1862

It wasn't as if they hadn't argued before. Angel and demon, they were bound to, weren't they? But it had never gone as long as this before they made up. Somehow they'd find themselves in the same place, a bottle of wine would appear, and before the morning, they'd be friends again.

Not this time. Aziraphale had walked away from St James Park shaking with anger – and he freely admitted, fear – and waited for Crowley to appear at some point. Then he could explain properly. But he never had.

He had gone around to Crowley's flat several times but the front door was always locked and no-one answered the doorbell. He didn't want to disturb Crowley but it had been three months and he was worried. What if someone – Hell or Heaven – had come for him? What if he had got holy water elsewhere? Surely Aziraphale would know if he was in danger – Crowley always seemed to know if the angel needed help – but he had to be certain. So one snowy day in December he performed a tiny little miracle (he could always tell Heaven he was spying on the demon) and unlocked the door to Crowley's block of flats.

Crowley's flat was at the top of the building. He always liked to be able to see for a distance. The doors to his flat weren't locked – at least, they weren't locked against Aziraphale and it took him a moment to realise that he was the only one these doors would open for.

The apartment was cool white, and very sparse. Only one chalk drawing on the wall, nothing else, the furniture functional and untouched. Aziraphale walked though until he found the bedroom.

A large comfortable bed, all draped in white, and in it, a sleeping demon, his hair fire-like against the pillows. There was dust on the floor and the handle of the wardrobe, although none on the bed. No-one had walked in this room for a long time.

Aziraphale reached down to touch Crowley to feel for a pulse. Strictly speaking, their hearts didn't need to beat. But, a long time ago, they'd noticed how quickly bodies were buried during the plague and had both decided that rather than risk being found unconscious (for whatever reason) and without a pulse, taken for dead and buried, they'd get used to the heart-beating and breathing part of humanity. Crowley had already experimented with sleeping and Aziraphale enthusiastically participated in eating, so it only made sense to be a little more human.

Still a pulse. Not dead then. Aziraphale sat down on the bed. A brief second's horror of a nightmare coming true was enough to shake him. Not dead. Only sleeping – but sleeping for ages, it seemed.

'Wake up,' Aziraphale said. 'Please? I need to explain. And apologise. I got it all wrong and I didn't mean to, and I have thought about what I would like to say properly. Please? Crowley?'

The sleeping figure didn't even stir. Aziraphale looked down at him, pale and prone on the bed, achingly vulnerable. The locks were set against everyone but Aziraphale, and Crowley thought that made him safe, but didn't he understand? Aziraphale was an angel, how could a demon be safe in his hands?

'So don't wake up, then,' Aziraphale said. 'I'm told that sometimes sleepers can hear what is said to them, so I hope you can hear me, because I need to tell you two things.'

He took his breath. This was hard. All he wanted to do was lie down beside Crowley but that was the one thing he couldn't do. He had to get this over and done with and walk away.

'I wrote it all down,' Aziraphale said, searching through his pockets. 'I needed to get it right, so I wrote it out, but I think I've forgotten it and…'

He took a breath, and looked away from the bed.

'First, I'm going to explain to you why I can never give you holy water and second – and second – I am going to explain why we can never see each other again.'

He looked back. Crowley hadn't stirred.

Wake up, Aziraphale thought. Argue. Please.

He stood up, pacing around the room, clutching his gloves in front of him, twisting them in his hands.

'I cannot give you holy water because it would kill you. It would destroy you completely. I have seen what it can do. And I know you said you didn't want it for yourself, but I know what you're like. You'd be careless. You'd spill it, or knock it over when you're drunk or pick it up by accident. It's not safe to be anywhere near you. And besides….'

He stopped, and looked at the bed again. He hadn't meant to say this last part, but with Crowley not answering, not even listening, Aziraphale felt like he could, just for once, say what he meant.

He sat on the bed.

'Do you know you talk in your sleep?' he said. The demon was silent and still. 'When you fall asleep in the bookshop, I mean. Maybe it's because you're usually drunk. You mutter things about Heaven and Hell and the fourteenth century.'

My name, too. Once or twice.

'And sometimes, about yourself. I know you have dark moments. I know sometimes you hate yourself. You think you're vile and evil and wrong and I try to be there when you have those moments but what if I'm not? And I am terrified that in one of those moments you'll…'

He looked down at his hands, twisting together.

'I know I seem nervous and on edge and fearful a lot of the time. But I am only really afraid of one thing, my dear. Your death. That is all that truly terrifies me. Losing you forever.'

