounded uncertain.

Crowley smirked back at him, leaning across to nudge him with his shoulder.

“Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the bad thing, and you did the good one?”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched, but then he grimaced. 

“A demon can get in an awful lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” 

Crowley clucked his tongue in agreement, an unexpected pang of worry hitting him. He suspected Aziraphale was not a particularly good demon, and the thought of him getting into trouble was surprisingly upsetting.

Without further warning, the clouds that had been looming ominously overhead delivered a downpour. Crowley pulled a face, bristling slightly as the first cold drops hit him. Next to him Aziraphale shuffled closer, shaking his head a little to jostle water-logged black and grey curls off his forehead. With an upwards gesture and a click of his fingers, the two of them were dry and the rain directly above their heads decided it had better places to fall. He gave Crowley a timid, dimpled smile. Crowley smiled back. 

Together they watched the humans into the night,  making wry observations as they experimented with cooking their first meal (the demon had whooped adorably when Eve - frustrated - had snatched the sword from Adam and used it to sear the meat, "Clever thing, isn't she?" he had beamed proudly).

Once the humans fell asleep, an awkward silence descended between the two of them. 

“I should probably be off." Aziraphale commented, without making any sign of moving. "Will you remain assigned here, do you think?”  Crowley smiled.

“I should think so, most of the other angels consider this-" (he waved a hand to indicate the garden, earth, humanity)   "- beneath them.” Aziraphale nodded.

“It's the same with downstairs. They're thrilled to bits about the plethora of opportunities to torture humans, but being up here is considered a bit gauche.” He shrugged. “After I take credit for this mess I’d be surprised if they bothered to recall me.”

“So I guess I’ll be seeing you around then?” Crowley tried to affect a nonchalant tone but - judging from the sidelong look he was receiving (and the very soft, hopeful smile accompanying it) - he hadn’t been very successful.

“I should think so, my dear.”  

Crowley found himself hard-pressed not to grin.

(It wasn’t because he was glad the demon would be sticking around - he wasn’t -  or that he was grateful this new fledged camaraderie might remain - he didn’t need it - it was just that Crowley hated being bored . If nothing else, the next few millennia would certainly be interesting.)

Notes:

This is my first time writing in a very long time, so the anxiety is strong.

Thanks @mia_ugly for being an excellent beta reader. (https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/pseuds/mia_ugly)

The role-reversal was inspired by this gorgeous art by @dotsronaut (https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186438407583/part-1-2-in-the-beginning-there-were-two) although it's intended as a separate AU.

If you want to chat ineffable husbands (or discuss why Michael Sheen is a national treasure and David Tennant is a snack) you can find me on Tumblr at @ineffably-effable.

Fic title is taken from Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me) by Steve Harley & The Cockney Rebel. A song I'm convinced is on Crowley's music playlist.

Chapter 2: Mesopotamia, 3004 BC

Crowley was in a horrible mood. He had spent the better part of the week arguing with his superiors, and all he had to show for it was a splitting headache and a reputation as a bleeding-heart humanitarian. 

 

So, instead of wasting his breath, Crowley had chosen to channel his rage into protecting the eight measly lives he was permitted to save. This was the reason he was standing in the hot sun, in the midst of the crowd that had turned out to watch wild animals being wrangled by three absurdly unqualified men. A few feet from Crowley, he overheard a woman sniping to her husband, “It's a miracle those idiots haven't been mauled to death", and was sorely tempted to tell her just how right she was. 

 

It was only a short while later, right when he was contemplating the morality of letting Shem get kicked by a giraffe, that Crowley felt a tap on his shoulder and turned (the wrong way first, sneaky bastard ) to see a familiar salt-and-pepper haired demon grinning cheerfully at his side. 

 

“Crowley! I thought it was you! Those flaming locks of yours are quite distinctive,” he babbled excitedly, charming in a way that softened Crowley’s bad mood considerably. 

 

“Hello, Aziraphale.” he said, trying very hard not to smile. 

 

“I don’t suppose you know what all this is about?” Aziraphale asked. “Did upstairs request some sort of nautical menagerie?” 

 

Crowley smirked.  

 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” 

 

“Please. I could sense the divine energy holding that thing together from a mile away.”

 

“I'd hardly be a decent angel if I went around divulging divine plans to my occult foe,” Crowley teased.

 

“Oh, don’t be so... prejudiced.”

 

“Prejudiced?”

