Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-19 12:47 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-03-19 12:47 am
Entry tags:
Good Omens | Ineffable | PG | Crowley/Aziraphale
Title: Ineffable
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Summary: Something strange is happening. Something indescribable.
Word Count: 1,350
Disclaimer: As I am decidedly neither Mr. Pratchett nor Mr. Gaiman, I can assure you with 100% certainty that I do not own Good Omens or its delightful characters.
A/N: I just found this. I’ve got no idea when I wrote it, but I’m pretty sure I never posted it anywhere. Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
God sat back in Her(1) chair. Yes, She thought. Things are as they should be. All except for one detail.
As a rule, She didn’t like to meddle—not even with supernatural beings. She felt that Her Creations were smart enough to figure things out for themselves (and most of the time, they did) and so She liked to sit back and watch Her Plans unfold. This, however, might be a rare exception to the rule. She didn’t like to get involved directly, it was true, but occasionally She would, if She felt it were warranted.
Gazing down at a certain angel and a certain demon, She felt it just might be so.
* * *
“Must you always sink the poor ducks?” Aziraphale asked, his tone the mildly disapproving one that most people used when making a token objection to a mostly harmless, if mischievous, act that they knew would not be ceasing any time soon.
The duck bobbed to the surface, piece of bread still in his bill, and gave Crowley the duck version of a rather nasty glare.(2)
“Habit,” Crowley said, in only the vaguely-guilty tones of someone who was not at all sorry about what he’d just done (and in fact was rather amused by it). He chuckled as the duck swam off angrily.
“It’s rather rude,” the angel said absently, throwing the last of his bread into the pond. A particularly brave duck came forward to retrieve it and was instantly dunked for his troubles. A few seconds later he rose to the surface, clearly annoyed but not as peeved as the last duck had been.
“I think they’re getting used to it,” Crowley replied, thinking it was nice to be discussing ducks instead of the end of the world. Not that he’d say that out loud, for fear of damaging his reputation, however. He looked at Aziraphale next to him. “Want to do dinner at the Ritz tonight?”
“Certainly, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed, and they sat in companionable silence for the duration of the hour.
* * *
When God wanted to meddle, She never really needed to actually do a whole lot. Divine intervention rarely consisted of anything thunderous, loud, or ostentatious(3); it was often much more subtle than that. Perhaps she’d influence a train to run inexplicably behind, or minutely alter traffic or the weather. After all, it was often the smaller things that made the most impact.
So when Aziraphale and Crowley ended up at the Ritz that night and found it surprisingly packed, they were momentarily confused, but in the end decided to pay it no mind, even as they were led to a very secluded—and very atmospheric—table near the back.
God just smiled.
* * *
It was decidedly odd, Crowley vaguely thought, how the wine was affecting the two of them so much more than it usually did. He was sure Aziraphale had only had a glass, and he himself had only had two, but they were leaning on each other surprisingly heavily as they walked back to the Bentley.
He didn’t mind, in truth; it was a colder night (even though he could’ve sworn earlier it had been very mild) and it was nice to have Aziraphale’s warmth nearby. That didn’t make it any less strange, though.
“Does it seem like that wine hit us harder than usual?” he asked him as they reached the car.
“Mm, it does,” Aziraphale replied, trying to stand up a bit straighter. “Perhaps we should sober up.”
Crowley nodded and did so, watching Aziraphale do the same. “Maybe it was stronger?” he asked thoughtfully, sliding gracefully into the driver’s seat.
“Maybe,” Aziraphale answered, and they drove back to the bookshop, listening to Beethoven’s “Somebody To Love.”
Strange, Crowley thought as they headed inside. He was completely sober, but somehow still had the urge to lean against Aziraphale as they walked inside.
* * *
Sometimes God almost forgot why She made it a rule to meddle as little as possible.(4) It was always fun and entertaining, and rather rewarding when She could see the pieces falling into place.
The wine had been Her favorite part.
She smiled to Herself as she watched the demon and the angel together. True soul mates were rare; certainly, there were people who fell in love and made each other happy, but it was very different when two souls met who were destined to be together. God liked to help out in whatever way She felt was appropriate when two such beings found each other. Call Her a romantic.
She leaned back in Her chair again, calmly tapping Her chin with Her finger. Suddenly, She snapped Her fingers and returned to watching, Her smile growing all the while.
