DISCLAIMER: You guys know why I still persist with writing these things? Because I am an archaic fanfiction dinosaur, who apparently missed the whole 'Pottergate' saga, and still believed that disclaimers were required at the beginning of every story. And now they're sort of just... force of habit. Seriously though; think I'm going to drop them, because apparently there's no longer a risk of being sued for not including these things. I always figured it was obvious, but there you go! Anway, don't own Good Omens nor its' characters.

A/N: As always, cheers to you guys who are following the story, reading and favouriting! It's always so appreciated and I really mean that!

Anyway, hope you that you all enjoy, and I'll see you at the end of the chapter for a few quick words!

~X~

~Tuesday, April 9th - 2019~

The Grange Estate Nursing Home

Nine months to the Apex...

The following day, nursing a rather unfamiliar champagne based hangover, Alice made good her self-made promise of the earlier evening and bestowed a rather the firm smack to behind the ear of one Anthony J. Crowley.

She'd had to wait until their 9:00am break to do so and she'd almost gone back on it, such was the way that 'Anthony' was dragging his feet through the first two hours of his shift. He'd been forced to stay back late the previous evening, she'd been told and he was clearly far from a happy camper. Though she couldn't see his eyes, his face had a hangdog look about it; hardly detracting from his handsomeness but enough so that she could tell that he was tired and put out. And sad.

It had only been two months, but they had worked the majority of those two months in shared shifts and she felt she had gotten to know a little of his expressions by now. Usually when he was grumpy or annoyed, he would jut his lower lip out a bit and his voice would get all the more plummy; as though he were projecting his accent up over the bottom row of his teeth. That day there was none of that terseness. He just sort of 'hmmed' and 'Oh yes'd' his way through the shift; performing his duties with quite as much attention to detail as ever but a little more the distant than what might be considered the norm.

Perhaps it was a good thing he had been tasked predominantly with kitchen duty for the remainder of the day, Alice had thought. Though he was hardly being rude, acting distant could be just as detrimental so far as palliative care went and none of their charges would benefit from his being distracted. At least the carting of boxes and putting together of meals required minimal animation.

Alice chose her time to strike well. Following the residents breakfast, she and 'Anthony' put some dirty linen in to wash and then drifted on down to the break room for a cuppa. Another two members of staff kept an eye on things whilst the two early starters were permitted to duck on out for a break.

Crowley immediately made for his familial roost on top of the decorative bench, lighting up a cigarette and alternating between puffing and sipping from his coffee. At some stage he took out his phone and started flicking through the gallery; looking at pictures of Aziraphale. Knowing it wasn't going to be helping matters but rather not caring at this stage what was considered to be helpful or not.

Seeing him the previous night had been hard. The whole exchange had been difficult and sad and troubling.

But it had been wonderful too. Wonderful to be close to him again. To feel that warmth. To see that smile.

He loved the pictures with Aziraphale smiling. Didn't do it justice, though. Not the same as being there. Seeing it. Feeling the light of it directed right on through you, nestling into you.

The cuff just about knocked his glasses clear off of his face and he flung a hand up over them at the last moment, shoving them back up close to his eyes.

"Get on the phone and call your mister right now, you stubborn git!" Alice was snapping, circling back round to plonk herself onto her customary perch by the back door and lighting up her own cigarette. She looked about as angry as a cat what had been yanked out of a sack by its tail; claws ready to lash to whatever bare arm might have come close.

"Ah, so it was you." Crowley said, straightening his glasses and pressing the button on the side of the phone to put the screen to sleep. He hadn't much of a doubt as to who it was that Aziraphale had been in contact with (he'd all but fessed up the previous night anyhow) but he was wondering still how long Alice was planning to keep quiet about the matter. She'd gone the entire morning without saying boo, which wasn't like her at all. Clearly, she had been waiting for the perfect moment in which to add her two cents worth.

"Yeah it was me. You know, you are the absolute worst." She jabbed her cigarette at him, her hazel eyes narrowed with genuine irritation. Yep. Most definitely an expression of one whom had been swayed over to the side of Aziraphale simply by virtue of having been caught directly in the tractor pull of the angel's glowing personality. "Your Alex is like the sweetest, most adorable guy in the world and he's worrying himself sick over you, so get on the phone right now and sort your shit out!"

"Look, I'm sorry you got dragged into all this because it really isn't your business." Crowley made a point of firmly emphasizing those last few words, in a voice he felt conveyed just enough danger so as to shut the remainder of the conversation down.

