Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been nearly four hours since Aziraphale first attempted to make contact with mission control. Nothing but static answered his requests for assistance.

Space was unimaginably vast and he was very much alone and adrift, somewhere far from home. He was trying so hard not to panic. It was a losing battle. Aziraphale had always had an anxious disposition.

"Mission Control, this is Guardian One. I have come out of hypersleep early if my calculations are correct. Please respond."

He was waiting for a transmission that might never come. That was the problem. It wasn't like he hadn’t known the risks. Only a few years had passed for Aziraphale, but that equated to nearly a century on earth. A lack of response could be as simple as a malfunction in the comms equipment, or the Guardian program could have gone bankrupt or even been scrapped. When everyone who knew you personally was surely dead, it wasn't hard to think you might have been forgotten. Truthfully, he had often been overlooked back when he had still been physically present.

Of course there were worse possibilities. Extinction-level natural disasters. Or the entire human race could have epically self-destructed. He could very well be the last human left alive. Not that he would stay that way for long if there was no one left to help him.

"Please," he whispered as the tears he had been trying to hold off finally started to fall.

"Fuck!" The word crackled over the speakers, harsh and unexpected.

Shocked out of his despair spiral, Aziraphale blinked repeatedly, uncertain of how to respond.

"Bloody fucking shite! I am so sorry! Fuck me sideways, that was… hngh."

Aziraphale had spent a fair amount of time working in control rooms before he was co-opted into his current predicament. Swearing wasn't uncommon on the best days, but it was rarely broadcast. Still, the sound of another human voice was such a relief, he could hardly bring himself to care. "Are you alright, mission control?"

"Yeah. Probably. Maybe. Gods, that hurt. Found a short in one of the control panels. Got more than the recommended daily dose of electricity, didn't I?"

Aziraphale’s first instinct was to ask if there was anything he could do to help, but given his current location, he squashed it. He still had problems of his own.

"But enough about me. You're alive! I mean, uh, of course you are. But it’s nice to have confirmation."

A laugh he couldn’t quite suppress bubbled up in Aziraphale, though he was fully aware it was bordering on hysterical. He had felt too many big emotions too quickly to be in a particularly healthy state of mind. The voice reaching out to him through the darkness was full of excitement. Even as he was cursing in pain, the joy was still evident. To have some sort of connection… to know someone cared at all, no matter the reason, was exhilarating. "For now," Aziraphale said lightly, enjoying the moment even though he was still aware he was in some amount of peril.

"And it's my job to keep you that way. Give me a few minutes, I need to get everything booted up to receive diagnostic logs." 

Though he had expected the connection to cut, the sound of clanks and thunking and a few distant murmurs that sounded suspiciously like curses drifted through the speakers.

"Can I ask your name?" Aziraphale finally ventured. It should have been part of the initial transmission if they had been going strictly by the book, but nothing about this particular call was standard.

"Anthony Crowley. But… uh, don't call me Anthony. Just Crowley, if you don’t mind."

Back in his day, everyone working for the Guardian project had a doctorate and they wouldn't let anyone forget it. Either the standards had changed or this Crowley was unique. "Well met, Crowley. I'm Aziraphale Fell."

"Don't I know it!" There was another set of banging noises before a low hum stirred to life filling the background of the transmission. "The great A. Z. Fell. Had your poster on my wall when I was a kid."

Wasn't that unexpected. Aziraphale blushed and tried to fight the urge to distance himself from the whole situation. He had never wanted to be a promotional tool, though he had known it would be unavoidable. "Not so great as all that," he said softly. "I haven't really done anything."

"Besides traveling further than any other human ever. And being brave enough to try it in the first place."

He had been terrified every step of the way. They had threatened to sedate him if he stalled any longer. Too much was riding on the project to delay it for his nerves. Aziraphale nearly quit on the spot, but he didn't have anything else to live for really. "Well," he said, trying not to feel morose, "I slept through most of it."

"Even better! All the glory with very little effort."

Aziraphale smiled despite himself. It was hard to know if Crowley was naturally a cheerful optimist or if this was his controller persona to keep his astronauts calm in stressful situations.

"Alright. It’s up and running. Start transmitting. We're running a skeleton crew right now but I've already sent out the call for analysts so we can start digging through your data and figure out why you were pulled out of stasis."

"Sending now." Aziraphale's fingers danced over the console in front of him and he let out a sigh of relief. There were still people looking out for him. A whole team even. There was reason to hope.

"Receiving," Crowley confirmed. "I'm assuming the lack of screaming alarms in the background means you're not in any immediate danger."

The next few minutes were filled with an easy back and forth of checks and verifications until both men were satisfied that there wasn't an imminent threat. As it wound down, Aziraphale braced himself for the impending loneliness. Crowley would need to brief the rest of the team and coordinate their efforts. A skeleton crew made sense for a project that had run with little to no data to review for the last hundred-ish years. But then the controller surprised him.

"I can play something for you, while I'm away. If you'd like." Crowley's voice sounded almost hesitant now. When he didn't get an immediate response he rambled on. "Music, I mean. Nothing modern, since this is being recorded, but I could do something classical if you'd like."

Aziraphale had agreed. The sound of piano music mingled with the low hum of running machines, nearly drowning out the sound of Crowley leaving the control room.

Floating through space, Aziraphale was alone and he was lonely, but he was listening to the evidence that somewhere on Earth, someone was looking out for him. Beyond all reason, a person he had never met seemed to genuinely care.

Chapter Text

As soon as the door closed to the glorified supply closet that Crowley had commandeered as his command hub, he made a fist and bit down on the side of it. He was on the edge of a full blown panic attack and he honestly didn't have the time or mental energy to spare.

Aziraphale was alive! Crowley wanted to hunt down everyone who had tried to discourage him for the past twenty odd years and rub their smug fucking faces in it. Except he couldn't. Everything was balanced on such a thin bloody wire right now. He needed to play this game carefully if he wanted to have any chance of getting Guardian One and its sole occupant home safely.

Time was of the essence. Despite what he had said over the coms, there was no team. There was only Crowley and he had thrown away a very promising career to chase this one tiny thread of a possibility because no one else seemed to give a damn. He was shaking and felt faint, but Aziraphale was waiting on him.

Punchy as hell, but determined, Crowley pushed away from the door and headed towards one of the labs where they stored the diagnostic equipment, detouring just long enough to fill up an exceptionally large travel mug with coffee. It was already the middle of the night and odds were against him getting back to sleep any time soon.

Several hours had passed by the time Crowley managed to slip back into his work room. Before speaking he double checked that the interaction was being recorded locally, then he stopped the music and cleared his throat.

“This is Crowley from mission control calling Guardian One. You still with me, Aziraphale?”

There was a pause long enough for him to start worrying that maybe he had imagined their whole first interaction. There were enough rumors already that he was flirting with the edge of sanity and he knew his focus on the project everyone else had abandoned bordered on obsessive. It would be a real shame if he proved all the haters right and went stark raving mad.

“I’m here!” Aziraphale called, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Just running inventory.”

“Excellent!” Crowley knew he sounded like an overenthusiastic puppy but he couldn’t help himself. He was talking to a person he idolized and who he had, in a way, devoted his life to locating and returning home alive. It was like meeting your hero except if your hero was a mythological creature who no one else believed actually existed. “Always good to be prepared.”

“Well. Best to keep busy. Otherwise I’d have nothing to do but fret.”

Before he dug his heels in and committed to the Guardian project, Crowley had run control rooms for active missions. He’d been very good at it, if a bit unorthodox. It was one of many reasons why upper management had worked so hard to dissuade him from his devotion to something that wasn’t seen as a value to the company. Experience told him this was one of those moments when he needed to get things just right. “Aziraphale, there’s no need to fret. It’s my job to get you home safe and I am very good at my job.”

Aziraphale snorted. “And humble, too.”

“Obviously. I’ve run more than a hundred and fifty manned missions and I haven’t lost anyone yet. I won’t let you break my streak. Understand, angel?” Crowley nearly bit his tongue off. He’d been focusing on finding the right reassurances and the endearment that was supposed to stay locked up in his own thoughts slipped out. The only thing keeping him from slamming his head into the panels on the table in front of him was the fact that he didn’t dare interact with the control board that had shocked the daylights out of him when he answered the initial hail.

The silence that followed was a clear indication that Aziraphale had caught the slip up.

Crowley could only hope he would assume it was based on the name of the project. “Do you trust me, Aziraphale?” he asked solemnly, praying he hadn’t messed up and they could still set a foundation to build off of going forward.

“Yes…yes, I rather think I do.” He sounded thoughtful.

“Good. Now I get to prove to you that your trust is well placed. We have preliminary results from the diagnostics. It’s not bad news, but obviously it’s a slight deviation from the original plan, so it’s not exactly good news.”

“Well, I’ll set my expectations firmly in the middle ground then.”

“Perfect. I want to preface this by saying that everything is well within expectations. What’s happening right now was identified as a possibility while the program was still in its infancy, so this particular hiccup was already planned for and is, in fact, why you were brought out of stasis.”

“So there’s something I need to do on my end.” Aziraphale suddenly sounded tired.

“You’re doing it right now, talking to me so we can stay on top of things.” This was one of the hardest parts, trying to judge second by second what the person on the other end of the line needed without actually being able to see them. To make them believe even though they weren’t able to see the look in your eye as you made them promises you would go to Hell and back to keep. “Your ship is slowing down. There doesn’t appear to be any catastrophic or specific failures, it’s just reaching the upper end of what it was designed to handle. All current projections show you’re still close enough to the designated path to hit the desired return window, you’re just a little behind schedule.”

“Alright, not exactly bad news. As promised.”

“Exactly. You were woken up so we could keep an eye on things. That’s going to keep happening over the next few… well, it’ll probably be about a year for me, but you’ll be in and out of hypersleep, so it’ll run differently for you.”

“Right. Well…I suppose. What’s our next step?”

“I’ve already uploaded the parameters to trigger the next wake cycle so we can check your progress over time. At this point there’s nothing else we need to do.” Crowley didn’t want to lose the connection. Not yet. Not after all this time. “We could sign off at this point. Or, we can talk for a bit, if you’d like.”

“Talk?” Aziraphale’s voice was uncertain but maybe just a little hopeful.

“Well, I don’t know about you…” Crowley took a chance and let his tone turn teasing, “but I’m sort of married to my job at the moment. Not a lot else going on in my life. Might be nice to chat with a co-worker at the end of the day before I drag myself home and surrender to sleep.”

“What time is it there now?” Aziraphale asked suddenly.

“Time is a concept really, and honestly, hardly worth bothering about. I would think you might understand that better than most of us given your current state of existence.” He hoped he sounded suave as he attempted to deflect.

“You’re avoiding the question.” Aziraphale sounded amused and it warmed something in Crowley. “Is it safe to assume you earned a fair amount of overtime due to my unscheduled check in?”

“Ha! No, I’m good at my job but I also have a penchant for pissing off management. Overtime is for the good little workers who can negotiate decent contracts. I’m relegated to salaried work, but I only have myself to blame.” It was maybe a little too honest, but Crowley wanted so badly for them both to know each other. Where he could, he wanted to be as truthful as possible.

“I was wondering how you ended up stuck on this project.”

“I begged to be part of the Guardian project. It was actually one of the points of contention with management.” Too honest again. He should have known better than to do this when he was so exhausted.

“You begged to be added to the project that has been all but dormant since before you were born?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yeah, but we’re close to the finish line now. This is where it gets exciting,” Crowley insisted.

“And how long have you been on this particular project?”

Crowley wondered if something in his voice was giving him away. He wasn’t used to people reading him so easily, but Aziraphale seemed to have a knack for cutting right to the heart of what he wasn’t saying at every turn. “That’s a complicated question,” he hedged.

“Luckily for you, I have absolutely nowhere else to be right now. There’s plenty of time for a complicated answer.”

Crowley sighed heavily but it was mostly for theatrics. He reminded himself that Aziraphale needed him right where he was. This was maybe the one person in existence who could both truly understand what Crowley's job was and who wouldn't have cause to be judgmental about the path he had chosen to follow. "Alright. Context then, but remember you asked for this."

Chapter Text

The soft sound of snoring thrummed over the open line from mission control. Aziraphale knew he should probably try to rouse Crowley, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the man.

For hours, Crowley had told him stories about his life and the way he had been enthralled with Guardian One ever since he found some of the original designs and project files in his grandparent’s attic as a child. He kept up a running string of anecdotes about his time in university, detouring to tell ridiculous tales of mischief and misconduct that Aziraphale hoped he was playing up for humorous effect. But he always brought the narrative back to his focus on the Guardian project and how he pursued it relentlessly until his professors were all but sick of how predictable he was when choosing topics for papers, research, and further study.

His approach mellowed by the time he entered the job market, but only long enough to build up a good reputation to get him through the right doors to gain access to the only project he ever really cared about.

There were more hijinks as he started building his name in the field, but Aziraphale was beginning to sense a theme. Crowley would fight tooth and nail for what he thought was right. He would buck the rules and ignore regulations if it meant getting his astronauts home safe. His greatest achievements were often celebrated by his employers publicly while he was dressed down behind closed doors for the methods he used to accomplish them.

Crowley’s voice had gone soft and slightly muffled by the time he got to the point in the narrative where he had joined Eden’s Gate, the parent company that had funded Guardian One. By the time he finally admitted he had been the lead on the project for nine years, he was yawning regularly. It was while trying and failing to explain the recent improvements he had been working on for data analysis processing that his words trailed off and shortly after, his breathing evened out into the sounds of sleep.

The kind thing to do would be to wake him up. Crowley should have gone home hours ago. There was just something about the sound of another person, this man in particular, who had inexplicably devoted his life to Aziraphale’s project, that had him mesmerized. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but Aziraphale could read between the lines. If it weren’t for Crowley’s tireless interest in Guardian One, it was very possible that his transmissions would not have been noticed until much closer to his expected arrival date, if at all.

It wasn’t until Aziraphale startled awake from his own doze that he finally caved and called out to Crowley. “Terribly sorry, my dear,” he began, speaking louder than normal. “It seems I dozed off.” He stretched and yawned and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the sounds of stirring coming from the speakers.

“Yeah. Right. I should uh…” Crowley’s voice was rough from sleep and there was a faint sound of shuffling papers in the background. “Need to check in with the team. Lots to do.”

“Oh dear. I do hope you’ll get the chance to rest soon.”

“No rest for the wicked, Aziraphale.” He was awake enough to be cocky again. It almost sounded like he might be flirting.

Aziraphale nearly left it at that, but he couldn’t help the wave of concern that he felt, especially after all that Crowley had done for him already. “Please, Crowley. Take care of yourself,” he said solemnly. Then, because he suspected extra motivation might be necessary for his request to be heeded, he added, “I’m counting on you.”

“Yep. I will…do that.” Crowley seemed to stumble over the words a bit and he coughed before dropping back into his work persona. “Return to stasis, the ship will automatically ramp back up to light speed. Barring any other developments, the next time you wake up, three months will have passed down here.”

“And we’ll speak again.” Aziraphale said it like a promise.

Crowley’s voice was whisper soft as he responded, “Looking forward to it.”.

“So am I.”

Reaching out and cutting the transmission was one of the hardest things Aziraphale had ever done. It was a struggle not to feel totally isolated as he made the final preparations to return to hypersleep.

His only solace was knowing that he wasn’t abandoned or forgotten. Someone was looking out for him. Someone cared. Crowley would be waiting for him the next time he woke up.

Chapter Text

Protocol dictated that Crowley should be making contact with all sorts of people to alert them to the change in mission status. His instincts insisted that was the worst possible course of action he could take. 

The Guardian project’s ultimate goal had been finding inhabitable planets and proving travel to them was a realistic possibility. An unmanned mission could return data just fine, but it left the question of human transport wholy unexplored. Doing both the data gathering and the proof of human viability at the same time was deemed the most efficient option. Things started going sideways about the time the ship was scheduled to begin the return journey. Advancements on Earth were able to rule the chosen planet out as a candidate for habitation. The information that had been gathered would be scientifically interesting, but was no longer aligned with the core mission that Eden’s Gate wanted to achieve.

Beyond that, there had also been a noticeable disregard around Guardian One when Crowley had joined the company. The low level employee who had supposedly been overseeing it hadn’t even realized it was assigned to her when Crowley had first started making inquiries.

Over the years, he made a point to dig through the archives, first out of curiosity, then out of growing concern. The searching hadn’t turned up actionable proof of any nefarious plots, but there were callously worded internal memos that implied mission success wasn’t a priority. Not to mention several troubling gaps in the records that might indicate things had been obfuscated or destroyed.

All together, it was more than enough to leave Crowley worried and paranoid. When lives were on the line, and he very much suspected that Aziraphale’s was, he would go with his gut, every time. Currently, his gut was telling him to keep the status change to himself.

“Wild night?”

Even though Crowley recognized the voice, it still startled him from a thoughtful daze and he jerked, barely avoiding spilling his coffee. “Wear a bell or something,” he hissed as he turned to face his accuser.

Anathema looked pleased with herself, swishing her long skirt as she nudged past him to gain access to the coffee machine he had been blocking. “Please tell me you went home with someone last night and that’s why you’re looking exhausted and rumpled in yesterday’s clothes.”

“None of your business,” Crowley muttered as he glared at her and took a big gulp of his drink, discovering too late that it was still too hot to be swallowed comfortably.

She sighed heavily and narrowed her eyes at him. “If there was a hot guy involved, you would have told me. You slept in your office again, didn’t you?”

“How’s the outreach program going?” He countered, knowing it would send the appropriate message regarding topics one might prefer not to discuss. They had known each other for years, moving in a lot of the same circles, and eventually even discovering they were distantly related, though their two family branches had lost touch generations back.

“It’s all been quite lovely,” Anathema answered, but her smile was a bit too sharp and her eyes blazed fiercely. It was really the only acceptable way to answer that type of question when they were standing in a breakroom and might easily be overheard. “I don’t think I’ve shown you my office. It’s very nice, I’ll give you the tour.”

“Oh, that’s okay, really,” Crowley tried to backpedal. It wasn’t just that he had other things on his mind and no interest in seeing the space he already knew would be significantly larger than his control room. If Anathema got him cornered, she was bound to pester him about taking better care of himself.

“It’ll be fun,” she insisted as she linked their arms and practically dragged him towards the office she had been given.

There were several raised eyebrows from other employees as they passed through the halls. Being sequestered on the Guardian project alone for so long had made him a pariah in the company, as if his single-minded obsession might be contagious. Of course, his prickly demeanor might not have helped either.

“That little display might start some gossip,” he muttered as he was finally released from her hold as the office door shut behind them. He had been right about the space. The office was huge and expensively decorated, including a seating area with two large beige chairs and a matching couch.

“Let them gossip. At least following up on rumors would give me something interesting to do around here.” She stomped over and collapsed dramatically into one of the fancy chairs. “They think if they give me a lavish office and talk nicely at me that I won’t raise a fuss about the fact they’re hardly fulfilling the terms of the agreement they pushed for.”

Strictly speaking, Anathema didn’t actually work for Eden’s Gate. Technically she worked for their oldest competitor, Portent, but there had been interest lately in seeing if the two companies might be able to work together on some joint projects. The outreach program that Anathema was chosen to helm was supposed to test the waters to see if cooperation was possible.

With a groan, she sat up again and focused intently on Crowley. “How’s your thing going? It’s getting close, right?”

“If you call sometime in the next 10 to 20 months close, sure.” He kept his tone casual, hoping desperately to divert her.

“Well…” She looked over his rumpled attire pointedly, like she was considering if she should press him further or be merciful. “Do you have anything my team could work on? At this point they’re so bored I know for a fact they’ve started plotting mischief and it’s only a matter of time before they decide to enact it.”

Crowley’s first instinct was to say no. Unfortunately, it had been made abundantly clear over the years that he was the lowest priority at Eden’s Gate. Any assistance he requested, when it wasn’t outright denied, was so late in manifesting that he had eventually resorted to keeping his mouth shut and doing it himself. Anathema’s offer, on the other hand, he knew was genuine, and he was able to admit there were some areas where his skill sets were lacking. “Any of them certified to work on the electronics in communications control boards?”

“Pepper Moonchild,” Anathema answered without hesitation. “Obviously, she doesn’t have experience or training on your company's state of the art systems, but you’re not working on the newer systems, are you?”

Crowley would have laughed if he wasn’t so bitter about that. “My stuff is at least as old as she is. Her level of experience should be fine.” Then to clarify why he’d asked, he added, “I was running safety checks last night and got shocked so badly I’m pretty sure I can taste sounds now.”

There was a long moment where Anathema just studied him as if she were trying to sort something out. He did his best not to fidget under her gaze and hoped he was managing to project nonchalance.

Eventually, she bounced to her feet and moved to her computer. “I’ll shoot her a message and have her meet you at your lair.”

“Appreciated.” Crowley gave a little salute and turned to leave, letting out the tiniest sigh of relief.

“You know I’m here, if you need anything?” Anathema asked before he managed to open the door. Something about her tone of voice suggested her words had extra weight.

“Sure,” he responded, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Yep. Thanks.” Then he all but fled.

“What do you prefer to be called?” Crowley asked as he approached the young woman leaning against the wall, waiting for him outside of his office.

