The phone was ringing.

Aziraphale blearily lifted his head and looked at the old-fashioned phone on his desk, then let it drop again. It would be Crowley, and he had no idea how to talk to Crowley right now. He was much too drunk to talk to Crowley right now. He was also much too demonic. What was he even going to say? “Hello, old chap, care to show me around Downstairs? Going to have to get used to it there, now.”

The angel’s drunken mind suddenly managed to realize that if he didn’t answer the phone Crowley was likely to come over and check on him. He lurched to his feet and more or less fell over onto the desk, but by the time he got the handset to his ear Crowley had hung up.

“Damn it,” muttered Aziraphale, then shuddered. Damn it indeed.

With a feeling of looming doom that was somehow already even greater—and also much more immediate—than the one that had driven him to down the better part of a case of a lovely Bordeaux he’d been saving for several decades, Aziraphale stumbled around the bookshop, trying to decide what to do. He almost immediately tripped over a throw rug and lay sprawled on his back, wings splayed out around him. His mind wobbled and lurched around in a drunken panic, but his body was apparently content to lie on the rug looking up at the ceiling above. Morning light was filtering in through the windows, and he should be getting ready to open the shop but he wasn’t up for doing that, wasn’t up for doing anything, was definitely not up for dealing with Crowley right now and oh dear Lord there was the unmistakable rumble of the Bentley’s engine outside already.

Another lurch of panic went through him, and he vanished his wings. That was probably irrational, given that you’d have to really look to see the tiny black pinfeathers, but he didn’t want Crowley to see them. He didn’t want them to be there at all, though even vanished he could still feel them. More had sprouted during the night, so there was a stippling of tiny pinprick pains across his wings. If Crowley knew about them they’d be just that much more real, and he knew that was irrational and probably drunken logic, but he didn’t care, he couldn’t deal with this, couldn’t deal with Crowley, couldn’t—

“Hello?” The door, that had definitely been locked, swung open and Crowley stepped inside. “Was thinking of a spot of breakfast at that nice little cafe around the corner. Hello, angel?” It took Crowley a moment to notice Aziraphale, between how much dimmer the shop was than outside, and how crowded and cluttered it was towards the front, while the rug the angel was lying sprawled on was in the back room, but moments later he was kneeling at Aziraphale’s side, hands hovering as if he wanted to touch, but keeping an inch or two of space between them all the same. “Angel? You alright?”

“‘M drunk,” slurred Aziraphale, staring up at Crowley.

Crowley blinked at him. “You’re drunk, at 8am on a Wednesday?”

“Seemed like a good idea ‘bout eleven last night.”

“You’ve been drunk for nine hours.”

“You can do the numbers! How good of you,” slurred Aziraphale, desperately trying to veer the conversation anywhere but the inevitable “why” that was sure to erupt from Crowley’s lips any second now. “Have you always been good at maths?”

“Angel…”

Not anymore, thought Aziraphale, and Crowley wavered above him as his eyes filled with tears.

Crowley reached out as if he wanted to wipe them, and Aziraphale slapped his hand away, hard. “Bloody idiot! You know an angel’s tears are holy water!”

An angel’s tears. Good Lord. Or not, not anymore, but how much did that matter, given the nature of the silver lining to this demonic cloud?

The shock of realization that was thrumming through him was nearly enough to sober Aziraphale up in and of itself, but he sat up and snapped his fingers to render himself completely sober all the same. He needed to be able to actually think about the thing that had suddenly danced into his mind. Though he wanted to get up and dance himself. Maybe he would finally learn something other than the gavotte.

“Aziraphale. What’s wrong?” Crowley was still hovering, kneeling next to Crowley, though he was keeping his hands carefully at his sides now.

Angels’ tears were holy, angels’ skin was holy, angels’ feathers were holy, all of it was, all of it untouchable for Crowley, and Crowley just as untouchable for him, except now, now that Aziraphale was Falling…

He sat up, suddenly smiling radiantly, as the end of six thousand years of pent up frustrations loomed on the horizon like the rising sun itself. “Oh sweet saints above. Beautiful demons below. Wonderful, wonderful earth here that made me do it. I could just kiss you, Crowley. I will be able to just kiss you! Not yet, not yet, but soon.”

“Uh, angel, what are you going on about?”

Aziraphale snapped his wings back into existence and flourished them at Crowley, feeling absurdly giddy despite having gotten rid of the wine. “Not an angel any more, my dear, or not for much longer, at least.” He folded the white feathers in, brow creasing and added, “Let’s see, a full molt usually takes about a month, though I suppose this one may not be exactly normal, but the pinfeathers seem to be perfectly usual other than the color, so I think it’s likely. I suppose it’s probably going to be fairly unpleasant for a bit, given the way the first ones sting, but really, just one month isn’t going to be that bad, and then, why then there’s eternity after that.”

