All right, this is my first Good Omens fic-I love the book fiercely, and I'm just hoping the story shows it.

Just to be clear, this story won't be AxOC or CxOC, as I frankly can't abide the concept.

Disclaimer- all credit for the characters of Crowley and Aziraphale go to the lords Pratchett and Gaiman.

A/N: For anyone reading this for the first time, I hope you enjoy! For anyone who has already read it, this has been very heavily edited as of 25th of May 2010, so you may wish to re-read. Also enjoy. :D

Speaking with the Metatron—rather, being spoken at by the Metatron whilst trying desperately to sink into the carpet—always left Aziraphale feeling a little torn. Mostly this was due to the fact that, whenever he was told something of particular importance or significance—or, honestly, just something he found especially interesting—he got the terrible urge to tell Crowley about it. And somewhere in his angelic core he couldn't help but feel that this was not an admirable trait to have. In fact, in this present circumstance specifically, all the basic logic at Aziraphale's command insisted quite firmly that telling Crowley would be a Bad Idea, both words capitalized in his mind like a passive-aggressive red flag from his subconscious. He couldn't honestly disagree. It wasn't as though this was comparable to the Apocalypse-that-almost-was-but-in-reality-probably-wasn't-all-that-likely-anyway, since Crowley had at least already been aware that there was something going on then. If what Aziraphale had been told was accurate, there was very little chance that Crowley had even the slightest inkling of what was going on this time.

To be honest, the whole thing still sort of puzzled him.

It would be very nice if he had somebody with whom to talk it over, somebody to help him work things out. It helped him to think aloud.

Only he really oughtn't tell Crowley.

He just really wanted to.

Crowley's phone rang sixteen times before he answered—Aziraphale counted every ring. When at last he picked up, the demon sounded testy, which wasn't all that unusual, as his previously unlisted number had somehow recently become available to telephone salespeople.

"Hallo?"

"Crowley, old boy!" Aziraphale's voice was weak. "You're well, I hope?" He didn't wait for Crowley's answer, though if he had, it would have been something along the lines of, "Same as I was when I saw you yesterday. What is this about?"

"Lovely," said Aziraphale absently. "Anyway, I was…well, it's the funniest thing, you know…"

"Hilarious," agreed Crowley dryly. "My sides are splitting. What is this about?"

"You sound cross," noted Aziraphale. "I haven't interrupted anything, have I? I'm terribly sorry if I have."

Crowley grunted."Just watering the plants."

"Ah. Poor things. Which one was it this time?"

"Prayer plant, actually," said Crowley. "It's too bad; I had rather high hopes for it."

"Haha, praying for it, were you?" said Aziraphale, sounding sick.

If it were possible to hear someone narrow their eyes, Aziraphale would've heard Crowley do it now.

"You're nervous. What's going on?" Ever since the not-quite-Armageddon, Crowley had developed a certain, arguably necessary measure of paranoia.

Aziraphale glanced sideways at a random spot of carpet, which was ridiculous, if one thought about it, because who was he trying to avoid eye contact with? He coughed.

"Aziraphale…"

"Could you perhaps come to the shop? I think this may be something I need to discuss with you in person."

"Yeah. Sure. On my way." The line went dead.

"Drive carefully," said Aziraphale despairingly to the lifeless receiver. He stood for a moment more with it pressed to his ear, then returned it to the cradle with a sigh. He supposed there was no reason to be frustrated, not really, but he was exhausted—still recovering from last Saturday that was almost the last Saturday, as it were—and he found that things got to him more easily these days. He pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Swearing came a bit more easily to him now as well, he found. All this time on Earth was having an Influence on him.

Crowley pulled up in front of the store seven minutes later, indicating that he had traveled with a speed Aziraphale quailed to consider. The double lines at the curb pulled away almost familiarly for him like a red carpet in reverse. Aziraphale glanced out the front window worriedly. Despite the urgency in his tone during their telephone conversation of moments ago, Crowley wore a smooth, easy grin as he pushed open the previously locked door. Aziraphale was beginning to suspect that it was his default expression. Crowley, in reality, simply failed to see why Aziraphale should be so upset. What could he have to talk about that was worse than the end of the world? And they had handled that pretty well, if he did say so himself.

"Angel," he purred fondly, greeting Aziraphale with a salute.

"Crowley," replied Aziraphale. "I think...we may have a bit of a situation, as it were."