“Pepper’s fine, Dr. Crowley,” she answered easily, but there was something defiant in the way she said his name. She had a riot of untamed dark hair and she wore a green Eden’s Gate collared shirt under overalls with a full tool belt around her waist.

“Crowley’s fine,” he muttered as he punched in a security code and stood still for a facial scan. “I need to check the room first. Wasn’t expecting company. I need to make sure nothing confidential is out.”

“I wasn’t aware anything about your project warranted restricted access,” she said, all exaggerated innocence.

The glare he leveled on her seemed to clearly express he was not the one and this was not the day because she ducked her head in acknowledgement. “I also consult on other projects,” he grumbled before he slipped inside and let the door shut behind him.

Truthfully, it had been awhile since he’d worked on anything else. Turns out if you were enough of a pain in the ass, people only came to you if they were really desperate. Not that Crowley had ever set out specifically to be difficult to work with, but he wouldn’t put up with people thinking they could treat him as inferior. Just because he was assigned to the least desirable project in the company didn’t mean he deserved to be treated with disdain. The minute someone showed they lacked basic respect for him, Crowley became a nightmare to work with. Never anything blatant–his work was always impeccable–but he had a wicked imagination and a knack for getting under people's skin.

At the moment, he wanted to be sure there was no evidence of the contact he had made with Guardian One before he let anyone in. He did a thorough check of the room verifying that his recordings and the data he had received were all locked away before he popped open the door to grant her access.

It was surprising how difficult it was to let someone else into a space where he had been the sole occupant for so long. “Got shocked to hell when I was checking the functionality on this section,” he said as he pointed to the offending equipment.

Pepper nodded and dropped to the ground, shimmying underneath and pulling out a screwdriver so she could remove the back panels.

“Yikes,” she called a few moments later. “Must have had some real cowboys mucking around in here.”

When her statement was met with silence, she twisted sideways and peeked up at him. He scowled at her before returning his attention to the computer screen.

“Ohhh,” she said in amusement, a smirk on her face. “You’re the cowboy.”

“Shut it,” Crowley grumbled, but there wasn’t any bite to it. He was well aware that barely functional was the best he could hope for with electrical work when left to his own devices.

“I’m sure you have many other talents,” she called happily as she continued her assessment.

“Can you fix it?” He tried hard not to snap at her in annoyance. She was doing him a favor, after all.

“Cranky,” she scolded. Obviously he hadn’t restrained himself very well. “You’re in luck. In an attempt to make it appear like Eden’s Gate is acting in good faith, they’ve let the Portent team have free reign over a mountain of equipment. It’s all ancient and outdated by the standards of every active project in the company, with one single exception.”

“How long will it take?” Crowley tried to keep his tone nonchalant, pushing down the anxiety that he was actually feeling. Realistically, he shouldn’t hear back from Aziraphale for months, but he couldn’t shake the worry that something could go wrong at any moment.

“Let me check the rest of these. As long as I’m upgrading one, we might as well update the whole lot.”

In the end, Crowley asked for an informal proposal for the work. Pepper hadn’t exactly been thrilled that he was questioning her judgment, but she had walked him through it anyway to put his mind at ease. He agreed to the plan and she forwarded a list of tools and supplies to the rest of her team.

They had been discussing the expected timeframe for the repairs when someone rapped on the door.

“That’ll be the mail,” Pepper told him, jerking her head towards the noise.

It was, in fact, a mail cart being pushed by two young men that he recognized as part of Anathema’s group of Portent employees.

“That’s Adam and Brian,” Pepper told him, pointing at the man with light, curly hair first and the taller, darker haired one second. They were also decked out in Eden’s Gate branded shirts, almost as if they were making a conscious effort to blend in.

That was all the preamble he got before they started pulling boxes off the bottom of the cart and shoving them into his office. Initially he suspected that they had just commandeered the cart for the ease of transport, but then noticed there was actual mail sorted on the top, waiting to be delivered.

“Mail delivery?” He asked as Adam hefted the last box and Brain stepped up behind the cart.

“It’s a menial job no one wants to do and it’s a good way to learn the layout of the facility,” he said with a shrug as he moved off down the hall.

There were implications in that statement. Someone dropping off mail could go just about anywhere without raising suspicions. It was the sort of task Crowley would gravitate towards if he were stuck with their lot, bored and frustrated at a job that wasn’t panning out. He found himself feeling grateful that they were in no way his responsibility.

All of the new additions underscored how small the interior of his workspace actually was. With the extra equipment and tools, there was hardly room for the three of them to move without stepping on each other. Crowley retreated to the back corner, tucked into his desk and watched them sort parts.

“Is there any tracking on this stuff?” he asked after a few minutes, trying not to let concern gnaw at him. “Any chance someone doing audits a few months from now is going to start asking questions?”

“Nah.” Adam didn’t even look up from where he was organizing cables by length and pairing them up with their corresponding components. “We found the paperwork. It was all slated for disposal before they reallocated it to our lab just in time for the start of the outreach.”

Electrical work may not have been his specialty, but Crowley knew equipment and he knew the stuff spread around his floor was far newer that what he had been using. “I've been down here jerry-rigging rebuilt parts for years and we’re just throwing out functional versions that are generations improved.” It was hard not to be bitter. It wasn’t like he hadn’t put in requests for upgrades. He sent paperwork up the chain a couple times a year but had gotten used to it being ignored.

Pepper made a noise of contention before she spoke. “For the record, it’s functional now. It wasn’t all in that state when it was given to us. I have been very bored.”

Adam glanced up, cocking his head as he met Crowley’s eyes. “You obviously need this stuff. Why are you so worried about a paper trail? Taking what is necessary to get the job done and damn the consequences is much more your speed.”

“You don’t know me.” It came out more irritated than Crowley had intended. Really, he just didn’t want to explain that he was trying to avoid any undue attention on his project for as long as possible.

With the audacity of youth, Adam actually scoffed at him. “You say that like we didn’t grow up on your greatest hits at Uni.”

That felt like a trap. “No one teaches me,” Crowley said. “My methods are actively discouraged in academic settings.” More than once he endured lectures about how he was ruining his own reputation in the industry.

It was Pepper’s turn to smirk at him. “Just because your missions aren’t taught doesn’t mean they aren’t studied.”

The assertion caught him completely off guard. Did these people–he struggled not to think of them as kids, even though they were probably in their late twenties–look up to him? Had they admired him when he was in his prime? And what did they think now that he’d spent nine years stalled on a program that everyone considered a career ender? He shook his head and decided to answer Adam's original question about his concerns regarding a paper trail. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is keep your head down. Burning bridges can’t be the default answer to every problem.”

As promised, Pepper did good work. The consoles were in much better shape when she finished with them and they were all tested and found to be fully functional. Crowley had to fight down the urge to run daily checks on them going forward.

Three months somehow stretched out into an eternity.

Mostly, he overanalyzed the data Aziraphale had sent, examining it and running simulations based on it. He found himself trying to consider and plan for every possible outcome, despite knowing it was an impossible endeavor.

Whenever he got too far into his own head, he would pull up the recording and listen to the call again. It was mortifying the first time he heard himself drift off to sleep mid-sentence, although perhaps it was better than the almost incoherent rambling that preceded it. All of his embarrassment had burned away when he heard Aziraphale make a sort of satisfied hum that sounded so damn content. At least, Crowley hoped that was what the sound had meant. 

When the calendar finally rolled over into December, he found himself practically vibrating with excitement. For the first time in his adult life, Crowley was actually looking forward to the arrival of Christmas. If everything worked out, he would have the whole building to himself the next time Guardian One made contact.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale stared at the text displayed on his console and tried to sort out what it could possibly mean. 

The first entry was clear enough.

Welcome back. Looking forward to resuming communications. -C

A message, obviously from Crowley.

It was the second one that left Aziraphale feeling uncertain. It was clearly automated, triggered by his ship establishing a connection when it decelerated to a speed at which transmissions were possible. It was a reminder that staffing was minimal on December 25th and if normal communication could not be established, emergency protocol may be required.

Crowley had been the one to set the date. Surely he wouldn’t have picked Christmas day on purpose. It was possible that it could have been an accident, that he selected a date three months from their last interaction and hadn’t realized until later that it fell on a holiday. The thought that he might be keeping Crowley from his friends and family made Aziraphale ache with guilt. 

A small, worried part of him insisted that Crowley might have forgotten all about him. Might even now be celebrating without sparing a thought for the spacecraft still so impossibly far away. But he couldn’t make himself believe it, not after everything he had learned the last time they spoke. 

There was nothing for it but to reach out and try to wrap up as quickly as possible so Crowley could return to the festivities.

“Mission Control, this is Guardian One, checking in to process data for a mission status update.” His voice only shook a little as he spoke. It was ridiculous, really, that he was already mourning the necessary brevity of their interaction. They barely knew each other.

“Guardian One,” Crowley sounded positively delighted, “this is Mission Control, Crowley speaking. How’s tricks, Aziraphale?”

“Better now,” he answered, more truthfully than he had intended. Something about the sound of Crowley’s voice set him at ease.

“Perfect. I already have the equipment spun up down here if you want to send me the data and we’ll get a handle on how things are progressing.”

The data transmission would take as long as it took, so Aziraphale allowed himself to dawdle as they worked down the checklists, verifying the current system statuses. He asked more clarifying questions than necessary, just so he could enjoy the sound of Crowley’s voice.

Eventually, it had to come to an end. “Everything seems stable on your side. I’m going to start processing the data and see if we can get some analysis running,” Crowley said.

“Don’t!” The exclamation was out before Aziraphale could think better of it. The ringing silence was clear evidence that Crowley wasn’t sure how to respond to his outburst. “That is… I hope you haven’t called anyone else in.”

“What am I missing?” For the first time in the call, Crowley’s voice slipped into the no-nonsense tone of a mission leader preparing to do damage control.

“Honestly, it can wait. I can wait.” He found himself reluctant to explain that he wasn’t as important as the team celebrating the holiday with their families. It felt even more necessary because he wouldn’t have any of that waiting for him when he made it back.

“I don’t think it can,” Crowley said slowly. “What’s going on, Aziraphale. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me ?” Aziraphale snapped back. He immediately regretted it, but his chagrin did little to soothe his temper. “It’s Christmas.” He sniffed.

“Fuck.” The harshness of the curse contrasted sharply by the relief in Crowley’s voice. “I thought there was an actual problem.”

The dismissal rankled. “Crowley, you shouldn’t have to be dealing with me right now, you should be out enjoying yourself.”

Crowley grumbled something too low and indistinct for the words to be transmitted intelligibly.

“Can you repeat that, Mission Control, I couldn’t make it out,” Aziraphale said, not caring how petulant he sounded.

There was a long moment of silence before Crowley sighed heavily. “I said, this is exactly where I want to be right now.”

That stirred up a new kind of guilt. Aziraphale wondered why he had been pushing so hard, trying to drive Crowley away.

“It wasn’t like I didn’t know what date I picked when I sent the new configurations through,” Crowley said defensively. 

There was a beat of silence where they both hesitated before Aziraphale finally admitted, “I don’t like the idea that I’m keeping you from something.”

“Believe me, you’re not.” Crowley’s voice was drifting back to the friendly cadence that Aziraphale was more accustomed to hearing. “Last year we had an active manned mission, the astronauts officially had the day off, but I volunteered to be part of the team standing by in case anything came up.”

It was enough of an explanation. Aziraphale could have dropped it, realized he probably should, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “You don’t celebrate at all?”

“Used to, as a kid,” Crowley admitted.

“Not anymore though?”

“Bit less magical when you’ve grown up. I tried for a while, but it always seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.” He let that sit for a moment before he cleared his throat and pushed past it. “What about you?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale was so busy grappling with the sadness he felt over Crowley’s confession that he floundered for a moment. “I suppose I always strove to find enjoyment in the season. Did volunteer work, donated gifts for families in need, made a point to get something nice for myself, that sort of thing.”

“Right angel, you are.” Crowley sounded fond as he said it.

“Well, maybe next year we can…” he was speaking before he had really thought through the implications of what he was about to say, “do some holiday things… together.” And then, because he had already stepped fully into it, he continued, “See if we can’t find some of the seasonal wonder you’ve been missing.” He could only hope he hadn’t horribly miscalculated.

“I think I’d like that.” Crowley’s voice was barely audible over the background fuzz of their connection.

There was quiet between them after that and it felt like something warm was growing in it. Aziraphale couldn’t explain it, but it seemed to be binding them together somehow.

It was Crowley who finally broke the silence. “I should start the data analysis. This part is automated, I promise. No one else is getting pulled away from any festivities today.”

The sound of instrumental holiday music drifted quietly over the transmission as Crowley slipped from the room.

“What are you most looking forward to?” Crowley had returned and was making idle chatter while they waited for the initial results to be processed.

It was a big question and Aziraphale instinctually wanted to shy away from it. Half of the problem was not knowing what there was to anticipate. The world he was returning to would be very different from the one he had left. The other half was quickly becoming very Crowley-centric. It was concerning how strong a connection he felt. It was possible it could be some sort of deep space separational attachment disorder that was as yet undocumented by science. Even if it wasn’t, he couldn’t imagine that Crowley would want to live as some sort of crutch for him once he started the process of adjusting to the bizarre sort of existence that his life was about to become.

“That’s a very big question.” He tried to keep his tone bright so his melancholy wouldn’t sour the mood.

“Fair.” Crowley considered for a moment before trying a different approach. “What did you enjoy doing before?”

“Reading,” Aziraphale said automatically. “I have a collection of antique books that I’m quite fond of, actually.” He expected more questions to follow, but when none came, he found himself offering up additional answers. “I suppose… going for walks. There was a park near the office that I used to frequent. The thought of fresh air and open skies is particularly appealing at the moment.”

Crowley sounded indulgent as he responded, “I can imagine.”

“I’ve always had a weakness for good food,” Aziraphale admitted because it seemed like Crowley was waiting for something more.

“Perfect. Hows about I take you out somewhere fancy to celebrate once you’re Earth-side?”

More than anything else, Aziraphale was afraid to have expectations. They worked at the same company, on the same project. Their professional interactions were bound to continue once they were both on the same planet. This felt like an offer to explore something more, especially on the heels of the suggestion to celebrate the holidays together next year. “I would rather go somewhere you like,” he countered, suddenly finding he wanted to know everything about Crowley. “Whatever is your favorite.”

There was a short burst of inarticulate noises that seemed to be affirmative in nature before Crowley got ahold of himself and managed actual speech. “It’s a date, then.”

There was a chance he meant it casually, just as a figure of speech. It seemed ill-advised to plan an actual romantic date with so much distance and uncertainty between them. Aziraphale didn’t even know if Crowley was interested in men. His head urged caution, but his heart swooped at the prospect. “Well, that certainly sounds like something worth looking forward to.”

Chapter Text

In retrospect, it might have been the best Christmas of Crowley’s life. Certainly the most enjoyable since he reached adulthood. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the bond that was forming between them. They were well and truly in uncharted territory on that front, but it was reasonable to assume Aziraphale was open to exploring a friendship at the very least. 

It seemed likely they might both be open to something more, but Crowley was fully aware he was probably getting ahead of himself. Aziraphale didn’t even know what he looked like.

He forced his attention back to the mission data. It wasn’t exactly unexpected. Guardian One’s progress was still technically within the expectations for making it home independently, but when compared to the previous readings, there was a downward trend.

After the preliminary findings, Aziraphale had insisted on a break so Crowley could get some sleep before meeting with the team to review the results. He almost told him right then that there was no team, but years of job experience told him that keeping Aziraphale’s morale up was more important than brutal honesty at this point in the proceedings.

Crowley had managed to sleep well enough, though it was a nightmare and not his alarm that roused him. It happened sometimes, on important missions, when the stress started to build up. It had been a lot easier to bounce back from the missing sleep when he was younger. 

By the time Aziraphale had initiated contact the next day, Crowley had a plan to offer. It was still the original recommendation, the same as before. Let the ship keep pushing forward and check back in again to assess for changes. Once they had agreed on it, the clock was reset for another two months. Aziraphale reluctantly signed off to return to deep sleep while Crowley was stuck on the slow path to their next meeting.

Crowley spent the week after Christmas setting up the parameters for three different scenarios and generating the simulated data that would have been transmitted from Guardian One for each. When the new year rolled around and the office was once again fully staffed, he swung by the lab that Anathema’s team had been working out of and made them an offer of work.

It was a simple analysis of three potential outcomes for his project; the good, the bad, and the ugly, each loaded on its own data pad. “If you want to take a crack at it, focus on the middle setup. I’m interested in what you would recommend. Looking for fresh perspectives.”

“Where did these numbers come from?” Adam asked, automatically reaching for the worst case scenario.

“It’s potential outcomes that were predicted at the start of the project,” Crowley answered, fighting the urge to glare. It was the problem he would have been most interested in if their roles were reversed. Pitting his wits against the most undesirable conditions and searching for a way to keep it from disaster had been a favored pastime when he was younger. It was much less enjoyable when he had to experience it with actual lives on the line.

“You’re up, Wensleydale,” Brian called as he turned his attention back to tossing crumpled paper into a trashcan.

The third young man that Crowley had yet to officially meet adjusted his glasses and stepped up to the second data pad which contained the middle scenario they had been asked to focus on. His eyes darted back and forth across the screen and he flicked his finger to advance the data, apparently already lost in the task.

“Is it time-sensitive?” Adam asked, dangling the tablet he was holding between two fingers and swinging it absently.

“Not really, but results in the next week or two would be appreciated.” He tried to remind himself that there was plenty of time. Rushing this favor would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

“We’ll all take a look,” Pepper promised as she glared at each of the other three in turn before her attention snapped back to Crowley. “We all have our own unique approaches, Wensleydale’s just a bit of a genius when it comes to numbers so he likes to take the first crack, if time allows.”

“Brian scribbles nonsense in the margins, Adam writes jokes, and Pepper corrects their spelling and grammar,” Wensleydale muttered without looking up, already engrossed in the data.

“I think technically what Adam writes would need to be funny before they could be categorized as jokes,” Pepper scoffed, ducking as a wad of paper sailed through the space where she had been only a moment before.

Crowley slipped out as their conversation devolved completely into amicable bickering.

Anathema knocked on his door with their results a little over a week later.

“They came up with some off the wall ideas, but I’m afraid the original recommendations are still the most realistic options,” she said as she sent a formal report over by email and dropped the data pads on his desk.

“‘S fine,” Crowley muttered. “Just an exercise.” But he was already paging through the results to see if their ideas sparked anything for him.

Several minutes passed before Anathema cleared her throat pointedly and Crowley realized with a start that she hadn’t actually left yet.

“You would tell me, if something was going on, right?” She sounded concerned and her eyes were studying him with an intensity that was worrying.

“We’re getting closer to the return date,” Crowley offered, fixing his attention back on his computer screen. “At this point, no news is good news.” He didn’t want her to read anything in his expression. She would be an ally, he had no doubt, but the more people who knew, the more likely they were to be noticed.

“Obviously, you know where to find us if you need anything else.”

By the time Crowley thought to glance up again, she was gone.

Crowley had another nightmare the morning before Aziraphale’s next check in. The details of the dream skittered from his conscious mind, leaving him with an impression of impending doom without any sense of where it was emanating from.

The unease bled into his day. He felt Anathema’s eyes on him when they passed in the hall, but thankfully she hadn’t tried to stop and talk. There was an obvious remedy. His world view would be set right again as soon as he heard Aziraphale’s voice, reaching out to him across space.

There was an expected amount of uncertainty about exactly when their interactions would occur. Crowley knew when the wake-up was scheduled to happen, but there was always going to be a delay between that time and when Aziraphale managed to square up to the communications equipment, review his pending messages, and actually initiate contact. Last time it had taken nearly fifteen minutes. Crowley had counted, watching them pass with rising anxiety.

This time, once the scheduled time ticked by, he felt his excitement ratcheting up. Crowley bounced one of his legs, suddenly brimming with energy and a strong urge to find a way to expend it. Instead, he waited, focusing on his breathing as ten of the slowest minutes of his life ticked by.

Another ten passed and he mentally coached himself not to worry.

At the thirty minute mark, he started double checking the calculations he had sent, running them through a simulation, then doing manual checks, writing values out on the glass boards that lined his walls for this very purpose. He could find no fault in the configurations, but there was still no word from Aziraphale.

Panic wasn’t an option. It wouldn’t have done any good. Too many years of experience had honed Crowley’s response to worse case scenarios, but this one felt different. The fear was there, simmering under the surface in a way he hadn’t felt before. He had never been in a situation where there wasn’t some sort of productive action that could be taken on his end. This time around, all he could do was wait and try not to collapse under the weight of it.

The work day ended, night set in, and still Crowley lingered. Going home wasn’t a possibility.

He was staring blankly at nothing the next morning when the office door beeped and clicked open. Anathema breezed in with two coffees in hand.

“You look like shit,” she said without preamble, holding one of the drinks out in his direction.

“Since when do you have the codes to my control room?” he demanded, feeling distinctly off balance at her sudden appearance.

She rolled her eyes and waved the drink at him insistently. “They increased my access to all non-classified sectors of the building in an attempt to placate my annoyance with how stingy Eden’s Gate has been when sharing anything of consequence.”

