Aziraphale frowned at the note he found folded neatly in with the usual bills and advertisments of his daily mail, slipped beneath the door of the bookshop. It was short. 2 lines, printed quite neatly on recycled paper.* It read,
Aziraphale,
We request you set up a contact circle. Now if you please.
The angel swallowed. It had been nearly a month since the Almost-Apocalypse, and since then, Heaven had seemed to have been pretending the whole messy business hadn't happened. Whatever could they want of him now?
But that was the way of Heaven. Ineffable. And so he did as he was asked, bustling about for the candles idly, if not a tad bit nervously. Of course, what should he have to be nervous about? This was Heaven, after all. Not Hell, or... Or Earth, for that matter.
It didn't take long to put everything into order, though, he noted, the candles, which had previously been cream colored and unscented, were now quite a brilliant shade of red, and smelled faintly of apples. Ah well. Couldn't expect the lad to know *just* how everything had been, could you?
Ceremoniously, he lit them quickly and stood inside the lighted chalk marking. "Hullo?" He asked the ceiling questioningly.
There was a pause. And then, "Aziraphale."
"Yes." He admitted, lacing his long fingers in front of him. Resisting the urge to tensely batt at a single strand of tawny brown which had caught it's self in his unnecessary glasses.
"Aziraphale." The multi-stranded voice of the Metatron twined in the air through the glittering dust particles like liquid gold, making the angel flinch. "Lately, some... Things, have come to our attention."
"I, see…"
"Some, rather troubling things."
"Such, as?" Aziraphale ventured. Not entirely sure he wanted to know.
The inflection of the voices in his voice changed abruptly. Abandoning the air it had held of dancing with words. Becoming blunt. "Crawley."
The Brunette felt his heart jump into his throat. Though he could hardly imagine why. What on Ea--Heav- *anywhere* could they mean by--? They weren't going to hurt him, were they? And *why* should he be so worried?
His calm demeanor didn't change, however, and he answered, "I'm not sure I understand."
"It's quite simple." The Metatron quipped. "You allowed yourself to be guided by a demon, Aziraphale."
"What-?"
"Unless you're going to tell me that throwing a wrench into the Apocalypse was *your* idea?"
"No-"
"Many members of the heavenly host saw the two of you together."
"But-"
"So there by, working with a demon, you allowed yourself to be influenced by one."
"I-"
"Led by one."
"Please-"
"In short," the Metatron finished triumphantly, with only the barest trace of smugness in his voice, "Tempted by one."
Aziraphale's mouth fell open. There was nothing he could say. His deep cerulean eyes went wide and, against his will, his bottom lip trembled. Ever so slightly. Fear flooded his veins like a drug.
He was going to fall.
"We don't really require an angel such as that, Aziraphale."
If he had had enough ability to think it, he might have thought, that perhaps, The Metatron had still been a tad upset about his disobedience in general. And that this might have been a stretch. And that he was stuffy, but hardly cruel. But thinking was the furthest thing from his mind.
"So," The voice of Heaven blithely continued, as the angel steeled himself for the worst, "You will remain human."
"P-pardon?" He asked, feeling at once relief and a new wave of fear. Allowing one azure eye to open.
The Metatron hesitated, and when he spoke again there was the distinct air of pouting. Which Aziraphale missed utterly for his current state. "You have your shop, a way of support. You have a place to stay. Currently we have no need of your... Survices. So, as you have a perfectly good way of caring for yourself, Aziraphale, we leave you human."
"En... tirely?"
"Entirely."
"It... it's temporary?"
"Perhaps. That is to be decided."
"Oh." The angel took a breath, eyes still wide. He was utterly terrified, but relieved he wasn't going to fall. And in the most professional voice he could manage, he replied, "I see."
"So shall we." The Metatron clipped in his many voices. "So, Aziraphale, shall we."
* As could be concluded from the twigs and bits of flowers and what not caught in the paper.
