Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

And how I wish I was all of the above,
So I can come below and yet forget,
The beauty of angels which come down like a dove
And demons who love with no regret.” 
-  Virgil Kalyana Mittata 

In losing much is gained, and in gaining much is lost.
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

Chapter One

Emily sat on the chesterfield sofa, cup of tea clasped uselessly in her hand, and stared at the two otherworldly beings across from her—one ethereal, one occult, both facing her with pleasant, if somewhat concerned, faces—and wondered if this was the moment when she would begin to understand what it meant to agree to share her human life with creatures who she could never truly comprehend.

The occult one shifted his dark glasses down his nose and peered at her, golden eyes too insightful for their own good. He’d always been able to read her like a book, right from the start. 

“Okay, Em, spit it out, will ya?” he murmured, voice warm and just a bit throaty in a way that always made her a little weak. “You’re making me nervous with all this meaningful silence.”

The ethereal one tutted at him and shifted in his seat. “What Crowley means to say,” he said, “is that we are at your disposal whenever you’re ready. What did you want to tell us, my dear?”

What the hell, Emily thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. She’d been in a nontraditional relationship with these two for almost two years now. It had been bumpy at first, figuring out how to incorporate three into what had always, only been two, but in the end it had worked quite well. Their little polycule was everything she’d ever wanted, and slowly, Emily had grown to trust it. That they meant it. That they loved her and wanted to continue this strange family they’d formed.

“The thing is,” Emily said, putting her cup back on its saucer before her shaking hands betrayed her and slopped it onto the floorboards. “The thing is. I’m pregnant.”

Absolute silence. 

She watched both of their faces in turn, faces that she’d seen in so many moments of deep emotion—anger, fear, love, passion, frustration, excitement, discontent. 

What she hadn’t seen before was this careful, studied blankness.

“Well, someone say something,” she murmured, feeling a flush begin to crawl up her chest towards her neck. 

Crowley stayed frozen like a statue, eyes wide, but Aziraphale managed to rouse himself. 

“Emily… you’re…” He shook himself. “Pardon me, my dear, but that just can’t be.” 

She blinked. “It most certainly can.”

“No, no,” he said, fiddling with the cup and saucer on his lap. “What I mean is, it’s simply not possible. Not for Crowley and I, anyway.”

“Em, are you sure? Could it be stress or something?” Crowley said, and Emily could hear the effort it took to keep the sibilants from stretching out into a hiss. Something in her stomach clenched at this. Why were they looking at her so strangely?

In answer, Emily reached into the messenger bag at her side and flopped the baggie it contained onto the table. Neatly sealed inside were three tests. Three different brands. She fiddled with it, turning one over so that it faced upright, and then sat back as they both leaned in to examine them.

Crowley launched himself to his feet and stepped behind the chair he was in as if he thought the test sticks might bite him. A look passed between him and Aziraphale, one that she couldn’t read, and suddenly, she felt a hot burst of irritation. 

“Will one of you please just talk to me? Why are you being so weird? I mean I know it’s not planned, but…”

Aziraphale, maddeningly, picked up his cup and took a long sip, obviously giving himself a moment, before he put the cup and saucer down on the table beside him, folded his hands together over his waistcoat, and gave her a look that could only be described in two words: distant, and kind. 

“Well my dear, that’s wonderful news. Congratulations to you.” He stopped and flicked his gaze away from her, then back, still a world away. “Do tell us, please. Who’s the lucky young man?” 

Emily leaned into the back of the couch with a thump, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her. “What???” 

Crowley bent forward, arms steadied on the high back of the chair, and gave her a sardonic grin. “What the angel is trying to sssssay,” he hissed, “is that it’s impossible for angels and demons to impregnate a human. Sssso the only way this is possible is if…”

“If you’ve fallen pregnant elsewhere,” Aziraphale finished primly.  

“That can’t be true!” Emily said, voice rising. “It’s happened before. What about the stuff in the bible? ‘And the angels noted that the daughters of man were beautiful, and they took them to wife and bore upon them sons…’ ” 

Aziraphale shut his eyes. “It was possible then,” he explained, voice tense. “After that, after the flood and the reboot of humanity, the Almighty reset things so that no angel could again cause such a problem. I’m afraid we are unable to generate, my dear.”

“But… what about demons? That was after the fall, wasn’t it?”

“It’s the same for us,” Crowley said. “Only the Morningstar has generative powers, and I know you’re not seeing him on the side.” No one laughed. “We can sleep with humans, marry them, whatever we want—but we can’t sire new demons on them.” 

Emily shoved down the sensation of impending tears. “You think I’ve cheated on you,” she said flatly.

“I’ll admit it seems quite out of character,” Aziraphale said, still distant. “But what is that Occam chap had to say? The simplest explanation is usually the best?” 

Emily balled her hands into fists, driving her short fingernails into her palms to distract her from how much she wanted to fall apart, right here and now. “You’re quoting Occam to me?? I haven’t been with anyone but you two in almost two years, and you know it.” 

Crowley shoved away from the chair and paced. “Not possible, Emily. There is no such thing as miraculous conception. Just tell us what’s been going on.” 

Emily watched him, her mind buzzing, and noted that she almost preferred his obvious agitation, his barely bitten-down anger, to Aziraphale’s endless and insulting distance. His kindliness, like he was some sort of avuncular stranger who would see to her welfare so Emily didn’t end up bundled off to the poor house. At least she could tell that Crowley cared, even if he was jumping to all the wrong conclusions. 

Emily looked between them, and something seemed to crack in Aziraphale’s composure. 

“I believe it’s time for the truth, my dear,” he gritted out, his kindly smile shifting into something colder. “Of course we’ll forgive you and help in whatever way we can. Whatever you need. Money? Do you need money?” 

Emily had never actually believed that people’s vision turned red when they were furious, but right at the moment, fields of red shimmered around the edges of her vision, and she leapt to her feet, backing away from the both of them until her back hit the cash register. 

“You want to know who I slept with?” she shouted, while some vestigial remnant of her brain begged her to just shut up. “Let’s see. There’s just so many.” She lifted a hand and started to count off one finger at a time, the movements sharp and sarcastic. “I suppose the postman was the first. And then the man who drops the packages. And of course there’s the cute waiter down at the coffee shop.”

Crowley hissed in disdain, clearly not believing her, but Aziraphale was harder to read. He watched like one would watch an actor on stage. Assessing. Holding back judgment. 

Another finger, then another, until that fist was closed. “And then there’s the teacher at the essay class I’ve been taking on Wednesdays. Let’s just say he’s very interested in my work. And most of the male students, too.” Emily brought up the other hand and continued to make an angry show of ticking them off, finger by finger. 

“Stop it,” Aziraphale said softly. 

“And also that man at the park, the one with the little dog?” her breath rasped, harsh and angry. “And his girlfriend too, she’s a cutie, let me tell you. Fireball in bed.”

“Stop it.”

Emily bared her teeth at him like she might bite. “And let’s not forget your friend Raphe. He and Aurielle can be a lot of fun.” 

“STOP IT!” Crowley broke in, shouting. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting him?” 

The air reverberated with the demonic command and Emily gasped, blinking hard against the hot tears that were flowing down her cheeks. When had that started? She hadn’t noticed. 

Time seemed to stop as all three of them faced off against each other, three points in a triangle, every connecting line between them taut with tension and ugliness and disgust. 

No one spoke for a long moment. 

Say something, her heart begged them. Apologize. Make me sit down again. 

“Perhaps tempers have gotten a bit out of hand,” Aziraphale observed dryly.

Emily sagged. That was it? That was all she got? 

“I’m going to pack a bag and go to Lia’s for a few days,” she said, saw the jump of a muscle in Crowley’s jaw as some nameless emotion passed over his face. Pain? Regret? Whatever it was, he mastered it, and it was gone. 

Aziraphale nodded quietly. “Perhaps that would be best. We could all use a little time to calm down before we talk about this further.” 

Emily gaped at them both, then turned and walked up the stairs to the flat. 

“Please be somewhere else when I leave,” she called behind her. 

#

It took almost no time to pack. She hadn’t arrived with much, and she didn’t want anything they’d given her, not with this ugly accusation of her using them for their money hanging over her head. She packed only what she’d brought. The small handful of outfits. her journals and tech. Her paints and sketchbooks. 

She left the gifts, all of them, neatly folded on the bed. The soft jumpers, the small pieces of jewelry they’d given her. The warm scarf Crowley had tucked around her neck one chilly night. The long coat that had followed. Impossibly vulnerable to the cold, he’d called her. A pile of books. A tea cup. A small china statue of a horse that had been integral to some inside joke.

Most importantly, she left the painting she’d been working on, standing on its easel across from the door. The one of the three of them, half done, the faces fleshed in but the bodies still preliminary. All of them sickeningly happy. Emily couldn’t even bring herself to look at it. 

Then it was done. Suddenly, the autopilot that had driven her fled, and she folded down to the floor, back against the emptied wardrobe, feeling like her solar plexus was trying to crush its way through her chest and out between her shoulder blades, like being pressed beneath a rock. The tears that she’d been holding at bay threatened to break loose, and she allowed herself one huge, gasping sob. Only one. 

A breakdown was coming, but she certainly wasn’t going to have it here. Not where they could see, or hear, and could possibly attempt to meet it with their pity, or their stupid understanding, or their unwanted forgiveness for crimes she’d never committed. 

She wasn’t surprised to find them gone when she came down the stairs—she’d asked them to go—but it still felt like another blow. 

The shop door opened and closed behind her, and she stood on the street for a minute, just breathing.

She ran a finger across the golden lettering on the door, over the ridiculous listing of the shop’s hours. Lifted a hand to the doorframe, stroking the old wood. 

“Goodbye,” she whispered. 

The shop didn’t answer, but she hadn't expected it to.

Emily stepped away, and didn’t look back. 

#

A shadow broke off from the alleyway behind Emily and followed the young woman at a discreet distance, snakeskin boots suspiciously silent on the pavement, despite the hard surface. Hands shoved in pockets, the demon followed, carefully staying a block or two back, angrily warding off anyone who noticed the crying human out alone. He didn’t stop until Emily reached the door of her friend’s apartment, and there he watched from under a tree as the door opened and Emily stumbled inside, bags dropping to the floor, and was enfolded in welcoming arms. Even from here, a dozen yards away, he could see her shoulders heaving. 

He watched for a few minutes, then hurried back to the shop. He found Aziraphale, doing the dishes in a robotic fashion.

“Is she safe, love?” Aziraphale asked wearily from the kitchen counter. 

Crowley nodded, dumbly. “I made sure she got there. Saw her walk in.”

Aziraphale finished rinsing the cup he’d been worrying with a rag for the last several minutes, aware it couldn’t possibly be cleaner. He set it down in the rack and reached into the soapy water for another. 

“That was good of you,” he said. “Whether she’s broken with us or not, she’s still a vulnerable young woman. And now a mother-to-be.” His voice curled curiously around those last words, as if he couldn’t quite believe them. 

“Have we? Broken with her?” Crowley sounded uncertain, stuck between pride and loss. 

Aziraphale put the cup back into the soapy water and thought about it. “I don’t know.”

“Were we too hasty?” 

“Most likely,” Aziraphale sighed. “Harsh words were said on all sides.” 

Crowley stepped up behind him and leaned his forehead on the angel’s shoulder. “I don’t like this. Feels wrong.”

Aziraphale gave up, snapping his fingers to clean the rest of the dishes and store them tidily in the rack. He turned and opened his arms to Crowley, pulling him into an embrace that was entirely meant for comfort, but the demon only allowed himself a moment before he pulled away. Apparently he wasn’t comfortable with comfort right now either. 

“As I said,” he murmured, “we could all use a little time to calm down. We’ll give it a day or two and then reach out. We won’t let it stand like this, I promise.” 

Crowley nodded, eyes skittering away from him. 

Chapter Text

“Hey sweetie,” Lia said, handing Emily a diet coke and half a sandwich. “You should eat something.” 

In the three days since she’d left the shop, Emily had spent most of her time curled up in a ball on her old art school roommate’s spare couch, eating when food was put into her hand, sleeping as much as she could, and giving vent to her tears when they made themselves known. 

Was it possible to dehydrate from excessive crying? She wondered about it as she popped the tab on the coke and took a long pull, before realizing that the artificial sweetener in it was probably bad for the baby. 

Lia settled in beside her. “So what’s the verdict today?” she asked, adjusting the throw blankets Emily was cocooned in. “Love them? Hate them? Keeping the baby? Not keeping?” 

Emily knew why Lia was asking, and she supposed someone had to, but she defensively flared up whenever the question was raised. It was strange how quickly she had come to have feelings for something that hadn’t even been part of her consciousness a week ago. Lia had dragged her to the women’s center yesterday for a confirmation test, and the lovely doctor there helped her figure out that she was almost three months along, which honestly made her feel like something of an idiot. But her monthlies had always been erratic, skipping one wasn’t unusual, and she’d been busy. Distracted by her painting, by work, and by her love for the two beings who had completely broken her heart just a few days ago.

“I don’t know, yes, yes, no,” you said. You felt rather than saw Lia roll her eyes next to you. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, Lia, but I want this baby, whether they come around or not. I’m twenty-seven. I’m old enough, I have that money from my grandmother, and I can do this!” 

Lia blew her curly hair out of her eyes and nodded. “I know you can, but it pisses me off that you’re possibly going to have to do it alone.”

“You told me not to get involved with them,” Emily said miserably. “You’ve been a saint about not saying you told me so.”

Lia shrugged. “Like I wanted it to come to this?” 

Lia wasn’t the most conventional herself in her own love life, preferring to go through a rapid set of serial monogamous relationships without really letting anyone in far enough to consider settling down, but she’d been a little thrown when her best friend had suddenly started talking about getting involved with a couple. When she found out it was two men who appeared to be almost twice her age, she was even more concerned. Sure polyamory sounded great in practice, but these two had been together a long time. Would they really be able to fold her in as an equal, give her everything she deserved? 

Unfortunately, it looked like Lia may have been right. 

Emily balled up a pile of tissues and sat up a little straighter, her grief burning into something more akin to anger. “You know what?” she announced. “Screw them. I’m not going to sit here like some complete idiot waiting for them to be ready to talk to me. It’s hard to imagine an apology good enough to take them back at this point, right?”

Lia nodded. “Damn straight. They’d have to do a pretty serious turnaround and some impressive groveling, and I get the feeling that might be not their biggest strength.”

“Probably,” Emily sniffed. “The nerve of them, insinuating that I was just extorting them for money.”

“Assholes.” 

“Would it be crazy,” she said, “if I did something kind of drastic?” 

Lia sat up straighter. “Do I get to help?” 

Emily nodded.

“Then no, not at all.” Lia grinned. “So, what’re we doing?”

#

Aziraphale avoided the door to Emily’s room for the first twelve hours, until finally, fed up with himself, he forced himself to open it. Just to check, he told himself. Perhaps she’d left a note, or forgotten something important. Perhaps she might need him to bring something to her. It would be the kind thing to do, he told himself, ignoring the sensation, deeper down, of just how badly he wanted to see her. 

The sight of the items she’d left for them, folded neatly and stacked across the bed, cut at him like an errant tree branch to the face, sharp, making his eyes sting. All of the presents they’d given her over the last two years. Every last one from the clothing to the books. Even, he saw, the pair of earrings he’d given her for her birthday, just a month ago. The twinkled at him, moonstones bright in the overhead light. Talisman for love, protection, sleep, and, oddly, fertility. 

“She left everything,” he told Crowley when he found him huddled over a fern, mumbling angry nonsense to it.

The demon looked up from where he sat, eyes wide and unfocused. “What? What do you mean?” 

“Everything we gave her,” Aziraphale said. “And the painting she was working on.” 

“The one of us?” 

The angel nodded. 

“There’s a message there, angel,” Crowley said. “And it’s not a good one.” 

Aziraphale sighed, then turned to go back to the office. Perhaps he could find some distraction in a book. He’d contact her tomorrow, he decided. Might as well give them all another day to calm down. 

#

“Are you sure about this?” Lia asked doubtfully as she stood in the dirt driveway in Kent, both their cars parked side by side behind them. Emily  stood and stretched, hands on her lower back, absurdly aware of what a pregnant-lady stereotype she was being right now—since when did she get stiff from driving for less than two hours? Nonetheless, the sensation that her spine had suddenly aged fifty years was only outdone by the sudden urgency with which she needed to use the loo.

Lia didn’t notice; she was too busy gazing around her, taking in the cottage in front of them, just outside of the village of Kingsdowne. “So this is it, huh?” she asked. “The cottage your grandmother left you?” 

Emily nodded and took in a deep breath of the sea air. “Yep, isn’t it cute?”

“Smallish, but yeah,” Lia said faintly. “Cute enough. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

She hadn’t brought much; they each took a bag and carried them to the side porch while Emily fumbled through her bag for the keys, then finally unlatched the door and led them inside to a small kitchen with an antique stove and a large window looking out to the waterline. “Oh this is pretty,” Lia said, looking around. She dragged the bags through and deposited them in the living room. “Kind of desolate out here though, isn’t it? Are you sure this is safe, Em?”

Emily smiled tremulously at her friend. “I am. I need to be away from the city for a while, and no one will bother me here. And the village is right there; I can walk in and get almost anything I need. Half of them knew my grandmother. People will welcome me once they realize who I am.” 

“And if they come looking for you?” Lia asked. The angel. The demon. They both knew who she meant. 

“They’re not going to,” Emily said firmly. She took out her mobile, long since powered off, and unceremoniously dropped it in a long, thin drawer on the ancient-looking sideboard. “I blocked them on all my social media, and I’m never turning that phone on again, and you,” she said, looking pointedly at her friend, “are the only one who actually knows where I am.” 

Lia searched Emily’s eyes for a moment, before seeming satisfied. “I guess you know what you’re doing,” she said. “You’re certainly the most stubborn-minded person I’ve ever known. And they’re certainly not going to find out where you are from me.”

Emily launched herself at Lia, wrapping her in a hug that went on much, much too long. Lia didn’t seem to mind, patting her back absentmindedly. 

“Now let’s go get you a new phone and a whole bunch of groceries,” she said when Emily released her. “And I’m staying the night and enough of tomorrow to know you’re getting settled. No arguing with me.” 

She picked up her keys and headed for the driveway. 

Emily followed. 

#

<Group text initiated>

Angelface
Emily, we’d like to meet. We both regret how our conversation went earlier this week. Would you be willing to come by the shop? 

DemonGuy
Hi Em. Sorry for all the hissing the other day. We both miss you. Can we talk?

Angelface
Emily, my dear, we’re concerned. Please let us know you’re all right. Perhaps we can take you to lunch. 

DemonGuy
I get it, Em. You’re pissed off and you’ve a right to be. But please let us know that you’re okay. Are you at Lia’s?

Angelface
You left your painting. Point made and received, my dear. Can we discuss? Waiting to hear from you. 

DemonGuy
I fully admire that you’re not making this easy on us, Em. Just drop one word or a stupid emoji or something to let us know you got this? You know how it drives the angel crazy when we use emojis. Think of it as revenge.

Angelface
It’s quite clear you need some time before you’ll be willing to speak with us again. My deepest apologies for my part in the pain you’re in. This situation is quite confusing for all involved, but we care about you and miss you and are here when you’re ready to talk. Please reach out when you’re ready. We are at your disposal.

DemonGuy
For Satan’s sake, Em. Are you there? 

Em? 

#

“Text me every single morning,” Lia said the next afternoon, holding out a crooked pinkie. “Promise me.” 

“I will, I will.” She hooked her own pinkie through Lia’s and shook it. “Pinkie swear.”

“If you don’t, I’m calling the police to come out and make sure you haven’t been eaten by a bear, or swept away in a tsunami, or whatever.” 

Emily giggled. “There aren’t any bears in Dover.”

“You know what I mean. And I’ll be out every weekend I can get free, okay? Including this weekend. I’ve already switched my shift at the restaurant.” 

Emily hugged her one last time and all but shoved Lia into her car, shutting the door behind her. “You have to get back. You have to work tonight! I’ll be fine! I’ll call you in the morning. Now please, go! I won’t have you getting sacked on my conscience!”

Lia waved reluctantly and then backed out of the driveway, executed a stunningly bad three point turn, and headed back in the direction that they’d come from, one arm hanging out of the open driver’s side window in a wave. 

Emily stood waving until the car was a tiny speck in the distance, and then turned towards the house. She stood, one hand on her abdomen, wondering what the little creature who floated in there was doing and feeling, awash in a sea of its own. 

“It’s just you and me now, baby,” she said. “We’re going to be just fine.” 

Chapter Text

Em
Hi Lia. This is your morning checkin to let you know  that I have not been swept out to sea.

LiaTheQueen
HAHAHA. Very funny. And also thank you. Text me again tomorrow.

Em
See you this weekend.

LiaTheQueen
Not if I see you first.

It was strange, Emily realized, the way time both compressed and extended outside of the city. On the one hand, the sea air and the sound of the ocean soothed the part of her that felt broken, and although she kept mostly to herself, she’d begun to wave hello to a few of her neighbors when they were out in their garden. The workers at the grocers and the baker had quickly sussed out her local connections and learned her name. The daily routine was quiet and very, very calm. Despite the slow pace, many of the days sped by, absorbed in the pleasant little tasks of setting up a new home for herself.

On the other hand, there were moments when time seemed to stretch like pulled taffy, leaving her awash in pain so sharp it left her dissolved in tears, wherever she happened to be—in the shower. Standing at the stove. Huddled in a ball on the beach, knees pulled to her chest, letting the wind whip her hair back and push the salty tears back towards her ears. 

Her London mobile, still safe in its drawer, pulled at her with an almost irresistible urge to check in, to see whether the demon and angel had been reaching out and what the emotional temperature of their messages were. Some days, it took all of her strength not to give in and take it out. She longed for it like she imagined a former alcoholic longed for a drink. More than once, she’d literally left the house to avoid it. 

It was something like Schrodinger’s cat, she told herself. As long as she never looked at the messages, she never had to know for sure the answer to questions that haunted her. Did they hate her? Were they still being self righteous twats? Or, even possibly worse, were they sorry and sad, filled with remorse?

She didn’t want to know, because she honestly couldn’t imagine a way forward from here even if that were the case. 

Better to not know if the proverbial cat was alive or dead. And so, every day, she walked by the drawer, and so far she had managed to resist. 

There were lots of tears, in those first weeks, but at the same time, the sea air slowly worked its magic on her, soothing her to sleep at night, and the peace of the countryside slowly began to sink in. She walked on the beach, she read, and she dug out an old bicycle from the shed behind the cottage and wobbled her way into town a few times before a kindly stranger helped her sort out some issues with the chain. 

It wasn’t the life she’d expected to be living, but it was a new life, and it was hers—hers and the baby’s. And with every day that passed, she grew more and more aware of the tiny flicker of life growing inside her, more attached to it, and more protective of it than ever.

It was time, she decided, for her to find a doctor out here. This baby needed a checkup. 

#

The sonographer at the nearest hospital was all smiles and congratulations as she squirted the cold jelly onto Emily’s belly, beginning her long, slow press with the ultrasound head. The screen was just static at first, but slowly it resolved into a quivering shape she could recognize. Head, torso, arms, legs. It was the most astonishing thing she’d ever seen.

“See here?” the tech cooed. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.” 

Emily leaned up on one elbow to better see the screen. Fourteen weeks, they’d told her. Amazing she hadn’t realized it earlier, but an almost complete lack of morning sickness in the early weeks had kept her from registering that anything was happening for much too long. 


She’d been ten weeks when she’d told them. In the four weeks since, the baby had grown from a small dot to a four-inch long creature with all his or her limbs firmly in place. 

It took a minute for her to see the heartbeat, but when it did she gasped, feeling tears spring to her eyes. There it was, her baby, on the screen, nearly half head, but with two arms and two legs and… various other bits that she wasn’t certain she could identify. 

“You’ll be able to tell the gender soon, luv,” the woman said, continuing to move the wand over her abdomen, which was now swelling just slightly. Then she stopped and frowned, moving into the take a closer look at the screen. She made a few clicks with the apparatus in her hand, making something. 

“Is something wrong?” Emily asked, watching the technician’s face.

The woman shook her head. “No, no, don’t you worry.” She continued to click and take pictures, and then she put down the ultrasound head and started to wipe up the gel. “I’m just going to go speak to the doctors. You wait here.” 

#

Abnormalities. The baby appeared to have abnormalities, they told her. Some sort of malformation on the back of the spine. Could be nothing, could be serious. They recommended amniocentesis as soon as possible, which turned out to be a needle the size of an aircraft carrier, stabbed into her womb through her abdominal wall to sample her amniotic fluid, and genetic testing when the baby reached the appropriate gestational age. 

Emily clasped the pages of the printout in her hand as she stumbled out of the doctor’s office, her mind swirling. She was filled with terror about the baby. She was heartbroken that something might be wrong with it. And she was angry, so intensely angry, that she was here alone, in bloody Dover, dealing with this herself instead of with the help of the two beings who were supposed to love her. 

The baby, she reminded herself, wasn’t fully human. It was half ethereal. Half occult. One of the two. There might not actually be anything wrong with it. Maybe it just grew differently.

She settled into the drivers seat of her car and took a deep, shaky breath. The one thing she knew for certain was that she wasn’t going to let anyone skewer her with that big giant needle. 

There was no way around it. She was going to need some help with this one. 

 And she had a pretty good idea of who to ask. 

#

Aziraphale’s old friend Aurielle had visited several times over the last two years, and Emily had quickly become friendly with the elfin-looking archangel. In her human form, she was something like a cross between Tinkerbell and Tank Girl—petite to almost the point of gauntness, delicate features that belied a steel-like strength within, spiky blond hair cropped close to the skull, prone to wearing long, dangly earrings. 

She and her partner, Rafe, had been healers, she’d heard. Once, when Emily had gotten a rather bad gash from a kitchen knife, Aurielle had grabbed her by the wrist and waved her fingers over it, as if she was literally dispensing fairy dust, and the injury and its associated pain had just flickered out of existence. 

She was also fond of alcohol, cigarettes, and, from the sounds she’d picked up on from the guest room hastily installed in the flat and removed as soon as they left, sex with Rafe. She’d been an archer once, Aurielle told her, and she still radiated that wiry kind of strength that comes from drawing a bow. Emily had no trouble understanding that for all of her waif-like appearance, Aurielle was deadly. 

When she got back to the cottage, she dropped the papers on the kitchen table and went straight for the sideboard where she’d stashed her old mobile. A half hour later, after letting it recharge from zero, she pressed it to life and stared at the main screen in extreme discomfort. 

135 missed calls. 
89 missed texts.

That seemed a little excessive, even for them. She knew who they were all from, and the twist of guilt she felt about that pissed her off. Why should she feel guilty? They were the ones that cast her off. She couldn’t face either their messages or the little voice in her head that was trying to point out her own fault in the matter, not just now. Blurring her eyes so that she couldn’t accidentally read anything displayed in the message list, she pressed the plus button to begin a new message, and then tried to ignore everything else. 

Emily
Aurielle? I don’t know if you remember me but it’s Emily, A&C’s friend. Is this still your number? 

Three dots showed up almost immediately, and Emily waited, nervously, watching them as they flashed rhythmically.

TankGirl
Of course I remember you! How are you? Where are you? I heard you and the boys went tits-up. 

Emily sighed. Of course she’d heard. It wasn’t a surprise.

Emily
Yeah. Did they tell you why?

TankGirl
Nope. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know, tbh. I know what idiots they can be. Assumed it was their fault, whatever it was.

Emily
I knew there was a reason I liked you.

Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. Medically. Could we meet, just us? It’s sort of urgent.

TankGirl
Yeah, of course. Give me an hour. Where are you?? 

Emily
I’ll send you the address.

TankGirl
Gotcha.

Emily
Also… as a favor—could you please hold off on telling them you heard from me until after we talk?

TankGirl
This sounds messy. What did those idiots do?

Emily
I promise I’ll explain everything.

TankGirl
I’ll bring the booze. See you soon. 

#

The knock on the front door came exactly sixty minutes later. Emily paused with her hand on the doorknob, suddenly nervous that she was going to find not just Aurielle but also Crowley and Aziraphale on her doorstep. She slumped with visible relief when she opened it and found just Aurielle there, dressed as usual in something skin tight and slinky. She’d gelled back the sides of her spiky hair behind ears that were decorated with a bewildering variety of hoops and studs, some of them connected with chains. 

“Hey there,” she said, smiling, throwing her arms around Emily in a hug. “Nice to see you again.”

Emily murmured pleasantries, stepping aside to lead her into the kitchen, where she quickly poured out a cup of tea for each of them and sat down at the table. 

“So,” Aurielle said. “What’s this all about?” 

“I need you to examine me,” Emily said. “I—I’m carrying their child. One of theirs, at least. And I’ve just hit a bump that means I might not be able to continue getting traditional medical care.” 

Aurielle stared at her, uncomprehending. “You’re what?”

“I know, I know, it’s not possible, God disallowed it, blahblahblah. All that was made abundantly clear to me by the two of them, believe me.” She took a breath and tried to calm down. “Nonetheless, it’s true, and here I am.”

Aurielle put her teacup aside. “Those absolute cunts. Seriously? Even if they didn’t think it was possible, what, they just tossed you out?” 

Emily shook her head reluctantly. “No, not exactly. But they didn’t react well. Accused me of cheating. Crowley got all angry and Aziraphale just went cold and formal and polite. He all but whipped out a checkbook and offered me money, like I was there to extort them.” She stopped and swallowed, hard. “We were supposed to talk a few days later, but I just left town. Haven’t spoken to them since.” 

“How long has it been?” “ 

“About a month. I suppose that was kind of a shitty thing to do, but I just couldn’t be there anymore. Needed a fresh start.”

Aurielle nodded. “And maybe you wanted them to feel the impact of what they’d done?” 

“Maybe?” Emily considered that one. “I don’t know. I was pretty messed up when I made the decision. But I like it here. I’m glad I came.”  

Aurielle stood up. “All right, I want to hear a lot more about this whole thing, but first let’s take a look at you, okay? See if we can put your mind at ease about things?” 

She held out a hand and Emily took it. 

Chapter Text

Somehow, neither of them had acknowledged the elephant in the room out loud, but Crowley was sure the angel had been thinking about it as much as he had—in other words, constantly. As always, Aziraphale was content to leave his partner to bring it up; left to his own devices, the angel would pretend a problem didn’t exist until the pain of it nearly swallowed him alive.

“Fine,” Crowley said, plopping down on the edge of Aziraphale’s desk, scattering papers. The angel looked up from whatever ledger he’d been scratching away at, looking irritated. “Shall I just come out and say it, then?”

Irritation morphed into confusion. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re referring to, Crowley,” the angel said. “Please do us both a favor and be direct. And also, could you take your arse off my letters?”

Crowley shifted back a little more firmly onto whatever the letters in question were, just on the principle of the thing. “Do you think,” he offered, his voice careful, “that she might’ve been right?”

The angel didn’t ask who. He wouldn’t dare, Crowley thought.

“Right about what?” the angel said tiredly.

“You know exactly what I mean. About it being ours.”

Aziraphale removed his gold-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “My dear, it’s a lovely thought, but I don’t see any circumstances under which it could be possible.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Have you stopped to think about Adam?”

“What about Adam?”

“You were reassembled by an eleven-year-old not so long ago,” the demon said. “Whole world was, basically. Who’s to say something didn’t change there? He might not’ve known that angels aren’t supposed to be… able.”

The angel didn’t need to breathe, but he liked breathing. It made him feel closer to the humans around him, like he was taking in a bit of their vitality with every breath. It also added quite satisfyingly to the drama of moments when he wanted to stop breathing all together. Moments when he wanted to make it very clear to Crowley that he’d overstepped, for one. Moments when he needed to show shock and surprise to the deepest level.

But the cessation of his breathing now was involuntary; more of a spasm than a deliberate effect. Nonetheless, the demon noticed it, and watched with interest as the angel’s face froze too, before cascading through a series of reactions. Shocked. Dismayed. Remorseful. Horrified.

“Crowley,” he whispered. “If that’s true, we’ve made a colossal mistake.”

#

“Give me that,” Crowley said, unable to hide his impatience as the angel fumbled with the keypad for the third time as he tried to dial a number. “I’ll do it.”

It was a testament to Aziraphale’s shock that he handed over the mobile without complaint. Crowley opened up contacts and scrolled. “What’s he under, Y for Young?”

“A for antichrist,” Aziraphale said, faintly. “Also B for the boy. And possibly T for Tadfield.”

Crowley snorted. He scrolled through a few more entries in the angel’s contacts and then stabbed a fingertip at the one he wanted. “Got him,” he said, putting the phone up to his ear and taking a critical look at the angel, who looked like he might faint. “Breathe, please, will you? I can’t both talk to the literal antichrist and try to revive you at the same time.”

The phone rang only once before it was picked up, as if the boy—well, now a young man—was expecting it. Crowley raised an eyebrow and turned his back on the angel. He couldn’t take the distraction of watching Aziraphale’s face continue to implode over the course of the conversation he suspected was coming.

Aziraphale, for his part, didn’t say a word, just listened numbly to the one-sided conversation as Crowley and the former son of the beast, lord of darkness and destroyer of kings, exchanged pleasantries and asked about each other’s lives before getting down to brass tacks.

“Okay, so, we were just wondering. Do you remember back when you reformed Aziraphale when he was sharing a body with Madame Tracy — well yes, I suppose it’s the kind of thing one wouldn’t forget— Yes, you’re right about that one, yep…”

The angel heard the garbled sound of Adam speaking, but didn’t lean in to make out the exact words.

“Mmm hmm. Yeah. So, did you, you know, use any sort of angelic template for that?”

Another pause.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean, how did you know how to reform him? How to give him back all the right parts in all the right places, powers intact, etc.”

Crowley listened carefully for a long moment.

“So that’d be… yes, the wording on that was quite specific. I see. Yes. Yes. That makes complete sense. Good thinking for an eleven-year-old, actually.”

Pause.

“No, nothing’s wrong, right as rain, just had some, er, health questions. You’ve been a huge help.”

More pleasantries, conducted as quickly as propriety allowed, and then he hung up and turned to Aziraphale, phone hand dangling uselessly at his side, his eyes as open and as lost as Aziraphale could remember seeing them. The demon stared at him, mute, until Aziraphale couldn’t stand it for another second.

“Oh my love,” the angel said, standing up to wrap him in a tight hug. Crowley nuzzled against his neck and took a deep whiff. “What did he say?”

Crowley pulled back and took the angel’s hand, leading him over to the couch. Aziraphale allowed himself to be led, and habitually straightened out his trousers and waistcoat as he folded himself into the chesterfield.

“He said,” Crowley said in a small voice, “that he didn’t use any template at all, he just asked the Universe to reset you to your original specifications, and with all of your memories, and with—” the demon blushed a little— “and with your love for me still intact.” 

Aziraphale sat back. “My original specifications.”

“Yep.”

“Meaning…”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“You mean I, out of all the angels currently alive, have regained the ability to—“

“Factory reset, angel,” Crowley said, eyes wide. “Pre-flood. All the new features and operating system upgrades and bug fixes wiped away.”

“Oh my good lord,” Aziraphale breathed.

“Congratulations,” Crowley said. “You’re going to be a father.”

#

A few minutes later, Crowley bundled them into the Bentley and they headed across town to the one place they could think of where they might be able to get some information. Aziraphale was so shaken that he didn’t even bother to comment on the fact that Crowley broke nearly every speed law in the books. This, Crowley knew, said nothing good about his state of mind.

“We are going to be fathers,” Aziraphale finally said, a bit tetchily and entirely out of nowhere.

Crowley looked over. “Huh?”

“You said ‘you’. As in me. I am going to be a father.” The demon gave him a long look, and Aziraphale gestured for him to look back to the road. He complied, reluctantly. “We’re partners. What happens to me happens to you, and vice versa.”

Crowley waved a hand. “Yes, of course, angel. I’m just saying genetically, it’s got to be yours.”

“Unless the boy did something to you, too.”

“I doubt it. I mean, I can call him back and ask, but Adam wouldn’t have had any reason to be thinking about my biology right then. You were the one he formed a body for, out of nothing but the power of his own thoughts.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Oh my goodness, Emily. That poor dear.”

Crowley drummed nervously on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Ngk. Can’t imagine.”

“I think,” Aziraphale said slowly, “that this might be the worst thing I have ever done in my life.”

Crowley waved a hand and turned a light red just to give him a moment to process that. “You don’t mean fathering a baby, do you?”

Aziraphale looked at him, indignant. “No, of course not! I mean Emily, obviously. Reacting as we did. Accusing her of misbehavior she’d never committed. Offering her money.” He choked back a sob that sounded slightly hysterical. “It’s irredeemable.”

“Nah, angel,” Crowley said, reaching a hand towards the angel, who all but batted it away, unwilling to take the offered comfort. “It’s awful, yes, but it’s far from the worst thing either of us has ever done. There’s the flood, of course. And Sodom and Gomorrah. And…” He paused, trying to think.

“Is this supposed to be helping?” Aziraphale moaned. He slumped against his window. “Also those are all things that only I did, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

Crowley shut up.

#

They arrived at the cafe at the end of the lunch rush, which was lucky—it meant most of the tables were empty, without them having to work any miracles. The woman at the door quickly seated them, and Crowley looked around the small area, clocking each of the servers and trying to find the person they’d hoped to see. She wasn’t anywhere in evidence.

“I’m not sure she’s here,” he murmured to the angel. “I don’t see—“

“YOU TWO!” a high pitched voice yelled out, accompanied by the swinging of the kitchen doors.

“I think she’s found us,” Aziraphale said wryly, turning to watch the force descending on them. A rather sturdily-built young woman who’d fastened her curly, coppery hair up with a pencil was headed their way, brandishing an empty serving tray like she was trying to determine if she could take both of their heads off with it, Xena-the-warrior-princess style.

“Hello Lia,” Crowley said, subtly shifting into a more defensible position in case she was planning to actually give it a shot. 

“You’ve got some nerve showing your face in here,” Lia hissed, keeping her voice down with some effort so that the few remaining other customers wouldn’t listen in. “Consider yourselves unwelcome here, permanently!”

“We’d like to talk to you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, voice quiet. “We want to ask you about—“

“I know. About Emily.” Lia snapped. “About your ex-lover whose heart you fucking broke with your pomposity and your arrogance and your toxic bullshit.” She tossed the tray aside and leaned down onto the table with both fists. “I don’t feel like chatting. Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

Aziraphale worked a small, soothing miracle under the table. The bloody cheater, Crowley thought, half in admiration, half appalled. “Please,” he said simply. “We’re begging you.”

It was, Crowley supposed, a comical scene, looked at from the outside. Two middle-aged men, one of them dressed like a Victorian dandy and the other like an aging rock star, cringing away from a twenty-something woman over whom they each had at least a foot on in height and a combined several thousand years on in age. But if the casual observer had come around to see the way she glowered, as if she might actually rip them limb from limb, they’d understand in an instant. And then they’d beat it out of there, fast.

After a good another minute of sustained threat, Lia exhaled heavily and stood up.

“Dale?” she called towards the kitchen. “I’m taking my break.” A muffled reply drifted back through the swinging door.

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders in relief. “Oh thank you, my dear—“

She shook a finger at him. “Don’t my dear me. And not in here.” She untied her apron and tossed it on her discarded tray. “Follow me.”

She led them outside and around into the alleyway, where she leaned against the brick wall and dug in her jeans pocket for a cigarette, which she lit up. It was no accident when the first long exhale hit them both square in the face.

“So? What the hell do you think you need to say?”

“We—“ Aziraphale tried to gather himself. “We were wondering if you could tell us where Emily has gotten herself off to. It’s most important that we talk to—“

“No,” Lia said flatly. She took another long puff. “No fucking way.”

Crowley tried in vain to avoid the next cloud of smoke. “Can we ask why not?”

She snorted, mirthless. “Because she doesn’t fucking want to see you two, mates. What do you think, that she left town strictly because she was hoping you’d follow?”

They both stared at her.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered. “That’s exactly what you think, isn’t it?”

“Look,” Crowley said. “We fucked up. We know that. We’d like to apologize, and try to make it right with her. She was right, we were wrong. Work with us, we’re trying to apologize, here.”

Lia stared at him. “She’s making a life for herself. Her and the baby. It’s entirely up to her if she wants you around or not, and I know for a fact that she doesn’t.”

Behind him, Crowley heard Aziraphale let out a sigh of wordless relief, hearing the baby mentioned. “Oh thank God,” he muttered, sagging. “She still—she didn’t—“

Lia whirled on him. “Yeah, that’s right. For some unfathomable reason, she still wants this baby of yours, even after you all but disowned her. She loves it. And as far as I know, she wants you to be no part of its life. So you two can just go live with that, I think.”

She pushed up off the wall, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath the heel of one black boot. She turned and headed back towards the front of the shop.

“Wait,” Crowley called, his voice plaintive. She stopped without turning, making it clear she was listening. “Can you just tell us… is she all right? Are she and the baby healthy and safe?”

He felt Aziraphale start to do something again and made a shushing gesture with one of his hands to make him stop. This was no time to be influencing the poor girl.

Lia spun back around slowly and looked him in the eye, her face blank. “They’re safe. Warm, dry, fed, and housed. No need for you to mess up your comfortable lives.”

And then she strode off, too quickly for any follow up.

“Well, that’s something at least.” Crowley said as he turned around and took in the state of Aziraphale. The angel looked dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. “We could find her ourselves, you know,” he said more gently. “We’ve got enough of her belongings to ask Anathema to pick up a trace.”

“We could,” Aziraphale said. “But it feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

It did, somehow. If Emily wanted her privacy from them right now, as painful as that might be, it seemed like the least they could do was respect it.

“Home?” he said, holding out a hand. The angel took it.

Chapter Text

Emily lay on the couch near the fireplace, and the archangel squatted beside, laying one and then both hands gently on the human’s abdomen. Aurielle’s eyes were closed, and she hummed slightly, and Emily closed her eyes too, feeling a warm and soothing sense of peace from her touch that she was startled to realize she associated with Aziraphale. Her stomach twinged. She hadn’t realized how much she missed that sensation of angelic calm.

“This is so cool!” Aurielle said, her eyes meeting Emily’s in a mutual pool of wonder. She leaned back and bounced on her crouched heels. “Your little girl has wingstubs! She’s going to have wings!”

Emily laughed even as the tears sprang to her eyes. Love and heartbreak in equal measure. “So… so… it’s true, then. It’s… not human.”

“It’s partly human,” Aurielle said, logically. “I can’t tell who the father is; they’re both of the same genetic stock, you realize. It’s entirely possible it’s either of theirs, or that it’s some mix of both in a way we can’t understand.”

Emily wiped her eyes and pushed up onto the throw pillows. “And it’s a girl? Oh, I love that! Is she… is she healthy?”

“Strong as a horse,” Aurielle said, grinning. “And yes, she’s a girl. She’d make a nice little archer, this one.”

Emily laughed. “Oh my god. I can’t believe it.”

Aurielle laid her hands back on the girl’s stomach again. “Let me just check on a few other things.”

#

Back at the kitchen table, Aurielle miracled up a loaf of decadent pound cake in celebration, and then carefully cut two large slices and placed them on plates before diving in and taking a huge bite.

“You’re going to need to eat. Like, a lot,” she said. “This baby will have an extremely high metabolism. Like off the charts. You’re going to need a lot of calories to keep up.”

Emily absorbed that one. “Oh my god,” she said. “There’s so much I don’t know, and I feel like I can’t really go back to my obstetrician after today.”

“Why’s that?”

“They did an ultrasound, and I think the tech noticed the wing stubs. Told me she might have a genetic malformation, and they needed to stick a big needle in there for testing.”

Aurielle made a face. “Well, obviously, that isn’t going to happen. Heaven only knows what testing would reveal about this particular baby, but you don’t need the potential attention or the media storm it might create. Plus, who knows if the baby has powers? It might defend itself in some unforeseen way.”

Powers! Holy shit. Emily filed that one away for the moment, then fiddled with her cup and thought through the questions she wanted to ask. “Can you tell me anything about pregnancies like this? Have there been any others?”

Aurielle looked serious. “Not in a very, very long time. One or two, maybe. Always under somewhat suspicious circumstances, quickly hushed up. I don’t know much more than you do, aside from the days of the Nephilim.”

Emily’s eyes widened and her voice, when it emerged, was higher pitched and shaky. “Oh my god. Am I carrying a Nephilim? Please tell me this isn’t some kind of monster or giant or—”

“—Emily, no. Stop.” Aurielle’s voice cut through, a faint hint of a familiar angelic command in it.

Emily stopped mid-sentence and blinked at her.

“It’s not a Nephilim, I promise. It’s a little girl. An unusual one, maybe, half human, sure, but nothing dangerous.” Aurielle laid her hands flat on the table, fingers spread wide. “I promise you, I’d tell you.”

Emily felt dizzy with relief. Both of the women sipped their tea and focused on their cake for a few minutes, comfortably silent.

“You know, they’ve been looking for you,” Aurielle said, carefully. “Rather intensely. Called me to see if I knew anything a few weeks ago.”

“I put my phone in a drawer and didn’t get it out until I texted you today,” Emily admitted, looking sheepish. “It would probably still be there if I hadn’t needed your contact info from it. I just wasn’t ready to deal with them yet. Or possibly ever. Hadn’t decided.”

Aurielle ran a slim finger around the side of her plate, capturing errant pieces of lemon glaze, and brought them to her mouth. She met Emily’s eyes sympathetically. “I hear that, but I’m going to have to tell them that I’ve seen you. I can’t keep that from them; you know. Thousands of years of mutual trust, and all that…”

“I know,” Emily sighed. “I wouldn’t ask you to. I’ve just been so bloody hurt. I wasn’t ready to see them.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m still not,” she said. “But I suppose I have to, eventually.”

