Work Text:
“So what d’you think they’re gonna put up there?”
Julian was regarding the Christmas tree - specifically, the bare branch at the very top.
“Think they’ll go angel or star?” Pat asked.
“That's the usual choice, innit?” Humphrey asked, looking up at Pat. He was currently nestled safely in Pat’s arms, having been rescued from the pantry shelf.
Pat smiled down at him. “Yup, those are the traditional ones.”
Robin, lounging on the sofa and playing with Julian’s shoelaces, snorted, rolling his eyes. “Tradition,” he mocked, “tradition. Always with the tradition.”
“Well it follows the story,” Pat explained. “Y’know; the angel Gabriel came to tell Mary about the baby, and an angel told the three shepherds to go to Bethlehem, so people put an angel up on top of the tree, like it’s flying in the sky.”
“Star’s for the same reason, innit?” Julian said.
Pat nodded. “Yeah, that's what guided the wise men. Some people use stars, some people angels. It's a personal choice. Me and Carol always had a star, but we also had little angel decorations that went on the tree too, ’cause her family had always had an angel.”
“Margot used to have an angel. Not uh, not after we moved in, though. She switched to a star.” Julian had the decency to look sheepish, adjusting his tie.
Pat could guess why. Any place Julian lived would be no place an angel should be.
“I wonder what Alison will have?” Kitty wondered. “I should like an angel! I bet it will be so beautiful.”
“No. Is star! Star is always better. Why have silly angel on tree when you have star?” He gestured to the window, where the stars were twinkling.
Pat had many feelings about where he had died, but there was something to be said from dying in the countryside. The sky was always beautiful.
“I’d prefer a star,” Julian commented.
Kitty crossed her arms. “You’re just agreeing with Robin.”
“Psh,” Julian blustered. “I am not! I just think stars are better than angels! I don't want some little goody goody baby thing up on top of the tree!”
“What if Alison hasn't gotten anything for the top of the tree?” Kitty asked suddenly, her fingers smoothing nervously over her skirts. “She might not. I mean, it’s not there already.”
They all looked to the tree. It had already been decorated; resplendent with baubles and tinsel and twinkly lights (which Robin had been banned from messing with). The only thing missing was the topper, but since the tree had been decorated yesterday and no word of it had been mentioned by Alison or Mike, there was indeed a chance that it wasn't coming at all.
Julian shrugged. “Might not.”
“Ridiculous.” The Captain snorted. “We were at war and we still managed to put something on top of the tree. Everyone does.” He whipped his swagger-stick through the air sharply, gesturing. “You have a tree, you have something on top of it, simple.”
“What did you have on top of your tree, Captain?” Kitty asked.
“Well, during occupancy here, we rotated it. One year a star, next an angel, and so forth. Though the star was always a little…” he wobbled his hand. “When I was young though, we had an angel.”
Pat smiled. Ever since Alison and Mike had come to Button House, the Captain had started to settle a bit. Well, actually, it was more since the wedding - when Alison and Mike had moved in he’d actually gone sort of mad for a bit. But now he was even starting to open up slightly. It was just a crack, but still, a few months ago a personal, non-war related little tidbit like that would have been unheard of. Now… well, they were still quite rare, but they weren't nonexistent either.
“That's lovely,” Humphrey said, and the Captain squirmed.
“Yes, well,” he said awkwardly, crossing his arms and shuffling slightly behind Kitty. “It simply isn’t possible that there won't be anything on the tree.”
“Perhaps they forgot to get one,” Kitty suggested, “and it's just late.”
“Or they’re struggling to decide what to put on.” Thomas, curled up by the fire, put in. “If this star versus angel dilemma is as difficult as you say.”
“I wouldn’t say difficult,” Pat said, “it’s just different for each family. I mean, it’s not always an angel or a star.”
“See?” Robin said, flapping his hand at the tree. “‘Tradition’ is so flimsy. You just pick and choose what you want - is not fact. Always change.”
