"I really hate being an angel," Crowley muttered, as the escalator descended and the atmosphere improved. "I always did. I mean, making the stars, that was fun, but it all seemed a bit of wasted effort, just so the humans could see some pretty sparks in the sky."

"I suppose you couldn't take a quiet satisfaction in a job well done?" Aziraphale suggested, then took in Crowley's glare. "No, no, sorry, silly of me."

"I hate the rules."

"You can't tell me Hell doesn't have thousands of petty rules. Not with Dagon."

"Yeah, but we're not expected to enjoy them. Or be grateful. I mean, yeah, Hail Satan, the Dark Prince likes his ego being flattered, but he doesn't actually expect us to love him."

"I can't believe you just said Hail Satan while actually in Heaven." Aziraphale winced.

"Well, you just did. It suited you." Crowley kicked his foot against the side of the escalator. It didn't make a mark. "No, it didn't. You love being an angel. There was a while I hoped that you wouldn't mind much being a demon, because you can't follow rules either, but I knew I was fooling myself. You can't walk into a wine bar without finding a lost soul to comfort."

"I'm sorry." They left the Building and headed for the car.

"That's not something to be sorry for. If you weren't so damned kind, you would have told me to get lost the first time I tried to chat you up."

"You became an angel again for my sake anyway," Aziraphale said quietly. "Because you thought that was what I wanted."

Crowley put the Bentley into gear."I might have made it work. If you remembered me. You would have helped. But without your help, and oh, bless, Gabriel knew just what to do. Put it into my head that he had replaced me, and bang went every chance I had. I started the big slope back down the moment I heard him flirting with you. Went bonkers with jealousy and insecurity. Started lying and manipulating and trying to seduce you straight away. Oh, Asmodeus is going to make a great demon. Much better than me." The car roared down the road. "Would be a thumb in the face to Her, too. A fallen angel welcomed back into the fold, and then going back to Hell."

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said again. "But I don't—I think I can't have wanted you to be this unhappy." Crowley looked into worried kind eyes, and wanted to cry and kiss him and scream and break the entire world.

"Yeah, I know. But I was the one who let down the end of the deal. No true repentance, Sandalphon nailed me on that. Michael is going to be really, really disappointed. Oh, Satan, please don't let Asmodeus be my superior." He screwed his eyes shut.

"Please keep your eyes open while driving!" Crowley opened his eyes obediently, and Aziraphale relaxed a little. Crowley reached for his glasses, reflecting that if he felt like closing them again, it was better for the angel not to know. ""Is there any way for you not to Fall again?" So much pain in Aziraphale's voice. So much guilt in his own heart. Well, that would be all right. Part of being a demon was learning not to listen to guilt.

"No." He accelerated again. "But there's a way for you not to be unhappy about it. I won't be unhappy either, really. Quite contented and enjoying myself immensely, I suspect. Doesn't that sound nice?" Or he could walk into the nearest church and dip his head into the font. That seemed as inviting an idea as taking Sandalphon up on his offer.

"Do I get any choice in this matter?" Aziraphale asked, and there was cold anger in his voice.

In answer, Crowley lifted his hip, pulled Asmodeus' contract out of his pocket, and threw it onto Aziraphale's lap as the Bentley roared down the street.

"So in essence, I'm to be some kind of a prize?" Aziraphale's anger was like frozen nitrogen. "If I love you enough to agree to Fall together, then we both get an offer of special treatment in Hell. If not..."

"One last slow dive, and then I'm recalled from Earth for good. Yeah. Don't worry about it. I mean, there's a loophole a planet wide. Idiot forgot to specify that you actually had to Fall. You fall in love with me, I sacrifice my desires to your wellbeing, I get to stay on Earth as a demon, your wings stay white. When I found the bookmark—well, it doesn't matter. I'm not signing the contract. It would be too easy to challenge anyway, because I can't sign away your soul. Asmodeus should have spent more time listening to Dagon lecture on infernal legalities." He pulled up outside the bookshop. "All he'd manage is to get tied up in Heaven vs Hell legal disputes for the next few centuries."

"I see." Aziraphale hesitated, hand on the car door. "Anthony—Crowley—"

"I have some time. I'll get some rest and think. There is always a way out," he lied. "Um, ah, there are some flowers arriving today," he added, wriggling with embarrassment. "I hope you like them."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said gravely.

