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Aziraphale was late.
This wasn’t an altogether unusual occurrence, so Crowley wasn’t worried. The angel had a tendency to get wrapped up in a book or a cup of cocoa and lose track of time, but he’d arrive at their usual bench eventually. In time for lunch, if past experience was any indicator. Meanwhile, it was a pleasant enough morning to just sit in the sun and people-watch.
Crowley had been waiting for maybe ten minutes when his instincts prickled with the realisation that someone was watching him.
He looked from one side to the other. He’d been doing that periodically enough that it shouldn’t cause any suspicion from whoever dared spy on the Serpent of Eden. He peered at passers-by to make sure none of them gave him more than a cursory glance, and checked that the other people sitting on the benches along the path were engrossed in their papers and books and conversations.
No one was paying him the slightest bit of attention.
One of the waterfowl squawked as he looked out across the water, half expecting to spot someone with a pair of binoculars on the far bank, but there was nothing out of the ordinary there either. Throwing caution to the wind, Crowley twisted around and scanned the sunbathing humans on the grass behind him, but not a soul was looking at him.
He turned back to the lake, frowning to himself. Another high-pitched hoot from the waterside caught his attention and he glanced towards the birds clustered there. Among the usual ducks that frequented the bank hoping to be fed was a large, grey goose with a bright orange bill and legs. He’d seen other birds like it on the lake before, but this one seemed bigger than he remembered, and its plumage was almost silver in the sun.
Its deep black eyes were fixed on Crowley.
‘What?’ he said, his intonation flat. The goose gave a mellow chatter as if in reply and stretched up its neck, baring its pale chest and spreading its dark wings to flap at him. When it subsided, Crowley huffed in vague amusement. He’d been worried, for a second there, and this was all it was?
Satisfied that nothing more sinister was observing him, he looked around for Aziraphale. The angel should have met him a good — he checked his watch — fifteen minutes ago, but there was no sign of him. Crowley hissed a sigh through his teeth.
The goose hissed back.
Crowley looked over. The goose had waddled to the edge of the path directly opposite him. That was weird. Wasn’t it? He was no expert, but that did not seem like normal goose behaviour.
He found himself caught in a staring contest. The bird’s unblinking eyes bored into his with unnerving intensity. It swayed its head back and forth, almost snakelike, as it considered him with an intelligence that seemed beyond that of its fellows.
The goose hurtled towards him with a furious shrieking honk.
Crowley yowled and threw his arms up to protect himself as the bird clattered into him. Huge wings beat him about the head. A serrated beak nipped at his sleeves. Sharp-clawed feet scrabbled at his thighs.
‘Ack! Get off!’ he yelled, flailing in an attempt to shoo the horrible bird away. It hissed dangerously close to his ear.
Crowley surged to his feet and scrambled away from the bench as the goose tumbled out of his lap. It righted itself with a honk of outrage and came at him again, wings and neck outstretched. The glint in its eyes now was distinctly demonic.
‘No,’ Crowley warned, pointing at it in the hopes of warding it off. ‘I’m warning you —”
The goose bit his finger.
‘OW!’ he howled, snatching his hand back. He was bleeding. The blasted goose had drawn blood.
Not yet satisfied, the goose nattered at him and darted its head out to nip his thigh. Crowley staggered backwards, blurting wordless protests and clutching his throbbing hand to his chest, but the bird refused to back off. It worried at the knee of his trousers, trying to pull his leg out from under him.
‘Argh!’ Crowley snarled as he staggered around on the path trying to free himself. ‘Let go, you — bloody — stupid — animal!’
Finally the goose released his leg only to draw itself up to its full height and flap at him again. To Crowley’s mortification, people were watching. At least two phones were pointed in his direction. He bared his teeth at them and lifted his uninjured hand to miracle their memories — and the galleries on their phones — clear of the incident, but just as he was about to click his fingers the dreadful bird squawked and flew right at his face.
Crowley did not scream and run away.
He let out a very demonic and dignified shout of surprise and retreated at speed. His arms folded around his head didn’t protect him from the battering of wings or the hooked claws that snagged the back of his jacket. By the time the bird finally relented, he was almost at the bridge that spanned the middle of the lake. He jogged to a halt and looked back.
The goose menaced him, wings out and head lowered.
Crowley glared and snapped his fingers at it, intending to transport the horrible thing to the far side of Duck Island to bother somebody else — but nothing happened. The bird just gave another shrill honk and took a step towards him. Crowley stared between the bird and his hand. He shook out his arm and tried again. Still nothing.
