More Than a Change in Attire

Written by gure


Comments: Everything here but my screwed up imagination belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. A silly spoof on page 330, the scene where Adam separates Aziraphale from Madam Tracy's body. PWP.

It was two in the morning, and I was in a major bout of writer's block. It was necessary for me to clean out all the befuddled junk in my head. Hence, the following result. x_X; Please do not hurt me. Oh yeah, a hint of C/A.


Page 330 of Good Omens:

"'Scuse me, why're you two people?" said Adam.

"Well," said Aziraphale, "it's a long—"

"It's not right, being two people," said Adam. "I reckon you'd better go back to being two sep'rate people."


"Well, that's better, but—" began Aziraphale.

"Wait! Er…boy!" interrupted Crowley unexpectedly. "We all know you're different, and I know you're probably going to do something weird, like put Aziraphale back into a new body. But who is to say what he should look like?"

A round of stares focused on Crowley in incomprehension and bafflement. Had the demon finally lost his mind with the coming of the Apocalypse?

Adam stared blankly at the demon, who decided to break the silence. "I mean, doesn't he have the right to choose what body he should return to?"

"Don'cha mean the body he was in before?" Adam questioned with a suspicious glare.

"He's an angel, boy, and he's had many bodies throughout his stay here on this world. Shouldn't—," Crowley attempted to clarify without trying to look too nervous under the boy's inhuman glare. But damnit, since he already interrupted, he might as well complete his descent down the pit.

"Crowley, my dear boy, what are you trying to say?" Aziraphale asked from Madam Tracy's body.

"As I was about to say, before you interrupted me, angel, shouldn't you be able to choose what body you would like to go back into? I would really think you would be discontent with your previous body."

"I rather liked my previous body—" Aziraphale's voice sounded rather offended. If he had a body and a head, one would most likely see a small pout on his face.

"Now now, angel, didn't you like the body you had during the Renaissance?" asked Crowley. He attempted to put on a mask of innocence, but failed miserably. 

"Well, that body was alright, I guess—" Aziraphale sounded contemplative. "But I do like my previ-"

"Now that we've got that settled," Crowley once again cut Aziraphale short. He quickly turned to face the anti-christ, "Boy, you can 'will' that body back for Aziraphale, can't you? Just think Renaissance. You know, honey blond, hair down to mid-back, quite young looking, I should say—"

"Crowley! Don't I have a say in this? This is my body we're talking about after all; and my hair was never that lon-"

"—pretty slim, with the big blue eyes…you know, he had that whole angel effect going on," Crowley unheedingly continued.

Madam Tracy turned starry-eyed at Crowley's descriptions and remarked to Aziraphale, "My my, dear, hearing you before, I would have never expected such a looker! I thought you would have been a middle-aged sort, not handsome but pleasant looking, and definitely an English gentleman."

"I assure you madam, I have never looked like that in my entire existence on Earth, not even during the Renaissance," Aziraphale replied with annoyance. "Now if we can all just tell Adam to give me my previous body back, we can get on with the more important stuff."

"—black tank-top, and tight black leather pants. After all, everyone during the Renaissance wore those, you know…" Crowley continued nonchalantly.

Madam Tracy and Shadwell (and Aziraphale) were too stunned to even remember what they were about to say.

After a long pause, in which each of them were gathering their shock, Aziraphale finally shrieked, "Crowley!! Y-you--!! What do you think you're doing!? Now Adam, I really don't look—"

*** ***

Aziraphale blinked, observed the scene before him, and blinked once more. He had a body again. Oh dear God, he thought. He looked down in shock and gaped at his new body, courtesy of his old friend, Crowley. "Wha…m-my body! Crowley! What is the meaning of this!? What is the purpose of changing what I look like!? And why am I wearing leather! It's horrid!"

Finally realizing that he was staring rather openly at the angel's new look with his mouth open, Crowley righted himself and silkily replied, "Why angel, I'm merely doing you a favor. We might as well look good when everything here will cease to exist. And you look good. I like the hair." He smiled, eyes dilated.

Meanwhile, Shadwell and Madam Tracy were staring wide-eyed at the figure of Aziraphale. Madam Tracy licked her lips and looked rather like a cat about to pounce on a vulnerable mouse. Shadwell just looked a little green and blue and purple. Adam was standing off to the side and watching everyone with wary eyes. So this was how the Renaissance folks dressed. He had always wondered about that.

Frowning rather prettily, Aziraphale sniffed and stood up, back straight and shoulders stiff. His light blue eyes averted toward his feet. "It's the leather, dear, that I'm quite upset with. Anyhow, it's rather pointless to be doing this. There are more important things to worry about."

