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It started with the newspaper.
Every morning, Aziraphale would start the day with a cup of tea and the newspaper. He rarely slept and thus rarely needed to “start the day” but it was a comforting ritual nonetheless.
The front page was always a fascinating read, followed by the latest sports columns that he ignored in favor of the editorials. The cartoons were carefully put on the table face-up for Crowley. The crosswords for when he moved to the living room.
Splashes of Purple: Three New Butterfly Species Discovered at Kew
A fascinating read, truly. The article outlined the lepidopterologists (those who study butterflies and who must be incredibly dedicated to their passions, Aziraphale mused) who had used some advanced genome sequencing to realize that these were previously-unidentified species. The article delved into evolution and natural selection and other concepts that humans declared with too much confidence.
Then again, humans didn’t realize that the dinosaurs were a bit of an inside joke amongst angels.
That was the first article.
After that was weeks of new species. New and more precise technology, the scientists wrote in their journals and press releases. Butterflies, and flowers, and even larger cats and one new whale.
It could have been a coincidence. New technology, as the humans said. Learning more about what was already there.
It could be related to Uriel’s latest project.
Despite the apologies and invitation to visit any time he wanted, Aziraphale kept his distance from Heaven. He learned about the changes through what the Archangels told Crowley (and sometimes Lucifer, who always had something to say about Heaven’s chain of command).
“She really took your one-step-back comment to heart,” Crowley had said. “I heard Uriel dropped all the training responsibility on Micah for the workrooms. Not that it’s hard work, right? You just use a key to unlock the doors?”
Sometimes, he had no idea what the Archangels reminisced about. The workrooms were shut down before the Principalities were created. In the period between the Fall and the new angels, it was decided that Earth was done and there was nothing more to design. All the angels tasked with creation were sent to new departments, including their Lead Artist. Aziraphale never experienced Uriel being anywhere but with Michael on the training grounds.
With the current plan being No War, Uriel decided to open up the workrooms again.
Looking at the newspaper articles, it seemed that she was successful.
“What was it like,” he asked Crowley.
“The most colorful place in Heaven,” the demon replied. “Had to be. That’s where they colored all of creation. Except humans, of course, that was all Her. But the plants, animals, rocks, all of it. Stars, at the beginning, since we didn’t have Earth yet. That was my favorite.”
“And where were they?”
Aziraphale hadn’t spent much time Upstairs, and he wasn’t one to loiter. Never, in all the time he’d been there did he see these supposedly locked doors.
Crowley waved a hand dismissively.
“You know. Opposite side from the Archives? Didn’t want splatters on the papers. By Eden for minimum transportation?”
They most certainly were not by Eden when Aziraphale was stationed there.
Crowley hesitated. It must be a lot for the demon, talking about areas in Heaven he would never be able to see again. At least Crowley had some fond memories of the supposed better times.
Aziraphale didn’t have many fond memories of the white floors and white walls and never ending hallways lit with white light.
“You could… see it yourself?” Crowley suggested slowly. “Technically, Michael said she lifted your ban.”
Yes, she did. It was a very kind gesture, but they both had the understanding that he would rather be with Crowley on Earth. Neither brought it up again.
“Go to Heaven? Dear boy, why would I want to do that?”
Crowley was lounged on the sofa, legs dangling off the edge. He was also staring at the ceiling in a desperate attempt to avoid facing him.
“Well, to see the workrooms? You’ve never been before. You don’t even have to sneak in now that they’re open again.”
“I’m not interested,” he lied.
He was, but all of his previous visits to Heaven were check-ins and reports that left him exhausted. If he had the option, he would rather enjoy the soft sunlight and ability to dim the lights inside.
And truthfully, the Archangels were much more bearable with Crowley to act as mediator.
“Well, you could,” Crowley repeated. “If you wanted. Maybe check to see that Uri wasn’t lying.”
He doubted it. It was one of the rare things that made the stoic Archangel smile.
Aziraphale didn’t reply, and Crowley didn’t push.
The next few newspaper cycles focused on the cricket season, the sports columns moving to the front page. He was sure some paper readers were interested, but Aziraphale was not one of them. The newspapers piled up unread on the table until one of them remembered to toss them or until he was so bored that sports were better than nothing.
Oh, he did miss London on those days.
He flipped past the game scores to the real news. Laws, Parliament, a celebrity’s new baby or marriage or divorce, and the never ending scientific discoveries.
He did not want to go back to Heaven.
But they promised they’d changed. Each of the Archangels apologized to him. They said they wanted to change for the better, go back to how it was before.
