A/N: The phone conversation was just supposed to pick affectionate fun at Aziraphale and technology. I did not expect it to include Feelings...
Chapter 2
When her phone rang a few days later, Michael automatically picked it up and swiped to answer without looking away from the pile of paperwork she was going over. "Michael."
But she went unheard because a voice on the other end was saying, "Was that right? Is it working?"
"Azi—"
"It's working, angel," a drawling voice said over top of her.
"But that symbol there, doesn't that mean call? I must have—What if I just—"
"No, don't—"
The phone went dead. Michael stared at it blankly.
It rang again.
More cautiously this time, Michael swiped to answer and opened her mouth.
"HELLO, MICHAEL. CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
She fumbled the phone and only just caught it before it could fall.
"Oh, for Go—for Sa—for someone's sake, angel, you don't have to yell!"
"But how can she hear me if—"
"She can hear you just fine. It's a phone, that's what they do. Assuming you haven't just deafened her, that is." The demon (she assumed) sighed. "Look, just talk normally, okay? Just like with your landline."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Crowley."
"Deafened me," he grumbled.
"I did say I was sorry. I'm just—nervous."
The demon sighed again. "Yeah, I know. It's okay, angel."
"No, it's not 'okay'!" Aziraphale was almost whining, shrill with very real fear. Michael, unwitting eavesdropper, was frozen open-mouthed. "What if—what if she doesn't believe you? What if something happens to you?"
"It'll be fine. She promised, didn't she?"
"Yes, but—"
"It'll be fine, angel. And in the unlikely event that everything does go pear-shaped—all right, all right, apple-shaped, then—then you'll think of something brilliant and get me out of it." Aziraphale tried to protest. "You will. Remember Venice? The three priests and the exorcist? You got me out of that one, didn't you? Not even singed."
"They had holy water!"
"But you stopped them."
"They could have destroyed you!"
"But they didn't. Because you were too clever for them."
"Yes, but this is the Archangel Michael."
"And if she tries something you'll think of something brilliant. Same as always." Demons weren't supposed to be so patient. Or so reassuring.
"Or you'll think of something," Aziraphale said, and he sounded more settled.
"Or I'll think of something. See, between the two of us in our brilliantness there's not stopping us. Brilliantness? Brilliancy?" He paused. "Brilliance!"
"But what if..." Aziraphale lowered his voice as if he feared speaking the possibility would give it more chance of becoming reality. "What if they take me back to Heaven?"
"Then I'll storm the Pearly Gates and bring you back home," the demon said firmly. "Can't be any harder than breaking you out of the Bastille, right?"
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said around a laugh that was close to a sob.
"Yes, Crowley, and don't you forget it. I've got your back, angel. Now, take a deep breath, stop worrying, and talk to the nice-ish archangel. But don't shout! Just your normal voice. It's no different to talking on your phone in the shop and I know you know how to use that."
"And she can hear me?"
"...Every word," the demon said in the tone of someone who had just realised the phone had been connected the whole time.
"Oh." Then he caught on. "Oh."
"Aziraphale," Michael said firmly, clinically, trying to regain some control. "Can I assume we are set to meet as planned."
"I, er—" She could just about hear him trying to wring his hands without dropping the phone.
"Oh, for—" Sounds of the phone changing hands. "Yes," the demon said. "We'll meet you. Peaceful meeting on both sides, right? No one attacks anyone."
"Agreed. But at the first sign of treachery—"
"There'll be smiting and lightning and the wrath of Heaven, yadda yadda. Yeah, I got it."
"But he'll be safe, Michael?" Aziraphale pleaded. "You promise?"
Annoyed, but unwilling to show less patience than a demon and, perhaps, dimly understanding his worry, Michael said, "I will not strike first, Aziraphale. You have my word."