*** ***

Three Days Later

Aziraphale sighed airily and sat down luxuriously on a cloth-cushioned couch. After a moment, he realized that he was slouching and was about to right himself, when he decided he deserved a break. Slumping down onto the couch with a cup of freshly made tea in his hands, with his beloved books around him; he never thought he would be so content in his life. For a second, he thought of what Crowley was doing at that instant, but waved it aside and settled more comfortably onto the cushions. For the first time in his long angelic life, he wanted to sleep. Heavens no, he didn't want to sleep for a long time. The world had almost ended and he had much to do. He rather enjoyed being awake and experiencing the world. But he was tired, if angelic beings were ever supposed to feel weary. He didn't even want to think about what the future had in store for him. Several days had passed, and Heaven had still not contacted him in any way. He was quite scared. But for now, he could do nothing about it. All he could do was wait and just live. He sighed.

*** ***

The first thing Crowley did after he got back to his flat was sleep. He liked sleeping. A lot. He had surprisingly woken up the next afternoon, and had dined with Aziraphale at the Ritz after having a conversation at the park. He never enjoyed his food as much as he did that day. He had even paid for Aziraphale's share. After he got back, alone in his lavishly decorated flat, he had mildly been surprised at himself for feeling some very indistinguishable emotions.

He was worried. He was not easily worried. He liked risks, he was a demon. Demons liked to cause worry, not feel them. True, the world had continued to exist, and everything was the same as before. But he was still quite apprehensive. The residents of Hell had not come for him. He had expected it. Beezlebub himself had glared straight at him and had menacingly said that he would be reported and thoroughly taken care of. So why was it taking them so long to get him? Perhaps they had forgotten about him? Not likely. Maybe they decided to just leave him alone? Impossible. Then he thought about Adam. The boy was special. Well, of course. He was the Antichrist. But he had done something. He was almost sure of it. That fact that he was untouched thus far was proof of it.

The second thing he was feeling was something he was not comfortable with at all. Ever since he had manipulated (Yes, he was good at that.) Adam in giving Aziraphale a new form, he had often times felt a tingling in his chest whenever he looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale was beautiful. And he was Aziraphale. It just made Crowley feel very nervous. He supposed it was his fault. For once, his deeds of mischief had backfired on him and smacked him in the face. He hadn't known it would end up with this. Shit. He shouldn't feel anything more for the angel other than the comfortable alliance they had forged back in the days. An occasional chat in the park with the ducks and a dinner at the Ritz wre all fine, but he shouldn't be wanting anything more. The realization that the angel had become a fixture in his life made him groan. Ah shit. He was screwed.

*** ***

A Week Later

He had assumed that they had just decided not to bother with him anymore. If they had, they would have come and dealt with him days ago. He supposed he should be feeling a little safer. Unfortunately, it wasn't happening. It was getting on Aziraphale's nerves. He hadn't bothered to sleep since the day he came back from the supposed destruction of the world. For the past several days, he had lazed around his bookstore, picking out books and reinserting them back into the shelves again, drank enough tea to be unwholesome, and paced back and forth across the tiled floor while he waited for Crowley's call to take him out for lunch or dinner. It was getting disturbing, well, at least for him. He supposed he should relax. But he was afraid. He had a right to be afraid. He was dealing with the Almighty God here. And his act of defiance that day in addition to his alliance with Crowley was surely something that would cause his downfall. He didn't want to fall. He knew he wasn't the ideal angel, but he still loved God. He just happened to love Earth also.

Aziraphale was also afraid for Crowley. Crowley could have it worse than him. Crowley who had already fallen had nowhere lower to fall. It was disconcerting to think that, but it was true. The denizens of hell were infamous for their methods of torture. He shuddered just to think what would happen. A battered, bleeding Crowley, A broken, beaten Crowley. No more Crowley trying to tempt him. No more confident and slightly arrogant demon calling him 'angel.' Aziraphale sucked in his breath and attempted to calm down. Angels didn't need to breathe, but the intake of air had come unintentionally. Just thinking about it hurt. He sat down only to immediately rise again when the phone rang.

*** ***

Crowley called Aziraphale. It had become some sort of a daily ritual for him. When noon came, he called the angel and then invited him to lunch. For some reason, he was paying these days. He reminded himself to make Aziraphale pay this time.

Crowley found himself thinking a lot these days. While he could have been thinking of more ways to ruin someone's nice day, or invent some hindrance that would annoy and ultimately make the attitude of humans more unpleasant, he was thinking about the angel. It wasn't reasonable, he thought. He was a demon. A screwed demon who was probably going to get more than a tongue-lashing from Hell, but a demon nevertheless. He grimaced and listened to the phone ring. He didn't even want to think about going back down there. Sure, being a demon on Earth was one thing, but being a demon tortured in Hell was something completely different. He was about to drift off further in his thoughts with the sound of the ringing phone in his ears when someone picked up.

"Hello there, you have reached Candice's Parlor. How may we help you?"

Crowley raised an elegant eyebrow and turned off the phone. Whoops. Apparently it was a wrong number. How could that have been? He thought he would have had Aziraphale's number memorized by now. He sighed, and tried again.

*** ***