Heaven had been without a Supreme Archangel for ten hours, and he had been with a certain demon drinking solidly for six of them.

Aziraphale poured himself another glass. "You used to make stars," he said, slurring his words. "They really were so beautiful up close." He watched as Crowley wobbled over to the phonogram.

"Yeah, load of good it did," he said, lifting up the needle from the current record, which was playing Brahms' Symphony No. 3. "Humans'll never get to see any of it. They barely made it to the moon! D'ya know how many demonic miracles I had to perform before they finally pulled it off?" Crowley picked a record of his own choice and placed it.

"I remember," Aziraphale chuckled drunkenly, "You accidentally started the Cold War."

"I got a commendation for it, too." He sauntered back over to the couch where he planted himself next to Aziraphale.

"Not one of your best steals, but not bad either." Aziraphale shifted, bringing his glass closer to him. "What is this? The record, I mean."

Crowley looked at him. At some point, he'd removed his sunglasses, and his golden yellow eyes glistened under the lamp light.

"You really don't know who this is?"

"I'm afraid I really don't, my dear."

Crowley looked aghast. "It's Frank Sinatra," he murmured. "American bloke. Ring a bell?"

"Ah," Aziraphale breathed.

"Didn't you meet Sinatra once?"

Aziraphale considered the question. "Can't recall."

"Nah, I could've sworn you did."

"What year would that have been?"

"Uh, I dunno. Early 1950s, maybe," he told him. Aziraphale shrugged. Crowley scoffed. "You'd think you'd remember something like that. Though, you did forget meeting Queen Elizabeth once."

"Oh," Aziraphale groaned, "Yes, how embarrassing."

"Can't believe you don't remember meeting Sinatra. Not a bad guy, really."

"Fine enough music."

"Better than those orchestra pieces you fancy."

"Their called classics," Aziraphale scorned, "for a reason."

"Yeah, Aziraphale, because their old."

Aziraphale gave him a pointed look and took a sip from his glass. "You just don't appreciate the sophistication behind it."

"Can't appreciate something that isn't there," he remarked, taking a sip of his own wine.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the shop, and Muriel descended from the stairs.

"Don't let me disturb you," they called out. "Just came down to exchange my book."

"I'm glad you're enjoying them, dear," Aziraphale said as he attempted to sit up straight.

"They're like getting to experience the real world without having to actually experience it," they replied. "I like that about them."

"Have you read many Jane Austen novels?" Aziraphale asked to which Crowley grimaced, earning an elbow from Aziraphale.

"Oh, yes," Muriel chirped. "Only a few so far."

"May I recommend 'Sense and Sensibility' next? It really is excellent. You'll find it with others right over -"

"It's not there. Not anymore, anyway," Crowley murmured. "I took the liberty of un-organizing while you were gone."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he sighed heavily. "You didn't."

"Afraid I did. Consider it your payback for abandoning them." Crowley waved a hand, and the book in question floated off the shelf where Aziraphale had once kept his collection of first edition Lewis Carrol books.

"You're a menace," Aziraphale grumbled.

"Don't you know it," Crowley replied, casting a flirtatious grin. The book stopped in front of Muriel, and they took it gingerly.

"I do appreciate it," they said cautiously. They held out the book they'd already finished. "Where do you want me to put this one then?"

"I suppose anywhere will do for now," Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly.

Muriel gave an awkward, guilty half-smile and placed the book onto a shelf that used to be home to the D.H. Lawrence collection.

"It'll take me weeks to put them all back right," he groaned.

"I imagine it will. Took me all of three months just to mix them up properly."

Aziraphale groaned. He downed the rest of his wine and held the empty glass out to Crowley. "Refill," he demanded. Crowley, still grinning playfully, obliged. "At least tell me you haven't sold any," Aziraphale pleaded, giving Crowley a weary glance.

"Not a one. There're all still here," Crowley assured him. "They're just not quite where you left them."

Aziraphale took a greedy sip of wine. "Was there no other way to entertain yourself?" he asked.

"Not really," Crowley stated. "Muriel's about as interesting as a door handle. They don't like any of my jokes, and they're too afraid of the Bentley still."

"Can't say I blame them," Aziraphale scorned, "You're not a very tame driver."

"I'm a fantastic driver."

"Not the point," Aziraphale sighed.

"What was the point?" Crowley questioned.

"You need a hobby."

Crowley admired the wine glass in his hand. "I've considered taking up knitting," he teased. "Got any good books on the subject?"

Aziraphale scrunched his eyes as if he had suddenly gotten a headache. "Oh, if I can find one, I'll be sure to let you know."

Crowley smirked. "You have to admit," he purred, "leaving Muriel to defend the shop, knowing I'd be lurking about wasn't exactly brilliant."

