From the moment of his Creation, he'd had questions. God had simply made him that way, and his inquisitive nature had led to the incredible details of Celestial Matter; things that none of the other angels in the department thought to consider, he burrowed into, asking well what if and how about we and oh wouldn't this be, spending uncountable time toiling on the stars, the comets, the gaseous bodies, nebulae, and every other cosmic wonder that now filled the ever-expanding universe. It was his curiosity that had made the star factories that now churned away of their own accord in the void, birthing new bodies to dot its blackness with light. Many other angels, particularly other Archangels, shook their heads at his fervent pursuit of the infinite, content to carry out their prescribed tasks. But the redheaded angel wanted more, to understand more to be more, to do so much more, all in the glory of the freedom God had granted him to know.
Others had begun to ask questions, too. Questions that made him pause, unsure of their intent. But his own new questions were similar in many ways: after learning that the whole universe project was only going to run for six thousand years or so once the people were ready, he'd begun to wonder what it was all really about. He'd worked his entire existence on bringing Celestial Matter into being, and it seemed a poor trade for at all to only be on display for what was, really, the blink of an eye. Why would God do that? Did She not value Her angels' work? What was the deal with these people that were people developed, why were they so much more important? He just wanted to understand.
After its initial setup, Celestial Matter pretty much ran on its own apart from regular checkups and the occasional adjustment, giving the redheaded angel plenty of time to think. He flitted about amongst his stars as millennium followed on millennium, thinking, talking, and endlessly wondering. The others who had questions met now and then in covert groups, discussing their concerns in hushed tones away from the central glow of Heaven, as if God were not omnipotent. He joined them from time to time, and once or twice, early on, persuaded his cherubic friend to come along. But the others had made Aziraphale uncomfortable, so he'd stopped asking, content to whitter away hours with the blond angel elsewhere.
The others grew more and more discontent, one in particular, who had emerged as a leader among them: Lucifer. He and the redheaded angel had collaborated on a number of elements in Celestial Matter, in particular the fascinating phantasm that was light. Lucifer's dynamism had seen him pulled hither and thither among departments, though, leaving much in the redhead's hands alone. They were friends, of a sort, and of a similar mind when it came to curiosity. But Lucifer's curiosity was more insistent and aggressive, assuming that God was keeping things from them on purpose. He wanted to make demands of Her, to go as a group and force an audience. The redheaded angel pushed against this, suggesting instead that he go alone and see if he could speak with God, present their concerns without any kind of threat. Reluctantly, Lucifer agreed.
But the meeting did not go as he'd hoped. In fact, there was no meeting, only the Metatron, stubbornly barring his access to God. Present your concerns to me, the Metatron had insisted. When the redheaded angel did so, the Metatron only scoffed. It isn't your place to ask such things, he'd retorted; go back to work. But the redhead had redoubled his efforts: God had given Her angels curiosity and free will; were they not supposed to use them? She had given them creativity and a part in Creation; should they not have a voice, or at least an understanding, in its future? How could they best fulfil their roles if they were kept in the dark? If you only let me speak to God directly, he'd insisted, I'm sure She'll understand. She's very busy, the Metatron concluded, before slamming the celestial door in his face.
He had trailed back to Lucifer, disappointed, and agreed that perhaps a united approach would be best.
"Aziraphale!" A strident voice rang through the formless white halls of this particular corner of Heaven, attracting the attention of the industrious cherub, who was just putting the finishing touches on a drawing. "Aziraphale!"
"Over here!" he called in reply, leaning back to admire his work. A moment later, an angel with a curly mop of red hair appeared.
"Ah, there you are! D'you— oh," he paused, taking in the drawing, "How are the people coming along, then?"
"Oh, quite splendidly," Aziraphale replied, pleased that his friend had taken the time to notice, "I think we've just about perfected the design."
"Lovely. Do you have a moment?" There was an urgency in the redheaded angel's voice that took Aziraphale aback, and he turned fully to face him, blinking in surprise.
"Yes, of course."
"Good. Look, I've got this letter here from Luc—" Aziraphale snatched the scroll from the other angel's hand before he could complete his brandishing gesture and thrust it inside his robes.
"Give me that, before anything happens! Come here." He seized his friend's hand and with a blur and a shimmer, they departed the offices of Heaven and rematerialized near the two star-incubating pillars of gas and dust where they often came to talk. The redheaded angel rolled his eyes.
"I really don't think that was necessary. What do you think is going to happen?"
"You know what they've been saying about Lucifer, don't you?" Aziraphale straightened his robes uncomfortably, "How they think he's fomenting discord against the Almighty?"
"Fomenting discord? Really, Aziraphale. And who is they, anyway?"
"You know… they," Aziraphale gestured broadly, "angels. The grapevine, everyone who gossips!" One scarlet brow arched in the cherub's direction.
"Do you gossip?"
"No!" Aziraphale retorted, a little too quickly, "But I listen." The redheaded angel scoffed.
"Just look at the letter!" Hesitantly, Aziraphale pulled the now-crumpled scroll from his robes. He unrolled it, and began to scan its contents. His eyes widened as he read, and he shook his head, curls shaking with affrontery.
"This is.. this is… well, fomenting!" he cried hoarsely, "If anyone finds you with this—" In a moment of impulse, Aziraphale snapped his fingers on the scroll and it went up in a puff of flame, the small haze of its ashes drifting off into space. "There," he turned to his friend, forced smile betrayed by brows knitted in concern, "No trail now."
"Aziraphale," the redheaded angel rolled his eyes, but also reached out to grasp the cherub's shoulder, "it's not fomenting, it's just asking questions! We just want to know—"
"We? We? You and Lucifer?"
"Well yeah, Lucifer and the guys and me—" Aziraphale broke away and put a hand to his mouth, chewing on the end of his thumb. "Come on, cherub! All we want to do is ask God some questions, you know, maybe get Her to let us angels be a little more involved in things, help make some policy. It's all for the people anyway, you should be on our side here."
"Your side? What do you mean side?" With one mighty push of his wings, Aziraphale returned to his friend's side, reaching out to clutch his arm with both hands. "There aren't any sides here, unless it's Heaven's side! Aren't we all working toward the same thing? Starmaker," he entreated, "please, please don't get involved with them. I just… I have a bad feeling about all this."
The redheaded angel, startled by this sudden outburst, looked into Aziraphale's wide eyes, their pale blue glittering with the reflected glory of his nebulae, and he softened. Gently he peeled the cherub's hands from his arm, and took them reassuringly in both of his own.
"It'll be alright, Aziraphale. God is Love, remember? What could She possibly do but listen?"