Chapter Text
23 December 2024
Heaven
“Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York.” Aziraphale whispered as he stared down at his hands.
“I’m sorry, sir, what was that?” his aide, Cadriel asked.
“Nothing, just muttering to myself.” Aziraphale looked over at the other angel. “Let me guess, still no meeting with Jesus?”
“No sir. Apparently Jesus is still meditating as he prepares for the Second Coming. Finally Heaven will rule supreme!”
“But rule supreme over what?” Aziraphale did not continue that thought. Cadriel didn’t seem to notice, which was good. It had taken only days after being promoted, for Aziraphale to admit to himself that he was not going to be able to start a revolution in Heaven. Crowley had been right, like usual. Angels were all brainwashed into believing the party line. So, it was to be plan A. Aziraphale took a very unneeded breath. He could do this. He HAD to do this. He’d left all the necessary paperwork and instructions with Muriel so she would send it to Crowley, not that Crowley knew that.
“Imagine me,” Cadriel said, “A lowly Scrivener helping the Supreme Leader of Heaven prepare…”
“You are not a lowly Scrivener.” Cadriel had already started on his new task, collating Aziraphale’s notes for the next meeting.
Meetings. Heaven loved meetings and bureaucracy. Aziraphale had managed to use that bureaucracy to slow things down, just a little. But any little bit helped.
It was his meditation time, then he would be joining the Metatron and the Archangels for the Trooping of the Colour.
The room the Book of Life resided in was empty, like it always was. He glanced around to verify that was really true. “Hello,” he whispered. The book responded with the sound of rustling leaves. “We’ve talked, are you ready?” He felt the yes shiver in the air around him. “I’m sorry it came to this. What happened? Why?” Aziraphale stopped speaking and pulled the deep blue quill pen from his sleeve. He understood why the book had given him this pen all those months ago: why it had chosen him, a lowly principality, to be the one to do all this, to stop Heaven, to again stop the Great Plan. An inkwell appeared at the upper left corner of the book as he opened the book. The pages were still pristine and white. He carefully dipped the quill in the ink and started to write. “Sorry,” he said at the blotch that appeared as he lifted the pen. It had been a while since he’d written with a quill pen. It would take a number of days or even weeks to write what he needed to.
He bowed his head. The Almighty had chosen him because he could do this. He would protect the Humans and all life on Earth. He understood what sacrifice meant. This was part of the Ineffable Plan: unknowable until it was known.
He lifted his head and touched the inside of his left arm.
***
Crowley sat in the Bentley gently stroking the wheel, the seat, the dashboard. The radio started to play Cole Porter’s So in Love even as the dashboard turned yellow. The Demon reached up to wipe his eyes. “Nostalgic fool,” he muttered. “I…well you know.” He wished, not for the first time or even tenth, that there was some way he could communicate with his Angel. As the soprano started a new verse, he glanced over at the small, efficient, generic dark red car he’d bought.
It had no personality, it was boring, but it didn’t require the constant string of miracles to keep it operational. With Newt’s help he’d passed the driving test and now was a bona fide driver, yet he had only driven to the village.
He picked up his cell phone. Damn, it had no charge.
No miracles and no patience. Only a few years ago he’d have wrecked his vengeance on the neighborhood or road. He shrugged. Had he remembered to fill Assommant with petrol? He mentally pronounced the French word for boring like Aziraphale would have.
If he’d been here.
2 Feb 2025
Heaven’s empty interior design made it easy to spot his occasional tail. He was pretty sure that it had been Uriel’s idea to still keep close tabs on him. His suit was light beige, simple and well tailored, not the ostentatious suits the other archangels wore. Once again he was trying to follow the Metatron to Earth. Maybe if he knew what he was doing down there, Aziraphale could plan something, anything else. He’d also started using a very small “ignore me” miracle now and then. The knowledge that it worked, could be useful later. Today there was no sign of his tail.
He stopped as the sound of voices. That sounded like Sandalphon and he thought Uriel. While Heaven was mostly open space, there were a few corners to hide behind.
“I still don’t trust him,” the male voice he recognized as Sandalphon said.
“None of us do. I don’t know what games the Metatron is playing either. Do you believe Aziraphale’s acceptance of the Great Plan is genuine?” Definitely Uriel.
