Hiy'all. Thank you for reading, as always. A hug for my amazing co-writer demon.

If you like, a review would be so greatly appreciated. x

Chapter 4: Meanwhile.

"Ohhh, I'm going to miss you."

The tone was tender and maternal and very drunk, and Crowley swung back another glass of red as Aziraphale was by a book-case, gently touching the spines of his beloved books. The hour was by now very late, the Archangel had left to report to his inferiors and then collect formula and bottles and the baby destroyer of worlds was asleep, Crowley's finger idly tracing the newly minted little hellion's cheek as he rested in the basket.

"Angel," Crowley's voice was just as pickled, "There will be book-shelves in nowheresville. Just take your favourites."

"- I - I - A parent doesn't have a favourite -"

Crowley thought of a young man in a powdered wig running around Vienna like a toddler on too many sweets, racking up debt after debt and filling letters back home with fart jokes as opposed to a dutiful non-disappointment daughter (who, granted, had known how to play to her puritanical father's grace like a violin and had secretly laughed at the asinine jokes), "Sure they do. You can't… You can't tell me they don't and that the children don't know… They know when you're a tad gentler with the pages of other books… When you breathe in the pages… The way you slot them back into their places, just so…" He had once played an agapanthus and a daylily against each other. Exquisite rich colours, fitting descendants of the blooms of Eden. The former had been found wanting and had to be disposed of, but if truth be told he had grown to hate the latter too. It had preened too much in its victory.

"No, I… I don't know… I'll have to sort them, I…" Aziraphale's drunkenness was confusing him, and he moved down a row of shelves.

Crowley groaned. How to reel him back. "We'll do it later, Aziraphale, come back, neither 'f us are sober enough for this."

"I only need… I…"

He needed to hold one, that's what he needed. One would settle him. One would secure him in this mess of a reality they both found themselves in. Crowley staggered to his feet, "Fine. Eugh. Let's… Sort by memory…" Aziraphale's favourite memory. Aziraphale's favourite time. Crowley stumbled down a row of books himself. He passed Shakespeare, Wilde, Poe… All treasures to Aziraphale, but his favourite… Aziraphale's favourite era…

The time of discreet gentlemen's clubs. Of dances. Of calling cards and riding gloves. The Belle Epoque. The birth of invention. The first Great Exhibition at the Crystal Palace. A foreign prince introducing the Christmas tree. "The world was on the beginning of a promise," Aziraphale had told him in the Bentley ride on the way home from the burned church, "Before the Great War blew it all to bits. Oh, how I wished you had been there." Crowley tried to swallow the hurt that the angel's favourite time had been when he had been sleeping.

A time of innocence and botany and learning and dances and a century of springs and illustrations in watercolour…

He slid out a book from a shelf. Small enough to fit in a breast pocket. He held out The Tale of Jemima Puddleduck wordlessly. The angel's eyes widened and he seized it and held it to his chest.

"Thought you didn't like the ones with pictures?"

"She's different," Aziraphale retorted, "Miss Potter, you would have liked. It's not just pretty pictures, it's art and.. She knew about plants, and you would have liked her I think. Or at least her plants, and…" Aziraphale blearily blinked. Holding a book close to him seemed to soothe his anxiety, and he looked up at his demon, "What book should we read him first?"

"Book - who?"

"Adam! All the books in the world - what should be his first?"

Crowley couldn't help let out a mischievous laugh, "Thought perhaps you would think something from the Bible-"

"Oh, Crowley, do be serious,"Aziraphale let out a huff, "There's nothing in there of any interest… To a baby, at least. It's all so… just so…"

"Epic biblical proportions of buggery with some thou shalt not's and then some thou shall totally canneth?"

"That. I think. Anyway, I'd rather he hear all that when he's old enough to form his own thoughts on the matter. Now, I must have something." And the drunk angel rambled off in search of books befitting for the baby.

Crowley sighed and called out, "Can we get back to drinking now? Please? He's not even a day old!" but was met with no reply. He gave up and turned, returning to the basket, where he drew Adam out and into his arms and curled up on the lounge.

