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Move along, move along! Just reposting Red Cross charity ficlet (GO DO THIS WHEN IT OPENS UP AGAIN) here for neatness. Look ma! Actually archiving things and using tags as they were intended by God! 
"Well," thought Stephen, shaking out his breeches with an unusual vehemence, "give them joy of it." He paused, surprised to find himself so curiously out of sorts; curiously indeed, for was not this cabin, this moderately cramped and low-ceilinged cabin off the gunroom, a habitual sleeping-place of his? To be sure, as Jack’s guest, he was normally accorded the coach as a place to berth – a rather more capacious berth, being ordinarily the Captain’s dining cabin – but Jack Aubrey, the creature, was a prodigious snorer, often setting up such a racket through the thin partitions, such a Jovian thunder ("Ha ha," thought Stephen, "I shall tell that to him: a Jovian thunder."), that the Doctor was obliged to sling his cot below in the hopes of sleeping at all. So why then, for all love, did this forced but temporary relocation find him so damnably irritated? True, Stephen was forced to admit, stentorian sleeper though Jack was, his snores were as regular a part of Stephen’s ship-board existence as Sunday divisions, and true, he resented being parted from them by anything but his own volition; but even so, he perceived (being a perceptive man) that this was not all there was to his humour.
Perhaps it was that Jack had not been able to satisfactorily explain why they should take on passengers – passengers that were no sort of envoy, nor of any readily apparent military or naval character. Of course, Stephen was hardly as who should say ignorant of the fact that a man’s official function might bear no reflexions upon his unofficial activities; indeed, something of the reserved, closed manner of one of their charges led him to wonder whether they might be in his own line of work (this, and of course the fact that the man wore coloured lenses in his glasses, just as Stephen himself did when he wished his gaze to remain inscrutable). Still, it disconcerted him: by nature and by long habit, Stephen did not like to be in the dark, and to discover himself so was unpleasant, to say nothing of worrying.
The other of the pair was a different matter: as fair as his companion was dark, he was also as gay and open as his friend was cool and diffident, possessed of something of the irresistible likeability which had so disarmed Stephen when first he had met Jack Aubrey. It was from him that Stephen had attempted to extract information, enquiring discreetly about the nature of their voyage, their business in Gibraltar. But in the chaos of coming aboard, of casting off, of determining where the two passengers should be put (to be regretted extremely, little in the way of space, the dear Surprise being only a frigate, and a small one at that – might Jack offer the gentlemen the use of the coach, a bulkhead to be whipped up in no time at all to give each a cabin of their own; not at all, the gentlemen will not hear of it, habitual travelling companions, perpetually in each other’s pockets, will manage admirably with the coach undivided), the thread had been lost, the conversation subsumed, and then forgotten.
Dinner, however, might be more successful, and even as Stephen pulled on his stockings and wrestled with his neck-cloth, he dismissed the subject from his present mind, finding himself strangely unable to keep a firm grasp on the line of thought even in the relative silence of his cabin. Soon enough, he felt his spirits lift – in part because, having moved on to more general musings on the characters of those occupying the coach, he found it extraordinarily difficult to maintain any real sort of ill-will towards the friendlier of the two. A paederast, Stephen had no doubt, and one whose nature was as badly concealed as La Mothe of Paris, but (like Adhemar de La Mothe) a singularly pleasant one, and (unlike La Mothe) wholly decent. With the blessing, Stephen would not again have to preserve Jack’s innocence from an impossible infatuation. Indeed, he might be relieved of this in any case, but it would be unwise to suppose; although Mr. Fell’s proclivities were undeniable, as to the nature of his companion, Stephen could not say.
Dinner was, in point of fact, a grand success; Mr. Fell, confirming the third of Stephen’s initial impressions of him, was both intelligent and a man of letters, and his amiable way of speaking was very well with the Captain, he having particularly obliged Jack by laughing at a carefully-constructed witticism exchanging 'bark' for 'barque'. But it was the more contrary of their guests who provided the evening’s other pleasant surprise, as it were; Stephen, holding forth on the treasures awaiting a naturalist at their destination, on the fauna of Gibraltar, on those species, those genera which fairly thrived in a warmer climate – the beetles, the birds, and above all, the reptiles – was delighted to find, in the person of Mr. Crowleigh, a marvellously keen herpetologist.
"Well," thought Stephen, shaking out his breeches with an unusual vehemence, "give them joy of it." He paused, surprised to find himself so curiously out of sorts; curiously indeed, for was not this cabin, this moderately cramped and low-ceilinged cabin off the gunroom, a habitual sleeping-place of his? To be sure, as Jack’s guest, he was normally accorded the coach as a place to berth – a rather more capacious berth, being ordinarily the Captain’s dining cabin – but Jack Aubrey, the creature, was a prodigious snorer, often setting up such a racket through the thin partitions, such a Jovian thunder ("Ha ha," thought Stephen, "I shall tell that to him: a Jovian thunder."), that the Doctor was obliged to sling his cot below in the hopes of sleeping at all. So why then, for all love, did this forced but temporary relocation find him so damnably irritated? True, Stephen was forced to admit, stentorian sleeper though Jack was, his snores were as regular a part of Stephen’s ship-board existence as Sunday divisions, and true, he resented being parted from them by anything but his own volition; but even so, he perceived (being a perceptive man) that this was not all there was to his humour.
