***

WEDNESDAY 17TH JUNE, 2003

Is there such a thing as a good omen?

A red-haired man, dressed in all black, sauntered towards the front door, having bid his old friend farewell. His plan after this day was to take a few months of rest and pass time through deep slumber.

But as he reached the entrance, pulling the door towards him, his gaze drifted to the floor. Under his dark sunglasses, his eyes narrowed. "Angel?"

The blonde was sorting out the books by his desk, reorganising a few poetry collections and placing them in order by volume. "What is it?"

At approximately quarter past three in the morning, after a night of heavy drinking, the demon Crowley made a strange discovery outside his friend's bookshop. "There's a baby on your doorstep."

He froze, unsure whether he heard that right. "I'm sorry?"

"There's a baby on your doorstep." Crowley reiterated, staring down at a rectangular box. Inside, loosely bundled in a blue swaddle, the baby squirmed with half-closed eyes, their little fingers clutching the fabric covering their body.

The angel straightened up, removing his reading glasses as he peered at Crowley, who had his back turned away from him. "A baby what?"

"A baby-baby. A human baby. A literal infant!" He didn't know how to make this more straightforward for his friend. If it were an animal, he'd state the name of the species -- but this was a human child, abandoned in modern London.

There wasn't even a knock when the child was left on the doorstep of one "Mr A. Z. Fell" or, as he is commonly known, the angel Aziraphale. To be placed somewhere so conspicuous meant that, whoever abandoned the baby, wanted them to be found.

He joined Crowley by the doorway, looking down at the box, his mouth falling open. Aziraphale never expected deliveries of this type to arrive at his bookshop, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. He shared a glance with the demon, who shrugged in response.

It is estimated that around fifty babies are abandoned each year in the UK alone, many being left in their hospital cribs by parents who cannot afford to raise a child or didn't want one in the first place. Some aren't even born in a hospital, and those are usually the ones who are discarded onto the street, left to die in the cold.

Aziraphale hoped this one hadn't been left to die; it was cruel.

The weather was dismal that day, raining buckets every couple of hours, so the box that carried the infant's frail form was damp and breaking apart at the corners. Of course, he couldn't just leave them there.

Out of the goodness of his angelic heart, he took the babe in his arms and carried them inside. With a slight click of his fingers, he miracled a small crib into the centre of the bookshop. Crowley trailed behind him, his yellow snake-like eyes fixed upon the child.

Delicately, he placed the child inside, unwrapping her soaked swaddle. "Why would anyone...?" he began, glancing at Crowley with parted lips. "I mean, a bookshop, for goodness sake. Why not a hospital or a church, for that matter?"

The demon scratched his nose, his other hand in his trouser pocket. "Ah, yes, consecrated ground -- perfect for keeping away the child-eating monsters who lurk these haunted streets."

"That isn't funny, Crowley." Aziraphale strolled upstairs, heading into the bathroom. As an angel, he did not need to relieve himself, but he found the room quaint and humane. He enjoyed the simple things on Earth, and some of them came in the form of fluffy, cream towels.

"Ooh, and cults, of course. They love sacrificing babies." He heard Crowley say from downstairs.

His chin trembled, astounded by the notion. "Crowley!"

"Sorry," Crowley replied, hemming and hawing over the baby's new crib, "you know I'm not good at this."

The demon's apology came as a surprise. Aziraphale wandered onto the balcony, peeking over the edge. "Good at what?"

"Humans." He confessed, looking up at the angel. "There's a reason I don't physically interact with them much -- only tempt. I get physical when I get desperate."

Aziraphale returned to the ground floor, unfolding the towel as he reached the cot. With a gentle touch, knowing how fragile young children can be, he dabbed it across the child's skin, drying them off. Afterwards, he lifted his right hand and let it hover over the infant's body, healing any unknown ailments or health problems.

Crowley leaned against a wooden post, his arms crossed with one leg folded over the other, watching the two with a curious eye. He tapped the rim of his black boots with his toes, humming the tune to "Bohemian Rhapsody".

