Work Text:
As inconvenient and annoying as it may have seemed, Aziraphale thought there was something to be said for being trapped in Crowley’s flat for several days on end. He wasn’t entirely sure what could be said, but he was sure there had to be something besides the fact that it was inconvenient and annoying.
Of course, there were good moments. In fact, it was mostly good moments. But the proximity and the longevity of it made a perfect breeding ground for insignificant remarks to spawn heated arguments, for innocent gestures to grow into deliberate offenses, for irritation to spring from nothing at all. To add on top of that the fact that Crowley was already in a bit of a mood because of the season, and that Chanukah customs brought up divisive theological questions, only made it harder.
It took less than 48 hours before they had to call a truce to lay down some ground rules.
“No digs on my moral compass,” Crowley suggested, watching studiously as Aziraphale added it to the list, ensuring that he copied it down correctly.
“No snide remarks against Heaven,” the angel countered.
Crowley grumbled a bit, but let it go. “You can have the study if you want to be alone for a bit, and I have my bedroom. So we have some breathing space if we need it.”
Humming in agreement, Aziraphale wrote it down. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of,” Crowley said, “but I think we can both reserve the right to make amendments, within reason.”
“Of course,” replied the angel, giving a single resolute nod of his head. “Oh, one more thing,” he added, straightening his back as an idea came to him. “We have to give each other the benefit of the doubt.”
Cocking his head to the side curiously, Crowley asked, “What do you mean?”
Aziraphale hesitated, settling on the right words to use so as not to inadvertently upset the demon. “I think we both have a tendency to read unintended meaning in each other’s words and react impulsively, rather than asking for clarification.”
“Hm.” Crowley crossed his legs and almost immediately uncrossed them. “You’re right. Benefit of the doubt. Good.”
Glancing over at the demon surreptitiously, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “So, in that spirit,” he said, quiet and polite, “can I ask you something in good faith?”
Crowley felt like it was probably a bad idea to say yes. He certainly didn’t fancy answering whatever question the angel was thinking of asking, and based on the lead-up to it, he knew it was bound to be invasive and personal. “Yeah, sure,” he said casually, almost flippantly. He heard the words leave his mouth and made a mental note to kick himself later.
For a moment, Aziraphale appeared as if he might change his mind and drop the subject, but then he inhaled sharply, looked away from Crowley, and asked in a rush, “Who do you pray to?”
Whatever Crowley could possibly have anticipated, it was not that. “I’m sorry?”
“When we do the blessings over the candles,” Aziraphale explained. “Obviously, you’re not giving thanks to the Almighty. So who are you praying to?”
“I…” Crowley frowned deeply and then looked the angel in the eye and spoke, not unkindly. “I don’t want to answer that.”
“I’m sorry,” said the angel shamefully, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I shouldn’t have asked, it’s terribly impertinent.”
Shaking his head, Crowley scrambled to reassure him. “No, no, it’s okay,” he said quickly, “I’m not angry. It’s okay that you asked. I just don’t want to tell you.”
Aziraphale worried his lower lip with his teeth, unconvinced. “Alright then,” he said warily, “let’s talk about something else.”
Crowley offered up a slightly uneasy smile and relaxed back in his seat, shoving down his own share of guilt. It wasn’t as if he were keeping secrets from Aziraphale. He was entitled to some modicum of privacy, and the angel hadn’t seemed upset about his reticence, but Crowley would be blessed if he let that stop him from feeling awful over it, wishing he could make it up to him somehow. Not entirely cognizant of the fact that Aziraphale was still watching him, expecting some sort of reply, Crowley slipped into his thoughts and stayed there until the angel spoke up again.
“Is something wrong?”
“What?” Crowley started, whipping his head up to look at Aziraphale. “No, I’m fine.”
Aziraphale met his gaze with narrowed eyes, oozing a scathing skepticism. “Are you quite sure? It seemed like you got lost there for a moment.”
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” the demon soothed. “I was just thinking.”
“May I ask what you were thinking?”
“I just remembered something, is all.”
A beat of silence stretched on for what felt like hours. Aziraphale contemplated whether it was worth it to keep pulling teeth to get Crowley to talk to him, and then decided that it was, because he didn’t have anything better to do.
“May I ask what you remembered?” he ventured, affecting an innocent curiosity that belied the nervous tangles in his gut.
Crowley smiled, a warm and genuine thing, his cheeks flushed and heated. “I just remembered that I got you a present,” he mumbled, staring intently at his hands where they were folded in his lap. “Before – you know, before we got stuck here. I was going to give it to you on Christmas.”