Perhaps it was that Jack had not been able to satisfactorily explain why they should take on passengers – passengers that were no sort of envoy, nor of any readily apparent military or naval character. Of course, Stephen was hardly as who should say ignorant of the fact that a man’s official function might bear no reflexions upon his unofficial activities; indeed, something of the reserved, closed manner of one of their charges led him to wonder whether they might be in his own line of work (this, and of course the fact that the man wore coloured lenses in his glasses, just as Stephen himself did when he wished his gaze to remain inscrutable). Still, it disconcerted him: by nature and by long habit, Stephen did not like to be in the dark, and to discover himself so was unpleasant, to say nothing of worrying.
The other of the pair was a different matter: as fair as his companion was dark, he was also as gay and open as his friend was cool and diffident, possessed of something of the irresistible likeability which had so disarmed Stephen when first he had met Jack Aubrey. It was from him that Stephen had attempted to extract information, enquiring discreetly about the nature of their voyage, their business in Gibraltar. But in the chaos of coming aboard, of casting off, of determining where the two passengers should be put (to be regretted extremely, little in the way of space, the dear Surprise being only a frigate, and a small one at that – might Jack offer the gentlemen the use of the coach, a bulkhead to be whipped up in no time at all to give each a cabin of their own; not at all, the gentlemen will not hear of it, habitual travelling companions, perpetually in each other’s pockets, will manage admirably with the coach undivided), the thread had been lost, the conversation subsumed, and then forgotten.
Dinner, however, might be more successful, and even as Stephen pulled on his stockings and wrestled with his neck-cloth, he dismissed the subject from his present mind, finding himself strangely unable to keep a firm grasp on the line of thought even in the relative silence of his cabin. Soon enough, he felt his spirits lift – in part because, having moved on to more general musings on the characters of those occupying the coach, he found it extraordinarily difficult to maintain any real sort of ill-will towards the friendlier of the two. A paederast, Stephen had no doubt, and one whose nature was as badly concealed as La Mothe of Paris, but (like Adhemar de La Mothe) a singularly pleasant one, and (unlike La Mothe) wholly decent. With the blessing, Stephen would not again have to preserve Jack’s innocence from an impossible infatuation. Indeed, he might be relieved of this in any case, but it would be unwise to suppose; although Mr. Fell’s proclivities were undeniable, as to the nature of his companion, Stephen could not say.
Dinner was, in point of fact, a grand success; Mr. Fell, confirming the third of Stephen’s initial impressions of him, was both intelligent and a man of letters, and his amiable way of speaking was very well with the Captain, he having particularly obliged Jack by laughing at a carefully-constructed witticism exchanging 'bark' for 'barque'. But it was the more contrary of their guests who provided the evening’s other pleasant surprise, as it were; Stephen, holding forth on the treasures awaiting a naturalist at their destination, on the fauna of Gibraltar, on those species, those genera which fairly thrived in a warmer climate – the beetles, the birds, and above all, the reptiles – was delighted to find, in the person of Mr. Crowleigh, a marvellously keen herpetologist.
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I actually have IDEAS, but I am emphatically not allowed to write more right now, since, a) DISSERTATION, and b) I have a sinking feeling that as soon as I actually try to write Aziraphale and Crowley themselves in O'Brianese, it will all go horribly wrong.
("Yes," said Crowley testily, rubbing his shin, "a pleasant dinner all in all, but in future, I wish you may not kick me under the table when conversation grows sluggish. I am not the host; and at any rate, in this century they cover silences with their endless 'a glass of wine with you, sir'," he added approvingly.)
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Ah yes. Dissertation. I WILL AWAIT WITH GREAT AWAITING.
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...aaand my fic-commenting muscles are severely out of practice, so I'm sorry for that clumsy effusion of joy.
(Your posts, by the way, have got me to reading through the series again, and I am even looking up as much of the naval terminology as possible (so I am actually moving very slowly. Also those bird-trinket hanging things (?) you made a while ago are still some of the most wonderful things I've ever seen; every time I even think the term "diy" they flash into my mind and I swoon.)
I agree with the above poster.
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Ahhh, I'm really glad you liked it, though; one of the funnest things about Good Omens as a fandom is that it is absolutely MADE for Wacky Historical Crossovers starring everyone's two favourite immortals. That said, I'm pretty sure the phrase 'perpetually in each other's pockets' is from the Aubreyad itself, re: Jack and Stephen.
(Omg, the birdcage thingies [I don't have a name for them either]. It's pretty much amazing the lengths I will go to to procrastinate on uni work. So much fun to make, though, and I love them like actual human babies. Actual human babies that... I hang from my ceiling. Yes.)
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Omgz, Wacky Historical Crossovers make me go off in ecstatic transports, from which I never recover.
(Man, if only when I procrastinated I made awesome things like that, or scarves or hats or other such creative things. Instead I mope around the Internet and frantically download music I will never listen to and movies I will never watch. It is a sad life for the chronically lazy.
On the other hand, human babies!~*~*~*~)