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Chapter Text

                                          London, 1933

He finally made up his mind.

After a week of watching and courting me, I finally see him talking to one of W.O.'s men. He points at me.
Today, too, he wears his usual dark glasses on his nose, a refined black suit, a hat of the same colour and a dark red tie, matching the sideburns that can be glimpsed under his headgear. However, he is also carrying an elegant suitcase, which I see him handing to the man. He is certainly a businessman. This city where I was born seems to be full of them.
They stop talking. They shake hands.
It is done.

Walking towards me, the strange man has a supple gait that I have not often seen among the patrons of this dealership. He looks at me. I feel something warming around the engine.

"Otherwise, further on there is a car that arrived just this morning, freshly tested. At the same price, of course, Mr Crowley."
"No, thank you. I prefer her."

He approaches me. So my owner will be called Crowley.

He strokes me gently with one hand, opens the door with the other and then sits down. He is very light for being so tall. The other man comes up to him and lays out the basic information on how to best pilot me. Crowley nods impatiently. He seems to be looking forward to travelling with me. We will definitely get along well.
After a nod to the salesman, Crowley starts me off.

The gesture with which he turns my lever is so natural and spontaneous that it seems as if he has done nothing else for years. I am definitely not his first car.

"And yet you are the first. I've never driven a car before. So let's take it easy today."
I remain speechless. None of the workers or testers ever spoke to me. Not even W.O. when he personally tested me. So humans talk to their cars?

"Definitely not everyone and then definitely I’m not... We'll talk about everything more calmly. Now we have our first trip to tackle. We're going to Edinburgh, ready?"

The journey, although long, proceeds smoothly.
Crowley often smiles, sometimes caresses me, chuckles. He lavishes me with compliments.
"What a wonder you are, nothing but horses, carriages, stinking trains. You are a real gem." I feel that warm feeling in the engine again.

At times he seems to guide me with just his gaze and all the way along I incredibly feel my tank always full. I don't understand what kind of driver Crowley is, but without a doubt I feel more than lucky.
I never seem to get tired.

We travel at night, I see him put his glasses and hat on the passenger seat and carry on as if he sees even better than during the day.
He performs the last devilry when we arrive in Scotland the next morning and it starts raining insistently: my glass incredibly never gets wet, my tyres continue on the perfectly dry road.
Crowley would certainly be a great inventor, he is wasted as a businessman.

We arrive in Edinburgh in the afternoon, he parks me near the station.
He doesn't get out right away. I hear him breathing uncertainly, nervously drumming on the steering wheel with his fingertips, he seems undecided about when to open the door and get out.

"I'll pick up a friend. Stay parked here and ngk... Behave yourself."
He opens the door and slips out almost crawling. He doesn't even stretch a little, I see him disappear hips behind the large station doors.

Friend? The trip was so quick and non-stop that I thought it was an urgent business trip. His friend must certainly be an important man.

A few minutes later I see Crowley reappear accompanied by a man less tall than him, walking upright and wearing a light-coloured suit, a beige hat and a tartan bow tie.
"You can't imagine how happy I am to have met you here, Crowley. I proudly managed to obtain at auction the copy of that volume I was telling you about a few months ago, but because of the storm last night a problem has arisen on some sections of track. I'm afraid the train service will be back to normal tomorrow, but at least you are here too. I'd buy you a drink if I hadn't spent it all on the book."
"Don't bother, Angel. I was just passing by. The usual quick temptation, you know."

They approach me.
"But, instead of waiting until tomorrow. How would you like a lift home?"

He points at me, tilting his head. The black hat shifts, showing his perfectly combed tawny hair. Even from a distance I realise that my owner is no longer breathing.
"You actually bought a car, Crowley?! Good Lord, but it really is a beauty!"

Crowley's irises that I glimpse above his glasses return to ordinary size, his lips stretch, I feel him inhale.
"Do you really like it?"
"Absolutely! Was this the surprise you alluded to?"

The man Crowley called Angel approaches. His gaze falls on my logo. Gently he touches the pale wings on either side of the B. His hands are warm and soft too. Again that warm feeling in the engine.

"This is incredible Crowley, how long have you owned this little gem?"
"Since a... since a while. But let's go now, it might start raining again."

Crowley approaches the passenger door and opens it for his guest, who smiles sweetly and sits down softly.
"Oh, thank you dear.”

The first few minutes pass in silence, the passenger watches with interest every gesture Crowley makes to guide me, then begins to observe my every detail, touching the seat, the window, the lever.
"Is this your addition, Crowley?"
"No, standard equipment. Are you in the mood for a... travel sweet?"
Out of nowhere between the two men appears a glass jar containing small clear objects.
"Of course, thank you." The second man's smile seems to light up my cockpit as if one of my headlights was mounted inside. I like him a lot, too.
He conveys a serene and joyful aura. Moreover, an atmosphere spreads between the two that I have never felt before, it seems full of electricity.

A few hours later Angel takes off his hat, showing an almost white hair with platinum blond highlights, clears his throat and seems to address me.
"How rude, I haven't introduced myself yet. I am Aziraphale, I've known your master, Crowley, for about five..."
"Owner, Aziraphale, not master, my Bentley is not a horse. Besides, there is no need for all these formalities."

I instinctively slow down.
Crowley presses the accelerator pedal.
I object.
My owner looks at the pedals from behind. "What angelry is this?"
“It seems clear to me that this beautiful car likes formalities instead,” Aziraphale laughs amused.
I am sure I will get along very well with him too, I understand my beloved owner well. I also like this angel very much.

Chapter Text

London, 1934

It is a beautiful day.

In fact every day since I have been Antony J. Crowley's car has been fine, but today is particularly so. At dawn the London sky seemed to threaten the usual torrential rain, but ever since Crowley stepped out of his door and took a long look at the sky, almost threatening and chasing away any clouds, a sun has come out that is rarely seen in this season, or at least that's what people passing by on the street say. I love my owner and his quirks. In the early days I was puzzled and confused compared to what I had been used to in the factory, but now I enjoy the freedom I am given compared to my taciturn and submissive colleagues.

