'Ello, 'Ello, 'Ello!

This is a translation of my fic in Spanish AMO TU NOMBRE. As English is not my mother language, I apologize in advance for any kicks at English grammar and my lack of vocabulary. Any help, correction and advice will be welcome.

I'm totally aware that angels have no gender but, to make things easier for me, I have assigned them as hes and shes.

I hope you enjoy it!

VASLAV


CHAPTER 1: 7th Heaven

One step after another, after another, after another…

He didn't feel like doing anything else than continuing to walk in circles through his chamber. Well, it was not exactly a chamber, but a large white, diaphanous infinite space. There was nothing there and nothing could be heard, anything but the sound of his own footsteps tapping on that bright, immaculate floor.

He had long since lost count of how long he had been there, but the very concept of time had lost much of its meaning since he returned to Heaven.

Actually, he didn't really like that "room" very much. It was aseptic and cold, there was no furniture to make it more welcoming or pretty things to enjoy the view. There was no smell reaching him (how comforting it would have been, at that moment, to smell some freshly backed croissants) and there was no one to watch. He thought about how much he'd like to be at the terrace of some café, with a warm cup in his hands, watching people going by. He sighed deeply.

No, he didn't like that room, but it was the only place where he could be alone. No one was allowed to enter the chambers of the Supreme Archangel and that was a relief. He, who had always enjoyed company so much, now sought that solitude more and more frequently. He needed to get away from the constant demands of lower-ranking angels (that is, all angels) to give them instructions or sign divine orders, from the endless and essentially meaningless paperwork, from being forced to take decisions at all hours and, above all, he needed to get away from the rest of the archangels.

He grimaced as he remembered their metallic voices scratching his ears, always questioning him, contradicting him, always letting him know that he did not have their respect and that they had no intention of supporting him. At least there he could be alone, isolated, and get lost in his thoughts. Whenever they needed him, they would let him know.

It's not like that loneliness fixed things much. When he closed the large glass door that gave way to his private space and it disappeared behind him, the enormous weight of longing fell on his shoulders and he felt a deep uneasiness. It was always the same: he looked for a few moments at the unfathomable emptiness that surrounded him, sighed deeply, and started walking with no direction or specific intention.

Just to have something to look at, he looked down at the tips of his shoes, those caramel-colored, shiny, hard shoes. He felt another pang of bitterness remembering his old cream-colored suit, so comfy, so soft, so well adapted to his body. He had not even been allowed to keep that. Now they forced him to dress as befitted the Supreme: a silver and white suit like the one Gabriel wore. Those cold colors and those rigid fabrics refused to give him a pleasant wrap and creaked with his movements as if protesting at having to cover someone so unworthy of them. Luckily, there were no mirrors in Heaven, since it was considered vanity to pay attention to one's appearance. What harm could there be in enjoying the combination of colors, the pleasant feel of the cloths, the satisfaction that came from getting ready in the morning and finding your own reflection smiling, neat and satisfied with looking so adorable? The idea of seeing himself in that suit that was so foreign to him made him feel like some sad leftovers wrapped in aluminum foil and forgotten at the bottom of the fridge.

Finally, in a weak burst of rebellion, he stopped his aimless march. He was going to do something he should NOT do but, at that moment, he could not think of any other remedy to counteract his melancholy. He would surely end up getting even sadder but, he wanted to do it so badly…

He drew a circle in the air with his right hand and a virtual globe appeared before him. For the first time in all day (or some celestial time that resembled a day), he smiled.

No, he definitely shouldn't do it. Divine technology was not supposed to be used for personal purposes, much less for one's own enjoyment but… Well, if the Supreme Archangel cannot indulge himself a little indulgence from time to time… That would probably have consequences. Yes, there definitely would be, but that made him feels exited, yearning… Alive.

A naughty child's giggle escaped from his mouth.

He spun the globe with his fingertips until he had the silhouette of England in front of him. The tickling in his stomach kept increasing. Using his index finger and thumb, he enlarged the image in the point where London was. Once again, and again, until he could distinguish the streets that he missed so much, until he could hear the sounds of the city. Every time a little more, a little more. He stopped.

He had reached the point where things were getting really serious. The happy tickling turned into unease, but it was no less desirable for that reason.

He could now see the building where Crowley lived.

He hesitated. That would undoubtedly end badly for him, but it was no longer possible to back out. He enlarged the image a little more on the part of the façade he was interested in. Then a little more, a little more… He already had a perfect aerial view of the balcony of the apartment of his ¿friend?

