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Aziraphale's voice rumbles through the answering machine, warm and quiet and trembling. Crowley listens from the sofa, his eyes wide, his heart in the throat, because, God, he hadn't expected Aziraphale to break the silence first. They're both so very proud, and they find it terribly difficult to admit when they're wrong.
"Um." Aziraphale says, hushed as if he's afraid of being overheard. Always so scared of being caught, Crowley thinks bitterly. " Hello. It's, ah, it's me. I'm just calling to say- That is, to ask, really, for your... help with something."
A pause. Crowley holds his breath.
"I need your help." Aziraphale says, with more conviction this time. "Do call me back."
The answer phone clicks, plunging the apartment into silence. Crowley stands, and paces, glancing every now and then at the phone. Then he makes up his mind, and hurries out of the room to spend the rest of the afternoon telling off his plants.
Aziraphale does not give up, however. Crowley pads downstairs one morning, after a wonderful nap, to the sound of the phone ringing. He casts a glare at the offending machine and disappears into the kitchen to make a very strong coffee.
"I'm being serious, Crowley." Aziraphale's voice calls to him, more stubborn this time. Crowley rolls his eyes at Aziraphale's petulant tone. "Heaven are planning- Well, something big. " Aziraphale lowers his voice. "Something huge. We need to work together."
Crowley raises his eyebrows. Aziraphale convincing him to work with him is a new one. It's a strange role reversal.
"Oh, nevermind." Aziraphale grumbles. "Stubborn old demon."
Crowley pours boiling water into a mug and his lips don't twitch in an amused smile. Certainly not.
"I've managed to get away for a moment." Aziraphale whispers, when he calls next. Crowley takes a swig of wine from the bottle, pacing around the room as Aziraphale speaks. "Crowley, I need to talk to you."
"Fat lot of good talking did last time." Crowley mutters, to the answering machine.
"Heaven are planning the second coming." Aziraphale says. Crowley's mouth opens in a round 'O'. "You know, judgement day, when Christ returns to earth. I’m doing what I can, and in some ways heaven is changing for the better, but I'd really like your eyes on this. If not for, ah, for me, than for Earth."
"Thought it was all part of the ineffable plan, angel . " Crowley grumbles, taking another swig of wine.
"I think the Almighty wants us to work together." Aziraphale says, "Perhaps that's what She has wanted all along."
Crowley has begun to doubt God even exists anymore. She seems so absent from him, from all of it. After Aziraphale stops speaking, Crowley drains the rest of the bottle of wine and pretends to forget all about it.
"Crowley." Aziraphale says from the answer machine, later, while Crowley is lying on the sofa with his mobile phone, scrolling through various articles about the second coming of Christ. "Would you please call me? To be honest, the company in heaven leaves... much to be desired."
Crowley stares resolutely at the article on his phone, but his heart jumps.
"If you apologised," Aziraphale says, "I might too."
As far as Crowley is concerned, Aziraphale is in the wrong for going to heaven and rejecting him. They could've been an us, and Aziraphale had thrown it away. Heaven would always be the priority to Aziraphale. Why should Crowley apologise?
If he looks past his pride, however, Crowley must admit that he was a little dismissive of Aziraphale. He was certainly a little rash when he grabbed Aziraphale and desperately kissed him. But who could blame him? He was right, and Aziraphale needs to see that.
"I really do need you.” Aziraphale says, with such pleading that Crowley almost folds. He loves rescuing Aziraphale. He loves helping him. It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures.
The answer phone clicks and Crowley throws his mobile phone across the room. He tangles his fingers in his hair. He wants so badly to run to Aziraphale, for everything to be the same as it was. But it never would be again, and Crowley knows that.
Still… He misses Aziraphale. Company on earth has much to be desired, too. 200 years ago Crowley lied and said he had all sorts of people to fraternize with. If he’s honest with himself, even if he did have people to fraternize with, none of them would be as interesting or charming or as unintentionally funny as Aziraphale.
A few days later, Crowley is dozing in his chair when the phone rings. The answer phone clicks, but no one speaks. There’s a long silence that Crowley and Aziraphale simply breathe in it. It’s as if Aziraphale is in the room with him, looking at him, searching for something to say.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale breaks the silence, speaking gently and with feeling, and Crowley closes his eyes. “I-“
His voice cracks. He doesn’t continue.
“Yeah.” Crowley mutters. “Me too.”
The answer phone clicks. Crowley opens his eyes and stares at it. He feels choked by his own longing. It’s strange to be able to put a name to this desire he’s felt for millions of years, but it seems so obvious now. He longs for Aziraphale, terribly. He wants his company, he wants his attention, and most of all, he wants to kiss him again, to feel Aziraphale melt beneath him, to let the world fade away…
Crowley stands. He strides over to the phone and continues to stare at it. Then he picks it up, and his fingers hover above the number pad. It would be so easy to dial’s heaven’s number. His fingers tremble.