Or rather, no miracle, because as he snapped his fingers more and more urgently, there was an effect: the goose was getting angrier with every click. Finally, it lost its patience and rushed towards him with a shriek. Crowley danced backwards, yelping, while it pecked at his thighs. He made a break for it, darting away from the water on the nearest path towards the edge of the park in the hopes that the bird would leave him alone if he left its territory. The attacks on his legs abated and for a moment he thought it had worked, but the second he slowed his pace another vicious bite landed on one cheek of his arse.
‘Oww!’ he yelled, leaping away as the goose made another terrible bird noise. He glanced back, saw it waddling determinedly towards him, and decided that he could sacrifice his dignity just this once.
He ran for it, snapping his fingers to summon the Bentley and really, really hoping that it was just bird-related miracles that weren’t working for him at the moment. He shoved past a crowd of tourists and felt a surge of bone-deep relief when he spied his car through the open gates up ahead. He hurried up to it, gave the roof a grateful pat and climbed in.
Something large and feathery hit the window just as he got the door shut. It was the bloody goose.
‘Oi — watch it!’ he snapped, thinking of the Bentley’s paintwork.
The goose screamed at him from the pavement and leaped up to beat at the side of the car with its wings.
‘All right, all right! I’m leaving!’ Crowley shouted at the rampaging bird. He grabbed the steering wheel, the engine purring to life at his touch, and jerked the car out into the traffic. It was only a minor miracle that he avoided getting hit, but it was confirmation that his abilities were truly back to full functionality.
Whatever had happened with the goose was nothing but a blip that he could put behind him.
Crowley burst into the bookshop a couple of minutes later and set the bell jangling. A snap of his fingers flipped the sign to closed as the door swung shut behind him.
‘Angel?’ he called as he strode towards the back room, ‘Angel!’
‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale said when he stepped into what passed for the office. The angel was seated at his desk but the chair was turned away from it and his hands gripped the arms as if he was about to get up, but rather than standing he shrank back when Crowley came in. ‘I’m terribly sorry, my dear boy, I lost track of time. You see —’
Crowley flopped down onto the couch with a huge sigh.
‘— I managed to get my hands on a 1513 Aldine edition of Plato, and it was delivered this morning,’ he explained with an apologetic gesture at the very delicate book open on his desk. ‘It’s the editio princeps, in the original Greek, and I couldn’t resist ...’
‘S’alright,’ Crowley said, waving him off. He knew how Aziraphale was with temptation, and it wasn’t like he was really annoyed. Not with the angel, anyway.
‘Is everything all right?’ Aziraphale asked delicately. Crowley looked over at him and raised a brow. He continued, ‘Normally if I was running very late you’d use the telephone. And you do seem, well —’
He was interrupted by a loud, hollow thunk from the shop front. Crowley froze. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It was probably just someone banging on the window. But in the back of his mind, a voice whispered that it had sounded very much like a goose flying headlong into the shop window.
‘What on Earth was that?’ Aziraphale asked, glancing towards the shop front and then back to Crowley for his opinion.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said, even as Aziraphale’s expression pinched with concern. ‘You know what? We should stay here. Drink some wine. Forget about going out to lunch — I can miracle something, whatever you fancy.’
There was another thump from the direction of the front door, this one distinctly woody, and with an element of scrabbling.
‘I think I’ll just go and check —’
‘Nono!’ Crowley blurted. His hand shot out and clamped over Aziraphale’s wrist, trapping it against the chair arm. He really, really did not want confirmation that he was being stalked by an angry, demonic-miracle-proof goose. And if he was, maybe if they stayed very quietly in the back room it would go away.
‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale said with the kind of calm that masked real worry, ‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’
‘Trouble?’ he drawled in the hopes the angel would drop it. ‘Me?’
A loud honk came from the shop front.
Crowley couldn’t help it: he flinched. He looked into Aziraphale’s face, hoping that maybe he’d imagined the noise, but the angel’s brows were pulling in even further.
‘Was that a goose?’ he asked. ‘Crowley, do let me go and see what’s going on.’
He gently pried Crowley’s fingers from his arm and stood up, brushing himself off as he headed into the front of the shop. Crowley grimaced but levered himself upright and slinked after him.
