Work Text:
It isn’t quite how Aziraphale had envisioned it, back when he’d first accepted Heaven’s invitation.
He’d gone back upstairs with an open mind and a forgiving heart, quite prepared to give things another go with his former coworkers. What the future would hold for himself and Crowley there, he couldn’t be certain, but so long as they were together — together, at last, in every way he had ever longed for — nothing could stop them. Everything was looking tip-top and tickety-boo on that front.
He hadn’t exactly been a stranger to Heaven’s reprimands before now, but still: to be hauled into a disciplinary meeting a mere three weeks after their arrival is more than a tad embarrassing whichever way you look at it.
“You have been brought before the Council today to make a formal record of your infractions in recent weeks, and to determine appropriate punishment,” the Metatron says, unrolling a rather ominous-looking scroll on the glass desk before him. Uriel, Saraqael and Michael sit stony-faced beside him. “The charges set out apply in equal measure to both of you in attendance today. The Archangel Aziraphale, and — ” he pauses, looking entirely fed up before the proceedings have even begun, “the angel known as Crowley.”
The other angels had tried numerous times to refer to Crowley by his former angelic name when he’d first returned to Heaven. Through a combination of Aziraphale scowling at them for their appalling manners, and Crowley flat-out ignoring them until they reverted to his preferred name, they’d successfully stamped out that nonsense within only a few days.
“Before we get cracking, I have a complaint for the Council,” Crowley says. “You declined my request for leave for my honeymoon.”
Whilst Aziraphale has opted to stand before the Council to offer some feigned image of respect, Crowley is draped in quite the insouciant fashion over a chair he must have miracled up himself. Still, so long as he’s happy, Aziraphale is happy.
“You aren’t married,” Uriel says.
Crowley gives a dismissive wave of his hand.
“We’re basically married.”
“If I might, ah — insert myself into the conversation for just a moment,” Aziraphale begins, but finds himself interrupted by the Metatron before he can finish.
“You have been inserting yourself into things quite enough, Aziraphale, as today’s meeting will record in excruciating detail. Please be quiet. It should be noted that you have missed forty-three staff meetings since you arrived in Heaven to commence your new roles.”
“Out of how many?” Aziraphale asks. He hadn’t realised he’d been quite so careless.
“Forty-three.”
“We’re supposed to attend staff meetings?” Crowley asks, incredulous, twisting to one side and draping one leg over the side of the chair so he can look at Aziraphale properly.
“I went to one, did I not?” Aziraphale says, tentatively raising a hand in the air as he looks to each of the Council members for assistance. “I’m most certain I did. All four of you were there too, I believe.”
“Where was I?” Crowley asks him with a frown.
“You were taking a nap, my dear,” Aziraphale says, feeling ever so fond at the memory. “I thought it was best if I went alone. You looked ever so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.”
Crowley tilts his head and looks at him as though that’s one of the most adorable things he’s ever heard. Smirking, he puts one hand to his mouth and blows Aziraphale a kiss.
“Ooh-hoo!” Aziraphale chuckles, pretending to catch the kiss and putting it in his pocket where he gives it a little pat for safekeeping. “Sorry, what?”
“I said,” the Metatron repeats through gritted teeth, apparently having been talking the entire time whilst they’d been distracted, “the charges against you are listed in the scroll I have before me. I will detail these charges forthwith.”
“Understood.”
“One count,” the Metatron says, “of engaging in sexual activity during working hours, on company premises. It is listed as one infringement only because the actual number is unquantifiable.”
“All hours are technically working hours. All of Heaven is company premises,” Crowley points out.
“Yes?” the Metatron says.
Crowley tips his head back with a groan of annoyance. “So why does it matter when we’re shagging, then?”
Aziraphale hears a strangled noise of concern he realises belatedly is coming from himself, and decides it might be best if he simply says nothing at all before he somehow manages to make things even worse.
“Have you spent even a single day devoting yourself to the tasks assigned to you? Either of you?” Michael asks.
“Is anything we’ve done even against the rules?” Crowley retorts. Avoidance of the question is probably the more sensible choice when faced with the alternative of actually answering it honestly. “No one ever told me it’s against the rules to engage in sexual activity up here. No one even mentioned it.”
