Fic!

[allthisnonsense]

It's finished. It's betaed. It has art. *takes deep breaths*

Title: Duck
Pairing: Aziraphael/Crowley (mainly). All the canon pairings (Hastur/Ligur, Anathema/Newt, Madame Tracy/Shadwell, etc.) are there too, among many others... Er. Shall we have a Spot the Pairings game? Winner gets cookie from next fic. (If you say Death/Adam you get a cookie anyway)
Rating: PG-13 (mostly for language concerning the Incident with the Slipping Diaper)
Notes: It's angelpreg. And I wouldn't have written it if the idea hadn't sat in my brain and stubbornly refused to move (for three months!) until I'd written it. Betaed five times by the wonderful professor_mary and by katilara, in whose email inboxes I have done nothing but trespass and drip.
Summary: Heaven decides to make a few Changes. In which there is slightly skewed philosophy, a sexually frustrated Hastur, Chicago!music, an avenging angel by the name of Michael, insatiable Crowley, tartan muumuus, drunk!Pepper, inconvenient discorporations, angels who are somewhat Canadian, home decorating issues, "Ngk", karaoke, doll-playing Adam, Death, HP references, and baby angels. Not necessarily in that order.



Angels and demons don’t have genders. 1

It’s a human concept, and one that bothers the angel more than he’d like to admit after the whole Adam and Eve fiasco and he can’t help wondering if angels were created as simply ideals of humanity or prototypes, and what exactly that meant if humans had genders and they didn’t-

Ineffable.

Lately he’d been using it too much, it seemed, or maybe it was just him. Crowley had gotten him to near-constant abuse of his somewhat of a safeword.

He’d sent word up once, among other angels, of the new conception methods that the humans had devised (He and Crowley both claimed science, after all, even though neither one had really influenced the process or even understood the details), using careful terms like “wanted” and “loved”. Likewise, so had Crowley, although he used rather more crude language. But both bosses were happy; more humans to save, more humans to corrupt. Aziraphael also noted birth control, using it to praise the new conception methods. He didn’t think it necessary to mention that most of his information came from the now-very-pregnant Anathema, with the more graphic details from Crowley.

Heaven had finally caught on to Change 2, mostly due to Aziraphael instructing other heavenly beings on Earth to praise it to Him and His Bureaucracy Up There. A flood of memos, letters, and other notes were quickly dumped on his doorstep, and the angel spent a good half-year going through it all, only giving up when he saw the mound growing. So he did what any British angel with a business would do. He filed it away in a cupboard, and used the surface of said cupboard for teacups and books.

Demons and demons’ tempting he could handle, if memos were too difficult. His cheeks flushed as he remembered exactly how he had handled Crowley’s tempting yesterday afternoon, yesterday evening, in the middle of their supper, before bed, in bed, and this morning. And after breakfast, and again after lunch.

However, that was neither here nor there because their new friends were a pair like them 3. Two heavenly agents that more or less worked for Aziraphael on Earth, but mostly kept to themselves. Last Aziraphael had heard, Zekiel was in the Orient, and Coriel was in Canada somewhere. New Caledonia, maybe. 4

So he was extraordinarily surprised when, last month, he had a ring from Coriel asking if he wouldn’t mind them dropping in for a bit while they looked for a place in London. First thing Aziraphael did, after agreeing, was to panic and then ask Crowley (while still in panic mode) to help him decorate the flat and tidy up the bookshop. It had taken them about a week, despite numerous instances of nearly caving back into their pre-Arrangement roles of zealous fighting. The green carpeting incident 5 was a notable example. Luckily, common sense and a conveniently well-stocked liquor cabinet prevented any smiting and they got through it with minimal pouts and scowls.

Coriel, from what Aziraphael could dredge up from memory, was a nice sort and much more shy around others than Zekiel. This would be an issue except that back in the fourteenth century they had met up for a few years of drinks and amicable discussion of current events (or lack of), and Aziraphael distinctly remembered Coriel’s discomfort over his propositions to get so sloshed they couldn’t see straight. Still, even though Aziraphael was only ever moderately drunk, it was an interesting discussion. Right. A nice sort, if a tad clueless. All the angel knew of him now was that he adored Canada.

Zekiel, on the other hand, was quiet and somewhat solemn. Neither of the two were much given to humour, but Zekiel never laughed, not in Aziraphael’s hearing. Zekiel kept most things close to him and never said much to Aziraphael. He never gossiped nr did anything fun in the angel’s opinion. However, he was remarkably like Crowley in that when something struck him as funny or beautiful, a slow smile would spread across Zekiel’s face, even if no one else knew why he smiled.

Except, you know, it was an angelic smile, and not a devilish smirk like Crowley’s.