He could hold them accountable, he reasoned. See it with his own eyes.
He stared at the latest headline. Local Birdwatcher Identifies and Names New Crow Species.
“Crowley,” he called, voice echoing through the halls. “I need to borrow the Bentley.”
A red head popped through the door. “What? No, she’s mine.”
“Ours,” he corrected. “Like this cottage is ours, and the bookshop was ours.”
“No. What’d you even need her for anyway?”
“I’m going to London.”
That was where the entrance to Upstairs was, of course. Although, he did hear rumors of another entrance pop up somewhere in America, but he would rather not fly across an ocean.
“For what, angel?” Crowley asked impatiently.
He hesitated. Crowley had suggested it first, so he must be okay with it. They didn’t have a real conversation about it. Aziraphale had shut it down quickly. He didn’t want to go back to a Heaven that did not care about him, but the possibility that they did was too tempting (not that angels Tempted, so perhaps Crowley tempted him to it).
He couldn’t tell him yet. The possibility of it ending poorly was too great, and he couldn’t disappoint Crowley.
“I fancied a drive,” he lied.
“Okay, we can–”
“No, I meant alone.”
It felt wrong to say. Crowley stared, both of them knowing he was acting strange. Perhaps he should've spent more time thinking of an excuse, but it was too late for that.
“You want to drive to London, alone, in my Bentley.”
“Our Bentlety, yes.”
“Do you… know how to drive?”
“Yes! I took lessons, insisted on taking the test for my license.”
One of his prouder moments, he could admit. That was before automobiles went too fast, but the principle was the same.
“Come on, Aziraphale, let me drive you there,” Crowley coaxed.
“It won’t be too long,” he said instead. “Just a quick pop over.”
Crowley made a noise like a dying fish, and Aziraphale knew he won.
The Bentley drove at a respectable speed, one that did not have Aziraphale scared for his life. It was also temporarily a lovely shade of yellow until Crowley insisted he change it back.
There was no parking in front of the entrance. The walk gave him the opportunity to turn around, get back into the car, and leave before ever seeing the lobby.
He walked on.
Unsurprisingly, the lobby was empty, angels and demons both in their respective domains. There was no reason to linger in the lobby. They weren’t friends. (He did wonder about Michael’s back channels from long ago and how her trip to Hell seemed personal, but no one ever talked about that and he wasn’t going to start, either.)
Nothing happened when he got to the top of the escalators. No alarms or flashing lights that would identify him as a traitor. No one stopped him. No one even looked at him.
Uriel wasn’t lying about the flowers. The monotone white was broken up by the random golden vase and neat bouquet, carefully arranged by color to make rainbows down the halls. Unlike flowers on Earth, there were no fallen leaves or drooping petals. Every flower stood tall; even Crowley wouldn't be able to find fault.
Now, what had Crowley said about the workrooms?
Opposite of the Archives, next to Eden.
He turned right, towards Eden. None of the angels who passed him acknowledged his presence, and so he didn’t either. There was no nodding and hello’s in Heaven, not when everyone had places to be. He did note that whenever the rainbow of flowers caught an angel’s eye, they would smile before schooling themselves back to professional blankness.
Soon, the other angels faded away. His lone footsteps echoed around him, the white hallways stretching out without any silhouettes. It was just him.
That couldn't be right.
Uriel made it sound as if all the previous designers were back in the workrooms in their spare time. There should be others in the hallway.
He reached the doors to Eden.
The doors extended up and disappeared into the void, a single gold lock breaking up the whiteness and hiding the other side. He remembered the colors, the soft greens and bright blues. The gentle whisper of a stream passing through. Birds singing and a snake slithering.
He never witnessed Eden being locked up. After the humans were exiled, Aziraphale followed them on Earth, and Eden was recalled to Heaven and hidden away, locked up and forgotten. It’s possible that he’s the first angel to stand at the doors in six millennia.
He stepped forward, the sound echoing too loud for his comfort. The wood was the same non-temperature as the rest of Heaven, not quite cold but not warm. It just existed, solid against his palm.
Feeling slightly guilty, as if he was doing something wrong, Aziraphale pushed.
The door didn’t budge.
They were properly locked, and he didn’t have the key.
Well.
It seemed that Crowley was wrong about the workrooms being near Eden.
Aziraphale wanted to believe that Uriel wasn’t lying. It would be a horrible accusation against any angel, but especially against one of the Archangels. He had to acknowledge that maybe he just wasn’t familiar with Heaven anymore.
He walked away from Eden.
