Good Omens ficlet
Written for melandry, archived here for posterity. 
Aziraphale/Crowley, 400 words, PG. Based on 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out' by The Smiths.
They’d been driving through the darkness for some time now, not really heading anywhere especially - just seeing where the road took them. Orange street lights flashed above them in a droning pattern.
One. Two. Three.
Crowley sighed. The truth of it was, things had become a little dull of late. Much as he enjoyed doing as little as possible, there’d been a certain something in sav- no, preserving the world. He thought Aziraphale probably felt the same. They felt the same about a fair few things these days - far more than they should, Crowley was sure. He wondered when they would just meet in the middle; it was inevitable, really.
Even Freddie Mercury sounded muted tonight. Crowley drummed his fingers restlessly against a wheel, and then drove straight over a roundabout, just for something to do. Aziraphale seemed unable to disapprove, just shook his head and glanced at Crowley before his gaze slid inexorably back to the thudding monotony of the streetlights.
One. Two. Three.
After a while, Aziraphale spoke, and Crowley started at the sound.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere, anywhere, I don’t care.” Crowley waved an arm around vaguely.
Aziraphale smiled. “Alright then.”
The road dipped down into a darkened underpass, and Crowley nearly spoke. But a strange fear gripped him, and so he said nothing, just drove on. After the next set of traffic lights (which were always green), then he’d try.
One. Two. Three.
“Angel--” he started, and the word sat strange on his tongue tonight.
Angel. Undying light. Ineffability and eternal goodness and redemption. All the things that he ought to be sickened by, and he is, mostly. But Crowley was an angel once.
They felt the same about a fair few things these days.
Aziraphale was looking at him with a soft sort of confusion, and Crowley abandoned driving completely (the Bentley could take care of itself). Suddenly he found himself not having to say anything at all, to his intense relief. He just smiled, in a helpless way, and Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
Crowley was glad they’d got that settled. He glanced outside, where they appeared to have driven straight on ‘til morning. Those garish street lamps were fading now, just glimmering points remaining.
With a touch like feathers, Crowley was drawn away. There were some lights that never went out.
Aziraphale/Crowley, 400 words, PG. Based on 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out' by The Smiths.
They’d been driving through the darkness for some time now, not really heading anywhere especially - just seeing where the road took them. Orange street lights flashed above them in a droning pattern.
One. Two. Three.
Crowley sighed. The truth of it was, things had become a little dull of late. Much as he enjoyed doing as little as possible, there’d been a certain something in sav- no, preserving the world. He thought Aziraphale probably felt the same. They felt the same about a fair few things these days - far more than they should, Crowley was sure. He wondered when they would just meet in the middle; it was inevitable, really.
Even Freddie Mercury sounded muted tonight. Crowley drummed his fingers restlessly against a wheel, and then drove straight over a roundabout, just for something to do. Aziraphale seemed unable to disapprove, just shook his head and glanced at Crowley before his gaze slid inexorably back to the thudding monotony of the streetlights.
One. Two. Three.
After a while, Aziraphale spoke, and Crowley started at the sound.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere, anywhere, I don’t care.” Crowley waved an arm around vaguely.
Aziraphale smiled. “Alright then.”
The road dipped down into a darkened underpass, and Crowley nearly spoke. But a strange fear gripped him, and so he said nothing, just drove on. After the next set of traffic lights (which were always green), then he’d try.
One. Two. Three.
“Angel--” he started, and the word sat strange on his tongue tonight.
Angel. Undying light. Ineffability and eternal goodness and redemption. All the things that he ought to be sickened by, and he is, mostly. But Crowley was an angel once.
They felt the same about a fair few things these days.
Aziraphale was looking at him with a soft sort of confusion, and Crowley abandoned driving completely (the Bentley could take care of itself). Suddenly he found himself not having to say anything at all, to his intense relief. He just smiled, in a helpless way, and Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
Crowley was glad they’d got that settled. He glanced outside, where they appeared to have driven straight on ‘til morning. Those garish street lamps were fading now, just glimmering points remaining.
With a touch like feathers, Crowley was drawn away. There were some lights that never went out.