Author's Note: This is a sequel to Who Wants To Live Forever (I Do). A lot of it won't make sense, if you don't read that one first.

oOoOoOo

It had been five years since Aziraphale and Crowley had officially shaken off the yokes of their divine and demonic aspects, respectively, and truly become a side of two—at least if you didn't count the several billion human beings on the planet that were as morally grey as they were, and mostly they didn't. They were still trying to figure out exactly what it meant to be neutral agents for humanity.

In the beginning of this new epoch of their existence, they had mostly just done what they had always done, enjoyed the finer things and each other's company, only now they didn't have to try to fit in the odd miracle or temptation, and enjoying each other's company had gotten a lot more interesting, and a bit messier.

Truth be told, they treated the first few years of freedom from Heaven and Hell as a kind of extended honeymoon.

It had been wonderful,… for a while. But, there was a certain kind of self-satisfaction that came from a good job, or a bad one, well done, and once they had unbottled some of the stored sexual tension, they realized that they missed the work.

The problem was that they didn't really know what the work was anymore.

That was, until Crowley practically ran into Dagon on the street, and Aziraphale had spotted Uriel in the crowd at the Chelsea Flower Show, and they'd decided that keeping demonic and angelic presences off of Earth might be a good place to start. This hadn't proved to be overly difficult, since most angels detested Earth as being crude, dirty, and imperfect, and most demons felt generally the same way—just in the opposite direction.

Thwarting the plans of their former colleagues had turned into almost a game. Without the years of experience on Earth that Aziraphale and Crowley had, the rest of them were completely out of their depth.

Beyond that, they each had their own little projects. They didn't worry about good or evil; they just did what they could to make the world a more interesting place to live. Crowley hated electric cars, but he loved plants, and he knew what all those emissions were doing to the ozone layer, so he went over to the Tesla plant in America for a few weeks, and made the electric cars a little less boring. While he was at it, he started a few scandals that got rid of some of the more repugnant reality television shows. Aziraphale put a few words in the right ears to push through certain publishing deals for what he deemed were the right sort of books. Tartan was becoming fashionable again, much to Crowley's dismay. A fire in the kitchen that had burned down his favorite restaurant proved to be caused by faulty wiring and not the result of one of the dishwashers leaving a joint burning in the storage room, as it had at first appeared, and the insurance payout had been enough to rebuild the restaurant even better than before.

Mostly, they just lived.

oOoOoOo

They were walking home through Soho after breakfast, holding hands, on a beautiful spring morning when their comfortable little world was turned upside down.

A bright red Volkswagen Golf with tinted windows, stick-on flame decals, ground effects, and spinning rims, slowed on the street next to them- rap music blasting out of oversized speakers, breaking into their conversation. Crowley stared at it for a moment in horrified disgust, as the window rolled down and the music quieted.

Aziraphale was about to ask if the driver needed directions, when a glass jar was thrown from the open window to shatter at their feet, spraying them both with a watery, brown, sludge of what smelled like, and in factwas, raw sewage.

"FAGGOTS!" The driver yelled, and they heard a chorus of laughter from the car's other occupants. With a squeal of tires on pavement, the car swerved back out into the road and sped away.

"Oh, Hell no," Aziraphale said, recovering from the shock of being abruptly and unceremoniously pelted with human waste faster than Crowley did. His face darkened and the wind suddenly picked up, as he turned on the rapidly receding car and vented his rage with a sharp snap of his fingers.

The car swerved and ran into the parking meters on the side of the street a block down.

Crowley, more concerned with the state of their clothes, had banished the mess and broken glass, and was inspecting his shirt to make sure that he hadn't missed any. At the sound of the car crashing, he looked up, and then to Aziraphale. "What did you do to them?"

"Only what they too rightly deserved," Aziraphale ground out. "Bigots!"

"Wrath of a bookseller?"

"Too right."

Crowley bit back a smile at Aziraphale's righteous indignation—chest puffed out as he straightened his jacket.

"Ok, but really, what did you do to them?"

