Chapter Text
Crowley was sad, which was a good thing. Most days, he was depressed, or miserable, or dejected, or sorrowful. Sad was definitely better than any of those, and Crowley was contemplating taking a walk around the borough, maybe visiting Hyde park.
He was about to leave his Mayfair apartment when Izabel opened the door and strolled in. ‘Hey guess what? Oh, finally going out?’
‘Thinking of taking a walk. Bills?’ Crowley asked unenthusiastically. He’d been getting the newest hellish ambassador’s bills via Izel for a while.
‘Not today.’
‘Message?’ There were also letters from heaven, Aziraphale, which he promptly tore up.
‘No.’
‘That’s a surprise.’
‘There’s a tip off from me, though.’
‘That would be called talking.’
‘Do you want to know what it is or not?’
‘Fine.’
‘You’re unusually chipper.’
‘I’m having a mediocre day, don’t mess it up.’
Izabel fake laughed. ‘Hahahaha, no. You are most definitely not going to like this.’
‘Out with it then. Get it over with.’
‘He’s back.’
‘He who?’
Izabel checked out the window.
‘Miracle you can’t feel him yet. Then again, it has been one and a half years and he got a promotion.’
Crowley closed his eyes and was hit by a wave of presence.
It was familiar, but lots had changed. But Crowley could tell, it was definitely him.
‘Aziraphale?!’
‘And he wants to see you.’
‘Well I don’t want to see him.’
‘You might want to take that walk then.’ Izabel nodded towards the window.
Crowley looked out of the window at the street below, and saw Aziraphale before he entered the building.
‘How the heck did you see him coming? There was ten seconds between us looking out the window and we’re in the penthouse.’
‘Artistic licence.’
‘Sorry?’
‘He’s wearing a light grey suit in a crowd of dark hoodies and coats and whatever. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Also, if I were you, I’d take advantage of the fact that you’re in the penthouse to use the time it takes to get up the stairs to get down the fire escape.’
‘He could take the lift or miracle up here.’
‘Then you miracle down. Take the telephone line or something.’
‘Can’t believe I’m taking advice from a fourteen year old delivery girl.’
‘The pay is good, student loans are not and I would like to have a head start. I work two hours each day and not a moment more, so nothing is illegal. Now leave.’ Izabel murmured, typing in the number for the bookshop. ‘Hang up once you get there.’
‘Why are you calling Muriel?’
‘I’m not sending you to my house. Only other number I know.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Ah, the cliche last minute thing.’ Izabel spoke into the phone. ‘Hey Muriel, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour.’ A pause. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just can you step away from the phone for a few seconds?’
‘Hello?’ Aziraphale's voice came from behind the door.
‘Are you going or not, because he will magically open the door?’
‘Fine.’ Crowley dissolved into the phone box.
The lock on the door clicked open at the same time as the phone hung up with a *click* so Aziraphale heard nothing.
‘Ah. Hello Izabel. What are you doing here?’
‘Delivery. Can’t seem to find him, though.’ Izabel said cheerily, as if she hadn’t just helped Crowley escape.
Aziraphale was disappointed.
‘Maybe he’s gone for a walk?’ Izabel suggested. ‘I’ve told you, he doesn’t want to talk. He just tears up your letters.’
‘What are you delivering?’
‘Bills from the new hellish ambassador. Something really needs to be sorted out with the finance office in hell.’
‘You go down there?’
‘I go everywhere. Everywhere within two hours of the London area on foot, train, or bike, anyway. I’m not going to Cambridgeshire and back. Train fare is a lot.’
‘Hmm.’
‘You’re going to keep looking for him, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I should change my bet then.’
‘What?’
‘I have a bet with Maggie. Nina’s agreed that whoever wins gets 15 free items of food from her shop to be redeemed at any time and it doesn’t have to be all at once. You’re allowed a one week span.’
‘What on?’
‘How long it takes you two to start talking to each other. Nothing bad for the loser.’
‘That is…’
‘Playing games with or about your neighbors? You surely can’t relate.’ Izabel deadpanned.
‘Who exactly are your clients, exactly? Because you seem to know a lot about me but I know nothing of you.’
Izabel’s eyes flicked upwards, as if trying to read them off of her brain. ‘Erm… ooh! You, Crowley, sometimes Nina and Maggie, Muriel, anyone from the Up or Down, occasionally some goofy weird guy in a grandpa vest who managed to score a goth partner in fishnet gloves who scares everyone away, aaaaaand some kid a bit older than me in a tiny village west south west of here. So I’m very well informed about you relative spectacles. Right. I’m off.’
‘Wait!’ Aziraphale said.
‘I have eight minutes, do you really think I can change my bet and take a letter where it needs to go? I can only go maybe… one and a half miles as the crow flies, so not taking into account any traffic lights.’
‘Then go quickly.’
‘I actually need a letter to deliver it.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Aziraphale miracled an envelope, addressed it to Crowley, and handed it to Izabel.
‘Smarter than I thought.’ Izabel murmured, already heading off. After looking at it, she muttered ‘For someone’s sake Crowley, you really don’t go far.’