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phoen1xr0se · 7 months

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Good Omens S2E6 - Aziraphale's perspective

Taken from my fanfic 'Don't Fall Away From Me', on AO3 (link below). Apologies for any broken hearts in advance, but I hope it fixes some too. Most of the dialogue is taken from GOS2E6 but everything else is all me.

Artist credit: @mistysblueboxstuff

Aziraphale

Forty-one days earlier.

"Go on. The day can't get any weirder."

Aziraphale swallowed, turning to exit the bookshop, coffee in hand. The last thing he wanted right now was to leave Crowley's side and the sanctity of their little world - he knew that the significance of what they had just witnessed between Gabriel and Beelzebub would not be lost on the demon, and he desperately wanted to talk about it with him. When Aziraphale had intuitively reached for him, he was sure he had seen Crowley give a small nod, as if to say, "I know, angel."

The thought that he might finally give a voice to what they had been dancing around for years made him feel as though he was in a freefall - Aziraphale took a long swig from the sweet almond coffee to try and ground himself and glanced back at the Metatron.

"Sit, sit, dear boy," said Metatron, gesturing to a small table and chairs.

Aziraphale sat, hands fluttering anxiously. He put them back on the coffee to stop himself and took another sip.

"Now, I shall get right to the point. It seems we are down an Archangel." The Metatron smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do you have any thoughts on who might be best suited to replace them?"

Aziraphale paused. Why was the Metatron asking him for advice? "Well... Michael?"

"Oh, don't be silly! No, no, no, no, no. There's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"And that's you."

Aziraphale blinked. Had he heard that correctly? "Me?"

"Well, yes. You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine."

Aziraphale's mouth dropped open in astonishment, struggling for words. He had always believed that those qualities had contributed to his exile from Heaven, and yet the Metatron was telling him that these were reasons he should be... promoted? In charge? Surely there was no way that this offer could be genuine.

The Metatron continued, before Aziraphale had a chance to pick that thread apart. "There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them."

Aziraphale paused. In a flash, he remembered what Crowley had said four years previously about The Big One. Us against humanity. Left in the hands of Michael, or Uriel, or any of those bad angels, he could only begin to imagine what would befall Earth. Humanity wouldn't stand a chance. The angels didn't understand anything about what it truly meant to be human... or even what it meant to be good.

"You are just the angel for the job." The Metatron smiled, and in spite of himself, Aziraphale thought that he was probably right about that.

But no... he couldn't leave Earth. His bookshop. Crowley. This peaceful, fragile existence. "But I... I don't want to go back to Heaven. W-where would I get my coffee?"

The Metatron's eyes grew steelier and Aziraphale realised that he understood that this wasn't about coffee. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. How much did he know?

"You know..." Metatron phrased the words very carefully, "as Supreme Archangel, you would be able to decide who to work with. I've been looking back over a number of your previous exploits..." Aziraphale swallowed nervously, "and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon, Crowley."

The name hung in the air between them. Aziraphale glanced away. Apparently he knew quite a lot.

"Now, if you wanted to work with him again, that... might be considered irregular, but it would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend Crowley to full angelic status."

The impact of the statement took a while to register. Aziraphale blinked. In his mind's eye, he flashed back to the first time he had ever interacted with the angel-that-had-been-Crowley. It was at the creation of the universe, and he recalled with a pang the joy on his face, the sheer exuberance and excitement that had left a lasting impression on the more junior angel. Crowley as an angel had been magical, magnificent to behold. And Aziraphale knew better than anyone that Crowley had never deserved to Fall. Crowley had no memories of his time spent as an angel, but Aziraphale remembered. He remembered it all.

He was so lost in thought that he missed the triumphant glint in the Metatron's eyes.

"I... well, I don't quite know what to say," began Aziraphale, but Metatron held up a finger to halt him.

"It's just an option. One of many powers you will have as Supreme Archangel. A word to the wise, though..." Metatron leaned in conspiratorially. "There has been some talk that this partnership is all simply a part of Hell's... how shall we put it... long game."

Aziraphale was lost. "What do you mean?"

"Well there is a rumour that Hell assigned some specific demons to tempt angels away from Heaven..." Metatron paused, choosing his phrasing with care. "I personally didn't believe it myself until the utter disaster with Gabriel. Quite a shock, I can tell you. I never thought Gabriel would be vulnerable to demonic influences, but I suppose you never can tell..."