Crowley, after staying close to Aziraphael for most of a week and making good friends with Zekiel - well, good friends when you remembered that one was a demon and the other an angel without a sense of humour - in short, quiet conversations while Aziraphael listened to Coriel’s chatter about West Coast sushi versus London sushi versus Tokyo sushi, had to leave on business, something to do with stirring up the northern Spain groups. Bisque, perhaps, though Aziraphael couldn’t imagine what the groups wanted with lobster.

On the way out he remarked to Aziraphael and his guests that the two angels “made a cute couple.” The door shut and the angel turned around to see his guests looking flushed and shocked.

The separate rooms were quickly fixed to make one room with a double bed, and when Crowley returned yesterday afternoon (hence the temptation mentioned earlier - Aziraphael had resisted temptation before while his guests were there but now that they were on even ground he saw no reason to continue resisting) after nearly two months of being away, the angel admonished him for his rudeness, and Crowley - eagerly - accepted his “punishment”. Zekiel and Coriel were conveniently out house-shopping.

The two angels moved out soon enough, and the four often went out for drinks. Zekiel took a job as a teacher while Coriel busied himself furnishing their new house. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphael thought it odd when Coriel began to refuse drinks at their gatherings, allowing him the space so that they could get steadily more and more drunk and have long, nonsensically philosophical (or philosophically nonsensical) conversations with the also-pissed Zekiel.

After a while, Crowley mentioned that there appeared to be more angels coming to Earth, according to his people. He flitted around, slightly uncomfortable, and tried to eradicate his anxiety in a very practical and pleasurable way that kept Aziraphael away from his boring Heavenly memos. After all, Change was all very well and good, but the humans had had it for ages and if he had to read one more story about an angel having a technicolour hair day in the name of Change…

Well, let’s just say that the distraction was welcomed.

He woke up one morning, his blond curls stuck to the slumbering demon’s chest, and felt his stomach wobble. He frowned; he didn’t remembering getting drunk the day before. The demon turned and murmured something, brushing the tips of his fingers against the angel’s forearm. Aziraphael swallowed, closing his eyes and counting his heartbeats in a desperate attempt to calm his rebelling stomach. The bed shifted as he leapt up and ran for the bathroom, making it just in time.

After twenty minutes of rather constant vomiting, the angel turned and rested his head on the seat, breathing rather harshly. He felt another presence stand at the door, looking curiously at his sprawled body. He couldn’t muster the energy to do more than glare a bit.

Crowley took the glare into account. “Hangover?” he asked, looking oddly at Aziraphael.

Aziraphael sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. The demon moved gracefully forward, resting a hand on the angel’s forehead briefly before he leaned over and sniffed him carefully. A white-feathered wing half-heartedly batted at him.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphael croaked, one grey-blue eye open.

Crowley paused and surveyed him with a penetrating gaze. “You smell different,” he announced, looking suspiciously at the slumped angel.

Aziraphael wondered idly if telling Crowley to fuck off would be noticed by Above.

“And you’re being sick.” Crowley glanced away to avoid the angel’s annoyed look, and materialized a glass of water for him. “Without a hangover. Angels can’t be ill, Aziraphael.”

“Really? I didn’t know,” he said harshly, then quickly apologized.

Crowley waved the apology away. “And you’re cranky. You’re only cranky when you’ve been discorporated or have had to sell a book. Now,” and he sat on the bathtub rim, still observing the limp angel hugging the toilet bowl, “what’s going on, angel?”

Aziraphael had very little warning before he was sick into the toilet bowl again, long shudders racking his body. A hand insinuated itself on the spot between his shoulderblades, just above the area from which his wings sprouted, and rubbed soothingly. When he was finished, Aziraphael found himself wondering if he could face Crowley the next day after falling asleep clinging to a toilet bowl. He didn’t have to wonder; the demon helped him up and escorted him to bed, his wings trailing after despondently.

He settled back down, eyes drifting shut as Crowley bent over him with a frown.

“Shit, angel,” he murmured to himself, smoothing away sweaty blond curls that were plastered to Aziraphael’s clammy skin. He had never seen the angel look so pale… come to think of it, he’d never seen the angel be sick before, even when he’d let the alcohol hang around a bit too long in his system and gotten a bad hangover. The thing that bothered him was that it was the angelic body being ill, not only the human body it occupied.

He left the sleeping angel alone in bed while he looked for his cell phone to call their friends. They might have a clue to what was going on. And it wasn’t as if Crowley was about to go and beg Him to fix Aziraphael if all he had was flu. Or the angelic equivalent.

The silence was bothering him. He flipped the radio on as he walked past, heading for the coffeepot he knew he would find.