Once the child was all dry and soothed to sleep, Aziraphale wandered outside, grabbed the box they were found in, and took it inside. He placed it on a nearby table, investigating its properties. Crowley just kept staring at the kid in the crib. It had been a long time since he had seen something this small and innocent.

"Well, what are we going to do with her?" questioned Aziraphale.

He blinked, finally turning his head away from the baby. His thick, dark brows furrowed. "Her?" Crowley's arms went limp as he walked over to his friend. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"The note says so." The angel answered.

The demon reached the table, befuddled. "What note?"

"This one." Aziraphale held up a folded piece of paper lodged between two of his fingers. He assessed the cardboard box's structure, searching for any clues as to where the infant came from.

Crowley snatched the note out of his hands, looking for himself. He opened it up, revealing scrawled black handwriting. "Please take care of her." He read, the last part almost being cut off by a large tear. The paper was soggy, meaning the original writer did not rip the note themselves. Crowley flipped it over, his lips pursing. "What? That's it?"

"Clearly, they were in a rush." He gestured to the sloppy writing, noting a few misspellings.

The infant made a soft gurgle, drawing Aziraphale's attention away from the box. He rushed back to her side, checking she was all right.

"Yes, to get rid of her," Crowley added, soon following the angel. The supernatural entities leaned over the crib. As her eyes fluttered open, Crowley edged closer, slightly raising his voice. "Did you annoy your parents so much that they abandoned you?"

Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. "Don't scare her." But it was too late. The child let out a squeak, soon twisting into distraught wailing. "Oh, now look what you've done."

Crowley raised his arms, his palms spread. "Sorry, I have this natural aura of terror. I'm a demon, remember?" 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, scooping the child back into his arms. In a circular motion, he stroked her back, aiming to soothe her. As the little girl's cries started to quieten down, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"What if this is the Antichrist?" wondered Crowley as he lowered his arms.

The muscles in Aziraphale's face bulged, and he looked down at the calm baby. "Oh, I dearly hope not. I haven't read nearly enough books."

His forehead creased. "You own every first edition."

"Yes, and I await many more in the future." Though acting as the proud owner of a bookshop, Aziraphale hardly sold the books in his possession. Some might say he had grown attached to these material objects, full of words he'd willingly read over and over again.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not have Armageddon come around just yet, either." He took a brief pause, remembering something. "But the Antichrist is meant to be a boy, and, of course," Crowley pointed at the infant, "this one does not have the parts."

Demons were the scum of the universe. Well, all except one, but Aziraphale would never admit it. The great battle between Heaven and Hell had been in the making since the creation of Earth, and like the other angels, Aziraphale believed it was necessary.

The baby cooed in Aziraphale's arms, and he shook the thought from his head. "Well, I believe Armageddon will most likely come around in the next hundred years."

"Pray for a thousand." Crowley cocked his head to the side. It's not as if he wasn't all for it either, the destruction of everything and a war with the heavens above. He fell for a reason, didn't he?

It should be noted that the angel and demon were incorrect in their assumptions -- for Armageddon would commence in sixteen years' time. They would only learn this in the next few years, granting the pair a generous amount of time to plan for the inevitable.

Carefully, Aziraphale placed the child back in her crib, her body melting against the cream fabric -- it was the most comfort she'd had in days. "So, what do we do with her?"

"We?" Crowley wrinkled his nose, his upper lip curling in disgust. "There's no "we", Angel."

He blinked a few times. "Why not?"

"She was put on your doorstep, so she's your responsibility." Crowley may have been the one who discovered the child, but that did not mean it was his problem to deal with.

Aziraphale did not appreciate his fruitless efforts to help. Then again, what else should he expect from a demon? They weren't helping humanity in any way whatsoever, even today his friend damned ten souls to Hell. 

But he needed the support, especially in a situation like this. He's not like he could pray to a higher being -- they would say something similar. "Crowley, please, I don't know the first thing about looking after children."

"Surely you must have read it in a book." The demon reasoned. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, pulling his elbows into his sides. "Besides, you don't have to keep her anyway. Maybe you should put her on someone else's doorstep instead."

"You cannot be serious." Aziraphale wrung his fingers together, debating the next step to take. "Perhaps I should contact the police. She could have been kidnapped for all we know."

