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Cardiff, February 14, 1412, AD
Aziraphale was just leaving morning mass- things had been awfully dull, as of late- when he caught sight of a certain red-headed, bespectacled demon. His mood brightened sullied, and he stormed over to the foul thing to tell him off.
Crowley looked up at him, a smile on his face. "Ah, Angel." He took a rose from the bundle in his hands, offering it to him. "They're two silver pieces a bloom, but I'll let you get away with one for free." He smiled mischievously.
Aziraphale huffed, feeling his face redden at the- the bribery, which it certainly was, nothing else. He took the flower. "What are you selling flowers for?"
Crowley shrugged, bringing a flower to his nose and sniffing heavily. "The goodness of my heart."
Aziraphale glared.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "It's Valentine's day."
Aziraphale nodded, rocking back and forth on his feet. "So it is. I've just attended a mass about the martyr-"
"Ha!" Crowley shouts in his face. Aziraphale startles. "Don't you know, Angel?"
Aziraphale placed his hands on his hips. "Obviously not."
Crowley snorted again, shoving the rest of the roses into Aziraphale's hands, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and whispering conspiratorially as they began to walk. "They've started to make today about romance, Angel."
Aziraphale blinked. "Oh. Why?"
"How should I know? I was asleep all last century, who knows what's gotten into their heads while I was gone."
"But you're going to take credit for it." Aziraphale said slowly.
"Naturally. Humans celebrating their carnal instincts on the day of a saint? It's genius!"
"Well, romance isn't always carnal." He said, looking at Crowley's hand wrapped around his shoulder, and the bouquet in his hands.
"Oh, really? Are you well-versed in romance, angel?"
"In theory. I like to talk to people. People like to talk about things and people they love. It's quite sweet, really."
"Mm, I'm sure." Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale closer, and out of the way of a particularly large and scary-looking man. Then, his eyes brightened, and he gasped. "I've got an idea." He whispered slyly.
"Yes?" Aziraphale asked miserably.
"I like the idea of this day. You must too, you haven't called it an abomination or disgrace."
"Well, you like it-" Crowley raised an eyebrow at this, causing Aziraphale to stutter, "It would be rude to speak so poorly of it."
Crowley smiled, looking away, like he was trying to hide it. "Well... if we both like it, maybe we should both promote it. You, to spread love and... all that," He waved his hand around, "And me, to sully the holiness of a saint's day. We both get points, and cancel each other out."
Aziraphale tries to find a way to refute this logic. He can't. He can, however, see a sliver of Crowley's eyes from behind his glasses. They're glimmering. Aziraphale sighs, feeling slightly sick. "I don't see why not."
Crowley pats him on the arm in approval. "This'll be big. It'll be good."
"Mm, I suppose."
"It can be our day off!" Crowley said excitedly, as he offered a flower to a young lady, who smiled nervously at him, taking a few steps back.
Crowley growled a little, not out of actual malice, just annoyance. "We've got to get to work. No one's buying my flowers. They just don't understand romance."
"And what do you know about romance?"
"Well, I ought to know a thing or two, after five thousand years in earth." He said indignantly.
Aziraphale sighed. "But you don't have any... hands-on experience."
Crowley huffed. "Hm, no, I suppose not. But women love flowers."
"That young maiden seemed like she would disagree."
"Only because she's scared of me."
"Oh, I can't imagine why." Aziraphale said lightly.
Crowley scoffed, letting going of Aziraphale, who was all too aware of the cold spot on his arm where his hand had been.
"Well, Angel, see you around." He tipped his hat downwards, his smile visible from under the brim.
Dover, February 14th, 1434, AD
"Doctor! Doctor!" A girl called, knocking on Aziraphale's door. Aziraphale startled, turning from his desk, setting his book down. He opened the door.
"Yes?"
"There's a- a man on the White Cliffs- we think he dead, or hurt-"
"Or sleeping," The other girl said, chuckling nervously. "We couldn't tell. Didn't get too close."