“Which includes my control room? Fantastic.” Crowley would have been pissed no one told him about it if he had any ability to care for that sort of thing at the moment. He took the offered coffee, mostly so she would stop waving it around his equipment. It was properly sealed with a spill proof lid, but it was still better not to take any chances.

“This, a couple of labs that aren’t currently in use, and every janitor's closet on site, apparently,” she grumbled as she chose to perch on the edge of his desk next to him, rather than the other chair that was across the room by the control panels.

“I’m busy.” He sensed she was settling in for something and he wasn’t going to like it. “Can this wait?” Abrasiveness usually served him well in these sorts of situations.

“The data was real, wasn’t it?” Unfortunately, Anathema was immune to his brusque personality.

Crowley had a glare he was rather proud of. It had served him well in the past and he employed the full force of it now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was low and dangerous.

To her credit, Anathema didn’t try to meet his eyes, focusing on her coffee as she spoke. “The starting values on all three examples were the same. The variables from that point on were all different, but you set them up like you were running real data, which you would only have if there’s been contact.”

“Why did you come this morning?” The words sounded like a threat.

“You’ve been off for a while now and you didn’t go home last night,” she answered quietly.

“So you’ve been spying on me?”

“I’ve been worried about you!” She countered, finally looking at him again. “Clearly something’s got you spooked. I just can’t figure out why you haven’t come to me already. Even if you still don’t trust me after all these years–which hurts, by the way–Agnes worked on the Guardian project. I have a vested interest in preserving her legacy. Surely you could have faith in that.”

“It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping things contained.” Crowley could feel his composure cracking. His worry was starting to leak through and he knew she could see it because her own frustration was melting into a look of concern.

“What are you so afraid of?”

He took a breath; it was a jagged thing that stuttered in his chest. He was torn between sharing the weight of his worry and the feeling that speaking it aloud would somehow give it life. “I don’t think they want him to make it back.” He barely managed the words around the lump in his throat.

Anathema’s eyes widened then turned intensely keen. “Do you have any evidence?”

It was a fair question but Crowley still felt a pang of betrayal at the thought she might not believe him. Mixed with the desperation that was building up, he knew everything he was currently feeling was playing out on his face.

Anathema sighed and crossed her arms. “I know you well enough, Crowley. I trust you. But our options are severely limited without tangible proof.”

“I know.” He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t have anything that would stand up. Just vague mentions in memos. I’m not even sure about the motivation, but the closer we get to the window, the more I’m certain of it.”

“Let us help you. If there’s something there, my team will find it.”

He leaned back and shook his head, putting distance between them. “You can’t risk the company relations, Anathema.”

“The hell I can’t,” she hissed at him. “It’s been months and Eden’s Gate hasn’t given us a damn thing. Company relations are already circling the drain.”

“Just like that?” Crowley shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew she was not the type to stand idly by. Perhaps it was just that in all his years of making questionable career choices, no one had ever responded with an enthusiastic request to join in.

“If you’re right and the stakes are life and death? Absolutely. No regrets.”

There was no question that he could count on her, but he was painfully aware that things could go badly if his suspicions were correct and whoever was working against the project discovered their meddling. “Do you trust your team? This is a lot to ask of them. I‘ll accept your judgment, but everyone has weak points that can be used as leverage.”

“I would actually pay money to see someone try to manipulate them.” She seemed to consider it for a moment, her expression turning almost gleeful before she became serious again. “They’ll know the stakes. Besides, the understanding when they came over with me is that I would pit my family’s considerable wealth and resources against any offers or threats they received if things went espionagey.”

It was a relief to no longer be alone in his worry. Unfortunately, the extra assistance didn’t provide any immediate revelations. Fresh eyes on the data didn’t uncover anything that would account for the delay, which meant all they could do was wait.

When Anathema showed back up at lunch time, he was anticipating another coffee only to discover she had something else on her mind.

“At least you’re eating,” she said with a sniff as she noted the sandwich wrapper in the trash.

He grunted in response. Food wasn’t particularly appealing at the moment, but he had forced himself to go through the motions, barely tasting anything as it settled like a rock in his stomach. It was necessary in order to continue functioning.

“You’re going to fight me on it, but the couch in my office converts into a bed and you need to go use it.”

“I’m fine, I did some time on my cot last night,” Crowley waved vaguely at the corner where he kept it tucked away for nights when he couldn’t be bothered to drag himself home. It was only a step up from sleeping on the floor, but it was an important step.

“I would bet money you didn’t actually sleep.” When her accusation was met with a glare instead of a denial, she pushed the advantage. “You’re no good to him like this. You can’t make good decisions in this state.”

He knew she was right and he hated it. The thought of leaving felt like giving up. Like he was choosing to abandon Aziraphale.

“You need to sleep for both of your sakes.” Anathema let that sit for a moment. “I’ve been reading up on the mission and I know your systems. I’ll be here if he calls.”

“You’ll wake me?” He hated how small his voice sounded.

“Of course.”

The exhaustion Crowley had been refusing to acknowledge suddenly swamped him. The very thought of walking the distance to Anathema’s office felt like it would require a herculean effort and his mind moved sluggishly. He knew he needed to focus. Sorting tasks by priority, he took the time to send off a quick message and lock his desktop before he moved out to double check the consoles. “The project is completely disconnected from the main systems.” He rolled his chair over to show her the drives and controls he was talking about. “These should start recording automatically when a connection is made, but double check that they’re running here.” He pointed to a monitor before turning to check for understanding.

To her credit, Anathema chose reassurance over the annoyance she was probably feeling. “All of my attention will be here the entire time you’re away. You have my word.”

Dimly, Crowley was aware that he should be expressing his gratitude, but the thought of dipping into a place of sincerity felt like it would break the dam holding back the emotions that he was trying so hard not to feel. He needed to sleep, not break down. So he nodded absently and managed a grumbled thanks before he shuffled out, leaving her alone and in charge of his control room.

Chapter Text

The messages waiting for Aziraphale on the console were more upsetting than he had expected them to be. 

Well, the first was perfectly fine.

Welcome back. Let’s chat. -C

The second was more formal and sent something twisting in Aziraphale’s gut.

Please send data if audio communication is unavailable. -C

It seemed reasonable to assume he had missed their intended rendezvous. The question–a very big, potentially life ending one–was by how much?

Shift change. I’ll still be nearby when you check in. -C

Did the messages stop there because his wake up was only marginally delayed, or had they stopped because a flood of messages would only cause him to worry and delay his attempt to make contact? 

With firm resolve, Aziraphale chose not to think about the fact that he might have slept far longer than intended and completely overshot his destination. Panic would only make things worse, he needed information.

“Mission control, this is Guardian One.” His hands were shaking but he was relieved to hear his voice was steady.

“Guardian One, this is Mission Control.” The voice that answered was very distinctly not Crowley's. “My name is Anathema Device, I will be running the boards for a bit longer today.”

There was an almost overwhelming sense of loss that Aziraphale tried to squash immediately. He had concerns to focus on that far outweighed longing to converse with a man he barely knew. He really needed to keep his priorities straight. “Well met.” Good manners were always a reliable place to start. “Do you have a preferred prefix?”

“Usually Doctor, but you can call me Anathema, Dr. Fell.” She sounded relieved and entertained. Similar to Crowley, she was forgoing some of the stiff, emotional separation that most controllers adopted for recorded calls. 

At the very least, it didn’t sound like the voice of someone who was about to tell him he was forever lost among the stars. “Well met, Anathema,” he repeated the greeting to include her name. “You may call me Aziraphale, if you prefer.”

“Aziraphale,” she acknowledged warmly. “I’ve got everything up and running on our end. Go ahead and start transmitting your data and we’ll run through diagnostics.”

“Is everything alright? I was expecting…” Based on the last text message, he was expecting Crowley to take over as soon as he made contact. Mid-sentence, he realized days or even months may have passed. It was ridiculous to assume Crowley would always be the person on the other end of his calls.

“Crowley wanted to be here.” There was a sort of fondness in Anathema’s tone that made Aziraphale wonder what they were to each other. “Your call came a little later than we expected, but we’re going to figure out why that happened.”

“How much later?” He hadn’t meant it to sound as harsh as it did. He had momentarily slipped into that part of himself that took control when there were problems and asked questions in a tone that demanded answers.

“About 36 hours.”

Not horrible, in the grand scheme of things, but he had a very clear image of Crowley waiting for him to make contact and hearing nothing the whole time. “How long did he go without sleep?” He wasn’t sure he should ask, wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But he felt certain that Crowley had stayed awake far too long and worried the whole time. 

“I convinced him to lay down a few hours ago.” There was something about the way that she said it, as if they were commiserating.

“Ridiculous man,” Aziraphale said warmly before he could think better of it.

Anathema laughed, a beautiful, musical sound that helped lift some of the negative mood that had settled around Aziraphale. “No argument here. He’ll be pissed if I don’t wake him soon, but for now, I think we can handle the basic checklists between the two of us.”

The verification process didn’t feel as smooth with Anathema, but Aziraphale chalked it up to the fact that there was more to report. It seemed all systems were still functioning within acceptable ranges, but the amount of alerts they had to slog through were indicating more of the ongoing decline.

They had lapsed into a comfortable silence once the checklists were complete, broken only by the sound of typing as Anathema worked away on her side. Aziraphale was watching the progress of the data transfer when he realized words were falling out of his mouth without having checked in with his brain first. “What’s he like?” His first instinct was to take it back, tell her never mind, he should never have asked, but he was so hungry for details. He held his breath while he waited to see how she would take it.

“Crowley?”

“It’s just…” How could he explain this without sounding unstable? “I appreciate the whole team, but, from what he’s told me, he has pursued this project quite doggedly and I’m very grateful, of course…” He realized he was rambling and tried to switch tracks. “I don’t even know what he looks like.” Which wasn’t exactly what he had been going for in terms of an explanation. “Not to imply that appearance is of significant importance in any way,” he hedged, fairly certain he had only made things worse.

“Aziraphale, it’s fine.” Anathema sounded thoroughly amused which was probably the best response he could hope for, considering the circumstances. “He was your first connection in a world where you don’t know anyone else. It would be strange if you weren’t curious about him.” There was a pause while she gathered her thoughts. “He’s handsome, I suppose.”

“You suppose? A ringing endorsement.” He kept his tone light, not sure what he had expected.

“Well, he’s not my type, but I can appreciate that he’s aesthetically pleasing. Red hair, light brown eyes, he’s tall, probably just over six feet. Skinny as anything.” She trailed off, apparently running short on obvious descriptors.

Aziraphale tried to put the pieces she had given him together into a picture in his mind and failed miserably. He sighed heavily and winced when he realized the sound was transmitted.

“You know,” Anathema said, sounding conspiratorial, “you’re close enough, I could send you a few pictures once your data transmission is complete.”

The intense pang of want at the offer caught Aziraphale off guard. He tried to remind himself to be practical. “I’m not sure that’s a good use of resources,” he murmured reluctantly.

“Starting the process of establishing connections with your new coworkers seems extremely reasonable to me,” Anathema offered. “Let me see what I can find.” She hummed thoughtfully as she looked. “His official company portrait is readily available, but it’s so corporate. It doesn’t do him justice at all.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Aziraphale said lightly. In truth, he was practically twitching with barely contained anticipation, but he appreciated the extra effort too much to rush her.

Initially, Anathema had tried to give him a few more adjectives while she selected photos and started the transmission process. ‘Driven’ was no surprise at all. ‘Intense’ felt like it fit in the same vein. When she had said ‘prickly’, Aziraphale had started asking questions. It quickly became apparent to both of them that it wasn’t easy to accurately describe another person without worrying about crossing lines and after a few aborted attempts at other topics, they lapsed back into silence.

The first thought Aziraphale had as he looked at the image of Crowley was that Anathema had not been fair in her assessment. He was gorgeous. 

In the initial picture, Crowley was leaning into a control console, his fists resting against its surface as he looked at something over the photographer's shoulder with a dark intensity. His hair was vibrantly red, short on the sides, longer on top and artfully styled. Crowley’s eyes were fierce, but it wasn’t just the focus in his gaze that gave them a keen aspect. It was also the color. Anathema had said light brown, but they were more golden and almost seemed to glow. Like sunlight shining through whisky. 

The second had a more triumphant air. Crowley was standing up straight, pointing at something. His grin was cocky and it was easier to see what Anathema meant about him being skinny. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes from the first picture, though the sleeves of his dark button-up shirt were rolled up in this one. There was also a black waistcoat and tight black trousers. Everything about him was long, slim, and angular. There was a tattoo of a small black snake that wasn’t visible in the previous image, curled artfully by his right ear. It suited the man  somehow, and Aziraphale wondered how old he was when he got it.

The last picture had the same clothes but appeared to be taken in a different location. Crowley was wearing sunglasses and Aziraphale felt an irrational twinge of annoyance at not being able to see his eyes again. It was somewhat appeased by the look of absolute joy that was evident on Crowley's face. Whatever they had accomplished in the control room was being celebrated. Crowley had his thumb over the top of a bottle of champagne, but whoever he was dousing with its contents wasn’t visible in the image. It was a beautiful moment that left Aziraphale feeling empty somehow.

It occurred to him that he had gone a very long time without speaking. He cleared his throat and willed his voice not to shake. “Thank you for those. It’s nice to put a face to the voice.”

“And yet they seem to have made you sad,” Anathema responded, proving she wasn’t fooled at all.

“I’ll be alright,” he assured her, desperately hoping they could let the conversation drop off again. It made him acutely aware of how easy it had been to converse with Crowley on his previous calls.

“You could pretend to ignore it while we sit here quietly and wait for the data to be analyzed. Or you could tell me and I bet I could help you feel better,” she coaxed.

He pursed his lips while he considered his options. She had gone a long way to earn his trust so far. Worst case scenario, if it turned out he had misread all of the social cues and overstepped in these communications, well, he could always find a nice place to hole up with his books and live the rest of his life as a hermit. “Crowley has given up so much to help me. I’m not sure…” He wasn’t sure that he was worth it, but it hurt too much to say it.

“It’s the challenge, getting you home safe. It’s what he loves. It’s not something you have to earn.”

She had missed the heart of his concern slightly. He could have accepted her answer and let the matter drop, but he found himself speaking again instead. “Yes, well… I’m afraid he has a picture of me in his mind and the reality won’t measure up.”

“I think you’d be surprised.”

“He’s expecting Aziraphale, the record breaking, thrill seeking astronaut. I’m not that person, Anathema.” It hurt to admit out loud. “Not really.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Anathema sounded affectionate, but the words still made Aziraphale bristle slightly. “I promise, he’s really not.”

He wasn’t sure why he was pushing back so hard, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “He had a Guardian One poster of me on his wall in his childhood bedroom.”

“He had a poster of you running the control room of the Ethereal Seven mission on his wall as a kid.” There was quiet reassurance in her words. “When you got your team home after the internal memo that they were lost without hope was leaked.”

“Good lord. I remember that,” he said, shocked slightly as it filled his thoughts. The whole thing had gone unbelievably sideways and Aziraphale had lied to the acting director in order to buy the time they needed to break protocol and get the crew home alive. There had been a sense in the control room that they were making history and they might all pay dearly for it. “It was a bit of an inside joke.” Someone had been snapping pictures discreetly and they had given Aziraphale a professional-looking poster after the fact. “I can’t believe that was released to the public.”

“Don’t worry,” Anathema reassured him, showing she had accurately sussed out his feelings on the matter yet again, “it wasn’t. Has Crowley not bragged to you yet about the box of Agnes Nutter’s personal memorabilia he found as a kid?”

“I didn’t realize…” He wasn’t sure how to feel. Agnes had joined the Guardian project quite late in development. Aziraphale had been aware of her long before that, she was a legend in the field with a stellar reputation, but they hadn’t had much reason to interact until he was preparing for his mission. They had gotten on surprisingly well.

“I used to be so jealous back in University,” Anathema explained. “Crowley never shut up about it. He’s also read all of your mission transcripts from back when you ran the control rooms. After he started at Eden’s Gate he got hold of the actual recordings. Do not get him started on the benefit of listening to the audio for determining intention. He once spent several hours waxing poetic about the difference hearing your tone of voice made in interpreting when you were politely telling your superiors to kick rocks.”

“Surely not?” Aziraphale asked, truly surprised. The work he had done in the control rooms was very much a part of himself he was comfortable and confident in. If that was the side Crowley was drawn to, maybe this thing he felt between them wasn’t as far-fetched as he had worried it might be. 

“Well.” Anathema sniffed. “It was a boring business mixer and he was a tad intoxicated. He said you were just enough of a bastard to be worth studying if I remember correctly. Coming from him, that’s a hell of a compliment.”

“I suppose it must be.” Considering some of the stories Crowley had told him, Aziraphale couldn’t help but believed her.

“Data analysis is nearly complete,” Anathema announced.

The connection had been silent for long enough that Aziraphale had gotten lost in his own thoughts. He stretched, realizing he was stiff from sitting in one position for an extended period.

“I sent one of the team to wake Crowley,” she advised. “If I wait any longer he’s never going to trust me again.”

Aziraphale’s first reaction was unadulterated excitement that they were minutes away from speaking again, which was quickly tempered by guilt. He wanted to argue that it hadn’t been long enough and Crowley should be left to sleep, but he suspected that was exactly why Anathema had waited to tell him until after it was already done.

“Oof. Well, I just got a message. He's on his way,” she said after a moment.

Before he could ask what she meant, there was a muffled thump, and then a long pause, followed by a beep, a click, and a loud bang.

Chapter Text

When he had woken, groggy and uncertain of his surroundings, with a form looming over him, Crowley had only just managed not to instinctively punch the shadowy figure. His full body flinch as he slammed into consciousness seemed to be enough warning because the person jumped back, apparently just as startled.

Then he remembered where he was and why. He tried to ask a question as he leveraged himself up off the bed, but he was still shaking off the effects of being so suddenly pulled out of a very deep sleep. His tongue attempted several syllables that never resolved into intelligible words. He rose to his feet and made a low humming noise, almost a growl, trying to remember language. When he started to wobble he held out his arms for balance as he struggled to maintain verticality.

“Something happened?” he finally managed as he finally reached a fully functional state. Without waiting for an answer, he snapped his jacket up off the back of a nearby chair and snagged his boots from under the pullout bed.

“Yeah?” Wensleydale blinked at him owlishly, obviously startled by the flurry of activity.

Crowley was already moving towards the door. The fact that no further explanation was immediately offered meant the conversation was moving too slow for his current temperament. He did take long enough to slip his shoes on, but he barely broke stride to accomplish it. 

Once he was out of the office door, he bolted. If it had been a busier time of day, he might have tried to restrain himself, but the hallways appeared deserted and he desperately needed to know what was going on.

He slid hard into his own door once he arrived and pushed down the flash of rage that was triggered by having to wait for the facial scanner to process before the electronic lock finally clicked to allow him entry. In his haste, he flung the door open far too hard and it slammed into the wall and bounced back on him.

“He got through?” Crowley asked, striving to sound more put together than he actually was, despite being mostly out of breath.

“Yes. Did you run here?” Anathema asked, eyeing him incredulously. “How is that going to look?”

If there was time to hassle him about appearances, it likely wasn’t bad news. Still, her scolding struck a nerve and he found himself snapping back. “I was asleep on the pullout in your office in the middle of the afternoon. How’s that going to look?”

“Oh, please.” Anathema actually rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows you're gay and I haven’t been shy about the fact that you’re my cousin and I’m in a committed, long term relationship.”

“Keep talking,” Crowley countered, “this rumor is only getting juicier.”

“Crowley, be nice.” Aziraphale’s voice filled the speakers, both fond and gently admonishing.

It melted something in Crowley and he felt the tension that had been slowly consuming him fall away. “Yeah, sorry,” he muttered to the console, then glanced in Anathema’s direction and added another, “sorry.” His lips had just closed over the second apology when he realized what a simple command from Aziraphale had accomplished and exactly how much that might reveal to Anathema, who was extremely observant and knew him a bit too well. Mortified was probably an apt description of his current expression.

“Holy shit.” Her eyes were wide in surprise but the grin spreading across her lips was delighted. “Aziraphale, that was impressive.”

“I am sleep deprived!” Crowley whispered defensively, knowing the mic would struggle to pick him up from all the way across the room.

Anathema rolled her chair closer and dropped her volume to match his. “That usually makes you more of an asshole, not naturally compliant.”

“Moving on,” he said loudly as he stepped around her. He would deal with her harassment later, preferably when he was more well-rested. “How are things, angel?” The second the endearment was out of his mouth, Crowley wondered if he could combust from the heat of embarrassment. It certainly felt like his face was already aflame.

With the grace of a saint, Aziraphale chose not to acknowledge the slip. “Still in one piece. I do apologize for my tardiness.”

The weight of her gaze was too heavy and Crowley couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder in Anathema’s direction.

Angel! She mouthed the word at him, looking equal parts shocked and giddy at his blunder.

He flipped a middle finger at her then turned all of his attention to where it needed to be. “I’d say don’t let it happen again, but let’s figure out the cause before we start laying blame.”

“Of course, dear.”

There was no way Anathema would let him hear the end of this, but Crowley found that he didn’t care. Not when Aziraphale was alive and speaking to him and calling him dear.

