Chapter Text
"What's all this dashing about, then? What's the emergency?"
Crowley had just come in through the front door of Aziraphale's bookshop and was immediately stopped in his tracks as he found him frantically running from bookshelf to bookshelf.
He took a moment to lock the door behind him and to turn the sign in the window to Closed as he had done every Monday afternoon for almost a year.
Sometimes even on Fridays, too. And Wednesdays, every once in a while. It was routine by now.
Uh, he briefly wondered if he should be a paid employee at this point, The Sign Turner.
Focusing his gaze on the angel and taking care to keep him in his sight, he placed the bottle of wine he had brought with him on the side table closest to his favourite armchair, right next to the newly-added banker's lamp that already sat there.
The addition made him smirk. The style was classic Aziraphale. He pulled on the chain to turn on the lamp, nudging the green glass shade to direct the light in the angel's direction.
A warm golden glow washed over the scene, contrasting with the gloomy ambiance outside. It had been raining for a few days now, and if the clouds he could see from the windows were any indication, it would keep on raining for a while.
In the light, Aziraphale's face was crimson with exhaustion and he was visibly out of breath. He had removed his usual waistcoat, allowing him to move more freely. He was now on the floor looking under his desk.
Crowley's eyebrows pulled together trying to make sense of the unusual scene.
"Did you lose something, Angel?"
"Worse." The word came out as a horrified declaration. He poked his head from under the desk to look at Crowley.
"I think I sold a book." He looked frightened at the very thought.
Crowley froze, his jaw dropping for just a second before he hid his uncharacteristic slip-up with a scoff and a low whistle.
"You did? Didn't think you had it in you."
He lazily sauntered over to the desk and stopped to offer Aziraphale a hand. He took it instinctively and Crowley helped him up. They both let go at once.
"That's the very issue. I don't."
"Mmh? Don't follow."
"I just told you, I think I sold a book!"
He looked desperate, his hands brushing against every single item that was sitting on his desk twice, making sure nothing escaped his panicked stare.
He then swiftly turned on his heels and made his way to another shelf near the front of the store. Crowley thought he heard him mutter something along the lines of How could I have let this happen?
"That's no use fussing over, is it? You own a bookshop, you've sold a book. It was bound to happen at some point, wasn't it?"
"I don't understand how this could have happened!" Aziraphale cried, confirming Crowley's suspicion. Top-tier demonic hearing. Hadn't failed him yet.
"I've been so very careful. My record had been absolutely spotless until now!"
Crowley joined Aziraphale at the front of the store, trying to catch his attention. He was getting tired of watching him flutter around.
"I take it the book wasn't stolen, so you must remember talking to a customer about it."
Aziraphale shook his head.
"Receiving money, then?"
Another shake. Crowley was genuinely confused now.
"Nothing, really?"
"Nothing."
"Maybe you didn't sell it, then. Are you sure it's not around here somewhere?"
"Well, I have been looking," Aziraphale said, gesturing helplessly at the seemingly infinite number of shelves surrounding them. Crowley wasn't sure he had ever seen the angel so exasperated before.
"Maybe you miracled it away?"
Aziraphale looked appalled by the suggestion. So much so that he took a step back as he answered, "I most certainly did no such thing."
After a beat he added a sheepish, "Did you?"
The demon's brows shot upwards at the question.
"Did I? Now why would I do that?"
"No reason." The angel quickly changed the subject, a nervous laugh hanging on his lips.
"I know we had plans, but I've really got to find that book. I do. I'm sure you understand."
With a hand hovering behind Crowley's back, he was ineffectively trying to herd him back to the front door. Crowley didn't move an inch.
"That's no bother. I'll help you look."
Clearly beaten, Aziraphale shot him one last nervous look before turning back to continue his search.
"If you insist."
"So you're really sure someone left with it, are you?" Crowley's gaze followed the angel as he looked through the Dickens novels.
"No funny business otherwise? Nothing else has disappeared?"
"Nothing, I'm positive."
"Alright then, what does it look like?"
"What?"
"The book? What else? Are you quite alright, Angel?"
Narrowed eyes peeked over the rims of Crowley's sunglasses. Something was definitely up.
"Oh, of course. The book!"
His search still well underway, Aziraphale grabbed a heavy encyclopedia off of a bottom shelf, flipped it upside down, shook his head and handed it to Crowley before darting to the other side of the room.
Unbothered, the demon delicately but firmly placed the book back in its spot. He strolled behind Aziraphale, joining him next to the door to the backroom.
The angel was now looking under a chair, one could never be too careful.
"Well, it's a standard book, really. Nothing too out there. Dark green leather cover, gold lettering, filled with... pages?"
Aziraphale shook his head as if to clear his mind.