"You were always good with plants. I am, too, now," he said, but couldn't summon his usual pride. "I—" He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale's lips, quickly, chastely. Even the chaste contact left him feeling a wreck. But it might be the last chance he had, ever. "Goodbye, angel."

"That sounds dreadfully final."

"It's not. I'll see you tomorrow, no matter what." He hesitated. "Look, if I don't come, come find me." He rattled off the Mayfair address. "Promise? No matter what, I'll always let you in."

"I will."

The angel left the car. Crowley pulled away without being able to look after him.

He didn't remember driving to the flat, but that wasn't really unusual. He left the Bentley in the garage, then walked slowly up.

He concentrated for a moment before entering the flat, then slowly pushed it open.

The white carpet, looking completely untrodden on, stretched from wall to wall. His sofa was immaculate and unsat on, neon tubes leaned on shining metal chairs. A door was open to a neat, shining office, forever perfect and unused. There were no pieces of art except the sketch of the Mona Lisa, certainly no eagle plinth saved from a bombed church, or suggestive sculptures of angels and demons wrestling. Bookshelves held neatly arranged lines of expensive, unread books. Beautiful houseplants with glossy leaves carefully avoided shedding leaves on the carpet.

It was a temple of success to avoid spending time in as much as possible after a long day of spreading temptation and frustration, not a place to lounge around listening to opera and brooding over being unrequitedly in love with your best friend.

Perfect. And oddly familiar. He supposed he had Sandalphon to thank for that.

What Aziraphale had needed of him, had always needed of him, was friendship. He knew that. Friendship and balance, without all the guilt and pain of too much wanting, too much desperation, too much pressure. He had been given too much hope by You go too fast, with the implication that all he had to do was slow down a bit. He'd known all along in his heart that what Aziraphale had really needed was for him to back off completely, and just be a friend.

That would involve annihilating a huge part of himself, that he had hugged to himself for thousands of years, but after all, he had promised to do anything. An open offer. Aziraphale was right, it had been an incompetent prayer from the point of view of his own desires, but it might all work out in the end. He'd never know otherwise.

He reached for the contract in his pocket and met only emptiness. That was right, he had given it to Aziraphale. It didn't matter. It was time to pray again.

He sat on the immaculate, uncomfortable leather sofa and said, "All right, Sandalphon. I'm ready to deal."

Aziraphale's anger and compassion were tangled closely together, and through them running the oddly bright strands of the gentle kiss left on his lips, the snake and seraph wound about him, the fingers laced in his, the bewildering strength of the love directed at him in the bookshop. He realised, quite sharply, that in his long sojourn on Earth, there had been a lot of pleasant, even beautiful experiences. He had loved serving Heaven and humankind and enjoying the pleasures of the Earth. Feeling tenderness and need directed at himself was an unknown experience.

Except perhaps it wasn't. The evidence was that it wasn't. Oh, he was furious.

Undoing tangles took patience, but Aziraphale was very ancient, and very patient when he had to be. There was no knitter or fisherman as practiced and meticulous as an angel could be.

He leaned against the door as he unlocked it, and said, "You might as well come out into the open. I think we need a chat."

Asmodeus stepped around the corner, the light glinting on his reflective sunglasses. "Well, hello to you too, honey. No dear for me anymore?"

They walked into the bookshop together, closing the door in the face of a hopeful customer. Then, going against instinct, Aziraphale opened the door again and apologised.

"I am so sorry, miss. Let me show you around my humble shop. My friend here is just going to read a document for me, and then explain it to me. I'm afraid," he said, giving Asmodeus the nastiest look he was able to summon, "I can be a bit muddle-headed about contracts."

Asmodeus grinned, unabashed, and took the contract from his hand, disappearing with it into the back room.

Aziraphale took his time showing the lady around, steering her carefully away from his favourite piles, and even permitted her to buy some of his less treasured tomes. He did need some space for incoming acquisitions, he supposed. He took the time to think. His mind was working, untangling his thoughts, his hand half-consciously stroking the bookmark in his pocket.

He finally showed the lady off, happily clutching her bargain-priced acquisitions, overjoyed at what a wonderful bibliophile heaven she had found, with such a charming, helpful, generous owner. Aziraphale was vaguely aware that he was setting her up for a terrible disappointment on her next visit, but perhaps the two visits would cancel each other out, morally. He locked the door behind her.