"Or her parents left her out to be kidnapped." Crowley considered.

Aziraphale's eyes widened, and he turned to the demon. "What if this is a test?"

"From God?" he shook his head, his shoulder-length hair lightly brushing his shoulders. "I don't think so."

"You don't know what the Almighty has planned." The last time Aziraphale spoke with them was almost six-thousand years ago when he had given away his flaming sword -- he always wondered why they went silent.

Crowley looked down at the child. "I'm not sure where a random baby fits into the Great Plan."

"She's a lost soul," Aziraphale raised his hands towards his chest, gesturing to himself, "and, as an angel, I'm meant to help lost souls."

"Yes," Crowley met his eyes, "but in this case, to help the lost soul," and he briefly tilted his head towards the crib, "you have to lose the baby."

With a flick of his tongue, he tutted. "Come now, Crowley, don't you care about her wellbeing in the slightest?"

"Why should I?" With one finger, he gently pushed his sunglasses further up the ridge of his nose. "She's only human after all." Crowley slicked a hand through his thick mane before stepping back. "I know you'll do the right thing -- you are an Angel after all."

The demon clicked his fingers, and the front doors flew open. Before Aziraphale could get another word in edgeways, Crowley withdrew himself, strolling outside with his arrogant head held high. He clicked his fingers again and the doors swung shut, leaving the angel on his own.

"Right, well," he rubbed his knuckles with his thumb, his gaze returning to the child, "I guess we'll have to sort this out ourselves."

Aziraphale stepped away from the crib, heading over to his old rotary phone. He removed the handset from its cradle and raised it towards his ear, listening for the dial tone. As he began to dial the emergency services, swinging the first nine upward, the infant's soft wailing returned.

And though it disorientated him for a moment, the angel sighed. "Oh, don't be like that." He swung the second nine clockwise, but her crying did not stop. "I promise that I will find you a good home -- I swear it."

He rotated the dial a third time, removing his finger as it hit the stopper. If "666" was the number for evil, then "999" is the number for good.

"Hello, you've reached the emergency services. What service do you require this evening?" A woman spoke on the other side. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak -- until his eyes landed on the crib again. He could see her little arms reaching out, desiring comfort and someone to love her. 

The responder spoke again. "Hello?" 

If that child could have been placed on any doorstep, why his? He doubt the person who left her knew of his ethereal being, but it still begged the question. There's always a reason for everything -- always.

"Calling 999 when there isn't a real emergency is a felony. If you do not-" Aziraphale put the handset down, hanging up.

He approached the crib once more with lingering uncertainty, biting the inside of his cheek. Aziraphale reached inside, bringing the infant back into his arms. With a free thumb, he brushed her crystalline tears away. Her face softened, her brown eyes glistening in the golden light.

The corners of his lips twitched, curving a small smile. "Good Lord, what am I doing?"

***

SEVEN MONTHS AND THREE DAYS LATER...

Crowley had an awful sleep.

His angelic friend kept playing on his mind, and it was killing him. There was just this niggling feeling at the back of his head, telling him there was something wrong. And he tried calling -- several times, to no avail. Of course, he never really expects Aziraphale to answer, but he likes it when he does.

Even so, he's never been this quiet, especially since they lived so close to one another. Crowley would never confess that his silence made him tense, hoping the angels hadn't learnt of their friendship. If either side discovered who their real friends were, there would be unforgivable consequences -- and demons weren't meant to be forgiven in the first place.

He parked his Bentley outside the bookshop and strolled over to the main entrance, swinging his car keys on his finger. Crowley paused, noticing the "closed" sign hung on the other side of the glass pane in the front door. "Since when are you closed?" His right hand balled into a fist, pounding on the door. "Angel, you in?" 

There was no response -- he couldn't even hear the light tread of his footsteps walking towards the door. Aziraphale was too delicate for his own sake, and he knew if there was even a war, he would not be fighting in it. 

"Angel?" He asked again, only to gain the same response -- nothing, not even a peep. His black boots scuffed against the pavement, the demon shifting uncomfortably. He cupped two hands against the door pane, and leaned forward, gazing inside. "Aziraphale!"

