Memories, Crowley found, were quite like any other Earthly indulgence. Very nice in small doses, but not something to really spend too much time focusing on, especially if there was something more important to be doing at the moment.

But one can't rightly control the subconscious, now can they? There were some days when Crowley felt downright nostalgic, and the smallest things could act as catalysts for reminiscing.

He didn't mind, usually. He had some very pleasant memories in which to indulge here on Earth. Sure, there was the occasional human atrocity or the odd act of Divine Wrath, but one learned to block memories that one found distasteful after a few millennia.

It was the memories that didn't take place on Earth that bothered him. Or, as it often happened, the lack thereof.

For example, his time as an angel in Heaven was a long, ineffable blur. He vaguely remembered clouds and sunlight and of a feeling of being deeply and truly Loved, and he remembered Smiles, but very few specific, cemented details. Of course, if he looked back on it now, he remembered that it was all rather boring compared to life on Earth, but that was from the eyes of a demon who knew better now. As an angel, he supposed that he'd been quite satisfied with the whole thing. But he couldn't remember exactly what it was that he'd been so satisfied with. The demonic majority of his subconscious fizzled and hissed at such holy, pure memories, so his idea of Heaven remained decidedly negative. (Never mind that Aziraphale tended to agree with his ideas. That was another matter entirely.)

Now, his Fall—that was something else altogether. His subconscious had preserved that with extreme care.

As much Sauntering as he had done, there had still been a moment when he'd been walking too close to a precipice and Tripped, and for a long, eternal instant, properly Fell. He could distinctly remember the shock of Losing his Footing, of being too close to the ground to unfurl his wings and glide Back Up. Too late, an unfamiliar, despair-ridden voice crowed inside his head as he Tumbled Unceremoniously out of the sky, into Hell. He had the distinct memory of someone yelling "NO!" in the background, but he didn't know who. The voice had been muffled by the wind rushing past his ears, and by the sobs rushing past his lips.

He'd been a mess when he had Landed. Of course, none of the other Fallen Angels had helped heal the bones that had been broken and crushed upon impact. Demons just didn't do that.

He'd gotten his first taste of sleep then, when he'd passed out. When he'd woken up, memories of Up There were already beginning to blur, as if someone had splashed the page of a book, and they were too painful for him to try to recall. The despair of losing the Light, the Love, had nearly put him back into a coma. The shock of seeing his chocolate-brown curls turn to straight black locks, his golden-green eyes turn to the yellow eyes of a reptile that hadn't even been invented yet, and his pale white-blue wings turn the shade of midnight is what did the job. He couldn't help if appearances had always mattered to him. Vanity was a sin, after all…

He shuddered. Really, really best not to dwell on the past. Much better to live in the moment.

Especially since, at the moment, Aziraphale's well-manicured hands were doing some marvelous things to the demon's bare shoulders. He was very good with his hands, that angel. Crowley often wondered if his ability to find all the right, stiff knots and smooth them out was some sort of angelic and instinctual version of Mercy, or if he had just taken a massage class somewhere.

Crowley turned his head slightly to ask this very question, but what came out instead was: "Do you resent me?"

Aziraphale's plump fingers froze instantly on the demon's shoulders. His blue eyes were wide. "What? Whatever for?"

Crowley shrugged, arching slightly into the angel's warm touch. He looked away, wondering where this had come from. "You know," he said, trying to sound flippant and casual, "for Falling. For being a demon."

Aziraphale hesitated. "Do you mean to ask 'do I' or 'have I ever' resented you?"

"Either," Crowley said. And then he changed his mind: "Both."

Aziraphale laughed and kissed the top of the demon's head. "Well, at the moment, the last thing I'm feeling towards you is resentment, so that answers that question. As for the past…" He resumed rubbing the demon's shoulders and back, working the hard, taut muscles into supple jelly. "Well, I was more often frightened of what you are than resentful of it."

"You were frightened of me?" There was just the barest hint of amusement in his voice, and Aziraphale forced him to groan by kneading the heel of his hand especially hard into the knot of a muscle.

"Not you specifically, my dear. You yourself are not especially terrifying, no offence."

