"Mm." He'd thought so. Glancing up at Balthazar, he bit the inside of his cheek in a brief fit of nerves. Instinct told him that he shouldn't engage in this conversation. It was dangerous. Anyone could be watching and listening.

Although they weren't. They hadn't been for years, thanks to Adam, and aside from that he was even less significant now than he once had been, not to mention somewhere else. Even if someone was watching him, what could they do? He was already human. Still, it was so deeply ingrained that every moment of questioning came with a queasy thrill of anticipated punishment.

The other point, of course, was that questioning and disrespect were two entirely different beasts, and the way Balthazar was speaking was practically disdainful. After a moment, Aziraphale looked at the opening of the crevice again and thought carefully before he spoke.

"A coping mechanism," he said, "perhaps. It's easier to understand a God who is kind, or for that matter cruel, than one who is . . . ineffable. Incomprehensible." He ducked his head and added, "In any case, I wouldn't know much about the bird's eye view. I never spent much time in Heaven."