“I need to tell them you’re safe,” Aurielle said slowly, “and you better believe I’m going to give them a piece of my mind about the baby. But I won’t tell them where you are until you want me to. Can cite doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”

Emily’s eyebrows raised. “Doctor?”

Aurielle puffed out her cheeks. “Of course, dummy. You think I’m going to let you go back to these human obstetricians? You’re having a magical baby. From here on out, I’m your official doctor, nurse, and midwife. Weekly visits, at least.” She leaned forward and dropped a small hand, covered in strange-looking rings, over Emily’s. “You’re not in this alone anymore, kid. I promise you.”

#

Somehow, sleeping that night wasn’t anywhere near as difficult. Knowing she had someone on her side, someone with the knowledge to understand what was happening—it made the entire world seem a little lighter. Emily took her evening walk on the beach, drank a cup of green tea and devoured another monumental piece of the pound cake, and then snuggled in under the covers and dropped off in only a few minutes.

She almost couldn’t believe it when she opened her eyes, seemingly just a few minutes later, and saw the sun shining in through the filmy curtains.

“Morning,” she whispered, a hand on her belly. “Thanks for letting me sleep, baby girl.”

The baby said nothing, of course, but somehow Emily got the strongest sense that it wanted more cake.

She shrugged on a robe and headed out. Who was she to say no to her half-immortal baby?

Plate in one hand, cup in the other, she headed out onto the back patio to enjoy the rest of the morning. It was a beautiful day, and she had the feeling that she and the baby just might be all right now.

Chapter Text

“Aurielle just called,” Aziraphale told Crowley when he returned from his morning errands. “She wants to see us both.”

Crowley put the bag of produce on the counter—it had not been easy finding the exact right mushrooms the angel demanded, thank you very much—and then the loaf of fresh French bread near the stovetop where the warmth of the oven would keep it soft. “Did she say why?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, “but she sounded exceptionally out of sorts.”

“Ah. So she knows.”

“I suspect so, yes. But there’s only one way she would’ve found out, so it’s a good sign, really. She must’ve seen Emily, or at least talked to her.”

Crowley sagged, already sensing the depth of the telling-off that was coming their way. “You’re right, you’re right. Maybe she’ll tell us where she is.”

“After she’s done eviscerating us, you mean,” the angel said, his face grim.

Crowley shuddered. Aurielle, guardian of Tartarus, angel of repentance and wisdom, sometimes called Aurielle the pitiless. Given dominion over the souls that linger on Earth after death, and those waiting to be born. Despite her girlish appearance, Aurielle was a devoted friend and a bitter enemy. She and Aziraphale went way back, all six thousand years of their existence, but she’d only gotten close to Crowley over the last century or two. Now he wondered, bitterly, how strong that bond might be in the face of their joint crimes.

He knew one thing. If Aurielle was in a smiting mood, he’d put himself bodily between her and Aziraphale, no matter the cost.

“So,” he said, finally, working his voice out around the rather large knot that seemed to have formed in his throat. “Set the table for three, then?”

#

The tinkle of the front bell announced their guest’s arrival a few hours later. Angel and demon looked at each other helplessly, and for a moment Crowley contemplated a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, before he sighed. Aziraphale was finishing a fiddly and complex dish; it was up to him. No one in their right mind would come between the angel and his casserole.

He squared his shoulder and went to meet his fate head on.

Aurielle glared at him from the pavement, her grey eyes flashing as she peered up at him from beneath the fringe of her blonde pixie cut. Normally, she’d throw herself into his arms in an overly enthusiastic, full body hug, but this time, she stood, arms crossed across her chest, looking like she might actually combust.

“Hello?” he asked, cursing his ridiculously intimidated tone.

 “Don’t you hello me,” she said. “You’re on my official shit list. The other half here too?”

“Yep,” Crowley said, standing aside and holding the door to usher her in. She swept past him, a long, sparkly skirt swirling around her legs as she stalked across the entrance and through the shop. Her tank top at least let him see that she wasn’t carrying any weapons, at least not on this plane. Who knew what she had tucked away in easy reach? He hoped the millennia of friendship between her and the angel would at least make her hesitate to skewer Aziraphale with an arrow.

“Angel,” Crowley announced as they came up the stairs and wound their way into the eat-in kitchen. “Look who’s here.”

Aziraphale adjusted the burner down to a low simmer and tucked the spoon away, then turned.

“Hello, Aurielle. Would you care for some coq au vin?”

“I’m not here for dinner, you bloody idiots,” she snapped. “I’m here to yell at you. A lot.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Crowley watched as Aziraphale waved a hand at the food behind him, putting it all perfectly on hold. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for Aurielle, and she plopped down on it aggressively while he and Crowley settled in across from her.

 “So,” Aziraphale said, “you’ve heard from her, have you?”

“I’ve heard about your colossal fuckup, if that’s what you mean,” Aurielle gritted out. “And yes. I’ve seen her a few days ago. She asked for my help.”

Crowley leaned forward, urgent, intent. “Help with what? Is she okay? Is the baby okay? I swear, if something’s happened to her, I’ll never—” He couldn’t complete the sentence. 

Aurielle almost softened, but not quite. “She’s fine. No thanks to the two of you. Just ran into some trouble with human doctors asking too many questions.”

“Thank someone,” Crowley muttered.

There were several bottles of excellent wine set out on the table for dinner; after a moment’s consideration, Aurielle grabbed the most expensive of them, pulling the cork out with her bare hands, and took a deep drink straight from the neck. She looked at them, daring them to complain about her lack of manners. Neither did.

“I know you have some yelling to do,” Aziraphale said, turning patiently to the sideboard and placing three wineglasses on the table in front of them. He returned to his seat. “And probably a lot of cursing as well, which I promise not to comment on. But please, can you tell us anything more?”

Aurielle blew her fringe out of her eyes and eyed the wineglass in front of her, then abandoned it for another long swig from the bottle that was still in her hand.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll tell the basics.”

#

“Wings!” Aziraphale breathed, his face awash in awe. “A girl child with wings! Crowley, my dear, did you hear?”

Somewhere, Crowley noted, someone had opened a second bottle and poured him a glass. He picked it up as he nodded, unable to speak. His chest ached. His throat had closed. He was awash in a tangled skein of so many emotions that he couldn’t have unraveled a single thread from it if he’d tried. His body, denied the ability to express any of it verbally, took the less satisfying route of trembling like it was trying to buck him out of his corporation by force. He got his glass back on the table, but just barely.

He felt Aurielle’s eyes on him as Aziraphale dropped a hand over his, squeezing hard.

“Breathe, my dear,” the angel said, and Crowley did. It didn’t seem to do much except give the gremlins shaking him apart a fresh supply of oxygen. They attacked their job with renewed vigor.

“We didn’t know,” Crowley gasped out, meeting Aurielle’s eyes. “We had no idea it was possible. We should’ve listened.”

“Yes,” she said. “You should’ve.”

“Terrible,” he wheezed, as his corporation continued to try to shake him off like a misbehaving horse who dislikes its rider. “Should be smited. Smitten. Smought.” He tried to take a deeper breath and coughed instead. “Bring your arrows?”

Aurielle sighed. “Oh, for—you’re just ridiculous, do you know that?” She turned to Aziraphale and opened her hands in exasperation. “How the fuck does anyone ever stay mad at him?”

Aziraphale shrugged, his face a battleground of fondness and grief. “I’ve never gotten the art of it, to be quite honest. The most I’ve managed is a few days, and only for the most egregious of offenses.”

“That must be so annoying. Sometimes I stay mad at Rafe for weeks.”

The angel hummed in agreement. Her longtime lover, the former archangel Raphael, was intensely irritating, always needling everyone for his own amusement. Aziraphale had no doubt it was possible to stay mad at him for long periods.

Crowley thumped his head down on the table and left it there. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just embarrass me to death. I deserve it.”

The angel patted the back of his head, then reached out for the bottle and poured himself another glass. He swirled it distractedly, his eyes on the tabletop, then looked up to meet Aurielle’s gaze.

Crowley stayed put, face down on his folded arms, content to listen without taking part for the moment.

“My dear friend,” the angel said, his voice as meek as Crowley had ever heard it. “I don’t wear my feelings on my sleeve as easily as Crowley does, but please know that ashamed is too light of a word for what I’m feeling. We hurt that poor girl terribly, and I don’t know that it can be undone. It was only a day or two before we realized we’d treated her unfairly, but by then she’d cut off all communication with us. By the time we realized what must have happened, it was far too late.”

“We looked for her,” Crowley piped up, still not raising her head. “Visited that vengeful harpy of a friend of hers who absolutely knew where she’d gone. Got ourselves kicked out of our favorite cafe on our asses.”

Aurielle snorted, but her eyes were still on Aziraphale. “Whatever explanation you’ve come up with, I’d love to hear it.”

“As near as we can figure, it must have something to do with when Adam recreated me, after I discorporated.” The angel fingered the rim of the glass. “We called him and asked how he did it, and he said he reset me to my original specifications.”

 “Original specifications. Oh.” Aurielle sucked in a breath. “Ohhhhhh. That makes sense.”

“Indeed. I was created long before the Nephilim fell, of course, so if he did a ‘factory reset’ on me, as Crowley likes to call it, he may have restored my ability to create progeny at the same time.”

“I suppose,” she said. “Honestly, I can’t tell who the baby belongs to. You’re both of the same stock. It’s more likely to be yours, perhaps, but it could be either of yours, or some kind of odd combination.” Aurielle looked upwards pointedly. “Herself has played fast and loose with the rules for you two more than once in the past. I wouldn’t put anything past her.” 

Crowley lifted his head at that, his face pale. “You mean, you think this might be… some sort of planned event?”

Aurielle nodded. “Like some kind of weird wedding gift? You are married, aren’t you?”

“Ages ago,” Crowley said. “But yeah. That would be a bit like her. Ineffable bastard.”

“Crowley!” both of the angels admonished. He skittered back in his chair, nearly knocking it over in the process, and they both watched as he righted himself, muttering.

“Please don’t say such things, my dearest,” Aziraphale said. “Not out loud, at least. It doesn’t pay to tempt fate.”

He lifted his hands in a show of surrender.

“So tell me,” Aziraphale said. “How do we fix this? Because we desperately want to.”

“Do you?” she said. “Honestly. Before I can help, I have to know what the two of you actually want.” She held up a hand, cutting off any interruptions. “And this can’t be guilt, or shame, or anything negative. When you think about Emily and this baby, what do you really, truly want?”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, and they shared a long, wordless moment, before Aziraphale reached out and linked their hands once again. Crowley looked down at their hands and realized that the shaking had eased off. Take that, gremlins, he thought. The angel outranks you.

“We want this baby, most desperately,” the angel said. “We want to be fully involved—or at least as much as Emily will let us be—in raising it. We… we want to be its fathers.”

“Love kids,” Crowley added. “Amusing little buggers, even if they’re sticky.”

“And Emily herself?”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “We want her here with us. We love her. And we’ll do whatever we can to make it up to her.”

Aurielle’s face relaxed for the first time since she’d arrived, and she finally released her death grip on the neck of the bottle, which was nearly half empty. “Well, I won’t say you’re not both imbeciles. But I’ll see what I can do.”

A blinding smile broke over Aziraphale’s face. “That’s all we can ask, my dear. Now, are you certain I can’t tempt you into staying for a little good French cooking?”

“I suppose I could have a little,” she said, begrudgingly. “Be a shame to waste it.”

Somewhere in Heaven, Julia Child smiled.

Chapter Text

Group Text Initiated

Emily
Hi. I guess we should talk.

DemonGuy
Em? Oh, thank someone. You okay? Hang on, gonna poke A to join in.

Angelface
Emily??? Oh my goodness. We are so very glad to hear from you. We’ve been so worried!

Emily
Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I needed some space.

Angelface
You’ve nothing to apologize for, my dear. We are the ones who need to apologize. Although I hate to do it over these infernal phones.

DemonGuy
I’ll do it, then. Em, we’re so, so sorry. We fucked up. Bigtime. Have known it since the very start, just couldn’t find you to tell you.

Emily
It was an ugly night all around. My little rant didn’t help either. You know that was all bullshit, right? All those people?

Angelface
My dear, please. Stop. We are entirely in the wrong. All that matters is that you’re willing to speak with us again.

Emily
Ok.
So… Aurielle told you everything?

Angelface
Yes, my dear, she certainly did. And I hope you can believe it when we say we’re beyond delighted at the prospect of having a daughter.

DemonGuy
About our daughter with the wings? Hell yeah. So freaking cool. I hope she has a little snake in her somewhere too. Maybe a forked tongue?

Emily
Oh god. Is that possible?

DemonGuy
Ouch. The angel just whacked me over the head. No, it probably isn’t.

Angelface
Emily, love, could we see you in person? We have so much to discuss, and I’d like to see your face as we talk. We can come to you.

DemonGuy
Or somewhere neutral. Anywhere you want to go, love.

…

…

Emily
Okay. I’ll send you the address. Come tomorrow morning?

Angelface
We will. We’ll bring breakfast.

#

“Will you just stop jittering?” Crowley hissed, turning his head away from the road to fix Aziraphale with one of his fiercest scowls. “You’re making me nervous.”

Aziraphale made a face. “You were already nervous.”

“Well, you’re making it worse.”

“Perhaps you’d feel calmer if you took the speed down to—“ the angel leaned over to check— “less than one hundred?” He sat back primly and folded his hands firmly on top of the pink bakery box they carried, as if he had every intention of shielding its contents with his life, if necessary.

“Speed is very soothing,” the demon retorted.

No one said anything for a minute, and if anyone noticed that the speedometer went down a notch or two, they both knew better than to comment on it.

Crowley took one hand off the wheel and laid it on top of Aziraphale’s, on top of the box. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as the angel. “We’ll say what we need to say, we’ll apologize, and if it’s not all right immediately, at least we’ve started the process. Better than not speaking at all.”

Aziraphale let out a deep exhale. “It’s just… I never quite realized how fraught the compressed timelines of mortal lives are when dealing with this kind of issue, since my conflicts with loved ones have always been, well, with you. It didn’t matter, with us, if we were in a fight for a year or two.”

“It bloody well matters now,” Crowley said. “I’d be devastated if you didn’t speak to me for a year.”

“Well yes, my love, of course,” Aziraphale said, soothingly. “Me as well. But I meant before. Before we declared ourselves. Even when one of us wasn’t speaking to the other, I always knew we’d have plenty of time to work it out. We have nothing but time ahead of us.”

Crowley thought about that one. “I suppose.”

“But now—now, it feels like every second matters…” He broke off.

Crowley squeezed his hand. “Yeah. I know. It’s different. Less time to waste. But maybe that’s a good thing, you know?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “You might have a point. The two of us, left to our own devices, get nothing done quickly.”

The miles sped by outside the car and soon enough, almost too soon, they were meandering through the small village of Kingsdowne. Charming place, all small, whitewashed cottages and stone walls, with a village green and a duck pond that seemed to lack any actual ducks. They pulled over to check the map on Crowley’s phone once or twice, but soon enough they wound around a turnabout and found the right road out of town, and in another moment, they’d arrived.

Crowley took a second to remove his glasses and place them in his jacket pocket as he exited the car, peering at the small cottage in front of him. It was very pretty; old brick painted candy floss pink, with white casement windows and a thatched and curved roof. A tall hedge shielded one side of it from a neighboring cottage, and down the other side one could glimpse tall grasses and a view of the sea.

Aziraphale walked around to stand beside him, still clutching the box before him like armor, and they took a minute to meet each other’s eyes before opening a badly weathered gate and heading to the door.

Heart in his throat, Crowley raised his hand to knock, then all but fell off the small landing in his haste to step back.

It said something that Aziraphale did not smirk at this.

Footsteps sounded and soon enough, there she was, Emily, green eyed, rumpled from sleeplessness, her dark hair tousled and hanging in a loose braid from which tendrils were escaping in every direction. Crowley’s eyes went immediately to the visible swell of her belly under the black tee she was wearing—small, but more than noticeable. If she dressed with extreme care, she might hide it for a few more weeks, but that time was rapidly passing. She laid a hand on it, unaware of the motion, and after a long, hesitant moment, gave them a weak but genuine-looking smile.

“Hi,” she said, stepping aside. “C’mon through to the kitchen.”

Aziraphale, of course, couldn’t let it go at that. He stepped in, initially seeming like he’d do as she bid, but then he stopped beside her and looked down to meet her hesitant gaze.

“My dear,” he said, voice cracking, and held his arms open. “May I please?”

Crowley watched as Emily inhaled deeply, and he could see the indecision flicker, but in the end, she launched herself at the angel and wrapped her shaking arms around his neck. “There, there, my dear girl, my love. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his head bent down on top of hers.

They were completely blocking the hallway, of course, so Crowley just stood there, feeling like a schmuck, until one of them, or maybe both, snaked out an arm and grabbed him by the cuff, pulling him into the fray, until he couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose, or whether the warm breath he could feel on his chest was his own or the angel’s or whether it belonged to the woman they both loved.

It didn’t matter, he decided. This was a much better start than sitting down awkwardly across a tea tray and trying to find the right words.

#

Everyone’s eyes were wet by the time they disentangled and made it to the kitchen table. Emily bought herself a moment away from the confusing skein of emotions by bustling around at the sideboard, setting the kettle up, piling cups and saucers onto the tray. Aziraphale, of course, came and offered to do it for her, but she waved him back towards the table, needing this minute to calm herself.

It was so deeply confusing, how glad she was to see them, and how natural that hug had felt.

She was angry at them.

She’d missed them terribly.

She’d meant to be distant, cool, hard to win over, and yet she’d ended up sobbing in both of their arms within thirty seconds of them walking in the door. She didn’t know what that meant, that hug. It certainly didn’t mean everything was now fixed, or back to normal. But it meant something. Some tender part of her heart that she thought had scabbed over was still warm and viable, beating hard, like love could really conquer any obstacles in its path.

She wasn’t sure whether she believed what that part of her heart had to say. Not yet.  

She laid a hand on her abdomen for a minute, just feeling the baby, who fluttered gently, and then turned around with the tray in hand. Aziraphale poured as she piled the ridiculous assortment of pastries they’d bought on a platter. Of course, they’d picked up all her favorites and then some. She gave it a minute, letting the sight and smells waft over her, to see which the baby was going to leap for. 

“Did you rent this place?” Crowley called from the front window, where he seemed to inspect the annual border.

Jelly. The baby wanted the jelly roll, and she wanted it now. Emily took it and set it on her plate, and noted that Aziraphale smiled and looked pleased. Now that she’d taken one, he helped himself to one as well.

#

Aziraphale knew, before he offered to help with the tray, that he probably shouldn’t; Emily needed a moment to herself. Nonetheless, he couldn’t stand to allow her to just wait on them, like they were guests. Like they weren’t the ones at fault here. She should sit down while they bustled around, making her tea, making her anything she needed. Making things right.

“May I do that for you, my dear?” he asked, coming up beside her.

She almost jumped, startled from her thoughts, then shook her head and flapped a hand behind her. “No, please, I’ve got it… just… just sit.”

He did. Whatever she needed.

The differences between them, he thought again, were so big. If you’d hurt an immortal like they’d hurt her, they’d either smite you right on the spot or ignore you for a decade or two, until it was possible to just pretend nothing had ever happened. That wasn’t the case with humans, or at least with most of them. The vital spark they possessed—the free will, the short and fiery lives, the microsecond of consciousness allotted to them—meant they threw themselves into their lives with an abandon that most angels and demons found difficult to comprehend. They made their decisions so quickly—who to love, who to hate.

Who to forgive.

Not that they were forgiven yet, of course. That would take time. But she’d hugged them, and she’d cried, and he suddenly felt much more certain that the repair of this breach was possible.

It made it easier to understand why some angels had always resented humans. Most churchgoers had probably been told that demons originally fell because they were jealous of humanity; it was a better kept secret, however, that at least some of the remaining angels in Heaven felt quite the same. Michael, for sure. Gabriel was the poster boy of envy, ready to slaughter them as collateral damage in his inane war of dominion, his sneering put downs of their bodies, food, and material goods only a thin veneer over how intensely he coveted every bit of it.

Humanity had a courage and an immediacy that their ethereal and occult counterparts lacked. There were times when Aziraphale wasn’t sure the tradeoff of being functionally immortal was the better end of the bargain.

He watched as she laid a hand on her belly, communing with the child inside, and that quiet spark of awe he’d always felt for them deepened even further.

#

Crowley tried to sit down at the table, but sitting and being still had always been hard for him, especially when agitated. Having been more successful at reading Emily’s body language than the angel was, though, he didn’t try to butt in. Instead, he poked around the room, peering out windows, examining the pictures on the walls, even wandering through to the living room to gaze out the back door towards the sea.

“Did you rent this, Em?” he asked, as she turned to the table with the tray.

“Oh, no,” she said. “It was my grandmother’s, then my parents. It’s actually mine now.”

Crowley blinked, finally taking a seat. “You own a seaside cabin? You never mentioned it.”

Emily shrugged. “Me and my cousin, actually. We rent it out for holidays most of the time,” she said. “I have an agent up here who mostly handles it. But I got lucky that no one was here this month, so it’s all mine.”

Crowley nodded. Wouldn’t have needed to be lucky if we hadn’t been prats, he thought, and from the corner of his eye he noted Aziraphale flinch as if he’d heard every word.

“And your job at the gallery?” Crowley asked. “Are you on some kind of leave?”

Emily blushed. “No, I’m not. Don’t fuss about it; I’ve been thinking about leaving there for quite a while. I’ve got inheritance money, enough to last me and the baby for quite a while, particularly if I’m not paying rent.”

Aziraphale stirred sugar into his tea, clearly determined not to comment on her job prospects or finances. “I’m sure you know best, my dear,” he murmured. “As long as you don’t need for anything.”

An awkward silence fell as the subject of money—who had it and how much, who had recently offered it to who in the most insulting of manners, who might want to be making the offer again but with a very different emotional tenor—loomed large.

None of them were brave enough to tackle that one yet. Instead, they all sat, stirring their tea, until the subject grew bored and wandered away.

It was Emily, of course, who eventually broke the silence. “So,” she said. “I guess we have a lot to talk about. Any idea where we should start?”

“With our abject apologies, I’d say,” Aziraphale said, pushing away his plate. It was a rare situation which could take away his appetite, but this one qualified. “Emily, my dear, I’m so, so sorry for how I reacted and the things I said to you. I was… I was cold, and harsh, and accusatory, when you needed love and understanding.”

“And judgmental,” Emily added, her tone matter-of-fact as she licked a bit of jelly off her finger. She blinked at him calmly while the blow landed.

Fair enough, the angel thought. “That too,” he said. “Everything I did that evening was utterly wrong, including allowing you to leave in such a state without trying to work it out first. Somehow I thought giving us all a few days would help, but of course, that must have just made you feel completely abandoned by us both.”

“I followed you to Lia’s,” Crowley cut in. “Just so you know. Made sure you got there safe.”

Emily looked at him, expression unreadable. “Thank you?”

“We tried texting you later the next day,” Aziraphale added. “But you’d blocked us by then, I suspect, or turned off your mobile, or both.”

Emily colored faintly. “I turned it off. I’ll admit I maybe should’ve given you a little longer first, but I wasn’t thinking real clearly. And then I stuck it in that drawer over there,” she indicated the sideboard, “and never touched it again until I needed Uriel.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “Well, that was clever of you, thinking of her when you needed help. You have a fierce advocate in that one, and, I understand, a midwife of sorts.”

“I’m assuming since you’re both still here that she didn’t actually shoot you with arrows or rip out your tonsils or anything like that,” Emily said with a faint grin. “She was making all kinds of terrible threats.”

Crowley snorted. “No, she didn’t. Wasn’t pleasant, though. Still, it’s not like we didn’t already know at that point. We’d figured out what likely happened several weeks prior to that.”

Emily sat forward, suddenly tense. “You mean… you know how this happened? How one of you two supposedly infertile beings knocked me up?”

Aziraphale made a small moue of displeasure at the language. “Yes, we do,” he said. “Remember how we told you about the battle we averted between Heaven and Hell, and how I got discorporated during it?”

Emily nodded. “And the kid gave you a new body?”

“That’s right. Good memory. Well, we believe he reset me to… to my original configuration. Pre-flood. Back when the angels could mate with humans and produce offspring.”

“We called him to confirm it,” Crowley said. “Braved the beast for you.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Oh, now, the antichrist has grown up into a fine young man. What’s he doing now? Working as a researcher?”

Emily stared at her plate, which was miraculously empty. She didn’t even remember eating the jelly donut. Had she really? She looked up, confused, and didn’t see it anywhere, so she simply reached out and plucked the other one off the platter.

“Sorry,” she murmured, stuffing a gigantic piece in her mouth. “This kid is ferociously hungry. All I do is eat and sleep. Aurielle says I need to eat a lot more than I already am, which I can’t imagine.”

They watched her with faint smiles as she ate nearly half of it in very short order.

“So that makes sense,” she said when she’d washed it down with a large swallow of her tea. “And I can see how you wouldn’t have thought of that right away, I guess.”

Aziraphale laid a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to make excuses for us, my dear. We were wretched to you.”

“If it wasn’t clear,” Crowley said, his golden eyes meeting hers over the top of his glasses. “I’m sorry as well. So very. So much. You deserve better than that.” He swallowed. “Hope you’ll be able to forgive us.”

“I’m getting there,” she said with a smile. “Really. I want to say I forgive you already, because right at the moment, I do. But I think it will take a little time for me to really mean it, and not just get swept away by the moment, you know?”

She wiped off her sticky hands on her napkin and reached a hand out to each of them. Both angel and demon took it.

“I have to say something difficult here,” she said, “and I want you to let me. Okay?”

Angel and demon both nodded. She squeezed each of their hands and let them go, leaning back to cradle her teacup, soaking in the warmth and taking a moment to gather her courage.

“I need you to understand that your obligations to me about this baby are minimal,” Emily said, speaking slowly. “ There are a few things I’ll need your help with, because of who and what she is. For example, if she needs to be taught how to fly or learn to understand her powers, I can’t do that. Although I suppose Aurielle could if you don’t.”

The angel jerked in his seat, raising a finger as if he had to make a remark, or it might explode out of him, but Emily cut him off with a look. “Please, “she said, “let me finish. I have to say this now, or I’ll always wonder if things are real between us. “

The angel waved for her to continue, looking grimly discomfited. Crowley sat like a stone, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching her with a pained expression.

Emily stared into the tea cup in front of her, as if reading the leaves, and then kept her gaze there as she continued. “I don’t expect a romantic commitment or a lifelong partnership, simply because I’m pregnant. The last thing I want is for either of you to make a huge gesture of being all in, out of guilt or obligation, and then to come to resent it. I can care for and love this baby, with or without you.“

She looked around the table, at their faces awash in so many reactions; sadness, aggravation, grief. “I guess that’s it. You can talk now.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “But what,” he said, gruffly, “if we want to be all in? Like really, truly. Like, all of it? You, the baby, life, everything.”

“You can’t know that just yet—“

“—my dear,” Aziraphale cut in, “we’ve had well over a month to think about it, and there’s not a day that hasn’t been filled with regret about making you think we didn’t want you and this baby.”

“Do you know,” Crowley added, “how miraculous this is? To our kind? This is one of the few adventures that angels and demons have never been allowed to have. To have and raise a child? To experience living as a proper family? A lot of us would give their right arm for a chance like this.”

“And for a chance like this with a woman we love,” Aziraphale said. “It’s perfection.”

Emily blinked hard, annoyed at the freaking tears starting up again. “Okay, okay. I think I believe you. Maybe. It’s…” she bit off a sob. “It’s a lot.”

Crowley scooted his chair closer and tentatively reached out to pull her in to his side. When she allowed it, he wrapped an arm around her, letting her bury her head in his shoulder as she gave into the feelings.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said gently, when she surfaced. “The question is, what do you want? You’re the one to decide. We’d have no choice but to understand if you’re not willing to share a life with us like that, or not yet. We can go slowly, at whatever level and speed you’re comfortable with.” He handed her a handkerchief. “You don’t have to decide tonight. Just as long as you’re not running away.”

#

They talked long past lunch, until Emily started to obviously yawn between sentences, enormous yawns that shook her entire body. “See?” she said, slumping down on her elbows. “Eat. Sleep. Repeat. That is literally my entire day now.”

“You need the rest, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps you could go lie down, and Crowley and I will clean up?”

“We could stay and cook you dinner,” Crowley added, a touch nervously. “ Don’t wanna overstay…”

Emily yawned again. “Was gonna roast a chicken,” she said, pointing at the fridge. “If you wanna, have at it. I’ll probably sleep for a couple hours.”

The boys smiled at her. “You do that,” Aziraphale said, “and we’ll see what we can whip up. We’ll stay through dinner and then let you have some peace.”

#

It was a pleasant feeling to wake up to the smell of a warm dinner being prepared by someone other than herself, Emily thought as she stretched and tested out each limb. By the angle of the light on the wall, she thought it was probably about four in the afternoon. Not quite dinner yet.

Instead of rushing right out to rejoin them, she took a moment to luxuriate in bed, thinking through their conversations that morning, surprised to find that she really didn’t feel that bad about any of it. They both seemed genuinely remorseful. The question that remained was: could she leap back into it, again, with them? Could she trust them with her heart, or should they leave all of that and simply be devoted co-parents to the magical youngster that was coming? Was it even possible to have everything—love, family, friendship, trust—all in one place?

It wasn’t an accident that Emily was poly. Her observations, built through a childhood of her parents’ turbulent relationships, first with each other and then with a dizzying array of other partners after a nasty divorce, had made her suspicious of the relationship status quo right from the start. Monogamy wasn’t for everyone, and from what she could see, some people were more suited for it than others. And as for the sanctity of the nuclear family? Well, she was much happier once her parents split up. There were too many permutations of happiness and misery possible for any one family configuration to claim the moral high ground, she thought.

When she got to uni and found people with other ideas about how to structure relationships, she felt like she’d finally found a place for herself in the world. Poly appealed to her, with the idea that you didn’t have to find everything you needed in a single person, and that relationships might just go better if everyone admitted it.

Unfortunately, polyamory was as difficult to pull off successfully as any other relationship. People, she’d found, were extremely good at spouting the rhetoric—that love didn’t mean ownership, that with good communication anything was possible—but less good at actually implementing it. Nearly every poly relationship she’d been involved in seemed to feature one partner who was more sincere about the lifestyle than the other, with the other partner secretly working their own agenda. Hoping to convert them to monogamy, mostly interested in sleeping with as many people as possible, unable or unwilling to communicate honestly and yet expecting to be understood—there were many variations, none of them good. 

Perhaps her perfect situation didn’t exist, she’d decided as she entered her late twenties. Thirty was just around the corner; maybe she didn’t need to settle down with anyone, regardless of gender or persuasion. She could just be the cool single person, traveling, living her life, painting her masterpieces.

And then she met them. The angel and the demon. She’d been trapped on a terrible blind date, sitting at the bar with a man who was getting progressively drunker and louder as the evening progressed, and yet when she tried to pay her share of the tab and leave, he’d gotten aggressive, blocking her in on her stool. She’d turned, trying to catch the bartender’s eye for some help, when suddenly a leather-clad arm came down on the bar between her and her angry date.

“There you are, sis!” a voice she didn’t know said. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Our table’s right over here, c’mon.”

She turned and found a lanky man dressed all in black, bright orange hair combed up in the front and smoothed back on the sides, wearing dark glasses of a ridiculously elaborate design. He lowered the glasses a bit and gave her a wink and suddenly, without knowing why, she trusted him.

“Oh thank God,” she said, taking his arm and sliding off her stool. “I thought I’d missed you.”

“But—wotcher—you’re with me—“ her date whined, reaching for Emily’s wrist yet again.

The leather-clad man turned to face him. “Get lost,” he hissed, “and get your hands off my sister.”

Emily didn’t know what he saw on her rescuer’s face, but it must have scared him, because he scuttled backwards like a crab, all but falling over the stool behind him.

“Shall we?” the man said, and she smiled. He led her over to his table, where another man, this one white-blond and soft and with the warmest smile she’d ever seen, stood up to greet her. He introduced them both, and she rolled their strange names around on her tongue. Crowley and Aziraphale.  Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Thank you so much for saving me,” she said, noting with some discomfort that they seemed to be on a date. “Is he gone? I don’t want to intrude on your evening any further.”

“Nonsense,” the softer man said, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Please have a glass of wine with us, and then you can tell us every single misstep made by that terrible brute you were with.”

Emily laughed despite herself, and let them pull her up a chair as they signalled for a third wineglass.

Two bottles later, they were good friends, discovering a mutual love of fine art, bad television, and, above all, books.

Two weeks later, she stopped into the bookshop with a gift of cookies and a painting she’d made to thank them for the rescue. They invited her back for tea, and over time, a friendship developed.

She found out about their true natures accidentally, bit by bit, as her natural artist’s tendency to study people revealed things that didn’t make sense. Subtle hand gestures that seemed to produce objects from nowhere. Wine bottles she was sure had been empty that suddenly refilled. It was like they weren’t even trying to hide things. Were most humans simply that easy to fool? She worried about it, pored over it, read some of the stranger books she found around the shop, and formed her own theories.

And slowly, through the typical accidental touches that were often exchanged, through deep conversations and drunken flirting, something deeper, warmer to develop. Between all of them. The first tentative kiss had been terrifying. The fact that it was followed by weeks of quite frank conversations was both surprising and enlightening. And then, slowly, they’d started to explore a partnership.

Somehow, it worked. She’d known no one as fascinating as these two, and her own strongly independent streak and need for time alone made it easy for the angel and demon to maintain their own relationship, and yet somehow, the three of them fit together better than any of them would have expected. By the time she’d left them, she’d sublet her old apartment and half moved into the flat above the shop; one or the other of them thought an extra room into existence for her that she could use for privacy, but she was also welcome in their bed as well.

It was, for a while, everything she’d been looking for. Freedom, love, support, and people who honestly, truly cared for her.

#

A knock on the door roused her. “Em?” Crowley’s head poked around the corner of her door. “You awake? Dinner will be ready pretty soon.”

She pushed herself up onto the headboard. “You can come in, if you want.”

Crowley stepped in hesitantly, and she patted the bed for him to sit down beside her. The bed sagged under his weight as he carefully sat, being sure not to touch her, and clasped his hands between his knees.

“Do you—” she started, then stopped, trying to think of the words. “ Do you want to meet her?”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

Emily nodded and reached for his hand. “Seemed to work for Aurielle,” she said, laying his hand on her abdomen. The baby fluttered inside her, more like a burst of carbonation than a kick, and she watched as Crowley’s face first frowned, then paled, then exploded into wonder. She’d seen nothing so beautiful in her entire life.

“Can I—angel—“ he stammered.

“Yeah, call him in.”

“ANGEL!” Crowley shouted, his voice rattling the panes of glass int he window. “GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW.”

There was a crash in the kitchen that she hoped wasn’t the chicken hitting the floor, and the angel appeared, flush-faced and terrified, stepping into the room in a battle stance. “What’s wrong? What—who— Crowley, are you crying?”

“Shaddup and get over here,” Crowley muttered, removing his hand reluctantly and standing up. “You need to feel this.”

Aziraphale released his defensive posture and stepped over to the bed, his face creased in confusion. He sat where Emily indicated, then watched as she positioned his hand where Crowley’s had just been.

“Angel of the Eastern Gate,” she said quietly, “meet your daughter.”

Aziraphale’s chin wobbled and Emily thought, feeling laughter she didn’t understand bubbling up in her, that his blue eyes had never looked so glorious.

#

“So, what would you like us to do for now?” Aziraphale asked, after dinner ended and they insisted she watch them clean up and put away the leftovers without lifting a finger. “Obviously we don’t expect you to come back to London with us immediately, but if you’d like to come, at any point, we’d very much like you to be with us.”

Emily took a deep breath and let it out, not sure what the right answer was.

“I’ve got this place for the rest of the month,” she finally said. “Maybe we should just… ride that out? You guys are welcome to stay nearby or to come up on the weekends while we get used to being around each other again.”

“And then?” Crowley asked.

“And then, if all is going well, I suppose I’ll come back to London,” she said. “One step at a time, though, please? This is already—“ she made a hand-waving gesture that somehow clearly indicated the rest of her sentence. A lot.

This was a lot.

“It is, indeed,” Aziraphale said, gentle. “You’ve been more than gracious with the two of us today, much more than we deserve. We’ll take it as slowly as you like.”

Emily smiled at him, and if the edges were a bit tremulous, she didn’t think they noticed.

“It’s the oddest thing,” Crowley said, smirking, “but I think a cottage just down the road might have just suddenly had a cancellation.”

Emily laughed. “Oh, I can only imagine.”

Aziraphale looked at her closely. “Is that all right, my dear? We’ll have to go back to London for tonight, of course, to gather some things, and we won’t both always be able to be here as things in the city require attending to, but if you’ll allow us, it would be a great relief to know that at least one of us was nearby at all times.”

To be honest, it sounded pretty good to her, too. Emily dropped her shoulders and stopped fighting it.

“I think that would be just fine,” she said, smiling.

Aziraphale beamed. Crowley adjusted his posture to stand a little straighter, in his own noodly way. And between all of them, there was a new sensation, a faint thrumming of something new.

Joy, she realized. It was joy. The life inside her was golden with it, and they’d all felt it.

Chapter Text

Emisgettinglarger
So we made up. Please don’t get mad.

QueenLia
Who made up?

Emisgettinglarger
Me and y’know. Them.

QueenLia
Oh, you ’re fucking kidding me. Really?

Emisgettinglarger
I mean, we’re not like all romantic, but we’re spending time together and trying to sort out where we go from here. They very much want to be involved in raising her.

QueenLia
Tell me you hit them with a two by four.

Emisgettinglarger
Lol. Unfortunately, no. But I hear you slapped some sense into them.

QueenLia
Uh, yeah, probably should ’ve told you about that. Not sorry, though.

Emisgettinglarger
I know. Don’t want you to be. But seriously. They’re appropriately contrite, and I’m giving it some time to see how far back into this thing I want to go.

QueenLia
*grumbles* Ok, ok. I get it, I guess. Glad to hear there was groveling.

Emisgettinglarger
So much groveling. You’d have loved it.

QueenLia
All right, I ’m gonna trust you know what you’re doing. Love you Em.

Emisgettinglarger
You too.

#

“Aurielle is coming by today,” Emily called as she made her way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. In the week and a half since their initial talk, things were slowly becoming more comfortable. One or the other of them was usually around the cottage with her during the day, staying out of the way but also helping wherever they could. They gave each other space, but they’d begun to have normal conversations again. They even laughed once in a while.

It felt good, Emily thought. Comfortable, even. 

In his seat by the front window, where he lay coiled as if trying to make the sun hit as much of his body as possible, Crowley made a half-moan sound. “Oh fuck. When? She’s insanely scary, and she’s probably still mad at me. I might just hide.”

Emily laughed. “I’m sure she’s over it. And if she isn’t, I’ll make sure she doesn’t hurt you.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, but he dropped it.

#

“So,” Aurielle said as Emily pulled her shirt back down after the checkup. She made a gesture towards the living room. “Back together, then?”

“Yeah,” Emily admitted. “We’ve been taking it slow, but they’ve been really good about everything. Plan is to head home in another week or so.”

Aurielle cracked a grin. “He looked terrified to see me.”

Emily laughed. “Yeah. I think he’s pretty scared of you right now.” 

“I suppose I should talk to him.” Aurielle said, rolling her shoulders. “Make peace.”

#

She found him pacing the back patio. Back and forth, stopping once in a while to stare out to sea, then back to his rounds. When he heard the door behind him open, he whirled around nervously.

“Ah,” he said, face unreadable in the bright light. “Here we go. Come to have it out again?” 

Aurielle walked up beside him and leaned on the railing, looking out at the expanse of scrubby grass that lead down towards the water. “Nah,” she said. “You’re too easy of a target right now, anyway. All jumpy and shit. I mostly like to eviscerate those who aren’t expecting it, you know?” He stared at her bleakly, until she gave him a wink, and watched him sag in relief.

“Baby okay?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, just fine. Growing like a weed.” Aurielle said. “She needs to eat more.”

“We’re working on that. One or the other has been cooking her food pretty much every day.”

“Where’s your other half?” She asked, then stopped herself. “Should I say third? I guess it’s thirds now, isn’t it?”

Crowley blinked, then smiled. “I guess it is, yeah. I hope. Anyhow, he’s in London, had to go back for a couple days. He’ll be back on Friday.”

“How’s he handling things?”

Crowley looked out to the water, cold and gray looking today, choppy in the light wind that was blowing. “Honestly, he’s handling it pretty well. He’s delighted about the baby, he’s thrilled to have Emily back. Beating himself up, still, and nervous about making any missteps again.”

They both were. Aurielle nodded as if she heard that part, too.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are working it out,” she said. “But if you hurt her again, just know that I don’t need my bow to kick your ass from here to the seventh circle.”

Crowley had nothing to say to that. Aurielle took in a huge, deep breath and sighed contentedly. “Nothing like sea air, is there?” she said perkily. “C’mon, you big dork. Let’s go drink something and be friends again. Got any gin?”

She turned and sashayed back into the house, and the demon, after a minute, followed. He could already hear the clinks and clatters of her rumbling around in the cupboard that held the liquor. He’d best get there quick, to make sure she found the secret stash of the highest quality stuff.

#

~Two weeks later~

“Is that everything?” Aziraphale asked, coming up behind her on the back deck as Emily stared at the water. “Just those two bags?”

Emily turned to him with a smile. “I didn’t bring much. You know me, travel light.”

“Well, you do have that storage unit out in the suburbs, don’t you?”

She did. It was crammed full of furniture from her parents’ house, mementos, childhood trophies… all the detritus she hadn’t quite had the strength or the energy to deal with after her parents passed away in a car accident, five years earlier, but couldn’t bring herself to get rid of, either. Some day she’d deal with it. But not today.

“Did we pack up the rest of the food?” she asked. “Because those scones Crowley made yesterday were brilliant.”

“I’m sure he did, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “He knows who he’s dealing with here.”

Emily smiled. “I’ll kind of miss it here, I think. I love waking up to see the water every day.”

“We can come back,” the angel said, squeezing her shoulder. She leaned into him gratefully. “As much as you’d like. No reason you have to live out the entire pregnancy in London.”

“That’d be nice. Weekends in the country?”

“Weekends, weeks… Whatever you wish, my dear.” The angel straightened up and reached for her hand. “For now, though, shall we go?”

“Yes,” she said, wrapping her fingers through his. “Let’s go home.”

#

Crowley lounged against the Bentley, one hand splayed across her roof, and watched as the two of them emerged from behind the house, walking side by side, hands clasped. Something in his heart that he hadn’t realized was still clenched eased at the sight of it; they looked comfortable together. He and Emily had had an easier time of fumbling through reconciliation than she and the angel had, moving more easily back into casual affection and unfraught conversations. He wasn’t entirely sure why; he supposed it was possible that Emily considered the angel to have behaved worse in the initial breach than he had. Offering her money had certainly been a misstep; perhaps it still rankled on some level.

On the other hand, he also thought it was more a factor of the angel’s natural reserve. Crowley had an easier time setting aside thoughts of propriety and dignity and just being—well, himself, accepting that he was ridiculous and letting things happen, whereas the angel was often tripped up by his layers of watchfulness. He also, he suspected, was more used to guilt, more able to function beneath it, than the angel was. For the angel, thousands of years of misuse at the hands of Heaven and an unshakeable belief that he deserved it had left him always more hidden, prone to penance, and inevitably harder on himself. Crowley had the benefit of nearly always having known he was worth at least as much as nearly any of his colleagues in Hell and that their good opinion wasn’t worth having.

Whatever the reason, he was glad they were mending. After three weeks of spending time with Emily in Kingsdowne, she’d agreed to come back to London. Back to the flat, even. He was sure they’d still face a little continued awkwardness, but in the end, they’d figure it out.

“Ready?” he called, shaking the musings from his head. He raised his other hand, dangling a bag in his most enticing manner. “I have scones for the trip.”

“You’re going to let me eat scones in your car?” Emily asked. “Who are you and what have you done with Crowley?”

He gave her a peck on the cheek as she came around his side of the car. “I know who I’m dealing with.”

Emily laughed, and the sound was clear and happy and, at that moment, the best thing he’d heard in some time.

#

The drive back to London passed quickly. Emily watched the scenery change from seaside to urban, watching the outskirts of London roll by, then the familiar scenes of the city. Crowley seemed oddly nervous, keeping the speed at least fifteen mph lower than was his usual. Never driven with a baby in the car before, he’d said. You did, the angel answered, once, which got him a long, unsettled glare. Emily paid no attention, hand on her belly, eyes on the familiar streets passing by.

When they pulled up outside the bookshop, her heart caught in her throat.

She couldn’t explain why this dusty shop had become such a magical place to her, but the truth of the matter was that it had become home. Not just home, but Home. She wandered up to the entrance, resting a hand on one of the two stone pillars that bracketed either side of the doors, then shifted her touch to the panels of the dark red door itself.

The last time I was here, she thought, I said goodbye to you. I really didn’t think I’d be back.

Crowley had long since brushed past her with her bags and their own, carrying everything into the middle of the shop before heading to the kitchen to put on a kettle. It was Aziraphale who waited just behind her, watching but silent.

When she turned to smile at him, her eyes were wet.

“Are you all right, dear girl?” He looked uncertain, guilty, like he was wondering if she regretted the choice to return.

Emily nodded, wiped at an eye. “Just missed her, is all.”

