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The Supreme Archangel Aziraphale sat at his desk in Heaven’s corporate headquarters, mechanically reviewing the endless stack of documents that required his approval or rejection. Six thousand years spent on Earth, and now this, boring and monotonous bureaucracy for God knows how long, he thought with a hint of disrespect.
His hand froze mid-signature as a memory ambushed him: yellow serpentine eyes crinkling at the corners, the electrifying sound of a hearty laugh, the brush of warm fingertips against his own as he was handed a glass of wine.
Aziraphale dropped his pen, eyes twitching, breath hitching, quivery fingers slowly flying to his lips. A gasp slipped past them, and he desperately hoped it didn't draw attention from the angels walking by his desk.
The hollow ache in his chest had become unbearable. He couldn't keep ignoring this feeling any longer, so he gathered a few random folders and walked through the main hall, nodding politely to Gabriel –whose smile never reached his permanently inexpressive purple eyes, now identical to his own– before taking the corridor that led to the archives. After ensuring he wasn’t being followed, he slipped into a small white storage room where random earthly objects were kept. Knowing that angels were not interested in material things, he would be safe there, at least until they noticed his absence.
Aziraphale leaned his back against the door as his very carefully maintained composure began to crack. His hands trembled as he withdrew the small mobile phone he'd smuggled from Earth. Crowley had given it to him for emergencies, he remembered, modified so that they could keep in touch no matter where they were. He hadn’t tried it yet, there had been no need back then. But since his arrival and promotion to Supreme Archangel, he had been afraid to turn it on, in case it set off one of Heaven’s alarms.
He was nervous, expectant, and terribly, terribly scared. If they caught him contacting a demon –and not just any demon– the consequences would be beyond imagination. But the alternative, never hearing that voice again, after the way things had turned out between them, had become a greater torment. That was the worst kind of torture, and he couldn’t bear it, not anymore.
Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly, exhaled shakily, whispered a prayer that was half-apology half-rebellion, and dialed the number he had memorized. With each ring, his heart threatened to burst from his celestial form.
Crowley was lying in his bed, motionless. He hadn't moved since the angel's departure. He cared little for the ringing of the telephone, not enough to get up and pick up, so he waited for the answering machine to speak in the caller's voice instead.
"Hello? Crowley? Are you there?"
Angel. The demon had no trouble recognizing that sweet, melodic voice and made a vague attempt to move his debilitated legs, but having been still for so long, he felt extremely heavy and quickly gave up. He couldn't even gather the strength to snap his fingers and miraculously appear next to the phone. As he struggled with his physical corporation, he could hear Aziraphale's steady breathing. He closed his eyes, remembering that same breath brushing against his nose and lips the last time they saw each other, seconds before his heart sank to the deepest pits of Hell.
"Crowley, can you hear me? Could you please answer me?" The archangel’s voice, though no more than a whisper, was beginning to sound desperate, and Crowley shuddered, suddenly feeling unbearably cold.
"Well, you have your reasons, I understand. Anyway, I hope you're listening, because I'm taking an enormous risk by making this call. You have no idea how difficult it was to block the-... ah, never mind, that's completely irrelevant. The reason why I called...".
Hurried footsteps were heard on the other end of the phone and Aziraphale gasped in fear. Seconds later, he kept going, clearly distressed.
"Lord, they're looking for me, already? Oh, I wish I had more time, to say everything I wanted to say, to properly explain...".
"S’ alright, angel, go on", the demon mumbled, begging weakly against his pillow.
"Yes", said Aziraphale, as if he had heard his partner's whisper, and Crowley's heart skipped a beat. "You saved a couple of my books a few years ago. You knew very well how much I loved those books, how valuable they were to me. My point is... I realized I still haven't repaid that favor to you. I owe you one.”
There was a pause, then a pitiful laugh on the other end of the line and Crowley’s body went numb. His blood chilled his veins, his limbs were trembling, the dark room he had decided to rot in was now freezing, and he felt as if outside, behind his lowered blinds, the midday sun had suddenly died. The things he would’ve done to catch a glimpse of that beaming smile he remembered so dearly. If only he could mend his heart enough for it to let him stand up, or at least crawl to the phone and press that button, and let Aziraphale hear him. But he was powerless.
The archangel exhaled.
“Knowing you, you would shrug it off because it's been more than half a century since that kindness of yours took place. But, well, you know how stubborn I can be. I would insist until you got tired, and you would give in in the end, pretending to be humble and asking for something ridiculously insignificant in return, something like, like a bottle of wine or some seeds for you to plant, and I would laugh and tell you to stop being silly… but we both know I would give you whatever you asked for anyway. Now, given the circumstances, with me up here, I can't miracle anything for you. So I figured..."
Aziraphale stopped, feeling incredibly stupid. He was convinced his words weren't making any sense and, if Crowley was in fact listening, he would probably be laughing at his emotional rambling, those beautiful yellow eyes flickering with a playful sense of superiority. His throat burned and his chest stung as he fought back the tears. Crowley had found it inevitable and pointless to stop his own from falling.
"I concluded that there's only one thing I can do, Crowley, to call it even. I must save the world for you. I will save the universe you created with oh, so much love. I promise I’ll prevent the Second Coming, just for you, no matter what it takes. But please, my dear, don't hate me any longer.”
And with a beep, the answering machine disconnects, leaving only silence in its wake.