“Well, yes, that's the point of a tradition, rmate,” Pat said. “It's unique to each family. That’s what makes it special. You do what matters to you and your family. My family always used to open one present on Christmas Eve, and when we had Daley, me and Carol carried that on even though Carol’s family never did that, because it was important to me.”
Julian nodded. “I know loads of people that used to do the same. Me and Margot discussed doing it for Rachel when she was older, even though neither of us had done that when we were kids.”
“See?” Pat said, “everyone’s different. When it comes to putting something on top of the tree, it is traditional to put a star or an angel up there, but you can put whatever. It doesn’t have to be one of those, it’s just something the family likes or values as important.”
Robin went quiet at that. His already heavy brow furrowed and he brought his hand up to run over the fur of his cuffs, thinking hard. “Important…” he muttered to himself.
“Poppycock!” The Captain scoffed. “No, no; it’s either a star or an angel.”
“Those are the traditional options, yes,” Pat said, struggling not to roll his eyes. “But it doesn’t have to be–”
“Humphrey important.”
The ghosts turned to look at Robin.
“What?” Thomas asked, a furrow in his brow at the seemingly random statement.
“Humphrey important,” the caveman repeated, and Pat smiled.
Three weeks ago, Alison had found Humphrey's head in the shed outside. He’d been overjoyed to see her, more so than usual, because he’d been stuck there for almost a week. Alison had been furious. She’d had a big shout at them about abandoning humphrey places, berating them for not even noticing he’d been missing. (Which some of them had, but while Pat had been looking he hadn't thought to check the shed and felt right bloody awful about it.) She said that they needed to be more attentive to humphrey and not treat him like a football or an object. Just because he wasn't a full person didnt mean he wasn't still a person.
Robin had been the one to take it the hardest. For a little while at Button House, he and Humphrey had only had each other. Sure the plague ghosts had arrived before Humphrey, but they were quite happy staying downstairs in the basement. Upstairs, it was just the caveman and the Tudor.
They hadn't been alone long. 30 years or so later, Mary had turned up, sooty and burnt and stammering, and then Annie, and then later Kitty and Thomas, and so on. But those few decades of having only each other had still happened.
During that time, they’d had quite the friendship; Robin carrying Humphrey everywhere, introducing him to the plague ghosts and helping them teach him modern english. As more people arrived, Robin spent more time with them and less with Humphrey, but that was okay, because surely Humphrey had been spending time with them too. He’d never really considered that that wasn't the case.
But Alison's lecture had opened his eyes, and he’d realised that Humphrey was in fact quite ignored; often kicked away or left in random places for days on end without anybody bothering to find him, or even looking. He’d wilfully neglected their friendship because he’d assumed that they’d both be fine as part of a larger group and felt pretty rotten when he found out that actually, only one of them had been fine, and every day since had made more of an effort to build things back up.
“Could put Humphrey up there.” Robin pointed up to the bare branch. “Humphrey could be our star.”
The Tudor, held so carefully in Pat’s grasp, felt himself tear up. “Aww, Robin,” Humphrey said. “That’s- that’s so nice of you. Real lovely of you to say, mate.”
“Fanks,” Robin said, almost shyly. With a smile, he came over to pat and reached his hands out.
Looking forward to a bit of a soppy hug with his oldest friend, Humphrey prepared himself to be passed, right up until Robin said: “Come on then, up you go.”
He froze, and thankfully Pat also seemed to realise something was amiss because he pulled Humphrey back out of robin's reach.
“Woah, woah there mate,'' Humphrey said, a little panicked. “Up where?”
Robin frowned, then laughed, pointing to the tree. “Told you, putting you on top of tree! You our star!”
“I didn't think you meant literally!'' Humphrey said, “I thought you were just being metaphorical! Y’know, being nice!”
Robin nodded. “Yes, was bein’ nice, but also bein’ real, not meteological. Come on.” He reached out for Humphrey but Pat pulled him back, the Tudor head yelling.
“Absolutely not!” He shouted, “I am not having a pine branch shoved up my bloody trachea!”
Robin paused for a moment, looking at Julian with confusion. “What tracky-ah?”
