“Wait,” said Crowley, shuffling his legs around to sit more comfortably on the arm of the sofa. “Did I miss something? Why am I stuck here?”
“Well.” Aziraphale set the wine glasses down on the table with a clink. “You are more than welcome to wait out the quarantine in your own flat, if you prefer. I’m sure your wine selection is just as satisfactory as mine.”
(This, of course, was a lie. Aziraphale knew perfectly well that he had the superior wine cellar; he had gone to great effort to ensure that was true.)
“No, I mean, why are we under quarantine at all?” Crowley tossed his head; he was trying to grow his hair out, but it wasn’t quite long enough for a good dramatic toss yet. “It’s not like either of us can get sick.”
“My dear, just because you don’t show symptoms doesn’t mean you aren’t a carrier.” He poured one glass full of deep red wine, then the other.
“Yeah — no, wait.” Crowley hitched up his leg, balancing even more precariously. “For someone’s sake, Aziraphale, you and I will be fine.”
“It’s not about individual safety. The more the virus is spread, the more people will need to be hospitalized.” He corked the bottle and picked up both glasses, walking across the shop to their usual corner. “Even if only ten percent of cases end up needing additional care, if it all strikes at once, the hospitals could be overwhelmed. Not to mention those who do need treatment are likely to be elderly or immunocompromised.”
“Ok, but us staying in your shop for a few days isn’t going to stop this epidemic.” Crowley reached out for the glass, but Aziraphale held it back.”
“No, but proper quarantining and social distancing will slow the spread, enough for the hospitals to be able to keep up, we hope. It’s all about flattening the curve.”
“Nh, fine.” Crowley finally managed to get his hand around the glass, and settled back, swirling it, watching the way the wine slid around the bowl, then slowly dripped back to the center. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re a demon and an angel. Human diseases don’t effect us in any way, so why should we...”
Crowley trailed off as Aziraphale settled onto the sofa, twisting his body and shaking his shoulders as he settled comfortably into the far corner.
“Oh.” Crowley took a sip of his wine, and slowly slid off the sofa’s arm and onto the cushion. “Aren’t we, er, supposed to keep six feet apart?”
Aziraphale crossed his legs and took a drink. “Well, yes, but when two beings are in quarantine together, as long as neither is at-risk for complications, these rules can be ignored. As long as both are willing to, ah, share the risk of infection.”
“So we go down together, huh?” Crowley shifted a little further towards the middle of the couch.
“As long as we follow basic hygiene standards, there’s no reason to assume we will go down at all.”
(The Angel was still looking at his wine, not at the dark shape moving closer, inch by inch.)
“Meaning?” Crowley draped his arm along the back of the sofa.
Aziraphale’s eyes finally flicked over, smug little grin fighting to escape. “Meaning, I hope you’ve washed your hands.”