It might have worked with the likes of certain, more tremulous person's who were not in fact Alice. Alice who had grown up with a father who hurled fists instead of indecorously barbed phrases replete with delicate emphasis. Anthony J. Crowley, so far as she was concerned, posed about as much risk to her as a tangerine with the peel off.

"Oh I think it's very much my business when one of my friends is getting hurt."

"Who said we were friends?" Crowley said, meaning to be a little nasty. Alice picked up a small pebble from close by and pegged it into his leg, hard enough to make it sting.

"I meant Alex, you sour little fruit!"

Crowley pulled a face, rubbing at the spot on his calf in which the pebble had struck him. "You only met Alex last night; what you're already friends?!"

Why he expressed disbelief with such a concept he wasn't quite sure. Aziraphale was the type who would make friends with most anyone, so long as they weren't a demon from hell.

He had even once permitted the strange, unmedicated and very much unwashed gentleman who lived in the park and who chased people proclaiming himself to be 'King of the Salamanders' to refer to him as a friend one time. Something with which Crowley had taken spectacular offense, given it had taken him over six thousand years (time of which he dedicated wholesomely to the act of bathing, self-medicating and not chasing people insisting that they recognize his sovereignty over a collective genus of cold blooded reptile) to receive the same recognition.

Should it really be so strange that in one night he had gone and gotten chummy with one of Crowley's work colleagues? Give it a week and they'd probably be off to the farmer's market together, squeezing cantaloupe and pulling faces at the man with gingivitis handing out cheese samples.

"I was friends with him from the moment I sat down! He paid for dinner, he pulled my seat out for me! He walked me to the taxi, paid for it and held open the door while I got in! He didn't even look up my skirt, and I can pretty much guarantee I was enough in the bag that he would have gotten a good look without invitation!" She ignored the face which Crowley was pulling, likely effaced purely to have some fun at her expense. "He gave me a hug! It was like… the best hug I've ever had! He's got the cutest… he's just the cutest…" She looked quite as though she were about to explode, such was the inability of her brain to reconcile the irrepressible charm and sweet rancour that was one Aziraphale. Crowley reminded himself that he'd had quite a bit more experience dealing with the pure unfiltered presence of the angel than most. Aziraphale could be a rather large overdose of the feel goods to those who had no tolerance for it. "Do you know what I wouldn't give for a man who would do all those things for me? A man who didn't expect you to put out afterwards?"

"Well, you're in luck so far as Azira-...Alex is concerned." Crowley muttered, correcting himself at the last moment. From the sounds of things, Aziraphale had invited Alice out to dinner somewhere to get the scoop as to what had been going on.

Crowley had to admit that this in itself was every bit quite of what he expected of the angel. He was hardly the type to just call someone up or message them and simply demand information in exchange for nothing. The guilt alone would be enough to drive him to any decadent avenue of expense, just so as he felt good and certain that he had repaid whatever debt he felt himself to have accrued in making such a request.

"I'm telling you now, if you don't sort this mess out, I'll have a sex change and bloody well marry him myself!" Alice was saying, shaking her cigarette with such vigour that the entire burning ash just about flew out from the tip. Crowley, obviously unthreatened by the very implausible notion of Aziraphale setting up domestic bliss with a human, shrugged and took another drag from his own fag.

"Fine, marry him. Have fun with that. He'd probably say yes just to make you happy." He couldn't help but smile at this one. He could just see it now; Aziraphale standing at the front of a church somewhere, eyes bugging from his head as Alice swept down the isle in a fluffy, mutton sleeve dress, wondering just how in the Hell he'd managed to land himself in this fine mess and likely banking on Crowley to come hotfooting in the back door with some last minute plan to remedy the situation. He probably wouldn't even voice a hint of a protest if that intervention were to come in the form of another redirected bomb, even if it were to take out the attending priest, assorted guests, altar boys and the like.

Alice took the slight smile what had formed on Crowley's face as some manner of invitation to get a bit more sentimental with the whole thing. She climbed up off of the stoop, dusted a hand over her rear to clear the dust and grime from her uniform and went and perched on the bench proper. She twisted her arm about to smack her palm to Crowley's calf.