“Throat,” Julian told him. “Windpipe, you know, the tube you breathe through.” The MP ran a finger down his throat, over his adams apple. “This bit,” he said. “Not that you’ll have seen yours ‘cause of this scruff.” He reached out and scratched his fingers in Robin’s beard playfully and the caveman rolled his eyes, batting him away.
“Oh,” Robin said, and then smiled. ‘Well, that good.”
“No!” Humphrey shrieked, horrified. “No that is not good!”
“Well is better than shoving branch up through meat!” Robin protested. “Hole is already there!”
Humphrey let out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a squawk, wiggling furiously when Robin started to reach for him again.
“No! No! Piss off! Get away from me you absolute- Pat! Pat!”
Stumbling back out of Robin’s immediate reach, Pat lifted Humphrey above his own head. “Steady on there, mate-”
“Hey no fair!” Robin complained, whining. “Don’t do that!”
“Yes Pat!” Humphrey hurriedly countered, “do that, do that!”
Robin growled, lunging for humphrey but Pat lifted him as high as he could go, robin’s hands only managing to get to pat’s wrist.
Pat was not a tall man, not by a long shot - especially living with stupid bloody giants like Julian, Cap, and Humphrey himself when he was all together - but in that moment he had never been more grateful that he wasn’t actually the shortest ghost in the house as he played what was essentially a game of keep away with the poor Tudor’s head. Robin was a full three inches smaller than him, which made all the difference when he was trying to keep Humphrey out of Robin’s reach.
“Give him here!” Robin demanded, jumping to bat Humphrey out of Pat’s hands, “give! Give!”
“No!”
“Julian!” Robin shouted, but the politician just reclined further in his seat, tucking a hand back behind his head.
“I’m not doing squat,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “This is funny as hell.”
Robin hissed at him. “Traitor!”
He leapt for Humphrey again.
“When I get my body back I am gonna give you such a fisting, you bastard!”
Pat nearly dropped him, eyes wide behind his glasses. He struggled to right Humphrey in his hands while Robin was trying to scale the sofa to get a better angle, Julian choking behind them.
“That doesn't mean what you think it means anymore,” Julian wheezed, coughing through laughter as Robin swiped at Pat’s hands for humphrey.
“I don't bloody care!” Humphrey snapped, baring his teeth when Robin’s fingers got too close. “He’s not shoving that damn thing up my-”
“What the hell is going on here?”
The ghosts froze, turning to find Alison stood in the doorway, a brown box tucked under one arm.
“Robin’s trying to put Humphrey on top of the tree!” Pat snapped, using the opportunity to step a good way away from Robin, clutching the poor head to his chest protectively. His glasses were slipping, but he didn’t try to fix them for fear of leaving Humphrey vulnerable - they would fix themselves in a minute anyway.
“Tattle-tale!” Robin spat back. He jumped down from the sofa arm and Pat took a warning step back.
“Jesus Christ,” Alison said, rubbing her temples.
“That’s the baby!” Robin said, and Julian patted him on the shoulder.
“See, you’re learning.”
Alison seriously regretted walking in here. “Look, guys, just- Robin, stop trying to put Humphrey on the tree, I don't imagine it’ll be very comfortable for him-”
“You're bloody right it won't be!” Humphrey shouted from Pat’s arms. He was slightly muffled by the scoutmaster’s chest and realising this, pat adjusted him so he wasn't being squished.
“Is not prank!” Robin insisted, stamping his foot. “Me being nice!”
“He was,” Julian said. “I think.”
Robin thumped him.
The MP hissed. “Ow! I was fucking defending you, you prick, see if I do that again.” Rubbing his shoulder, he slumped back into his chair in a sulk.
“Well whatever the intention,” Alison said, “Humphrey's not going on top of the tree.”
“But-”
“We already have something to go on the tree.”
Kitty gasped. “I knew it!” She shouted, throwing her arms in the air and bouncing over to aliosn. “I knew they would put something on the tree!’
Alison chuffed, crossing to the chess table to put the box down on the board. “‘Course we would, you can't just not have something on the top of the tree.”
