Hellfire and Holy Water (A Good Omens Fanfiction)

Chapter Two

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he sampled the last morsel of his food, reveling in the symphony of divine flavors that assaulted his palate. All too soon the flavor faded and he was brought back to reality, but still much too late to realize that Crowley had practically been staring at him, a pensive look on his face. He politely wiped away the last traces of food from his lips.

"That was scrumptious," he said as he set his napkin aside. Finally he looked up at Crowley expectantly, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary as he asked, "So, what are you in the mood for now?"

"Alcohol," Crowley responded at once with a mischievous smile. He slapped his spoon against the rim of a nearby glass, sending a piercing ring into the air before continuing, "Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol."

Aziraphale smiled and nodded wordlessly in agreement. Crowley grinned triumphantly back.

Some time later they were walking down the street when Aziraphale thought to mention, "I have several very nice bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back. I picked up a dozen cases in 1921, and there's still some left for special occasions."

Most bookshops in Soho had back rooms so it was nothing unusual for Aziraphale's dingy old bookshop to be the same. Contrary to what most dingy Soho bookshop back rooms were probably like, however, Aziraphale's was significantly more elegantly furnished to cater to special occasions. Truthfully, these special occasions with Crowley were the only ones he ever really cared about.

"Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they though?" Crowley spoke up, drawing him out of his thoughts. "Not going to get any more nice little Châteauneuf-du-Papes in Heaven, or single malt scotch, or little...little froufrou cocktails with umbrellas."

Aziraphale stepped out into the road and Crowley waved a dismissive hand at an angry driver who watched them slowly cross.

"Crowley, I've told you, I'm not helping you. I'm not interested. This is purely social," Aziraphale insisted stubbornly. They stepped up to the entrance of his bookshop and he added, "I am an angel. You are a demon. We're hereditary enemies."

Crowley just stared at him blankly, not believing him for a single second. At least, not believing that he believed the words for a single second.

"Get thee behind me, foul fiend!" Aziraphale said boorishly. Then with a smile he pulled the door open and added sweetly, "After you."

Crowley smirked as he led the way inside. The shop hadn't changed at all since he was last there, he noted, though it would have been much more noteworthy if something had changed. He made his way comfortably to the back room with Aziraphale following close behind.

"Just a moment," the angel said as he took the lead. After some rummaging he produced a few bottles of wine and some glasses to match. "Here they are. A fine, earthy wine, aged to perfection."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Wine, or alcohol in general, was one of the many things that most angels and demons agreed was a waste of time and should be left to humans. Crowley and Aziraphale, as usual, were the primary exceptions to this rule. They had both spent the better part of six thousand years studying the evolution of human-made alcohol in various parts of the world and while it did tend to improve over the years, the outcome was always much the same. The thing about modern-day alcohol, and wine especially, was that it just happened to have a little more science about it that made it a good deal more fun to drink than early Egyptian vintages.

A few hours later, however, the two of them hardly cared what they were drinking anymore.

"So, what...what exactly is your point?" Aziraphale asked confusedly as he took a sip from his glass. He hardly tasted the wine as it passed between his lips. He had nearly forgotten his own question the moment he asked it.