"Listen, in all seriousness I know it isn't any of my business but… you know, life's short." She said, to which the demon gave an ironic little 'Hmph' as he took another drag from his smoke. "And it's hard to find someone you really care about. Someone who really cares about you. I've tried. I'm thirty-seven and I'm still trying. So when you find someone that you share all that stuff with, that real genuine awesome connection, you really gotta hold onto it, boyo. Who knows what could happen tomorrow? He might get hit by a car."

Crowley sat up a bit straighter at this one. Knowing Aziraphale, it was a miracle in and of itself that such a thing hadn't yet come to pass. He was notoriously dreadful at looking both ways before crossing the street. And he must of course have been more distracted than usual. Crowley was often the one who prevented such things from happening. The dopey angel had almost gotten himself skittled by a garbage truck once. A garbage truck. Wasn't hard to hear one of those coming, for... someone's sake.

"Just… think about it, yeah mate?" Alice rested her aching temple against her fist; giving Crowley a smile which she could only hope in some way conveyed her bizarre feelings of urgency concerning the matter. "He loves you so much. And you love him. Whatever else is going in, isn't that the most important thing? Doesn't that see out all the other bullshit?"

All the other bullshit...

It was quite a bit of bullshit to be getting on with, Crowley thought. It was complicated, far more than this well meaning young human could possibly get their head around...

But Crowley wasn't doing such a good job of getting his head around it either.

Two months, so many weeks and he hadn't yet an answer as to how any of this was supposed to work. If it was supposed to work.

He was shutting Aziraphale out and to what end? What good was it ultimately accomplishing? Singularly they might very well have been clever creatures apiece but together they were most often able to put that mental prowess to greater effect and muddle on through whatever it was required the working out.

Yes, it was complicated. Yes it was frightening. And yes, Aziraphale was the one who needed to pull his socks up and push himself that bit further. To take that step and break on out of whatever fences corralled his feelings and desires.

But Aziraphale wanted to talk. He wanted to try and to work through it all.

Crowley had known Aziraphale to have been cruel in the past. To have said cruel things. But it was he what was being cruel now. He who was pushing Aziraphale to a desperate place, who was hurting him, denying him and playing some awful game at his expense.

It was confusing. It was complicated. But there was one thing which wasn't.

They loved one another.

Not having said it was by no means negating the truth of it. Crowley knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved Aziraphale; a love which he had never experienced for any other being in this world or any of the others. And he knew that Aziraphale loved him; loved him by a means which transcended the boundaries of what was considered a natural angelic love, pertained for all living things. It was a love what was different, more fulsome, deeper and innately more greedy and wanting. It was not an angelic love but Aziraphale's and this was separate from that which was so incontestably inherent of his celestial nature.

Nothing was more the true, more the concrete, more uncomplicated than this. Everything else was just... technicalities.

They could help one another through it. Crowley need not abandon Aziraphale to this. This journey which was likely the more terrifying than any on which the angel had ever had reason to embark.

Crowley could explain it, at the very least. Explain his thoughts, his fears, his feelings on the matter. So that Aziraphale could reach some peace with this much and make an informed decision as to how he wished to proceed once in possession of the knowledge. This was fair. And Crowley rather felt he had been very unfair to someone he cared for deeply. Who deserved indisputably better.

He gave a sigh, which was but a winsome breath what underpinned the assiduous nature of his busy thoughts and took another long draw from his cigarette. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll… I'll give him a call after I finish my shift."

He thought this was quite enough of a concession to get him off of the hook, but Alice surprised him once more in all but shoving her finger through his hip; jabbing at where the corner of his phone was poking out from his pocket.

"No you never. You were looking at pictures of him when I came out here. Don't be so stubborn and call him. Let him know you wanna talk. Imagine him home all day feeling like shit just waiting to hear from you. Don't be so bloody cruel."

"All right, all right. I'll call him now. Jesus." Crowley winced slightly at the word, tugging the phone out from his pocket and tapping on the screen to unlock it. "You are some next level emotional manipulator you are."

"I'm a woman. We're good for that." She grinned, climbing up off of the bench and pinching her fingers to Crowley's cheek, which earned her an annoyed 'gerroff' in response. "Ooh that's such a relief. And not just because I want you to bring Alex along to every staff do we have from here on out."

"You just want him for more hugs." Crowley said, opening up his contacts and hovering his thumb over Aziraphale's name. "Or to pay for dinner, more like."