“No one ever felt the need to include it in the rule scroll before now,” says Uriel. “No one ever felt the desire to engage in such things. We are angels. It is simply understood. We did not think it needed to be explicitly stated.”
“Mm, that sounds a bit like a ‘you’ problem,” Crowley says.
“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale says under his breath.
“The rules have now been updated quite extensively as a direct result of your actions,” Saraqael says. “Sixty-nine new additions, to be precise.”
“Ha. Nice.”
“May I?” Aziraphale asks, taking the rules scroll as it’s floated over to him to inspect.
The updates are very thorough. Quite — detailed. Specific.
“No angel shall pretend to be of a lower status than their actual ranking,” Aziraphale reads aloud. “What does that have to do with — ohhh,” he says, wide-eyed, remembering their ongoing little roleplay.
Crowley, an angel of the lowest ranking in their little game, seeking favour from an Archangel; offering to service him in secret so he might earn a series of Heavenly promotions. It had been jolly good fun, actually.
“Misuse of Heavenly furniture,” the Metatron continues. “One count. Again, the actual number is unknown. Quite frankly, no one here is willing to research it further to gather any more evidence than the minimum required to bring you before this Council.”
Looking back, Aziraphale’s desk has seen quite a bit of action in recent weeks. And the chair. The walls, too, if they count.
“We weren’t provided with a bed,” Crowley says. “We had to make do.”
The Metatron ignores this interjection in favour of progressing through the scroll.
“Seven counts of smuggling human objects into Heaven. You were both very much aware before you returned here that all human-made objects are, without exception, forbidden. The exact nature of these items will therefore remain off the record. No need to sully the scroll with the specifics.”
“Nobody even tried to confiscate our things,” Crowley points out.
“Nobody wanted to touch your ‘things’,” the Metatron snaps. “Short of burning down an entire office, there was very little to be done. What’s next on the list, let’s see. Ah, yes. Misuse of Heavenly-issued telephony devices in direct contravention of policy.”
“Those were tasteful nudes,” Aziraphale says sharply. Really, now. The rest he can just about tolerate, but this is getting quite silly. When he glances at Crowley, he finds him looking over at him in the besotted sort of way he tends to whenever Aziraphale is getting feisty. “Surely the Almighty would allow,” Aziraphale goes on, “or indeed encourage us to celebrate the glory of the design — ”
“You have been using the Heavenly-issued telephones to send lewd photographs to one another?” Uriel interrupts. “The phones you were issued aren’t equipped with an image-taking function.”
“Ah,” Aziraphale says.
He’d quite forgotten that that was the case. That he’d miracled up the camera applications on their phones himself one night after a bit of saucy discussion with Crowley about how much fun it might be to exchange a ‘pic’ or two as humans are often inclined to.
“Add an additional count of tampering, as well as the misuse,” Michael says.
“Two counts,” Uriel points out wearily. “Two phones.”
“Two counts added, witnessed by all Council attendees,” the Metatron confirms, rewriting the scroll to add to their ever-growing list of violations.
“If you didn’t know about the photos, what the Hell was the misuse charge about then?” Crowley says, causing visible winces from most present at the casual bandying-about of the H-word.
“We were referring to the telephone calls,” the Metatron says. “Which I believe involved loitering in hallways whilst you partook in some quite vulgar discussions. We have several witnesses.”
“Well, I can hardly call him while we’re in the same room, can I?” Crowley points out, quite reasonably in Aziraphale’s opinion.
“He does have a point there,” Aziraphale says, coming to Crowley’s aid. “And it would be nice if others would refrain from eavesdropping, actually.”
“He does not have a point, and I would not care if he did. Moving on,” the Metatron says, his eyes scanning down over the scroll. “Ah. Unauthorised use of the Heavenly lift. Three counts.”
“Four, actually,” Saraqael notes. “There was another violation this morning.”
“Ah, now then, we didn’t actually go back to Earth,” Aziraphale clarifies. “It was made quite clear to us that we should remain in Heaven at all times, and we did so.”
“We are aware,” Saraqael says tightly. “Based on the camera feed that covers the lift at all times.”
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says, his polite smile now frozen upon his face. There had been quite a lot of kneeling involved during their lift-based excursions, and not of the praying kind. “I see.”
