The slam leaves a ringing silence that lasts for many seconds closer to a full minute than Aziraphale would like. He looks helplessly at the vampire, then at the door, then at nothing, neither target providing him any insight for how to proceed with this bizarre mortal quandry. He grasps ineffectually for something to say, before, finally, defeatedly, producing a large bottle of red wine - any vintage, he suspects it doesn't much matter - and sets it down within Spike's reach.

"We'll, erm," he says hesitantly. "We'll find some way around this - current problem of yours." Not, he suspects, what Spike is interested in talking about at the moment. He miracles himself a glass full of the wine and sips it prudishly.