It was Heaven. But it wasn't a part he'd seen before.
He knew it was Heaven, because he recognised the tiles of the floor. Angels weren't terribly imaginative, and their decorating was uniform throughout the entirety of the Above. Uniform, blinding white, and bland as all Hell.
However, this part of Heaven was different than what he was used to. Here, there was something to break up the expanse of empty tile.
Before him, not far in the distance, were two doors. They weren't far apart, and they were set in a strange, hazy wall that almost didn't exist. The doors were solid, however. Both white, though the one on the left wasn't quite as blinding. Eggshell, perhaps.
Aziraphale walked slowly towards the doors. He felt a strange fear. In the silence, his footsteps echoed, and he wished he'd opted for quieter soles. He'd always insisted on leather-soled shoes. Had he invested in trainers he'd be quieter. But then, he had standards.
This place however…there was a feeling of secrecy to it. He knew, instinctively, that he shouldn't be allowed here. That no one was ever, really, allowed here. Like he had wandered off the edge of a map.
"Why am I here?" he whispered, and in the silence it was as though he'd shouted it.
Nothing answered him.
For some reason, he knew he didn't have much time. However, he was not keen on opening any of the two doors. They scared him, and he didn't know why. They emitted some kind of energy that he couldn't get a grip on. It was greater than anything he'd ever felt.
Instinctively, he headed to the whiter door. The doorknob was gold and engraved with vines. If he'd had time, he would have examined the craftsmanship. But now was not the time. He grasped the handle. It was strangely warm.
This comforted him, a little, and he opened the door. He was greeted by a wall of flame.
"Dammit!" he yelled, and slammed the door shut.
Immediately he felt shame for cursing. But his body still radiated heat from the single moment the door had been opened. He was surprised his hair hadn't singed, and quickly brought a hand up to check that his eyebrows were still intact.
In the single moment the door was open, he had seen that it wasn't entirely flames the room was filled with. He recalled what looked like a hallway, lined with shelves. All on fire, of course. He hadn't seen what was on the shelves, however, and he wasn't about to open the door again.
Straightening his bowtie, he backed away from the white door and glanced warily at the eggshell one. Now that he knew flames were a possibility, he was even more unwilling to try the second door. Perhaps this one would unveil a room of Hell Hounds. Or Satan himself. He wondered if he should knock, then threw away that thought. If danger wasn't going to announce its presence, then neither was he.
Slowly, he approached the eggshell door. His mouth was dry. Why had he even come here? Why was he going around opening strange doors all of a sudden? It wasn't like it was going to help him.
He reached out a hand and grasped the doorknob, this one made of wood. He felt a flash of relief when this one didn't feel warm. He turned it, paused, then pulled it open a half an inch.
No flames shot through the crack. However, he did hear something trickling, and looked down to see a pool of water growing around the edge of the open door. He opened it fully, and the water cascaded gently over the threshold, wetting the leather soles of his shoes.
This hallway was painted the same eggshell white of the door, and was, like the other, lined with shelves. It was much easier to see, with the absence of flames. However, every surface—the shelves, the floor—was covered in a shining layer of water. It dripped from the shelves in unending trickles, though there didn't seem to be a source. The water on the floor was an inch deep, flowing quickly now that the door was open, and Aziraphale could feel water seep into his socks as he walked inside.
On all the shelves there were small orbs, roughly the size of billiard balls. They sat upon wet, wooden stands, a few inches apart—there were hundreds that he could see, and he didn't know how far the hallway went. He was reminded of a souvenir shop he'd visited once in Paris, every shelf covered in kitschy snowglobes housing tiny plastic Eiffel Towers and Arc de Triumphs and Notre Dames. These globes didn't have anything inside. They glowed faintly, with a light that pulsed in rhythm.
These globes emitted something else, something Aziraphale couldn't place. Some energy. He didn't like this place, but something pulled him forward.
"Why am I here," he whispered again. His voice was tight with fear. Again, he heard no answer. Only the trickle of water as it flowed off the shelves.
Taking another look at the shelves, he realised that, at the base of every globe, there was a tiny plaque. Curious, he walked over to one and looked closer. It was difficult to read through the flowing water, but he could just make it out.
Alastor DXI (aka Alex Miller) 12/08/1764
"What in the world…" Aziraphale murmured. He stared at the globe, and it pulsed. Like a heartbeat.
Then he read the next one. And the next. And the next.
He kept going, down the line. His heart was in his throat as he read each plaque, not stopping to read the whole thing, eventually just looking at the first letter, searching like a man searches for an antidote to a poison that was seeping in his veins. He was almost running now, the water splashing around his feet, soaking the hem of his pants. He barely noticed.
