Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was quite ludicrous.

Of course, it was. How could he think it could be otherwise?

Now, that wasn’t being fair.

Why wasn’t it? Come to that, what reason did he have to be fair? What obligation fuelled such a thing?

Because a lot of effort was being put into this, to make it a good time for him and get him to enjoy himself, and none of that effort was on his part.

He didn’t even try to protest at that. To do so would not merely be petty, but it would be peevish and childish and for no good reason.

Why had he thought this first thing to begin with? If he didn’t want to appear that way.

A good question. One that he had an answer to, surprisingly, and a relatively good answer at that, but a good question even so.

It was in part because he was frustrated. Frustrated that he was made to do all sorts of things to a specific timetable. To go along as though he was nothing but a sheep.

No, that wasn’t even it. That was nothing but the pettiness rearing its head in order to…to conceal and camouflage the real reason from him. Even though he knew it perfectly well and would no matter what he tried to tell himself.

In a way, it was quite fascinating that even his mind could do such a thing. You wouldn’t have believed it of him or someone like him.

Gone native indeed.

Truth be told, his frustration was more that…well, that it had to be like this. That he couldn’t go with the other but had had to wait until today.

Alright, so a legitimate frustration that had nothing to do with that was the sheer number of people who were out and about on this day. London streets were quite enough, but to have to go through a whole airport in order to get to the plane was…

It was ludicrous, and the juxtaposition of everything around them wishing them a merry Christmas and good cheer and all the other stock phrases, while ‘charming’ music blasted, and everyone around them hustled and bustled and bumped and scraped and screamed and…

Well, it did nothing to improve the situation, put it that way.

And yes, so he had the benefit of a first-class seat, which did give him some privileges that most people wouldn’t have, and he was most certainly enjoyed the experience so far, though they had yet to take off, but that did not make the sheer noise, noise of every sense, less overwhelming.

Nor less ludicrous.

Not the most auspicious start to the experience, you might well say.

But then, it could only go up from there, could it not?

He would hope so.

“Is there anything you need, sir?”

The lady was quite sweet as she stood patiently waiting for him, a smile in her eyes rather than on her lips.

“If you could oblige me with a hot beverage of some kind, dear girl, I should be most grateful to you.”

She blinked at his phrasing but didn’t otherwise comment. Then again, as eccentricities went, speaking as though you had stepped out of a different time or perhaps a novel was probably quite bland. Especially by British standards.

Of course, sir. Any preference?”

He waved that away with a smile and she retreated. Only then did he notice that he had in fact missed take-off and they were now rising up into the air with a speed and grace that…that it had taken a lot of paperwork to persuade Upstairs, as it were, that there was indeed nothing blasphemous in the poor humans trying to get themselves up into the air.

That it was only a matter of rudimentary transport, and nothing to do with humans getting ideas above their station, as it were.

Not that Upstairs had cared too much about the individual humans, of course. It was the principle of the thing.

It was always the principle of the thing, though, wasn’t it? So much easier to distance yourself from something and look at something ‘objectively’ if you could remove the actual human element of it all.

Principles would not scream and they would not bleed.

Those are rather gloomy thoughts for such a time as this, though, innit?

He could hear the sentence so clearly that his hand spasmed in its reach for a bony hand that would not be there.

Blast it all, why did he have to – it really wasn’t fair that he could hear him when he was not there.

Not as though that hasn’t helped you a lot over the years, though, when you were feeling lonely or thought that you were never going to see him again, or –

Yes, alright. That was true. But there was a time and a place and right now…right now…

Right now, this was far too much the time and the place.

Only, the other wasn’t here. Nor would he show up out of the blue. Quite literally, this time. He knew this for a fact, and he knew it because they had decided for it to be that way. Planned for it, in point of fact.

Not he. He had not planned anything or as good as anything. The decision had in a sense been his, but that was the extent of it, and you might well say even that didn’t really count when you got down to it.

This was his partner’s plan through and through. His little scheme.

Scheme made it sound sinister. Made it sound as though there was something hiding in the shadows, something that was wicked and wrong.

Something devilish, perhaps?

Just how many ways was he going to belittle or undermine that which the other had tried to do for him? Was trying to do for him, that was. Had gone to such lengths already to try and make it come true for him. For both of them, but mainly for him. Because it was unfair and unbecoming, and that was to put it very mildly indeed.

