Chapter Text
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Crowley questions, leaning against the wall of the sacristy. “You’re ready to pop.”
“Quite, dear,” Aziraphale says, bracing himself against the arm of the chair and extending out his hand. He gives his fingers a slight wiggle. “Now help me up.”
With a grunt Aziraphale is hoisted to his feet. It takes him a moment to reorient his balance, a small frown settling on his lips as a particularly smarting pain pulls at his lower back. He braces a supporting hand against the twinge, applying counter pressure as he smooths out the wrinkled lines of his cassock.
“Well, into the lion's den, I suppose,” Aziraphale breathes, peering curiously out into the nave. A quiet hush has fallen amongst the pews, parishioners faces illuminated by a soft glow. Aziraphale sighs, contentedly. He’s always loved the simple reverence of midnight mass; the flowing rhythms of it. It seeps into his corporation with ease, encapsulating his form like an old friend.
“Weren’t you in there with Daniel, angel?” Crowley asks.
Aziraphale sniffs, tucking his hands rather primly under the swell of his tummy. “I believe that’s rather besides the point, dearest.”
"And I believe it’s about time you waddled out there and kicked off your maternity leave properly," Crowley drawls, arching a lazy brow. “Unless you wanna make this year’s nativity play especially interactive.”
Aziraphale tuts, scathing retort resting on the purse of his lips when he turns, catching Crowley’s teasing grin.
“Course it was really August,” the demon continues, “and the sun was already rising in the east, but we could set the rest of the scene. ’S easy.” He claps his hands together, grinning.
“Just gimme a minute to get the ol’ catcher’s glove ready and we can get this show on the road.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes, lightly smacking the demon’s shoulder. “That’s quite enough.”
With one hand braced on his lower back, the other under his tummy, he makes for the door. Just as he’s about to leave the warm embrace of the sacristy, he pauses.
“Besides,” the angel sniffs, a telling glint in his eye. “I think you’ll find yourself thoroughly invested in the alternative nativity role you so graciously volunteered for.” With a flourish Aziraphale snaps his fingers, and Crowley’s brows raise in disbelief.
“You didn’t.”
“I believe the line is, ‘Baaa.’”