Slowly, the other angels and rainbow bouquets became visible again, a quiet chatter filling the air, easing a tension he didn’t realize was building in his corporation.
He could ask one of them for directions. It would create a strange perception of him, an angel not being able to navigate Heaven, but he would find the workrooms. He could also continue to walk with purpose until he found them himself, assuming he got there at all.
The blinding lights made it difficult to think of a solution, a problem that no one else seemed to have.
He could also attempt to find Uriel outside of the workrooms, but that was a reported rarity. Gabriel was known to be flighty, easily moving through Heaven to give orders and check up on tasks. The only predictable Archangel left was Michael, who spent her time between her office and the training grounds. (It was assumed that she would stop going to the training grounds after the War was officially declared Not Happening, but she claimed it was relaxing. He supposed you can’t expect the Commander of Heaven to simply stop training because of a canceled war.)
He wondered what was worse, disturbing her work or finding her surrounded by the Cherubim at the training grounds.
He turned towards her office, repeatedly reminding himself that she invited him back.
Unlike the walk to Eden, the angels didn’t taper away. He was surrounded by others, watching them talk in groups as he went by unnoticed. It was better than judgment, but he still felt lonely.
There was an angel at a desk, scrolling on a computer with visible boredom. Behind her, some distance away, was the Archangels’ offices.
“Hello, Sariel,” he smiled.
Sariel did not smile back. She didn’t look up at all.
“Name?”
“Oh! Aziraphale.”
She clicked something. “Do you have an appointment?”
Oh for goodness’ sake!
Of course he needed an appointment. All of his visits back in Heaven were scheduled check-ins.
“No, but it’s important,” he insisted, racking his brain for an excuse. He couldn’t turn away now, not when he was so close. “It’s about a demon!”
Sariel jerked her head up. He had her full attention now, and he hoped he wouldn't regret that.
“The one stationed on Earth,” he continued. “He’s been creating trouble, and Archangel Michael was clear that this is of the highest importance.”
“Of course! No appointment needed,” Sariel assured, clicking furiously on the computer. “She’s at the training grounds–”
Fuck.
“–allow me to escort you.”
He should’ve gone there first, he bemoaned. He would have had one less audience member when he embarrassed himself. He should've been less envious of the other angels walking together in groups. He should’ve asked for Uriel, or perhaps gone back to Earth after not finding the workrooms by Eden.
They didn’t quite walk together. Sariel was in front of him, moving briskly with purpose. Aziraphale felt himself stumbling to keep up, failing to hide his nervousness now that she wasn’t facing him.
Unlike his walk alone, Sariel’s fast pace caught the attention of the others who then stared at him. Soft whispers followed the pair, wondering if something was wrong. It must be, if the Archangels’ secretary was in a rush towards the training grounds.
It was an unfamiliar path. Aziraphale had used every excuse to not join the other Principalities during training sessions. Gabriel commented on it during every check in, that Uriel was expecting him to fulfill all of his duties, but he managed to avoid every single session. It also helped hide the fact that his sword was missing.
The training grounds hadn’t changed since the Beginning. It was still a wide circle, slightly sunken down to create a ring. At the edges sat some Seraphim and Thrones, lounging as if they had nowhere else to be (they must have learned that from Crowley, when he was still called Raphael). Inside was Michael and the Cherubim. The small cohort of angels watched her intently as she demonstrated a parry, emphasizing her footwork and possible counterstrikes.
Aziraphale had never seen her so relaxed.
Even at the cottage, Michael was dressed in pristine formalwear. Here, she traded her lace and layers for cotton sweats. Long pants and full sleeves, but no shoes. An empty scabbard at her waist for the sword in her hand (one should always assume she had a sword on her, even if not visible).
In that moment, she was completely focused on the Cherubim, bringing the sword close to show the best points of contact that they should aim for.
“Archangel Michael!”
Sariel’s exclamation shattered the peace. Michael turned, her smile falling to blank professionalism. The Cherubim stepped back, while the Seraphim and Thrones leaned forward for the gossip.
“The Principality Aziraphale has some important news regarding a demon,” Sariel announced.
Every eye turned to him. He gave a little wave to Michael to keep from fidgeting.
“Thank you, Sariel,” Michael smiled, eyes icy cold. “We can have a conversation later.”
That was a threat, one Sariel heard loud and clear from the way she took a step back. “Of course, Archangel.”
Then, Michael turned to him.
Her smile warmed, looking him up and down with the same concern she does Crowley. There was clearly no concern that she was dressed down in front of him.
“Aziraphale. I hadn’t expected to see you here,” she said, no trace of cruelty. Her eyes shifted slightly at their audience. “We can talk elsewhere.”
