[There are plenty of ways that sentence could end and Crowley imagines all of them but comments on none, determined to stick to his word by giving Aziraphale the time to collect his thoughts.

Continuing to pick at the issue by keeping him on the back foot might have been fruitful eventually, but it was just as likely to have the opposite effect. He knows how stubborn angels can be.]

I'm not exactly keen on it either, whatever — whatever secrets I've got, I'm not keeping them for a lark.

[There are plenty things he hasn't told Aziraphale, because there's thousands of years between the two of them and not every single thing needs to be shared, but those aren't secrets. He'd share them if asked, if it came up, so he doubts the Eye would be satisfied by them.

The secrets, the things he desperately doesn't want Aziraphale to know, would likely satisfy the fear aspect of it. He remembers what it felt like under the lights, the fear of judgement, of being exposed and weighed up and judged unworthy.

So no, he's not eager to share. He just knows he has to.

Crowley sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, his voice softer when he speaks again.]

Are you worried about falling?

[Does he think that doing this will be enough to cause that? He can see the logic, serving someone other than God isn't exactly what angels ought to be doing.

God isn't here, though, that much is obvious, and things are getting a little dire.]