On a particularly fateful morning in the summer of the year 2000, Crowley woke up in Aziraphale's bed, as he had done on more mornings than not over the course of the past 14 years. They knew better than to spend every night together. They had to keep up appearances, after all, couldn't have Heaven or Hell catching onto the true nature of their relationship - or the fact that they there was a relationship to speak of, at all.
Some nights they spent at Crowley's apartment, but Aziraphale's bed was softer than Crowley's, and, on summer mornings like this with the sun streaming through the window across Crowley's bare skin, warmer, too. He stretched a little, relishing the feeling of the warm rays across his chest - but it wasn't the heat of the sun that had awakened him, but the far more intense heat of Aziraphale's mouth against his throat, Aziraphale's hand sliding up his side as his angel settled onto the bed beside him.
"Good morning."
Crowley didn't even try to suppress the lazy smile that rose to his lips as Aziraphale whispered the words against his neck, the soft puff of breath tickling his skin and making him shift a little - but only to allow Aziraphale to settle in closer.
"Morning, angel," Crowley replied, voice hoarse with sleep, pressing a kiss to the disheveled curls at the top fo Aziraphale's head. "Now come back to bed…"
Aziraphale laughed softly, rising up on one arm to meet Crowley's sleepy eyes, a regretful smile on his face. "I wish I could, my dear, but we really must be getting up and about. Both of us."
Crowley frowned, raising a single brow. "That's your way of convincing me to leave this bed?" He scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes and settling in more comfortably against the downy pillows under his head, reaching out with both arms to pull Aziraphale's annoyingly fully clothed body down on top of him. "'S what we call counter-productive…"
"Crowley," Aziraphale objected, the slight sharpness of his tone making Crowley sigh and release him, already aware that he was going to lose. "I've got to open up the shop…"
"Right, you do that, then," Crowley conceded, turning onto his side and snuggling deeper under the covers. "I'll just sleep a bit longer…"
Aziraphale's silence was weighted with his anxiety, and Crowley turned back toward him, opening his eyes and studying the angel's face. "What? What is it?" he asked, sitting up.
"Well, it's just that… Gabriel told me he'd be stopping by this morning. We haven't spoken in some time, and he said he wanted to pick up my report in person this time…"
"Right." Crowley sat up the rest of the way, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and dejectedly tossing the blanket back. "And can't have your mistress here when your wife gets home, can you?"
He was joking. Mostly.
Aziraphale scooted across the bed to sit beside him, mirroring his pose, and Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale placed a gentle arm around him. "Crowley, dear, you know that's not it at all. It's just that they can't find you here, you know that. You know what could happen."
"Satan forbid, you might receive a strongly worded note."
"Yes, and you might receive a death sentence." Aziraphale's tone was sharp, his voice trembling a little, rising in pitch with his worries as he went along. "If they found you here, they would try to kill you! Or at the very least, report your presence here back to your own authorities, so that they could then try to kill you! And Heaven knows that I would fight and I would fall before I'd let that happen, but if there's several of them, if I'm not fast enough or skilled enough, Crowley, I just can't…"
"All right, angel, I know," Crowley relented with a sigh, reaching a hand down to catch Aziraphale's hand where it rested at his waist. "I get it, I do. I'll go. I'm just - tired of hiding, 's all."
He moved as if to stand, but Aziraphale's arm held him fast. Crowley looked up at him, and the arresting intensity of Aziraphale's gaze - the mingled love and worry it held - nearly took his breath. Aziraphale leaned in, his hand rising from Crowley's waist to instead cup the back of his head and draw him into a fierce kiss to which Crowley could only surrender. When he finally drew back for air, Crowley let out a soft, breathless laugh, shivers of want still coursing through his body.
"Like I said, angel… if you want me to go, that's not exactly…"
"I don't." Aziraphale's quiet, certain tone stopped Crowley's words. "I'd have you with me always, Crowley. I do hope you know that."
"I do."
"I do hope that's… enough. For now."
Crowley felt Aziraphale's uncertainty, the vulnerability behind the words, and he leaned in to kiss him again - lighter this time, reassuring. "S'pose it'll have to be," he replied with a warm smile. "You go on and open up the shop. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can."
