Nice: A Good Omens Fanfic

A nice tea party

Four years ago

Crowley avoided Aziraphale for a while by the simple expedient of staying indoors and going nowhere near the saved gardener. It was a pain tottering around the garden in snakeskin stilettos anyway.

The problem was that staying in character as Nanny Astolat all the time was tiring. Crowley had never really prided himself on his work ethic. The role of disciplinarian nanny had certain possibilities, but he couldn't even tempt his employers too much without risking losing his job. He wasn't keen on having to explain to Hell why he was no longer Influencing Warlock for the bad. Worst of all, no matter how many unsavoury implications he made or how many sinister giggles passed his lips, the household insisted on treating him as if he was just a nice lady.

Sometimes he needed to be with someone who recognised a serpent when he met one.

Champion sulker that Crowley was, he was beginning to realise he needed to concede for his own good, or at least comfort. So, his tender feelings had been bruised. He wasn't technically supposed to have tender feelings, anyway. And over the millennia, surely he should have realised that baiting an angel could be dangerous. Aziraphale could be ridiculously kind and ludicrously fussy, but he wasn't harmless.

Besides, ever since that conversation with Aziraphale, Warlock had been concerning Crowley.

"You have Starscream, sweetheart, and I'll have Optimus Prime. Now, Optimus has established what he thinks is a utopia for all machinekind, but it doesn't have true free will, because everyone is forced to be good. What do you want to do about it?"

"I don't want to be Starscream, Nanny. I don't like his dumb voice. Hey, what does this one turn into?"

"A gun, darling."

"No, that's Megatron."

"Is it? Shall we play with Megatron, then?" Crowley asked hopefully. "Look, here's some sweet little teddies. Oh, no, they're not keeping their tea party very tidy, are they? I think Megatron should shoot them all and start over with new teddies, don't you?"

"A police car! Cool! Vroom, vroom..."

Yes, Crowley was beginning to worry. And there was only one being he was accustomed to worrying at.

He made a point of digging his stiletto heels into the velvety emerald lawn all the way down to the gardener's hut.

"I do have some things to do on my afternoon off, dear b--lady," Aziraphale said. "Reports to write." It was clearly only a token protest. He had positively beamed when Crowley suggested afternoon tea. He had almost, well, almost looked relieved for a moment, and then rays of sunshine had exploded out of his expression. It was almost too much for a demon to look at, even with the terrible disguise.

"Come, Francis," Crowley said. "What's the fun of working here without a little fraternising between the staff?" He stressed it maliciously, and the sunlight in the angel's expression faded a little. To his own annoyance, Crowley felt regret, as well as a little vindictive pleasure.

"I am a man of the cloth, you know, temptress."

"You're no more a man than I am. Come have lunch, idiot."

They climbed to the empty top of a bus together. They glances around for witnesses and then, with sighs of relief, settled back into what were, if not their true forms, at least ones they had been accustomed to wearing for thousands of years.

"That's better." Crowley stretched his shoulders. "Bless, women's clothes this century are uncomfortable." He wriggled his feet, the heels withdrawing back into them.