"Tell me, Lord Beelzebub. Do you understand the meaning of the word truce?" Lucifer asked.
"I had asszumed that wasz a rusze,"
"And what part of, 'I'm going to a wedding. Handle things while I'm away,' seemed like it was code for, 'Mass my armies. We're going to war,'?"
"The part where you szaid that God was attending."
"Fair point." Lucifer tipped his glass to them. "However, while I appreciate the initiative, I made a promise to Adam that I wouldn't start anything. I am actually only here to attend a wedding."
"I szee," Beelzebub buzzed thoughtfully. "Would it interszt you to know that the Archangel Gabriel hasz masszed the Heavenly Hoszt, and isz currently seeking further ordersz from the Almighty."
Lucifer's gaze snapped up, over Beelzebub's epauletted shoulder, to lock onto where he'd last seen God. The Almighty was, indeed, in the midst of a serious discussion with the archangel Gabriel. "That isz interesting," he said, unable to help the mocking, buzzed 'S' that crept into his speech whenever he talked to Beelzebub for too long.
They at least pretended not to notice.
"Szo, if The Hoszt were to make the firszt move…"
"I wouldn't be starting anything," Lucifer concluded.
"Exzactly."
"Devious," Lucifer complimented, "but I don't think Adam would appreciate the technicality. And, besides, it looks like your violet-eyed boy is getting a good bollocking from his boss."
Beelzebub spun in their seat to look, turned back, after a moment, scowling, and crossed their arms over their chest, slumping in their seat. "He'd need ballsz for that," they grumbled.
oOoOoOo
"You might have thought that you were doing the right thing, but in the future, I would prefer for you to wait for direct orders before you decide to take it into your own hands to destroy My creations."
"Yes, my Lord," Gabriel said, eyes downcast.
"Are you just angry that you didn't get invited to the wedding?" God asked, not because She didn't know the answer, but because the expression on Gabriel's face was priceless.
"The wedding? Why in Your name would I want to come to this stupid wedding?"
"It's understandable," God said. "You were Aziraphale's supervisor for a very long time. It's only natural if you're feeling left out."
"Left out?"
"You're here now. I'm sure that they wouldn't mind if you stayed to enjoy yourself. Why don't you ask someone to dance? I noticed that Lord Beelzebub is here." She smiled at him encouragingly.
Gabriel's face darkened to a deep red.
oOoOoOo
Adam thumped into the bar next to Oscar and slammed his fist against the bartop.
"What's wrong, Adam? What did he say?"
Adam ignored him long enough to order another drink, and then turned to Oscar, face serious.
"Do you love me?" he asked.
"I," Oscar floundered, off guard for a moment. "I…" He took a breath, and the words came quiet and sincere, as he felt his reincorporated heart thud in his chest. "Yes. Yes, I do."
"Good," Adam said, nodding. The bartender set his drink down, and Adam drained it. "I love you to, for what it's worth."
"It's worth a great deal, to me," Oscar said, the uncertainty creeping in and solidifying to dread. "What's wrong? What did he say? If I… If it's that I have to go back… I'll manage. I'm grateful to you for trying."
Oscar felt his human body betray him. His legs went cold. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears. Reality set back in, and his mind was filled with 47, 808 days of torment—the fear, the pain, the utter hopelessness. The idea of going back to an eternity of that blackness and despair, after a week of brightness, and life, and hope, momentarily crippled his fragile mortal coil.
But, suddenly Adam was there, gripping his shoulders, and staring into his face with urgent blue eyes. "Oscar," came his name from the lips of his brilliant, compassionate, Antichrist. "Oscar?"
"Yes, I… I'm sorry. It just all hit me for a moment."
"Do you love me?" Adam asked again.
"Yes. I said that I did. Very much, I think."
"And do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Completely?"
"Adam, what is this about?"
