London, Present Day

Some habits had become worked his way into the human-like neurological connections of this human-like brain over the millennia, and one of them was the habit of what to do when he was feeling lost and alone.Crowley picked up his phone, and his thumb moved automatically to his contacts. Work—Aziraphale.

Then it paused.

Now, that was a thing. Why would the seraph Botis have Aziraphale's name listed at all, let alone under work? Why would he have a collection of lush houseplants, a garbage disposal just the right size for the execution of any stragglers, a collection of credit cards in the name of Anthony J. Crowley, and a lovingly maintained Bentley?

He was unFallen. There was no doubt of that. So shouldn't he feel different? And the former Archangel Gabriel was Fallen. That, too, was clear. There was no way Asmodeus was faking it, he had the sheer glee in unpleasantness as Hastur, only far better groomed.

If Crowley—Botis—was a seraph, he had to power to go to Heaven and, well, ask what he was doing on Earth. The problem was that fear and revulsion still clenched Crowley's stomach at the idea of going back there. Kerubiel. There was no way a Cherub would take the calls of a demon, but Asmodeus had known his weak spot right enough. Crowley was shit-scared of Kerubiel. He had always disliked thunder and lightning, and every time Kerubiel blinked he thought he would be fried. "Hey, Kerubiel, it's me. I see to remember betraying you and Falling, but I seem to be a seraph now with no memories. How about that?"

Not happening.

Crowley closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against the soothingly cool glass surface of his phone. He was feeling--

—angry. Really angry. Really, really fucking angry. Now the initial panic and feeling of being caught had subsided, rage was welling up with all the fire and brimstone he usually kept suppressed on the grounds that it literally wasn't cool. How dare Gabriel or Asmodeus or whoever he was play games with him like that? How dare he play games like that with Aziraphale? No one messed with Aziraphale, not anymore. Crowley hadn't defied Satan himself so that they, whoever they were, could treat Aziraphale like a plaything.

Demonic contracts. He'd give Asmodeus demonic contracts. Crowley wasn't Dagon's underling for nothing. Paperwork was an art he had been practicing for subterfuge, corruption and advantage for centuries. Go on, send him the paperwork. He would add so many modifications and clauses that it would make Asmodeus' head spin like he was being exorcised. And oh, Crowley could keep paperwork going back and forth for a very, very, very long time without signing anything. The trick, he bitterly knew from his first mistake, back before paperwork was a thing, was to eternally postpone signing.

He had managed to keep Aziraphale's bookshop away from forcible acquisition for half a century without Aziraphale needing to waste a frivolous miracle or Crowley having to kill anyone. When you could deal with human lawyers paid by the Mob, then contracts with Hell were nothing.

Crowley was sick and tired of playing silly buggers with Heaven and Hell. But if he was going to play it, he was going to play it to win.

The scorecard was Aziraphale's heart? Oh, that was offensive. That was offensive enough that it was actually hard to hold a human form when his teeth felt like they should be dripping venom. But it was also really, really stupid to do at this point. Maybe a few days ago it might have intimidated him. Maybe with I don't even like you and It's over and the heartbreaking finality of I forgive you ringing in his head.

Not after all the hand holding. Not after the way Aziraphale had looked at him back in the flat, with all the sadness and longing in the world. Not after the secret kiss on top of his head. Maybe Aziraphale didn't want to be his lover yet, maybe he even thought he was Asmodeus' lover, but Crowley already had his heart. He had already won the game, such as it was. He had to hang onto that confidence.

Crowley didn't fool himself that he was particularly loveable. But if he wasn't more loveable to Aziraphale than a demon version of Gabriel, then he might as well take a shower in holy water right now. And he never had been a defeatist.

Time to win his best friend back.

****

"Yeah, yeah. Anemones, tulips and dahlias. Yes, I'm sure. No, I don't give a damn if they're in season or not. Well, make them look tasteful, or I'll rain the wrath of He-He—Heaven down on you. You're the bloody florist, not me." Crowley tried to curb his temper. Why were humans so ornery? Still, they had their own magic key. "Look, do the words 'cost no object' mean anything to you? Good. Oh—all right, tomorrow. Today, then... You have sunflowers? I'll pick them up." Sunflowers would work, he supposed. Adoring admiration, turning his head to watch the sun...

