Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett own the characters in Good Omens. I own the children (in a non-creepy, strictly copywriter sort of way)
I cannot apologise enough for not updating this sooner. University work has taken over my life and I haven't had much time to write or even read. I can only hope that you, my dear reader, can understand and forgive me for this. :) I don't know when I'll be able to update next and I don't want to make any promises, but I for one do hope it's soon. I do miss writing my favourite angel and demon. :)
Anyway, without further ado, here is part three of my babysitting tale. At the moment, I think there will be five parts. Maybe six. I'll see how it goes. But please enjoy and please leave a review. :)
Let Us Cling Together As The Years Go By - Of Attempts at Babysitting - Part Three
It had been two hours since Newt and Anathema had gone and left an angel and a demon in charge of their children.
For the most part, Crowley thought they'd been doing a good job. Anathema had made a "List of Important Things To Know" and pinned it to the fridge and everything seemed straightforward. At least so far. The youngest child, Michael had stayed asleep much to their relief. And after a brief incident (where Aziraphale suggested the other three children read some books, much to the children's horror and Crowley's amusement. "Children don't want to read books, angel!"), they had switched on the old television and thankfully found a channel that played cartoons.
It was not long after the cartoons had finished and John and Agnes were playing with a toy car set and dolls respectively, when Aziraphale decided to head upstairs and check on Michael. He had nearly reached the stairs when Crowley's voice echoing from the kitchen made him stop. Eyes narrowing, Aziraphale headed to the kitchen doorway.
"Here you go, Nina darling," Crowley was saying as he handed the six year old a bottle of wine. "This is the finest claret out of France. You should savour it."
"What are you doing?" Aziraphale demanded.
Crowley didn't seem surprised by the angel's sudden appearance and he grinned. "I'm teaching Nina here the delights of French wine."
"She's six!"
"I'm old enough!" Nina protested, taking a healthy swig of the wine. "This tastes good," she added.
"Good girl," praised Crowley.
"Crowley!" Aziraphale walked across the room and took the wine bottle off Nina. The six year old pouted.
"It was just a sip."
"You're setting a bad example."
Crowley gestured to himself. "In case you'd forgotten, I'm a demon."
"I'm hardly likely to forget, am I," Aziraphale said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
There was an outcry from somewhere at the other end of the house. Michael had woken up. "Now look what you've done," Aziraphale muttered.
"Just a suggestion," Crowley said. "But if we gave him some of this claret, or perhaps some scotch, maybe he'd go back to sleep."
Nina, who was watching the disagreement with amused fascination, giggled. Though, her increased amusement seemed to be brought on by the look of absolute shock on Aziraphale face.
"Crowley! No," Aziraphale said firmly. "And if I see you anywhere near the alcohol I'll-"
"What?" Crowley grinned.
Aziraphale considered threatening the demon with Holy Water, but he knew Crowley would pick it as an empty threat. And quite right too... Instead, the angel came up with another idea. "I'll make sure you're the one who gets to change little Michael's nappies," Aziraphale said, with an innocent smile.
"You wouldn't," Crowley said. "You can't make me."
Aziraphale raised an elegantly shaped eyebrow. "Of course, I can't make you," he said. "But I can withhold certain things from you, if you don't."
Crowley's jaw fell open. "You complete and utter-"
"No swearing in front of the children now, dear," Aziraphale said smilingly. And with a wink he left the room. As he headed up the stairs, he heard Crowley's distant voice.
"I'm having such a bad influence on him."
Smiling slightly, Aziraphale reached Michael's room and slowly opened the door. Michael was sat in the middle of his cot, crying his little eyes out. Aziraphale's smile fell slightly and he made a soft noise of sympathy. "Hello, little one."
Michael's only response was to cry a little harder and Aziraphale paused, suddenly unsure how he would handle this. "Do you need to be changed?" he asked, as though he expected a civilised response. With a frown he added, "Oh, Aziraphale you fool, he's not going to reply." He shook his head and made a tentative step toward Michael's cot. The young boy paused for a second to survey the angel and the room fell quite silent.
"It's ok," Aziraphale said with a smile. "It's just me, old... uncle Aziraphale." Michael's lip trembled and he made a choked sort of sob. "No, no, it's ok. Don't cry," Aziraphale said, a panicky tone to his voice. "I... I'm just here to tell you a story."
At the word 'story' Michael's lip stopped trembling and he seemed to sit up a little straighter. "That's right," said the angel, smiling. "A story."
Reaching over the high bars of the cot, Aziraphale hummed and tucked Michael into his covers. With relief (and a slight bit of disappointment) he detected no smell of a soiled nappy. Disappointed because the potential hilarity of watching Crowley change a nappy would quite possibly make his week.
Michael gurgled in nonsensical baby-speak, breaking Aziraphale's amusing thoughts. The angel smiled down at him again and, in soft tones, began to tell a long tale about an angel and a snake and what happened in the beginning.
To be continued...