~~~
Akk. Re-uploaded this chapter. Stupid computer formatting made the thing all weird on ff.net. Oh well. I also realized that I completely* spaced on the foot-note in this chapter. Geh...
Aziraphale,
We request you set up a contact circle. Now if you please.
The angel swallowed. It had been nearly a month since the Almost-Apocalypse, and since then, Heaven had seemed to have been pretending the whole messy business hadn't happened. Whatever could they want of him now?
But that was the way of Heaven. Ineffable. And so he did as he was asked, bustling about for the candles idly, if not a tad bit nervously. Of course, what should he have to be nervous about? This was Heaven, after all. Not Hell, or... Or Earth, for that matter.
It didn't take long to put everything into order, though, he noted, the candles, which had previously been cream colored and unscented, were now quite a brilliant shade of red, and smelled faintly of apples. Ah well. Couldn't expect the lad to know *just* how everything had been, could you?
Ceremoniously, he lit them quickly and stood inside the lighted chalk marking. "Hullo?" He asked the ceiling questioningly.
There was a pause. And then, "Aziraphale."
"Yes." He admitted, lacing his long fingers in front of him. Resisting the urge to tensely batt at a single strand of tawny brown which had caught it's self in his unnecessary glasses.
"Aziraphale." The multi-stranded voice of the Metatron twined in the air through the glittering dust particles like liquid gold, making the angel flinch. "Lately, some... Things, have come to our attention."
"I, see…"
"Some, rather troubling things."
"Such, as?" Aziraphale ventured. Not entirely sure he wanted to know.
The inflection of the voices in his voice changed abruptly. Abandoning the air it had held of dancing with words. Becoming blunt. "Crawley."
The Brunette felt his heart jump into his throat. Though he could hardly imagine why. What on Ea--Heav- *anywhere* could they mean by--? They weren't going to hurt him, were they? And *why* should he be so worried?
His calm demeanor didn't change, however, and he answered, "I'm not sure I understand."
"It's quite simple." The Metatron quipped. "You allowed yourself to be guided by a demon, Aziraphale."
"What-?"
"Unless you're going to tell me that throwing a wrench into the Apocalypse was *your* idea?"
"No-"
"Many members of the heavenly host saw the two of you together."
"But-"
"So there by, working with a demon, you allowed yourself to be influenced by one."
"I-"
"Led by one."
"Please-"
"In short," the Metatron finished triumphantly, with only the barest trace of smugness in his voice, "Tempted by one."
Aziraphale's mouth fell open. There was nothing he could say. His deep cerulean eyes went wide and, against his will, his bottom lip trembled. Ever so slightly. Fear flooded his veins like a drug.
He was going to fall.
"We don't really require an angel such as that, Aziraphale."
If he had had enough ability to think it, he might have thought, that perhaps, The Metatron had still been a tad upset about his disobedience in general. And that this might have been a stretch. And that he was stuffy, but hardly cruel. But thinking was the furthest thing from his mind.
"So," The voice of Heaven blithely continued, as the angel steeled himself for the worst, "You will remain human."
"P-pardon?" He asked, feeling at once relief and a new wave of fear. Allowing one azure eye to open.
The Metatron hesitated, and when he spoke again there was the distinct air of pouting. Which Aziraphale missed utterly for his current state. "You have your shop, a way of support. You have a place to stay. Currently we have no need of your... Survices. So, as you have a perfectly good way of caring for yourself, Aziraphale, we leave you human."
"En... tirely?"
"Entirely."
"It... it's temporary?"
"Perhaps. That is to be decided."
"Oh." The angel took a breath, eyes still wide. He was utterly terrified, but relieved he wasn't going to fall. And in the most professional voice he could manage, he replied, "I see."
"So shall we." The Metatron clipped in his many voices. "So, Aziraphale, shall we."
* As could be concluded from the twigs and bits of flowers and what not caught in the paper.
~~~
Akk. Re-uploaded this chapter. Stupid computer formatting made the thing all weird on ff.net. Oh well. I also realized that I completely* spaced on the foot-note in this chapter. Geh...