And then tomorrow. He was particularly proud of the anemones. Expectation in itself was sexy, and then hopefully protection from evil would also register subconsciously as ditch Asmodeus. They certainly wouldn't have been tactful flowers to send Aziraphale a few days ago. Could he rely on Aziraphale to understand the language of flowers? Of course he could. It was in books.

Crowley glanced at his phone before putting it away, and was disconcerted to see, just for a moment, that his hair in it looked black. He even checked a mirror. Still shining auburn. Just a trick of the light.

The blue Aston Martin was parked outside the bookshop. Fine. He wasn't particularly intimidated, and he was going to show it. He flounced in, legs feeling even less under control than usual but leading from the hips and shoulders, and tossed a bunch of sunflowers at Aziraphale, who was behind the desk. "Catch!"

Aziraphale managed just in time, which was good, because when Crowley stopped to think about it he wan't sure that getting pollen on the books stacked around the counter would have counted in his favour.

"More vegetation?" No glad flash of recognition this time, which was disappointing, but there was a small, shy smile on Aziraphale's face, which was good enough.

"I'll keep going until you tell me to stop." Crowley tasted the air for brimstone, and found it to the East. All right. Asmodeus was in the back room. Probably in his chair, because that would be like him. Crowley wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing that. He miracled up a vase to prevent Aziraphale going into the back room to get one.

"Any problems, Anthony? Do you need me to shut the shop?" Aziraphale said, eyeing his few customers in clear hope of an excuse to eject them.

"Nah, don't mind me. Your customers are important," Crowley said cruelly. He grabbed a book at random and curled up on a yellow occasional chair that mysteriously didn't have any books on it. It turned out to be Biggles Sweeps the Desert, which was possibly not the most dignified of reading matter. It wasn't as if he was intending to read it anyway. Besides, he had spent a lot of time in deserts with Aziraphale, one way or another. Perhaps any little memory jiggle could help. Also—another point. If Crowley's memories of the last few years were wrong, why would Aziraphale's books shop currently be stocked with children's fiction?

Aziraphale nodded and sat behind the counter. From where Crowley was sitting, he could see that even Aziraphale's baggy trousers pulled a little taut against generous thighs when he sat, and why had Crowley ever let hose for men ever go out of fashion? Crowley had worked hard at making short doublets and tight hose fashionable, and it had absolutely been in the name of raising the general amount of temptation around and not just because Aziraphale had luxuriant calves that the Almighty had clearly designed to be shown off in clinging fabric.

Okay. Probably not the time for impure thoughts. He was here to observe, and in general, not just Aziraphale's legs. They really were nice, though.

At that exact moment Aziraphale looked up at him, and Crowley had to choose between looking away guiltily, pretending nonchalance, or an evil grin. Well, he was still a demon at heart. He chose the third option.

Aziraphale blushed and looked away, but there was definitely a small smile at the corner of his lips. So, even with Asmodeus around, he liked the attention.

Oh, fuck, concentrate. Hadn't he learned anything over the last few days, let alone the last sixty centuries? Love, not lust, was how to get to Aziraphale.

"Hey, angel?"

"Hmm?" He was still a little pink, eyes shining behind spectacles.

"Turn your angelic senses on high."

Aziraphale blinked at him.

"Look, I know you have them dampened because there are too many humans around. Forget that."

"All right," Aziraphale said a bit nervously. "Why--"

Aziraphale, admitting to giving his sword away. Aziraphale, picking up a wounded snake in the desert. Aziraphale, teaching him to write. Aziraphale, risking who knew what to save a slave girl and her son in the desert. Aziraphale blazing with anger and pain over the first born of Egypt. And Aziraphale's smiles, his glowing looks, his pouts, his gratitude, his growing struggle to distance himself from a demon and his complete inability to do so, Aziraphale taking so much unabashed pleasure in all the pleasures of life, Aziraphale bent studiously over his books, Aziraphale getting thoroughly sloshed on the best wine, Aziraphale gentle and courteous and cattish and snappy and hypocritical and everlastingly kind...