He caught whispers of disappointment from others at not being able to hear this important news about a demon, and the frowns of the Cherubim as she sheathed her sword and stepped away from them.
Between one step and the next, her clothes switched back to the trousers and blazer, heels clicking on the hard floor. She grabbed his arm to lead him away before he could say anything else, her grip surprisingly loose.
She led him down a hall that was empty and released him as soon as she saw they were alone.
“A demon,” she repeated.
“Ah, well, I didn’t have an appointment,” he explained sheepishly.
Another turn and they were in a conference room, Michael locking the doors behind them. She stepped closer, scanning him again, and he did his best to stand still. Whatever she saw must’ve been enough, melting away her tension. She pulled out a chair to sit. He stayed standing, knowing that he wasn’t exactly there to talk to Michael.
“Is Crowley alright?”
“What? Oh, yes, fine. As I said, I just need an excuse to talk to you.”
There was a silence. He hoped she wouldn’t be offended that he wanted to use her as a tour guide.
She looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Oh. Well. The humans have been making some interesting discoveries lately–”
“Aziraphale. Did you come all this way to talk about humans?”
She invited him, he reminded himself firmly. She would be polite, if only because he would tell Crowley if she was otherwise, and Michael didn’t want to disappoint him anymore than Aziraphale.
“I wanted to see the workrooms, but I don't know where they are.”
“The… workrooms.”
“Yes. Crowley said they are opposite the Archives, beside Eden, but his information was outdated. And I couldn’t find Gabriel.”
He didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.
She tapped her fingers on the table, a quick one-two-three-four that might as well have been thunder. He recognized the sound from when Lucifer or Crowley were getting on her nerves, a rare show of agitation.
She stood, Aziraphale stepping back at the motion.
“They’re closer to the entryways,” she answered. “For ease of transportation. Come along.”
Like with Sariel, the pair attracted more attention than Aziraphale wanted. Michael seemed unaffected, barely noticing the commotion she caused. Then again, could it be considered a commotion if it followed wherever she went?
The first minutes were spent in silence. Aziraphale didn’t want to risk making it worse. She could rescind her invitation at any time. She could kick him out at any time.
“There’s a list,” she said abruptly. “Angels who don’t need an appointment. It’s typically the heads of the Choirs, but it also includes anyone who might have time sensitive information. I’ll make sure Gabriel adds your name.”
She glanced at the others in the hallway, pulling him closer and lowering her voice. “Let’s not encourage lying in the Kingdom of God.”
She was smiling again, expecting him to join in the mischief.
“I wouldn’t say it was a lie,” he countered. “I do have news about Crowley. I just figured you don’t want to hear any more about him that you have to.”
She laughed softly, mindful of their audience. “Of course not. He’s so obnoxious.”
They walked towards a strange blur of color. There was a sign in the hallway. A bright orange with black lettering that proclaimed
CAUTION
LIVING CREATURES
She huffed as he read it. “Angels kept wandering in without realizing they would see animals. You would think it obvious.”
On the other side was the Globe, a line of angels waiting with different fauna and flora in hand. Ease of transportation, Michael and Crowley both said. The angel would zoom in on the Globe, finding their desired location, and send their designs off to be discovered by the humans. At the very front of the line was a conflicted angel who could not decide between two lakes in Scotland. The fish in his hands didn’t seem upset at the current lack of water.
The bright orange of the sign continued on. The walls were covered in a rainbow gradient for angels to select the perfect color for their designs. The colors faded to white at the top and black at the bottom. The harsh white light faded into a softer yellow that mimicked the Sun. Rooms lined the hallway, and a peak inside one showed a miniature desert. Presumably, they all had different ecosystems for additional quality control.
Unlike the rest of Heaven, the angels didn’t give Michael more than a cursory glance before returning to their tasks.
Rows of desks were cluttered with paint swatches, blueprints, and ecosystem maps to ensure the designs didn’t upset the current balance. Genome sequences, cell structures, every step of creation was laid out right down to the atom.
Michael was smiling at his awe. “Uriel spent weeks digging up the specs from the Archives, and even longer making sure it was an organized chaos. She did a wonderful job.”
He looked at the angels again. None of them were Uriel.
Michael tilted her head at one of the closed ecosystem doors. “Let’s find her, shall we?”
Looking closer, he saw that each door had a light on top. All open doors, as well as some closed doors, were lit white. The rest, all closed, were lit black.
“Black for unavailable,” Michael informed him. “Open at your own risk. You might get a very angry designer demanding to know why you’re interrupting their simulation.”
