Chapter Text
The Dark Council was, officially, in favour of renewed hostilities with Heaven, but they were not in favour of a humiliating defeat. So when the back channels alerted them that the Archangels were meeting with a human delegation, they needed a way to disrupt the talks without declaring war. They had a problem, and Shax had a solution that would give them plausible deniability.
Sickly light gleamed off her sharp teeth as Shax grinned. “I’ve got it straight from Dagon herself. Now that the Angel’s gone back to Heaven officially, he’s an adversary, and that makes him fair game.”
“But he’s an archangel?” Furfur shifted his feet and chewed his bottom lip nervously. “Wouldn’t anyone going after him be… smote? Smited?”
“You’re not going after him,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “We don’t want a war just yet. You’re just going to give him a bit of long overdue comeuppance.” Shax draped herself across Beelzebub’s uncomfortable chair. “Besides, I wouldn’t send you up there without a bit of protection.” She held up a familiar white card.
********
“Aziraphale, we are an official delegation of Heaven,” Michael snapped at him. “Your current attire is entirely inappropriate!”
The official delegation in question stood in front of the lift to go down to Earth. Aziraphale glanced down at his suit. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You look pathetic!” She hissed. “Your suit is… worn! There are threads coming off and… and… bare patches!”
He tugged on the hem of his waistcoat, finding the materiality of it grounding. “Adam has seen me in this before.” He titled his head and hummed. “In fact, I believe he actually restored this exact waistcoat when he restored my corporation on the day we met.”
“That may be so, Aziraphale.” Uriel smiled through gritted teeth. “But on that day, you were a principality and a traitor. Today, you represent Heaven. Try to look the part.”
Aziraphale stood straight and squared his shoulders. He looked between the two archangels where they blocked the lift.
“We are going to be late.”
Neither of them moved. He pressed his lips together and titled his chin. They still didn’t move.
Finally, he sniffed disdainfully. “Very well, since it means so much to you.” He pulled on the power he needed and sent his material garments to the wardrobe in his bookshop. While not in the habit of miracling clothing, he understood the concept well enough.
Michael eyed the trim cream suit he wore with a stingy smile. “Better,” she remarked. “Though a solid tie would be more in keeping with the dignity of your office.”
“Tartan is stylish,” he informed them both, straightening his grey and blue bow-tie. “Shall we go?”
*******
Furfur was in favour of revenge in general terms, so long as it wasn’t directed at him. Still, he kept a white knuckle grip on the bag in his hand as he took the lift up to Earth. He glanced down at the map in his hand and started to take a right turn at the busy intersection.
He paused, frowning down the familiar street. Then, he turned the map over and shook his head. “That way,” he muttered to himself and turned left instead.
*******
Adam had grown up, as all humans do. He towered over his three companions as they stared at Aziraphale. The boy in glasses sipped his tea, eyeing Michael and Uriel with a narrowed gaze. The other wiped a bit of milk foam from his top lip with his thumb and smirked at the angels as he licked it.
Somehow, the girl gave him the most intimidating stare. Her brown eyes took them all in, and then she smiled with all her teeth. “Hello, again.”
“Hello,” Aziraphale adopted his sweetest tone. “It’s lovely to see you all, and I appreciate you coming.”
“Yes, well, it was a unique invitation,” Adam grinned at him. “Wensleydale thought the doves were a nice touch.”
Michael stood a little straighter as his side. “I told you, Aziraphale…”
Movement at the door caught his eye. A head of teased up grey hair peeked up through the window. Aziraphale stilled.
“I beg your pardon, but are we expecting any additional guests this afternoon?”
Several pairs of eyes followed his, and the demon’s eyes widened. He mouthed something, and frantically pulled at his pocket. Uriel, ever quick to smite, formed a fist and began to pull down power. Then, silver flashed in the demon’s hand, and Aziraphale went cold.
His muscles locked in shock and as a response to the sudden chill of the room against his bare skin. The demon waved a miracle blocker in the air and pointed unnecessarily at it.
“Well, that’s most unfortunate.” Aziraphale kept his gaze straight ahead. He cloaked himself in dignity and made one, futile, attempt to miracle his clothes back into place. Michael stood gaping at him, and he sneered at her. “Perhaps if you had not insisted on my changing from my normal clothes.”
“You can hardly blame me for this!”
“I most certainly can! You were making us late.” Aziraphale was ignoring his own nudity through sheer stubbornness until he heard a giggle.
“Nellie, you’re so bad!” One white haired patron elbowed her companion who was grinning at him lasciviously.
Uriel followed her gaze and gasped. “Ew! What is that between your legs?!”
In the back of his mind, Aziraphale tried to remember how the fabled emperor had reacted, but the end of the story escaped him. Ignoring his companions, he addressed Adam, “I’m dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience, but I hope we can do this at another time? I need to get something from my shop.”
Adam grinned, obviously amused by the whole event. “We can wait here, if you like?”
“Oh, that’s very kind. Thank you.”
Another being might have ran out of the cafe, but Aziraphale kept his head high. His steps were firm and even. He walked with hands loose at his sides. As he passed the laughing demon on the sidewalk, he pivoted sharply away from him in a move once known as a ‘cut direct.’
The concrete was cool under Aziraphale’s bare feet as he walked toward his bookshop. People gasped and stumbled as he passed. A few of them took pictures on their mobiles. One tourist frantically attempted to explain the situation to the police.
Jim had received a much warmer welcome while walking down Whickber street with only a box to protect his modesty, but Mayfair was not Soho. Aziraphale suppressed a shiver. It had also been a sunny day.
Aziraphale stopped at the zebra crossing of a busy intersection. A cyclist swerved as she passed him, and he reflexively tried to miracle her to safety. Several passers-by moved to help her when she crashed into a pole.
He remembered Crowley trying to explain the mechanism behind miracle blockers, but he had been rather tipsy. All he could recall about the conversation was how handsome his fiend had looked in that suit. Aziraphale quelled that thought.
A pedestrian stopped beside him, waiting patiently to cross. The man glanced over, scanning him from head to foot, and blushed. He cleared his throat. “Lovely weather we’re having?” he squeaked out.
Dutifully looking up, Aziraphale frowned at the clouds. “I think it might rain, actually.”
The traffic cleared before the man could reply. Aziraphale stepped off the curb. Brakes squealed, and a horn blew. His heart slammed in his chest as reality set in.
Then a beam of light shown through a break in the clouds. It illuminated a familiar black and chrome sight. “Oh!” Aziraphale lengthened his stride, despite the odd swinging sensation the faster pace caused between his legs.
The chaos around him faded away as he moved toward the sanctuary of the Bentley. He rushed the last few steps and opened the door. The leather squeaked against his skin as he slid into his seat. In relief, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath. He let it out and took another.
Then, he heard a breath sucked into lungs that were not his own. Slowly, he turned his head toward the driver’s seat and took in black clad legs. Above them, strong hands gripped the wheel.
Aziraphale met Crowley’s shocked eyes and yanked his around to stare out of the windscreen. Heat flooded his cheeks, and he clamped his hands together in his bare lap. “Oh, dear.”