“Come on, babe, why don’t we paint the town? And all that jazz! I’m gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down, and- CRAWLY, IS THAT YOU? BEEN TRYING TO GET - HOLD ON.”

Crowley rolled his yellow eyes (where were his sunglasses?) and turned the radio off. It stubbornly flipped itself back on, and the harsh voice resumed.

“CRAWLY! WHAT’S GOING ON UP THERE? WE’VE HAD MORE ANGELIC ATTACKS RECENTLY THAN IN THE PAST MILLENIUM, AND NOT A PEEP FROM YOU. WHAT’S HEAVEN PLANNING?”

The demon became acutely aware of the stacks of old bibles, sex toys, and angelic equipment lying around on the floor. “Erm, nothing?”

“SHUT UP, CRAWLY. I COULD ALWAYS GO AND CALL DUKE HASTUR TO FIND OUT, BUT HE MIGHT JUST END UP DISCORPORATING YOU INSTEAD, AND ALL THAT DOES IS GIVE ME MORE PAPERWORK. MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL AND FIND OUT.”

He put on his sunglasses and pulled on a pair of tight jeans he found lying crumpled on the floor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“THEY SAID YOU WERE SMART, YOU KNOW. THE ANGELS, CRAWLY! FIND SOME AND GET THEM TO TELL YOU WHAT’S GOING ON. TORTURE OR TEMPTATION, YOUR CHOICE.”

Temptation. “But I’m on vacation!” he protested.

“NOT ANY MORE.”

Right. He inspected a coffee cup. “Isn’t this Intel’s job?”

“DON’T PLAY GAMES. INTEL STILL HAS IT THAT YOU’RE NEWLY FALLEN, AND YOUR LATEST MISSION WAS EDEN. AND DON’T LAUGH, YOU KNOW EXACTLY HOW UNRELIABLE THEY ARE.”

“Lazy bastards.” He materialized fresh coffee into the cup, taking a hearty sniff.

“INDEED. A REPORT WITHIN THE MONTH, EITHER CONTAINING A GOOD KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THE ANGELS NOW ON EARTH OR AT THE VERY LEAST WHY THEY ARE THERE.”

“Can I take a different assignment?” he asked quickly. He’d rather not get Aziraphael in trouble with those Upstairs, if he could help it.

There was a pause, and then the secretary let out a long, low hiss. “YES. YOU’RE IN LUCK, UNDESERVING BASTARD. WE NEED INTEL ON THE VATICAN’S NEW POPE 5. HURRY IT UP. THE LAST ONE WAS A COMPLETE DISASTER, BYPASSED PURGATORY AND WENT STRAIGHT TO HEAVEN.”

Crowley blinked, which was something he didn’t do very often. “His Holiness?”

“YES. TWO MONTHS, CRAWLY. HASTUR’S COMING UP WHEN YOU’RE DONE, SO YOU’D BETTER STILL BE THERE.”

“Got it. All hail Saturday.” (No one paid any attention to what he said anyway, but it was fun to prove it every once in a while.)

“ALL HAIL SAT- Oh, she's gonna shimmy till her garters break…”

Crowley sat down, a bit shocked (although one foot still danced to the beat of the song). He found his cellphone and dialled Zekiel’s number. Coriel answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Coriel! Look, it’s Crowley. I’ve just been called in for a business trip that’ll take a month or so, and Aziraphael’s a bit under the weather this morning. I was wondering if you’d stop by and…” comfort him and hold him, so that I don’t feel like such a shit for having to go like this -“make sure he’s all right.” There. It wasn’t too sappy, but it wasn’t demonic either.

“Of course, but what’s go-“ Crowley hung up. He penned a note for Aziraphael, stuck it to the part of a well-used desk where Aziraphael would know to look for it, and tugged on the shirt he found draped across a bookshelf, luckily not tartan though it smelled of Aziraphael.

He was almost out the shop, smooth snakeskin boots on his feet when an image of how Aziraphael had looked this morning popped into his head. He darted back in and went to the bed the angel was asleep in. Crowley checked to make sure no one was looking, not even the little plant in the bathroom, and gave Aziraphael a kiss on the forehead.

The angel shifted a bit, beginning to open his eyes, and found the flat empty. He felt better now; enough so that he could have a nice bubblebath to wash away any traces of this morning’s unpleasantness and maybe even get in his manicure. He noticed Crowley’s note and sighed. Regardless of recent developments, Hell would only think of itself, and they both had jobs to do.

