Title: duties
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: G
Length: ~0.6k words
Content notes: None.
Author notes: Also for the "Seven" square in my FFW bingo card, and the "holding hands" square in my allbingo monthly fest card.
Summary: While away from Warlock, Aziraphale and Crowley discuss their duties.



“You’re writing your report about the wiles you’re thwarting?” Crowley says while hanging off Aziraphale’s shoulder.

He snorts and puts the pen back on the table, using his finger to sign it with his real name, or rather the angelic spelling of it. He turns around to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yes, I am, dear. All the wiles I’m thwarting.”

Crowley laughs and grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers and giving him a gentle squeeze, like a reminder of what they’re really doing there. The thought makes him euphoric to the brim— ah, they’re godfathers. The godfathers to the Antichrist, yes, but the godfathers of a child which, with some luck, will grow up as a completely human human being. As normal as he can be, with both their nurtures put together.

It couldn’t be simpler than that. It can’t be simpler than that. As much as his fellow angels had told him that he would fail, that he wouldn’t stop the war— that it was not the goal to stop the war, but to win it. He still wants to stop it, to have their normal godson, to be normal and happy together with Crowley.

He leans in to give him a kiss. “His seventh birthday is tomorrow, isn’t it?” he asks him.

Crowley blinks and looks down at his watch. “Ah yes,” he nods. “Tomorrow is his seventh birthday. I’ve heard the ah, they’re going to throw quite a party for their little male son boy.”

Aziraphale laughs. “Oh, humans are so ridiculous about gender, aren’t they?”

“They are,” he nods. “They are.” He pauses for a second. “I think I’ll probably help with the preparations and with the party itself, y’know, being the nanny and all.”

Aziraphale pouts a little. “Then I’ll have to stay outside, with being the gardener and everything.”

Crowley laughs a little and pulls him into a kiss. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll make sure to check on you while it’s going on.”

*

“Have I told you your Mary Poppins cosplay is hideous?” Aziraphale asks as soon as Crowley walks out of the manor and into the garden.

Crowley snorts. “It’s not exactly Mary Poppins cosplay, angel. It’s more like cosplay of Mary Poppins if she was a complete fuckin’ goth.”

He snorts and reaches out his hand. “Seems close enough.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s not.” He holds his hand and gives it a squeeze before leaning down to kiss it. He makes a face. “You’ve got grass all over you.”

“Well I’m a gardener!” he exclaims. “Of course I’m going to have grass all over me!”

He rolls his eyes. “Dear, you don’t have to actually get your hands on it—”

“Ms. Ashoreth?”

Crowley immediately turns to Warlock with wide eyes, not taking his hand off Aziraphale’s. “Yes, dearie?” he says, his voice going higher.

“Are you and Brother Francis dating?” he asks, tilting his head.

Aziraphale yelps a little in surprise. “No, dear, we’re just friends,” he lies, his face pale as he goes back to the Scottish accent he’s taken for the role.

“I don’t believe you,” Warlock says, pouting.

Before they can get another word in, Warlock turns back to the manor. “I want some chocolate, everyone already ate it all!” he whines.

Crowley lets out a pained smile and squeezes Aziraphale’s hand as Warlock slips back into his home.

“I’ll go take care of that,” he says.

Aziraphale smiles and kisses him quick. “Have fun, Ms. Ashoreth.”

Crowley rolls his eyes as he goes back into the manor.