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. "I can assure you -" he began, but the Metatron interrupted.

"Oh, my dear boy, I am certain that you would never fall prey to a demon's wiles. You are far too intelligent for that." The Metatron looked Aziraphale coolly in the eyes, but there was a question there. A question Aziraphale didn't want to examine too closely. He looked down at the coffee in his hands, and recalled the night he and Crowley had spent in Job's basement.

Are you... trying to tempt me?

Not at all, angels can't be tempted, can you?

The taste of those ox ribs. The way once he'd tasted it, he'd realised he was so hungry, not just hungry, but ravenous. Starved.

Aziraphale pushed the thought away, but as soon as he pushed it away, another thought barrelled in to take its place. The first time Crowley had convinced him to try wine, promising him that a drop wouldn't hurt. The first gift he had ever been given, a book, his first material Earthly possession, gifted to him by Crowley. The way Crowley had convinced him that there was no point in doing Good if they were always cancelling each other out. The way Aziraphale had done so many small, little, bad things because Crowley had assured him it didn't matter. Each memory was like a gut punch.

But no.

No.

He knew Crowley. Yes, he was a demon, but he wasn't bad. At least, not all bad.

"I believe you are quite wrong," stated Aziraphale boldly, sitting up straight. "The demon Crowley has, over the many years we have spent... I mean, over the time we have known one another, done many kind and Good things. He is better than half the angels I know! Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, they don't have half his compassion, his honesty, his bravery. I believe God was mistaken in..." Aziraphale's brave defence faltered as Metatron's eyebrows raised. "I mean, I think sometimes people deserve a second chance."

Metatron nodded. "Perhaps it is as you say." He stood, and Aziraphale followed suit.

Aziraphale glanced back at the bookshop. All he wanted now was to get back to Crowley. He knew that talking with him would alleviate these fears. Crowley might not want to go to Heaven, but surely he would see that it was the safest place for them to be? Especially if their fears about The Big One were correct? In spite of everything Crowley felt about Heaven, he was certain that Crowley would see it was the only way they could save the world they had both come to cherish. And perhaps he'd see a glimmer of that happy angel he'd known so long ago... before Aziraphale had put thoughts into his head, thoughts that had ultimately led to...

Aziraphale shook the thoughts away.

"Uh, thank you for this... chat... I really had better get back to the bookshop," Aziraphale said delicately.

"Well, you don't have to answer immediately," said the Metatron, "Take all the time you need."

His expression, however, demanded urgency.

"I... I don't know what to say," Aziraphale faltered. He needed Crowley. He couldn't make this decision without him.

"Well then, go and tell your friend the good news," said the Metatron measuredly. Good news.

Would Crowley see it that way?

Aziraphale very much doubted it. As he crossed the street, he resolved that he was going to hard-sell Heaven to Crowley no matter what. Above everything else, he wanted Crowley to be safe. He wanted humanity to be safe. And the only way that was going to happen is if he had a voice. He exhaled, steeling himself for what he knew was going to be a very difficult pitch.

The bell tinkled as he entered, and he saw Maggie and Nina walking toward the exit. "We're just going," smiled Maggie. "I'm sure you two have a lot to say," Nina added, and they exited.

Aziraphale took another deep breath as his eyes fell on Crowley. Crowley was sat in his usual chair, leaning forward with his dark glasses on, his mouth hanging open as if in surprise. He thought, with a sudden rush of feelings, how accustomed he had become to seeing the demon here, and how comfortable Crowley had made himself here. These days he almost always took his glasses off around the shop, a level of vulnerability Crowley had only recently managed in the last year or so.

Crowley, noticing Aziraphale, suddenly stood, removing his glasses. Aziraphale felt his resolve soften as he looked into the demon's wide yellow eyes with their trademark snakelike slits. Yellow really was the most beautiful colour. He was so busy staring that he didn't even realise Crowley had begun to speak.

"Look, I suppose, um... I've got something to say. I know we ought to be talking about... uh, it's probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, 'cause if I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so -"

Aziraphale barely heard a word of what the demon was saying. This wasn't uncommon when Crowley was around, Aziraphale did have a tendency to get a little distracted - but this time it was because he was desperately trying to think of the right arrangement of words that would help Crowley adjust to what he was about to hear.

"What's that lovely human expression?" interjected Aziraphale, flailing his arms wildly. He was feeling giddy. "Oh yes, hold that thought!" He pasted on a wide grin. Sell it, sell it, he told himself. "You see, I have some incredibly good news to give you!"