"Good morning Beauty. We're going on a tour today. It's exactly one year since you've been my car and I'd like to take you somewhere special."

I rumble a little, excited.

For the first time he takes me to a large service station and has my tank filled to the brim with real fuel. But then he takes a route that I know all too well. It is not possible. I slow down and mutter. I object. You're not taking me to the dealership! I don't want to go back there!

"Not at the car dealership, next door! They opened a car wash tunnel just a few weeks ago. With all the rain lately... You'll like it, you'll see."

I switch off the engines.

...

"I'm not saying you're dirty, how should I tell you! Give me an hour of trust, I promise you will like it."

In the end I let myself be convinced.

Three men devote an hour of care to me in a way I did not think possible. They slide me on strange carpets, wash me with water jets of different temperature and pressure. Finally they dry me with jets of hot air.

I look factory-fresh again. 

Crowley comes up to me smiling and winking "Was I right or not?"

I squeeze a spotlight on him.

Then, as soon as he starts the car, he opens a window: I sense that he is pricking up his ears and sniffing the air outside. With his tongue he licks his lips.

I, too, hear men's voices in the distance.

"Yes, this has to be delivered to Mr Fell by today."

"But Mr Fell has never bought a car here. Why would he request such a delivery? On a Sunday to boot!"

"Look, he even knows the Galvin brothers in person. And he left a rich tip just this morning. Make this delivery. Sure he'll leave you another tip. If I were you I'd stop complaining and get a move on."

Then the sound of a heavy vehicle starting up.

Crowley stopped breathing.

I know for sure where to go.

We park a few metres away from the bookshop where we catch a glimpse of Angel with his back to us, fiddling with a large box.

"Hey there Aziraphale. Do they also deliver books on Sundays?"

"Cro... Crowley? What are you doing here? It's not books it's just a... Did you come here by car?"

"Sure. Why?"

He turns and with hasty steps comes towards me.

"Happy birthday!" he exclaims with a smile that lights up the whole of Whickber Street.

"Angel I... we? Angels and demons don't have birthdays. We don't have a birthday! And anyway in over five thousand years I have never..."

"I am not talking to you.

Crowley lifts his glasses from his nose. His face is a mask of astonishment, disgust and... jealousy?

"This Bentley is my car. Whatever you have..."

"I'm just wishing her a happy birthday."

"It's not her birthday."

"It's her birthday. I've read his entire registration book. And tomorrow is

exactly one year since I met this wonderful little gem!"

I roar of joy, with the engine off.

"You shut up!"

"I gave you... I gave her a present. Would you like to see it? I'm sure you will benefit considerably from it too."

"Significant benefit?"

"Remarkable benefit. Then kindly open the boot of your beautiful beauty so I can put the package in it. What are you staring at like that? I just asked you to open the back of the car!"

"Ngk. Your angelic terminology, Angel, I sometimes miss it."

"Hurry up, it's heavy and in a few seconds I will have forgotten the instructions that courteous gentleman explained to me like this..."

'Dearly…'

"What?"

"Never mind."

I feel something bulky being stowed in my boot and the two men traffic behind me.

"Voilà"

"But, but!!! Angel, this is...! But you must have spent a fortune! But how? Since when do you know about technology?"

"Oh, they were talking about it at the course I took until last month. They were talking about these two inventors, the Galvin brothers, two brilliant men and exquisite, really, I would like to introduce them to you. Oh well I took their contact and in the end, between drinks, because they said it was a new test model they almost gift it to me."

'Almost. The Galvin brothers. Those Galvins. Drinks...? Given to you. To me. To the Bentley. What kind of course did you take?"

"That's the second surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"Alright. Look!"

Angel pulls an elegantly folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and opens it, handing it to my owner.

"A driving licence? Are there such things as driving licences?"

"Isn't it great? I've learnt everything there is to know about these little jewels, I can drive any car, I could even..."

"NOOOOO"

"But I didn't say..."

From the mirror I catch a glimpse of Crowley grabbing the lapel of Angel's jacket and gnashing his sharp teeth. The noses of the two seem to brush against each other. Angel seems neither surprised nor worried, he lowers his gaze to Crowley's lips.

"You can forget it!!!"

"All right, all right, now is not the time. We'll have time for this. Can we go back to the car radio now, please? Leave my racket, please. It's as good as new."

"It’s almost a century old."

They go back to tinkering in my boot.

"Yes exactly, that wire should go there. But that one there? Why is it advancing?"

I hear a snap of fingers.

"Now it's perfect."

"I wanted to solve it without miracles, like humans."

"But we are not human, Angel. And this car is special."

"Alright, then let's add this too."

Another snap of the fingers, more delicate.

A new lever appears to me on the steering column.

I'm about to complain with the sound of the horn, but Angel soothes me with a warm caress and his softest voice 'Hey beauty, it's just for the radio controls. Exclusively. If you'll let us. But you know you can choose any station you want."

"Don't use that sweet tone with her."

"Why not?"

"I thought I made it clear that..."

I honk to get them into the cockpit. They would be able to argue and disquisition for hours.

And I can't wait to test this novelty. A radio! At my command!

Crowley at the wheel jiggles the lever a little. From my boot come interrupted sounds, a few words, but no meaningful sentences. There are the typical squawks of interference. Crowley gets nervous and moves the lever more and more vigorously.

"Crowley, give the broadcasters time to reach our radiotelegraph."

I decide to take the lead. Crowley continues to move the lever uselessly.

Then he snorts. "Fine! You do it!"

Angel stares at him in puzzlement.

"Not you."

I start trying to find a station that is playing some music. Classical music, perhaps. After a few minutes I finally pick up a song that I like, or rather that we could all enjoy. It is a modern song, but the melody is pleasant and the words expressed in music seem suitable to me.

I don't want you
But I hate to lose you
You've got me in between
The devil and the deep blue sea

The two men squint their eyes, listening. The blond angel looks enraptured.

At the end of the verse Crowley seems to awaken from a dream.

"The sea!"

"The sea?"

