This was written for my friend, because she actually decided to take me up on a favour I owed her. When does that ever happen?? Anyhow, my first (and likely last) Good Omens story. Criticism is always appreciated.
Disclaimer- Good Omens is not mine. It belongs to the geniuses Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, whom I worship and of whom I am not worthy.
September 18
September 18, 1964
Though Aziraphale was relatively immune to such mortal sins as avarice*, that didn't mean that he couldn't be tempted, horribly so. To the point where he was seriously considering inflicting His almighty wrath on the owner of the second-hand bookshop across the street (not the sex book shop- another one) for that rarer-than-hen's-teeth first edition.
"Well, that wouldn't be very wise, or just," said the angel to his cup of cocoa, for he was now rather disturbed by this thought process**, "It's only a book, after all. Not even the Book, that I could justify crushing a few skulls for, but this is only a book..."
And thus he ruminated.
It is known that when an angel debates with himself on even the most trivial of moral dilemmas, he can be trapped by his own indecision for weeks, months, in some cases years. There had been cases where an entire city had been damned to hell because its angel was too busy contemplating the ethics of wearing red to church. Luckily, there was a demon who could interrupt Aziraphale before his meditation became chronic.
"What are you doing angel?" Crowley said in an overly loud tone, much to Aziraphale's intense dismay. Part of humanity's misconception about his sexuality was due to Crowley's usual address of Aziraphale, which translated to a term of endearment in mortal vocabulary***. This time, at least, Aziraphale only had a couple of customers in his store who were apparently hard of hearing, so he was spared some ridicule.
"I'm keeping shop, Crowley. What on earth does it look like?"
"You look like you're about to smite something," Crowley said cheerfully. "What have I done this time?"
"Oh, you haven't done anything, dear," Aziraphale assured, and stirred his cocoa. "I suppose I have been in a rather smitish mood lately."
Neither of them wished to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, but they both knew things were serious when Aziraphale started to making up words so as to express himself.
"Shall I just leave then?" Crowley said after a long and awkward silence.
"Unless you want to talk," Aziraphale said hopefully. To Crowley this was as good as a demand for him to get out. In a moment the snake-eyed demon was gone, leaving the angel alone to his worldly temptations.
* This was by virtue of not being mortal, making such sins rather useless.
** The angel, not the cup of cocoa.
*** For some reason, nobody ever thought to think of Crowley as gay when he used these terms of endearment, only Aziraphale. Demons.
Crowley ate alone at the Ritz while Aziraphale ruminated further on the merits of sneaking into a God-fearing bookkeeper's shop and stealing (no, not stealing- acquisitioning) that prized first edition. Really, he shouldn't have been thinking that hard about it, and the fact that he knew this only served to distress him further. There was probably a time in his long existence when he would have quelled such temptation in a matter of seconds, but now he felt flaby and unexercised in his faith.
"It's that demon," he said glumly to himself, "He must be influencing me badly. Perhaps it's about time I went back to Heaven and reaffirmed my mission..."
But even the thought of Heaven, with its pristine prints of 'The Sound Of Music' and enlightening talks with the likes of Gandhi and St. Francis of Assisi, could not tear Aziraphale away from the beautifully displayed book across the street.
"Perhaps if I sell a few books of my own, I can buy it," Aziraphale said, suddenly cheered. Why hadn't he thought of simply buying the thing before? All this rumination and equivocation must have muddled his ineffable goodness for a moment. Well, he'd just sell a couple of books, how silly he'd been!
Of course, the one time he was actually willing to part with some of his rarer books, no customers came.
For three weeks.
Aziraphale was now depressed. Not even his cocoa could cheer him up, and he feared that Crowley had perhaps abandoned after he had attempted to soulsearch with him. Sadly, he lay his head on his desk and shuffled his mortal coil.
It should probably be noted that at this time Aziraphale had been inhabiting the body of a (admittedly rather handsome) young man. This was specifically because he had been serving in wars for the last couple of decades, and young men generally weren't known for keeling over dead at crucial moments. So there was understandably a bit of a ruckus when a little old lady came in not thirty seconds later intent on buying the first-edition book of Tennyson on display and ended up calling the ambulance for Aziraphale's shell.
September 18, 1984
"I almost didn't expect you to come back," Crowley said as they ate at the Ritz, "But I knew you couldn't resist my dashing good looks for any more than two decades. Deep down, I mean..."
"I missed you too, dear," Aziraphale smiled absently, pouring himself a glass of wine. For the few hours they had been reacquainted, the angel had been quite distant from Crowley, though he wasn't cold. It just seemed that after that time in Heaven, Aziraphale was a little unfamiliar with his habits on Earth at the moment, but no matter! That's what friends were for.
"I took care of your shop while you were gone. It looks exactly the same as it did when you left," Crowley grinned. "Well, minus the body on the floor, anyhow."
"Thank you, that was very sweet. But I don't think I'll go back into keeping a bookshop," Aziraphale admitted. "It led me quite astray the last time. I had to watch Sound of Music five times daily, and then meditate with St. Francis for hours afterwards to get it out of my system."
"Very well, angel, but before you completely swear off the business, I wanted to give you something," the demon said, and passed a tasteful shopping bag over the table to Aziraphale. Tentatively, the newly rehabilitated angel pulled out its contents, an inhuman amount of tissue paper, and a book.
The book*.
"How on earth did you get this?" Aziraphale asked weakly.
"Oh, I bought it for you some twenty years ago. It was on hold," Crowley said offhandedly.
Aziraphale could be monstrously tempted at times, though now he found it was for a very different reason.
*Not the Book, but at this moment, it was close enough.