Wake up. Wake up now and tell me that would never happen.

'So I cannot put the cause of your own destruction in your hands. I cannot take the risk of losing you. I cannot keep you safe from all harm, but I would protect you from what I can.'

He looked down at the demon, still asleep, still unmoving.

'I wonder if I have ever told you that? I wonder if you even know that?'

One red curl had fallen across Crowley's face. Gently, Aziraphale reached out to brush it back.

'How can you think such thoughts of yourself? Do you think that's how I see you? It isn't. I see you as beautiful, body and soul.'

His hand wanted to linger, one finger on the demon's cheek, on his lips – but he pulled away sharply. No. No more. Not unless the demon were awake to hiss 'Yes, angel.'

Or 'No, angel.'

Aziraphale got up and walked quickly to the window, staring down at all the people walking past. Some were hand in hand. Over there was two men, walking arm and arm, as men often did, close as brothers. One, the shorter, pointed out something and laughed and the other, tall and thin, looked down at him with such intense love, for just the briefest second, and then it was gone.

Aziraphale leaned his forehead against the glass, trying to cool down his mind. Did Crowley ever look at him like that, when his back was turned? He knew he himself had a habit of gazing at Crowley and smiling, but always made sure to hide it before Crowley saw. Did he care? Did it mean anything that he would help Aziraphale and be there when needed? Did his gifts, and his kindness and his company mean anything? Or was it just friendship – or temptation? All a game, to lure him in?

Aziraphale watched humans closely, fascinated by their behaviour. He'd seen it more than a few times. Two people meeting, day after day, getting closer, kinder, sweeter to each other. It looked to everyone like they were teetering on the edge of falling in love and then one day, one would reach out to the other, ready to take that last step – and the other would draw back. Deny it all, it was a joke, you misinterpreted me, I don't want you. And then the first one, the one to reach out, had been shattered, and all that precious closeness, whatever they had, was gone.

He couldn't bear that to happen with Crowley. He couldn't be quite sure. He'd couldn't reach out to him and take the risk of losing what they already had.

'There's something else,' Aziraphale said. 'Something that happened a few weeks before we met in the park. I think I need to tell you this, so you can understand. There was a call for all angels to go this tiny little church in Italy. There was something we needed to see. When we got there, there was Gabriel and Sandalphon and Michael and a demon in chains at the front. He was on agony, writhing about on the floor. Consecrated ground burns demons, but of course you know that. We've both been very careful to stay away from churches, which is quite a miracle in a city littered with holy ground.'

He glanced back. Still Crowley slept. Aziraphale looked back out of the window. This was such a hard story to tell. He hadn't wanted to tell Crowley any of this but if he knew the story, he'd agree too that their fraternisation – whatever it was – whatever would Crowley call it – had to end. If he heard. He hoped he heard.

And besides, who else was there to tell.

'There was an angel at the front of the church too. She had chosen to manifest as a woman, and she was beautiful. She had long red hair down her back. It reminded me of you.'

I have always loved your hair. And your smile. And the – stop this. Stop this right now.

'It was a punishment. Gabriel explained. The demon – he was a young man, scrappy and skinny, with very dark eyes – had been fraternising with the angel. That was the word he used, fraternising. That was forbidden. Angels and demons were not allowed to mix. Angels – angels that fraternise with demons would be tainted. The angel just stood there, staring at the demon and the demon kept shouting out and eventually I could hear his words.'

Aziraphale stared down at the gloves, twisted and torn in his hands.

'He was saying – he was telling the angel that he loved her. And that she had said she loved him. Gabriel said that was impossible. The demon had tempted the angel. He had offered the angel love and friendship and companionship but it was all a lie. It was a trick, Gabriel said, to corrupt the angel. He didn't mean it. No demon could love. It was just a game.'

Aziraphale's voice shook. He could feel the tears in his eyes. Thank goodness Crowley wasn't awake to see him cry.

'Demons and angels are on opposite sides. They can't be friends. They can't love. Any demon who says he loves is lying to tempt an angel into evil and an angel cannot love a demon because how could they love a fallen creature more than Heaven? That's what they tell us, over and over again. That's what they all believe.'

The gloves fell to pieces in Aziraphale's hands, the seams giving way as he pulled at them.

'They are all the family I have,' Aziraphale whispered. 'If I lose them, Crowley, what do I have? Who am I?'

I could turn to you. But what if you decide to choose Hell over me?

Aziraphale straightened up.