"I had a plan, a project for today. I wanted to drive out of town and show her the sea for the first time just today, so..."

"It's actually still a nice day, Crowley. That's a really good idea! We can get to Brighton or Camber before sunset by car. And travel with music! How wonderful! I'll go up and get my sun umbrella. Wait for me here."

Angel comes running down and disappears behind the door of his shop.

"Oh, Satan."

Crowley in the driver's seat, inhaling and exhaling as if he were oxygen-deprived. I open his window a little.

Don't you want him to come with us? I'm leaving without him? But did you see how enthusiastic he seems, it would seem rude not to...

"No, no, all right, all right fine. Let's go to Brighton. With Aziraphale. At sunset. Bloody Satan. Do we have provisions? Wine, for example?

I clink bottles under the seat.

"Great, we will serve wine, lots of wine. And music, classical music if you can find any, please. NO, not the song from before, thank you."

I snort, I had just memorised it and would be able to play it for hours, even with the radio and engines switched off.

Angel places a sign at the entrance of the library and locks the door.

He opens the passenger door and sits down smiling, brighter than ever. He has changed his hat and carries a notebook and a light umbrella, decorated with a checked pattern.

They have been outside for two hours now. Crowley parked me right on the seafront, in front of this immense glittering expanse that made them so enthusiastic and of whose magnificence he wanted me to share. The sun set a few minutes ago and left a soft pink halo on the few clouds scattered across the sky. Angel's loud laughter reaches me. They are walking back to me. They both walk swaying at a slow pace, so close that from a distance they seem to have taken each other by the hand. Relaxed and happy they open the doors. Crowley has no glasses on his nose, so I can see his eyes, golden irises, sharp pupils. The cheeks of both are flushed. I'd better take the controls back to London.

Angel makes a strange noise, it sounds like a BURRRR.

"Angel! I didn't think..."

"Crowley, you underestimate me in too many ways. Beauty take us home, kindly, that Crowley is not in a fit state and neither am I, although I have a licence."

"You will have to buy your own car to use that licence, Angel Bastard, I will NEVER let you drive this Bentley."

Muttering, I set off.

"You know what it would need us dear Crowley?"

...

"A road..."

"A road?"

"I'm too drunk to describe it well, but a road perhaps circular or oval, encircling the whole of London. Doing these out-of-town trips of ours would be more comfortable, wouldn't it? We could go to any corner of the countryside. Have a proper picnic..."

"A ring around London? You know that's a great idea, Angel? One of us could put it into practice, really."

Angel does not answer, he rests his head on the seat and begins to breathe rhythmically, he almost seems to snore.

Crowley turns towards him and stares at him for a long time. He can't seem to take his eyes off him. It is almost as if he has never seen him sleep.

After a double bend the angel's head starts to lean a little to one side. Crowley lifts a hand from the steering wheel, as he knows I am driving, and begins to support his head with his left hand. With his tapering fingers he touches the blond hair gently, with circular movements he follows the shape of the curls.

He remains so throughout the journey.

I turn the radio back on.

I forgive you
'Cause I can't forget you
You've got me in between
The devil and the deep blue sea

I oughta cross you off my list
But when you come knockin' at my door
Fate seems to give my heart a twist
And I come running back for more.

I should hate you
But mama, I guess instead I love you
You've got me in between
The devil and the deep blue sea

Chapter Text

London, 1941

"Hurry, hurry, hurry up!"

As fast as I can, we're already at 60 kilometres per hour, already we're totally out of my...

"Faster, I said!"

Crowley pushes the accelerator pedal, the speedometer needle sputters as it never did, it cannot keep track of my actual speed.

Since returning from that club for a business meeting my beloved owner has not been himself. He literally threw the suitcase with the bottles of whisky he was supposed to take to the theatre tonight into the boot, but which will be shattered by now, and slumped shakily on the steering wheel. His irises occupy his entire eyeball, he has neither inhaled nor exhaled, his forehead is furrowed, his supple fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that I think he will be able to pull it off before the end of the journey. He rests his fogged-up glasses on the seat. Something is wrong. He must have received some bad news. In general, it's not a good time. Since the war, our life in the city is quite different. But whizzing around central London and seeing dozens of my colleagues set on fire reminds me of the privilege of being the car of a demon and not some poor human.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Aziraphale how could you have been so stupid! You are so clever, how could such an intelligent angel fall into such an ambush, I really don't..."

IS THIS ABOUT ANGEL?

I try my best to follow orders from Crowley's wet eyes. He points me to a church and miraculously the shortest road I choose is currently free of rubble or burnt-out cars.

He parks me in a side street. It worries me to see him enter such a vulnerable place. He clears his throat, puts on his hat and puts on his glasses again, trying to come to his senses. Then he looks at the sky and snaps his fingers.

"Stay parked here. Whatever happens."

A few minutes later a bomb exploded in the church two blocks from me. The church where Crowley was addressed. I remain unharmed, as always.

After what seems like an interminable time, I hear my owner's voice softly pronounce: "Lift home?"

Then he gets into the car, dirty with ashes and dust, but serene. A few seconds later Angel gets in too, with a suitcase in his hand and a dreamy expression I've never seen on him.

I drive for the theatre as per previous directives.

"You know, that was a very kind thing you did for me," Angel says shyly, patting the handle of the suitcase and turning tender glances at my owner who has once again stopped breathing.

"Shut up!"

"There must be something I can do for you... In return."

Crowley's heart stops beating.

Oh yes there is, of course there is!

But all he can utter, without looking at the Angel beside him, is: 'Stop it. We're good. Right, I've got work to do. Spill the devil's drink."

Then he starts breathing again and to regain self-control he presses his foot on the accelerator, making me reach a speed we never allowed ourselves in the presence of Angel, who screams in fright while holding on to the door.

I park myself in front of the artists' entrance to the Windmill Theatre.

"The theatre. Bravo!" Angel seems enthusiastic about Crowley's new work. "Sophocles. Shakespeare!"

"Something like that."

"It's so inspiring!" Angel can't look away from the demon who is pulling the black suitcase he took such little care of earlier out of my boot.