The preliminary analysis results weren’t entirely unexpected. Things were breaking down. The equipment was struggling and the timing on the processes to wake Aziraphale up had slipped by a day and half.

It wasn’t great news, but there were options. Crowley’s brain was already tumbling through ways to program in safeguards to ensure it didn’t happen again. He had been bullied by Aziraphale and Anathema into promising to sleep. He had managed a solid 8 hours on his cot because leaving the office unattended wasn’t an option he would accept.

Thankfully, Crowley always kept a few changes of clothes tucked away and the breakroom supplied snacks and coffee. By the time Aziraphale checked back in, he had a fairly solid plan of action that seemed feasible, but he had agreed to review options with the whole team at noon.

They had already been talking for an hour when they ended up back on the topic of Crowley’s education. “I think they’re wrong about you.” Crowley was feeling comfortable and maybe a little too confident for his own good.

“Who, besides you, is even discussing me these days?” Aziraphale asked absently.

“Professors,” Crowley answered simply. “They only ever hold up the rule followers as worthy of emulation. They cherry pick the failures of rule breakers to scare the kiddies so they'll fall in line.”

“Rules usually exist for a reason,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley hummed in acknowledgement, then expounded on his point. “But sometimes the limitations we’re working under are just the preference of a number cruncher who’s too worried about money to see that lives are on the line.”

“So how are they wrong about me specifically?” he prompted, sounding intrigued.

“They used you as a golden example because they thought you always played it safe, but I think you bent the rules when you needed to. I nearly got expelled from the program because I got into a prolonged argument over it. Ended up involving multiple faculty members and might have included a disturbance at an awards banquet.”

“I’m grateful it didn't result in expulsion.” Aziraphale sounded almost scandalized.

“Actually…” Crowley felt something warm and hopeful settle in his chest as he considered future possibilities. “It’s unlikely they're still around, but if you confirm that I was right, and any of them are still teaching, I might take you along to the next reunion and make them eat crow.”

“And if you’re wrong, would you go and apologize instead?” Aziraphale sounded distinctly entertained.

Crowley liked him like this. He liked being the cause of it. “Obviously not! It was more than fifteen years ago. Who can remember a petty argument that's years gone now?”

“Very reasonable.” Aziraphale’s response was so dry it was almost possible to hear his eyes rolling. “You may as well tell me the context.”

“It was one of the Messenger missions. The astronauts went off book and made some manual hardware and software alterations to systems that, at surface level, it would appear they were specifically advised not to touch. They barely made it back, but they did survive.”

“I recall the mission.” He didn’t offer any further clarification.

“It’s taught as a cautionary tale, that sometimes despite your best efforts and the chain of command, your crew will defy protocol and go against your express orders.”

“And what was your interpretation?” Aziraphale seemed genuinely curious.

“You specifically told an engineer who helped design the system in question not to touch it, then followed up with information about the system that they ended up running the bypass through. There was no reason to call out completely functional equipment to an expert on said system unless you wanted him to have eyes on it.”

“Compelling, but hardly convincing on its own.”

“Alright, you consistently used his last name in every other interaction during that mission, not to mention the three previous occasions you ran the boards while he was in space. I can only ever find a single occurrence of you using his first name, and that was the message in question.”

“That could mean something significant or it could have been a simple slip of the tongue.” Aziraphale was every bit the detached instructor, but Crowley could tell he was enjoying himself.

“I think there was a potential problem. Something Eden’s Gate didn’t want to get out. Something that was discovered while the mission was already in progress, but could potentially put that particular ship at risk. I think you had your team figure out a workaround, then you found a way to point the crew towards the problem so they could discover it for themselves and resolve it to mitigate the risk. Most importantly, I think you managed to do it without making it obvious because you were told the potential danger was deemed acceptable by someone further up the chain of command.”

“You certainly have put a lot of thought into this.” He wasn’t confirming anything, but he sounded amused and maybe a little smug.

Crowley was practically buzzing with the feeling of vindication. “There were missions for that particular rocket on the books and they were all quietly rescheduled shortly after. I’ve looked for official records in the company databases and hit nothing but dead ends. I do know that model with those systems was never flown again after that.”

“Well, I’m sure I couldn’t comment on a past mission without verifying which legal restrictions of my work contracts are still binding.” It was basically confirmation, especially since Aziraphale said it with obvious pride. “But a trip to your alma mater sounds like it could be an enjoyable outing.”

It was hard not to whoop and punch the air. “You were damn subtle, but it was there if they knew what to look for. It’s one of the reasons I enjoyed studying your work.”

“I wonder what might be learned from listening to your missions.”

The bark of laughter that erupted from Crowley was completely involuntary. “Not subtlety. I think ‘Flash Bastard’ is a much better descriptor of my working style.”

“Based on the stories you’ve told me so far, I absolutely believe it.”

“You know, I ended up doing astronaut training because of you.” It was another one of those admissions he hadn’t really intended to make, but he wanted the conversation to keep going and freely offering up parts of himself seemed like the easiest way to facilitate it.

“Did you want to go on missions?” There was something almost hesitant in Aziraphale’s question.

“Maybe a bit, once upon a time, but it never really drove me. It was more of a curiosity at first, and later it seemed useful to know first hand what my crews knew. Also helped to build comradery with them.”

“Were you actually certified?”

“Still am, technically, but only by the relaxed standards granted to the rare middle aged candidate.” He had considered letting it lapse over the last few years, but it was easier to renew an existing certification than one that had expired. Plus, there was a part of him that wanted to prove he still could, even as he lived in fear of the day he would inevitably find that was no longer true.

“Middle aged? How old are you?” Aziraphale almost sounded incredulous.

“Older than you,” Crowley responded, amused.

“That’s not physically possible,” he countered imperiously.

Crowley couldn’t help but shake his head, still smiling. “Not if we compare birth years, sure, but lived experience, you were 39 when you set out, right?”

“Yes?” The answer was given with reluctance.

“Well, I turned 42 last year,” Crowley told him. When he didn’t get an immediate response, he tried to shift the topic back. “What made you decide to switch sides and travel among the stars?”

“Ah.” There was a lot of weight in that single word. It made Crowley wish he hadn’t asked. “This was less something I actively chose and more that I was found to be the best person for the job.” It was obvious Aziraphale was trying to smile through the words, but there was something sorrowful underneath.

There was a sharp spike of some emotion in Crowley that wasn’t fully formed yet. He wasn’t sure if it was a fear of what he was already suspecting, or a preemptive anger that was 98 years too late. “You didn’t want to go.” He had meant to ask, but somehow it ended up as a statement.

There was a beat of silence where they both sat in the truth of it before Aziraphale spoke. “I did try to warn you that I wasn’t so great as you imagined.”

“Aziraphale, that’s not…” Crowley took a deep breath and quickly gathered his thoughts. “The Guardian project might be the thing you’re remembered for, but it was never the most interesting thing about you.”

“Oh.” It was barely audible, almost a sigh really.

“I’m just pissed it wasn’t something you wanted for yourself. What does ‘best person for the job’ even mean?” It was rhetorical. Crowley was only letting off steam; he didn’t expect the response when it came.

“No strong emotional connections.” Aziraphale’s tone was flat, giving the impression that he was repeating someone else's words. He cleared his throat and continued, “I had no family to speak of. I got on well enough with others, but I wasn’t particularly close with anyone. Well, there was Dr. Nutter, but we didn’t meet until I was already committed to the role.”

What Crowley wanted to say was how fucked up that sounded. He wanted to rail against a director that would assign anyone to that type of mission who wasn’t eager and enthusiastic to be involved. The problem was it wouldn’t change anything and left him feeling ineffectual. 

He was still scraping his thoughts together when the door beeped and Anathema stepped in. She tipped her head to the side with a questioning glance and he realized it was nearly time for their meeting.

“It won’t be like that any more,” Crowley said, turning away because he didn’t want to see how Anathema might react to the words he was saying to Aziraphale. “Once we get you home, you’ll have the means to go wherever you want. To do whatever you want. And connections. If you want them.” He hoped his meaning was clear. This sort of thing wasn’t his strong suit and he wasn’t sure he could clarify the sentiment if pressed.

“Did you lie to Aziraphale?” Anathema’s brow had been pinched as they drove to the off-site location where the rest of the team was already working. Crowley had assumed her mood meant she had bad news, something he had overlooked in the data, but apparently she had something else on her mind.

He drummed his fingers against the door panel, fighting back the urge to pick a fight just to avoid opening up about his feelings. “I… care about him.” He said defensively.

“No shit. Your aura’s been warm and gooey for months.” Somehow Anathema never had an issue with mixing what she referred to as her family's ‘witchy heritage’ with her love of science. Crowley tried to stay out of it. He had always been fairly skeptical, never mind that she was usually accurate. “I’m talking about the ‘means’ that Aziraphale will have at his disposal.”

Relieved that they were breezing past his uncomfortable confession, Crowley shrugged. “It’s one of the most generous contracts I’ve ever seen. With a little help, he’ll easily be set for life.”

The car rolled into a parking spot and Anathema caught his arm as he started to exit the vehicle. “Crowley, his contract barely covers six months of living expenses and doesn’t even have a clause for a cost of living adjustment. It’s quite possibly the worst deal I’ve ever seen. He’s basically coming back to be studied like a lab rat. There’s not even a guarantee of employment after his mission obligations are fulfilled.”

They were poised on the edge of a horrible revelation. Crowley could feel it. He shook his head slightly and swallowed hard. “His contract includes a yearly salary for the entire time he was gone, a cost of living adjustment, shares in the company, and a controlling voice in the Guardian project going forward. And that’s just the stuff I can remember off the top of my head.”

“That’s not what the contract on record says,” she told him grimly as she released his arm and pushed against it to urge him into action. “Inside, upstairs. Let’s get this figured out.”

As soon as he stepped out and caught up to her, Anathema latched onto his wrist and pulled him into a cozy little café, through a door marked employees only, and up a flight of stairs. She had explained it would be a good place to meet since her aunt and uncle ran the shop. They could be certain they weren’t followed or eavesdropped on while they strategized. 

“Please tell me the original contract was in that box you discovered and you still have it,” Anathema begged as they entered an open living area and she released her hold on him.

The rest of the team was already gathered and Crowley found five sets of eyes intently focused on him. “It was in the box, both a digital and physical copy. I don’t have direct access to the originals right this second but you should.”

“What? Why?” She asked with a mix of surprise and indignation, like there was some sort of accusation hidden in his statement.

“I made friends with your head archivist when I worked at Portent. As much as I was proud of my little treasure trove, I was more interested in it all being properly preserved. I made a formal agreement to hand it all over.”

Anathema’s eyes went wide as she hurried over to her laptop and started typing furiously. “Who knows you had access to the original contract?”

“Potentially anyone with high level access to your archives. It wasn’t exactly something I bragged about.” Crowley moved over and braced one hand against the table as he bent down to watch her screen as she pulled up the archive listing.

“You're sure? You never mentioned it, even in college?”

He shivered at the thought of the disaster it might have caused if he had. “No. I never mentioned anything that seemed like it could be considered proprietary material. I didn’t want Eden’s Gate hunting me down. I only ever talked openly about the stuff that would qualify as personal possessions.”

“There!” Anathema found the entry and selected it to pull up the description of the archived item.

“Please tell me the access on this is locked down,” Crowley muttered. His heart was hammering hard in his chest.

“Fully restricted,” she confirmed. “It relates to an active project currently being run by our biggest competitor. Our intentions are only to preserve the legacy of our founder, since Agnes worked on the project, but we also don’t want legal trouble.”

“That’s basically what the agreement said when I signed everything over.”

“Wensleydale? Can you run some numbers, ballpark what this might work out to?” Anathema asked, glancing back at the rest of the team that had already gathered in close to see what they had discovered.

Wensleydale set to work, squinting at the contract details while making notes on his own computer.

There was a low whistle from Adam. “Are we positive this is genuine?”

Crowley nodded his head. The movement felt jerky, disjointed somehow. “There’s a recording attached of all parties signing both sets of records. Dr. Nutter was present and discussed some of the contract points out loud while leafing through the pages. It’s all clear enough to pick up the text if there’s any doubt.”

“Safe to say they don’t intend to pay out, right?” Pepper asked, glancing up from where she was looking over Wensleydale’s shoulder. “And they only get away with that if there’s no one to dispute it.”

“Seems very likely,” Anathema confirmed as she snagged another laptop and began typing furiously.

Crowley pulled out a chair and dropped into it. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t suspected already, but finding a motive made it feel more real and darkly calculated in a way that left him feeling unnerved. He wondered how long it had taken before someone decided Aziraphale was expendable. How many years had this plan been in motion?

There was an uneasy silence in the room. Pepper and Wensleydale worked together, speaking in hushed tones as they processed the implications of the contract. Occasionally, they would ask Adam to check something for them. Brian had taken up residence on a couch on the other side of the room and was working with headphones in.

When Wensleydale finally leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up, everyone except for Brian looked up expectantly.

“Rough estimates, but I would say bankruptcy is probably unavoidable.” He said it apologetically.

“That’s…” Crowley wasn’t sure how to finish his thought. Crazy? Impossible? Horrifying?

“The contract is extremely generous, but manageable to achieve over the lifetime of the project so long as the company budgeted well and stayed profitable.” Wensleydale folded his hands in his lap and shrugged. “I’ve been through the last five years of financials and there’s nothing even close to this set aside. There’s a chance they’re keeping something off the books, but that seems highly unlikely and would be suspect regardless. There’s a chance they could make up the monetary value of a payout by liquidating whole sectors of the business, but that doesn’t leave Eden’s Gate in a functional state. And it doesn’t begin to touch the breach of contract. The most egregious examples being that they sold off the company shares that were supposed to be kept aside for him.”

“If this got out, it would be a PR nightmare,” Anathema muttered. “Even if Aziraphale was willing to work with them, take payments over time and not sue them for failing to hold up their end of the agreement, the optics are dark.”

“If Aziraphale makes it home alive, Eden’s Gate won’t survive it.” The words were painful to say out loud, but Crowley felt oddly detached from the moment.

“Essentially,” Wensleydale confirmed quietly, refusing to look up from his computer screen.

“They’re going to kill him and make it look like an accident.”  There was an emotional numbness blanketing Crowley as he verbalized what they were surely all thinking.

Anathema sighed heavily and leaned back from her computer, looking at him directly with worry etched into her face. “They’re going to kill him and make it look like it’s your fault.”

Her words snapped him back into the moment and he recoiled, almost falling out of the chair he had sprawled in.

“They need a scapegoat and discrediting you will only work in their favor,” Anathema explained. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking uncharacteristically anxious as she continued. “The smartest play if they want the company to survive is to pin the mission failure on you, then have you killed and make it look like a suicide.”

Chapter Text

The waiting was the worst part. There was very little to keep Aziraphale’s mind occupied before the next scheduled check in. 

There was food, of a sort. Basically a flavorless concoction compacted into bar format. The only thing worse than the bland taste was the texture. Eating it would inevitably turn his mind to Crowley’s offer to take him out to dinner.

If he was being honest with himself, most things turned his thoughts to Crowley, but that was at least partially due to the fact that Crowley was one of the few safe topics he could allow himself to linger on. When he considered his past, it left him feeling melancholy, knowing there likely wasn’t much that remained unchanged in all the time that had elapsed. And trying to imagine what his future could be was too vast and full of unknowns. But the moments that he and Crowley had already promised to each other, those were small and easy; bright points of hope that he could safely turn over in his mind. 

He was lost in thought when there was a crackle of static, then Crowley’s voice coming from the console speakers.

“Guardian One, this is Mission Control. We have an update.”

Something had changed. It wasn’t just that Crowley was establishing contact early. There was a new weight in his tone; a steady, forced calm with just a hint of some dark and dangerous emotion beneath the surface.

Aziraphale settled into the chair at the control board and felt himself slipping into the mental space he used whenever a mission took a turn for the worse. “How bad is it?”

“We have a solid plan to get you home.” It was said with certainty, like a promise. “First thing, we need you to pull the mission data backups and keep them on hand. Somewhere you can get to them easily. We’re whipping up some new safety protocols to make sure you don’t oversleep again. No more check-ins. We’re going to run the ship until you’re in range or until a critical failsafe is tripped. The goal is to get you as close as possible and, if necessary, stage a rescue to get you the rest of the way home.”

The words were all reassurances meant to set him at ease. It was beginning to feel like his experience doing Crowley’s job was working against him, because he recognized the technique. Starting off with the things they were sure about and pitching them positively would build his confidence in the plan and hopefully cushion the blow of whatever bad news was coming. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale used his own controller voice, the one that brooked no argument. Over the speakers he heard Crowley hiss like maybe it had startled him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 “I was working up to it,” Crowley muttered defensively.

“I am very aware,” Aziraphale replied coolly. “I have delivered my fair share of bad news.” On some level he knew he was pushing back so hard in an attempt to stave off the fear that was starting to press in on him.

“Not like this,” Crowley sounded dejected but under it there was something cold. “We found evidence, Aziraphale. Someone doesn't want you to survive this.”

A portion of Aziraphale's brain stopped functioning. His awareness of his body dropped away completely and his ears rang. But another part of him, a practical part, was racing. “Are we being recorded?” 

“Only to local storage,” Crowley answered, reassurance in his words. “Management didn’t want to bother with backwards compatibility when they updated the hardware. All of our recordings will be moved off site as soon as this call is done.”

“You should destroy them!” He was shocked by his own vehemence, but a new, terrible thought was occurring to him. “If they find out you know, Crowley…” There was very real danger. If the loss of one life was acceptable it wasn't a stretch to assume more deaths could be ordered. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault, but it was because of him. The idea that there might be a world without Crowley in it threatened to steal his breath away. “You need to… you need to leave. Get as far away from this as you can.”

“Oh, fuck right off with that,” Crowley snapped. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Aziraphale wasn’t even remotely swayed, but he needed more information, and he knew he wouldn’t get it if he kept pushing. “What have you found?”

“Your contract was replaced with a version that’s insulting. Probably wouldn’t even cover the up-front costs to get you a place to live once you landed.” Crowley was clearly offended for him.

“Money?” It felt like a punch to the gut. The compensation that had been promised had been generous, but he had given up his entire existence with the understanding that he would need to start over, not just from scratch, but with a significant disadvantage, out of place in time. “Everything that was settled on was reasonable as long as the goals were maintained over the lifetime of the project. Were there financial hardships while I was away? I would have been open to re-negotiations.” It felt a bit like bargaining to stay alive and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Nothing that would justify this.” Crowley was practically growling. “It’s likely that trying to honor the original payout at this point would bankrupt the company, and that’s not even touching the breach of contract stuff for things like selling off your shares.”

It was a terrible thing to believe he'd given everything to Eden’s Gate only to realize that he hadn't, but they had taken the rest anyway.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley spoke softly, pulling his attention back from somewhere dark. “I told you because you needed to know the stakes, but I’m not going to let it happen.”

The quiet insistence did something to Aziraphale’s heart; made him feel cared for in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Too bad that trepidation followed so close on its heels. “I can’t have you putting yourself in danger for me.” Moisture was gathering in his eyes and he felt himself starting to choke up. “It’s not worth it.” I’m not worth it.

“You’re worth it to me.” Crowley spoke as if he had heard exactly what Aziraphale meant and in that moment, he sounded as hurt as Aziraphale. There was a pause, long enough for a deep breath, then he went back to being properly pissed. “They don’t get to win. Somewhere along the way, someone decided the risk was worth it, and they were wrong.”

“If something happened to you because of me, I would never forgive myself,” Aziraphale told him, his worry making him brave in a way he wasn’t sure anything else could.

“And I can’t stand by and let something happen to you when I could have stopped it.”

An impasse, then. Aziraphale didn’t have to like it, but he had to accept it. He didn’t have any other options. Despite everything, he laughed, a wet, broken noise. “Did you think you would have to work this hard to convince me to let you try to save my life?”

There was a slow exhale, like maybe Crowley was letting out a breath he had been holding. “Are you asking if I’m surprised that you care more about others than yourself and you’re stubborn about it? If so, not even a little bit.” Crowley was smiling as he said it, Aziraphale could hear it in the way his voice had gone warm and relaxed.

“You'll be careful?” It was a silly thing to ask, but he found he needed reassurance. “Take precautions?”

“Yeah… I’m…” Crowley faltered, cleared his throat, then said simply, “promise.”

“Good, because…” It felt foolish to admit, but Aziraphale didn’t want to take that chance that Crowley might not understand some of what he had come to mean to him. “You asked me what I was looking forward to most and it’s you. I want the chance to get to know you.”

“Me too, angel,” Crowley said back fervently. “More than anything.”

Chapter Text

The one upside to this part of the plan was that Crowley was supposed to appear anxious and on edge, so his current mental state was actually working in his favor. 

He checked his watch for the second time since entering Gabriel Winger’s office. There were a lot of moving pieces to consider and he really needed to thread the needle if he wanted to line everything up exactly right.

It was the third time he had been in this exact spot in recent weeks. Initially he was just testing a theory to see how upper management would respond to his request to step down from the project temporarily. He had insisted he needed a break for mental health reasons. 