Hope was a dangerous thing. He knew this. If he didn't have the capacity to hope, he'd never have the capacity to feel hopeless. Nevertheless, he couldn't help the feeling as it swelled in his chest, despite all his efforts to quash it. It was impossible. This was impossible, that tiny thought in his mind was impossible. But he kept looking.
And he nearly missed it.
He was five globes down when his eyes caught up with his brain, and he backtracked, splashing water up the back of his pants. He read and reread the plaque, but he really didn't need to. He could feel it, this globe. It's energy. It felt familiar. His breath catching in his throat, he reached out and picked up the globe. It sat in his hand like a plucked apple.
"Crowley," he whispered. He used his shirt to dry the little orb. The water, he realised, was likely not ordinary water, and he felt sick that the droplets were even on the glass. What if he could feel it? A continuous burn?
He stood there for quite a while, just holding the globe. Too long.
Suddenly, he heard voices. They were echoing down the hall, from the direction of the doorway. Aziraphale quickly slipped the globe in his jacket pocket, and he headed back the way he came, trying not to splash and failing in his haste to get to the door.
At the door, he paused, listening. The voices seemed far off, but who knew how far they could see—there wasn't much in the way of blocking the view. Knowing that he couldn't stay here, knowing he had to do it now, he slipped through the door and closed it behind him, trying to stop the click. He then started away from the door and had only gone about ten steps before the voice rang out.
"You there! Stop!"
Aziraphale stopped and turned. Two angels he didn't recognise were walking in his direction, holding flaming swords. "Ah, hello," Aziraphale said, smiling warmly at them.
"Who are you?" one angel demanded, pointing the sword at Aziraphale. "How did you get here?"
"I just…wandered here," Aziraphale said. He wondered if he could get away with just answering the second inquiry. "I'm a bit lost, actually. I came through a bookcase. Well, it wasn't a bookcase when I went through it, but until recently it had very much been one—"
"No one just wanders here," the other angel said sharply. "It's the most heavily guarded section of Heaven. You must have been granted access. Why?"
Aziraphale blinked at her. "Well…if I've been granted access, then surely it's not a good idea to be pointing a sword at me."
She looked at her partner, and he begrudgingly lowered the sword. "Even if you've been let in here, it doesn't mean you've been acting accordingly," he said. "You should have an escort. No one goes near the Halls without an escort."
"Well, he wandered off."
"Who was he?"
Aziraphale couldn't think—he grabbed onto the first name that popped in his brain. "Gabriel."
Immediately he regretted the choice. However, his answer seemed to impress the guard angels. They blinked in surprise. "Gabriel?" the second angel said uneasily.
"Yes, Gabriel." Aziraphale held out a hand to indicate height, then realised how stupid it looked and dropped his hand. "Tall fellow. Grey suit. Archangel."
"We know who Gabriel is," the man said. "Why is he taking you to the Halls?"
"Well…" Aziraphale thought quickly. "I was meant to file a form, you see. Recorporation of a Body. It was meant to be filed a month ago, but you know, strange times." He let out a little chuckle that wasn't reciprocated, and he stopped immediately. "He must have, um, brought me to the wrong area. And then, you know. Disappeared."
The two guard angels glanced at each other.
"Perhaps we should call Gabriel," the second guard said.
"There's no need for that," Aziraphale said hastily. He brushed his hands down his coat—he could feel the little globe through the fabric. "Really, I was just leaving anyway. If you could direct me to the door that leads to Earth, that would be splendid."
"No…" The second guard studied Aziraphale with narrowed eyes. "I think we need Gabriel's confirmation on this. Something doesn't smell right."
"Are you sure?" Aziraphale's voice was bordering on hysterical now. "Perhaps it's paint. I thought I smelled some. Are you redecorating?"
"We never redecorate," the first guard said.
The second guard pressed a finger to her temple and closed her eyes. A moment later, Gabriel appeared.
"I was in a meeting," he said, visibly irritated. Then he noticed Aziraphale, and his purple eyes flashed with surprise.
"Hello, Gabriel," Aziraphale said. "Did the paperwork go through?"
"Haven't had a chance to file it yet," Gabriel said slowly. He blinked. "How did…why are you here?"
"So you were lying," the first guard hissed to Aziraphale.
Gabriel turned to him. "Shut up." He turned back to Aziraphale. "You can't be here."