 

“It means narrow-minded, discriminatory.” Azirphale informed him, smugly.

 

“I know what it m-”

 

“So what’s going on?” Aziraphale interrupted. "Why would you build it so far inland? Are you expecting a flood?”

 

“A flood?” (Crowley, who was painfully aware of how high his voice had just pitched, determinedly ignored Aziraphale’s raised eyebrow and sidelong glance.) “Of course not-  why would you- I mean- that would be an awful lot of rain- and the area is in a drought so- you know what- don’t you dare laugh at me!”  

 

“ My dear, you’re very fetching when you’re flustered.” 

 

(Fetching.)

 

Crowley had a horrible suspicion his face had turned as red as his hair.

 

(He thinks you're f-)

 

“For the love of- demon, please go pester someone else.” 

 

“Where would be the fun in that?” he replied cheekily, glancing from the boat to the surrounding crowds. His expression sobered.

 

“I hope you’ll forgive me asking, but that doesn’t seem like a very large boat,” he pursed his lips, “especially not with all those animals.” He turned to look at Crowley. “How many humans are you planning to squeeze in there?”

 

Crowley could feel his bad mood returning with a vengeance.

 

“All in all? Eight.” Crowley tried to keep his voice level. 

 

“Eight? ”  Aziraphale repeated, in the dry tone of someone who had heard perfectly well the first time, but would prefer a different answer.

 

“Eight.” Crowley confirmed.

 

“ She’s going to drown everybody else ?” 

 

“The other continents will be excluded, and most of this one, it's really just the space enclosed by the two great rivers,” Crowley said flatly, repeating almost verbatim the answer he’d received from Gabriel. Aziraphale had gone pale.

 

“That’s- hundreds of settlements, thousands of people...” he trailed off as a group of children ran past them, giggling. He stared at Crowley with a horrified expression on his face. 

 

Crowley nodded miserably. 

 

“Oh Crowley.”  The unexpected sympathy in the demon’s voice felt like a gut-punch. Aziraphale reached out - perhaps to squeeze Crowley’s shoulder - but retracted his hand guiltily, when the angel flinched away from the offered comfort.

 

“It’s not like they asked me for my opinion. They didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person.” Crowley grit his teeth. “Gabriel sent a memo .” 

 

“Crowley...”

 

“Oh, and get this, after it's done, She’s going to promise not to do it again by refracting light through the leftover water in the atmosphere. Isn’t that nice? ” His tone was scathing now, he felt hot tears pooling in his eyes but he didn’t care. He was about to continue, really lay into some of the idiotic notions Gabriel had used to explain the affair, when he felt a tentative hand resting on his arm.

 

“I think,” Aziraphale said slowly - as if he were talking Crowley down from a cliff’s edge - “that you’re upset, and you need to choose your words very carefully.” 

 

Crowley waved off the demon’s concern.

 

“We're allowed to have doubts, as long as we’re good soldiers and follow orders. It's only questioning Her outright that leads to trouble.” 

 

“Is that so?" Aziraphale said, face blank. Crowley couldn’t look at him.

 

Instead they both watched the chaos together, silently observing as one of the unicorns escaped the containment area and made a break for it. 

 

Crowley wondered if the ineffable plan anticipated the extinction of that species, or if it was just dumb luck.

 

“What if there were another boat?” Aziraphale asked out of nowhere.

 

Crowley scoffed. 

 

“We’re in the middle of the desert. Who else would be building another boat?”

 

Aziraphale, who had been staring at Crowley expectantly, stayed silent. 

 

Crowley frowned.

 

“You can’t.” 

 

“Can’t miracle anything too big, no,” the demon mused. “Won’t be enough space for everyone obviously, but might do for a score of children, maybe even some adults.” He had a distant expression on his face, as though he were doing the arithmetic right then and there. 

 

“Aziraphale. It's out of the question.” 

 

“Your opinion has been duly noted.” 

 

“What if you get caught ?” Crowley asked, voice strained.

 

Aziraphale laughed bitterly, “I don't see your lot down here getting their hands dirty," he said snidely. "A storm seems like an exceptionally passive aggresive method of genocide.” 

 

Crowley would have agreed with that point, if he weren’t trying to talk the demon out of getting himself smote or worse.

 

“What about your lot? You think they’ll look favourably on an act of compassion?!” 