"Sent them to Alabama."

Crowley raised a brow. "America? Why?"

"They may have been wearing dresses," Aziraphale admitted, "and heels."

Crowley smirked and let out a huff of a laugh. He slung an arm over Aziraphale's shoulders and they continued on their way- the sway in Crowley's steps bumping their hips together every few paces. Just before they rounded the corner, he lifted his hand and snapped his own fingers.

The car burst into real flames.

Aziraphale looked back over his shoulder. "That may have been a bit much. There are pedestrians walking by; someone could have been hurt."

"They threw shit at us, angel. A trip to darkest America was too good for them."

"Well," Aziraphale said, "a trip to darkest America, in women's clothing, without passports or residency papers. You know what sort of thing they do to illegal immigrants over there."

Crowley smiled and kissed the curls on the top of Aziraphale's head. "Yes, yours was better, but that car was an eyesore. I was doing everyone a favor. Want to go home and commit acts of sodomy to spite the bigots?"

"Oh, yes, please," Aziraphale answered with a slight flush.

oOoOoOo

Unfortunately, they never had the chance to so much as exchange a chaste kiss when they arrived back at the bookshop, because there was an angel waiting for them when they got there.

Six thousand years of self-preservation instincts, caused Aziraphale to instantly drop his hand from Crowley's hip and step away when he saw Gabriel sitting in one of the armchairs in the front of the shop, flipping through a copy of Atlas Shrugged with a disgusted look on his face.

"Ah, Aziraphale," he said, smacking his palms against the arms of the chair a couple times before rising to his feet.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale greeted, and he took a protective step in front of Crowley, as if simply hiding him from view would make the Archangel Gabriel overlook him. "What can I do for you? Back for more pornography?"

Gabriel gave him a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't think that will be necessary this time."

Crowley mouthed the word 'pornography' to himself and tried to step around Aziraphale, but Aziraphale put an arm out to hold him back.

"I've come with a message from God," Gabriel continued, examining his nails. "She's sending the Christ down for a bit to try to win the brat over. She… requests," he said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "that the two of you keep an eye on him."

"Yeshua," Crowley said with sudden interest. He did step around Aziraphale then, earning himself a glare. "Yeshua is coming back down to Earth to see Adam?"

"You're talking about the second coming," Aziraphale said with more dread than awe.

Gabriel scrunched his face up and tilted his head from side to side. "Not exactly. We want to keep this all under wraps. This is strictly a social call, not the rapture. So, just try to keep him in line."

Crowley looked at him skeptically. "Have you ever met him? Keeping his head down was never really his style."

"And what would you know about it, demon?" Gabriel asked.

"Not a demon anymore," Crowley said, "and, apparently a lot more than you."

Gabriel gritted his teeth together, and visibly struggled to maintain his professional demeanor. "Regardless, he will arrive at cock-crow tomorrow, and then he'll be your responsibility. If you choose to exercise your…free will, by not acceding to Her wishes, she will exercise Her wrath."

And, in the space of a blink, Gabriel was gone.

"Cock-crow," Crowley said in disbelief, "in London?"

"I'm sure it's just a figure of speech," Aziraphale said.

"Or he'll bring us a cockerel as a gift for our hospitality," Crowley said, smirking. He threw himself down on the couch. "Yeshua," he repeated in a tone of wonder.

"Yes, I'd forgotten that you knew him," Aziraphale said in a clipped tone that quite clearly said he hadn't. "No doubt you'll have a lot to catch up on."

Crowley completely missed the tone of jealous disapproval. "Yeah. Wonder what he's been up to for the last two millennia. I bet he was bored to tears up in Heaven. We'll have to show him a good time."

"Is that what you did last time? Show him a good time?"

"Tried to, yeah," Crowley answered, still not picking up on the thinly veiled subtext. "Tried to convince him to leave off thumbing his nose at the Pharisees, and go off with me—live his life. But, no, he just had to bring about the Kingdom of God. You were there. You saw how well that went over."

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed.