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Archangel Aziraphale is pacing. The holy hands of his, which had once seemed to be fixed permanently behind his back in upright smartness, now endlessly fidgeted and twitched at his chest. He's been pacing since the last meeting of the Archangels, though he wasn't pondering the matter of the plans which could be the foundation of the Second Coming. Though he tried to turn his attention to said matter, his thoughts wandered aimlessly to a photo. A photo he had lost.
The photo in question was a polaroid, taken in ill intent by a certain ill-intending demon around 80 years ago, and his ill intent concerned exposing the "partnership", as the Metatron put it, between the then Principality Aziraphale and the Tempations demon, Crowley.
While the taking of the photo harboured evil - and would've devastated the two had the plan to expose them succeeded - it now acted as a source of comfort for Aziraphale, a fond memory, and he had kept the photo hidden for many years, carrying it on his person. This hadn't changed when he returned to Heaven, and had, in fact, become an evermore important object to him. He'd never parted ways with it even once.
Except now, for it was the source issue of his panicked pacing. The polaroid had somehow slipped from his clothing and become misplaced. On Earth, in the bookshop, if he had lost the photo, it would not have affected him so deeply, as there wasn't the ever present danger of being found to be consorting with a demon, and he would've calmly searched for it. But this wasn't the bookshop, this wasn't Earth, and this was possibly the most dangerous place he could've lost the photo. He cursed himself under the eyes of the Almighty for being so foolish and careless so as to lose not just a sentimental object, but a dangerously sentimental object.
He was pulled from his overlapping, chaotic thoughts as he heard smart, rhythmic footsteps approach him from behind. Aziraphale thought as though he may dissolve from the sheer stress of the situation and could hardly bear to turn around, but if he was to locate this photo, he had to pretend as though he was of sound mind, as though there was no lost photo, as though there were no photo to begin with.
He turned to meet the fixated eyes and stoic expression of Archangel Uriel. Even in his Supreme Archangel status, Aziraphale still felt both intimidated and in awe of Uriel, as they carried themself with a power and importance of someone who would be much better at his job than he would. And they both know they would be. As unchanging as a pillar of salt, they had never faltered in their duties, and carried out the Almighty's plans to the letter.
Aziraphale's quivering lips broke into an unsteady smile. He hoped he didn't seem more nervous than usual, as he tended to appear nervous in Heaven at all times. Angels do not pray, though he found himself doing so as he prayed that Uriels' sharp ears wouldn't notice the shake of his voice as he spoke to greet them.
"Uriel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
They didn't return the greeting, nor did they respond at all, instead walking to his glass desk and standing in front of it. Aziraphale followed them, and stood to face them on the opposite side of the desk. While he never felt comfortable in Heaven, the stark bright lights and coldness wearing him down, he felt less uneasy now that there was a barrier between them, despite its uselessness if he were presented with an actual confrontation. He met their gaze, though he found their eyes were not stony as he previously deduced, but determined.
"Archangel Aziraphale."
"What is it you want, Uriel?" he persisted.
"To discuss a matter with you that I couldn't with any other angel."They announced, piquing his curiosity. Uriel wasn't likely to confide in him at all, and to confide in him alone? Something drastic must be occuring.
They took his silence as a sign to continue.
"I was asked to investigate what seems to be an Earthly object. It appears to have turned up early this morning. Have you heard about this?"
Aziraphales eyes flickered for just a moment as he opened his mouth to explain he had not heard of said issue, when the corner of Uriels' mouth picked up in the subtlest smirk only they could be capable of, and placed a photo on the desk in front of him.
The photo in question was a polaroid, a black and white polaroid depicting the exchange of a firearm from white-haired angel to shaded glasses-bearing demon. It had been taken with a camera of human invention, of course the polaroid was also a physical object. And it had been found by the Archangel who stuck to the rules the most of any entity known, the Archangel who in previous years, had not hesitated to cast him into hellfire, the Archangel who, in this moment, he feared more than anything else in the world, who bore into him with a knowing stare.
"Uriel, please- please don't report this to anyone. Please don't destroy this photo-"
"I said this was a matter I could only discuss with you, did I not?"
Aziraphale, caught by surprise, faltered in his speech and stopped talking, instead tilting his head to one side, a curious notion. Yes, they had mentioned it being a matter only discussed between the two of them. Where unease had gripped him not moments before, a calm wave replaced it, and he felt less intimidated by Uriels' stoicism.
"No one else knows of this photo."
"I'm sorry? I thought you said it was reported as an Earthly object?"
"The angel reporting it has suffered a loss of memory since. We are the only angels aware of it's existence." Uriel assured.
Aziraphale placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his face as unreadable as he could make it. "Why are you helping me? Why didn't you destroy this photo onsight? What's changed?" He surprised himself with newfound confidence, perhaps adrenaline as he no longer shook quite so violently when talking to them, now that they had found a way to even out the playing field. Neither of them had power nor knowledge more than the other in this moment. Equals. He repeated himself. "Why are you helping me, Uriel? We've never been friends."
