London, Present Day

There was a blue Aston Martin sports car parked next to the Bentley. Devoted to the Bentley as he was, anxious as he was, Crowley couldn't help a sideways glance at the magnolia leather seats and dark walnut veneer. Sleek, expensive, somehow smug. He hated it.

Crowley opened the Bentley passenger door with a chivalrous flourish. Not something he often did, but after all, these were the first steps in a Seduction. Not any old seduction, but The Seduction. He had to start it off right, even if the the fact that the person being ushered in was a part time second hand book dealer in an ancient coat was gaining him some funny looks from passers by. They just didn't recognise transcendent loveliness when they saw it.

"It's a very nice car," Aziraphale said, with some relief. "Very well kept. You may find that these old girls don't keep up with the traffic very well, though, if you haven't been down here for a while."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," Crowley said cheerfully, rifling through his ancient CDs. Handel's Water Music. Pompous, but Aziraphale liked it, and possibly it would trigger some memories in Aziraphale of—of what? Crowley could remember leaving Tadfield Airport in a stolen military jeep with a tape deck and a cassette of Water Music, but he could also remember a bus that was supposedly going to Oxford. He had to clamp down on a sense of panic.

Aziraphale wouldn't remember either memory. Crowley had to remember for both of them. It was not a jeep, it was a bus. They had sat side by side and their thighs and shoulders had pressed together. Sometimes the back of their hands had brushed and somehow everything had seemed too fragile and precious to risk turning his hand over and grasping that of Aziraphale. Don't go too fast... Stupid, stupid. He should have taken advantage of the situation, taken Aziraphale's hand, and kissed it. Just like Aziraphale had kissed his own fingertips just last night.

Crowley couldn't afford to become confused about his memories. He couldn't afford to lose his reference points. He turned his head slightly, to focus on the profile beside his. Such a nice profile, good strong nose, generous ears, firm chin, loving mouth, reliable yet mellow. A reference point solid enough to build a reality on. It would be all right.

And after all, She had been surprisingly gracious. She could have summoned him back to Heaven and commanded him to be righteous. Instead, She had left him clothes, his plants, his Bentley, even his CDs. All the world was familiar, except for him, and Gabriel. Aziraphale was still Aziraphale. He was sure of it.

Crowley relaxed and chose another CD. Bach. They both liked Bach. Air on a G String, a romantic cliche, and romantic cliches were probably a good idea.

"Oh, lovely," Aziraphale said with little luxuriant sigh, and Crowley repressed a triumphant smile as they pulled out, watching the speedometer for the first time in the Bentley's life.

Aziraphale shifted in his seat a few times, peeping curiously across, biting his lip. Perhaps he was just worried about the lack of seat belts. Crowley tried to focus on the road like a model angelic driver, and waited for him to speak.

"Why did you bring me a pot plant? I've been wondering about it."

"That's what humans do, isn't it? Bring vegetation, when they want to renew an acquaintance with an old friend."

"I think flowers are more usual."

"I'll bring you a dozen red roses next time, then." Crowley let the corners of his lips tilt up, and from the corner of his eye, he was sure he saw Aziraphale flush.

He had never given Aziraphale flowers. Why not? He should have buried him in red and coral roses. Crowley had a hand in inventing floriography and tussie-mussies as useful ways to promote secrets and sins and elopements, yet it had never once occurred to him to give Aziraphale a giant bunch of camellias, red for fiery love, pink for longing, white to tell his friend he was adorable to him. Why hadn't he? Even if the words had been difficult for a demon, that was what the language of flowers was supposed to do, speak the unspoken. Red carnations for I love you, jonquils for return my affection. Enough flowers, and even Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to pretend not to read the messages.

What was I can't live without you again? Ah, that was it, primroses. Crowley had no idea if florists usually stocked them, but he made a mental note to arrange that they did.

Trying to communicate with his body from the get-go had always put Aziraphale on the defensive. He'd do better this time around.

"I still don't understand why." Aziraphale helplessly spread elegant fingers.

"Why gifts of vegetation? Humans are weird."

"Why you came to the bookshop looking for me."

Crowley hesitated. He could say it now, of course. I've loved you for six thousand years. It might even be true of Botis, for all he knew. After all, he had apparently not Fallen for Aziraphale's sake, and maybe some things were Fate after all. But that didn't explain centuries of lack of contact, and what a bloody idiot Botis had been not to go after him to Earth, to let him fall into Gabriel's hands.

If Botis still existed in some reality, in his reality, Crowley hoped he was having a really ghastly time as a demon.

"You said it was all going to be rather fun, do you remember? The humans, I mean. Earth. The Ineffable Plan."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I did."

Crowley let the Bentley, which had been complaining at the unusual restraint, have its head. "I think it's time I started having some fun." The strings from the stereo soared around them as they left the city. "Starting with a truly fantastic lunch, and a lot of wine. And you, angel, are my elected guide."

