By the time he reached his flat, Crowley had talked himself into the darkest mood a demon could reach, and the world was gently shuddering around him. All over the planet, peaceful people were quite suddenly laying down their knitting needles and fishing poles, and taking up arms. The Americans suddenly decided they hated the Canadians, the Scottish declared war on the Irish, Australia declared war on New Zealand, the British on the French, and the Germans on the world1.

Crowley caught himself, and put a stop to the madness before anybody could launch one of the nuclear missiles no one admitted to having2. It wouldn't do to destroy the world after all the work he and the angel had put in to save it. There would be no end to Aziraphale's lecture-

He cut the traitorous thought off, and stormed into his flat, planning to take the rest of his mood out on a few philodendrons, and maybe the rose bush.

He shuddered when he got through the door, the same feeling that had been in the shop greeting him in his own home.

"I know you're here," he yelled to the empty air, "come to gloat, have you? Well, I'm in a fighting mood, so be warned. I'm not about to play nice!"

Michael appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tea tray in one hand, and a sword in the other.

"Nor am I," he said, "I think you have quite forgotten who your speaking to, Crawly. Now sit down, before I enact a little vengeance for whatever I feel like enacting vengeance for."

Crowley gave this the consideration it deserved, and then sat down on the sofa. He hadn't forgotten, that was the thing. There were very few things left in the world that could frighten him, but topping the list was Michael, armed with his sword.

Michael came around the sofa, and placed a cup in front of Crowley, settling himself in the chair opposite. He paused to stir milk and sugar into his tea, and Crowley waited on the edge of his seat. It wasn't exactly unheard of for an angel to pay a civil visit to a demon, take Aziraphale for example, but an Archangel? That was not only unheard of, but also quite possibly impossible.

Crowley felt like Heaven should be falling to Earth, or Hell should be exploding in a mass of lava and ice. Neither of these things seemed to be happening though. The only effect Michael sitting in Crowley's apartment seemed to be having was the slight headache the demon had developed.

"Right then," Michael said, when his tea had been set to rights, "I bet you're surprised to see me, but not nearly as surprised as I am to be here. We've been watching our brother carefully, Crawly, and you as well, of course. We found the conversation you had today to be quite… interesting. Your declaration of love was surprising and laughable. One cannot love outside of the grace of God; it's unattainable. God is the source of all love, the beginning and the end, if you will. What is more shocking, to us at least, is the fact that Aziraphale was taken in by it. I daresay he should know better. But, he cannot be blamed, because your intentions feel clean. If there is a game in this for you, I cannot find it. Do you believe what you've said, demon? Do you believe you have attained the unattainable?"

Crowley sat back and thought about what he should say, which was odd for him. In most situations, he simply shot his mouth off, and if people didn't' like what they heard, then to Hell with them. This time, however, he had the feeling something larger than popular opinion was at stake. He weighed his words carefully, in full knowledge that Heaven wasn't the only place listening to this conversation. Hell was certainly interested in his answer, and either way he went here would heap more trouble on his head then he could probably handle.

In the end, he chose to speak to what would do Aziraphale the most justice, because Crowley was damned either way.

"I don't think it's unattainable for demons to love or be loved, Michael. That's just ridiculous propaganda spread up there to frighten, and down there to keep us in line. If all love comes from God, and all things are made of God, then it stands to reason that love can never be lost, just forgotten. Aziraphale reminded me. It's that simple. I was an angel once, Michael. I'm sure you haven't forgotten. I used to love everything, every single thing so much it hurt. I may have Fallen, and I may have become evil, and I may enjoy that immensely, but I am still made from God, just like everybody else."

Crowley sat back when he was finished, breathing heavily, and riding the high one can only get from taking your chances, and burning them all at once.

Michael stared at him, not trying to hide the fact that he was reading Crowley for lies and evil intentions. He finally nodded, seemingly satisfied, and sighed heavily.

"I believe you believe that, Crawly. Whether you really feel this love for our brother, or you have just fooled yourself into thinking it, I must wonder if you can fully comprehend the implications of love. Do you understand what it means to truly and unconditionally love another being, more than anything else?"

The question was asked without rancor, and Crowley surprised himself by not taking offence. Concern for Aziraphale was the driving force behind this conversation, and that was a point he could agree with the Archangel on.

"I'm not sure," he said, softly, "that love is the same for everyone. I don't know if my love is comparable to anyone else's. The only thing I am absolutely sure of is that I would spend the rest of eternity in Hell, to save Aziraphale from having to step one foot in that place. If I have to spend every single second for the rest of my immortal life being dipped in flames, and ripped to shreds in payment for my love, then that's fine. I don't care. But, if I have spend the rest of my life mourning his loss, because my actions caused him to Fall, or to be recalled… then bugger it, all of it. The world can go hang, if he's not in it."

