Happy Holidays, malicegeres!
Jan. 1st, 2020 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeRecipient: malicegeres
Title: Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
Pairing: Aziraphale and Crowley
Rating: G
Summary: Crowley finds himself alone on Christmas Eve. He doesn't want to be — but he doesn't want to go to a party either.
The invitation arrived in the morning with the rest of the mail. Aziraphale was surprised that it was addressed to both him and Crowley. Anathema knew they didn’t reside in the same building.
Then again, Crowley was currently napping on Aziraphale’s sofa. Perhaps they actually did. Crowley rarely left the bookshop these days except to check on his flat and his plants.
“Wake up, my dear,” called Aziraphale. “Anathema has invited us to spend Christmas Eve at hers.”
Crowley opened his eyes. “What?” he asked. “Both of us?”
“Well, yes. She’s quite insistent. This letter is addressed to both of us.”
“If we must. I was planning something different, but maybe a party won't be all bad.”
“It won’t,” said Aziraphale. “Celebrating with friends and family adds to the festivity.”
Crowley’s smile fell.
Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t overly fond of the Christmas hustle. The beginning always reminded him so much of the end. They hadn’t spent all that many holiday seasons together.
“I'm going home,” Crowley said after dinner. “I have, er, errands to run. See you later.”
“Don't forget we’ve booked tickets to that new exhibition at the V&A. It’s tomorrow!”
“Yeah, see you then. Ciao.”
***
Crowley left the bookshop and drove through the December night. Lights illuminated the façade of every building he passed. It had been like that since the start of November.
Once he’d parked, the walk towards it felt very cold. The rest of the tenants had gone elsewhere, and even the old lady downstairs was spending the holidays with her sister and her family.
When Crowley opened the door to his flat, festive scents of the season wafted out. Next to the stairs, there was a large, verdant tree decked out with lights and snowflakes. At the foot of the tree sat a box wrapped in tartan and a large bow with the same pattern.
Crowley closed the door and sighed. He had been planning to invite the angel over for Christmas. Veneration to old pagan gods, sacrilege and all that. He’d had his excuses all prepared.
Aziraphale would have been shocked, but happy to celebrate with him. Instead, now they had to go see Anathema and her family and who knew who else.
Well, at least Aziraphale would be happy. That was the important thing, that and the fact that both of them would be together.
***
Aziraphale watched the Bentley drive off — not speeding, for once, as the glare of holiday lights tended to blind him. He sighed as he picked up the invitation he’d read to Crowley.
If he was honest with himself, a party, even one with friends who might as well be family, didn’t really appeal. He liked spending the holidays, especially Christmas Day, lost in a book. He had once justified it to Heaven by claiming that reading counted as religious contemplation.
If said contemplation actually consisted of fictional human stories, well, they didn’t need to know. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Crowley would even come over at intervals and drink with Aziraphale while he listened to carols and decorated the shop.
One year, Crowley had jokingly added a manger in the midst of Aziraphale’s ornaments. He’d done it to remind Aziraphale of the fact that they’d both been on assignment in China the night of the Nativity.
This year, Aziraphale had been entertaining the thought of asking Crowley around for Christmas Eve. It was high time they discussed the dolphin in the room, so to speak.
On the other hand, it had been so long since they’d seen the humans who’d helped them save the world. Aziraphale felt perpetually guilty about how little he and Crowley had really done.
The museum exhibition turned out to be an excellent choice for that weekend. The paintings and sculptures were ancient, but familiar, and a testament to human artistic skill. They were both interested for quite another reason, however.
One feature of the exhibition had belonged to Aziraphale a long time ago. It was a beautiful embroidered tunic and some shoes. To see it on display, tagged with Unknown maker, was beyond funny. It had weathered so much down the centuries, just like them.
“It looks horrendous. I could mend it a little,” said Aziraphale, getting too close to the glass.
“Leave it as it is. You believe in preserving artifacts as they are,” Crowley said. “The clothes you’re wearing now have been preserved spectacularly. That’s what matters.”
They spent that afternoon and all of the next day together. They had dinner, and Crowley bought an exotic plant with bright red blossoms and dark, glossy green leaves.