Adam didn't wait for the bartender this time. He waved a hand over his glass and conjured himself a refill from thin air. He didn't drink it, just stared at it, frowning, and ran his finger around the rim of the glass. "If I do what I'm considering," he said. "You'd be completely under my power, bound to me for eternity. We've… we've only known each other for a week, but I feel…" Adam took a drink then, just a sip, and set the glass back down. He turned back to Oscar, searching his eyes. "I love you. I don't know if it's the kind of love that lasts six thousand years, and turns you both into a pair of idiots sharing one brain cell, or if it's the kind of love that makes you do stupid things in the heat of the moment, and you end up regretting the whole experience a month later, left wondering how you could have possibly been such a complete fool, but I do love you. I went to my father, prepared to do whatever I had to, to keep you safe."
"What did he ask you to do?"
"Take up my place in Hell. Rule beside him. Create my own Circle in the pits, so that I can keep you in it."
Oscar's breath caught in his throat.
Adam turned back to his glass.
"It wouldn't be torture for you. It would be eternity, but it wouldn't be torture." Adam swallowed. "At least not at first, but I think… I think eternity could turn into torment all on its own, if you let it."
"It would be, a commitment," Oscar said. "More than a marriage."
Adam snorted. "Not much of a choice, for you, is it? An eternity of pain and torment, or an eternity with me? It's not hard to pick, but it isn't exactly the best basis for a relationship, and I'd have all the power. We couldn't even have a proper argument; you'd be too worried that disagreeing with me would put you back in general population."
"What about you?" Oscar asked. "You have a life here. I wouldn't ask you to give that up, for me."
Adam smiled. "No, you wouldn't, and that's exactly why I want to do it. I just see how easily it could all go bad."
They both fell silent, and Oscar thought of Bosie. How gloriously happy they had been in the beginning, and how cold and rancid that happiness had turned by the end. The casual cruelties. The selfish dismissals. Dying, wretched and lonely, staring at the ugliest wallpaper in all of Christendom.
"The simple fact that you're worried over the equality of the proposed arrangement, gives me some hope that we could make it work. Maybe it is the kind of love that ends like that." He gestured over to Crowley and Aziraphale, who'd turned their table into a couch and were sprawled out over each other, drinking wine, and giggling into their glasses, completely oblivious to everything going on around them.
Adam snorted and rolled his eyes. "I bet you, in ten minutes, they'll have forgotten where they are, and started shagging."
Oscar laughed. "No bet. As much as I'm enjoying my previous forfeit, there is pride to be taken into consideration."
Oscar pulled Adam close and ran a hand through his golden curls. "What are you going to do?"
Adam sighed, leaning in to the touch. "I suppose I'll have to separate them with a garden hose."
"I meant about Hell."
"I know what you meant. I'm going to have to talk to Grandma, just to clarify a few points, but fuck it. Let's give it a go. I'm hellhound either way. I might as well try to find a reason to be happy about it." Adam tilted his head up to meet Oscar's eye. "I want you to make me a promise, though."
"Anything."
"Forget that I'm the Antichrist. To you, I'm just Adam. I might have all the power, but that doesn't mean I'm going to use it. Don't be a doormat. If I'm being an arsehole, tell me I'm being an arsehole. We'll figure out all the details as we go along. I'll make you a pocket dimension, where I can't go, or something; we'll figure it out. Just, checks and balances, okay? I might be losing the fight against enforced destiny, but I'm not giving up who I am along the way."
Oscar smiled, and kissed the top of his head. "I'm not sure that's possible. And yes, I promise."
"Good. That's settled then. Now, dance with me. Let's give everyone something to gossip about."
"I'd love to."
oOoOoOo
"Rio De Janeiro," Aziraphale guessed.
"No," Crowley said, grinning. "Drink."
Aziraphale obediently took a sip from his wine glass. "I don't think this game is entirely fair."
"My turn," Crowley said. "The Importance of Being Earnest."
"If you're just going to keep guessing all of Oscar's works…"
"Well?" Crowley asked.
Aziraphale took another drink of his wine. "There are far more places that you could have picked for our Honeymoon, than books I might have packed," he grumbled.
Crowley snorted in disbelief. "You're seriously suggesting that there are more holiday destinations than there are books written in the history of the Earth?"
"Athens," Aziraphale guessed.
"Only if you'll wear a toga," Crowley said, smirking.
