TITLE: Falling 1/1
AUTHOR: Mousecarcass, to be archived as 'Pandora Souris-Cadavre'
(mousecarcass@hotmail.com)
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and storylines from the novel,
Good Omens, created and owned by Neil Gaimen and Terry Pratchett. No one
receives any form of monetary benefit from it and no infringement is
intended.
SUMMARY: When the universe doesn't end, Aziraphale has time to ponder
falling.
ARCHIVE: Ask first, please.
THANKS: Ayrlin and Jemariel for beta'ing.
NOTE: Not a drabble!

*************
   Falling
*************

Crowley is tempting, in so many, small ways.

Try this strange fusion of seaweed, rice and raw fish. Try clothes made for the
century we're currently existing in. Try eating at this fancy restaurant I've
found.

Aziraphale tries to recall, for a moment, if he has ever said 'no'. Instead, he
remembers trying wine, spirits and red cordial, all at Crowley's behest.

He knows that it is possible to become drunk on Crowley, on the profane ecstasy
the demon emitted. It is the only sort of hangover Aziraphale hasn't seemed to
be able to cure. It is also the sort of drunk you only recognised afterwards.
The hangover, for one, but also the memories of how amenable the angel could be
around Crowley.

The Arrangement had been negotiated through centuries by both of them. Even if
the idea occurred concurrently, Aziraphale is sure Crowley broached the subject.

Is it tempting when the objects of temptation were things Aziraphale had found
he was quite fond of, and probably would have liked no matter how he was
introduced to them? Or is that simply a well-thought out distribution of
demonic effort?

Aziraphale is an angel. He loves everything. Not with blanket, aimless love
spread evenly over the universe, but according to each's own special talents.
Colour, scent and form are fine points to love flowers for, but not, say,
canine excrement. Aziraphale has many plausible reasons to love Crowley.

Crowley is a demon. Tempting is part of his very being, something unconscious,
surely, and unintentional. Something built into the planes of his face, the
way he laughs and the incandescence of Crowley's wingspan, fully extended on a
sunny day. Crowley had been designed to incite love.

Ineffable, perhaps, but not as comforting as the word had once been.

Crowley, unlike many other demons, appreciates subtlety and humanity. He knows
why humans have the proverb, 'more flies with honey than vinegar'.

It's catchier than 'more rebellion with apples than aubergines'.

"...It's what humans do when something impossible happens to them. They lose
themselves for a while, in drink, pain, other people--"

"Other people?"

"Sex, Angel..."

Not a suggestion, a clarification amongst a lengthy diatribe about getting
completely wasted after the universe didn't. A very recent memory.

Crowley's voice is infernal honey, seductive, persuasive and ultimately a trap.
Like treacle, or perhaps, crude oil.

There are times when Aziraphale wonders if he is falling, slowly, inch by inch
every century. Surely, it would hurt more, being ripped from the divine bosom?
But then he remembers a very drunken Crowley telling him that falling never,
ever hurt.

"On the other hand, the ground's a rough bloody bastard."

22/05/02
Mousecarcass

--
-- Two elephants walk into a bar,
   and order a sandwich.         --

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