Chapter Text
Three Minutes—
In three minutes, Aziraphale was going to pick up the bookshop’s phone and call Crowley. And it was going to be completely normal.
Never mind that a week prior he had specifically told Crowley that he’d be unavailable on this particular day and not to bother trying to call or stop by. That was part of the point. Aziraphale had been perfectly capable of casually mentioning this piece of information during their lunch at the time; he should be just as capable of acting the part again now. This would be even simpler to do over the phone, he wouldn’t have to worry about controlling his facial expressions this time, it should be a piece of cake. Still these self assurances didn't stop the small wrinkle on his forehead from appearing or the twist of his fingers as he watched the long hand on the clock continue to tick by.
Six thousand years and the world almost ending yet lying still hadn’t gotten easier. It felt unnatural for the Angel, despite only ever doing so for good reason. The stakes this time were low in the ‘grand-scheme’ of things he’s had to lie about. It wasn’t like he was lying to ‘thwart the will of God’ [or more accurately Heaven] this time, just ‘the will of Crowley’. And once again it was for a good reason.
Still didn’t mean he was any better at it.
The three minutes passed— the hour was upon him.
Well, three minutes ‘past’ the hour, but that, as well, was intentional. Why three? Five was obviously too unbearably long, but more to the point, he needed this call to seem as spontaneous as possible.[1] Anything to throw the serpent off his scent.
It was now or never.
Finally, he picked up the receiver of his old-fashioned landline and dialled Crowley’s mobile number. He held his breath with every spin of the rotary, counting the ringing notes in his head.
It rang once, twice, thrice. The seventh ring, the eighth and then it—
CLICK* [ ‘YOU’VE REACHED ANTHONY CROWLEY— YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO— DO IT WITH STYLE~’] —BEEEEEEP*
“Ah! Crowley, me old-chum! Glad I could reach you. I’d wager you weren’t expecting a call from me today!”
[…]
“…”
Oh, well done you old fool. Way to ‘act natural’. Me old chum? Honestly, when has he ever used that phrase? This was a disaster.
Crowley was going to think he’d completely lost his mind.
Aziraphale cleared his throat and plunged on quickly.
“Ahem— right’o, in any case I hope I’m not interrupting you on this perfectly ordinary Friday… morning?”
[…]
The silence on the other end continued.
“Oh, you’re probably still half-asleep— well, that's alright! So long as you can hear me. Do you remember lunch last week when I mentioned I was going to be out of town today? Well you see I—”
RING—RIIIIING *
His awkward rambling was rudely interrupted by a sudden and unexpected trill.
“Oh blast!— Sorry my dear, I’ll have to put you on hold. I have another call coming in— “
Aziraphale fumbled about with the rotary, almost dropping the receiver in his haste.
“Won’t be a moment! Stay where you are— ha-ha, ahem— A.Z Fell & Co.—I’m sorry but I’m afraid you’ll have to try—”
“Zzzira-phale— it’sss meee—” Came a low and gravelly voice. Each consonant and vowel slurred out with a noticeable hiss.
Aziraphale froze.
“Crowley? Is that you? Thats odd, I was just—”
“Angel, for the last time— if you’re calling my mobile, I can’t hear you leavin’ a message.”
“Message?” Aziraphale said a bit nervously, the confusion still lingering in his voice.
“—But I thought I was talking to you?”
“Once again, that was just the voicemail.”
“Well, it certainly sounded like you…”
“It’sss— a recording, Angel. Sss’just a recording…”
“It’s very confusing Crowley.”
“It really isn’t.”
There was the muffled sound of a groan and rustling fabric crackling through the line. It seemed Aziraphale’s calculations were on point, Crowley had been asleep. In fact, he was still in bed at that very moment. Good, It was much easier to deceive a Demon when they’re still groggy from sleep and un-caffeinated. Fewer awkward questions, at least, that’s what Aziraphale was hoping for.
And since Crowley hadn’t actually heard the disaster of his initial call, then Aziraphale still had a chance to pull ‘whatever this was’ off as smoothly as possible.
“Well, I’m glad to have you personally now, you see I—”
But Crowley had other plans.
“What are you doing calling my mobile at this hour anyway?”
Aziraphale’s eyes drifted once again to the clock, it was 10:08 in the morning.
“I’m calling because—”
“—I thought you were supposed to be gone on ‘book-shop business' today?”