Crowley spied for any sign of movement inside, acknowledging how dark it was inside. Items were in disarray with unorganised books scattered across the floor -- Aziraphale would never leave the shop looking like that.

His black-blooded veins stood out in his neck, the whites of his eyes growing larger as fear took hold of him. Crowley drew his right hand in front of him, hiding it from plain sight as he clicked his fingers. 

Discreetly, the lock turned and the demon burst through the doors. "Aziraphale!" Crowley would never forgive himself if something happened to him -- if his kind found out about their friendship. "Aziraphale!" 

He climbed the stairs, searching every unlocked room until he reached the angel's living quarters. Down a small corridor, he noticed a door ajar with shining sunlight pouring through. Crowley charged towards it, grabbing the doorknob and widening the entrance. 

"Azir-" he started.

"Shh!" His friend answered, his back turned away from him. "I only just got her to sleep."

Aziraphale looked like a mess with his tartan coat missing and his suit askew. To summarise in a few words -- he looked like shit.

The demon scanned their surroundings, noticing opened packets of nappies and a changing mat on a nearby table. "What the...?" Crowley's gaze fell to the large cradle Aziraphale stood in front of, and that's when it clicked. "Angel, you didn't."

Before he could speak, Crowley stormed over to the cradle and looked inside, acknowledging the infant he'd discovered on Aziraphale's doorstep months ago. She was bigger now with small tufts of dirty brown hair growing upon her scalp, sleeping soundly.

His lips pressed together into a tight scowl, and Crowley tilted his head towards Aziraphale, whose cheeks burned a glowing red.  "Are you crazy?"

"Believe me, I tried so hard to give her away," he peered down at the slumbering babe, a slight smile forming, "but I just couldn't let her go. She warmed this old angel's heart."

Crowley groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Trust you to do it. You don't even sell your own books, so why on Earth would you sell a baby?"

The angel's jaw dropped. "I was never going to sell her. Who do you think I am?"

He glared at him. "You're insane -- you can't raise a child!"

"Well, according to my books, I can." For once, he had taken Crowley's advice and turned to literature for help. It was effective in some places, but the methods were a little dated. Either way, he thoroughly believed he could look after a baby.

"Yeah, well, according to the divine rules of the universe," he mentioned, "you can't."

Since when did he care for the rules of the universe when Crowley deliberately went against them -- it's in his nature?

Aziraphale twisted the ring on his pinky finger, his face tense. "I'm sorry, but I worried that if I sent her away, it would give Maren an even worse life-"

"Wait, who the hell is Maren?" Aziraphale's mouth snapped closed, and he swallowed, averting his gaze. In the corner of his eye, he could see Crowley's pinched expression. "You named her as well?!"

He shrugged. "She ought to have one."

"Aziraphale, this has to stop. She's not a pet, and you probably won't be able to exchange her for a better model at the shop." He edged closer, his face barely inches away from the other. Crowley was so close that Aziraphale could see the faint glimmer of yellow under his sunglasses. He lowered his voice, his tone hushed. "And what if they catch wind about this?"

"They haven't visited me in years." He argued, the last time being the day he opened the bookshop for the first time. They wanted him to return to their head office, believing he'd done a great service here on Earth. But lucky for him, Crowley made sure he didn't have to go -- he never did thank him for it. "And if I'm careful, then they'll never find out."

It did calm him down, knowing that Aziraphale was in fact safe from harm, but that didn't matter now. 

Crowley looked down at the baby, angling his head slightly to the right. "This is so weird. It's usually me who disobeys the rules, not the other way around." He pursed his lips, raising his head. "Then again, you've always been soft," he turned his body towards Aziraphale, wearing a smirk upon his chiselled face, "especially when it comes to flaming swords." 

"Again?" he spun on his heel, seething with agitation. "Again with the sword, Crowley?" The angel released an exaggerated huff to the demon's amusement, chuckling to himself. "When are you going to give that up?"

"As long as it still annoys you." Crowley could be such a child sometimes, entertained by Aziraphale's irritation. They glanced back at the child, watching her legs curl inward, unaffected by their squabbling. "You're really gonna raise her?"