Aziraphale's expression softened with relief, and he ran a hand tenderly through Crowley's hair. Crowley closed his eyes at the sensation, leaning into the touch, as Aziraphale reluctantly rose to his feet.
"See you at lunch?" he reminded Crowley.
Crowley nodded as he stood up and reached for his trousers. "Yeah."
They had plans to meet for lunch at a new little restaurant that had just opened up, just outside of London. It wasn't very well known or busy yet, though it had gotten several ravingly positive reviews, and it was unlikely that either of their respective camps would think to come looking for them there.
Crowley got dressed quickly and slipped down the stairs and out the back door, taking a couple of back alleys before making his way back out to the main road where he'd parked the Bentley - two blocks away from the bookstore. As he unlocked the car and got in, he felt a familiar crackling of celestial energy, a soft, warm buzzing in his head that he knew was Aziraphale, reaching out to him with his very soul.
"I love you…"
Warmed as he was by the words, Crowley felt an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. This sort of spiritual psychic communication was nothing new to him and Aziraphale. A few whispered affectionate words, or perhaps, "Come here, darling, I need to show you something," passed through the air instead of shouted across rooms, held little risk. It was a lot like a radio wavelength - only those within range could hear.
For Aziraphale to reach out to Crowley over the distance of a couple of city blocks carried quite a bit more risk - especially when he knew Gabriel might be on his way to visit, and therefore within range. Crowley knew that was why Aziraphale hadn't actually used his name - plausible deniability, he could have reasonably been talking to anyone - but he also knew better than to respond, though he returned the sentiment with all of his heart.
I'll tell him when I see him, he told himself as he drove across town to his flat. It'll only be a few hours…
Crowley had barely set foot through the door of his apartment, tossing his keys down in the bowl by the door and reaching for his phone, when someone crashed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground, sending his phone sliding across the floor to rest under his desk. Crowley tried to push the weight of his attacker off of him, tried to get up, but strong hands grabbed his own and pinned them behind his back, a heavy foot pressed against the back of his neck, holding him down.
He was immediately aware by the feeling of their presence that these were angels, rather than demons attacking him - and his stomach dropped with fear at that realization. It was not mere coincidence, he was sure, that he was being attacked by angels in his apartment, at the very same time that Aziraphale was expecting a visit from angels in the bookstore.
They're onto us…
"Let go of me! Get off, what the Heaven do you think you're doing?" he shouted, struggling harder, creating any distraction he could as he snapped his fingers, and under the edge of his desk, his cell phone vanished into non-existence.
"Silence," a female angel spoke from a distance a bit too far to be one of the two pinning him down. "Your struggles are useless, demon. Cooperation would serve you better."
Crowley laughed, derisive and defiant, even as she moved closer to him, her hands bringing something slim and round and metal close to his neck. "Have you met me?" he sneered. "Not likely that I'll-"
His words broke off abruptly as the encircling object clicked shut around his throat, not tight enough to stop his breath but flush against his skin - and immediately a searing agony tore through his head, down through every limb, the whole of his body, overwhelming every thought with a wave of white static - just before everything went dark.
When Crowley awakened this time, his surroundings were far less pleasant.
His head was throbbing, for one thing - but at least it wasn't the overwhelming, fiery agony that had sent him into unconsciousness. Just the dull after-effects, he reckoned, thudding in the back of his skull.
He was lying on cold, rough stone, and he blinked his eyes a few times to clear his vision as he sat up, realizing with irritation and an unsettled feeling that his sunglasses were nowhere to be found. On the upside, though - hands free, feet free, they'd apparently seen no reason to bind him.
Their mistake...
The metal device was still locked tight around his neck, and attached to it now was the weight of a heavy chain, connected at the other end to the center of the stone floor. The room was empty of any other furnishings, save only a light fixture against one wall. There was a door on one side of the room - wide open - but the chain barely allowed Crowley enough room to stand, let alone to get anywhere near it.
There was no one within sight - and that just wasn't going to cut it.
Not if he was going to find out what had happened to Aziraphale.
"Hey!" he yelled out. "Whose idea of a bloody joke is this? Come on, now, somebody come here and talk to me!"
No one answered - but he could hear whispering voices in the hall outside the cell. He waited, quiet, listening, but unable to make any of it out - and then a few moments later, two angels entered the room, one male and one female, both looking tense and anxious. He grinned at them, offering them a cheeky wink.