Michael sighed again, and rolled his eyes, and Crowley couldn't tell if he was pleased by what he'd heard, or repulsed by it. Either would probably inspire the same disgusted reaction.

"This is a difficult situation, Crawly, but I believe from what you've said that you do care for Aziraphale, in your own way. I don't believe you'd ever cause him to Fall intentionally, but that doesn't mean that your influence won't cause it to occur, and we simply cannot take that chance."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that. I've already agreed to stay away from him, if that's what it takes for you to get off his back. It should be his choice though. He trusts me not to tempt him, and I trust that he knows the line. It should be his choice, not yours."

Michael shook his head, standing to leave. "It cannot be his choice," he said. "He doesn't have free will, anymore than you or I do."

"We were all given a choice whether or not to Fall. If we weren't supposed to have free will, than we shouldn't have been given a taste of it. Give a mouse a cookie, and all of that."

Michael knitted his brow. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to," he said3.

Crowley shrugged. "Your lot never does. If we're quite through here, I'd like to tend to my plants."

Michael grimaced, clearly aware of how Crowley intended to 'tend', and then faded out. Crowley stared at the now vacant space for a few minutes, and then decided to leave London for a while. Maybe for a lifetime.

Aziraphale was going about his day as if nothing was amiss, because that was the only way he knew how to handle things. He didn't pretend that nothing had happened, and he certainly didn't hold with the theory that if he ignored it, the problem would go away, but he didn't see how changing his pattern and neglecting his duties would help anything. Idle hands were the Devil's playground, after all.

Still, he found himself taking a bit more pleasure in running customers out of his shop than was strictly angelic, and he had almost laughed when a small boy tied his father's shoe-laces together, causing the man to fall onto the counter. Aziraphale had actually thought 'That'll teach him to try to buy my books.' It was shameful really.

He knew most people, including the demon in question, would say that such unchristian actions were Crowley's influence, but Aziraphale knew better.

It was the lack of Crowley that was making him act so out of character.

It had only been four hours, and he already missed the demon. He was shocked to think that over the years, he'd come to need him like air. That is to say, he would need him like air, if he needed air, which he didn't, but he allowed the analogy to stand. He was too tired and sick to think of a more fitting one.

The point was, Crowley had become an integral part of his life. After so many years together, it would be silly to think that he wouldn't.

They'd been through wars together, and times of peace, and everything in between. Aziraphale remembered the end of the Second World War, when he'd lashed out at Crowley, blaming him for the whole cursed thing. Crowley had been shocked and wounded, but he'd still held Aziraphale when he'd cried. And, though he had never admitted it, and probably never would, the dampness he'd left on Aziraphale's neck was enough for Aziraphale to know that Crowley had cried too.

Then, when Vietnam was in full swing, and peace protests were springing up everywhere, Crowley had accompanied Aziraphale to one, and he'd even helped him stop the riot that had almost ensued when the police showed up.

The point was, Crowley had become more to him than an enemy or a business associate. He'd become his confidante, and his friend. Aziraphale had meant what he'd said earlier. His priorities went: God, Crowley, everything else.

It was probably for the best then, he reasoned, that he and Crowley should spend some time apart. It was foolish and dangerous to feel for anything what he felt for Crowley. His job on Earth was not to keep his demon counterpart out of trouble. His job was to look after mankind. Crowley got in the way of that.

Aziraphale nodded to himself, and sank down into his desk chair. His reasoning was sound, his logic infallible. Now all he had to do was work himself around to believing it, and then things would be just fine.

There was a faint whooshing sound at that point, and Aziraphale watched with little enthusiasm as Michael appeared beside him.

"I'll just get to the point," Michael said, unceremoniously. "I think we have already wasted enough time on this issue. I went to see Craw- Crowley today. We had an enlightening conversation. Do you love him, Aziraphale? Even though he is one of God's disgraced children, and despite the fact he is the antithesis to everything you stand for and believe in?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said instantly. "Despite all of that, I love him with all my heart. I love the good that's in him, that little spark of soul that shines in his eyes. He gives me hope that even the most depraved of individuals may be redeemed. He reminds me that there is always room for mercy, and grace. He makes me a better angel, and I love him."

"Good," Michael said. "Love is the most powerful thing in the universe, and love of an enemy is the purest sort. It takes strength and courage to love a thing you were built to revile, and we cannot deny you that. Do with Crowley as you will, but be warned that if you go to far, you will Fall. You may continue associating with him, but you must stay within the moral lines to which you have always been bound. Do you understand this?"

"No," Aziraphale said, surprised. "I mean yes, of course, but why the change of heart?"

"Because of something Crowley said, actually. He said that it should be your choice, to take the risk of Falling. Of course, that's nonsense, but the principal is sound. All angels were given the choice upon creation, to remain with God, or Fall from Him. No other angel was spared this decision, and neither will you be. Besides," he continued, in a slightly lower voice, "he loves you, and you love him, and that's… beautiful. You taught a demon to love, and just between you and me, we're very proud of you. That's what it's all about, after all, this whole thing. Good luck, Aziraphale. I'll pray for you."

