Note: This was meant to be Part 14. I have no idea why it didn't show up on Wattpad (probably I forgot to hit POST). I hope it still makes sense here.

So--part 2 of the adventures of Aziraphale doting on his demon snake. XD So sorry, and thank you to Daemonia for letting me know.

*****

London, Four Days Ago

Aziraphale felt like he was floating in a bubble of confident happiness throughout dinner. He didn't really realise how tremulous and thin the film of it was until Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets as they made their way out. Well. They had held hands for the last half hour. That was enough of a break from tradition for now. Still, during the silent car right home, the bubble was beginning to feel downright fragile. Possibly Crowley regretted the unusual sign of sentiment, now he had sobered up to drive.

Until Crowley pushed hard for a date the next night, and for a moment felt like the bubble was made of some kind of inpermeable forcefield.

Then Crowley suddenly leaned across the car and kissed him. Aziraphale didn't have time to react, far less respond. It was only a brief kiss, but impossible to mistake as a comradely gesture. It was a purposeful, possessive kiss, hand at the back of Aziraphale's neck as the demon pushed his lips apart and swiped a reptilian tongue against his just once before withdrawing, as if to judge his reaction.

Aziraphale's heart hammered as if he actually was capable of having heart problems and the blood pounded in his ears and all he could think was no, no, not now. Dagon's warnings hammered in his head. They had been doing so well, so much chaste tender affection, and now Crowley was looking at him with unmistakable fire as if their closeness had just been a step on the way to bed—and it wasn't as if he didn't want to lean back into the kiss and see what happened, but—

"I thought," the angel said slowly, "that after all we have just been through, you would have given up on all this tempting nonsense. Are you really still trying to earn points with Hell?"

He saw something like panic on Crowley's face, and panicked himself, heading for the bookshop as fast as he could.

Once inside he leaned against the door, shaking. He had been cruel, he knew, when Crowley was cut loose from his own side. Why couldn't Crowley understand? Take it slow, focus on love and not on pushing and tempting and seducing? Of course he couldn't tell him why it was so important, but even so.

"Well, you handled that badly," said a dry voice.

"You speak my mind, Michael," Aziraphale sighed. He turned unwillingly, remembering the last time he had seen her, she had just tried to kill him—Crowley. Which was perhaps worse, although she wouldn't see it that way. "Is all of Heaven going to visit my humble little shop today?"

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale," she said, which was so unexpected that he found himself gaping at her like a fish. She wove elegant fingers together and said, "I haven't been a very good supervisor to you. Leaving you down here all alone, and not realising that you would be lonely away from Grace. Then, I didn't oppose your execution, even though I knew I had failed you, we all had. I was too willing to believe you betrayed Heaven."

"Well, to be fair, I suppose I did," he said, cautiously edging in and toward the kitchenette. He wasn't sure he could cope with this right now. "Would you like a drink? Gin? Tea?"

"No, thank you. I meant that I thought you were conspiring for Hell's victory over Heaven," she clarified.

Hurt welled up, all the angry hurt that they could ever have believed that of him. Worse that they could believe that than that they would extinguish his existence. "I didn't want another war, Michael. The last one was bad enough. And this one would have had no surrender."

"And you might have fought the demon Crowley."

"I would not have fought him. I am, I suppose, a traitor after all."

"Would he have fought you?" she asked, thoughtfully. "Oh, I know what you will answer. In a way, I suppose that is what we are here to find out for sure. Don't mistake me for having any fondness for your murderous little serpent friend, but we can't really afford to underestimate the importance of this. If even one of our Fallen can Rise again—well." She smiled with sudden brilliance. "Heaven has seemed a little empty for the last few thousand years. We've never even considered the possibility before."

Aziraphale stared blankly at Michael. "So you're here to tell me terms?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. Of course not. I'm here to give you a warning." She leaned forward, holding him in her piercing gaze. "Leave the deal making between us and Hell. Do not make any kind of agreement or sign any contract, except to keep this a secret from the demon Crowley. No deals, Aziraphale. Stay evasive, if you can, and I have the bitter knowledge that you are good at that. You know as well as I do that some of Heaven and Hell are still very angry."