She grinned at him, and that coupled with the lack of reverence made him wonder if she wasn't a mere witness to the yelling.
She didn’t open any of the doors. The farther they went, the more he wondered if she knew where she was going. The crowds lessened again, mostly congregated at the Globe or the first few ecosystem rooms.
One door light was neither white nor black. It was a gold that fit in perfectly for the rest of Heaven, but almost seemed out of place now. It must be helpful for anyone needing to find the Archangel.
Michael put a finger on her mouth and opened the door.
The first thing he saw was green. Grass, trees, vines, moss, Aziraphale had to swat leaves away from his face. The first thing he felt was the humidity sinking into clothes.
They must be in a miniature rainforest. There was the distant sound of frogs croaking, toucans cawing, monkeys rustling up in the trees.
Michael nudged him and gestured to the broken sticks on the ground, warning him to watch his step. He was not dressed for the humidity, and he apparently didn't have the coordination to both watch his step and swat away the leaves in front of him. Thankfully, it was a short walk, barely a few steps before the vines cleared and they saw her.
Uriel was a pop of white against the rainforest, not a single speck of dirt on her. She sat on the floor, paper scroll beside her as she stared at a frog perched on a fallen log. It wasn’t doing anything, as far as he could tell. It would ribbit, and she would write something down.
Michael moved closer. “Nice colors.”
Uriel startled, and the frog jumped away into the foliage. There was a flash of rage, her grip tightening around her pencil, but it calmed when she saw it was Michael.
“Thank you,” she said instead. Her eyes fell to him. “Aziraphale.”
He wrung his hands together. “Do you need to find your frog?”
She glanced in the direction it fled and shrugged. “It can’t leave the room.”
Michael’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him forward. “Aziraphale came to see the workrooms.”
Uriel tilted her head at the new information. “You’ve never seen them before,” she realized.
“They’re magnificent,” he said. Flattery was always the key for them. This was her pride and joy, after all.
She looked back at Michael. “Did you give him a tour?”
“I haven’t had the time,” Michael lied (In the Kingdom of God!). “Could you? I cut my training session short and would like to make it up.”
Uriel stood, brushing off nonexistent dirt. “Of course.”
Michael squeezed his shoulders reassuringly, and then she was gone.
He stared helplessly at the empty space.
“Well, first thing is finding the frog.”
Right! It couldn’t be too far, given that it couldn’t leave.
He followed Uriel as she circled the room. The frog was a bright green, which would make it easy to find anywhere but a rainforest that was also green. He could just barely see other animals from the corner of his eye, unsure if they were real or an illusion.
A sudden croak had her turning on her heel to follow the sound. Unlike Aziraphale, Uriel was unconcerned with the face-level vines, pushing them aside to stop in front of a tree trunk. The croaking continued, aiding Uriel in finding her frog. She pushed aside the leaves to find it hiding in a notch on one of the trees, a perfect fit for its oval body.
She scooped it up and placed it on the open scroll. The frog, once a tangible and moving thing, seemed to dissolve onto the pages until it was a two-dimensional illustration.
“Now, that tour.”
He followed her out of the room, gold light above the door fading to white.
Unlike Michael, who allowed him to walk in-step with her, Uriel marched on ahead without checking to see he was following.
She tossed the scroll on a desk covered with papers, adding to the clutter.
Before she could say anything, another angel ran up to them.
“Archangel Uriel, please, Phanuael has been at the Globe for half an hour. Please get him to move.”
Phanuael was the angel with the fish who still hadn’t decided on a lake.
“Oh, not this again.”
She strode to the Globe, standing between it and Phanuael.
“We have been over this,” she exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The Globe is not for deciding between locations. That should happen before you stand in line. No one should spend more than a minute on transport. Now,” she stared at Phanuael. “Pick one or go back to your desk.”
There was a mumbled apology, Phanuael sending the fish off to the lake on the screen and sheepishly moving back to his desk.
Uriel stayed to see how long the next angel would spend at the Globe, nodding in approval when it was only a few seconds. It made sense that location was part of the designing process. They couldn’t send any creature just anywhere.
Satisfied that there were no more delays, Uriel walked back to him. Despite scolding the designers under her purview, she was smiling again. He couldn't remember the last time he saw that, unless it was with Crowley and the other Archangels.
“Welcome to the workshops. Do you want to make something?”
Yes. Of course he did.
“I don’t know how,” he answered.
“That’s the perfect tour. You’ll see everything here and get to make something. We can do something small. Non-sentient. Follow old blueprints to save time.”