Crowley sucked in a sudden breath. Then he whipped off his shades and stared at Aziraphale with wide eyes as what he was saying sunk in. “Ang— Aziraphale, are you saying…?”

“I’m Falling, my dear. Not all at once, not the way it was back then, but I’ve started a new molt, and the feathers are coming in black and, er, demonic.”

“D-demonic?”

Aziraphale nodded, his giddy excitement sobered by the horrified expression on Crowley’s face. “They, well, they burn, rather the way touching you always has. Except of course they’re rather attached.”

“Oh angel,” said Crowley, his voice full of pain, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” said Aziraphale firmly, and he began to pick himself up off the floor.

Crowley, still kneeling, blinked up at him. “You’re not? But…”

“I’m Falling, yes. I’m sure it’s going to be quite unpleasant. But Crowley, dearest… This is my punishment for daring to defy Heaven and try to save the world. If I hadn’t done that, then I might well be up in a triumphant Heaven right now, surrounded by angels celebrating the extinction of demons and the total devastation of everything I’ve ever truly loved. Or if your side had won, I’d be dead, and you’d be down in Hell with a million cavorting demons, alone. If I had it all to do over again, I’d do just the same. And, well, don’t you see?”

“See?” Crowley picked himself up too, rather unsteadily.

“Here, I think we both could use a good, stiff drink.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and a bottle of quite nice brandy appeared on the table beside him, along with two snifters. He frowned for a moment. “Wonder how well that’s going to work as this goes on? Going to lose the ability to do miracles proper, no doubt. You should tell me how it works for you.”

“Angel, how can you be so, so, so…”

“Calm? Excited, even?”

“Yes! You’re Falling! It’s bloody awful, I should know!”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure you do, Nevertheless, I’m rather pleased now that certain things have become clear to me. Here.” He pressed a snifter full of brandy in Crowley’s hand, almost savoring the burn of the demon’s fingers against his own as he did, then folded his wings away and folded himself into a comfortable chair next to the table with the bottle on it. He snagged his own filled snifter and took an indulgent sip. “Ah, that’s just lovely. That won’t be changing, I suspect.”

Crowley, looking endearingly confused, sat down in his own chair across from Aziraphale and took a rather healthy slug of his drink. “So what is it that I’m supposed to see?” said Crowley, rather shortly, when he’d swallowed.

“We’ve both put rather a lot of effort over the years into keeping a certain distance. Some of it has been trying to stay out of trouble, trying to not get caught…fraternizing.” He gave Crowley an apologetic smile. “I’ve been rather more fussed about that that you, admittedly. But demons can fraternize with other demons all they want, can’t they?”

Crowley drew in a sudden breath. “Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“I mean… ‘S usually just a matter of mutual using, with demons, but…”

“But with us it wouldn’t be, would it?” Aziraphale reached out and brushed his fingertips ever so gently across the back of Crowley’s hand, daring that much for now. He felt the pain of it still, and saw Crowley twitch, but he also saw Crowley’s eyes light with the realization of all that was now possible.

“You see? When it’s done, that won’t hurt anymore. We can touch. We can do more than touch. My tears won’t be holy water. My, ah, other bodily fluids won’t be either. So we can even engage in intercourse, if you’re so inclined.”

Crowley had just taken another large gulp of brandy, so the spray when he spit it out was sufficient to spatter a few drops on Aziraphale on the far side of the table. Crowley sat there choking and hacking, and Aziraphale couldn’t help himself, he began to laugh.

“Angel!”

With another laugh, accompanied by a shocking feeling of freedom, Aziraphale said slyly, “Does that mean you’re not so inclined?” He’d had such thoughts so many times, but he’d never dared voice them. He’d tried to stuff them down and not even think them. Now, though, what reason was there to hold to “proper” behavior, to keep an angelic decorum?

“Angel!” Crowley sounded completely scandalized, and Aziraphale doubled over laughing, his wings shaking with it.

Aziraphale managed to suck in a breath in between gales of laughter, and gasped out, “Alas, I am bereft, denied sexual satisfaction.”

Crowley sputtered, rendered completely speechless, and Aziraphale was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

When the pair of them had finally regained their composure, Crowley managed, “I can’t believe I just heard you saying that.”

“I hardly can either. It has me almost giddy!”

“You’re sure you sobered yourself back up again, there?” Crowley’s eyebrows quirked up in amusement.

That prompted another—if briefer—cascade of laughter from Aziraphale. “Oh Crowley. I’ve been living for thousands upon thousands of years in a box of righteousness, hemmed in by a constant worry about doing the right thing, not sinning, not being seen to deviate from the Great Plan. Suddenly it’s all gone, and I feel like I could do anything! I was so afraid of Falling, and for what? For the first time since the War in Heaven, I feel free!”