After awhile, a cry of "Ah ha!" was heard somewhere in the back of the shelves. Aziraphale returned, and sat on the floor before him, book and a newly opened bottle in hand. He took a large gulp of it first and handed it off to Crowley, who swiftly followed suit. Bloody finally.

"Found it," the angel said triumphantly.

"Perfect first book?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

"Zira, if it's not perfect enough, we can't do a redo. That'll be it. You can't have another first."

Aziraphale paused. He paused again. "Oh," he said, "You're teasing."

Crowley pressed his face at the back of Aziraphale's neck and chuckled, "Just a little."

He wanted to add that the angel's cologne was nice. Something lemony and a hint of spice floated on his tongue. That and the smell of crisp paper. Aziraphale was a parchment wrapped lemon bar, and his drunken mind told him he could easily take a bite. The small sober part buried under words of we're getting married and you're holding a baby and don't ruin what little good you have, idiot told him it would be a bad idea. And loathe he was to admit, drunken Crowley didn't always make the best decisions. To be fair, sober Crowley didn't always either, but at least he made more sense. Most of the time.

He opted to crane his neck over Aziraphale's shoulder, "So what've you got?

In spite of his state of being, Aziraphale's voice was rich and sonorous as he opened the little book before him, "Le Petit Prince."

"Being a bit literal?"

"Oh, hush. It's perfect. Just perfect."

Aziraphale turned to the first page and took a breath to begin.

But the demon interrupted him. "Are you still rubbish with French?"

Aziraphale let out a rush of air, "I do beg your pardon - and it's hardly my fault with their - their - conjugal -"

Crowley let out a snort, "Conjugations, angel!"

"Yes, I said that! The verbs! Terrible. Obviously the language of Hell."

"Oi," Crowley was affronted, "Don't blame us for French. It was Her that scattered all the languages at Babel."

"-And the gendering -" the angel was on a tangent now "I don't - I can never - the colour orange is masculine but the fruit is feminine! I don't understand!"

Crowley had a craving for orange now and he nestled the baby on the lounge in his blankets before he stood and staggered to rustle up something to eat. He entered the kitchen and awkwardly clambered on the counter to fetch the good chocolate. Aziraphale took particular care to hide from him anything worth having, but there was only so much one could do to hide the delicious cocoa from his nose. This delight specifically was behind a ceramic sugar pot on top of a cupboard, tucked in a false box labeled rat poison, as if the shop had ever had any real pest problem ever. He half fell back down with a thud and a stagger that was unbefitting to his reputation of being a cool and elegantly moving demon. He took the block, snapped off a piece and returned and flopped back to the couch, holding out the treat for Aziraphale to nibble on. The angel didn't even reprimand him as he leaned forward and took a bite from the slice of chocolate orange.

Crowley shoved the rest into his mouth, knowing Aziraphale wasn't sober enough to be horrified at how he had just gobbled up chocolate from his precious Prestat in Piccadilly without any care to savour and continued the conversation of continental language, "Gender is - Gender is anything anyway, angel. Words, colours, people. Why should language be any different? In the end, they all get a good oh holy yessss when they want."

"What… What d'you mean?" Aziraphale blinked, turning and his eyes meeting Crowley's dazedly.

"The big oooooooooooooooo."

Aziraphale hesitated, still confused, "Omega?"

Crowley threw up his hands as if he were a conductor igniting a crescendo from an orchestra, "Orgasm. Seeing the heavens. The stars. The climax and the epic bloody peak from which they cry out YES!"

This was met with silence.

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes, and he blinked as Crowley stared back. Humans may… but ethereal beings… that was taboo, wasn't it? Demons though were… Well, he'd known Crowley was a demon, but he'd never fully considered… his voice was the barest of whispers as he asked in fascination, "You've done that?"

"I mean... Not with others…" Crowley admitted, "The devil's tango I hear them calling that these days."

"But… but with your.. And you just…" Aziraphale weakly motioned towards nothing.