"Ah," said Aziraphale, looking bit happier, although his hand was starting to clench a little on the window frame as the car moved faster. "I suppose," he added conversationally, "you are wondering why I asked you to leave all of a sudden. It so happens that—"

Crowley decided he didn't want Aziraphale to lie to him. Not big lies, in any case. Small, hypocritical and white lies were the grease which helped their friendship run smoothly when they were from different sides. But big lies, no. Not between them. Not ever again. They hurt too damn much.

You're lying to him right now, his mind prompted, but he ignored it. What was he supposed to do, he asked what passed for his conscience, say hey, I look like a seraph but I'm your demon best friend from another branch of reality and I'm madly in love with you, so ditch the loser and shack up with me? That would earn a frantic call straight Upstairs.

"I'm not here to get you in trouble for fraternising with demons," he said flatly.

"Oh." Aziraphale flopped back in the seat, but that might have been out of G forces, as the Bentley stretched her—tires. That thought was going nowhere. "Oh dear."

"Whatever you are doing with the Archangel Gabriel is none of my business and I don't want to know about it," Crowley lied. Oh, well. Just because he didn't want Aziraphale to lie to him didn't mean it necessarily had to go both way.

Aziraphale tittered uncomfortably. "I don't think he'd like to be called that these days." Always courteous, even to an absent demon.

"I'm not familiar with his current name."

"Asmodeus," Aziraphale sighed.

"Huh."

"It's not what you think—"

"I know you're not conspiring with Hell to overthrow Heaven," said Crowley, wishing it really was that rather than an Arrangement with Gabriel, whatever he called himself now. Had they embraced goodbye, had they kissed? Did they spend long nights drinking and talking together? Seriously, why was Aziraphale even Gabriel's type, unless his demon self saw a fluffy sheep and decided it would be irresistible to bully? "Look, you're sympathetic to Fallen angels, right? You talked to me, and you were kind, when I was Falling. And it seems you caught me." Oh, by all Existence, had Aziraphale caught him. "You're not the type to stop caring about angels just because they've rebelled. You're too compassionate for that. And probably too polite."

"They are Evil reprobates, but they were our siblings," Azirphale said quietly.

"You've been terribly lonely, haven't you? For thousands of years, the humans passing by like the seasons. You've needed a familiar face. Well, that's all right. I understand. And I'm here now."

"Are you trying to get me to compromise myself?" Aziraphale said with sudden sharpness.

"Angel, I swear to you, I will never, ever do anything to do you harm." Crowley reached across and took Aziraphale's hand, looking tenderly into his face. "I mean you only every good in the world." He put his other hand affectionately on a rounded knee.

"For Heaven's sake hold the steering wheel and watch the road!"

"Oh. Sorry," said Crowley, getting the Bentley back on the tarmac. "Look, I'm not going to tell tales to Upstairs, so put that right out of your mind. "

"Then what do you want of me, Anthony?"

"I told you. Lunch. I'll even pay. Fun. Introduce me to Earth. Your company. Stay by my side a bit while I figure out how all this works into Her plan for me." He took a deep breath. "Your friendship."

That clear, pure and dangerously intelligent face watching him, assessing him as if seeing him for the first time. What did he see? It wasn't a bad corporeal form, Crowley thought, even if wasn't a patch on that bastard Gabriel's. But then, neither was Aziraphale's, except that Aziraphale was obviously perfect. Crowley could feel heat rising over his face.

"You know, I haven't spent much time with the First Sphere, but you are nothing like I expected a seraph to be. Would you please take off your dark glasses for me?" Aziraphale said. Crowley obeyed, and then put his suddenly shaking hand back on the steering wheel like a good angel.

"Why do you wear them? You have beautiful eyes, my dear."

Oh, he was going to die of heat. "You should've seen them yesterday."

Aziraphale laughed, a delightful chuckle. "I always think eyes look too bright in Heaven, even in human form. I prefer this world."

"To the world, then." Crowley's heart felt like it was exploding.

The floating feeling lasted all the way to Whitstable, and through an excellent seafood lunch, which Crowley didn't eat much of because he was too busy watching Aziraphale. It lasted until Crowley was at the bar arranging to take more wine away, and noticed the angel wasn't with him anymore. Well, all right. It was a sparkling, glorious day, and he had probably gone to wait outside by the Bentley.

Aziraphale wasn't the type, in any world, to have a mobile phone, but outside the restaurant was one of the last remaining public telephones in the United Kingdom. As Crowley left the restaurant, he saw Aziraphale hang up, a guilty expression on his face.

There was no point in asking, he thought, as he opened his door and cast himself into the driving seat. Aziraphale had taken the first opportunity to go ring Gabriel.

Notes:

1) Only 24 DB 47 Vantage Jubilees were ever made, and were presented to their owners in a special ceremony at Thornbury Castle, along with matching watches. Like Bentley, Aston Martins have a pair of wings as their symbol.

2) Asmodeus is a powerful demon "opposed to" Gabriel. Things he is noted for in various traditions: dressing well, being good-looking, charming and humorous, and getting in the way of people trying to have sex with their new spouse. Not even kidding on that one (see the Book of Tobias.)