Chapter Text
The next day turned out to be the best day of sleep Sandalphon had ever had. Partly it was because of the hospital bed, infinitely adjustable, beautifully comfortable, but mostly it was because, at long last, his conscience was clear.
When he woke up sprawled on the floor of the lodge, whining in pain, Sandalphon had known he was in deep trouble, both physically and legally. Physically, as it turned out the mini-butler had given him a broken jaw, and he needed to drive to the closest A&E to get patched up.
But legally, he was in even worse shape. Horn and the butler had both escaped. Both could identify the lodge, which meant the authorities would soon find him, a relative of the lodge’s owners and a sworn enemy of Gabriel Horn. Sooner rather than later, the police would come to him and ask Horn to identify his voice.
After his jaw had been set, Sandalphon had been moved to this plain-to-barren single room, where he had nothing to do but think about the position he was in. It gave him time to consider his options. Not that he needed a large amount of time, nor did he have, on reflection, a large amount of options. Fifteen minutes after he’d been left alone, he found his phone and called his barrister.
With his broken jaw, the ensuing conversation was slow and difficult, but he did at last convince his family’s lawyer that he was needed before the police arrived, which they inevitably would. However, no barrister had appeared by the time the plainclothes detective came in. A bored guy with black hair, cropped close for even a police officer, grinned at Sandalphon and said, “I’m Detective Cohen.”
“I’ll talk,” Sandalphon said, not entirely accurately, “en ny lawyer gets ere.”
“Oh, really,” Detective Cohen said, no longer bored. “Fine by me. I have nothing but time.”
Seating himself in a visitor’s chair, Detective Cohen amused himself on his mobile for half an hour, until a man who looked like the BBC’s version of a barrister, horn-rimmed glasses and all, walked in.
“Eldron Gold, from the firm Nobbs, Nobbs, and Colon,” the lawyer said. “Is this police officer arresting you?”
“Not yet,” Detective Cohen said with a happy smile.
Eldron Gold asked Sandalphon, “Would you like to speak with me privately before you answer the officer’s questions?”
“No, I just ant to get it over ith.”
Detective Cohen stood and opened a small notebook. “Good idea.”
Sandalphon took a deep breath. “Thor other theothle and I kidnathed Gabriel Horn,” he said.
“Wait!” Gold yelled over some pleased exclamation from Cohen. “Are you sure we shouldn’t talk first?”
“No, it’s alright. Thigh oth us kidnathed Gabriel Horn.”
“This is completely unacceptable,” Gold said. “In a hospital setting, my client is sedated, he’s not responsible for his statements, absolutely none of this would be acceptable in a court of law.”
“Objections noted,” Detective Cohen said. He didn’t seem troubled.
Sandalphon patted the bed to calm the barrister down. “I hath to get this out. This isn’t easy thor ne to say. We kett Horn at ny thanily lodge. We also took the uttler, utt that was an accident. They oath got away. The uttler hit ne with a chair.”
Gold interrupted. “Are you sure we shouldn’t discuss this, you and I? Just you and I?”
“A little late now,” the cheerful detective said. “Tell us about the other four people involved.”
“Don’t!”
Ignoring his lawyer, Sandalphon said, “One is ny iszness thartner, Uriel Lumiere. The other three are, uh, ess-employees of Archangel. I don’t know ere they orked.”
“Their names will do,” Detective Cohen said.
“Yes, ell, they’re Duke, Dee, and, er, Lizardnan.”
Both Gold and Detective Cohen leaned in closer. “Would that be Duke, Dee, and Lizardman?”
“Uriel nose their real names, I think.”
It took Detective Cohen a while to realise the story was now complete. He had another hour of questions, intermixed with useless objections from Barrister Gold, but Sandalphon had essentially told the whole story right at the beginning. He felt much better about things. He knew he’d been the first to turn Queen’s evidence, so to speak, which would mean they’d come to him first for testimony against the others, which meant he’d be treated more leniently than everybody else. What a relief!
