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A Good Omens fanfiction

Aziraphale was strolling over to his desk, a steaming white cup of foamy cocoa in hand, when the bell over the bookshop door went ding!

It was odd, among other things, that it should go ding! when the bells above that door were the jingle-jangling sort. The only bell in the shop that went ding! was the one he was always putting – quite purposefully – in the most obscure locations possible so that the average customer would get tired of looking for it to get his attention with the sneaky intent to make off with one his precious books and – for all that was sweet and holy in life – go away. Empty handed, of course. Unless the ringer was a shoplifter. And Aziraphale was no friend to shoplifters; some of the punishments he worked out for them surprised even Crowley with their vehement pettiness.

So the bell above the door had no business dinging.

What was that about, dinging?

All the same, there was clearly somebody in the shop with him now and that needed to be rectified.

"So sorry," said Aziraphale, politely but not as though he actually was. "We're closed."

Then the person stepped into his line of view and he felt a strange clench in his chest. He was aware of two things. Firstly, this was not a human. Secondly, this was a remarkably beautiful angel.

To understand Aziraphale's reaction, it may help to establish that an angel's reaction to beauty is somewhat distinct from that of a human. Angels do not feel lust – their longing for beauty is simply to be content in the company of it. It's part of how they make friends. They may fall into friendship at first sight, spying a megawatt smile and a glowing, flowing robe across the open-air space of Heaven, the way a human might fall into a mad infatuation with a gorgeous member of the opposite sex sauntering by in tight pants and sucking seductively on a lolly. Demons on the other hand can feel lust, but often don't, and never towards one another. They can't even feel the tenderness for each other they used to feel as angels any more; they find the state of one another a little too repellent. For example, Crowley and Hastur would never willingly choose to spend time together – much less bask happily in each other's hellish glow. Cheery, dumbstruck basking in general is frowned upon in most demonic circles. Any demon stupid enough to try it typically gets punched in the face by their companion.

Aziraphale was struck by the beauty of this angel as he had only once before in his existence.

It had been countless eons ago, up in Heaven, long before the earth was created. A beautiful seraph had shown up and given Gabriel what, quite frankly, would have amounted to an aneurysm in human terms as he presented, rather cheekily, the newest nebula he and his crew had completed. Aziraphale had tried to go up to the seraph afterwards, grinning and wringing his hands like a schoolboy meeting his hero for the first time, but Gabriel had pulled him back and threatened that if he said a word to 'that show off', he'd have him demoted to sweeping the pearly floor for the next millennia. Aziraphale caved, and regretted it as soon as the seraph was out of sight. He hadn't even learned his name. Lucifer's rebellion came soon after and Aziraphale had – rather frantically – looked for his lost almost-friend in the commotion afterwards, hoping against hope that he hadn't been on the wrong side. (He never did work out that the cheeky seraph was Crowley, pre-snake, but would likely have thought it explained rather a lot if he had.)

The angel that stood before him now was, he had to admit, the second most breathtakingly beautiful angel he'd ever beheld. The features were of the feminine variety – a delicate peaches-and-cream face surrounded by shining butter-coloured curls. Her eyes seemed changed from blue to gold depending on which way she tossed her head.

Aziraphale softened.

Until she spoke, with a bell-like voice that suited her dollish form but words that would have made the sweetest being in the universe a fiendish villain to Aziraphale's ears.

"Rebel angel, Aziraphale, I hereby commandeer this shop in the name of Heaven," she said pertly. "Now, be a lamb and start moving these books out. I don't fancy all this kindling lying about. Henceforth, it shall be a flower shop, run by me."

Aziraphale was white with rage. "Over my discorporated body!"

She blinked at him. "Yes, about that, would you mind switching with me?"

"What?"

Her eyes darted downwards, landing on her flowing white dress and willowy form. "Well, I don't fancy this one. I haven't got biceps. How am I meant to punch people who go against the will of God without biceps?"

"Young lady" – Aziraphale splayed his hands emphatically – "there is no call for violence."

