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My Angel, My Muse	By : lyssiana Category: G through L > Good Omens Views: 2810 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-My Angel, My Muse
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 2
- 3
- 4
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Good Omens, or any of the claimer: characters. They all belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen. If you haven’t read them, you should...really quite good.
To the person who mentioned that Crowleys couch was in fact white... you rock.
I also wanted to thank the readers who reviewed this fic. It helps to know someone is reading. So thanks!
I think you all are going to appreciate the end of this chapter.
::sigh:: this is going to end up mushy. When I began the fic I had an idea in my head about how I wanted it to go...but that has evolved over and over. I like what I want to write, but I worry that you guys may not. I’m afraid this installment is rather winded as well.

God opened up his chamber door and stared out. He had really been in there too long working, and he was almost afraid to go and see how his operation was running. Metatron had always meant well, however...giving something an existence such as the voice of God wasn’t exactly deflating. He never left out anything God told him to say, only...sometimes he improvised....
Chapter three
Aziraphale had stopped running once he had gotten a block or two away from the restaurant. Running felt good. Angels were only supposed to cry when they were told, or when one of those preprogrammed things took place. Angels weren’t supposed to run either. One could always find feathers in their wake. Did this mean he wasn’t an angel? If not an angel...then what?
Crowley stepped out of the restaurant into the chilly night air. He loved London like this, cool, breezy, and dark. So many hidden possibilities, and had he not been about to go angel hunting, he would have explored them. With a heavy sigh he pulled open the door to his beloved Bentley and willed the ignition. He started to drop his jacket on the passenger side seat when he noticed a feather. A long, curved, wispy white thing. It took less than a moment for him to realize whose wings such a feather came from. He laughed at himself. Who else was there anyway? "Aziraphale," he smiled to himself, "you must have been running...for your feather to drop this way..." He popped the door back open, and got out. A quick survey of the pavement suggested the angel had run south...back in the direction of his bookshop. Predictable. I could have just gone there, why was I panicked?
Aziraphale fumbled with his keys, dropping them several times before unlocking the door. After closing it behind him he made a path to the bathroom. It was a nice bathroom, antique tub, with a full-length mirror and porcelain sink. He never used it as a bathroom though, and his customers never felt welcome enough to ask if he had a restroom, but he kept it clean, and full of books and small trinkets.
He stared at his reflection for a long time. He was looking for differences between himself and humans, himself and Crowley, and differences between himself and the other angels. On first inspection he noticed almost nothing, he looked quite human, and all that meant was that his disguise was effective.
He reminded himself that it was so every time he got the chance, as the week previous he had received a box of Belgian Chocolates from a "secret admirer" who had addressed him as "an angel in disguise." After Aziraphale was through panicking, things fell into place. It turned out that the nice old lady down the lane had found the angel to her liking. A few days before that Aziraphale had helped her find one her cats, a tempestuous little beast, with a taste for blood named Baby. As he tended his wounds the demon pondered, out loud as always, why old women liked to name the vicious ones things like "Baby" or "Fluffy". Aziraphale had asked Crowley why Hell hadn’t tried recruiting cats to their purpose. Crowley smiled, "We tried, the little bastards are sitting on the fence, wont sell to no one."
Crowley picked up all of the feathers he could see as he walked. The things that humans did with feathers, he wondered if Aziraphale would really mind if someone turned his feathers into something like quills? Angel feathers *were* nice feathers. It was hard to find feathers that while being so pleasing to the eye, could stand up to your four year olds curiosities. Crowley winced, and continued picking up feathers as he walked. And if Aziraphale didn’t want them back, maybe he would put them in his pillow...if the angel didn’t want them back of course.
Aziraphale pulled the dress shirt he had been wearing over his head and tossed it to the floor. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. If someone had been standing there they would have been able to see the ripple that spread through the room. It was kind of like standing and looking down the street on an unbearably hot and humid day...the heat warps the air.
Aziraphale spread his wings. He winced. "I shouldn’t have run." He said to no one as he tried to smooth out his feathers. Looking into the mirror he found nothing. He *looked* like an angel, same wings. Even Crowley *looked* like an angel. He too had the same wings, and as far as Aziraphale could remember the demon had always had golden eyes, even as an angel.
The things that made Aziraphale different weren’t physical, they were internal. Aziraphale knew in his heart that none of the other angels ever had doubts like this. Aziraphale was afraid that he wasn’t an angel.
The thought had come into his mind after all of the dealing with Adam Young and the Apocalypse. He had gone against the will of God hadn’t he? How was that possible? Angels don’t have free will. Angels don’t have free will, because angels weren’t given souls. He grimaced and faced his reflection down again...still searching.
It was something he had known for a long time, but had never let plague him. He had heard several arguments for why angels do, or don’t, from a humans perspective, but he had never had the chance to actually ask God. Getting an appointment with the Boss was like trying to drive through downtown London during Crowley’s version of rush hour.
Outside of the bathroom Aziraphale heard glass breaking. "Crowley! If you've barged in and broken one of my lamps, I'll-" he swung the bathroom door open never bothering to fold his wings.
"Ello Angel." Hastur said as he reached out and plucked another one of Aziraphales feathers. Aziraphale fought back a yelp; he wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt. He threw the demon one of his most perfected "angel glares".
Hastur brought the feather under his nose and breathed in taking in Aziraphale’s scent. When the angel shivered Hastur smiled brightly. "That's better Angel..." That was when Aziraphale realized he couldn’t move.
"Hell seems to think that Crowley would be much more attentive to his work if there weren’t any distractions." He placed a single finger on Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel couldn’t help it; it was as if he were injecting fire, right into his body, he fell to his knees.
“I’m going to destroy you Angel…” He spat the word, and it began to play on all of the angel’s doubts. “Did you hear me Angel? I’m going to destroy you from the inside, out.”
"Your brother Lucifer, has left you an open however..." Hastur brought his face down level with Aziraphale's and grasped his wrist.
Aziraphale screamed.

I love cliff hangers… R&R, seriously, even if you do hate it. I really want to know why.
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My Angel, My Muse