'I asked if the angel was to be punished for breaking the rules too. Gabriel told me that would be cruel, to punish an ethereal being for being tempted by a demon. Instead, they had taken away her memories of him. She didn't remember any of the time they spent together, or anything they had felt for each other.'

They'd do that to me. All those precious memories of you, just gone.

'Then Michael bought the holy water out. That's how they'd do it. I don't want to tell you – he screamed. They dropped it on him slowly, bit by bit, and he burned and oh…the angel just stood there and he watched her but she didn't move. She frowned, I remember that, like she knew there was something she ought to do but she wasn't sure what.'

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, asleep and unguarded. The tears ran down his face. There was something he had to say.

'I hope, if it were me, and they – they hurt you, I'd stop them. I hope that I would remember, no matter what they did to me. I hope I would try to save you, no matter what the cost. I hope I would die for you, my love, if I could. If it would save you. I can be very selfish and very self-absorbed, I know that, but if you ever needed me, I would risk it all.'

He turned away again.

'When it was all over, Gabriel came up to me and asked if you had ever tried anything like that with me. I told him of course not, I avoided you and he said – it's such a ridiculous thing to be hurt by - he said of course Crowley wouldn't try and tempt you with love. Look at the state of you, he said. Crowley could choose all of humanity and all the angels to seduce, why would he choose you?'

Exactly what I think. Every time I see you, and my human heart does that odd little skip I think, why would you choose me? What can I offer you? A plump, nervous little bookseller, not even that good an angel. Out of all the choices you have, surely I would be last?

'And then he said "Let us know, won't you? If Crowley does start fraternising with you. We want to keep an eye on that sort of thing." So you see, that's why I cannot see you anymore.'

He turned back to the bed to say his goodbye.

'I don't believe you are tempting me. I hope you're not. If you have, it's been a very long temptation, hasn't it? You've put over 6000 years of effort in for very little reward.'

Aziraphale tried to laugh to cover up the lump in his throat. Why was this so hard? Why did it hurt so much?

'Every moment I spend with you, I feel the way I ought to feel when I am in Heaven. They will never forgive such blasphemy.'

I have to go. I have to go now. Please have heard me. Please understand that, at least. Please know how much our time together means to me. I have never known such peace, or such happiness, as when I am with you.

'I've never told them about you,' he whispered. 'Not once. Not even in Eden. They don't know anything about what we are. As far as they know, we've never met. They have no idea we have been – fraternising. I have kept you safe. But if they are watching – if they have any suspicions at all – they will come for you and they will burn you and do you understand that will be the worst thing that could ever happen? I will never place you in harm's way. I cannot do much, but I will do what I can to keep you safe, no matter how much it hurts. So – no holy water. No more fraternising. Ever. I cannot take the risk. I cannot have one more moment with you. It's the only way to keep you safe. That's all. That's what I came to say.'

He went to the door, and paused, looking back, one last time.

'If I spend another day with you, I will be lost forever, my dear. My dearest. I will never be able to stop, no matter how dangerous it is for you. So – this is goodbye, I'm afraid. This is over.'

If you wake up now, and call me back, I am lost.

Crowley stirred, and reached out an arm.

'Angel?' he whispered. But when he looked towards the door, it was closed.

OoOoOoOoOoO

1941

'Little demonic miracle of my own.'

Aziraphale took the books, still unable to believe his eyes. Nearly a hundred years he had tried to get the image of Crowley out of his head. He had worked and danced and kept himself busy so he didn't have time to think, because every time he had a moment free, he had thought of what he had turned away. No matter that it had been to keep Crowley safe. It had still hurt, a hard ball of pain deep down his chest.

And he had been stupid and gullible and reckless in his desire to get the memory of the demon out his face. Crowley would have known about the Nazis. Crowley had known, somehow! And then, there he was, hopping up the aisle as if all had been forgiven and forgotten and Aziraphale hadn't left him sleeping nearly a hundred years ago and all that had been between them was still there.

Only a moment more, Aziraphale had thought back then. One more moment with Crowley and he'd be lost forever – and it was the sweetest moment. An act of pure love, rescuing his books. He could never walk away from Crowley now – except perhaps to save him. One last desperate act of love at the very final moment – but until then, he would be besides the demon's side, no matter what the risk.

I am lost

Aziraphale watched Crowley and loved him. All his heart and soul and body loved. This would cost, he knew. There would be pain and danger and heartbreak and worry and he didn't know how this would end, but it was irrevocable now. This was the way they were meant to be.

I'm wrong he thought, as he followed Crowley to the car. I was lost. Now I am found.