"It's mainly the hugs. The lobster and expensive champagne wasn't a bad touch either." Crowley flinched as he received yet another punch to the arm. "He buys you champagne!! You are seriously such a bastard! I mean the shit I would put up with in exchange for a champagne supper. I seriously don't know what is wrong with you!"

"I'd go hoarse if I attempted to list the ways." Crowley said, flapping his fingers towards the door to indicate that he wanted some privacy with which to make the call. Alice gave a thumbs up, ground out her cigarette and deposited the butt into the large glass coffee container they kept nearby for this very purpose. Feeling unusually nervous himself, Crowley bum lit another smoke for himself, grinding out the remaining nub of the first before then drawing deeply upon the filter of the second.

He hit Aziraphale's name on screen and put the phone to his ear. His fingers trembled a little as he brought the cigarette back up to his mouth. He was calling the shop, thinking this was more the likely the phone which Aziraphale was going to answer.

When the call rang out, he tried the mobile and was a little annoyed for it to go to message bank. Hopefully it was nothing. Aziraphale likely ducking out for breakfast or some such nonsense and leaving the mobile on his desk, as was his airheaded norm.

Aziraphale's message bank was ever so charming though and it did actually bring a smile to Crowley's lips to hear it.

"Hello." (That same overly warm and virtuous tone as ever). "Ever so sorry I'm not available to take your call. I imagine that this is Crowley, as you are the only one who has the number for this mobile device and the only one whom I could ever imagine might ever contact me as such. Do leave a message at the tone, my dear and I shall strive forthwith to return your call at the earliest possible convenience. If it is however an emergency, or if there is a change of plans per some dinner arrangements we might have made, please do not hesitate to contact me at the shop. Pip-pip."

Pip-pip? Crowley never could quite abstain from rolling his eyes at this one. Sometimes he suspected that Aziraphale enjoyed going through life being a walking, talking embodiment of every known old-fashioned English stereotype what might have existed pre the twentieth century. It was a wonder he didn't go about with a monocle, a cane and a snuff box; pinching a good helping on busy street corners and sneezing bodaciously into the faces of otherwise innocent passers-by, whilst exclaiming 'Pon my word!' to no one in particular.

The beep sounded on the phone and Crowley yanked himself out of his, as always, much distracting thoughts and tried to string together a message which might have sounded just the slightest bit more in control than what it was he was currently feeling.

"Yeah, um... hi." Well, off to a great start already. "Hope everything's ok. You know... after all that with... that lot, yesterday." He took a deep breath. Told himself to stop playing silly buggers. "Look, I uh... I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about... freezing you out these past couple of months. I haven't dealt with any of this at all well, and... I'm ready to uh, to talk. If you are. I mean, I can understand if you don't want to but uh... if you do, well... I might pop by the bookshop after my shift, if that's okay. I mean, let me know if it's not. Just give me a call. Send me a message. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume that means it's okay to swing by. I'll bring dinner if you like, whatever." This was dragging out, as was what remained of Crowley's break, so he decided to cut it short. By doing something he thought to be very brave on his part. "I've got to get back to work but hopefully I'll see you tonight. Be well. ...love you."

He hung up quickly, pressed the phone against his forehead and prayed to whatever it was that disenchanted demons prayed to these days that it hadn't been too much. It was what he had been feeling, nothing surer, but he hoped it wasn't about to go and send Aziraphale into a tailspin.

Little did Crowley realize however, that it was not Aziraphale whom was about to be knocked for six but he himself what was about to be caught entirely off guard.

Crowley had been right about two things. Aziraphale had in fact left his mobile plugged in to the charger on his study desk. And he had ducked out. Just not for breakfast.

At the time of Crowley's call, Aziraphale was in fact walking through the front doors of the Grange Estate Nursing home. He had been on a bus for the better part of the morning. And, prior to the dawn breaking of that particular morning, Aziraphale had been much busier than an angel had any right to be during hours of which he might have much preferred to be conducting his sleeping.

Sleep had proven quite impossible however, given what had transpired between himself and Crowley. Such were the strength of his feelings concerning said exchange, that he hadn't even wasted time on the mere thought of sleep; never mind the attempting of it. He had instead put his restless mind and body to work on far the more productive and important matters.

He was tired, yes. But tired in ways of which extended far beyond that of his physical body; one which did not in fact require sleep but still insisted on the exchange rate regardless.

Aziraphale was weary in ways what didn't even compare. He was heartbroken and fed up and furious with himself and with Heaven for the role it continued to play in what was to be this, the rest of his life.