"I know," Aziraphale said. "I was trying to get out, actually. Do you know where I could find a door to—"
"No, I mean, it's literally impossible for you to be here. Only the highest tier angel can enter this place, and that is only with proper documentation. You should have burned to a crisp in the entranceway. How in the name of Heaven did you get in?"
"Oh, well…" Aziraphale shrugged. "I just wandered in."
Gabriel chewed on his lip. He seemed to be deep in thought.
Aziraphale could feel the warmth of the orb in his pocket. All he had to do was get away from Gabriel.
He just needed to get away.
"Gabriel, I just want to go home," Aziraphale said. "I don't know how I got here, and I don't particularly want to be here. I think the best thing would be to let me leave, wouldn't you say?" Aziraphale tried to exude an air of camaraderie. "You don't really want to do more paperwork, do you?"
Gabriel gave him a tight smile. "Paperwork is part of my job. And, Aziraphale, I really don't think you're reading the situation the way you should."
"Oh? I'm not?"
"No. See, breaking into this place," Gabriel waved a hand, "is punishable by death. I mean, usually the entranceway does that for us, but, you know. Strange times." He gave his head a quick shake, as though trying to rid it of confusion.
"Death?" Aziraphale swallowed. "Well, that's a touch harsh."
"No, not really."
"Then why aren't you killing me?" Aziraphale felt a sense of déjà vu as he remembered asking the same question not a couple of hours before.
"Because," Gabriel said coolly. "I've learned my lesson about being hasty. If you're here, then you didn't burn in the entranceway. So, I can't rule out any possibility that you got in here with proper documentation. Which is impossible, because I'm the one who has to sign off on that documentation. You see my dilemma."
Aziraphale nodded. "It seems to me," he said, "it would be a lot simpler to just, you know. Let me on my way. I've done no harm, and frankly, I think we're both equally confused. Why not just chalk it up as an odd day and…" He shrugged and tried to smile as winningly as he could.
Gabriel gazed at him. Then, suddenly, he turned to look at the doors in the distance. "Did you enter one of the Halls?"
"No," Aziraphale said, a little too quickly. His hand brushed the globe in his pocket.
Gabriel strode over to the doors. He stopped by the eggshell one, then let out a chuckle as he turned to give Aziraphale a wide smile. "Don't know why I didn't think of this immediately."
"I didn't—"
"Check his pockets," Gabriel said to the guards. They nodded and stepped forward.
Aziraphale's heart was in his throat. He thought about the globe in his pocket—he needed to move it somewhere else. Maybe up under his arm, or in his collar. However, when he tried to move it with his mind, it wouldn't budge. Miracles wouldn't work on the little sphere.
The first guard grabbed him and held the flaming sword close to his throat. The other started checking his jacket pockets, starting on the wrong side. Just before she slipped her hand into the right side's pocket, he willed the stitching of the pocket to loosen, and he could feel the heavy sphere slip through the hole and fall into the lining of his coat. He closed the stitches just as her fingers hit the bottom of the pocket, and she moved on, unaware.
She checked the pants pockets, and his nerves twinged as her hands came close to brushing the heavy globe in the jacket lining, but miraculously, she didn't notice.
"Check the socks," Gabriel called.
She did, giving his ankles a quick pat down. "Nothing, sir," she said, standing and wiping her hands on her own pants. The other guard let Aziraphale go, and he felt the sweat on his neck where the flaming sword had been held.
"You see?" Aziraphale said, his voice cracking slightly. "I never went in. I don't even know what those doors lead to. I don't make a habit of opening up random doors—"
"Shut up, Aziraphale, I know you went in." Gabriel stomped the ground a few times with a foot. Aziraphale could hear the splash of water.
"Well," Aziraphale said, struggling to find words. "How do you know—how do you know it wasn't one of these two?" He gestured to the guards.
"They know the penalty for breaking into the Halls," Gabriel said. "They aren't idiots."
"Well, perhaps there was someone else. If I could get in, then surely—"
Gabriel addressed the guard who had frisked Aziraphale, "Were his pant legs wet?"
"Very, sir."
"Wonderful." Gabriel threw Aziraphale a grin. "Well. I guess I have my reason now, don't I?"
The guards moved toward Aziraphale again, and he stepped back. "That proves nothing," he insisted, and gestured to the doors. "I admit I was curious, but I never went inside! I got water on my pants from the puddle you're standing in. Is it illegal to open a door?"
"Extremely."
"Ah. Well, then I didn't open it." Aziraphale straightened himself. "The water was on the ground when I examined the door. Someone must have opened it before I got here."
