I feel like Madame Tracy, who shared a body (and thoughts??) with Aziraphale for a hot second, would absolutely have picked up Aziraphale’s very obvious head-over-heels adoration of Crowley. So naturally, here’s my 2,000 word fic about her cluing in an oblivious angel to his own feelings.
Denial
Inhabiting a new body was usually quite a lengthy process, and that wasn’t even including the paperwork. There was actually a very good reason why celestial beings didn’t just slip into human skins whenever they felt like it - beyond the moral quandary, of course. Much in the same way that no two humans are exactly alike, neither are angels. A human must try on shoes for size, and so must an angel, well - try on bodies, that is.
As the apocalypse was imminent, Aziraphale did not have the luxury of choice.
So Aziraphale had taken what he could find, and what he’d found was Madame Tracy.
If Aziraphale’s old body could be likened to a six thousand year old comfortably broken in, yet remarkably cared for pair of loafers, Madame Tracy’s was a pair of stiletto heels, fresh out of the box and half a size too small.
Not that Aziraphale wasn’t grateful. Really, he considered himself fortunate to have found a body that could accommodate him at all. It just…really wasn’t very comfortable.
It’s not a walk in the park for me either. I appreciate the metaphor though. The heels, I mean. Terribly uncomfortable, breaking in a new pair.
The voice was high and saccharine and seemed to echo around the space of his head. Or rather, he amended, within her head. He was, after all, the intruder here.
I appreciate that acknowledgment, Mr. Aziraphale, Madame Tracy sniffed.
I do apologize, Aziraphale thought, consciously shaping his wandering thoughts into words. I’m afraid sharing a body is very much a new experience for me.
You’re not alone there, love.
No, I suppose not, Aziraphale said. And when he smiled, it was Madame Tracy’s red painted lips which parted.
Now, what exactly is it that we’ve got to do?
First of all, get through that gate, Aziraphale thought, squeezing the brakes as Madame Tracy’s scooter sputtered to a stop.
Before them, the Tadfield Air Base loomed.
The man out front’s got a gun.
So he does.
As Aziraphale struggled to park the scooter - hindered by Madame Tracy’s attempts to commandeer her hands to help - he noticed that it was quite a large gun, at that.
By the time the scooter was settled, the soldier stood before the gate, gun cradled against his front.
Mr. Shadwell marched up, brandishing a grimy finger.
Oh dear, thought Madame Tracy.
“You see this finger Laddie? This finger could send you to your maker.”
Good God, the man is going to get himself shot.
Yes, Madame Tracy agreed. Please do something.
Aziraphale stepped in front of Shadwell, waving Madame Tracy’s purple gloves through the air.
“It really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge-” he started.
From their lips, Madame Tracy’s voice interrupted, “He’s telling the truth, I’d know if he wasn’t.”
Lord, Aziraphale thought, save me from the whims of foolish mortals.
Madame Tracy’s annoyance flared hot and bright in their shared headspace.
Aziraphale flared his own annoyance right back and took control of their mouth.
“-would you please stop interrupting? I’m trying-”
Madame Tracy took it back.
“-yeah I just thought I’d put in a good word for-”
“I understand, but-”
“Will you please be quiet?” The guard ordered, impatient and confused. “Both of you?”
Well now you’ve done it, Madame Tracy tutted.
I’ve done it?!
“I mean, Ma’am,” the soldier continued, licking his lips, “I must respectfully ask you to-”
He was interrupted by blaring music.
A bebop, Aziraphale thought, and twisted round, heart in his throat.
Pardon? A what?
A car roared round the bend.
Keep reading
queerdraws
podcastsoutyourass
superdogbiter
universesvisiting
captainlordauditor
goodomensblog
tarantula-hawk-wasp
bribritenma
amarguerite
fishyfishyfishtimes