"I'd only hit them if they deserved it," she said, rather pathetically. "I don't go around – what is that expression the Americans use? – cold-cocking people. Naturally, I don't. What sort of angel do you think I am?"

"The sort tries to steal shops out from under the noses of–" began Aziraphale, rather heatedly.

"Steal?" Her mouth dropped open, shocked at the accusation. "No, I'm not stealing it. Gabriel says it's mine now. Didn't I mention? I've got your job in Heaven now, so he says I should have your post on earth too."

"Gabriel. I should have known."

"Right, well, he's in charge, so I'll just take the shop keys now." She held out her hand. "And the body as well. You're clearly not using it right." She closed the space between them in a single stride and, quite unexpectedly, proceeded to poke him in the belly several times. "What's this? Isn't it meant to be flat there? How come yours got all rounded out and pudgy?"

Aziraphale stepped back. "Excuse me! That is highly inappropriate. Stop that at once."

"I like the nails, though." Quick as a flash she took one of his manicured hands in her own, voice suddenly gone almost child-like. "They're so clean and pretty."

"Oh, really? Thank you. I have them done at that nice place down the street – they're very good." Then, remembering what was happening, he scowled and yanked his hand free.

"Be reasonable," she sighed. "Don't you think it would be best if the people around here were made to see what looks to be the same person running the store when it changes – be a bit more comfortable for them?"

"Bugger that, where'm I meant to go?"

She pursed her lips. "I hadn't thought of that."

"No, you jolly well hadn't, had you?"

"We'll work that out afterwards, then. Now do let's get on with it, I haven't got all day."

"No! No! No! Look here, whatever-your-name-is, Gabriel does not own this shop – it was not issued by Heaven – I bought it with my own money and you really must–"

Frowning, she cut him off. "Listen, I've been perfectly patient, and if you won't cooperate I'm afraid I'm going to have to use force." Seemingly from the folds of her skirt, she drew out a flaming sword. "Very glad Gabriel issued me this. Hard to make people listen without biceps, but fiery swords work too."

Aziraphale then uttered, from complete frustration, a word which made the intruding angel's eyes widen, though she recovered herself quickly enough.

The next thing Aziraphale knew, he was tied to a chair while the impertinent blonde angel was taking armloads of books and tossing them out the door, ignoring his cries of protest.

Tears sprang into his eyes. The spines! Oh, she was going to damage the spines and the poor pages! And there were puddles out there – it had rained last night! He could miracle away the water damage, of course, but he would always know it had happened.

"If you're going to rob me blind," Aziraphale managed through the sob he was trying in vain to force down, "can you at least tell me who you are?"

"My name's Lucah," she said distractedly, her eyes drifting to the nearest window. "Oh no."

"The human authorities, is it?" he guessed. "Well, if you think I'm going to bail you out after this horrid display, you can just–"

"There is a demon parked across the street." She was shaking slightly. "He's coming this way. Wearing dark glasses. Heading right for the shop!"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale sagged in relief as much as his bonds would let him. Crowley would see the books tossed out and know something was wrong.

Lucah seemed not to notice the happiness in his voice; she lifted her flaming sword. "Don't worry, I'll kill it."

Aziraphale spotted his chance. "Young lady, what if you and I strike a deal?"

"This really isn't the best time."

"Actually, it is. I'll swap bodies with you here and now, but only if you agree that – should that demon realise it isn't me fighting him– you vacate my shop immediately and leave it in peace from now on, whatever Gabriel has to say about it."

Her mouth twisted, uncertainly. Then she agreed. "Yes, all right."

Crowley regarded the books tossed along the pavement anxiously. Aziraphale would never treat his books in such a way. He blessed under his breath and picked up the pace.

Aziraphale stood glowering, just beyond the door. Or rather, the body was Aziraphale's, but the expression on it, Crowley ascertained fairly quickly, was decidedly not; his lower lip jutted out at a strange angle and he was blinking far too many times in a row.

"Angel, what the heaven–"

He was cut off by a punch to the jaw, which knocked the sunglasses from his face and onto the floor. "I command you to return to your master, spawn of Satan." A look of surprise spread across the angel's face, waggling the hand frantically. "Ow! Oh, I didn't know that would hurt! I think I've broken a nail. What have you done to my knuckles, you yellow-eyed hell-spawn?