He missed Crowley. He missed him and he loved him and he wanted to move forwards with him into whatever it was what might be awaiting them. He wanted to take that first step. To fight through these ridiculous, cruel constraints Heaven had instilled within him.

It was possible. He had done it with the apple, after all. Eating was no different, not when it came down to it.

It was simply a means of persistence.

Aziraphale had been feeling more than a little desperate the previous evening. After he had cleaned up the mess he had made and picked up every stray sliver of glass he could find, a thought came to him. It wasn't a nice thought, hardly at all an angelic one. But appropriately enough, given the context, one of which Aziraphale considered without any of those common constraints otherwise factoring in. He was desperate after all and desperate times as they say abide the conducting of ever the more desperate measures.

Less than a half hour after Crowley had left, Aziraphale found himself on the computer. He was researching the Grange Estate Nursing home. In particular, their staffing policy. Having done so, the once angel of the Eastern Gate, started doing something for which perhaps Crowley himself might have chastised him; expending a great deal of magical energy in the doling out of self-indulgent miracles left right and centre.

The first little spell he weaved was in tapping into the staff roster for the Grange Estate nursing home for the following day. With a nudge of magical energy, he directed the spreadsheet out from his own printer and scanned the listing of names. Crowley was on the early shift, commencing at 7:00am. Aziraphale searched then for another name, one who was due to start at 9:00am.

He took that name and whirled it around in his head. Created another miracle. A terrible one. One he might very well have once conducted at the behest of Crowley, in keeping with their once established 'Arrangement'.

Aziraphale was creating a stomach bug.

He was creating a stomach bug and then sinking that stomach bug into the body of the Grange Estate's rostered cook. He was putting a great deal of virulent energy into this particular bug; prompting it to come on hard and fast and to last no less than twenty-four hours. It would come with a very great deal of vomiting, uncontrollable diarrhoea, stomach cramps and fever and would result, much to his later consternation, in the affected cook having to be taken into the emergency department by his equally as repulsed wife. Aziraphale had been taking no chances in wanting this particular gentlemen out of the way.

The cooks who prepared the meals for the residents of the Grange Estate, Aziraphale had discovered, were not in fact hired directly by the estate itself. They were outsourced from another company; whose pool of cooks were available to work most anywhere what was required.

It was very on board, of course; with extensive background checks, proof of experience, qualifications and the like. Exempting one individual, of which all these aforementioned factors were entirely fabricated and who was claiming but a wealth of experience in an area that the actual creature in question was notoriously substandard regards; exempting perhaps where the making of a delicious sandwich was otherwise concerned.

It would seem that Alexander Fell, in addition to running a Rare Bookstore, spent some hours moonlighting as a sous chef.

No one at the hiring agency would contest it, either. So far as they were concerned, Alexander Fell had been on the books for many years and came highly recommended with incontestable customer satisfaction. Aziraphale had been required to fiddle about with a few memories of selective individuals here and there in order to sell this untruth; something which he was historically and vocally not on board with, but something he now gave very little hoots about. Desperate times.

Alexander Fell, it further transpired, was the only cook available to work on short notice. He took the call himself, first thing in the morning. Advised that he was more than happy to close up shop for the day and to pop on by to work the five hour shift at the Grange Estate Nursing Home. No, it wouldn't be a bother at all. Happy to help out! Shall be on my way in two shakes of a jolly lambs tail!

He first made Crowley a sandwich, remembering the demon's growling stomach from the night before and thinking it would serve as something of a peace offering. He had a sneaking suspicion that Crowley was just as likely to throw the sandwich back in his face as he was to actually accept it, but progress was never made in taking the easy way out. Something Aziraphale was fast learning, perhaps six thousand or so years later to the party then he really ought to have been.

The sandwich further served as a symbolic gesture. Crowley didn't need to eat, after all. But the care and effort what went into personally preparing something was a fact that the demon never took for granted and Aziraphale hoped would further strengthen the point that he was going to be making.

He had spent most of the night wording himself up; writing things down, reading them out and then scratching out, scribbling in and rearranging what might be better phrased and whatnot. He had forgotten quite nearly all of it come the morning and none of the crumpled up notes littered about him on the floor were of any use. It was much like trying to fit together a jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the pieces of two other entirely separate jigsaws had been thrown into the mix. He decided in the end that it was much more meaningful to simply speak from the heart; no matter how much grief his angelic thumbscrews wrought him in the process.