When they finally parted ways, they agreed to meet on Christmas Eve afternoon.
***
Christmas Eve arrived, the streets bustling with the harried sounds of shoppers and customer service workers. It was fascinating to Crowley, how everyone had decided to make this holiday about commerce and gift-giving. Nobody even questioned it anymore.
Leave it to humans to adapt and twist a festival beyond meaning. He’d never announced it to Downstairs, but still he’d gotten a Commendation for it. Fascinating indeed.
Crowley lounged in his living room for most of the morning, and then prepared some warm fruit punch — ponche navideño — the old-fashioned way. Peeling, cutting, and boiling the fruit calmed his nerves.
It was comfortable being alone that afternoon. He would never admit it, but he loved listening to carols. He hummed to himself while he packed some wine and the fruit punch he’d made into the Bentley. If Aziraphale wouldn’t come to him, then he’d take the festivities to him.
They still had plenty of time to taste-test the ponche before setting off. Still plenty of time to get to Anathema’s and have dinner there if she was planning on serving food.
The bookshop windows were shut. The exterior was decorated in the same manner as had been for the past decade, with garlands and lights. Typical Aziraphale. He was probably reading.
Crowley knocked on the door to make himself known. When nobody answered, he opened it.
The bookshop was empty. Crowley felt a rush of panic at the flashback. “Aziraphale?”
His eyes darted to the desk; a piece of paper sat there. He picked up the letter and read:
I’m terribly sorry, dear boy, but I’ve received a missive from Upstairs asking me to perform a few last-minute miracles about town. As you can imagine, I couldn’t possibly say no - what with it being Christmas Eve and all that! Will join you soon, I promise.
A.
Why Aziraphale hadn’t picked up the damn phone, Crowley didn’t know. Fine, he'd wait.
Crowley turned on the lights and pressed play on the ancient radio. He didn't even bother to look for a cassette; the apparatus played anyway. More carols, but this time the melody was slow and the voice full of melancholy. The songs got progressively worse.*
Crowley fetched a bottle of Aziraphale’s wine and drank until he was tipsy. He continued till he was drunk.
Hours went by, and there was no sign of Aziraphale.
Crowley snapped out of his stupor and sobered up. He was determined to be with Aziraphale, whether that meant joining him at performing miracles or dragging him to Anathema’s party. He adjusted his glasses, fixed his flyaway hair, and left the bookshop.
Technically, he had the ability to locate any other ethereal being in the city with a thought, but he rarely used it. He always knew where Aziraphale was because they talked.
Concentrating, Crowley closed his eyes. A familiar glow appeared, coming from the direction of Saint James’s Park. Leave it to the angel to start easy. He wondered if Aziraphale was performing miracles at random, or if he’d been given a specific list.
Crowley arrived at St. James’s, and the light was there all right — just not emanating from Aziraphale. A girl sat on one of the benches with her friends, saying how terrified she’d been when she walked out to get closer to some ducks and fell through the ice.
Crowley glanced downward from his vantage-point on the bridge, waving his hand. The crack froze shut, and the ice thickened. Aziraphale had saved the human, but he was no longer there.
Crowley focused again, locating the trail the angel had left. He followed it to a block of flats where a burglar had been apprehended by the Met police. Aziraphale had probably called them.
The officers looked tired and ready to go home, like they were dreading the paperwork.
Crowley sighed, arranging all of it for them. Each would think the other had filled it out.
Next, he closed his eyes and followed the trail to a homeless shelter’s communal dinner. Everyone there was eating and chatting. Apparently the meal was so much better than it had been in previous years. The chef, who’d volunteered to cook using the shelter’s ingredients, was inwardly mystified at how such meager supplies had resulted in an incredible result.
Crowley glanced at the Christmas tree in the corner. The amount of presents was, improbably, more than sufficient for everybody — and even for people who’d arrive within the week.
Crowley did a survey of what lay beneath the wrapping paper. Children's books, cookbooks, DIY books, and a handful of novels. He waved a hand, adding some soft blankets and warm clothing to the overwhelming assortment of parcels.
No Aziraphale here, either. He told himself to focus, really focus. He couldn’t spend the rest of the night finishing all these miracles. He needed to find the angel and…well.