"No matter. I shall have this ground consecrated tomorrow – I'll work it out somehow, perhaps add a chapel to the side – and you will never spread wickedness in this part of London again."

Crowley rotated his mandible and glared at the being in front of him. A being that was decidedly not Aziraphale, whatever it looked like.

"Who are you and what have you done with Aziraphale?" he hissed, gripping the stranger's suit lapel and pressing them against the wall. "You have three seconds to tell me before I become very unpleasant."

"That's not fair!" not-Aziraphale cried, head lolling helplessly to the side. "He didn't say he knew you!" Her version of Aziraphale's eyes met his, an eager sort of hopefulness burning in them. "Go back out and pretend you don't know, and we'll do this again. You won't guess next time, I'm a fabulous mimic. Best two out of three."

A high flute-like voice called, from behind an overturned shelf, "Now, Lucah, remember, we had an agreement."

Crowley tossed the stranger in Aziraphale's body aside and rushed over to the source of the sound.

"Crowley, dear boy!" From behind the empty shelf, there stepped a delicate-looking person in white with a mop of golden curls. The face was that of a complete stranger, but the expression on the face was that of his best friend.

Crowley winced; the effect, on the whole, was rather saccharine. "Aziraphale, why do you look like a Christmas-tree topper, and who is that in your body?"

not-Aziraphale began to sob uncontrollably. Wings unfurled from the back of his coat and – much to the real Aziraphale's dismay – Lucah proceeded to grab one and blow her nose on it.

"Gabriel's going to be so angry," she wailed. "It's not fair. It's only my first time on earth! I didn't stop Armageddon, I shouldn't be in trouble! I'm a good angel!"

Once everything – the shop, Aziraphale's body, Crowley's sunglasses, the shelving – was set back to rights, Lucah collapsed into a chair and refused to move. Her flaming sword – currently not aflame – was spread across her lap and she stared down at it numbly.

"Part of our agreement, young lady, was that you vacate my shop," Aziraphale reminded her.

She shook her head. "I haven't got anywhere else to go."

Crowley sauntered over. "Neither did Aziraphale, but your lot didn't care about that, did they?"

"I'm sorry I hit you," she said, voice gone very small.

Crowley was taken slightly aback – he'd never heard any angel besides Aziraphale apologise to him for anything before.

"You should be apologising to me," Aziraphale pointed out, "my knuckles hurt like anything before I got around to miracling the bruises away. And, for future reference, I do keep a handkerchief in my pocket – soiling my wing-feathers was not necessary."

"Aziraphale, what did Gabriel do to you when you stopped Armageddon?"

It was Crowley that answered, as Aziraphale hadn't actually been present. "Tried to kill him with hellfire. What was that quaint phrase he used...?" Crowley made a dramatic popping sound with his still-aching mouth. "I believe it was 'shut your stupid mouth and die already'."

"I don't want to die." She trembled. "You don't think he'll...do...do that to me, do you?"

"No, of course not," Aziraphale said quickly, coming over and handing her a cup of tea he'd fixed in light of her tears, despite himself.

"What's this?"

"Hot tea. It's nice. Drink it."

She shook her head and handed it back. "Gabriel said that I was not supposed to sully my body."

"I don't think that's your biggest concern right now," Crowley reminded her.

She began to cry anew, thrusting her face into her hands.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale chided.

"What?"

"Lucah," he said, gently setting the mug aside, "I'll tell you what; you can stay here for a few days until we get this mess sorted, think of a way to placate Gabriel. How does that sound?"

Forty-eight hours later, the archangel Gabriel could be spotted in Soho, heading straight for Aziraphale's bookshop, merrily whistling Richard Roger's Maria in time with his steps.

"You can hear that bastard from three blocks away," Crowley grunted as Aziraphale – much to his chagrin – helped Lucah into the back seat of the Bentley.

"Your name is Anthony J. Crowley, right?" Lucah asked, staring at Crowley.

"Yeah, why?"