Aziraphale’s face bloomed in cautious joy, like a mother told that her child is the best and the brightest little tyke ever to roam the face of the Earth. “The shop, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Emily said, reaching out for his hand once more. “The shop.”

If the bell over the door tinkled a little more brightly than usual, if the door closed settled more gently back into its frame behind them, if the floorboards sighed just the tiniest bit with what sounded like contentment as she stepped back over the threshold—who could say why. Old buildings are peculiar that way.

But Emily heard it, and she took its meaning.

The shop had missed her, too.

#

Emily had read that pregnancy played havoc with one’s hormones, sometimes causing… ahem, a little stronger interest in matters of the flesh? It hadn’t been an issue at first, with them still feeling thing out and getting used to being around each other, but as she settled back into life in the shop and the weeks rolled by without any resumption of their former intimacy, she began to wonder.

They were all revolving around each other in perpetual orbit. Loving, sweet, and supportive, yes—but never quite meeting in the middle. There was plenty of affection—hugs, pecks on the cheeks, hand holding—but there had been absolutely nothing beyond that. Every night they chastely retired to their separate beds, and none of them seemed to know how to move beyond that.

She appreciated that they were giving her time, and she’d been the one, she supposed, to say they needed let things settle before diving back in, but now that she wanted more, she wondered if both of her partners were entirely too nervous about setting a foot wrong to allow it to happen?

She sighed. Clearly, she was going to have to make the first move for all of them. The only questions were: where, when, and how.

#

She started with Aziraphale, mostly because she knew he would be the more difficult of the two to grapple with. Crowley flirted easily, and touch was always easier for him. The angel was harder on himself, and she knew he was still feeling badly about pushing her away, and therefore honor bound to treat her carefully.

She started small, initiating little touches that crossed the boundary. She walked up to him when he was at the sink and hugged him from behind the way she used to, trailing one hand down towards his arse for a ghost of a touch before she turned away. He jumped the first time, nearly dropped a plate, but she didn’t let it phase her. He was out of practice with her affection, and feeling like he didn’t deserve it, to boot. One small step at a time.

She gave him space the rest of that day, but the next day, she ran a hand across his back as he sat at his desk, trailing it from one shoulder, down his spine and back up, before leaning down and giving him a peck on the temple. He managed not to drop his fountain pen when he shivered, but he made a terrible blotch on the ledger he’d been writing in.

Emily grinned a little as she walked away. She wasn’t toying with him, not at all. But it was still fun to see his reactions.

The next morning, she arranged to be coming out of the bathroom after a shower exactly when she knew he was walking down the hall from the kitchen. She’d deliberately tied her robe a little loose, and when they bumped into each other, she watched his throat as he swallowed hard, his eyes traveling down her exposed flesh, still warm and almost misty from the hot water.

Excellent, she thought. Clearly, the sight of her still affected him. 

“Oops,” she said, gathering her robe. “I didn’t see you there.”

He actually stammered, then stepped aside to let her pass.

Later that evening, she overheard snatches of conversation from the kitchen.

“—but I don’t understand, it seems like she—“

“Well, what of it? If she’s trying to let you know, that’s great. It’s more than time, actually, that we all get back to normal.”

“Yes, but you don’t understand, I won’t risk—I can’t risk—not unless I’m absolutely sure that she—“

A quieter sound, like lips meeting. “I know, angel, I know—“

She crept away, giving them their privacy.

#

Crowley was an easier matter. He had his moments; he could be as watchful as Aziraphale, of course, but tenderness and physical affection had always seemed to come easier to him. He’d been the one, at the start of their tentative fumbling into a relationship, who had kissed her first, although not, she’d learned later, until after having literally hours and hours of conversations about the idea with the angel.

Still, he had been the one brave enough to make that first move. It hadn’t been a complete surprise; she’d known for a while where they were heading. But still, that first night, nestled on the couch between the two of them, she’d felt her breath catch in her chest when Crowley suddenly leaned down, tipped her chin up in his hand, and kissed her, soft and inviting, undemanding, almost chaste.

When she’d come up for air, it was all she could do to drag her eyes off of his lips and meet his gaze.

“It’s okay if you feel differently, Em,” he’d said, voice low. “But we wanted you to know that we think we’d like to try it. This. And all the rest. It makes absolutely no sense, but it feels right.”

She’d turned her head then and looked at Aziraphale, beside her, to find his eyes firmly on hers as well. “You too?” she’d asked.

“Very much so,” he’d said, his pupils wide, leaning in to meet her with a kiss as gentle as a feather.

She couldn’t remember who kissed who next, only that the next kiss was much less chaste, and the one after that she could never have described as feathery, and the one after that… and the next… and the next…

#

Dinner, the night after their shower robe encounter and her brief moment of eavesdropping. Both angel and demon seemed quiet. Pensive. Emily tolerated it as best she could, until she simply couldn’t anymore.

She put her fork down, wiped her mouth off with her napkin, and sat back in her chair.

“I have some things I’d like to say,” she announced.

That got everyone’s attention.

Crowley smiled at her and refilled his glass of wine. “I’m all ears.”

Aziraphale held his glass out for a refill too, then turned his attention to her, his face expectant. 

She waited until they both had a sip. “First, I wanted to know that I’m really happy to be back here.”

The angel’s face crinkled into a genuine smile. “We’re delighted you’re here as well.”

“And I want you to know that I’ve forgiven you,” she continued. “I forgot to say it, to be honest. I’ve felt that way for a while now. I should’ve said it before. I’m sorry if you were wondering.”

The angel’s face went soft. “I'm so glad to hear it."

“Ngk,” Crowley said, then flushed. “I’m glad.”

She took a deep breath. “And finally, I want you to know that I’m not entirely happy with the two of you, right at the moment.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, and the angel paled.

“You’re not?” Aziraphale said. “Please tell us, whatever it is… I’m sure we can—“

“—No, I’m not,” she cut in, intensely wishing she could drink. She could use some liquid courage. “We’re all tiptoeing around like I’m made of china and might shatter at a touch, or like we’re just going to be… some sort of… buddies now, and nothing else. Not that you’re not my friends. But… I’m ready to be something more, again.” She faltered, her confidence wavering in the heat of the moment. “I mean, if you still… if you…”

Maybe she’d misread it. Maybe they didn’t want this, or even worse, only one of them wanted to resume things and the other didn’t. If that was the case, a romantic relationship was out of the question; they were a unit, indivisible. This was definitely something all three parties had to agree to.

What if… what if her impending motherhood had changed how one of them felt about her? She’d read about how some men, once their partner became a mother, couldn’t view her as an object of desire again. They didn’t seem like the type, but then again, who knew what kind of sexual hangups a pair of six-thousand-year-old entities might hide under all of those ineffable feathers?

“Emily!” Crowley’s voice roused her from her spiral of thoughts. “Are you there? Cuz listen, we do want. We definitely still want to, very much. Right, angel?”

The angel’s chair scraped on the floor as he drew it closer to hers, until he was close enough for their knees to touch. He reached out and took her hand in his.

“I very much do,” he whispered, his eyes on hers. “I’ve been desperate to, as a matter of fact. I just simply couldn’t bear starting something if I didn’t know that you were completely ready, and that you still chose to be with us that way, after… after… what we did to you—“

Emily put a finger to his lips to stop the self-recriminations from falling out. “Will you please just shut up about all of that and kiss me?”

The angel, showing an unusual level of wisdom, leaned forward to do just that.

“I think,” he said, when he pulled back a moment later, “that you’ll be spending the night in our room tonight, if that’s agreeable to all parties?”

“What,” Crowley drawled, his voice amused, “do you want to take a vote on it? Call a motion?”

Emily grinned at them both. “Can we skip that part and just start that right now?”

“That’s one of the things I like best about you,” Crowley said. “You always have the best ideas.”

The dessert, they decided, would still be there in the morning. The dishes? They could wait. The reunion could not. And for the first time in months, no one did much talking, as the evening turned into night.   

Chapter Text

Life quickly got back to a new and improved normal over the next few weeks. It was almost like a honeymoon stage, everything new and tender and fresh as it had been at the start, and they all reveled in their re-established closeness. Most of the time, no one slept apart; nearly every night ended in Aziraphale and Crowley’s bed. Most mornings, the sun broke through the windows to illuminate tangled limbs, covers stolen, and pillows strewn every which way. Coffee was made, kisses were exchanged, and the tension that had subtly been plaguing the household all but evaporated.

#

“What do you look so excited about today?” Crowley scoffed, coming into the kitchen one morning. “You realize it’s morning, right? You’re usually mostly just grunting and moaning about coffee at this time of day.”

He was right. Of the three of them, only Aziraphale was what you’d call a morning person, always up just after dawn, eager to make and leave a pot of strong coffee for his two loves who couldn’t function without it, and then off to attend to book business or other domestic needs for the couple of hours before he’d expect to see either of them.

Emily grinned at Crowley. “I know, but…” She paused, looking around dramatically. “Wanna see something cool?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and snapped to add just the right amount of milk and sugar to his coffee, then swung the kitchen chair across from her around to face the table and straddled it. “Ohhhhh, show and tell?” He smirked, eye teeth glinting in the light. “Please.”

“Okay,” Emily said, opening her hands with a flourish. “See? Nothing in my hands or up my sleeves or anything.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the demon moaned, pushing back as if he meant to stand up. “Is this a magic trick? Cuz I draw the line at both of you doing embarrassing magician crap. Absolutely not. I’m not sleeping with two magicians, so help me—”

“No, shut up,” Emily cut in. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s not a trick.”

Crowley eyed her suspiciously. “Ooooh-kay,” he said, clearly thinking he was about to be the butt of some kind of joke. “But there will be consequences if you’re lying. Go ahead.”

Emily moved the small tea candle that always sat beside the napkins over to a spot directly in front of her and then paused to dramatically crack her knuckles, to Crowley's obvious annoyance. She wiggled her fingers dramatically, pointed at the candle, and then—a tiny, orange flame now burned on the wick.

Crowley jumped. “How’d you do that??” He picked up the candle and examined it, top and bottom, cursing as he accidentally singed himself before blowing it out and putting it back on the table. “Do it again.”

“Let there be light!” Emily pointed at the candle and it instantly lit.

Crowley stared at her, aghast. The wording somehow made it even worse. “I take it back. Tell me this is a stupid magic trick. I’ll forgive you, just this once.”

“Nope, I think I’ve got powers!”

“ANGEL!” Crowley shouted. “Get in here now!”

Aziraphale appeared at a run a second later, panting hard from sprinting up the stairs from the shop floor. “Wha—what is it?” He looked at both of them from the doorway and then frowned. “Neither of you appears to be in the midst of an emergency, so I’m going to have to ask you to stop scaring the pants off me with this kind of bellowing! I thought someone was in trouble!”

“Oh, we have trouble,” Crowley said. “We have plenty of trouble right here.”

Aziraphale stepped further into the room, looking uncertain. “What’s happening?”

Crowley met Emily’s gaze. “Show him.”

The angel turned to her, forehead creased with concern, and Emily wasted no time in lighting up the candle with a thought and a hand gesture.

The angel waved a hand at it, and the candle went out. “How on Earth did you do that?”

Emily grinned. “I just think it and it happens. I was trying to light an incense cone in my room, and I just discovered I could do this.” She looked from the angel’s face to the demon’s and then back. “Why are you so freaked out? This is really cool!”

“Are you calling Aurielle or am I?” Aziraphale said to Crowley.

“On it,” the demon answered, stalking out of the room with his mobile already pressed to his ear.

#

“Okay, show me again,” Aurielle said.

Emily wasn’t finding the game all that much fun anymore, not with everyone being so completely freaked out, but she complied. This time, she made a little gun out of her hand, folding in the bottom three fingers and using the pointer as the barrel and the thumb as the trigger, and elaborately “shot” it at the candle, which lit up with a dramatic flare. Then she lifted the pretend gun barrel to her lips and blew across it, just like the good guys always did in old cowboy movies.

She was trying to think about how to mime twirling it and putting it back in its holster when she looked up and caught the look on Crowley’s face.

“You think this is funny?” Crowley snapped. “Some kind of bloody joke?”

“No, I just—I don’t know why you’re—“ She looked, eyes wide, from Crowley to Aziraphale, who remained tight-lipped and pale behind him.

“It is not funny,” Crowley snapped, “when your pregnant human partner suddenly develops the ability to light things on fire with her brain. Especially when you live over a sodding bookshop full of paper!”

Emily froze. She hadn’t really thought of that. She’d heard there’d been a fire once, although no one seemed to want to tell her the details. All she’d picked up was that it was exceptionally traumatic, especially for the demon.

“Well, I won’t just set things on fire randomly,” she said, carefully. “It only works if I make a gesture and think about it really strongly.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s so reassuring. Thank you, Emily.”

Emily sat back, stung by his tone.

“It’s normal fire, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked Aurielle. “I mean, it’s not—“ he cleared his throat. “—infernal in nature, correct?”

Aurielle mentioned for her to do it again, and this time, perhaps out of a tiny bit of pique, Emily just conjured the flame at the tip of her finger instead of directing it at the candle. Everyone blinked, and she felt a tiny surge of satisfaction at having startled them all.

Aurielle ran a careful finger through it. “Normal flame,” she said. “No brimstone at all.”

“Oh thank someone,” Crowley breathed. Then he frowned at her, still looking like he was on the verge of panic. “Put that out, please.”

Emily looked at Aurielle in a silent plea for help as she extinguished it.

“Aziraphale, why don’t you and Crowley take a break for a minute?” the archangel said diplomatically. “I want to talk to Emily alone for a while.”

Aziraphale nodded, looking troubled. “Of course, my dear. Crowley, love, come on. Let’s go down to the corner and pick up some pastries, shall we?”

Crowley bit his lip and then slumped. “Fine,” he said, eyes set on Aurielle. “You, stay until we get back. We’re not done.”

She waved in acknowledgment, and the boys filed out, then turned to Emily. “You seem to be taking this well. Aren’t you a little, I don’t know, freaked out?”

“Should I be? I mean, I think it’s just from the baby. But it’s sort of exciting to do something like that. I’ve never had any kind of magical ability at all. Always wanted to.”

Aurielle looked at her. “What else can you do? Have you tried anything?”

Emily shook her head. “I only discovered this because my lighter wouldn’t work. I don’t know what made me try it, but I just suddenly had this idea, and… well, it worked.”

“Okay, let’s do some experiments.” Aurielle picked up a salt shaker and placed it in front of her. “See if you can move this.”

Emily concentrated, but nothing happened.

“See if you can change how it looks. Remember to make some kind of hand gesture, too.”

“Why do the gestures matter?”

Aurielle frowned. “Well, you’ve probably noticed that Aziraphale and Crowley use snapping or pulling gestures when they’re doing things like this, right?” Emily nodded. “It’s a focusing gesture, or in their case, drawing from a source above or below them. The baby’s powers are created from theirs, so if you really are tapping into that, it makes sense that yours would work similarly.”

Several tests later, Emily hadn’t been able to do anything to the salt shaker or to any other items they’d tried. She hadn’t been able to change her hair color, wash a dish, or turn on the faucet. Just fire, oddly enough.

They finally gave up when Emily got too hungry to continue. Aurielle watched as she rummaged through the fridge and came out with an enormous hunk of cheese and a bunch of grapes, then sat down and started prying pieces off of it with a knife. “So how does this happen?” she asked between bites.

“Have you heard of microchimerism?”

Emily shook her head.

“Pregnancy is one of the strangest things on Earth,” Aurielle said. “Not only are you literally creating the baby from the raw materials of your own body, but the baby, as it grows, is giving you cells as well. Scientists have learned that fetal cells from the baby pass through the placenta into the mother’s blood and end up all over the body, incorporated into different tissues, even the brain.”

Emily found herself reminded of the sand and the sea out behind the cottage, how the waves came in and swept away part of the shore, leaving new sand behind, changing the shape of the shoreline with every visit. It felt like a similar concept, like the baby was a tide inside of her, casting and recasting the shorelines that made up who she was. 

 “Well, that’s… sort of unnerving,” she said finally. “Beautiful, but unnerving.”

“It makes sense, in a way, that you might get access to some special abilities, at least while you’re carrying the baby, because your cells are literally mingling. It’s a two-way exchange.”

“Am I in any danger?” Emily asked, a prickle of fear rising up her spine. “I mean, those two react like everything is the end of the world, sometimes. It’s hard to know when to take it seriously.”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t think so?” Aurielle looked pained. “I just wish we had more information, more cases to look back on for answers.”

“Uncharted territory. Will it all go away when the baby is born?”

Aurielle shrugged. “Hard to say, but my guess is yes, or at least that it will lessen significantly. But some studies show mothers keep those cells for decades, so who knows?”

Emily thought for a minute. “Any chance I’m gonna wake up with temporary wings one of these mornings?”

Aurielle laughed. “I highly doubt it. And please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t make a joke like that around those two.”

“Don’t make a joke like what around us?” Aziraphale said crisply, walking in with a bag of something that smelled delicious. He paused, looking thoroughly pained to find Emily halfway through a substantial block of cheese. “Is that my special and very expensive Manchego that I special ordered?”

Emily made big, forgive-me eyes at him. “Oh. Um, were you saving it for something?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” the angel said, long-sufferingly.

“The baby wanted cheese. I’m sorry.”

“Quite all right, my dear.” He rattled the bag. “Now, who’d like a tart?”

#

“So, I think the powers are just a temporary side effect,” Aurielle finished, as everyone ate. “I can work with her on controlling them as they emerge, and I don’t think they pose a danger to her. Of more concern is the fact that Emily is still losing weight. Another three pounds.”

Emily watched as Aziraphale looked disbelievingly between her and his massacred prize Manchego. “Really?” he said. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but she does seem to be eating quite a lot.”

Emily made a face at him, and he puffed out a breath and straightened his bowtie without further comment.

“Three pounds isn’t much,” Emily protested.

“You should be gaining weight by now, not losing it,” Aurielle replied, gray eyes steady on hers, unwavering. “You’re almost in your fifth month. Your body shouldn’t be reacting like it’s on a diet.”

“Is it dangerous?” Crowley asked.

“Maybe, in the long run. The baby has a much higher metabolism than your typical human fetus, and it requires a lot more calories,” Aurielle explained. “It’s also stronger than Emily, both physically and psychically, so it’s able to take what it needs from her body to ensure its own health.”

“Like a tapeworm,” Emily said, fighting the urge to let out a nervous giggle. Aziraphale shot her a mildly reproving look, and she stopped to wonder why her emotions were so all over the place this morning. It had been happening more and more lately.

“Not a bad analogy,” Aurielle said. “The point is that the baby, by nature, will take what it needs, even if it comes at Emily’s expense. If she doesn’t find a way to up her calorie intake, she’s going to end up malnourished.”

“But the baby won’t be harmed, right? Just me?” Everyone looked at her, faces blank, and Emily bristled. “What? I’m just asking.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “You simply can’t be saying that you’re perfectly willing to sacrifice your health as long as the baby is just fine. That’s not acceptable, Emily.”

Emily was well aware that Aziraphale only resorted to using her name instead of an endearment when he was nearing the end of his proverbial rope.

“I know, I know,” she said, aware that her voice was pushing into peevish territory. Seriously, she thought, these two had been overreacting to everything she’d said or done all morning, and everyone seemed to be chiding her. She wasn’t a bloody child. “It’s just that I’m not sure I can eat much more than I already am. There are only so many hours in the day.”

Aurielle eyed her, considering. “We can go over your diet again, see if there are places we can make substitutions for foods with a higher nutrient ratio.”

Emily couldn’t help sighing. “Aziraphale is already keeping a really, really close eye on every piece of food that goes in my mouth.” He stiffened, but she ignored him. “Wouldn’t even let me have a Reeses Cup the other day! I’m not sure more oversight is the answer.”

“Do you know how many chemicals are in one of those horrible things?” he protested. “There is literally nothing in them that can truly be called either chocolate or peanut butter. We can make you something better than that at home.”

“I wanted a Reeses, though,” Emily muttered.

“Tell me,” Aziraphale said pointedly, his tone acerbic. “Is the baby controlling her moods as well? Because they seem to be a bit erratic.”

Emily shut her eyes and counted to ten.

She missed the next few things that were said, something about drinks and yogurts and shakes. When she opened her eyes again and returned her attention to the conversation, she found everyone agreeing to something. She had no idea what, but she was sure she’d find out soon.

“Oh yes, dear, that would be lovely,” Aziraphale was saying to Aurielle, all enthusiasm. “Could you come up with something for us?” He turned to Emily, eyebrows raised. “You’ll take it, dearest, won’t you? Whatever Aurielle cooks up?”

“Sure, whatever,” Emily said testily. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to go lie down for a while. Okay?”

She left before anyone answered, but she could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she did.

#

There was a gentle knock on her door a few minutes later. Emily rolled away from the door, hoping whoever it was would go away and let her sleep.

“Emily, dearest?” the angel’s voice rang out. He walked into the room and she felt him sit down on the edge of the bed. “Are you awake?”

Emily rolled over towards him and opened an eye. “Yes,” she admitted.

Aziraphale laid a hand on her knee, through the blanket she’d pulled over herself. “I can’t help but feel that I may have upset you,” he said uncertainly. “I didn’t want to let it pass.”

Emily flushed miserably. “I’m just being touchy today. Baby’s acting up, I guess.”

“You know that it’s natural to be a little moody, don’t you?” His voice was gentle. “Still, it doesn’t mean you have to listen to me make digs about it. I’m sorry, my dear. And for being overly controlling about your diet. I’ll try to do better.”

Emily pushed up and leaned into the angel, wrapping her arms around him. “Apology accepted.”

That evening at dinner, there was a Reeses Cup next to her plate.

Chapter Text

Aurielle’s solution to the nutrition issue was apparently to provide her with some kind of medicinal smoothie.

Aziraphale was all tender solicitation as he put the glass in front of her the next morning, looking every inch the proud, soon-to-be-father that he was. Crowley hovered in the background, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching both of them with a hint of amusement on his face.

“There you are, my dear,” the angel said, placing the glass perfectly on the corner of the placemat. Perfect squares of ice clinked against the side and he’d even added a small sprig of mint to the top, adding a festive touch to what looked like nothing in the world so much as a glass of fresh, filthy pond water.

Emily took a moment to check it for tadpoles before looking up to find Crowley smirking.

“Looks good!” she said, weakly. She knew the angel had some kind of sixth sense to sniff out major untruths, but white lies were a different matter, weren’t they?

Aziraphale beamed. “I made it exactly as Aurielle specified. Go on, try a bit. Twice a day, she said. Morning and evening. It’s as much medication as food. Now drink up.”

She picked up the glass, feeling a sheen of sweat breaking out on her hairline. “Well,” she said faintly. “If it’s medicine…”

There was nothing for it but to drink, not with Aziraphale watching, hands clasped at his waist, his eyes moving excitedly between her face and the glass, eyebrows raised expectantly. Emily let out a breath and brought the glass to her mouth, and took a small sip.

Oh excellent, it tasted like pond water, too.

She swallowed it with some effort and then pasted the best smile she could onto her face. “Oh my. It’s, um, good.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale’s face broke into a sunny glow. “Oh, I’m so pleased. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be too bad.”

Emily picked up the cup and took a much larger swig, forcing it down as quickly as possible to minimize its time on her tastebuds. Grassy again, but this time with undertones of salt water and… what was that other taste? Maybe… mucus? She fought down the urge to shudder. She didn’t want to hurt Aziraphale’s feelings, not for anything.

“Mmmmmmm,” she said, weakly.

Crowley snorted with laughter, and Aziraphale turned to give him a reproving look. “You aren’t helping anything, my dear,” he said mildly. “Perhaps the plants need your attention.”

Crowley pushed himself up from the counter. “Perhaps they do.” He ran a hand across her back as he left.

Aziraphale straightened his shoulders. “All right, love, finish that up and then we’ll get on with our day.”

Fortunately, he turned to the sink to tidy up, so she could choke her way through the rest of the glass without trying to hide her expression.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, turning around, his face bright. “I’ve received an invitation to a fundraising gala for major donors to the British Museum. Crowley has no interest in going, and he made a lovely suggestion—perhaps you’d like to attend? With me?”

Emily grinned, pond water drink forgotten. “That sounds fun! Is it actually at the museum?”

He filled her in on the details. It was in a week, so she’d have a little time to find something to wear. There would be a series of readings, as well as a champagne and appetizer reception. Lots of well dressed and well-moneyed people hobnobbing with each other.

“And you’re sure Crowley doesn’t mind? We don’t usually do solo dates like that.”

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed her, slow and gentle. “It was his idea,” he said. “And you deserve a night out, my dear. Please let me escort you. I’d be delighted to.”

“I’d love to,” Emily said, and kissed him back.

#

“Oh my God,” Lia said as Em walked into the coffee shop where they’d agreed to meet. “You’re… much more pregnant than you were three weeks ago.”

Em flipped her off and adjusted the straps on her overalls self-consciously. “Thanks, Lia. Way to open on a high note.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lia said. “You look great, though! All glow-y. I’d have thought was just pregnant-lady propaganda, but apparently it’s true. How far along are you now?”

She stopped to count it up. “Almost twenty three weeks? I think?”

Lia pushed a coffee across the table to her. “I got you a latte.”

“Yay!” Emily smiled. “I’m gonna need some food, though. Be right back."

Emily headed up front and came back with a plate loaded with various items. A croissant, a breakfast bar, some kind of muffin, a few other bits. “Don’t even,” she warned. “You have no idea how hungry I am all the time. Plus, it’s for all three of us, right?”

Lia grinned and grabbed the muffin before it disappeared.

“I need to go shopping for a dress,” Em said. “You doing anything after this?”

“A dress for what?”

She told her about the museum gala. Lia whistled.

“Fancy,” she said, semi-approvingly. “Sure, I’ll help. So how are things with those two, anyway?”

Em smiled and laid a hand over Lia’s. “Good. Honestly. Really good. They’ve been nothing but great. Gave me lots and lots of space and time to figure things out, and they’ve been really supportive, and we’re even—well—“ she blushed. “Things are getting back to normal.”

“Ugh. I don’t want to hear about your weird sex life.”

Em laughed. “Okay, but really, they’re treating me well.”

“And what, now, you’re just… gonna be a family with them? Forever?”

Em eyed the remaining pastries on the plate and picked out the breakfast bar as probably having the most nutritional value. She broke off a corner and tasted it before nodding approvingly. “I don’t know, Lia! Who ever knows that something is going to last forever in a relationship? It’s a ridiculous question. Do I think they’re serious about being with me and being parents to this baby? Yes.”

“Do they love you, Em?” Lia said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Like as much as you deserve?”

“Yes. They do. And I love them.” Emily met her gaze, stubbornly. “You know as well as I do that I’ve been in some terrible relationships in my life, enough to know a good one when I see it, even if it’s a little unusual.”

“All right, all right. I just want you to know I have your back.”

“I know you do. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s talk about where we’re going shopping, can we? Where can we get nice-looking, gala-type dress for a pregnant person like me?” 

#

She and Lia had found something she thought would work for the date, and also to update her wardrobe with a few more things that would fit better for this middle period between being her usual, trim self and the gigantically pregnant stage she knew was coming. But later that night, after Lia helped her haul her purchases home and took the opportunity to glare at Aziraphale and Crowley, who still looked intimidated by her, Emily found herself deep in thought.

“Em?” Crowley said, waving a hand in front of her face as she lay half-sprawled on the couch with her head in his lap. Clearly she wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the very amusing story he’d been telling Aziraphale, who sat across from them in his favorite armchair, about a traffic warden he’d thwarted earlier in the day. “You in there?”

Emily started. “Oh, sorry. I’m just… thinking about some things.” She pushed up to one elbow and tucked her legs under her. “Can I ask you both something?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “Any time, my love.”

“It’s just—seeing Lia today got me to thinking.” She stopped and tried to gather her thoughts. “How are we going to manage this? Having a baby with wings, I mean? I don’t want to have to hide her from everyone we know. Will Lia be able to meet the baby? Will we have to tell her some version of the truth?” Her breath started coming faster, and so did the words. “And what about everyone else? Can anyone meet her? What happens if she gets sick? Will the baby be able to go to school? How— how—“

Crowley laid a hand on her shoulder. “Okay there,” he murmured. “Take a breath before you pass out.”

Emily breathed. Anxiety had always been an issue, but it didn’t rear its head these days anywhere near as often as it did in the past. Aziraphale came to sit on the other side of her, rubbing her back gently.

“Sorry,” she squeaked out when she could control her breath again. “I didn’t expect that to go off the rails quite that far.”

“They’re good questions,” Aziraphale said. “And we need to be thinking about all of this. It’s high time we were talking about some of the particulars.”

“And…” She shuddered. “What about the birth? Obviously, I can’t go to a hospital.”

“Well, I’d assume,” Crowley said, making eye contact with Aziraphale, who nodded in agreement as if he knew what was coming, “that the birth will happen here. Or in the cottage, if you’d prefer. With Rafe and Aurielle on your team, you don’t have anything to worry about in terms of that process. I’m sure they’ll make it safe and painless.”

“And… and the rest?”

Aziraphale’s hand moved up to her neck, which he kneaded softly, spreading a sensation of warmth that melted away her tension. “You know, of course, from being with us that our wings are rarely visible on this plane,” he said carefully. “They come with a strong filter of their own. Being born with wings doesn’t doom your daughter to a lifetime of either isolation of being viewed as a circus performer. Chances are very good that she will appear completely human unless she chooses not to.”

Emily sighed. “Well, that’s good. Except for when she’s a baby, or a toddler pitching a fit, and doesn’t have the self-control or the judgment to stop herself from just winging off whenever she wants to.”

Crowley snorted, clearly visualizing that scenario. “We can dampen her ability to manifest them. Enough to help. But yeah, she’s going to be a handful as a toddler. Good luck to us all.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I feel certain we can handle it.” He stopped and made eye contact with Emily, holding one of her hands. “Emily, the last thing we want is for you to become a virtual prisoner, cut off from friends and family, hiding this life you’ve created from the people you care about. We aren’t going to let that happen to you.”

Emily blinked, surprised, as her eyes filled with tears. The stories about pregnancy making you weepy were right on the money. She cried at everything these days. Television commercials, animals that looked hungry, pigeons with a bad leg, old people holding hands.

“I didn’t even realize I was worried about that,” she said. “But I guess I am.”

She didn’t have a lot of family; her parents had been gone for quite a while. Her mother had been an only child and her father had one sister, who lived in America, and she had exactly one female cousin who co-owned the cottage with her but lived much too far away to visit frequently. She had one grandmother left, but she lived in a care home and had lost her memory some time ago; Emily visited her at least once or twice a month, but it was a bittersweet event. She had friends, though. Lia most of all, but a handful of others who she was close to. Uni friends who had scattered around England, but who she kept in touch with. A few friends from the gallery where she’d been working. She didn’t want to completely lose touch with them.

Crowley laid a kiss on her temple, comforting and sweet. “Not going to happen on our watch, Em. You don’t give up the rest of your life just because you’ve decided to love two idiot immortals.”

Emily snorted through the tears. Her emotional states were really confusing these days. 

“And as for Lia?” the angel said. “Well, of course she’s part of your life. She clearly loves you and has your back. I can’t say that we’re one hundred percent on board with letting anyone else in on our secrets, but if it becomes necessary, we’ll consider it with her, and on a case-by-case basis in other areas, okay? Believe me, we’ve thought about this, and we don’t want you to give up your human connections for us. It’s too high of a price.”

It was no use fighting the weeping. She gave in, overwhelmed by love and concern and comfort and fear and just curled into the two of them, holding on for dear life.

Chapter Text

“I swear it fit last week when I tried it on,” Emily moaned, smoothing the navy blue fabric across her shoulders and down her torso until she encountered the baby bump that was stretching its seams in all directions. “Did my stomach grow that much bigger in six days?”

She peered at herself in the full-length mirror and wanted to look away. The semi-formal dress was made from the fine, heavy silk, cut off the shoulder and wrapping around her torso and hips to end just below the knees. A sparkly pin at the midline was meant to emphasize the tiny waist that she no longer possessed, and the drapiness and slinky fabric revealed curves that were suddenly larger than she was comfortable with. She had a moment of dissociation, looking at this body that was not as familiar anymore as it should’ve been. 

“It’s not so bad,” Crowley said, adjusting the fall of the neckline from behind her.

“It’s terrible! I look like a bowling pin!”

Crowley snorted. “You do not. It just needs a little tailoring.” He snapped.

“But the gala is tonight,” she said. “How can we possibly—“ She looked at him, noted he’d manifested a mouthful of pins, and stopped. “Really? You can do this for me?”

Crowley carefully removed the pins from between his lips and gave her a full-on smirk. “Darling,” he purred, “I’m the queen of fast fashion. Don’t you know?”

Emily laughed and leaned in to kiss him. “You’re perfect, I know that.”

He kissed back, warm and languorous, for a moment, and then gave her a small tap on the thigh. “All right, stop distracting me and stand up. We’ll get this fixed up right away so you and Aziraphale can have your little night out.”

“Oh man, I’m going to have to do something really nice for you to thank you for this one,” she breathed.

Crowley gave her a wicked grin as he manifested a pair of scissors and some thread. “I can think of several things that might fit the bill. Now hold still.”

#

“Oh my dear,” the angel said as she came down the stairs. “You look ravishing.”

Emily flushed with pleasure, smiling at them both. “Crowley helped.”

“Did he now,” the angel said, giving Crowley a considering look, and reaching for his hand and planting a kiss on the back of it. “Well, thank you, my dear.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Emily asked Crowley, still feeling a little awkward about going out with just Aziraphale. “You can certainly join us.”

Crowley shook his head. “Only two tickets, remember? And I’ve been to a million of these things; they’re horrid, all small talk and overcooked appetizers and pretentious idiots with too much money. Angel’s right, you deserve a night out.”

Emily leaned up on her heels and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Never been to a big swanky thing like this before.”

Aziraphale, looking quite handsome himself in a cream-colored suit and pale blue tie, kissed each of them in turn, then held out an arm to Emily. “Shall we, my dear?”

She took it.

#

Crowley was pleased to wake up the next morning with a warm and sleepy Aziraphale next to him. The angel, often as not, was up hours before him, so it was always a rare pleasure to watch him sleep. He slept gracelessly, limbs flung out, mouth open, hair mussed over his eyes, but somehow, to Crowley, even this was almost unbearably attractive. He reached out and ran a hand down the side of Aziraphale’s face, miracling away a bit of drool, and the angel sighed and nuzzled in.

“Where’s Emily?” he asked.

Aziraphale cracked an eye. “She decided to spend the night in her room,” he mumbled. “I think she probably felt like she should give us a night alone after her evening out.”

Crowley snaked his hand down, brushing the angel from shoulder to thigh. “Well, we’d be ingrates to waste the opportunity then, wouldn’t we?”

Aziraphale shuddered and then reached out to pull the demon to him with superhuman strength. “You have an excellent point,” he murmured, leaning in to place a kiss at the base of the demon’s neck, enjoying the sound this wrenched out of him. “Do you want more of that, my love?”

Yes, that, Crowley thought, words escaping him. Always that. Always more. Always. Always.

#

“There’s a writeup on the gala!” Emily said, from her spot on the chesterfield, buried behind the newspaper.

Aziraphale looked up from the desk, his expression prim. “What? What drivel are you reading over there? Not the society pages, please…”

Emily shook her paper at him. “The society pages are interesting. Nice to see who everyone is now that I’ve met some of them. I had no idea who I was actually meeting.” She read on for a moment, then gasped. “Oh, wow—there’s a picture of us!”

Aziraphale looked up. “There couldn’t be. We’re not nearly important enough.”

Emily laid the paper flat on the table in front of her and spread it flat. “Look,” she said, pointing at a small, black-and-white image in the lower left corner of a spread of pictures and captions. “Right here.”

The two of them, captured in a quiet moment, near the curling white wall of the central atrium at the museum, the curving white marble steps behind them. Aziraphale, resplendent in his suit, had his arm around her and his head tilted down, telling her something that had made her glow with happiness. His other hand rested just faintly against her belly, fingertips brushing against the baby.

Aziraphale adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and strained to read the fine print.

“Local antiquarian book dealer and philanthropist—philanthropist? I’m no such thing. Where did they get that from—Aziraphale Fell, Esq. shares a tender moment with a mysterious young woman, who seems to be expecting? Could this elusive bachelor be starting a family?”

Emily snickered. “Elusive bachelor? Oh, and I’m a mysterious young woman! I kind of like this.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called. “Come see this.”

Crowley looked up from his perch on the windowsill on the other side of the room and tried to look as if he hadn’t been sleeping. “Wha-huh?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, looking fond. “Please come here, my dear. You need to look at this.”

Crowley sauntered over, hips swinging, and sat down to look at the article. His face darkened. The two looked at each other wordlessly for a long moment.

“Is everything okay?” Emily said, feeling a pit of worry. “Is it the ‘elusive bachelor’ comment? I’m sorry if that’s weird… I didn’t mean to make it look like Aziraphale and I are in some kind of exclusive—“

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “No, of course not, don’t be daft. I’m not jealous. But this isn’t good, angel. How did you let this happen?”

Aziraphale blushed. “I don’t know, actually. I suppose I let my guard down.”

Emily cleared her throat. “Can you tell me what the problem is?”

Aziraphale sat down beside her and took one of her hands, reassuringly. “When you’re in the situation we are,” he said, “one of living for much too long and not aging, you spend much of your time trying to avoid attracting public attention.”

“Flying under the radar,” Crowley added, still looked quite irritated. “Easier to stay in one place if you don’t get too well known. Say, by having your photograph and news of your upcoming fatherhood splashed all over the morning papers.”

Aziraphale nodded, looking abashed. “I’m sorry, my dears. It was quite a slip up. I usually dedicate a portion of my powers to blocking photographers, when I’m at something like this.”

Crowley stood up, still not looking at the angel. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he said, stalking back to the sunbeam he’d left. “I don’t feel like moving.”

Aziraphale watched him go, and Emily saw his shoulders slump. She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He blinked at her. “Oh, love, it’s not your fault. Entirely mine. He’ll… he’ll get over it soon enough.”

Emily stood, thinking perhaps she’d give them some further time alone. “I think I might do some painting,” she announced, then she looked at the paper again. “By the way, is it okay if I keep this?”

Aziraphale blinked up at her.

“I mean, it’s a really nice picture.”

He smiled at her. “Of course, my dear.” He snapped, and the picture was neatly cut out and ready for her.

She picked it up and headed up the stairs, thinking about putting it in a frame, but decided against it; having it on display might just aggravate Crowley, who was clearly out of sorts about the incident. She’d just tuck it away in her journal instead.

#

“Tabris, I think we have something,” the painfully thin angel with a permanently hunched back said, leaning over the dot matrix printer that was the very thing responsible for his hunch.

Tabris, who did daily penance for the fact that she secretly believed they had the worst job in all of Heaven, leaned back on her flashy but uncomfortable office chair and met her partner’s eyes. “Oh really? More… fornication? Because honestly, I’ve about had all that I can take of watching the two of them—“

“No,” Jeromius said, pulling a sheet of paper off the printer, and then watching as a series of photographs came through on the fax, slowly and painfully, one dot pixel at a time. “It’s something new. Something Himself would want to know.”

He waited an excruciating long five minutes for the sheet of pictures to print, and then handed it to Tabris, who took it languidly, her expression skeptical.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “Oh my. Well, this is new.”

“Yes it is,” said Jerome.

“We should take this to Gabriel right away.”

#

“Excellent work, you two,” Gabriel said, his booming voice jovial as a wide, insincere smile lit his face. Honestly, Tabris didn’t take it personally—she had long ago decided that insincere was the only type of smile that Gabriel possessed; he simply didn’t have the muscle memory to offer anything else, even when he meant to.

“Thank you, sir,” they both said, standing at attention before his immense, gold-lacquered desk.

“Jeromius, what’s wrong with you?” Gabriel said, narrowing his eyes. “Stand up straight, old man. At attention! Chest out!”

Jeromius shifted his stance a little, but his corporation stayed slightly bent over. A few thousand years on the Incoming Data desk would do that to you.

“Any further orders, sir?” Tabris asked, just managing to hide her irritation with their overbearing superior.

Gabriel fixated on the picture and didn’t even bother to look up. “No, that’s it, you can go.” They turned and started for the door. “Keep up the good work, troops!” He called after them.

“I hate him,” Tabris sighed, brushing her pale blond hair out of her eyes.

“Tabris!” Jeromius said, grabbing at her arm. “You can’t say things like that. Not around here. Anyone could be listening.”

The two of them, assigned for over three thousand years to watch and report on every action of the Earthbound principality, knew this better than most. In Heaven, someone, somewhere, was nearly always watching.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Tabris sighed. “Sorry. I’m off to do my daily penance, anyway. I’ll just… add this on to the pile, shall I?”

Jeromius’s grip softened, became almost soft. Tabris fought down a shiver. She didn’t know what these reactions of hers meant, but it seemed that when you spent a few thousand years in a small room with another being, you sometimes developed… what did they call it on Earth?

Feelings.

You sometimes developed feelings. It was most inconvenient.

#

“Michael,” Gabriel said, passing a page of photographs across the desk to her. “Look at this.”

Michael picked it up and studied it. “What’s so interesting? It’s the Principality and his pet human. We’ve known about her for quite a while now.” She sniffed delicately. “I still don’t see what the attraction is, but as you’ve said, anything that brings him one step closer to falling is quite all right with us.”

“You’re missing it,” Gabriel said, reaching out a well-manicured finger to tap on the second image down.

Michael inspected it. In it, she could see Aziraphale, standing at the base of a fancy staircase, dressed finely, as if he was at the opera perhaps, and his human paramour was beside him, draped in what looked like silk. Aziraphale had his arm around her shoulder and was leaning in to speak something into her ear—none of which was very shocking—but his other hand. Oh. Now that was intriguing.

The other hand rested delicately, just the fingertips, on the human’s belly, which swelled out beneath her dress in what the humans would call a baby bump.

“Oh my goodness,” Michael said, gears turning. “So, the paramour is with child?” She looked up. “I agree that it’s interesting, and it gives us some valuable inroads to examine for ways to get to the two of them through her, but… you know it can’t be his, don’t you?”

Gabriel looked at her, his violet eyes glimmering with excitement. “It shouldn’t be possible, yes.”

“It isn’t possible.”

“Neither was him walking into a column of hellfire and surviving,” Gabriel pointed out, reasonably.

Michael sucked in a breath. “You mean, you think…”

“I think,” Gabriel said officiously, “that someone needs to get down there and check this situation out. Because if he’s found a way to create progeny, we need to know about it, and fast.”

“I’ll send one of my best agents,” Michael assured him.

“No. No agents. This has to be kept quiet. I want you to go.”

“Me?”

Gabriel nodded. “I trust you and only you with this. This could create a frenzy if my suspicions are true. Just head down there, poke around a bit, and see what you can find out, okay?”

Michael nodded. “Understood. I’ll prepare at once.”

#

“Dearest, I’ve said I’m sorry. What can I do?” Aziraphale said, running a hand over the shoulder of his sulking demon.

Crowley looked up at him with tension radiating from every plane of his corporation. “It’s not just the exposure, angel,” he hissed. “I’m worried. It’s… it’s the baby.”

“What?”

“You surely must realize that this is a problem,” Crowley continued. “Once our former employers find out about the baby, we might have real trouble on our hands.”

Aziraphale sat, heavily. “Yes. I’d been hoping to put that off a while longer. Do you really think, though, that they’re going to see this tiny picture in the society pages?”

“If we’re extremely lucky, no,” Crowley said, brows furrowed. “But when are we ever lucky when it comes to Heaven and Hell?”

Aziraphale swallowed, crushing his hands against his waistcoat. Crowley watched him, not quite ready to let him off the hook yet, but as always finding it hard to hold on to his anger. The angel had let his guard drop because he was happy and enjoying himself, and perhaps a little overwhelmed with all the big changes in their lives. It happened. No one could be on guard every second of every day. And he looked shaken, in the way that only thoughts of Above and Below could bring out in him.

Crowley sighed and scooted closer to his love on the sofa.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, his voice gruff, as he pulled the angel into a hug. “It happens. We’ll handle it if it arises.”

“How will it be all right, Crowley?” the angel said as he was squashed into Crowley’s chest. “Even if no one notices the pregnancy, eventually word is going to get around to all the interested parties that we’ve got a half-human, half angelic baby down here, with wings no less. She’ll have a target on her back from her first breath.” He pulled back and looked up at Crowley with wide, terrified eyes. “How on Earth are we going to protect her? To protect them both?”

“Perhaps,” Crowley said, “we should sit down with Aurielle and Rafe and have a little security meeting. See what we can come up with.”

“And perhaps Anathema might be of some help,” Aziraphale said.

Maybe, Crowley thought. Having a few witches on your side was never a bad idea.

“I’ll call them and set it up. Tomorrow okay?”

The angel nodded, still downcast, and Crowley reached down to tip his face until the angel had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“It’s okay, angel,” he said, “really. Word was always going to get out. It might even be a good thing, in that it’ll get us started working on things we should already have been making plans for.”

He kissed him on the forehead, and they curled up together wordlessly for the next hour, staring into the fire, each lost in their own thoughts.

#

Emily froze in the hallway, halfway to the kitchen on a quest for something, anything, to eat, when she heard the murmur of voices in conversation coming from the living area between her and her target. Were they arguing? She felt a stab of guilt if they were arguing about the stupid picture, and a splash of embarrassment about her naïve reaction to seeing it that morning. They must think she was a complete child, she thought, just excited to see her picture in the papers, happy that she looked nice.

