Aziraphale's lips quirk in a faint, involuntary smile at Melanie's show of diplomacy. He shouldn't have doubted her - she always manages to surprise him.

"Yes, well," he says mildly, retiring to his armchair with his tea, folding his legs and raising his eyebrows at the pair of them. "I'll be an audience to your audience." He glances at Melanie, hoping this is reassuring. He's not going anywhere.