“Yes! That’s actually why I—”
“—And, as you might remember, I had plans to sleep ‘till March.”
Aziraphale couldn’t help rolling his eyes, and he was sure that somehow Crowley could tell.
“If you’d allow me to speak then perhaps I could explain. I had an easier time with your answering mechanism.” He said under his breath.
“Voicemail.”
“Yes well, as I was saying to your ‘voiced-mail’, some unforeseeable circumstances have cropped up in my business plans, I was hoping to ask you to drive me?”
“Gu-huhhhhh?” Crowley gave a sleep-garbled grunt.
“I’m calling to ask you for a lift. And seeing as you’ve told me what your plans are, I don’t see why your ‘hibernation’ can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Mmmm— that’s odd… I seem to recall offering you a ride last week? I also remember you turning it down…”
Aziraphale felt his cheeks begin to prickle with heat and was once again grateful the conversation was happening over the phone. He had to clear his throat again.
“Ahem, Yes well… change of plans. I hope you haven’t revoked the offer?”
“What happened to your train? You said you liked trains—” Crowley mumbled raspily through the line, the subtle hiss making a comeback.
Aziraphale held in a sigh. So it turned out Crowley was just as insistently inquisitive half-asleep as he was awake. Aziraphale should have known. Well, at least he hadn’t poked through any large holes yet.
“It was um— cancelled? No that's not right— delayed! Yes! It’s been delayed.”
“Delayed?”
“Yes.”
“—And you couldn’t be bothered to wait and catch the next one?”
Despite him being on the other end of a phone line and therefore invisible, and half comatose, Aziraphale could ‘hear’ the Demon’s eyebrow-raise. ‘Damn—’ he should’ve just said it was cancelled.
“N-no, you see— they’ve all been… delayed…”
“All of them?”
“Yes! All of them. It’s one of those— oh what did you call it? A ‘trickle down effect.’ All the trains are delayed because of the first um— delay. Who knows really when they’ll be back on schedule.”
He said with careful exasperation.
“Typical— How much of a delay are we talking about?”
“Oh hours.”
“Right… Why don’t you just—” There was a pause, presumably for Crowley to make some sort of gesture with his hand.
“—just use a miracle? Budget it in as one of your daily ‘good deeds’— sounds right up your alley.”
He could hear Crowley shuffle and groan, his voice still stuck in a deep purr from sleep. Every intake and exhale of breath echoed through the receiver and directly into Aziraphale’s ear. It was beginning to have an effect on his nerves. His grip on the phone tightened as his palms began to sweat.
“Oh I doubt even a miracle from an Archangel could improve London’s transportation system.”
He pivoted as derisively as possible.
There was a monosyllabic grunt that could perhaps pass as an agreement.
“Besides, why waste a miracle? I know you’d be able to get me there far faster anyway.”
“Resorting to flattery Angel? My~ you must really be in a pinch.”
Crowley purred.
“Yes— yes I am. So, will you help?”
There was a pause. Aziraphale held an unnecessary breath. The answer was obvious.
“… Be there in twenty—”
CLICK*
Crowley said with a final grunt and the line went dead.
Aziraphale’s hands shook as he carefully placed the receiver back in its cradle. The trembling relief morphing into anticipation. He had done it.
Crowley was on his way, and he hadn’t suspected a thing. The Angel’s plan was finally set into motion.
So what was all the ‘jiggery-pokery’ about? Why didn’t Aziraphale just accept the Demon’s offer to drive him in the first place? Why bother pretending that he’d be away from the shop? And Lie about [or more accurately, exaggerate] the trains being delayed? Why go to all the trouble? Surely there was no reason to lie about any of it.
But all the seemingly innocuous and downright superfluous measures were all necessary for the success of the Angel’s ruse.
Because despite what he’d said, it wasn’t a ‘ordinary Friday.’ It was the fourteenth of February, Valentines day. And this year, Aziraphale had remembered.
For Aziraphale, Valentines day was just one of those modern human traditions that tends to slip notice when one has been around for over six-thousand years. Like Ground-hog Day, or Lent. It’s difficult to keep track of every tradition introduced in the last few centuries. And if he were to be honest, the events surrounding Saint Valentine was something he’d rather forget to have witnessed.
But this tradition did not escape a certain serpents radar. In fact he had been credited by hell for the commercialisation of many ‘ Holy’ celebrations.[2] Crowley had been rather gung-ho about the holiday since it became en-vogue in England, as Aziraphale had come to realise a few hundred years too late.