"Speaking of inspiration, time to deliver some joy from the black market," Crowley smiles at Angel, opening the back door of the theatre with an elbow.

"Delicious bottles of joy. 40% alcohol." I hear him pronounce as they both disappear from my sight.

When we drive Angel back to his bookshop I realise that Crowley is relaxed and happy. And the shattered bottles? Could Angel have had a hand in that? He too at his side seems excited about something, he wrings his hands but doesn't stop smiling.

It seems like a good time to turn on the car radio.

That certain night
The night we met
There was magic abroad in the air
There were angels dining at the Ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

"Oh leave this song, please." Angelo grazes Crowley's hand to stop him from moving the lever.

"Alright. I like it too, Angel."

The fleeting, soft contact between their phalanxes generates an electric voltage in the cockpit. The volume of the car radio rises. The two breathe in unison.

I may be right I may be wrong

But I'm perfectly willing to swear

That when you turned and smiled at me

A nightingale sang in Berkeley square.

I park myself in front of Aziraphale's bookshop.

Crowley grimaces as he turns off the engine.

"I would have liked to hear it all," he explains to the Angel, who looks at him with a sweet but questioning air.

'I'm afraid we're running out of time, dear, I have to find and browse through Professor Hoffman's manual for the performance. But if you want, I can give you the vinyl later, I bought it a couple of months ago at the music and vinyl shop that opened next door. So you can listen to it whenever you want, even from the comfort of home."

"A vinyl? I don't even have a gramophone....'

"Oh don't tell me, I know how to pay for my books now."

Angel smiles and emits a giggle that lights up the pavement as he closes my door.

Crowley follows him by two steps, Angel opens the door of his shop and holds it open for my demon. He still hasn't stopped smiling.

Crowley lowers his gaze to his shoes as he hips into the bookcase and disappears from my sight.

After a while I catch a glimpse of them walking out and into a strange shop on Wickber street.

Strange silhouettes seem to follow them.

Crowley, back at the helm, clears his throat.

"However, it is not necessary to do such a trick. The one in the box or the ropes would have been impressive anyway."

"We have already talked about it. I granted you the possibility of the second miracle. But there will be no need. I've trusted you since... well, forever. I know I'm in very good hands." Says Angel in a soft but absolutely firm voice. A tone I don't think I've ever heard from him. He looks at Crowley's tapering fingers on the steering wheel as he clutches a strange elongated box to himself.

My owner stutters indistinct sounds and makes to turn on the radio. I know where to tune in.

The moon that lingered over London town
Poor puzzled moon he wore a frown
How could he know we two were so in love
The whole damned world seemed upside down

A few hours later I see them coming out of the theatre smiling.

They sit down at the same time. They close the doors. They look into each other's eyes. Then they snort a relieved laugh, like someone who has escaped an apocalypse.

"Take us back to the library of the Magnificent Mr Fell."

Angel laughs in a high-pitched voice.

How strange it was
How sweet and strange
There was never a dream to compare
To those hazy crazy nights we met
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

Angel gets out of the car. My owner hesitates. With one hand he loosens the red tie, the other cannot pull away from the lever.

"What are you still doing in there? Come with me! We have to celebrate. And I must give you the vinyl! And the gramophone!"

"Don't worry Angel, there's no need. It’s okay, really, I can't accept and imagine you being without your gramophone."

"Oh, but the lady in the shop is a tenant of mine. I'll get a new one tomorrow."

I open the door for him. I have no intention of leaving until morning. At the risk of getting a flat tyre.

Crowley slips out swaying. He exhales at length. With a scorching hand he closes the door.

"I have some bottles in the back. And I still have a trick to tell you!" is the last thing I hear coming from Aziraphale's voice as he prances back into his shop.

A strange brightness comes from the bookcase. As if they had lit candles in addition to the electric lamps. It really is a beautiful night, there have been no more explosions and a few stars are beginning to peep out of the now clear sky.

The streets of town were paved with stars
It was such a romantic affair
And as we kissed and said goodnight
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

At dawn someone comes out of the bookshop. He is carrying a gramophone and the wrapping of a vinyl in his arms. He has his tie undone, his hat as if quickly worn and is not wearing...

"Crowley! Your glasses, you were forgetting them..." the blond angel also comes running out.

The demon turns towards the angel who is handing him the glasses I had never seen him take off outside my cockpit. Crowley still has both arms occupied by Angel's gifts.

"Oh, here, I got it." With a most delicate gesture, Aziraphale with both hands places the dark glasses on the nose and ears of my demon, his demon.

They exchange an intense gaze.

"Thank you, Angel."

The bookseller waves him off and runs into his shop. I hear the lock close with at least two bolts.

Sighing, Crowley places the gramophone and vinyl on the seat.

I open the boot.

"No, let's keep that one free. I want to go check out the rubble from yesterday's church. If the eagle’s statue is still there, I'd like it as a souvenir and further reminder of this blessed... Oh fuck, this damn night."

A statue? How do you expect a goddamn statue to fit in my trunk?

"Shut up!"

Oh yeah? Shut up?

Ah this heart of mine
Loud and fast
Like a merry-go-round in a fair
We would dance cheek to cheek
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

Chapter Text

London , 1965

"We said I would choose the next one."

"You chose Mary Poppins last month."

"Mary Poppins didn't count."

"You liked Mary Poppins."

"You also have the books."

"I am a bookseller, Crowley, I own an infinite number of books."

"Well the Mary Poppins ones you have among your favourites in the lobby. And I saw you flipping through one."

"Of course. I knew the film would come out, it was the least I could do to re-read it to pick up on the substantial differences between the two arts."

"You said re-read it."

Angel emits a moan like a groan of pain.

"What film do you want to watch?"

"Goldfinger."

"But 007? I really wanted to watch the last of 007!" Angel's eyes vibrate brightly.

"Of course I wanted to watch 007! There's practically only that in the theatre. And it's the third film in the saga we've seen."

"If we include Casino Royale it is the fourth."

"Casino Royale? You mean the episode on the TV we saw at my house? But that must have been ten years ago."