Crowley didn't look particularly pleased so far. "Really?"

"I, um... so, uh, um..." Aziraphale's arms were still doing most of the talking for him whilst he frantically tried to explain. "The Metatron, you know, I don't think he's as bad a fellow... Well, I think I might have misjudged him. You see, I... Well, he said, um..." Aziraphale noticed Crowley's expression darken with mistrust. Oops. Go bigger. "He said that Gabriel, obviously hadn't worked out..." Aziraphale laughed nervously, "as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host, and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone. And I said Michael, to which he laughed, and said there was only one candidate who made the slightest bit of sense. Me."

Crowley's face was frozen. It was hard to assess how he was taking this. "And I said, 'me?' And he said that I was a leader, honest, I didn't tell people what they wanted to hear and that they needed me. Of course I was surprised - I mean, obviously - and of course I said I didn't want to go, because... well... but then..." Aziraphale paused and took a step closer to Crowley, his entire face lighting up. "He said that if I was Archangel, I could restore you to be an angel. Full angelic status."

A beat. "He said what?"

"He said I could appoint you to be an angel." Aziraphale couldn't help beaming. Crowley deserved to be restored, deserved it more than anyone, in spite of everything Metatron had said, he knew that Crowley should never have Fallen. "You could come back to Heaven and... and everything. Like the old times. Only even nicer."

Aziraphale's smile lit up the room as Crowley held his gaze. "Right. And you told him just where he could stick it, then?"

Aziraphale's smile faltered. What had gone wrong? "Not at all..."

Crowley shook his head slowly. "Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, angel! You don't need them, I certainly don't need them!" Crowley began pacing, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. "Look, they asked me back to Hell, I said no, I'm not rejoining their team, neither should you!" His yellow eyes met Aziraphale's again and they were awash with confusion.

Aziraphale fumbled. "But.. well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys." He saw Crowley's face change. Whoops. He should have said THEY are the bad guys. Crowley was anything but bad, and that was precisely the point he was trying to make. "But Heaven... Well, it's the side of Truth, of Light... of Good." And that's why you belong there.

"When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it," growled Crowley.

Aziraphale was flustered now - this hadn't gone how he thought it would, at all.

"Tell me you said no," Crowley begged. Aziraphale looked away, avoiding the way Crowley's body broke a little as he stepped forward into the silence. His voice when it came out was devoid of all his usual venom. It was almost soft, pleading. "Tell me you said no."

"If... I'm in charge, I can make a difference," Aziraphale said. It sounded so lame and contrite given the weight of the conversation, but he really meant it. The angel had endured so much loss that he had been unable to control, so many of God's choices he had been unable to question or challenge. How many times had he had to sit back and endure human tragedies at the hand of God, wrestling with himself to try and believe that it was for the Greater Good but never understanding why. This was his opportunity to finally understand God's will - and perhaps even try to alter it.

Crowley sighed deeply and began pacing again. "Oh... Oh, God." He gulped. "Right, okay. Right. I didn't get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I'd better say it now. Right. Okay. Yes. So." Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale noticed that the demon was almost imperceptibly shaking.

The energy in the room shifted instantly. Aziraphale instantly knew that whatever Crowley was about to say was going to change things. Permanently.

"We've known each other a long time."

This was it.

"We've been on this planet a long time. I mean, you and me."

He wasn't ready.

"I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me."

How long had he waited to hear these words? Words he was sure would never come. Crowley never spoke like this, not ever. Aziraphale's eyes flicked to the street where he could see the Metatron standing by Muriel and he shifted uneasily.

"We're a team. A group. A group of the two of us."

Aziraphale's blue eyes widened. This was really happening.

"And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't." Crowley's voice cracked.

Aziraphale's mouth struggled to find words, but no sound came out. Crowley hadn't looked away from him once, but broke their gaze now.

"I mean, the last few years, not really." Crowley looked around the bookshop and Aziraphale knew that they were both thinking of the last four years they had spent together on Earth. No longer having to pretend to be on opposite sides. No longer having to deny their affection for one another. It had still been unspoken, but it had been allowed. They had allowed a life to grow, here.

"And I would like to spend -" Crowley began, but as his eyes met the angel's, he choked on the words. He looked away again, growled, exhaled, then regained his composure, whilst Aziraphale stared at the demon as though he were a freight train coming straight at him. Was Crowley really trying to say what he thought he was trying to say?