They were met by a fresh barrage of shrill honking and the heavy flutter of wings against the door. The goose’s head popped up into the glass panel with every jump, confirming that it was the belligerent animal from the park, with its silvery feathers and enormous build. Everyone on the pavements outside was wisely giving it a wide berth. To Crowley’s irritation, it barely seemed to register that they existed.
He bared his teeth at it the next time it hopped up, in the hopes it might get the message and leave. It hooted sullenly and kept trying to batter down the door.
‘Oh, dear,’ Aziraphale crooned as he approached the creature.
‘What are you doing?’ Crowley snapped.
‘The poor thing’s lost,’ he said, in a voice that was far softer and more sympathetic than the horrible goose deserved. He cast Crowley a reproachful glance over his shoulder. ‘I can’t leave it out there on the street!’
‘Well, miracle it back to the park from here,’ he said, his voice rising in alarm as Aziraphale reached towards the door handle. ‘No, angel, don’t —’
It was too late. Aziraphale had opened the door.
The goose, which had been lining up for another crack at breaking through the door, stopped, ruffled its feathers and waddled in.
‘Oh!’ Aziraphale breathed as the bird crossed the threshold.
‘What?’ Crowley snapped, transferring his attention instantly to the angel, who had pressed one hand to his chest.
Unfortunately, that meant neither of them were looking at the goose. Taking advantage of their distraction, it snaked out its neck and pecked Aziraphale firmly on the thigh. He jumped backwards with a shout, letting go of the door so that it swung shut and trapped the bird in the shop with them. It advanced on him, honking a terrible battle cry.
‘Now, now,’ the angel tried, recovering himself enough to hold out his hands. ‘I’m sure this is quite unnecessary.’
‘Yeah,’ Crowley warned, ‘I wouldn’t —’
Too late: the goose had already lunged forwards. Its sharp beak snapped shut around Aziraphale’s hand. He yelped and snatched it back.
‘Well, really,’ he huffed, and snapped his fingers at the goose.
To Crowley’s alarm and Aziraphale’s confusion, nothing happened. The unaffected goose only hissed and chased the angel around the little entryway table with its head lowered.
Crowley retreated behind the cash desk.
Aziraphale tried clicking his fingers again as he backed across the atrium, this time with verbal encouragement: ‘Go away!’
The goose beat its wings at him, stretching up to full height, as if to express just how little it thought of that request. Its feathers clipped a precarious stack of books on the table and sent the whole lot tumbling to the floor. Apparently, this was where Aziraphale drew the line. He whirled around, eyes wide and pleading.
‘Crowley! Do something!’
‘Watch out!’ he said, pointing as the goose moved in for another peck.
Even with a warning the angel wasn’t quite fast enough. The bird bit him on the behind as he darted away. Aziraphale hollered and rushed to join Crowley behind the desk.
‘Ow,’ he pouted, shooting a reproachful look at Crowley.
‘Hey, my miracles don’t work on it either,’ Crowley said. He snapped, more to prove a point rather than because he thought it would actually transport the dreadful animal to the middle of the Sahara as intended. It ruffled its feathers at him, unmoved.
‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said, disappointed. He eyed the bird warily. It was still staring between them in a way that seemed expectant but it had, for the time being, ceased its attack. After a second, the angel turned back to Crowley. ‘Hang on, how did you know that yours don’t work? You didn’t even try!’
‘We had a run-in at the park,’ Crowley said darkly. ‘Bloody thing got me too.’
He took Aziraphale’s injured hand. Thankfully the goose hadn’t broken his skin. He gently stroked the red marks anyway, banishing them and the rest of Aziraphale’s hurts. Beside him, the angel sighed and murmured his thanks. Crowley released him with a wordless grumble and stuffed both hands in his pockets.
The goose honked and waddled forwards.
‘Er,’ Aziraphale said as they both, without discussion, edged a little deeper into the back room. ‘Do you think we should do something?’
‘Right,’ Crowley agreed, eyeing the goose. It seemed to be getting displeased again for some reason. He waved a hand and shunted the cash desk and sofa across to block its path.
It wasn’t quite the deterrent he’d hoped it would be: with a disgruntled squawk the goose flapped up onto the desk. The telephone and Aziraphale’s bookkeeping accoutrements scattered to the floor. The goose beat its wings at them again, as if making a point.
‘Did it not occur to you that geese can fly?’ Aziraphale huffed as he backed away even further, tugging Crowley with him by the sleeve.