The outcome was exactly what Crowley had expected but also what he feared. There were promises of a long vacation if he could just hold out a little longer. Then platitudes about how much he would regret missing the culmination of something he had worked so hard for, and the insistence that he would have a team to back him up once contact was made. 

Never mind that company policy was very clear about what was considered a fit state to helm a project in.

When the earliest expected return date for Guardian One came and went, Crowley circled back to Gabriel, more adamant that he was cracking under the pressure.

That time he was told, in polite corporate speak, to suck it up and get back to work. They were firmly in the window where it was still likely that Guardian One could make it back and Crowley was expected to remain at his post during his scheduled working hours, no matter what.

Which led to today. Crowley hated everything about the current plan of action, even if he could admit it was the best option. It was going to put him firmly on the sidelines, he would be safer, but he would also be helpless to assist going forward. The thought of being unable to do anything if their carefully laid plans fell apart made him physically ill.

But he hadn’t come up with anything better. And he had promised Aziraphale. So here he was, telling Gabriel he wanted to quit completely.

The response to his declaration was more of the same. Gabriel’s sharp smile was starting to crack around the edges as he tried to talk him into reconsidering. Not that Crowley was really paying attention. His focus was completely on the time and exactly where he was in relation to the exit, because at this point, standing still wasn’t an option any more. There was too much frenetic energy coursing through him and he paced, letting his eyes roam over ostentatious sports memorabilia that Gabriel decorated his walls with.

It was almost time. Crowley could practically feel his pulse kick up as he tuned back into Gabriel’s ineffectual prattle.

“You wouldn’t be able to work anywhere else, Crowley, your contract is very specific–”

Close enough . 

“You’re not listening ,” Crowley interjected. “Maybe I need to say it in a way you can understand.” He dove for the door, snagging a baseball bat from a nearby stand as he passed, and then he bolted for the stairs.

The element of surprise was on his side. He was desperately hoping that Gabriel would try to maintain decorum and refuse to sprint through the hallways the way that Crowley currently was. Of the two of them, Gabriel was more athletic. They were basically the same height, so Crowley didn’t even have an advantage there.

“Crowley! Wait!” Gabriel’s voice was slightly muffled, probably a good sign he hadn’t cleared his office yet.

The descent in the stairwell was a wild, dangerous thing. The primal fear of being chased was dumping adrenaline into Crowley and he took risks, clearing only a portion of the stairs before he would jump to the landing below and turn to tackle the next flight.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret!” 

A glance up showed him Gabriel’s face peering down, far enough away that Crowley let go of one worry and began to focus on what came next.

The Guardian One control room had already been prepared for this. All of the recordings of Aziraphale’s calls  had been moved off site, along with backups of the project files. Crowley’s work computer had been wiped and reformatted, and the control boards were currently unplugged. It was only the knowledge of the secret, backup system Anathema's team had put into place that allowed Crowley to swing the bat hard against the equipment. It was still one of the most difficult things he had ever done.

He lost himself to the destruction. It wasn’t until Gabriel was bodily pulling him from the room that Crowley became aware that he was gasping for breath with tears on his cheeks.

“What the Hell is wrong with you!” Gabriel’s voice boomed down the hall as he shoved Crowley hard, sending him sprawling. 

The bat was dropped in favor of trying to catch himself, probably for the best. Crowley was distantly aware that he might not be making the best decisions in his current state. It was a part of the plan that Anathema had made him repeat over and over. Don’t hurt Gabriel. Everything would be easier for them going forward if there was only one obvious aggressor in the confrontation.

But Gabriel had to know something, or he wouldn’t be fighting so hard to keep Crowley where he was. Crowley suddenly wanted very badly to hurt him for it.

He bounced up off the floor, taking just a moment to glance behind him to be sure they had an audience. Something hopeful bloomed in his chest as he noted a gaggle of strangers with visitors passes. The timing was perfect.

“I told you I quit! I’m fucking done!” Crowley felt like a feral thing as he threw himself at Gabriel. 

There was no question who would come out on top in a straight fight, but Crowley didn’t care, he just wanted so badly to hurt someone for what they were willing to do to Aziraphale. If he got knocked around in the process, he’d take it.

It was probably the pause to look back that really cocked up his attack plan. It allowed the head of security to get in range and just as he tried to swing a punch, they stepped in and did some sort of complicated martial arts move that left him sprawled out in a heap on the floor again.

“Crowley! Stay the fuck down,” they hissed in his ear before they stepped back.

“Beelzebub, this is a misunderstanding,” Gabriel’s voice was bright and he was smiling benevolently, like he hadn’t just assaulted one of his subordinates. Which meant he had probably noticed the small crowd of reporters milling in the hallway.

On the floor, Crowley curled in on himself, blinking back more tears and trying to catch up with an overload of information that was hitting him now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. His arms ached terribly. The bat had done the job, damaging the equipment beyond repair, but his arms throbbed painfully up past the elbows. Or maybe that was partially due to his attempts to break both of his falls. One of his hips hurt badly where he had landed on it and he was still struggling to suck in enough air.

“He is a liability,” Beelzebub said, sounding bored. “I’m escorting him off property. Now. We’ll sort this out later.”

There was an awkward moment where Gabriel realized he needed to do damage control and greeted the gaping visitors.

Reminding himself that it was all about the show, Crowley swiped a sleeve across his face and scrambled to his feet. “You shouldn’t have tried to force me to stay, you colossal prick,” he shouted at Gabriel before spinning and storming towards the closest exit.

Beelzebub trailed along behind him and a flurry of muttering rose up from the visitors who were left trying to interpret what they had just stumbled onto.

It was hard not to break down as they turned a corner. It felt like abandoning Aziraphale. Reason told him that taking himself out of the equation, removing the easy fall guy would force whoever was plotting against them to scramble for a new plan. Reason didn’t do shit for the pain in his chest and the feeling of loss that left him dizzy.

“Alright?” Beelzebub muttered as they drew even with him.

He spared them a glance. They were almost a foot shorter than he was with black hair that refused to be tamed. He’d known them for years and, despite their unapproachable demeanor, he knew they could be trusted. Their loyalty to the company broke at premeditated murder.

On the verge of answering their question, Crowley felt his stomach turn over and he bolted for the door instead. He barely managed to clear it before he was throwing up. Nerves had kept him from eating all morning, so his efforts quickly turned into dry heaving.

By the time he got himself back under control he was shaking all over.

“Guess not,” Beelzebub said as they watched impassively. “Need you off property ASAP.” 

It would have seemed unkind except Crowley knew they were still within the watchful eyes of the surveillance cameras. He leveraged himself back onto his feet, grimacing as he used his sleeve to wipe his face. He followed them dutifully to the gated entrance where a cab was already waiting. Beelzebub crowded him up against it but kept one hand against the door to keep him from opening it.

“Go straight to the house Anathema arranged for. It has security, people I recommend.” Beelzebub’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’re convinced?” He breathed back, searching their eyes hopefully.

For a moment, their lips pulled back in an expression that resembled a snarl. “I was already convinced; now I’m pissed off about it.”

“Thank you. Seriously, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” they grumbled before tipping their head back slightly towards the guard station and the cameras behind them. “Better make a parting declaration, for the show of things.”

“Don’t tell me what’s best!” He started at a normal volume and ramped up quickly. “You’re just trying to protect the company and the company can go fuck itself.”

Holding their hands up in defeat, Beelzebub stepped back, allowing him the space to open the cab door and throw himself inside.

As the vehicle pulled away from the remnants of the metaphorical bridge he had just burned, Crowley found himself dreading the wait that stretched out before him. The next few months were going to be pure hell.

Chapter Text

Waking from hypersleep was always a jarring experience. There was no in-between, no gradual rise to consciousness. Just sudden awareness snapping into place between one heartbeat and the next. 

Like every time before, Aziraphale was conscious before the ship dropped out of light speed, so he was aware of the soft chime of the message that was automatically pushed through as soon as his ship’s systems connected to the communications network.

He snapped up the bag of backup drives he had pulled after his last call with Crowley and tucked them in the outer liner of his space suit before hastily zipping it back up. The next imperative was to check the console. He was desperate for updates. One word greeted him without the usual signature he had come to expect from Crowley.

Stall.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more information. A starting point to give him context for what might have happened in the months since he was last awake. Frozen in the uncertainty, Aziraphale was startled so badly by the sound of the speakers crackling to life that he flinched at the sound.

Every other time, he had been the first to reach out for an audio connection because of the distance. He should have been reassured by the fact that he was at least close enough to be noticed and for the call to be initiated from the control room, but it felt oddly invasive, all things considered.

“Guardian One! This is mission control. Welcome back! You had us worried.” It wasn’t Crowley’s voice.

Aziraphale took an immediate, intense dislike to the speaker. It wasn’t entirely fair. He knew most of the negative response was simply because he wanted so badly to hear Crowley, to know that he was okay. Beyond that, though, he didn’t appreciate this new controller’s greeting. Not following protocol he could forgive. Heaven knew he hadn’t batted an eye at Crowley’s lack of etiquette during their first interaction. But to greet someone with an indication that there had been problems without first establishing an ounce of rapport? Without even waiting for a response back? It strongly suggested the speaker was poorly trained, out of practice, or simply not qualified for the role he was currently filling.

“Mission Control, this is Guardian One. Dr. Aziraphale Fell speaking.” He didn’t bother to hide any of the annoyance he was feeling. “May I know who I’m speaking to?”

“Dr. Gabriel Winger.” The response came back, still eager, but there was the slightest hint that some of the shine had been worn off of the original enthusiasm. “We’re very excited to hear from you.”

I bet you aren't. Aziraphale almost said it out loud. Would have, except he had no way to know if Crowley and whoever he might be working with had been discovered. If he said the wrong thing, he might be revealing information that was better kept a secret. “Forgive me for asking, but what is your mission success ratio?”

“My… that’s hardly…” Gabriel’s hesitation wasn’t unexpected. Unless things had changed drastically since Aziraphale’s time running missions, every controller knew their ratio, but to be asked about it on an open call in the middle of a mission was unheard of, quite rude, and absolutely bad form. Gabriel gathered himself, his tone turning cooler. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’m assuming this is a momentous occasion, so the person running the room would have been selected accordingly. Someone with an exceptional record, surely.” He let the sentence sit just long enough so that it might seem like he intended it as a compliment before he continued, “But your greeting was sloppy. I can count at least four ways that you didn’t follow standard protocol and one glaring mistake that would be considered unacceptable from the greenest of rookies. I suppose regulations might have changed since my day, but best practice should always be to cater to the training of your astronaut over your own. For the sake of safety.”

“Well, Aziraphale,” Gabriel started, trying to chuckle, but there was a tightness in his voice that indicated he didn’t appreciate being called out.

“Dr. Fell, if you please.” Aziraphale interrupted, putting a bit of flint into his voice. There was more low grade background noise than he had ever heard from his conversations with Crowley. A creak that sounded like someone pushing back against their chair, a cough, the shuffling of papers. It gave the impression of a larger space and more people present. “Have you run missions before, Dr. Winger?”

“Yes–” There had been more to the sentence, another word was almost audible.

Aziraphale spoke over him. “Manned missions?”

The silence that followed was telling.

“I assumed you were given this role based on merit. Surely it’s not the sort of thing they would just fob off to a high ranking company official for the glory of the thing.” It did occur to Aziraphale that he might very well owe this man a massive apology if it turned out he was actually working with Crowley. Still, he had been instructed to stall, and he wasn’t going to do it by half measures.

There was an unexpected burst of sound from the background, like maybe someone else in the control room laughed unexpectedly and was trying badly to cover it with a cough.

“I think maybe we got started on the wrong foot,” Gabriel said, all charm again, obviously wanting to move past whatever had just happened.

“Precisely the point I’ve been trying to make,” Aziraphale muttered, though he didn’t try very hard to keep it from being audible.

He was expecting another attempt at redirection, or a plea of commonality, but instead the call filled with the buzz of angry static.

“Mission Control?” The realization that this might be the start of the plan to make sure Aziraphale didn’t survive left him suddenly shaking and afraid.

He was still lost in the spiral of uncertainty when there was a loud thump and his entire craft shuddered, leaving him grasping the console for balance. It left his heart racing as he tried to comprehend what new threat he might be facing.

The sudden chime at the exit hatch, an indication of a pressure seal being achieved, clued him into the fact that it was another ship docking that he had felt. The realization didn’t help him to know how to feel about it, though. Only Crowley and his team would have the knowledge of where and when Aziraphale was expected to arrive with the sort of accuracy required to reach him so quickly, but there was always the chance that they had been discovered or compromised.

A direct confrontation seemed like an unlikely way to finish him off, but not completely unreasonable if Eden’s Gate wanted to pull the data before they destroyed him and his ship.

Locked in uncertainty, Aziraphale startled roughly as the unmistakable knock of ‘shave and a haircut’ rang through his ship. It didn’t prove anything. It might still be capricious assassins, but Aziraphale dared to hope. It wasn’t like he could keep anyone out indefinitely anyway, so he moved forward on shaky legs and keyed in the code to open the hatch. As soon as the seal broke, Aziraphale stepped back, holding his breath to see what was waiting on the other side.

The door was jerked back almost violently and Aziraphale was greeted with one of the most beautiful sights of his life. He barely had a moment to register that it was in fact Crowley before the other man was all but falling into him, rushing in and pulling Aziraphale into his chest in a hug so tight it bordered on painful.

It was, by far, the best hug of his life. Aziraphale returned it fiercely, relief rolling through him and leaving him giddy and light headed.

“Worst six months of my life,” Crowley muttered, managing to sound both annoyed and amused. He shifted back and his hand moved over the bag of hard drives that were tucked into the left side of Aziraphale’s suit. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s this?” His voice was tinged with concern.

“Oh, the, um, the data drives?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt embarrassed. “I wanted to be prepared.”

“I could kiss you.” Crowley’s words were straight praise as he shifted his attention to his own pocket and pulled out a data pad.

Please do. The vehemence with which the thought wrecked Aziraphale’s mental capacity left him feeling thankful that Crowley had glanced away and missed whatever desperate expression it had put on his face.

“Alright, damage control,” Crowley declared, tapping the screen to light up a page that contained highlighted text. “This is a passage from your original contract indicating you would have a controlling say in any decisions regarding the Guardian One project when you returned.”

Aziraphale skimmed the section just to verify it was what Crowley had indicated. “I remember, yes.”

With a quick nod, Crowley swiped his fingers across the screen, paging over to a new document. “This is a legal agreement giving approval for assets of the project to be moved to an independent civilian craft with the understanding that you remain in complete control and retain sole ownership of said assets.”

This document Aziraphale took longer to read through, but it was blessedly short and said exactly what Crowley had indicated. “What’s the purpose?” Aziraphale asked even as he signed it.

“We’re getting you away from this ship and somewhere safe. In a certain light, even removing you from the ship could be considered some sort of corporate espionage, so we’re doing our best to cover the legal bases.” Crowley left a scratchy, illegible signature on the witness line before holding his arm out towards the open door. “We’re going to try to keep your ship intact, but there’s always a chance they’ve got contingency plans we aren’t aware of, so I’m going to feel a whole lot better once we’ve put some distance between us and it. Especially since we’re actively blocking the com signal.”

It was frustrating to be reminded that they were in danger. All he wanted to do was to stare at Crowley. His face was sharper and more expressive than the pictures managed to convey, and his eyes were even more stunning in person. His space suit was some sort of shiny black material that fit him in a way that made it seem more stylish than utilitarian and left Aziraphale feeling positively shabby in comparison. With a mental shake, he forced himself to focus and move through the hatch into the rescue ship.

Crowley was a warm presence behind him the whole way. As soon as he finished sealing the hatches on both ships, he pressed a gentle hand to Aziraphale’s back and guided him towards an open seat.

“Let’s rock and roll,” Crowley called towards the front. 

The pilot’s hands were already dancing across the instrument panels as Aziraphale turned his attention back to his seat. Like the rest of the ship, there was a sleekness about it that he would have labeled as futuristic, but realized was probably simply modern, all things considered.

“Let me?” Crowley’s expression was soft and questioning, his hands poised halfway towards the straps, waiting for permission.

Aziraphale gave a jerky nod. It was a marvel to watch Crowley up close. His hands moved clinically, touching lightly as he maneuvered the correct tabs into slots and tightened them down. 

The entire ship shuddered violently as it detached. Crowley, in his unbalanced state, nearly fell but Aziraphale reached out and caught him by the waist, keeping him upright.

A blush bloomed on Crowley’s cheeks and he cleared his throat as he secured the last buckle. “All set,” he said without meeting Aziraphale’s eyes as he shifted to his own seat and repeated the whole process.

“Crowley?” He waited for the other man to look back. He needed to be sure that he was paying attention. “Thank you. For coming for me.” He reached out and pressed his fingertips gently against the back of Crowley’s wrist, a momentary physical connection to try to convey the depth of his gratitude.

The corner of Crowley’s mouth ticked up slightly as his whole expression softened. He glanced from Aziraphale’s face down to his hand before turning his arm over and wrapping his fingers around Aziraphale’s and squeezing softly. “Promised I’d get you home safe, didn’t I?”

Chapter Text

Crowley had lost himself for just a moment when he first laid eyes on Aziraphale. He had practically thrown himself at the other man without making a conscious decision to do so. It was as instinctual as breathing. He would have been embarrassed about it if he hadn’t been so damn grateful to find him alive.

The nightmares were at least partially to blame. They had gotten more frequent as the date for Guardian One’s arrival had drawn closer. Crowley had spent countless nights waking up in a cold sweat replaying scenarios in his mind of Aziraphale dying. Seeing him whole and hale had nearly taken Crowley to his knees in pure relief.

Touching down on Earth had eased even more of Crowley’s worries, though he mourned the loss of Aziraphale’s hand in his as the ship landed. 

He had done his best to warn Aziraphale about what would be waiting for them as they were driven to a secure location, a sprawling villa located near the airfield. It was hard to tell if any of his words landed, though. Aziraphale seemed thoroughly distracted, his focus mostly devoted to what he could see through the car windows. It was dark out, well past sunset already, and the area wasn’t particularly interesting, being remote by design, but Crowley thought he could understand the inclination to observe as much as possible in a world that would be completely unfamiliar.

There was a moment, as they were approaching the formal dining room where everyone important enough to warrant an immediate audience had already been gathered, when Crowley had been tempted to step in and offer an out. Aziraphale had been plucking at the waistband of his white spacesuit, visibly shrinking and obviously nervous, and Crowley’s heart ached for him. Just as he was about to reach out, a sort of calm settled over Aziraphale. He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and pushed forward through the doors with a confidence that Crowley never would have doubted if he hadn’t just been allowed to see what lurked beneath it.

A whole lot of talking had followed. Crowley let it wash over him because, strictly speaking, it wasn’t his business. The only reason he was present was to take care of Aziraphale, because everyone else was worried about the future and what came next. Someone needed to focus on right now.

Crowley had spent the meeting delivering tea and snacks to Aziraphale, when he wasn’t folded into a spare chair in the corner, checking his phone to see if there was any word from Anathema. Her silence wasn’t completely unexpected. If she had been on site at Eden’s Gate, which she had hoped to be, she would have likely been caught in the lockdown and blackout procedures that were standard practice when mission control lost live contact with an active spacecraft.

After nearly an hour of constant chatter, there was a subtle shift in the feeling of the room. Aziraphale was asking fewer questions and under the table, he was twining his fingers together fretfully. It would have been enough on its own, but there were also the worried glances he was shooting in Crowley’s direction that ended up being the final motivating factor.

Crowley rolled to his feet, stretching as he went, knowing the exaggerated movements would draw attention. “We should take a break,” he announced, not caring that he cut someone off to do it.

One of the suits at the table wasn’t thrilled with the suggestion. “These matters are time sensitive. The sooner Dr. Fell makes the decisions, the better.”

“It’s nearly ten thirty at night,” Crowley shot back. “At this point, is an hour going to make that much of a difference?”

There was significant eye contact and an air of discomfort in the room, but no one spoke up.

“Maybe let the man who just traveled further than anyone else in all of human existence have a minute to freshen up and ruminate before he makes these life altering choices, yeah?” Crowley didn’t actually care if anyone disagreed. He pressed lightly on Aziraphale’s shoulder to encourage him to move and gestured towards the nearest door.

Instead of calming down once they stepped out, Aziraphale became more anxious, his gaze darting from one thing to the next, seeming reluctant to stop too long on Crowley now that they were alone. “Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked, allowing himself to be directed some ways down a long hallway before stopping and turning back. “I do hate having everyone wait on me.” His eyes landed on Crowley and his expression crumpled before he turned away again. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Alright. We’ve got time. We can figure things out.” Crowley kept his voice soft and his movements slow as he reached out and opened the door to the room that he had set up in advance for Aziraphale to use. 

With one last mournful glance towards the room they had just left, Aziraphale turned and passed through the doorway.

Crowley followed him in and closed the door. “Right now, at this moment, what do you need?” Crowley asked. “Is there anything that would help?”

Instead of having a calming effect, the words seemed to agitate Aziraphale further. “How can you ask me that?” He spun around, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes. He looked distressed as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “Were you even paying attention in there?”

Aiming for unassuming, Crowley shifted his weight back so he was slouching against the door. It lost him an inch or two in height and eased some of the pressure that was building up between them. He let a small smile spread across his face, not smug, just mildly amused. “Honestly? Not really.”