"That was when you inaugurated the fridge. Has it been ten years already?"

"Time flies when you're having fun. You had just read the novel. That too."

"Then yes, it will be ten years. Sorry, but then what were we arguing about?"

"You started the argument."

"That's not true at all. I am an angel, it is not in my nature to start discussions..."

"Shut up!"

I open both doors. Let them go and argue somewhere else. I can't stand them any more.

"No, come on, wait, we haven't yet..."

A catapult. Here is the next piece of equipment I aspire to.

"Can we at least choose the cinema from the comfort of our seats here, or do we have to walk?"

Noooo. Scram! Go! Now!

"Crowley! I have an idea!"

"What idea, angel?"

"Let's go to one of those... Oh, for heaven’s sake, whatever they're called... It's on the tip of my tongue!"

"One of those... what, angel? We're still talking about... cinemas, right?" my owner better adjusts his glasses on his nose to hide the irises that are expanding like oil paint slicks on a canvas.

"But yes, they are like theatres, though, in cars!"

The question becomes interesting.

"Ah, a drive-in theatre!"

"Yes, a drive-in theatre!"

"I have never been to a drive-in."

"We have never been to a drive-in."

You have never taken me to a drive-in.

"Will they play Agent 007 in the drive-in theatre?"

"If they are not playing it, they will play it." Angel smiles smugly. "Does your beautiful car agree?"

I approve with a little honk.

I move away from Soho, from the city centre, and Crowley directs me to the suburbs.

He moves the lever to turn on the car radio. I'll tune in.

I wanna hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand

Oh, please, say to me
And let me be your man
And please, say to me
You'll let me hold your hand
Now let me hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand

"Still not over her Beatles phase?"

"You know how she is. In fact now that you've pointed it out she will stay fixed for decades."

Oh what a pity, I really must do this sharp turn. Ingrate.

We reach a large clearing, where several colleagues are already parked.

In front of them a big screen. Why the hell have I never been taken to a place like this?

"Oh, miracle! They're actually playing our film."

"Oh, what a coincidence."

Crowley parks me in a middle seat in a fairly empty row. The sun has now set, the light is gradually dimming.

"Uh look, they sell popcorn! Shall we get a bucket?"

"The pop... what are they?" my owner looks at the man next to him, puzzled.

"Where have you been living, Crowley! It's popcorn. They're like corn kernels. You just take some corn kernels, heat them up and..."

"You know I hate cooking. Already eating is not among my hobbies, let alone corn kernels."

"Alright, I'll take them just for me."

"Do they have a drink? Wine, perhaps?"

"Only coke."

"Yuck."

Angel returns with a bucket full of strange smelling steaming clouds.

"They say the film will start in ten minutes." Says Angel with his mouth full.

Crowley puts his glasses down in the glove compartment and starts looking at the contents of the bucket. He sticks out his tongue to better smell the fragrance.

"Can I tempt you with a popcorn?"

Angel passes a curl of corn in front of Crowley's lips, who stiffens.

"You've already said that one. Dozens of times."

"Probably. But it was never popcorn."

Crowley inhales and stretches out his tongue, taking the popcorn straight from the angel's fingers, who seems to be shaken by a sudden shudder. He chews it slowly. Angel brings more to his mouth.

"So, what do you think?" Aziraphale hands another one to the demon who swallows it with the same technique as the previous one. This time the angel is not taken aback and smiles winking.

"They are not bad, Angel."

The movie begins. I never quite understood what they meant by film. Almost two hours of adrenaline and excitement. Plus a fascinating Aston Martin. Why have I never been taken to a place like this before?

In the now almost darkened cockpit there is a bustle of hands fishing in the popcorn bucket that Angel holds on the leg closest to his demon.

Just as they seem about to finish, the bucket fills up again. A few minutes from the end of the show, caught up in the plot, neither of them performs the miracle of the popcorn multiplication. They both stick a hand into the bucket to brush the bottom. The two's fingers brush against each other, then touch. I feel a great electric charge coming from the bucket. I realise that my owner is holding Angel’s fingers, that are holding the last of the popcorn. No breaths have come from the two for a while. Crowley with his index finger gently caresses the angel's fingers. With an almost imploring expression he looks Aziraphale fixedly in the eyes. Angel nods almost imperceptibly. With a single gesture Crowley brings the last of the popcorn directly from the angel's hand to his mouth.

Then we hear several cars start up. No doubt the film is over. How, none of us knows.

The journey to the library is unusually quiet, especially compared to the constant bickering on the outward journey. They are no longer looking at each other but at least they are breathing, they have almost regained a human semblance.

When we arrive in Soho it is Angel who breaks the silence first.

"A new film comes out in a few weeks. They talked a lot about it. Always with the actress from Mary Poppins."

"Julie Andrews."

'Yes. We could... What do you think about that? It's called The sound of music."

"All right, Angel. The sound of music? Sounds good."   Crowley chuckles as I open the door for the Angel and they wave goodbye.

And when I touch you I feel happy inside
It's such a feelin' that my love
I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hide

Yeah, you got that somethin'
I think you'll understand
When I say that somethin's
I wanna hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand

Chapter Text

London, 1967

Parked in front of the Dirty Donkey pub I enjoy my first real full tank of fuel in forty-odd years. And my incredible new sticker too. My owner was so keen on decorating me with the James Bond bullet-on-the-windshield they used to give away at the petrol station and I couldn't be more thrilled. It makes me feel so strong, aggressive, cool. Then I'm glad he was fascinated by it too, it at least distracted him a little from this stressful moment.

Not a good time for Crowley. Even today, after the stop at the service station, he organised his work trip so he parked me here out of the blue. He was tense, he tightened the steering wheel nervously, got out after sitting here huffing and puffing for a long time.

Down there something is changing, there is turmoil, several times he has been summoned beneath and I have not seen him for days, on at least two occasions he has been reprimanded for his not much diabolic behaviour here, they say he has become too accustomed to human customs. The infernal dukes have started using my car radio to deliver threatening messages or various orders, once even one of them materialised in my cockpit, my engine freezes just thinking about it.