 

“Compassion? I'm a demon, dear boy, thwarting the will of heaven is literally in the job description." He smiled reassuringly at Crowley. "If they’re truly sinners we’ll get them in the end, and if they’re not, well at least we'll have a chance at tempting them.” He shrugged. “Hell, I can even bring some teenagers on board, stock the boat with some fermented juice,  that'll guarantee some licentiousness.” 

 

Crowley could feel a headache coming on.

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“I thought it might make you feel better?” he said, sounding very much like he thought it was obvious. “Surely you can’t want children to die?”

 

“I- that’s- not the point. God’s plans are ineff- oh, don’t smirk at me - so what am I supposed to do, just look the other way?”

 

“When the time comes you’ll be on the ark,” the demon said, matter-of-factly, “It gives you plausible deniability - even an angel can’t be everywhere at once.” 

 

“You’ve really thought this through.” It could work, Crowley was shocked to find himself thinking.

 

“You needn’t sound so surprised.” Aziraphale replied, insulted.

 

Crowley laughed.

 

“To be fair, this is a bit of a leap from accidentally abetting original sin. I need a second to adjust.”

 

“You’re awfully snippy for an angel, dear.” 

 

“Oh, shut up."

 

"That reminds me, how did giving away your sword work out for you?" 

 

Crowley bit his lip.

 

(When he'd been asked outright by the Almighty - Where is the sword I gave you, Crowliel - he'd caved immediately. Shame-faced he’d admitted what he’d done to protect the humans and, in lieu of punishment, he received the ethereal equivalent of having his hair ruffled. He had been sent on his way with the warm feeling of being hugged, and the sound of her gentle laughter warm in his chest.)

 

“Crowley?” 

 

“Oh... I got the feeling She was amused by it," he said, embarrassed.

 

“She must have a soft spot for you,” Aziraphale said, in a tone that was difficult to read. He looked away. “How long is the flood meant to last anyway?”

 

“Once the storm starts? Forty days and forty nights.” 

 

“Hmm. Heaven does like their nice tidy numbers don’t they.” Crowley wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Aziraphale gave him an apologetic smile. “I should probably get going. Heavenly plans to thwart, no rest for the wicked and so on.” 

 

“Ah, yes,” Crowley responded, dumbly. A little surprised (but definitely not hurt) by the abrupt transition. He wasn't sure why he wanted to delay the demon's departure, but when Aziraphale turned to leave, Crowley found himself speaking up.

 

“Maybe I’ll see you around afterwards then?” he asked.

 

Aziraphale’s yellow eyes lit up. Suddenly nervous, Crowley back-pedaled, “I’ll have to er- try and salvage all those souls you’ve damned.” 

 

Aziraphale studied his face, giving Crowley a scrutinizing look that slowly morphed into a bemused expression. 

 

“You’re welcome to give it your best shot, angel,” he replied with a grin. 

 

Before Crowley could snark back the demon had vanished.

 

It was funny, Crowley thought, that the demon had been the one to come up with a way to save people. That he could even be bothered to try.

 

(“Be funny if we both got it wrong eh? If I did the bad thing and you did the good one?” )

 

Above him the sky was growing dark with approaching storm clouds. The first drops of rain had started to fall and a sharp, loud, crack of thunder rang out.  

 

Crowley cringed.

 

On second thought, it wasn't very funny at all.

Notes:

This wasn't supposed to happen, but I couldn't get the scene out of my head.

Thanks again to @mia-ugly for being being an amazing beta reader.

Chapter 3: Golgotha, 33 AD

Summary:

This one was a struggle.
Thanks again to @mia-ugly for being an incredibly generous voice of encouragement and beta-reading this.

Six hours.

 

That was how long he suffered before death finally took him.

 

Six. Fucking . Hours.

 

(“They call it crucifixion.” Aziraphale had told him once - centuries ago, in a Persian tavern - eyes downcast, as his fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the jar of wine in his hands. “They hammer seven-inch nails between the wrist bones to suspend the body's weight then, over time, the force wrenches the shoulders from their sockets and crushes the rib cage.” he explained flatly. “The condemned is kept in excruciating pain until they suffocate or their heart gives out." The demon drank deeply from the jar.  "It can last for hours, even days depending on the method." He looked up, meeting Crowley's eyes for the first time that evening. “Every time I think I’ve seen the full extent of their barbarity - every blessed time - they find a way to outdo themselves.")

 

Unlike Aziraphale, this was the first crucifixion Crowley had attended. Although the demon’s description had been accurate Crowley found it hadn't prepared him for the actual experience.  