Uriel mirrored him, leaning in slightly and lowering their voice barely above a whisper. "Because I understand now. May the Almighty forgive me, but a Great Plan does not make it a Good Plan. It doesn't make it a Right Plan. I realise I have been following the rules of a system I don't understand, despite being closer to the top than majority. You don't understand either, and you're as close to the top as an angel can become."
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, no longer as naïve as the Metatron would have him believe he was.
"And why should I trust you? You have never respected me prior to me becoming Supreme Archangel, and even now your respect seems falsified. How do I know you won't convince the Metatron to cast me down to hell, how do I know you won't tell Michael of this exchange? I've never known you to lie, Uriel, and I find it incredibly difficult to believe you'd aid me in any way, let alone go against the Almighty to do so."
"I understand your aversion. And my next point may not help my case but I've become afraid. I'd never been afraid of doing something wrong until we were confronted by the Metatron in your bookshop, because I believed I'd never done the wrong thing."
He recalled that moment in the bookshop, when Uriels' voice had shaken ever so slightly, when they had asked if they were at the fault of any wrongdoing and avoided the gaze of God's Voice. True fear was difficult to fake, and he couldn't figure why Uriel would need to lie about being afraid. Something chipped away at their immovable rock of resolve that day, the cracks had started to form.
He stared at the photo, staying silent for a long time, while Uriel continued to watch him, their gaze unbroken. Aziraphale reached out for his precious polaroid, but was interrupted, jerking his hand back, startled when he heard footsteps approaching rapidly. A fear took hold of him, a fear of being discovered again, and he found himself unable to move to hide the contraband photo quick enough. Though he didn't need to, as Uriel snatched the photo of the desk and turned sharply to face the newcomer, holding their hands behind their back, the polaroid fixed between their index and middle finger.
Aziraphale stood straighter and walked around the desk to stand beside them, though still at a safe distance. He glanced at them, their face showing no emotion, giving nothing away, until they glanced back and, as the universal master of subtlty would, returned with the slightest wink of their right eye. He faced the person who entered.
The Duty Officer and Archangel Michael stood before them, smiling a curt smile that Aziraphale soured inside a little to gaze upon. "What is it, Michael?"
They blanked him completely, turning their attention to Uriel and questioning them. "What are you doing here? You're meant to be checking out a report of an Earthly object appearing."
Aziraphale winced. Uriel hadn't been quick enough to erase the memory of the angel before an alert had appeared on Michaels' device.
"I already sorted that. I'm on top of my duties." Uriel retorted, an irritated jab that suggested they'd been bickering for millenia, clearly referring to Michaels' ineptitude as Duty Officer. It was a familiarity Aziraphale couldn't place his finger on.
"And? What happened?" Michael returned, equally annoyed and smiling taughtly in feigned respect.
"Nothing. It was a false report, someone looking to stir trouble no doubt. They've been dealt with. I have matters to discuss with the Supreme Archangel, if you could leave us alone, Michael, I would be most grateful."
"What are you talking about then? I'm sure if it's so urgent, you should relay it to the other Archangels?" Michaels' snide curiosity sent a wave of strong dislike throughout Aziraphale, and he spoke back with as much contempt as he could muster, exerting his authority.
"I'm afraid that the dealings and conversations of the Supreme Archangel are none of your concern, Michael. Please leave."
They had never seemed so offended, their false respect obviously not extending to Aziraphale. They'd always hated him. Opening their mouth to argue, he cut them off and spoke with a warm smile. "I'm sure you have other duties to be taking care of. I'd really appreciate it if you left now."
Michaels' lips flattened to a straight line, and turned to Uriel for support, who simply gave no indication of opinion. Michael left, evidently confused by Uriels' lack of understanding, heels hitting the ground almost indignantly and faded into the distance.
Uriel turned to the desk again, and Aziraphale returned to his place, as they faced each other again. Aziraphale started.
"So."
"So."
"You've found you can no longer justify Heaven."
"Yes."
"What does this mean for the future?"
"It means we change things. For the good, not the Great."
"Alright. You understand the danger of course?"
"Of course. I was the danger."
Aziraphale nodded. Uriel placed the photo on the desk again.
"I no longer consider you an enemy, Aziraphale."
"Hah. Glad to hear it. We must hide this partnership."
"Nothing changes. At least, not in Michaels' eyes."
"Nothing changes."
Uriel held out their hand. They still stared at him, though not with the purpose of intimidation anymore. They now considered each other equals as Aziraphale took their hand and shook it, confirming the trust between them. They broke hands quickly, Uriel responding to an alert on their device. They spoke into it. "Yes, I'm on my way now." Uriel left without another word, and didn't look back at all, leaving Aziraphale with a new confidence and power, no longer entirely alone. No longer as afraid. He took the polaroid off of his desk, gazing at it fondly.
Soon. Soon they'd meet again and he would apologise. Soon, Heaven would be good enough for Crowley. His plan was working, one angel at a time.
He tucked the polaroid into the inner pocket of his blazer, zipping it up tightly, and got back to work.