The voices sounded heated, and she turned back to her room to wait until later to avoid interrupting them amid whatever needed to be worked out, but a few words caught her ear and before she could think about it, she stopped.

“—a target on her back from her first breath…” she heard the angel say. “How on Earth are we going to keep her safe?”

A chill ran over her. Safe from who? From what?

Chapter Text

How in the name of all that was eternal, Crowley thought, looking around his dining room table, did he end up here—sitting in his dining room, surrounded by bloody angels? He would never have thought in his wildest imaginings that he’d be spending his life not just married to a Principality but with two former archangels numbered among his closest friends. It defied belief.

Aurielle gave him a flirtatious wink when their eyes met, and he watched as she dug a flask out of a hip pocket and took a delicate swig before passing it to the tall, dark-haired, man-shaped tosser at her side. Rafe, her longtime partner and lover, greedily downed several swallows before waving a hand to refill it. He was long and lean, almost androgynous in appearance, with an aquiline nose that gave him a cold, aristocratic appearance, but the almost constant smirk he wore offset it nicely.

Aziraphale waved a hand and declined when Rafe waggled the flask his way. He didn’t offer it to the demon, but he blew him a kiss when he saw Crowley notice.

“Thank you for coming,” the angel said. “As you know, we’re… uh… expecting a child soon.”

Rafe raised the flask and gave a raunchy cheer. “All hail to your ethereal swimmers,” he said wryly, one elegant eyebrow arching. “Never knew you had it in you, you two. By the way, where’s the mother? Was hoping to lay one on her myself.”

“She’s at a friend’s flat,” Crowley said, “properly warded, of course, and you’ll do nothing of the bloody kind.”

Aurielle leaned into Rafe’s side and fluttered her long, and if Crowley wasn’t mistaken, completely artificial lashes his way. “What exactly is the problem, then? Something’s got you two spooked.”

Aziraphale produced a copy of the newspaper in question, carefully folded to the proper page. He laid it flat on the table. “We’ve had a bit of unexpected exposure recently,” he said, tapping the picture. Everyone leaned in for a look.

“Aw, you two look so cute!” Aurielle chirped, grinning at Aziraphale. “You clean up nice, Zira.”

Crowley cleared his throat before the conversation could shift off track. “That is not the point, but thank you, my dear. As it is, though, we know for certain our former employers keep tabs on us pretty regularly, so this was unfortunate. We don’t know for certain that they’d have seen this, but it’s likely they did.”

“Which raises some alarming questions,” Aziraphale finished for him.

Rafe nodded, his face uncharacteristically serious. “Namely, what happens when Heaven finds out about the baby?”

“And don’t forget Hell.”

“Oh fuck,” said Aurielle. “You’re right. This is big.”

“As you know, human-angelic procreation has been forbidden for thousands of years. Nonetheless, well…” Aziraphale paused. “Here we are, doing the impossible yet again.”

Crowley leaned forward. “In direct violation of the prohibitions of Herself. And,” he stabbed a finger hard against the wooden table, pointing down, “of almost certain interest to Hell. They’ve been looking for leverage over us for ages.”

“But I thought you’d worked out some kind of ceasefire with both of them?” Aurielle asked, earnestly. “Too scared of you to engage anymore, after the hellfire and holy water incidents? Best left alone?”

“Even if that still holds,” Crowley said, “it’s a safe bet that no such prohibitions apply to either Emily or the child. So, help us think it through. What’s the most likely outcome of them finding out?”

Rafe, the trumpeter of judgment, archangel of healing, expeller of demons, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. He’d done the odd job for Heaven here and there, but he’d mostly spent the last two thousand years ignoring the fine print of his employment contract. Who was going to stop him? Gabriel? Michael? They knew they couldn’t best him in a fight, and so far, they were smart enough to never push the issue. He’d never fallen, not even a little, so clearly the Almighty found him pleasing enough.

“Heaven will never abide it,” he said, thoughtfully. “Or at least, the powers in charge won’t. Gabe and Michael will view the child as an abomination.”

“More than that,” Aurielle added. “They’ll be terrified of word getting out. There’s nothing those two fuckers hate more than angels with their own ideas about how to live, and if the rank and file of Heaven find out that angels might procreate again? Even though they can’t?”

Aziraphale nodded grimly. “Exactly, my dear. It’s quite a potential threat.”

Crowley’s voice was more growl than words. “And what would that asshole Gabriel try to do about it? You know him very well, Rafe, better even than Aziraphale. Share with the class.”

Rafe met the demon’s gaze. “The Gabriel I know would try to eliminate the problem before word gets out.” His bright blue eyes were warm with regret. “I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but if I were in your position, I’d be expecting an attack. His soul is as rotten as they come.” 

“And Michael’s little better,” Crowley said. “Although more prone to stealth than direct assault. So, we agree Heaven will try to come for the baby, correct?”

Everyone nodded, looking grim.

“We have to assume, now, that the clock on this endeavor is now ticking,” Aziraphale said. “So, the question is this: how do we stop them?” 

The shop, they all acknowledged, was relatively safe. Centuries of warding, shields, spells, and counter spells had made it so that very few creatures, angelic or demon, could materialize within it, and those that did so would find their powers highly constrained. Still, Emily was a human, and locking her up inside the shop for the next three months seemed cruel.

Escaping to the cottage might help lessen the blow. They tasked Rafe and Aurielle with setting up wards around the property there. They’d have it done within a day or two, Rafe assured them.

They discussed other possibilities. Could human or ethereal magic shield Emily, disguise her? Could they hide the true nature of the baby, making it appear human convincingly enough to withstand even direct angelic inquiry? Was there any way to hide Emily away somewhere until after the child was born?

Some of these ideas had kernels of promise to them. Most did nothing more than delay what was likely an inevitable confrontation.

“Maybe we’re looking at this wrong, friends,” Rafe said, brightening. “Maybe instead of thinking defense, we need to be thinking offense.”

Crowley had always been a big, big fan of offense. “In what way?”

“If what they’re trying to prevent is word getting out,” Rafe said, “maybe our best move is to get ahead of them. Find some way of spreading the news so broadly that the cat can’t be put back in the bag. Make sure every angel in the blessed kingdom knows Aziraphale has fathered an angelic baby.”

Aziraphale colored. “It seems a little immodest, if you ask me.”

“Like an angelic birth announcement,” Aurielle said. “Ohhhhh, I like this. Can there be glitter involved?”

 Crowley frowned. “Do we really think that would stop them from trying to destroy it?” He shook his head. “It’s possible, but unlikely. They’d still want to make an example of the baby, and likely of Emily too. Keep anyone from trying out their luck in the same scenario.”

A timer dinged in the kitchen, startling them all out of their reverie. “Would anyone like scones?” Aziraphale said brightly, hustling off to the kitchen.

#

“Let’s switch to Hell,” Aziraphale said, after they settled again. “Crowley, what do you think their response is likely to be?”

Crowley steepled his fingers, thinking. “They’re a little harder to predict—they’re both less well organized than Heaven and more prone to chaos.” He paused. “But knowing Beelzebub, I think they’d view this as a chance to get one over on me. If I’m beyond their reach, the baby isn’t.”

Aziraphale sighed loudly. “They’d want the baby destroyed as well?”

“Maybe,” Crowley said, knowing the truth was likely worse. “More likely taken from us, or used as a hostage to extort things from us.”

The angel’s eyes met his over the table, wide and terrified.

“Is there any chance,” Aziraphale said slowly, “that we can contact God Herself for assistance?”

Crowley snorted. “What do you think, angel? And even if you did, what would you say?” He made his voice higher and mincing. “‘Oh hey there, Mum, I know you said no children and no fornicating, but I seem to have knocked up my mortal girlfriend and I was just wondering if you’d like to intervene?’”

Silence.

“It was just a thought,” Aziraphale breathed, his posture stiff.

 Crowley made a mental note to apologize later.

“In the end, I think your best bet is to keep her out of sight as much as you can,” Rafe said. “Inside the shop, safely behind wards. And when she has to go out, she does it with protection. From at least two of us, whenever possible. Can you rely on her to cooperate?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale said, looking at Crowley for confirmation. He nodded. “She’s quite a sensible young woman.”

“Poor Emily,” Aurielle said. “That’s going to be so hard for her. This kind of stress isn’t good.”

“And we can see if your witch friend can do some kind of cloaking spell to make her location harder to pinpoint, or to hide her condition,” Rafe said. “If there’s a way to make the baby look human to prying eyes, you’d buy yourself a great deal of time.”

Aurielle nodded. “I might know someone who could help a little with that,” she said, her eyes skittering away evasively. “Can’t tell you much about it, but I’ll look into it.”

“Secret contacts, hmmm?” Rafe grinned at her. “An old lover perhaps?”

Aurielle didn’t feel like being teased, and the punch she gave him communicated that clearly. He hissed and rubbed his deltoid. “Touchy, touchy, love…”

Crowley rolled his eyes. These endless side relationships these two maintained were unbelievably complex. How they’d kept their own love affair going strong through the millennia while getting it off with any human who caught their eye was mind-boggling. Crowley found it hard enough to handle the two beings he’d chosen to align himself with. Then again, Rafe and Auri were two of the most oversexed ethereal beings he’d ever met.

“In the meantime, we need to think about addressing this straight on. Like, talking to Above and Below ourselves,” Crowley said. “Threatening them and making it very convincing. We need to buy ourselves some breathing room.”

“Which is why the Almighty’s support would be most helpful,” Aziraphale fretted. He frowned as they all looked at him incredulously. “Oh, I know, I know. She’s gone silent and hasn’t talked to any of us in ages. Perhaps the Metatron would be the place to begin with an exploratory conversation, though?”

“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Rafe said. “Begs the question though—do they or do they not already know? It’d be a shame to reveal everything if this one little image had slipped by their notice.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll sleep on that one,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you, both of you, for helping us with this. It means the world to me—to us—that you’re willing to help.”

Rafe smirked at him. “Any chance to stick it to my old pal, Gabriel.”

Aurielle shushed him. “You know it’s more than that,” she told the other two. “You know that, right? We care about you. And her.”

“We know,” Crowley said. “We do.”

#

“Were we wrong?” Aziraphale said softly, as they waited for Emily to call them for a ride home. “Getting involved with a human?”

Crowley looked at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean? Do you regret it?”

“No, not as such,” the angel replied. “But look at what the cost has been for her. She didn’t intend to have her life upended like this. She’s pregnant only because none of us thought it remotely possible, and now we have to tell her she’s little more than a prisoner in the shop, under threat from various entities who didn’t know she existed before we came along. She’s developing powers and spouting fire from various appendages, and who knows what else.” He sighed. “It hasn’t been fair to her, has it?”

Crowley ran a hand along Aziraphale’s cheek. “Perhaps not, when you look at it that way. But none of us know, do we, exactly what we’re getting ourselves into when we decide to love someone?”

Aziraphale nuzzled in, eyes soft. “You mean like the way I made you wait nearly six thousand years, rejecting you over and over, hurting you endlessly, before I got my head out of my posterior and figured out how to admit that I loved you?”

Crowley put a finger on the angel’s lips. “Don’t,” he said. “Please don’t. I’d have waited longer. And it was worth it.” He released the finger and waited to see if the angel was going to continue. He stayed silent, blue eyes on Crowley’s. “Besides, this guilt isn’t right. You’re indulging again in the tendency to think everything is your bloody fault.”

“Well, you know me,” the angel said, his tone falsely light. “I do like to overindulge.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, “she chose this as much as we did. She had… options. Not good ones, of course, but she chose the baby, and she chose to come back. Yes, she’s facing a much steeper price for that than we are, but none of us knew that at the time.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I remember how we agonized over whether to allow this to begin. Letting in a mortal, who we will someday lose to age or infirmity or accident, was hard enough without contemplating all of Heaven and Hell using her as a weapon.”

Crowley didn’t know what to say to this one. It was true, but there was nothing to be done for it now. They’d decided, and they loved her. If it became too much for her, he thought he’d understand. They’d never pressure her to stay. But he ached with the hope that they could manage it.

His cell buzzed. “That’ll be her. Do you want to come along for the ride?”

“I do.” Aziraphale said. “And maybe, let’s tell her tomorrow instead of tonight, okay? Let’s just have a nice evening together, first.”

One last simple, unburdened evening. It sounded good to them both.

#

The boys were acting strange, Emily thought. Had been right since they picked her up outside of Lia’s. For one, they didn’t wait for her in the car, even though they had parked right in front of the building. No, instead, not one, but both of them were hovering just outside the front door of Lia’s apartment building when she came out of the elevator and through the lobby.

“Well, hi,” she said, grinning at them as she emerged through the front door. “Everything okay?”

Of course, they both said. They were just glad to see her, and it was nice out and they were enjoying the air. It was weird, but then again, they were very, very old creatures. Who knew what passed for romance in the millennia in which they’d first gotten their beaks wet?

The romance theory held for a while. When they got home, one or the other said they wanted to do something nice for her. Would she like to pick out a movie? She did, always happy to inflict something new on them. She chose an old Peter O’Toole movie they hadn’t seen, and they continued to hover over her, one of them cuddling up with her, the other giving her a foot rub.

“Did I do something?” she asked. “Why are you making such a fuss?”

“Can’t we just appreciate you?” Crowley murmured in her ear. “We missed you tonight.”

Aziraphale said nothing, just set down the foot he’d been working on and picked up the other, plopping it in his lap and getting to work on it with his strong fingers. If it was a technique to distract her, it worked.

“I’ll have to go out with Lia more often if this is how you respond,” she joked.

She did not miss the strange look that passed between them before she turned her attention back to the movie and tried to put the worry out of her mind. 

#

One movie, two pieces of cake, a long, lovely session of kissing on the couch followed by a miracle-move to the bed and several toe-curling orgasms later, and Emily curled up in bed, the smallest spoon in a stack of three, with Crowley nestled between her and Aziraphale in the warmest spot of all. She shook herself, trying to stay awake long enough to ask them what was going on. It wasn’t that the evening hadn’t been wonderful; she’d loved it, all of it. It was more that she kept catching something passing between the two of them: an unspoken look, a flicker of emotion that seemed out of place.

It was no use; she was warm and sated and tired and loved. She surrendered to sleep, drifting off with their arms draped across her, and didn’t wake until morning.

#

It was the morning glass of pond water that broke her.

“Here you go, my sweet,” Aziraphale said, placing the glass of medicinal goop in front of her. “Drink up!”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then went back to the pan of eggs he was currently whipping into some kind of frenzy at the burner.

Emily picked up the revolting glass, looked at Crowley sitting across from her and at the angel’s back, and put it back down, suddenly annoyed with them both. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. 

“No,” she said. “I don’t think I will.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and looked entertained. She had the feeling he’d been waiting for her to rebel about these ridiculous prescription smoothies for a long time now.

Aziraphale turned down the flame on the hob, then turned back around, spatula in hand, his forehead creased. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, “what did you say?”

Emily folded her hands over her stomach and gazed at him steadily. Let him argue. She wasn't budging. “I said I’m not going to drink it.”

Aziraphale’s brows drew down. “Can I ask why you’ve made this rather unwise decision?”

“I’m not going to drink it,” Emily said slowly, “unless one of you tells me what’s going on.”

That Crowley’s look of amusement shifted into one of complete guilt told her all she needed to know.

“What makes you think—“ the angel began, but she cut him off, although gently.

“Listen,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “I know something is wrong. I mean, last night was amazing, and I loved everything you did for me, but I’m not a fool—I noticed all the weighted looks and fraught silences passing between the two. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were both trying to make something up to me.”

They stared.

“So, whatever it is,” she continued, “just tell me. What did you do that you’re afraid I’m going to be mad about? Did you kill a puppy? Kidnap an old woman? Sell all of my paints to fund a drug habit?”

Crowley made a sound that was half laughter, half the sound of a man being strangled by his own esophagus. 

Aziraphale continued to stare, then whipped around to turn the burner off entirely. He dried his hands off on a tea towel, then came to sit at the table between them.

“Nothing of the sort,” he said, solemnly. “But there is something we need to talk to you about, and I’m afraid it might be difficult to hear.”

Emily tried to stop her mind from immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusions, but it raced to them anyway, at breakneck speed. They were breaking up with her. They weren’t breaking up with her, but they had decided they didn’t want to do this parenting thing after all. They wanted the baby and the parenting, but not her. They were tired of being a triad and wanted to be a couple again.

Her face burned hot and her shoulders curled forward, as if she could make herself a smaller target. She was an idiot, a complete fool. How could she have ended up in this spot? She should've known better. The room dimmed and she could hear the roaring of blood in her ears.

“Emily!” Aziraphale’s voice broke through, and she realized belatedly that he’d called her name several times. “Emily, what’s happening? Breathe, sweetheart, please.”

She blinked several times to clear her vision, surprised to notice there were tears running down her cheeks.

“What did I do?” she whispered. “Have I just been too moody lately? I’m sorry…”

Both angel and demon looked deeply confused. Crowley connected the dots first. 

“No,” the demon said, eyes wide and desperate. “No, Emily, you’ve gotten it wrong, love. This isn’t a breakup. We haven’t changed our minds about you or about the baby.”

She heard the angel suck in a breath, and when she looked, his face was ashen. Stricken. “Oh, my dear, no, I promise it’s not that,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry, I should have realized how that would sound to you after…”

Emily let out a sob of relief as every clenched muscle in her shoulders loosened. “I — I don’t know why my mind went there,” she said. “I shouldn’t… I…”

Aziraphale picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Of course your mind went there,” he said. “We did you wrong once before, and not that long ago. It makes sense that you’d be scared it might happen again.”

Emily sniffled, embarrassed, and mopped at her face with a napkin to buy herself a minute. “It’s not you,” she said. “Really. It’s just that everything makes me emotional right now. You’ve seen me. I cry at the drop of a hat. Babies, kittens, old people holding hands.”

“Insurance commercials,” Crowley added. “Weather reports when they’re nice out, because people might have picnics. Weather reports when they’re rainy, because it might ruin someone’s wedding…”

Emily laughed. “I’m not quite that bad. And that last one only happened once.”

Both of them beamed at her, relieved.

“So,” she said, “if we can just put a pin in that unfortunate mess, what did you want to talk to me about?”

The two of them looked at each other until Aziraphale made a ‘go ahead’ gesture. Crowley cleared his throat and stared into his coffee cup for a minute.

“It’s just that…” Crowley stopped and then started again. “We need to talk to you about our former employees and what we think their reactions are going to be to finding out that you’re pregnant with a hybrid child.”

“There’s a very good chance that they already know,” Aziraphale said gently, “based on that newspaper article last week. And even if they don’t, they’ll undoubtedly find out soon.”

Emily looked from one to the other. “And when they do?”

“We think,” Crowley said, looking unbearably sorry to be saying it, “that you’ll be in quite a lot of danger.”

Emily picked up her cup of sludge and took a long sip. Like always, the disgusting, slimy texture made her gag, but she swallowed hard and got it down, resisting just barely the urge to scrub at her tongue with the same napkin she’d been wiping her tears with a moment before. She set the drink down and looked up to meet two worried sets of eyes, watching her every move.

“Okay,” she said, giving them both a weak smile. “I can handle it. Tell me all of it.”

#

“Holy shit,” Emily said when they’d laid it all out for her. “You weren’t kidding. These people really hate the two of you that much?”

“Not people,” Crowley corrected. “And yes.”

Emily thought for a moment. “So, let me get this straight. Heaven isn’t a lot better than Hell, and the fact that one is an archangel doesn’t necessarily mean that one is a decent person. Being. Whatever.”

Aziraphale nodded grimly. “I’m afraid my direct superiors up there are, almost to a one, entirely horrible. Many of the lower-level angels are probably decent sorts, however.”

“And not everyone in Hell is terrible, either,” Crowley said. “It’s really more of a management issue on both sides.”

Emily already knew the outline of what had happened with the potential antichrist, how they’d prevented a war and likely saved the planet, even if they claimed it was more a matter of being in the right place at the right time than being because of any particular competence. Still, she’d never quite realized the extent of what had happened.

“So, you thwarted both Heaven and Hell, survived near execution by both, and stood by and watched while the literal son of Satan turned his father into a pile of goo?”

Aziraphale’s nose squinched up. “Not exactly a pile of goo,” he said. “More like a pile of nothingness. He just… disappeared into the ether. No one knows if he still exists or not, and Hell’s certainly not talking.”

“And everyone hates you for it?” she said, hearing the slightly hysterical tone in her voice. “They should celebrate you! You should be fucking heroes! What the fuck is wrong with everyone?”

Aziraphale’s face dimpled. Crowley rolled his eyes at both of them. “Neither of us wants that. But yes, you’ve got the gist of it. Bad management. Corruption at the highest levels. And the only reason we’ve been left to live our lives is that they believe they can’t touch us.”

Everyone sat silently, no one wanting to say the obvious next sentence.

“But none of that applies to me,” Emily finally said.

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “To be honest, we hoped no one would even notice for quite some time that you even existed. They don’t watch us that closely. Or we hoped that they’d just decide we were digging our own graves and leave us to it, hoping I’d fall.” He paused. “We didn’t expect… you know. The baby to enter the picture.”

“I suppose that changes things,” Emily said.

“It certainly does.”

Emily sighed. “Thank you for telling me. This is… this is a lot to take in. Would it be terrible if I wanted to just take a break for a while, let it all sink in?”

“Take a break?” Aziraphale said, his voice uncertain.

“Now who’s assuming the worst?” Emily said. “I just mean from talking about it. I think I’d like to go take a bath. I’m all stressed out. And I honestly don’t think I can absorb any more right now.” She looked between them. “I’m not upset at either of you, I promise. Just a little bit overwhelmed.”

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I think that’s a lovely idea. Perhaps just take your green drink along with you?”

Emily laughed, but she picked it up as she stood. She stooped to kiss each of them before she left, then headed out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.

If she stopped to pour the remaining contents of the pond-water monstrosity into the soil of one of the larger houseplants along the way, no one noticed. And really, she thought, who could blame her? Let the plants have all those yummy nutrients for once.

Chapter Text

Living in the flat over the shop had many wonderful features, but one of the best was Aziraphale’s insanely decadent clawfoot tub. It was nearly twice the size of a normal tub, held up on enormous brass feet, able to fit two of them comfortably and, on rare occasions, all three of them if they didn’t mind crowding in. (Those were generally the sort of occasions in which crowding was more assumed than minded.)

And on the days when Emily got it to herself? It was like having a small swimming pool full of bubbles. Even better that the angel had fitted the tub with some kind of blessing that meant the water never lost its warmth.

Perfection, especially now that she was pregnant.

She dug through the many bottles of scents and potions that lined the shelves in the corner before selecting one and pouring a liberal amount under the running tap.

Finally, finally, it was ready, and she slid the robe off and climbed carefully in, easing down until only her head was exposed. The water covered every part of her, even her pregnant belly, leaving enough room to fully stretch out. She sighed in relief and closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her tense muscles and soothe her anxiety.

She’d think about the ramifications of what she’d just heard later. For now, she needed this.

A knock sometime later roused her, and she opened her eyes to find Aziraphale standing in the doorway, watching her. “Not sleeping in the tub, are you?”

Emily pushed more of herself above the waterline. “Might’ve been drifting a little,” she admitted. “This tub would never let me drown, and you know it.”

Aziraphale smiled and patted the tub fondly. “No, she wouldn’t. I just wanted to see if you were all right, my dear,” he said. “That was a frightening conversation, earlier. Did you need some company?”  

 Emily shrugged that off, still not wanting to think about it. “I suppose you could wash my back if you’d like to,” she said instead.

He laughed and leaned in for a kiss. “And perhaps wash your hair?”

She kissed him back, her entire body languid and warm. “And maybe some other things?”

“Pregnant humans are insatiable,” he scolded, but his eyes were twinkling.

“Which is entirely your fault, if you think about it.”

“Ahem. So it is, dearest.” He dipped a hand in the water, testing the temperature, then began removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Now, what can I do to make that up to you?”

#

The next few days were a blur. They had many conversations, some of them tense, some of them tearful, but the angel and demon were patient with Emily as she gradually built up an understanding and acceptance of the new parameters of their lives. It wasn’t so bad, she supposed. She could still leave the shop, just with someone in tow, and if she did so less than she used to, it wasn’t all that bad—she was also a lot more tired than she used to be and felt vulnerable just because of the changes to her body, even before she knew there might be monsters after her. The shop was safe and comforting. She didn’t mind nesting there a little more intensively.

As for the rest of it—the denizens of Above and Below who were after her, or after the baby—it was a lot to take in, but all she could really do was trust in the ability of friends and partners to protect her, and try to be smart about not taking unnecessary risks. It was intimidating, but she tried to keep it from the front of her thoughts as much as she could.

#

“Our witch friend is coming by later this morning,” Aziraphale informed Emily one morning at breakfast. “She has a spell she thinks might help. And perhaps disguises.”

Emily looked up from the crossword and grinned. “Oh, good. I hope this includes fake glasses with noses attached.” She liked Anathema; they’d met twice. She and her husband lived out in a village in Oxfordshire, but they stopped by when they were in town. She’d only recently heard more about the role those two humans played in the near-end of the world, and suddenly she couldn’t wait to talk to the supposed prophetess and witch again.

Crowley wandered in and sank down into a chair, looking disgruntled. Aziraphale placed an espresso, miracled out of nowhere, in front of him. “Everything all right, dear?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my Scheflerra,” Crowley groused.

Everyone looked at him.

“Your… ‘Scheflerra’, if that’s what we’re calling it, seems fine to me…” Aziraphale said dryly, a hint of a smile around his mouth.

Crowley's scowl made it clear he was in no mood for teasing.

“No, not that,” he hissed. “Schefflera arbicola?”  No response. “Umbrella tree? The big tall plant in the dining room?”

“Oh, that one,” Aziraphale said, recovering smoothly. “I thought that might be the one you meant. Lovely plant, one of my favorites.”

Crowley narrowed his eye, not fooled. “You had no idea. And it’s not lovely right now. It’s dropped nearly a third of its leaves. I think I’m going to have to repot it entirely if I’m going to save it.”

He stood up and rummaged in the boxed teas, looking for something.

Oh. Oh God. Was that the same plant she'd—oh, yes, it certainly was. Emily stirred her tea as guilt twisted her stomach. She considered not saying anything; she didn't relish the idea of having Crowley upset with her. But she knew herself. If she didn't say it now, guilt would drive her to confess later, and then she'd be in even deeper for not speaking up at the start. The only way out was through; she had no choice but to speak up now. 

She cleared her throat, but her voice still sounded a little weird when she spoke. “Um, Crowley? I might know something about that…”

He turned to her, his face wary. “What?”

Emily had a sudden wobbly feeling, like stepping onto dry land after a boat ride. “I might know what’s wrong with it… I mean, hopefully not, but… maybe?”

They both looked at her and for once, she didn't enjoy the attention.

“What do you mean?” Crowley said.

She took a deep breath. “You know the other night when Aziraphale made me take my disgusting smoothie with me when I went to take a bath? I, um, dumped it out.”

Crowley’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline, and his voice was low and dangerous. “In my plant?”

She swallowed. “I didn’t think it would hurt it! It’s just water and vitamins and stuff, right?”

His face darkened, and he took a sharp step toward her. “Just vitamins and stuff?” he seethed. “You can’t just dump a bunch of vitamin water on a houseplant, Emily. God—Satan—someone only knows what’s even in that stuff! Most of those minerals are salts! Salts will kill a plant. Dead. Bloody hell, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” she said miserably. “I didn’t think it through at all, I just did it. I’m so so—“

“—Oh, shut it. I don’t want to hear it.” He ran both hands through his hair, pulling it in all directions, and then scrubbed them down over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was cold, but quieter. “I'll be lucky if it survives at all. I’m going to go repot the bloody thing before I say something I’ll regret later.”

He stomped off, then came back through to stomp up the stairs to the roof garden where he kept his potting supplies, tree in tow. 

She watched him, helpless, then turned to look at the angel, who didn’t look very pleased with her either, truth be told. He stared at her, lips pressed together and hands fisted on his hips, for a long moment before he spoke. Emily fidgeted, barely able to meet his gaze.

“That’s a rather big misstep, I’m afraid. You know his plants are his babies, Emily. They’re like my first editions! Why not just take a marker to one of those?”

She sank down into her seat, wishing she could just disappear. Her throat felt tight, like it was considering choking off her words to prevent her from doing any more harm.

“What do I do?” she whispered.

“Give him a couple hours to calm down, then go talk to him,” he finally said, sounding a little distant himself as he turned back to the sink. “And don’t ever do that again.”

“Which one?” she asked. “Plant or drink?”

“Either,” he said darkly, over his shoulder, “or I’ll be much more than simply cross.”   

#

Emily was a little subdued when Anathema showed up, but she put a sociable face on it, taking part in tea and conversation. Crowley even showed up, kissing Anathema on the cheek and asking about her and Newt, their three children, and life in Oxfordshire. His eyes occasionally flicked across Emily, but they never lingered, and his expression didn’t acknowledge her presence.

Someone on the outside might not have even noticed, Emily thought, that Crowley was upset with her. He took part in the conversation about the dangers they were facing. He didn’t glare, but he didn’t smile at her, either. There were no winks or conversational invitations, and he didn’t touch her even once the whole afternoon. He was completely closed off.

She picked up her cooling tea and blew on it, just for something to do, feeling miserable. Crowley being angry made her head tingle with a hot mix of shame and the strong urge to apologize. She knew it wasn't welcome yet, and she had to respect that. 

“Okay, let’s get down to it, shall we?” Anathema said. “I’m going to need to set some things up. Give me a few minutes.”

Emily sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, while Anathema drew some kind of elaborate circle around her, first with chalk and then with an outline of salt, then a third time with red string she unwound from a large spool. She lit four candles around her, which Aziraphale helped her place safely into jars, and then started sprinkling something over the circle, using some kind of leafy cluster. Emily couldn’t help but flinch when a splash of it hit her face.

“Not to worry,” Anathema said with a smile. “It’s just water. Just try to relax. There’s nothing you need to do.”

Emily looked up at the angel, who was watching anxiously from the sidelines, hands clasped at his waist. He smiled at her encouragingly, and she straightened up. Crowley stood behind him, ramrod straight, arms crossed over his chest. He’d put his glasses on, hiding his eyes. Emily got the firm sense he was pointedly watching Anathema and not her. 

She moved to resume, but something inside Emily clenched. “Wait,” she said. “Wait a second. Can you—is it possible to stop, or are we too far?”

Anathema sat back. “Nope, we can pause.”

Emily rubbed her chest, suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe.

“Are you okay, my dear?” Aziraphale said, stepping forward but clearly not wanting to cross the circle’s boundary. “What’s happening?”

“I just—“ She took a deep breath. “Can you just tell me what’s going to happen?”

Anathema crouched down across from her, just outside the boundary she’d drawn. “Of course,” she said. “I’m going to finish casting the circle, and then I’m going to step in there with you. I’m going to lay a spell over you that will help to hide you from people looking for you. It won’t hurt and you won’t feel anything.” She thought. “I’ll touch you a couple times, but I’ll ask first.” 

“And… and it’s safe for the baby and all that? She won’t fight back or anything?”

“Do you feel like the baby is going to fight back?” Crowley asked, forehead wrinkled in worry. He’d lowered his glasses and was looking at her for the first time.

“No,” Emily said. She let out a sigh. “I don’t. I’m sorry. I guess I just got scared for a second.”

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, voice gentle, “I understand. Things are happening to you and around you, constantly. But I promise, no harm is going to come to you from this.”

She looked up and met his brilliant blue eyes, and a wave of well-being washed over her, of love, calm and pure and trusting.

“Okay,” she said, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “Let’s do this.”

The ritual didn’t take terribly long. There was some chanting, an incantation of someone or something that Emily didn’t catch, and then something done with a dagger in mid-air before the woman stepped inside the circle she’d made and came closer.

She crouched down in front of Emily and smiled. “May I please touch you?” the witch asked. Emily nodded, and she did, proceeding to lay her hands first on Emily’s head, then her shoulders, then a spot between her breasts, all while chanting something under her breath. Finally, with a glance at Emily for her continued permission, she laid both hands on Emily’s abdomen for about thirty seconds.

Emily concentrated, but she didn’t feel anything, aside from a pleasant tingle from the touch. The baby seemed to be asleep. No harm of any kind was being done, as far as she could tell, and if something good was at work, she couldn’t sense it at all.

After a long moment, Anathema let go and stepped back, breaking the ring she’d laid out with her foot.

“That should do it!” she announced. She turned to Emily. “You can stand up now.”

“What exactly did that do?” Emily asked, working her way clumsily to her feet.

“It’s a muffling spell, essentially,” the woman said, her dark eyes concerned behind her round glasses. “It won’t entirely prevent someone from finding you, but it will make it a lot harder. And they won’t be able to tell what the baby is from any kind of scanning. It’s going to look very human, unless they get close enough to literally touch you like I just did.”

“Which isn’t going to happen,” Crowley said grimly. “No one we don’t know or trust gets within a few feet of her, period.”

Emily felt comforted by that, at least. He might be angry, but he was still protecting her.

Crowley disappeared a short while later, back up to the roof, she thought, and she and Aziraphale saw Anathema off through a round of interminable goodbyes.

#

“Emily, dear,” Aziraphale called from the kitchen a few hours later. She rolled off the living room couch where she’d been half dozing and wandered in to see what he needed.

He held a wine glass full of grassy yellow liquid out to her. “Would you do me a favor and take this to Crowley? It’s a Sancerre and I need to know if he thinks it’s worth drinking or just for cooking. He’s in the bedroom, I believe.”

Emily looked at him. “Even for you, this is just blatant manipulation, you know.”

He pursed his lips at her. “Young lady, you have not one leg to stand on,” he said. “And it’s time for you two to make up. I’m not tolerating this napping miserably in separate rooms for one second longer.” He swung a tea towel at her in a shooing motion. “Now go.”

She knocked on the door to the bedroom. “Crowley?” she called. He didn’t answer, but she let herself in. “Are you here?”

She saw the lump on the chaise lounge, over by the window, covered in a blanket. Uncertainly, she walked over and stood, trying to see if he was awake or asleep.

“Whaddyawant?” a voice mumbled under the blanket.

Emily sat down on the rug next to the chaise. “Aziraphale wanted me to bring you this glass of Sancerre.” She tapped the glass with a fingernail, giving out a little ring.

A head appeared above the blanket line. “That’s called a bribe,” he groused. “He’s just trying to make you and me talk.”

“Yeah,” Emily said. Nonetheless, she held it out. “Still, though, want it? It smells good, and I’m jealous I can’t have any, so you can lord that over me. Also, it’s almost time for dinner and he wants you to wake up.”

A long sigh emerged first, and then Crowley worked his way up to seated. The slanted light from the window lit up the tangled mop of his hair, sticking out every which way. He reached out a hand for the glass and she handed it up to him, then sat waiting.

He took a sip, made an appreciative noise, and took another.

“Good year,” he mumbled, not really looking at her.

“Can I apologize now?”

Crowley sighed again. “What’s the point? You did it, you’re sorry, I’ve done worse, and you know I’ll forgive you. We don’t have to do all of—” he waved a hand around. 

Emily blinked. “No!  The point—the point is, I was careless with something you care about, and I think it hurt you!” His face, already guarded, went through several quick shifts she couldn’t read, ending up in a surprised watchfulness. But he met her eyes, for the first time all day.

“I was thinking,” she continued. “If you, say, threw a glass of wine on one of my paintings, I’d be really upset. And then, if all you had to say was that you didn’t think it would hurt anything? Wouldn’t help. Might make it worse. It’s a total crap justification of something I never should’ve done to begin with.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said.

“Crowley, I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Crowley heaved out a sigh. “Okay. Apology accepted and all that foofy stuff the angel loves.” He made a weird gesture that looked like one a priest might make at confession, then patted the chaise beside him, and Emily took a seat beside him, leaning onto his shoulder.

They stayed there, talking quietly, until Aziraphale called them to dinner.

#

Dinner was skirt steak with her favorite whipped potatoes and some kind of leafy green thing that Emily found revolting but ate quickly, just to get it out of the way and so that her partners wouldn’t nag her about it. A thought struck her as she forced the last of it down.

She turned to Crowley. “You said you were summoned once, right?”

Crowley put down his fork and looked at a little disturbed. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious! Were you summoned from out of the bookshop or somewhere else?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who shrugged. “It’s happened twice, actually. Once from the street, and once from here.”

Emily nodded. “So, the wards on the shop don’t prevent you from being summoned out by someone who knows what they’re doing?”

Aziraphale straightened his jacket. “Well, technically, yes, that’s true, but… well, I suppose that’s the case. Mind you, summoning is rare and there are usually warning signs. It can be fought, if not warded against.”

“Fought how?”

Crowley eyed her. “Salt circles. Counterspells. Anointing. Sigil magic.”

Emily watched with a slight pull of envy as Aziraphale took a long swallow of his wine, then took a drink of her own ice water, finding it a poor substitute.

“So how does summoning work, exactly?”

Aziraphale fussily patted each corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Really, darling, I thought we were going to keep the conversation light at dinner.” She made big eyes at him, until he sighed and gave in. “It relies on knowing the true name and sigil of the creature you’re trying to summon. And there are chalk circles and candles and lots and lots of Latin.”

Emily picked up her knife and carved out another bite of her steak, working hard to keep her voice casual, conversational. Matter of fact. “Sigils? Humans don’t have those, right?”

Everyone froze for a moment, and Emily looked up, puzzled, to find two sets of eyes on her, both of them aglow with love and concern.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Aziraphale said, softly. “That someone could summon you out of here?”

Emily shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but knew she didn’t fool anyone. 

Crowley reached over and laid a hand on her arm, stopping her from attacking her steak. “Emily, hon. Humans can’t be summoned. Just creatures like us. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Okay, then,” she said, continuing her studied act. “Cool.”

Crowley snorted, and Emily caught the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth tipping up into something of a smile too, before he picked up his glass again and settled back in his chair.

“Now then,” he uttered, looking from Emily to Crowley and back. “Shall we talk about something more pleasant?”

“Okay,” she said. “Since I’ve got Anathema’s nifty new spell on me, how about the fact that I need to do some shopping? None of my clothes fit anymore, and it’s really hard to buy maternity things online. You need to try them on.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I suppose that’s no real problem. One of us can go with you, if you’d like, or perhaps both.”

Crowley made a face. “Please, no. You’re a nightmare at shopping centers. I can take her, angel.”

It was true. A half hour in your standard shopping center and the angel was often a mess, fending off elbows, having inappropriately long chats with sales people, and trying to solve the many problems of the hundreds of people crowding into his psychic space with their discontented thoughts.

“We could ask Aurielle to come,” Emily said.

Crowley laughed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what she would pick out for the expecting mother-to-be. Is there something called pregnant sexworker-chic?”

Emily giggled. “Geez, that’s rude, even for you.”

Crowley raised a glass at her with a wink. “Sound okay, angel? Tomorrow?”

Aziraphale frowned at them both a tad disapprovingly, but he nodded.

Chapter Text

“Emily, you ready?” Crowley bellowed up the stairs. “Aurielle just called. She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Okay, I’m coming!” she yelled back down, startled into dropping the mascara tube she’d been holding. It clattered to the ground and rolled. “Five minutes!”

Emily scanned the tiny bathroom that was connected to her bedroom—where had the tube gone? She finally spotted it, off behind the toilet in the far corner. Sighing, she knelt down to reach it, but the size of her protruding abdomen and the tightness of the space prevented her from reaching it, no matter what she did.

She considered calling for help, but then, frustrated, she closed her eyes on instinct and just called for it.

The snap of the cold plastic tube into her palm was like a slap to the cheek. She sat back on her heels and stared at it.

“Well, that’s new,” she said, and clutched it in her hands as she went out to get a sweater.

Emily grabbed her purse and took one last look in the mirror. At nearly six months pregnant, it was hard to find something that both looked good and was easy to get on and off when trying on clothes. She’d finally settled on leggings, a light tee shirt, and a long cardigan, hoping she could keep most of the underlayers on for a lot of it. And, of course, slip-on shoes. It was getting harder and harder to winch a foot up to where she could reach it to tie the laces, and she certainly wasn’t calling one of her companions in to do it for her every time she tried an outfit.

#

She heard Aurielle’s ebullient arrival and ran down the stairs to join them in the office. Aurielle had toned it down today; Emily suspected the demon had probably told her to. The idea, after all, was to keep a low profile. She was almost ordinary looking, in a slim pair of jeans and a camel sweater. No sequins anywhere.

She squealed and hugged Emily around the neck. “Em! So glad we get to go have a shopping trip! Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe—both from dangerous encounters and from this one’s fashion choices,” she said, pointing a thumb at Crowley.

Crowley snorted. “As if. I’m here to keep her from listening to you and purchasing an entire wardrobe made of nothing but sequins and feathers.”

Much as she just wanted to forget about what had just happened, Emily knew better than to keep it from the group. She cleared her throat nervously.

“Hey, so, before we go, can we chat for a minute?” Emily said. “I think I just got another power.”

Aziraphale and Crowley both turned with almost comically identical frowns, but Aurielle was much more excited than worried. “Ohhhh! New power?” she said, bouncing. “What is it? Show me!”

“It’s nothing huge or especially useful. May I?” she asked Aziraphale, placing one hand on his desk chair. He nodded, and she sat. There was a pencil laying on a stack of papers, and she pointed at it and concentrated until it twirled around. With another burst of concentration and a slight gesture, she made it move slowly into her hand.

Of course, this led immediately to experiments. Could she move something larger? Could she lift a book? A paperweight? Could she send something away from her or just towards her? She sat patiently and tried everything they asked of her.

From what they could determine, her power extended only to tiny or lightweight objects. She could move a napkin and a pen easily, a notebook with more difficulty and only a little. She could knock over something a little heavier, but not lift it.

“My brain is getting tired,” Emily said. “Could we just stop for now?”

Aziraphale brought her a cup of green tea, and she took a grateful sip. “Of course, my dear. Thank you for telling us promptly. We appreciate it.”

Emily nodded and, just for fun, floated a sugar cube from the small bowl of them the angel always kept on his desk and maneuvered it into her cup with a splash. Aziraphale made a sour face.

“So, now we’ve got what—lighting a small fire and moving objects?” Aurielle said.

“Yep. It’s pretty unimpressive.”

“Well, who knows,” Aurielle said, grinning. “Sometimes the fate of a nation can come down to moving one tiny latch.”

All three of them stared at her, discomfited.

“For want of a nail?” Aziraphale ventured.

“Exactly!” She sat back, clocking each of their expressions. “Listen, this is not end-of-the-world kind of stuff. I don’t know why you’re freaking out about this.”

Emily shrugged. “I’m not, really. And maybe if I practice I can stir my tea without lifting a finger. That’d be kind of cool.”

“Or, you know, turn a page in a book before Aziraphale is ready. Or steal the last scone away just as one of these two is reaching for it,” Aurielle added. “Endlessly entertaining.”

“Really, my dear girl,” Aziraphale sniffed, one corner of his mouth tipped up into the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t put ideas in her head.”

“Are there any signs of other powers?” Crowley said, refusing to be distracted from his near-constant worry, “or anything else that’s off?”

Aurielle examined Emily more closely across the table. “She’s got that pregnant glow,” she said. “And honestly, despite the weight issues, she seems entirely healthy. Radiantly so. I wouldn’t be surprised if the magical edge to this pregnancy is doing her some extra good.”

Em looked at each of them. “Please tell me this hasn’t derailed our shopping trip. I swear these are the only pants I own that I can still fit into!”

Crowley grinned. “Nah, of course not. Let’s go.”

#

“Be careful,” Aziraphale called as he waved them off from the front door. “Call me if you have any concerns!”

Aurielle took the back seat in the Bentley, not bothering with a seatbelt. Instead, she pulled forward, poking her head between the two of them up front. “So, where’re we going?” she asked brightly. “Harrods? Chanel?”

“No,” Crowley said. “If we take her to Harrods, we’re going to spend the entire time in the food court.”

Emily made a raspberry noise at him, and Aurielle laughed. She had to admit, though, he was probably right. Just thinking about the cheesemonger alone made her mouth water. Maybe they could just stop by later. She should really replace that Manchego she stole from Aziraphale.  

“The mall?”

Crowley shook his head. “Too many denizens of Hell hanging out at your average mall. No, we’re just going to go to Oxford Street. Use the shops.”

Aurielle nodded and sat back. Then she popped forward again. “Oh, is there a Starbucks? Or one of those places that sells cupcakes?”

“Oh, like I’m going to stuff you full of sugar and caffeine, you absolute menace,” Crowley spat. But he was smiling underneath.

#

The day started well enough. Aurielle and Crowley combined made the perfect companions for a day of shopping, part guard dogs, making sure no one bothered her, and part fashion consultants. They took her to shop after shop, helping her pick out some basics and shooing her away from things of poor quality, until she’d amassed a small bundle of carrier bags, all of which the demon miracled away to the boot of the Bentley whenever no one was looking.

“Last shop for now,” she said as he steered her into one last place, where they were hoping to find a few dresses and some undergarments.

“Okay, love,” Crowley said. “We’ll take a break for some food after this.”

“Ooo,” Aurielle said, bouncing. Crowley looked over at her and noticed that during their shopping, she’d added a spangly scarf and ridiculously long earrings made of feathers to her outfit. “Starbucks, right? Or maybe cinnamon buns. Or one of those places where you can buy gumballs by the bag? Or we could do sushi. Sushi is always good.”

Emily laughed. It all sounded good.

#

In the back of the shop, shop-girl Beryl watched them enter. A young woman and two strange looking adults, one male, one female. Were they relatives? She couldn’t quite tell. The man was striking in an aging-rockstar type of way, and the woman looked like some kind of grown-up version of Tinkerbell—tiny, bursting with energy, almost flitting when she walked. The young woman, clearly the pregnant one, looked like she was in her mid to late twenties, and was more of the artsy type—long, dark hair, bright smile, little makeup. About five months pregnant, by the look of things.