"Never once been even remotely curious about the capacities of these bodies, angel? I would think one as you would want to, well, indulge, even a little."

"But I'm an… an angel… It's… To… Onan-"

"We aren't meant to be populating the earth."

"I suppose…"

"Besides," Crowley snickered, "If we're doing the family thing and Raphael's in on this together, then .. The wife of your brother would be… Gabriel."

The sour look of disgust on the angel was nearly worth it, but his jerking to grab the bottle and drain it most decidedly wasn't.

"Hey!" he tried to snatch it back but Aziraphale was too quick, even for a drunk angel he was on his feet and finishing the last drops, "Now what are we gonna do?"

"As if that was the last of my reserves." Aziraphale shuddered, "Won't be a moment. Stay right there."

"And where would I go?"

"You're moving."

"'M not."

"...No? Oh. All right."

It was a couple minutes of work for Aziraphale, but he returned with two bottles this time, one for each of them.

Crowley grinned as they gently clinked tops, "Cheers."

"Salute."

"So then… Orgasms."

Aziraphale's cheeks began to pinken again and he said quite breathily, "I hardly think. I hardly think this is the proper conversation to be having right now." His hands moved to his cheeks. He was starting to get very warm.

Crowley took a sip from his bottle. Aziraphale took a swig. Perhaps more than he should at this point but the thought of Crowley making the effort to… and… what did it feel like…

A bang from outside the front shop door and suddenly the angel startled and scrambled up, grabbing the bottles.

"Wh- are you doing?" Crowley immediately tensed, as if the floor was going to swallow them up and take them down to the great abyss.

Aziraphale froze and listened, finally stopping when it had evidently only been a passing reveller and after a moment mumbled, "...Oh… False alarm."

"Wha?"

Aziraphale was a little embarrassed, "Well, I only thought - I thought Raphael was return- come - back!"

Crowley gestured around them, "What does that matter?"

Aziraphale answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "He's - an - He's an angel! I can't have an angel seeing - the drunkenness - !"

"Aziraphale," Crowley reminded, "You're an angel."

"Yes, but he's a good one!"

Crowley snorted, at once feeling protective of his beloved idiot and his voice came out with more bite than he'd intended, "You're a gooder one."

Aziraphale's heart fluttered, "Ohhh. Oh, really?"

"He smokes."

"Hmm. Yes. Those strange," Aziraphale searched for the right word, "Cigarillos he seems to favour."

Crowley fought a grin, "Say cigarillos again."

"...Cigarillos?"

Crowley giggled.

"What? What's funny?"

"Cigarillos. An' you."

"What are you talking about?"

Crowley waved his hand, "Don't worry, angel. Come. Drink and be merry." He patted the empty spot next to him.

Aziraphale obeyed, dropping beside him, "Now - now look. We must stop doing this. This is the last time. We can't keep drinking, at least not like this. Have to be… Have to be responsible. Else. Else. Well. We may as well just have Raphael take him and raise him with Gabriel."

Crowley pulled a face, "Bleh. That'd set anyone on to waging Armageddon."

In this particular state, Aziraphale closed his eyes and laughed uproariously. Crowley startled at the unexpected display of hilarity from his usually subdued angel, "Can you imagine?" Aziraphale kept asking, "Can you imagine? Bed time stories from Revelation?"

"Bleh."

The angel eventually eased and lent his head against Crowley's shoulder. Again, unexpected, and what came to Crowley's mind was of the ancient days of Egypt, where felines were revered to the point that Pharaohs would sooner snip off the sleeves of their fine linen robes when having to move, than to disturb a resting cat. Armageddon could crash around them and at this moment he wouldn't move, so long as his Aziraphale desired to sit by him.

There was a pause for a moment before Crowley asked quietly, "You ever just… think."

"Mm," Aziraphale replied, "An awful lot actually."

"Yer, but. No, listen. You ever just think. None o' this. 'f it hadn't been fer oysters?"

Aziraphale's brow creased in confusion as he tried to place the relevance of the subject with reality, "What?"