Aziraphale put on a hopeful smile. "How hard can it be?"

***

TWO MONTHS AND TWENTY-ONE DAYS LATER...

There was a brash knocking at Crowley's door late in the evening. Usually, those who dared disturb him were either religious or door-to-door salesmen -- and he always found a way to scare them off. But when he opened his front door, he found Aziraphale on the other side, clutching Maren in his arms.

"Please take her." The angel pleaded, giving the baby a little bounce.

Crowley stared back, his jaw going slack. "What?"

"Just for the evening." Maren had been in Aziraphale's custody for nine months, and since then, he hadn't gone anywhere without her. He hadn't experienced a single night without her, pushing several opportunities aside -- but not on this night.

"Why? Where are you...?" As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Crowley recognised the familiar drawn moustache on Aziraphale's face, along with the shimmering blue cape attached to his back. He groaned before meeting his gaze. "Oh, not again, Angel."

"Sorry, I just got hired for a performance -- it was out of the blue." He excused.

The demon tilted his head back, slightly displaying his neck. "Out of the blue or miracled into existence?"

His chin dipped to his chest, biting his chapped lips. "It doesn't matter. I just need you to look after her for a few hours."

Crowley's shoulders slumped. "And what if I say no?"

"You can't." He declared.

His arm leaned against the edge of the door, his brows furrowing. "Why not?"

"You -- you just can't." If he could, Aziraphale would kick himself for providing such a dumb reason. "Look, if you do me this favour," he was going to regret this, but he had no choice, "I'll grant you one in return."

One side of his lip shifted, twitching into a slight smirk. "Even if it's not up to your standards?"

Aziraphale inhaled through flared nostrils, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Yep."

He returned a crisp nod, satisfied by his answer. Crowley straightened up and folded his arms. "You really trust me to look after a baby?"

"I hope I can." It was the worse idea possible, putting an innocent baby in the hands of a demon. Not only was he risking her life, but Aziraphale was also risking his wings. "But if you harm one hair on her head, I will never forgive you."

"You're not meant to." He commented.

"Well, here you go." With haste, Aziraphale slipped his hands under Maren's small arms, picking her up and handing her to Crowley, who jerked his head back the moment the infant was placed in his arms. The angel revealed an old person's trolley, stuffed with goods. "And this contains everything you need: nappies, milk powders, bottles, baby food if she gets hungry, her changing mat, a foldable cot-"

Safe to say the demon was a little overwhelmed -- he didn't realise a young child needed so much to survive. Crowley yanked on the heavy trolley, pulling it inside his apartment. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'll see you later, little one." Maren wore a blank stare, blinking in response. She had yet to learn how to talk, but Aziraphale hoped that if he kept reading her the English dictionary, she'd soon catch on. "Oh, and she's still teething a little, so she might bite."

Crowley glanced down at the growing baby, noticing saliva had seeped from her plump, pink lips onto his designer black jacket. "And she dribbles too."

"Yes, you'll find a towel in the trolley as well," Aziraphale mentioned, wringing his fingers together. "And written instructions in case you don't know what to do." He shuffled backwards, heading back onto the street. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Yeah, you better!" he shouted to his friend, watching him cross the road before slamming the door.

As he turned away from his entrance, Crowley realised the baby was now chewing on the collar of his blazer. He grimaced, carrying her into the living room and dragging the trolley behind him with his free hand.

Crowley sat her on his sofa, removing the surrounding cushions to avoid her spitting or slobbering on the silk fabrics. With a simple flick of his hand, the trolley unfurled and removed the items inside, letting them float through the air.

Previously, Maren had been used as Aziraphale's test audience for his magic tricks. But his simple illusions did not impress the young child, who stared into the distance most of the time or found herself distracted by other things. When she had tried to crawl away, the angel would pick her up and sit her back down, forcing her to remain.

This magic was different, and it filled her with wonderment. Her brown eyes widened, following each and every item levitating above her head. Crowley hardly took notice of her awe, believing the young thing had little to think about.