Beryl put down the iced coffee she’d been sipping and turned to go back out onto the shop floor to greet them. It had been a long day, and she was almost finished, but these people looked like the type that might tip well, so she put on her best smile.

She only made it one step before everything froze.

Michael shimmered into being, wrinkling her nose at the crowded, unpleasant back room, then helped the human, now mindless and compliant, sit down on a chair. Wouldn’t do to have her suddenly fall over with an audible thump in the middle of their shopping expedition, after all. Problem solved, she concentrated and snapped down, drawing power to set up the charm she and Gabriel had worked out, masking her powers utterly and draping her in a clever facsimile of the shopgirl across from her. She rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the shop.

“Welcome,” she called, making her voice light and pasting on a wide smile. Shit, not just the demon but an archangel, too? She hoped her charm was strong enough to keep Aurielle from sniffing her out. “How can I help you?”

The demon immediately turned to her, eyes wary, and stepped between them. “Just looking. We’ll let you know if we need something.”

Michael could bide her time. It helped that shop ladies were supposed to be intrusive, maybe even annoying. She hovered nearby until she made eye contact with the girl from a few racks away and smiled insipidly. “When’re you due, love?” she asked.  

Emily looked around before she answered, noted Aurielle nearby digging through clothing and the demon watching them both. “In about four months, I think?” she answered. “Nothing fits anymore.”

Michael took a step forward. “Anything in particular you’re looking for? I’ve got a good eye…”

“Actually, I’d like to get a couple of dresses,” the girl said. “Something light for summer. Or maybe a skirt or two?”

She made a show of looking the young woman over. “Medium?” she asked. Emily nodded. “Let me get you a few things. I think I know something you might like.”

It was all for show, of course. Michael didn’t know anything about human fashions or corporations. But if she was going to play the shopkeeper, she would have to give it a shot. She headed for a rack of what looked like dresses and quickly grabbed a handful that seemed to be the right size.

She almost made it right up to Emily when she returned, but Crowley stepped in front of her at the last minute, face impassive. He held out his hand with an insincere smile on his face, his eye teeth glinting in the light. “I’ll take those. Thanks much.”

And then they were off to the changing rooms, all three of them.

This might be harder than she thought, Michael realized.

She gave them a while, then played her part, sweeping into the changing area. From the giggling and conversation, she could tell Aurielle and Emily were shut up together in one of the stalls; Crowley stood down at the other end of the changing room, less than six feet away, lounging casually with his back against the three-way mirror. He nodded his head and let her rap on the door.

“Shall I just take away anything that doesn’t suit you?” she called.

Aurielle poked her head out the door. “Oh, hi. Yeah, just a sec.” She disappeared inside and then reappeared with a few things. She pointed to the one on top. “Could we get that one in a size larger, please?”

Michael smiled placidly and turned away, pleased with this development. She had no idea where that dress had originally come from, and she didn’t intend to find out. Instead, she made a convincing simulation of looking for a while and then came back in to rap on the door again.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to Aurielle. “I just haven’t been able to find that dress you wanted on the floor. Do you remember where you got it from?”

Aurielle wrinkled her nose and thought. “I think so.” She looked behind her at Emily, who had donned one of the dresses Michael had picked out and was looking at herself in the mirror. “Hang on, I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to go get that daisy-print one for you.”

“It was over by the hats, I think,” Emily said. 

Michael stepped aside and let Aurielle pass by, then stood back to wait, just across the aisle from the dressing cubicle.

And then, luck turned her way, in the shape of Crowley’s ringing mobile. He pulled it out and frowned at it, then looked at Michael, then back at the phone. And then, with a heavy sigh, he pressed a button and answered it.

“’Lo?” he said. “Angel, what is it? I’m busy here.” He listened for a moment and then frowned. He looked up and met Michael’s placid gaze, glared at her, and turned his back on her to continue his conversation. “Yeah,” she heard him say. “Everything’s fine. We’ll be heading back pretty soon, just have to finish…”

She tuned him out.

This was it. This was the moment. Michael stepped forwards towards the girl, who was still tugging at the dress and examining it from various angles. “Would you like me to help you adjust that?” she purred. “You’ve got it twisted, so you’re not getting the full effect.”

Emily smiled. “Yes, thanks. I can’t quite figure out what I’m doing wrong here.”

Michael stepped forward and finished pulling up the back zip. “Well, first, we close this,” she said, then she tugged at the shoulder seams into place and looked up appraisingly. “And then we get the seams in the right place, and all that’s left is to smooth out all of this extra fabric in the front so it falls right.”

She did so, running her hands down the girl’s sides, which gave her the perfect opportunity to lay her hands briefly against her abdomen in the process.

Michael closed her eyes and cast her senses out and met —

Explosions of light. Laughter. Golden something. Teeth and nails.

A faint hint of feathers.

A tentative force reaching out, inquiring, and then darkening on what it found.

Pressure.

Pressure.

Pressure.

There was a flash, and a force threw Michael back into the aisle, knocking her partway into the cubicle on the other side. She hit the opposite mirror with a large crack, then held onto its frame for support as her vision cleared.

She distantly heard the young woman call for the demon, but he was already there, barging into the cubicle with Emily, scanning her frantically.

Satisfied Emily wasn’t in immediate danger, Crowley turned and made for Michael, his eyes fully gold now, and despite herself, Michael feared for her life. He grabbed her by the lapels of her shitty jacket and slammed her bodily into the wall behind her. “Who are you and what do you want?” he roared.

Behind him, Em edged out and around him, into the arms of Aurielle, who shoved the girl behind her and stepped forward to back Crowley up.

“WHO. ARE. YOU,” the archangel said, her voice echoing around the small room. She reached over her shoulder, grasped at thin air, and came up with a bow, with an arrow notched at the ready.

Michael’s head cracked against the mirror behind her, but if anything, it seemed to return her to her senses, rather than scramble her brains. Her face cleared and her eyes locked on Crowley’s as she smiled sharply at him. He watched, horrified, as her features morphed from the shop girl they’d been interacting with to more familiar ones. Cold, pale face with a sharp, pert nose; high arched eyebrows that looked like they’d been drawn on; thin, cruel lips, and that infamous chestnut updo.

“Watch yourselves, serpent, archer,” Michael said, her mouth curving into an amused smile as she looked back and forth between the two of them. “We’re onto you and your secrets. You have much to account for.”

Crowley released her, raising the energy to summon hellfire, but in that second, she looked upwards towards Heaven and disappeared entirely.

Aurielle shoved past him to examine the empty cubicle, and Crowley made for Emily again. “Are you all right?” he asked, settling his hands on her shoulders and peering into her face. “Did she hurt you?”

Emily found her memory of the event was oddly blurry. “I don’t think so. She just… offered to help with the dress, and… and then I think she touched my belly… and then things went sideways and she was three feet away from me.” She blinked up at him. “I think the baby did it!” 

Crowley crushed her to his chest in a fierce hug, feeling her shake. “We’ve got to get you home right now,” he muttered. “Oh fuck, Aziraphale is going to murder me for letting this happen. Aurielle, let’s go.”

Crowley bundled them both out of the store, arm wrapped around her to bind her tightly to his side, and they scurried down the sidewalk at a fast clip. If the Bentley somehow miraculously met them just around the next corner, no one seemed to notice. He and Aurielle settled her in the center of the front seats, threw themselves in around her, and then took off like a bat out of hell for Soho.

#

“It’s definitely not a human baby,” Michael reported, still feeling unsteady. Somehow, the bloody infant had thrown her across the room and given her half a concussion, from the throb of it. “It had some sort of defenses. Pushed me out nearly as soon as I made contact.”

Gabriel’s face looked grim. “Could you tell if it was angelic or demonic?”

“Not entirely,” Michael said. “Female, though.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath. “Interesting. And unfortunate. Always feels more justified when it’s a male child. These days, though, with women’s lib, girls can achieve world domination too if that want, I suppose.” He paused, collecting himself. “Either way, though, our next step is clear, I’d say?”

Michael raised a cool eyebrow. “And that would be?”

“This baby is an abomination,” Gabriel said, clenching his hands into fists on top of the desk. “Human and angel reproduction has been forbidden since nearly the dawn of time. Who does the angel think he is, skirting around these restrictions, by means of whatever foul magic he’s discovered?”

Michael nodded. “He’s almost sure to fall for this one,” she purred. “Perhaps we should just let nature take its course?”

Gabriel scowled, violet eyes fierce. “We can’t just let nature take it’s course! What’s going to happen up here if other angels—simpler-minded angels—find out that humans might bear our children again? It will be chaos!” he shuddered. “No, we need to be sure that everyone up here knows that the way things have always been is the way things will always be. No fornicating. No reproducing. No… field trips to Earth to find yourself a lover.”

“So you’re saying—“

“I’m saying that this child cannot be born,” Gabriel said. “We have to stop this before it goes much further.”

“Should I work with our back channels?” Michael asked, smoothly.

Gabriel stopped, frowning. “Not yet,” he said. “Who knows if they even know? And they might just view this as a perfect opportunity to get one over on us, to get control of the child themselves and somehow use it against us, as some kind of weapon.”

“Mum’s the word,” Michael said, miming a locking motion over her lips with an icy smile.

“Start forming a very small team,” Gabriel said. “Only angels we can absolutely trust. Operatives on Earth, possibly. We’re going to need to make some plans.”

Michael inclined her head and exited the office.

“Aziraphale, you absolute disgrace,” Gabriel muttered to the walls of his office. “You’ve really done it this time. You’re not getting out of this one alive.” 

#

Dagon, Lord of the Files, looked up from the stack of paperwork on his desk to find one of the Erics standing in front of him, looking bored and impatient.

“Can I help you?” she said, baring her needle-like teeth at him.

The Eric straightened up a tad. “Report for you, sir. Ma’am. Flagged priority one.”

Dagon took the offered piece of paper and nodded in thanks, and the Eric skulked away, unharmed. This was never a sure thing when bringing the Lord of the Files more work; Dagon hoped he appreciated the near miss.

“What have we here?” she murmured, unfurling the scroll in front of her. She quickly scanned through the document, then stopped and read it again. “Oh fuck.”

Dagon rolled it back up with a thought and left the office at a jog. This one would require an immediate consultation with Lord Beelzebub.

“How could thizz be?” Beelzebub buzzed, the flies around their head, reflecting their agitation. “He doesn’t have the power. Only our Lord Morningstar can sire whelps.“

“He doesn’t have the power to withstand holy water, either, “said Dagon, “but he somehow did that.“

Bee sighed heavily. “He is mozzt annoying,” they buzzed. “But hizzz overconfidence may be hizzz undoing. We may be prohibited by Her-whose-name -we-shall-not-speak for messing with the angel or the demon in their current corporations, but no such restrictions apply to this human wench and her pup. “

Dagon grinned, looking like she wanted to sink her teeth into something soft and fleshy. “I like how you think, my Lord. “

“He’zzz exposed a chink in his armor,” they said. “Let’s figure out how to best take advantage of it. “

“Should we kill it?“ Dagon asked, licking her lips with a long fishy tongue.

Beez sat back and clearly enjoyed that thought for a moment. They shook their head. “No, that would be a waste of preciouzz opportunity.” They plopped their dark-booted feet on their desk, crumbling a bit of the desk surface off to the floor. “If they’ve gone to all the trouble of making us a miraculous baby with powers, we’d be highly ungrateful we didn’t take it in, don’t you think? “

Dagon threw back her head and laughed. “I think that would be most appropriate. My Lord,“ she said. “And it would give us years of leverage over that fool. “

“Not just that fool,“ Beez said, “but also that sap of a principality he’s bound to. Both will be equally at our mercy if we have control of the babe. And let’s not forget the mother. What might they be willing to do on her behalf?“

Dagon grinned her most terrifying grin and called for one of the messenger demons to bring them some sour ale. It was a festive occasion, after all.

Chapter Text

When they reached the shop, Aziraphale was there at the door, Rafe and Aurielle behind him, his face a study in fury and fear. Emily allowed herself to be bustled into the shop, where Aziraphale hugged her so hard she thought she might be crushed, then examined her from head to toe with eyes, hands, and, she suspected, senses she couldn’t even imagine.

When he’d finally convinced himself that she and the baby were fine, he straightened up and suddenly shifted.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact change. It wasn’t that he was taller, but he seemed taller. It wasn’t that he was trimmer, because he was the same shape that he’d always been, but somehow he gave the impression of added density, or a solidity of purpose that he hadn’t possessed a moment before. His face had taken on a hardened aspect, sharp and cold, and his eyes—his eyes were breathtaking. Their typical sunny blue was now icy, and they seemed to give off a light of their own.

“Rafe, Aurielle, take Emily into our room—it’s the most heavily shielded in the house—and don’t take your eyes off of her for one second,” Aziraphale commanded. “I’m about to contact Heaven, and we might receive a visit in return. Do not let anyone in or out of that room except for me or Crowley, do you understand?”

“Got it,” Rafe said, conjuring a long, staff-like weapon out of thin air.

Aurielle turned to Emily, noting she looked terrified. “Come on,” she said, slinging an arm around her. “Don’t worry, they know what they’re doing, and there’s not an archangel in the world that can get by me and Raphael.”

Aurielle had a quiver of arrows on her back, Emily noted. Still a little in shock from the incident at the store, she followed them up to the bedroom without question.

#

Aziraphale rolled back the antique rug that covered the rune circle outside his office and got to work setting it up for activation. Even the sight of it made his skin crawl; the circles within a square within a double-circled boundary, filled with arcane sigils and runes. A direct line to Heaven, if he chose to use it. The last time he had, it had been disastrous. He glanced at Crowley, who leaned on a nearby column, safely outside of the runes, and could tell from his face that he was remembering the same thing.

This time, he made sure his candles were safely ensconced in mason jars, carefully placing one at each of eight points, then carefully lighting them one by one.

When he reached the eighth, he paused. Still time to turn back. But no. This needed to be done. He gestured and the eighth candle lit, and with it, all the lines in the circle began to glow.

A long moment passed, and then the face he’d been dreading appeared in front of him.

The Metatron. God’s supposed mouthpiece, although, to be honest, Aziraphale had his doubts.

“Principality Aziraphale,” the Metatron droned. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I wish to speak to the Almighty herself,” Aziraphale said, knowing even as he said the words that it was hopeless. He could recite the words he knew were coming next, along with the bearded head in front of him.

“To speak to me—“ the voice began.

“Is to speak to the Almighty,” Aziraphale cut in. “Yes, yes, I know. Very well then. I have an announcement I wish to make to all of Heaven. And you are our official spokesperson, are you not?”

The face of the Metatron didn’t so much change in expression—in these thousands of years, he’d never seen its expression change, even once. It was always placid, unperturbed, and vaguely condescending. Instead, it paused for a long moment, and then Aziraphale was rewarded with one long blink.

“This is most irregular,” the Metatron said. “But I will listen to your request.”

“I want,” Aziraphale said, “to let it be known to all the denizens of Heaven above, that I, an unfallen Principality of Almighty God, have fathered a child with a human woman.”

The Metatron said nothing, but blinked again, thereby setting a record for all-time highest emotional reactions during a call.

“The child is half-human, half-ethereal and is not a monstrosity or a nephilim. Let it be known to all of my brethren that we will raise her as a family, on Earth, under the protection of the Almighty.”

A long moment drew out, in which Aziraphale could hear the beating of his entirely non-necessary heart. He stared at the Metatron, who stared at him.

“I will need to discuss this request with the archangels,” the Metatron said. “Thank you for calling.”

The connection fizzled out and all eight candles went out.

#

“Do you think that will work?” Crowley asked, coming up beside him as the angel stepped away from the circle.

“Oh I do,” Aziraphale said. “That’ll send them all into a tizzy. We should hear back from Michael or Gabriel any second now.”

They turned their attention to a second circle, this one newly constructed, and waited.

#

A boom of displaced air announced their expected guest—the archangel Gabriel, in the flesh. He materialized into the shop and immediately stepped towards them, only to find himself held inside a barrier.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Aziraphale,” he said. “What is this?”

“Just insurance,” the angel answered.

“Feels demonic,” the archangel said, turning his gaze to Crowley. “I sense your hand in this, serpent.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Nothing makes me as happy as a good angel trap.”

“Do you hear that, Principality?” Gabriel groused. “This filth is what you’ve tied your life to?”

Aziraphale stared at him, hands behind his back, refusing to be baited. “You wanted to speak to us?” he asked, voice cold.

Gabriel straightened his shoulders and adjusted his ridiculous violet silk tie. “We heard from the Metatron. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but I’m hear to tell you there’s absolutely no way we’re sharing your fucking birth announcement—“ he spat the word as if even the sound of it made him ill—“with all of Heaven.”

“Yes, I would imagine doing so would create quite a problem for you,” Aziraphale said. “How unfortunate that would be. And yet, you seemed so eager to find out more about her, sending down Michael to possess that poor human and get her hands right on the source of the matter.”

“Your Hellspawn did quite a number on Michael,” Gabriel spat. “I don’t know what you think you have in there, but it’s obviously monstrous.” He looked around. “Where is the whore and her whelp, anyway? I’d like to lay eyes on her myself.”

Crowley snarled and stepped forward. “Watch yourself, you asshole. That barrier might keep angels in, but it does not keep demons out.”

Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley’s arm, pulling him back.

“The message we sent through the Metatron was a courtesy call,” he said. “We don’t need you to get our message out. We can send a celestial birth announcement to every corner of Heaven and Hell in an instant, if we choose to. We were simply giving you the option to respond and negotiate a different scenario. After all, such a thing would be quite bad for you, wouldn’t it?”

Crowley smiled, showing his eye teeth. “Certainly seems that way,” he hissed. “Angels questioning everything they’ve ever been taught? Abandoning their posts to seek the daughters of man? It’d be chaos.”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Gabriel said, but he looked appraisingly at Aziraphale. “What do you want?”

“To be left alone,” Aziraphale said. Gabriel scoffed, but he was listening. “Nothing more.”

Gabriel eyed them both coldly. “The child is an abomination. I cannot leave it to live.”

“The child is a child,” Aziraphale said. “It deserves life as much as you do. More even, since it has yet to commit the multitude of sins you carry in your heart. Envy. Deception. Manipulation. Greed. Vanity.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. “How. Have. You. Not. FALLEN?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said, reaching for Crowley’s hand. “I love and have married a demon. I’ve fornicated with him in every conceivable way. I’ve fathered a child. I’ve turned my back on you and your strangle-hold on the Heavenly bureaucracy. And yet? Here I am. Still an angel. Still in a state of grace.”

“It defies belief,” Gabriel said.

“No,” Aziraphale said. “It’s ineffable. But unless you’ve set yourself up as God’s replacement—which I think even you would hesitate to do—you must admit that it seems my actions have not met with God’s disapproval.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sunshine, but it’s also possible that God’s been busy elsewhere and hasn’t had time to turn her attention to you.”

“That seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale said, turning to Crowley. “I mean, she sent us a wedding gift.”

Gabriel’s face paled, and his jaw worked as if he were chewing on something incredibly distasteful. After a moment’s struggle, he spat out the words like they were a physical entity.

“What,” he said, each word clearly costing him, “do you want?”

“I want you to sign a contract that you will not meddle with us or with Emily and the baby. That you will launch no attacks, explicit or implicit, no spells or enchantments, and use no human agents to hurt the child in any way, at any time, now or in the future.”

“And in return?”

“And in return, we will live quietly, under the radar. We will do our utmost to make the child appear human to the world, and teach her to control her abilities when needed. We will make no move to announce her true nature to anyone in Heaven.”

Gabriel glowered, his violet eyes burning. He looked at Aziraphale for a long moment, then at Crowley. Then he carefully straightened his cuffs.

“I’ll take your proposal to Michael,” he said. “If we agree, we will send a document down for your perusal.”

And with that, he disappeared.

#

“This is intolerable,” Gabriel seethed, pacing back and forth in his office. “Those bastards think they have us over a barrel, here. There must be a way out of this.”

Sandalphon smiled, gold tooth glinting ominously. “If the girl and the child were to meet with an immediate accident, there’d be nothing left for them to tell Heaven about, would there?”

Michael looked askance at Sandalphon, who was all brawn and no brain. “If we could get to them, we already would’ve. Unfortunately, my brief encounter with the girl at the shop revealed our hand prematurely. There’s very little chance they’ll allow us to get anywhere near her again.”

“You should’ve stabbed her with your sword when you had the chance,” Gabriel muttered.

All three of them jumped as a distant clap of something that sounded almost like thunder sounded. Nervous eyes met nervous eyes all around.

“Surely that was some kind of strange coincidence?” Michael said smoothly. “I mean, She hasn’t been listening to us in ages.”

Gabriel straightened up nervously. “It’s no use,” he said loudly and clearly, just in case. “We’ll have to give them the terms they want.” He made a flourish, and a scroll appeared on the desk. He leaned over it, working for a few minutes with a pen, adjusting various clauses, circling items, and then waved a hand over it to finalize the amendments.

He held out his pen to Michael. “Come on, there’s no choice but to sign it.”

Both Michael and Sandalphon signed, then turned to go.

“Michael,” Gabriel called. “Stay a moment, will you? I need to talk to you.”

#

With a brief and beautiful chime, a shimmering scroll of parchment appeared on Aziraphale’s desk, scented of myrrh. Definitely Heaven.

They both stared at it from their seats on the couch. Neither moved.

“Well, I suppose that’s it, then?” Aziraphale said.

“I don’t trust it,” Crowley murmured. “It’s not like those bastards to give in this easily.”

Aziraphale turned a weary face towards him. “I don’t kid myself for even a second that they mean us no further harm. But let’s find out what they have to say, shall we?”

He walked to the desk, picked up the scroll, and unwrapped it in a shower of angelic glitter.

“Oh bugger,” Crowley said. “It’s going to take forever to get that out of the carpet.”

#

“Yes?” Michael said, stepping back into the office.

Gabriel shut the door behind him and gestured her over to the desk. He snapped and pleasant elevator music filled the office, covering their voices, just in case Someone was listening.

He leaned forward, keeping his voice just above a whisper. “Signing that thing doesn’t mean the game is over. It just means we have to pursue our goals in other ways.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“The contract said no Heavenly resources would be used to interfere with the life of the whore and her child."

“Yes, and?”

“You still have connections Below, correct?”

Michael smiled. “Indeed, I do. Completely off record, of course.”

Gabriel nodded. “Good. I think, perhaps, we need to work out a sort of cross-department collaboration for this one.”

“Even if it means the baby ends up in the hands of Hell?”

Gabriel gave her a smarmy grin. “That’s a minor issue. What matters is that they get the baby away from Aziraphale and his demon lover. Once that’s done, we open negotiations to get it back ourselves. Maybe trade some prisoners.” 

Michael smiled. “I’ll reach out and make some contacts, then, yes?”

“Exactly.”

#

Aurielle kept an arm wrapped around Emily, who sat huddled on the end of the couch. “So this document promises Heaven won’t try to interfere with either Emily or the baby?”

“In exchange for us keeping the baby’s true nature quiet,” Aziraphale said, “which to be honest, we’d largely have to do anyway, if we’re going to raise her in any kind of human community.”

Emily nodded. This was true. They’d have to teach her to appear human if they wanted her to go to school, or have playdates, or do any kind of normal childhood activities.

“Do they mean it?” Her voice, even to her ears, sounded tremulous, and she tried to straighten up and look tougher. She wasn’t just some damsel in distress. If there was a fight, she was going to be part of it.

Everyone paused, and all eyes fell to Crowley, who was combing through the document for the fifth time. When he looked up, his eyes were vaguely bloodshot.

“We’ve all read it. We’ve examined it for hidden wording, we’ve scanned it for imprecise language or tricky clauses that can come back to bite us. I can’t find any deception in it, angel,” he said.

Aziraphale frowned. “So you think it’s genuine? Do you all think so?”

“Not for one bloody second,” Raphael growled. “But it buys you a little time while they figure out what to do next.”

“Probably not,” Aurielle said sadly. “But I agree with Rafe.”

Crowley nodded.

“All right, then,” Aziraphale said. “We sign.”

He and Crowley both did, on the lines indicated, and as soon as they did, the document fizzled and disappeared.

“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll ensure that we get a copy.”

No one spoke.

#

They had a grim and quiet dinner, all five of them. Emily noted the packages from their shopping, lying abandoned at the top of the stairs to the flat. She no longer cared about what was in them; the whole excursion seemed like it had happened weeks ago, even though it had only been this morning.

No one ate much. No one except Emily, that is. The baby didn’t care that everyone was upset. It smelled food and wanted food. She was almost disgusted with herself as she dug in. She hoped no one was judging her.

Crowley put down his fork and stopped pretending to eat. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to get out of London for a while?”

“Would it be? Why?” Aziraphale asked.

“Too many people here,” Crowley said. “And it might be good to be somewhere they don’t expect, for a bit.”

Aziraphale mulled it over. “I suppose that with all the modifications finished, the cottage is as heavily shielded as the shop now.”

“Safe as houses,” Crowley said, looking across the table at her. “And it might be nice for Emily to have a bit of a break, too. All of this stress and craziness…”

Emily nodded. “I wouldn’t mind getting away for a bit. It’d be easier to see a threat coming out there, wouldn’t it? Fewer people, like Crowley said?”

Aziraphale nodded. “You may have a point. Raphael, Aurielle, would you be willing? There's a bedroom upstairs, or you can make up a structure in the back garden for yourselves if you’d like—but I think if we go, we’d like to have you on the property rather than down the lane.”

Raphael turned to Aurielle, blue eyes searching hers, before he turned back to the angel. “Of course,” he said. “If you go, we’ll be there.”

Emily cleared her throat. “Could… could we go tonight?”

Aziraphale laid a hand on hers, clearly worried. “I was thinking tomorrow, love,” he said. “But what makes you say that?”

Emily shook her head, feeling foolish. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. I just… now that you’ve mentioned it, I really, really want to get out of here. Like… now. Right now.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing, and Emily held her breath.

“It doesn’t matter to me one whit if you’re having a premonition or if you’re just nervous,” Aziraphale said. He snapped his fingers and the dishes and food were cleared away. “If you want to go now, I’m all for it. Everyone in agreement?”

As one, everyone nodded.

“Okay,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s get packed up. We leave in an hour.”

Chapter Text

Emily woke up the next morning with a gasp, flinging herself upright in bed before realizing where she was. Crowley scrambled awake beside her, throwing himself out from the covers, one arm thrust out to protect her before he was even fully awake.

“What?” he said. “What happened?”

Emily covered her face. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just woke up in a panic. Wasn’t sure where I was.”

Crowley threw himself backward onto the bed. “Thank Someone,” he said, holding a forearm over his eyes. “What time is it? Where’s the angel?”

“I don’t know. Morning, looks like.” Emily realized she could hear the shoosh-shoosh of the waves out behind them, and slowly put things together. They were at the cottage. Hiding from Heaven’s next move.

She gave Crowley an apologetic kiss and tumbled clumsily out of the bed, dragging on a dressing gown.

“Morning, love,” Aziraphale said when she arrived in the kitchen, looking for coffee. “Are you doing well this morning?”

Emily nodded and sat. “Woke up rough, but I’m okay. Where is everyone?”

“Aurielle and Raphael went out to walk the perimeter and see how much of the beach could be secured if they extended the boundaries of our wards,” he said, pouring her a cup of coffee and adding cream until it was just the color she liked. He passed it to her. “We want you to be able to go down to the water as much as possible. I know how you love it.”

Emily pulled the cup to her and took a long, grateful sip, knowing that the angel would already have cooled it slightly for her. He was good with these thoughtful little touches.

“Are we safe here?” she asked, not quite looking up. “I’m kind of freaked out after yesterday.”

The fact that that woman, that horrible, powerful, ethereal being who wanted to kill both her and the baby, had gotten close enough not only to threaten her but had had her hands right on the baby? She shivered again just thinking about it, and her stomach gave a violent twist.

Aziraphale pulled a chair very close to her and tilted hers around until she was facing him. “I’m so sorry, my dear. She should never have been able to get that close to you. I’m sure you must be frightened.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Emily said, stamping down on the sensation of tears building behind her eyes. “But yeah. I’ve never been the kind of person who things like this happen to. I’m… I’m nobody, no one important. Now I’ve got Heaven after me? And possibly Hell too? I don’t know what to think anymore.” 

Aziraphale pulled her into a hug. “You are not and never were nobody, my love. But I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this. It’s all because of us and our past sins—we should bear the brunt of it, not you.”

Apparently, Emily thought, it was a morning for tears. She gave up fighting them.

Crowley walked in as the angel was rocking her, petting her hair as she cried. “What’s going on?” he mouthed behind Emily’s back.

“Just letting out some stress,” he murmured to both of them, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“I hate seeing you this unhappy, Em,” Crowley said, hands hanging helplessly at his sides.

“I’m not unhappy!” Emily said, rearing back, realizing how ridiculous she must look, hair unbrushed, eyes and nose leaking copiously, face red from weeping. Thinking no one would believe her just made her even more insistent, more annoyed. “I’m very h-h-happy! I’m the happiest I’ve ever been!”

And then she was laughing as well as crying, and then she was sandwiched in the middle of a three-way hug, none of the participants sure whether to laugh or mourn, and somehow, all of it met in the middle and the outcome was that Emily suddenly felt all right again.

 Aziraphale chuckled softly. “What a start to our morning. Who wants eggs? Oh, and Emily, I’ll make your drink for you.”

Emily sighed. “Oh swell, remembered to pack those, did you?”

Crowley grinned at her.

#

“Where the hell did they go?” Gabriel shouted into his desk phone. “What do you mean, the trackers have gone blank?”

The terrified angel at the other end of the line sputtered helplessly, trying to explain the unexplainable, but Gabriel wasn’t having it. “You’re fired, Tabris,” he snarled. “Both of you are. Report to the quartermaster for reassignment at your earliest convenience.”

He slammed down the phone. Incompetents. He’d replace them with someone better.

  #

“The beach is secure, but unfortunately I wouldn’t go into the water much,” Raphael said, wandering into the kitchen dressed only in a pair of board shorts that were glaringly neon. His dark hair dripped with saltwater, and he grabbed a tea towel to wring it out over the sink. “There’s no way of really extending the barriers into that, because the water is moving too much. Never the same drop twice and all that.” He looked around, taking in the high emotional state of the room. “What’s wrong with all of you?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, putting a plate of poached eggs down in front of the archangel. “Just a rough wake up this morning. Thank you for checking the beach.”

 Raphael rolled his eyes and dug into his eggs. “Perfect, mate, cheers. And as for you,” he pointed a fork at Emily. “You’ve got four of the strongest immortals on the planet at your beck and call, protecting you. You’re not going to be alone for one second. Please don’t worry.” He made a preening gesture and gave her a saucy wink. “It’s downright insulting.”

Emily laughed.

#

In her office, Tabris turned to Jeromius. “We’ve been fired,” she said. “We don’t have to do this anymore.”

Jeromius took in a slow breath. “You mean… we’re free? We don’t have to sit hunched over these monitors all day any longer?”

Tabris smiled what was probably one of the first genuinely joyful smiles she’d indulged in over the last two thousand years. “What should we do instead?”

“Well,” Jeromius said, moving closer, “I thought perhaps we’d start with this.”

He leaned in and tried something they’d watched the demon and the angel do many, many times. That strange thing they did with their mouths. He’d been wanting to try it for centuries now, but it was hard when you felt like you could literally never take your eyes off the monitors for fear of missing something.

Now, though, he leaned in and pressed his mouth-shaped orifice against Tabris’s mouth-shaped orifice, and waited. At first he was almost disappointed with nothing seemed to happen, but then she shifted under his approach and moved her lips just slightly, and… was she doing it back?

Jeromius felt a stirring somewhere deep within that he had no name for.

He pulled back. “Tabris,” he said. “Did Gabriel say we had to report to the quartermaster immediately?”

Tabris, unable to speak, shook her head.

“Good,” her friend and partner said. “Because I have an idea.”

#

Michael was growing tired of wearing disguises. If it wasn’t being draped in some human shop-girl’s form, it was this—covering one’s self in demon filth, wearing rags, and corrupting your skin with fake boils, all so you could pass unnoticed through Hell for a secret meeting with Lord Beelzebub and her piscatory sidekick. The boils were making her face itch, but she fought off the urge to scratch. It just wasn’t dignified, and she had no intention of letting them see her discomfort.

“So you see, we’ll provide a feint,” Michael said. “They’ll be expecting us to attack, of course, but our attack should give you just enough time to grab the girl and go.”

“How are we supposed to grab the girl?” Dagon hissed, her fishlike teeth clacking as she spoke. “Wherever they are, they’ll have it warded to the teeth.”

“Oh,” Michael said. “About that. We’ve had the most brilliant idea.”

She smiled and filled them in.

#

Over the next week, Emily practiced her new power surreptitiously, trying to see how far she could extend her talents. She got pretty good at manipulating tiny objects. She could spin paperclips, roll dice and even slightly influence how they landed (a skill she couldn’t wait to share with Crowley, who could undoubtedly think of a dozen great ways to make use of it), and even, if she really concentrated, flip the lock on the back door with a little difficulty.

She tried to keep it out of sight, though. Both the angel and demon seemed to find it worrisome, these changes. Mother hens, the both of them, she thought with a smile. It took both her and Aurielle combined to keep them calm.

At least there were only three more months to go.

#

“Do you think it will work?” Dagon asked Lord Beelzebub.

“It hazzz a good chance,” Lord Beelzebub said, reclining in their throne with one black boot kicked up across their knee. “And if it doezzn’t? Heaven holdzzzz all the risk and all the fallout.”

Dagon frowned. “How’d you figure?”

“We won’t even be there, stupid,” Beelzebub said, pretending not to notice when Dagon preened under the praise. “They’re going to be the ones stuck holding their dickzzz in their handzzzz if our attempt to grab the baby goezzz awry. No one will even know we attempted it unless we succeed.”

Dagon shot her fist up into the air. “You’re brilliant, boss. You know, of course, that they’ll be hoping to double cross us in the end.”

Beelzebub grimaced. “Of course they will. Angelic scum. Let them try. Once we get the child in our handzzzz, we will never let her go.”

Dagon drained her sour ale in one long swig and stood. “Shall we get started, then? It's going to take some time to get it right.”

Beelzebub nodded, fiddling with the piece of paper that Michael had given them. “Yes. We will begin.”

#

Emily was outside on the back patio the first time it happened. An odd, squeezing sensation in her abdomen, like someone was slowly tightening their grip on it. It wasn’t painful so much as deeply strange. She frowned and sat up in her lounge chair, hand on her belly.

Beside her, Aurielle looked up from the cheesy tabloid she was reading her way through. “Everything okay?” 

It stopped after a second, and Emily relaxed. “Just had a weird feeling,” she said. “Like a cramp, kind of, but more of a squeeze?”

“May I feel?” Aurielle sat up and turned to face her on the edge of her chaise lounge. 

Emily nodded and sat back while the archangel laid her hands on the baby. She closed her eyes and sent out feelers, resulting in what Emily had always felt at such moments—feelings of warmth and peace and care. She waited, wondering what Aurielle was finding.

“I don’t sense anything wrong,” Aurielle said. “Baby seems healthy. She says hello, by the way, and she wants a cheeseburger and some oranges.”

Emily laughed. “Imagine my surprise. That’s all she ever wants.”

“And ice cream,” Aurielle said. “Man, this kid is going to be a handful. How far along are you again?”

Emily counted up. “I think about six and a half months?”

“It could just be practice contractions,” Aurielle said. “Oh, now don’t look like that. It’s perfectly normal. Starts for most women around six or seven months. It’s your body getting ready for birth.”

“Oh great. Is it going to happen a lot?”

“I wouldn’t expect so, no,” Aurielle said. “Just let me know when it happens for a while and we’ll monitor it. Any other symptoms right now?”

Emily took inventory. “A bit of dizziness, maybe?”

“Probably you need some water,” Aurielle said. She snapped and a glass of ice water appeared on the small table between them. “Drink up and relax.”

#

“What’re they called again?” Aziraphale said, his brow furrowed in concern as he rubbed Emily’s back.

“Braxton Hicks contractions,” Aurielle said. “Nothing to worry about. It’s normal for this stage, and as with nearly everything about this pregnancy, they’re a little more intense than they might be for a human pregnancy.”

Emily looked up. “It stopped,” she said. Then she grabbed for the kitchen counter in front of her as the room spun a little. 

“And the dizziness is part of it?”

Aurielle shrugged. “I don’t think it’s typical, no. But I’ve examined her closely and we’ve been tracking this for days. Nothing is wrong with her. She’s healthy as a horse.”

Emily stood up and stretched, hands on her mid-back. “Okay,” she said. “It’s nap time. Who’s my babysitter this time?”

Aziraphale gave her a quelling look. “Don’t be flip, dearest. You know the reason we aren’t leaving you unsupervised.”

“Not even for a nap?” she pleaded. “It’s got to be so utterly boring for all of you.”

“I’ll go,” Crowley called from the living room. “Always up for a nap, me.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but she didn’t really fight it.

To be honest, she didn’t really want to be left alone anymore either.”

#

“You got a list for me?” Raphael said, coming in the back door from the garden. “I’m ready to make a grocery run.”

Aziraphale put down the pencil he was holding and ripped the top sheet of paper off the notepad. “Here’s what we need. Thank you for making the trip. And please keep a low profile.”

“Blahblahblah,” Raphael said, flipping his dark, glossy hair back over his shoulder. “I know the drill, Principality.”

Aziraphale watched as he sashayed out the door, heading for the little rental Peugeot he’d secured for himself, and tried not to fret.

#

“You see, Tabris,” Jeromius said, “I think I know where they might’ve gone.”

Tabris blinked. “Who?”

“Our charges. The angel and the demon. Remember earlier this year when they suddenly went on vacation for a few weeks? Out by the coast?”

Tabris thought back. It was normal for one or the other of their charges to leave London periodically, but their outings were usually very predictable—off to a variety of booksellers or remote wine shops in rural England. Sometimes over the Channel to Paris for a meal and a few nights at a hotel. This one had been different. They’d gone less than eighty miles straight East, almost as if they were going to cross the Channel again, and then they’d just… stopped. In a tiny coastal town of no particular renown. And they’d stayed there for weeks. It was odd, but nothing worth reporting to their higher ups. And they’d committed almost no noteworthy sins while they stayed there; almost no fornicating, very little drinking, and a real reduction in swear words. It was almost as if the two were on their very best behavior for some reason.

“I noticed, shortly before we left our posts, that the whole location had just gone dark,” Jeromius continued.

“What, the coast?”

“No,” he said, “the little structure they were staying in. It’s like it disappeared from the maps.”

Tabris sucked in a breath. Oh, but he was brilliant! “Like they’ve hidden it?”

“Exactly.”

“And you want to go see them? Check in on them, somehow?” Tabris asked.

“I want to go warn them,” Jeromius said. “Come on, don’t you think they ought to know that Gabriel has it in for them, that he’s spying on them? I don’t really see what’s so wrong about anything they’re doing.”

Tabris added this to her mental tally of things she was going to have to seek penance for. The list had been growing exponentially lately.

She was going to demur, to talk Jeromius out of it. Becoming lovers was one thing, but going on walkabout without permission? That could get a lower-level angel into real trouble. But just as she turned to do so, she caught the flush on Jeromius’s cheeks, the excited look in his eye, and then the kicker.

Jeromius was no longer hunched over. He stood upright, shoulders back, looking for the first time she could remember like a confident angel-of-the-world.

“Oh, all right,” she said, unbearably fond. “If you think it would be helpful.”

#

“This is it?” Tabris said, looking around, trying to hide her disappointment. It was just a village. They’d materialized on High Street, amid a row of whitewashed shops with colorful signs. Parked cars sat along one side and humans rushed between them, out doing their shopping. She’d expected something more dramatic.

“Well, it’s not their home, but their home is blocked,” Jeromius said. “But someone’s nearby. I can feel an angelic presence.” He stopped and looked around. “Over there.”

He pointed, and they watched as a dark-haired, androgynous-looking man came out of a shop dragging several carrier bags. He stuffed them in a small green car and then started the engine.

“Dude,” Tabris said, “was that—“

Jeromius swallowed. “Raphael? I think so. We need to be extremely careful.”

They followed him as close as they dared as he headed out of town, driving recklessly and nearly taking out a road sign and several fence posts. Finally, he slowed down and stopped outside several small cottages.

He climbed out of the car, put down his carrier bags, and turned to face them where they huddled behind a tree.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice reverberating like doom. “Show yourselves.”

Tabris stepped out, hands held high in front of her. “Uh, Raphael, sir,” she stammered, “we don’t mean you any harm.”

Jeromius stepped out as well, moving slowly. “Not at all, uh, sir. Please don’t discorporate us. We… we came to warn you.”

Raphael, still oozing menace, took a step towards them. “Warn me of what?”

“Well, sir,” Tabris said, “we were recently fired. Let go from our positions. Which were to watch them.” She nodded her head towards the pink cottage he’d parked in front of.

“The angel and the demon,” Jeromius filled in. “Been the ones in charge of the track on them for the last three thousand years. Incoming Data department, but they honestly only use it for them.”

“And Gabriel fired us, you see,” Tabris said, “because we lost track of them entirely when you moved here.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “So you work for Gabriel? This is not helping your case to stay incorporated.”

“Used to work for Gabriel,” Tabris said desperately, not allowing herself to think of the penance for her words. “He’s a right wanker, that one. Worst posting in the entire department.”

Raphael smiled at that, but to say that his smile was slightly less terrifying than his prior expression was to say that a velociraptor is only slightly less terrifying than a tyrannosaurus rex. Both are likely to kill you. “So what’s the warning?”

“They’re planning something,” Jeromius said. “And they’re working with Hell. I overheard Michael and Gabriel talking about cooperating. With demons! Can you believe it?”

He remembered at the last second that Raphael also, apparently, was in the habit of cooperating with demons. At least it appeared that way, since he seemed to be out doing the demon’s marketing for him. He shut his mouth and tried to shrink.

“Know any useful details?”

“No,” Tabris said, “but we’d be glad to stay and help, if you need it.”

Raphael looked them over. “Stay here,” he said. “I need to go talk to my friends.”

He picked up the bags and disappeared inside the house.

“Well,” Jeromius said faintly, sounding like he might be about to wheeze. “That went relatively well, I’d say.”

#

“So you’ve got two renegade angels out there who say they want to help?” Aziraphale said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure we can afford to believe them. It might be a trick.”

“They did say that Gabriel is a wanker,” Rafe offered. “That was convincing. I’m not sure Gabriel’s spies would have the nerve.”

“And they’ve already tracked you here, you incompetent boob,” Aurielle said, whacking him on the arm. “How could you lead them right to the cottage?”

Raphael rubbed his arm and sniffed. “They already knew where we were. It wasn’t my fault.”

Crowley stood up from his chair. “Perhaps I should go out and talk to them. See what they’re really made of?”

#

“Oh God. Oh God in Her Heavens,” Jeromius uttered under his breath. “It’s the Serpent. The Serpent is coming over here to talk to us.”

“Stand tall,” Tabris said, clasping her shaking hands behind her back. “Don’t let him know you’re afraid.”

“So,” the demon drawled, sauntering around them in a wide circle. “You two wanna join the team, do you?” He peered at them over the top of his dark glasses and let just a bit of his infernal nature leak through his eyes. “Sure you’re up for it?”

Both of the angels jumped.

“We—we—“ Tabris stammered.

“It’s partly that we simply had nowhere else to go,” Jeromius stammered. “And, well, we felt like we knew you two, a bit, because—well, you see—“

“Because you’ve been spying on me for the last few millennia?” Crowley hissed. “That’s a great foundation for a friendship, right there. Sure, what the hell, c’mon in.” He did not move, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

#

“We’ve got them,” Gabriel crowed, watching the monitor on his desk. “They’ve got Crowley out in front of some pink house.” He pressed a button to fine tune location tracking. “Somewhere near Dover. We’ll get the data out of it later.”

Michael pressed in for a look. “See? I told you firing those two idiots would lead us right to them. They’re much too invested in those two to not go poking around.”

Gabriel flashed his brightest smile at her and held out a hand. “Michael, old friend, I have to hand it to you. You’ve got a brilliant head on your shoulders. Absolutely the best strategist we have.”

Michael shook the offered hand, offering a pleased but reserved smile. Gabriel was always so over-the-top about everything. She preferred to keep her joys and sorrows to herself. She glowed internally, the satisfaction of the righteous.

“Shall I recall them?” she asked, pulling out her phone.

Gabriel nodded, still watching the screen.

She pressed a few buttons and reached the transportation division. “Hello Anathiel. Yes, we’re ready to recall those two clerk angels I told you about. Please initiate.”

“Watch this,” she said with a tight smile. “I think you’re really going to enjoy the look on the Serpent’s face now.”

#

“And how exactly could you help us?” Crowley asked.

Jeromius looked down. “We… we can fight. We’re both trained infantry. And we know a lot of things about Gabriel. And a bit about Michael, although she’s much harder to gather intel on.”

That did sound interesting, Crowley thought. “Perhaps we should have a longer conversation,” he said. “You’re not coming inside, but you can follow me around to the patio if you’d like.”

He turned, not waiting to see if they would follow, and headed towards the back of the house.

He flinched instinctively when he heard the chime, and turned around just in time to see Jeromius and Tabris gasp and look up at a beam of light, both of their faces horrified, before it sucked them up into the ether and disappeared.

“Oh fuck!” Crowley shouted. “FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!”