She made it sound so easy. The countless specs around them said otherwise. He was a Principality, for goodness’ sake! He didn’t understand genomes or cell structures or color theory. He only wanted to see the workrooms because they were lauded as a great achievement–and they were, but he never planned to be anything but an observer.
She was waiting for an answer.
“You’ll have to do most of the work,” he said instead.
“I’ll let you take credit.”
“It can’t take too long. I’m expected back on Earth tonight.”
“Good to know. Let’s go.”
She took him by the wrist and pulled him to one of the walls. What might have been wine shelves were repurposed to hold an uncountable number of scrolls spanning infinitely in either direction. Uriel moved to the left, seeing something that he couldn’t.
“These are the original specs of everything that exists. We don’t need to design anything from scratch anymore, just edit what we already have. It’s organized by complexity and category. We have nonliving, which would be stars and planets and gems, single-cell organisms, fungi, plants, animals. This is the plant section. Relatively easy. Pick one.”
He reached for the scroll in front of him.
Unraveling it took longer than expected. He didn’t realize how much information was on the specs.
The center of the scroll was a sketch of a tall pine in shades of brown and green. Around it was a dizzying amount of text outlining everything from cell structure to ideal habitat to interactions with other living things. There were sketches of the tree in various stages of life, of the flow of energy via photosynthesis, of the root system, of the layers of the truck. There was even a color swatch.
He looked up at Uriel, regretting saying yes.
She hummed at the design. “Probably not best if you have limited time. Try a little to the left.”
The next scroll had daisies, which were absolutely lovely but still got a dubious reaction.
“Too many interactions to factor in. Pollination can take a lot of time to design.”
Another step to the left, and he found the section on cacti. The one in his hands was spherical and covered in small, dense spines. More flowers, which meant he replaced the scroll to keep looking.
The next one looked promising. A kind of fern, still having complex root systems and cell systems, but no flowers or fruits. There was a detailed image of the reproduction cycle that used spores rather than depending on other organisms.
He looked to Uriel for her approval. She read over the scroll and nodded.
“Very doable for a few hours. Is that your final pick?”
“Yes, please.”
Uriel’s desk was cluttered with projects. Every inch was covered in papers of some sort. She pushed it all to the side to lay out the fern scroll. With a click of her fingers, there was a duplicate for them to edit without compromising the original.
“We don’t need to worry about a lot of things. Reproduction, life cycle, those can stay the same. Do you like the color?”
Well, it was green, the same as most plants. He wasn’t particularly against it.
“Can we change it to red?”
She huffed, pressing her lips together to hide a laugh. “No, that would interfere with the chlorophyll. But we can change the shade and hue, if you would like. Actually, yes, that would be a good first step.”
The scroll had ten different variants of green. If he was honest, he didn’t see a big difference in the colors. With a wave of a hand, there were ten new boxes waiting to be colored in. She had left the old colors on the scroll as reference.
That was where the rainbow wall came in. They stood in front of the greens, Uriel handing the scroll to him to pick the colors.
“There’s no wrong answer,” she assured. “Unless you start looking at the reds.”
It was like fingerpainting. He would touch the wall and then the scroll, the color filling in the box. Thankfully none of the color lingered on him.
The first green was bright, as close to true green as he could get without too much blues or yellows. To his untrained eye, it looked like a good match to the first of the original color swatch.
Unless he wasn’t supposed to match to the original? The purpose was to design something new, right? Or, she had said they’re editing a pre-existing design, which means there would be similarities–which would be all the things they aren’t changing, like the life cycle and cells–and he was doing it all wrong.
Uriel took pity on him–or maybe she was aware of their time crunch.
“They’re all going to be similar. The colors are typically near each other on the gradient.”
Oh, that was a relief.
He used the first color as an anchor, going in a circle to pick the final nine. He imagined the additional colors would add highlights and shadows to create depth, rather than a true gradient like flowers, until he looked closer at the illustration and realized that there is indeed a gradient on the leaves.
Then, she stepped towards the yellows, adding additional boxes on the scroll.
“Now for the sick and rotting colors. Yellows and greys.”
There was no guide for those. He tried to remember Crowley’s plants, but the demon rarely let them turn yellow before shredding them. Another bout of pity had Uriel picking the first color for him. He made sure to include colors above hers to highlight the grey tones.
After that was browns, again for sickness and for the stem. White for the root system. None of them came with a guide to follow, just Uriel pointing him in the right direction.
The next step was the actual coloring. Uriel waved away the original swatch and colors, leaving just the enlarged outline. He did his best to not panic at the lack of model.