Aziraphale scowled at him, as he drank again. "There might be more books available to choose from, but we're only going to one holiday destination, while I've packed multiple books."
"It's our honeymoon," Crowley said. "Why did you pack any books?"
"For when I want to read, obviously."
"Obviously," Crowley mocked. "I don't plan to give you any time to read, angel. The Portrait of Dorian Gray."
Aziraphale stared at him, defiantly. "No."
"You're lying," Crowley accused.
Aziraphale smirked. "I can say, with complete honesty, that I did not pack any book with the title The Portrait of Dorian Gray."
Crowley watched him suspiciously, over the rim of his glass, as he drank.
"Pluto?" Aziraphale asked.
"Bit cold this time of year."
Aziraphale drank. "Do you suppose that we should mingle a bit, or dance some more. I feel as though we're being terribly rude, just sitting here, drinking, after we've invited everyone."
Crowley groaned. "Mercy, angel. No more dancing."
"But I thought you were an excellent dancer?" Aziraphale teased.
"It isn't dancing if you have to count. If you have to count, it's maths."
"We could try it your way, if you like. Have the band play a bit of bebop. We could get jiggy with it."
"Get jiggy with it?"
"Get our groove on. Shake our tail feathers. Boogie," Aziraphale suggested.
"Stop," Crowley begged. "Anyway, it's looking pretty crowded out there," Crowley said, looking for any excuse to avoid the contact embarrassment of Aziraphale trying to get his groove on.
"It's supposed to be. Everyone is having a good time," Aziraphale said. "Look, even Adam is dancing. Oscar was always an excellent partner."
"Seems like he's a pretty good kisser, too," Crowley said, as the song ended, and the dancing turned into snogging.
"I…Well… I…" Aziraphale gaped, flushing. "That's entirely unexpected."
Crowley snorted. "You should have heard them on the phone last night."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sounded like old Oscar's good at a few other things, too."
"I certainly wouldn't know anything about that," Aziraphale protested.
"Of course not," Crowley said, "But apparently, there's a painting upstairs that you have to see to believe."
"What?"
"Oscar and Adam keep going upstairs to look at a painting."
"What is it a painting of?" Aziraphale asked.
"It isn't an actual painting. The second floor isn't full of pictures of… Hang on. Picture!"
"Excuse me?"
"It's The Picture of Dorian Gray! Drink, you semantic bastard!"
Aziraphale scowled as he took a long drink from his wine. "That isn't a very nice thing to call your husband."
Crowley kissed him. "Should it be my semantic bastard, then? My deepest apologies. If you want to go upstairs, there's a painting I could show you, to make amends."
"What's so special about this painting?"
"Let's go engage in some art appreciation, and I'll show you."
oOoOoOo
"I'm not putting that on," Marcia said, looking at the slinky, red dress in disdain. "I didn't even know that I owned that."
"You didn't," Azazel said. "I had to get creative."
"I don't know who you are. I've met Adam's mum, and you definitely aren't Deidre Young."
"I'm his birth mother. I believe that he already tried to explain all of this to you. Now, please, put the dress on. This is taking much too long already. It took twenty minutes just to get the car. Who knew automobiles had such stamina."
"What are you talking about?"
"The dress, dear, and I'll see what I can do about these horrible shoes."
Marcia crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going anywhere with you, and if you don't get out of my flat, right now, I'm calling the police."
"Don't be so overdramatic."
"Overdramatic," Marcia sputtered.
"Please, put the dress on. Adam is waiting."
"I broke up with Adam months ago!"
"And why was that?" Azazel asked.
"He was cheating on me."
"That doesn't sound like him at all. Who was he cheating on you with?"
"I don't know. Some guy. He lied and said he was visiting his parents, but he was out with some guy."
Azazel sighed. "I'm going to ruin this dress," she muttered, but she shifted into male form anyway. The things a mother had to do for her child.
"This guy?" he asked, voice noticeable deeper, and chest no longer filling out the front of his dress. "Nice to meet you, Marcia. My name is Azazel. I'm Adam's mum. Now, if you'd care to put on this dress, we can get back to the party. Lucifer is waiting for me."
Marcia put on the dress.