He set her things aside, placing her food items in the fridge before setting up a gated square. Crowley threw in a few toys, thinking it would keep her occupied for a few hours -- he hoped that was all he needed to do for the night.

"Okay, let's just set you down in there." She giggled, clapping her hands to Crowley's shock. "Why are you laughing?" Maren didn't stop, beaming away at him. He frowned, his throat uncomfortably dry. "Stop it." 

Crowley didn't clock that it was a show of admiration -- that his magic dazzled her. 

"No, I don't care." He shook his head, brushing it off with a light toss of his red hair. Crowley picked up the infant, holding her a firm distance away as if she were holy water. He lowered her into the makeshift crate before wiping his hands on his linen trousers. "I do not care."

Her gaze settled onto a toy bunny with a partially chewed ear, and she immediately crawled towards it, her laughter dying down to the demon's relief. Crowley backed away, hoping it was enough to keep her from annoying him.

As he strolled over to his desk, Crowley clicked his fingers and his record player sparked to life, playing "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" from Queen's album, The Game. He owned every record curated by the band, including their greatest hits. In his eyes, their music is an irreplaceable work of art. There's nothing else like it, especially not in his domain down below.

The moment the rhythm kicked in, it caught Maren's immediate attention, her head snapping towards the record player. She'd grown used to the orchestral pieces Aziraphale would play in the shop and found it amusing when he'd dance the Gavotte once they were closed for the day. It had gone out of style a long time ago, but the angel retained a strong attachment to it.

Like the magic she'd seen earlier, this music bewildered her -- but she loved it. The strings pulled on the guitar and bass made her sway, and the beat of the drum made her little arms flail.

Crowley had his legs up on his desk, scanning newspaper articles with a pensive eye. Behind him, Maren made a little squeal, clapping her hands to the rhythm. He turned around and she grinned back at him, releasing soft bouts of laughter.

He lowered his brows. "You like Queen?" 

Maren pressed two hands on the ground, pulling herself into a crawl. Her little lungs heaved as she hoisted herself upwards, reaching for the edge of the crate.

"I thought this kinda stuff would be intense for someone so young." The guitar solo kicked in and she released an even happier squeal. "Guess I was wrong."

Then, with two hands clutching the railing, she slowly but steadily pulled herself onto her feet. Grasping as tightly as she could, Maren started wiggling her butt to the music.

For once, Crowley found himself wearing a genuine smile on his face, observing Aziraphale's little human dance to his favourite band. He presumed the child would be a bratty, wailing nuisance, forever craving attention -- but this one just wanted to impress him as he had impressed her.

Something crawled into the dark crevices of his blackened heart, and though he wouldn't admit it -- Crowley felt love for the young child. Through the years, he'd accomplished many evil deeds and tempted many unfortunate souls, but even when handed the purest life on Earth, Crowley found it impossible to hurt her.

"Oh, pet," he uttered softly, "you're gonna be the death of me."

***

TWELVE DAYS LATER...

That night had changed things, and Aziraphale could tell. His demonic friend was visiting the bookshop more often, bringing along his records and helping Maren onto her feet. She laughed more when he was around, and she loved when Crowley did his own magic tricks, which did spark envy in the angel. 

Of course, that was one of the seven sins, and Aziraphale was anything but a sinner -- or at least, that's what he told himself.

"Three visits in the last week or so," Aziraphale started, "that's rare, even for you, Crowley."

The pair observed the child from the doorframe of her nursery. Maren sat on the floor, entertaining herself with coloured blocks.

Crowley feigned indifference, shrugging half-heartedly. "Well, you're busy running the shop, so I thought she'd like the company."

Aziraphale drew his hands in front of his abdomen, joining the tips of his fingers together. "And you're fine with looking after her?"

"Yeah." In the corner of his eye, he noticed Aziraphale tilt his head forwards, staring at him with raised eyebrows. Crowley turned his head, his nose wrinkling. "What?"

"No, it's just..." he swallowed, briefly glancing at Maren, "... you care about her, don't you?"

"Uh, I wouldn't say that." He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, his chest caving in. "I mean, as I said before, she probably enjoys the company."