He stopped, excited and afraid. He knew that, if he wanted, he could continue enlarging the image until he could see the inside of the house without any problem but, that seemed like an unforgivable breach of trust and a cheek. Also, what was he expecting to see? Crowley might not even be in the apartment. He would probably be driving around in his Bentley, which looked so pretty in yellow, no matter how much he denied it. his mind traveled back to the day he had driven that car and, for a moment, he stopped paying attention to the virtual image before him. He lost himself in the memory of the feel of the steering wheel, the cabin full of musical notes coming out of the radio, the smell of the plants mixed with that of Crowley himself that remained locked inside the car…

Suddenly, a movement in the image brought him out of his reverie. Someone had come out onto the balcony and that someone was, of course, Crowley. In a reflex action, he covered his mouth with his hands to stifle a small exclamation of emotion, even though there was no one there who could hear it.

There he was, looking like someone who had just woken up from a less than restful sleep. The morning was already in a very advanced stage in the city, but that could hardly matter to Crowley, who set his own schedules. The demon, barefoot and disheveled, dressed in cotton pants and a T-shirt, all in black, observed the movement of the street with a deep sullen face.

Slowly, Aziraphale lowered his hands, revealing a sad smile. The pain and the happiness that image caused him were equally intense, but he needed to maintain, even if it was so distant and diffuse, that small contact with whom he had shared so much. He dared to enlarge the image a little more.

No doubt Crowley was in a foul mood. His lips were pursed in a grimace of deep disgust and his brow was furrowed as much as he could. Even though the dark glasses that his friend put on whenever he was exposed to the mortals' sight, no matter how distant it might be, you could see that Crowley observed everything happening at his feet with intense animosity, as if those little people crowding around there would have done something to him.

Aziraphael felt a deep and suffocating sadness, not only for pity for his… friend, but because he knew, with no doubt, that it was not those defenseless humans with whom the demon was angry.

- Oh!

Another little cry of astonishment escaped from his mouth and this time, due to the unexpectedness of the scene, he wasn't even able to drown it out.

Crowley had raised his head and fixed his gaze on some indeterminate point in the sky. It was exactly as if he was looking at him. "But that's not possible." Crowley didn't even know he was spying on him, and even if he did, the distance was too big, infinite, for him to know where to look. But there he was, with those two black orbits fixed on him, frowning, bad-tempered, and oozing resentment from every one of his pores.

The poor angel wished with all his might that he could have swallowed some saliva to undo the lump in his throat, but no one there had saliva, nor did they feel distressed about anything, nor did they go out to the balcony to look at the city in the mornings.

Suddenly, Crowley made a sudden movement that startled Aziraphale. With his lips even tighter if possible, the demon raised both his fists, showing him, unknowingly, an extremely close-up of his two raised middle fingers.

Aziraphale took a step back, frightened by that virtual aggression that, he was sure, was directed at Heaven in general and at him in particular. The demon, for his part, when he got tired of making a double bird to the empty space, lowered his fist again, let out a snort and went into the apartment with his ungainly walk.

"I'm the Supreme Archangel and I am about to cry… if I could." But angels don't cry. They are supposed to live in Paradise, wrapped in the love of her Great Omnipotence and in an uninterrupted state of absolute happiness.

Well, there was nothing more to see. With a distracted gesture, Aziraphale made the virtual globe disappear. As he already feared, he was even more depressed than before, and couldn't think of anything to comfort himself.

He began to walk again and, as he did so, with another half-hearted gesture he made the glass door appear. When he was in front of it, he paused to compose himself. There, no one could see him with his head down and dragging his feet. He had to keep his dignity and his step firm, or his archangelinity companions would pounce on him and tear off his wings like they were a chicken's. "Oh, how nice a sherry would do on me right now."

- Again, Aziraphale?

As soon as he left his room, the emotionally battered archangel encountered the gigantic floating head of the Metatron. They both knew that his immediate superior knew what had just happened in his room.

- I'm sorry, sir - He responded, looking at the floor and closing the door behind him, which made it disappear with a slight "poof".

- Your behavior is not proper for the position you occupy.

- I know, sir - He wasn't even going to bother looking for an excuse.

Well, you've only been here for two Earth years. I guess you need a little more time to decontaminate yourself from all those human feelings and leave those bouts of melancholy behind. But don't worry, you have all eternity to readjust.