Every fourteenth of February, for the last two-hundred years, give or take, Crowley has done ‘something.’ If Aziraphale traced it back in his diaries the pattern had started small. An anonymous box of chocolates or sweets. Making an impromptu stop by to drop off some pastries, claiming to have found flowers left by the bookshop door that he’d decided to just pick up on his way in. Then the “deliveries” turned into invitations. Lunches at lavish places Crowley just so happened to get a table at, Tickets to the theatre or interesting gallery exhibitions. Ritzy lunches evolved into dinners. Decadent affairs with at least three if not all the entrees ordered. Then the mains, then desserts and coffee. Eventually it became custom to head back to the bookshop for a nightcap, and the time would stretch on as pleasantly as the day until Crowley made his excuses and slipped away into the night…
But Aziraphale wasn’t aware it was for any particular celebration.
Something had always felt ‘different’ about these occasions. ‘Special’ in some way, even if Aziraphale was never able to put his finger onto ‘why’ in the moment. At a distance it wasn’t that different compared to their usual fare. Well as usual as they were able to do safely. But there was something about it… the deliveries, the lunches, the invitations, the dinners. Days later Aziraphale would be mulling it over, basking in the memories. Then he’d check the calendar or prepare to make an entry in his diary and suddenly realise— it had been Valentine’s Day.
The mortification would hit hard. There he was, completely oblivious while Crowley swept him along on a da- [3] no, not that. It was just a Normal outing. With ordinary chocolates and cake. Candle-lit dinners, lovely bottles of red, roses, hearts and ribbons and… oh dear…
He’d been a complete fool hadn’t he?
Well how was the Angel meant to notice with the wily Demon constantly distracting him with vol-au-vents and truffles and tickets to the Opera?[4] He did that anyway! Well occasionally. Actually they usually planned things together, a guise for their meetings or an I-O-U for some exchange in duties they’d made.
But it was hardly his fault he only realised too late what the occasion was. Aziraphale was practically conditioned to overlook the small details of their associations. Crowley had certainly conditioned him to ‘think nothing of it’.
Even when he did eventually realise the circumstances of these thoughtful deeds, by the time his dotty brain caught up with the facts Crowley was already ‘hibernating’. So even when he wanted to acknowledge the Demon’s efforts, it was impossible. Crowley made sure of that.
And so Aziraphale would be left to stew for months, until eventually responsibilities and distractions took over and it was too late to bring it up. But he was always determined to remember next time, and every year, without fail—
He’d forget.
It was a never-ending cycle. Over two centuries and his obliviousness had practically become part of the bloody tradition! Well, not this time. This time, it was Aziraphale’s turn to whisk the Demon off his scaly feet.
And he wasn’t even going to know it.
So, he needed a plan.
First he’d need to stop Crowley from making any plans. He couldn’t risk the Demon’s temptations of ‘Shakespeare at the Globe’ or ‘gravlax and dill sauce’— doubtful he’d have the strength to refuse. So a week ago at lunch he told the Demon he’d be away the next week on a business trip. It was a difficult task, turning down the Demon’s offer of a lift. He had been inconveniently insistent on doing the favour.
But Aziraphale had to be certain the Demon wouldn’t be able to scheme anything thoughtful.
The added bonus of turning Crowley down was that Aziraphale could be reliably certain that the Demon would remain conveniently holed up in his Mayfair flat. Quite possibly sulking or more likely ‘sleeping’, as Aziraphale suspected he’d done every year after Valentine's Day as a way to avoid him. Just waiting out the months until the Angel’s inevitable embarrassment died down. Which usually meant until June.
So, Aziraphale had a 90% chance that Crowley wouldn’t have other plans, and a further 80% chance to catch the Demon “off-guard”. Asleep, unawares and less likely to notice anything suspicious. Which was pivotal due to Crowley’s uncanny ability to recognise when the Angel was trying to hide something, (even if Aziraphale would never outright admit it).
All he had to do was call Crowley on the day, ask for a ‘rescue’ and— Presto!
Oh it was brilliant, and it had gone perfectly. His valentines revenge was going to be… well no.
Not revenge per-say, that word wouldn’t suit him at all. ‘Avenge’– now that was a far more suitable word.
An ‘Avenging Valentine’.
It was all going to be rather lovely.