"I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can." Crowley's voice was desperate, pleading. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley like this before.

It scared him.

Crowley was always the strong one, always the brave one, always coming to his rescue. Despite knowing the demon had a softer side, Aziraphale had come to rely on the demon's hard exterior. You always knew where you stood. Except now, he really didn't.

"Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic! We need to get away from them, just be an us."

An us.

In all honesty, they had been an us for quite some time now, and they both knew it. It was just one of those things they didn't say. Except all of a sudden Crowley had changed the rules and Aziraphale didn't know what his part was in this new dynamic. He felt lost. All he knew, all he had ever known, and all he had ever tried to do, was the Right Thing.

"You and me, what do you say?" finished Crowley, his eyes wide. Pleading. Hoping.

An eternity seemed to pass as Aziraphale stared into Crowley's open, hopeful face. He reminded him then of the angel he had been. It reminded Aziraphale again of what they had both lost, and what stood to be lost now. And even though Aziraphale had dreamed of this moment many times, in many ways, over many years - and in no version of his imaginings had he ever rejected the demon's affections - he knew that he could never place his own selfish wants over what was right. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"Come with me," he implored, stepping closer to Crowley, his blue eyes begging the demon to see reason. "To Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference."

Crowley looked stunned. "You can't leave this bookshop."

Aziraphale almost laughed. How could Crowley be thinking about the bookshop at a time like this? Humanity was at stake, for crying out loud! If they remained here on Earth and let Heaven and Hell wage their wars, there wouldn't be much of anything left, let alone a bookshop. The existence Crowley wanted wouldn't even be possible.

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. "Nothing lasts forever."

Crowley's entire demeanour changed. He wilted, and with horror Aziraphale saw tears glisten in his beautiful yellow eyes. Crowley's face, that had moments ago been so expressive and open, turned to its usual impassive state. "No," said Crowley quietly, blinking and looking away. "No, I don't suppose it does." He put his dark glasses on, and Aziraphale realised that Crowley had read something into his words that he hadn't meant. "Good luck," he said flatly, and walked past Aziraphale to the exit.

Aziraphale felt the world drop out from beneath his feet. "Good luck? Crowley!"

He watched his demon pause, momentarily, then turn around. He knew he had to say something to convince Crowley to stay. He knew trying to convince Crowley it would be a good idea to go to Heaven would be tricky, but he knew that Crowley was at heart a GOOD person. He had to appeal to that.

"Crowley, come back! To Heaven! Work with me!" He saw Crowley's deadpan face and realised, with some shame, that he hadn't truly responded to any of the wonderful things Crowley had tried to say to him. Crowley had dropped his defences and tried to redefine their relationship and Aziraphale found himself unexpectedly unable to reciprocate. The words just wouldn't come. He gulped, now, examining his own feelings.

Did he care for Crowley?

Yes.

Did he love Crowley?

Yes.

Did he want to spend his existence with Crowley?

Yes.

But did he feel deep shame and guilt for loving him, a demon?

Also, yes.

Aziraphale tried. "We can be together!" he clasped his hands together, as if trying to press together what he wanted and what was right. "Angels! Doing good!"

Crowley wouldn't even look at him.

The feeling of the Earth falling away came back to him. He was really about to lose Crowley. "I - I need you!"

Crowley looked at him then. They were both remembering the many times they had protested quite the opposite over the years. Crowley looked unimpressed.

Aziraphale felt his whole body burn with frustration - he was offering Crowley a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. Fallen angels never came back to Heaven, not ever. And he knew Crowley deserved to be there. He wanted to undo the mistake he had made all those millennia ago, the guilty truth he had never forgiven himself for. He swallowed back a lump in his throat as he recalled the last moments before Crowley fell, how the angel had sought out Aziraphale's face in the crowds, his eyes wide and wild, hopeful and scared - and how Aziraphale had looked away. This was his chance to put Crowley back where he belonged. "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

"I understand," said Crowley flatly. "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

And that was the moment Aziraphale knew he'd lost him.

The world fell away, for good. Somehow he stayed standing. "Well... then there's nothing more to say."

Crowley was only two feet away but it felt like miles. And soon the distance would be a lot further.

"Listen," said Crowley, pointing up. "Do you hear that?"

Aziraphale barely heard him over the sound of his own panicked thoughts. "I... I don't hear anything," he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

"That's the point," said Crowley, his words dripping with emotion. "No nightingales."