"Quite normal, honestly."
He left the chair be and made his way to the desk next to it. He lifted a mug that sat directly on the mahogany surface as if the book would magically appear underneath it. If only, he thought.
"What about the title?" Crowley's voice stopped Aziraphale instantly. He slowly turned to face the demon.
"The title?" The angel's question was high-pitched.
"Yeah..? It has to have a title, doesn't it? I'm no bookseller, but such a standard normal book's got to have one, I reckon."
"You're entirely right, obviously," Aziraphale stammered, his hands fluttering up to adjust his bowtie. It had needed no adjusting.
He was avoiding Crowley's eyes when he continued, "It's only... well, it's just a volume of poetry. Lord Byron. Terribly boring, really. I'm certain there's no need to dwell on the name, in any case. It will remain lost either way if we don't crack on."
The obvious attempt at deflection only made Crowley more curious about the whole affair. He took a step forward, effectively trapping Aziraphale between himself and the desk.
He folded his arms. Looking down at the angel, he let a faint smirk dance on his lips.
"Byron, really? Quite the romantic tome you've misplaced, innit?"
The angel ignored the pique, but his deep blush betrayed him. He avoided meeting Crowley's gaze when he responded, "Not so much misplaced as sold unknowingly."
"You know, having any kind of inventory system might've been the way to avoid all of this."
Crowley had let Aziraphale go and was now having a look at a shelf that decidedly did not hold a single green book.
"You do know computers could keep track of all of this for you, right? Quite a clever invention if you ask me. One of ours, I believe."
"Oh, but you forget I do keep a very detailed inventory. In fact, it's a point of pride. It's in that big journal right over there."
Aziraphale pointed to the counter where, of course, no book was in sight. The lone vintage cash register that sat on it was practically mocking him. Embarrassment coloured the angel's cheeks and an audible gulp escaped him.
"Well, it was right there the last time I wrote an entry in it, anyway."
Crowley snorted, a playful grin forming on his lips. Aziraphale quickly passed him to reach yet again another side of the shop before the demon could form a proper response. Teasing remark stored away for later, Crowley let his eyes follow the angel's movements.
"It might've been some time ago, now that I think about it. Never mind that, anyway. The book is undeniably not here."
A frustrated sigh escaped the angel. He looked outside the nearest window and seemed to notice the weather for the first time.
"Oh," he whispered. "We should make our way out there, I suppose."
It sounded like he would prefer almost anything over a stroll in the rain. He stood pensive for a moment before looking intensely at the front door, deep in concentration as if he was solving the hardest puzzle he had ever come across.
Then his stomach dropped as a memory came back to him.
"Oh no... One person did come here over the weekend, a bookseller from another shop not too far from here. She caught me as I was leaving to meet you at our bench!"
Aziraphale's distress was apparent, he looked pale. "She wanted to talk about setting up some exchanges. I politely sent her away, of course."
His frown made way to widened eyes as he put the final pieces together.
"I remember she seemed so disappointed that I couldn't help but offer her something to lift her mood after my rejection." He paused, contemplating the whole scene.
"But it wouldn't have been that book, surely. It's much too important. Oh dear."
His hand flew up to his cheek quite dramatically. "I didn't give the whole thing much thought at all. It must've taken all of three minutes, if that."
"Sounds like you, though."
A sharp gasp escaped Aziraphale at the sound of Crowley's voice right next to his left ear. He turned to face him. So lost in thoughts as he was, he had almost forgotten the demon's presence, although he was now standing painfully close to him.
"Should you put this back on, then? And we'll be on our way."
Carefully dangling from the tip of Crowley's fingers was Aziraphale's discarded waistcoat, rescued from the chair it had been draped on.
It took only a subtle, unspoken demonic miracle to make the vintage piece weatherproof before Aziraphale, face flushed but none the wiser, accepted it. He put it on swiftly, followed by his coat. There was no need for him to know Crowley's secret.
Really, it wasn't that big of a deal if anyone asked him. Not that they would dare.
With one last parting glance at the unopened bottle of wine still on the table, Crowley shifted to let Aziraphale get out the door first before leaving himself and locking the door again with a flick of his fingers.
They made their way outside together, Crowley guiding them through the small crowd on the pavement.
"The Bentley's right up front. It somehow avoided the parking wardens. How about that?" He smirked. He certainly knew how to entertain himself.
"You really shouldn't do that, Crowley. The rules are there for a reason, after all," Aziraphale tried to berate the demon, but he said it so fondly that they both chuckled and he let it go.
He sat in the passenger seat of the Bentley, Crowley managing the door for him. He strapped himself in, never too cautious.
The demon joined him, not bothering with the seatbelt himself, and they were en route.