* * *
They’d been in the back room, sharing tea and talking when it happened. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and noticed how nice he looked with the fire behind him giving him a soft glow (that in itself was peculiar, as he didn’t remember either of them starting it). There were certain thoughts one couldn’t avoid when one had been friends with someone for so long, and one thought consisted of wondering what it would be like to kiss said friend.
Aziraphale shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of these un-angelic (so he assumed) thoughts. “Did you start the fire, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked pleasantly.
Crowley frowned. “No. I assumed you did.” They looked at each other, glancing around the room. “Tonight has been...weird,” he added.
“It has had an odd feeling about it, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale said. “Not bad, just...a presence.”
“Almost deserves the capital P,” Crowley agreed, and they looked at each other again.
“Surely it couldn’t be....”
“Why would He—”
“She these days,” Aziraphale interrupted.
“Fine. Why would She bother putting us in a romantic booth, getting us drunk, making it colder, and starting a fire for us?” He paused, starting to grin. “Unless...is it me or has your God been matchmaking?”
Aziraphale was unsure. “It does appear that way....”
“We could find out.” That sounded casual. Almost too casual.
Aziraphale studied him carefully, wishing not for the first time he didn’t wear those glasses all the time. They made the demon much harder to read. “I suppose...we could.” He was hesitant, though.
Crowley took off his sunglasses and gave Aziraphale a pointed look. “C’mere, angel,” he said in a long-suffering tone, and Aziraphale actually listened that time.
They kissed.
* * *
The problem with meddling when it came to supernatural beings, of course, was that they could notice, and usually did.
God didn’t mind, however; She was actually rather pleased to see that they were so observant. And besides, She had succeeded. At least it appeared that way, with the way the two of them were kissing each other so passionately.
God let Herself grin as a thick bundle of papers materialized on her desk. It was a rather lengthy complaint concerning a certain angel from Gabriel, alleging everything from blasphemy and treason to minor infractions. Evidently She had not been the only one watching. Clearly the archangel was still upset over the near-Apocalypse.
Carefully she picked up Her pen from Her desk and slowly wrote one word across the parchment, Her handwriting a beautiful cursive script. The papers vanished.
God smiled again. Yes, She thought. Ineffable.
(1) God could switch genders whenever She pleased and had decided to be female for right now. It was just one of those ineffable things.
(2) It was rather less effective than the poor creature had hoped, as most would probably consider a glaring duck to be downright comical, thanks to Daffy and his ilk. Crowley was no exception to this.
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Summary: Something strange is happening. Something indescribable.
Word Count: 1,350
Disclaimer: As I am decidedly neither Mr. Pratchett nor Mr. Gaiman, I can assure you with 100% certainty that I do not own Good Omens or its delightful characters.
A/N: I just found this. I’ve got no idea when I wrote it, but I’m pretty sure I never posted it anywhere. Thank you for the beta, Abigail.
God sat back in Her(1) chair. Yes, She thought. Things are as they should be. All except for one detail.
As a rule, She didn’t like to meddle—not even with supernatural beings. She felt that Her Creations were smart enough to figure things out for themselves (and most of the time, they did) and so She liked to sit back and watch Her Plans unfold. This, however, might be a rare exception to the rule. She didn’t like to get involved directly, it was true, but occasionally She would, if She felt it were warranted.
Gazing down at a certain angel and a certain demon, She felt it just might be so.
“Must you always sink the poor ducks?” Aziraphale asked, his tone the mildly disapproving one that most people used when making a token objection to a mostly harmless, if mischievous, act that they knew would not be ceasing any time soon.
The duck bobbed to the surface, piece of bread still in his bill, and gave Crowley the duck version of a rather nasty glare.(2)
“Habit,” Crowley said, in only the vaguely-guilty tones of someone who was not at all sorry about what he’d just done (and in fact was rather amused by it). He chuckled as the duck swam off angrily.
“It’s rather rude,” the angel said absently, throwing the last of his bread into the pond. A particularly brave duck came forward to retrieve it and was instantly dunked for his troubles. A few seconds later he rose to the surface, clearly annoyed but not as peeved as the last duck had been.
“I think they’re getting used to it,” Crowley replied, thinking it was nice to be discussing ducks instead of the end of the world. Not that he’d say that out loud, for fear of damaging his reputation, however. He looked at Aziraphale next to him. “Want to do dinner at the Ritz tonight?”
“Certainly, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed, and they sat in companionable silence for the duration of the hour.
When God wanted to meddle, She never really needed to actually do a whole lot. Divine intervention rarely consisted of anything thunderous, loud, or ostentatious(3); it was often much more subtle than that. Perhaps she’d influence a train to run inexplicably behind, or minutely alter traffic or the weather. After all, it was often the smaller things that made the most impact.