If that was how he felt about it, then frankly, he – he shouldn’t have come on the plane in the first place.

He blinked, then swallowed. Then had to swallow all over again. His throat felt suddenly raw and rasping, and it was not because he had caught any kind of cold or merely sniffles.

Well, perhaps, but not that kind of sniffles.

He was grateful that nobody came over to ask what the matter was or whether they could help, because he wasn’t at all certain he could bear it if that was the case.

Right now, he wanted to be left alone.

Alone by everyone except…except his beloved demon.

Tears dripped and trickled like beginning droplets of thaw on a spring day, and he noticed not a single one of them. Nor did he notice the view out of the window. He couldn’t have seen much, what with the time of day and everything, but it was the principle of the thing, in that even if he could have, he wouldn’t have.

Which, you might well argue, somewhat spoiled the whole idea of going like this rather than…than by other methods.

He would have to agree, too, whether he would want to or not. But he couldn’t have helped it if he tried. Not for the first long while, at least.

Eventually, though, his tears ebbed out and he was left just a little numb from them but still better for them having fallen. Not as well as they would have had it been if paired with a proper sob, but he wasn’t…you could hardly sob on first class, could you?

It was not the done thing.

At least not without a lot more alcohol.

Apropos alcohol…

He looked down at the bottle in its little bag. Well, not so little. It had to be large enough to accommodate the bottle, after all, and that was…that was no small feat, if you’d pardon the expression.

Not to mention, of course, that the bag held other things. Not a lot of things, despite him having no other luggage with him – something which thankfully had not attracted any attention – but just enough that they could…

That there’d be a sense of home and of quality wherever they might end up.

He wished he knew, but that was part of the reason that it was his partner’s plan and his alone rather than the plan of both of them.

Some things had to be a surprise in order for it to work to full satisfaction, apparently, and who was he to argue with such a point as that?

He was Aziraphale, Principality, angel, and sometimes rare books dealer. That was who he was.

Yes, and he was the partner and lover of one Anthony J. Crowley, Serpent of Eden and demon extraordinaire, who had gone to lengths he ought to have credited immediately in order to bring them something different this Christmas.

Something special, as his words had been.

As though it wasn’t special to have a Christmas together at all. A chance to celebrate the birth, even if you were going to quibble about that – imagine poor Mary out in the stables, giving birth, in Bethlehem in December, for goodness’ sake – of one of the kindest people Aziraphale and Crowley had ever met.

But to celebrate it together, openly, was still such a novelty between them both that it…that surely, there was no need to make it more special than that?

Wasn’t it more than special enough as it were?

Aziraphale would have thought so, certainly.

Only, it seemed that – that there was something else to it that Crowley wasn’t divulging, for whatever reason, and Aziraphale was not…he had decided some time ago that he wasn’t going to ruin anything by asking the demon about it.

If he needed to know, then he would be told, and that was an end to it.

He had to trust his dear boy, and he did.

Hence why he was on this plane, going to meet him.

Goodness only knew what it was he had planned. He hoped he hadn’t overdone it or that he wasn’t running himself ragged to do it.

That would be awful. Truly awful. How could Aziraphale ever hope to have a…oh, no, that sounded rather selfish and thoughtless. But how could it be a good experience for the both of them if Crowley had run himself ragged or otherwise injured himself in the process?

It was only going to be a wonderful experience if it was so for the both of them.

So, without consciously knowing that he was doing so, Aziraphale started, as he settled back in his comfortable seat and enjoyed his hot beverage and those little delicacies you were served, to pray inside himself.

Praying for the safety of his demon and for this to all turn out well.

If he had been aware of it, he would’ve stopped immediately, embarrassed that his subconscious had even thought to do such a thing to him.

Which was possibly precisely why it didn’t penetrate his conscious mind.

He might not be closer to God, technically speaking, but that didn’t mean it had no benefits to be higher up in the air.

Ones that he wouldn’t have imagined.

He found himself more consciously hoping that he would be able to give Crowley just the reaction he was expecting or at least hoping. No, not hoping. That suggested he had no intention of making his own contribution to the success, and that was most certainly not the case in the least.

By the time the flight landed – earlier than he would have expected although of course in hindsight, these machines had to have got rather speedier since the last time he’d been in one – Aziraphale had let go of…no, not of all the worries and fears that had plagued him. Far from it, in fact. But it had managed to relax him enough to decide that with all the effort Crowley put in, he’d match it.