“Crowley!” He was admonishing, but there was a deeper frustration underneath. “If I pursue my full contract, you’ll lose your job.” It seemed like it hurt him to say it.

Laughing was a really bad idea. Crowley knew he shouldn’t, but it slipped out before he could stifle it completely. “Oh, angel. That ship has sailed.”

The fight drained out of Aziraphale and he rocked back, staggered. “What happened?” It was almost a whisper, as if he was afraid of what the answer might be.

“It’s fine,” Crowley assured him, waving one hand dismissively. “Promise you won’t be mad?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he continued, “It seemed likely they would pin the blame for whatever happened to you on me, since I soloed the project for so long. Logically, it also would have been in their best interests if I wasn’t around after to refute their story. So I attempted to quit the project to see how they would react.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale put so much emotion into just his name.

“They weren’t keen to let their scapegoat go though,” he hurried to continue the explanation. “I might have smashed up my control room to get the point across.” When he registered that Aziraphale was becoming distraught, he immediately backpedaled. “We had a backup control board in place already, just in case. I would never have left you without a way to communicate.”

Aziraphale shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me there was very possibly a plan to end your life and you think I’m upset about the method you used to protect yourself? On the off chance that it might have inconvenienced me?”

“When you put it like that,” he muttered while he rubbed the back of his knuckles absently against the side of his neck. “It was a good plan though. We timed it for a day when press was visiting, so they witnessed the whole glorious spectacle. Not particularly newsworthy all by its lonesome. But when upper management was considering coercing me into returning despite my outburst, the head of security pointed out what a liability it would be, if something did go wrong and those same reporters found out I was given responsibilities when I was so clearly unfit.”

“Are you…” Aziraphale backed up until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sat on it heavily. “Have you been blacklisted?”

“Maybe?” Crowley shrugged as he leveraged away from the door and moved so he could squat down next to the bed. “We’ll see how things shake out after the dust settles.” Crowley reached out and set his fingertips against Aziraphale’s shoulders just to have a point of connection between them. “You can’t base this choice on how it might impact the company. They had the opportunity to do the right thing. Choosing to pursue this legally will force their underhanded dealing into the light. It might expose ways that they’ve hurt other people along the way.”

 “Is it the right thing to do if it costs a bunch of innocent people their jobs?” There was real heartbreak written on his face.

Unexpectedly, Crowley found new levels of burning anger against whoever had made the initial decision to steal Aziraphale’s future. He wasn’t particularly religious, but he hoped they were burning in Hell for what they had done to a genuinely good man. “I can’t make this decision for you.” He knew what he felt the right choice was, but it wasn’t his to make. “I will say that if Eden’s Gate goes under, there are other companies that would be interested in buying up the assets and continuing the same line of work.”

“You think they would keep the employees?” Aziraphale was still frowning, but some of his anxiety seemed to be bleeding away.

“I can’t promise that.” It felt like being completely truthful was important here. “But these are all highly educated individuals, it’s not like they would be left without options. And again, no matter how you feel about this, it’s not your fault that the company decided profit was more important than honoring their legal obligations.”

Finally, Aziraphale smiled. It was a weak and tired thing that began fading almost as quickly as it appeared, but it was still beautiful. “Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley bounced to his feet, nearly vibrating with excitement now that there was an opening in the conversation. “I have something for you,” he called over his shoulder as he moved to the closet and retrieved one of the suits he had tucked away days ago. “I hope you don’t mind. I might have snagged your measurements from the Guardian One project files.” With a flourish, he turned, holding the tailored garment out for inspection.

Aziraphale stood and closed the distance between them in a sort of daze. “These look like…” He reached out and brushed his fingers down the soft cream colored waistcoat. Something about it seemed to hurt him. He looked lost as a single tear slid down his cheek.

Chapter Text

It was a closet; obviously Aziraphale had expected Crowley to present him with new clothes. It was just that he had been bracing for something similar to the corporate suits that had dominated the room they had just escaped. He was completely unprepared to see something achingly familiar and he approached hesitantly. 

“These look like…” He reached out and brushed his fingers down the soft material of a well-tailored waistcoat that was nearly identical to one of his old favorites. The only reason he knew it wasn’t the original was because all of the signs of wear he had caused were missing. He blinked and an unexpected tear slipped down his face.

It would have been so much easier for Crowley to get him something modern. It would have made sense even, to help him step into the new era he needed to find his place in. But he hadn’t. Yet again, without even seeming to realize he was doing it, Crowley had quietly declared his preference for Aziraphale exactly as he was. There were a lot of big, complicated feelings stirred up by that realization.

“Oh, shit.” Crowley visibly cringed as he started to pull away. “Did I overstep?” 

“No!” It came out louder than necessary, but Aziraphale was desperate to correct him. He grabbed the suit and pulled it to his chest possessively. “They’re perfect.” You’re perfect. “How did you know?”

Seeing joy spread across Crowley’s face was a blessing. His smile was devastating in its loveliness. “I’ve seen pictures of you running missions. I know I always dress…” He seemed to falter for a moment, then changed course. “You’re in control, you have to be your most confident when you’re running the boards. I thought it might help if you could feel that way now.”

It was…a lot to feel all at once. “When this is all over, I’m going to spend a very long time trying to convey how thankful I am for all that you’ve done for me.” His voice was soft as he spoke the words at the tartan bow tie, running his thumb gently over the pattern which was an exact match to what he used to wear.

“It’s nothing,” Crowley grumbled, scrunching in on himself as he moved towards the door. “I’ll be across the hall. Don’t, uh… don’t go back without me.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale promised as the door clicked shut and he found himself alone again.

Crowley was distracting. 

It was partially due to the tight black jeans that left very little to the imagination, and the way the lines of his jacket were just a bit sharper than everyone else's, suggesting a more fashionable choice instead of the safe, business professional option. Then there was the way he draped himself across the chair he’d tucked into the corner, putting the artwork on the walls to shame.

Mostly, though, it was just that Crowley existed. Every time Aziraphale was asked to make a decision for his own future, his thoughts turned instantly to Crowley. He told himself it was too soon for that sort of consideration. Their situation was far too strange and new. It needed time to develop before he started to build his life around it. He tried, and failed, not to think about what they could be together.

In the end, it was decided he would pursue the fulfillment of his original contract in full. They had tabled the discussion on what sort of additional damages he might be entitled to for the time being since the official investigations were only just beginning.

As the last of the lawyers filed out of the room, Aziraphale sensed Crowley sidle up next to him before he caught sight of him.

“I know it’s been a hell of a day, but there’s someone else you should meet with.” Crowley hitched his hip up onto the table. He was angled towards Aziraphale but his attention was fully on the phone in his hand.

He was right there. If Aziraphale stood up, he could lean in and bury his face in Crowley’s shoulder. They could hold onto each other and ignore the rest of the world completely. There was no doubt in his mind that if he asked, Crowley would send away this new interloper without trying to change his mind. With a groan, Aziraphale leaned his head into one hand and closed his eyes. “Who is it?”

“Gabriel Winger.” Crowley’s face twisted in disgust as he said it, but he was still looking down, swiping a finger across the screen of his device.

A man who probably wanted both of them dead. Dread knotted in Aziraphale’s stomach. He had to push down on the sudden need to get Crowley away to safety. “Do you trust him?” His voice was rough, sounding almost pained. 

It caught Crowley’s attention. His head snapped up, worry clearly etched in his expression. “Fuck, no.” He set the phone to the side and pivoted slightly so their knees were almost touching. “But I do trust the person vouching for him. I would have had our security team toss him on his ass if I thought he posed any kind of threat.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale wanted to accept Crowley’s judgment, but the thought of losing him now was debilitating.

“Yeah, angel.” 

Crowley had been calling him that almost since the beginning and every time, it sent a little fissure of warmth through Aziraphale. He was afraid to ask about it in case drawing attention to it would cause him to stop.

Before Aziraphale could get a handle on what his next question might be, there was a sharp knock on the door. Something had been building in the room between them, but Aziraphale only became aware of it as he felt it break and fade.

Without waiting for a response, the door was jerked open.

Aziraphale stood quickly, wanting to face this new challenge on his feet.

The man who entered was exactly what Aziraphale imagined based on his prior conversation with Dr. Gabriel Winger. Conventionally attractive, tall with broad shoulders wrapped up in an expensive suit tailored to show it all off. The only thing that didn’t fit was his expression. He looked distinctly troubled.

The person who entered behind him was far more interesting.

“Aziraphale, allow me to introduce Beelzebub Prince, head of security at Eden’s Gate. They helped with my grand escape.” Crowley was standing close at Aziraphale’s left shoulder, making them a united front.

Significantly shorter with black, unruly hair, Beelzebub was dressed in something that resembled a suit, but had an air of practicality about it. With their hands stuffed in their pockets, they didn’t bother to acknowledge anyone as they prowled to a chair, kicked it out, and dropped into it.

“You have my thanks for that.” Aziraphale offered a smile despite the nerves that were eating him up inside.

Crowley resumed introductions: “And you’re already aware of Gabriel.”

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale hadn’t meant to sound so menacing, but the words came out harsh and cold.

There was a long pause as Gabriel clenched his jaw and the tension in the room became almost suffocating. When he made a sudden movement, reaching for the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Aziraphale’s adrenaline spiked and he stepped in front of Crowley without really even thinking.

From their place on the sidelines, Beelzebub snorted. “It’s fine.” They propped their chin up in their hand, apparently preparing to enjoy the show.

Crowley sidestepped to the left so he was visible again. Aziraphale attempted to shoot him an apologetic glance, but couldn’t catch his eye. 

For a moment, Gabriel stood frozen and uncertain, but when nothing further happened, he slowly pulled out a small metal drive and set it on the table that separated the two parties. “That has the codes that I was supposed to send to Guardian One after we made contact,” he explained quietly.

“What does it do?” There was something dark and menacing in Crowley’s voice. It promised violence, longed for it even.

Gabriel swallowed visibly, not taking his eyes off the offending object he had just set down. “I don’t know,” he said.

“You didn’t ask?” Crowley spat, furious.

After a brief glance in Beelzebub’s direction, Gabriel finally raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s. “You have no reason to believe me, but I never intended to use it.”

There was a tension in Crowley, like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. “Right. You were just going to let him land and tank the entire company.”

It was a small shift that closed the distance between them. Aziraphale barely had to move at all and the back of his knuckles were brushing gently against Crowley’s. “Why not?” he asked.

“I’m not a murderer.” There was regret and shame in Gabriel’s voice. 

When no one seemed inclined to break the silence that followed, Beelzebub groaned and then kicked their foot out, knocking it against his. “Start from the beginning.”

So Gabriel explained it in broad strokes. It had started small. He was told there was a mistake; a miscalculation really. Guardian One was never going to make it back. It was a sad fact and the company needed to be ready to make all the appropriate, stoic responses when the time came. It was only reasonable that the resources set aside for Aziraphale had been reallocated after the problem was discovered. Over time, the story developed. The ship would make it back, but the occupant would never wake up. Or he might wake up, but he would be brain dead. Whenever Gabriel tried to ask questions, they were deflected and he was encouraged to be a team player. Eventually, he was told he was being assessed the whole time and the amount of information he was given was based on how trustworthy he had proven himself to be.

There had also been money, of course. A nice raise in pay or an unexpected bonus, always received directly before another meeting where he was told the next bit of unsavory information. 

By the time he realized that there were plans in place to ensure Aziraphale never made it back alive, he was in too deep.

“Well played.” Crowley drawled sarcastically as he clapped several times. “Really pulling at the heartstrings.” He crossed his arms and practically bared his teeth as he continued, “Smells an awful lot like bullshit to me.”

Gabriel visibly deflated under the verbal attack.

“You could have come to me, if you actually disagreed with any of that,” Crowley said. “Everyone knows I was fanatically devoted to the project.”

“They told me you were in on it,” Gabriel countered, raising his voice for the first time, though it was driven by distress and not anger. “I was told you were being well compensated to keep your mouth shut and do the dirty work.”

All of the fight drained out of Crowley. “You thought I was… that I was capable of something like that?” He seemed devastated.

Aziraphale wanted to soothe him but he wasn’t sure how. He didn’t know where the boundaries between them lay, especially with their current audience.

“No offense,” Gabriel said with a helpless shrug, “but you’re kind of an asshole?” There was extra inflection on the end of the statement that turned it into an uncertain question. “The way you refused to even consider other assignments years before the project was ever due to return didn’t help.”

Crowley muttered something that sounded distinctly like a curse.

“When you started trying to quit at the eleventh hour,” Gabriel took a deep breath before he soldiered on, “I… I thought you were going to take the money and run and I would be forced to…” he gestures at the memory stick in lieu of an explanation. “Your exit didn’t help either. It seemed like a deliberate attempt to sabotage the project.”

“Alright,” Crowley snapped. “I get the picture.”

“I’ve been collecting evidence.” Gabriel reached into the inner pocket on the other side of his jacket and pulled out a larger memory drive that he placed on the table next to the first device.

Beelzebub shifted slightly, leaning back to glance up at him. “I found Gabriel trying to override the company lockdown so he could sneak out with it.”

There was a noticeable shiver as Gabriel turned and smiled at them nervously. “I assumed you were loyal to Eden’s Gate. Never been so scared in my life.”

“Good.” Beelzebub smirked, clearly entertained by the admission.

There were still important questions that needed answers. Aziraphale put his palms down on the table and leaned forward. “Why did you come here?”

Gabriel met his eyes again. “I’m done with letting someone else control me.” He let that sit for a moment before he continued. “I know I’m in too deep not to get caught in the periphery when things start coming to light. Facing the consequences of my bad choices felt like the best way to take back my life.”

“With Crowley out of the picture, he was probably next in line to take the fall anyway,” Beelzebub added.

Which was an interesting point they had yet to discuss. “Who was behind it all?” Aziraphale asked.

“I never spoke to them directly,” Gabriel said. “I only ever heard the guy at the top referred to by a pseudonym.” He shrugged a little helplessly. “They called him the Metatron.”

Chapter Text

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley muttered once he and Aziraphale were alone again. When it didn’t garner him an immediate reply, he kept talking. “Never seen Beez so…” He gestured vaguely.

“Disinterested?” Aziraphale offered as he absently worried at the bottom edge of his waistcoat with both hands.

“Protective, actually.” It was hard for Crowley to resist the urge to reach out and soothe Aziraphale’s fidgeting.

The unexpected descriptor earned an amused huff from Aziraphale. “If you say so, dear.”

The responsible thing to do would be to call it a night, turn in and rest up for whatever new challenges tomorrow was likely to bring. Except that was the last thing Crowley wanted when they were standing close enough to touch and Aziraphale was looking at him with a soft smile on his lips and fondness in his stormy blue eyes. “See, Beelzebub didn’t have to bring Gabriel here to allow him to clear his conscience. I would have believed they just wanted to watch him squirm, but then they actually helped him through it, in their own way.” He realized he was leaning forward as if he was being drawn towards Aziraphale and shifted his weight back again. “I suppose it makes sense they left together. Beelzebub is probably the best person to turn him over to the authorities, but…” he trailed off, realizing he had lost Aziraphale’s full attention at some point. “Angel?” This time he did reach out, setting his fingers lightly against the other man’s elbow in an offer of support.

“Sorry.” Aziraphale turned slightly, pulling away from the gentle touch so he could catch Crowley’s hand and hold it. “Today was… it was a lot. I am trying, with varying degrees of success, not to dwell on the difficult bits.” This time when he smiled it looked slightly strained.

“Right. Come with me.” With a gentle tug on their joined hands, Crowley was able to coax Aziraphale into following him out the exterior door and across the courtyard towards the far side of the villa. There had been a plan for this particular reveal. Crowley was going to wait a day or two to spread things out and keep it all from becoming overwhelming. Except, in the moment, all he wanted was to see Aziraphale light up with happiness again. To that end, he pushed open the door to the largest room in the entire property and stepped in among the rows of shelves.

“Oh, a library. How lovely.” There was something just slightly forced in the note of cheer in Aziraphale’s voice.

It was hard not to laugh, the nerves and anticipation were making Crowley just a tad punchy, but he managed to tone it down to a grin and a chuckle. “I didn’t drag you all the way over here to show you someone else’s stupid books.”

“Crowley! They're hardly–” His objection was cut off as they rounded one of the aisles and he caught sight of the reason they had come.

Knowing separation was inevitable, Crowley let go where their hands were joined and held up his arms like a magician revealing a trick. “Surprise.” Despite the flamboyant gesture, he kept his voice soft.

All of the aisle space before them was filled up with stacks of specially sealed storage crates, and there were five more rows just as full beyond it.

“My books,” Aziraphale whispered reverently as he moved towards one of them and gently touched the label on the side of the box.

It was a good response, Crowley knew it was, even if he hadn’t caught the exact shape yet of what Aziraphale was feeling. Somehow that didn’t really help him feel any less anxious as the moment seemed to hang. When he was wound too tight, he started speaking without bothering to think about what he was actually saying. Surely anything was better than the silence. “I figured you probably wouldn’t want to unpack them until some sort of permanent housing was figured out, but I also thought you might appreciate having them… close by. In the meantime.” 

“How did you ever manage to get them here?” Aziraphale turned towards him, his brow creasing in worry. “Did you steal my books?”

“Oh. Um…” He hadn’t actually, but explaining the truth of the matter was going to take some of the shine off the positive feelings around this particular gift. 

“Crowley?”

“Listen, this part you’re not going to like very much.” Crowley crossed his arms and leaned up against the nearest bookcase. “The important thing is that the books are here, now, and they’re safe, right?”

There was the briefest hesitation as Aziraphale considered his words, then inclined his head slightly. “Granted,” he agreed, but then, softly, “tell me anyway?”

It occurred to Crowley that he might not be able to withhold anything ever, so long as it was asked in that tone of voice by this particular man. “Okay, probably… a year after I took over the Guardian project, I found out some storage areas were going to be cleared out.” He shrugged one shoulder a little helplessly. “Since I’m curious to a fault, I went down to poke around and realized the bulk of it was…” Instead of saying it, he gestures towards the boxes around them.

Color drained from Aziraphale’s face as he glanced back and reached out to rest his hand against the closest stack, as if to assure himself that they were solid and present.

“Obviously, I was horrified,” Crowley said, eager to get the telling over with now that he’d started. “Went up straight away and demanded answers. I was told they needed the space for new projects and anything you owned would be, you know, out of date when you returned and it could be replaced with newer, better stuff.”

“The age of the items is actually part of the appeal,” Aziraphale said, indignation evident in his voice and the way he clenched his fists at his sides. “A fair number of my collection was extremely rare a hundred years ago!” He took a deep breath and gathered himself, seeming to reach for some sort of acceptance. “After everything else, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised they were going to sell them off and keep the profits.”

“Yeah… about that…” Crowley knew the next bit was only going to make it worse but Aziraphale deserved the whole truth, even if it was an ugly one.

Worry was creasing Aziraphale’s forehead again but he lifted his chin slightly, bracing himself. “What is it?”

“So, they weren't going to sell them? I might have bribed the company that was supposed to take them to a dump to deliver them to a climate controlled storage facility instead.”

All other emotions seemed to have been burned away and replaced by a righteous fury. “A few of these books were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars! The whole collection was insured for several million, which Eden’s Gate knew because they took over the policy when I transferred the collection to them. And they were just going to… just… I can’t believe…”

Crowley wanted badly to ease some of the anger so they could find their way back to the good emotions again. “So if I had led with this, would it have been easier for you to make the decision to press for your full contract?”

“Yes!” The anger simmered for a beat before it was replaced with just a hint of a smile; acknowledgement that he recognized what Crowley was trying to do. For a moment, there was the familiar sensation of something building around them, and then Aziraphale was pushing away from the boxes and closing the distance between them.  “You!” He declared as he gently cupped Crowley’s face between his hands. He continued, much softer, “You wonderful man. What would I ever have done without you?” After just a moment of hesitation, he closed his eyes and leaned in so that their foreheads were pressed together.

You could kiss me, if you wanted. The words were right there. Crowley wanted to say them, intended to, but they were caught in his throat. He couldn't push down the worry that he might be moving too fast. So instead of speaking up, he swallowed them down and stood still, breathing the same air as the man he suddenly realized he had already fallen for.

When Aziraphale pulled away, there was a blush evident on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and turned back towards the boxes. “Let me tell you, Eden’s Gate is extremely lucky that you took matters into your own hands because I would have demanded compensation at current market value for every single one of these. Plus emotional damages! Some of my collection is functionally irreplaceable.”

Crowley racked his brain for something to say that wasn’t, ‘I think I more than like you.’ “I think you’re more upset now than you were when you found out they wanted you dead.”

“I am!” He was smiling again when he glanced back, but it almost immediately turned shy. “You saved my books.” It was barely audible.

“I wanted you to have something to come home to,” Crowley admitted.

“Well,” Aziraphale turned back and started looking through the lists of each box's contents in earnest. “You certainly managed that.”

“Would it be too forward if I asked you to stay with me?”