"Crowley is kind of a scary name. Do you mind if I call you Tony?"

"With every fibre of my being," Crowley hissed.

"Come with us." Lucah turned to Aziraphale. "He'll be angry with you, too."

He shook his head. "No, I think not." He wasn't about to leave his bookshop unattended with Gabriel on the loose. Besides, he had a sort of plan, though its working was more than a little doubtful. "Keep an eye on her, Crowley. She still doesn't really understand how things work down here."

As soon as the Bentley sped off, Aziraphale went back to the bookshop. He considered flipping the sign over to show it was closed but knew it wouldn't make any difference to Gabriel.

Sure enough, Gabriel didn't look directly at the sign or him at first. "I thought we agreed on a flower shop, Lucah."

What would Lucah have said to Gabriel? Aziraphale cleared his throat, thrice, stalling for time, and still managed to sound unbearably like himself. "Right. Well. About that." It wasn't like pretending to be Crowley. He'd been around the demon for 6,000 years. He'd barely known Lucah two days.

Gabriel's eyes met his, and he sighed. "Don't bother pretending. I know it's still you in there, Aziraphale."

He forced a weak smile. "Hello."

"Where's Lucah?"

"Not here."

"Obviously."

"I don't know what you're trying to pull," Gabriel said flatly, "but you can't hide her from me forever."

"You don't have to punish her," Aziraphale managed feebly.

The smile on Gabriel's face sent chills down his spine. "You're right, I don't have to. At least not yet. Her time here is already limited. She's so clueless, she'll get herself discorporated before much longer. Once she's in Heaven again, everything will be handled properly."

Aziraphale was nonplussed, sputtering with fury. "You mean to tell me you sent her down here without any debriefing?"

His smile only grew wider. "That's what I was coming to the shop to do now. It's not my fault she failed to be here, in your body, like I told her to be."

"That was most unkind of you, Gabriel."

"Don't talk to me about being unkind when you've spent 6,000 years being chummy with a demon. Your little arrangement is a complete slap in the face to the Almighty. True angels do not condone, much less carry out, temptations." He turned and headed for the door. Pausing, he added, icily, "Tell Lucah I'll be in touch."

"Tell me Gabriel's gone and I can drive your mentally defective little friend back to the shop now," Crowley begged into the receiver.

"Went that badly, did it?" Aziraphale asked, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he shifted a stack of books from one pile to another.

Crowley proceed to explain that, in the short time Lucah had been in his flat, she'd already moved every houseplant from their proper positions, made a complete mess of his CD collection, and changed the voice recording on his ansaphone. All while singing Sixteen Going on Seventeen under her breath the entire time. "Not to mention she almost lost a finger in the compactor."

"Where is she now?"

"Oh, now she's in the lavatory, fixated on the bidet. She keeps pressing the button and giggling every time water comes out. I'm at my wit's end, angel."

Aziraphale was stunned. "When did you get a bidet?"

Lucah went, from hardly any time at all, to being scornful – and mildly frightened – of Crowley to being oddly fascinated by him. Aziraphale had noticed that she mimicked Crowley's style of walking and circling around you when he talked near-perfectly. She tried, with more limited success, to copy the way Crowley danced, which strange in itself, given that – apart from Aziraphale's occasional gavotte – everybody knew angels never danced.

They do say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.

She was so good at it, in fact, that Aziraphale finally understood why Gabriel had chosen her. She'd spent one afternoon with Crowley and picked up on most his mannerisms; if she'd had time, and hadn't been so zealous in her demon-killing attempt, she could have mimicked him too. Nobody – except perhaps Crowley – would have noticed the difference, once she had his body. Certainly not his customers.

But as Crowley came around to the shop less and less, Aziraphale noticed a decline in her happiness.

She wasn't eating, but that wasn't unusual for her, as they still hadn't managed to get her to try tea or sushi yet. She'd only taken one bite of a crepe and spat it out into a napkin before passing the rest of her portion to Aziraphale, who finished it for her.

No, it was more how her excitement would flare up when she heard somebody at the shop door, then immediately drop when she saw it was only a regular customer.

