Aziraphale jumped when someone slammed a few pounds on the counter.

"I need you to help me passive-aggressively tell someone to go fuck themselves with a bouquet of flowers."

Setting down his book, Aziraphale sat up, awkwardly adjusting his glasses. The man was not the usual sort of customer he got around here - he was wearing a leather jacket for one thing. (In the middle of July. Aziraphale didn't want to sound judgey, but there was such a thing as trying too hard, and, well...) He was also wearing dark sunglasses indoors, and appeared to be wearing snakeskin boots. Still, business was usually quite slow, and he knew he ought to be glad he had a customer at all.

"W-well," he said, clearing his throat, "petunias can be used to show anger, but... I'm sorry, are you sure you want me to do this? Most people don't use flower language anymore. I'm not even sure most people know what flower language is. They usually just pick them based on what looks nice..."

"Yes, but according to my landlord, I'm not allowed to passive-aggressively play music at top volume at four AM anymore, so flowers will have to do for now," the man said impatiently. "This is of utmost importance to me." He placed his hands on the counter and leaned across, so the two were almost nose-to-nose. "I need your help, Mister... uh..." He glanced down at his nametag, and was obviously stumped.

"Aziraphale," he said mildly.

"I need your help, Aziraphale."

Somewhat amused, Aziraphale nodded. "Alright, fine. I take it you're having problems with a neighbor?"

"Yeah. This wanker won't stop leaving his trash all around our hallway, and the smell from his trash is starting to seep over into my apartment."

He cringed. "Okay, that sounds like it warrants a passive-aggressive bouquet. And since flowers smell good, it's sort of ironic."

The customer grinned. "I like the way you think, Aziraphale!" He glanced around the otherwise-vacant shop. "You work here by yourself?"

"Not entirely. A girl called Anathema comes in to work the late shift on the weekends. But mostly, it's just me. It's quite a small business," Aziraphale said, grabbing his catalog of plants and starting to leaf through it. "Alright, so, like I said, petunias generally meant anger and resentment, but sometimes it meant 'your presence soothes me.' Though, assuming he understands flower meanings at all, that's probably not the one he'll know."

"Okay, excellent!" the customer said, looking delighted. "What else?"

"Uh... there's peony, which can mean 'shame,' which I assume is what you're going for here... oh, but it can also be 'happy marriage.' Or 'gay life.'"

"Well, that last one is me all over."

"What?"

"What?"

"...Never mind." He flipped to another page. "Huh. I didn't know that... apparently a striped carnation can just mean 'no.'"

"No?" the customer said, confused.

"No," Aziraphale confirmed. "Well, my guess is it generally meant 'no, I can't accept your affections' or something, but... 'no.'"

"'No.' 'No.' 'No...'" He said it to himself a few times, as if he were trying it on. Finally, he grinned. "Perfect. That is exactly the sentiment I'm going for."

"...'No'?"

"Yes. I mean, 'no.'"

In the end, the customer left with a passive-aggressive bouquet of petunias, peonies, and striped carnations, made out to someone named "Chalky," and Aziraphale was left wondering how exactly this plan would go.

He got his chance to ask four days later, when the same man returned. Still in a leather jacket. (Still in July.)

"Well?" Aziraphale asked, as soon as the customer walked in.

"He didn't get it," he said, not looking too bothered by it. "No matter. I just lit his car on fire."

Aziraphale gaped at him. "Wait, wh-?"

"Anyway," he briskly continued, cutting Aziraphale off. "New day, new person that's pissed me off. How would you suggest saying 'I hope you fall in a hole for rear-ending me and not even saying sorry'? Also, nothing red, because I think that's her favorite color."

"I'm sorry, what was that bit about setting someone's car on fire?"

"Oh, don't look so scandalized, it was barely in flames for thirty seconds before the smoke alarms in the garage went off and put it out."

Aziraphale just stared at him. The customer didn't seem to realize why, and just stood there, smiling politely.

"...Okay, fine," he finally said, shaking his head. "How will you even know where to send these?"

"Oh, she's a friend of the last guy I had to send flowers to. They're in a motorcycle gang together, with matching jackets and everything." He sighed. "...I wish I was kidding. Anyway, I should be able to find her address if I snoop through her stuff."

"Well, I'll see what I can find," Aziraphale said. "What's your name, anyway? I didn't catch it the other day."

"Crowley. And today's passive-aggressive bouquet is going out to a Miss Carmine Zuigiber."

"You said nothing red, right?" He flipped through the book. "Uh, there's monkshood, which means 'beware' or 'an enemy is near.'"

"I like it! Strike a little fear and paranoia into her."

"There's also the tea rose, which means 'I'll remember.' Just to add to the paranoia. Oh, they're pink, though..."

Crowley thought about this for a moment. "Pink is sort of a washed-out red. It can be symbolic!"

"...Symbolic of what?" Aziraphale asked, but he was smiling.

"You know! Of her being... washed out, once I... once I take my revenge... and... and stuff..." Crowley was gesturing as wildly as he could, slowly stopping when he realized Aziraphale was just watching with somewhat amused pity. "...Oh, just add those to the bouquet, would you?"

"The customer is always right..." he said, shaking his head a bit. "Marigolds are just generally a symbol of cruelty. So that would be a good one to throw in there."

"Alright, perfect! I'll take it!"

"Okay, let me just put that together for you, and then I'll ring you up." Aziraphale came out from behind the counter, gathering the flowers he needed. "So, am I the first florist you've come to with these requests or have all the others in the area just banned you?"

Crowley pretended to look affronted. "Why, Aziraphale Florist-"

"That's not my last name."

"-are you implying that I'm a menace to the flower shop community?"

"Yes," he said dryly.