Crowley explained with a shrug of the shoulder not being used as a cheek rest, "Was your first temptation, 'ziraphale. In Rome. An' they were awfullllll."

"My temptation?" Aziraphale said, feeling quite provoked.

Crowley was on a role, "And the brioooooche. With crepes. And cream. Shall I list all of your temptations, alphabetically or categorically?"

The Principality felt he really had to explain himself, that it was the most important thing in the world, "My dear - now my dear fellow - I am an angel - we do not -"

But Crowley would not be argued with and he continued to tease, "Said it yourself, an' I followed."

Aziraphale took a long, deep breath trying to steady himself, feeling quite giddy and in all honesty exposed, "I'd had wine."

Crowley shook his head, "Not enough. You wanted to tempt. Fallen to the folly of... food."

The demon missed the absence of Aziraphale as he moved back from him, swallowing, rubbing his face, then quietly, "I wanted a friend."

His response was merciless, "Nahhhhhh. You wanted me."

Aziraphale's pulse began to race and he shifted nervously, his plea small, "No, Crowley, please don't."

Crowley's conscience pricked, and he gave a tight little nod before taking another drink of wine. And then he changed course, "So is that what it is then... Friendship..."

Aziraphale retorted, "Well, of course. A friend. And seeing as we were the only two that really… Understood one another. It only made sense. Didn't it?"

"Mmmm." Perfect sense. He had been drawn to him inexplicably and unexplainably since their first meeting before the Gate. Tethered to each other with a red thread of fate, like that old Chinese myth. How else could he explain how instinctive it had been to draw towards him when the first drops of rain had begun to fall? It had seemed so simple, so natural… It was only everything after that got them all tangled. Not for the first time the demon wondered what could have been possible had he not tempted Eve, had he just let the humans be and instead had approached the angel to… Foolish thoughts. He may as well wonder what existence would have been like had he not been Unnamed. A soft whisper in his thoughts - would we have found each other? Would it have mattered so much? Yes. He knew it would have. He knew every universe, every reality, it would always come back to them and their little dance. He knew it as surely as he knew the patterns of constellations he had conjured into being when he had been Good and She had loved him. Not that it made any of this better. If it were the case then he had not only damned himself to all of this, he had damned Aziraphale to a lifetime of uncertainty and loneliness too.

"...Think I'm too drunk for this." Aziraphale was the one to mumble, in spite of Crowley's head being the one all muddled.

Crowley let out a rush of air through his nose, "Weren't drunk when you jumped at the idea of a covenant."

Aziraphale countered quickly, "It's for the child." And you. Could he hear how fast this accursed heart thumped?

Crowley teased, "With ties that bind eterrrrrrnal."

Aziraphale huffed, trying to gain his own sort of footing, and so he said, "Also. I know what you did."

Crowley tried his best at innocence, "I do a lotta things. What did I do this time?"

"What you said. Name him Adam. After the first man you saved with your mercy. Oldest trick in the book, you wily serpent. You give something a name, you get attached to it."

Crowley tried to hide his smile but the best he could do was turn it into a smirk, "Well, I didn't expect you to drag me into marriage!"

Marriage.

But now that they were both drunk and very alone in their little universe of books and wine and memories - so many memories - the word weighed heavily between them.

Aziraphale's hand found Crowley's and he twined their fingers together, "Dear," there was a moment of silence that spanned both seconds and centuries, "...If... If you really don't want-"

"No, I didn't mean-"

Aziraphale continued, his grasp tightening, "It's a lot to ask of you, and-"

Crowley let out a dark laugh. "And nurturing that to be like his father wasn't?"

"I'd understand if you-"

"Rarrghhh!" Crowley's frustrated cry succeeded in startling the angel into silence, "Yes, Aziraphale, I'm fine with marrying you, I just didn't know it would be shotgun- err, staff and chains? Whatever Raphael is wielding these days!"

And of all the things his blasted, beloved angel could think of to say in reply after he stared a breath at Crowley in wonder, "Actually his staff becomes the-"

Crowley thumped his near empty bottle down on the ground beside him, "Shut up! Shut up, you proposed and I've said yes! No takesie backsies!"