"Come on, then," he said. "Secrets don't make friends."
The male angel glared at him, his mouth twisting in anger and disgust as he moved in swiftly and struck Crowley across the face with the back of a closed fist. "No one here is your friend, demon," he snarled.
Crowley steadied himself from the blow and swung out to return it, his own fist just barely connecting with the angel's jaw as the angel hastily stepped back, nearly out of Crowley's reach. He almost hadn't connected at all.
And oh, how he wished he hadn't.
The instant the blow landed, a searing jolt of agony like the one he'd felt before consumed Crowley's body, like burning up from the inside, stealing his breath and his strength and leaving him on his knees on the cold stone. He barely even felt the vicious kick aimed at his ribcage by the angel he'd struck, heard his furious words as a muffled sound, like from underwater.
The angel grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, his words slowly coming into focus as the pain and static slowly subsided. "... think you've got the right to touch me, you disgusting…"
"Let him go."
The new voice was met with instant obedience, Crowley's hair released as the angel took a couple of hasty steps back - Crowley noticed with some measure of satisfaction, well out of his reach. Crowley saw a pair of stylish black dress shoes moving toward him with slow, measured steps, and looked up into the face of the angel who'd spoken. Immediately his mouth went dry, and he swallowed back the knot that rose in the back of his throat.
Gabriel.
This was serious, then, if the archangel was involved.
How much time had passed while he'd been unconscious? Time enough for Gabriel to have paid Aziraphale a visit, too?
Trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Crowley rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet again. Some instinct, deeply ingrained in him from his own creation, recognized the power of this being, and a part of him wanted to look away from the blinding white of Gabriel's grace. Not willing to give any of these wanker angels the satisfaction of looking away, even if the archangel's presence was a bit intimidating, Crowley forced himself to maintain eye contact, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch his lower lip, bleeding now from the blow he'd been struck.
"Yeah, that punch was a bad idea," Gabriel remarked with a falsely sympathetic grimace. "I wouldn't suggest trying it again."
"Seems I won't have the chance, your man there's too bloody scared to come near a second time."
The angel seethed with anger, moving forward again and Crowley braced himself for another round; but Gabriel held up a hand in a halting gesture, not even looking at the furious angel - and he immediately backed down.
"No." Gabriel smiled, and it was a deeply unpleasant smile, touched with cruel amusement. "He's got no reason to be afraid of you, Crowley. No one has. It's just that we need you conscious. For the moment. And one more hit from that collar you're wearing, and you won't be."
Crowley instinctively reached up a hand to touch it, frowning.
"I wouldn't try to take it off, either, unless you want another shock like the last one," Gabriel advised. "You try to hurt anyone… try to teleport… try to take the collar off, and it will take you down."
A cold, empty feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he began to understand just exactly why they hadn't bothered to bind him with anything besides the collar and chain attached to it.
"Why?" he demanded, hating the faint tremor in his voice, putting a little more force into his words so they'd hopefully attribute it not to fear - no, none of that - but to blinding rage, which he was most definitely beginning to feel. "What have I done that's so bloody awful you think you've got the right to step in? You take care of yours, Hell takes care of ours, that's the way it's always been! This is a bloody war crime, 's what it is!"
Gabriel laughed softly. "That might matter," he conceded with a little shrug. "If one single person from your side knew you were here."
"Well, you'd better hope they don't find out!" Crowley retorted, moving as close to Gabriel as the chain would allow him. "Thought you lot were all about following the rules, yeah? This is about as far from that as you can get, it's bloody well unheard of! Chaining a guy up, binding his powers, without so much as a trial, or even telling him what he's done! When Hell finds out what you've done, you'll regret it." He defiantly glared up at Gabriel, a sneer twisting his lips as he declared, "Stupidest move you ever made."
Gabriel's expression didn't change, as he lashed out with his fist and struck Crowley in the side of the head, hard enough to knock him back down onto his knees. His warnings about the collar were just about a half second behind Crowley's outrage, as the demon started to rise again, ready to fight.
He was brought up short, sharply, as Gabriel stepped down on the chain close to Crowley's side, not leaving him enough slack to rise, and effectively jerking him back down onto his knees when he tried. He crouched down next to Crowley so that they were at eye level, and Crowley braced himself for another attack, for another shock from the collar, glaring at Gabriel and waiting, every muscle tense and ready.
