Been hooked on Good Omens since the end of Season 2 and finally decided on an OC and how I could set things up. For the purpose of this fic, Muriel will have the pronouns she/her as they are presenting as such and things get really confusing with the original character I inserted also being they/them. There is no romance in this fic, just good friendship. This is also cross-posted on Ao3
Not a minute passed where Aziraphale didn't think about what happened. As he sat at his new archangel desk, dressed in a blindingly white suit and tie trying to work through the paperwork being handed to him, his mind drifted back to Earth. How were Maggie and Nina? Was Muriel handling the bookshop okay? He hoped she didn't sell any books. He didn't want to leave them behind, not really, but he had to make a choice. The most difficult choice he'd ever had to make and one that was tearing him apart.
Every second he wasn't thinking about the bookshop or Earth or humanity, his mind was filled to the brim with him. His lips still burned from the kiss that happened almost a year ago; feeling as though it had only been seconds since he'd stepped into that elevator. He'd done this for him. Everything had always been for him and he wished he could have explained it, could have shown him what he wanted to do, what they could have accomplished... together. Instead, they went their separate ways, leaving him to hope that he could still fix things up here in Heaven before they did something terrible. So long as he could keep Crowley safe, he would do whatever it takes.
Someone cleared their throat, making him jump and snap his head up to the figure standing before him. It was the angel who'd been assigned to help him organize his paperwork. He didn't need them, really. He was usually very organized to begin with and he felt bad for often leaving them standing around with nothing to do. He'd started giving them random errands to run. Out of guilt, of course, but also slight suspicion. He was worried that they were someone sent to spy on him by the other angels but after some time he found that wasn't the case. Like Muriel, they were just another forgotten soul left to their own devices other than when someone needed something.
"Nithael," Aziraphale greeted with a small smile. "How are you?"
He couldn't be mean to them, as much as he wished to. He wasn't pleased with how things turned out but he refused to let it get to his head or show itself through being cruel to the angels just trying to help. No, he'll reserve the anger for the archangels and Metatron.
Nithael lightly placed a clipboard on his desk without a word and he took it, eyeing the paper on it. Nithael rarely spoke much and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps that was just how they were, though he silently wondered if there was more to it than that. He lowered the clipboard back down onto his desk—a simple form that needed to be signed regarding a filing matter—and gave Nithael a look. They glanced back, silently, as he took them in.
They wore all white like all the other angels in Heaven, though he found them to be particularly blinding at times. Perhaps it was their white hair. It was buzzed short on the sides while the top remained longer, swept over their face slightly to cover most of their left eye. Their gaze was hard but not in a way that bothered him. No, their blue eyes reminded him of his own and they were less… cold than they appeared. Crowley could freeze Hell over with his hard gaze but Nithael didn't seem the type. They were just… quiet. A solid presence that never wavered and Aziraphale had grown to like that about them. I wonder…
"Nithael, if I had a task for you, would you be willing to take it, no questions asked?" He offered, trying to be as vague as he could for the moment, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in.
Nithael didn't respond at first, eyeing him for a moment before slowly nodding. He could see there was suspicion there and cleared his throat. One more look around and he discreetly waved a hand to give them a short moment to themselves where they couldn't be overheard.
"I need you to go down to Earth for a while, report back to me on some things," he said, heart racing at the thought of what he was going to try and do. "You need to be discreet about it though. I'll provide you with a private channel to get in contact with me but no one else must know. I…" He swallowed thickly, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake here. "I want to trust you, Nithael. It may have only been a year but you are… dependable."
"What do you need?" They said; their voice a low contralto that matched their androgynous features.
Aziraphale bit his lip for a moment, again looking around for wandering eyes and ears. "I… I need you to help the angel working in my bookshop, undercover."
Nithael waited, sensing that there was more to this than what he was saying and he grimaced. He couldn't hold it back and risk them both getting caught or worse.
"And there's… t-there might be a demon who will drop by. I don't know if he will. We left on… on bad terms but I'd like you to send me updates on how he's doing. Anything. Everything."
God, he sounded desperate.
"Please," he murmured, looking at Nithael and struggling to get those last words out. "I… I need to know if he's okay."
Nithael opened their mouth to respond but he hastily cut in.
"I know it's dangerous. If anyone finds out, I'll probably be stripped of my wings for this and I understand completely if you decide not to help. You're putting yourself at risk too. The only thing I ask is that you don't tell anyone what I offered you i-if you do decide to… to decline." He worked at the lump in his throat, eyes falling to his desk as he felt shame and guilt well up within him. "Which you should. You… You should decline. It's stupid and precarious. I don't even know if he's visiting the shop. Probably not and then the whole thing would be a waste. You have no obligation to help me either. We hardly know each other. I shouldn't even be asking. I—"
"Okay."
