((Note: So this fic has received fairly minimal attention but who cares I wrote like 20 pages and I want to put it on the internet and no one can stop me.))

Within a week or two the two great rulers of their respective kingdoms had not adjusted. Not at all, really. Beelzebub had killed at least three people, and the fact that she hadn't gotten caught was only because she was very well trained at efficiently getting rid of bodies. Gabriel, on the other hand, had spent the past several days wandering the streets night and day, asking strangers odd questions and making quite a name for himself. After a while they knew, however, that if they were to lay low they would need to start behaving like humans, otherwise they would undoubtedly be located quite quickly. Excellent features for blending in were things like jobs and houses - Beelzebub had sort of found one of these things, Gabriel was currently looking for the other.

He had found a way to get new clothes, not his optimal all-white style, granted, but not awful - a dark scarf to match the dark trench coat he had managed to find. He strolled into a convenience store - the same convenience store where Beelzebub happened to be working. She had ditched the flies and necrotic decay, but she still didn't really look particularly human. Or, perhaps she did look human - it was more that she didn't look like an adjusted human. Her hair was still a matted mess, the look on her face still tired, and she wore a shirt that was far too big on her and pants that were perhaps slightly too small. Not to mention when she spoke she still buzzed from time to time. Also, she wasn't exactly working there. She didn't really know how to scan items or accept money for them - recently she had been randomly shoving the bills under the counter and returning customers with a random handful of coins, after she had learned what "change" was. Not to mention she had more killed the manager than gotten hired - so it was all really one big disaster.

Nonchalantly, and in his 'competent human' voice he'd been practicing, Gabriel approached the counter. "I would like to purchase a house, please," he told her, while looking elsewhere. Upon seeing her face, however he startled, moving backwards. "Beelzebub," he said, clearly surprised, "What uh… what are you doing here?"

Beelzebub looked about as surprised as Gabriel, but she wasn't about to be upfront about it. "Hell business," she answered curtly, "The real question is what you're doing buying a house on Earth."

"I am completing a complicated mission. Very confidential, and even if it wasn't I wouldn't tell you," Gabriel lied sharply. "Your Hell business demands you work at one of these... establishments?" he added, judgment in his tone, "Dressed like that?"

"A bit of espionage," she answered, "What's it to you?"

"I always like to know what Heaven's evil counterparts are up to," he said. But before Beelzebub could respond the doorbell rang and, seeing who entered, she ducked immediately below the counter. Gabriel glanced over to recognize a demon, high ranking. He didn't know exactly which one, but he had seen him around, and he wasn't hard to miss. Someone with a frog on their head tends to give one that impression. Gabriel waited anxiously for him to be found out, and he turned quickly towards one of the shelves. Not that hiding his face would be any good.

The demon (who was Hastur, by the way) sauntered in, looking around. He turned to Gabriel. "You," he said. Gabriel turned sharply around.

"Yes, good sir?" he asked awkwardly.

"Was there anyone here before?"

Gabriel considered ratting Beelzebub out - after all, why shouldn't he? But then he noticed - the demon didn't know he was an angel, did he? He also thought that Beelzebub had left, going based on his phrasing. They were cancelling each other out, and in the end, creating no energy at all. There must be a way to use this. Of course, all this ran through Gabriel's mind in just a second or two, in plenty of time for him to answer, "No, I didn't see anyone."

Hastur looked at him suspiciously. "Why isn't anyone working at the counter?"

"He went on break," Gabriel explained curtly, thinking perhaps he'd heard a human say that before. Hastur didn't seem particularly convinced, but in the end he simply huffed, turned around, and left the shop. A few seconds later, Beelzebub cautiously reemerged from behind the counter. Gabriel cast a look at her.

"I take it, then, that you're not on Hell business," he said.

She scowled. "They want me dead," she confessed, "I warned you that they wouldn't want to hear that the apocalypse was off."

"Well, that sounds like your own problem."

"And I suppose you're buying a house on Earth because everything is just peachy-keen in Heaven?" she droned. Gabriel shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

"There have been some… unimportant setbacks," he said, and forced a smile.

"Mm," Beelzebub responded, her voice deadpan, "Out of curiosity, why didn't you tell Hastur I was here? Aside from the fact that I would have had to come back and kill you in the most horrible way possible." She said, and there was a slight, intimidating buzz to the end of the sentence.

"Becau-zz," Gabriel mocked, "In case you were a bit too imperceptive to notice it, he didn't notice either of us, he thought I was human and he didn't even sense you. Normally he'd be able to find you from miles away, but, I think… we are making a sort of blind spot for each other. Me being an archangel, you being a… whatever you are… it seems to sort of… cancel out."

Beelzebub thought about this for a moment, gears clearly turning in her head. "Are you proposing an agreement, Gabriel?" she asked.

"We've done it before," he reminded her, "Political reasons only. You want to steer clear of your people, I… currently need a little space from mine. Out of curiosity, have you… located a place to stay?"

"There is an area above this establishment," she told him, "But I don't see why all of the sudden I should trust an angel."

"Trust me, it's mutual," he answered bitterly, "But I'm having trouble seeing any other options. Unless you can think of something."

Beelzebub bit her cheek. "Try to pull anything," she said, "And I'll pull your eyes out of your head."

Gabriel forced a smile. "Noted," he said. "How - exactly, did you get a place to stay and a position of work so fast?"

"One man used to own both so I… killed him and buried him below it," she said simply. Gabiel gave her a look. "What?" she asked.