How, he wasn’t precisely sure just yet, and he might make a mess of things from that fact alone. Then again, he might make a mess of it by not doing anything.

Come to think of it, about the worst thing he could do was nothing at all. Even if he made a mess of it, if he tried, if he put in the effort, then at the very least, Crowley would be able to see that effort.

Would see that he was invested in it, that he wanted to make it right.

For both of them.

That had to count for something, hadn’t it? It might not only be the thought that counted, but the thought nevertheless did count.

He therefore made a detour to the nearest bathroom once he was off – there was something about the confined space of an airplane bathroom, he found the one time tried to go in there, that made his wings all but scream to get out, and that wouldn’t do – the plane.

One inside, he dared to take a proper look in the mirror.

Of course, it would have been strange if marks had been there, but he nevertheless found himself relieved that there wasn’t any visible trace that he had been crying. Not because he was ashamed of tears – he was not above crying at a play or a musical performance or even a motion picture, and he pretended not to notice when a tear escaped from beneath the rim of sunglasses – but because that would hardly send the right signal to the other once he showed up.

If he was there.

Now he was getting rather paranoid, was he not? For no good reason, too.

When had Crowley failed to show up?

A few times, when –

No. He had never. Even when those times had occurred, and he remembered well which times those were as they were etched into his memory, he had made a concerted and full effort to reach the angel, and what was more, he had succeeded.

Every single time.

He had been there. It might have taken him some time and a lot of hardship to make it, and Aziraphale had more than once had to patch him back up again, but that was…that was not the issue. The important thing was that he had made it.

When he promised, he was there.

Aziraphale just had to hope that he would not need to patch him up this time.

If that was so, though, he was ready for it.

Right now, though, he needed to see about being ready to Crowley. It might be that he wasn’t going to see him yet, but there might not be time later, and he wouldn’t want to miss a thing.

He wouldn’t want to miss Crowley.

Other than in the way he already missed him, of course, that was –

And now he was babbling. Mentally babbling.

Good grief.

Despite there being no tears, he nevertheless passed a discreet hand over his face and when it emerged on the other side, it was looking considerably brighter and more cheerful. Proper cheer, too, he’d made sure of that.

He was about to card a hand through his hair when he noticed the gesture and noticed the familiarity of it. His hand dropped immediately.

No, that would have to do. And it would, too. It would.

That said, there was the rest of his attire.

Dress warmly, Crowley had said, and so he had done his best to do so. In the plane and in Heathrow, it had seemed rather ridiculous, but then, he was going to a mountainous region. Proper mountains, too. Not to mention, of course, that the demon had hinted at the possibility of there being an outside time.

And so, he had obliged him.

Besides, you would be hard-pressed to deny that this coat did not suit him quite eminently. So much so, in fact, that he had been willing to dispense with the older jacket that he had worn, at least for this particular occasion.

The least he could do was try his utmost to look the part, as it were.

If they were going to make a good time of it, and it was going to be outside, he would want to…to be worthy of Crowley.

Of being on his arm.

Wasn’t that always a goal?

Of course. This was simply…well, this was no ordinary day, was it? Nor any ordinary trip.

It was part of his own effort to match the demon, as it were.

That was all the justification it needed.

Hence why he did his best, in that bathroom mirror, ignoring the people that came, to adjust and straighten and generally make his outfit look as nice as possible.

Once he was done, he pulled slightly at the bottom of the lapels, but firmly even so. Conveying the message that he had settled it, and there it ought to stay.

There he expected it to stay from now on.

He did not bully things the same way Crowley did. However, that wasn’t to say he didn’t expect to get his way.

Once that was all sorted, he made his way, bag still in hand, towards the exit of the airport.

To be met with someone coming up to him and asking, quietly, whether this was Aziraphale Fell or not.

He looked at the man, then nodded.

Then would he please follow him?

What for?

Because he had been asked to drive sir to the hotel in question, and he was parked illegally in order to get as close as possible.

Aziraphale still hesitated, though he couldn’t quite have said why.

After all, he was safe enough. If anything happened, he had…well, there were ways.

Then the man said that Mr. Crowley sent his compliments.

Well then. That about sealed it, did it not?