Such a relief, in fact, that when Detective Cohen and Gold finally left, Sandalphon fell immediately and deeply asleep, and remained asleep for most of the day. The shadows outside the hospital room window were long and amber when at last he stirred, stretched, smiled, stopped smiling because it made his jaw hurt, and then remembered where he was and everything that had happened.
What a terrific slumber after so much tension and worry! It reassured him that he’d made the right decision. Betraying one’s friends and associates, it turned out, wasn’t something to agonise over or regret. No, it was merely an unfortunate possibility in life. One was sorry to find that one had reached that point in one’s life, but then one accepted the reality and got on with it. He had got on with it, and everything was better – for him – as a result.
Smiling again, although much more carefully, he turned his head, and there was Detective Cohen, grinning right back at him from the visitor’s chair. He was an unusually happy person, wasn’t he?
“So you’re awake, are you?”
“Oh, yes. God, I theel rested.”
“Very good. Because a lot has happened while you’ve been asleep.”
“I thought it ould.”
“We went looking for this Uriel Lumiere,” Detective Cohen told him, “and it turns out, she’s already fled the country.”
Sandalphon blinked. “Thled?”
“Went straight to South Korea. I doubt we’ll ever get our hands on her. Believe it or not, there’s no extradition treaty between Great Britain and South Korea. Once she’s there, there’s nothing we can do unless she comes back voluntarily.”
Sandalphon was stunned. “What … what athout Duke and Lizard and Dee?”
“Well, you don’t know their real names, and you don’t know how they connect to Gabriel Horn or where they claimed they used to work,” Detective Cohen pointed out. “Your friend Uriel may have known, but she’s long gone, and believe me, there are dozens of Dukes and Dees who might have a grudge against Archangel.”
“So … I’m the only one you hafe?”
“I’m afraid it gets worse,” Detective Cohen said, with that pleasant smile. “They found Gabriel Horn. Found him wandering the countryside talking to children. He had a concussion. Bad head injury, the doctors tell me.”
“I didn’t do that! None oth us did that!”
“No, no, nobody’s accusing you, don’t worry about that. The point is, all those bumps to the head mean that Gabriel Horn has amnesia.”
“Well, if anybody deserthes—” But then the import of the words hit him. “He what?”
“No memory at all,” Detective Cohen said, waving a hand beside his head as though saying goodbye to his brain. “The doctors say he’ll never get his memory back, it’s all gone. Oh, and the butler, Beatrix Beals? Says they’re too traumatised to remember all the details. They’re from London, you know, and a city dweller, up in the wilderness where they ran away from you people, who knows what happened? So far, we haven’t been able to get a complete story from them.”
“Tough luck,” Sandalphon said, not seeing any connection with himself, and already bitter about not learning about Horn’s amnesia until too late.
But Detective Cohen wasn’t finished. “All in all, Sandalphon, it’s a good thing you spoke. Without you, we’d never have found that lodge, or you, or your friend Uriel’s name, or anything. Yes, sir, without you coming forward the way you did, the entire Gabriel Horn kidnapping would’ve remained a complete mystery forever. I’ll send your barrister in now, shall I?”
Meanwhile, in Duke’s smoky, mildew-scented flat, the television blared the news about Gabriel Horn.
“Little is known about the kidnappers,” Lizard quoted. “You hear that?”
“We’re screwed,” Duke said. “Uriel did the right thing. We oughta flee the country.”
“To where?” Lizard asked. “Using what for cash? We wouldn’t last a week in some foreign country, and once they look at us and start to wonder how come we’re on the lam, then we’re really screwed.”
The television news had moved on, and Duke switched it off and got up for another beer. Dee was the only one of the three not drinking. He hadn’t come down on one side or the other, leave or do nothing, because he was paralysed with terror.
“If Uriel thinks she oughta run, we oughta listen,” Duke said from inside the refrigerator. “Those were smart, educated people, not dummies.”
“One of them’s arrested,” Lizard pointed out, “which is how smart he is. And the other one skipped because Sandalphon knows her and can identify her, and according to the telly, Sandalphon gave the cops Uriel Lumiere’s name.”
Duke popped open his beer. “Not a good way to treat an old pal.”