‘I thought that might put it off!’ he protested. It would have made a normal goose pause, he was sure. Then again, maybe he should have known better. This goose had followed him from the park, which was distinctly abnormal goose behaviour. ‘What d’you want me to do? The blasted thing’s miracle-proof!’
The goose fluttered down to the floor and advanced on them, beady eyes glittering.
‘Yes, about that — there’s definitely something funny about this goose,’ Aziraphale said as they moved further into the back of the shop.
‘You don’t say?’ Crowley said dryly.
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ Aziraphale sniffed. The goose honked again and its wings began to open in a threat display.
‘Sorry,’ he grunted. Falling out with the angel wouldn’t help matters. ‘D’you think it’s possessed or something?’
‘Well, I don’t know about possessed, but it has a very unusual aura.’
‘How d’you mean?’ Crowley asked, turning towards him.
Of course, the goose took full advantage. It charged and snapped at his legs, attacking his calves while he yelled and flailed and collided with Aziraphale. The angel caught him in both arms as the two of them staggered into the nearest bookcase. Crowley stilled, abruptly nose-to-nose with his ancient enemy turned best friend, as several books rained to the floor on either side of the shelving. Aziraphale’s face was scrunched in discomfort, as if the damage to his books pained him.
‘Aura?’ Crowley prompted as a distraction.
‘Yes, I felt it when it came in,’ Aziraphale said as he opened his eyes again. He blinked, surprised to find Crowley so close, and then continued in a softer voice. ‘It, ah — reminded me of Tadfield, a bit.’
‘Tadfield,’ Crowley said blankly.
‘Er, yes. You remember? The, um, the love?’
Crowley leaned back, brows lifting. ‘You’re telling me this horrible goose has an aura of love?’
The goose did not like his deeply dubious tone or his choice of adjective. It pecked him yet again on the arse. Somehow it found the same place as before, and even though he’d healed himself on the drive over it still hurt more this time.
With a yowl of pain and anger, Crowley tore himself away from Aziraphale. This apparently surprised the goose, because it backed off, hissing, head down and wings spread. He grabbed the angel by the arm and dragged him into the corridor between bookshelves.
‘Are you —’
‘Yes,’ he snarled before Aziraphale could finish the question. ‘Still feeling the love?’
‘Oh! Er, yes. It’s fluctuating, getting stronger sometimes — and then the goose seems to calm down somewhat, I wonder why …?’
‘Not read about anything like this in your books?’ Crowley asked, glancing around at the shelves as they were herded back towards the atrium by the goose.
‘Not that I can recall,’ Aziraphale said.
Well, it was a futile hope that the solution might be around here somewhere. They stepped into the open space at the centre of the shop and Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s arm. The goose honked loudly and repeatedly at them and waddled faster as it approached. Crowley briefly entertained the idea of toppling the bookshelves down on top of the bird — but dismissed it. It would be cruel, even for him, and he wasn’t sure Aziraphale would forgive him if he ruined the bookshop’s meticulous, if bizarre, shelving system. He probably wouldn’t like him hurting the goose, either.
‘Well, what are we going to do?’ he asked as they backed away in unison. ‘We can’t just keep avoiding it and hope it goes away!’
‘Maybe we should ask someone about it,’ Aziraphale suggested.
Crowley stopped and rounded on him. Some things were worth being pecked for, and this was one of them.
‘I am not,’ he said firmly, ‘Marching into Hell to ask them about a bloody goose, no matter how demonic it is!’ Aside from the fact it would be asking for trouble, he’d feel like an idiot. He fixed Aziraphale with a look. ‘And you’re not going Upstairs, either!’
‘No, I don’t think that would be wise,’ Aziraphale agreed. He reached out and pulled Crowley towards him, out of range of another bite from the goose. ‘Though perhaps leaving would be …’
He opened the door and ushered Crowley out onto the pavement, and was chased after him by a furiously honking goose.
‘Car!’ Crowley shouted, diving towards the Bentley.
Aziraphale followed him, imploring the goose to shoo, which it ignored in favour of thrashing him with its wings until he shut the car door in its face. It continued to honk and flap at the side of the car, pecking the passenger side window. They sat for a minute, watching it. At last, Crowley cleared his throat.
‘Right. Where to?’
‘Tadfield,’ Aziraphale said. He smoothed down his waistcoat and straightened his bowtie before he turned towards Crowley. ‘I rather think we might need an Occultist.’