Aziraphale shut his eyes in a kind of self defence as the sheer magnitude of centuries of love crashed over him.

"But... why?" he said feebly. "Oh, my dear, let me turn it down a bit, I'm afraid I feel a bit faint." He leaned back in his chair.

"Sorry," said Crowley, not sorry at all. "Thought it was time you knew how much I love you." By all eternity, it felt good to say that. Like mercury pouring through his veins, shining and dangerous.

"But why?"

That hurt, and hurt a lot, but Crowley was prepared for it. "You'll remember. I know it's in there somewhere."

"So Botis confesses love at last," said a golden toned American voice. "May wonders never cease. But, you know, it's not as easy as that. The project was to see if a demon could be capable of love, and you, my friend, are an angel. So no cigar."

"What project?" Crowley snapped, as Aziraphale turned confused eyes to Asmodeus.

"Nothing you need to know about." Asmodeus grinned at him, wrapping a possessive arm around a bewildered Aziraphale's shoulders. "Besides, the terms changed, as soon as you spontaneously offered a deal to Heaven. Sandalphon could hardly believe what he was hearing. No wonder he came to me for advice. I mean, Michael is a bit erratic these days, and Uriel is far too cozy with Dagon."

"What?" Aziraphale seemed as confused by this as Crowley. "Why would an archangel go to you for advice?" Asmodeus shushed him and kissed the top of his head, making Crowley's eye teeth hurt.

"Seems you were pretty sure that Aziraphale didn't need a demon's love, Anthony. Possibly a wrong call." Aziraphale blushed.

"And what did you need?" Crowley spat. "Don't tell me you needed Aziraphale."

Asmodeus clicked his fingers, and the world froze around them. Even Aziraphale.

"Oh, no. I needed revenge. Unfortunately, revenge is not a very angelic impulse, but after Uriel agreed to your redemption and the terms, my old friend Lucifer was only too willing to welcome me with willing arms. Soul for soul, Risen for Fallen."

"You would Fall over us?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I Fell because I spent six thousand fucking years preparing for a War only to have the Almighty laugh in my face. Figuratively speaking, because She didn't even have the courtesy to speak to us directly about it. And Michael and the Metatron were all just, oh, maybe it's for the best, trust in Her. I am so sick of this shit, I can't even tell you.

"You know, Crowley, I should have listened when you tried to tempt me to Fall. It is more fun not having to be loyal to a Creator who likes humans better than her strongest creations."

Crowley closed his eyes to concentrate better. Both Asmodeus' smirk and Aziraphale's frozen, worried face were distracting him. "Terms?"

Asmodeus' lips twisted in mockery. "Whatever he needs me to become, I'll become, if you help me. It's not fun being a temptation anymore. Pretty clear, we thought. You were so sure he didn't need a demon. He needed someone... repented.

"Congratulations. You're the first unFallen angel in history. You have the chance to win Aziraphale's heart without any of the un-fun history of trying to tempt him. You can have a purely chaste love affair, just like you were so sure he needed. We even let you keep the car."

"I didn't want him to forget me!"

"You should have specified. After all, the suggestion was that being a temptation to him was a problem, so all the history of temptation had to be removed so you could try for pure, innocent love." Asmodeus smiled suddenly, sharply. "Of course, there was a different way around that. Sandalphon pushed for it, in fact, at least partly because he thought you'd make a pathetic angel—which you do. The option is still there, if you find it. And I'll tell you something else—it's probably the option that will leave your precious angel happiest. But how much are you really willing to sacrifice for him? Oh, boys. Your punishment is just beginning. You really should have thought harder before fucking with the archangel Gabriel."

His fingers snapped again.

"Come on, my angel," Asmodeus said. "you promised me lunch. And I think we need to talk."

"Yes—yes, of course we do." Flustered and troubled, Aziraphale turned to usher some surprised humans out of the shop. "Anthony—"

"I'm going," Crowley said, and then glaring defiantly at Asmodeus, dropped a kiss on Aziraphale's cheek. Asmodeus just smirked smugly back at him.

"Expect the paperwork in the mail."

Notes:

1) Hey, all. Sorry for the late update and late responses to comments. Migraine again, and I just basically slept my way through it. Thank you for sticking with me.