In fairness to the demon, Crowley wasn't sure words existed that could fully convey the experience as well as agonized screams were able to.

 

Crowley hadn’t attended the trial or the sentencing, it felt pointless when he knew what the outcome would be. He had however attempted to miracle the man impervious to pain. (It seemed like the least he could do). Crowley had felt it take effect with some satisfaction, and then felt it being reverted immediately with annoyance. He tried two more times before he received a strongly-worded communication (i.e. Gabriel yelling directly into his brain) that any further interference would be treated as grounds for Crowliel's removal from earth. A follow-up from Michael (rather less yelling, but still headache-inducing) warned Crowley that crucifixion had been chosen especially for its brutality (to establish a “convincingly sympathetic religious symbol”) and that he should keep an eye out for demonic interference instead of being a nuisance.

 

Well, that was him told .

 

He arrived at Golgotha just as the procession made its way to the base of the skull-shaped rock. Aziraphale spotted him shortly afterwards, the demon weaving through the crowd to take a place at Crowley’s side. They had both winced - and noticed the other doing so - as the centurion’s hammer was put to its purpose.  Aziraphale threw Crowley a look as if to say " well, this is certainly fucked up " but otherwise remained silent.  

 

As the mourners wailed, and the three men grew more delirious from pain, Crowley wondered why his demonic counterpart was even there. Unlike other demons - Aziraphale was not the type to take pleasure from others’ suffering, yet he also seemed disinclined to interfere. Instead he looked restless, he kept stealing uneasy glances skyward and at Crowley as though he were waiting for divine intervention. 

 

Good luck with that. Crowely thought bitterly.

 

The hours passed, the sky darkened - Jesus finally, blessedly, died - and the bodies were brought down and carried away. The mourners and spectators gradually dispersed until it was just the two of them remaining, sitting side by side on a large bench-shaped rock the demon had miracled about three hours into the proceedings.

 

But now, Aziraphale had taken to his feet - he was pacing back and forth. Crowley watched him and found himself torn. Equal parts longing to start a conversation and unable to think of anything to say. Well, he could think of plenty to say, but there was a low-burning bitter fury in his gut - the type that led him to voice the sort of thoughts that worried his demonic friend. So he remained silent.

 

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale asked, a little too suddenly, as if the question has been on the tip of his tongue for hours.

 

Crowley shook his head, still staring out at the now-empty wooden beams. 

 

“I did once,” Aziraphale started, “I was assigned to tempt him to faithlessness.”  Crowley looked up at that, and Aziraphale smiled wryly at his surprise. “I don’t think anyone below really expected it to take, they just felt like we should be seen to do something .” 

 

“How did that work out for you?” Crowley asked, genuinely curious.

 

“He was exceptionally clever and stubbornly devout. How do you think it went?”  Crowley smirked at him, and Aziraphale laughed. “I changed tactics of course. Debated theology and ethics with him until I was blue in the face - we had forty days so thought odds were good I might catch him in some form of  hypocrisy. It was truly vexing. He gave the impression that I amused him.” Aziraphale seemed fond of the memory. “You would have liked him.” 

 

Crowley didn’t doubt it.

 

“I’m sure I would have.” 

 

(It was the reason he had avoided Nazareth since the annunciation. He may have been slow on the uptake - it might have taken forty years of pointless wandering with a tribe of doomed Israelites - but no one could say he didn't learn from his mistakes. When the Almighty played favourites it was best not to get emotionally invested.

He felt an urge to confess that to Aziraphale, but suppressed it. Crowley was unsure whether Aziraphale would applaud his self-preservation or be disgusted with his cowardice.) 

 

“Be kind to each other.” the demon said out of the blue, startling Crowley from his thoughts.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“That’s what he said to anger them all.” The demon’s tone was inscrutable, but Crowley thought his words were an over-simplification.

 

“For my money, it was his knack for drawing crowds and threatening their authority.”

 

Aziraphale shook his head angrily.

 

“He was kind and they tortured him for it.” The demon’s voice had a hard edge to it. “He believed in Her and She abandoned him." he spat.

 

Oh. 

 

The demon turned his face away. Crowley heard his breathing hitch. 

 

“Aziraphale...” Crowley didn’t know what to say, how to approach this type of anger. (A millennia-old question burned in his throat, one he desperately wanted answered but not at the cost of causing his friend more pain.)