The Bentley pulled up outside Jasmine Cottage and Crowley checked the mirrors, as he had periodically throughout the journey, for any sign of the goose. It was the most use he’d got out of them since he first bought the car.
‘Right,’ he said after a few seconds, popping open his door. ‘Coast’s clear.’
‘At least your style of driving’s good for something,’ Aziraphale said as he followed suit and climbed unsteadily out.
Crowley gave him a look as he strolled around the bonnet. He spread his arms, backing towards the gate, and asked, ‘Do you want to get this sorted as soon as possible or what?’
‘Well, yes,’ Aziraphale grudgingly agreed and followed him into the garden, muttering about how he’d like to do it in one piece. Crowley ignored him.
They went up to the front door and Aziraphale knocked.
‘Oh,’ book girl’s boyfriend said when he opened it, his vague smile crumpling. ‘It’s you.’
Well, that answered one question: the humans who had been present at the airfield recognised them on some level. It had been a point of discussion on the way down, since the world by and large seemed to have forgotten the events of the Saturday that was supposed to be the end of the world.
‘Good afternoon, young man,’ Aziraphale said pleasantly. ‘Is Ms Device at home?’
‘Er, yes?’ he said. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘That would be lovely,’ the angel said and bustled across the threshold. Crowley started after him, but as he crossed the porch a strange sensation prickled across his skin, like a raindrop running under his collar but hot and all over. Book girl’s boyfriend stared at him as he jumped and shook the tingles out of his arms and spine. Crowley glared, daring him to mention it.
‘I’ll just, er,’ the young man said, waving towards the back of the house as he retreated down the hall. ‘Anathema! Some people are here to see you!’
Crowley stalked into the kitchen to wait with Aziraphale. There was a brief burst of muted conversation from one of the back rooms and a moment later the book girl — Anathema, presumably — came in. She paused for a moment, looking Crowley up and down as if she was surprised to see him there, and then folded her hands in front of her.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said stiffly. ‘What can I do for you?’
Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley, who shrugged and muttered, ‘It was your idea to come here.’
‘Right,’ the angel said.
He turned to Anathema and took a deep breath, but then he faltered, his eyes going unfocused, and he put out a hand to steady himself against the kitchen cabinets.
‘What?’ she asked, peering between the two of them again.
A honking monstrosity barrelled into the kitchen window with an enormous thump. Anathema gasped and, in the hallway, her boyfriend let out a stifled scream. Crowley groaned and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, propping his head up on one hand.
‘Is that a goose?’ Anathema asked over the cacophony of penetrating squawks. She edged towards the window only to jump back when the goose reappeared, its beak tapping at the glass before it fluttered down. It seemed, if possible, even more furious than before. Maybe because they’d tried to leave it behind.
‘Er, yes,’ Aziraphale said sheepishly.
‘Not a normal bloody goose,’ Crowley grumbled. A normal goose could not have caught them up this fast. It was another point to add to the list of things that were off about the awful creature. Anathema continued to look at him, so he elaborated with a wave of his hand: ‘It’s possessed or something. Won’t leave us alone.’
‘And it has a very strange aura. I’ve never felt anything like it except here, in Tadfield, and that was because of, er, an occult influence,’ Aziraphale explained, glossing tactfully over the Antichrist for the sake of simplicity. He had progressed to wringing his hands now, and had to raise his voice to be heard over the goose’s continued honks. ‘I thought, with you being able to perceive auras, you might have seen something like this before …?’
Anathema was already shaking her head. Before she could shut them down completely, Crowley snapped, ‘Well, can you see this bloody aura he’s talking about, at least?’
‘Not very clearly from here,’ Anathema said, though she did turn and narrow her eyes slightly to inspect the bird periodically appearing in the window. After a moment, she frowned and turned towards the two of them, still squinting. ‘Huh. That’s weird.’
‘What?’ Crowley asked, lifting his head as Anathema’s eyes tracked slowly from him to Aziraphale and then back to the bird.
‘Your auras …’ Anathema trailed off, blinking hard a couple of times before looking between them and the window again. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before.’
The angel glanced nervously at Crowley. He shrugged and shook his head, just as lost: he didn’t feel any different to yesterday, and as far as he was aware there shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary about his aura.
‘Maybe I should take a look outside,’ Anathema said.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ the boyfriend asked from his position in the hallway, peering around the kitchen doorframe like he wasn’t sure he ought to be involved.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly.
‘Oh, do be careful,’ the angel said. ‘It’s rather vicious.’
