Sunday, January 16th, 2039

When Aziraphale steps into the circle, he's ready for it this time; he won't be discorperated—quite a relief, given all the paperwork they dumped on him after he lost his body the first time (even though he did get it back without their help—if he's honest, this was probably an expression of their displeasure with the whole preventing Armegaddon business).

He finds himself in Heaven, which looks only slightly less empty than usual. A few angels mill around, looking extremely peaceful and ethereal, and there are tables there and there, although whatever used to be on them (not food, angels don't eat, except for the occasional celebratory nectar, like champagne. Except for Aziraphale, that is—he likes his diet to be a little less one-note) has since been cleared away.

Aziraphale is just thinking perhaps no one noticed he missed the celebration when there's a long, low, "Aaaaaziraphaaale," from behind him.

He turns to find the Archangel Gabriel standing behind him with his very… distinctive smile. It's so flatly, obviously false, imitating a smile just as well as autotune imitates a real human voice singing a real human note—not at all, and yet they keep trying to use it anyway, as if this time they'll get away with it, and one begins to suspect they do not know that no one is being fooled.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale greets him with shaky, false cheer. The false cheer is hanging on by a thread; it is to real cheer what Gabriel's smiles are to genuine smiles.

"You're late," Gabriel informs him, sort of confidingly, as if he thinks maybe Aziraphale hasn't noticed, and he's doing Aziraphale the favor of letting Aziraphale know, so he can display the proper amount of embarrassment. "Today was the big release! The big day!" He spreads his hands, but not his arms, in a display of excitement tempered by angelic restraint, and gives another large smile. It's the kind of smile that's hard to maintain while speaking. "Everyone was so excited."

"Were they," Aziraphale responds, unsure how else to react.

"And on time," Gabriel adds, because Aziraphale seems not to be getting the point.

"Ah," says Aziraphale. "Yes. Sorry about that. I was—well, I was caught up. I mean, I'd forgotten what day it was, and then, well, after I got my name, ah. I had a little bit of a conversation with my Soul-Mate. After that, I came here straightaway."

"Ahhh." Gabriel nods with understanding. "The Soul-Mate. Congratulations on finding him so quickly."

Aziraphale doesn't comment on the assumption of pronouns; it did not take him very long, after entering society, to discover people assumed his preferences about five seconds after setting eyes on him. (They are, actually, preferences. He enjoys ladies. A very small bit. But a bit. Especially when Crowley is feeling like one—then Aziraphale finds he really does, quite—Well. That's neither here nor there.) He says, "I've known him a very long time."

Gabriel looks at him. He looks at Gabriel. He wonders if Gabriel is going to ask—Aziraphale would much rather be asked than volunteer the information, but if he must volunteer the information, then so be it.

He waits a little bit.

Gabriel just smiles at him very aggressively.

"Wh-what about your Soul-Mate?" Aziraphale asks, smoothing his lapels. "Have you found them?"

Gabriel's smile goes even more rigid, which Aziraphale had not thought, until this moment, could be possible. "It's been agreed among all of us that our Soul-Mates are an extremely personal matter, and not to be asked about. Which you would know if you were in attendance."

"Right," Aziraphale says, steadfastly not apologizing, "Well, what if we want to talk about it?"

"Then," Gabriel smiles hard, "We bring it up ourselves. It's rude to ask."

Aziraphale wonders who Gabriel's Soul-Mate is, but if it's rude to ask, then of course Aziraphale should not ask. "Well," Aziraphale begins, and then wishes again, very hard, that someone might come and ask him, "well I thought—I suppose it's none of your business, but it does seem dishonest not to inform you that, you see—"

Gabriel gives him that unmoving stare, the one that manages to convey exceptionally polite impatience.

Aziraphale takes another breath. "Mine is the demon Crowley."

Gabriel's fixed smile drops so abruptly, it appears less like a physical movement and more like flipping from a picture of a smiling Gabriel to a picture of a frowning one. "I thought he was your Arch-Enemy."