 

"Do you think She felt anything when he cried out for Her?" the demon asked. 

 

Crowley wanted badly to reach out and grasp Aziraphale’s hand within his own. Wanted to use that grip to pull the demon into his arms. Wanted to offer him whatever comfort he could. Wanted, but didn’t.

 

Coward. 

 

His fingers twitched. 

 

“Aziraphale, I-” 

 

The demon turned to look at Crowley and studied him. He forced a smile. 

 

“It’s alright dear.” 

 

“No it’s...”

 

“Let’s not speak of it.” he says firmly. “I shouldn’t have sa-”.

 

“She’s bringing him back.”  Crowley blurted out, stopping the demon in his tracks.

 

“What?” 

 

“In three days, he’ll be resurrected. Then he’ll ascend to a seat by her side. She didn’t-”  abandon him. Crowley cut himself off.  “It wasn’t a punishment.” he said instead.

 

Aziraphale stared at him. Crowley stood, approaching the demon slowly as though he might bolt. 

 

“I’m glad for him.” Aziraphale said finally, voice raw.

 

Liar. Crowley thought. His expression must give him away because Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a smile. “No, really. He didn’t deserve that.” 

 

“No he didn’t.”  Crowley stressed with absolute certainty, hoping he’d made himself clear. He received a sharp look in response. 

 

“Don’t. I was indulging in self-pity and you shouldn’t humour me- just don’t.”

 

Crowley raised both hands placatingly.

 

“OK I won't.” 

 

“Good.”  Aziraphale pronounced. 

 

A beat of awkward silence hung between them.

 

Aziraphale fumbled with his outer tunic and produced a leather pouch. He unfastened the tie and held it out to Crowley. “Apricot?” 

 

Crowley stared at him blankly.

 

“You brought snacks?"  (A small, easily dismissed, part of Crowley's brain delighted in how precious that was.)

 

 

“I always carry something,” the demon replied defensively. “And I haven’t eaten all day!”

 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “We don’t need to eat.”

 

Aziraphale shrugged and stuffed a few apricots into his mouth. “It does feel awfully good though.” he responded, while chewing. The innocent pleasure on his face cheered Crowley considerably.

 

“Oh go on," he held a hand out. 

 

Aziraphale grinned, and dumped five or six pieces onto Crowley's palm. Then the cheeky bastard laughed.

 

“Who knew tempting an angel would be so easy?”

 

Crowley stared at the dried fruit in his hand and then back at the demon. He picked up a piece and regarded it carefully, enjoying the weight of Aziraphale’s anticipation. Then, he pelted it at him. He grinned at the demon’s surprised yelp.

 

“Will you stay here long?” Crowley asked innocently, entertained by the way Aziraphale was warily eyeing the remaining apricots in his hand.

 

Aziraphale shook his head. "Received orders last night, it's Rome for me. You?”

 

Crowley popped the rest of the dried fruit in his mouth. “Here for the time being," he replied, chewing thoughtfully,  "although Heaven knows I should look in on the empire if you've been left there unattended."

 

Aziraphale groaned at the familiar jibe.

 

"It's been over five decades, surely we can move past this?" 

 

"Of course, as soon as you stop insulting my intelligence and just admit what you did."

 

"You have no proof whatsoever."

 

"Four years of you whinging about Alexandria, then his senators turn on him the very week you arrive in the city.”

 

"Coincidence?" Aziraphale offered sheepishly.

 

“Try again.”

 

“Divine justice?” 

 

Crowley glared at him. Aziraphale gave him a charming smile.

 

"It really was a beautiful library."

 

Crowley tried to maintain the glare, but failed miserably. Completely unable to contain an amused huff. 

 

He turned to look in the east, where the sun was beginning to rise. "I should probably be off soon."

 

"Go on, I'm planning to fly to Jaffa from here anyway."

 

Crowley hung back. Though the demon had hinted at his other form several times Crowley had never seen it. 

 

"You know you can transform in front of me right? I wouldn't think less of you for it."

 

"Oh I know that," the demon responded far too quickly, "it's just not very impressive that's all."

 

"I don't mind."

 

Aziraphale looked uncomfortable. "They're meant to be a bad omen, I wouldn't want to curse you inadvertently."

 

Crowley smirked.

 

"I'll take my chances."