#

“They know where we are,” Crowley told his companions grimly. “Whatever they’re planning will come soon.”

“So they were spies?” Aziraphale asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Crowley said. “They seemed sincere. And they seemed to truly dislike Gabriel. I think they were just… naïve.”

Aurielle nodded. “They didn’t realize there was no chance they ran off to Earth without someone up there noticing. Poor fools.”

“Well, those poor fools just inadvertently revealed our exact location,” Raphael said, leaning heavily on the counter, staring out the window over the sink. “I should’ve discorporated them where they stood, nice kids or not.” 

Aurielle hugged him from behind. “You were merciful,” she said. “It’s in your nature.”

“Should’ve sent you. Aurielle the pitiliess,” he bit back.

Aurielle let go. “No need to be a dick about it.”

“What do you think?” Crowley asked. “Should we run? Try to find a new location?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. No, I think the time for that is past, and it would take too long to secure a new location as thoroughly as you’ve done here. We have the advantage of a fairly remote location that we’ve fine-tuned the defenses of.”

“He’s right,” Aurielle said. “They were always going to come for us. We’ll stay here.”

“I’ll take first watch tonight,” Raphael said. “One of us stays up at all times from here on out.”

Chapter Text

The day broke full of signs and portents. The sunrise broke at a deep red, beautiful, but still a warning. Shortly thereafter, dark clouds rolled in. Someone at breakfast knocked over the salt. The handle cracked off one of the teacups. Perhaps it was the growing tension that plagued the atmosphere of the cottage, but everyone, Emily especially, seemed quite out of sorts.

“I think something’s coming, angel,” Crowley said under his breath as they stood at the sink, staring at the teacup, hastily mended.

The angel’s face was grim beside him. “I think you might be right.”

#

Emily couldn’t be settled. Aziraphale had watched her toss and turn all night, clutching at her abdomen as if it was paining her, unable to fully fall under the throes of sleep even with his hand between her shoulder blades, calming her. When she woke, her hair was plastered to her head and her eyes were wild; she looked almost feverish, although a quick check showed no such thing. Still, she paced the house, uncomfortable.

Aurielle assured him it was not labor, which was a relief—the baby was certainly old enough to survive such a thing, but two months early was still two months early. Best to give the little one all the time she deserved.

“I’m fine,” Emily snapped when he checked on her for the twentieth time. “Stop hovering! You’re making me crazy.”

Definitely out of sorts. He went off to make her a cup of tea. He supposed, just this once, the green drink could wait. She might literally rip his head off if he tried to feed that to her now.

#

How do you attack a house that you cannot enter? A house warded to the gills against all supernatural entities and their wiles?

You start, Michael and Gabriel had decided, with what cannot be warded against.

Namely, weather.

#

“Wind’s really picking up out there,” Rafe said, cranking the kitchen casements closed. “Looks like a storm.”

Aurielle hovered beside him, her face clouded with worry. “It doesn’t feel natural.”

“No,” he said grimly. “It doesn’t.”

“England doesn’t get hurricanes, right?”

“Not normally, no.”

Torrential rain started to fall with a sound like pebbles hitting slate. Hail followed shortly after.

“Fuck,” Aurielle said.

Aziraphale’s voice from the living room dragged her attention away from the sight of the surf lashing hard against the beachfront. “Aurielle? Can you join us, please?”

#

“Something’s wrong,” Aziraphale said, sotto voce. “She just keeps pacing and then grabbing onto something because she’s dizzy, and she doesn’t even always seem oriented. I know she barely slept last night. And she’s very, very tetchy.”

Aurielle watched Emily, who reminded her of nothing so much as a caged polar bear she’d once seen in the zoo. Pacing restlessly, always on the same route. She’d worked a minor miracle to send him back to his natural habitat later that day, but she would always remember the sense of quiet desperation in every line of his body.

“Emily?” Aurielle said, sitting down on the floral davenport in front of the fire. “Come sit with me for a minute.”

Emily looked up, startled out of whatever reverie was filling her head, but she came and joined Aurielle. She looked, the archangel noted, exhausted. Worn. Her eyes looked sunken in and her skin lacked its usual glow. She turned towards the young woman, tucking a leg underneath herself, and reached out to grasp both of Emily’s hands in her own.

“What’s going on, honey?” she said gently, ignoring the angel still observing them from across the room, and sending all of her care and love to the human in front of her. “Please tell me.”

“I don’t feel very well today, Auri,” Emily admitted. “Everything hurts and the room won’t stop spinning. My head is pounding. Am I sick?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Raphael called from the kitchen. “I believe we are under attack.”

Aziraphale made eye contact with Aurielle. “Stay with her,” he ordered, then he rushed off.

#

Crowley followed Rafe’s pointing finger out towards the beach. It had grown strangely dark outside, like something was sucking the light out of the sky, but it was still bright enough for him to make out a set of figures standing on the beach, just outside their ward boundaries. Three or four of them, it looked like. One was human. It didn’t take an archangel to sense the Heavenly nature of the others.

“What the fuck are they doing? They signed a bloody contract!”

Aziraphale sighed heavily. “Their contract said only that they wouldn’t hurt Emily or the baby. It didn’t say they wouldn’t, oh I don’t know, make it rain for some infernal reason.”

“What are they hoping to do?” Rafe said, conjuring his halberd.

“Flush us out like rats, I assume.”

The sea, whipped to a frenzy, crested the beach and began to work its way across the patio.

“Angel,” Crowley said. “Is it me or does that water have a… particularly holy feeling to it?”

Aziraphale frowned. “They can’t have sanctified the sea. It’s not possible. Angels can’t create holy water; only humans can.”

“Then it’s safe to assume they’ve got a human out there with them.”

Crowley backed away from the door as fingers of water seeped through. “But they think I’m immune to holy water! Am I? We never really figured it out for sure.”

“Or maybe they think it was a onetime trick,” Rafe said, waving a hand to de-consecrate the water as it entered. “Either way, it’s an excellent first strike. Clever. Stay back, just in case.”

#

Aurielle laid her hands on either side of Emily’s face, trying to ignore the chaos in the kitchen as she scanned the young woman for illness. She didn’t sense anything; no viruses, no foreign organisms, no fever, but nonetheless, it was clear the human in front of her was ailing. She ran her hands down over her shoulders and back and around to her abdomen, looking for clues. The baby was sleeping comfortably, shifting from time to time. The false contractions were stronger than before, rhythmic, occurring roughly every five minutes. There was something she couldn’t pinpoint, something wrong. She cursed under her breath in frustration. What was it?

With a flash and a popping sound, the lights in the room went out, leaving them lit only with the sickly green glow of the storm outside and the light of the fire.

#

“The power’s out,” Rafe announced.

“Yes, thank you, Raphael, we’re aware.” Aziraphale waved a hand, and the lights flicked back on briefly, then fizzled out again. “The lines are down.”

“What the fuck,” Crowley seethed. “They’re attacking us with what, weather and power outages? What does this mean?”

“It means they’ve figured out the things we can’t ward against. Natural phenomenon. Weather. Floods. Electrical activity.” Rafe looked very annoyed, and an annoyed Raphael was a deadly Raphael. “They’re trying to flush us out.”

With a swoosh, he materialized his sword. “I’m going out.”

“Not alone, you’re not,” Aziraphale said.

“Who’s coming with me?” Rafe spat. “Crowley? He can’t set foot in this rain without fear of being dissolved. You have to stay here and deconsecrate the water that’s coming in so he doesn’t die. Auri’s busy with the girl.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. Rafe gave him a crisp salute and stepped out through the French doors.

#

The waters were halfway across the kitchen floor, only a few centimeters deep, but a few centimeters was more than enough. Crowley had retreated to the living room doorway and watched with wide, angry eyes.

“Is it really consecrated?” he hissed.

“Not all of it,” Aziraphale said, grimly waving a hand over the encroaching edge of it. “No one has that kind of power. But they don’t need to consecrate it all, do they? Just a few molecules here and there is more than enough.”

“We’re not even sure it will affect me,” Crowley hissed. “You know something changed when we married! My wings changed color, and our experiments seemed to say that maybe—“

“—I will NOT risk you based on a theory or an experiment!” Aziraphale thundered, his voice rattling the dishes in the cupboards. “Now be quiet and let me work.”

Crowley swallowed and backed into the living room. He waved a hand and erected a waterproof barrier between the two rooms; low enough to step over, but high enough to keep any moisture out for the moment.

“How is she?” he asked Aurielle, noting the worried look on the archangel’s face. Emily looked only half-awake, and she was clutching her stomach.

“Not good,” Aurielle said, “but I can’t figure out what’s wrong with her.”

“Attack?”

“It shouldn’t be possible. Not with the wards intact.”

Crowley swept an arm around the room. Everything was still in place. Nothing from Above or Below should be able to penetrate the barriers.

“This isn’t good, Crowley,” Aurielle said. “They’re isolating us. You’re stuck in here. Aziraphale’s stuck out there de-sanctifying the water as fast as he can because of course he can’t not. I’m stuck here trying to figure out what’s wrong with Em. And Rafe is out there alone.”

#

Raphael, expeller of demons, trumpeter of the most high, stood on the patio like a mighty rock, unmoved by wind or water.

“Michael, you apostate shithead,” he bellowed. “Show yourself!”

The barrier of their wards was nearly visible now, in that the rain shattered against it and ran down it in rivulets. On the other side, a figure stepped forward, wreathed in a brilliant, white pantsuit that seemed impervious to the weather.

“Hello Raphael,” Michael’s familiar voice chirped. “You’ve thrown your lot in with these heretics?” She made a tutting sound that somehow reached him over the howling of the wind. “What a shame.”

Behind her, he could see two other shapes. One of them was obviously Gabriel, and one of them looked… human? A priest, possibly, judging by the long robes. The source of the holiness of the flood water, no doubt. Gabriel seemed to be shielding the human, sending them energy and focus far beyond their usual power. Even from this distance, he could tell that the human was being pushed beyond all mortal limits.

“What are you playing at, Michael?” Raphael shouted. “You know you can’t take the child after what you signed. You know the consequences of breaking an Enochian contract.”

Michael beckoned him forward. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

Raphael snorted and did as she bid. She couldn’t possibly hurt him and she knew it; she might be the slayer of dragons, but he was the most powerful of them all.

“We’re not trying to take the baby,” she whispered theatrically. “We just need to keep you busy. For just—“ she cocked her head as if listening “—a moment—“ and smiled beatifically “—longer.”

#

“It’s a feint!” Raphael shouted as he raced back towards the cottage. “Guard the girl, it’s some kind of—“

In the living room, Aurielle gasped as Emily started to shimmer. “It couldn’t be—that’s not possible—“ She grabbed Emily in a full body hold. “Crowley, salt! Right now!” she screamed. “It’s a summoning!”

Water be damned, Crowley raced to the kitchen just as Aziraphale emerged, moving faster than human sight could track, salt shaker in hand. Crowley tore for the cupboards, looking for more, for the extra boxes of kosher salt, flinging things to the floor in his haste. He’d just found the big blue box and was heading back to the living room, barely the space between one heartbeat at the next—

—they all made it there in time to watch helplessly as Emily shimmered, convulsed violently, and disappeared.

Chapter Text

The unceasing drip of water, hollow and echoing, woke Emily with a start that turned to terror. She scrabbled to her knees and stared at her unfamiliar surroundings, hand on her belly in a panic about the baby.

Still there. The baby was fine. Even through the fear, she wilted in relief.

She took in her environment via momentary flashes that broke through the panic curdling her stomach. A damp cave. Lit by torches that had a strange smell to them and burned redder than she would’ve expected. A rough gray blanket, and a bowl of water.

Deep breath. She flexed her limbs, testing for injury, and the clatter of metal on metal startled her back to her senses.

Chained. One manacle, left wrist, iron by the look of it, and fastened to the floor through an enormous link that looked like it had grown from the rock more than been planted in it.

She stood cautiously, peering around for any other occupants. No one seemed to be present. How far could she go with the chain on her wrist? About eight feet in any direction. Enough to make a semi-circle, back and forth. Another ten feet beyond the furthest she could reach, she saw a metal door set into the wall, with a small, rectangular plate set into the wall beside it. It looked like some kind of card-reader, or maybe a scanner.

Her skin crawled as she wondered if anyone was watching right now.

Crowley, Aziraphale. Where am I?

Even as she thought it, she already knew. She was in Hell.

Slowly, she retreated to the blanket she’d woken up on, put her back against the wall behind her, and faced the door, waiting.

#

She didn’t wait long. The door slid open and a pair of beings came through, one vaguely reptilian, and one more person-shaped, but of a gender she couldn’t identify. The human-looking one was short and squat, wearing a finely tailored but grubby black suit and, oddly, an orange, diagonal sash, and their hair was a misshapen pile of black that stuck out in all directions and looked like it might have been cut with safety scissors. Strangest of all was a hat shaped like a fly with large, red eyes.

“So you’re the girl whozzzz caused all this trouble,” the being said.

Emily kept her head up defiantly. “And who are you?”

The creature bowed their head. “Lord Beelzebub at your service,” they said. A cloud of flies rose as she moved and then resettled. “I hope the accomodationzzz are to your liking.”

“You don’t have a room?” Emily said. “With a bed?”

“You don’t care for it?” Beelzebub tipped up a corner of their mouth in what might indicate amusement. “Thezze are premium lodgingzzz for Hell. You’re being highly favored.”

Emily looked around, not sure if she was being mocked. “Please, just send me back. I don’t know what you want with me, but I can’t stay here. I’m sure we can work something out…”

“Be quiet, girl!” the being commanded. “You are not going home. We will care for you here until the baby arrivezzz, and then we will see about your fate. If you’re cooperative, maybe we will let you return to Earth after.”

A cold finger of fear stabbed her in the chest. “You… you want the baby?”

“Yes, of course,” Beelzebub said. “What, did you think this was all about you? You may have those two idiotzzz wrapped around your little finger, human, but you’re of little interest to me.” They straightened up, tugged their jacket down, and pulled a notepad out of their pocket. “Tell me. What do you need for the upcoming birth?”

Emily felt completely dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

Beelzebub gestured impatiently. “What do you need, child? Whatever you need, we will provide it. You’ve done thizzz before, have you not?”

“Birth?” Emily said, panic rising. “I’ve never given birth before! I have no idea what’s involved! Are you telling me you expect me to just give you a list or materials and then take care of the process myself?”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “I see. Well, perhaps I can find someone more knowledgeable to attend to you.”

They turned and walked out without another glance.

#

The rain stopped as suddenly as it began; the sky cleared from ominous gray to sunny blue, and the figures from the beach were gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the crumpled figure of their priest behind. Later, they’d check him and find him far beyond help, but for now, the eyes of all four immortal beings fixated in horror on the couch.

At the empty spot on the couch, where just a moment before, Emily had been.

“NO!!!” Crowley howled, gone feral with anger and grief. He swept a hand across the contents of the console table behind the couch, sweeping everything to the floor—plants, little china dish, papers. Then he rounded on all of them, broken and furious. “Where the hell did she go and how the fuck did someone summon a human out of our bloody HOUSE???”

Aziraphale grabbed him and pulled him close, and Crowley fought him, lashing out. “Crowley, listen to me,” he said. “You have to calm down.”

“You calm down—“ he hissed, blindly swinging whatever hand he could get free. “I’m not going to be calm—what the fuck just—“

Aziraphale tightened his grip, pulling him away from the rest of the breakables. He wrapped a muscular arm around the demon’s neck and looked past his shoulder. “Raphael, Aurielle,” Aziraphale said, “can either of you trace where she’s gone?”

Both of them were already in place, hands on the couch, stretching their senses. “There’s a faint trail,” one of them said. “I might… we might… Good news, it’s nearby, I think. Definitely on this plane.”

“I’m going to let you go, Crowley,” Aziraphale said in his ear, his voice steely, “but you have to stay calm. Do you hear me?”

Crowley took a shattered breath and nodded.

Aziraphale released him cautiously, and the demon took a stuttering step back. “Well?” he hissed. “Where is she?”

“Come on,” Raphael said. He held out a hand to Aurielle, and another to the angel, who grabbed Crowley by the wrist. “I think I can take us all.”

A flash, a nauseating swoop, and they were outside of a small metal shack. The sound and smell of it quickly identified it as one of the changing cubicles that lined the beaches in this area. Aziraphale scrambled forward, wrenched the door entirely off its frame, and… stopped.

It was empty.

The floor showed signs of recent usage. Candle wax pooled at various points, and the remains of a chalk circle were visible on the floor. Aziraphale summoned a ball of light in the dim interior and gasped as he looked at it. “They summoned her, here. Right here. How far are we from the house?”

Aurielle looked up. “A hundred yards north, I think. I can see the pathway up to the cottage, just barely.”

“Bloody hell, they were so bloody close,” Raphael breathed, looking ill.

Crowley pushed Rafe aside and stepped into the shack beside the angel. He sniffed the air. “Humans,” he said. “Humans did the summoning; they’d have to. But there was a demon here.” He sniffed again. “I don’t know who. Not a smell I recognize.”

Raphael spoke from the doorway. “So, they snatched her here, under our very noses, and then what?”

Crowley stood tall, as if any movement might break him into pieces, and turned to face them all. “And then they took her down to Hell.” He swallowed. “She’s in Hell.”

#

“I don’t understand,” Aurielle said as they sat around the kitchen table, shell-shocked and desperately trying to plan. “How did they even summon her? She’s a human being! It isn’t possible.”

Aziraphale took a sheet of paper from the sideboard, flourished a pencil from nowhere, and began tracing out shapes. “Parts of the circle had been obliterated, so I can’t recreate it completely, but this is what I could see of the sigils they used. They’re quite strange.”

He finished and pushed the paper out into the middle of the table, where they all peered at it, turning the sheet around to view it from different angles.

It was Crowley who got it first. He snatched the pencil out of Aziraphale’s hand and rotated the paper. “See, if you do this,” he said, adding a few lines to the partial image, “this part here looks like your sigil, doesn’t it angel?”  He turned it again and frowned at it. “And it’s like there’s another sigil on top of it, kind of wound through it.” He made a few more lines and then paled. “My sigil, actually, if you erase this part here, and fill in this line like this…”

Everyone stared.

“Your sigil and mine combined,” Aziraphale said, sounding it out. “They used that to summon her? But how? There’s no way that could—“

“The baby,” Aurielle said, eyes wide. “It represents the baby. Made up of part of each of you.”

“No offense, Auri, but I thought the baby was all his?” Crowley said.

“We never knew that for sure. And this seems to show that maybe it’s both of yours. Always said it might be. There’s no real way to tell.”

“But how did they work this out?” Raphael snapped. “It seems like something completely made up.”

“It’s possible,” Aurielle said, her voice sounding strangled, “that they’ve been working it out by trial and error for some time.”

Everyone stared at her.

“What do you—“ Aziraphale started.

“The dizziness. The squeezing.” Aurielle looked at each of them, her eyes huge and horrified. “I—I thought it was contractions! Oh my God. It wasn’t! They were trying to get the sigils right, all this time, for the last week!” She banged a fist against her temple, then both fists at once on either side, boxing her brain. “How did I not see it? Oh my God, I’m so sorry…”

Crowley was already up out of his chair, advancing on her. “You told us it was contractions,” he hissed. “Nothing to worry about, you ssssaid!”

Rafe was between him and Aurielle before he took a second step. “Stop it right there, Serpent,” he shouted. “It’s not her fault and if you lay a finger on her, I will—“

“ENOUGH.”

Aziraphale’s voice boomed, loud enough to shatter a wine glass that was drying in the sink. Everyone stopped, mesmerized by the sight of the angel, his wings manifested and reaching from his back up to the ceiling, nearly filling the width of the room behind him. He rotated his shoulders cautiously, trying not to scrape any fixtures or cabinets loose.

Across the span of his wings, dozens of eyes blinked, all of them deadly, all of them looking squarely at the creatures in front of him. His own eyes were gone, no longer blue, replaced with burning orbs of white light.

“YOU WILL NOT TURN ON EACH OTHER,” he commanded, turning those blazing, impartial eyes to a stunned, gaping Crowley. “STEP AWAY FROM THE GIRL AND SIT DOWN. SHE DOES NOT DESERVE YOUR WRATH.”

Crowley did.

“AND YOU,” he said, turning to Raphael. “STAND DOWN AND STEP BACK. YOU WILL NOT HARM HIM UNDER MY ROOF.”  

Raphael glared for the briefest of seconds, then he deflated and sat, pulling Aurielle along with him, placing their chairs as close together as possible. Aurielle buried her head in his shoulder, weeping. She was the only one not looking at Aziraphale, aware, perhaps, that she was the only creature there not currently subject to the wrath of a Principality.

“S-s-s-sorry,” the demon hissed out. His tongue, when it flickered out, had reverted to forked form.

“Sorry,” Raphael said.

Aziraphale continued to blaze for a moment, and then in a last flash of light, he released his wings and reverted to his usual self. Human-looking. Soft. He looked, Crowley thought, entirely wrecked.

“Now then,” he said, grasping for the nearest chair and falling into it. “If that nonsense is done, let’s have a spot of tea and figure out what we’re going to do next. Because I promise you,” he said, looking at each of them. “We are going to get her back.”

#

“Well, that went about as well as we could expect, yes?” Michael said as they materialized back to Heaven, sopping and smelling of salt and brine.

Gabriel snapped a hand, and they were dry and freshly clothed. “It did. The contractors Hell hired completed the summoning; I felt the girl leave the cottage, and then leave Earth entirely.” He made a face. “The faint hint of brimstone gave it away the moment it happened.”

“Shame about the priest, though, no?” Michael said guiltily.

“Collateral damage.” Gabriel looked unperturbed. “He died serving a good cause.”

Michael left that alone and changed subjects. “We’ll need to get the video feed from the surveillance office, of course. Can’t have any evidence of our activities floating around.”

Gabriel nodded. “Of course. I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow.”

#

That archangel Gabriel was standing in their office was something of a shock to Jeromius and Tabris. In the entire time they’ve been working with him, Gabriel had never once visited, always requiring them to come scurrying to him at his beck and call.

“Hey there, “Gabriel said, pasting on a smarmy smile while advancing on Jeromius in a manner that couldn’t help but look threatening. “How are my two favorite incoming data clerks?“

Jeromius blinked. “Oh, we’re just fine, sir?” he said, hunching over his desk protectively.

Tabris said nothing. It was easier that way.

Gabriel looked around the small room and sniffed. “Nice place you have here. Could use some decoration.”

Tabris almost rolled her eyes. As if that thought had never occurred to them in three thousand years. Unfortunately, there was no budget for decorating the incoming data office. Never had been.

“What can we do for you, sir?” she asked.

Gabriel, who, she suspected, had always preferred to work with Jeromius over her, the sly misogynist that he was, blinked at her. His smile wavered for a second before he recovered. “I was wondering if you have looked at the Earth video feed from the southeast England from last night.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “There’s some… uh… sensitive material in the feed from that night. I’d like to see it deleted.”

Tabris smiled placidly and waved him over to her computer. She knew exactly what files he was talking about; she and Jeromius had been watching them repeatedly, trying to understand what had occurred. “No problem, sir. Would you like to watch me delete them?”

“That would be excellent,” Gabriel said, leaning over her shoulder officiously. “Let’s do it, sunshine.”

It only took a few keystrokes, and then it was done. The entire log for the prior evening, focused, of course, on Kingsdowne and the cottage, but there was no point in mentioning that she was aware of it. It would only get them in further trouble, and they’d had enough trouble explaining the walkabout they’d already gone on. Tabris knew that if she wanted to keep her head, her job, and her status, she needed to play along.

Gabriel watched as the files disappeared from the list on the screen, then stood up and heaved a satisfied sigh. “Well done, Tabris,” he said. He clapped her on the shoulder, and she did her best not to shy away. Then he looked around once more, brushed his hands off against his pant legs, and headed for the door.

He turned back as his hand reached it, catching them both in his violet gaze. “Keep up the good work, you two,” he said, “and you’ll be off probation for that walkabout in no time. Certainly not more than another decade.”

They both stared after him as he swept out.

Jeromius kept silent until he knew Gabriel was long gone, then he turned to Tabris, eyes wide. “You didn’t really delete them. Did you? “

Tabris nodded, eyes wide. “I most certainly did. Would I disobey a direct order?”

Jeromius sighed. “No, I expect not. Not anymore, at least.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his eyes and voice.

“It’s rather unfortunate, though,” Tabris said, “that he forgot to ask about backups.”

Jeromius looked up, utterly gobsmacked. “You didn’t? “

Tabris grinned. “I most certainly did. Saved them to three different backup sites earlier this morning.” She pulled out a large white envelope and laid it on the desk. “And not only that, I printed them out for urgent delivery to Earth.”

Jeromius sucked in a breath. “My goodness, you have gone rogue, haven’t you?”

Tabris smiled. “It seems I have. Now, let’s get this in the mail. I believe express would be most appropriate, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I certainly think express is called for,” Jeromius said. “You’re very attractive when you misbehave. Did you know that? “

Tabris might’ve had some idea.

#

The envelope, sent quietly through heaven’s services, materialized on the Angel’s desk with not just the usual ping, but with a loud chime that meant a high priority transmission. Crowley looked up from where he was frantically typing on his phone, noted the package, and jumped to his feet.

“Angel!” he called. “Get down here. Something’s arrived. “

The angel came rushing down the stairs, followed closely by Rafael. Both looked harried. Aziraphale went to the desk, picking up the envelope with two fingers, as if it might explode. When it failed to do so, he sat down and eased it open with his gold letter opener, no doubt thinking that this would also make a convenient weapon if the package turned out to contain something that might attack him.

Fortunately, it did not. When he eased the flap open, a pile of 8 x 10 pictures scattered across the desk, topped by a small handwritten note.

“What is it? “Crowley asked, crowding close to see.

Aziraphale picked up the note and adjusted his glasses. “It says, ‘hope this helps’. It’s unsigned.”

He turned his puzzled gaze to the pictures on the desk, spreading them out with one hand. Many of them were blurry and unfocused, but he quickly realized that they were surveillance pictures of the night of the attack at the cottage.

Among the thirty images, four caught his attention.

“Oh my good, sweet—“ Aziraphale gasped. “Is that—”

“I think it is! “Rafael said, eyes wide.

Crowley picked up one image and inspected it. It showed, in unambiguous detail, Gabriel, his hands on the shoulders of the human priest, imbuing him with power, while Michael stood with her sword closer to the cottage.

The next picture showed both of them together, facing Raphael from a few feet away, while the priest lay crumpled and clearly dead on the sand behind them. The third showed various shots of Michael, sword in hand, facing off with Raphael at the border of the wards.

“Holy shit,” Raphael said. “Who sent these?”

Crowley looked up. “I think I might have a very good guess. Our friends who tried to join up with us?”

“It’s evidence of their crimes!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “It all but shows them killing that poor priest, and they’re clearly interfering with us in a way they’ve been forbidden to.”

“You know what this means, angel,” Crowley said. “It means we have leverage.”

#

Emily huddled in the corner of her cave and thought hard. That Hell wanted the baby had bought her some time, but she had no intention of spending the next two months chained to a large rock in Hell. What could she do? Both trying to slide her wrist out of the cuff and yanking on the chain where it bolted into the floor did nothing; her shackles were tight, and the bolts were impenetrably solid. Escape might be out, at least in her present circumstances.

She could fight, of course, but how could one pregnant human really fight even a single demon? Especially chained? It seemed like a wonderful way to get herself treated worse and probably injured, too. Best not to piss any of them off too much.

She considered a hunger strike, but she knew she’d never be able to pull it off, not with the baby’s considerable, overwhelming needs.

Perhaps she could get them to trust her, over time, and to release her from these shackles? Maybe she could get herself moved into better, less well-guarded accommodations at some point? Or befriend someone enough to get a message up to Aziraphale and Crowley?

Her heart hurt thinking about them, what they must be going through right now. She could only imagine how devastated and frantic they must be. Much as she wished they’d rescue her, she hoped they wouldn’t do anything truly foolish in the attempt.

The door clanged open, startling her from her scattered, feverish thoughts, and a new creature appeared—this one also mostly human-appearing, dark-haired, with some kind of rodent on its head. Did everyone in Hell wear some kind of animal as a hat, she wondered? He was carrying a tray, and he set it down within her reach, then stepped back.

“So, yer the human, eh?” he said, eyes travelling over her. “You don’t look like nuffin special.”

Emily blinked but said nothing.

“I mean, I heard you went and got the Serpent of Eden to fall in love with you, and you’re carrying his spawn, innit?” He looked at her expectantly.

Emily cleared her throat. “I guess so, yeah,” she muttered. “What’s it to you?”

“Nuffin, nuffin,” he said. “Just the Serpent’s one cool customer. He’d just as soon kick your ass as mack on you, in my experience.” He took a step forward. “What’s so interesting about you, luv?”

Emily held out a hand and flared fire out of the tip of one of her fingers. “I’d stay back if I were you. I can hurt you.”

The creature’s eyes widened, but not with anything resembling fright. “Can’t hurt me none with a tiny little flame like that,” he scoffed. “Whachu think, demons are afraid of fire? Most of us would find that more of an invitation.”

Emily released the flame and skittered backwards, but the demon held up his hands apologetically. “No, no, nuffin to worry about, luv. Word from the very top is that you’re not to be touched or tussled with, not by anyone. Precious cargo an’ all that.”

Emily glared but held her tongue.

“Anyway,” he said breezily, “that’s dinner, so tuck in. Have to keep you fed, Lord Beez says.” He grinned at her. “If you don’t eat it willingly, I get to make you.”

He crouched down on the other side of the cave, back against the door, and watched. She could tell he was hoping to get to do it. Force her.

Not on her watch. She pulled the greasy tray towards her. It was, indeed, human food—nothing terribly appetizing, but nothing too frightening. A couple of pieces of fruit that were just slightly past their peak, a large piece of bread with an oily smear that could only be margarine on it (of course Hell wouldn’t have butter), and a large bowl of something that looked like oatmeal. Plus a pitcher of stale-smelling water.

She picked up the banana and peeled it. She had a baby to feed.

Chapter Text

The night passed quietly enough, just the drip of water and the rattle of her chains and an occasional, unearthly howl from somewhere far away. Emily didn’t sleep much—she was much too jumpy, wondering who might sneak in on her if she dozed, trying to figure out if she was being watched, and frantically trying to come up with a plan.

She drifted off, eventually, before the creaking of the metal door woke her. She skittered backwards and was alert and upright before her visitor made it inside.

It was a woman in a black cloak that was rotting at the hem. Her height was exaggerated by two large horns that curled off each of her temples, circling back, down, and forward to end in two large points near her chin. Her pigeon-gray skin was mottled all over with what looked like tiny cracks in porcelain, and her eyes were two flat pools of black.

She wasn’t beautiful, by any means, at least not to human eyes, but Emily had the sense that maybe she had been striking once.

“I am Naamah, little mother,” she said, her voice both melodic and discordant. “Beelzebub told me you are surprisingly unprepared for the task ahead of you.”

Emily scowled, refusing to be cowed. “If you mean giving birth in a cave, yes, you could say that. I’m not supposed to be here! I’m not sure I can survive in a cave for the next two months! Humans need light and air and… and food. And my friends on Earth will kill you if anything goes wrong.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, delightful. We like your kind with some vigor. Rest assured, human—Hell intends you no harm. You will have all that you need. We want your baby born healthy.”

“And me?”

The creature considered her before answering. “We will treat you as well as Hell can reasonably manage up until the point where others can safely care for the child.”

Emily had the presence of mind, despite the cold pit of fear wanting to sweep her away, to realize this was a good thing. It bought her at least a few months, depending on how long they intended to give her with the baby after it was born. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. All of which was time enough for her to find a way out of here, or for someone else to effect a rescue. She was, she realized, being handed a lifeline, or at least a reprieve from execution.

“And who are you? Naamah, you said?”

“I am Naamah the mother,” she said. “I bore many young, millennia ago, before your world even existed. Among the denizens of Hell, I am one of the few with any insight into the state you find yourself in. Only myself and my two sisters have been in your shoes.”

She moved a step closer and crouched down, and Emily picked up the scent of her: sulfurous, with an overlay of something like rotting flowers, or perfume gone bad. Cloying and nauseating. It made her head spin.

“Consider me your new midwife,” she said, giving Emily another hungry grin. Her teeth were blackened and looked as ruined as her face. “Oh, we’re going to have a lovely time together, poppet.”

#

“I’m going down there,” Crowley announced, springing from his chair.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Aziraphale said. “They’d be prepared for it. It’s exactly what they’re hoping for.”

Crowley glared. The angel was always so bloody bossy when he was under stress.

“Well, somebody has to,” Crowley countered, “and I’m the only one who can get in.”

Raphael made a rude noise. “Sit down. You can call them on the bloody phone, you idiot. Or are you trying to literally kill your angel? Losing you on top of the girl—that would do an excellent job of finishing this one off, you clueless fuckwit.”

Crowley sank into a seat like his strings had been cut. He couldn’t argue with that line of reasoning. “Okay, fine. I’ll call.” He snapped his fingers and materialized his mobile.

Crowley punched in the convoluted number and waited for the multiple minutes it took to be transferred through a variety of shrieking, modem-like devices designed to scare off all but the most determined callers. Eventually, he connected to some kind of low-level flunkie who went off to fetch Lord Beelzebub.

“Crowley,” Beelzebub said, their flat voice sounding almost mirthful. “I wazzz wondering when you’d call.”

“What have you done with Emily?” Crowley hissed.

“The girl is being well taken care of,” said Beelzebub. “We are seeing to all of her needzzz.” 

Crowley tried to be collected, but his voice when it broke free was an anxious, twisted thing. “What do you want with her?” 

Beelzebub chuckled. “We want this baby, born alive. Heaven wantzzz it dead. And as you two were doing a shit job of it, we’ve stepped in and elected ourselves its guardianzzz. It’s your baby’s best chance for survival, even you must admit.” 

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a glance. Crowley felt his eyes slitting over and a deep and deadly rage boiled up inside his throat. 

“I don’t believe that altruistic shit for one second,” Crowley yelled, curling his fists until the nails bit into his palms with a resulting wetness he paid no attention to. “ What are you really after?”

Beelzebub was silent for a long moment. “Your cooperation, Crowley,” they said finally. “We will keep the girl alive and see the baby born, as long as you offer no interference. If you make one step into Hell’s domain during the remainder of her pregnancy, we will end them both.“

Crowley felt sick even offering the challenge, but he did it nonetheless. “Why would you end her if she’s so valuable to you?”

Beelzebub laughed; the sound was chilling. “Above all things, we want to see you in torment, traitor. The great serpent, lover of angelzzz. Alive or dead, the girl and her whelp offer many benefitzzz. And I must admit, her death would be particularly satisfying. If nothing else, it would allow us to watch you crumble.”

They were terrifyingly correct about that.

“You can’t care for her in Hell,” Crowley said desperately. “She’s human. She needs… human stuff. Fresh food and water and… and…”

“We are providing for her, fear not.” There was a sound of Beelzebub shifting in their seat, perhaps stacking papers. “We have an expert on the case.”

Beside him, the angel sucked in a breath. “What does that mean?” he whispered.

“Who?” Crowley shouted. “Who could you possibly have? Who in Hell knows anything about human pregnancy?”

Beelzebub laughed again and severed the connection. 

Crowley’s turned to Aziraphale, eyes wide and desperate, the dead phone hanging in his hand. “I have no idea what they mean, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

# 

“Can we proceed with the reverse summoning?” Aurielle asked. “Anathema and the coven are making good progress.”

“Only if it works, and works perfectly, the first time we try it. If it fails, she’s dead. The baby’s dead. You heard them.” Aziraphale’s face was as dire as he’d ever seen it. “How can we risk it?”

“Wouldn’t they have thought of that, anyway?” Rafe added in. “It seems like an obvious first thought.”

“Yes, wherever they’re keeping her is likely guarded against,” Crowley said. “We’d be foolish to assume otherwise. 

“We can’t do NOTHING!” the angel thundered. Crowley looked at him, concerned beyond words. Neither of them had slept, and Aziraphale looking this raw and unkempt was alarming. He hadn’t spared a thought to his corporation since Emily had disappeared.

“We can’t risk it,” Crowley said, holding firm despite his heart breaking for the angel. He shared the devastation, but he wouldn’t get Emily and the baby killed based on passion and a need to do something, anything. “Not unless we knew exactly where she was and could materialize in and out on a surgical strike, and even then, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d thought of that and rigged some kind of trap to prevent it.”

Such as rigging the chamber to cave in on both Emily and her purported rescuers, killing them all in one fell swoop, he thought. He didn’t say it aloud, but the angel glanced at him, his face aghast, as if he’d heard it.

“At least we know she’s alive,” Rafe said. “Living in who knows what kinds of conditions, but alive and likely to stay that way.”

Everyone contemplated that for a minute.

“She must be so afraid,” Aurielle said softly.

“And angry,” Aziraphale said, looking grim. “You know how she can get. I hope she doesn’t antagonize them too much and make things worse.”

“What about the Morningstar?” Raphael said to Crowley. “Could you reach out to him? You were close once, weren’t you?”

Crowley fell back in his chair, dumbfounded. It was true, he’d once been the prized pet demon of the King of Hell, his little darling, tempter of the first humans and procurer of the choicest prizes. But that was a long time ago.

“Honestly, no one’s sure if he even exists anymore, after Adam denied his existence,” Crowley said. “And if he does, he’s not likely to be a fan of mine any longer.”

“You essentially took his son away from him,” Aurielle said.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t be super inclined to help me get my own child back. He doesn’t owe me any favors, and I doubt I have anything to bargain with. At least not that I’m willing to give,” he added, looking fiercely at the angel.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Okay, scratch that idea. What else can we do? None of us can get into Hell. Is there another way?”

“Well,” Crowley said, “there’s Michael.”

Michael seemed to have ready access to Hell. She’d been there for the aborted execution attempt, and seemed to move freely about the place, without guard or concern. It was entirely possible that her prior service would allow her to waltz in, demand to see the girl, and actually be allowed to do so. Particularly because she had apparently cooperated with Hell on Emily’s capture.

“She’d never help us,” Auri said.

“Not willingly,” the angel said, “but perhaps she could be compelled to.”  

Crowley’s grin was feral. “Oh yes,” he said. “That. Let’s do that.”

#

Life in her cave was more monotonous than terrifying, Emily realized. Each day, a handful of demons visited her, but most of them gave her a wide berth, unwilling to piss off their superiors. Only Naamah sat and talked with her, asking her endless questions about what the Earth was like now, about the role of women in today’s society, and about places and peoples that Emily had never heard of. It had been ages since Naamah had been on the surface.

“What do you do here?” she asked Naamah, one day. “I mean, besides watch over me. What’s your job?”

Naamah seemed to take offense at the question. “I don’t have a job, poppet. I’m too old for that. But when I took assignments, I was a succubus. One of the original nightmares of Mesopotamia.”

Emily drew in a breath. She’d heard of that. Succubi, as far as she knew, were female demons who had sex with men in their sleep. “So, that means you…”

“Slept with humans?” She grinned, her blackened teeth dull in the firelight. “Oh yes, my dear. Believe me, I understand your attraction to the act. But we were more than that. We bore young through demonic means, swapping them out for human children.”

Emily shuddered. “What happened to the human babies when that happened?”

Naamah tsked. “Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answer to. I don’t want you upset.”

It seemed like a good thing, keeping Naamah talking about herself. Perhaps she could learn something useful. “How many children did you have over the years?” she asked.

“Hundreds,” Naamah said. “All of them lethal. Some of them are still on staff here to this day.”

“I didn’t know demons could do that,” Emily said. “Reproduce, I mean. I can see why that gives you special status here, I suppose.”

Naamah straightened up. “I am subject to the Morningstar and his lieutenants, like everyone else, but they must afford me a certain respect that your standard demon does not command. My sister Lilith is as close as Hell has to a queen.”

Emily took that one in. She had no idea Lilith, who she vaguely remembered as a previous bride of Adam’s, before Eve, was real and not just a myth. And this creature was Lilith’s sister?

Sweet God in Heaven.

Her demon captor, nursemaid, and doula was ancient. Beyond ancient. And likely incredibly powerful.

“Don’t be scared, child,” Naamah purred. “I mean you no harm. And I have a soft spot for pregnant women after all of my offspring. I’ve never eaten a single one of them.”

She winked and stalked off, closing the door behind her with a clang, and it left Emily to wonder if that last bit was a joke.

#

“Powers,” Emily muttered to herself. “Maybe I can develop some new ones.” She tried to think of what would be helpful in this situation. Materializing objects, perhaps. Something like a key or a lock pick that could open the cuff around her wrist. Making herself smaller, even a bit, so she could slide out of them. Affecting her environment so she could be more comfortable. Or perhaps the ability to change her appearance.

She laid a hand on the baby, trying to communicate with it, and set about trying to manifest something new. As always, she felt like the baby heard her and understood some of what she said, but she didn’t reply other than to send a burst of well-being and comfort.

An hour later, Emily kicked the wall behind her, frustrated beyond belief. Nothing. All of her attempts had come to nothing. Nothing changed in her appearance or her surroundings. Either the baby wasn’t interested in helping her, or she wasn’t able to make these powers manifest. Maybe it was all just some random biological process that neither of them had any say over.

Fine, then. What could she do with what she had? Making fire and moving small objects?

She’d already tried to manipulate the chain and bolts. It was pointless—each link of the chain was thicker than her wrists, and much too heavy for her powers. The bolts were immense and crusted into place. She could use powers to move her blanket around if she wanted to and grab a piece of food off her tray, but that seemed to be the limit.

“Dammit!” she yelled, hands clenched into fists. “Why can’t I do one single useful thing to get myself out of this?”

She kicked the wall a few more times until she was afraid she’d break a toe, then flopped down cross-legged on the floor.

She tugged again at the huge shackle on her left wrist, trying again to slide out of it, but it was too tight.

“Wait a minute,” she whispered. “What about—“

She turned the shackle over and examined the point where it attached to the chain. It had a keyhole, a tear-drop shaped hole that something obviously went into in order to open it.

She’d never learned any lock-picking, but she knew from watching heist movies that locks had tiny things in them. Tumbling parts. Little ball bearings, maybe. Small pieces of metal that could be shifted around with something like a bobby pin.

She didn’t have a bobby pin, of course, but maybe, if she concentrated, she could figure out the shape of the interior of this lock and learn how to release it.

She closed her eyes, suddenly hopeful, and began feeling her way into the tiny opening with her mind.

#

“Have either of you slept?” Rafe said, sweeping a critical eye over both of them. “You look like shit. No, you look like you’re on the verge of collapse.”

Aziraphale turned to the sink, mostly to disguise how badly he wanted to throw something at the archangel. “I don’t see how sleep is any kind of priority when Emily and the baby are missing.”

Aurielle stepped between them and Rafe. “You’re of no use to her if you wear yourself down to the point of collapse. Rafe and I slept last night. Go get a little sleep, even a few hours. We’ll keep watch, and you’ll wake up fresher and ready to tackle this from new angles.”

Crowley wanted to bristle, but instead his rebellious body sagged. “They’re right, angel,” he said. “It’s been days and we’re getting nowhere, and we’re all getting at each other’s throats when we’re supposed to be working together. Let’s take a short rest.”

Aziraphale sighed, but he held out his hand and allowed Crowley to lead him upstairs.

#

It took her hours to figure it out, but when she finally felt that snick of the locking mechanism sliding open, Emily almost cheered. She didn’t, of course—anyone could be watching, which is why she’d been working on this while curled up on her side with her arms under the blanket, pretending to sleep.

She shifted her arms beneath the smelly, gray wool and carefully removed the left one from the shackle. The air against her wrist, even through the blanket, felt heavenly. She rubbed it quietly; the constant rub of iron against skin had worn it raw.

Then, slowly and quietly, she put the shackle back on, clicking it closed.

Easy. On and off.

Just to be sure, she practiced a dozen more times, before finally shutting it for a last time and drifting off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Now that she’d freed her hands, Emily started to carefully observe the routine around the cave, looking for opportunities. Security seemed tight. Every visitor to the cave had to swipe in and out on some kind of ancient, crusty handplate. They did not leave the door open, and she couldn’t get close enough to inspect it. They never took her out of the cave, so she had no idea where she was. If by some miracle she got out of the door, how would she know where to go to get out, and how would she avoid detection?

It was maddening, but she hid her secret and continued to watch, waiting for a moment to arise. Someone would make a mistake, eventually, and she would be watching.

#

Emily never thought she’d miss the pond water smoothies, but after a week of Hell’s meager meals, she was thinking of them with nostalgia. It wasn’t that Hell didn’t feed her—they brought her three enormous meals a day, enough for any ordinary human to thrive on, but it wasn’t enough. Emily was plagued with stomach pangs and dizziness between meals, and often woke during the night wracked with nausea and intense cravings.

If someone placed a glass of pond water sludge in front of her right now, she happily drink it and ask for more.

She’d asked for more food a few times and gotten it, but as the days passed, another thought occurred to her. What had Auri said? The baby would take what it needed, no matter what. The only person who would sicken if she didn’t eat enough was her. And since all her pleas for freedom had fallen on deaf ears, perhaps appearing dangerously ill might spur her demon captors to do something.

She knew what Aziraphale and Crowley would have to say about that idea, how they’d rail at her for even considering it, but she blocked it out. She couldn’t escape, but she could potentially create an opportunity for something unexpected to happen.

The baby would be fine, and she had to get out of here. 

It wasn’t a hunger strike. She didn’t have the strength for that; she still ate some of her meals. But that was even better—they’d have no idea what was wrong if she appeared to be eating well and still sickening. Eventually they’d have to reach out to Aziraphale and Crowley, or bring in some kind of doctor. Maybe a human one. Maybe someone she could use to get the word out.

