[Good Omens] Envy the Subtle Serpent

Chapter One

It was a fine Thursday evening near the end of July. The slowly setting sun allowed for just enough warmth to sit on the outside patio of Soho's newest Italian restaurant, where Crowley and Aziraphale had just eaten a rather fine meal. The atmosphere and lovely weather should have made for a pleasant experience overall. But something was dreadfully wrong.

"Alright, angel?" Crowley asked, unable to abide the tension any longer.

"Mm? Oh, yes. Fine."

Aziraphale nudged the last bits of chocolate gateau around his plate without looking up. He'd worn the same preoccupied expression throughout most of the evening, as though his mind was so far away he wasn't even aware of the world's continued existence around him, of honking horns and decadent desserts and the increasingly agitated demon sitting opposite. The silence was beginning to flay Crowley's last nerve. An immortal being like Aziraphale could think himself into a catatonic state if he weren't careful. Not that Crowley would let that happen. Not again.

"You don't look fine," Crowley observed shrewdly.

Aziraphale didn't answer. After a frustrated beat he tried again.

"Well, if you're as fine as you say you are, you wouldn't mind if I took the last little bite of this...?" With exaggerated slowness, Crowley made to stab at Aziraphale's dessert with his unused fork. Before it could hit its mark, Aziraphale yanked the plate aside. Crowley smirked triumphantly. It was practically automatic, but the motion seemed to shake him from his stupor.

"So sorry, dear, did you want some...?" Aziraphale pushed the plate back in his direction.

"No. Just checking your reflexes."

The fog was clearing incrementally from behind the angel's eyes. He sighed, as though it were just now occurring to him that he'd wasted a perfectly good evening caught up in his own head. The aglio e olio had been delightful and he hadn't even tasted it.

"Do forgive me. I'm afraid I'm a bit distracted tonight."

Crowley shrugged the apology off. "What's on your mind, angel?"

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, as if unsure how to phrase whatever it was that had been concerning him. He set his fork down and folded his napkin. "It's just," he leaned forward over the tablecloth and dropped his voice to a murmur. Crowley mirrored the motion, the better to hear him. "A customer came into the bookshop today."

Crowley snorted. "There's a surprise."

"No! Well, yes but this was different," Aziraphale clarified hastily. "This man, he said he knew me by reputation. Knew how loathe I was to part with anything. Said he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Well, that's not that unusual, is it?" Crowley asked, squinting in thought. "I mean, from what I've seen, anyone who actually wants to walk out of your store with a book in their hand has got to be pretty aggressive."

"Yes, but usually they're not that hard to turn away. They talk a big talk, but in the end it's all empty threats and I can get them out the door. This man, though... He seemed serious."

"Did he buy anything?"

"Goodness, no." Aziraphale sat up straighter. "I'm not that easily intimidated. But I get the feeling that he'll be back. And soon."

Frowning, Crowley kicked back in his chair so that it teetered precariously on its two hind legs. "So, what was he, do you think? CIA? KGB?"

The frown lines around Aziraphale's mouth tightened, and his eyes narrowed. "Actually, he said he was the library director over at Oxford."