 

Aziraphale sighed and then changed. Shrinking rapidly, his black and white curls morphed into brown and white feathers. His yellow eyes were the only part of him that remained the same. Crowley stretched out a hand and Aziraphale flew up to perch on it. He couldn't have been more than eight inches tall. 

 

"You're adorable." Crowley raised a finger to stroke the downy patch underneath his beak and received a (gentle) peck.

 

"I'm formidable." The owl grumbled back.

 

"You're so little." Another peck, this time sharper. "None of that now." Crowley chastised. "I don't know why you wouldn't show this form off more, you're very handsome like this."

 

"Oh handsome 'like this' am I? Thank you very much." Crowley tried not to laugh as the annoyed demon literally ruffled its feathers.

 

"I didn't mean it like that. Your eyes are always very striking, demon."

"I'll see you in Rome, angel . That is if you can bear to see my hideous human form." 

 

That did make Crowley laugh. "You're just fishing for compliments now." he stroked Aziraphale's head, somewhat surprised the demon was allowing such an affectionate gesture. The demon in question gave a happy-sounding trill, then stopped abruptly - as if it were startled by the sound. Without another word the owl head-butted Crowley’s fingers away and flew off.

 

Crowley watched until Aziraphale disappeared from view before he made his way back to the town.

 

Chapter 4: Rome, 41 AD

Crowley had been in Rome a month without seeing hide nor hair of his affable adversary. Even though he knew (hoped) the demon could take care of himself (probably) he still found himself seeking out the sorts of establishments regularly patronized by said demon to inquire after him ("Curly hair, golden eyes - no not brown, I said golden, yes I get that's not very common- look mate, have you seen him or not?!"). In the end it was a message from Michael that tipped him off to the demon’s whereabouts (a marked increase in sin had been observed one of the city’s seedier neighbourhoods, and if it wasn't too much trouble would Crowley please do his job and restore a bit of moral order).

 

This was how he found himself standing in the Atrium of a large public bathhouse, feeling utterly ridiculous in one of the lighter (and tragically optional) bathing robes. 

 

After a short hunt, made shorter by a strong sense of demonic activity from the eastern chambers, Crowley spotted Aziraphale in the tepidarium. Oblivious to Crowley's scrutiny, the demon was lounging contentedly in the pool, his neck tilted back against the wall. Around him, throughout the pool and the surrounding alcoves, humans were grinding and rutting against each other in all manner of passionate couplings (and throuplings, Crowley noticed, a little impressed by the flexibility on display). 

 

Aziraphale appeared to be watching over the proceedings with a sort of benevolent self-satisfaction. Every so often a human would approach him, and he'd smile graciously and nudge them towards another partner. He also seemed to be keeping an eye on the chamber's doorway and (although he'd missed Crowley) any humans entering the chamber were quickly ensnared, reaching for each other as their confused eyes quickly became insensible with lust. 

 

As Crowley made his way over to him (a process made difficult by the need to dodge suggestive leers and groping hands) he tried to figure out how exactly this managed to attract notice upstairs. Obviously the S.O.Fs were innumerable, but those had always been considered a fairly low-grade offence. (Adultery would be the next logical conclusion but, knowing Aziraphale, Crowley suspected anyone in a truly committed relationship would be struck by an urge to visit another chamber). 

 

"Crowley!"

 

Aziraphale spotted him and waved him over excitedly, looking for all the world as though he was sitting in a crowded tavern and not in the midst of an orgy. He clicked his fingers and the couple closest to him moved away, leaving room for the angel to join him in the water. Crowley ignored the implicit invitation, instead sitting on the ledge, arranging his legs deliberately so that they rested outside the pool. Aziraphale watched this with - an almost fond - exasperation. "Fancy running into you here! How have you been?"

 

"I'd be a lot better if I wasn’t getting chastised in missives about your behaviour," he replied. "You foul fiend ,'' he added as an afterthought (fully aware the smile on his face diminished the severity of the words).

 

"Is that so? Don't tell me you've been sent to thwart my wiles ?" the demon asked with an exaggerated air of disappointment and a suggestive tone.

 

"Honestly Aziraphale, I leave you unsupervised for a few years and suddenly-” Crowley paused, flustered, as he was interrupted by an enthusiastic, protracted moan, “-uh, hedonism is running rampant."

 

"You flatter me dear. This barely counts as-"  the demon's words were drowned out by a loud proclamation - “Sweet merciful Gods!” - as a man near them seemed to find his bliss. Crowley raised his eyebrows and Aziraphale grinned, utterly unperturbed. “- corruption, blasphemy notwithstanding.”  