And then he was gone, and Aziraphale was left stunned. He immediately grabbed the phone and dialed Crowley's number. He waited impatiently until the machine picked up.

"Hello, you've reached A.J. Crowley. I've taken an extended vacation to someplace you're probably not, so leave a message and I'll return your call if I ever get around to it, and if it still matters. Ciao."

Oh, blast. The least the demon could have done was leave a forwarding address. Now, Aziraphale was left with no choice but to do something he truly hated doing.

He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and concentrated. The room was filled with a loud POP, and then he was gone.

xxXXxx

Crowley was stuck in traffic, inching along at the unnatural speed of 25mph, and he hated it. He hated everything right now, but more than anything else at this very moment, he hated this traffic and every single motorist that was between him and his destination. The hate was coming off of him in waves, infecting everybody it came into contact with, creating such lovely road rage that he felt it was almost worth being stuck.

He was just getting into the groove of it, sending the hate out in more specific directions so as to create more entertaining results, when the car was filled with a loud POP, and the passenger seat was suddenly occupied by a very bedraggled looking angel.

Crowley jumped, and let go of the wheel while at the same time flooring the accelerator. The Bentley took over out of self-defense, pulling itself over to the shoulder, and slowing to a stop.

"I hate that," Aziraphale said. "It's so disorienting, I don't see how Michael can do it all the time. He does seem to have a knack for doing it in a quieter fashion though, I will give him that."

Crowley stared at him for a moment, his jaw somewhere by his knees, and then he said, "For Chris- for Go- for my sake, angel, don't do that! What are you doing here? I thought it was forbidden."

"Plead with me," Aziraphale said, with what looked to be an almost devilish gleam in his eyes. "Plead with me, and tell me you'll love me always."

Crowley took his glasses off, and looked Aziraphale directly in the eye. Yes, there was definitely a gleam there, and Crowley wasn't sure he liked it.

"What are you playing at?" he asked. "This isn't funny you know. I meant what I said; you don't have to be such a git. Don't have to rub it in."

Aziraphale laughed, and took his hand. The Bentley took advantage of this distraction to slowly start heading back into traffic, but Crowley barely noticed. His attention was on the fact that Aziraphale was here, right in front of him, and holding his hand.

"What are you playing at?" he said again.

"Nothing my dear, I just wanted to hear you say it. I just spoke with Michael, and you got through to him, dear boy. They're allowing us to remain together, as long as I don't anything too evil, and muck it up. Which I won't. So, the Arrangement will stand, with a few minor additions, if you want them."

"No," Crowley replied, "not in the Arrangement. Some things are better done off contract. Keeps it spontaneous."

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley thought he'd never looked more ethereally beautiful than he did at that minute, and that was going some. Crowley leaned in for a kiss, and Aziraphale stopped him with a hand.

"Say it," he said, only kidding with his tone. Crowley growled and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, I said it once, isn't that enough? Can't you just know it, without making it a thing?"

"Say it Crowley, or you might as well keep going to wherever you were headed."

"Fine. I love you; I will always love you, and nothing will ever change that. There, are you happy now?"

Aziraphale nodded. "I love you, too," he said, and Crowley leant in and kissed him deeply, in a way that brooked no argument.

Aziraphale settled into it, and for just one moment both of their souls were loving and pure. In that one moment soldiers laid down their arms, presidents quit plotting, families put aside their differences, and everyone in the world felt at peace4.

For that one moment. But, Hell would still have to be paid, and they weren't likely to be as accepting as their angelic counterparts. Or, perhaps they were. Perhaps they considered it a testament to Crowley's skills that he had an angel wrapped around his little finger. Perhaps Crowley and Aziraphale were allowed to exist together in peace, both sides proud of what their respective agents had accomplished. After all, if their love could give the world even one moment of peace, anything is possible.

That's probably not what happened, though.

1 This is not normally something one demon could do by himself, but there had never been another demon in quite the state Crowley had worked himself up to.

2 This left a lot of embarrassed politicians scrambling to find something to blame it on, and not a few nice old ladies gingerly removing sewing supplies from their neighbors extremities.

3 It would be prudent to note at this point that Heaven is not oblivious to pop-culture, they just prefer not to notice it. After all, all it takes for one to lose faith in humanity is to look at the way they entertain themselves. Heaven will surely crumble the day they figure out what a 'brangelina' is.

4 This, of course, was something that they never should have been able to cause. It was far more difficult than Crowley's earlier trick, because it is far easier to orchestrate world war than it is to orchestrate world peace. Of course, this was the first time an angel and a demon had sat making-out in a classic, Anti-Christ created Bentley that was currently driving itself to its favorite petrol station, so there is a first for absolutely everything.