Nice: A Good Omens Fanfic

Another life begins today

Crowley didn't go in much for despair. In his experience, things usually worked out for the best for him, so long as he kept his cool. And he was good at being cool. Cold blood had its advantages.

Even being kicked out of Heaven hadn't been so bad, after the initial shock. Especially after Satan sent him upside. Hell was, by definition, less pleasant than Heaven, but the world was full of interest, adventure, and humans who were good at inventing things like music, fashion and new and creative temptations, all on their own. Once the worst had happened, there were no more terrible repercussions for asking awkward questions about the universe. Well, other than Aziraphale getting a bit miffed and suggesting it was getting late and they both had work to do.

Besides, even though he and Aziraphale had cohabited heaven, they'd never so much as noticed each other until the Garden. Aziraphale had been tight with Uriel and the boys, and Crowley had hung with Lucifer and the guys. Their flight paths hadn't crossed, until that first stormy day in Eden.

Crowley had faith–belief–a kind of comfortable assurance that he always would land on his tail–his feet and that all was for the best in his own particular world. It had never let him down yet.

Until he laid it all out to Aziraphale, in the middle of a fight no less, all the things he thought had been unspoken and shared, and been soundly rejected.

I don't even like you.

Even then, he had dismissed it. Of course Aziraphale liked him. Crowley wasn't stupid. He had intercepted too many tender glances, too many affectionate smiles, not to notice. Maybe Aziraphale was too pure to actually be into him in a human sense, maybe Aziraphale was kind of obligated to love all God's creatures anyway, but even then, Crowley was sure the angel was personally fond of him. And enjoyed his company, all the more deliciously because it was a forbidden pleasure. Aziraphale always tended to deny his forbidden pleasures, even as he indulged in them.

Things were too desperate for Crowley's own indulgence of that nonsense. He was facing an eternity of torment–without Aziraphale. Or even worse, with. It had seemed only mildly evil to tempt Aziraphale to fall and keep him company, until he was facing the thought of all eternity watching him suffer.

Then Aziraphale really said it.

It's over.

The words clanged in Crowley's ears like church bells, racketing and painful, long after he had left.

Over.

It couldn't be over. Not after six thousand years. Not after one stupid quarrel. They'd had loads of quarrels. Only they'd always had time to make up, before.

You go too fast for me, Crowley. But it wasn't like there was any time left to dawdle. Maybe Crowley should have kissed him. Kiss and make up like humans said. Nothing left to lose, anyway. It might just have worked.

It's not like it could have gone worse.

Los Angeles

"Hullo, Crowley. I didn't expect to see you here." Aziraphale wasn't in flamboyant beige and cream this time. He wore sedate black, as black as Crowley's suit jacket.

Crowley was always dressed appropriately for funerals.

"Just thought I'd pop in, you know." Crowley shifted uneasily. "Back down here for the Olympics anyway."

"You knew him?" Aziraphale shuffled slightly closer, his sleeve brushing against Crowley's own, as if moving close for comfort. It made what passed for Crowley's heart jump. He stared at the lowered coffin instead.