A/N: I honestly don't remember why this occurred to me. Like seriously. Honestly do not remember. Something about how Crowly+Aziraphale and Reese+Finch operate in a way that seems strikingly similar to me. For some reason.

...Yeah, sorry, no deep existential ponderings today. Is that even a word? Ponderings, in the plural? Whatever. Use your imagination to fill in the blanks in Team Machine's latest Number/Team Free Will UK's* latest rivalling assignment.

This is set probably sometime in mid-Season 2 for POI and post-book for GO. Read on, enjoy, etcetera. And do please review!

Mr Reese, you are certain they did not notice you placing the listening device beneath their table?"

"Relax, Finch," John muttered softly. "I'm a professional."

"Yes, I'm well aware," Finch replied, the slightest edge of a buzz around his voice thanks to the tiny earpiece through which they communicated. "I simply find it rather likely that they are professionals as well. As to what that profession might be, of course, I've no idea. This should make it a bit easier to figure out why they're following our number around, though. I'm activating the bug…now."

John settled down at his table, unfolding his newspaper and practicing the fine art of not merely not watching his targets, but appearing to totally not care about them except in the peripheral way that everyone in the room noticed everyone else. This is not nearly as easy as it sounds. The newsprint blurred slightly before his eyes as he listened to the two men at the other table give their orders.

"Whose voice is whose?" he asked softly.

"The higher voice, speaking in Received Pronunciation, belongs to the blond gentleman in the waistcoat. The lower, softer one with the slight lisp is the man in the sunglasses and black suit…friend of yours, Mr Reese?"

John huffed out a quiet laugh, lips curling up in a faint smile as he flipped a page in his newspaper. "If I was friends with every man in a black suit in New York, I'd be richer than you, Finch."

"Well, nearly," Finch sniffed, sounding almost offended. "Though of course, the fact that the Machine can't identify either of them is what mainly attracted my suspicion. The waitress is leaving," he added suddenly.

"Here we go," John muttered, glancing over the comics.

"So you're on this one too?" the dark-haired man asked.

"Obviously," the blond replied. "Why else would I be in the States? There aren't any book auctions going on in the area—believe me, I checked." He sounded a little put out about this.

A soft laugh. "Really, angel, you're so easily satisfied." A pause, a sip of water.

"Gay?" John suggested quietly.

Finch made an uncertain noise.

"You do realise that in 'saving' her from me, you're dooming her to an early death?"

"Crowley, please. I'm…not a child. I'm well aware of the consequences my interventions will have. I simply. Well. I haven't a choice, not in this. It's an order, and Upstairs is still miffed with me over that business with the Young boy, you know." Emphasis made it clear that Young was a name, not an adjective.

"Yes, well, we're both in the same hot water. Why didn't you just blame the whole bloody mess on me? They'd believe it. I am such a very reprehensible being, after all." Crowley sounded quite amused at that.

"Um. Well, they might have believed that if I hadn't…sort of…gone off on Michael earlier in the day?" The blond man sounded slightly embarrassed about that.

From the sound of it, Crowley choked on his water. "You went off on Michael? Tell me, angel, are we talking about the same Michael?"

"Revelations 12:7-9, angels and the dragon, yes," the man mumbled.

John frowned. "Finch?"

"...there was war in heaven," Finch quoted. "Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven."

"Yesss, I remember, angel. I was there," Crowley murmured.

John really wished Finch was across from him so that they could exchange blank stares.

"Still," Crowley laughed. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"My dear, please, it's not that big a deal."

"Oh come on! My little Aziraphale telling off the big, bad Archangel himself! It brings tears to my eyes."

"Snakes can't cry," The blond man—Aziraphale?—stated mildly.

"I think we've got names, Finch," John said softly.

"Yes, three—Crowley, Aziraphale, and the Archangel Michael!"

"It could be some kind of code," John suggested.

