Crowley Meets The Doctor

It's Like Looking At A Slightly More Attractive Mirror

It began with the ringing of the telephone. Bouncing off of the stone walls and shattering the much-preferred silence, the sound traveled throughout the grey home. Crowley, as he did most of the time in order to keep touch with his "evil" side (emphasis on quotations), let it go straight to voicemail. The line was quiet for a moment, evoking some slight curiosity into Crowley. He raised his brow.

"Crowley?" A voice crackled through the speaker. It was the angel. Crowley left his plants and entered the room. He stood beside the machine. "Pick up. I know you're listening. I've got a... situation."

Oh, dear. Was it the raccoons, again? He picked up the phone.

"I told you not to feed them, angel; they'll never leave you alon--"

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

"Well, um. You see--there seems to be a-- um... a--how do I describe this? Well, a big, blue box has suddenly appeared in my shop, and I am quite unsure on how to deal with this matter."

"A blue what?" Crowley said incredulously.

"A blue box!" Aziraphale stuttered. "It's a police box--oh, well, you remember the 60s."

Crowley almost couldn't believe it. "What the hell is a police box doing in your shop?"

"I haven't the faintest clue!"

"I'm on my way."

"Okay, I'll see you the--oh, wow, that was fast." Aziraphale hung up the phone as Crowley entered the shop.

"I nearly hit a child."

"It's frightening that I'm not surprised."

"Hush, angel," Crowley said. At the center of the room rested a tall, wide box, it's vibrant blue exterior jumping out among the faded covers of books and antiques surrounding the cluttered shop. He really couldn't believe it. "I've heard stories, but I always assumed they were just rubbish," he whispered.

"Stories?" the angel echoed.

"Of a man who travels through time. The destroyer of worlds, some would say. A saint in disguise, said others. All I know is that he always has this box with him."

"A strange sentiment," Aziraphale stated absently, still holding onto the "destroyer of worlds" part.

"Have you looked inside?"

"The door won't budge."

"Perhaps there's another way in?" They circled the box with a feeling of apprehension hanging in the air.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the shop door. Crowley turned to Aziraphale?

"Expecting someone?"

"We're not open--sorry, we're closed!" he called. There came a strange noise from the other side of the door and suddenly a man burst into the room. Crowley kept himself hidden behind the box.

"'Ello, sorry to bother you, but it appears that you've got my, um, uh... thing. Yes, my thing. Silly me, I always lose it." The man rushed toward the box as Aziraphale stared at him in disbelief. Aziraphale stepped forward. The man stopped, his eyebrows raised. A moment passed. Silence tore at the space between them.

"Crowley?"

"What?" Crowley and the man said in unison. He slithered from his hiding spot and came face-to-face with the stranger.

"Oh my Satan," Crowley murmured as he stared at the man whose features entirely resembled his own.

"Well, this is new," the man said, as equally shocked.