"You know, at the moment that collar's set pretty low," Gabriel observed, casually thoughtful. "I bet you can barely feel it, right? It just kinda - makes you tired. I mean, when you're not doing something colossally stupid."
Crowley swallowed slowly, considering. No, he couldn't really feel the collar right at that moment, beyond a slight staticky buzz in the back of his head, a certain feeling of weakness and exhaustion that he'd mostly attributed to being attacked in his own home and taking multiple blows to the head in the process. But - perhaps it was more than that.
"We set it low on purpose, for now," Gabriel explained. His lip curled in an expression of contempt as he continued, "You're not a person, Crowley. You don't get a trial." His tone softened. "But - we are going to talk about what it is that you've done. And we do want you… coherent… for that conversation. So, for now, we've got it set on low. Binds your powers. Can't fight. Can't run. Maybe if you really focused all your energy, you could access enough of your power to perform a minor miracle or two - as long as it wasn't intended to hurt anyone. But - you're definitely not going anywhere."
Gabriel reached into his pocket, and took out a slim, silver device that matched the metal of the collar, and looked a bit like a remote control.
Crowley managed to hold his gaze, despite the anxious tightening in his chest.
"There are higher settings, though," Gabriel remarked, sounding almost bored as he flipped the tiny device over and over in his hand. "And - the things that happen at the higher settings…" He winced a little, shaking his head. "... it can get pretty ugly." He paused, holding Crowley's gaze, his smile fading completely. "Wanna see?"
Crowley swallowed slowly, glancing down at the device for a moment before meeting Gabriel's eyes again. He kept his voice carefully low and controlled. "What do you want?"
Gabriel studied him for a moment, speculative, before apparently deciding he approved of the question and pocketing the remote control again without using it. Crowley allowed himself to relax just a little with the thing, for the moment, out of play.
Gabriel reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and took out several pieces of paper, which he tossed down onto the floor in front of Crowley. Crowley was acutely aware that Gabriel was watching for his reaction, so he did his best to offer none as he gazed down at the pictures in front of him. Even though it felt like a very small, localized earthquake was taking place in his stomach. Even though he suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe.
The pictures were of him and Aziraphale.
On the street, walking together, a few feet of space carefully between them so that the casual observer might not even realize they were together. A rather more incriminating one taken through the window of a restaurant, showing the two of them seated at the same table, having lunch. A third picture, of the two of them seated together on a park bench.
Crowley swallowed hard, tried to steady his voice and school it into something resembling boredom. "Yeah, so?" He shrugged slightly. "We met up a time or two, when there were matters of importance to both our sides to discuss. That's all."
Gabriel was quiet for a moment, acknowledging Crowley's explanation with a single nod, before reaching into his jacket and taking out another picture. "This closeup of the park bench… this one's really interesting."
Crowley's heart clenched in his chest as he took in the image, focused not on him and Aziraphale specifically, but on the space between them - the space on the middle of the bench where their hands rested, fingers just barely brushing against each other in a way that they'd thought was so fucking subtle, thought they were so bloody clever…
But the contact could not even remotely be mistaken for accidental.
"Where is he?" Crowley asked, quiet and careful.
"I wouldn't worry about him right now," Gabriel advised, rising to his feet again, leaving the pictures spread out on the floor in front of Crowley. "This is about you." His voice was calm, but angry, laced with hate. "You dared to target one of Heaven's finest soldiers for corruption. Who knows how long you've been plotting this… doing everything in your power to tempt him over to the side of evil… to bring about his Fall…"
Crowley couldn't mask his horror at the thought. He looked up at Gabriel, shaking his head. "What? No, I didn't… wouldn't…"
Gabriel's mouth twisted with vindictive disgust, and he drew back his fist, delivering a brutal, silencing blow across Crowley's face. He followed it up with a vicious kick to Crowley's ribs that drove the breath from his body and left him gasping, one arm protectively wrapped across his stomach. Gabriel roughly caught a handful of Crowley's hair and yanked his head back, hard, leaning in close with a malicious smile.
"You'll speak when spoken to, demon," he declared, cold and menacing. "And you will learn what happens when a low, foul thing such as you… dares to put its hands on what is holy."