Aziraphale grimaced briefly and was tempted to tell Gabriel exactly what Crowley looked like, snake-y attributes included, if only to shut him up for longer than five seconds. He didn't, of course, but it would have been so satisfying, and it would probably have gotten them onto a different (albeit more dangerous) conversation topic.

"I did tell you it wouldn't work," he said. "Why do you think I'd give you tools to trick me into it if I don't want to do it?"

His glass was solid in his hand and the scotch burned slightly on the way down, although less than it had been doing earlier. It was so odd not to be able to control this. Still, it was a distraction, which was welcome, given the melancholy that was beginning to slip over him. He did not want to talk about Crowley any longer. He really didn't.