"And I you, Deminian," Aziraphale replied. A moment later, foot steps were heard outside the door. Zira rose to his feet, willing a towel around his waist before he opened the door to accept the vial from the mortal. He took it with a quick nod of thanks, and dismissal.
This was something he and his love needed to do, alone. He closed the door, and allowed the towel to disappear. He held the vial carefully, knowing it could singe his skin, melt it like acid, if he were to spill a single drop.
"I see no point in dithering about it," he said, looking to Crowley.