#

“What’s wrong with you?” Naamah said a few days later, leaning in to sniff the air around Emily in a way that looked vaguely reptilian. 

Emily shivered, huddled up under her blanket, half acting, half real. “I don’t know. I just feel terrible.” 

Naamah forgot her caution and came closer, leaning down to place a hand on her head. “No fever. Sit up, girl, and let me look at you.” 

Emily dragged herself upright and didn’t have to fake a wave of dizziness that almost knocked her back over. Naamah gripped her by both shoulders, her talon-like nails digging in painfully. 

“You look skinny,” she said, “and pale. Are you eating what we bring you?”

Emily nodded. “Every bit.”

“And there are fruits and vegetables provided? Not just bread and meat?”

Emily shrugged. More or less. She wouldn’t call any of them fresh or healthful, but whoever was putting together her trays included portions of some sad, wilted thing with every meal. 

“Are you in pain?” Naamah continued. Emily shook her head. “Cold? Hot?” No and no. She laid her hand on Emily’s belly and Emily, used to the intrusion, did her best not to flinch away. Flinching made Naamah angry, and while her caregiver had not yet done anything to hurt her, she was frightening when she was angry.

Naamah stood up, looking worried. She left and came back with a pitcher of water. “Drink some extra liquids today, girl,” she said, plunking it down on the ground beside her. “I’m not getting discorporated for you.”

Emily obeyed. She had no desire to add dehydration to the mix. She was already risking enough.

#

A week later, she was no longer pretending. Nausea consumed hours of her day, and exhaustion covered her like a heavy blanket. Sometimes she could hardly raise her head when an increasingly worried Naamah came in to check on her. Her skin was itchy, her nails were flaking off at the ends, and it was only the fact that her semi-psychic link with the baby, safe in her womb, assured her that her daughter was strong and healthy that kept her going. 

“What do you need, dammit?” Naamah muttered. “If you know, I command you to tell me.” 

Demonic command had a power here that Emily couldn’t completely resist, even with the baby’s goodwill wrapped around her. She had to answer, and truthfully, but she didn’t have to tell the WHOLE truth, and there was so much to pick from that it was simple to give a half answer.

“It might be a vitamin deficiency,” she said. “Humans need sunlight to thrive. Vitamin D. It’s nowhere near as effective from foods. I haven’t seen the sun or gotten any fresh air in weeks.”

Naamah looked at her suspiciously. “You think we’re going to take you above ground? Think again.”

Emily shrugged, then leaned over to retch into a small basin that had been placed near her. Most of her dinner came up, which was useful but also frustrating—she needed the meager amounts of calories she was allowing herself. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned back against the rock wall, feeling sweaty and tired and, frankly, awful.

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m not sure I could manage it, anyway. Just tell your boss that I’m dying, would you?”

Naamah glared at her, but her face was crinkled with mingled fear and concern. She rushed out.

#

Aziraphale set up the circle again, remembering the last time he’d done it and hoping this time would turn out even marginally better. He honestly wasn’t sure what else to do. There was no way to reach God directly; no one was sure the Metatron was even in contact with her, but he had to try. He lit the last candle and stood back, watching while the lines and whorls lit up.

“Greetings, Principality,” the Metatron said, his eyes kindly and unfocused. Aziraphale wondered what he saw during these calls. Was he also seeing a gigantic, vaporous head floating in front of him, or was he getting a clear view of the shop? “How may I be of assistance?”

“I must get a message to Her,” Aziraphale said. “It’s urgent. The archangels Gabriel and Michael have broken a sacred contract, killed a human priest, and assisted in an assassination attempt on an unborn child.”

The Metatron stared at him with unreadable eyes. “These are serious allegations,” he said after a long pause. “Do you have any proof?”

“As a matter of fact,” Aziraphale said, “I do. Now tell me what we can do about this other than go right to Gabriel himself with this information. Is there no higher authority in the realm than him?”

The Metatron’s image wavered several times before straightening. “I am a higher authority,” the voice said.

“You are,” Aziraphale said, choosing his words with extreme care. “You’re the highest of the Seraphim! The voice of God, the caretaker of the throne. You outrank us all.”

“And yet, my powers are yoked to the Almighty’s inscrutable will,” the Metatron deferred. “I am not free to act of my own devising.”

“Perhaps you’re not free to act,” Aziraphale said, “but you might be free to… say… place someone under arrest until the Almighty can be located to hear the case?”

#

Raphael dialed the unfamiliar exchange for Heaven, and after an interminable runaround, finally reached Michael.

“Brother,” she said, her voice cool.

“Michael,” he purred. “Old pal. Listen, I just wanted you to know that we have enough evidence here of your recent crimes to cause you quite a headache.”

She huffed out a breath, but remained composed as always when she spoke next. “Whatever could you mean? I’ve committed no crimes.”

“That’s funny,” he said, “because I’ve got video and photographic evidence of you and Gabriel killing that priest and participating in the abduction and potential murder of an unborn baby.” He paused just to enjoy the shocked silence for a moment. “I wonder what the Almighty would think of that. Any guesses? Infanticide has always been a big one, from what I understand.”

Michael was silent for a long time and when she spoke, her voice was lower, less composed. “What do you want?”

“I want your help in getting into Hell.”

#

“Naamah reports that the human is ailing, my Lord,” Dagon reported.

Lord Beelzebub looked up from their work, flies buzzing angrily. “I’m aware. What I don’t understand izzzz why?”

It was unbearably irritating. They were keeping the girl in the lap of luxury by hell’s standards. Sure, the accommodations were a little spartan, smelly perhaps, but she wasn’t being tortured, and they hadn’t even been able to apply demonically charged chains to her because of the fetus’s potential reaction. She was just shackled. In iron, for god’s sake. They were feeding her; she had enough room on her chain to walk a full circle of her cave, and no one had shoved any red-hot pokers in any part of her corporation. What more did the spoiled human want?

Dagon shook her head. “I don’t know. But Naamah believes the baby could soon be compromised.”

Beelzebub got up to pace, trailing a cloud of buzzing flies behind them. “That won’t do,” they muttered. “Not after all of thizzz work. What does Naamah suggest?”

“She thinks the girl might have some kind of vitamin deficiency caused by a lack of exposure to sunlight.”

“Oh, isn’t that just too convenient?” Beelzebub muttered. They turned to face their trusted lieutenant. “Do you agree, or is this some kind of trick?”

“I visited yesterday, and the girl seems ill. She was barely conscious and vomited while I was there. And I looked in our library and there is confirmation about sunlight and humans. A deficiency of some vitamin that makes them sick.” Dagon paced. “I think we could risk a brief visit if she’s heavily guarded. Not to London, of course, but somewhere. She’s too weak to produce much of a fight, even if she plans on trickery.”

Beelzebub sighed and a cloud of their flies rose off her head and buzzed around them. “Fine. Plan it out. We’ll make Naamah responsible for it, but send her up with three or four foot soldiers too.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Dagon said. “If the girl is still ailing?”

“Then we’ll consider offering the angel a trade. His demon for the girl.”

Dagon gasped. “He’d never do it. Whatever he feels for this girl, Crawly is too precious to him.”

Beelzebub considered that, pacing.

Dagon’s face lit up. “I have an idea — don’t offer it to the angel. Offer it to Crawly himself. He might just do it of his own accord, without telling the angel. He’s so misguided, he’d probably feel honor bound to do so. And wouldn’t that draw a wedge between them, even if something stopped him from giving himself up?”

Beelzebub offered a rare, pleased grin. “I do like how you think, Dagon. Why not do both at once? Allow the trip, but also make an offer to Crawly. Let him start to ponder betraying his angel even as we work to heal the human. If the trip to Earth fails to produce results, he’ll be ready to crack. And if she’s better, he’ll still have been contemplating betrayal. The angel will sniff it out in a heartbeat.”

“So go ahead?”

“Start setting it up. But I want to talk to the girl again first.”

Chapter Text

Emily had long since lost track of time, so she was only a little surprised when the door to her cave slid open in between what she thought of as her meal times. There was a good chance she’d gotten the hour wrong, after all. Time to choke down half a tray of inedible slop, no matter how much her stomach wanted all of it? Fine.

When she saw who entered, she pushed up from reclining to sit fully upright, nervously facing her guest.

Lord Beelzebub, who she’d met just the once. She knew from Naamah that this was the big boss, at least for this part of Hell. The equivalent to Gabriel, maybe, she thought, thinking over what she knew about Heaven. Not the absolute authority, but the next step down. Either way, she knew to be careful.

To her surprise, Lord Beelzebub came in, gave her a chilling smile, and then sat down, right on the floor, directly across from her.

“I want to talk to you,” they said. “Girl to… well, girl to not-girl.”

Emily swallowed. “All right. What can I do for you?”

Beelzebub’s dark, beady eyes travelled over her. Emily could almost feel it as they assessed her, taking in her pallor, the sheen of sweat on her upper lip, the way her hands shook slightly, and the deep hollows around her eyes. She sat up straighter, trying to look strong.

“Before I help you, I want you to tell me how this happened.”

“How what happened?”

Beelzebub made a distasteful expression. “Your condition. The child. How did you get pregnant? It should not have been possible. What rites did the three of you perform? Were the angels involved?” They leaned forward. “You will tell me the truth about this.”

Emily tried to stop herself, but she couldn’t. “Well, when a man and a woman—well, an angel and a demon and a woman—really love each other, they sometimes express that love by—”

Beelzebub cut her off with a harsh laugh. “You’re amuzzzing, I’ll give you that. But don’t toy with me, child. I am the decider of your fate once your pup is weaned.”

Ok, fair point. Emily felt absolutely lost about what was and wasn’t safe to say in this situation. Was it bad to admit that none of them had any idea how it happened? Would Crowley and Aziraphale be safer if Hell knew it was essentially an accident that none of them could explain, or would they be at even greater risk? She had no idea.

“I don’t know how it happened,” she said, finally, choosing her words with extreme care. “They told me it couldn’t. If one of them brought it about through some kind of magic, they didn’t share it with me.”

Beelzebub stared hard at her, considering. “So you’re telling me you know nothing about how to birth this Hellspawn, and you also know nothing about how it came to be?” They sneered. “What use do they find in you? Aside from the obvious, of course.”

Emily sniffed but didn’t answer that one. It seemed to be rhetorical.

“And here you are, trapped in Hell, failing fast, carrying their whelp,” Beelzebub continued. “I was wondering, izzz it worth it to you?”

“Is what worth it?” Emily said, taken aback.

Beelzebub made another attempt at a smile. “Thizzz. All of it. The baby, the two idiotzzz you’ve bound yourself to. Are you really prepared to suffer this much for them? Do you really think they care for you as much as you do them?”

Emily swallowed, feeling off-balance in this conversation, and her hand drifted towards the baby bump without intentional thought. “They care for me,” she said, aware of and hating the defensive whine in her voice. “They’re going to get me out of here.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Emily didn’t answer. She knew better than to argue with the literal devil. If that’s who this fly-encrusted creature was.

“Think about it,” Beelzebub said, their voice flat and their gaze as animated as she’d ever seen it. “Why should they bother? You’ve come along and upended their livezzz with this child they never asked for or wanted. We’ve assured them we mean you no harm. Why would they risk their livezzz—that they’ve shared for six thousand years—for someone they’ve known for such a short time?”

“I don’t expect to be more important to them than they are to each other,” Emily said, her voice faltering despite herself. “That’s something different, and wholly them. I couldn’t compete with that if I tried.”

Beelzebub’s eyes glittered mockingly. “How very self-effacing of you.”

“It isn’t! You don’t understand at all. I don’t want to compete with that bond, I just want to add something to it. And they do love me.”

“You’re a blip to them,” Beelzebub continued sharply, leaning forward as if catching a particularly enticing scent. “A fraction of a second of their existence. And you think they’d risk losing each other to retrieve you? I know humans are stupid, but I didn’t think you’d be this naïve.”

Torment. This was what demons did, Emily thought, her chest feeling like it might cave in. Torment you. Ease their way into your brains and eke out a hint of your worst fears, and then play with them.

“And have you thought, even for a second, about what life would be like after the baby comes?” Beelzebub continued. “Think about it. The three of them—angel, demon, and their cursed spawn. Powerful, occult beings who can fly and shape reality and accezz planes of existenzz you could never imagine. The three of them, and you? What role could you possibly serve in this child’zzz life, or in theirs? You’re little more than their pet human, more of a hindrance than a help. It’s pathetic.”

Emily gaped and said nothing.

Beelzebub stared for a second, and then rose, satisfied. “Well, good talk. I’ll leave you to think that over.”

They reached the door and turned back. “Oh, and by the way, I’m going to let Naamah take you to the surface so you can get a tan or whatever is so desperately required. If you respond with treachery, there will be Hell to pay. Literally.”

The door swung shut behind her with a definitive clang.

#

Crowley was in his flat, searching through some of his old records for obscure spell work and sigils when it happened. The television powered up on its own, playing discordant crackling and microseconds of various caterwauling songs, and then a deep voice emerged from a shadowy figure whose face he couldn’t make out.

“Demon Crowley,” the voice said. “We must talk.”

Crowley sat down across from it. “Who is this? Show me your face.”

“We are Legion,” the figure said.

“Oh bullshit. Who is it really?”

A loud sigh and the figure stepped into brighter light.

Crowley nodded. “Dagon, you absolute bastard. What do you want?”

Dagon sighed. “The girl is faring poorly in Hell. We’ve come to make you an offer.”

“Poorly how? What have you assholes done to her?”

Dagon bared her teeth. “We have treated her well, traitor. She’s housed in a completely respectable cave, cared for round the clock. She has not been tortured. Unlike those bastards up above, we have no intention of letting anything happen to this child. We want her as much as you do, if not more.”

Crowley blinked, then blinked again. “So what’s happened to her?”

“She seems to be wilting, much as houseplants do below.” Crowley shuddered. Trying to grow plants in Hell was always a fool’s errand. Without light, fresh air, and healthy nutrients, they inevitably turned anemic and pale and either died or rotted away despite all attempts to keep them alive.

“She needs to be on Earth,” Crowley said. “She’s human. Living humans never thrive in Hell, especially her, especially now.”

“Have you any idea how much food she requires? And none of it can be rotted?” Dagon made a commiserating face. “We approve as gluttony as much as anyone else, but we simply have not been able to provide what she needs.”

Crowley’s chest hurt at the thought of what Emily must be going through. He held himself rigid and refused to show it.

“What do you propose?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I bring you an offer from Lord Beelzebub,” she said. “We propose a contract. We will return her to the angel’s care in exchange for your presence in Hell. You will be imprisoned but not killed, and you will act as surety until the baby is born.” 

“And then?”

“And then you will have a choice to make, Demon Crowley. Either the baby returns to Hell upon its birth, or you submit to our judgment. Permanently.”

Crowley stared, mind whirling and all his instincts at war with each other. His initial knee-jerk response was to sign on the dotted line immediately. Anything to save her. But he knew better. There were too many potential loopholes here. 

“Oh, the great Serpent, so proud,” Dagon mocked. “Do you really care for the girl as much as you claim to, or are you only now realizing that the angel has always been more important? If you cared for her at all, you’d come.”

“Shut your fish-hooked mouth,” Crowley hissed. “I need time to think about this.” 

“I will send you a scroll,” Dagon grinned, clearly enjoying his reactions. “It will be on your desk in a few moments. I’ll contact you in three days to find out your reply.”

Crowley swore and threw a paperweight at the screen as Dagon disappeared, shattering the screen on impact.

#

Emily tossed and turned that night, desperately trying to find sleep. She wasn’t sure what was keeping her awake—the nausea, the cramping, or that her brain kept turning over Beelzebub’s words.

She knew they loved her; it wasn’t that. The demon couldn’t understand the way they fit together. She wasn’t threatened by the angel and demon’s much longer bond and she didn’t attempt to compete with it; she just wanted the human equivalent. Love and partnership.

No, it was the other bit.

What role could you possibly serve in this child’s life, or in theirs? You’re little more than their pet human, more of a hindrance than a help.

Was it true? Somehow, the thought had never occurred to her. Crowley and Aziraphale were careful not to make her feel too left out by the things she couldn’t share, and it had never been an issue. But now, with the baby on the way, what would it be like to be the sole human in an ethereal family? Would the baby find her disappointing? Would the angel and demon be doing all the heavy lifting, teaching the baby to fly and to manage her powers and travel through the realms they had access to, then come home at the end of the day to her, unable to even converse about what they’d just done?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the thought out of her head, but somehow, it felt like a tiny little shard of darkness had found its way into her sternum and was working its way deeper.

#

Raphael pulled Aziraphale aside the next day for a private conversation.

“I really don’t understand why this can’t wait until Crowley returns,” Aziraphale said. Crowley was off in his apartment looking for something he thought might be helpful.

“Because Crowley would flip his lid at the conversation we’re about to have,” Raphael said grimly.

“Well, that’s worrisome. What have you done?”

“I had a conversation with Michael about how she could get into and out of Hell.”

Aziraphale sat back in his chair. “Oh goodness. That was rather good thinking. And what did you find out?”

“She has some kind of all-access charm that works on certain rarely used gates,” Raphael replied, “and she has maps. Certain routes that have been cleared for what they call counterintelligence. No cameras. No guards.”

“Really? I mean, that seems unwise.”

Raphael’s face creased in disgust. “She didn’t admit it, but I’m guessing the access goes both directions. They’re all completely incompetent, but they imagine themselves master spies.”

Aziraphale shuddered at that thought. Demons with easy access to Heaven? That couldn’t be a good thing. And who on the staff of Hell would be trusted enough to receive the equivalent access code to Heaven? It was a worrisome question, but one for another time. If Gabriel and Michael had opened themselves up to potential attack in this manner, it was just another nail in their coffins.

“And is she willing to help us?” Aziraphale said, considering. “Our time might be short to take advantage of this, given my conversation with the Metatron.”

Raphael’s face broke into a broad smile and he reached into his pocket and drew out a small white envelope. “Already thought of that,” he said. “As soon as she heard what we have on her, she sent the badge and a copy of the maps right down.”

“You’re a genius,” Aziraphale said. “So, when shall I go?”

Rafe recoiled. “You’re not going, you idiot. I’ll go.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “I can’t let you do that, although I greatly appreciate the offer. I outrank you and I’m deadlier in a fight, and a lot of them down there are afraid of me, which will help my cause tremendously. And Aurielle would simply never forgive me if I let you go wandering into Hell on my account.”

Raphael huffed. “Aurielle would understand. You think she’s not dying of guilt over this whole thing? She’d probably go herself if she heard one word about this.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m sure she would,” he said. “Which is why neither she nor Crowley are going to hear of it until it’s done.” He held out his hand, expectantly. “Now really, my dear, it’s my battle to fight and not yours. Hand it over, please.”

Raphael glared for a long moment, but then he dropped the envelope into the angel’s outstretched palm.

“You let me be involved in the planning of this, all right?” the archangel said over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “Someone has to know what you’re doing and when.”

“Of course,” the angel said. “And Raphael?”

The archangel turned back.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The sun was nearly blinding after weeks in a dark, damp cave. When Emily’s eyes adjusted, she looked around, too stunned to speak.

They’d materialized somewhere outside of London, in an unattractive but serviceable field surrounded by hedgerows. The grass, after weeks of dull gray, was almost painfully green. A light, fresh breeze felt miraculous. Even the sound of traffic, in the distance, was so welcome she could have wept. She staggered, rattling the heavy chains that bound her wrists and ankles; they’d doubled down on the chains for this visit.

How long had it been since they summoned her? She honestly wasn’t sure. At least two weeks, maybe three. It was hard to track time in a cave.

She sat on the grass where Naamah indicated, and the three demon soldiers they’d brought arrayed themselves around her, facing out to watch for any threat.

“Don’t get a chill,” Naamah said, tossing a thin blanket at her, and stalked off to assess the perimeter.

Emily pulled her legs under her and lifted her face to the sun, suddenly aware of how pasty she must appear after being underground for so long. Even though she alone knew that her problems were mostly nutritional, she probably was also vitamin D deficient, and between that and her terrible fatigue she almost just drifted away from her purpose, allowed herself to just sit and enjoy it for the full two hours. After a minute, though, she shook her head. She had a plan and she had to get moving on it.

First the shackles, ankles first in case she had to run sooner rather than later. She arranged the blanket over her lap and tried to look casual as she extended her senses. Her heart stuttered as she realized the mechanism differed from the one she’d been practicing on—but she quickly figured it out. Press one bar out of the way to the left, then move the other tiny bar to the right.

With a soft snick, the locks opened, and she froze. Had anyone noticed? None of the guards moved. She repositioned the shackles so that they’d look like they were still on to a casual glance, and got to work doing the same with her wrists.

Snick. Snick.

Step one, done.

Now for the trickiest part. She needed to contact Aziraphale, or Crowley, and she lacked the skills to do so herself. She hoped that maybe—please, magical miracle baby, please—the baby might do so, if she could make her understand.

She laid her hands on the baby bump, closed her eyes, and guided her attention and energy inward.

After a minute, she felt the familiar sensation of love and greeting that was the usual response. She patted her belly, and the baby shifted, clearly feeling her. As the baby settled, Emily tried to think in and send vivid sensory details. She pictured Aziraphale—the softness of him, the scent of his cologne, the touch of his hand, the sweet rumble of his voice. The Crowley, sharp where the angel was sweet, his voice more vibrant, skipping through scales and registries with his emotions, the faintest hint of brimstone in his scent. Do you know them, baby? she asked silently. Your fathers?

A swift, affirmative-feeling kick.

Oh, brilliant girl, Emily thought. Now I need to ask for something difficult. Can you reach out to them in any way? We’re in danger, and we need to let them know we’re here.

The baby kicked hard, and she winced. One of her guards turned to look, and she rubbed her belly, making a face. “Just kicking, we’re fine.” He grimaced and turned back around, scanning the surrounding field.

Quietly, she amended. Secret. Don’t do any fighting. Just let them know we’re here.

The baby settled, and she waited, fingers crossed, to see if it would work.

#

Crowley watched as Aziraphale took their plates to the sink and started to wash up. All seemed normal, if subdued—until the angel gasped and dropped a handful of dishes. They crashed into the bottom of the sink and cracked into pieces.

Crowley closed his eyes and held on as the room swooped around him and a sudden flood of sensations hit him.

Aziraphale whirled. “Crowley, did you get that? Was that—”

“Bloody hell,” Crowley whispered. “I think I did.”

“AURIELLE!” Aziraphale bellowed. She came running in from the other room, looking at them both in turn.

“I don’t know how to explain this, but we just received a message, and I think it was from the baby,” Aziraphale panted. “Get Rafe, we’re going.”

Aurielle blinked. “What? What are you talking about?”

“They’re here,” Crowley said. “Emily and the baby. They’re just outside of London.”

#

Emily looked up when a shadow fell across her. Naamah, back from her investigations, glaring at her. “What was that?” the demon barked. “What did I just feel from you?”

Shit. How could she have noticed?

“Nothing,” she said, trying to casually refasten her leg shackles without Naamah noticing. She felt a soft click as they relocked and shifted her focus to her wrists.

“I felt a summons, and it came from you,” Naamah said, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. The wrist shackles she hadn’t had time to close clattered loudly to her feet and Emily froze, staring at them.

“What in the—how did you get those off?” Naamah shouted and raised a hand as if to strike her. Emily couldn’t even shift away from her, but she threw up her arm to shield herself and braced for the impact, when suddenly, there was a low, explosive sound behind them.

Naamah whirled, still gripping her elbow painfully, to see what had happened.

Aziraphale and Raphael, just beyond the end of the blanket. Another snap and Aurielle and Crowley appeared further back.

In a blur of motion too quick to follow, Emily watched in horror as the demonic guards leapt for them. Everyone held a weapon. She saw flashes of swords and knives, some kind of long staff in Raphael’s hands arcing down at the head of a demon, and everyone except Auri being immediately overwhelmed.

Aurielle stayed further back, aiming a gleaming bow at the guard fighting Aziraphale. The arrow hit him in the back, and Emily watched in shock as the guard bubbled and oozed. She felt Naamah gasp beside her.

Aurielle turned to her and cocked another arrow. “That’s right,” she said. “I tipped these arrows in holy water. You won’t last two seconds if I hit you.”

The demoness responded by dragging Emily in front of herself with an elbow hooked around her throat and one very sharp claw pressed against her jugular. She backed away from the three angels.

“Try it, archer,” Naamah shouted. “You may even get lucky, but I’ll still have time to slice her throat before I die.”

Emily shuddered. Aurielle froze in her tracks, then lowered her bow a few inches. Beside her, Raphael dispatched one of the demon guards and immediately went to help with the third. Emily understood now why Crowley had hung back behind the others. Holy water weapons? He shouldn’t even be here! What were they thinking?

“All right, all right,” Aurielle said. “Let’s not get too crazy. We’re willing to negotiate.”

Emily met Aziraphale’s eyes and her heart filled with sudden longing so powerful it almost drove her to her knees. Beside him, she saw Raphael dispatch another guard, leaving just Naamah.

“Hello Naamah,” Crowley’s voice rang out as he stepped forward, staying clear of the bubbling remains of one of the demons. “Long time, no see.”

Naamah’s voice, when she spoke, was odd. “Ah, the great Serpent of Eden. I suppose you’re on their side.”  She sounded almost disappointed. As if Crowley had let her down, personally.

“You’d suppose right,” Crowley said. “Put that claw away and we’ll let you go home unharmed.”

“Why should I?”

He looked around. “Because four against one is terrible odds, even for you. You might get one of us, but the second you do, one of these angels is going to dissolve you into a pile of gunk.” He smiled, voice calm. “And besides, we were friends once. Consider it a favor.”

Emily felt Aziraphale suck in a breath at that revelation.

“I’m not leaving without the girl,” Naamah said. “I’m her midwife.”

Crowley flicked a gaze at Emily, who nodded.

“I believe she even likes me, just a little,” Naamah taunted them. Emily squirmed but stubbornly bit down on her the urge to kick her in the kneecap. “I can’t imagine why you’ve made such a fuss over someone so easily won over.”

Crowley growled.

Naamah chuckled under her breath and tightened her grip, nearly cutting off Emily’s breath. Emily got one last glance at them all. Aziraphale and Crowley, eyes full of torment. Aurielle’s held her bow ready to shoot, and Raphael’s hands opened and closed at his side, and for just a moment, it seemed they were all perfectly poised in a dance full of horror and imminent destruction.

And then Naamah made a sound, and it was as if the ground opened up beneath them, and they were gone.

The last thing Emily felt was her body crashing into a hard stone floor, then her head bounced against it, and everything went dark. went dark.

#

Usually it was Crowley’s job to fly into a vengeful rage after an operation failed, but this time, somehow, everyone stopped and watched Aziraphale, as if on instinct. He dove for the ground as they disappeared, scrabbling at it as if he could force his way through to her, reach an ankle or a hand or something to pull her back with, nearly choking with rage and loss.

“She was RIGHT HERE!” he thundered. “Inches from us and we lost her!”

He leapt to his feet and rounded on them, fists clenched, and everyone but Crowley took an involuntary step back. Then he turned his gaze to the sky and Crowley saw him gathering his strength for a major pronouncement.

“Don’t,” Crowley said, stepping forward. “Don’t say it, whatever you’re going to say.” He got within touching distance, but he held back.

“How could She—” Aziraphale began, then stopped. “How dare She—”

Crowley closed the distance, pressing the angel against his chest with all the love and force he could muster. “I know,” he said. “I know. But please don’t. It’s not impossible She’s listening, the bastard, and I won’t have you fall.” 

“Why are you being so bloody strong all of a sudden?” the angel muttered, allowing it even though he could easily break away.

“Because you need me to be," Crowley whispered, nuzzling him. 

Raphael turned to Aurielle, pulling her away from the couple to give them a moment. “That was entirely too close,” he said.

“I should’ve taken the shot,” she whispered, looking at him with devastation written all over her face. “I had the shot, but I hesitated. It’s my fault again.”

He eased the bow out of her hand and vanished it back to wherever it had come from with a thought, then pulled Aurielle to him. “No, it isn’t,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around her and burying his nose in her spiky hair. “She would’ve killed Emily; she wasn’t lying. And how would you have felt then?”

Aurielle shuddered against him, and Rafe closed his eyes, not wanting to be faced with any of their devastation anymore—the angel and demon across from him wrapped together in their wretchedness, Aurielle in her grief and blame. It was too much, even for an immortal like him. He closed his eyes, held his love, and wished that they could all be somewhere else, both in place and time.

#

Eventually, they had no choice but to leave.

“At least we saw her,” Raphael said as they entered the shop. “She didn’t look great, but she’s alive and the baby seemed well and Emily had the mental resources to do whatever she did to call us there today.”

“And to get them to bring her up in the first place,” Crowley added. “I don’t know how she managed it. Smart girl.”

“She’s always been clever, but she’s playing a bit out of her league right now.” Aziraphale heaved a defeated sigh. “I hope the price she pays for it isn’t too high.”

Beside him, Crowley made a strangled sound, but said nothing.

#

When Emily woke, she was back in her cave, Naamah by her side, agitated and furious.

“What were you thinking, you treacherous brat?” she growled. “I knew you were up to something. They’ve locked me in with you, child. Your stunt may cost us both dearly.” She turned to a spot near the door and addressed what must have been a camera. “It’s not my fault! The child tricked me!”

Emily squinted and made out a small, round aperture, just above the hand plate. So that’s where they were watching her from. 

At that moment, the door creaked and Lord Beelzebub entered, backed by two guards. They looked imperiously between Emily and Naamah, who stepped in front of the human protectively.

“Even now, you protect her?” Beelzebub said. “Even after your fondness for her has led you to make such terrible decisions and nearly lose us our prize? The Dark Council is most displeased with you.”

“I’m not fond of her,” Naamah said. “I’m merely trying to keep the girl alive. It’s not my fault she’s as insolent and slippery as they come.”

Beelzebub turned her attention to Emily, who shrank back, trying to stifle the pounding in her head.

“And you,” they said. “Grown a little fond of your nursemaid, have you? The humans have a word for that. What is it?” They looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Stockholm something or other. There’s nothing, it turns out, that humans adapt to as well as captivity. You downright love your captors for it.”

Emily clenched her fists, but determinedly stayed silent.

“Very well then,” Beelzebub said. “See what your treachery has wrought, human.” The demon materialized a saber, wicked and sharp, its curve dripping with something that looked like slime.

“You can’t kill me,” Naamah said, stepping back. “I’m Lilith’s kin. I outrank you.”

“I’m not killing you,” Beelzebub said. “Just a discorporation, approved by the Council. We’ll let you contemplate your sins in the line for corporal reassignment until someone gets around to helping you.”

Emily watched in horror as three quick swings of the saber flashed—removing Naamah’s head and hands, and the last one lancing through her heart. The body, or the pieces of it, fell to the floor with a sickening series of thumps, gore and blood spreading everywhere. It took her a moment to realize that the screams she was hearing were hers.

Beelzebub rounded on her and everything went still. Emily stopped breathing and watched. This was it, then. Her death. Time slowed, and she felt as if each second between the heartbeats pounding in her ears were hours. She somehow found it in herself to stand tall, willing her body not to show her fear.

“And you,” Beelzebub said. “Perhaps a night and a day spent contemplating the corpse of your ‘friend’ might improve your attitude.” They stepped towards the door. “We will send a new keeper in 24 hours to collect the detritus and bring your next meal. Until then, look upon your wrongdoings.”

#

Emily spent the next few hours huddled in a ball, trying to keep her senses away from the corpse across from her. It was impossible; the stench of death, the terrible glint of the blood in the torchlight, the unsettling noises as the body shifted and settled. It took all of her control not to descend into a comforting bout of unconsciousness.

The baby reached out to soothe her, sensing her distress, and with that, rationality returned. Cold, hard, rational thought. Several points became clear.

One, they were going to starve her for twenty-four hours, and she wasn’t sure she could survive that in her already weakened state. She’d only made it this far, despite how quickly and intensely malnutrition had set in, because she was still eating half her rations.

Two, after that twenty-four hours, she would undoubtedly receive a new guard, and that creature might be a lot less friendly to her than Naamah had been. This couldn’t be good.

Three, she might just have been handed an opportunity, if she were ruthless enough to take it.

#

The only way through was to shut off her emotions entirely. Emily did her best to communicate love to the baby, and also to let her know they were in danger and to be alert, and then she stuffed down her feelings and looked around, almost a shell of her usual self. Just intellect and cunning. She had no feelings. None at all.

She knew the way out from their trip to Earth. She knew where the camera was from the way Naamah had addressed it earlier. She knew how to release the chains. And now, unfortunately, she had a means to operate the door.

But first, disguise.

Moving quickly, she released the shackle on her wrist and picked up a small pile of something sticky, then raced to the camera and smeared it over the lens. She’d have to work fast and just hope that no one was paying close attention.

Next, she went to Naamah’s body, and, working quickly and dispassionately, she peeled her long, black cloak off her body and wrapped it around herself. It was disgusting, literally dripping with body fluids, but it covered her completely, and if the smell wracked her stomach, that was nothing new.

A cold, hard reality set in, and she felt like she watched from a distance as she smeared some of the gore over herself, over her exposed arms and part of her face, hoping it would disguise both her appearance and her human smell. It burned, and she hissed in pain, scrubbing at her cheeks. Finally, she rolled the body towards where she usually laid, and draped a blanket over it so it would look to the casual observer like she was sleeping.

There was only one thing left, and she hated to do it.

She needed a hand. Specifically, one of Naamah’s.

Barely allowing herself a breath, she picked one up and made her way to the door.

Before she left, she took an edge of the cloak and wiped the camera clean. No point in alerting them any faster than was necessary. Hopefully, the ruse of her sleeping would hold, and they might just think she’d kicked the body parts out of view.

Disgusted with herself, she turned and pressed the hand to the hand plate and stood back to watch as it slid open.

I’m never coming back from this moment, she thought. The moment I violated a corpse to get myself out of jail.

But she went through the door anyway.

Chapter Text

It haunted Crowley, day and night.

‘If you cared about her at all, you’d give yourself up, Crawly. But then again, she’s always mattered less than the angel, hasn’t she?’

Would he? Give himself up, that is? Not ideally, no. He hated to leave Earth, and leaving Aziraphale was unthinkable. Six thousand years of longing and they’d gotten what, a dozen years of actually being together, on their own side? It wasn’t bloody fair—it wasn’t enough. If it came to a comparison of how he felt for Aziraphale and how he felt for Emily, he had to admit his connection to the angel was infinitely deeper. He loved her, he did. But the love he felt for Aziraphale was ancient, as much a part of him as the very matter that made him up.

But he loved Emily too, and what he felt for their baby was profound. A little bit of Aziraphale and Emily out in the world, existing? He’d come to take miracles somewhat for granted over his six thousand years, but this one knocked him breathless.

He had no choice; after the disaster in the park, Emily was likely to face severe retribution. If she could be rescued, he had to do it. He was cleverer than most of Hell; perhaps he could survive whatever they had planned, bring himself back to them someday. And if not, well, he was awful at goodbyes.

He hoped the angel would forgive him someday.

#

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to die, Aziraphale thought. Of course he didn’t. He loved his life now as much as—if not more than—he ever had. How could he not? After millennia of having Heaven’s boot on his neck, carrying out orders and smiting on command, he now could live and love as he pleased. He had Emily, the baby, and most of all, he had Crowley, after thousands of years of denying himself. Loving Emily and the baby was only bearable, knowing they would be gone in a few short decades, because he knew Crowley would still be with him. It made him brave enough to try it, this strange partnership, knowing that he and the demon would face their ultimate loss hand in hand.

If Michael’s cooperation came with a side of trickery, or if Hell itself would win in whatever battle he faced, how could he not pay that price? He could never live with himself for letting Emily and the baby come to harm. They’d been searching for another solution and none had materialized. They were out of allies, low on hope, and nearly out of time.

He picked up Michael’s memo and read it again. It wasn’t so much to ask. Leave his signet ring, officially resign his position as Principality, and take up the charm she’d provided to guide his way into the underworld. He just needed to find a way to tell Crowley. Perhaps a letter. It wouldn’t soften the blow, but he knew that if he spoke to him in person, the demon would never let him go.

#

Crowley tried to take in every last sight, sound, and smell around him as he crept out of the bookshop early the next morning and made his way across town to the entrance to Hell. He could’ve miracled himself there the way he usually did, but he decided to walk. Feel the sunlight on his skin one last time. Listen to the cacophony of car horns and road rage that was his bread and butter. Watch a few pigeons feeding on filth. All the things he loved.

All except one. He tried to keep his mind away from the angel he’d left, slumbering away in their bed. He’d been deeply asleep that morning when Crowley had left, which was fortunate, because if the angel had opened those blue eyes and looked at him, Crowley didn’t think he’d had summoned the power to follow through.

Finally, he was there, at the unassuming entrance that guarded the portal to Above and Below from Earth. No human would ever see this door, only the agents of Heaven and Hell. He paused for a moment, then gripped the silver handle and let himself inside.

#

Aziraphale did his best to feign deep sleep when he heard the demon beside him rouse. Today was the day he had to put his plans into place, and he knew that if he looked at Crowley, even once, if he rolled over and kissed him and felt his warm body, his plans would slip away for another day and he’d hate himself for it. It had happened three times already. Delay was all too easy.

It was a relief, then, when he heard the jingle of the front door that meant the demon was going out. Probably to get something for breakfast and come back. He’d need to hurry, then.

He got up, snapped on his clothing, and went to retrieve the letter he’d written for his love.

Maybe Crowley would forgive him, someday.

#

Emily took a hesitant step out of the cave as the door slid shut behind her, and then allowed herself a deep breath before pulling her shoulders up and arranging herself in the posture of someone who belonged here, someone who wasn’t afraid. The guard at the end of the short passageway hadn’t noticed her yet. If she got by him, she was halfway there.

She walked confidently up to him, and the creature turned to gawp at her, dumbstruck.

“Out of my way,” Emily growled, making her voice as low and ‘demon-like’ as she could. “Lord Beelzebub left me to clean up.”

The guard, fortunately, was one of the stupid ones, and at the mention of Beelzebub, he stepped aside. He was, he thought, here to keep people from going in, not out. And the creature certainly looked infernal. Was that… demon blood? It smelled delicious.

Emily retraced the path Naamah had taken her on before, one hand trailing on the wall for support from both the dizziness and the hunger. She kept the cloak pulled tight around her and the hood low, and tried to stalk convincingly; luckily she passed very few creatures, and those that she did mostly sensed demon blood and gore on her, which apparently were doing a nice job of covering her human scent.

Right. Left. Left again. Long hallway, then third crevice to the left. Then, finally, it appeared in front of her. The escalator to the surface. All she needed was one more handprint sensor to let her through.

#

Crowley stepped into the vestibule and stopped, the escalators to Heaven and Hell in front of him. He couldn’t just leave, not with no word at all. Aziraphale and the others would think he’d been taken, and they might do foolish things in order to retrieve him. He had to let them know that he’d gone voluntarily, and that he’d try to come back.

He pulled out his phone and began typing a message to Aziraphale. Unfortunately, it was going to be a long one.

#

Aziraphale couldn’t stomach taking a long, last look at Earth. It hurt too much, what he was doing. Instead, he pulled off his signet ring, which bound his halo into a circle of power he could wear in this form, tucked the scroll of resignation from his position as Principality in his pocket, and placed the letter addressed to Crowley in the center of his desk. Then, with one last look around at his beloved shop, he closed his eyes and snapped, miracling himself to the vestibule of Heaven and Hell.

#

“What in the blazes are you doing here?” a voice greeted him as he materialized. “I haven’t even sent the bloody text yet!”

The angel whipped around and found… Crowley?

“I might ask you the same,” Aziraphale said, his tones clipped. “Are you following me?”

“Am I—am I—” the demon sputtered. “No! I was here first, for the love of—If anything, you’re following me!”

“Don’t think you can stop me—” the angel began.

“Don’t for one second think you’re going to come between me and—” the demon began.

They stopped and looked at each other warily.

“What’s happening here?” Crowley said slowly. “Talk. Now.”

#

In the history of British public rows, there are four that have been universally agreed upon to be the row-iest of all times. Two related to the merits of Manchester United, one concerned the lineage of the Queen, and the last has been firmly agreed upon to be the row that was currently occurring in a vestibule of an office building in London between a certain angel and demon.

Luckily, the building didn’t really exist in the human plane, so the humans who went by on the street weren’t immediately bothered by anything more than a vague sense of unease, and the denizens of Above and Below both had much better things to do than keep their eyes on a mere vestibule. So, the fact that two immortal beings were shouting and circling each other, occasionally shoving each other into walls, and all but coming to blows went unobserved by anyone except, perhaps, a few rats.

“You are not SACRIFICING yourself, Crowley!” the angel shouted. “I absolutely forbid it. Your death has no hope of freeing her, and it will DESTROY ME completely!”

The demon circled back out of arm’s reach and bared his teeth in a feral growl. “You don’t have the RIGHT to forbid me, angel!” he shouted back. “And what, it’s just fine for you to do the VERY SAME thing? Oh, the bloody hypocrisy! Still an angel at your core, aren’t you?”

The angel, moving too fast for human eyes to track, lunged for him, attempting to grab him by the lapels and drive him into the wall, but the demon was too fast for him, lurching aside in a gangly movement and letting the angel crash by and hit the wall hard with his shoulder. He came up glaring, rubbing his arm balefully.

“And you’re still a demon, aren’t you? Sneaking off behind my back?” he gritted out. “I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Stop me, then,” the demon sneered, taking a step towards the escalator. "We both know you won't have the heart to really do it."

Aziraphale lunged again, grabbing one of Crowley's arms and twisting it painfully behind him. "Won't I?" he panted, pushing the demon down towards the floor. "Still feel that way?"

Crowley growled and feinted forward, then pushed back, toppling both of them to the floor. He felt the whoosh of Aziraphale's breath leaving his body in one feral gasp. "Yep, sure do," Crowley shouted, rolling away and taking up a fighting stance, weight centered loosely over the balls of his feet so he could lunge in any direction. "That all you got? C'mon angel, just give up and let me go. We both know that's how it's going to end up anyway. You talk a good game but it always comes down to me doing the heavy lifting."

Aziraphale's face froze, then darkened in fury. A slight blue glow began to seep out around the edges of his corporation, and he rushed at the demon in what seemed like a flurry of extra wings, limbs, and powers. They went down with a crash, neither willing to let go, each trying to end up in control of the situation. Crowley felt his glasses go flying, and revenged himself by pulling on the angel’s waistcoat until he heard a button tear free and clatter to the ground.

”Why, you—“  the angel gasped, renewing his efforts by driving a knee into Crowley’s side. 

They were still grappling, unable to tell who was winning or losing, when the sudden grinding of gears and a mechanical whir reached their ears. They froze, still clenched in a violent pile, and looked towards the escalators.

“Shit, someone’s coming,” Crowley said.

“Oh, that’ll be Michael,” the angel said faintly. “Coming to collect my resignation letter. You really shouldn’t be here when she arrives. You know how she is.”

Crowley bared his teeth at him and snarled but he did release his hold on the angel, who cooperated enough to let him stand. He squared his shoulders, back to the escalator, and tried to occupy enough space to cover all access to the stairs. “You’re going to Hell only over my dead body, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale frowned, staring past him. “It’s the wrong escalator.”

“Don’t try to change the—”

Aziraphale pointed, and he turned to look. The escalator to Heaven was unactivated, but the one to Hell glowed, its treads appearing and disappearing through the floor.

“Oh great,” Crowley said. “A visitor from the depths.” He stepped in front of Aziraphale, who looked like he wanted to take the chance to kick him, and drove them both back as far from the escalator as they could get. “Stay behind me, just this once, at least until we see who it is. Can you do that?”

#

The walls around her swam and pulsed as Emily neared the last checkpoint. Was that real or was it a function of her half-starvation and minor concussion? She couldn’t be sure. She laid a hand on her baby bump, under the cloak, and silently asked the baby to help her, and she felt a wave of strength and love swim up. Somehow, it became easier to stand upright as she neared the bored-looking demon working the gate. He looked her over with a wrinkled nose, disgusted by the gore.

“Been in a fight, yeah?” he said.

“You should see the other guy,” Emily said. She used the cloak to hide the fact that the hand she extended towards the sensor was not her own. An interminably long moment passed before the sensor turned green and the gate swung open in front of her.

“Have a bad one,” the demon called behind her.

Emily staggered towards the escalator and clung on for dear life as it lurched into motion.

#

How long was this ride, anyway, Emily dimly wondered? The stench, the dizziness—she couldn’t help it. She found herself kneeling somehow instead of standing, then down on all fours as the contraption beneath her rumbled on, carrying her up and up. The hand—Naamah’s hand—tumbled out of her grasp to lay bare on the step beside her, and the sight of it made her heave, her stomach desperately clenching for something to vomit but finding nothing.

This—this was too much. To make it almost out of Hell and then pass out within sight of her escape? She couldn’t allow it. Emily owed the baby, herself, and her partners more than that. With one last burst of strength, she pushed herself back to her knees as she saw a greenish, wavering wall of something approaching above her. Was it—was that some kind of force field? She took a step back, but the moving contraption catapulted her up and through what felt almost like water, except that she didn’t find herself wet.

And then, suddenly, she was on solid ground. On Earth. In some kind of building. And, she thought dimly, she must be hallucinating, because it almost looked like the two faces she loved most in all the world were here with her. The angel and the demon, both gaping at her in horror.

She threw back the hood and took a step towards them—even if they were a hallucination, she was still glad to see them—and then collapsed entirely.

