You'll Never Get To Heaven (if you're scared of getting high)

If love were liquid it would drown me

"Marry you," Aziraphale said, his mouth dry despite the kiss. "You mean, really marry you. An eternal commitment."

"Why not, you glorious bastard? You can't pretend to be too nice or loyal to Heaven. Anyone who can make Sandalphon flee with his wings down would make a glorious husband for a demon." The lines around Crowley's mouth were crinkled with laughter. "Satan, I adore you."

Aziraphale wanted to say: Can't I just forget, for one moment, that we are on opposite sides? Do you have to remind me now, of all times? He wanted to say: If you had let me forget, I might have said yes. Even more, he wanted to say: Yes.

"Marry you," he said. "That's—that's ridiculous."

The laughter died on Crowley's face as if Aziraphale had pinched a candle, and it hurt, having caused that. "What?" His hand tightened on Aziraphale's so much it was painful. "Isn't this what you were planning all along? It worked."

"Planning," he repeated.

"Yeah, planning. We just sat through that blessed musical, remember? I'm not stupid. It's okay. I love it when you forget to pretend to be pure and artless." The amusement was returning, and somehow that hurt, too.

"I should have told you that the real reason I asked you to pose as my husband was to find out if there was a demon investigating us," Aziraphale said coldly. "I apologise for my lapse and I am very sorry if it gave you false expectations."

"Angel, you're not serious."

"I am an angel."

Crowley's face was expressionless now, his glasses reflecting Aziraphale to himself, so that the angel saw twice over how craven he looked, how prim and fluttering. Ridiculous that this demon in front of him could even want such weakness in his life; but then, Crowley was all alone, wasn't he? Being a fallen angel was the definition of being love-starved. Watching him joke with Dagon had been the closest Aziraphale had ever seen him showing anything like affinity with anyone but himself, and he knew the two demons would throw each other to the Pits if necessary. No wonder Crowley clung to the only steady source of affection he had found since he had Fallen.

"Yes. Yes, you are an angel, and I no longer am." Crowley said, his voice as blank and fragile as a piece of glass. "I think we established that long ago. It didn't seem to make much difference when you were drawing hearts on the back of my hand a little while ago."

"Oh," said Samir, collecting the soup bowls and beaming at them. They turned at him, startled by his presence. "Zira, you must be the softest thing in existence. Hearts." Aziraphale and Crowley both turned bright red. "Did you scare your friends off by being too lovey-dovey?"

"Something like that," said Crowley.

"Did the tall bloke—"

"In denial," Crowley said cruelly. "Sorry, don't wait for a call."

"Oh, you're joking. He was broadcasting on all frequencies." Samir seemed to have decided Crowley was a friend, which on other occasions would be charming. Right now, Aziraphale really wished the young man would leave.

"Bit of a split personality, that one," Crowley said."There are a lot of mixed signals around here."

"That lady wasn't his wife?"

"Not yet," said Crowley, and grinned nastily. "They're working on it."

"Bloody hell. That's what I get for chasing old guys." Samir suddenly seemed to realise how unprofessional he was being, and also that he was not talking to a couple in the first flush of youth. "Ah, are they coming back? Should I cancel their orders?"