"…Yes, that's quite logical. Crowley might be a real name, but I've never heard of anyone called Aziraphale. Archangel might be simply a cute, roundabout way of referring to Mr Aziraphale's employer—or a necessary mask, in case of being overheard. Biblical references are not uncommon in military and reconnaissance settings," Finch noted. "And the Revelations quote could be an oblique reference to some conflict in recent history, judging by Mr Crowley's assertion of his presence there. Good call, Mr Reese."

"I do my best."

"Ssso, what will it be? The Arrangement demandsss one of us stand down. Will you sssave her, and let her die, or leave her to me?"

"Left to you, my dear, she goes on to kill at least two others," Aziraphale said wearily. "And you know very well that I can't simply 'stand down'. As I've said, I have orders."

"True. But so do I." There was another pause in the conversation as the waitress arrived with their order. After a few minutes of forks clicking against plates, Crowley spoke again. "Ssstill, there might be another way out of thisss…for both of usss…"

"Crowley, please. Sexless, remember?"

"…Ssspoilsssport."

"Try it again, without the miserable attempt at seduction. A way out for both of us?"

"Missserable? I bloody invented ssseduction."

"You tricked an impressionable young woman into eating an apple, that doesn't really count."

"Well, fine, I invented temptation, and that's pretty much the same thing," Crowley snapped, lisp nearly vanishing. "Look, d'you want to hear my idea or not?"

"I'm all for anything that doesn't involve us at each other's throats, you know that," Aziraphale replied softly. "I don't really like being disincorporated, or disincorporating you. Do go on, my dear."

"That has to be the oddest euphemism for killing someone I've ever heard," Finch said in disbelief.

"I'm not sure it's even a word," John commented, flipping the page on his newspaper once again.

"Well, it's like with the Apocalypse. If we each apply our respective influences in equivalent degrees, ultimately, things should turn out neutral, right?"

"It's like with the what?" Finch's voice went uncharacteristically high in incredulity.

"You mean to say that ultimately, whatever choice she makes would then be the same as if she'd made the choice without either of us interfering at all?" Aziraphale asked.

"Exactly. So one of us gets to send back news of a glorious success, triumphing over well-matched resistance from the other side, and the other can at least say they put up a good fight. Meanwhile we're getting giggly-drunk at some flashy restaurant downtown and there's not a damned thing they can do about it. Or a blessed one, for that matter. I won't have to tick off my friend, and your conscience won't be biting at you because really, that's what free will's all about isn't it?"

Aziraphale made a considering noise. "It's…really rather elegant, my dear."

"Or one might even say—"

On Finch's monitor, the two men could be seen exchanging smiles, one hesitant and sweet, one smug and snakelike.

"Ineffable," they chorused, raising their glasses of water and chinking them together.

This wouldn't have been at all suspicious if Finch hadn't seen the tiny ripple as clear liquid near-instantly gave way to something much darker.

"Mr Reese," the man said shakily into the microphone.

"Thought you disapproved of messing with such trivial stuff?" Crowley said, amused.

"Well, it was the Ineffable Plan we were toasting," Aziraphale sniffed. "Just drink, my dear."

"Yes, Finch?" John replied quietly.

"It would seem…" Finch gulped. "It would seem that Mr Aziraphale has just turned water into wine."

*Blame Pika-la-Cynique's Girls Next Door for that; she used it when the actual Team Free Will from Supernatural made a guest appearance and...I...sort of haven't been able to think of Crowley and Aziraphale as a unit by any other name since. Actually, if you're a fan of any of the following:

Labyrinth

Phantom of the Opera

Les Misérables

Pirates of the Carribean

go read GND/Roomates (by asheryder) on deviantart. Seriously. Fan-frigging-tasting archive-trawling crack. Crowley and Aziraphale are two of the more frequent recurring characters. Okay, wow, that is a lot of time to promote something I'm not even affiliated with. Dayum. Umm...I can't figure out how to stop typing! SH*T! Ummm...!

ijustdon'tknowanymoregoodbyereviewpleasethanks!