“Misuse of Heavenly-issued clothing,” the Metatron goes on, evidently losing patience with the entire affair. “One count. We don’t need to get into the details on that one, but suffice to say, it was most unconventional.”
Aziraphale can’t see what the fuss is about, really. Crowley was issued with a tie, he wears his tie. If he once wore it knotted around his wrists, securely fastened to Aziraphale’s desk whilst Aziraphale gave him a good seeing to within the privacy of his own office, then where exactly was the harm in that?
“Finally,” the Metatron says. There’s a lot of pent-up frustration in those three syllables; even moreso than during all their previously listed crimes. Aziraphale has an awful feeling they’ve saved the worst for last. The Metatron looks at Crowley as if he’d like to throw him headfirst down the Heavenly lift shaft, should that option be presented to him. “Gross misuse of one Heavenly-issued halo. One count.”
“It’s my fault, it’s ring-shaped? It’s made of metal and it’s ring-shaped? It’s not like I needed it for anything else.”
It takes Aziraphale a moment to comprehend exactly what he’s hearing here.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonishes, both hands on his hips as realisation dawns. “Goodness me. Your own halo? Used as a — ” he continues, finishing the sentence by gesturing in the general direction of Crowley’s crotch in lieu of having to say the words cock ring aloud during a Heavenly Council meeting. “I thought that was something you brought here from Earth!”
“Sorry, angel,” Crowley says, adding a remorseful little pout that never fails to make Aziraphale melt. “I didn’t think to, and they wouldn’t let us go back to pick up any more stuff.”
“Well. I suppose so, darling,” Aziraphale says. He cannot possibly remain cross when Crowley looks at him like that. All endearing and apologetic. “Be that as it may, that was quite a silly thing to do.”
“We had fun though, didn’t we?” Crowley says softly, for Aziraphale’s ears only, and pulls his sunglasses down a fraction to wink at him.
Oh, he looks absolutely ravishing today. His rakish smile, his artfully tousled hair. Aziraphale finds himself quite lost in his eyes, smiling at him with an abundance of affection.
“By the unanimous agreement of the Council, all of whom voted before you arrived twenty minutes late to your own disciplinary hearing, you are both hereby relieved of your duties,” the Metatron declares, making both of them jump. Aziraphale had momentarily forgotten there was anyone else here with them. “Demoted. Banished to Earth, permanently.”
“You aren’t going to. You know,” Crowley says, wiggling his fingers with a somewhat concerned expression. “Wipe our memories and what-not?”
“I am concerned that if we do erase your memories of your time here, you might have no recollection of this conversation. You might, for whatever reason, try to come back again someday. We absolutely cannot tolerate that risk. Should anyone fancy wiping my memory of these events, however, please do feel free.”
“Clear out your office, Aziraphale,” Michael says with the pinched expression of someone visualising seven dildos stored in the drawer of a desk that’s entirely transparent from every angle. “Please, please clear out your office. And never return here again.”
That is, it would seem, the end of it: the pair of them are fixed with four disapproving stares and the scroll listing their misdeeds is vanished away into the Heavenly archives. Aziraphale isn’t entirely certain how one should depart in these circumstances, and so gives a polite nod to the Council.
“Understood. We’ll be getting off now, then. Leaving, I mean,” he hurriedly corrects himself, lest the phrasing be misconstrued. “Goodbye, and all the best to you all.”
Apparently having nothing more to say on the matter, Crowley merely gives them a lazy wave and gets up to follow Aziraphale out.
“Well,” Aziraphale says once they’re sufficiently out of earshot. “I suppose that probably could have gone worse, don’t you think? And just imagine — we can finally return to the bookshop, Crowley. A proper bed! Our lovely Bentley — I’m sure she’ll have missed us quite terribly whilst we’ve been away.”
“Can’t wait,” Crowley agrees. “But we at least have time for a quickie before we go, I reckon? For old time’s sake?”
“Oh, you wicked thing, you,” Aziraphale says approvingly, tugging him by the sleeve into his office-that’s-soon-to-be-no-more and copping a feel through Crowley’s delectably tight trousers whilst he kisses him. “You aren’t going to ravish me right here, are you, my dear? Right here on the floor? Goodness me, how naughty!”
The Bentley might have to miss them just a little bit longer than would be necessary, but Aziraphale deems the delay to be very much worth it in the end.