Doctor Omens: DoctorDonnaCrowley

Wings, Whiskey, and Blue Boxes

"What?" Donna shrieked. "No! He's my best friend! We're not—God, no! He's just a thin little streak of—nothing!"

Sick of the heart-to-heart conversation, Crowley tossed back his whiskey, and got up for the bottle. He was surprised when Donna held out her teacup.

"Fill 'er up, Demon Dan," she said glumly. "Not every day someone gets to drink with a couple of myths."

It was Aziraphale's turn to scoff. "We are not myths, I assure you! He is a demon, and I am an angel."

"Just because you have wings, doesn't make you an angel."

"I'm telling the truth."

"Sure, sure." Donna waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever. I suppose you're going to tell me you can do miracles, too."

"We can!"

Crowley sighed. For reasons he couldn't comprehend, he felt compelled to prove who he was. Maybe it was because the human had accepted them so willingly. He took her hand and blew on the inkspot on her palm. The stain disappeared in a blue haze.

"Little demonic miracle for you there," he said smugly.

Donna stared at him—until Aziraphale, not to be outdone, refilled the sandwich tray with a wave of his hand. Then she stared at him. "Right, then," she said briskly. "Miracles."

"Miracles," Aziraphale confirmed with a smirk.

"So, if you're an angel and a demon, why on God's green earth would you choose to live in Soho? Why not Hawaii, or Fiji?"

Crowley looked to Aziraphale; he could field this question, because Crowley  was only there because the angel was there.

"Well," Aziraphale began, "there's so much culture, and delicious food—France is within flying distance! And when I found this place--" He gestured grandly to the dusty shop "--I knew this was where I was meant to be. There's so many--"

"She gets it,"Crowley interrupted. If he hadn't interrupted, Aziraphale would go on for hours, and Crowley, for one, did not have the patience to listen to him.

"Yes, sheshe does," said Donna sourly. "How about the clothes? Why a leisure suit?"

Aziraphale's jaw dropped, and he gave an offended gasp. "Madam! This is not a leisure suit! I've kept this coat in tip-top condition for over a hundred and fifty years! I take great pride in my appearance!"

"He plucks his eyebrows," Crowley confided. He was quite enjoying this; Donna seemed adept at pushing every single one of Aziraphale's buttons, something not even Crowley could manage.

"I do not!"the angel growled, or as close to a growl as an ethereal being could manage. "Anyway, Ms. Noble, all angels dress in white to indicate--"

"Do they all bleach their hair, too?" Donna interrupted.

"It is not bleach!" Aziraphale repeated, scandalized. In fact, he was so scandalized that his refined voice came out as a squeak. "I was born—created—with this hair, and these eyebrows!"

Crowley considered rescuing the angel, but he was having too much fun watching the show.Besides, if Donna was shredding Aziraphale, it meant that she wasn't shredding Crowley. "He's always had the same hairstyle, too," he added.

"Tell her about 1985," Aziraphale suggested nastily, "when you had a mullet."

Donna finally cracked a smile. "And what about you?" she asked Crowley. "Are the tight clothes and leather part of the demonic package?"