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The bookshop looked perfect. Not a single book out of place, or at least, no more out of place than it had been before. The desk held an additional pile of minutes from his Heavenly debriefings, but otherwise looked just as he had left it. There was even a record player, though when Aziraphale tried to play it, it wouldn’t play Shostakovich. Just celestial harmonies.
Yes, every piece of this shop looked like the one he had left behind. But there was a hollowness to it all, a Heavenly sheen over everything that shattered the illusion if you looked at it too closely. If you were to attempt to read a book, the words would, Aziraphale was certain, turn into Enochian nonsense.
He picked up the candelabra, now holding a facsimile of a faux candle. He remembered when he had last held it, the rage that had flown through him at the demons daring to invade his home and harm his humans. Now, after the exhausting ordeal that had led to this so-called promotion, he still felt that rage, except directed to more Heavenly entities. How dare they continue seeking to destroy all that the Almighty had created! And how could they think that he, the one that had been appointed to protect Earth back when it was new, would happily orchestrate such a destruction!
“You should make your own plans,” Nina had said. Well, he was doing so now, if only because he had no choice. Crowley certainly wasn’t coming to rescue him. Not after how he had pushed him away. This had been intentional; he’d had to appear as if he was presenting the Metatron’s offer in good faith, but he did not believe it was. Even if Crowley did not desire to become an angel, Aziraphale feared that he might take it for Aziraphale’s sake and end up in some terrible trap. If the Metatron would wipe Gabriel’s memory, how much worse might he treat a demon? No, he had to ensure Crowley wouldn’t follow him, even if doing so broke his own heart. He could handle Crowley being cross with him, so long as he was safe. But he hadn’t expected Crowley to hit back quite so hard.
And that kiss! A human pleasure, one Aziraphale had admittedly been curious about but never indulged. It didn’t seem right with another human, and his fellow angels were certainly out of the question. That left just one being he could try such things with, and he had never felt safe to do so. Perhaps if he had been the sort to move faster, they could have done more in those few brief years after the apocalypse was averted, but it takes a long time to unveil affections you have spent centuries hiding. He couldn’t help but be upset that Crowley had chosen such a fraught moment to initiate this and then walk out the door. But he’d forgiven him, because he loved him, and you forgive the ones you love when they hurt you.
He went looking through the celestial shelves for a certain book, one that in his real shop was hollow and held a derringer and a photograph. He opened it. As expected, it was merely a book here in this replica, the writing bearing no resemblance to actual literature. However faithful their reproduction, Heaven didn’t know all his secrets.
He lit the candle with a snap of the fingers and recalled that night, the night they had almost been found out, but rescued by his magician’s instinct. He had the Archangels fooled now, playing the loyal lackey of the Metatron, helping them put their plans for the Second Coming in place. But underneath the patter, he would play his cards just right, using a sleight of hand to stop it all. He hadn’t figured out how just yet, but he would in time. For now, he chose to rest, lying in his fake chair under the glow of the fake candlelight.