Asmodeus was lounging on the couch in the backroom, wine in hand. "Hey, babe."

Aziraphale sniffed. "Well?"

"It's not like you would Fall on his behalf. You're incorruptible, I should know. The whole thing is to correct an error that should never have happened. The demon Crowley doesn't belong in the First Sphere of Heaven, any more than I do. He'd cause more havoc there than in being of use to my Master. You're also much better off without him getting in your way. You may not remember it, but you were my subordinate. I still feel affection for you."

"You don't think Crowley belongs in Heaven, yet you arranged for him to be there?"

Asmodeus shrugged. "I suppose he's told you the whole story. Yes. Yes, I did. I was an Archangel then. My judgement was hampered by compassion. It was a very touching prayer."

"I wish I believed that."

"You should be grateful. I cut a deal with Sandalphon on your behalf, as thanks for services rendered. Your irrational devotion to the demon led to you being sentenced to extinction for going against the Almighty's plans for Armageddon. Did he tell you that?"

"He indicated something of the kind, but not details." Aziraphale sighed.

"And you trusted him?" Asmodeus put his feet on the table. "Interesting."

"I should trust you instead?"

"Of course not. We're both demons at heart, even if he's temporarily walking around in angelic form. The only difference is that I'm not a complete idiot."

Aziraphale hesitated. All the evidence he had seen so far indicated that Crowley was a natural liar, and highly strung, and clearly a dear, brave, sweet, devoted boy for someone who claimed to be a demon, yes, but perhaps the Almighty had not massively overburdened Crowley with intellect. Some sense of loyalty, whether from the last few days or lost memories, made Aziraphale incapable of saying so.

"So what am I supposed to do?"

Asmodeus shrugged. "Nothing. He'll burn himself out and Fall again soon enough. You go back to your life, do your good works, enjoy all the material pleasures you love so much, and retain some affection for your dear old supervisor and current drinking buddy."

"I see," Aziraphale said slowly. "Speaking of which, I think I need a drink. A special drink." He walked to the cabinet where he kept his cocoa supplies and pulled out a hip flask, decorated with wings and a Prince's crown. He carefully unscrewed it and poured the clear contents into a cup. He took a small sip. "Asmodeus?"

"Hmm?"

Angelic wards clicked into place around the back room, the security system going into overdrive. Aziraphale had been on Earth a very very, long time. And there was always some stupid arrogant demon who thought he could win points with Hell by knocking out the longest residing angel.

"Give me back my bloody memories, or you'll get holy water in the face."

Asmodeus leapt to his feet. "You soft little idiot, you wouldn't dare!"

Aziraphale smiled at him. "You could probably wrench it from my hands and only get a few drops on you, too. Burn a couple of holes in your hands at worst. But if you attack me, how will you stop me from spitting?" He pulled a large gulp from his cup into his mouth.

Asmodeus looked wildly around, but the wards were in place. Aziraphale couldn't speak, not with a mouth full. Still, he was confident that Asmodeus would realise the only way out was if he released them, even without the threat of the holy water.

"You smug little bastard!" All Asmodeus' stored up hatred poured out, like pus from a lanced wound. "You have no real power, no abilities, yet you always manage to fuck things up! The best thing about being a demon is not having to pretend to be kind to your stupid fat face!"

Aziraphale took a step forwards.

"All right! Wait—Deal. Angel's honour. You get your memories back, the wards go straight down and I return to Hell in peace."

Aziraphale nodded.

"All right." Asmodeus made an angry gesture, and the memories flooded back.

For one moment, as they overwhelmed him, he faltered, and for one moment thought Asmodeus was going to attack. Then the demon left with large, angry strides, beautifully cut coat swinging like a vampire's cape. Always so dramatic, demons.

Aziraphale waited until he was gone, then raised the heavenly wards again. He felt quite trembling and, after all, it was a relief to swallow. Holding that much neat vodka in his mouth for so long really stung.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head in his hands, but only for a moment.

"Crowley."

He headed for the streets, ready to hail a taxi.

Notes:

1) I think the most shocking plot twist I've had so far is to have Aziraphale sell some books.

2) Yeah, Crowley is still not communicating well, and thinking everything is all on him instead of sufficiently trusting the angel. His mistake.