Aziraphale's arms wrapped around Crowley's and he squashed his face against the sleeve of his blazer, murmuring giddily, "Alright. Okay. Mmm."

"Mm. Good. Now that's settled. You haven't yet held our son."

Aziraphale's face flicked up, his voice breathily, "Our son?"

"Yes," Crowley said simply and turned behind him, crooning softly (oh, that made Aziraphale's insides all ache, 6000 years and a new sound from him and it's tender) as he gathered the precious bundle in his arms. He moved to Aziraphale, and noticed the way the angel froze a little. Shame filled the angel, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He had never hesitated in a living being before, had always seen Her grace in everything.

"Hmm," Crowley said mischievously, "Changed my mind. We're calling him Vlad."

Aziraphale's eyes snapped open, "What? No!"

Crowley gave a soft sigh, "Oh, the sweet little impaler."

"Crowley - for - give me Adam!" Aziraphale snapped crossly.

Crowley feigned confusion, "What? It's literary, isn' it?"

"So is Adam!" Aziraphale held out his arms, "Now. Now give him to me."

Crowley did as he was asked, gently passing the baby into the arms of an angel. Aziraphale's eyes held apprehension and… And need. Crowley's eyes were soft, and he gently brushed his arm.

Aziraphale looked down at the baby.

He hesitantly asked, "...Is he inherently...?"

"Evil? Not really. He's... he's a baby. Still open to the influences around him."

There was silence before a quiet, hushed, "Hello there, Adam." He ran a finger along what little soft hair sprouted from his head. For being the Antichrist he certainly didn't look very... Though that was the idea, wasn't it. But… But he was just a baby. A child. And all children were born innocent. Even this one. It was odd, really. He'd held the Son once too. When He was only a few days old. Aziraphale remembered the wonder of a human made from God but this time without the dust of creation. An actual blood and flesh being that would grow and age and learn and know what it truly meant to be human. He wondered what sort of things He'd go through with a mortal life. Would He like games, have a favourite food, find a favoured profession? And what of the emotions? Would He ever be afraid? Sad? Would He know love in the way humans do?

Looking at the babe in his arms now, it sunk down in his very soul that he saw little difference between the two, and the thought intrigued and terrified him at his core as to what that could mean.

Crowley snapped him back to the present with a thoughtful look, "Oddly suits him, the name. He looks like one."

"He does." Aziraphale conceded.

Crowley scratched at his chin, cleared his throat, "...So... Mother... You sure about it?"

"Should I not?"

"No. No. Not that... Just never... You've never seemed interested before."

"I have done it when the occasion has called for it. Much easier for a woman to enter a convent than a man, you know."

Crowley plucked a bit of lint at his jacket, "Right, right… What'd you think of it?"

"Neither here nor there on my feelings, really... I must say though their form has a more aesthetically attractive quality to me. Men are-"

"Cocks jutting out like bloody lances with shrivelled figs."

Aziraphale sniffed, "If we must be vulgar about it."

Crowley swished the contents of his bottle, "Testosterone is one thing, male dominance and marking territory- Thank somebody the human men don't do that- but... yeah. Yeah. They're... softer."

"And the breasts. The bosom to hold a child to... it's endearing."

"Woman doesn't need-"

"You know what I mean."

"Mmmmm."

They sat in a nice, comfortable silence for awhile, as Aziraphale began to rock Adam gently. "I love him already. I know you think it doesn't count because I'm an angel and meant to love everything, but there is a distinction between loving.." he turned to his demon, their eyes meeting, "And love."

Crowley realised he hadn't replied after a while. "Never said it doesn't count, angel."

Aziraphale sniffed, "Yes, yes you have."

"When?"

One arm gesturing, "Bordeaux. During. Something. Involved. A blessing or… Anyway. I loved the.. little... The pastry… With the blackberry jam.. The... And you said it didn't count because-"

"Yeah, because you love all food!"

The angel let out a tart. "Not true. Carob is the devil."