Aziraphale’s words crashed around inside Crowley’s head as he automatically jumped ahead to what that offer might entail and immediately backed away from the conclusion he had reached. His mouth made an attempt at language but nothing he uttered was recognizable as anything intelligible. They were standing in the hallway between the doors to their respective rooms. Crowley had just turned, reaching toward his own door and now found himself frozen and slightly panicked.

“That came out wrong,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I apologize.”

Crowley gave himself a mental slap, scraped his thoughts into some sort of order, and finally managed to turn back around. Aziraphale was staring hard at the cover of one of the books he had retrieved from his collection. There was an attractive flush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Try again?” Crowley urged gently. “Make it come out right?”

With a deep breath and  a small nod, Aziraphale looked up and met his eyes. “I am adrift in a world I do not know. I have been thrust into a position I never expected and so many things are happening very quickly. I… I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me get this far. I realize it’s a lot to ask. It’s not fair to you…” He glanced away and started to curl in on himself.

“Hey.” Crowley wanted to reach out and give comfort through touch, but he was terrified he would push too fast if he did, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and hoped he could manage well enough with just his words. “From the moment I opened that box in my grandparent’s attic, I think I have been running towards you. I thought it was just the job for a long time. Right up until the first time we spoke. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it. But the thought of sending you off on your own right now makes me ill.”

“So… you would be willing to stay… to help me navigate through this?” Aziraphale looked so hopeful it actually hurt a little.

Crowley swallowed hard and dipped his head slightly. “As long as you want me.”

“Well… that might be a very long time indeed.” Aziraphale was already turning away, fumbling for the door handle. “Goodnight, Crowley. Sleep well.” The words were said in a rush as he hurried into his room and closed the door behind him.

Crowley took a deep breath, held it in until it started to ache, then sighed. “Goodnight, angel.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale tried not to dwell on how many opportunities for a glorious first kiss he had squandered in a single evening. They had time to figure things out. Unfortunately, reminding himself of that fact wasn't helping him feel any better about the reality.

He burned off some of his anxious energy by exploring his room. It was fully stocked with the start of a wardrobe, enough to keep him covered until things settled down and he could start to fend for himself. Half the outfits appeared to be direct copies of things he’d owned before, while the rest were obviously heavily inspired by his personal style. Anything of a more personal nature, such as sleepwear, was stocked with a wide assortment of options for him to choose from. The bathroom was overflowing with more hair and body products than Aziraphale knew what to do with, including three different tooth brushes of varying technological complexity. At every turn, he found signs of care and suspected Crowley was a driving force behind all of them.

The investigation of his room and an attempt at developing a semblance of a new nightly routine only lasted so long. He tried to read for a short while but the words weren’t able to hold his interest.

Briefly, Aziraphale considered going to retrieve a different book, maybe even just to sit among his collection where he could touch the books that he treasured. He could barely stand to consider the idea of how close he came to losing them. It was tempting, but he didn’t relish the thought of wandering the villa at night in his pajamas when he was very aware that most of the common areas had active video surveillance. Not to mention the onsite security guards did patrols around the building perimeter and would likely investigate if they found someone out and about at such a late hour.

Sleep would have been the wisest choice, but it was frustratingly elusive. His thoughts continued to spiral around the man who had saved his books and his life–possibly at the cost of his heart. Increasingly, he was beginning to suspect that his only reason for hesitation with Crowley was that it felt too right, too easy somehow. So long as he didn’t factor in the traveling across time and space that allowed them to meet in the first place.

Several hours passed as Aziraphale lay in the darkness and considered the meaning of life and the bewildering nature of love. 

The first noise that broke the silence was muted. Barely a noise at all. It was soft enough, or perhaps far away enough that he wasn’t even sure he had heard anything at all. When it came again, it was louder, but no more discernible. He sat up and focused, hoping he could make sense of it if it happened again.

Instead, he heard the sound of hurried steps that stopped abruptly, then the quick rap of a knock, though it was muffled because it wasn’t against his door. The sound of it being opening followed so quickly after that it was obvious the knocker hadn’t actually waited for a response.

He was already rising to investigate when he heard the shout, clear and distinct and full of distress.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice was broken and desperate.

Fear gripped Aziraphale as he scrambled off the bed and rushed towards his door. Briefly, the thought of finding a weapon crossed his mind, but there wasn’t anything obvious at hand and he couldn’t spare the time to locate one. Crowley was in trouble. Crowley needed him.

All of Aziraphale’s adrenaline-fueled forward movement was stalled when he came face to face with one of the female security guards he had met briefly upon arrival, stepping out from Crowley’s room.

“Usual nightmares,” she reported into a small radio.

“Understood,” came the slightly distorted reply.

She glanced up and noticed Aziraphale and offered an apologetic smile. “All clear, sorry to wake you,” she offered before moving away at a brisk pace. He was aware they endeavored to be available at a moment's notice, but as invisible to their clients as possible.

Instinct kicked in and he was already across the hall, stepping into Crowley’s room before it occurred to him that he should have knocked.

Through the gauzy curtains over the sliding glass door, light spilled in from the courtyard and left Crowley silhouetted. He was sitting hunched among tousled blankets.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly, uncertain if he should continue or retreat.

Crowley jumped, visibly startled. “Shit!” He muttered as he turned away and swiped surreptitiously at his eyes as he coughed to clear his throat. “I woke you up. Fuck. Sorry. It’s nothing, really. Go back to sleep.”

Something protective and worried bloomed in Aziraphale’s chest. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, without even thinking.

The confession caused Crowley to finally look his way. Even in the low light, it was possible to see the concern in his expression. “Everything alright? Do you need anything?”

Wasn’t that just Crowley all over? Or maybe it was in his nature to deflect from his own needs. Aziraphale realized he was looking forward to finding out because… they had time. “Are you alright?” He asked, refocusing on why he was there.

There was a telling pause before Crowley responded. “Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “Of course.”

“It's only…” Aziraphale twisted his hands together, fretting that he was perhaps overstepping and Crowley actually did want him to leave. “You called my name?” It was a statement, asked as a question, because there were deeper implications he desperately wanted to understand but didn’t feel entitled to.

“Just a nightmare,” Crowley explained, “nothing to worry about.” In direct contrast to his words, he began blinking rapidly and his breathing was starting to sound unsteady, almost ragged.

It was more than Aziraphale could bear. “Send me away if you would rather be alone. I’ll understand,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion. When there wasn’t an immediate response, he kneeled on the edge of the bed and reached out, stopping just shy of actually touching.

The remaining distance was closed by Crowley who folded into him and clung tightly even as Aziraphale pulled him close.

“You have nightmares… about me?” Aziraphale finally broke the silence that had descended around them.

Crowley groaned and pushed away from their embrace, stretching out flat on the bed and putting distance between them. “It’s stress.” He was looking straight up at the ceiling, focusing hard on it. “Mission stress. I spend so much time fixated on one thing, trying to account for all possible worst case scenarios. Eventually, it just… spills over.”

“The security guards wake you up?” Aziraphale shifted onto his side so he was no longer looming. He left a small gap between them, propping himself up on one elbow.

The breath Crowley sucked in made a sort of hissing noise and he turned his head just slightly further away. “It’s the…” Crowley lifted one hand and waved it, gesturing at the room in general, “noises or whatever. They need to check that I’m not being attacked or in need of assistance.”

Aziraphale reached out, moving with deliberate slowness, and tucked some loose hair behind Crowley’s ear. To his delight, Crowley closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “When did the dreams start?”

The sigh that Crowley let out was long, like it was dredged up from the depths of his soul. “I’ve been thinking about getting you home safe a lot lately,” he offered instead of a direct answer. He opened his eyes and his gaze was painfully sincere.

“What if…” For a moment, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was brave enough to finish the question, but he wanted so badly to be. The thought that Crowley deserved to be looked after and cherished managed to make him bold. “What if I stayed in the room with you?”

Some complicated emotion played across Crowley’s features, but it was hard to read in the dim lighting.

Aziraphale rushed to explain, “I could wake you at the first sign of a nightmare and you would know right away that I was here, safe, not… in trouble.”

The look Crowley gave him was heartbreaking, but his words contradicted the naked longing in his expression. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“After all you’ve done for me?” Aziraphale rubbed his thumb gently where he was still cupping the side of Crowley’s face.

Crowley shivered slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “You don’t owe me anything for that,” he muttered, sounding almost irritated.

“I’m not offering because I think I owe you.” It was becoming obvious that he would need to be a little more direct in his explanation. “I’m offering because I care about you. I want to take care of you in any way that you will allow me to. So, if you’re sending me away because you’re uncomfortable with the idea, I am perfectly happy to go. However, if you’re rejecting it because you don’t want to inconvenience me, your argument is invalid.”

“No… it’s not…” Crowley pulled away and pushed himself up into a more vertical position so they were face to face. “I’m not uncomfortable with you here. I’m very comfortable. Completely, totally comfortable.”

Joy fluttered in Aziraphale’s chest. “What is it then?” he asked.

“I had a plan,” Crowley groaned, running one hand through his hair and tugging at it lightly in a gesture of frustration.  “You deserve to be wined and dined. Properly wooed. This,” he gestured between them, “is skipping a lot of steps.”

It wasn’t a surprise really. They had been headed in this direction from the very beginning but having it acknowledged out loud was a relief. “I like the sound of this plan of yours.” Aziraphale offered his hands, palm up, and beamed at Crowley when he took them. “Perhaps it’s okay to accept that what’s happening between us can’t possibly follow the normal course of a typical relationship. There could be room for this and that, if it’s what we both want.”

“I…” Crowley’s eyes flicked to the side. “I like the thought of you being here, with me,” he admitted. “Just… you know, I don’t expect anything. I could sleep on the floor or… something.”

It was endearing. Aziraphale gave a gentle squeeze of their joined hands. “I’m amenable to sharing if you have no objections.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Crowley’s lips and he turned his head slightly away, but slanted his eyes back until their gazes locked. “Not a one.”

Aziraphale pulled back so that he could slip in under the duvet.

“Full disclosure, I’m going to feel like shit any time I wake you up,” Crowley muttered as he focused intently on arranging his portion of the blankets.

“Well, I will endeavor to assure you that I’m exactly where I most want to be.” He punctuated the statement with a happy little wiggle, settling in so that they were laying side by side, still facing each other.

The look Crowley gave him was impossibly fond, but he wasn’t quite done offering outs. “You say that now, but you are allowed to change your mind in the future. Even just to take a night off if you need.”

“The same offer applies to you, my dear.” 

Crowley made a soft, skeptical sort of hum that clearly indicated how likely he thought it was that he would ever need it.

“I should probably inform you,” Aziraphale said softly, “in the interest of full disclosure, that I am also working on a plan to romance you.”

There was a bark of laughter as Crowley rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. When he spoke, he sounded more at ease, relaxed and happy. “Well, thank fuck for that.”

Chapter Text

It was the incessant buzz of a phone, not visions of fire and death, that next woke Crowley. He was pressed up against Aziraphale’s side, but the other man’s arm wrapped loosely around him kept him from feeling too embarrassed about being a clingy sleeper. 

With reluctance, he eased away from their embrace and found two missed calls and several short texts from Anathema. She had updates and she was headed over with coffee. He knew if he wasn’t up and out to meet her, she would have no qualms about bursting in on him. She’d done it before. 

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale and felt a swell of an emotion he was still afraid to name. Anathema meant well, but he wasn’t ready to explain something to her that he was still struggling to figure out for himself.

As quietly as possible, he slipped into the bathroom to tame his hair and brush his teeth. He had planned to leave a note, but found Aziraphale blinking owlishly at him when he emerged again. The urge to kiss the sleepy, confused expression on his face was so strong, Crowley was already halfway across the room before he remembered they weren’t there yet. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered, smiling fondly. “Anathema’s checking in. You can go back to sleep.”

There was a soft hum as Aziraphale shifted into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes again.

As he stepped into the courtyard, he was unsurprised to see Anathema was already headed towards his door, a travel cup in each hand. She stopped when she saw him, her features showing unwarranted surprise. 

Due to the frequent nightly security guard visits, Crowley had taken to sleeping in t-shirts and sweatpants, and deemed he was presentable enough for an early morning conversation. His eyes flicked down to double check he wasn’t having a wardrobe malfunction, then back up so he could scowl at her. She had seen him in worse shape and more scandalous outfits in the past.

Self conscious under her gaze, he moved over to one of the sets of patio furniture and dropped into a chair. “What?” He snapped when it became obvious that she was unlikely to stop ogling him without prompting.

There was an audible click as she snapped her mouth shut. “What happened to you?” She asked, her tone overly curious as she hurried to join him, setting the drinks on the table and taking the seat closest to Crowley. Instead of settling into it, she sat sideways so she could more directly interrogate him. 

It took an impatient finger wiggle from him before she finally handed over the coffee that had been promised. “Went to space, got Aziraphale, came back. All things I know you are well aware of.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so defensive, besides the fact that he wasn’t a morning person, and the way she was still gaping at him could only mean trouble.

“Your aura–”

Crowley cut her off with an obnoxious, frustrated groan as he dropped his head back against his chair and rocked it from side to side. “Don’t start. I’m not in the mood for this particular brand of woowoo today.”

The shocked look faded as she narrowed her eyes at him in a more familiar expression. “When are you ever?”

“Precisely.” He took a sip of his coffee and made an appreciative noise, something positive to ease a bit of the tension that had been building between them.

Before he could try to nudge her back towards the point of the visit, the door to his room opened and Aziraphale stuck his head out, looking noticeably sleep rumpled. “Oh, lovely.” He sounded pleased, even as he was already retreating from sight. “Give me a moment to freshen up and I’ll join you.” The sentence was punctuated by the click of the door shutting behind him.

It was a miracle that Anathema didn’t pull a muscle as she whipped her head back towards Crowley, her eyes were wide and excited while her smile was nearly feral.

“Don’t start,” he growled at her. “Nothing happened.”

“I suspect we have very different definitions for nothing, in this case,” Anathema countered as her enthusiastic expression settled into a knowing smirk. 

It occurred to him that her well intentioned prying might actually become problematic when Aziraphale joined them. “Alright, listen, will you accept that currently it’s extremely fucking complicated and leave it at that if I promise to update you if it becomes something official?”

“Well…” Anathema drew the word out, grinning wickedly the whole time, enjoying herself as Crowley glared back. “For you, dear cousin, I will attempt to quell my curiosity.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Wonderful. Thank you. Now go sit over there.” He made a shooing gesture towards the third chair, the furthest away in the group they had chosen.

“Normally, I would object to being ordered around in one of my family’s homes,” she began, rising to her feet and walking behind Crowley so she could ruffle his hair playfully in passing, “but you demanding I move so you can sit closer to your crush is probably the most adorable thing I have ever witnessed you do.”

“You’re a menace,” Crowley grumbled, running his finger through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

“I am and you love me for it,” she said sweetly as she settled into her new seat and sipped her drink, looking pleased with herself.

Aziraphale emerged a short while later, his white-blond hair properly tamed and though he had opted for a waistcoat, he had chosen to forgo a bowtie and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to the elbow.

He raised an eyebrow and gave Crowley an amused glance when he noticed that Anathema had switched seats.

“Aziraphale, you remember Anathema Device?” Crowley waved a hand absently in her direction. Now that Aziraphale was joining them, he found his irritation dissipating into something far more cheerful.

The smile Aziraphale turned towards her was genuinely happy and he bowed his head earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet in person.” He straightened and moved to the open seat, swaying slightly towards Crowley as he sat down, before righting himself back into perfect posture. “I am extremely grateful for everything you’ve done to help me.”

Instead of responding, Anathema stared hard at him before her eyes flicked to Crowley and back again.

“Ignore her, angel,” Crowley said as he tucked one leg under himself, shifting sideways so he was leaning into the gap between their two chairs. “She’s trying to figure out who you were in a past life, or which of your astrological signs are out of alignment.”

“Listen here you skeptical ingrate,” Anathema said as she pointed at him in mock seriousness, “You know I’m looking at his aura. Stop being a brat.”

Crowley rolled his eyes hard enough that his entire head swayed with the motion, leaving him tipped so far to the side that he was actually looking up at Aziraphale. “All through university she would constantly bring up how my aura looked wrong.”

“Wrong?” Aziraphale asked. His eyes darted back and forth between the other two, working to keep up with the conversation.

“Wrong, yes. And when I inquired as to what in the actual hell that could mean, she was always unwilling or unable to elaborate.” He made a sweeping gesture in Anathema’s direction, then curled his fingers into a fist and rested his chin on it.

“I explained!” Anathema waved a hand at him dismissively, but her attention was turned towards Aziraphale and she was squinting at something in the general vicinity of his left shoulder.

With a shake of his head, Crowley focused back on Aziraphale. “Adding additional, nondescript words is hardly an explanation. Some of my personal favorites were that my aura looked deceptive, askew, distorted, unsettled, and ill fitting. She always insisted it wasn’t the color that she found concerning, but the shape and substance.”

“I was trying to help,” she offered as she turned her attention back in his direction.

“Really? I thought maybe it was just your witchy way of trying to keep my ego in check.” He winked to take some of the bite out of his accusation.

The grin Anathema flashed him was bordering on predatory. “Believe me, if that had been my intent, there would not have been a maybe in that statement. I would have been direct and effective in my methods.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her hands. “It’s a moot point anyway. I’m fairly certain he fixed you.” She tipped her head towards Aziraphale in case there was any question of who she meant.

Crowley straightened in his chair with a speed that seemed almost involuntary. “What does that even mean?” he demanded, before thinking better of it and shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. This is university all over again. Let’s move on.”

“But I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Anathema insisted, leaning back and gesturing between them. “It looks like your two auras are actually mingling. It's fascinating. And for the first time since I met you, yours looks right, like it finally fits you .”

“Don’t,” Crowley warned. He wanted badly for her to stop talking. Whatever was growing between him and Aziraphale felt fragile, he was terrified that one wrong move might shatter it. Fear kept him scowling at Anathema, too afraid of what he might see if he turned to look at the man sitting next to him.

The gentle touch on his arm broke through the anxiety and his attention was drawn to Aziraphale. 

“It’s not so different from what you were telling me last night,” Aziraphale said quietly. He even smiled like an angel, his expression completely soft and open. “I mean… I’m not knowledgeable on the subject of auras, per say,” he hedged, “but the underlying sentiment feels similar.”

Crowley snorted. He couldn’t help it. The worry that had been threatening to overwhelm him was appeased and he settled back into a more relaxed position, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. “Auras are complete, unprovable bullshit,” he said mildly.

“And yet, I was able to discern there was something significant between the two of you,” she pointed out.

There were more than enough context clues to reach that conclusion, auras be damned, but Crowley was ready for a change of subject. “Why are you actually here? What’s the skinny?”

 Anathema narrowed her eyes at him, considering, but she must have settled on business because she straightened and her expression turned more serious. “The press release of Aziraphale’s safe return went out as soon as you touched down last night, as planned.”

Aziraphale stiffened noticeably, causing the other two to turn their focus to him.

“I’m sorry, angel.” Crowley reached across the space between them and rested his hand tentatively against Aziraphale’s forearm. “We needed to get word out that you’re alive as quickly as possible. It was all part of the plan to keep you safe.”

Aziraphale sighed and attempted a smile that seemed as if it would have been more comfortable as a grimace. “I understand, dear. I’m aware press work is an inevitable part of my return. I’m just not looking forward to it.” He glanced down at Crowley’s hand, covered it with his own for a moment, then slipped out of reach by rising to his feet. “Fame, no matter how short lived it will likely be for me, was always one of the least desirable parts of the endeavor in my mind.”

The withdrawal from their embrace had Crowley pulling back, cringing and berating himself for moving too quickly, until he realized that Aziraphale only stood up so he could push his chair closer.

Behind her coffee cup, Anathema tracked the movements, clearly entertained. “There’s a publicist coming by later this morning,” she advised. “I’ve worked with her before, she’s phenomenal. If you like her, she’ll coordinate all your appearances and work with you to make everything as pain-free as possible.”

Finally satisfied with the furniture arrangement, Aziraphale sat down again and offered his hand, palm up to Crowley, an invitation that was immediately accepted. “And if we don’t get on?” he asked, sounding suddenly stilted.

There was a slight frown as Anathema tipped her head to one side before answering, “Then we’ll keep trying until we find someone you’re comfortable with.”

Some unseen tension seemed to ease and Aziraphale relaxed subtly. “In the past, my personal preferences were often disregarded when it came to these sorts of high pressure situations,” he explained.

Crowley moved the leg he had been sitting on and hooked it over the arm of his chair, shifting his upper body so that his shoulder was pressed lightly into Aziraphale’s. “Anathema and her family don’t work like that.”

“ Her family?” Aziraphale asked, slanting a fond look at the man unabashedly pitching sideways into him. “I thought you were cousins.”

“We are!” Anathema insisted defensively.

Her vehemence earned a single bark of laughter from Crowley before he explained, “Distantly. I’m not part of the dynasty like she is. That came down from Agnes Nutter directly; I’m descended from one of her brothers.”

Aziraphale leaned towards Anathema, obviously curious. “How are you related to Dr. Nutter?”

“She was my great-great-great-grandmother.” She sat just a little straighter as she spoke, proud of the connection.

“She was very good to me,” Aziraphale offered. “I wish I could have gotten to know her better before I left.”