Crowley took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. He cast his search wider. There!
He could tell Aziraphale was outdoors. Cold wind and a faint whiff of humidity. Iron and copper. Electric lights warmed the air. Lots of lights everywhere. And stressed-out humans, too.
Teleportation was easy in theory, but you needed to be able to reconfigure your cells just so.
***
Crowley opened his eyes, finding himself on one of the busiest platforms at King’s Cross.
Aziraphale was looking at the schedule posted overhead, his back turned to Crowley.
Crowley moved his hand. Every listing labeled as DELAYED now read ON TIME.
Aziraphale turned, shocked only until he saw Crowley. He sheepishly approached.
“I was just about to leave,” he said, as if it counted as an apology. “There were just so many.”
“I wanted to spend today with you, at least till we had to hit the road,” Crowley replied, throwing his arms around Aziraphale without thinking. “I’m tired of you thinking I don’t really like this time of year. I do. The colors, the smells, the food, everything. I like watching you decorate, and I even like the blessed music. Why did you let them bully you into working?”
Aziraphale sighed heavily, holding Crowley out at arms’ length. He looked guilty all over again.
“For what it’s worth, I...don’t like particularly like Christmas. I like spending time with you, but the whole bloody season’s just nonsense. Well, enough of that. What’s done is done.”
“You should’ve asked me to come with you,” Crowley said. “We could’ve got it done faster together.”
“That’s true,” Aziraphale sighed, “but I just couldn’t bring myself to drag you into it.”
Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s embrace this time, closing his eyes in sheer relief.
“Well, we’ll still have tonight with Anathema and Adam and all the rest, yeah?”
“Must we?” Aziraphale asked. “I can ring her. We can go spend tomorrow with them instead.”
Crowley grinned, summoning his courage. “Right. Anyway, I have a gift for you. At my flat.”**
* The mix’s title, if it had one, would have been something like Heartache for the Holidays.
** In hindsight, that probably sounded like the cheapest pick up line in the book. Fortunately, Aziraphale had already read it, and was inclined to be forgiving.
Title: Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
Pairing: Aziraphale and Crowley
Rating: G
Summary: Crowley finds himself alone on Christmas Eve. He doesn't want to be — but he doesn't want to go to a party either.
The invitation arrived in the morning with the rest of the mail. Aziraphale was surprised that it was addressed to both him and Crowley. Anathema knew they didn’t reside in the same building.
Then again, Crowley was currently napping on Aziraphale’s sofa. Perhaps they actually did. Crowley rarely left the bookshop these days except to check on his flat and his plants.
“Wake up, my dear,” called Aziraphale. “Anathema has invited us to spend Christmas Eve at hers.”
Crowley opened his eyes. “What?” he asked. “Both of us?”
“Well, yes. She’s quite insistent. This letter is addressed to both of us.”
“If we must. I was planning something different, but maybe a party won't be all bad.”
“It won’t,” said Aziraphale. “Celebrating with friends and family adds to the festivity.”
Crowley’s smile fell.
Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t overly fond of the Christmas hustle. The beginning always reminded him so much of the end. They hadn’t spent all that many holiday seasons together.
“I'm going home,” Crowley said after dinner. “I have, er, errands to run. See you later.”
“Don't forget we’ve booked tickets to that new exhibition at the V&A. It’s tomorrow!”
“Yeah, see you then. Ciao.”
Crowley left the bookshop and drove through the December night. Lights illuminated the façade of every building he passed. It had been like that since the start of November.
Once he’d parked, the walk towards it felt very cold. The rest of the tenants had gone elsewhere, and even the old lady downstairs was spending the holidays with her sister and her family.
When Crowley opened the door to his flat, festive scents of the season wafted out. Next to the stairs, there was a large, verdant tree decked out with lights and snowflakes. At the foot of the tree sat a box wrapped in tartan and a large bow with the same pattern.
Crowley closed the door and sighed. He had been planning to invite the angel over for Christmas. Veneration to old pagan gods, sacrilege and all that. He’d had his excuses all prepared.
Aziraphale would have been shocked, but happy to celebrate with him. Instead, now they had to go see Anathema and her family and who knew who else.