It was a white lie -- he enjoyed the company. After many years of isolation in his home, he didn't realise how lonely he truly was. And when Maren was there, it felt like he had something to live for again.

"I think she does." Aziraphale agreed. The company had been nice for him too as the angel finally had someone, other than Crowley, he could be himself around.

Sometimes, the angel and demon preferred life on Earth to the affairs of Heaven and Hell, and the bliss remained with the introduction of this strange little girl.

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath, biting the inside of his cheek before pivoting his body towards Aziraphale. "Hey, about that favour?"

His arms dropped, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Well, I mean, since you're so certain on keeping her..." he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck and grinding his front teeth together, "... I was wondering if I could take care of her from time to time."

"Really?" The angel picked at his nails, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And this isn't for malevolent reasons, right?"

"No, I swear -- nothing evil going on." He raised his hands, gesturing. "I just thought we could share her."

That was bad wording, but Aziraphale knew what he meant.

"Yes, but it would be a pretty bad idea, wouldn't it?" He began to twist the ring on his finger, tilting his head from side to side as he weighed their chances. "Me and you, raising a child together."

In truth, he didn't want Crowley to get in trouble with his kind as well. He knew the demon had holy water in his possession, and could possibly use it to his advantage. After all, he's the one who gave it to him in the first place -- and he still regrets it.

"It's a tad nonsensical, I know, but..." Maren angled her head to the right, peering back at him. When they locked eyes, her mouth curved into a joyous grin, squealing a little. "... Well, she's grown on me." He exhaled through closed teeth before glancing back at Aziraphale. "I think we can do it. I mean, we can just share custody. She spends a little time here, and then a little time at my place." Crowley slumped against the doorframe, asking. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

She could be a handful, and it would be nice to have some support from time to time. Besides, their association with one another was risky in itself. Neither side would care for the human they adopted, knowing they would be more outraged by the angel and demon's history together.

But Maren could be proof -- proof that Heaven and Hell can work together as one; a perfect balance of good and evil. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"So, would that make the both of us..." his words drawled, Aziraphale's face tightening into an uncertain grimace, "... her fathers?"

Crowley shed a devilish smirk. "Depends who she says "Dada" to first."

He raised an open palm towards Aziraphale, gesturing for him to shake it. The angel hesitated, and though he was confident about his previous decision, Crowley's involvement only cast unsurety in him.

His friend took note of this, leaning forward and whispering. "They won't find out, Angel." He insisted. "Not if we're careful."

The demon was known for his vile temptations, and though Aziraphale was entirely against them, he began to feel himself giving into this one. For once, he didn't think about what the other angels thought upstairs -- this is what he wanted.

Aziraphale took a deep, heavy breath and took Crowley's hand, giving it a light shake. "To Maren Fell."

"Crowley." His grip loosened, leaning his back against the doorframe. "Maren Crowley-Fell."

And so the trap was set -- Aziraphale and Crowley were granted a good omen for what was to come.

***

I bring you the start of the Ineffable Dads. I know it took a while, but I wanted to make it just right before publishing.

Part of this was taken from the first draft (back when it was the prologue and i only thought about sticking to canon dialogue like a stupid idiot) from 2019, and when I say part I mean I rewrote the entire thing because it was shit. Like, I immediately deleted the old draft after that. If I could burn it, I would. I only found it because I was deleting a bunch of things recently, except the stories I'm actually attached to.

Before you theorise -- no, Maren is not the daughter of a supernatural being or anything. She's a regular human who somehow ended up on Aziraphale's doorstep. I don't know if I will ever introduce Maren's biological parents into the fray, but whoever they are, they'll be very normal.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. If you did, then it would be so kind of you to leave a vote or a comment because I love the interaction. 

Thanks for the love so far. I'm cross-posting this on ao3 if anyone's interested. And I'm posting edits on tiktok, so if you wanna check those out then just check out my bio.

EDIT: had to change the date because someone changed the year good omens is set and that's soooooooooooo helpful. it was set in 2018 then it was changed to 2019. i wish they did that before i started writing this. god, i'm salty about the smallest things.

- Alice.