 

"Ahuh."

 

“I'm hardly harming anyone,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. "Quite the opposite in fact."

 

"You're messing about with their free will. That's cheating."

 

"Oh please, I’ve removed their inhibitions and heightened some sensations. If they didn't truly want to be here, they wouldn't be."

 

"Weren't you meant to be influencing what's-his-name, the emperor?"

 

"Caligula?" The demon pulled a face. "Don’t remind me. That loathsome man didn’t need any suggestions from my quarter. The second he got a taste of power it went straight to his head. I’ve already written it up as a resounding success.”

 

"So now you’re stirring up trouble for the sake of it?'

 

"Still have those demonic quotas to consider." He shrugged. "You have to admit lust is the most innocuous of the seven." Aziraphale’s eyes tracked to where two humans seemed to be enjoying themselves, almost innocent in their exploration of each other’s bodies. "I tried gluttony for a bit, but then they started retching so they could continue stuffing themselves." He wrinkled his nose in distaste and gave his head a little shake (as if to clear the thought).  "At least one can enjoy oneself here."

 

Crowley nodded in understanding, then froze as his brain processed the slightly lecherous tone the demon had used to stress the word enjoy.

 

The demon beamed at him, amusement plain on his face.

 

“You haven’t- not with-" Crowley spluttered.

 

"They're only human, of course, so not much of an intellectual connection, but some are extremely talented.” He winked at Crowley. “You should find a nice young man and avail yourself, I'm certain you'd have no shortage of offers."

 

"Don't be ridiculous," Crowley responded hotly. 

 

"Aren't you the slightest bit curious what it feels like? You might be an angel, my dear, but you're housed in a human corporation that's very susceptible to pleasures of the flesh." The low timbre of his voice was enticing in ways Crowley would rather not think about. He attempted what he hoped was a withering look, but the demon just laughed. "Baby steps perhaps?" He gestured to the spot next to him, "The water is lovely. Are you sure you won't join me?"

 

Crowley stared at him incredulously, and then - almost involuntarily - his gaze lowered. Even obscured beneath the surface of the water, it was apparent the demon had made an effort. A respectable one. For a moment Crowley allowed himself to imagine disrobing and sliding into the pool. He’d corner Aziraphale, pressing him against the wall with the length of his body, and then he'd taste his lips, his throat, the hollow of his neck. He’d slip a hand down to grip him, firmly. Aziraphale would grin encouragingly, or perhaps - despite all his bold talk - he would gasp and flush prettily.

 

"Crowley?”

 

Crowley looked up, he could feel his face burning. Aziraphale was grinning at him like he knew exactly what Crowley had been thinking, like-

 

Oh.

Of course he did.

The bastard.

 

"Was that you?" Crowley growled.

 

"Was what me?" The demon looked genuinely puzzled. Crowley didn’t buy it.

 

Crowley snapped his fingers and the temperature of the water dropped. People sprang to their feet yelping in shock. Judging from the blushing and awkwardness, inhibitions had also come flooding back with a vengeance.

 

"Satan below," the demon muttered, standing up and out of the now chilled water. Crowley averted his eyes until he materialized a robe. "That wasn't very nice, my dear.  I think you've ruined a few promising trysts."

 

"All in a day’s work." 

 

Aziraphale furrowed his brow.

 

"Hmph. Well, seeing as we've both accomplished our goals for the day, could I tempt you to a spot of lunch?"

 

"I'm an angel. I can't go around being tempted by demons," Crowley replied through gritted teeth, still nettled.

 

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused and not a little hurt.

 

"Of course, I suppose it's in my nature to try." He gave a small, self-deprecating smile that made Crowley feel terrible. Then he took a step backwards and started fumbling with his robe which made Crowley feel even terrible-er.

 

He racked his brain for something to say.

 

“I did hear there’s a new restaurant..." he offered awkwardly.

 

Aziraphale brightened up instantly.

 

“Do you mean Petronius’? With the oysters?”

 

“Yeah, uh, that’s the one. If you were to eat there then I suppose I’d have to tag along and keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t wreak havoc.”

 

“Naturally.”

 

Aziraphale looked right at him, indulgent smile and sparkling eyes out in full-force, and suddenly - suddenly the room felt too small - Crowley mumbled something about “beating the rush”, and led Azirphale in the direction of the restaurant.