“Oh,” was Aziraphale’s breathy reply.
“And then,” Crowley continued as if uninterrupted, “I remembered that it’s Christmas Eve. Plus it’s still Chanukah. So I figure it’s as good a time as any to give it to you.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale repeated vaguely.
Holding up a hand to indicate that the angel should stay and wait for him, Crowley walked out of the room without another word, and returned only a few seconds later. In his hands was a gift, wrapped in a cream satin paper and tied with an ostentatious bow, which he presented to the angel without much ceremony. Aziraphale took it from him, stroking his hands over the paper gently, before looking up at the demon with something akin to reverence in his eyes.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he murmured. “I don’t have anything for you – I mean, I do, but not here.”
“Just open it, angel,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes and providing a comical contrast to the way he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet from anxiously waiting for the angel to unwrap his gift.
Aziraphale’s cheeks darkened as he complied, keeping his eyes fixed solidly on the present in his hands and not on Crowley. It was a book, of course; he wouldn’t have expected anything else.
“ How to Behave Badly in Elizabethan England,” he whispered along as he read the front cover, “A Guide for Knaves, Fools, Harlots, Cuckolds, Drunkards, Liars, Thieves, and Braggarts. My word, but it’s thorough,” he added with a soft chuckle.
Crowley shuffled his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s more of a gag gift, I suppose,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling inadequate. “I should have gotten you a real present.”
Holding the book in one hand, the angel wrapped the other around Crowley’s neck, pulling him into an awkward embrace. “Hush now,” he said, the words muffled in the demon’s hair, “I love it.”
At Aziraphale’s touch, all of the air promptly left Crowley’s lungs. He froze, all his muscles tensing and his joints locking, and stared over the angel’s shoulder with wide, disbelieving eyes, feeling as if he’d been punched in the throat. Then Aziraphale released him and stepped back, all too soon, looking over him with eyes like molten chocolate, making Crowley’s insides twist and tighten in a pleasantly uncomfortable way.
“Thank you,” said the angel, fervent and gentle. “Truly. I appreciate it very much.”
“You’re welcome,” Crowley replied, the sincerity leaving a foreign taste in his mouth, compelling him to deflect from his vulnerability. “I’m glad you like it, else I’d have had to spend time wrapping another gift, and it’s not easy.”
Aziraphale huffed out a small laugh. “Wonderful, you’re being facetious again.”
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and presume that you genuinely meant that,” said the demon with a grin. “To which I say: my apologies for depriving you of my wit for a few moments; I promise to never be earnest again.”
“Oh, thank God,” the angel intoned drily. “Just what I wanted.”
Crowley’s smiled widened, his eyes sparkling, and he reached out in a moment of courage and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “Let’s go light the candles, angel.”
Looking from the demon’s face to their joined hands and back up again, Aziraphale returned his bright smile and squeezed his fingers gently. “Lead the way, my dear.”
As they lit the candles and said the blessings, Aziraphale made a concerted effort not to listen to what Crowley was saying. He had said he wanted to keep it to himself, and Aziraphale would respect that, no matter how strong his curiosity was. And if he overdid it just a little, said the words a bit too loud, Crowley pretended not to notice.
He had been considering sitting in the study and reading all night, to give Crowley some space and to recharge his own battery, so to speak. Now, though, Aziraphale found himself wanting to stay with Crowley, wanting to keep talking to him and being near him. In the back of his mind, it registered as vaguely odd that the demon hadn’t slept since Aziraphale had been there, but he didn’t mention it.
It wasn’t as if either of them truly needed to sleep, after all. Even if Crowley had gotten quite used to it by now, even if Aziraphale could recall countless nights when the demon had drifted off in the middle of a conversation because the exhaustion had simply overwhelmed him, even if he knew that Crowley’s body had a circadian clock that had a material impact on his mood and functioning. The night provided them with extra time to spend together, and Crowley seemed fine.
They made more latkes that night, hundreds of them, all the way to sunrise. These were much better than the failed attempts of their first endeavor, and it was Christmas Day, so they used a small miracle to gift everyone in Crowley’s building with their own little plate of latkes.
“Just because I want everyone to know how good a cook I am,” Crowley said by way of justifying the good deed.
“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale murmured in reply, halfway between teasing the demon and humoring him.
In the morning, the actual morning time when normal people began to go about their business, they watched their candles reach their ends and burn out. Crowley, somehow looking like he’d just woken despite not having slept at all, took it upon himself to make coffee for the two of them. Watching from the sofa while Crowley flitted around the kitchen, Aziraphale decided there was actually something to be said for being trapped in Crowley’s flat together.