Good Omens - Short Stories

Slow Burn

Crowley paces around the bookshop. The angel was nowhere to be found, and he was too uncomfortable to try and find Aziraphale right now.

Besides, now he had time to come up with what he actually had on his mind since the Armageddon't.

Frankly he'd come to the bookshop on a whim. In a moment of courage.

Said courage though was rapidly fading again so the angel better hurry up.

Crowley squints, and ruffles his hair, maybe he should practice what he wanted to say to Aziraphale.

"Fuck," the demon mumbles under his breath, "well okay. Fine. Hi, angel. I came here to talk to you about the- the thing you said all the way back in 1967? I mean, we remember everything don't we? So you know what I am talking about. That I- I was going too fast for you and all that," his voice trails off.

Dammit all, why the hell is this so hard?

For a moment the demon closes his eyes.

"Well if you don't mind me saying," he starts again, glad his voice is back at it's normal strength, "we are on our own now. No involvements from down below or- or up there. We're our own team, you admitted to that too. And don't get me wrong, dining at the Ritz was cool, especially because I was with you, you blind idiot. But I hope I've slowed done enough by now to- well- enough for your liking anyway," Crowley pauses, "but I have to add on to that, that frankly, I have waited long enough now."

If he could say it like that to Aziraphale once he had returned.

"I should have written that down," Crowley scolds at himself, turning on his heels.

He freezes, and stares right at Azirapahle, who looks at him in the doorway.

How long has he been standing there?

I'm fucked.

But the angel doesn't look angry, or startled, or surprised. His eyes seem to twinkle more than usual, and he blinks a few times.

"You really should have written that down," Aziraphale is the first to break the silence between them.

Crowley opens his mouth but he can't think up a witty remark.

Aziraphale walks in, and carefully places the books he was carrying with him on one of the many tables.

"I do believe we still haven't done that picnic," he says softly. But he doesn't need to raise his voice for the demon to hear him, and he perfectly well knows that.

"I was at your house just now, actually," the angel turns to Crowley, "to- to invite you to said picnic."

"Exc-" Crowley blinks a few times, "you were at my place to-"

"Tempt you to go on that picnic, yes," Aziraphale avoids eyecontact. "But you were here- quite obviously," he points at Crowley. "At least I was on time to- to hear that spe-"

"Don't finish that sentence angel," Crowley warns, already embarrassed enough, "just get into my car."