- Yes, sir.

Eternity… Until then, he had never been aware of how long it was.

For the first time since the beginning of his existence, eternal life appeared to him as a gigantic and steep staircase with high, infinite steps, which he was forced to continue climbing day after day, century after century, tired, alone, and without any reason to continue rather than the obligation to do so.

- As he walked with his eyes straight ahead and his face deliberately expressionless, Metatron's head floated beside him.

- You know I expect a lot from you. And her Great Omnipotence too.

- Yes, sir - The mechanical response left his lips as he tried, with all his might, to silence a tremendous, furious and angry scream that was struggling to come out from the depths of his soul.

"AND WHY DOES HER GREAT OMNIPOTENCE NOT SOLVE HER PROBLEMS BY HERSELF? WHYYYYY?"

- Are you ready for today's meeting?

Indeed, the two archangels were heading towards the Supreme Celestial Court meeting room, where the fate of Humanity was decided. At least, that's what they were supposed to do, but lately, those meetings had become a useless and exhausting exchange of shouting and recriminations.

Since his return to Heaven, Aziraphale had attempted to introduce the changes he so badly desired to make in the Divine Order, but with practically no success. His innocence had led him to believe that he would find in the other archangels a team that would help him to bring those updates to fruition. If everything was changing on Earth and their duty was to take care of the inhabitants of Earth, how could Heaven not change its principles? Carried away by this reasoning that for him had no cracks, Aziraphale made his first presentation before the Court full of enthusiasm and a feeling of happiness that knew no limits, but problems in Paradise did not take long to appear.

Michael, although she maintained her composure, could not hide her animosity towards Aziraphale for having "stolen her position". From the very first moment she presented poisonous arguments against all his proposals. She stated in all their encounters that what Aziraphale intended was to give all clear to the natural laziness, sensuality and self-indulgence of human beings until the entire world ended up being a quagmire of vice; she distorted his words by claiming that the new Supreme intended to authorize the free circulation of minor demons between the different astral planes of the Universe and she made waves behind his back, telling every angel who wanted to listen that Aziraphael's vanity was leading him to consider his own principles even above those of her Great Omnipotence. And they all already knew what the pride of an angel led to…

Poor Aziraphale, timid and caught by surprise by that hostility he did not understand, tried in good ways to defend his proposals, but Michael never missed the opportunity to start a dispute, raising her voice and charging with reasons against him. Invariably, the Court meetings ended up turning into a horrible shouting match between offended archangels and the votes were always void, so it was impossible to move forward.

Disarmed by his companion's aversion, Aziraphale tried to seek support from the rest of the archangels, but none of them were really willing to make things easier for him. Speaking clearly, they considered him soft, clumsy and a hedonist. They were not as openly against him as Michael but, honestly, someone so humanized did not inspire any respect in them. Uriel always ended up supporting Michael's replies with cold logic and Sariel, although she had a better will, could not find a way to support him without running the risk of making enmities, a risk she was not willing to take for him.

Finally, and with all the pain in his heart, since he did not like to speak badly of anyone, Aziraphale ended up telling the Metatron about the difficulties he was having, feeling like a miserable snitch for it. The Voice of God asked him if he considered it necessary to dismiss the current members and appoint new angels to the Celestial Court, to which he responded, horrified, that of course not. He had not left behind everything he loved to cause more angels to fall from grace. Surely it was only a matter of time. His intentions were good, he had no personal ambitions and, when the time came, all the others would eventually understand. .

But time passed and things did not improve for the new Supreme. Emboldened by the good result her sabotage was having, Michael was already openly showing her aversion towards Aziraphale. The rest of the archangels ignored him and Sariel… Well, Sariel tried to get unnoticed, smelling the near fall of her new superior and trying not to fall with him.

Aziraphale, no longer enthusiastic but equally convinced of the goodness of his projects, tried to persuade the rest of the group with kind words, but never succeeded. He felt like poor Prometheus, whose story had always inspired him so much compassion. He fraternized entirely with that kind titan who had earned eternal punishment from his companions on Olympus for helping mortals by bringing the fire. He had never felt so misunderstood and frustrated. He had never felt so horribly alone.

- Yes, sir.

- Good, but I must inform you of a change in the agenda.

- A change? - He responded, unable to hide his fear. Last minute changes usually did not mean anything good.

- Yes. There will be no meeting today. We have a trial.