Chapter Text
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He is driving. He is driving aimlessly for quite a while—hours, days, weeks? The car doesn’t need gas to do what he wants it to, and he himself needs neither food nor sleep, and time is irrelevant. Only when the Bentley suddenly stops does he realize that he’s back in London. In front of his apartment. He can’t remember having a destination, but in the end this place is as good as any place.
And the plants are in desperate need of water.
So he gets out. He waters the plants; he throws away everything left behind by Shax. He wishes he could sleep but he seems to have lost that ability, now of all times.
There are still messages from Aziraphale on his answering machine, messages from another time.
Unlike a human‘s, his memory is flawless. He remembers every conversation, every moment, every glance, every touch. He remembers the kiss and Aziraphale‘s expression. He remembers the pain when Aziraphale smothered the last glimmer of hope.
„I forgive you.“
The terrible thing about angels is that they can be cruel without even knowing it. At least humans are able to experience guilt (something both sides like to claim for themselves).
He does no longer exist, neither for those above nor for those below.
Sometimes, very rarely, his phone rings. It‘s Aziraphale‘s number, the phone from the bookstore. Sometimes Muriel leaves a message on his answering machine, but most of the time she just hangs up.
He waters his plants. They‘re still growing, even though he no longer has the energy to yell at them.
Eternity stretches out before him to infinity.
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