Aziraphael spent the afternoon in his bookshop wrapping up his accounts, and then the next week redecorating his flat. He wasn’t quite brave enough to go for any of the more risqué colours like beige or cream, so instead he settled on the deep rich red and royal purple wallpaper he found. He particularly remembered liking the ones the French had in the eighteenth century. 7

The next week passed; he was sick every morning, and occasionally in the afternoon. By the third week, he was ready to chuck something at his customers, at his manicurist, and was forever apologizing for his snappishness. He lost weight, almost two stone, and finally admitted his discomfort to Coriel.

The angel across from him just nodded. “I’ve been sick as well. In the mornings, eh?”

Coriel’s admittance of his own sickness worried Aziraphael more than he would have anticipated. Until he could think about this, or maybe discuss it with Crowley (over wine, preferably), he rather wished he could avoid the subject. The angel noticed that Coriel’s hair was growing out (it was rare for any angel to look different at all), and, eager to change the worrisome subject of angelic illness, pointed the conversation towards it.

“Yes, well, I’m taking full advantage of this new concept of Change. It’s very fascinating. What do you think of the Changes? You’d been avoiding the subject so much lately…”

“I have? What Changes?”

“The Changes to your angelic self.”

When Aziraphael still looked confused, Coriel’s dark blue eyes widened. “You didn’t get the memo? He’s read our reports, Aziraphael, and the Bureaucracy did as well. They thought it was a marvellous idea… Remember all that business about the number of Fallen angels, and how many are Falling every millennium? Well, one bright angel came up with the idea that we should have new angels, and petitioned Him to Change us so we could copy the humans and carry children.”

Aziraphael’s mouth was wide open. Coriel looked up, shocked. “You didn’t know? Then what did you think all this business about Zekiel and I is about?”

“Love?”

Coriel smiled dreamily. “Yes, but besides that. Anyway, didn’t you wonder what Michael was doing? I was surprised you’re with child already… I hadn’t thought- Well, I hadn’t thought he’d come to Earth so quickly.”

Aziraphael’s stomach churned. “What’s this about Michael?”

“You’re married, sort of. We had to throw together a pairing list, all requests had to be put in six months ago. Zekiel and I were lucky, we were good friends before all this and it was an easy decision. That’s why we moved here, you know. They Changed us… four months ago? Yes, I’m four months along…” He tapped his chin, staring hard at the ceiling, while another hand rubbed soothing circles onto the soft bulge of his sweatshirt, one that Aziraphael had merely taken for Coriel’s newfound zest for British chocolate and British shortbread.

“And you didn’t put any request in, so Michael decided to claim you. You’ll have to ask him; I wasn’t very involved in happenings Up There. All I remember was that he didn’t have anyone - overzealous types don’t usually - and he thought you would at least get along with him long enough to produce a child.”

Aziraphael was still gaping. “I’m pregnant?”

Coriel winced. “That’s a crude term. We’re not barefoot teenage humans, you know. Although, the whole thing of it is that the Bureaucracy didn’t exactly know how to Change us without copying the more human models, so we’re a bit more human. We bleed, we age until a certain age - you and I have already reached ours, but the babies haven’t, so we’re living with them, sort of. We have morning sickness. We feel hunger, and cravings…” The angel smiled as he sipped his tea. “No coffee for me anymore,” he said, when Aziraphael looked confused.

“I suspect your cravings will be worse than mine since I’ve only experienced two millennia of human food. Um. You’ll be snappy, your back will be sore, and that’s about the extent of our knowledge so far. Two angels have lost their children already, and we know the children can get sick and die until they’ve reached their full age like we have. They have extraordinary healing powers, but if they’re too young…”

Aziraphael considered this for a moment as his stomach twisted again. “Can we become ill?”

The angel turned a bit pink. “We don’t know yet. We also have more human urges… we have to breathe, use the bathroom, eat, and um, well, you know why we’re like this. After the pregnancy, we’ll return to our normal state until the next -“

“Next?!”

Coriel blinked at him. “Of course. The whole point of it is to produce more angels.”

Aziraphael felt a little bit faint. “And this is what all the memos were about? Wait, what about… at the end?”

The pale-blond angel shook his head. “I don’t know. I simply don’t, and no one seems to. You should really keep up on your memos.”

Aziraphael sipped his tea, and pondered slipping some liquor into it. Then he remembered, and then he felt faint for remembering, and then he sipped his tea again. “What about Michael?”

“Well, he’s been to visit you, right? Obviously, as you are carrying his child…”

A tiny thread of control snapped in Aziraphael’s yarn-like mind. “He has not been to visit! And I am not carrying his child!” He didn’t shout with all the practise of someone who had spent the last two millennia Not Shouting at other angels.

Coriel looked up at him in surprise, dark blue eyes wide.

