[They both know he doesn't have a better descriptor for it, the language is stupid and incredibly lacking.]

S'alright, I know. [That Martin is protective, that he worries despite the fact there's very little that can be done to Crowley that hasn't already been done.

He feels like they've reached the point where anything more would just be repeating themselves, so he draws Martin into a brief kiss, then:] That's enough of that, I reckon. The city gave me something. Photos that Heaven took of Aziraphale and me. Want to see 'em?