It was a strange sensation, like a sudden cold, then an exaggerated heat, a stench of sulphur and a feeling of being used, possessed, almost violated.

Sensation I almost feel right now, a sudden weight on the passenger seat, a change in temperature, but without the exaggerated heat, rather electricity in the air. There is no smell of sulphur, but a sweet smell, delicate, reminiscent of those strange travel treats that Crowley sometimes makes appear for his...

ANGEL?

It is indeed him. He has materialised in his seat. But he looks strange than usual, he doesn't smile, he doesn't have that clear, lively look, in fact his eyes look sad, moist, almost swollen. He didn't even greet me. Then why did he sneak in like a demon? I would have thrown the door wide open for him.

"Excuse me beauty, this is not a good time."

Yeah.

"Can I wait for him here? I need to speak to him urgently."

Of course.

"Thank you," he attempts a stretched smile but it doesn't come across well at all.

He looks out of the window anxiously, strokes his trousers violently, repeatedly tightens and loosens the bow tie around his neck. He can't seem to find peace. I have never seen him like this.

Then he bursts into sobs, starts tearing up and muttering bits of sentences that I cannot understand.

"Why, I say, why? Why does he want to do this, why does he want to do this to me?"

This what?

"We already talked about it, a hundred and five years ago. It's not right, for God's sake! Hasn't he realised in this last century that it's worth it? Have I failed to change his mind? Is it ever possible? After all that..."

Then the words and verses become incomprehensible. I can't understand what Angel is so worried about.

Does my owner want to go back to hell?

"But maybe. That somehow I could accept it. Maybe he'd come back, sooner or later. But holy water... It would destroy him instantly, it wouldn't be a simple discorporation, my... Crowley would never exist again."

This news weighs like a boulder on my chassis.

What is Crowley going to do?

"He is in search of holy water, once again. With a church robbery, the idiot. I can think of nothing more dangerous for him. And I'm afraid he wants to end it all. With the world, life, me, you, everything."

I feel like a handful of stones hitting all my windows at once. I think back to the nervous and unusual attitudes my owner has had lately.

What can we do?

"I will prevent him from robbery. One hundred and five years ago I refused to give him this blessed suicide pill. But now the matter is too dangerous. If this is what he really wants then I will be the one to deliver it to him safely. But I cannot stand by his side while he dissolves in holy water and disappears forever from the universe. I can't accept it, I can't do it. I am too sick to even think about such an event. I will get away from him, I will find an excuse, I don't know what yet, but I can't, I don't want to, I don't have to deal with him any more. Maybe this is the last evening you will see and feel me sitting here. You are a marvel of a car and I have always loved you as if you were also a little bit mine."

I am overwhelmed. My tyres literally feel flat.

Oh no, Angel, where are you going, stay, please, I don't want you to...

'Sorry, I have to go out, I'll be back, albeit briefly. I can't be found like this, I don't want him to see me in this pathetic condition. You've never seen me like this, understand? I have great faith in you. I'll try to calm down and come back."

I remain alone with my pain for several minutes. Then I catch a glimpse of the demon talking to a young man in front of the club.

When Crowley is approaching me again, Angel reappears in his place. He now seems calmer, breathing in a composed manner, his face no longer streaked with tears.

"What are you doing here?" asks Crowley as he sits in the driver's seat.

"I needed to talk to you." Angel swallows without being able to look at his demon.

"About what?"

"I work in Soho, I hear things."

They finally manage to look each other in the eye.

"I hear you are setting up a caper to rob a church. Crowley is too dangerous, holy water won't just kill your body, it will destroy you completely." The voice is almost shaky, but compared to how it was half an hour ago the work Angel must have done on himself is remarkable.

"You told me what you a hundred and five years ago."

"And I haven't changed my mind. But I can’t have you risking your life, not even for  something dangerous. So... you can call off the robbery." Angel pulls a clear thermos decorated with a tartan-like pattern from his coat. He hands it to my owner.

"Do not unscrew the cap."

"Is that the real thing?" asks Crowley, taking the thermos gently.

"The holiest."

"After what you said?" the demon looks now at the thermos, now at the angel, confused but also excited. It almost seems as if Angel has given him a gift he has long desired.

Aziraphale nods without looking at him, he is back to breathing fast and rolling his eyes nervously.

"Should I say thank you?" my owner asks. He knows that this gift weighs heavily on Angel, but he can never really imagine how much.

"Better not." He goes back to avoiding her gaze.

"Can I drop you anywhere?"

"No, thank you. Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know, go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz" Angel looks at him and smiles forcibly, trying to disguise his newly glazed eyes.

If you don't kill yourself, I'll read between the unspoken words.

"I'll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go." Now it is my owner who is totally lacking in oxygen. I approve of his attempt to hold Angel.

Their glances become intense, deep, but the two remain too far apart.

'You go too fast for me, Crowley' is the last sentence Angel utters, just before opening the door and disappearing from our sight.

Crowley remains puzzled, surprised, his heart has doubled its beat. He observes and caresses the angelic thermos gently, like the most precious of treasures.

We stay parked for a while.

Then he makes to start my engine.

You will walk today.

"What the hell? Bentley! Drive!"

I open the door and try to push the seat up.

Nooo, you're an idiot, you want to kill yourself, you let him go away! Only a fool would let such an angel in order to commit suicide

"What's in your engine? I don't want to kill myself! I just needed a security, an insurance, a guarantee. You saw all those demons... But then, what do you know?"

I remain silent. I will not speak.

"Did you hear that, though? He mentioned the picnic again! Remember that dream he had? The ring road around London? I need to get on it. I might be able to gain... his trust back with that road. And maybe make it look like a demonic, low-level project. A road from hell, leading hundreds, thousands of Londoners to perdition. I must start work on this opera, as early as tonight!"

I turn on my own, an important job awaits us.

Chapter Text

London, 30 October 1986

He hasn't parked me here for a long time.

Several times in these almost twenty years we have passed Wickber Street without stopping or he has parked me in the area to walk down this street, but always at unusual times, especially at night.

