Gestures
A Good Omens fanfiction
The angel guarding the eastern gate of Eden is trying to look formidable.
Not an easy thing to do when you're short a flaming sword and trying to act as if you're, well, not.
Luckily – or unluckily, depending on how one looks at it – he doesn't think either Adam or Eve is ever coming back. They're somewhere out there in that expanse of cursed desert ground – and so is his flaming sword.
God knows. Must do. It's God, after all.
But, then, the Almighty only asked once, never actually mentioning it again.
The ineffable uncertainty makes the angel tetchy.
"Still here, then?" says a slick voice at his side.
A pale eyebrow raised, the angel turns. "You're back, are you?" He waves a hand in a scooting motion. "Get on with you, out... Go on." Aziraphale does not actually say, "Shoo, shoo," but it's certainly implied.
"Angel of the Eastern Gate," chuckles the serpent, spreading out into his favourite shape and opening his dark wings, "what are you even supposed to be keeping out?"
"At the moment," he sighs, "you."
"Oh, well. That's not happening, but a fine effort. Truly commendable."
Aziraphale squints. The last time he spoke to this demon, he'd had a hard time picking up on his tone; now, however, he's rather doubting this wily serpent's sincerity.
A demon would never actually commend him, would he? He mustn't really mean it. Must be up to something. Trying to get him to let his guard down.
"Er, thank you," he says politely, warily. "What do you want, Crawly?"
"Why ever would you suppose I want anything?"
"Why else would you be here?"
"Right, you've caught me, then."
"So?" He waits.
"So, I want to show you something." The demon inclines his dark head in a sideways motion. "Come on."
Aziraphale's expression spreads into a tired grimace. "I'm not an idiot." He's not about to leave his post to follow a demon of all beings to goodness only knows where – and quite frankly, he thinks, it very probably doesn't.
Crawly rolls back his shoulders with exaggerated causality. "As you like." A pause. Then, "I knew you wouldn't come with me anyway. You're an angel – you'd never."
Aziraphale takes the bait. His wings are raised and he's starting to flap them, preparing to follow him. "Don't tell me what I'll never do." His eyes flash. "Crawly." The annoyed emphasis on his name is unmistakable.
Crawly frowns. "You know, I'm really starting to dislike that name."
"You chose to be a serpent."
"Yes, well, they never told me it would stick."
"Could always change it," Aziraphale reminds him, a smidgen pertly – as if it's an entirely offhanded suggestion, nothing of his concern.
Because, of course, it isn't.
"Been thinking about that," the demon admits, rising up beside the angel as they begin to fly into the sky.
"Where are we going?" And, he thinks, suddenly all too aware of what he's doing and how foolish it is, you'd better get me back to the eastern gate before Gabriel or one of the others notices I'm missing or...
Or what?
Even in his own mind, he can't bring himself to threaten Crawly.
Besides, it isn't the demon's fault. Not really. Sure, he's gone and tempted him into leaving, goaded him right out of his post like the idiot he claimed he wasn't, with barely any effort, but Aziraphale didn't have to say yes.
He could have very well said no, not interested, thank you very much, and stuck to it – irregardless of whatever the demon had to say about it.
He could have done.
But he didn't.
Bother.
"Up," says Crawly, finally, answering by way of not answering.
"You know perfectly well that's not what I meant," sighs Aziraphale.
"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," says Aziraphale, eyes clinched shut, "but I really think making me fly around in the middle of the universe with my eyes closed is rather reckless behaviour, even for a demon."
"You can open them in a moment." Hands grip Aziraphale's shoulders and turn him so that he's facing the right way. He wobbles in the air, slightly disoriented, like a child who's just been spun around before Pin The Tail on The Donkey, but Crawly steadies him. "Right. Now, take two steps forward, straight ahead. Open."
Aziraphale opens his eyes, blinking rapidly, and finds himself dazzled.
He's standing in the middle of a splendid nebula, all blue and purple and white lights dancing around him in a perfect, intricate ballet.
Made up of a cluster of stars, right in the middle, is a stellar tree, blue-black trunk like mist rising above a pond and branches sprouting dusty golden leaves that shine and shimmer.
An involuntary "Ooh," escapes Aziraphale before he can properly think about what he's seeing. He clears his throat. "Er. We are standing in front of a tree in the sky."
"Yes," agrees Crawly, a strangely modest, even hopeful, look on his face as he takes a step forward.
Under the demon's feet, the air and stars ripple and spread in ever-widening rings; it nearly looks as if he is walking on water.
"Why," asks the angel, "pray tell, is there a tree in the sky?"
"Because I put it there – made it."
Aziraphale is caught between wanting to cheerfully praise him for making something so beautiful, and – oddly enough – almost wanting to cry, because he's certain the demon is mocking him.
"That's cruel," he murmurs, cheeks flaming, "even for one of your lot."
Crawly doesn't understand. "Eh?"
"A tree," he says, shaking his head. "Because I didn't guard Eden well enough to prevent you from that whole eating the fruit business. I didn't think you'd make fun of me – not after..." Not after he'd tried to show the demon some kindness – after he'd spread his wing out over him, sheltering him so he wouldn't get wet during the first thunderstorm. "This was a lot of effort for a joke, you know." You idiot.
He could have just done what the archangels did when they were displeased with him. Namely make underhanded comments whenever he was in earshot.
But no.
Had to go and make a whole tree out of stars.
Leave it to a demon to go the extra mile for a mean-spirited laugh.
"But it's my fault," Aziraphale adds quietly. "I knew better than to go with you."