At the mention of nightingales, something hardened in Aziraphale. More unspoken understandings between them. The song 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square' had been playing on the night their life together began, the night they were freed from the confines of pretending they were on opposite sides. Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but Aziraphale knew it was a song that signified their relationship, their partnership, their freedom. No more nightingales meant no more them. Crowley was saying, in his own way, in the cruellest way, that they were over.

He saw something like satisfaction in Crowley's face as he realised the hit had landed. "You idiot," continued Crowley, frustration etched on every line of his face. "We could've been... us."

Aziraphale was the one to turn away now, hiding tears that had betrayed his resolve. Did Crowley think he didn't know what he was giving up? All he had ever wanted... but not at the cost of life on Earth. He couldn't bear to watch his demon leave, to walk away forever, if he looked at him a moment longer he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it.

He heard footsteps, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see Crowley leaving - but instead felt a rough tug at his lapels, and before he knew it, he felt Crowley's lips on his. The shock reverberated through his entire body and his instinctive reaction was to pull away, no, I can't, I can't he thought desperately... but the warmth of Crowley's lips, the feeling of his body so close, the fact that it had taken six thousand years to finally close the gap between them, it was impossible to resist. It felt so good, to finally be... us. Despite himself, Aziraphale's hands stopped fluttering, and he pulled Crowley closer, giving in to the temptation.

The temptation.

Aziraphale's hands flew off the demon.

Hell assigned some specific demons to tempt angels away from Heaven...

Crowley let go of Aziraphale and Aziraphale gasped, overcome with a torrent of emotions. He hadn't known he'd wanted this until the feel of Crowley's lips pressing into his. It had taken a moment but the craving it had awoken in him raged through his body, a betrayal against all that he tried so hard to be. It felt exactly like that night in Job's basement, all those years ago... He wanted Crowley. His entire being ached to close the space between them again. He wanted so badly to forget all about the Metatron, Heaven, Hell, everything, and just throw himself back into Crowley's arms. But he'd been tempted, hadn't he? The serpent did what he does best, what he does so well, so slyly, what he's done for thousands of years... Aziraphale felt something inside him break, deeply, as he realised that, regardless of whether or not Hell was behind it, he had been tempted, and failed to pass the test yet again.

Aziraphale felt a cold, righteous anger sweep over him.

Crowley was staring at him expectantly. What did he expect? A declaration of love after having completely manipulated the angel's feelings?

I won't let you have the satisfaction of knowing how much you tempted me. How much you hurt me.

"I... I forgive you," Aziraphale said unsteadily, clenching his jaw in resolve. He regretted it the moment he said it.

Crowley sighed, a deep sigh. "Don't bother."

With that, the demon turned and finally left the bookshop.

Crumbling, Aziraphale let the tears come. He lifted his fingers to his lips, allowing himself for just a moment to remember what it felt like. He had never been kissed before, he had always thought it a peculiar human oddity, to press their faces together to show affection - he had not expected it to feel warm, to feel intimate, to feel like they were communicating in ways that could never be put into words. It was... magical.

But then he remembered who he was. Or at least, who he was supposed to be. Not an angel in love with a demon. An angel who did The Right Thing. An angel like that does not get tempted away from doing The Right Thing. If he was going to be Supreme Archangel, he had to be THAT version of himself.

He wiped the kiss away from his lips with vehemence. He would not allow himself to think about it, or Crowley, anymore.

Because if I did, I would run back to you...

As Aziraphale struggled to regain control of his emotions, the bell tinkled, and for a moment, one glorious moment, Aziraphale thought it was Crowley coming back to straighten everything out. Turning, he felt his hope fade as he saw the Metatron striding in. Quickly turning away to wipe the tears that threatened to fall and betray his emotion, he gave himself a quick talking to. This was no time for weakness.

"Well? How did he take it?"

Aziraphale said, truthfully, "Uh... not well." He chuckled nervously. He didn't want the Metatron to interfere with Crowley. He knew he needed to be careful about what he said.

"Ah, well, always did want to go his own way," said the Metatron dismissively.

Aziraphale stole a glance outside the bookshop and saw Crowley standing by the Bentley.

"Always asking damn fool questions, too," said the Metatron. Aziraphale recognised that this comment was a disguised warning to himself - don't ask questions. "Right, ready to start?"