Aziraphale nodded, asking the girls to take him to the cliffs. So much for his day off.
Upon their arrival, Aziraphale immediately found the cause of the problem. A few couples were sitting at the top of the cliff, enjoying various picnic spreads. At the very edge of the cliff, a red-headed figure was lying, arm draped over their eyes. Aziraphale sighed fondly.
"Not to worry, girls, I know this man. He's perfectly healthy."
The girls nodded gratefully, running off.
Aziraphale sat by Crowley's side, one knee pulled up to his chest, watching the ocean over the cliffs.
Crowley stirred a little, inhaling deeply, as if smelling for who was next to him. He stuck his tongue, which was noticeably forked, out, flicking it rapidly. Aziraphale shifted so that he was blocking this view from the onlookers.
"Oh, Aziraphale." Crowley said with a content smile.
"Yes, dear. It's me. You're causing a scene."
Crowley removed his arm from his face, looking at Aziraphale, his glasses blessedly missing. "Am I?"
Crowley seemed to realize his eyes were bare, and whipped his neck around to look off the edge of the cliff, fishing in his jacket for his glasses. When he looked back at Aziraphale, it's through dark glasses.
"Yes, two girls came to get me. They thought you were dead."
Crowley barked out a sharp laugh. "Oh, if only, Angel."
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, grabbing Crowley by the arm and helping him stand. "Come back to my place." He said gently.
"We don't..." He trailed off.
Aziraphale just patted him on the back. "I'll make you tea?" He offered.
Crowley was obviously tense, his muscles tight. Aziraphale realized he was still gripping the demon by his arm, and quickly let go. This didn't do anything to ease Crowley.
"Just tea?" Crowley asked.
"Biscuits, too. Alcohol, if you'd like."
Crowley laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'll come over for tea."
"Excellent!" Aziraphale said, leading him away from the cliffside.
They sat in Aziraphale's lounge across from each other, tea set on the table between them, a tray of biscuits and a bottle of spirits next to it.
Crowley was sprawled across the seat, his legs dangling off the side. He reached for the bottle. Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly.
"Oh, hush up. I've got a headache."
"And you think alcohol is the cure to that?"
"Hey, you offered!" He pointed an accusatory finger.
Aziraphale pursed his lips. "At least eat a biscuit with it."
Crowley snarled, flashing his sharp canines.
Aziraphale took a sip of tea. "So, what did you do to end up on the cliffside?"
Crowley growls, sitting up, his feet hitting the ground harshly. He spiraled into a rage-induced rant, swinging his hands around wildly, the liquid in the bottle- that he hadn't actually drank from yet- sloshing around.
He continues yelling, talking nearly too fast for Aziraphale to keep up, about how Furfur can't do his damn job, and somehow that's my fault! Now Beelzebub's up my ass, we've got hundreds of lost souls- if we don't claim them soon enough, either your side will take them, or ghouls from purgatory will take them away. Apparently, I'm the problem because Furfur could handle the Black Death, but is all backed up now, so I should've known better than to send so many souls to Hell. So now I'm getting chewed out for doing my job!
The rant slowly devolves from Furfur's incompetence to the lack of new torture techniques, to Hell's overcrowding, to lack of respect in the current era, the latter of which Aziraphale is happy to participate in.
Eventually, Crowley seems to tire of ranting, and Aziraphale naturally takes over.
Crowley sits back, resting his chin on his hand, watching Aziraphale. He jumps in every so often, agreeing with Aziraphale, or else providing a different viewpoint- playing 'devil's advocate'.
They talk for hours, laughing, shouting, whispering conspiratorially.
They tell each other things they probably shouldn't- secrets from their respective sides. Aziraphale knows, if he was worth anything as an angel he should immediately tell Heaven. Really, if he was worth anything, he wouldn't be talking to Crowley at all.