“The point is,” Lizard said, “if he’d give them Uriel, he’d give them us twice as fast, but he didn’t. And you know why?”
“He hasn’t gotten around to it yet,” Dee said miserably. Oh, he wasn’t going to like prison, not a bit. Maybe he should start drinking after all.
“Nah, he got around to it,” Lizard said. “Little is known about us, that’s what the news bloke said. Because Sandalphon doesn’t know our names.”
“Sure he does,” Duke said angrily. “Don’t be an arsehole.”
Pointing at each one of them, and then at himself, Lizard said, “Duke. Dee. Lizardman. That’s not name enough to lead anybody to us. If we make a move, it will just draw attention to us.”
“Huh,” Dee said, sensing, for the first time in weeks, light at the end of the tunnel. “So what should we do now?”
Lizard chugged some beer and wiped his hand across his mouth. “I dunno about you, but I’m going to look for another crappy job.”
“Sounds about right,” Duke said. “Dee, you should go to culinary school or something. Those waffles you made were fucking delicious.”
Dee shrugged. “Maybe I will. I guess I’ll tell you if I do.”
“Meh, don’t bother, kid,” Duke said.
And he didn’t bother. In fact, after that conversation, Dee never spoke to Duke and Lizard again, and was the better man for it. Instead, he signed up for culinary school, despite the hellish conditions that cooks have to endure, proving he hadn’t gained any intelligence from his adventure. Then again, cooking was honest work. At least it was better than being a social media manager.
Fast forward a couple of weeks, and Gabriel’s memory hadn’t returned. The woman in charge of his phony charitable organisation – the legal owner of the car collection – finally admitted defeat and found a place in London willing to take over the care of the cars. Ms. Michael Angelo, president of the organisation, drove out to Eden’s Garden with a battery of flatbed lorries and began the repossession. Gabriel, who kept forgetting he used to collect automobiles, didn’t even bother to look out the window. But Crowley, Beals, and Dagon stood outside in attendance like an honor guard. Aziraphale huddled with the foundation president, watching her check off each car on her list as they were taken away. Crowley did his best not to flinch at the metallic clinks of tow chains hitting his precious babies. The babies he’d never see again.
Oof, there went the 12-cylinder Pierce-Arrow. Oh, and the Daimler, couldn’t the oafs from the towing company be more careful? If they scratched it … and what the fuck were they doing with the Lamborghini? He put his fist in his mouth and bit down hard. This was breaking his heart, it truly was, and Aziraphale was chattering with Michael, completely ignoring him. Beals and Dagon flanked him as they watched the parade of vehicles leaving his garage, but they didn’t give a shit about the cars. They were mourning the loss of the heist.
Aziraphale wouldn’t miss the cars either, but Crowley wanted him at his side supporting him through this ordeal. Only two weeks ago, Crowley had thought he’d stood a chance with him. He moved into Jasmine Cottage to give Aziraphale space, but he hadn’t expected Aziraphale to need it. He’d been wrong. Okay, sure, Aziraphale had been mad busy arranging Gabriel’s affairs, but Crowley had wanted to help him. Be his boyfriend. Pathetic.
Ugh, what had he expected, honestly? He’d lied to Aziraphale in order to steal from his family. He was lucky he wasn’t in a jail cell. Aziraphale didn’t owe him anything.
Michael approached and handed each of them an envelope. Beals and Dagon tore theirs open while Crowley craned his neck to whisper farewell to the candy-apple red 1955 Morgan.
“These are our final paychecks,” Beals said.
“Everything should be accurate,” Michael said. “Marina was a great help in getting it sorted.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Marina Dagon said politely.
There may have been more conversation, but Crowley didn’t care. Aziraphale was right there, just on the other side of the drive, but he wasn’t looking in Crowley’s direction at all. He was avoiding eye contact, nervously pulling on his coat as if he was hiding something in there. Crowley put his hands in his pockets and tried to act nonchalant.
“You know what the worst part of it is?” Beals asked.