"If you're thinking there's a chance of...restoring him..." Aziraphale cautioned her one day, over what was meant to be supper but consisted of him eating while she sat across from him staring at an empty placemat. "Well, I don't think it'll ever happen. Even if he doesn't work for Hell any more. He's been a demon a very long time, Lucah. The best we can do is forgive him and hope for the best."

She smiled hesitantly. "Oh, it's not that. I just...miss him...that's all."

"Not afraid of what Gabriel will think of that?"

She shrugged. "I'm terrified, but that doesn't change anything. I feel what I feel."

"Ah."

"When does he usually come around?"

"Lucah, I don't know how to tell you this but sometimes..."

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes he doesn't come around for rather a long while."

"Like a week, you mean?"

"No, young lady, I mean much longer – years. You must understand what I mean; you're immortal, too."

"I suppose. What's the longest he's ever been gone?"

Aziraphale looked a little sad. "Once he slept for nearly a hundred years."

"Slept?" She was amazed. "Demons don't need sleep."

"He likes napping."

"Why did he do it? Why did he leave you alone for so long?"

"Well, we had something of a disagreement. He wanted me to get him some holy water – insurance he called it. But I told him I was absolutely not giving him a suicide pill."

"Was he very sad?"

"We both had some angry words – then he didn't show up again for a hundred years. Worried rather a lot, but it turned out he was just sleeping off some steam."

Lucah grew very thoughtful. She placed her chin in her hand and propped her elbow on the table. "Do you suppose he does it on purpose? I don't think he could. He mustn't know. He's not so cruel as that."

"Young lady, whatever are you talking about?"

"He doesn't know how much it hurts you, when he goes away without so much as a word."

Aziraphale smiled. "Not much call on his part to think of such things. Very into the immediacy of a situation, demons."

"He could have left you a note."

"He did. It said Holy Water. I threw it into the duck pond."

"He might as easily have written another – Dear Aziraphale, having a lovely snooze, see you next century, here's my address, wake me if you need me. That would have been nice of him to say, don't you think? It was too bad of him not to do it."

"He is nice," Aziraphale laughed. "I've always believed so, deep down. He just tries very hard not to show it. He was an angel like us once."

"I think you're much deceived in him."

"How do you mean?"

"I do not think he himself really knows just how much he loves you." Lucah shivered, one of her wings unfurling and flapping against the back of the chair as if from anxious habit. "There was never any hope I could take your place here. Not with your best friend knowing you so well. Even if I'd got it right, and pretended to be you correctly, the look on his face whenever he came to see you and it wasn't, well, you... That would have been too much for me in the end.

"If...If anything happens to me, between now and the next time he comes back, you will say goodbye to him for me, won't you?"

"Don't be so morbid. Nothing is going to happen to you, Lucah. Are you certain you won't take some tea?"

One morning, Aziraphale woke to find Lucah nowhere in sight. After searching the bookshop thoroughly, and popping over to St James's Park where Lucah had become fond of watching children play and spies feed water fowl, he called Crowley, but only got the ansaphone.

It still had Lucah's changed message on it.

The sun was setting and a misty drizzle was setting in when he finally saw Lucah coming down the street, looking very odd indeed. It took him a while to figure it out, but what struck him as so strange was that she wasn't blinking much and Lucah's previous habit had been that of batting her eyes non-stop.

She was very quiet, and – much to his surprise – accepted a glass of wine when he offered it.

Then proceeded to have four more afterwards.

When he, half-joking, hummed a note or two from The Sound of Music, not because he himself cared for it, more thinking it might cheer her up, she gave him a withering glance of such pure disdain that he immediately stopped.

Her eyes kept going to the clock. Close to midnight, she asked for a blanket. "I'm very cold, angel."

He got her one, and – less than thirty minutes later – he heard coughing, violent coughing.

"Lucah?"

"I'm sorry."

"What is it?"

"I should have told you. I told Crowley instead."

"Told me what?" The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

"Gabriel... He didn't just fail to debrief me, like he told you. He gave me a defective body. Once I had yours, this one wasn't supposed to last very long. Since we didn't switch..."