He stopped, whipping his gaze to Nithael as they stared back calmly. 'W-What?"
"I'll do it," they said, surprising him as he bolted to his feet.
"But the risk! You could—If you get caught, you—"
Nithael waited as he tried to get his mouth to properly form words before he sank back into his chair in stunned shock. Patient as ever, Nithael said nothing more as he finally managed to coax a word free.
"Why?"
They glanced away with a hint of awkwardness—or was he imagining that? He'd not seen any real emotion from Nithael since they met.
"I… don't know," they finally replied, turning back to him with an unexplainable emotion in her gaze that made his heart swell. "But I want to."
Understanding. That's all Nithael wanted. They wanted to understand him, understand why he was doing this, why he was asking this from them, and what it was that made him so desperate to do so. Something no one knew about Nithael was how curious they were. They never bothered to look at them properly so they missed small things like that. Or, they did until Aziraphale returned to Heaven.
Aziraphale properly looked at them. He spoke to them like anyone else, even when they didn't reply. He greeted them, asked questions, smiled. Nithael had expected to sit behind an empty desk for eternity, getting up only when summoned for a file or the next war with Hell. They never expected to be noticed by anyone and as such, never attempted to be noticed. What would be the point? Why speak when your words were never listened to? Why smile politely when it was never returned? Yet, Aziraphale did and Nithael finally felt like something could change. They desperately wanted things to change and he was it.
Nithael only ever spoke to him. It had been hard to get that first word out—a simple "okay" to an assignment he'd given—but they wanted to do more. Aziraphale had been on Earth, learned about humanity, about Armageddon, and even helped prevent it. He was friends with a demon and Nithael wasn't so daft to think that he was all pure like the other archangels believed themselves to be. If Nithael had their way, they would push past all their barriers and spill out all their hopes, wishes, and desires to Aziraphale if only to hear a snippet of what he had experienced.
They'd never have the chance up here though, so when Aziraphale asked them about doing something for him, they knew they would say yes before he even began. They hadn't expected something so… big. Staying down on Earth indefinitely, sending back information as to what was happening with a certain demon, all while not getting caught or noticed by anyone. It was a tall order and anything could happen. However, Nithael was surprisingly… calm about it. What was the worst that could happen? Falling, obviously, but Nithael wasn't like the other angels. Falling didn't frighten them. Or maybe it was just that they didn't quite understand what it would be like, Falling. It hadn't happened since Satan's followers were banished but, if anything, it would be something different.
Nithael could do different.
"You'll really do it?" Aziraphale breathed, still shocked that Nithael agreed so readily, and when they nodded again, Aziraphale let out a choked laugh of relief.
He had a chance. He might finally hear back from Crowley, get a chance to apologize, even if it wasn't in person or right away. At the very least, he'd know how the demon was doing. It was small but it was something and it was a huge weight lifted off his wings.
"Give me a couple of days to get the specifics worked out," he informed them, unable to keep the grin from off his face as he flicked away the soundproofing he'd created and started digging through the files on his desk. "There will be paperwork I need to fill out. We can't have you just disappearing. People might notice."
"They won't," Nithael said, picking up the abandoned clipboard with Aziraphale's signature on it and starting to leave as he solemnly watched them go.
"I would."
It took longer than he would've liked to get everything situated and leading up to their final meeting, they'd both acted as if it was any other day; like the discussion never happened. It wasn't easy. There were times Aziraphale caught himself smiling for no reason and hastily tried to sober up when another angel passed in front of his desk. Nithael made it look easy, honestly, though he swore he saw them anxiously drumming a finger on their thigh while waiting for him to sign another tedious form. Part of him wished he could get to know them better, see more little tics of theirs since it seemed he was the only one to notice such things.
Maybe I will, after all this is done, he mused, pulling out the paperwork as he waved a hand to summon Nithael. They walked over only a moment later—never one to dawdle—and stood before his desk with the smallest hint of eagerness in their azure gaze. Today was the day and they both knew it.
"I have the paperwork ready," Aziraphale informed them, placing a hand on the forms and glancing at Nithael. "This is your last chance to go," he murmured, not wanting to discourage them but knowing he had to offer. "If you don't want to do this, I'll burn these forms and we won't speak of it again."
Nithael shook their head, facing him, determined. "I'll do it."
He smiled softly, lowering his gaze and closing his eyes with a deep breath. "Thank you."
