"Michael!" Aziraphale said, rather shocked to find the archangel sitting in his shop. "It's lovely to see you. It's been what, a thousand years? Two thousand? Fancy that, us not seeing each other for two hundred centauries. How have you been? Well, I'm sure."

Aziraphale was rambling, his eyes scanning the shop for anything incriminating. He knew it was spotless, but things have a way of turning up at inconvenient times1, and it wouldn't do for Michael to find any of Crowley's… personal objects. It would be just like the demon to leave one of his toys under the sofa, just to get under Aziraphale's skin. Luckily, he could find nothing on quick inspection.

Aziraphale smiled far too broadly, and ushered the Archangel into the back room.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. What do you want- I mean, what can I do for you?"

Michael sat quietly for a moment, looking at the book-stuffed back room like it was the eighth circle of Hell. When his eyes seemed to run out of horrors to light on, he looked Aziraphale in the eye, and cleared his throat.

"We are rather disturbed," he said, "to say the least. It seems you have gotten a bit too familiar with an unsavory element, if you catch my meaning. We have been aware for sometime now that you have developed a working relationship with your nemesis, but we did not feel it was our place to interfere, as long as your work kept up. Your personal relationship, as it were, is undesirable, but that business is between you and God. We have given you a lot of slack, Aziraphale, because you have been an exemplary soldier, but tonight we feel things have gone too far.

Your interference between the demon Crawly and the demon Mangoc was ill advised. A more proper course of action would have been to wait, and then dispatch the victor. The time you would have had while Hell prepared a new envoy would have been invaluable. The progress you could have made in the sanctification of this city would have been incalculable. Instead, you chose sides, predictably aiding the demon Crawly, and allowing him to remain active. I must ask why you did this, and why this particular demon is so important to you. Aziraphale, you do spend more time with him than is strictly necessary. The time has come for us to ask why."

Aziraphale had been waiting for this question, and he had an answer well prepared. It was a good answer too; so good, in fact, he almost believed it.

"As for tonight," he said, winging this part, "I acted rashly, and I do apologize. I couldn't be absolutely sure I would win in a fight with Mangoc, so I removed him first, when he wasn't expecting me. The devil you know right? Then, once it was just down to Crow- Crawly and myself, he was already injured, and he thanked me, and engaging him didn't seem very sports-man like. As to the other, I merely thwart him. He can come up with the most ghastly plans when he's in a foul temper, and what kind of angel would I be if I just let him do as he pleased? Besides," he added, with a burst of angelic pride, "I daresay I have a good influence over him. Just last week he saved all those people when that restaurant caught fire. He carried two small children out himself. He wouldn't have done that a thousand years ago."

He sat back and beamed at Michael, who gave him a rather skeptical look.

"Well", Michael finally said, "I hazard that would have been much more heroic, had he not started that fire himself."

Aziraphale made a gesture like he was trying wave away a bothersome fly. "Oh, well yes," he said, "but the food really was awful, and so expensive. It's just evil, selling that garbage for £30 a plate. Not that I would have burned the place down, but I most certainly would not have left a tip2."

Michael raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He was clearly out of his depth in human affairs. "Getting back to matters at hand," he said, "we do feel that your time with Crawly has gotten a bit excessive. Not that your efforts at thwarting aren't appreciated, but this… Aziraphale, he is not your friend. He is the enemy, one of the Fallen, ruined and unclean. You do realize this?"

Aziraphale nodded stiffly, not liking the direction this conversation was going.

"Good," Michael continued, "because we are not the only ones with a complaint. I had a rather interesting conversation with an envoy from Hell before coming here. They are also quite concerned with the state of things here. Crawly is in danger of being recalled to Hell, which I must say, only suits our purpose. I know you care for him, as you must care for all of God's creations, including the refuse, but we feel that his reclamation would be best for everyone involved. Especially you. We also feel that you might do well with a holiday. We are considering transferring you to another station. Someplace in America, perhaps. They could use your angelic input."