“Absolutely not. Has anyone figured out how he survived the Hell Fire?”
“You don’t believe it was because the Almighty found him innocent, that she had not wanted Armageddon to happen?”
“That's what the Metatron said. And why did the Metatron pick him: you or Michael would have been…shhh.” Sandalphon sniff was still exaggerated.
“You're imagining things. The Voice of God has his reasons, and it is all part of the Great Plan. I’ll see you at the council meeting. Think about what I said.”
Aziraphale slipped further into the corner as he watched Uriel walk away. It was a couple of minutes before Sandalphon left.
He’d known the archangels still didn’t trust him. But it had been an interesting conversation to overhear.
Was it by chance though? Or had the years in Heaven made him paranoid? Or did he just wish to watch a performance of Much Ado about Nothing?
The Metatron had disappeared into a lift. No point in trying to follow him.
***
“I heard from Anathema,” Newt said as Crowley entered the family dining room. The spinach and squash sauce Newt was stirring smelled interesting.
“How is our favorite witch?” They’d both watched the news over the past month, the images from Southern California were horrendous. Crowley again wondered if perhaps the fires were Hell’s opening gambit. He’d not heard from Hell since that night.
“Apparently the family home is a total loss.”
“So, why are you two still just talking on Zoom? It’s okay Newt, invite her here. There’s plenty of space. Conduct your courtship in person.” Crowley smiled at the blush on the young man’s face. He had overheard enough of their conversations to know how their relationship was progressing. At least someone had a relationship.
“Just for that I’ll do that. I’ll even drive to the airport to pick her up. What was tonight’s message from your Angel?” The young man smirked.
“E Lucevan le Stelle, from Tosca.” Crowley picked up a plate and quickly served himself. “I’ll eat in my room. Go ahead and make the arrangements with Anathema.”
Time was passing quickly, too quickly. If Adam was correct about the year, they had less than seven months before the predicted Michelmas and all that it entailed.
There was another task he needed to complete. One he’d been postponing. Like the hero in Tosca he was realizing just how much he had to lose.
Suddenly he didn’t feel like eating.
5 April 2025
Aziraphale stood arms behind his back, not even noticing the stunning ultra-sanitized earthscape. His mind was full of questions, the big one was that Cadriel had again tried to arrange a visit with Jesus and after ‘not taking no as an answer,’ had come away with the decided impression that Jesus wasn’t in Heaven and his absence wasn’t part of the Great Plan. Aziraphale had sent the scrivener to the archives, maybe if he knew when Jesus had fled it might offer an alternative to Plan A.
He had almost no hope left. His current goal was to just survive long enough so he could complete Plan A.
There was no logical reason for the Metatron to have selected him, the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, as the Supreme Leader of Heaven.
No logical reason, but one: he and Crowley had generated a massive miracle without even trying. The Metatron had wanted to or needed to separate them. Over the millennia they’d been apart for more years than near, but none of those times were like this. There was so much at stake. At least here he had a chance to stop the Second Coming. He glanced over his shoulder. “Ahh Archangel Michael. How may I be of assistance?”
“I don’t understand why you look at that?” She waved her hand toward the window. “Heaven is so much more immaculate.”
Exactly, he thought to himself. “Just contemplating things.”
“The Generals have gathered in the War Room. Their time is valuable.”
“Of course, Archangel Michael.” He quietly followed her to the even more white and sterile room. He tapped his left arm.
***
“Vesti La Giubba? Really Angel?”
“It’s not going well?” Anathema asked from behind him. “My cousin is a tenor, well was. He retired. It was his usual audition piece.”
“We didn’t arrange all this before he left. I…I have to interpret his choices without knowing what is happening up there. It was never going to go well.” Crowley climbed out of the Bentley and grimaced at the look of fear on her face. He sighed. “Agnes seems pretty sure we’ll stop it, but…” The look of fear on her face didn’t vanish.
“But what about you and Aziraphale?”
Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie, Demon.”
“I won’t tell you then.”
“Is there no other way?” She was biting her lip. “I’ll be in my room, there must be an answer in Agnes’s book.”
“Manuscript,” Crowley said instinctively as she practically ran out of the garage.