It vaguely occurs to him, as the sunrise shines through the windows behind Crowley, who's telling a story about how he found out that Dagon was afraid of water eels, that Crowley could use this all against him. That Crowley could be manipulating him to gain information about Heaven.
And as Aziraphale snorts at a joke Crowley tells, he realizes he can't bring himself to care.
He'll worry about it later, when he isn't so content, when his chest isn't so warm, and Crowley isn't so happy, doesn't have his glasses pushed up to the top of his head, and isn't so beautiful.
He's not sure how long it was before Crowley stood, sliding his glasses down to his nose, setting the long-empty bottle on the table, and makes his way to the door.
Aziraphale stands too, following Crowley to the door. He opens the door, nodding for him to leave.
"We should do this more often." Crowley says quietly.
Aziraphale chuckles a little. "Yes, yes, I suppose we should."
Bordeaux, February 14, 1504, AD
"Aziraphale?" A voice called.
Aziraphale jumped and turned around in his seat. "Ah! Crowley!"
The two of them stared at each other for a little bit, before Aziraphale gestured to the seat across from him.
"France, huh?" Crowley says, eyeing the hot chocolate Aziraphale had been keeping warm for him.
"Yes. France. I hope that's alright." Aziraphale said shyly.
Crowley shrugged, bringing the cup to his mouth. "I don't see why not."
Aziraphale smiles, shuffling happily.
"How have you been?"
"Angel, you saw me six months ago! Honestly, it's beginning to be a problem." He muttered the last part to himself.
Aziraphale bristled. "You suggested meeting up today."
"Well, of course, I did. It's our day, Angel. You found me back in September."
Aziraphale crossed his arms, "Well, if we're getting technical-"
Crowley leaned forward, reaching across the table. "I'm kidding, Aziraphale. I don't- mind seeing... you." He says awkwardly, shifting.
"Oh. My mistake."
Crowley shakes his head at him. "You're awfully sensitive."
Aziraphale blushes, looking away. "I'm sorry."
Crowley leans back, crossing his arms. "'S alright, Angel." He takes his hot chocolate cup, raising it into the air, "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Happy Valentine's Day." Aziraphale clinks his cup against Crowley's. "And to... many more?" He offered shyly.
"Absolutely." Crowley said kindly.
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, February 14, 1681, AD
Aziraphale had been on the water for about 8 weeks, accompanying the Princess-Abbes Maria back from her trip to the Americas, when there was a sudden commotion on the deck. Aziraphale looked up from her work, listening.
The commotion continued, and there was the unmistakable sound of fighting. Aziraphale rushed to the deck of the ship, where she saw her crew fighting against a bunch of ruffians. Her eyes scanned the deck, before landing on Maria, who was being held with a knife at her throat by two men. Aziraphale huffed.
"I demand you leave my ship this instant!" She yelled.
Some of the men turned to her. "Oi, get the lady-in-waiting!" One yelled.
Aziraphale's eyes widened. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you." She warned.
"And why not?" A particularly rough ruffian taunted, grabbing her arm.
Just then, there was a loud holler from the sea. Aziraphale's head snapped over, to where another ship was sailing towards them, a red-headed woman standing on the figurehead. The front of the ship came to the edge of the ship, and the woman jumped to the deck.
"Is this a ship seizing in my territory?" The woman asked, hands on her hips, looking disappointed. Her eyes found Aziraphale and she smiled. "Angel? 'S that you?"
Aziraphale tugged her arm from the man's grasp. "Yes, dear. It's me."
"Oh, good. It's the fourteenth, you know." There was the loud and thunderous sound of Crowley's crew jumping onto the ship, running into combat. "You look great." She remarked, sauntering her way towards Aziraphale.
The man behind Aziraphale grabbed her by the waste, pulling her backwards, pressing his gun against her temple.