Anathema nodded, continuing eagerly, “It actually appears she may have left Eden’s Gate specifically over a disagreement on how your contract was being handled. She wanted the control to be legally transferred away from the company to avoid exactly what ended up happening.”

That caught Crowley’s attention. “That’s not in any of the official records of either company, I looked.” He had done extensive research on everyone originally involved in the project over the years.

“Either company?” Aziraphale turned slightly as he asked, leaning into the places where their arms were pressed together.

Crowley swallowed hard and nodded. He was starting to worry that if they kept raising the stakes of casual touching that he would end up in Aziraphale’s lap before too long. Unfortunately, as much as he would enjoy it, that felt exactly like skipping steps again. He forced himself to focus on the conversation instead. “Agnes started Portent, also focused on missions to space, but their goals didn’t overlap directly with Eden’s Gate, so the companies managed to co-exist as competitors while avoiding direct competition.” He turned his attention back to Anathema. “Official documentation all indicates the split was mutual and conflict free.”

“New documentation has come to light,” Anathema told him excitedly. “It would seem she set up and funded a trust privately to do what Eden’s Gate refused to. The press release triggered the current executor to reach out to the Portent board members.”

“She set aside money? For me?” Aziraphale’s brow pinched, filling his expression with worry. He adjusted his posture, causing him to pull away from Crowley slightly. “I can't accept that.”

“Not exactly.” Anathema was growing more enthused as she spoke. “She set aside money in case we ended up in this exact situation.” She paused for effect before announcing, “We’re going to make an offer to purchase Eden’s Gate.”

Despite no longer being plastered to each other’s sides, their hands were still joined. Crowley brushed his thumb gently back and forth, as much a nervous gesture as one that was meant to soothe Aziraphale. “You think they might use the money gained from the sale to pay out the contract?”

“It would be a required term of sale. One of several,” she confirmed.

“And you think they’re desperate enough to make a deal weighted so heavily in Portent’s favor?” Crowley was almost afraid to hope there might be a solution that didn’t involve fighting tooth and nail every step of the way.

“The alternative is a full blown scandal and a company in ruins,” Anathema said with a shrug. “Not exactly a career highlight for anyone involved.”

“And the fact that anyone important enough to vote for the sale probably has a golden parachute written into their contract so they won’t be leaving empty handed doesn’t hurt,” Crowley grumbled.

“What about the other employees?” Aziraphale asked, concern obvious in his tone.

“Well, we have to actually buy the company first, but other than sacking anyone that is implicated in the ongoing investigations, everyone who wants to continue working at Eden’s Gate will keep their jobs,” Anathema assured him.

There was a slight hesitation before Aziraphale spoke again. “So Crowley could get his job back?”

“Of course.” Anathema looked positively tickled by the question.

“You’re both assuming Crowley wants his job back,” Crowley muttered as he slouched down further in his chair.

“Do you not?” Anathema seemed unconvinced.

“I mean…” Crowley tossed up his free arm in an exaggerated shrug. “I’ll turn up for the Guardian project if you want me. It was mine for long enough, but once that transitions from active into straight data assessment...” He dropped his arm and turned his head, looking up and away from the others like something in the sky had suddenly caught his attention. “Maybe it’s time for a change of pace.”

There was a beat of silence before Anathema responded, sounding uncertain, “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” Crowley forced himself to look back at her. He wasn’t quite ready to explain that something inside of him felt like it had fundamentally changed. There would always be a part of him that loved the atmosphere and intensity of doing his job well, but the hold that it once had over him had eased. “What? Do you think running missions is my entire life?”

“I mean…” Anathema blinked at him several times. “Yeah, actually.”

Crowley narrows his eyes at her. “I contain multitudes,” he muttered dryly.

For a moment, she considered it, letting her gaze slide to Aziraphale and back again before she smiled knowingly. “If you say so.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, before turning his attention back to the point of the conversation. “So, Agnes suspected something like this might happen and put aside enough money to make buying Eden’s Gate feasible? That’s terribly convenient, assuming it all works out the way you described.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will,” Anathema responded confidently.

There was an exasperated groan from Crowley. “Don’t get her started, angel. She’s convinced Agnes could see the future. If you let her start laying out all of the so-called proof, we’ll be here all week.”

“Even you have to admit some of those things that you have dubbed as coincidences really were uncanny,” Anathema argued, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Crowley dropped his leg from the arm of the chair and tucked it under himself again, giving him extra height and a better position to lean towards her. “That’s literally what makes them coincidences. If they weren’t remarkable, they wouldn’t qualify.”

“What about the box of Aziraphale’s stuff?” She had both elbows on the table, pushed so far forward her entire upper body was over its surface. “None of this ever would have happened if that one box that was originally in Agnes’s possession hadn’t ended up in your grandparent’s attic for you to find.” She took a breath to say more, but a buzzing from her pocket caught her attention and she sat back and pulled out her phone.

“Keep my life experience out of your conspiracy theories,” Crowley finished without any real heat in his voice, recognizing that the opportunity had passed.

“Alright, fine,” she said absently as she tucked her phone away again. “I need to go prep for the offer meeting. They want me present since I’ve been spinning my wheels at Eden’s Gate for more than a year now.”

Crowley flashed her a sly grin, flipping easily from antagonizing her to conspiring with her. “Heaven help anyone who brushed you off during that time, they’re about to have a rude awakening.”

“I would never use my position at Portent to retaliate against anyone, even if they were rude to me in the past,” Anathema insisted, before matching his expression with a smirk of her own. “I will, however, enjoy the fear in their eyes when they realize they’ve made bad life choices.” She stood and swung around the table, drawing even with Aziraphale. “One way or another, you will be taken care of. It was one of Agnes’s directions. So long as her family is able, we always make sure to fulfill her promises.”

Aziraphale stood, letting go of Crowley so he could face her. “Thank you,” he said solemnly. “I think she would have been very proud to see her legacy live on in you.” He offered a hand to shake.

Bemused, Anathema took it in both of hers before she made a quick exit, already typing furiously into her phone.

Crowley rose to his feet and considered sidling up behind Aziraphale and resting his chin on the other man’s shoulder. He knew it would feel right, like he belonged there, like it was home. But it wasn’t quite time for that level of intimacy yet. Or maybe he just wasn’t brave enough. Crowley opted to reach for a hand instead. He liked the way their hands fit together.

It earned a warm smile from Aziraphale before he glanced back at the door Anathema had left through. “It does all seem a bit…” he trailed off.

“Convenient?” Crowley offered sardonically as he took a step back so he could sit on the edge of the table.

“I was going to say fantastical.” Aziraphale followed him, stepping in close so that they were sharing personal space. “I understand being skeptical of those sorts of claims, but you seem really set against the idea.”

“Eh.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair while he gathered his thoughts. “I suppose at this point it’s more the ingrained pattern of our friendship. If I gave an inch, she would take a mile. Besides, I enjoy winding her up by playing the disbeliever.”

Aziraphale nodded and glanced away, distracted.

“Angel?” There was open vulnerability in Crowley’s voice.

“Hmm?” He looked back, curiously.

“You can tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Aziraphale’s free hand drifted to the edge of his waistcoat and stroked at the fabric.

“Whatever’s on your mind.” Crowley rubbed his thumb across Aziraphale’s knuckles, hoping to provide some comfort. “I’ll never admit it to anyone but you, but there might be something to what she was saying.”

Their eyes locked and Aziraphale seemed to be searching for something. “Before I left, Agnes asked me if I actually wanted to go.” He glanced down, letting go of his clothing so he could reach for Crowley’s other hand as well. “She joined the project after I had already been selected, and we were long past the point where I could drop out without causing major delays and costing the company a small fortune, so I knew the answer I was expected to give to that sort of question. I intended to tell her yes, but she was looking me in the eye, stern, almost challenging, and I told her a truth instead.” He took a deep breath, his eyes flitting away before they returned to Crowley’s face. “I told her I had no real reason to stay.”

It took all of Crowley’s willpower not to pull Aziraphale into him. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and chase away those thoughts, but the eye contact they were sharing felt weighted and he desperately didn’t want to break the moment they were caught in.

“She told me that she would have to find something worthy for me to come back to.” Aziraphale’s voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. His focus dropped to Crowley’s lips and then back up to his eyes, asking a question that didn’t require words.

Crowley’s breath caught as his heart rate kicked up. He nodded once, as permission or as a plea for what he hoped was about to happen, he wasn’t sure which. Time seemed to slow down as Aziraphale pulled his hands free and reached up towards his face, cupping it with a featherlight touch. They were standing so close, locked in anticipation and longing, poised on the edge, waiting.

In the end, Crowley wouldn’t remember which of them moved first because the moment their lips touched, sensation shocked through him, something vast and great and unknowable. As if he could feel every bit of the impossible distance that once separated them. It left him overwhelmed and desperate for more.

When Aziraphale started to pull away, Crowley made an involuntary noise of protest. To his relief, Aziraphale leaned in again, and this time as they kissed, he could feel the shape of the smile on the other man’s lips.

This kiss was more grounded. Crowley stayed present, but still managed to end up feeling breathless and awestruck.

They had been simple kisses, chaste even. Crowley reminded himself that they had other responsibilities to face that day, and a first date to plan, and most importantly, they had time to figure things out. As they parted, he refrained from whining again.

“I can’t help but think that she intended for us to find each other,” Aziraphale confessed, reaching out to tuck some of Crowley’s hair behind his ear.

“That sounds like a story I could believe in.” Crowley had meant to say it lightly, and was only mildly embarrassed when it came out painfully sincere. He coughed and ducked his head, already feeling a blush rising on his cheeks. “But maybe don’t tell Anathema? Because I would never hear the end of it.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale eased back into bed as gently as possible, angling so he was sitting propped up against the headboard. His efforts to slip back unnoticed turned out to be in vain as he was greeted with an unintelligible groan of complaint from Crowley who rolled over and fumbled until he had managed to maneuver his head into Aziraphale’s lap.

“It’s still early,” Aziraphale murmured indulgently as he carded his fingers through the red hair that was now so conveniently within reach. “Sleep, dearest. Dream of whatever you like best.”

“That’s just you,” Crowley grumbled as he shifted the rest of his body closer.

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, Aziraphale set the book he had brought back with him on the bed and opened it.

The creaking of the leather cover caught Crowley’s attention, though he kept his eyes closed. “Good book?” His voice was still rough from sleep, causing the words to slur together.

“One of my favorites,” Aziraphale responded quietly, on the off chance that his companion might still desire to nod off again.

“Read to me?”

Love welled up in Aziraphale, strong and warm, a feeling so big it was almost overwhelming in the best possible way. In his past life, before he traveled among the stars, he hadn’t ever imagined this kind of happiness. “I would if it had words.”

Curiosity piqued, Crowley wriggled until he could catch a glimpse of what lay open beside them. Not a novel, but a photo album. “It’s today,” he said, sounding surprised by the realization, “the anniversary.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed, taking a moment to admire him before he turned his attention back to the open page.

The first picture was the two of them stepping off the rescue shuttle, Crowley half turned back, ready to offer Aziraphale assistance if needed. It had been taken a year ago. The next few pages were all pulled from public appearances because the early days had been hectic and stressful and neither of them had thought to snap photos of themselves together. Despite the fact that the images were all taken by strangers, they still revealed a lot, and Aziraphale liked the reminders they provided. He was always the photographer’s intended focus, but Crowley was inevitably tucked in somewhere in the background if you knew where to look. Most reporters took him for personal security, or an assistant based on the way he hovered nearby and brought fresh tea whenever Aziraphale’s cup ran empty. 

The first official shot of them as a couple was one Crowley had snapped outside of the restaurant where they had their first date. He had sidled up and practically purred in Aziraphale’s ear, ‘Picture, angel?’ . The question had caught him off guard, so instead of facing towards the phone that was held out in front of them, Aziraphale was gazing up at Crowley, every bit of the fondness he was feeling evident on his face.

After that came more reminders of the early days of their relationship. Mostly shots of them together, but some they had taken of each other individually. Aziraphale had never been much for taking photographs before. Apparently the presence of a compelling subject made all the difference. Something about Crowley just begged to be captured and saved up to be admired later. They passed images of him barefoot on a beach with his pants rolled up, stretched out on a picnic blanket dozing, and leaning proudly against his vintage car.

“Have I seen this one before?” Crowley asked, brushing his fingertips over a photo of them side by side on a park bench. Aziraphale was looking smugly at the camera while Crowley was laughing with his head back and eyes closed, completely unaware that the moment was being preserved. The pure joy in his expression was breathtaking.

“You helped me put this album together,” Aziraphale told him in lieu of an answer. 

He paused his page turning to linger on a group photo. It had been taken outside of the Ritz the evening the news of the impending sale of Eden’s Gate had been announced publicly. Crowley and Aziraphale were leaning into each other while Anathema, Adam, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale crowded in on either side of them. There had been a bit of general disagreement about how exactly they had managed to secure a last minute table. Anathema had insisted it was fate looking out for them, while Crowley had argued for a mix of a lucky, last minute cancellation and excellent connections.

The images that followed included more variety, since the transfer of Eden’s Gate’s ownership to Portent had cleared the way for them to return to work on the Guardian project. There were pictures of them each in their respective offices. Aziraphale’s was spacious with a whole wall of windows while Crowley had insisted on returning to the cramped confines of his old control room despite multiple attempts to convince him to take an upgrade. In the end, it hardly mattered, since they practically lived in each other’s pockets, it was rare that Crowley spent much time in the cave of a room anyway.

“I can’t believe you talked me into including that one,” Aziraphale muttered as he quickly tried to move past one photo in particular. 

Crowley’s hand shot out, caught the page and flipped it back. The image showed Aziraphale, his cheeks pleasantly flushed, leaning heavily into Crowley’s chest. They both wore cheeky grins and the background was very obviously a janitor’s closet. 

“I’ll have you know, snogging in a closet on the company dime is a cherished memory of mine,” Crowley said as he tapped a finger gently against the visual reminder.

“I have no doubt.” Aziraphale tried to sound admonishing, but he knew there was too much warmth in his voice to properly manage it.

Next came Thanksgiving. They had been enthusiastically invited to join Anathema’s family, since Crowley no longer had any close relatives of his own. It had taken a while to sort out their attendance because Crowley had seemed oddly eager to go, yet Aziraphale was aware he had declined a standing invite for all previous years. When they finally stopped talking around the issue and both faced it head on, Crowley had admitted that he had been isolating himself for a long time without really making a conscious decision to do it. With assurances that his change of heart wasn’t just for Aziraphale’s sake, they had arrived to a gathering of well over a hundred people.

Despite the nerves that Crowley had tried to cover with an aloof demeanor when they first arrived, the day had turned out enjoyable for both of them. The conversations had naturally turned to the early days of the Guardian project and Aziraphale’s memories of Agnes. Finding himself surrounded by people who were eager to engage in his life’s work had drawn Crowley out of his shell and he had grown more relaxed as the day progressed. He had gotten on especially well with the younger generations, joining in their games and letting them work braids into his hair. Aziraphale thought he might burst from pure happiness at the sight.

Most of the pictures of the day were candid shots, though there was one of everyone who had attended all gathered together. Crowley and Aziraphale had been at the very edge of the group, easily spotted because of their distinct and opposing color preferences.

After that came pages filled with images from their first December. They stirred up residual cozy holiday feelings in Aziraphale and he paused on one of them both bundled up against the weather in matching tartan scarves with a beautifully lit outdoor tree in the background. He suspected that Crowley’s feelings around Christmas hadn’t changed so much as they had evolved into taking joy in indulging Aziraphale’s obvious delight in the season. 

The best picture from their first New Years together was taken by one of their friends, in the midst of a party. While everyone else was counting down to the turn of the year, Aziraphale and Crowley had already been lost in an absolutely scorching kiss. They were clinging to each other with the desperation of teenagers while Anathema was cackling gleefully at them, off to one side, half supported by her boyfriend, Newt.

A little further on, they reached the photos from one of Portent’s charity galas. It had been their first fancy dress party as a couple. With encouragement, Aziraphale had worn a suit tailored in his usual creams with a light blue lining. Crowley had opted for his usual preference for black on black on black, but a swirling pattern had been outlined across his back and shoulders in tiny gems that sparkled and shone as he moved. 

“You are very stunning, you know,” Aziraphale said absently as he brushed his hand over a photo of them dancing together.

There was a snort of laughter as Crowley shook his head. “That’s just the shine coming off of you.” He pointed at the next page where the photographer had captured a shot of Aziraphale gazing at Crowley, looking completely besotted. “Look at you, you’re gorgeous.”

Aziraphale knew better than to argue. Crowley would always be more comfortable giving compliments than receiving them.

With a flick of his wrist, Crowley turned the page, likely hunting for a change of subject. “I forgot we included one of Gabriel in this lot.” He lightly smacked the back of his hand against the picture in question. “I’m shocked they even let him on premises for the event, all things considered.”

“When you’re the plus one of the head of security for the sister company, I suspect it’s a non-issue.” By this point, Aziraphale knew most of Crowley’s animosity towards the man was purely performative. He had even overheard him on the night in question obliquely thanking Gabriel for turning over his evidence when he thought no one was around to overhear it.

“I don’t know what Beelzebub sees in him,” Crowley said as he fought off a yawn.

“They seem very happy together,” Aziraphale said as he turned past their first Valentine’s day, an image of them staring at each other across a candlelit table at a fancy restaurant.

Several more pages were turned before they reached proper springtime and the pictures of breaking ground on their home. In the first one, Aziraphale stood with his hands resting lightly on a shovel that had been stuck into the ground before him. He had opted to keep his normal waistcoat, jacket, and bowtie; his only concession to their surroundings was a pair of drab wellies which had been necessitated by a large amount of rain the night before. Crowley stood beside him in dark overalls over a black vest with the handle of a ridiculously large sledgehammer slung across his shoulders and a manic grin on his face, despite the lack of anything in the vicinity that required demolition.

The building of the house had taken a lot of their attention, so it featured heavily in the rest of the photos. Aziraphale had glanced slyly at Crowley when they reached the ones where he had attempted to camp on site during the summer. He had declared it would be an adventure and swore he was going to last a full week. The picture of him scowling from the flap of his tent, damp and disheveled after an unexpected rain on the second morning was a thing to be cherished. 

There was a sort of incoherent grumble of objection about the image as Crowley shifted until he could get his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. He tightened his grip briefly, turning the embrace into a hug, before relaxing back against Aziraphale’s side. “You know I love you, right?”

Even after all this time, moments like these still made something joyful flutter in Aziraphale’s chest. “I should hope so, considering how often you tell me.” He couldn’t help but tease just a little, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he kept his attention on the pictures of them tromping across the land surrounding their partially built home to plot out a garden for Crowley. 

“I’m being serious.” Crowley’s voice was muffled from where he had buried his face in Aziraphale’s side, practically hiding from the conversation even as he continued to pursue it.

“Oh, my love.” Aziraphale pushed the photo album to the side. They were nearly to the end of the pictures, though there were still a fair number of blank pages waiting to be filled. “I will never grow tired of hearing you say those words. And I have never doubted your sincerity.” He stroked his fingers through Crowley’s hair, allowing the silence to build between them for several minutes before he finally spoke again. “Do you remember the very first thing you ever said to me?” 

There was a thoughtful noise as Crowley rolled onto his back and looked to the ceiling, obviously searching for the memory. “Dare I hope it was charming?” He slanted his gaze to the side and grinned roguishly.

“Fuck.” Aziraphale said it proudly in a smug declaration.

“Fuck?” Crowley visibly balked. At least part of his confusion was likely due to it being only the second time he had ever heard Aziraphale swear. As the shock wore off, he realized it was intended as the answer he had been seeking. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Aziraphale assured him.

“Hmm…” Crowley scratched idly at his chin before he shimmied into a slightly more upright position. “I think I’ve blocked that particular memory.” He said with feigned innocence.

“I have copies of the recordings if you’d like to be reminded,” Aziraphale offered, playing along.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley’s face turned animated with recollection. “The bloody consoles! I got electrocuted trying to initialize the call.” He turned his beautiful golden eyes on Aziraphale as he grinned. “Can’t blame me for that.”

The way the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched was warning enough. Crowley knew him far too well and narrowed his eyes skeptically even before Aziraphale managed to begin speaking to contradict him. “I think Pepper would disagree with your assessment of where the fault lies.”

“Wow!” Crowley was all exaggerated indignity. “Never expected Moonchild would turn out to be a dirty snitch.”

“It was the most beautiful curse ever spoken.” Aziraphale’s tone had turned solemn. “When I was lost and alone, your glorious profanity broke through the silence and brought me hope.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him, trying to pour the overwhelming tide of love he felt out into the man who had never stopped fighting for him; who had brought him home against all odds. For several minutes, they were lost to the world, too caught up in each other for anything else to matter.

“Glorious… profanity… sure,” Crowley breathed when they finally separated. He looked half dazed with his eyes still closed.

“I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, more than I thought possible, in ways I never imagined. You are my heart's desire and I wish never to be parted from you.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley blinked his eyes open and leaned in again, his lips tantalizingly close. “I’ve already promised, remember? I’m yours for as long as you want me.”

“Well,” Aziraphale whispered in the moment before their lips touched again, “forever then.”