They grunted; a noise he acquainted with Crowley that made his chest throb for a moment before he cleared his throat and pat the forms on the desk.
"Right. So, these forms give you permission to travel between Heaven and Earth from the designated elevator in Soho on the West End of London. I suspect that so long as you occasionally drop in from time to time—every month or couple of months—no one will notice a thing. I'll simply claim that I requested you to bring me a coffee or biscuit. This…" He pushed over a folded piece of paper. "...is my direct phone line. You can use any landline or mobile and it's entirely unmonitored. The only other thing is these."
He pulled out a couple of envelopes and placed them at the edge of the desk, gaze lingering on one in particular. His fingers slid across the name scrawled on the front before he pulled away and looked at Nithael.
"Give Muriel hers the moment you meet. It will help explain things and should get you situated at the bookshop. She can help you with whatever you need there. The other is… is for Crowley, my—" He stopped, trying to think of what to call him.
After what happened that final moment on Earth he could hardly call him his partner, his companion, his everything. He couldn't even call him his. It felt wrong when they had such a big falling out and he knew he didn't have the right. Not anymore.
"T-The demon I know," he finally said, though it hurt to describe him in such a disconnected way. "Don't give it to him right away. I… I want you to give it to him when… when he asks about me. When he is sincere and worried and…"
He winced, knowing that Crowley might never be concerned about him again but he wanted to make sure the demon got something from him. Some sort of an apology for what happened, for their misunderstanding that now forced them to be apart. He wasn't sure if Nithael would understand and considered holding onto the letter just in case but when he looked up at them, he was surprised by what he saw.
Most angels wouldn't understand. They didn't quite feel the same way about anything. It's part of why Aziraphale had such trouble fitting in here. They didn't know what it was like to properly feel things like humans did. Love, loss, guilt. It was all wasted on angels who only looked down on emotions and humanity in general. Yet, Nithael stared back at him solemnly. They understood what he was asking and while they may not know the exact right time to give such an important letter to Crowley, they would do their best to figure it out.
"I… I don't know how to thank you," Aziraphale murmured, wishing he could offer the world to this angel who—despite barely knowing him or anything about Earth or demons or what was coming—was willing to risk everything just to help him hear about Crowley.
They didn't seem to know what they wanted either, unsure about how to take Aziraphale's thanks. They could ask for anything and Aziraphale would do everything in his power to grant it for them but Nithael just nodded, picking up the letters and tucking them and the paper into the pocket of their white slacks. It was enough just to be noticed. Still, Aziraphale got up and moved around the desk, pulling them into a tight hug as he breathed his thanks into their ear. Nithael was stiff as a board, having never experienced a hug before—yet again reminding him of Crowley's awkward and rigid acceptance of such things. Then, Aziraphale released them with a small smile.
"I hope to hear from you soon… and don't take anything he says to heart. He'll be angry, probably, but he doesn't mean it."
Nithael didn't reply, still standing there with tense shoulders in trepidation; silently hoping another hug wasn't on the horizon. When Aziraphale didn't though, they relaxed somewhat and nodded again before turning to leave. Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle slightly because he was a bit giddy about what was going to happen and… well, the embarrassed red tint to the tops of Nithael's ears.
Soho was quiet that evening as thunderclouds rumbled in the distance, threatening rain. A bright light shone across Berwick Street from a building situated near a cafe and across from a record shop. The light dimmed and a figure in all white stepped out, glancing up and down the street. Nithael's azure eyes caught on a sign above the shop next to the record store and they brought out a slip of paper to ensure they had the right place.
A.Z. Fell and Co.
They stepped up to the door and raised their hand to knock, tucking the paper away in their pocket once more. They stopped though, right before their knuckles hit the wood. A sign was in the window labeling when the shop would be open. Nithael glanced at it and then lowered their hand as they looked up. It was hard to see the stars here much less with storm clouds moving in, but they estimated the time to be around one in the morning; well past closing. So, they turned away from the door and stood there, thinking.
There would be no point in knocking now. Muriel might be sleeping. It wasn't needed for angels but if she'd grown to enjoy humanity like Aziraphale then there was a possibility. Nithael would wait and as such, took a couple of steps away from the door and sat on the front porch. Their eyes ran over the shops on the street, a hint of curiosity rising its head within them as they wondered what they were like during the day. Then, something bounced off the tip of their nose.
Their eyes drifted upward toward the sky again as another droplet of rain slid down their cheek. A drop became a sprinkle and soon a downpour, soaking Nithael within minutes but they didn't mind; closing their eyes and taking a slow breath, enjoying the petrichor. They could wait. They'd always been patient. What was one more day?