"Well, then I'll---I'll----" He'll what, exactly? It's not as if he can rest when he feels like he's on hot sand all of the time. "Work something out. Look, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, angel. Let's just assume it'll work until we get there."

He considers saying something else, when someone arrives with two drinks for them. Something in a margarita glass with a little umbrella in it for each of them. Crowley doesn't move his hand away from Aziraphale's. After all, they don't----well, they don't have anything to hide, now, do they? Whatever they're not talking about, they're not talking about it in public.