Aziraphale wrapped up the pastrami, cheese and pickle sandwich ever so carefully, placing it then in a sealed Tupperware container. He set it in his lap throughout his early morning bus trip; trying his best to focus on the days newspaper but finding himself reading the same sentence over and over again. He was much too anxious to successfully distract himself. An article about an unexplained violent outbreak in some isolated village in Italy caught his eye but then it too faded out of importance as other more strenuous thoughts marched their way back in to claim monopoly of his attention.

He gave up eventually, leaving the paper on the seat beside him and simply staring out the window; feet jittering across the floor as if to deter a crowd of ants from otherwise gathering by his shoes.

It was a long drive by car and longer still by bus, but Aziraphale did in fact arrive right on 8:50am. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved to spot Crowley's Bentley parked in the staff carpark or if the sight of it only worsened his already considerable nerves. He took a deep breath in of the cool morning air; let it fill his lungs fully before staggering it out. His heart still took to racing like a frightened rabbits, but there was simply nothing for it but to push forward.

He attempted to soothe himself with the thought that by tonight, all this terrible mess would be behind them. Goodness knows what shape that prospective 'tonight' otherwise took but it wouldn't do to think on it too much, or he'd never get his shaking body through the door.

By the time Crowley was grinding out his second cigarette, Aziraphale was stepping in through the automatic doors of the Grange Estate Nursing home reception. There was a young woman installed behind the front desk, bearing the countenance of one whom was already far the more bored with life than someone in their mid-twenties really had any right to be.

Her eyes widened curiously at Aziraphale as he entered and she sat up straight in her seat as though the will to live had been suddenly pumped into her by IV drip.

"Good morning, my dear." Aziraphale said, with ever the same warm smile he trotted out like a prized show dog. He passed a manila folder over the desk, where the receptionist, eyes still locked on him purposefully, tugged it towards her by use of perfectly rounded, likely pressed on boysenberry nails. "I am filling in for the cook here today, who I understand is feeling a little under the weather."

The receptionist's brows rose up so as to form near perfect umbrellas above her eyes. If the hair hadn't been enough of a giveaway, the tell-tale proper manner of speech simply sold it.

"I knew it! When the agency called back, I thought they said they were sending out an Alexander Fell! Then I just second guessed myself. Thought my ear had heard it wrong, what with Anthony's waffling on every five minutes-" She caught herself, pressing her fingertips to her lips as though to force whatever words were about to come spilling out back in. After mustering some self-control, she reached one of those hands across the high rise of the desk and offered it to Aziraphale. "Sorry, darl. I'm Carrol." She peered back over the top of her desk, adjusting her lower end designer glasses and tilting her head to the side in that way a lot of women seemed to be adopting when it came to Aziraphale lately. "You... you're Anthony's... partner, right?"

Aziraphale did his very best to keep the stiffness out of his smile. He had gone into this knowing full well that this was the impression what Crowley had left his work colleagues with. And it was an impression Aziraphale would do his utmost to sustain. Further proof that he was, of course, not the least ashamed of Crowley. Or of their relationship.

"I suppose I must be." He said, straightening out his lapels and hitching the traitorous corners of his lips up into the apples of his cheeks. Carrol gave another sympathetic cock of her head, smiling in such a way it made Aziraphale wonder as to whether Crowley had been telling tales about him having some terminal disease. She then plucked up the manila folder, making her way out from behind the desk on heels which made an almost racheting sound as she went.

"Well... not sure how you managed it, but rest assured I'm in your corner. Come on, I'll take you through." She zippered out a card from a clip on her belt and passed it over the security sensor leading into the complex proper. The double glass doors behind her rolled open and she gestured for Aziraphale to follow her inside. "Anthony's on kitchen duty today, so all the better, huh? Honestly, can I just say that man has been a real god send. We were all so sorry to hear about the problems the two of you have been having. If you don't mind my saying so."

"Oh, so he's been talking about our... disagreement then. Wonderful." Aziraphale murmured, not paying quite as much attention to the young lady as he might otherwise have done. He was in through the doors now and getting closer by the moment to doing that which he had been setting himself up all night to get done. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears like the wash of the distant sea.

"You'd be so proud of him. All the old girls absolutely love him." Carrol turned, mid-swish down the hall and said in a sort of dramatic offside. "Most of the young ones too, actually. You'd best hold on to him tight or someone'll yank him right on out from under you!"