Aziraphale nods. "Well, it seems—you know, Heaven and Hell both gave out false matches when they couldn't find anyone real—at least, so I hear—"

"We don't lie up here," Gabriel interjects, his mouth flattening. He accompanies this with a laugh, like aren't you so funny, you stupid angel. "We simply give people matches when they don't have any so they don't feel bad."

Aziraphale sighs. "Right, yes, well. That is lying."

Gabriel appears taken aback. "It's for the Greater Good. Imagine if some people just didn't have Soul-Mates—they'd be miserable! They'd feel left out!"

There are a great many issues with Heaven's approach to this problem, possibly tracing back to the fact that the world over might be better off without Soul-Mates™ and Arch-Enemies™ altogether, but Aziraphale finds he does not have the patience to argue the point. God does not listen, She has better things to do, and High Offices don't listen, they just smile and tell you kindly that you have no idea what you're saying and perhaps you have been on Earth a little bit too long, don't you think?

Aziraphale gives Gabriel another long, pointed sigh, and then redirects the conversation back around: "I know you all have decided I'm finally worth your time now that I have the demon Crowley as my Arch-Enemy, and Uriel told me you were considering me for a higher position. A promotion, if you will."

"We're all equal in the eyes of God," Gabriel says automatically, and then amends, "Well, angels are better than everyone else, but up here, we're all equal in the eyes of God."

"Right, well." Aziraphale does not point out that Gabriel obviously does not believe this, or else he wouldn't be doing—well, nearly everything he does. "The promotion is why I thought you might like to know Crowley is my Soul-Mate."

Gabriel chuckles, like they're both in on some joke Aziraphale is making. "Heaven must've given you a mis-match! No need to worry, Aziraphale, none at all. Now, if you want it removed, I'm sure that can be arranged."

Aziraphale blinks. "Removed? What—no, it's not a mistake." This is not going where he expected, although, really, what should he have expected? They were all too happy to find out that Crowley was his Arch-Enemy, and one of Heaven's favorite things to do is to ignore inconvenient events, such as finding out that great news you got six years ago is false. "The false one is the Arch-Enemies one. We're not—" he falters. Gabriel is staring at him like he's trying to light Aziraphale on Hellfire with just a look. "We're not enemies," he finishes with as much conviction as he can muster. It's a lot more conviction than he expected to be able to muster, if he's honest. With Gabriel staring him down like that.

Gabriel seems uncertain what to say. "That can't be," he says after a long pause. "He's a demon."

"Ye-uh—Yes." Aziraphale manages. "So he is."

"You can't know," Gabriel argues with certainty.

"Yes, I can," Aziraphale replies, with equal certainty. "I most certainly can."

"Aziraphale." There it is again, that patronizing, work with me here, listen to reason tone Gabriel likes to get with Aziraphale. He's making a face like he's just eaten something that isn't nectar and he's faintly horrified. He's realizing what Aziraphale is saying, and he doesn't like it one bit. "You don't know—"

"I love him," Aziraphale interrupts impatiently, "I know that I do."

Gabriel splutters. It's such a novel sight, Aziraphale finds himself enjoying it inspite of himself. The Archangel fucking Gabriel. Spluttering. "You can't love a demon. You're an angel. He's a demon. He's Fallen. He's Unforgivable."

Aziraphale feels a sudden rush of a very ugly feeling. "Well," he says sharply, through teeth, "there is really no need for that. I forgive him, and if you can't, that's something you might want to look into. Being forgiving is one of the most important things about being good, you know. If being an angel means being like you, and like everyone else that can't forgive him, then—well—" He casts about. "Well, then, I quit."

Gabriel just stares at him.

Aziraphale stares back.

"Aziraphale—" Gabriel starts, "You can't just quit. Angels can't quit."

"I just did," Aziraphale sniffs, and to his surprise, he finds he does not want to take it back, not even a little bit. He smiles, not politely, not viciously, but a real smile. It feels nice to say it, so he says it again: "I quit."

And then he turns and he walks right out of Heaven.