Never more so than today. Here in front of the bookshop, on a Thursday, in broad daylight.

From the outside, the bookshop does not look any different, the same garnet-red walls, the usual unfailing 'Closed' sign.

I imagined and hoped it would happen these days but I had not been warned that it would be today. I would have prepared myself properly. Yesterday the M25 was finally inaugurated and we launched it too, after working on it devilishly for years. And finally my owner seems to be feeling ready to....

Crowley re-enters the cockpit puffing.

"He is not here. Ngk. Enough, let's postpone it."

Maybe he's in the back?

"There is no music, there is no smell."

Did you try knocking?

"I don't knock."

I snort now.

While we are bickering, someone actually knocks on the shop door. A young, good-looking guy, carrying several newspapers and magazines. Crowley looks at him quizzically. I honk my horn.

"Are you crazy?" he says between his teeth as he gets out, slamming the door.

"Mr Fell?" the boy asks, turning to my owner.

"Uh? No, I'm not... But leave it to me, I'm waiting for him, I'll deliver it in person."

Crowley returns to the car with a magazine on the cover of which is a large photo of hilly landscapes with the words South Downs dreaming.

"Since when has Aziraphale been interested in travel magazines?" Crowley starts flipping through the magazine.

Meanwhile, down the street, I see him.

He sees me.

For a few seconds he smiles, showing his angelically perfect teeth as always, then, before approaching the bookshop, he changes expression several times: first he looks frightened and lowers his gaze as if to scan the interior of the cockpit. Then he smiles again. Then he puts on a serious mask and pretends not to have seen us.

He has at least three paper bags with him. Crowley is still absentmindedly flicking through the magazine. I open his door.

"What the hell is wrong with you today?" then he looks out and whitens.

Angel has almost reached his shop, he is only a few metres away.

Almost crawling and clearing his throat, my owner exits the cockpit.

"Um, hello Aziraphale."

Angel remains petrified for a few seconds: he seems to have had a vision and does not know how to deal with it.

Then he drops the bags to the ground without any interest and literally runs to embrace the demon.

He holds him close for several seconds.

Not a breath comes from either of them. They look like a sculptural group.

Crowley is motionless. His arms are stretched like reeds across his body, his body, usually supple and swaying, is instead as rigid as an ice statue. The face is turned down to meet that of the angel, so the teardrop-shaped sunglasses come down a little along the nose, revealing the completely golden eyeballs. The half-open lips are unable to emit sound or carbon dioxide.

Angel welcomes him into his arms, one hand brushes his hair at shoulder height, the other arm encircles his back. His face is first stretched upwards and seems to be in ecstasy at seeing the demon. Later he lowers his head and seems to rub his face against Crowley's thin black shirt.

When he gently releases his grip, Angel's eyes are bright and red. 'You're still here, you're still there,' he stammers, feeling Crowley's back as if assessing its consistency.

Crowley remains impaled for a few seconds, then finally exhales. "Of course I'm here, Angel." He pronounces, starting to pick up the abandoned bags.

"It's been so long. It must be twenty years?"

"Nineteen years, five months and four..." but the demon manages to shut up without finishing the sentence.

"Why hello Beauty," the angel breaks the demon's embarrassment by turning to me.

Now it is I who feel the butterflies in the engine to hear Beauty pronounced by the angel's warm, sweet voice.

I respond with a very small honk.

"I...I was passing by and a guy was going to deliver this to you. I took the liberty of signing for you." Crowley takes the magazine bending over the seat and hands it to Aziraphale.

"Thank you very much" that angelic smile that we had missed so much causes like a jolt in Crowley who goes back to picking up the bags so as not to look at the other and not to let his face look at him.

As he opens the lock of his shop Angel thanks the demon for the envelopes and then proposes: "Would you like to come in for a drink?"

Crowley lights up: 'Gladly, Angel.

 A giggle escapes Angel. I see them disappear behind the door.

I feel as happy as I have in twenty years. To celebrate, I turn on my car radio. I love being able to choose songs without veiled advice or unnecessary rebellion.

The machine of a dream
Such a clean machine
With the pistons a pumpin'
And the hubcaps all gleam

When I'm holding your wheel
All I hear is your gear
With my hand on your grease gun

...

I'm in love with my car,

gotta feel for my car
I'm in love with my car,

string back gloves in my automolove

A few hours later I see the group of two coming out of the bookshop: the demon is putting his glasses back on his nose, the angel is carrying two wicker baskets covered with two yellow placemats with a tartan-like pattern.

I open the doors wide for them.

My owner places the baskets on the back seat.

"It's all the talk in town. Had I known it was your work I would have congratulated you sooner!"

"Not at all, Angel, a few hidden improvements here and there, but the men have been very slow. It already looks old as a motorway."

"But I still want to go all the way down the M25! I can't wait!"

"All of it, really? Didn't you want to go south and walk through the hills of the magazine?"

'Of course. Also. Can't we go all the way around and then go there?" Aziraphale's enthusiasm makes him even brighter than usual. He does not wear a hat, and despite the current fashion he still wears short platinum ringlets framing his head.

'Absolutely. Understand, Jewel? On the march!"

He starts me up and off we go.

I am so excited to have them both back as passengers that I don't even know what background music to choose. I have a long list of songs from the last twenty years that I would like to play for them, but I don't know which one to start with.

Eventually I draw one at random.

I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango, just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings
Be your Valentine, just for you

Ooh, love, ooh, lover boy
What're you doing tonight? Hey, boy
Set my alarm, turn on my charm
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy

Crowley is about to stop the car radio with his gaze, but Angel grazes his hand with his own.

"You're not by any chance taking out a Queen song? Your car always has great musical taste."

I turn up the volume a little.

"No, Angel it's just... You... You listen to contemporary music?"

"I am always very attentive to contemporary music. But I only appreciate quality music."

'Then I must confess something to you. I've met them. You know Bohemian Rapsody? Well let's just say I might... have inspired... something."

"Come on! No wonder you had a hand in it! I thought of you a lot the first time I heard it."

