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"It's been a while since I've seen Crawley," Aziraphale said, aiming for nonchalance. Michael turned and raised an eyebrow. Perfectly, of course.

"You can't possibly not have heard."

"Heard what?"

"For goodness' sake, have you been sleeping again? Why do you like that so much?"

"It's comfortable," Aziraphale shifted uncertainly. "Erm, you were saying?"

"You did hear about Lucifer?"

"Yes, of course! What does..." He looked at Michael's smug face. Oh, surely, surely not.

"No surprise there. He was always shifty."

Aziraphale looked past Michael, to the gaping hole that was being rebuilt into a staircase. And his face fell.

"Now listen carefully..."

"Of course, mum!" Arthur couldn't help but feel a little hurt. He always listened very carefully.

"Next time you're filming one of your little videos, make sure to mention OJS as often as possible."

Arthur frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" They were on the phone, but Arthur could see the annoyance on her face anyway.

"It's just, I can say it a lot."

"As often," she insisted, "as possible."

"Right. So, 'Welcome, OJS, to, OJS, the, OJS-"

"No, idiot child! Sensibly!"

"Oh, right! So, OJS, OJS, OJS, OJS-"

Five minutes later, mum said she'd changed her mind.

Crowley placed the pot at the very edge of his desk, as though daring it to fall off. It smelled. Its delicate fronds stretching toward him like the arms of an errant child.

"Bastard," he muttered.

As with so many things, it was Aziraphale's fault. The angel had brought him the wretched thing with a look of abject dejection, sighing oh, you're so good with plants! Which was true, but not for the reasons Aziraphale thought.

The pot of ASDA branded dill weed seemed to stare at him. Crowley glared back.

Dammit. He would have to be nice to it.

Martin's face shone in the middle of the drab room, though that was probably just the poor lighting in the granny flat.

"How are you?" Arthur wondered if he should sit down. Maybe he'd look silly on screen if he did.

"I'm fine, good, good, good."

"Three goods! That's-"

"Brilliant?"

"Very nearly! Listen, I'm terrible at giving advice."

"Oh! I wouldn't say..."

"No, but I am. But what I was thinking was, you must miss everyone, living in Liechtenstein."

"Yes?"

"In a castle. With a princess."

"So..."

"You could talk to me. If you wanted!" He shivered.

"That's..."

"Yes?"

"Brilliant."

Widely recognized as the most dangerous of the non-imaginary numbers, the number 3 is highly restricted in usage except on the most primitive worlds, where they have yet to discover complex mathematics beyond first level combat trignonometry.

The tertiary branch of mathematics corps (TBMC) monitor the usage of the number 3 in all media, including this entry, which has been marked "safe" as of galactic date 00224APPLE.

Applications to the TBMC for usage of the number 3, must provide evidence of careful tri-proofing of all materials used in the project, as well as any printouts or hard copies of calculations.

"Now," Carolyn adjusted her screen until she was perfectly centered, then sat back. How did she look so regal and commanding in a Zoom meeting?

"...you must be wondering why I've gathered you all here?"

"No murders yet, Douglas. But don't test me. Now, about Arthur-"

"His YouTube videos?" Herc leaned forward.

"You're not going to ask him to stop?"

"Why would I, Martin? I've been wondering how to keep OJS relevant, and here's hours of advertising!"

"Above all, free advertising," Douglas muttered.

"Yes, well." Carolyn shrugged. "So, keep him going. Understood?"

Martin nodded. Finally, an excuse to call him.

"I think it's quite cozy." Aziraphale arranged the little eggs and chickens just-so in the window display. It looked like a deranged nativity scene.

"Not exactly historically accurate." Crowley peered at it.

"Of course not. That wasn't very... nice, was it?"

Crowley barked a laugh. "It's not supposed to be nice! I was there! So were you!"

"At least," Aziraphale huffed, "you got a good view."

"You're never letting that go, are you? They let women stand at the front; is it my fault I had a female body?"

But Aziraphale was already angrily rearranging the Agatha Christie shelf.

"He's been standing there a long time," the man noted, shifting his grip on the box he was holding. Near the edge of the woods, a tall, broad figure was just about visible.

"Yeah," Korg shrugged, "he does that."

"Is he..." The man leaned closer, "okay?"

"Nah. Really not okay. He gestured at the box, as subtly as a man made of rocks could.

"He keeps looking at that spruce." Like he was trying to catch it unawares. "Oh, yes," he handed Korg the box, shook himself, and left.

Korg sighed. "Hey Thor," he yelled towards the woods, "pizza's here!"

"So." Jadzia leaned across the table. "Tell me everything."

"Tell you what?" Julian shifted in his seat, his mug steaming nervously.

"You know." She raised an eyebrow. "Everything! I've never dated a Cardassian." She narrowed her eyes, "not a male Cardassian. That I remember."

"Jadzia, honestly." Julian sipped his tea. Just a plain tea, nothing fancy this time. Though he was beginning to wish he'd gone for coffee.

She smiled at him, all teeth. "You had sex!"

"Yes, well, I don't like to broadcast it."

"With Garak".

"Yes." His eyes flickered.

"Some say, they have a sort of proboscis-"

"Jadiza!!"

"Really, my dear." Aziraphale tried to keep his eyes on Crowley's slithering form. "Is it-"

"That important? Is that what you were going to say?" Crowley snapped his glasses away from his sulphur eyes.

"It's just that there's no need-"

"To panic? Oh!" Crowley threw his hands up. "Let's just not panic! NOBODY PANIC, AND WE'LL BE FINE." He fell into the ornate chair by the window, smouldering slightly. Aziraphale brushed at the armrests, nervously.

"My dear..."

Crowley huffed, but did not protest as Aziraphale pulled him into a hug.

"We're getting married. It's not the end of the world."