“Lighter colors on the inner vein, darker as you go out. Add some of the yellow-browns on the droopy fronds.”
It was slow going. He didn’t know which colors to start with, and he didn't know how to blend the colors. Part of him wished Uriel would take over, but she waited patiently. It really was like fingerpainting. He would add the colors in streaks and wiggle the space between them to blend. The yellow-browns were a challenge simply because he did not want a sick plant, but nothing could live forever and it would be irresponsible for a designer to not consider that.
Painting completed, he let Uriel examine his work. She studied it carefully, tracing the veins and ensuring there was uniformity. Her approving nod brought a swell of pride.
“Now, we do have limited time, so I’ll handle the genes.”
Thank goodness, because he did not want a biology lesson on top of painting class.
The genes had to be edited to reflect the colors Aziraphale chose. The scroll was covered in letters, an incomprehensible mix of AGCT. Incomprehensible to him, he corrected. Uriel had no problem rearranging the letters to create his image.
Those letters somehow influenced the chloroplast in the cells, which then impacted the chlorophyll, and Aziraphale was so grateful that he didn’t have to do any of that.
“One final test, and we can send it out.”
“What else is there?”
“We have to make sure it’s edible.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Edible, Aziraphale. Otherwise it would continue to reproduce and wreak havoc on the ecosystem. Now, the main consumers are insects, particularly aphids, beetles, and crickets. Deer, as well. We make sure that none of our changes impacted the food chain, and then we can send it out.”
She grabbed the scroll and they were off to the ecosystem rooms, gold lighting the top of the door.
It wasn’t quite a rainforest, but it was woody and green, soil soft under them. The light filtered down in soft beams through the leaves. He could hear life around them, just barely out of sight. If the purpose of the test was to see if the animals would eat it, he supposed he would be seeing them soon.
Uriel found an open plot of dirt and set down the scroll. A wave of her hand and there it was.
His fern, the one he colored himself. The light to dark gradient, the droopy yellow-browns, the roots hidden from sight that extended into the ground. He touched the leaf reverently. The illustration didn’t accurately depict the bumps and ridges, the way it felt to stroke the leaves.
No wonder Uriel wanted to open the workrooms again. He couldn't imagine the pride and excitement back when every single creation was new and not just an edit.
“Come on, let’s see what it attracts.”
She guided him to the floor to observe. Insects, she said. Possibly deer. It only took a few minutes before the first bug was crawling on the leaves. Uriel was already scribbling on the scroll, noting the exact creatures. Soon enough, the leaves had growing holes as it provided a meal for the insects.
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be thrilled that the plant passed the test and can be sent out, or upset that he was witnessing it die.
“You did a good job,” Uriel said.
He had never heard any of the Archangels say that to him.
“You did most of it,” Aziraphale deflected. All he did was some coloring. Uriel was the mastermind behind making it real and tangible.
“I said you could have the credit. Aziraphale, why are you here?”
“I wanted to see the workrooms.”
“Yes, but why?”
The bugs continued to eat the fern. He tried counting the holes. Uriel had more patience than the others. She was never fazed by the silence, willing and able to wait it out.
“The workrooms shut down before my creation. You always talked about them fondly. I wanted to see what Heaven used to be like.”
She ran her fingers through the dirt (none of it daring to stick to skin). All of the Archangels spoke about wanting change, but Uriel was the only one to make it happen. She seemed happier, back where she belonged.
Aziraphale was a Principality, made for weapons and war, and he still got rid of his sword as soon as he got the chance.
He couldn’t imagine having to pick up a sword out of desperation and never being able to let it go. To have his purpose be creation and then forced into destruction.
“The humans are noticing,” he went on when she didn’t reply. “Article after article about all the new species being discovered. I figured it had something to do with here. Of course, some humans are blaming it on climate change and habitat destruction, and others are saying their science is getting better at seeing what is already there, but I knew it was related to the workrooms. You must be happy to be back.”
“Yes. I am.”
He waited for more. Uriel either had nothing else to say, or too much on her mind.
“It really is magnificent. The most wonderful area in Heaven, I think. I would love to come back when I have more time and learn the hard parts?”
She nodded. “You’re welcome at any time.”
It was getting late. There were no visible markers of time in Heaven, but even editing creation must take a long time, plus his accidental detours making it worse. Crowley must be out of his mind with worry. As much as he wanted to stay, it was time to go.
“I think we have enough data. Can we say this was a success?”
“Yes.”