Aziraphale felt his heart lurch. Hadn't the Metatron said he had plenty of time to decide? "I..." He glanced once again at the tall, dark figure standing outside. Crowley was stood completely still, watching Aziraphale from the street. Waiting? "My bookshop!" stammered Aziraphale desperately, trying to think of a way to give himself a little more time.

"Ye-es, well, for now, I've entrusted it to Muriel," said the Metatron matter-of-factly, indicating the young angel who waved exuberantly from the window. "So it should be in good hands."

"But..." Aziraphale stared out at the street. At him.

"Anything you need to take with you?" asked the Metatron.

Him, thought Aziraphale. Just him.

The Metatron's energy was cold, and forceful. Aziraphale could feel it coming off him in waves. He knew, somehow, that he had been backed into a corner. "No... nothing I can think of."

The Metatron made an affirmative noise and made to move towards the door, and it all suddenly hit Aziraphale - if he went with the Metatron now, it would really be over. No more cosy bookshop, no more books. No more sushi, no more sherry. No more music, no more plays. No more nightingales. A flash of what returning to Heaven would actually mean suddenly cut through Aziraphale and he understood, finally, what Crowley had been trying to tell him. There would be no going back.

Overcome, he rushed forward. "I think I -" he burst out, but stopped himself.

For once in your soft, silly life, do the Right Thing, angel! Aziraphale told himself sternly. This is about more than you and... him. He took one last look at Crowley. Leaning against the car on the street outside, the demon hadn't moved an inch, his dark-shaded eyes fixated on the inside of the bookshop.

"Nothing at all," said Aziraphale, straightening himself up and exiting the shop, plastering a fake smile on his face.

The street was busy, and Aziraphale could feel a pair of snakelike eyes burning into the back of his head but he wasn't going to look. If he looked, he'd run...

As they approached the entrance to the elevator that would take him to his new job, Metatron smiled at Aziraphale in a way that was intended to be reassuring but sent chills down Aziraphale's spine. "Well, I can't think of a better Angel to wrap things up, and to set into motion the next step in the Great Plan."

Aziraphale started. This was why he'd taken the job. This is why he'd forsaken everything he'd ever wanted. "Um, yes, you mentioned that. Can I know... what it is?"

"Well, it's something we need an angel of your talents to direct. An angel who is familiar with how they do things on Earth."

Aziraphale felt himself relax somewhat. Perhaps he had been mistaken and Heaven really was beginning to consider the merits of humanity. He began to smile.

The Metatron turned as the elevator doors opened. "We call it the second coming."

Aziraphale's face dropped its smile, now stricken with panic and fear. The second coming wasn't a fluffy visit from Jesus as most people believed... the second coming meant Judgement Day, when all of humanity would be judged and those found wanting would be thrown into Hellfire. The world, as they knew it, would be over.

The Metatron turned and looked at Aziraphale with steely eyes. Aziraphale felt as though the being could see into his innermost thoughts and tried to rearrange his expression. He looked away... to his left, the tall, dark figure of Crowley still leaned against the car. Definitely waiting. Aziraphale realised Crowley was holding on to the hope that at the last moment, Aziraphale would change his mind and choose their life on Earth.

But what will that be worth if we end up with no Earth left to live on, my dear?

It took every bit of strength Aziraphale had ever had to tear his eyes, his heart, his everything, away from the life he could have had and walk into that elevator. He sighed, inwardly letting go of it all. As he entered, it almost felt as though every step was being taken by someone else, and the smile on his face was a ghost of himself. He was so focused on appearing normal that he didn't notice the Metatron's sigh of relief and smile of victory as the doors slid closed.

"Going up," said the disembodied voice, and they began to move up towards Heaven. Every second that passed, Aziraphale felt his anxiety rise.

The second coming.

Judgement Day.

What had he done? How on Earth could he possibly circumnavigate this? And on his own? Without...

With another pang, Aziraphale realised that Crowley would be Judged just like everybody else. He knew in his heart that Crowley wasn't completely bad, but he had always been under the impression that Judgement Day was very black-and-white when it came to who was deemed righteous and who was not. He could lose him. He could lose everyone - and this time, it would be all his fault. No chance to shrug and complain that someone else had the power this time.

What could he do? What could he actually do?

As the elevator continued to take them higher and higher, Aziraphale racked his brains, and Crowley's words suddenly sprang into his mind. "Just to be able to ask the questions..."

Slowly, a plan began to form in his mind.

A plan that would begin... with a suggestion box.

Aziraphale smiled.

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