Gabriel rubbed his face with his hands. "Aziraphale, you have to realise that this won't work—"
"How can you prove otherwise?" Aziraphale said, backing away quicker now. One guard broke away from the other and circled around Aziraphale, who stopped his backtracking. "How do you know? What if the moment you kill me, you get another message from Her? I don't think she'll be as forgiving this time around."
Gabriel locked eyes with Aziraphale. The archangel's jaw was clenched.
A bolt of inspiration hit Aziraphale. "And what if it was Her?" he said in a low voice. "How do you know that She doesn't want me here? That She was the one who let me in? How do you know, Gabriel, that this isn't just part of the ineffable—"
"Shut your damn mouth!" Gabriel snarled. He coughed, then straightened his coat. "What you're saying is ridiculous and impossible. But…" His face twitched. "But I can't afford to be hasty."
"Sir?" one of the guards said, surprised.
"Let him go," Gabriel said. "He can return to his little hovel. In the meantime, I'll report this to Head Office, and we can continue from there. We'll prove that he broke into the Hall and we'll see where he got his documentation." He gave Aziraphale a long look. "I can only assume it's demon's work. The man is a traitor, after all."
Aziraphale nodded. He felt light with relief. He turned to leave.
"Sir," one guard said, his voice shocked. "His jacket. There's something there, in the bottom!"
Aziraphale's heart dropped. Gabriel appeared at once before him, the smile lighting his face once more. "Well. This changes things."
Aziraphale could feel the two guards advance behind him.
Gabriel held out a hand. "Give it here. I can't have it broken when you fall."
"No." Aziraphale met his gaze.
"See, that's just foolish. You're going to die in five seconds. We'll get it back regardless."
"You don't know that. You don't know anything." Aziraphale was breathing hard. "You don't know what will happen the moment you kill me. You don't know if you'll burn to a crisp yourself. You don't know what She wants. You've been wrong so many times before." He felt along the seam of his coat and found the sphere, gripping it tight. It would be a cold day in Hell before he handed it over.
He had been so close. He knew now that his likelihood of escape was near zero. He gripped the ball like it was what held him to life. He could feel the warmth through the fabric.
"Stealing a sphere from one of the Halls is punishable by death," Gabriel said. "She can't argue that—"
"You don't know," Aziraphale said over Gabriel, "what I will do if you try to take it from me."
Gabriel studied him. He seemed perplexed. "You…can't seriously be considering fighting us?" He let out a short laugh. "Two guards with flaming swords capable of destroying an Angel with one slice, and an Archangel who is more than tired of your bullshit?"
"Oh, I can't claim that I'll be able to fight all of you and win," Aziraphale said. "But you can't know for sure. Maybe I'll die immediately, no harm done. Maybe I'll kill one of you and die. Maybe two. Maybe three. Maybe all the angels of Heaven. You can't know." He paused. "But the thing is, Gabriel, all you have to worry about is if I can kill one."
Gabriel blinked. Aziraphale's gaze bored into his. In a flash, Aziraphale was back in the airfield, begging those violet eyes to show mercy, watching as they twinkled in delight as the water poured. And, at that moment, he prayed for one of the flaming swords to appear in his hand.
"Sir?" said one of the guards, uneasy.
Gabriel swallowed. "Stand down." A moment went by, then he waved a hand. "Stand down. I need to think."
The moment Aziraphale felt the swords lower, he was running. He heard Gabriel shout, but Aziraphale didn't stop, and Gabriel didn't appear in front of him.
Aziraphale knew how Gabriel thought. He would be able to make the excuse that Aziraphale ran. No calculated, logical decision necessary. It would look fine on the paperwork. No one read those reports thoroughly anyway.
Aziraphale ran, though he had no idea where to. The portal to the bookcase had apparently disappeared, and all he saw before him was the blank, white tile floor of Heaven. He recalled what Gabriel said about the entranceway and wondered if he would suddenly burst into flames. No real point worrying about it.
He kept running, and he could feel the orb bouncing against the back of his legs. He slipped a hand in his pocket, opened up the stitches and fished for the orb, which he then held safe to his chest.
Perhaps he was being pursued. He couldn't tell. He wasn't looking back. All he could do was run. He'd have to stop sometime—he wasn't in shape and could feel his lungs burn already—but for the moment he felt the freedom in the distance he was putting between him and the other angels. He could fool himself into believing that he'd done it—whatever it was. He'd done the impossible. Somehow. For a moment he could believe it was possible…
But perhaps he had done it.
The joy was building in his burning chest. The globe in his hand was real. It was him.
And Aziraphale wasn't certain, but in the distance he thought he saw light. A laugh bubbled up in his throat. He had done it.