I awoke in pain. But I awoke, which was surprising, and probably good.
If I had imagined that Crowley would carry me away to some comfortable place of healing with hot water, efficient nurses and clean towels, I was wrong.
This place had black slate walls, the mysterious gleaming luminescence of a cavern a mile underground, and many potted rubber plants which quivered in some breeze I could not detect.
In a niche to one side, two figures wrought in marble engaged in an act of furious intimacy. Were they fighting? The statue was familiar and unsettling.
The bed I lay on was terribly uncomfortable, and equipped with an anglepoise lamp and a pencil sharpener.
The entire place was as dark as Hades.
Gradually I understood that wherever I was, it belonged to Crowley. And that I was supine on his desk.
"Ah. You're awake. Better?"
Crowley breezed in, his suit now immaculate and his hair tamed. He gave the rubber plants a stern look as he passed.
I found my voice. "Not dead, so I suppose I am a little improved."
"Excellent. Fancy getting up?" He thrust out his hand and made to haul me to my feet.
I flinched as pain pierced me. My shoulders, my wings, all was in excruciating discomfort. "I. Ah. Not quite ready to-"
Then I blacked out.
Next time I opened my eyes I was in a bed, or rather, on a black velvet settee in a different, but equally gloomy, black slate room. This one had no suggestive sculptures, only a selection of terrified houseplants.
"Don't worry," I said, "his bark is much worse than his bite."
I didn't know plants could turn pale, but Crowley's plants positively wilted when I mentioned his bite. A spider plant fainted.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I mean, I'm sure he cares for you very much."
"Are you talking to my plants?" Crowley sauntered in. He wore no glasses; this was Crowley At Home.
"They seem a bit, ah, nervous." A collection of more fragile things I had never encountered.
"Good. Grow better."
"I'm sure I'm doing my best."
"Not you, them. Well. And you." He cast his gaze over me. "Are you, any better then?"
"Ah" One does not like to disappoint. Everything hurt, everywhere. "I, ah."
"Angels are not supposed to tell fibs," said Crowley.
"Demons are not supposed to bring angels into their sinful haunts, and yet here I am." The discomfort made me tetchy.
He laughed, and shrugged. "It was nearest. So what's wrong?"
I shut my mouth. I had a fair idea of the problem, but had not had the leisure or privacy to be sure.
"Come on Aziraphale, spit it out. Whatever you need, I can get it. I know people, I can help." He strolled around the room, giving each plant a threatening stare as he passed.
I wanted very much to rise, take a long bath, and be certain of my situation. But my brain was still fuzzy, and anyway, my symptoms would soon become hard to miss.
Forcing my body into a sitting position I noticed some changes. "My coat!"
Although all signs of the battle had vanished from my attire, I was now dressed in my second best coat. It's identical to my best coat, of course, but does not hold the sentimental value.
Crowley wrinkled his nose. "The other one was too far gone to mend. Riddled with miracles. Fell apart as soon as I touched it." He did not say sorry, because demons do not apologise.
I sighed, but in truth the coat was the least of my worries. Firstly, there was the searing agony. And secondly -
I shucked my sleeves, adjusting my shirt cuffs. Softness like duck down touched my wrist. A great sorrowful pain gripped my back, and the black velvet sofa was speckled with a fine white fluff. I gritted my teeth. I must not weep.
"Angel," said Crowley warningly. But he looked worried.
"Oh all right." I waited until Crowley stood, swaying as always to his own private music, beside my black sofa, and said, "My feathers are falling out."
He stilled. "That's not good."
"No." An angel loses its feathers only before death, in other words, never.
"How many? A couple. Three. Four?"
I could not meet his eye. After all, I had brought this fate upon myself. He had only tried to help. "All of them."
His mouth moved in horror, but for a moment he said nothing. His gaze travelled over me, and over the snowdrift-sofa. Then, "Let me take a look."
"I'd rather you didn't. Much rather."
"So is this what that... thing, did to you then, or something else?" He danced away from me and stood wincing and biting his lip like a guilty child.
"What else could it be?"
"Nothing." Yet still he twitched and fidgeted.
I said, "I don't think there's anything you can do."
"Oh yes there is."
"What?"
"Nothing. Go to sleep."
"I don't really-"
He snapped his fingers and I slept.
