31 Days of Kisses: A Good Omen Advent Calendar

Love's Pure Light

Prompt: Silent Night

Somewhere in New Zealand, 1990

The starry night was silent, or as silent as nights generally get, which is to say there were the sounds of wind, bugs, sleepy sheep noises, and, in this case, cursing and pleading.

"Turn around, just fucking turn around, you stupid bloody sheep, I--"

Glory streamed from the sky. Golden light pulsed, trumpets sounded, choral music swelled. An angel descended, white wings spread, arms held out, their face concealed by radiance too great to look at. "BE NOT AFRAID."

"Fuck fuck fuck--" The shepherd, if that was what it was, scrambled back in panic, utterly failing to be not afraid. "Look, don't get mad, can see you're busy, I'll be getting along now, popping back to Hell, no need for a fight."

The glorious angel tittered. Distinctly tittered, as the radiance faded and they took a more ordinary, if immaculate, human form.

"*Aziraphale." Crowley hesitated, torn between relief, fury, joy and amusement, and settled on the last one. He flung his head back and laughed and laughed. "Oh, you bastard. Come here." He lunged forward and threw his arms around the angel, and it was only when Aziraphale stopped giggling and stood suddenly stock still that Crowley realised he had never embraced him before. He stumbled back for the second time this evening, and they stared at each other. For lack of anything else not too revealing to say, Crowley repeated "You bastard."

Eventually they found themselves sitting side and side on a log, staring at the sheep. "You really are a bastard," Crowley said. "I thought you were Gabriel, coming to announce the next messiah. Or Sandalphon announcing the first. Did you ever get a firm confirmation from Headquarters on that one?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and looked unhappy, which Crowley knew well enough to read as She doesn't talk to us about things anymore. He felt slight compunction over his urge to keep prodding, keep encouraging Aziraphale to question, keep--keep what? He didn't really want his angel to fall. Just to keep him company. That would be more evil than even a demon could contemplate.

He wanted to apologise and couldn't. Instead he rambled on. "Or Michael. You have no idea how terrifying that would be."

"Why Michael?" Aziraphale, looking curiously at him, sidelong under perfect long lashes. Crowley wished he wouldn't, and wished he would, and couldn't sort it out at all. "You always seem to have it in for her. She's a bit strict, but she's not so bad, really."

"You imagine sitting in a paddock full of sheep and your Dad shows up. Especially when she's a straight-laced wanker."

"Oh." Those pretty lashes blinked. "I don't know why that surprises me. You had to be Created somehow. Born from tears, eh?"

Crowley would do anything to stop Aziraphale looking at him in that tender, compassionate way. "So what are you doing here, angel? I thought you hated this neck of the woods." Aziraphale hummed under his breath and didn't answer. "On assignment?" Aziraphale stared at his plump fingers, twining and entwining, and still said nothing. Crowley was very good at seeing in the dark, and he was almost sure there was pink creeping up from Aziraphale's neck.

Is it me? Did you come see me? Oh, angel, it's been twenty-three years. Tell me you missed me. Tell me that was slow enough. Tell me you came looking. To New Zealand, of all places.

"What are you doing? You seemed to be yelling at some sheep."

"Oh, yeah. Well, it was a great idea." Crowley beamed. "This was practice. Do you know there's thirty-nine million sheep in this place? Imagine how much terror and chaos it will cause if one morning the humans wake up and every sheep is facing in the other direction."[1]