Aziraphale remembers Michael walking in with the holy water. The spectacle of it all, the trial, the Lords, the audience, Michael. If it hadn't been for the situation at hand, the casual manner in which all the exchanges happened would have you believe you were watching an tense exchange between-- well, colleagues. Which is a terrifying thought.

Nearing that edge and staring down that spiral he's called home soon after this all began, he looks at Crowley again and considers the slight change of subject.

And he looks at the ceiling again. There's a couple of more seconds of silence than necessary, as happens with most difficult subjects.

"I would believe so." They were Her creation. Most things were Her creation, but they had been different. They were special. And she didn't take kindly when that first was put into into question by those who were to become the first Fallen. "She certainly had dedicated a lot of Her attention on them."

But, Plans? Oh, Aziraphale has learned the hard way, the hardest way, to finally accept that none of them know Her plans.