‘Good job I’ll have the two of you to protect me,’ she said cheerfully, and looped her arm through Aziraphale’s before he could protest. ‘Come on.’
She towed him towards the door, ignoring his polite excuses and attempts to extricate himself. Crowley would’ve quite happily stayed right where he was, safely in the kitchen, but then the angel shot him a desperate look over his shoulder and he couldn’t abandon him to face the goose alone. He unfolded himself from the chair with a put-upon sigh and trailed after them to the front door. The boyfriend cringed back and did his best to blend into the wall as he passed.
The bird was apparently aware of their movements. It abandoned its post at the kitchen window when they moved into the hall. Anathema released Aziraphale to put both hands on the door, and the angel reached back and latched on to Crowley’s sleeve. Through the mullioned glass, they watched the goose stalk over onto the lawn. With a final glance at them, Anathema threw open the door and led the way out.
The goose honked a greeting as Crowley and Aziraphale stepped into the garden.
‘Let me get into a good position,’ Anathema murmured as she prowled off to one side, moving slowly so as not to spook the bird. It wasn’t paying her any attention, however: its eyes were fixed on Aziraphale and Crowley.
‘What exactly are you looking for?’ Aziraphale asked when she stopped and tilted her head slightly to one side.
‘I’m trying to get a clear picture,’ she replied, unhelpfully vague.
The goose unleashed another horrible sound and flapped its wings. Crowley tried to subtly slink behind Aziraphale, but at the same time the angel tried to hide behind him and they ended up wedged more closely against one another. The goose sat down.
‘Well it hasn’t done that before,’ Aziraphale said, glancing at Crowley.
‘Interesting,’ Anathema said, still peering at them and presumably scrutinising their auras. ‘Can you guys spread out? One of you go to the other side of the garden?’
‘Why?’ Crowley grumbled.
‘Because then I might have a better idea of what’s going on with your auras,’ she said. Her eyes refocused on his face and the corner of her mouth ticked up as she gave a small one-shouldered shrug. ‘And I want to see what happens with the goose.’
Crowley started to sputter a protest but Aziraphale elbowed him in the ribs and whispered, ‘Go on! Or don’t you want to find out what all this is?’
‘I don’t want to get savaged,’ he hissed back, but when the angel gave him a reproachful look he warily sidled towards the gate.
As he moved across the garden, the goose rose to its feet again and offered a series of warning grunts. It looked between him and Aziraphale as if it was trying to decide which of them was about to receive its wrath. Crowley kept both eyes glued to the goose but spoke urgently to Anathema.
‘Well?’
‘This is so weird,’ she said. She sounded far more excited now as she padded closer to the fidgeting bird. ‘I mean, I’ve read theories about soulmates being connected by a thread, but that’s not something I can normally see and this … it’s not just a thread. It’s like your auras are being stretched over to the goose, and then they’re sort of blending around it. And the colour ...’ She looked up at Aziraphale. ‘You said you could sense this?’
‘Oh, nothing like that!’ Aziraphale said, looking alarmed. The apples of his cheeks had turned pink. His gaze darted towards Crowley and then away again. ‘I just though the bird’s aura felt a little strange.’
‘Okay, but strange how? What does it feel like, to you?’ Anathema pressed.
Love, Aziraphale had said earlier. Love. That was apparently what the bird was surrounded with. A jolt went through Crowley’s chest. That was what his aura and Aziraphale’s made when they came together? Love? He stared across the garden at the angel, who was squirming with embarrassment and not looking at him and, perhaps, making the exact same connection.
The goose ran out of patience before either of them found their voice. It squawked and took off from the lawn, flying straight towards Crowley. He threw up his arms, staggering as the bird’s claws caught on his waistcoat and its huge wings smacked into his arms and shoulders. He fled, but it landed and came after his legs with a series of nips that chased him around the circumference of the garden.
He reached Aziraphale, who promptly stepped around him and faced the bird, hands fisted on his hips. ‘Now, really — oof!’
The goose thumped into Aziraphale’s chest, and he somehow wrapped both arms around it and pinned its wings. Unfortunately, that left him holding the bloodthirsty creature. He flinched as it opened its beak wide and hissed, showing off all the spikes along its tongue. Crowley darted in, grasping its neck in both hands before it could do any damage, and held its head away from Aziraphale’s face. The goose promptly stopped struggling and looked between them.