Crowley gestured to the flatbeds. “This? Worse than this … this … “
Shit, was defenestration the word he wanted? Aziraphale would know, but Aziraphale was avoiding him. Why was Aziraphale avoiding him?
“If we haven’t been pulling a heist, do you know what we’ve been doing?” Beals spit on the ground. “We’ve been working honest jobs for Gabriel Horn.”
And they stomped back to the house in disgust, Dagon following in their wake.
Not that Crowley was paying attention, because here it was, the moment of reckoning. The sleek form of the Bentley glided from the garage. Its perfect black exterior soaked up the sunshine. A lorry driver reversed to get closer, the uneven whirs of his engine drowning out the Bentley’s graceful purr. Thank Satan for the sunglasses. He hated for the Bentley to see him cry.
“Pardon me, Michael,” Aziraphale said loudly. “I’m afraid you can’t have that one.”
Crowley’s breath caught.
Michael tapped her fingernails on the case of her iPad. “It’s on my list. Gabriel didn’t make any exceptions. He gave us all of the cars in the collection.”
“He didn’t have any choice in the matter, did he?” Crowley snapped. And then realized he was taking Gabriel’s side against his deserving creditors, which made him feel even worse.
“Well, yes, but he gave this particular car to me,” Aziraphale said. “And I can prove it. I have paperwork.”
“You have paperwork of Gabriel gifting you this car before he lost his memory?” Michael skepticism was evident in her sarcastic tone of voice.
Aziraphale nodded. “I have it with me, as a matter of fact.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced … a birthday card. Suddenly, he flashed Crowley a blinding smile. The gray tension clamped around Crowley’s throat dissolved in that precious light.
“Oh, you clever bastard,” Crowley said under his breath.
With a Shakespearean stage presence, Aziraphale opened the card, the very same card he’d read to Crowley when they met during his driving lesson, and began to read: “Happy birthday to my favorite brother. I got you something you really need. A driving lesson! They say old dogs can’t learn new tricks, but you never know. Tell you what. If through a miracle you ever learn to drive, I’ll let you pick out one of my cars for yourself.”
Michael shrugged. “What’s that supposed to prove?”
“It’s written right here,” Aziraphale said smugly. “Gabriel said I can pick out one of his cars for myself.”
Michael peered over Aziraphale’s shoulder to read. Crowley wanted to go over to Aziraphale, too, but he was rooted to the spot, too afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing.
“It says if you ever learn to drive, you can pick out a car,” Michael finally said. “Did you learn to drive?”
Aziraphale straightened his bowtie. “Oh, well, er, yes. Yes, of course I did.”
He was simply a terrible liar, his angel. Crowley would have to help. “He’s an excellent driver. Taught him myself.”
Michael waved at the Bentley. “The engine’s running. Why don’t you show me?”
“Right,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll just enter the vehicle and show you my driving skills, then.”
Before Crowley could think of something to stop him, Aziraphale got behind the wheel of the Bentley. And then took approximately half an hour to adjust the mirrors and seatbelt, during which time, Crowley had at least one heart attack and several strokes. What did Aziraphale want with the Bentley? Maybe it was to remember Crowley by, like a memento thingy. Well, Crowley may not know why Aziraphale was doing this, but he’d do his damn best to help. Even if right now, all he could think to do was pace anxiously.
And then slowly, slowly, the Bentley crawled away from the garage. After about ten feet, it jerked violently.
“C’mon girl,” Crowley yelled, “it’s Aziraphale! You behave for him!”
The drive smoothed out instantly. Aziraphale rolled the car past the lorries and brought it to a stop. He shut off the engine and emerged from the car vibrating with joy.
“How was that?” he asked Michael.
“As you said, you have paperwork. The car’s yours,” she said.
Aziraphale headed straight for Crowley, and he looked so happy. And he should be happy. He should be proud of himself. The least he deserved from this fiasco was the Bentley, and his old life back. Crowley was going to say goodbye with style. Aziraphale had nothing to feel bad about, and Crowley wasn’t going to make this harder for him.
“Congratulations, angel,” he said, sounding something like a human being.
