Nice: A Good Omens Fanfic

A Nice Day in Australia

Victoria, Australia, 1906

Crowley had dedicated much care to the growing of a proper beard, neatly parted in the middle. Perhaps the parting had been a mistake, or the brilliantine, or the black riding leggings. Humans here tended to snigger a bit and ask him if he was here for the colonial experience.

Or perhaps it was because he kept falling off his bloody horse. He glared after the cloud of dust heading to the horizon. Time to look into one of these autocar inventions. At least it wouldn't whicker at him as if it was laughing.

He heard the rumble of a cart, and raised a hand. Bit of luck, someone happening along in this benighted dirt track, although it wasn't the fellows he had arranged to meet. They would be in the next township still.

"Want a lift, sir? Oh. Oh dear."

Crowley stared up at a pink and white face under a broad felt hat, soft blonde curls plastered against it by sweat, bright blue eyes. "Aziraphale, is that you?"

To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale clicked his tongue and the horse started up again.

"Oh, no you don't!" Crowley lunged forward and swung himself up beside Aziraphale just in time. "You're not leaving me here in the middle of the bush. Something might happen to me. Or I might happen to someone. It's your job to thwart that."

"It's not as if you're stuck," Aziraphale said snippily. "Miracle yourself back to London."

"Why, what have I done wrong?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale sighed. "I mean, lately. Look, angel, I won't bring up wanting that stuff again. I'll fraternise all you want. Come on," he wheedled.

Aziraphale looked away guiltily. "I am sorry, my dear boy. There's really nothing up ahead, though, and I doubt you'd be comfortable back at the Mission with me. Too holy. Much, much too holy. So if you'd like to be on your way..."

Crowley stared suspiciously at him. "If I remember correctly, the Mission is several hours behind us. Where are you going?" He craned over his shoulder to see what was in the back, but there were only a few heaps of blankets. "What are you doing in Australia anyway? I thought you hated Australia. Too hot, and too many snakes."

"I don't mind some snakes," Aziraphale said softly. "I might even miss having them around."

"Now, don't try to get around me like that, angel," Crowley said, trying not to notice his battered soul suddenly singing in suspiciously celestial notes. "What mischief are you up to?"

"I should be asking you that question. Mischief is in your line, not mine."

Crowley shrugged, trying not too obviously to taste the air with his tongue. There was something up. Some scent that wasn't the menthol of the eucalyptus trees or the dusty baked earth under the sun or an overheated horse. There was the scent of fresh rain with a hint of incense and--oh, no, that one was Aziraphale. But confused by these other strong scents was something warm and human, that seemed too recent to be just residual human contact.

"Last bushranger was hanged a few year ago. Seems a waste of a poetic concept. There's a few likely lads in the next township, was going to suggest to them how very, very nice the Squatter's horses are, and how he would hardly miss some. Now, your turn."

"I suppose you wouldn't believe I came here to thwart your evil wiles?" Aziraphale asked hopelessly.

"Considering you didn't know I was here, not likely. Come on. You can tell me."

A blanket moved, and Crowley's hand snaked out to twitch it aside. Aziraphale's plump hands moved fast, far faster than he looked capable of, and replaced it. It was too late. Crowley had spotted a pair of big brown eyes, and was making sense of the shapes in the back. "You've got kids in the back! You have, haven't you? What are you playing at?"