“He hasn’t?” Something clicked. “Oh no. Aziraphael, don’t tell me that demon Crowley… Do you have any idea what you’re going to do when Michael shows up? You’ll be showing by then - you’re beginning to show now, or you would be if you hadn’t been so ill. What has it been, three months for you?”

Aziraphael put his head down on the table, and moaned. Coriel laid his hand on top of the angel’s blond head tentatively.

“Well, where is this demon?”

“Italy. He can’t return for another month. Oh, my dear, I am going to be in so much trouble,” he mumbled to the hardwood table. His stomach twisted again unhappily, with more intent.

“Well,” Aziraphael could see Coriel looking torn between trying to be worried and simply tactful, but didn’t see what would come of it as he abruptly stood up and sprinted towards the bathroom, barely making it in time. He was unhappy to remember that this was not the first time today.

It was a few moments before he felt Coriel follow. “Would you like to stay at my apartment?” Coriel ventured, sounding a bit nervous.

Aziraphael shook his head. “I suppose I’ll stay at the bookshop until Crowley returns. Oh dear.”

Coriel hesitated. “Just… be careful. I’ve heard reports that other angels are coming to Earth looking for better healthcare than Heaven can give, and that they’ve been driving out the demons. Hell has to be taking notice.”

He went to leave, and then looked back at Aziraphael. “Pick up some baby books. And whatever you do, don’t drink anything intoxicating.”

Aziraphael moaned into the toilet.

He was a full four months along, and staring intently at the soft swelling of his stomach. The morning sickness had abated, thankfully.

With any luck, Crowley would be back soon, and the angel would have to tell him what had happened. Maybe. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Aziraphael pulled on a slightly baggy suit and smiled at his reflection, satisfied with the result. He leaned closer - his cheeks seemed slightly hollowed, and he thought he was looking a bit thinner, despite the beergut-like bulge.

A body smelling of incense and airplane food wrapped itself around Aziraphael, startling him into letting out an undignified squeak. A voice by his left ear chuckled quietly, and purred, “Hello angel.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphael spluttered in surprise, and he accidentally pulled out of the arms that were slowly exploring the front of his jacket. Oh dear.

“Yes?” and there was that smirk again. The angel found he’d missed it.

Aziraphael took a deep breath, and then scowled as he remembered that while he usually wouldn’t have to, this… vulnerable state made sure he would. He sighed it out and tried again.

“IhavetotellyousomethingthatCorieltoldmeandthatisthatI’mpregnantandMichael’ssupposedtobethefatherbuthe’snotbecauseyouare.”

Crowley frowned. “Sorry? Michael’s snot? I’m Michael’s snot?”

Aziraphael closed his eyes. “I’m… um, well…”

“You’re…” The demon’s eyes widened and the fashionably oversized sunglasses fell off. “Pregnant?”

To his credit, Crowley did not faint or do anything ridiculous. He only stood and imitated a fish out of water for a few minutes.

Aziraphael waited.

The surprise faded into laughter, and he felt himself going red.

“Oh, fuck, angel, you should see your face.”

Aziraphael waited, still watching as the demon slowed, and caught his nonexistent breath, and blinked at the angel.

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

“You really should watch your language, my dear. And no, I really don’t think I am.”

Crowley later likened the entire thing to a plantation owner telling his slaves that of course they could fornicate, as long as they produced more slaves.

In a fit of hormones, Aziraphael refused to speak to the demon for the two days after he’d said it.

But, that was much later. What happened next was Crowley, in sudden hysteria, saying, “Go- Chri- Sat- someone, Aziraphael! Could you give a demon a little more warning next time?! Why didn’t you send a letter? An email? Go call on a few of your wizards and borrow an owl?”

“It’s a tad impersonal, isn’t it? And besides, what would you have done?”

“Come back!”

Aziraphael sighed. “You couldn’t have. And then Hastur would have come back to retrieve you, and you know it wouldn’t be pleasant.”

They stared at one another. Crowley gave a soft moan. “I am in so much trouble.”

“Rather, my dear.”

“I am in so much trouble.”

The angel frowned. “Really, you’re not exactly the one who’s going to be, ah… giving birth here.”

Crowley looked ill at the thought. “We are in so much trouble.” He stumbled gracefully backwards and fell into a chair, closing his odd eyes.

“Yes, but what are we going to do?” Aziraphael asked him, coming over and sitting on the edge of the chair. Crowley reached over and pulled him onto his lap, cradling him. Aziraphael spared a moment’s thought for the poor armchair before burying his face in Crowley’s neck, and feeling an arm wrap around him. They were quiet for a while.

“How did it happen?”

The angel gave him a despairing Look. “How do all babies happen, Crowley? I thought that the method was rather Your Side’s department.”