‘It wants you to be close together,’ Anathema pronounced. She was looking at the three of them, arms folded and a curious expression on her face. ‘I guess that makes sense, if your auras are connected through it.’
Crowley had to grudgingly agree. However, he had a more pressing question. ‘Angel,’ he murmured, turning back towards him. ‘What you said, before. About its aura …’
Aziraphale stared at Crowley wide-eyed for a moment and then whispered, ‘Yes?’
‘Love, you said.’
‘Yes,’ the angel breathed.
‘Is that,’ Crowley croaked, but couldn’t continue. The goose gently caught his sleeve in its beak and tugged insistently. He swallowed back his nerves and said in a small voice, ‘Anathema said it was both of us.’
‘She did,’ Aziraphale said, just as softly, as if he too could scarcely believe it. His gaze was filled with an emotion Crowley didn’t dare name by himself. As they stared at one another, the goose slipped out their slack arms in a rustle of feathers and tumbled to the ground. It didn’t attack them again.
‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley said.
A beak poked him in the back of the thigh, not really a bite or a peck but definitely urging him forwards, and maybe not just literally. He wouldn’t put it past the goose at this point. His hands came to rest at the angel’s waist, feather-light, giving him every opportunity to pull away when he stepped in closer. He didn’t.
Crowley leaned in the rest of the way, ignoring the frantic throb of his heart in his throat, and kissed him.
Aziraphale’s breath caught. Crowley flinched away, ready to apologise, grovel, anything — but before he could even open his eyes the angel had kissed him back.
Aziraphale kissed him back.
Relief hit Crowley so hard that his knees wobbled, but strong arms gathered him close, and that was enough to short-circuit the rest of his thoughts. There was only the warm, firm pressure of Aziraphale’s lips, the softness of his waistcoat under Crowley’s hands, the pleased little sound he made when the kiss deepened.
The goose shrieked. They sprang apart in surprise, clutching one another while it ran in circles around their legs, squawking and flapping in excitement.
‘Uh,’ Crowley said, glancing at Aziraphale, but he looked equally baffled.
‘Congratulations, your auras are back to normal,’ Anathema said over the bird’s victorious crowing. Crowley had momentarily forgotten that they had an audience and almost jumped at the sound of her voice. Aziraphale did startle a little.
‘Oh!’ he said, his cheeks and ears reddening, his hands fluttering where they had come to rest on Crowley’s hips but not quite letting go. ‘Jolly good.’
There was a knowing twinkle in Anathema’s eye as she turned to Crowley and asked, ‘How did you know that was going to work?’
‘Well, you know,’ Crowley drawled, waving a hand. ‘I have experience with strange, occult phenomena.’
‘Codswallop,’ Aziraphale murmured fondly below the fowl braying at their feet. ‘You had no idea it would do anything. You just wanted to kiss me.’
His tone became smug towards the end, and suddenly Crowley wanted to do it again, now he could: to shut him up, and to reward him, and to prove him right.
‘It’s funny,’ Anathema said, interrupting the moment. She was squinting at the goose, which had finally stopped screaming and slowed to a brisk waddle. ‘It’s like its aura is just gone completely now. I can’t see it at all, and I’ve only encountered that once before. With — Adam …?’
She trailed off uncertainly in the same way Crowley had found most humans did when they tried to recall specific events surrounding the failed Armageddon. He shared a look with Aziraphale, raising an eyebrow.
‘You don’t think …’ the angel said.
‘Nah,’ Crowley scoffed. ‘Eleven-year-old lad, playing matchmaker?’
‘Using a goose? I wouldn’t put it past him,’ Aziraphale pointed out. ‘And he did try to make the world better, when he put everything back.’
Crowley’s insides flipped over at the implication that this — him and Aziraphale and kissing — was an improvement on how things had been before. ‘But that was ages ago,’ he said when he’d recovered. ‘And he barely knows us. Why would he take an interest now?’
‘The only other powers that could do something like this are our former employers —’
‘Unlikely,’ Crowley muttered, given that Beelzebub and Gabriel and their respective cronies hated their guts.
‘— or, well, a Higher Authority ...’
The goose honked.
Both Aziraphale and Crowley looked at it. The goose stared serenely back, making pleased little crooning noises. Its monochrome feathers really did have an unearthly shine ...
‘No,’ Crowley said.
‘Coincidence,’ Aziraphale agreed firmly.
‘Yeah. Can’t be.’
The goose cackled at them.