In honor of the new (amazing) miniseries of Good Omens on Amazon Prime, here's a short little oneshot of our favorite angel and demon and their friendship 3 enjoy! Leave me a fav, follow, review!

April, 1777

Aziraphale was a good angel, an angel who prided himself in ineffability. Therefore, during the period of the American Revolution, he did not oppose the outcries of injustice from the British colonies in America. He knew that the government of England strongly opposed their charters being so egregious and outspoken in their opinions of the Crown, but Aziraphale could not share their indignation (though the events of the Boston Tea Party may have been a bit overzealous on the colonists' behalf).

Currently, Aziraphale was relaxing in his quaint bookstore. It was early morning, the dewy drops of the night rain still clinging to the flowers under the grey sky. The angel sipped a cup of tea with content, cracking into a few personal favorite reads from his labyrinth of books. All was peaceful and serene for once. No public protests on how to neutralize the growing colonist threat. No mad babbling from the secretly frightened King.

The morning air was disturbed by a distinct and evil force. An evil force that Aziraphale knew all too well.

A man dressed in black as dark as midnight from head to toe jumped from a trotting carriage. He landed gracefully on the cobblestone, like a panther in the Amazon Jungle. If the familiar demonic presence didn't alert him of the man's identity, it was the fiery orange color of his hair.

Crowley sauntered his way, towards the entrance of the bookshop. Aziraphale had known Crowley for thousands of years (and dare he say he enjoyed their long companionship) but he still felt a flutter in his old heart that the presiding angels above would learn of his secret accord with the demon. Nevertheless, Crowley's path aligned with his whether he liked it or not, and it seemed appropriate to reconvene every couple of hundred years for a little tête-à-tête.

The bell over his doorway dinged as the slick demon entered his shop. Aziraphale lowered his cup of English Breakfast back onto the saucer.

"Hello, Crowley."

"Aziraphale."

Crowley was dressed in a fitted black waistcoat, line shirt, vest, breeches, and a tricorn hat. His signature circular framed glasses masked his eyes. The only color to his obsidian attire was his wavy orange hair that sat at his shoulders (as was the fashion at the time).

On the contrary, Aziraphale was wearing a new white, wool coat that was priceless in his eyes. His white blonde hair matched the coat and the three-piece suit, and he gathered this attire would last him for a few hundred years more.

"It's been quite some time since our last meeting," the angel commented.

"Yes," Crowley thought to himself, "when was the last time? Must've been the Spanish Inquisition..."

"No, no," Aziraphale tutted, "Globe Theater. 1601, remember?"

Crowley smiled like a serpent, "Ah, yes. That's right. Hamlet."

A silence lapsed for a moment, filling the already reticent atmosphere of Aziraphale's precious bookshop.

"What brings you here, Crowley?"

The demon cracked a smile, "I've barely arrived and you're already trying to get rid of me?"
Aziraphale began pacing, wringing his hands together, "We have to be careful. You know who could be listening," Aziraphale pointed a nervous finger towards the sky.

Crowley waved off the heavenly threat nonchalantly, "Oh, don't be so cynical, Aziraphale."

"I mean it," he said in a hushed whisper, "we can't keep calling attention to ourselves. Both our sides must surely be watching after our little conversation at the Kingdom of West Essex."

"Hmm," Crowley shrugged, "I was going to say Lancashire, England might've been a cause for concern, but-"

"Crowley!"

"Alright!" he threw his hands up, "Look, I just thought it's been a little while since we last got a-a proper lunch, and ...," it was as if he was choking out the words, like every syllable pained him, "...and I imagined that you would like to, maybe, 'catch up' a bit."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, "Oh."

Crowley shook his head, "Forget it. It's nothing, I-I was just-"

"I think that sounds rather nice."

Crowley looked up, "What?"

"Lunch. That sounds swell," he smiled, "And I believe the tavern around the corner has just opened up."

Crowley smiled devilishly as Aziraphale locked up his store and they stepped out in the morning air. They both walked side by side, a small gap between them. An angel in white and a demon in black frequenting the tavern together in England, 1777.

"Ah," Aziraphale breathed in the crisp frost of the morning, "nothing like the 16th century."

"Worst of them, I'd say," Crowley kicked a straw pebble on the cobblestone, "Mesopotamia, now that was an age."

Another silence. Birds chirped in the trees.

"This is rather nice," the angel smiled, "our last outing was Rome 41 A.D. if I do recall."

Crowley shook his head, "537 A.D. West Essex."

"Ah, yes. Of course," Aziraphale smirked, "what brings you round these parts, Crowley?"

"Well, I-I've just been frequenting the area," he clasped his hands behind his back, "it's been an age since I've been in Central London, you know."

Aziraphale kept up that smirk, "Right, of course."

Crowley looked at him from behind his pitch black frames, "What?"

"You're lying."

"Am not!"

"Are so."

"Then tell me, O' Great and Wise Aziraphale," Crowley mocked, "Why else would I be here?"

"Don't try and fool me, Crowley, I've known you for thousands of years now," Aziraphale couldn't wipe the smile from his face, "you didn't just happen to swing by the bookstore on an excursion in Central London. You're lonely."

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks, "You think I'm lonely?"

"Yes," Aziraphale nodded confidently.

Crowley was flabbergasted. Speechless, even. Because though he despised the fact that his cold, black heart could possibly miss the company of the angel...it really did.

But there was no way on Heaven or Earth he was going to admit it.

"I am not lonely."

"Admit it, Crowley, you've missed me."

"Missed you!"

"Yes!"

Aziraphale quite liked watching the demon struggle. Though Crowley thought of himself as a cold-hearted spawn of Hell, the angel knew that deep inside he had a sliver of good within him.

Crowley was trying to form the words to respond, but couldn't. His usually silver-tongued demeanor was lost to him at the moment.

Yet, it was Aziraphale who saved him from his momentarily wordlessness.

"Though it may anger my side," Aziraphale sighed, "I will say that I...I've missed you too."

Crowley looked up, "You have?"

"Well, yes!" the angel smiled, "How many other supernatural beings can say they've been acquainted with one another for thousands of years? Not many, I'd say."

"Very well. Now that that's said and done, can we please just go and have a drink?" the demon tried to change the subject quickly.

Aziraphale stopped, "Not until you say it."

"Oh, please don't."

The angel crossed his arms indignantly.

"Please. Anything. Anything else."

Aziraphale did not move.

Crowley rolled his eyes, "Alright, fine," he cleared his throat, trying to prepare himself for the torture, "I've...I've missed you too, Aziraphale."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?," Aziraphale nodded with a smile as Crowley groaned with disgust.

"You're buying," Crowley grumbled, trying to hide the smirk from his lips.

They approached the tavern, the barkeeper elated to see his first customers in smart dress. Expensive clothing meant expensive liquor.

And there they sat at the corner seat, a cup of ale before the both of them. An angel and a demon in England, 1777 conversing like old friends over their long, supernatural lives over the last few hundred years. And they'd be friends ever since.

The End! Leave me a fav/follow/review!