This is my first ever Good Omens fic, so I really want to know what you all think. I just got done re-reading Good Omens for the millionth time this week and decided that the characters, out two favorite personifications, didn't get the lovin' like they should. More people need to read this book, it is sheer genius. Not to mention my Itunes knows what is going on and sets the mood accordingly, because IT KNOWS!
I do not own Frank Sinatra or the song he is singing. I do not own Queen. I do not own Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman do in fact own it and the characters within the bounds of that book. All characters within these words, including Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Bentley, are creations of the two before mentioned Gods in people disguises. I am making nothing off of this but sheer satisfaction on my part because this is so cracked I enjoy it.
Anthony J. Crowley, or Crawly if you preferred, wasn't really the fool that the rest of the demon population of the lower world often said he was. He wasn't a common place hustler, a shameful disgrace, or a traitor. He was, however, known to hang around in the presence of an old friend who just so happened to be a Principality he'd spent the last six thousand years, and incidentally a false Apocalypse, with. The man, or rather Angel₁, went by many names. (He'd collected so many over the years on Earth, as had Crowley, so it was no wonder the list was so long₂.)
Currently he was the man named Mr. Ozzie Fell, a curious blond man with an odd tendency to collect odd religious misprints and other rare books that no one else quite wanted. His store also had erratic opening and closing times and if you were ever lucky enough to get into the store₃, you were met with less than noteworthy help. It was rude help, per say, but it wasn't overly friendly either. No, it was almost as if he were purposefully ignoring you at all the right moments and tending to you when you didn't really need help. Mr. Fell had few neighbors and even fewer friends₄.
It never seemed to bother his cheery disposition.
But this didn't deter Crowley in his pursuit to "thwart" the Principality in his other-worldly mission. Indeed, for as long as Crowley had known him, he had only called him one thing...
Or "Hey you!" and "Angel!" to which the slightly airy being would respond with "My dear" or some other such nonsense. Crowley didn't mind though, he had always secretly liked the pet name that the angel came up with. It was almost...normal for him. Well, so sentimental was really something that you could call him. So what? He liked it, almost as much as he liked Queen and his Bentley.
So when he entered the small book store in Soho The demon Crowley paused in his trek across the dusty and over cluttered book store when the words playing over the radio he'd gotten Aziraphale last year met his ears. Normally the poofy angel only listened to classical or religious themed music, but the song playing over the tiny speakers fit neither of the before mentioned cases. It was something Crowley didn't know that Aziraphale listened to and it was something he himself only heard on occasion.
My story is much too sad to be told
But practically everything leaves me totally cold
The only exception I know is the case
When I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui
Then I suddenly turn and see
Your fabulous face
Crowley, floored at hearing the warble of none other than Frank Sinatra, stood with his mouth slightly agape in the middle of the piles of books littering the dusty shop floor. It wasn't just the singer that surprised him though: it was the title of the song. "I Get a Kick Out of You" was no laughing matter to them by any means... Crowley had taken Aziraphale to see Sinatra perform it live before he became the king he was now. It was sort of a marked song, so to speak, and the serpent part of him didn't miss the indication. He wondered if it was a mere coincidence or if it was on purpose.
It was their "Anniversary."
No, not like that, pull your mind out of the gutter₅! It was the anniversary of their meeting in the Garden of Eden all those millennia ago. When Crowley was truly Crawly and Aziraphale was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Prince of the Eastern Principality. Back when the angel still had his flaming sword and Crowley had his serpent form. The Frank Sinatra show had been a commemoration of this day too, which was probably why it was now playing in the shop's empty room. Hints, to Crowley, as it were from someone Up There.
"Is something wrong dear?" drawled the soft voice of the angel from in front of him, snapping Crowley out of his intense mental raid and back to the being in front of him. "I've been talking to you for a few minutes and you didn't answer. Is everything alright?"
"Yes." Was all he got out before he continued moving, brandishing his purchase in front of the angel's face careful to not drop the bottle. "Feel up to a round Angel?"
"Crowley, really dear." He sighed, blonde curls moving lightly as he hung his head slightly in exasperation. "I thought we could go to dinner."
"We still can you know, nothing stopping us really." He smirked and bent forward to grin in the face of his enemy and long time friend. "Or is there something I should know about?"
The blonde blushed as fiercely as Crowley had ever seen him go when caught in the path of his six thousand year old leer. The scarlet shade was an impressive color in contrast to his light hair and even lighter eyes, coloring his round face nicely. In the background the song continued to play softly, distracting Crowley once more from his companion as his memories drew him further in on himself.
I get no kick from champagne
Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a kick out of you
Mere alcohol indeed…Thought Crowley, his sharp face being graced with a faint smile as he listened to the dual lyrics closely for once. It doesn't give things purpose anymore it seems.
He'd never really noticed how much these words applied to them, himself and the angel. They were right: it wasn't the alcohol that did it for him. He could drink anywhere, with anyone, at any time, but no one was quite the drinking buddy as Aziraphale was. And they didn't even have to be drinking really…not to enjoy one another's company like they did so much.
For everything Crowley found truly magnificent in the world created by humans, nothing ever came close to the creation of the creature standing not two feet from him. In a way he was truly thankful to God for a friend such as Aziraphale, gifted to him, a demon, of all beings. It made Crowley feel…something more than he had in a long time.
Not that he would ever tell him that of course. That could only give him a further point with which to tease him or give him an excuse to go all Angel Mush₆ on him. It was bad enough having to deal with his over caring personality on a daily basis for the whole of humanity, Crowley wasn't so sure he could survive for long if that Heavenly crap was turned on him… "Crowley dear, you're doing it again." Said Aziraphale with the patience only one of the heavenly hosts could have. "Really, is there something on your mind?"
Some like the perfume from Spain
I'm sure that if I took even one sniff
It would bore me terrifically too
But I get a kick out of you
"No, nothing angel." He said, grinning madly again and waving off the other's concern. "We should get going then! The Ritz awaits us!"
The Principality smiled fondly and grabbed the coat off the rack near the door before leading the way out onto the street where the Bentley was double parked again. The jingle of the bell told the demon that he was alone in the shop once more, allowing him a rare moment to take in the familiar scent of books and something else.
I get a kick every time I see you standing there before me
I get a kick though it's clear to see, you obviously do not adore me
Crowley smiled fondly to the familiarity of the book shop before turning and following the angel out of the shop, but not before the last few lines of the song drifted out and caught his sharp hearing. The lines made him smile something more than just his customary leer or grin.
I get no kick in a plane
Flying too high with some gal in the sky
Is my idea of nothing to do
But I get a kick out of you
Silently he said something important to the angel, something he would never be able to hear in another thousand years. It would go with Crowley to Hell as it were.
Happy anniversary Aziraphale.
1. Actually, Aziraphale was a Principality to which many of the other hosts made fun of.
2. Crowley had many names, but not quite as many as the opponent to which he shared most of his time, patience, booze, and sarcasm with. Although all the names were derived from his angelic names in some way or another, no matter the language.
3. This had only happened on two occasions with the exception of Crowley who let himself come and go as he pleased. Both parties involved had stumbled across the shop rather unwittingly, hence the reason they were omitted to enter.
4. There was really only Crowley.
5. But really, the gutter was a step up for Crowley as he had started out life on his belly in the dirt of Eden. Really the gutter was a general improvement.
6. He'd only actually done that once, and that was when the two of them had gotten caught out in the rain in St. James Park while feeding those blasted ducks.
I do so love these two together. They make me happy! :D