Aziraphale looked confused. “Crowley. You have something right there.” He pointed to the side of Crowley’s head.
Crowley reached up. “What, here?”
“No, behind your ear. Let me get it.” He batted awkwardly at Crowley’s hair before pronouncing, “Ta-da!”
“What was that supposed to be? Did you pretend to pull something from behind my ear?” He wasn’t going to make this harder, he wasn’t, he swore it, but really, what the hell was that?
“It’s a magic trick,” Aziraphale said. “I’m performing magic.”
“What, are you planning a stage show? Because that was terrible.”
“Stop talking and hold out your hand, fiend.”
Crowley sighed. “Fine, but I’m just saying—"
The keys to the Bentley dropping into his hand cut off his thoughts. “Oh. Oh … what … but why …” He couldn’t stop blinking. “Is this a goodbye present?”
“I sincerely hope not.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I was hoping that you and I could use it to take long, leisurely drives together. Perhaps to the theater, perhaps to the coast, whatever strikes our fancy. It’s a bit selfish on my part, but I don’t want to go on a drive without you.”
He was honest to God crying now. “Yeah, that’s … that’s … we could do that.”
Aziraphale curled his hand around Crowley’s, trapping the keys in his fist. “As long as that’s a mutually satisfying arrangement, my dear. I know I’m not the most romantic man—"
“Grahgraghagh,” Crowley said. “You just gave me the bloody car of my dreams, you romantic fool.” He sniffled. “You’re trying to sweep me off my feet, aren’t you?”
Aziraphale laid a hand on his cheek. “I would like that so very much. If you think that’s possible.”
“If I think that’s possible? You just … and then … then … fuck it, I’m having a moment here.”
Meeting Aziraphale’s eyes was too hard, so he rested his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Fortunately, Aziraphale knew what he meant and wrapped him in a warm, comforting hug.
After a minute, when Crowley got the power of speech back, he said, “You smell good.”
It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever said, but it sufficed. It made Aziraphale smile, which was all that mattered.
“Are you going to bloody kiss me already?” he said next.
“Possibly for the rest of the afternoon,” Aziraphale said, still looking a bit smug.
“Not the most romantic man, my arse.”
Crowley put his wrists on Aziraphale’s shoulders and intertwined his fingers on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. It was easy then to reel him in, press his lips against Aziraphale’s with gentle care. And go back in for another taste. The feeling of their tongues touching was electric and sent shivers through him. Aziraphale grabbed his bony hips and pulled them closer together, until they were properly snogging in front of the gang of lorry drivers.
When one of the drivers whistled, Crowley decided they needed privacy. He spun the car keys – the Bentley’s keys – around his finger. “So, you wanna go back to my place?”
Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”
And Crowley got behind the wheel of his car. No, even better, it was their car, his and Aziraphale’s. He ran a finger along the dashboard and inhaled the scent of well-preserved leather. Aziraphale climbed into the passenger seat, and it felt like they were right where they belonged.
“I thought you were finished with me,” he said quietly. He could speak it out loud now that it had been proven wrong.
Aziraphale squeezed his hand, and Crowley immediately grabbed on tight. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “When you said you moved out for more space, I thought … well, I mean to say that I didn’t want you to feel forced into a relationship with me to stay out of trouble with the authorities.”
“I didn’t think that. Did I do something to make you feel that way?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “I needed to know we were both sure. I suppose I knew all along, but my head had to catch up to my heart.”
Crowley started up the Bentley, and it came alive around him. He refused to let go of Aziraphale’s hand, even if they both lost blood circulation. From this moment on, he was going to drive everywhere with one hand on the wheel and the other in Aziraphale’s lap.
“I feel a bit like Cinderella,” he admitted. “Except I get to keep both the coach and the handsome prince.”
“Trying to sweep me off my feet, are you?” Aziraphale scooted closer. “You’ve already done that, you know.”
Crowley grinned. “Can’t hurt to be sure.”
He’d never imagined such a beautiful future for himself. Perhaps, he thought, we don’t get what we deserve in the end. As it turned out, the the universe was kinder than that, and knew better.