Crowley surprised himself by laughing. “Conception’s yours, isn’t it? Anyway, the model that we have, though, is generally human. Not to mention female.”

Aziraphael shifted. “Well, I thought it might be a good idea for the Heavenly Agents on Earth to report some other ideas. The whole business with stem cells, embryo transfers, alternative methods of reproduction… I’m rather afraid we might have put it in too positive a light. Crowley, you must know about some of the techniques the humans developed, after the whole fuss with cloning and such. You helped me write the report, if you recall. Genetic research?”

“Somehow I didn’t think Heaven would approve.”

Aziraphael moved closer. “They approved, apparently. They’ve caught on to the benefits of Change. The Bureaucracy had trouble ignoring it after all, and it’s not like it was a new idea. Remember when Heaven found out about togas? Awful sheet-like things, I’ll take tweed any day. But you remember the eagerness to get them. Nearly bankrupted Rome.

“And then they conducted experiments, like dyeing each other’s hair and getting tattoos. It was quite a spectacle. And then they integrated it into the plan… do you remember the numbers? How many angels were Falling? The Bureaucracy panicked and Changed us, gave us extra parts and more power to Change. But they obviously didn’t get it quite right - none of the angels have, um, breasts. Or other things.” He flushed.

“So you’re still male.”

“Angels are sexless. I just… make an effort.” He bit his tongue and decided the speech could wait till later. “They simply gave us the bare minimum of power over ourselves so we could Change.”

Crowley appeared slightly confused. “So you lot are like His dolls?”

“Sort of. We’ve never been human, Crowley.” As if he was agreeing, Crowley stretched out a black wing and wound it around the angel.

Aziraphael stroked the demon’s blue silk collar as he went on. “And then you were here, and then I was ill two months after, and then you left for two, so I’m four months.”

“Still getting sick in the mornings?” Crowley asked, nuzzling the side of Aziraphael’s face.

Aziraphael pulled a face. “That was embarrassing and I’ll thank you never to mention that again.”

“I’ll take that as a no. So, angel, have you been keeping up-to-date on your work?”

“On my work, yes.” He looked a bit guilty.

“But not on the memos. Terrific. Let’s go through those memos together, then. I’ll need a good laugh, and any information is good. I even have gloves.”

Aziraphael nodded and made to get up. “Um. Coriel’s with child too. On the nest. That’s the reason he and Zekiel are in London.”

Before Aziraphael could pull away, Crowley leaned in and kissed him. “Oh good, we have help. I don’t know anything about babies.” His slitted eyes darted down to Aziraphael’s middle. The angel blushed, and patted it somewhat self-consciously.

Crowley groaned, “They are going to discorporate me so painfully,” leaned forward and kissed the angel again.

“But you’re not unhappy?” Aziraphael had never read any of those “sappy romance novels” as Crowley termed them, and even if he had, he would never admit it, so he could not know how terribly corny his words were.

“No, but I think I’ll need a few bottles of a good vintage after this.”

“Look, if we’re going to go through the memos, I’d like some cocoa.” Aziraphael’s stomach rumbled. Annoying thing. “And some of those sliced potatoes. And do you remember those lovely oranges we tasted at Chenonceau?” He sighed in remembrance. “Pity.”

Crowley swore and steered him toward the stacked pile. “I’ll get you cocoa. And sliced potatoes.” Aziraphael looked up at him wide-eyed. “And oranges. Now read.”

It took him a few minutes to get everything together, and when he arrived back he found the angel fast asleep on the desk. It struck him then that in the matter of minutes since he’d arrived home, he had found out his angel was pregnant despite biological improbabilities if not impossibilities, and he had gone on to fetch all the foods he requested.

So, he should not have been shocked when Aziraphael, upon being nudged awake, happily mashed them together and took a bite. Crowley made a face, and Aziraphael innocently kicked him under the desk.

“It’s rather good, my dear. Do you want a bite?”

Crowley turned a startling shade of green that Aziraphael hadn’t seen since the last time he was a snake. “Read, you.” He tried to sound irritable and came out sounding affectionate. Bugger. He’d have to watch that.

They picked up the memos lying on top.

“Gabriel Discovers the Joys of Naile Polish.”

“Experimentation in the Name of Change… No wonder you stopped reading them.”

There were a few outlined in red.

“Ways to Stave Off Morning Sickness… All incorrect, you realize.”

“A Remminder to Alle Angels that the Bureaucracie is Workinge on a Cure for Illnefses off the Changed Ones…” Crowley glanced up at Aziraphael. “You can be ill? Outside of the morning sickness, I mean.”

“Apparently. Listen: Alle Angels Mufte Report too the Liste.”

“When’s it dated?”