Well, at least Aziraphale would be happy. That was the important thing, that and the fact that both of them would be together.
Aziraphale watched the Bentley drive off — not speeding, for once, as the glare of holiday lights tended to blind him. He sighed as he picked up the invitation he’d read to Crowley.
If he was honest with himself, a party, even one with friends who might as well be family, didn’t really appeal. He liked spending the holidays, especially Christmas Day, lost in a book. He had once justified it to Heaven by claiming that reading counted as religious contemplation.
If said contemplation actually consisted of fictional human stories, well, they didn’t need to know. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Crowley would even come over at intervals and drink with Aziraphale while he listened to carols and decorated the shop.
One year, Crowley had jokingly added a manger in the midst of Aziraphale’s ornaments. He’d done it to remind Aziraphale of the fact that they’d both been on assignment in China the night of the Nativity.
This year, Aziraphale had been entertaining the thought of asking Crowley around for Christmas Eve. It was high time they discussed the dolphin in the room, so to speak.
On the other hand, it had been so long since they’d seen the humans who’d helped them save the world. Aziraphale felt perpetually guilty about how little he and Crowley had really done.
The museum exhibition turned out to be an excellent choice for that weekend. The paintings and sculptures were ancient, but familiar, and a testament to human artistic skill. They were both interested for quite another reason, however.
One feature of the exhibition had belonged to Aziraphale a long time ago. It was a beautiful embroidered tunic and some shoes. To see it on display, tagged with Unknown maker, was beyond funny. It had weathered so much down the centuries, just like them.
“It looks horrendous. I could mend it a little,” said Aziraphale, getting too close to the glass.
“Leave it as it is. You believe in preserving artifacts as they are,” Crowley said. “The clothes you’re wearing now have been preserved spectacularly. That’s what matters.”
They spent that afternoon and all of the next day together. They had dinner, and Crowley bought an exotic plant with bright red blossoms and dark, glossy green leaves.
When they finally parted ways, they agreed to meet on Christmas Eve afternoon.
Christmas Eve arrived, the streets bustling with the harried sounds of shoppers and customer service workers. It was fascinating to Crowley, how everyone had decided to make this holiday about commerce and gift-giving. Nobody even questioned it anymore.
Leave it to humans to adapt and twist a festival beyond meaning. He’d never announced it to Downstairs, but still he’d gotten a Commendation for it. Fascinating indeed.
Crowley lounged in his living room for most of the morning, and then prepared some warm fruit punch — ponche navideño — the old-fashioned way. Peeling, cutting, and boiling the fruit calmed his nerves.
It was comfortable being alone that afternoon. He would never admit it, but he loved listening to carols. He hummed to himself while he packed some wine and the fruit punch he’d made into the Bentley. If Aziraphale wouldn’t come to him, then he’d take the festivities to him.
They still had plenty of time to taste-test the ponche before setting off. Still plenty of time to get to Anathema’s and have dinner there if she was planning on serving food.
The bookshop windows were shut. The exterior was decorated in the same manner as had been for the past decade, with garlands and lights. Typical Aziraphale. He was probably reading.
Crowley knocked on the door to make himself known. When nobody answered, he opened it.
The bookshop was empty. Crowley felt a rush of panic at the flashback. “Aziraphale?”
His eyes darted to the desk; a piece of paper sat there. He picked up the letter and read:
I’m terribly sorry, dear boy, but I’ve received a missive from Upstairs asking me to perform a few last-minute miracles about town. As you can imagine, I couldn’t possibly say no - what with it being Christmas Eve and all that! Will join you soon, I promise.
A.
Why Aziraphale hadn’t picked up the damn phone, Crowley didn’t know. Fine, he'd wait.
Crowley turned on the lights and pressed play on the ancient radio. He didn't even bother to look for a cassette; the apparatus played anyway. More carols, but this time the melody was slow and the voice full of melancholy. The songs got progressively worse.*
Crowley fetched a bottle of Aziraphale’s wine and drank until he was tipsy. He continued till he was drunk.
Hours went by, and there was no sign of Aziraphale.
