The closer they get to the cottage, the more it dawns on Aziraphale how awkward this meeting is going to be. In fact, as they reach the gate to the front lawn, his palms are already sweating something fierce. He tugs on his collar and clears his throat then turns to Crowley who is looking at his shoes, seemingly as nervous as he is. Giving him a once over he thinks maybe Crowley's appearance needs adjusting, if only for Angelique's sake.

"Crowley, I don't think you should go in looking like that. You look like Jonah when we pulled him out of the whale."

Crowley scoffs after he looks himself over. "I guess it has been a little while since I've freshened up." Crowley scratches his half-beard and then waves a hand over himself. Immediately his hair is done. His clothes are clean and pressed. The beard is gone. His nails are cut. But he still looks wretched. Aziraphale is sure that if he were to lift the demon's sunglasses, he would see dark circles surrounding Crowley's eyes.

He knows Crowley can't do anything about his gauntness. That can be fixed once he gets some energy in him. Since his corporation doesn't take in food, which Aziraphale notes to talk to Crowley about later, sleep is what the serpent needs, and a lot of it.

"How do I look now?" Crowley drawls dramatically as he juts out a hip, striking a languid pose. It's a farce, and they both know it. Which is why they aren't smiling.

Aziraphale looks him over again and swallows. He could reach out right now and touch Crowley. Take him in his arms and tell him how lovely he always looks, even with that revolting facial hair he just wiped clean.

"Handsome, as always," he says instead, matter-of-factly. The angel does an about-face just as Crowley's mouth drops open in shock.

"Wait!"

Aziraphale freezes, hand on the gate latch. His heart thunders, and he wonders where all that hope and confidence from before went. Flying with the birds now, he supposes because he is starting to shake like a leaf.

"Angel," Crowley murmurs.

Aziraphale does not turn around. "Yes?"

"I heard all your messages," he replies cautiously, just above a whisper.

"Yes?" He knows what's coming and his mouth dries up in anticipation.

"The last one, you, uh, you signed off with–" he cuts himself off and clears his throat. "I might have misheard," he mutters sadly.

"I highly doubt that."

"Then maybe you misspoke?" Crowley asks weakly.

Aziraphale turns and meets his eye. "I did not."

Well now. Looks like there is a bit of that courage left after all. Crowley gasps and he ignores it. There are more pressing matters to tend to. But isn't that always the case? How much longer can he use that excuse?

"She's waiting for me," Aziraphale says softly, turning away again. "I should prepare her, so you don't give her a shock."

"Erm, yeah, yeah. Right," Crowley utters, bemused. "Oh," his tone changes and Aziraphale would give anything to look in his head right now to see what he's thinking. "I don't think–I can't–"

"You'll be fine," Aziraphale sighs and glances over his shoulder at his pallid mess of a friend. Then opens the small gate and they walk to the door.

It's over, Aziraphale thinks. This little dream he was living is over as soon as he opens that door. But then, it never could've lasted. The thought punches him in the gut, and he reacts as if that's exactly what's happened.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley calls out with concern.

The angel takes deep, steadying breaths. "Ready?" He asks even though he's not. A solid but tentative weight lands on his shoulder, and he grows cold and hot at the same time, it's dizzying.

"I can go. I can go and-and wait–"

Aziraphale shrugs Crowley's hand off. "No," he rasps out. "It's what must be done–"

The front door flies open, revealing a jubilant Angelique looking absolutely stunning in her new dress. Her beaming smile lingers as Aziraphale watches her eyes shift and gaze behind him. Then the grin is gone. "Oh!" She staggers back, and Aziraphale reaches for her, but she only retreats further. The poor thing is white as a sheet and looking between the angel and demon as if they've come to claim her life. "Oh," she gasps again, her hands flying to her chest and stomach.

"Darling," Aziraphale calls to her and resists the urge to flinch at the pet name he just used in front of Crowley. "I was going to prepare you, but…" he looks behind him and finds Crowley wearing a deep frown, like he's trying not to cry. "Well," he turns back to his lover–or is that even the right word now? "I suppose we should all talk."

Angelique opens and closes her mouth several times, then closes her eyes, turns, and silently makes for the parlour.

The angel motions for the demon to enter. Crowley drags his feet but moves inside.


The three of them sit in the living area and stare at the floor. The angel and demon sit on opposite ends of the sofa while Angelique sits in the recliner facing them. Aziraphale finally looks up with an inhale through his nose.

"Should I go–?"

"NO!"

"NO!"

The ex-lovers exclaim in unison.

Nerves already shot to Hell, Aziraphale jumps in his seat which makes both his love interests look apologetic.

Crowley lets out a small cough. "I should start."

"Yes, you should," Angelique says bitterly.

Pursing his lips, Crowley nods. "Um, you look," he stops and clears his throat. "I'm glad you're safe."

"You left me with Aziraphale. Of course I'm safe."

Aziraphale's heart could have swelled with pride had it not been for the underlying jabbing tone in the statement.

Crowley winces but sits a bit straighter. "You should know first that your parents–your family is safe." Angelique gasps and is about to say something but Crowley continues. "I have a burner phone, just in case, so you can, erm, you can talk to your mum."