The Captain straightened up, chest puffed out smugly. “See? I told you. Ludicrous to think otherwise, really, you should all be ashamed.”
Alison rolled her eyes. “We ordered it online and it was a bit ater than we expected, is all. No need to start panicking.”
“So what did you get?” Thomas asked, leaving the warmth of the fire to peer curiously at the box. “An angel, as fair as thine own grace, or a star, to shine onto us as you do?”
Alison sighed at him. “Thomas.”
The poet shrugged, unapologetic. “Apologies, Alison, but you’re still the easiest muse I have, romance or not.”
“That was almost halfway good,” Humphrey muttered, making Pat struggle to keep a straight face above him.
“Make a game of it?” Julian suggested. “Star or angel; hands up if you think they got a star.”
The Captain, Julian and Pat all started to raise their hands but Alison sliced her hands through the air. “No no,” she said, “you’ll all lose, don’t bother. We didn't get either.”
The Captain frowned. “But- but those are the only two options, Alison. You have to put a star on the tree, or an angel, that’s it!”
“We’ve literally just been through this, Cap,” Pat sighed.
“Pat’s right, actually,” Kitty said, her head tilted to the side in thought. “There was a family who lived here who had a great big bow at the top of their Christmas tree. It was ever so lovely. Did you get a bow, Alison? I do love bows.”
Alison smiled fondly at her. “I know you do Kitty, but it's not a bow.”
“A dove?” Thomas suggested. “One year there was a tree with a dove on the top.” He grimaced. “I have the awful feeling it might have been stuffed.”
“That was Fanny’s christmas tree,” Humphrey informed him.
“Of course it was,” Alison muttered, grimacing.
Thomas pulled a face. “Yes, yes I remember now. What is that woman’s thing for stuffed creatures?”
“Best not to ask, mate,” Humphrey told the poet wisely.
“Well it's not a dove either. It's something for Robin, actually.”
The caveman perked up, looking to Alison with some surprise. He touched a hand to his fur-draped chest. “Me?”
“Yes. I know we try to do things equally here, but you hate christmas the most-”
“Is big fad. Will go away in a few hundred years.”
“Yes exactly,” Alison said, her point made. “So I thought I’d get you something that we all like, but- well, just look.”
She opened the box and pulled out a white orb, with grey etchings all over it.
Robin’s eyes went wide and dark. “Moonah.”
“Yep.” Alison smiled proudly. She pushed a button on the bottom and the orb lit up with a bright, slightly blue-toned white light. The gray blobs could now be seen more clearly as the craters and shapes on the moon's surface, identical to the moon poster she had put up by Robin’s attic bed. “Moonah.”
“Oh that’s lovely,” Kitty breathed, reaching out to graze a finger over it. “Isn't it lovely, Robin?”
Robin nodded frantically, stepping closer to it. “Is beautiful.” He looked up to Alison briefly. “Will go on top of tree?”
“Yeah.” Alison flipped the moon over; there was a hole at the bottom. “See?”
Climbing carefully up onto the chair by the tree that they had used to put the lights up with the day before, she pulled the top-most branch towards her and slipped the moon over the top. When she let go of the branch - slowly, so it didn't fling off - it settled nicely.
“There you go.”
Robin grinned, bouncing around the tree. “Is Moonah!” He yelled gleefully, flapping his hands about. “Is Moonah!”
“We were going to get a star,” Alison said, “with all the stargazing we do, but… while we can incorporate lots of traditions from Christmases over the years for you guys we really didn't have anything for him. I mean, Christmas didnt even exist yet.”
“I think you’ve done a wonderful job, Alison,” the Captain praised, his head held high with pride.
“Even though it’s not a star or an angel?”
There was a soft look on his face as he watched Robin bounding around the tree. Not quite a smile, but it was almost there. “Even though it's not a star or an angel,” he agreed.
“Thank God. Because that thing cost nearly thirty quid, so you better like it.”
“Thanks for rescuing me, back there.”