Aziraphale felt a lump swell in his throat.

"...I'll be gone by mid-morning."

"Nonsense. I refuse to let this happen." He came and put his arm around her, gently holding her upright. "There has got to be something I..."

"No! Just trust me, all right? I have to go now, but I promise I'll be back."

"Goodbye, my dear." He didn't know why he was calling her that, as he never had before, but it was what came out of his mouth nonetheless. "Perhaps I should call Crowley."

"Don't," she said, a strange twinkle in her eye. "He's probably sleeping."

For nearly two weeks after Lucah discorporated, Aziraphale found – to his dismay – he couldn't get in touch with Crowley.

No matter how many times he called, there was no answer. Just the same message, still Lucah's. Which hurt, after everything that happened. Why wouldn't Crowley just change it?

Aziraphale finally resolved to go to Crowley's flat for himself and demand to be let in. He'd never done so before, never turned up uninvited, but he felt he ought to at least let him know about Lucah. Warn him Gabriel had been even sneakier than they'd thought.

There was no answer. The doorman said that Crowley hadn't been down to pick up his mail for several days.

Then, another morning, Aziraphale was out for a walk when he spotted the Bentley going barely five miles per hour. Little children were overtaking it on bicycles.

It pulled very slowly and carefully into a space beside the pavement, and Crowley stepped out. His sunglasses were slightly askew and he kept muttering and flapping his hands as he reached up to adjust them.

"Crowley!"

Crowley turned, spotted Aziraphale, twisted his mouth into a panicked expression, then bolted in the opposite direction.

Aziraphale decided to wait by the Bentley. He had to come back some time. Crowley would never abandon his car.

When Crowley returned, carrying several shopping bags, he blanched when he saw Aziraphale was still there. "I'm sorry, but I'm not supposed to talk to you."

He wondered if he was seeing things, as Crowley appeared to be wearing a bright green jumper with picture of a pony on it under his coat. "What in Heaven's name–"

"Wait, that was talking to you, wasn't it?" He gnawed on his lower lip. "Um, I know! I'll give you a hug, then run away. That way you won't worry..." He lifted his arms, then dropped them. "No, wait, that's no good." His right foot stomped on the pavement. "Ugh!"

"Crowley, you're scaring me. What are you playing at?"

"Oi, who said you could drive my car?" a bell-like voice, highly unsuited to the tone it was currently using, shouted across the road. "You were meant to be asleep in my flat until I got back!"

'Crowley' immediately ducked behind Aziraphale. "Hide me."

The form of the woman hurrying towards them was familiar, but Aziraphale didn't immediately recognise her in dark leathers and sunglasses. She'd been in snowy white when he'd seen her last.

"No good deed goes unpunished, is that it?"

"Lucah?" gasped Aziraphale.

"It's me, you idiot." The woman ripped off her dark glasses and, despite the fact that they were still flickering from blue to gold in the shifting sunlight, there was something distinctly not-Lucah about her eyes.

Aziraphale was giddy with relief. "Crowley!" He glanced over his shoulder. "You're Lucah. That explains a lot. But how?"

"Switched," said the real Crowley, looking rather miffed. "Saved her worthless hide by putting the fear of God – more specifically, the fear of Crowley – into Gabriel on her behalf, and I come back – not easy, given my little stunt upset a lot of people, and don't get me started on how difficult it was to get another body for her – to discover she's just decided to go for a little joy-ride around Soho."

Aziraphale softened. "So that was you, the morning she discorporated."

"Yeah, probably." He sniffed. "Was a while ago, can't recall." He glared at his body. "Let's hurry up and switch back – I've had men whistling at me all day, honking their car horns wherever I go. And I don't know how you can stand being this short." He turned to Aziraphale. "You know, for an angel, she really is ridiculously tiny."

"Crowley, this is one of the nicest things you've ever done," Aziraphale said, with a warm smile. "You really are exceptionally kind."

The demon in Lucah's body glowered, waving an arm dramatically. "Oh, tell the whole world, why don't you?"

A/N: Reviews welcome, replies may be delayed.