Angelique lets out a high-pitched sound of shock and sends a hand to her mouth.

Crowley fishes out the phone and then seems to contemplate on what to do next. He leans forward and places it gingerly on the table between them, then leans back in his seat again. He swallows audibly and gives Angelique a curt nod.

For a long moment, Angelique just stares at the mobile without so much as a blink. Then her eyes shift up to Crowley questioningly. "You've been keeping them safe? This whole time?"

Crowley squirms in his seat and looks away. "Yeah," he manages to say.

Aziraphale doesn't realise he's smiling kindly at Crowley until the demon glances in his direction, blushes, then looks at his lap. The angel feels the corners of his mouth droop again.

"I can just call? Right now?" she asks hopefully, but with a hint of disbelief.

Crowley nods again. "She's waiting for your call. Just dial star 1. It's the speed dial–"

Angelique lunges for the mobile and dials. Aziraphale can hear the soft ringing as Angelique presses the phone to her ear. It rings twice, and a woman's voice answers.

"Crowley?"

"Mum!"

"OH, THANK GOD!"

Angelique sobs and runs for the stairs. The sound of her quick steps and cries of relief disappear as soon as the door to her room slams shut.

The angel and demon sit in silence for a while until Aziraphale drums his fingers nervously on his knee. Aziraphale wants to keep clear of the conversation about what the hell they are going to do about loving the same woman, but Crowley beats him to it.

"Do you think we're both," the demon struggles, "erm, drawn to her because of, you know, what she is? I mean, Angelique was pretty sure you hated her at first–"

"I never hated her!" Aziraphale protests. Crowley tilts his head in a "cut the horseshit" sort of way, and Aziraphale has the decency to look guilty. "I may have had some trouble wrapping your... relationship around my head. Being friends with mortals is hard enough," he mutters. He thinks about their first meeting, how her love for him was already there, large and overwhelming.

The angel scoffs. "Her love is hard to ignore. Her affection for me was strong from the start. I've wondered what on earth you could have told her about me before you introduced us."

He chuckles and only realises what he's said aloud when he sees Crowley's pained expression. Immediately, he is filled with guilt and only wants to console his friend.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says with his hands in supplication, "she still loves you."

"Stop." It's a demand, not a plea.

Aziraphale lets the demon gain composure before he speaks again. "You did a good thing," he says softly.

Crowley scoffs and turns his head so Aziraphale cannot see his face.

"You did," Aziraphale goes on cautiously. He knows Crowley does not respond well to praise. When Crowley says nothing, Aziraphale sighs loudly. "You never told me about how you met."

Crowley snaps his head toward Aziraphale, eyebrows high over his glasses. "Uh, you know already."

"Yes, I know you met at the dance studio, but what made you go in there in the first place? What was that first night like?"

Crowley shakes his head, and his eyebrows pinch together as if he's wondering why on earth Azirphale would want to know. Then he looks to the ceiling, and they both listen to the muffled pacing above them.

"It was after the night at the Ritz. That night. I don't know if you remember–"

"Of course, I do."

"I mean, I don't know if you remember that you asked me where I'd been a few days later. I told you I was just doing some thinking."

"Yes," Aziraphale replies quietly. He remembers wondering where Crowley had been. Why he hadn't called. Why he hadn't visited. Knowing it was his own fault.

"Well," Crowley lets out a puff of air and rubs the back of his neck, "I walked. I walked for days."

Aziraphale's gut twists at the thought of Crowley walking aimlessly and alone after his stupid rejection after their victory dinner.

"Eventually, I walked back home, but on my way back," a smirk pulls at his lips, "it was evening, and all the businesses were closed, save for one. I just felt pulled toward it, you know?" A real smile blooms then. "I stopped in front of the studio window and saw people dancing, smiling, laughing. She was there. She was making them happy, and they did look so happy." The smile fades a bit. "And I thought if those bumbling, overworked sods could find a bit of happiness there, that maybe I," Crowley clenches his fists on his lap, and he appears to have trouble swallowing.

Looking at him makes Aziraphale want to edge closer to him and place a comforting hand on Crowley's before he makes himself bleed.

"Anyway," his voice is low and grave, "before I knew it, I opened the door and walked inside. She looked at me and smiled, arms open wide, and said I could audit for free." He chuckles a bit. "I didn't know it meant she'd be pulling me all over the dance floor, but," he nods slowly, "It worked. For that little bit, I was ha–" he cuts himself off and pats at his trousers, "I had fun," he finally finishes uncomfortably. "That's all it was supposed to be. Just fun. But, erm, things... changed."

With the spell of the memory broken, they both look at each other awkwardly. Aziraphale cannot allow himself to take away Crowley's chance at happiness... again. Yet he promised Angelique he would not leave her.

"What should we do?" Aziraphale finally whispers.

Crowley shakes his head. "We find the arsehole, and we kill 'im." That is not what Aziraphale meant and he thinks Crowley knows that.

Well, Aziraphale thinks, that's easier said than done.