It might, of course, be some form of trap still, but he…well, he would have to applaud their knowledge and thorough research, then, if that was the case.

Then he would ask what they had done with Crowley, and they would learn that a Principality did not necessarily need a flaming sword to be formidable in his own way.

Besides, Crowley of all things was not…it was not common in England, and it was positively rare here in the Alps. The poor cab driver’s mouth certainly seemed to struggle a little, though Aziraphale gave him a lot of points for efforts, which was all you could ask, really.

He got into the man’s cab quickly enough, noting in the back of his mind that it was not new but was carefully looked after, though possibly more out of necessity than any fondness on the cabbie’s part.

For someone who was used to the meticulous care that his own partner bestowed on his car – even if some of it was purely because the Bentley knew better than to get itself into a state of any kind – that was a rather saddening thing.

Surely, you would be proud of the place, the thing that provided you with not just a job, but a living. A way to feed his children.

The driver did not ask where to, which was just as well, as Aziraphale wouldn’t have been able to say. Wouldn’t have been able to say at all, and not merely because he was not…you would think that he would be a polyglot of some kind, given…well…but…

Some languages were frightfully rusty in his mind. This included.

It was really most unfortunate.

He nevertheless did his best to make conversation with the man. It took his mind off where he was going and all the nerves, both for good and for ill that had accumulated inside of him since he had got on the plane, if not before that, not to mention provided a good way to spend the time.

Recluse though he might be, and what was the issue with that, anyway, he nevertheless did enjoy interacting with people from time to time, so long as it was a more one-to-one basis, he believed it was called.

And so long as it had nothing to do with his books, of course. That was a rather important distinction as well.

It passed the time and so, he was not prepared for the man to pull up at a street that contained a small bakery and, he said, further down a small wineshop.

They surely wouldn’t be open on a day like this? On a night, rather, as the day was fading away over the tops of the mountains around them. He had forgotten how early that happened.

No, he was right there. Only, they had been, and they had prepared a few things for him to grab. All he had to do was to mention his name.

But he had already brought – what was Crowley up to? To make him weighed down with parcels like some…some ridiculous –

He blinked at the image that presented itself to him, then even more at the next.

The wise men, St. Nicholas – nice man, really – and especially the last one, just added, of an angel in that role was a ridiculous image for him. No matter what he might happen to be.

It was fitting for these parts, wasn’t it? The last one in –

No. That was not – and even if it were, it did not mean that he was – that it made any sense for him to come laden with –

Crowley might have brought them himself, for goodness’ sake. It was hardly as though he hadn’t had the time or couldn’t have made someone else do it.

Which was why there was a point to this endeavour. Not in the sense that there was a point to him picking up that which Crowley had forgot to pick up and had called to ask them to accommodate him. That might’ve been an option, he would grant him that, but it wasn’t.

No, the point to the endeavour was specifically for Aziraphale to be the one to pick them up.

An idea which was confirmed when he picked up the bags in question – one middle-aged woman poked her head out at the bakery and told him not to worry, it had all been paid for, a phrase he had a little trouble deciphering because she was speaking around the cigarette in her mouth without even pushing it to the side of her mouth – and saw what was in them, precisely.

It also confirmed that this was indeed Crowley’s idea.

Not that he had been at any doubt, but it was still comforting.

Comforting that he was here, as he got the distinct impression that the demon had called only recently to ask them.

Of course, it was silly and quite ludicrous, too, that Aziraphale should feel a need to have tabs, for lack of a better word, on where Crowley was, even if it were only to know that he was safe.

After all, they had been through centuries, millennia, where they had not known about each other for years even decades on end, and he had not worried then. It had not so much as entered his head that Crowley could be in danger. In trouble, yes, but not in danger.

That wasn’t true, and he knew it. Furthermore, he knew that it made a difference that…well, there were two things. They had not lived together, then, and they had therefore not got used to being near each other so much.

Always much easier to cope with not having when you’ve never had, he found. Give a taste and take it away and you’ll suffer in an entirely different way.

For another thing, they were not…in all that time, they had had to be careful, yes, but they had been on opposite sides.

Now they were on their own side, and there was only the other to protect them.

That was a much more frightening prospect.

Normally, he tried not to think about it in any detail, but he had to admit that he couldn’t quite manage to entirely suppress it now.

Could it be, too, that he simply missed Crowley?