So when Aziraphale and Crowley ended up at the Ritz that night and found it surprisingly packed, they were momentarily confused, but in the end decided to pay it no mind, even as they were led to a very secluded—and very atmospheric—table near the back.
God just smiled.
It was decidedly odd, Crowley vaguely thought, how the wine was affecting the two of them so much more than it usually did. He was sure Aziraphale had only had a glass, and he himself had only had two, but they were leaning on each other surprisingly heavily as they walked back to the Bentley.
He didn’t mind, in truth; it was a colder night (even though he could’ve sworn earlier it had been very mild) and it was nice to have Aziraphale’s warmth nearby. That didn’t make it any less strange, though.
“Does it seem like that wine hit us harder than usual?” he asked him as they reached the car.
“Mm, it does,” Aziraphale replied, trying to stand up a bit straighter. “Perhaps we should sober up.”
Crowley nodded and did so, watching Aziraphale do the same. “Maybe it was stronger?” he asked thoughtfully, sliding gracefully into the driver’s seat.
“Maybe,” Aziraphale answered, and they drove back to the bookshop, listening to Beethoven’s “Somebody To Love.”
Strange, Crowley thought as they headed inside. He was completely sober, but somehow still had the urge to lean against Aziraphale as they walked inside.
Sometimes God almost forgot why She made it a rule to meddle as little as possible.(4) It was always fun and entertaining, and rather rewarding when She could see the pieces falling into place.
The wine had been Her favorite part.
She smiled to Herself as she watched the demon and the angel together. True soul mates were rare; certainly, there were people who fell in love and made each other happy, but it was very different when two souls met who were destined to be together. God liked to help out in whatever way She felt was appropriate when two such beings found each other. Call Her a romantic.
She leaned back in Her chair again, calmly tapping Her chin with Her finger. Suddenly, She snapped Her fingers and returned to watching, Her smile growing all the while.
They’d been in the back room, sharing tea and talking when it happened. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and noticed how nice he looked with the fire behind him giving him a soft glow (that in itself was peculiar, as he didn’t remember either of them starting it). There were certain thoughts one couldn’t avoid when one had been friends with someone for so long, and one thought consisted of wondering what it would be like to kiss said friend.
Aziraphale shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of these un-angelic (so he assumed) thoughts. “Did you start the fire, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked pleasantly.
Crowley frowned. “No. I assumed you did.” They looked at each other, glancing around the room. “Tonight has been...weird,” he added.
“It has had an odd feeling about it, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale said. “Not bad, just...a presence.”
“Almost deserves the capital P,” Crowley agreed, and they looked at each other again.
“Surely it couldn’t be....”
“Why would He—”
“She these days,” Aziraphale interrupted.
“Fine. Why would She bother putting us in a romantic booth, getting us drunk, making it colder, and starting a fire for us?” He paused, starting to grin. “Unless...is it me or has your God been matchmaking?”
Aziraphale was unsure. “It does appear that way....”
“We could find out.” That sounded casual. Almost too casual.
Aziraphale studied him carefully, wishing not for the first time he didn’t wear those glasses all the time. They made the demon much harder to read. “I suppose...we could.” He was hesitant, though.
Crowley took off his sunglasses and gave Aziraphale a pointed look. “C’mere, angel,” he said in a long-suffering tone, and Aziraphale actually listened that time.
They kissed.
The problem with meddling when it came to supernatural beings, of course, was that they could notice, and usually did.
God didn’t mind, however; She was actually rather pleased to see that they were so observant. And besides, She had succeeded. At least it appeared that way, with the way the two of them were kissing each other so passionately.
God let Herself grin as a thick bundle of papers materialized on her desk. It was a rather lengthy complaint concerning a certain angel from Gabriel, alleging everything from blasphemy and treason to minor infractions. Evidently She had not been the only one watching. Clearly the archangel was still upset over the near-Apocalypse.
Carefully she picked up Her pen from Her desk and slowly wrote one word across the parchment, Her handwriting a beautiful cursive script. The papers vanished.
God smiled again. Yes, She thought. Ineffable.
(1) God could switch genders whenever She pleased and had decided to be female for right now. It was just one of those ineffable things.
(2) It was rather less effective than the poor creature had hoped, as most would probably consider a glaring duck to be downright comical, thanks to Daffy and his ilk. Crowley was no exception to this.