This one Aziraphale did catch. "Under me?" He blustered, face reddening as an image, quite unprecedented shot through his brain and just about rendered his legs useless on the spot.

"- they were bringing the groceries in, so I wouldn't be surprised if we round up on him-" Carrol clapped her hands together sharply. "Ha. There he is."

Aziraphale glanced off to the left where Carrol was pointing. Crowley had emerged from a doorway which opened up into what was clearly a generous kitchen area, calling out over his shoulder to someone as he went. Aziraphale couldn't make out whatever it was he might have been saying; the rush of blood in his ears had suddenly become much too loud and drowned out most everything in its wake.

"Oi!" Carrol's voice was apparently just high pitched enough to cut through it. She made a very curt, imperial gesture towards Crowley who turned, spotted Aziraphale at her back and froze in place as though roots had sprouted from the soles of his shoes. "Anthony! You'll never guess who's filling in for Paul today!"

Aziraphale somehow managed to keep on smiling through the panic which roiled about through every chamber of his body. Crowley hadn't yet moved from by the doorway, though his bottom lip was hanging open in a way what made him look, at best, a little to the side of simple. Carrol, unaware of, or perhaps uncaring concerns the tightening cord of tension forming between the two men shaped creatures, gave a perky clap of her hands as though everything were right with the world and she were directly responsible for having implemented it.

"Well, I need to be getting back to the front desk." She shook a finger over her shoulder at Crowley as she swished off, skirt chasing about her ankles like a loyal pet. "Don't you go sneaking off for a quickie in one of the supply closets when you're still on the clock."

"I'll leave it 'til my scheduled break, how's that?" Crowley managed to sputter; with all the dignity otherwise espoused by a garden a hose when it has been sitting unused in the backyard for a while. Satisfied that libidinous activity was not on the cards, Carrol flashed an ok sign in the air above her head before click-clacking her way around the corner.

Aziraphale and Crowley were left staring at one another; neither entirely certain as to how to proceed now that they were face to face. Crowley, in spite of having just called Aziraphale and requesting that they meet up to talk, felt strangely annoyed with being rounded up on in his workplace. He hadn't an opportunity yet to prepare himself.

His breath still stank of the cigarettes he'd been smoking. He'd forgotten to put cologne on before coming to work. It was, at least in his mind, the equivalent of someone rocking up to your house uninvited and you still had conditioner in your hair.

Crowley detested being caught off guard. It was one of those things what simply put him in a bad mood right off the cuff. And so, instead of saying all those lovely things he had been meaning to say, he did something very typically Crowley-ish and indulged that otherwise petty annoyance.

"What the Heaven are you doing here?" He snapped, trying in a not so very subtle way to glance over his work uniform for any stains or smears of urine, faeces or vomit present. His hair was probably a mess. He had no gum. Why didn't he just starting keeping gum in his fucking pockets?!

Strangely enough, Crowley's temper merely instilled a sense of calm in Aziraphale. He was used to the demon's mood swings after six thousand years of dealing with them and it was a constant that he was quite practiced at rolling with.

"Bringing you lunch, for one. I made you a sandwich." He handed the plastic container to Crowley who stared at it as though Aziraphale had handed him something so patently ludicrous as a bucket of sloth droppings.

"They do feed me here, you know. I hardly needed you to bring me a bloody sandwich." He nonetheless took the plastic container, never so proud as to turn down food when offered. He'd seen the likes of far too many starving children throughout the ages to ever morally abide wastage. And it had been, he begrudgingly acknowledged, a kind thought.

"Well you were starving yesterday, excuse me for noticing. You're welcome by the way. I'm also -"

Aziraphale was interrupted by the somewhat predictable and fortuitous timing of the woman he surmised to be the site manager. He name badge read 'Rita' and she was carrying a bundle of white clothing, distinctly as crinkly as Crowley's had appeared on his very first day of work.

"You must be Alex, I presume?"

"Indeed I am." Aziraphale replied, taking the proffered bundle of clothing with a munificent smile what seemed to soften even the hard edge shellac layered upon the borders of Rita's heart. Trying her utmost to keep from being charmed, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the interior office.

"Got some paperwork for you to sign before you get started but first things first. Anthony." She snapped her fingers at the demon in such an authoritarian manner that it made Aziraphale chuckle to himself. No pushover, it would seem. "He's your partner, so I hear. Show him where he can get changed, where the break room is and all that, while I get things organized."