"That's grotesque!"

"It's survival," she said, her voice buzzing, "If we're going to make this work I can do without your holier-than-thou attitude."

"I am holier than thou," Gabriel reminded her.

"Irrelevant," she answered. She glanced towards the door and then, seeing no one, summoned Gabriel behind the counter. She lead him to a staircase, hidden towards the back, and lead him upstairs to a dingy apartment. It was dark and messy, with trash from the previous owner strewn amongst it, the furniture cheap and the windows small. The decor was minimal, and Gabriel couldn't help but notice the blood splattered across the walls. Upon seeing it he made a disgusted noise.

"That's from the man," Beelzebub clarified.

"Yeah, I figured that out, why haven't you cleaned it?"

"I like the decor," she answered. A chill ran down Gabriel's spine, and he did his best to ignore it.

"I can't believe I have to live in this Hellhole," Gabriel said sharply.

"You wish this was Hell," Beelzebub answered, a similar look of disappointment in her eyes, "At least Hell doesn't get so cold at night."

"Well, I won't be here for long. Soon Heaven will know that I'm worth forgiving and this'll all blow over, and I can get out of here."
Beelzebub stiffened. "If Heaven asks you back that leaves me ruined on Earth."
"Not my problem."

"It is now," Beelzebub insisted, "I'm not having you up and leaving me for dead. I want to shake on it."

"What does shaking on it mean now? If anyone breaks the vow the other person will be dead, they won't have to worry about it."

"They've got the automatic kind, in Hell," Beelzebub clarified, "You try to betray the other person, you melt down into a steaming pile of nothing."

"And - why - would I shake on that exactly?" Gabriel asked.

"Because if you don't you can find your own place to stay, outside of London," she said, and her voice buzzed, as she faked a smile. Gabriel pursed his lips.

"You're diabolical," he told her.

"I do try," she answered. She extended her hand to him. Gabriel stepped up to her, his hands in his pockets.

"Ugh, fine!" he said, and then took her hand, shaking once. A puff of smoke emerged from where their hands joined as they separated. Beelzebub smiled.

"The contract is sealed," she told him, "Now if either of us try anything, we're both totally screwed."

"Don't be so happy with yourself. You have to stay on Earth with an angel, remember?" This message had its desired effect of quickly forcing the smile off of Beelzebub's face. "So, how are we gonna do this, is this my side?"

Gabriel's and Beelzebub's arrangement seemed to have the desired effect. Both Heaven and Hell promptly lost track of them both. Heaven cared significantly less than Hell - as far as they were concerned, Gabriel was out of their hair and denied from Heaven, so the specifics didn't matter. Michael was free to rule as she pleased. Hell was significantly more ticked off - you see, part of demon culture makes the destruction of traitors tremendously important. Allowing Beelzebub to escape was a distinct failure - but even still, Dagon had her power, for now. She, and her second in command, Hastur, promised they would find all the traitors and take Heaven back like the former leader couldn't. A confident stance to say the least.

However, both army's intentions aside, the fact remained that neither of them had any idea where their respective traitors were - and that included our dear friends Crowley and Aziraphale over on the other side of London.

Aziraphale, seated on the sofa while Crowley prepared dinner in the other room (which was creating a most delightful aroma of cooking steak), gently ran his hand along the back of their sleek black cat, Freddie. Over the sound of sizzling meat, he spoke up. "I think Gabriel and Beelzebub have gone," he said, "I can't sense them anymore."

Crowley walked into the doorway, spatula held casually over his shoulder. "You're right," he observed, "Maybe they were just checking for trouble? Making sure we weren't… getting into anything?"

"Maybe," Aziraphale said, but he didn't seem convinced, "Or maybe they went back to their respective headquarters now that they'd found us."

"That does make more sense, doesn't it?"

With a wince, Aziraphale nodded. Crowley sighed.

"Well, honestly, I'm inclined not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I say, if they've gone, we wait to see if they come back, otherwise, we stay just where we are," he told him.

"I suppose..." Aziraphale responded morosely.

Crowley observed Aziraphale carefully, crossing his arms and frowning. It was clear that he was upset about something more than this, though he wasn't certain exactly what. He was never good with those kinds of talks, but he had to try. "You don't sound convinced," he told him.

Aziraphale sighed, looking up at him. He didn't really understand, did he? He had always been the one to take steps forward, to fall right into friendships and agreements and 'running off together'. It was harder for Aziraphale, in the beginning. Even with both sides gone advancing into a relationship he'd wanted for thousands of years still came with the reflexive fear and anxiety. He was just now, for what may very well have been the first time in his very long life, starting to relax and gain some confidence, and, more importantly, to leave that rotten old taste of fear behind him. But the presence of Gabriel around him again brought it right back up into his throat like in the good old days. If what he had now was robbed from him, after all this, he'd have no idea what to do with himself. But of course, he couldn't say all that. Crowley would burn the steaks, he told himself, and it was a clever enough excuse for him to feel he didn't have to get into it. "I'm alright, Crowley, it just sets me on edge, that's all," he said with a light smile, "Now get back in there, you always overcook things and that's a good cut of meat!"

"Cook it yourself then, angel!" Crowley rebutted.

"Maybe I will!"

"Alright then!"
Aziraphale dropped the 'fighting' act and went on, "Tomorrow, chicken piccata? I found a scrumptious new recipe on the internet I'd like to try!"

Crowley grinned. "Oh, hell yeah," he said, and walked back into the kitchen.