"Really?"

"Sure. However, I have also met them recently."

"I don't believe it."

"You'll believe it when a whole album called The Miracle comes out then." Angel seems to chuckle under his moustache.

"You always manage to surprise me."

"You're the one who underestimates me. I might as well just listen to Queen coming from this car radio. From today to forever."

I'll make a note of it.

Tonight
I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive
And the world, I'll turn it inside out
Yeah!
I'm floating around
In ecstasy
So don't stop me now, don't stop me
'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time
I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky
Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity
I'm a racing car passing by
Like Lady Godiva
I'm gonna go, go, go
There's no stopping me
I'm burning through the sky
Yeah!
Two hundred degrees
That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit
I'm traveling at the speed of light
I wanna make a supersonic man out of you

At the end of the tour to the M25 I take the exit for the M23.

By the time we reach the sign indicating the exit for Crawley it is already late afternoon and Angel lets out a giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You are lying, Angel!"

"I was just remembering how egoriferous you used to be."

"Lie, you laugh because you remember the bet you made me lose. I was one step away from having a major city with my current name but then..."

"We've been talking about it for ages! Get over it! Those are the rules of the game. A bet is a bet."

"Yes. But I remind you that the next time you lose a bet you will have a city named Azirapapalla."

"No. Not at all. Azirapapalla was not the agreed name. It was very close to my name. Something like... Azraphel? Azrafele? I don't remember now."

"Azirapapalla."

"No! That was like that old companion of yours who couldn't speak pronounced my name."

"But which? Furfur? COMPANION? No kidding."

"I'm not betting with you anymore anyway. You don't know how to lose."

It started off so well
They said we made a perfect pair
I clothed myself in your glory and your love
How I loved you
How I cried
The years of care and loyalty
Were nothing but a sham, it seems
The years belie, we lived a lie
I'll love you 'til I die

Save me, save me, save me
I can't face this life alone
Save me, save me, save me
I'm naked and I'm far from home

We arrive near Arundel almost at sunset.

"We saw this castle come to life, remember?"

"How could I forget? I wonder if the gardens are open at this time..."

"I don't think so, dear. But we could stay and visit them tomorrow, what do you say?" Angel looks at the demon's hands, as if he could hardly sustain his gaze in making this proposal.

"Yes, definitely. I'm curious to see how they're holding up. Then I started the London Junction yesterday, I deserve some time off."   Crowley snickers.

"Then we are agreed." The angelic eyes have a strange light.

They have resumed looking at each other and not looking at each other with that air I like. And to breathe little, now that the destination of the journey is so close.

"Where do we want to... have our picnic? Shall we move to the lakes?" asks Crowley a little hesitantly.

"Yes, towards the lakes is perfect." Aziraphale’s voice is now firm. And warm.

My owner parks me in front of a clearing between two small lakes. As I get out of the car the blonde one looks at the sky.

"It's more like a dinner than a picnic now," he says, smiling.

"Well you once told me we were going to have dinner together... Or am I misremembering? Two birds with one stone."

"Two what?"

"The picnic and dinner!"

Angel laughs. "Alright, let's get the baskets. Oh no, I forgot the blanket!"

"That... er... It's already in the boot."

"Crowley, how prescient of you! Or are you making it appear now?" Smiles the angel winkingly.

"No, it was already there. From... yesterday, I think."

The demon hides his flushed face in the cockpit with the excuse of taking the baskets from the seat, while I open the boot for Angel, who can then take out the blanket and two bottles of wine.

"This really is a Ritz wine, Crowley!"

"Only the best for this evening. And by the way, the sandwiches we prepared this morning are also absolutely top notch."

'Definitely. And the crepes too. In fact, thank you again for the miracle eggs that were in the bags this morning."

"Rather, thank me for having miraculously made all this good of Satan fresh, as if freshly prepared, for a journey of almost five hours."

"You know, you amazed me. I remembered you don't like cooking."

"Bah, it's been boring years. I have new hobbies. Sometimes I cook. And I have plants now." Crowley takes one of the bottles from the Angel's hands to relieve him and holds both baskets with his other hand.

"Really? I want to meet them!"

"No, I don't think you would like them. They are not as nice plants as I would like them."

Another luminescent smile from the angel.

"Now let's get a move on or it will get completely dark."

They start to move away from me but I keep hearing their voices.

"Well so we could look at the stars afterwards."

"It's true, they will be seen here. Not like in London!"

"It's been a while since I've seen the October sky."

"Will you see that star-pair system you pointed out to me in the gardens of Nefertiti?" I hear Angel whisper.

"Alpha Centauri"? You can't see it from England, Angel, even here in the south. I didn't think you still remembered that…" Crowley lowered his tone two octaves.

"How could I forget?"

They have moved closer together but I can no longer hear them. After a while, from this distance, they look like a single figure.

This thing called love
I just can't handle it
This thing called love
I must get 'round to it, I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called love

This thing (this thing) called love (called love)
It cries (like a baby) in a cradle all night
It swings (woo-ooo), it jives (woo-woo)
It shakes all over like a jelly fish
I kinda like it
Crazy little thing called love

I remain alone for several hours.

At a certain point, the sparse street lamps in the distance start emitting flashing lights in an unusual way. As if there was some problem with the electrical system in the area.

From one of the two lakes comes a strange luminous halo. Like a pair of stars so close together that they look like a single star.

I look at the sky. I don't think I have ever seen so many stars in recent years. After a few minutes I see a bright beam, like a meteor streaking across a portion of the sky. Maybe it is a shooting star. My owner tells me about it every summer.

Who knows if a car can also express its heartfelt wish.

It's a kind of magic
It's a kind of magic
A kind of magic (No way)

One dream, one soul
One prize, one goal
One golden glance of what should be
It's a kind of magic

One shaft of light that shows the way
No mortal man can win this day
It's a kind of magic

The bell that rings inside your mind
Is challenging the doors of time
It's a kind of magic

The waiting seems eternity
The day will dawn of sanity (Ooh ooh ooh)
Is this a kind of magic?
It's a kind of magic