Cowritten by Arthur Albion
1968
The phone rang. This wasn't the first time it had rang since he came home from the bookshop. The ansaphone knew its job and took any messages that were left. No matter the size of the tape inside, it knew better than to fill up. Especially with nonsense like double glazing, which he already had, and life insurance, which he didn't need. Well, not a human type of life insurance, at least.
After the fourth ring, he heard himself advise the caller to leave a message with style. Crowley's bedroom was not near his office, but he could hear it just the same as if he was sitting at the desk. There was a pause, and Crowley vaguely wondered if they had hung up without leaving a message. That was preferable, really. It's not like he was going to call anyone back. Only one person had such a privilege.
His heart lurched suddenly as the voice of that one person floated through the flat. Despite the fact he had barely moved in ages, he launched himself out of the bed. Unfortunately, whilst the unused muscles of his corporation gave no protest, his cocoon of blankets hadn't received the memo that something important was happening at right this exact second.
Falling out of bed rather than the leap he had planned, the demon was a twist of limbs and blankets on the floor. A pillow hit him in the head as it was yanked off with the sudden movements. Crowley nearly ripped the bedding apart in an effort to reach the phone.
Finally standing, he sprinted through the flat completely running into the doorframe of his office as he failed to make the tight turn around a corner. Somehow remaining on his feet, despite his amusing pirouette, he snatched the phone up to his ear.
"What?"
He hadn't actually heard any of the message in his haste over his swearing and grunting.
"Oh," Aziraphale said. "Hello."
The line was cut.
Crowley practically melted on the spot as he sank down to sit on the desk, just listening to Aziraphale's few words. Even after the line was dead, he still hadn't moved. The telephone slipped out of his grip. It had been too long since he had heard from the angel, and he had missed his call. Well, hadn't missed it missed it, but scared him off again it seemed.
Picking up the handset from where it had come to rest in his lap, he threw it back onto the cradle.
"Too bloody fast indeed."
Angry with himself all over again, he stood from the desk as both hands came up to his forehead in frustration. He wanted to scream as he paced in a small circle. He had no idea when another opportunity might turn up. Rounding the desk, he collapsed into the throne. Despite sleeping off and on, he was suddenly exhausted.
The phone rang again.
Crowley glared at it. If he didn't know better, he might think even the phone was mocking him now. He had half a mind to destroy the damn thing.
The ansaphone, ever loyal, caught the call after the fourth ring.
"So sorry about that. I had a, a, a, bookshop emergency."
Crowley continued glaring at the phone, this time in disbelief at the sound of Aziraphale's voice. He had been in a rush to answer the phone, but now he wasn't sure he could hold himself together. What if he said the wrong thing? What if he angered or scared the angel off again? What if he picked it up, and couldn't say anything at all? For the first time in a long while, Crowley was shy of Aziraphale. He let the ansaphone keep doing its job. It was really quite good at it.
"Customer trying to buy a book. Erm. Yes, right. Let me know if you'd like lunch. I understand if you're busy."
There was an awkwardly long pause, then a soft click finally ended the message.
The demon continued to stare at the phone and the small, blinking light on the machine for a while as he tried to decide what to do. Eventually, he looked down at his watch and did a double-take. Suddenly, if possible, he felt even more guilty. Crowley hadn't realised an entire year had passed since Aziraphale gave him the thermos. He hadn't even slept for all of it. Too wrapped up in his own thoughts and fears and longing and constantly berating himself for the longing and berating himself for pretty much everything else under the sun as well.
Glancing back up at the blinking answering machine, he stood up having come to a decision. Exiting his office, he was glad it was rather early in the morning. Or very late at night. Much to his own shame now that he realised it, the demon hadn't bathed or really taken any time for personal upkeep in the last year. He was due for a shed too, he realised. But he had a lunch date, and he would use the time to make himself presentable before picking up Aziraphale at the bookshop.
Crowley didn't see the harm in just showing up. At least, he tried to convince himself it would be fine. As things were, he didn't trust himself to ring the angel back.
It was around eleven o'clock. Plenty of time before lunch still, and Aziraphale tended to appreciate something of a late meal anyway. Crowley parked the Bentley in front of the shop and the double yellow no-parking lines rolled back on themselves obediently. Walking up to the shop, he saw the closed sign and tried the door the human way first for a change. Locked. Clicking his fingers, he walked inside anyway.
"An- Aziraphale?"
There was a flurry of sound from the back room rapidly followed by a dull thump. The angel quickly appeared from the depths of the shelves, looking a bit dishevelled. He stared at the demon.
"Crowley." He visibly shook himself. "Ah, yes, hello. I see you got my message."
"Yeah. Should've rung back. How was the, er, emergency customer situation?"
Aziraphale looked embarrassed and glanced away. "Oh, that. It all happened rather quickly. I didn't make a single sale today though, so no harm was done. Sorry, I was, erm. I'll be ready in a jiffy."
"No rush, angel. I'm sure our reservation will be right on time whenever we decide to arrive." Crowley waved a hand vaguely and went to throw himself down onto the couch.
"Right. Of course." Aziraphale flashed a smile at Crowley's back before hurrying off to fix himself up and fetch his coat.
Crowley was annoyed to see his spot on the couch buried under newspapers. He didn't know why Aziraphale bothered with all these newspapers. With a click of his fingers, they piled up in order by print date and then filed themselves away wherever Aziraphale kept old papers. The demon proceeded with his plan to lounge as he waited. With a small amused smile, he appreciated the slightly bitter irony of how he always had been, and seemingly always would be, waiting for his angel.