#

Crowley braced himself as the body of some kind of repulsive demon, small but literally dripping with blood and gore, emerged from the down escalator, its hood covering its face, and the hand of a vanquished enemy beside it. He flung a hand out to keep the angel behind him back as it stepped forward and then—

“Is that—” Aziraphale said, as the foul creature in front of them took a step off the escalator and threw back its hood.

It turned its blood-streaked face towards them, smiled, and fell to the ground.

Crowley ran forward and brushed the hair off its face and felt for a pulse.

“Angel, it’s her. I don’t know how, but it’s Emily.”

The angel swept the girl up into his arms as if she weighed nothing—noting with unease that he hardly needed his angelic strength to do so, she was so light—and then miracled all three of them back to the shop.

Chapter Text

“What happened to her?” Aurielle gasped as they materialized in the shop, a thoroughly unconscious, nearly unrecognizable Emily in Aziraphale’s arms.

He quickly laid her on the couch, and he and Crowley watched in mute shock as Aurielle swept in to assess, one hand on Emily’s forehead, one on her sternum. She closed her eyes and frowned in concentration; Rafe appeared from somewhere, dropping to his knees beside her.

“Towels,” he barked. He snapped and the horrible cloak disappeared, off into the ether where it would never afflict another creature again. “Someone get warm, wet towels. We need to get all this blood off her and see where she’s hurt.”

Crowley complied, materializing a hastily assorted pile of towels and flannels, steaming gently. He handed a few to Raphael, who began wiping down her arms and torso. For lack of anything better to do, Crowley walked to the head of the couch and started to gently clean the gore off Emily’s face.

The complexion this revealed was a frightening shade of whitish-gray, the veins beneath the surface standing out in stark relief, as if what had returned to them was an Emily crafted from clay instead of living flesh. His blood ran cold at the sight. He ran a hand over her cheek, trying to warm her, noting as he did that it was mottled with blisters.

“Are those burns?” Aziraphale said from behind him.

“Demon blood is caustic,” Crowley answered, terse. “I’d say she smeared it there herself. There are fingermarks.”

“Disguise,” Aziraphale breathed. Their eyes met in mutual surprise, then skittered away.

“No puncture wounds I can see,” Raphael called. “Aurielle, what do you have?”

Aurielle opened her eyes. “Dehydration. Malnutrition. Low blood volume. She’s in rough shape.” She looked up and met Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s eyes. “Baby’s fine.”

“Not too rough for us, though,” Raphael said. “Let’s get her stabilized.”

#

Crowley watched in a helpless haze as Raphael and Aurielle labored over Emily for what felt like hours, working perfectly in sync in a dance that they’ve obviously done many times before. He and Aziraphale were superfluous, orbiting around the action and each other, shellshocked by both what happened before Emily appeared and what had transpired since. She was back. How was she back? How was she?

In the back of his brain, Crowley tried without success to ruthlessly suppress thoughts of their argument and what caused it. He and Aziraphale, both sneaking away to leave the other, coming to blows over the other’s betrayals. It had been nearly half a millennium since either of them had let an argument become physical in any way. That they’d broken that streak felt so deeply wrong, so huge and unbearable, that he couldn’t meet Aziraphale’s eyes. He got the sense that the angel felt the same.

For now, though, what mattered was her. Bring her back to us, you bastard, he hissed in a corner of his mind, picturing what he could remember of the Almighty. She doesn’t deserve this. Don’t you dare take her.

With a deep breath, he tried to steady himself, to plug all the holes that were seeping inside of him, to stop the slow disintegration he could feel threatening.

He was almost too afraid to breathe.

#

This was his punishment, the angel thought. He’d snuck away from Crowley, ready to die without even telling him, and then he raised hands to him in his rage at finding that Crowley planned to do the same thing. He shook his head to drive away the avalanche of feelings threatening to overtake him; the endless hole of fear that he had finally done the unforgivable, that Crowley would be gone as soon as Emily recovered, that he didn’t deserve the demon’s forgiveness. He didn’t have time to deal with that right now. First, there was Emily, failing on the couch, two archangels working to save her, their daughter—both of their daughter—fighting for life in her belly.

One thing first, Lord, he thought. First save the girl, just help us to save her, and I swear to you I will beg his forgiveness later. I will work to win him back. I promise I will.

#

Finally, finally, Raphael sat back on his heels and raised his head. “I think she’s stable. That was a close one.” 

Emily’s face was no longer gray, Crowley noted. She was still pale, but there was a hint of color in her cheeks. He watched her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, and his knees wobbled under him with relief. He discreetly grabbed a pillar for support, trying to look natural.

“She needs sleep,” Aurielle said, checking the girl’s pulse. “And water, and food. But sleep first.”

“I’ll sit with her,” Aziraphale said. “You two rest.”

#

Emily continued to drift, unconscious. Every hour, Aurielle had Aziraphale or Crowley support her upper body as she tipped a bit of water into her mouth, a few sips of tea here and there, a little broth after the tea went well. Emily obediently swallowed without choking, but she didn’t wake.

“Is she all right?” Crowley asked, suddenly nervous. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

Aurielle looked up at them, her gray eyes dark. “She’s been through some major trauma. I don’t know how she got herself out of Hell in this condition, but I’ll tell you one thing. This girl is one tough customer. Her body was ready to shut down from lack of nutrients. I’m amazed she made it out.”

Aziraphale mumbled something and hurried out of the room. Crowley heard his feet hurrying up the stairs and into the flat, and then nothing.

Aurielle met his eyes. “You should go see about him,” she said. “He needs you.”

Does he? Crowley thought. He wasn’t sure he was what Aziraphale wanted at all right now.

But he staggered to his feet and followed.

#

 “How in the name of all that is unholy did this happen?” Beelzebub shouted, bursting with rage. Behind them, one of the lightbulbs in the overhead fluorescents fizzled and burst, showering Dagon and the other demon in the room with tiny shards of glass. “I want to know who is responsible and I want to see them dismembered with a staple remover!”

“She appears to have just unhooked her chains and walked out,” Dagon said sourly. “With Naamah’s hand in tow.”

“Bloody ruthless, that,” Beelzebub said, impressed despite their rage. “It takes real moxie to disfigure a corpse for your own purposezzz. Perhaps we should think less about recapture and more about recruitment.”

“I can make a note of it.”

“And you,” Beelzebub said, turning to the quivering guard behind Dagon. “You were at your post when thizzz occurred?”

 The guard quaked. “Yes, Lord Beelzebub, I—the girl had covered herself in Naamah’s blood and cloak… You see she didn’t smell human at all, and… and she said that you’d left her there to…”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes and snapped, and the guard disappeared. “Sent that one to the pitzzz,” they said. “We’ll give him a few hundred years to consider hizzz stupidity.”

“What would you have me do next, my Lord?” Dagon said. “I’m yours to command.”

Beelzebub paced the office. “We can try summoning again, of course, but if they have a brain cell between them, they’ll have guarded againzzt it.” They turned and paced the other direction. “What would be a smarter move?”

A crisp knock sounded at the door. Beelzebub raised their eyebrows and Dagon went to open it.

In the hallway stood a creature none of them had seen in centuries. A being of legend, not even believed to be real by some of the lower echelons, although of course Beelzebub knew better. All the members of the Dark Council had met Lilith at some point. As an honorary member, she didn’t often attend, and when she did, she often kept herself only half materialized, covered in haze.

But here she was in the flesh. Lilith, the Morningstar’s erstwhile queen, tall and imperious, nearly as gorgeous as He had been, her flesh unmarred, her eyes burning with flame, and something Beelzebub couldn’t quite name, but which she thought might be… anger?

“My lady Lilith,” Beelzebub said, as Dagon quietly backed away into their own office. “Please come in.”

Lilith stalked in, staring around the grubby office as if she’d never seen anything so revolting in her life, before dismissing it and fixing her burning gaze on Lord Beelzebub, who did their best not to squirm.

“I have come,” she said, “to ask about what you and my sister have been up to, Beelzebub. I am very displeased by what I’ve heard.”

#

Dagon cowered in her office until the shouting had stopped and the outer door slammed. And then, just to be safe, she counted to one hundred. Twice. Finally, nervously, she ventured out to see if the boss was still alive.

“Are… are you all right, my Lord?”

Beelzebub sat slumped at their desk, head in their hands, their posture radiating defeat. “Fine, fine,” they said, waving a hand imperiously. “You heard her. I’m not happy about it, you’re not happy about it, but what can we do?”

Dagon nodded, casting about for words. “What did she mean, the girl and her child have a role to play in the realm’s future?”

Beelzebub sagged. “Who the fuck knowzzz? But I know we aren’t going to touch her again.” They dug a bottle of foul-looking liquid out of the bottom drawer of their desk and poured two glasses, passing one across the desk.

Dagon emptied it in one go and sighed as companionably as a demon was capable of. All things considered, Beelzebub was a decent boss if you were even the slightest bit capable, and probably as close to a friend as she had down here. The least she could do was be sympathetic. “That sucks, my Lord. You had so many excellent, truly infernal plans.”

“I did!” Beelzebub groused, draining their own glass and refilling it. “And you know what really chaps my arse? The Serpent winzzz again. How does he always come out on top?”

“I know,” Dagon said, holding out her own glass for more. “I know. But we’ll get him, eventually. In the meantime, how about we get blackout drunk?”

“And then sober up and get blackout drunk again?” Beelzebub said. “Now there’s a plan I can get behind.”

#

“Angel?” Crowley called as he came into the flat. No one was in sight in the living room, dining room, or kitchen. He hesitated by the kitchen table, noting the open bedroom door, suddenly terrified of the reception he might get.

Aziraphale was sitting on the bed, his jacket peeled off, hands fisted into his eyes like he was trying to claw them out of his head, and his shoulders were heaving with gasping breaths.

The angel, Crowley realized, was weeping. He’d only seen it a handful of times in their many years. It took him so much by surprise that he stood like he’d been made of stone for much too long, just watching, before another gasping sob galvanized him into motion.

Crowley dropped to his knees in front of the angel and pulled him close, and just held on desperately. The angel resisted for a moment, then gave in utterly, collapsing wordlessly against him as he gave in further to the pain.

“Angel,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the angel said, the words sounding like they were ripping their way out of his throat. “I left you to save her, and… and I screamed at you… and I threatened you with violence… shoved you…”

Crowley sighed and leaned back a little, just far enough to bring them eye to eye. “And I did the same to you, if not worse. At least you left a note. And I’m pretty sure I shoved you, too.”

“I—I said terrible things to you,” the angel gasped, and Crowley wondered if he’d even heard him speak. “Thing I didn’t mean. I tried… I tried to hurt you, so you’d let me go through. So.. so it would be…“ He stopped, unable to finish.

“So it would be you and not me who faced their death,” Crowley said, flatly. “I know, you bloody idiot. I was doing the same exact thing.”

They stared at each other in mutual devastation.

“How did we ever get to this point?” the angel asked.

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, his chest aching, “but I know I didn’t mean any of the terrible things I said to you. And know that I forgive you completely for whatever you said or did.”

Aziraphale looked at him, almost disbelievingly. “You can’t possibly mean that. I said—I said—“

“Shhhh,” the demon said, leaning in. “I said worse. We both gave as good as we got. And we were both just trying to save Emily.” He huffed out a broken sounding laugh. “It’s complicated.”

Aziraphale let out a shuddery breath. “It is that, isn’t it? For what it’s worth, I forgive you too, fully and without condition.”

They clung to each other for a while longer, letting the softness of their love heal over some of the bruises, until they could cling no longer, and when they came back down the stairs to watch over their partner and unborn daughter, they held hands, tightly and fiercely, as if they never intended to let go again.

#

Emily drifted through the night, mostly unconscious, but occasionally a frightened, primitive part of herself surfaced and dragged her near to consciousness, as if assessing where she was. It contemplated panicked flight, scenting like an animal before determining that there were no smells of brimstone or blood around her, but instead the smell of old paper and the softness of a familiar couch. Comforted, she’d relax and allow herself to sink back under, at least until the dreams began.

Swirling, desperate images tormented her.

Naamah, teeth and horns dripping with blood, accosting her with blame for her death.

Dark shapes swooping in from all corners, eager talons stretched out to claw at her.

Spells and chanting curling around her, not even pulling her back down through the Earth this time but instead tearing her limbs apart.

The baby, tiny and perfect, alive and fluttering in the air above her, looking down on her with disdain. How could you be of any help to me, her daughter said, bright wings unfurled behind her. I don’t need a human like you. You’re hopelessly ill-equipped.

Laughter, and dark, beady eyes that hid a cruel amusement. She couldn’t remember who they belonged to.

Hopeless, stupid girl.

Do you really think they care about you as much as you do them?

You’ve upended their lives in ways they never asked for.

The three of them—majestic, immortal beings —and you? Their pet human?

Pathetic.

#

“Emily,” a voice she dimly recognized called. “Emily, wake up. You’re dreaming, love.”

Slowly, the sensations became stronger. A warm hand holding hers. Blankets, real ones. Something soft beneath her. Another hand on her forehead, brushing her hair off her face.

It felt safe. It felt familiar.

It might, she realized with a sudden lurch, be a trick.

She gathered her strength and tried to launch herself up and back, waiting for the cold stone wall, damp and solid, to hit her back, and blinked frantically to clear her vision. Where was she? Who was touching her? She needed a weapon—she needed something to fend them off with—she needed—

“Emily, my dear,” the voice said again, calm and low. “It’s Aziraphale. You’re safe.”

"No!" Her mouth was so dry, her lips stuck to her gums, and further speech felt impossible. As the room came into focus, she took in three people around her. Aziraphale. Crowley. Aurielle. All of their eyes were on her.

She tried to say more but was wracked by a cough instead. When it stopped, Aziraphale reached out with a glass of water. She flinched away, and saw a look of pain and concern cross his face. 

After a moment, she took it from him, and took a deep swallow, then another. She passed the cup back to him, thinking hard.

The water seemed real. It tasted nothing like the water in her cave. No hint of dirt or ash. Could her dreams be this vivid? 

“I… I…” Her voice sounded foreign, more like a frog than a human. She hated that. She drew her gaze up to Aziraphale, to those familiar blue eyes she hadn’t seen in weeks. “Is this real?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said, his eyes misting over as a beatific smile broke out over her face. “I promise you, it’s real. You’re home, you clever girl.”

A wave of longing so strong it would've knocked her to her knees if she'd been standing broke over her. She wanted to believe. She was so, so afraid to believe. 

She hated how much the quaver in her voice made all of that apparent. “Prove it?" 

Crowley moved closer, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Prove it how, Em?" 

Emily closed her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest, propped up ramrod straight against the back corner of the couch. "Do something they can't do in Hell." 

She listened half-heartedly to their concerned muttering and let herself drift. The couch felt soft beneath her. She wasn't this imaginative, was she? Could hallucinations involve all the senses so thoroughly? Finally someone cleared their throat, and Emily opened her eyes. 

"Would this do?" Aziraphale said. He looked at her, a gentle smile on his face, and suddenly he began to glow with the gentlest golden light, the barest show of his angelic essence. Even from her spot two feet away, Emily could feel the warmth of it, the love and care it possessed, its soothing nature. She took a deep breath and let it out, feeling something relax. 

No one in Hell could produce an angelic essence, or anything even resembling it. No one could emit that sense of goodness and peace. 

It could mean only one thing. 

"Oh my god," she said, tears suddenly flowing. "I'm home? I'm really home? How--"

Aurielle swooped in, all mother-hen. “Don’t try to talk too much yet, hon. We’ll answer all your questions, I promise, but first, do you think you could eat something?”

Emily shook her head as her stomach contracted in anticipation. “Can’t. Awful. It’s all rotten. Slimy.”

Crowley looked stricken. A flicker ran over Aziraphale’s face before he smiled again. “No, my dear, real food. I promise. And I think we may just have your favorite scones. Shall I go get you some?”

Emily squeezed her eyes shut in confusion, then nodded.

As the angel went off to fetch something, she closed her eyes and leaned back, noting as she did that Crowley had stepped forward to sit beside her, sliding her hand into his. She held on for dear life. 

#

The next day, she was clearer. She woke in the late morning and managed to sit up without help, and although she remained wide-eyed and nervous, she didn’t seem confused any longer. She even smiled a little and allowed a hug or two.

If she seemed skittish, still exhausted, that was to be expected, Raphael said. Her brain was catching up to what had happened. She’d been through captivity and whatever horror led to her emerging from the underworld, grasping a disembodied hand and wearing the blood of another creature, and she would talk to them in her own time.

In the meantime, all they could do was give her love and gentleness and peace and make sure she started to build up her strength.

#

Crowley stared out the window of Emily’s bedroom, watching the pigeons fly over the city and thinking about how desperately he wanted to pull Beelzebub limb from limb. He could just imagine how satisfying it would feel to hold them down and smash each of their precious pet flies, one by one. Terrorizing Emily. Stealing her away. They deserved every torment he could think of. Someday, he’d implement his vengeance.

A sound behind him startled him out of his visions. He turned and found Emily, awake and pushed up against the headboard. She stared at him with a complicated look on her face he couldn’t place.

“Em?” he whispered, coming to sit down beside her on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Everything is fuzzy. Did… Were… Were you at the top of the escalator when I came up? You and Aziraphale?”

Crowley nodded gravely. “We were. We were both there to give ourselves up for you. Individually, I mean. I’d struck a bargain with Hell and Aziraphale had struck one with Heaven, our freedom for your life. If you hadn’t come right at that moment… well, things would’ve gotten pretty messy.”

She stared at him, perplexed. “You were going to do that for me?”

“Of course we were,” he said, frowning. “We’d done nothing but try to get you back, but we knew you were sick—Beelzebub told us that—and we were out of time and out of options. We had to get you out of there.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

“Oh shut up,” he said mildly, reaching out for her hand. He squeezed it and then ran a thumb across her knuckles. “Anyway, we didn’t need to because you did something incredibly clever and got yourself out of there without our help.”

Emily nodded and didn’t say anything else for a while. Finally, she looked up at him again. “Did—did I have an extra hand when I came up?”

He nodded. “Wanna tell me whose that was?”

She swallowed around the lump that formed in her throat. “No. Not yet.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Whenever you want to, though, I’m here.”

#

“You’re doing so much better, hon!” Aurielle announced, her grin so big it looked like it might hurt. Emily smiled back at her, and the expression felt more natural on her face than it had in days.

“Can I maybe try getting up?” she asked. “I think I’d like to be out of this bed for a while.”

When they tottered into the kitchen where the other three were gathered, all conversation stopped dead.

“Could someone make me a cheeseburger?” Emily asked as she lowered herself into one of the chairs, and Aziraphale’s answering grin was blinding.

#

A few days later, Emily sat down and gave her two partners a bare outline of what had happened to her and, more frighteningly, what she had done.

“You did this to yourself?” Aziraphale exclaimed, then checked himself. He didn’t have the heart to be angry at her, but his stomach clenched with pain at the thought. “You took yourself to death’s door just to get their attention?”

“I did,” Emily said, sticking her chin out in an all too familiar gesture that Aziraphale realized he’d desperately missed, despite how much her stubbornness could chafe him. “I couldn’t fight them. I thought if I was sick enough, they’d eventually get me a doctor, maybe even a human, and I’d be able to get a message to you. And I got them to bring me to the surface that one time, even though that didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.”

Crowley stared at her, aghast. “You could’ve died, Emily. Nearly did.”

“I know,” she said. “But… but it worked. And I didn’t die. And if I hadn’t done it, I’d still be there, and one or both of you would be dead, or imprisoned, or something.”

“You’re unbelievable,” the angel gasped, sounding somewhere between furious and impressed.

Emily turned to Crowley. “I’m sorry about Naamah,” she said uncertainly. “You said she was a friend of yours. And she wasn’t that bad. She tried to protect me, in her own way.”

Crowley huffed. “She was sort of a friend, a very long time ago. Helped me when I first fell. But she was also your jailor, and you weren’t the one who killed her.”

Emily’s eyes welled over. “No. But I… but…” She stopped, wrapping her arms around herself. “I did horrible things. I… she died because of me, and I…”

Aziraphale ached for her. No human should have had to make the decisions Emily had made in the last month—to trust a demon, to sacrifice her health to the point of near bodily shutdown, to coat herself in blood and grasp the body part of an almost-friend to make a desperate escape from the pits of Hell.

He leaned across the table and took both of her hands in his, using every bit of his angelic intensity to get across to her the absolute love and sincerity in his words. “You did the only thing you could have done to save yourself, and you were incredibly, unbelievably brave to do it.”

Emily wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath, and he felt her calming at least a little beneath his touch. “I’m not… I’m not completely ready for it yet,” she said. “But someday, if I ask you to, will one of you help me dull the memory of it? Not erase it, but just… lighten it a little?”

 A wordless look of agreement passed between the angel and the demon.

“Yes, of course,” Crowley said. “When you’re ready.”

“But it’s important that you heal and process it a little first,” Aziraphale said, “no matter how hard it seems, so that it doesn’t come back to haunt you later.”

“I know.”

“But of course we will,” he continued. “You don’t have to carry it this fresh forever.”

The next morning, for the first time, she woke up to the sound of birds chirping and realized she hadn’t woken up gasping in the middle of the night, relying on Crowley or Aziraphale to gently calm her down from her nighttime fears. She stretched and rolled over, finding Aziraphale already up, but Crowley still present. He grinned at her.

“Emily, you slept all night!”

“That felt amazing,” she said, trying to get herself to the edge of the bed but finding her belly too big to let her. “Can you please give me a push? I’m trapped.”

Crowley laughed but he did.

Chapter Text

As the weeks passed, Emily came back to life as the end of her pregnancy ticked down. She was gaining weight again, and her cheeks weren’t as sunken and gaunt anymore. Her heart didn’t race as much, her dark hair was getting glossier again, and while she still needed a lot of sleep, she was having a much easier time staying awake between naps.

Which was good, because with the tentative due date only a few weeks away, everything else about her body was bewildering. The baby moved constantly and visibly. Her ankles swelled up, and she found herself unable to get comfortable in most positions. Her days of sleeping on her back were over for the time being, and she’d given up on tying her shoes.

“Won’t be long now,” Aurielle said. “Having any more of those contractions?”

Emily shuddered. “No. But how will I know, when they start, that it’s just normal baby stuff and not someone summoning me again?”

Aurielle’s eyes widened. “Oh! No no no, it’s no longer possible. We’ve got spell work around this place now that no summoning could penetrate, specific to those sigils. If things start to feel funny, you can rest assured that it’s just the baby this time.”

That was a relief. “So we’re safe?”

“We’re safe. I promise.”

Emily tried to believe it. One step at a time. If they were safe enough for the birth, then that was good enough for now. She’d worry about keeping the baby safe for the rest of her life after that.

#

“I need to do some shopping,” Emily said. “For the baby.”

Aziraphale froze in the middle of pouring tea into four cups and looked pained. “I’m sure you do,” he said carefully. “But I hesitate to take you out shopping right now. We just don’t know what might happen, and after the last time with Michael—“

“Oh no. Not out. I have no interest in ever going out again. I meant online.” She watched as Aziraphale’s face relaxed. “I need to nest. The baby is coming in a few weeks, and do we even have anything?”

Aurielle perked up in her seat, excited. “Oh, we have some things! I’ve been stocking up on diapers. And blankets and onesies. But we wanted to leave some of it for you to choose. Nesting is important for mothers-to-be.”

“Yes, I read about it in my book!” Aziraphale chirped, fussily handing everyone a cup.

Emily smiled. “I want to see all of it. But seriously, can I just get online and have a bunch of stuff delivered? We need something for her to sleep in, at least.”

Crowley materialized a sleek black laptop and passed it over to her. “Order anything you like. I saved my black card online; you can use it anywhere.”

Emily shimmied happily and got right to it, pulling up the browser and typing away.

“I’ve been meaning to ask — are you planning to have a nursery for her?” Aziraphale said. “Because we can work on adding a room for you if so…”

Emily paused in what she was typing and looked up, her face uncertain. “Honestly, after everything, I think I’d like to have her with me, in the same room, at least at first. I’d worry about her constantly if she were out of sight.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I think that would be very wise, and you’d feel much better, too. Perhaps one of those wheeled bassinets, so we could move her from your room to ours depending on where you’re sleeping? Or maybe one of those darling little moses baskets?”

Emily moved over on the couch and patted the cushion and Aziraphale, looking delighted, plopped down next to her.

Crowley stood up and gestured to Aurielle. “Well, we’re not going to see those two again for several hours.”

“Are you kidding?” Aurielle said. “If there’s a baby-stuff buying party, I want to be a part of it.”

Aziraphale looked up. “A party it is, then.” He looked at Crowley. “Dearest, could you perhaps rustle up some little cakes for us? Maybe petit fours? Or some lovely little sandwiches? Let’s make an afternoon of it.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but headed agreeably to the kitchen.

#

That evening, as Crowley and Raphael were putting together some kind of complicated pasta dinner, Aziraphale’s cell phone lit up on the table behind him. By the ring, Crowley could tell the call originated in Heaven, even if the number was unfamiliar.

“Is he still downstairs?” Raphael said. “Should we answer it?”

Crowley shouted down the stairs for Aziraphale, then nodded as he heard the angel making his way upstairs.

Rafe answered, hitting the button to put it on speaker.

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” he said.

“Hello, uh, Raphael sir,” said a squeaky, nervous voice. “It’s Jeromius, sir. We met… we met on Earth a few weeks ago.”

“Ah yes, the hapless fool that led Heaven’s forces right to our door,” Crowley spat. “Was that accidental or intentional?”

He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale as he joined them, mouthing the word ‘Heaven.’

“I should’ve mentioned,” Raphael said casually, “that you’re on speaker.”

Muffled breathing sounds became gasping and there was a sound of the phone being handled before a new voice came on. “Tabris here, sir. Sirs. Sirs and madam?” She paused. “Jeromius looks like he might—Well, anyway, we wanted to let you know something important.”

Aziraphale leaned in, his voice at least courteous compared to the others. “And what’s that, my dear?”

Tabris let out a relieved sigh. “Well, the strangest thing happened. Yesterday, in the middle of some kind of training session, Gabriel and Michael were arrested.”

#

Michael and Gabriel awoke in a bare, white room. Before they could speak, a kind of hatch pulled back in the ceiling to reveal a circular opening, almost like an eye. The face of the Metatron appeared above them.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel demanded, flexing his powers and finding them thoroughly neutralized. “You can’t punish us. You’re our coworker, not our boss.”

Michael stood back and watched quietly, either undecided or unwilling to show her thoughts on the matter.

“No, I cannot,” said the Metatron, distantly. “And it’s true, only God can judge you, and she has not made her presence known for some time now.”

“That’s right, sunshine,” Gabriel yelled. “I have a department to run. The entire onsite staff of Heaven is under my command.”

“And I outrank you, archangel,” the Metatron said. “I outrank you all. A little respect would be wise, given that I have seen proof of you murdering a sanctified priest and aiding Hell in the abduction and potential death of an innocent, unborn babe. These are serious crimes and must be answered for.”

Gabriel kept up his desperate swagger. “Not to you,” he spat. “Only to Her. You don’t have the right to cast me down or punish me.”

“I do not,” the Metatron said dispassionately. “But I can hold you until such a time as She returns to make a judgment. In the meantime, you will do no further harm to man, beast, or angel.”

The window above them shut with a clang. Gabriel and Michael looked at each other, aghast.

“That could take centuries,” Michael said. “What are we supposed to do until then?”

Just as the words left her mouth, a chime rang out and a small white bookcase appeared, full of volumes.

“Oh great, what now?” Gabriel said, investigating. He ran a hand over the first few spines, reading out their names. “’On Mercy: An Angelic Treatise’. ‘Insight Into Heavenly Responsibility In The Lives of Man.’ ‘The Nature of Love and Justice.’” He looked up. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Michael shrugged. “It looks like our brother the Metatron wants us to do some reading.”

She walked over, selected a volume at random, and carefully sat down on the floor.

#

Crowley popped the cork off a bottle of champagne, expertly catching it with a tea towel, and poured five glasses—four full, and one just a smidge, for Emily. He raised his glass and turned to face all of them, Emily and the three angels.

“To Aziraphale,” he said, smiling at him, “for getting Heaven off our bloody backs.”

“To Aziraphale!” everyone repeated.

“I’m so pleased that it worked,” Aziraphale said mildly.

Raphael raised his glass. “May they rot in a prison cell for the next hundred years.”

“I suspect that no judgments have been rendered,” Aziraphale said. “The Metatron was quite firm on that. But I suggested he hold them until they can find the proper adjudicator.”

“If that’s Herself, it could be a long, long time,” Aurielle said. “Which is just fine with us.”

“I wonder,” said Crowley, “who will step into the void this leaves in Heaven’s administrative structure. I mean—you two are down here. Gabriel and Michael are locked up. Who does that leave?”

“Sandalphon,” Raphael said, wrinkling his nose. “But he’s no administrator. More of a thug. He doesn’t have the talent for it. He’s also greedy as sin, and eminently bribable, which will work out in our favor if it comes to that. If they have any sense, they’ll bring in fresh talent. Promote from below.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye out,” Aziraphale said, refilling his glass. “Now, what are our thoughts on Hell?”

#

Emily sipped her inch of champagne and watched them all, discussing Heaven and its politics and the relative merits of various angels to take on leadership roles, and invariably her mind slipped back towards Beelzebub’s words. What was it they’d said? These powerful, celestial creatures, living in worlds she couldn’t understand? 

What use could you possibly be to them? Besides the obvious, of course.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, and slipped away towards her room.

#

Crowley and Aziraphale’s eyes met over their glasses. They’d both been hyper-aware of Emily’s movements and moods since she’d returned, watching for any hint of trauma or illness.

She’d made great strides, no longer having frequent nightmares, and her health had certainly improved, but they both sensed from time to time that something further was eating at her. The question was whether it involved the trauma of her terrible escape from Hell, or something more.

With a nod in response to some unspoken agreement, they both headed off to follow her and see if she was all right.

#

Emily heard them coming, and she quickly gathered a pile of the baby clothes Aurielle had bought for her and started sorting through them. When they entered, she could at least look busy.

She tried to give a convincing smile as they came in. They looked unconvinced.

“Em? What is it?” Crowley said, leaning against the wardrobe at the foot of the bed. “Something’s been bothering you.”

Emily looked down, folding a tiny, tiny baby gown up into a small bundle. “It’s really nothing. I just needed a break.”

Silence.

Aziraphale broke it, sitting down next to her and reaching out to ruffle through the pile of tiny clothing. “You know you can talk to us. Is it about Naamah?”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I just don’t know how to say it.”

“Please tell us, Em,” Crowley said. “After everything that’s happened, what can’t we handle?”

She sighed. “It’s just—that stupid, fly-encrusted demon got in my head.”

Crowley’s face darkened. “Beelzebub? Beelzebub is literally the prince of lies. Honestly. What in the blazes did they say to you?”

She looked at both of them. “A lot of stuff. About you two. And us. And the baby.”

Aziraphale looked deeply worried. “Such as?”

Emily faltered for a minute. “That I’m nothing but a blip to you,” she finally admitted. “That… that I’ve messed up your lives in innumerable ways. That you didn’t ask for any of this.”

Crowley swore under his breath. “Bullshit. That’s ridiculous. We chose this. We still choose this.”

Aziraphale nodded, laying a hand on top of hers. “You’re not a burden. We love you, Emily. And if anyone’s life has been messed up by the decision to get involved in this, it’s yours. I’ve had the same fear about you, my dear. That you’ve taken on more than you could ever have expected.”

Emily shook her head. “Well, I mean, I didn’t expect this. But who ever would? I’m coping. You two make it worth it.”

Crowley nodded but looked at her shrewdly. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Emily laid a hand on her stomach. This part was harder. “They said… that when the baby was born, it would become obvious to me that I don’t fit. That there’d be the three of you—ethereal creatures with powers and concerns I can’t share—and me.” She swallowed. “Your pet human.”

Aziraphale made a rude noise, which was almost amusing coming from him. “And you believed that?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t, really. But it… just kind of worked its way in over time. You know?”

Crowley sighed and came to crouch directly in front of her, hands on her knees. “That’s what they do. Beelzebub especially, because for a demon, they’re unusually smart. They find a weak spot and they plant a little seed to exploit it. Make you question things you wouldn’t have questioned before, make you doubt things.” He paused, looking up at her. “Emily, you’re no one’s pet. You’re brave and sarcastic and loving and temperamental and forgiving and one hundred percent a force to be reckoned with in your own right. And I love all of those things about you. Don’t doubt that we love you.”

Emily swallowed and the bloody tears that had been plaguing her since she got pregnant came rolling out again. She wiped her cheeks, annoyed by them. “I don’t, not really. But I’ve had such a hard time even dealing with this pregnancy, because the baby is stronger than me. What if Beelzebub is right that I’m going to be hopeless as a parent? How am I going to handle a half-angel, half-human hybrid as a crazy toddler if I can hardly keep it fed as a fetus?”

“Emily, dearest,” Aziraphale sputtered, looking grave. “That’s… that’s simply absurd. I think many women feel this way before they become a mother, afraid that they might be bad at it. It’s normal to feel nervous about such an enormous change, and your case has some added complications that most women don’t face. But you’re already a natural at loving and caring for this baby. And you’ll be everything to her, whether or not she can fly.”

“She’s going to love you,” Crowley said. “You’re her entire world right now. And that won’t change just because we’re the ones who have to catch her if she decides to steal a cookie and fly up into the roof to get away.”

Emily laughed through her tears.

“Okay?” Crowley said, his golden eyes warm with concern. “Understood?”

“Yeah,” she said, pulling them in as close as she could with her gigantic belly for a three-way hug. “Understood.”

#

“You okay?” Crowley said the next morning. “You didn’t sleep much.”

Emily nodded and stifled a yawn. “My back hurt all night and I couldn’t get comfortable. It still does.”

Crowley took the hint and came around behind her to rub the long muscles beside her spine. She smiled at him. “Ohhhhh that’s perfect. Can you just do that for a few hours?”

He huffed, but he kept at it.

That’s when it hit her. A feeling more than anything else. Nothing huge or dramatic, like she’d seen in movies. Her water didn’t break all over the angel’s precious kitchen floor (thank God in her Heavens, Emily thought; that was a humiliation she didn’t need), but she could feel something wet happening down there, and there was a tug in her back and her pelvis that made her catch her breath and groan.

Crowley went still behind her.

“What week are we in?” she asked him after a minute, breathlessly.

“I don’t know—I think thirty-nine?” he said, sounding breathless himself. “Is it—did you—”

“I don’t know,” Emily said, pushing up from the chair to walk around the kitchen, hand on her lower back. “How am I supposed to know? Everyone acts like I’ve done this before!”

“Aurielle,” Crowley called. “Come here, please?”

Aurielle raced in from her perch in the living room and took one look at Emily. “Oh wow,” she breathed, bouncing on her heels. “Is it starting? How exciting!”

“Exciting?” Emily snapped. “You’re not the one who’s about to shove a watermelon through your—”

“Okay, okay,” Crowley said, pulling out his phone to tap out a quick message to Aziraphale, who was out fetching fresh bread from down the street. “Let’s get you settled in. Auri, what do we do?”

#

Aziraphale was just waiting to pay when his phone dinged. He put down the baguette he was carrying and pulled it out, frowning in irritation. His eyes widened when he saw the message.

Now. Baby. Baby come now.

The angel pulled a handful of bills out of his wallet, threw them at the bewildered cashier, grabbed his bread, and left at a dead run.

Chapter Text

Twelve hours. All things considered, this was not an unreasonably long time for a first labor; certainly, Aziraphale knew, many women labored longer and harder, and most of those women did not have two archangel healers at their disposal.

Nonetheless, twelve hours is an eternity when one was a Principality of absolutely no use to anyone, forced to alternate between pacing and feeding ice chips to the woman he loved, listening to each and every cry, whimper, and violent push. He wondered helplessly what the success rates were for a hybrid human-angel birth, despite knowing, deep down, that there were no statistics and they were in unchartered territory here.

Crowley wasn’t any better. If anything, he was worse. He shared Aziraphale’s agitation, but he also seemed to take the entire process oddly personally, as if Emily’s suffering was his fault. He kept mumbling things about Eve and the apple and how making women go through agony in childbirth in retribution for eating a stupid piece of fruit was the action of an insane person, thankyouverymuch.

Aziraphale was glad the demon couldn’t fall twice, because he was fairly certain that a few of the things he said over the course of twelve hours would have initiated another deep dive into a pool of sulfur.

Not that Aziraphale wasn’t thinking similar things himself. He just had the good sense to think them quietly, inside his own head.

#

What’s more terrifying than twelve hours of moaning and crying?

The sudden silence that follows.

The silence before a baby wails.

The silence before the call comes from inside the bedroom—come back you two, time to meet your daughter.

The silence that lasts maybe a second or two or ten, but to both angel and demon seemed to set a whole new meaning to eternity.

Their eyes met, torn between hope and terror, and then they both sprinted to the bedroom they’d been in and out of for the last day.

#

“She’s perfect,” Emily sobbed, holding a tiny, mewling thing to her chest, swaddled in blankets. The baby was nearly purple, her face oddly mushed up, but her eyes—her eyes were wide and a deep, deep gold that was almost like topaz. They were open and staring into Emily’s with a powerful, primitive love. Only the mother was weeping.

Crowley knew without checking that it was tears of joy.

Emily paid no attention to the many things that were happening below the level of her chest. As Raphael and Aurielle cleaned her up, dealt with the afterbirth, and subtly healed her, Emily just held her daughter, staring into her eyes, and cooed softly at her.

“I hate to break in,” Aziraphale said, gently, “but could we say hello?”

Emily laughed and looked up at them. “Pull me up a little?” she asked, and Crowley and Aziraphale helped prop her up with pillows and get her semi-upright. She handed the baby over, first to Aziraphale, who looked as thunderstruck, Crowley thought, as he had that day at the church, after the bombs fell. Moreso, even. He finally understood what humans might have meant about being struck by the arrows of love. It hurt like being lanced through, and it was glorious.

“Well, aren’t you a beauty,” Aziraphale said, running what suddenly seemed like the world’s largest finger down the sides of her cheek, across the tiny bump of her nose, over the crease above her lips. He ran a hand down the back of the blanket, feeling the soft bumps of wing nubs that hadn’t fully erupted yet. It brought a mist to his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

“My turn,” Crowley said, holding his arms out, and with a reluctant look, the angel passed the precious bundle along to him.

Nothing in his entire history had prepared Crowley for this moment. He’d held babies before, but the experience paled next to holding this baby. His brain stopped spinning. His chest stopped heaving. His thoughts wrapped up their current activities, closed up shop, and hung a “out until further notice” sign in the window. Everything inside him, all of that random, chaotic energy, just… focused.

“Ngk,” he said, lost in her topaz eyes, so like his own but slightly darker, and when the tears slid down his cheeks, he was too enchanted to even protest their presence.

#

“Have you thought at all about what you’ll name her?” Aurielle said as Emily nursed the baby.

“We talked about it a little,” Emily said, making a pained face as the baby bit down on something she shouldn’t, “but honestly, with everything that’s happened, it hasn’t been the top priority.”

Aurielle leaned in and helped adjust the baby, and repositioned the pillows under Emily’s arms. “Is that better?” Emily nodded, grateful. “Don’t worry, I hear the nursing gets easier. And lots of parents take a few days to find the right name.”

#

“Evangeline?” Aziraphale suggested, looking down at their daughter who was, somehow, sporting a tiny curl of golden hair on her forehead.

Crowley made a face like he might retch. “No. Absolutely not. Too religious. She’s not evangelizing to anyone as long as I have anything to say about it. How about Desdemona?”

Emily laughed. “That sounds like an emo, goth girl who writes bad fanfics. Sorry, no.”

“Gabrielle?” Crowley tried again, and then ducked as Aziraphale launched a pillow at him. “Sorry, sorry. I was only kidding.”

Emily thought for a minute. She wanted something relevant but beautiful, something that encapsulated her amazing, miracle daughter. Something that reflected her completely unique point of being, halfway between Heaven and Hell, between humanity and the divine, while also not dooming her to a lifetime of teasing by her friends. One could go overboard with the unique names.

“What about something like…” Emily paused and thought. “Nova? For the stars?”

“Nova,” Crowley tried out, staring entranced at the perfect little being in front of them. “It means new. Nova. I like it.”

Aziraphale’s face dimpled in all the right places and he took Emily’s hand in his. “Nova is lovely. And very appropriate. Now we just need a middle name.”

#

  A scroll, reeking of brimstone, awaited them a few days after the birth. It was laid respectfully outside the front door, as if someone wanted to make a point of the fact that their boundaries had not been breached.

Crowley growled at the sight of it, then picked it up by its thick, black ribbon. He unfurled it right there in the shop, then threw himself onto the couch in a spiky pile to read it.

“What is it?” Aziraphale said, his voice low and urgent.

Emily and Nova sat down across from him, looking worried, as Raphael and Aurielle went to check the perimeter.

“It’s—“ Crowley looked up, pale and shocked. “It’s from Lilith.”

“The Lilith?” Aziraphale said.

“The one and only.”

“I wasn’t actually sure she existed,” the angel said.

“Oh she does,” Emily broke in, absently, distracted by the baby. “Naamah was her sister.”

They both paused and looked at her, stunned.

“What?” she said. “I met some folks down there, okay?”

Crowley shook his head and went back to the scroll. “Shall I just read it, then?” He shook the parchment out.

“Greetings, Principality and Serpent, from Queen Lilith, former consort of the Morningstar, Lord of Hell—“ he paused, scanning down. “This titles part goes on for a quite a while. Okay, here we go. It picks back up again down here.

“Congratulations on the birth of your child, the first of her species born on planet Earth. We wish to assure you that in the absence of our Lord and King—“

“That would be Satan,” Aziraphale broke in.

Crowley cleared his throat officiously. “…assure you that in the absence of our Lord and King, we do not mean your child any harm at the current time. We recognize that the creation of a new form of life is a momentous occasion, and must be left to unfold in its own way. Our seers have assured us that the girl is important to the future of both of our races, and we have decreed that no denizens of the infernal realms may interfere with her in any way. Guard her well, and do not hesitate to call on myself or my sisters if you need our help or guidance in protecting her from our Heavenly counterparts. Naamah passes along her proud tidings to the girl.”

Emily stared. “Naamah says hi? What the fuck?”

Aziraphale rubbed a hand over his face. “What’s your take on this, Crowley?”

He thought for a long minute. “It’s hard to say. On the one hand, Lilith and Naamah and their other two sisters differ from the rest of the demons, because they weren’t originally angels and didn’t go through the trauma of falling. That makes them older and more powerful, but it also makes them less treacherous in some ways. They are certainly playing by their own rules and not subject to what you would call traditional morality in any sense, but they can usually be relied upon to keep their word when they give it.”

“Who were they, then? If they weren’t demons?” Emily asked.

“They’re the mother of some of the demons,” Crowley said. “But that doesn’t really answer your question. To be honest, I don’t know. They were just… there. Mysterious figures in the background of Hell. I’ve heard rumors they came from the primordial sea, before She created the land and the creatures upon it, but honestly, their origin is lost to time.”

Emily looked down at her sleeping daughter, her eyes screwed shut tightly as her mouth still worked, as if she wanted to suck. She seemed so tiny and so innocent. What could it mean that she had a role to play in the future of both the demonic and angelic races? It seemed such a huge statement to place on such a tiny, somnolent creature.

“Whatever it means,” Aziraphale said, as if reading her mind, “we’ve been granted a reprieve from both sides, and I’m grateful for it. We have time to love and raise Nova, watch her grow, discover what her powers might be, and help her find her purpose.” He looked around. “It’s better than I had sometimes hoped for, to be honest.”

Crowley nodded. “I’ll take it,” he said, his face softening as he looked across the table at the three of them. “Our little miracle. Safe as we can make her.”

#

Nova Mirielle Fell was christened simply, without the involvement of church, priest, or ceremony, on the shores of the Straits of Dover, at the age of six weeks. As far as christenings go, it was on the surface a simple affair, held in mid-summer under the most glorious sunshine any newborn babe could have wished for. Nova, however, seemed somewhat resentful of the fact that she was not consulted on the matter of having cold water dripped over her forehead, and she made up for this by screaming wildly through the entire process.

From another point of view, it was one of the most momentous christenings ever held on the planet Earth since the beginning of time, because it was attended by not one but three angels, as well as the certified Serpent of Eden. Never before had such luminaries been present for the simple investiture of a child with a name.

Heaven and Hell kept their distance, although all of them were aware of the occasion.

After, the five adults and the infant laid on a blanket on the beach, sipping straw-colored wine from crystal goblets and eating tiny sandwiches that Aziraphale had conjured up from somewhere. Emily laid back, enjoying the sunshine and the sense of peace, one hand on Nova’s belly as she wriggled beside her on the blanket.

Nova spent her time practicing all of her newest skills—cooing, making goofy smiles at the surrounding grownups, and staring suspiciously at the wiggling things at the ends of her arms. She wasn’t sure what they were, but as soon as she could get one into her mouth, she intended to find out.

“Look at us,” Aziraphale said, his voice full to bursting. He looked around at all of them, Raphael and Aurielle included. “All of us, here. For this.” He paused. “A family. Our family, who we have chosen, after so many years in the wilderness.”

Crowley leaned in close, touching their foreheads together. “I didn’t think life could get better than when I finally got to have you,” he whispered. “But somehow, it has.”

Nova, recognizing instinctively that now was the least opportune moment to do so, let out a raucous wail that prevented any further sentiment.

Although she could not express such things to the outside world yet, inside her head, she grinned in delight at her mischief.

Oh, she had so much to show them all. But first… she needed to get that hand thing into her mouth.