“Anytime, Humph.” Pat smiled at him. They had relocated a safe distance away, sitting on one of the window-seats while Robin and the other ghosts clustered around the tree and cooed over the moonah light. “You know, he was just trying to be nice.”
“By shoving a tree up my throat?”
Pat winced. “I can see what he was going for, yeah? He wanted to put you on the tree because he thinks you’re important.”
Humphrey tutted. “Way to show it.”
“He thinks you're a star,'' Pat said, nudging him. “He just wants to show his appreciation. He wants to put you somewhere to shine, like you’re meant to.”
Humhrey smiled softly, feeling his face get warm. He cleared his throat. “And I appreciate that, I do, but I don't want to be skewered.”
Pat chuckled. “Yeah, I think that one is best left as a thought rather than a reality. It's still sweet though, come on.”
“Fine. I’ll admit, it is sweet.” Humphrey said ruefully. “Well, the thought behind it anyway. The actual physical attempt I could have done without. Then again, that’s just Robin, in’t it? He’s a sweetheart, but he’s also an absolute little shitbag.”
“No wonder he’s the one that’s able to get Julian to go gooey,” Pat remarked.
Humphrey barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that's true. Made for eachother, those two nincompoops, aren't they.”
“Mm.” Pat leaned back against the window, looking at the lights. “Who’dve thought, eh? A caveman from the dawn of humanity and a politician from thousands of years later being such a perfect match.”
“No stranger than a handsome headless Tudor from the fifteen-hundreds and a scoutmaster from the nineteen-eighties.” Humphrey said before he could think it through fully.
Pat met his eyes then. “Guess we do make a pretty good pair,” Pat commented casually.
Too casually, really. Like, the kind of casual someone is trying to be when actually they’re not very casual at all and are in fact rather desperately interested in what you have to say.
Or maybe. Whatever. Humphrey could be reading too much into things.
But the thing was – the thing was – he didn't think he was. He was sure he wasn't getting mixed signals here. In fact, he was quite sure he was getting some very un -mixed signals, and had been for some time now, actually.
After that whole talk from Alison, sure, people had been a bit more attentive, Robin especially. But nothing had changed for Pat, because over the past year or so, he’d already been attentive; picking him up in the mornings, working to find him, carrying him round when he was sans body, making sure he was included in clubs and conversations, seeking him out just to talk to him, one on one, just Humphrey and Pat, chatting like Pat cared and Humphrey was interesting enough all on his own…
And back then, defending him like that, going up against Robin – he’d been protecting him even before he’d started to protest the tree thing. The second he’d realised that Robin might have been anything less than figurative he had been pulling Humphrey back and enclosing him in those warm, strong arms.
“Actually,'' Humphrey hurried to say before the moment disappeared, slightly strangled. “While Robin’s busy with his moon, perhaps– perhaps we could take a walk through the house?” He suggested. “Just ‘cause I've heard, you know, ‘cause I hear things, that Mike was planning on putting some mistletoe up.”
“Is he now?” Pat asked. Again, so very casually. Overly so.
“Yep,” Humphrey nodded. “Even though it's just him and Alison in the house – personally I think he wants to see if he can get some from Julian, but anyway. I think we should, you know, catalog it. Take note of any we find, location and such – for the Captain, you understand, so he can avoid it.”
“For the Captain,” Pat echoed, nodding along. “He would hate to be caught unawares by that.”
“Exactly my thinking Pat.” Humphrey agreed. “So you, uh… interested? No worries if not, ‘course.”
He prayed that Pat would say yes. And more importantly, that he was actually getting the message here and not genuinely thinking they were going bloody mistletoe hunting for the Captain, though Cap would absolutely hate to be caught by surprise by mistletoe and would indeed be very grateful to be warned about any and all locations ahead of time. Humphrey would of course tell him about all the ones they found, but only after he’d stopped snogging Pat senseless underneath them all.
“I’d like that, as it happens,” Pat said.
Humphrey could feel his cheeks going pink, but that was fine, because Pat looked like he was about to burst into flame any moment.
“Lead on then,” he said, and did very little to suppress his delight as those lovely arms reached down to pick him up again.