Well, of course.

He wanted him near just because he was…he was his dear boy. Among many other things.

Once the packages had been gathered, he returned to the cab, where the cab driver stood waiting outside.

Aziraphale found that rather odd, giving the cool of the weather. The cold, in fact, something which the skinny man must rather feel, especially considering his jacket.

Jacket. Not coat.

Yet there he was, seemingly unperturbed and determined to wait outside the car.

Almost as though he was afraid Aziraphale would run.

Almost as though he’d been told to do so.

If the latter was the case, then…then the angel needed to have a little word with his demon, because that was thoughtless and unnecessary, to say the least, and he could have – surely, he could have thought of something else.

Something better.

When he tried to ask the man about it, however, he merely shook his head and said it’d do him good to stretch and get himself some fresh air for a moment or to, and not to worry. It was kind of him, but there was no need to.

Aziraphale was not in the least convinced, but he decided not to pursue it.

Instead, he urged the man into the car while he himself slipped into the passenger seat, already thinking on how to redistribute the things that had been packed, so that he could carry only the one bag.

In the end, he ended up with one bag, true enough, but there was no chance that he could fit the last wine bottle in without something or other rupturing. Possibly a muscle in his arm or his back. Which wouldn’t do.

Even though the image of him spending the evening with Crowley caring for him in a room, drinking wine and being gently massaged did hold quite a bit of appeal in its own right, he had to admit.

There was always time for that.

This was about enjoying the sights, and he had to admit that as darkness fell and the lights came on properly, it was quite a magical scenario. No matter where they drove, too, which was almost more impressive than anything.

No town had any right to look so enticing and pretty from all angles like that. It really was most unfair.

Especially because it made him want to stay.

Which, of course, was quite decidedly absurd, and not merely because he had a bookshop in London to run. Well, to look after, at least. Same thing, more or less.

But perhaps you might…it might become a regular thing.

A yearly thing, perhaps?

Well…maybe so, but that all depended on how this turned out.

Of course.

The cabbie did not make any conversation as they moved. At least, he didn’t until they got a bit up the mountain on one side, and it dawned on Aziraphale that they were not going for a hotel.

He had been expecting a hotel, and not merely because of what the cabbie had said.

What was it that Crowley had booked?

Surely, at least, he had booked somewhere or other for them to stay? It didn’t have to be grand, although Azirpahale certainly wouldn’t complain – you might think it strange to book a first-class flight and then book a shed, of course – but he would like somewhere to be.

It hardly mattered that they didn’t need sleep. What he did need was comfort and a sense of calm in order to be able to relax. Something which he would never quite be able to without a private spot of some kind. It did not have to be anything grand or fancy, but it did have to be there.

All of which Crowley knew perfectly well. What was more, he shared it himself even if he didn't say so out loud or otherwise gave any clear indication of it.

Which meant in turn that he would of course have taken this into account. It might not be a hotel, but it would be something. Something that they could spend Christmas in, together.

If it turned out to be a shed, then...then it would only bring back memories, really. Be something to tease him about a little and be a bit of revenge for that time the memories referred to.

It would be alright, in other words.

All would be alright.

Of course, it would.

When he finally reached the lodge in question, he was not at all certain he had got the right place, and not because he had the pick of the crop, as it were. Nor because he could not find the requisite shed. It would be very unfair to say that all the buildings looked the same and certainly unfair to say they all came out of a picture postcard wishing you Joy and All Good Cheer or something similar.

Never mind the feeling that a giant robin should be around here somewhere and was about to pounce on them all.

That was simply nerves talking. Nerves without reason, too, which often seemed to be the most persistent ones there could be. As though because there couldn’t be a reason, it was imperative that one was found.

The reason he wasn’t at all certain he’d reached the right place was the simple fact that…that there was nobody there.

Not when he reached the front door, not when he knocked. Nor when he, as suggested by the cab driver, who really was the loveliest man – Aziraphale had been unable to resist helping him out a little in this busy and stressful time, including…upgrading the poor man’s cab a little, much to the astonishment and mixed delight and consternation of the man – went around and tried to see if he could up to the balcony.

By rights, of course, he should not be able to, for the simple fact that he had not the key to the door and therefore couldn’t enter the second story.

Well, needs must, though, and he found himself going around a very nice snowdrift and some set of steps that led up there.

