A/N: Hello, my beautiful ducks.

Italy, 1581

Aziraphale was in Florence, doing his best to gently sway the religious leaders of the day down a path that was both devout and full of grace. Things had gotten well out of hand—again—in Spain and were spiking into dangerous territory here and there. People in holy positions were going to Hell for the torture and murder of people who hadn't actually sinned.

He'd become aware Crowley was in nearby Pisa and had gone out to see him at the earliest opportunity. Crowley had always liked his privacy, and to that end, he was staying in a palatial estate whose owners were conveniently absent. Crowley had told him the door was always open and, about a year later, here he was again.

Only to find Crowley wasn't home.

Aziraphale set about making the place comfortable. An estate like this should have had a litany of servants for exactly this reason—stoking fireplaces, putting the kettle on, and making sure there was dinner to come home to.

Early evening drained into late night. Aziraphale was reading by the light of a candle flame—miraculously enhanced—when Crowley finally made it home. "Alo?" he called. "Is someone there?"

Aziraphale straightened up, carefully setting his goblet down on the table. He'd availed himself of Crowley's best wine after his tea had gone cold.

"Oh, Aziraphale," Crowley said, swaying on his feet, a foolish grin on his face. "It's you."

"Of course, it's me," Aziraphale said, amused. "How many people do you invite to wander into your home at will?"

"Err." Crowley appeared to think about it.

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. "What? Really?"

"No," Crowley said, his grin getting all the wider. He pulled off his feather cap, his hair short and lightly wavy beneath. "You're very funny, angel. Bit silly sometimes, but that's why I like you."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, wry but also a little pleased. "How drunk are you right now?"

"Oohh, a bit." He threw himself down on a plush chaise, arms spread wide over the back. "Went out for drinks with the lads."

"The lads. That explains a lot." Aziraphale had noticed that Crowley had subtly smoothed out the lines of his face. He looked a good twenty years younger by human standards. "You're in an exceptional mood this evening."

"So I am." He slipped his dark glasses off, head tilted back as he looked at Aziraphale with an honestly beatific smile. "There's a young man."

"A young man?" Aziraphale repeated, sitting down heavily in the nearest chair. A human boy? Really?

"Name of Galileo," Crowley said, a little dreamy. "We had … Well, I suppose we had one of those conversations."

"Do tell." His tone came out rather dry. But really, why would anyone want to—

"Space, angel. The universe."

Aziraphale cocked his head, confused. "What?"

"All these humans walking around down here, feet on the ground. They've got no clue what's right there above their heads. But he does. Galileo does." He jumped to his feet quite suddenly and took Aziraphale's hand. "Come here. I've got something to show you."

Aziraphale, startled at the rapid turn in conversation, let Crowley pull him through the house. They climbed far too many stairs up to a small tower—the highest point in the estate.

Crowley snapped, filling the tower room with light. He went to a drawer and pulled out a cylindrical object. With his hand to the small of Aziraphale's back, he guided him to the window. "Look out just here," Crowley said.

"With this?" Aziraphale felt the heft of the thing and lifted it uncertainly to his eye.

"Right. Call it a telescope. The humans will have the idea of it honed soon, but for now, this is the only one. Look out … Here." He put an arm around Aziraphale, his hand sliding along his arm to steady his wrist while his other one tilted the object up gently. "A little twist." He pressed his fingers to Aziraphale's, helping him twist the lens on the end of the object. "Now … What do you see?"

Crowley's voice, a low, deep rumble near his ear, sent a thrill down Aziraphale's spine. His mind went blank for a full second.

"Angel, do you see it?" Crowley hadn't let go of him though there was no particular reason he couldn't.

Aziraphale made himself focus. "Oh, yes," he said in a breath. "How marvelous."

"Exactly." Crowley sighed. "Most of the lot of them—all they see is the twinkle. But a few of them, like that one, dreams this is out there. Planets. Stars. The infinite universe." He chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly against Aziraphale's ear. "I can't show him this telescope. He's not ready for that yet, but he will be. I'll bet anything he'll find that planet right there."

Crowley sighed—a rather satisfied sound—and disentangled himself from Aziraphale, stepping back. "I told him to name it after Aphrodite if it does exist. One day soon, that planet and the others will exist for them." Another sigh, this one more wistful. "They have so far to go."