Crowley had clearly not put two and two together yet. He continued to stare at the bundle of clothing in Aziraphale's hands as though wondering just why on earth he had been passed the blessed things for.

"Why?"

"Now, please" Rita said, her tone stating in no uncertain terms that she would bust Crowley's spine over her knee like an uncooked noodle just as soon as look at him. She headed back towards the office, whilst Aziraphale gave Crowley a small, supportive smile to which he received a wholly dumbfounded look in return. Aziraphale fancied he hadn't witnessed such shock adorn the demon's features since that time of their first meeting upon the wall of the Garden of Eden.

"You applied to work here? Seriously?"

"I'm filling in for the cook." Aziraphale said, effacing a self-important tone for whatever the reason as he picked at one of the crunchy corners of the uniform. Crowley's brows had axed in so low over his eyes that they had all but disappeared behind the lenses of his glasses.

"... You can't cook!"

"Technicalities, if anything." Aziraphale permitted just a hint of the frustration he had been battling throughout the long night to creep out and spread through the lines of his face. "Well, I couldn't see any other way to get you to talk to me."

"Wuh-wha...?" Crowley was quite obviously blindsided; gaping like a fish that had just been hurled from the water and tossed haphazardly onto the docks. He wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't sure in fact when he might be able to think. "Wh-why the cook of all people? How did you even manage to do that? What happened to the cook?" His eyes widened to such a startling degree that they could be clearly glimpsed from behind his glasses. "Did you kill the cook?"

His tone was strangely gleeful; as though hoping that Aziraphale had in fact committed some uncharacteristic act of carnage by braining the cook over the head with a thick enough book and rolling his expired body up in a Persian rug.

"No I didn't kill the cook!" Aziraphale said, with the look of someone who might have in fact gotten away with murder if not for their own guilt spectacularly dropping them in it. "Of course not. ... I just arranged for a little... stomach bug..."

"You what?"

"A stomach bug!" Aziraphale groaned, more the guilt ridden for the fact that Crowley was now grinning in that ever so beautiful way he was prone to doing when skulduggery was afoot. It meant, of course, that the demon in him was very, very pleased for something the unpleasant which had occurred, perhaps even more so on account of it being the angel who had in fact perpetrated said nefarious act. "Oh, do wipe that smug smirk off of your face. It wasn't as though I gave him diphtheria. He'll recover in a day or so. I just needed an in, was all."

"Oh, that is a special level of messed up. Real next level." Crowley chuckled happily, a fact which was clearly grinding on Aziraphale's nerves. "Miracling a stomach bug into the belly of an innocent man and quintessentially negating the plight of the elderly so as to meet your own needs. Sort of... demony, really. Not sure whether to be impressed or not..." He tilted his head curiously, counting out the moments mentally before then asking: "You check your messages on your way here?"

Aziraphale continued to look all the more guilt stricken by the moment; which was something of a prodigious feat. His was a feeling of shame fast approaching Olympian level standards, if in fact marinating in guilt was a considered to be a competitive sport. It might have been him and a collective spattering of Catholics neck and neck all the way to the finish line. Aziraphale might well have had them beat, quite simply as a result of his never being able to absolve himself through any acts of confession he had ever attempted.

"Left the phone on the charger again..." He mumbled, to which Crowley rolled his eyes (unseen by Aziraphale but worth doing all the same) and puffed air towards the ceiling like a whale clearing its blowhole. Only with slightly less watery back spray.

"Some bloody good you'll be when the collective forces of Heaven and Hell come a knocking. How am I supposed to reach you then? Carrier pigeon? Smoke signals?" Crowley signed, jamming his hands into his pockets and flicking his head off towards the hall. "Come on then, I'll show you around."

"Crowley, I-" Aziraphale got no further than this before the demon turned on his protective slip covered heels and sauntered off. He sighed, taking a deep breath and plucking up some patience from the near eternal celestial arsenal at his disposal before following along with the armful of crunchy (rather itchy feeling, really) clothes.

~X~

A/N: Thanks both for reading and supporting the story, everyone! If you have any questions or thoughts about the fic, please don't be afraid to both share and ask! I'll see you for the next update, which should, all things going according to plan, be very soon!

With all my infernal love,

~MadamMortis~ xxx ooo