"Ngk. None taken."

"Mm. It was just—well, there was always such awful anti-demonic propaganda in Heaven after the War, you know. Sure, we're supposed to love our neighbor and our enemy and all that, but I was always told that too great a familiarity with demons could corrupt me, lead to my own Fall. Of course, I know now that that isn't true, but in the first few centuries…oh yes, it terrified me to be stuck on the same planet as you…I suppose I'm just lucky you're not quite a traditional demon, aren't I?"

Crowley said nothing. He was having trouble picturing Aziraphale particularly afraid of anything—he also couldn't picture Aziraphale plummeting from the clouds, his wings staining a deep blood-red, his halo fizzling into flames that would be blown out in moments. He certainly couldn't picture himself having a hand in either instance.

He managed to say as much. "You know I would never to anything to make you Fall, Ang."

"Yes, I know. But I didn't back then. That's all I'm saying."

"But you've never resented me?"

Aziraphale hesitated again. "I…er."

All the muscles in the demon's back that Aziraphale had managed to relax tensed up all over again in less than a second. "You have?"

"Really, dear, not you specifically. Just the Fallen in general, I swear. You don't understand what it was like after the last Fell. Heaven was a mess—everybody was simultaneously trying to mourn and ignore the happenings. The Metatron—he said that God didn't Smile for a whole month after It Happened." There was an unusual, desperate edge to the angel's voice. "So, yes, for a brief expanse of time after the last Fell, I was extremely resentful. I didn't understand how anyone could cause Him such pain, and not even apologize." The fingers one Crowley's shoulders had long since ceased movement—now, they clenched in barely-contained rage and hurt.

Crowley whined. "I'm sssorry," he muttered under his breath, and it was enough to bring Aziraphale back to his senses. His grips loosened, and he just placated himself by brushing his palms across the demon's bare back.

"No, my dearest, I'm sorry." He allowed them to sit in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, and then said, "You know, I've always thought that humans were His way of trying to get it right. To see if He could make something that wouldn't be corrupted."

Crowley winced and wiggled his way out from beneath the angel's hands. He faced Aziraphale with no small amount of guilt in his snake-eyes. "But—you resent people who cause Him pain. Angel—I tempted Eve. I'm the sole contributor to the humans being cast out from Eden. If you're right, if He was trying to get it right with the humans, then I'm the one who ruined it for Him. You must resent me for that."

Aziraphale had to smile. "I know all that. I've thought about it, though, and…Well, I'm glad it was you."

Crowley floundered. "What?"

Aziraphale shrugged, looking away. "Well, to begin with, I've honestly come to believe that Adam and Eve were going to eat the fruit no matter what anyone did. Whether it was because of you, or some other demon, or simply their own curiosity, I believe it was Fated for humans to learn the difference between Good and Evil. Look at this world." He spread his arms, gesturing towards all of Earth in one fell swoop. "It's beautiful, and it's interesting. Sure, some of the people have been corrupted…" He pointedly avoided Crowley's eyes. "…But the greater majority tries so hard to be good, because they know what it means to be good."

"But I don't—"

"And really, if any other demon had tempted Eve, if anyone else had been stationed here on Earth with me…I don't know how long I would have been able to stay here on Earth, assignment or no assignment. I probably would have transferred out long ago…or at least, I never would have ever considered creating an Arrangement with any other demon…"

"No other demon would have considered it, either."

"Yes, you see? That's my point. That spark of goodness—that's what makes you special. You're different from other demons. Sometimes, I think that maybe…maybe it was the right thing to do when you tempted her. And it wouldn't have been if any other demon had done it. Because no other demon would have thought that maybe it was…"

Crowley had to flinch away. The angel had obviously given this a lot of thought. He wished he could give something back, offer words of equal truth and affection. But Aziraphale knew how he felt already—he couldn't bring himself to say just how glad he was that he'd gotten stuck on Earth with the only Non-Fallen-Bastardy-Angel. His lips couldn't form the words, not aloud, not now.

His lips could do something else, though, something that had long since become familiar and welcome. With silent lips, he told the angel everything he couldn't say, and the angel replied, just as silently, Thank you.