Crowley snapped out of his stupor and sobered up. He was determined to be with Aziraphale, whether that meant joining him at performing miracles or dragging him to Anathema’s party. He adjusted his glasses, fixed his flyaway hair, and left the bookshop.
Technically, he had the ability to locate any other ethereal being in the city with a thought, but he rarely used it. He always knew where Aziraphale was because they talked.
Concentrating, Crowley closed his eyes. A familiar glow appeared, coming from the direction of Saint James’s Park. Leave it to the angel to start easy. He wondered if Aziraphale was performing miracles at random, or if he’d been given a specific list.
Crowley arrived at St. James’s, and the light was there all right — just not emanating from Aziraphale. A girl sat on one of the benches with her friends, saying how terrified she’d been when she walked out to get closer to some ducks and fell through the ice.
Crowley glanced downward from his vantage-point on the bridge, waving his hand. The crack froze shut, and the ice thickened. Aziraphale had saved the human, but he was no longer there.
Crowley focused again, locating the trail the angel had left. He followed it to a block of flats where a burglar had been apprehended by the Met police. Aziraphale had probably called them.
The officers looked tired and ready to go home, like they were dreading the paperwork.
Crowley sighed, arranging all of it for them. Each would think the other had filled it out.
Next, he closed his eyes and followed the trail to a homeless shelter’s communal dinner. Everyone there was eating and chatting. Apparently the meal was so much better than it had been in previous years. The chef, who’d volunteered to cook using the shelter’s ingredients, was inwardly mystified at how such meager supplies had resulted in an incredible result.
Crowley glanced at the Christmas tree in the corner. The amount of presents was, improbably, more than sufficient for everybody — and even for people who’d arrive within the week.
Crowley did a survey of what lay beneath the wrapping paper. Children's books, cookbooks, DIY books, and a handful of novels. He waved a hand, adding some soft blankets and warm clothing to the overwhelming assortment of parcels.
No Aziraphale here, either. He told himself to focus, really focus. He couldn’t spend the rest of the night finishing all these miracles. He needed to find the angel and…well.
Crowley took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. He cast his search wider. There!
He could tell Aziraphale was outdoors. Cold wind and a faint whiff of humidity. Iron and copper. Electric lights warmed the air. Lots of lights everywhere. And stressed-out humans, too.
Teleportation was easy in theory, but you needed to be able to reconfigure your cells just so.
Crowley opened his eyes, finding himself on one of the busiest platforms at King’s Cross.
Aziraphale was looking at the schedule posted overhead, his back turned to Crowley.
Crowley moved his hand. Every listing labeled as DELAYED now read ON TIME.
Aziraphale turned, shocked only until he saw Crowley. He sheepishly approached.
“I was just about to leave,” he said, as if it counted as an apology. “There were just so many.”
“I wanted to spend today with you, at least till we had to hit the road,” Crowley replied, throwing his arms around Aziraphale without thinking. “I’m tired of you thinking I don’t really like this time of year. I do. The colors, the smells, the food, everything. I like watching you decorate, and I even like the blessed music. Why did you let them bully you into working?”
Aziraphale sighed heavily, holding Crowley out at arms’ length. He looked guilty all over again.
“For what it’s worth, I...don’t like particularly like Christmas. I like spending time with you, but the whole bloody season’s just nonsense. Well, enough of that. What’s done is done.”
“You should’ve asked me to come with you,” Crowley said. “We could’ve got it done faster together.”
“That’s true,” Aziraphale sighed, “but I just couldn’t bring myself to drag you into it.”
Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s embrace this time, closing his eyes in sheer relief.
“Well, we’ll still have tonight with Anathema and Adam and all the rest, yeah?”
“Must we?” Aziraphale asked. “I can ring her. We can go spend tomorrow with them instead.”
Crowley grinned, summoning his courage. “Right. Anyway, I have a gift for you. At my flat.”**
* The mix’s title, if it had one, would have been something like Heartache for the Holidays.
** In hindsight, that probably sounded like the cheapest pick up line in the book. Fortunately, Aziraphale had already read it, and was inclined to be forgiving.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-02 01:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-03 05:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2023-12-19 08:37 pm (UTC)