There was a loud, sharp bang as Crowley fired her pistol, shooting him right in the head. The man slumped to the ground, and Aziraphale stepped away from him. Crowley walked to stand next to her, glaring down at the man. She snarled, shooting him two more times, and kicking his head. "Rude ass." She muttered.
"Quite." Aziraphale said, brushing off her dress.
Crowley watched as her crew beat the invading pirates, throwing them over the edge, stabbing them, and shooting them. Crowley gasped, raising her pistol and shooting a man that was about to stab a pirate of hers in the back.
"Watch it, Lottie." She snaped to the young girl, who nodded, landing a punch in a man's gut, and slicing his throat.
Crowley sighed, bored. "This is awful gory. Accompany me to the cabin?" She held her hand out casually.
Aziraphale gently placed her hand in Crowley's, and they went downstairs.
"What sort of alcohol do you have?" Crowley asked.
"None, I'm afraid. It's prohibited."
Crowley sighed, patting Aziraphale's arm. "I suppose tea and biscuits will do."
Aziraphale beamed.
London, February 14, 1923, AD
Aziraphale cleared his throat uncomfortably, shying away from a woman making their way towards him. He had a very specific woman in mind, and only one which he wanted to see.
He caught a glimpse of her leaning against the bar, talking to a tall, muscular man. Her face was pulled into that sly smile she wore whenever she was tempting someone. Aziraphale walked up to her, placing a gentle hand on her waist, making her aware of his presence, but not sure if he should pull her away from the task at hand.
To his surprise, she immediately snapped out of her conversation, turning to look at him, her eyebrows raised. She completely brushed off the other man, resting her chin in her hand, and her elbow on the bar. "Why, hello, Angel."
Aziraphale scratched the back of his neck. "Hey, Crowley. I just- it's the fourteenth, and I-" He offered the bouquet of flowers he'd been holding.
Crowley stared at them, but didn't reach for them.
"Oh, dear. I just- I remembered you said you liked flowers, and I- I wasn't sure if it was... appropriate for me to give them to you, but- I mean we've been working together for a while, now and I-"
"For me?" She asked, reaching out for them, finally.
Aziraphale nodded, pressing them into her hands. "Wh-who else?"
Crowley looked up at him, her glasses at the end of her nose, her eyes glistening over them.
Aziraphale let out a huge sigh of relief as Crowley finally took the flowers into her hands, holding them close to her chest. "Oh, Angel." She said quietly.
"I've also booked us a dinner at the Ritz." Aziraphale said bluntly, not sure how to respond to Crowley looking at him like... that.
"Well, we mustn't be late. Let me change into something nicer." She snapped her finger, and was suddenly dressed in a black evening dress, with tassels starting just below her knee, and a feathered headband in her hair. "How do I look?"
"Pretty- good. Pretty good."
Crowley just giggled, putting her arm through Aziraphale's.
"Although I wish you'd lose the glasses." Aziraphale muttered.
"What's that?" Crowley asked, suddenly tense.
"I- nothing."
"You don't like my glasses?" She asked, sounding offended.
"No, I didn't say that, I just-"
"I can get different ones, if they're that awful." She said stuffily, as Aziraphale pulled the door open for her.
"It's not that, dear, I just- I don't not like your glasses, I just do like your eyes."
"Oh. Well, I'm not sure if I- If I do." She was looking at the ground, stepping over a large puddle.
Aziraphale sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up. You can keep the glasses. They are cool. You look pretty either way." Aziraphale whispered the last part, but Crowley must have heard it from the way she was smiling ear to ear.
She miracled a second pair into her hand, holding it up for Aziraphale. "You want a pair?"
Aziraphale took them, struggled to open them with just the one hand that wasn't linked with Crowley's, and shoved them on his face. They were crooked. Crowley laughed, reaching up to adjust them.
"Happy Valentine's, Angel."
"Happy Valentine's, darling."
A Nightingale twittered somewhere in the trees.