Aziraphale bit his tongue, and waited for the rage to pass. He felt like cursing, but that would do him no good. When he trusted himself to speak, he said, "That would suit their purposes, don't you think? Perhaps that's exactly what they want you to do, and then they'll put Crowley right back on top, and who do you have that would be better at opposing him then me? I mean no disrespect, but if Hell is concerned, I'd say I'm doing something right."

Michael smiled for the first time since entering the shop, and said, "That thought had crossed my mind, but I fear for you Aziraphale. Crawly, or Crowley as you call him, made his choice long ago. He was an angel once, something he can never be again, and his slight redemption is not worth your Fall."

Aziraphale nodded. "I'm in no danger of falling over Crowley, sir. Our relationship is strictly wile and thwart. If he finds redemption along the way, I'll be glad of it, but it's nothing I actively work for." He kept his tone solemn and hoped the lie didn't show on his face.

"Very well," Michael said. "I'll take what you've said into consideration, and I'll let you know what we decide. Oh, one last thing. When I spoke to the Hellish envoy, at the end of the conversation he said if we had any more problems with Crawly in this regard to just 'shoot him an emu.' Aziraphale, do you have any idea why they would want us to make sacrifice of an emu unto them?"

Aziraphale worked this through in his mind, and then smiled.

"An e-mail, sir," he said. "I think he meant send him and e-mail." Michael stared at him blankly. "An electronic message," Aziraphale continued. "It's a way of sending letters from computer to computer, anywhere in the world. They arrive in just seconds. They're really quite handy," he went on, rambling now that he felt his feet on firmer ground. "I use it all the time. I send messages to customers, dealers, Crowley-" Aziraphale stopped suddenly, as he felt his feet carry him blithely over the lip of a pit.

"Just for business, not that we have business, ha ha," he continued, verbally scrambling for purchase. "Just when I want to send him a… a Biblical quotation! Or, an admonishment! I admonish him all the time. I would have sent him a harsh one about that fire business, but I saw him over dinner, so I did it in person. Uh. Er." He finished lamely, flapping his arms to slow his fall.

Michael said "Humph." It was the sound of a shell-shocked angel metaphorically hitting the ground.

Aziraphale sank down onto his desk, feeling his knees go weak for the first time in a millennium. Micheal stood, and he seemed much, much taller than he had when he first arrived.

"I'll have to discuss this meeting with the others," he said, "but I feel I can safely say that you must stay away from that demon trash, if you're to have any hope of remaining in England or, on Earth at all, for that matter. Have a good night, Aziraphale."

And then he was gone. He didn't leave, but simply vanished as if he hadn't been there at all. Aziraphale just sat for a while, feeling his emotions have a cage-match inside of his chest. On one hand, he knew that what Michael had said was true. Crowley was the enemy, and Aziraphale had let them become far too close. He was terrified that he would be recalled, or that he would Fall. On the other hand, he knew that nothing Michael had said even resembled the truth. Crowley had had a dozen opportunities to orchestrate Aziraphale's Fall himself, and he'd never done it. Yes, he was evil, and he was the enemy, but he was also a good man. It was an oxymoron, but there it was. Crowley was antithetical to himself. He was a better man than the worst evil he'd ever committed.

Aziraphale sighed, and climbed the stairs to the little flat he kept above the shop. He changed into a pair of plaid pajamas, crawled into the small bed3, and slept for the first time in sixty years years.

1 Like a bra on a lamp you swear you just dusted, when your mother-in-law pops by unexpectedly.

2 Most waiters would assert that this was certainly more evil than Crowley's course of action.

3 He only kept it for the nights Crowley got too drunk to drive, and refused to sober up. Sometimes, he thought Crowley did it on purpose, just so he wouldn't have to go home. He always dismissed these thoughts as uncharitable, and would have been quite surprised to learn he was right.