He remembered Dagon's warning with an icy shock. Don't trust the angels. Sign no contracts. "So what do I do?" he faltered.

Michael smiled, as if satisfied with his wibbling as an answer. "Just what you always do. Resume your duties. Spread guidance and goodness and comfort. Be an angel. Let the demon Crowley make his own choices, under the good influence of your love. There's no rush—unless you agree to something you shouldn't.

"And keep your wings clean. Heaven is not the only one with stakes in this matter."

A chime, a rush of light, and she was gone.

London, Three Days Ago

The wine bar date had been almost an unmitigated disaster.

Aziraphale hadn't been able not to respond to the barely repressed grief and desperation of that boy. It hadn't been hard, really, to figure out that the human's mother still loved him and wanted in her heart to apologise for rejecting him and his choices, she just needed a little push. He hoped it worked, he hoped the suggestion he sent was just enough of a miracle to make her pick up the phone, although of course you had to leave it up to the humans themselves, free will and all that. That was the rub. In any case, the boy had seemed much comforted by some avuncular encouragement and just a touch of divine blessing to warm his heart. Aziraphale loved his job.

He really should have thought more about how sensitive and highly strung Crowley could be, and that he might be offended to find his companion with his hand tucked over that of a beautiful young sex worker, but really? Aziraphale couldn't help being offended, and then he had tried to provoke Crowley into some kind of statement of love, and it had all gotten worse—

—and Crowley had still asked to hold hands back to the car. Awkwardly, fumingly, blushingly, his hand stuck out like a reluctant child. How could anyone not dote on him when his moods took him like that?

Aziraphale was confused and hopeful and, really, it was all very well for Michael to say she didn't want him to change anything he did, but how could he not? Any more than he could help analysing every little thing Crowley said or did for signs of love. Enough love. Enough to satisfy Heaven and Hell. How much even was that?

If only Aziraphale could say why he was behaving so oddly. Really this was some kind of torture, to have to expect so desperately much of Crowley and not say what. No wonder the demon seemed bewildered at his changes in temperament.

Music. Music could speak for Aziraphale. The universal language. As languages went, he also knew Crowley's modern Italian was good, better than his, really.

And then their hands were clasped together and Crowley's head was on his shoulder and he was saying too much, surely too much, but he hadn't mentioned Uriel or Dagon, had he? Surely he was still in the clear. Surely... surely Crowley could feel his love, would understand, would finally know what he was asking even though he couldn't ask directly, for fear of breaking rules he didn't even really understand.

Now that I have seen you, all of my lovely dreaming,
All of the sweetest dreams I've dreamt, quickly have slipped away.
This theft does not upset me, because such treasures
Mean nothing now that I'm rich with sweet hope

Listen, he willed, kissing the top of Crowley's head very gently. Listen, and understand, my sweetest of hopes, even if I can't say it. Please just say it. Please offer what I need so very badly. Give me some clear words of love.

The worst, the absolute worst of it, was that they were cuddled chastely together, and Aziraphale could still feel temptation twisting inside him like a dark serpent. It would be easy, so very very easy, to reach up and tilt the face pressed against his shoulder up to meet his, lower his friend back onto the couch and let what would happen, happen. He could imagine all too clearly muscular arms snaking up around his neck, lean legs parting to tangle with his, that demonic tongue pushing wantonly back against his. He knew Crowley would seize the chance if Aziraphale took the initiative just once, and there would be no going back. Why were love and lust so closely intertwined? Why place temptation nearby, with a big flashing sign?

"Why not put it on top of a mountain, or somewhere far off?"

Crowley, bless—curse—oh, just adore him, seemed to be drifting off to sleep. So endearing, the very human way he just fell asleep like that. Better to leave him, to go home and think things over well away from the distraction that this corporeal form seemed determined to provide.

In the morning, Aziraphale probably should find a discreet way to warn Crowley not to take any contracts or deals, without actually giving away to him anything he shouldn't. Not that it would be necessary. Crowley knew all about the dangers of celestial contracts, he had his chains to remind him.

Aziraphale had no way of knowing that Crowley, snuggled peacefully beside him, was already silently lifting up his prayer to the Heavens, and offering his own terms.

And Heaven was listening.