 

---

 

A couple of hours, and three (maybe four?) jugs of wine later, Crowley was in that pleasant state of inebriation (the one where his brain could still string sentences together, but jumped ship entirely when it really ought to be reminding him of the multidue of reasons Crowley shouldn't be enjoying the company of his hereditary enemy). Judging from the way said "enemy" was gesticulating wildly as he talked, the demon might have been a cup or two beyond that point.

 

They had left the restaurant a little while back (Aziraphale having noticed Crowley's poorly concealed disgust at the uncooked molluscs, and cheerfully scoffing the angel's half-dozen in addition to his own) and were now winding their way through Rome's streets at a leisurely pace. Aziraphale was bragging that he knew the streets like the back of his hand and was recounting how he'd saved a playwright from execution. He was arguing it could be justified as evil because the playwright spread misery (i.e. turns out this Seneca fellow wrote tragedies) and because the man was a political dissident. Crowley made an offhand comment that rebellion-as-sin didn’t seem all that clearcut, earning him a blank stare from the demon, who abruptly changed subject to how Crowley "really must try Globuli" - insisting they hunt down a street vendor who made “the absolute best in the city”.

 

Eventually (after the street vendor was located, roused from his rest, and handsomely compensated)  the consumption of fried syrupy cheese curd was achieved and the two of them continued on, chatting amiably until they reached a street Crowley recognized.

 

"I think this is me," he said, nudging his companion.

 

"Oh. I'm the other way," the demon replied, apparently without any intention of moving.

 

"Try not to get up to too much trouble," Crowley told him. "I've got other assignments in the city. Can't go dropping them to chase you out of bath houses every five minutes."

 

"I make no promises," Aziraphale replied, grinning.

 

Crowley bit back a smile. "Well, until next time, you lecher."

 

"Until then, my dear." 

 

Crowley moved to shake hands when suddenly Aziraphale grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed his mouth against Crowley's lips. It only lasted a moment. In fact, the lingering warmth was the only hint Crowley hadn't hallucinated it.

 

Crowley must have looked as bewildered as he felt because the color drained from Aziraphale's face. 

 

"I'm sorry! I forgot you haven't been in town very long! That was an osculum, " the demon babbled anxiously, "a show of friendship between equals, not to presume we're-"  He looked up, but clearly Crowley's inscrutable expression didn't calm him. If anything it seemed to have the opposite effect. "Of course it's not like, well nothing like what you saw at the baths- those were basium and well, savium too, obviously - amongst, well, os impuri - amongst other types of kiss-like er." (The demon blushed, and Crowley felt a surge of affection for this stammering idiot - who seemed to think it possible to live four thousand years on Earth without learning the difference between a kiss and oral-sex) "- but yes, platonic kisses. All the rage of late. I think they might have been adapted from the Persian greetings. Absolutely fascinating, really, these humans and what they get up to-"

 

Crowley cut him off by pulling Aziraphale in and pressing their lips together firmly. As he pulled away he took in the demon's stunned face with smug satisfaction.

 

"Osculum eh? Did I do it right?"

 

Aziraphale blinked slowly, before (visibly) collecting himself.

 

"Definitely passable.” he said, voiced slightly strained, “Should you ever wish to practice I'd be more than happy to oblige." 

 

Crowley rolled his eyes, which seemed to bolster the demon's confidence. "As an angel you really ought to try some of the others as well." He smirked.

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

“Please , you love it.”

 

Crowley waited a beat too long before laughing a little too loudly.  Aziraphale stared at him, a strange look on his face.

 

"Well, I should probably be-”

 

“Best be on my way-”

 

“No rest for the wicked." 

 

“Virtue is ever vigilant-”

 

With a quick nod (which Crowley returned) the demon set off, walking half a block in the wrong direction. Crowley looked on, bemused, as Aziraphale stopped, realized what he'd done, and then looked back to see if Crowley had noticed. Ever the bastard, Crowley waved at him. 

 

“Like the back of your hand?” Crowley asked as the demon passed him.

 

“Oh, sod off,” Aziraphale sniped back without stopping.

 

Crowley laughed.

 

"Try not to get lost!" he called out after him and was extremely satisfied to see Aziraphale make a rude gesture.

Notes:

Thanks again to @mia-ugly for being a wonderful beta-reader (which this time involved convincing me not to throw this out and then jump into the trash after it).