“Earthly time?” He peered at the silver date stamp on it, and sighed. “Six months ago.”

“Too late to bother then. What’s this? ‘Aziraphael, a Courtinge Shalle Happenne… from Michael? The archangel?”

Aziraphael flushed. “Well, I didn’t claim anyone in the List, so Coriel told me that Michael claimed me instead…”

Crowley’s odd eyes narrowed. “That bastard. When’s he coming by?”

“I don’t know. He’s been avoiding it. You know how Michael is around humans. Smite smite smite and all. He keeps getting into too much trouble for being overzealous and smiting the believers. He slew that poor man who was ill from eating too much chicken and accidentally got sick on his robes.”

“We haven’t tried that one yet,” Crowley mused.

“What?”

“Righteous, sexually frustrated angel smiting the misbehaving demon with his flaming sword… Might be fun.”

“Flaming sword?” Aziraphael frowned. “What could be fun about me smiting you with my flaming swo- oh. Oh.” He blushed pink.

Crowley smirked and picked up another letter. “Deare Aziraphael - his spelling hasn’t changed a bit. Pity. Oh, he’s still working on something. He’ll come down… eventually?”

“I suppose that’s good news then. What would we tell him? Especially if I’m all swollen up like He glued an oversized cannonball to my stomach.”

The demon grunted. “Good point.”

“Actually, he’d simply smite you and not let anyone do any sort of talking. What if he shows up? He’s going to want to destroy you, and then, um, it…” Aziraphael looked a bit pale at the thought.

Crowley imagined that for a second, and then wondered if he could be Redeemed just to get to Heaven to get his claws on Michael himself.

“Won’t happen.” He shrugged and flipped through the stack. “‘Deareste Aziraphael, I amm cominge down soone.’ Mildly threatening.”

“Soone?” Aziraphael squeaked. “I mean, soon?”

Crowley snorted as he read on. “Four years, angel. Soon is relative.”

“Tattoos in the Name of Him…”

He picked up one outlined in black. “’A Miscarriage Suffered…’ Aziraphael, what is this? ‘Kyriel is deceased this morning in an imitation of birth. The body still lies there… child deceased too. Five months along. Mourned by Alle, and Partner Raphael.’”

Aziraphael paled a bit more, and took another bite of his orange-cocoa-potato mush to calm himself.

“Deceased?”

The demon continued to read, forehead furrowed. “They don’t know what happened. They’re relating the phenomenon to the first human births.”

“But so many died then…” He remembered sitting next to countless bedsides, firelight flickering across the faces of human women who had never done wrong in their lives and dying in so much pain, and the men, sitting beside them, numb with fear and worry. He shuddered.

Crowley was unrelenting. “Because they didn’t know enough about birth. How much do you think Heaven knows about birth? It’s like… some humans observed animals and related their reproduction to theirs, but all the methods the animals used didn’t help any of the humans. The Heavenly Bureaucracy knows as much of angel births as humans did of their own in the beginning, and what little they do know came from humans.”

They were quiet for a little, both trying very hard not to imagine what it would have been like watching an angel die without being killed. The only time either of them had seen angels die was by discorporation (which just meant they were sent Above and back down again as soon as the paperwork had been filled out and signed) or by being killed by other demons. Even His Disfavour only meant that they Fell, not cease to exist entirely.

“I didn’t know Kyriel very well.” He could picture a tawny-haired angel with sky-grey eyes and a quiet smile.

“Neither did I, but…” It could happen to you was left unspoken.

“Did this happen to any others?”

Crowley thumbed through a few more black ones. “Five deceased because of miscarriages. Soriel, Filiel, Merciel, Xatael, and Kyriel. One survived, but the child was born too early and ceased to exist. Deceased.”

“Oh.” Aziraphael was still very pale. He found that his hand had somehow made its way to his swollen stomach and was rubbing in small, soothing circles.

Crowley’s gaze dropped to where his hand was. He caught the angel looking at him and offered a smile. “It won’t happen to you, angel. I won’t let it.”

“Of course, my dear.”

The demon waited all of ten minutes before interrupting their work.

“So can we still…?” Crowley made a quick motion with his hands, and Aziraphael stared at him. Then he raised a blond eyebrow as comprehension hit.

“I- I think so-“ He was cut off by a pair of dry lips on him, carefully opening his mouth and attempting to stick its tongue down his throat. Which probably wouldn’t be an altogether unpleasant situation.

He pulled away to breathe, and then went after the demon, gasping into his mouth and moving his hands to rest on Crowley’s hips.

One of Crowley’s hands snaked around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “You sure?” he muttered against Aziraphael’s mouth, moulding his lean body to the curve of the angel’s belly.