And if humans would ever get so far as to see, even through a device such as this one, what Crowley had so lovingly crafted before time began.

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley ever thought about it; if he even remembered his own creation. He'd always taken notice when the humans looked up to the stars. He'd delighted in the tales they spun and the constellations, most of which made no sense to either of them, but that was human drug use for you.

Whether or not he remembered, the stars were coded deeply into Crowley's very being, his sense of self. And in that, Aziraphale could understand why he was so happy to talk to the human lad. He'd probably seen himself in him—all wide-eyed and bright with possibility, with wonder. The infinite universe.

Aziraphale examined the fine machine in his hands, a smile playing at his lips. Crowley was trying to bring the humans closer to his creation whether he knew it or not.

He really was very good, but he was in too good of a mood for Aziraphale to tell him today. So he admired his craftsmanship and lamented the limited scope of the thing—it really couldn't see very far, all things considered.

They were sitting at opposite ends of the room's single couch, both staring outside at the stars. Aziraphale cleared his throat, feeling they were both sober enough for a matter of some gravity.

"You know, Crowley. It might do for you to advise your human to have caution."

"How do you mean?"

"These things are merely ideas to the humans just now. It's such a volatile time for people who have ideas that would change the way they look at the universe; at their place in it."

Crowley's chuckle then was dark, his head bowed and his grin wry. He raised his head, meeting Aziraphale's eye. "Back here again, are we, angel?"

Aziraphale raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Forbidden knowledge," Crowley said. "Adam and Eve survived getting thrown out of the garden, and they created all of this." He made a gesture at the world around them. "None of this would have been possible without a little disobedience." He tilted his head down, a glint in his eyes. "Like an angel giving up his flaming sword."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. He sputtered a bit and huffed, shaking his head. "Well, you've always said it yourself. Humans are more than capable of atrocities. God has infinite mercy. The humans … Well, you can't survive being thrown out of the garden without your head, can you?"

"Hmmm." Crowley acknowledged his words with a hum. "I put him on the path of knowledge. What he does with it is his own business."

A few more beats of silence passed between them, Aziraphale chewing the inside of his cheek in an oddly human gesture as he replayed the garden and his own hand in the beginnings of the human race. It had all gotten so complicated since then.

"Crowley?"

"Hm?"

"How much do you remember of the time before? I know they didn't take all of it."

Crowley exhaled in a gust, slumping as though Aziraphale's words had taken the wind out of his sails. Aziraphale leaned across the distance between them, putting a hand on his knee. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was such a thoughtless thing to ask. It was just all this talk of space and the things we know are out there that they don't. I … I wasn't thinking."

"S'all right," Crowley said gruffly. He took a steadying breath. "It's not gone. None of it is really gone. It's just … blurry. Far away. Like they left the idea of it behind so I know what I'm missing."

He raised his head, looking out the window. "I know there are nebulae out there. Energy exploding and expanding. Matter that would have been stars if they'd ever had a chance." He shook his head, his expression sad and far off. "But I can't picture it."

Aziraphale's heart panged. He squeezed Crowley's knee once more before he pulled back. "I am sorry."

Crowley glanced at him, lips tugged lightly up at one corner. "You did try to warn me, didn't you? I don't remember. I just … know. You would."

"Still."

"Done is done. There's no use dwelling. Maybe I'll take a trip out there and see it all with my own eyes again." Crowley pushed to his feet. "Come on, angel. I'm feeling a mite peckish myself. Let me show you this new tree I had imported. It's called a pear."

~0~

When Aziraphale was back in his quarters in Naples, their conversation weighed heavily on him. Crowley had been in such an incredibly jubilant mood; as close to the angel Aziraphale had first met as he'd seen since. He wished there was a way to give him back his sharp memories, if only of that moment.

To that end, he went to a worn bag and dug through it until he found the little bottles of paint gifted to him by Leonardo Da Vinci. An idea had sparked, and he set about his task.

It took some doing to replicate the colors precisely. The painters of the day had no use for such vivid hues of purple and pink. But finally, some days later, he had produced three paintings that looked exactly like the nebulae, alive with fire and matter.

It was the very least he could give.

Aziraphale rolled each of them up and packed them carefully. He gave them personally to a knight he was familiar with and tasked the man to put it directly in Crowley's hands.