Unlike the frog, the fern was not made two-dimensional. Instead, she scooped the plant into a newly-manifested pot to be carried to the Globe. He wondered what part of the world would be best. There was a list of possible habitats on the scroll, but he didn’t remember them. He was sure Uriel had an idea.
Archangel privilege meant skipping the others in line.
“Lots of possibilities,” she said to him.
Archangel privilege also meant that picking a destination before getting in line did not apply to her.
She started on the Western hemisphere before changing her mind and zooming in on a forest in China. It was dark and moist, similar to the ecosystem room they used. Then, she waved her hand to duplicate the fern, handing the new one to him as she kept the original.
“Go on, send it out.”
He carefully extended it through the Globe, watching it dissolve from his hands and appear in the ground.
There it was.
His edit, on Earth. Soon, it would join the circle of life, being eaten but also growing and reproducing. But for a few moments, it was untouched by anything but him and Uriel.
“Congratulations, Aziraphale.”
Suddenly, he understood why Uriel rarely left the workrooms. It was so wonderful there, and Uriel was being so surprisingly kind, and he didn’t want to leave.
Ridiculous, he knew. As soon as he walked past the entryway, he would be back to the blinding white hallways that never ended. He couldn't hide in the workrooms forever, even if that was what Uriel was doing.
They stood at the threshold, Uriel unwilling to leave with him.
She was still holding the original plant.
“Is that for the records?”
She placed the pot in his hands. “For you. It’s important to remember firsts. Just don’t let our mutual redhead yell at it too much.”
He would never allow that. There was no yelling at his first ever creation (technically edit, but Aziraphale grew attached to the idea that he helped create the version in his hands).
He wondered what was the first thing that Uriel ever created. If she remembered.
“Thank you. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Come by again soon. I’ll teach you the hard stuff. Maybe a sentient being next.”
“Maybe we should do flowers before moving to anything with a brain,” he replied.
“If you want. Safe travels, Aziraphale.”
He stepped into the hallways, clutching his fern close.
The bouquets were back, but they paled in comparison to the rainbow walls of the workrooms. For a moment, he wondered if he looked odd, holding a plant, but no one looked at him. There must be a reason an angel was holding a plant.
He hadn’t realized how tense he was after leaving the workrooms until he felt himself relax at the escalator. Perhaps he should've said goodbye to Michael or tried to find Gabriel, but he just wanted to go home.
Hours had passed. The daylight faded to a colorful dusk, and it would be dark when he reached home. He was surprised it was the same day at all.
In the Bentley, he carefully placed the fern in the passenger seat, strapping it in. He made sure to drive the speed limit. The last thing he wanted was his fern falling before he got back.
Crowley was outside, pacing the driveway. He must've been there for hours, Aziraphale realized guiltily.
The demon ran over as soon as the car was visible, throwing open the passenger side and almost sitting on his fern.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
“Can we have this conversation inside?”
He realized how long it’s been since he sat. The workrooms didn’t have any chairs, and they sat on the floor in the ecosystem room. The Bentley was comfortable, but he wanted his armchair to extend his legs and a cup of tea.
“No. Where were you? Did you go all the way to London for a plant?”
Aziraphale moved the fern to his lap. For Crowley to sit, but also in fear of it getting knocked around. The demon slid into the seat, closing the door.
“I went to Heaven,” he said truthfully.
Despite the darkness, Crowley’s sunglasses hide his eyes. Probably for the best. Aziraphale had too many emotions throughout the day to be able to face Crowley’s disappointment or hurt.
“What? Why? You don’t like it there.”
“You said I should see the workrooms, so I did. They were lovely. I made this.”
He held out the fern. It still had the droopy yellow-brown leaves from Uriel instructing him to design some sickness. Crowley ran his fingers on them, judging the plant as a failure. As if Aziraphale didn’t do that himself.
He pulled it closed again, hugging it to his chest. “No yelling. This is the first thing I ever made, and it is perfect.”
“Fine. How was it?”
He perked up. “Oh, it was amazing! Uriel truly did something magnificent! So much color, and activity, and I see why she never wants to leave!”
“Yeah, she practically lives there now. How is she?”
“Happier,” he said honestly.
“That’s… good. Yeah, good. You made this?”
“I colored it,” he said sheepishly. “Uriel did most of the work. She said she could teach me if I go back.”
Crowley stared at the fern. “Are you going back?”
“Eventually, but not for some time. I missed home.”
“That’s… good. Well, let’s find a place for your plant, then. Make sure it’s got a fighting chance.”
They leave the Bentley for their home.
He would go back Upstairs eventually, hold them accountable for the change they promised. But in the meantime, he was content to be with his love on Earth.