Could he really bear to speak to Aziraphale again? What would he even say? Would they argue? Would they come to some sort of truce? The heart in his human vessel pounds frantically, desperately, and he curses it.
As he’s deliberating, the phone rings. Crowley startles.
Without thinking, he picks it up. On the other end of the phone, Crowley hears Aziraphale’s breath catch. Neither of them speak for a while, until Crowley is brave enough to try.
“Er.” Crowley says. “Hi?”
“Hello.” Aziraphale says.
Crowley’s lips twitch at the absurdity of the situation. Their phone calls have always been so succinct. They’ve never struggled to fill the silence.
“I got your messages.” Crowley says.
“Ah.” Aziraphale says, his voice light and guarded. “Right. So, um, what do you think? Will you help me?”
Could Crowley ever say no to Aziraphale? He doesn’t think it’s possible, not really. He always gives in, in the end.
“Fine.” Crowley sighs. “What do you need?”
“Oh!” Aziraphale says, more warmly. He sounds like he used to, though he must look different now, archangel that he is. “ Really ? I must admit, I didn’t even think you’d call, nevermind help me.”
“Of course I called.” Crowley mutters to himself.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Crowley says.
“Well, anyway, thank you.” Aziraphale says. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, he sounds far more professional. “I’ll arrange a time and place for us to meet. Now that the angels know about St. James’ Park, it may be wise to find a new meeting spot… I'll send you all the details."
Crowley’s jaw tenses. Is this all he’s destined to be? A secret, hidden away from heaven, as he’s always been? It drives him mad. They could’ve gotten away from all of this.
“Right.” Crowley says, some bitterness sneaking into his voice.
“Right.” Aziraphale says, his tone matching Crowley's. “Well, I, ah, I suppose I should be going. Lots to be getting on with.”
“Same.” Crowley lies.
“Being the supreme archangel is certainly time consuming.”
“As is,” Crowley says, “Everything I’ve been doing on earth.”
“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale says. “What have you been doing on earth?”
“Oh, you know.” Crowley says vaguely. “Loads of… important things.”
“I see.” There’s an amused smile in Aziraphale’s voice. Crowley shouldn’t feel so happy about it, but he does, damn him. “I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll send the details of our meeting place discreetly.”
“Yep.”
A silence, then. It’s filled with so many unspoken feelings, and Crowley longs to fill it, but his pride is far too strong.
“Goodbye, then, Crowley.” Aziraphale says, sadly.
“…Bye.” Crowley says, and hangs up the phone.
He groans, rubbing his hands over his face. Then, in a moment of sheer madness, he swallows his pride and redials the phone. Aziraphale picks up right away.
“I’m sorry.” They both blurt out, at once, and then they’re laughing, and all of the tension eases, and Crowley sits down at his desk and cradles the phone to his ear.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, when their laughter dies down, “I didn’t want things to be like this.”
“Yeah.” Crowley agrees. He hears Aziraphale take a deep breath.
“I have-“ Aziraphale lowers his voice. “I have missed you, you know.”
Crowley sits up straight in his chair. At Aziraphale’s words, he fills with warmth. He’s never sappy, but here he is now, smiling to himself, because this time, Aziraphale is being the brave one. It’s Crowley who usually takes the lead with romantic declarations, and he really isn’t very good at them.
This change in Aziraphale bewilders Crowley as much as it pleases him. Had the kiss unearthed feelings in Aziraphale that were previously buried, as it did for Crowley? Or has Aziraphale gone completely mad?
“Ngk.” Crowley says.
“When this is all over-“ He hears Aziraphale swallow. “Perhaps we could- Oh, I don’t know.”
“What?” Crowley asks, challenging him.
“Go for lunch.” Aziraphale blurts out. “Or dinner, or a spot of afternoon tea, or maybe we could have that picnic-“
“Go on then.” Crowley cuts in. “But we are going to have to… talk.” Crowley shudders at the word. “At some point.”
“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale sighs.
“Properly.” Crowley adds.
“ Alright , Crowley.” There’s a rustling noise on the other end of the line. “I’m going to have to go. I’ve been away from my duties for too long. But I’ll see you very soon.”
Crowley feels a flicker of disappointment.
“Right.” Crowley says.
“Goodbye, Crowley.”
“Bye, Aziraphale.” Crowley pauses. Before Aziraphale can hang up, he says, “Hey, angel?”
“Yes?”
“I missed you too.”
Aziraphale lets out a little squeak and hangs up the phone. Crowley leans back in his chair, and grins to himself. Perhaps there is something to be said for swallowing your pride.
All of his bitterness and his anger and his fear seem so far away now. As he gazes at the phone, Crowley has the thought that everything might turn out alright. In fact, perhaps they’ll even be happy.