Crowley raised his eyebrows fluidly. "Another one?"

Aziraphale gestured toward the back room, and once the two of them were seated, he pressed his fingers into a steeple and said, "I think Heaven's been rather frazzled since the Great Plan failed to materialize." He looked meaningfully at Crowley. "You see, they, er…they seem to have misplaced Eden."

Crowley blinked. "Eden? As in, the Garden of? Exactly how does one misplace a garden?"

"Well," began Aziraphale.

"I mean—and do correct me if I'm wrong, here—I was under the mad impression that garden were big bloody plots of land with…shrubs and animals and other garden-like things. Apple trees."

Aziraphale waved vaguely. "That's the thing, dear boy. As I understand it, Eden isn't a garden, so to speak. It's…ah, well…"

"What?" said Crowley, curiosity and impatience mingling in his tone.

"Well it's a she, now," said Aziraphale.

"What?" repeated Crowley.

Aziraphale shrugged, laughed half-heartedly. "I'm honestly not all that clear on the logistics of it myself. It was brought to my attention earlier today by the Metatron, and you know how he is about explaining things. Apparently, after you and I were dismissed from Eden, it sat all but abandoned for years until settlements of humans started to get too close to the borders. At that point, I suppose the Higher Ups were forced to close up shop and take it back into Heaven." He stopped and looked to Crowley with an expression akin to embarrassment.

"Just like that?" Crowley tilted his head to make sure he had heard the angel correctly. His mouth failed to close completely.

Aziraphale shrugged again. "That's what I've been told. I'm probably missing details; the Metatron seemed in a hurry. Basically, the point is the Garden's been up in Heaven since then, but now, somehow, it's been misplaced on Earth, and no one can seem to find it. Her, I should say."

"Her," agreed Crowley thoughtfully. "How'd it end up a girl, do you think?"

"I can't say. There are theories, of course, but in the end it all boils down to ineffability. He works in mysterious ways, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if He simply decided to return the Garden to Earth, now that it's certain to be around a while longer. In that case it would only be logical to send it as a person. It's much more subtle, one feels."

Crowley snorted. "And? Since when have your people ever been subtle? I thought you lot were all for stigmata and visions of flaming virgins and all that flashy nonsense."

"Flaming virgins?" echoed Aziraphale faintly. "Oh, dear. I can't say I know where you got that from, but I guess I understand your meaning. I'd say it's a sign of the changing times. Heaven is starting to catch up. Besides," he added, sounding insulted. "you know most of those had nothing to do with us, anyway."

Crowley nodded, waving a dismissive hand in Aziraphale's direction. "Right, right. Now what exactly are we supposed to do about this?"

"Technically, we aren't supposed to do anything about it," said Aziraphale."You aren't even supposed to know about it."

"What are you supposed to do about it, then?"

"I…I'm supposed to find her," said Aziraphale. "It's all a part of the ineffable plan, of course, but there have been a few issues since the Garden hit terra firma, and it would be much easier to smooth things over if we could just keep track of her."

"Issues?" asked Crowley.

"Yes. I'm told some of your people have already been dispatched to find her, for one thing."

"Huh," said Crowley. "Shouldn't be too surprised I didn't know about that, should I?" He probably wasn't in very high favor in a certain, uncomfortably warm underworld at the moment, but the jury was still out about worried he should be about this fact. Well, of course, he ought to be worried—he certainly didn't want the whole of Hell angry with him, but Crowley was finding it difficult to work up the motivation to worm his way back into anyone's bad graces.

Aziraphale fidgeted with his cuffs. The motion caught Crowley's attention, and he cleared his throat.

"D'you have any idea where it—she is, then?"

"Not exactly," admitted Aziraphale. "But I figured…together…it'd be just like old times, wouldn't it? Only not that old, I mean, we have older times…"

"Hold right on there, you," said Crowley, jabbing a finger pointedly. "Say I agree to help you. What exactly is in this for me?"

Aziraphale's smile was slow and smug in a way that indicated he'd anticipated Crowley's question. "If we find her together," he said reasonably. "I'll be able to tell Heaven that I've got her under my protective care, and you'll technically have her as well, so…"

Crowley smiled like a snake. "You know, Aziraphale, sometimes I swear you almost make sense."

Aziraphale's smile faltered slightly. "I think I should be worried about that," he said.

"Don't be. It doesn't happen very often."

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