Crowley chuckled, "Not my fault. She was the one thought it was funny. Like the zebra looking thing."

"Okapi."

"Ble- Err. Gesundheit."

Aziraphale cuddled against him, their son now in both their arms, and then let out an "Ohhh. I was starting to read to him." He picked up the book again, and nuzzling the demon, he turned to the first page, and in his best (atrocious, but Crowley wouldn't say anything) French, "Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing…"

"Aziraphale."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe we should read to him when he's a bit more… able to understand?"

"But-"

"He's also asleep." Crowley nodded at the bundle.

"...Oh. He is, isn't he."

"Just born, been alive some," Crowley checked his watch, "Eight odd hours."

"Eight hours, ohhhh," the angel breathed, "Oh Crowley. Crowley," he tugged at the demon, "Oh, Crowley, it's his birthday. Oh, Crowley, it's his birthday, we need to get him a present."

"Noooooo. Tha' only starts on their first birthday."

Aziraphale blinked and tried to calculate, "But it is his first birthday."

"No, his first birthday s'when he turns one."

Aziraphale counted on his fingers, "But that's his second birthday."

"'Ziraphale, stop iiiiiiiit," Crowley begged.

"But we should do something still.."

"You just want cake," Crowley very wisely stated, making his angel burst into a fit of giggles.

"There must be cake at birthdays." Aziraphale said around a yawn.

"Tired, angel?"

"Mm. Armageddon. Alcohol…. Adam."

"Take a nap. They're glorious things for avoiding problems a few hours."

"Certain? I could-"

"Naaah." Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale and let him sleepily sigh into his coat, "Rest."

The three curled together on the lounge, angel and demon wrapped up around their mortal son. Aziraphale softly yawned again, contentedly sighed as his cheek pressed further into Crowley's chest. He didn't smell of the brimstone that tended to cling to him after meetings with other demons. Instead he had the aroma of a well used fireplace, woody and the distinct hint of charcoal. It reminded Aziraphale of late nights between them, spent discussing whatever their hearts fancied.

Home was one of Aziraphale's final thoughts before giving in to the exceedingly large amount of alcohol he had consumed. Home… family… Our family…

Crowley tucked the sleeping Angel's crop of golden, feathery hair under his chin. For the moment, everything was finally calm. No end of the world to worry about, no Archangels to chide him for his so called evil deeds, no Dagon on the radio threatening him. Just his angel and their newly born boy.

He couldn't even help but smile as Aziraphale began to softly glow as his breathing evened, so full of love and light and purity was his angel. Such goodness and now they were going to be circling each other far more than they had through all of time. Aziraphale bloomed brighter still as he slept, and Crowley vaguely wondered just what part of it all had made him so happy.

But the radiance of it didn't stop. It became stronger and brighter… brighter still… too bright!

Crowley swept Adam from the sleeping atomic luminous and jolted forward, shielding the babe in his jacket. Not enough, he could feel the start of blistering at his skin. Black wings unfurled as he wrapped them both, kneeling down, the holy light so strong he felt a few feather tips curl at the intensity. He crooned to Adam as the whole scene disturbed his nap, "It's all right, boy. We're fine. We're only about to maybe be devoured by holy, holy, holy. It's fine."

But as quick as it started the light was gone. Crowley blinked as his eyes adjusted back to the dim lighting of the room. He tensed, waiting for anything else that might occur and discorporate his form but… nothing. He stood up and moved a wing, peaked through a few smouldering feathers, and gaped.

Aziraphale was… he was….

She was…

Still asleep. Still utterly passed out but now. Now.

Aziraphale wasn't going to be pleased. The coat no longer fit… nothing fit the way it had before. She was shorter, smaller than her form as Mr. Fell ever was. She still held those lovely curves but everything had shifted. Shoes sitting loose around tinier feet. Hair even wilder looking now on this form with the tips like she was now some Victorian rocker. Crowley liked it.

He held Adam tightly, now calm and falling back asleep in his arms. Crowley pulled his wings back in, looked between sleeping angel and sleeping child.

"Your mother is certainly a wonder, boy."