"Wot?" cries Crawly, the pitch of his voice rising. "No! The tree's not a joke – it's meant to..." He waves his hand in front of it, a little pathetically. "Be like a gesture. Branches are like..." He stammered. "Well, you know your wings?"
"Yes, I'm quite familiar with my own feathery appendages, thank you. What about my wings?"
"Well, it's supposed to be like metaphorical feathers, sheltering..." The demon is floundering. "Oh, for the love of–" He flails both his arms dramatically at it. "What I'm trying to say is, well... It's a tree." He moans. "Damn big tree."
"Ah." Aziraphale relaxes, folding his arms across his chest and taking a step closer to Crawly, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Are you saying you were trying to do something nice for me?"
Crawly bristles. "Don't push it," he says through his teeth. "But, yes, I'm trying to say thank you."
Aziraphale touches his shoulder and gives it a kind squeeze. "You're welcome."
"You're not going to go around telling people I made you a big tree in the stars, are you?" Crawly looks as if he might be sick. "Because a demon can..."
"...get into a lot of trouble doing something nice for an angel?" Aziraphale finishes for him.
"Right."
"If anyone asks, you could always tell them it's to commemorate what happened in Eden," Aziraphale suggests. "Wouldn't even be a lie, really."
"Good point."
"It really is remarkable." Aziraphale gazes up into the branches, golden light radiating down on his beaming face.
A light meteor shower begins, soon to grow stronger, tiny blue stones raining down and swirling around the very core of the nebula.
And under the beautiful starry tree, the demon Crawly shelters his angelic companion.
Six thousand years later...
...To the very day...
Crowley is asleep in front of the television which is playing The Golden Girls on repeat.
The Golden Girls marathon was actually the day before – Crowley missed it – but because he doesn't know this, believes it's on today, that's what's currently broadcasting on his television and his television only.
Somewhere in the spotless white flat, an intercom buzzes, waking him.
The doorman has let somebody in, and they're on their way up.
Soon, he can hear the muffled sounds of somebody in the hallway trying very pointedly not to curse as they drag something, evidently heavy, across the long narrow length of floor.
Aziraphale.
No need to fumble for his sunglasses, then. Not so long as it's just the angel.
Crowley opens the door and steps back just in time to avoid getting bulldozed by the gigantic potted something – covered by a length of cream-coloured canvas – Aziraphale is having a tough time wrestling into the flat.
"Angel, tell me you at least took the lift."
Chest heaving, eyes wide, Aziraphale gawks at him despairingly. "Lift?" There was a lift? He could have taken a bloody lift?
The distraught angel visibly struggles with his sombre resolve, thus far miraculously unbroken, not to swear.
Then he shoves the what-ever-it-was upright, bends over, hands on his knees, and wheezes several times.
"So, what's all this, then?"
Aziraphale perks up, reminded of why he's here. "Ah." With a flourish, he grips the side of the canvas with elegantly manicured fingers and tugs. "Surprise!"
"It's a tree," Crowley deadpans.
And, indeed, it is.
A potted tree with wide yellow leaves, little mustard-coloured flowers dangling off the edges like tinsel.
"Oh, wait, I nearly forgot." Aziraphale snaps his fingers. "Let there be light!"
A succession of white-and-blue twinkle lights turn on, except two bulbs are out.
Bending over to fix the pair of bulbs that have gone out, Aziraphale succeeds in getting them to light up, but all the others immediately go dark.
"Oh, for pity's sake!"
Crowley watches Aziraphale on his hands and knees crawling around the plant's potted base, muttering "Fiddlesticks," when clearly that's not the F-word the angel actually has in mind.
"Go ahead and swear, Aziraphale, I don't mind."
"Don't tempt me, my dear," he grumbles.
"Is this supposed to be like an out of season Christmas tree, or...?" Crowley is merciless; he knows exactly what Aziraphale is doing – or, rather, trying to do. "Hanukkah bush?"
"Christmas tree?" the angel splutters, finally getting the bulbs right again and staggering to his feet. "Nooo! It's a gesture."
Crowley grants him one slow, snaky blink.
"Don't you know what today is?" he groans, desperate.
"Of course I do."
Aziraphale brightens, eyes alight.
"Golden Girls marathon."
"Crowley!" he snaps, mouth retracting into a firm pout.
"I'm kidding, angel – I remember." He sighs. "I'm starting to regret ever having made you that damnable tree."
"Listen," the angel sighs along with him. "I don't mean to rush out on you, but I've got to go. I don't think my lot would be too pleased if they found me up here visiting you."
"If you're caught, you could just tell them you're doing this to make sure I never forget what happened in Eden," Crowley teases, smirking. "Wouldn't even be a lie, really."
"Goodbye, Crowley. See you at St. James's next week. Bring the black bread – the ducks don't seem to fancy that rye stuff from last time." With that, Aziraphale gives his demon friend a deeply enfolding hug, resting his chin against his shoulder for the sparsest of seconds, then quickly pulls away and darts out the open doorway.
Crowley looks at the twinkle-light laden tree, which he'll move in with his other terrified plants presently to make certain it doesn't get too full of itself.
Plants have rather a bad tendency in that direction, in Crowley's experience.
Of course, he'll have to remove the blasted twinkle-lights first.
"So," the demon says, indolently, chuckling to himself, "this was a thing."
A/N: Just so nobody wonders/worries, Cafelatte100 gave me permission to use her 'Crowley builds Aziraphale a nebula tree' idea. I'm not trying to knock off the idea or steal it or anything.
Reviews welcome, replies may be delayed.