Aziraphael thrust against him lightly. “Mm.”

It was awfully convenient for Crowley to move into Aziraphael’s flat, and then to an even more incredibly convenient spot above the bookshop. Newly renovated, of course. They argued over decorating, and ended up with each room depicting an entirely different style; none of them, thankfully, from the 70’s.

They purchased a double bed with grey satin sheets, since Crowley thought black was a bit too much and Aziraphael thought the same of white - and the most luxurious crib that either of them could find. Anathema dropped by, as did Coriel, and they had very long, unfortunately sober conversations about children and pregnancy. Aziraphael tended to blush overmuch during them, leaving Coriel to do all the explaining as Anathema tried not to laugh.

Michael didn’t drop by, and after a while Aziraphael simply forgot, caught up in thinking of new delicacies for Crowley to fetch for him. Six millennia had given him quite the connoisseur’s taste in food, even if he did prefer the foods mixed together, or prepared in utterly disgusting ways. He once sliced up an apple pie, put French fries between the slices, added vinegar, and proceeded to eat five helpings.

It was a wonderful thing to claim that the baby made you do it.

And Aziraphael was proved wrong about having a cannonball-sized belly. It was larger.

Maternity clothes proved fiendishly difficult to get, because they all were very large about the breasts, and Aziraphael… wasn’t. Aziraphael wondered if it would be worth it to go around as a woman in order to simply have clothes to wear, when Crowley solved the problem by finding XXL shirts and pants that didn’t depend on a waistband. The problem was that he looked rather ridiculous. While his loose clothes fit his ever-expanding belly, his thin arms and legs seemed awkwardly out of place. Even the tartan muumuu that Aziraphael favoured looked odd on him, and Crowley spent most of his time trying to hide it from the unusually stubborn angel.

Eventually, Aziraphael put makeup on and wore a stuffed bra simply so he could go out and not look very odd. Which he suspected he did anyway, but not enough for others to comment (except for Crowley, and Crowley commented no matter what you did). Coriel did the same, occasionally, and when they spoke they used their first voices, the angelic voices that would never adapt to Earth’s tones, the voices that, fortunately, belonged to neither gender.

It was very difficult to run a business even on the odd hours he kept, and so he usually resorted to asking Crowley to talk to the customers. Crowley was much better at not selling books than he was, but that may have been due to his glowering eyes and scandalous leather clothing more than anything else.

Aziraphael didn’t dare miracle his stomach so that people didn’t notice. He didn’t dare try anything on it, for fear that something would go wrong.

Horror stories flew in on black-tipped envelopes and dangerous theories in red-tipped ones. There was light, though; silver- and gold-lettered announcements began to arrive, evidence of premature births and twins and giggling baby angels. A new, blue-edged set of notices appeared soon after, of stories of Howe to Take Carre of Thy Baby Angel, and Howe Not to Take Carre of Thy Baby Angel. Usually if something appeared on the former it was published in the latter in the next edition.

Both angel and demon read every one of them, sitting together every night and going over the stories for information, which Aziraphael would then swap with Coriel and Anathema the following day.

They did need to be prepared, after all.

1Angels didn’t have sexes either. But while angels were sexless unless they made an effort, demons were sexed unless they made an effort of their own. Crowley thought it a tribute to Sloth and it was much easier inspiring random acts of lust if he didn’t make an effort, and Aziraphael had long ago decided on making the effort. Angels’ individual wishes had no effect if the Almighty or perhaps Adam got involved, though.

2The good aspects of Change. Heaven had despised Change. Change, after all, was Morningstar’s invention, and therefore Hell’s, and it didn’t really look good for heavenly beings to go around picking up Hell’s leftovers, now did it? However, at this point, Heaven had started to notice its decreasing numbers of angels, and Hell’s increasing numbers of demons, and the Heavenly Bureaucracy quickly stopped making purity decisions and started making more efficient decisions. This would be Foreshadowing, but if you’re reading this footnote after you’ve read the story than it’s more Hindsight or Sense.

3Except, not bookish or containing a demon or even with a penchant to get sodding drunk on occasion.

4Now referred to as British Columbia, Coriel had informed Aziraphael when he’d asked after it.

5Aziraphale soon discovered the decorating mags and found that green carpeting always seems to be an issue, though it wasn’t nearly as so bad as deciding between terra cotta and burnt orange. (A/N: I’ve nicked this last part off someone. Would they kindly step forward so I can credit them?)

6The author protests that she just likes using the word “Pope” and it was not her intent to make fun of the new Pope, even if there are certain facial similarities to a certain Sith Emperor.

7Note for those who have not been to Versailles: the palace walls are MAGENTA in places. Magenta silk, I believe.

- Part B -