Crowley snickered. "No, no one's banned me. I only recently got the idea. I thought about doing the research myself, but then I realized I didn't care enough. So I figured I may as well hire someone to do it for me!"

"Well, I'm delighted to be your accomplice." He handed him the bouquet. "Here."

"Thank you. ...Wait, I also meant to ask, what sort of flowers or plants would you give to stupid people?"

Aziraphale handed him a pack of almonds.

Aziraphale couldn't help but be disappointed when Crowley didn't come bursting through the door with any new requests in the next couple weeks, and was almost embarrassed at how much his face lit up when Crowley turned up again three weeks later.

"Must have been a slow couple of weeks for you," he said as Crowley rushed to the counter. "Wait, are you covered in egg-?"

"I need to tell four little heathens that death is inevitable and sooner or later, the world will crush their spirits."

Aziraphale stared at him. Between the leather jacket, the sunglasses, the egg yolk covering him, and Crowley's red, enraged face, he very nearly started to laugh, but he managed to restrain himself. He just asked, "Wait, how old are these kids?"

"Doesn't matter. I want to put the fear of God into them."

"The fear of God," he repeated faintly.

"Or, more specifically, the fear of Crowley."

"With flowers?"

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by his sweater vest and pulled him across the counter, staring into his eyes (as best he could with the sunglasses on). "Desperate times, Aziraphale, desperate times!"

"Alright, alright." He sighed, realizing there was no talking him out of this, and that he really wasn't in a position to be denying requests anyway. "How about you give them each one plant? Just one. Keep it simple."

"Good idea, I wouldn't want to spend that much on the little buggers anyway. And can we move as quickly as possible? They're still outside, and they're waiting for my master retribution."

"They're waiting?"

"Oh, yeah. The war's been going on since last winter, we're not just scrapping at each other with no courtesy like heathens."

"You literally just called them heathens."

"Still, there's a certain protocol to these things." He sighed dramatically. "I wish I could tell you I was their main rival, but alas, I'm not. I will always be second to Greasy Johnson and his gang."

"Uh... huh." Well, Crowley never failed to liven up the shop, at least. "Okay, I'll try to find something to... put the fear of Crowley into them."

"I knew I could count on you."

Aziraphale hastily grabbed four plants that might "put the fear of Crowley" into someone (nasturtium for victory in battle, begonia for 'beware,' a cactus for endurance, and grass for submission - he was, admittedly, beginning to grasp at straws) while Crowley paced back and forth, glancing out the window and muttering, "They're coming" every now and then.

Aziraphale rang him up and handed him the plants, which were overflowing in his arms. "Need some help carrying them out?"

"Yes, please," Crowley said, "but be warned, the buggers won't stop firing just because you're not technically fighting them. You step outside with me, you become part of the war."

"I think I can live with that."

Aziraphale followed Crowley outdoors, and was greeted by the sight of four children, maybe eleven or twelve, standing on the sidewalk with their eggs, all already aiming at Crowley.

The blond boy, who seemed to be their leader, spoke first. "We've been waitin' on you for ten whole minutes!"

"Yeah!" another boy added, this one covered in dirt. "We was thinking of just leavin'."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Crowley snapped. "Look, here's my counterattack, then we can get on with it."

He and Aziraphale distributed the plants. Just as Aziraphale figured they would, the children looked more confused than terrified.

"...Why're you giving us flowers?" the only girl of the group asked.

Only trying to be helpful, Aziraphale spoke up. "Um, back in the Regency era, flowers were used to convey certain messages-"

"I wasn't askin' you, poofer."

"Hey!" Crowley snapped. He turned to Aziraphale. "You want to counterattack her for that one?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a bit and shook his head. "No. Lord knows I've heard that before. And I'm not about to get in a fight with a bunch of kids-"

One of the children lobbed an egg at him, which hit him in the chest.

"Okay, I know you're trying to provoke me, but-"

One of the children lobbed at egg at the shop, which hit the front window.

Aziraphale grit his teeth. "I'll be right back," he hissed to Crowley, turning on his heel. He returned with the hose, and turned it on full blast.

The children all shrieked as the icy water hit them, dropping their cartons of eggs and starting to run away towards their bikes.

"And stay out!" Aziraphale called after them.

Even as he did, he heard one of them say, "Blimey, that was fun! We should have all our battles there now!"

Aziraphale sighed, dropping the hose and going to pick up the dropped egg shells, running the hose over the sidewalk to wash the yolk away. Crowley followed him, helping him pick up the cartons to throw away.

"Ungrateful brats," he said. "Didn't even take the plants with them."

Aziraphale chuckled. "That's alright. This was actually sort of fun."

"See how much fun petty passive-aggressive revenge can be?"

"Maybe, but I don't think I'll make it a habit." He turned the hose off. "But don't let my opinion stop you from coming in more often."

Crowley smiled, taking his sunglasses off for the first time Aziraphale had met him, sticking them in his pocket. "I don't plan to."

He had very nice eyes, especially when he was smiling.

When Aziraphale came into the shop the next morning, he was shocked to find a bouquet of flowers already prepared, sitting on the counter with a card.

Full bouquet of roses - gratitude.

Dark pink - thankfulness.

Red - love, respect.

Lavender - enchantment.

See, I can research flower language every now and again. Point is, I wanted to thank you for putting together all these insane bouquets for me. (And here's to many more in the future!) Let me thank you in dinner. If you want. If you don't want, just send me some nuts or something.

Ciao,

Crowley

PS: Yes, I picked your lock to leave these. Don't judge me.

PPS: My address and phone number are on the back so you can send your answer.

Aziraphale read the note a couple thousand times in the space of five minutes. He stared at the flowers.

And then he smiled.

He found a red chrysanthemum - "I love."

Crowley soon found that he wasn't the only one that could break a lock in the name of romance.