Aziraphale looked over at him companion. "Why exactly," he inquired, "did you decide to lurk about? I thought you were supposed to be getting your old flat back."

"I did," Crowley stated.

"And?"

"And nothing." Crowley shrugged. "I knew you'd be back eventually. I wanted to surprise you. Lucky you were only gone three months. Imagine what I could have done had I been given all year."

Aziraphale pinched his nose.

"Oh, come on, angel," Crowley soothed. He leaned in slightly and curled his hand around Aziraphale's. "I was hurt when you left. This blasted shop was the only thing holding me together."

Aziraphale met Crowley's gaze, and their fingers wove together. "Yes, well, it was a rather sour fight."

Crowley shrugged. "We've had worse. Remember the fight we had in 1650?"

Aziraphale shuddered. "How could I forget? You were so upset you actually caught fire."

Crowley chortled, "Oh yeah." His grip on Aziraphale tightened slightly. "Hell of a fight that was."

"Yes, and now look at us." He starred sweetly. It made something flutter in Crowley's stomach. But then he remembered something, and the feeling vanished.

"There is no us," he whispered gloomily. "There could have been, but there isn't."

Aziraphale glanced down at his hand, still intermingled with Crowley's. "You don't mean that."

"It was you who decided it," Crowley said, "when you returned to Heaven."

"I always intended to come back to you."

Crowley shifted, inching slightly closer to Aziraphale. "That's your problem," he stated flatly. "You always intend to come back, but you never intend to stay."

Aziraphale made a shameful face. "It's complicated," he offered sheepishly.

"No, you just find a way to make everything more complicated."

"I..." Aziraphale sighed. "Perhaps that - well, that's not the point. What I'm trying to say is..." He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "Crowley, my feelings for you are not so simple." Crowley titled his chin, eager to hear more. "We've been playing this game for long enough," Aziraphale went on, "And I'm tired of pretending."

Crowley sat up straighter. "Alright."

Nervousness devoured Aziraphale, but he persisted. "I've wanted us to be, well, an us, for a very long time. I wanted to tell you, but I never knew how. Then, in 1941, when you came to my rescue in that church, well, I knew I had to."

"But you didn't," Crowley said, furrowing his brow.

"No," Aziraphale replied. "I didn't. That night, I almost landed you in some serious trouble, and all because I'd asked you to help me with that silly magic act. I'd always known there were risks, but after that night, they became much more realized. I mean, if anything happened to you... and if it was my fault... well, I wouldn't be able to live with myself." Aziraphale's eyes pleaded with Crowley to understand.

"I'll admit," he continued, "I may have acted a bit hastily in taking Heaven's offer. At first, I was going to stay. I had no intentions of leaving you, but when The Metatron said you could come with me... I thought..." Aziraphale tilted his head as he struggled to find adequate words. "I thought we finally had a way to be together, and you'd be safe."

"If there was a way," Crowley began, "that'd we'd be safe, without Heaven, would you stay?"

"There isn't -"

"Yeah, but if there was," Crowley blurted. "If I could guarantee it, would you stay?"

Aziraphale felt something tighten in his chest. "I'd stay," he croaked.

Crowley suddenly felt the same tightness grip his chest until his whole body was tense with it. He couldn't help himself any longer. He moved closer to Aziraphale, and their knees bumped as he did so. His hand untangled from Aziraphale's and reached up to touch his cheek. He felt Aziraphale shudder against him, and he stilled, and then Aziraphale's hands were suddenly on Crowley's waist. His lips barely ghosted over Crowley's, yet that simple touch sent sparks throughout his body. Unable to resist, Crowley hungrily took Aziraphale's lips in his own. He was slow and intentional with his movements, but as Aziraphale gave into it, letting his own lips dance against Crowley's, the kiss became needier. Sloppy, even.

Sensations he'd never known before overwhelmed Aziraphale. His grasp on Crowley tightened as he felt himself becoming unraveled. It all felt too good. Irredeemably and sinfully good.

Aziraphale pulled back slightly, his eyes still closed. An awkwardness filled the space between them. Neither really knew what to say. The kiss had been sweet, but it left them both with a dull pain that reminded them of the wedge put between them. Crowley's hands fell from Aziraphale's cheeks. The angel opened his eyes to find Crowley's already drilling into him.

"How many days?" Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "I- what?"

"How many days," he repeated, "are you staying for?"

"Here?"

"No, in Egypt," Crowley bit sarcastically. "Yes, here."

"Well, today's Saturday," he stated. "So, probably Monday."

"How about Tuesday?"

"What's Tuesday?"

"Nothing," Crowley whispered. "Just another day."

Aziraphale grinned. "Then, Tuesday it is."

You may be able to expect an update in about a week. Please leave a comment and a vote. I appreciate your feedback and support. 3