What he would do if someone was in there and he frightened them, he wasn’t sure he knew.

Perhaps he should let his wings out and make them think it was a Christmas miracle?

He could make it one, if they needed him to, come to that.

Better not think about it, though. The cab driver had assured him, quite emphatically that this was indeed the right place and that he was going to find Crowley here.

That was all very well, and it was very easy for him to say. It was not the cab driver who would be stuck in a foreign country – and yes, he realised that he technically had no nationality but he had got rather used to that one little island over the years, regardless – in the snow with nowhere to go for shelter, with his loved one nowhere to be found, his arms full of useless goods, and oh, yes, caught on Christmas Eve!

For goodness’ sake, all he needed now was a snow storm!

And potentially some appropriate music. Strings would do, though whether violin strings or those of a harp would be the more appropriate here, he didn’t know.

The thought of the music, and in particular of harps of all instruments, made him laugh almost despite himself. It was only a soft laugh, and it died away soon enough, but it was nevertheless a laugh, and he was grateful for the small amount of tension it helped to dispel.

What could he do? If Crowley wasn’t here, then he was to be…oh, goodness, he had to be somewhere. Somewhere and potentially in danger.

He had to find him.

For once, he was saddened and dismayed about the fact that he so tended to eskew modern gadgets, up to and including a mobile phone. It had never been necessary before, and he had simply refused whenever Crowley had brought it up. In part out of principle, in part out of genuine lack of need, as he’d seen it, and…and yes, in part because he was stubborn. He would admit to that.

Now, right now, he was cursing that stubbornness.

If only he’d had a phone, then this whole thing would be solved in an instant. One way or another, of course, but that was…at least that would still be some form of, of closure. No, of knowledge, not closure. A path to take, not a dead end.

Couldn’t he borrow one?

From whom would he borrow it? There was no one around.

There had to be someone, somewhere.

Oh, yes. Plenty of people. You could see the lights of the houses.

Well, then.

None of them were out and he couldn’t…

Why couldn’t he go and ask? It would be a little odd, perhaps, but he could say that he had lost his own or come up with some other plausible excuse for it. They might be more inclined to help him, too, even if they would be a trifle annoyed at being disturbed this night of all nights.

Yes, well, that was –

It was a good plan.

Yes, it was, only –

So why didn’t he do it?

Because he wasn’t sure he remembered Crowley’s number right!

He had dialled it a thousand times, of course he had to remember it. How could he not –?

That was his home number.

Which went through to his mobile phone. Surely, that would not be different just because they were now abroad?

He vaguely remembered something or other about that point. About how Crowley had grumbled and groused about them ruining a perfectly good idea of his when they made it possible to call and text without enormous surcharges and hidden charges to a phone bill once you left your home soil or at least, the soil the phone was attached to.

So much for it being mobile, he had thought at the time.

Surely, that meant that it should be easy to get hold of him.

Or if not easy, then at least easier than this.

Which was not easy at all, so it wasn’t much of a competition, when you got right down to it.

It didn’t need to be a competition. All he wanted it to be, to be honest, was reliable, so that he could find his demon.

Bother to all other things. Even Christmas.

There would be no Christmas if Crowley wasn’t there with him. It was as simple as that.

Oh, why hadn’t he asked the cabbie more questions? Hadn’t asked him for specific instructions or made him wait until he –

What was that?

He listened, intently, his ears straining to pick up the smallest noise, which was none too successful an attempt. Everything was silent, as though someone had not only put cotton wool over the whole landscape a little too zealously but had done as much with his ears.

Nevertheless, he tried. He had heard something or other, and he wanted to know what it was.

Wanted to know whether whatever had come for Crowley, because there could not be any other explanation for his absence at this point where he had promised to be, had come for him now as well.

If it had, then he could – then he had no need of a phone. He could just…ask the person in question where they had placed his dear, and just why they thought this was at all a good idea.

It would be fascinating to learn their responses.

Unconsciously, he changed his grip on the bag he held, shifting it to one that made it quite ideal for swinging into whatever part of the comer might be the nearest or the most…impactful.

Just because it wasn’t a sword, flaming or not, it didn’t mean that it could not be used, effectively at that.

Of course, it could be.

He didn’t say a word, merely waited, his heart beating a fast but steady rhythm.

There was another crackling creak, very soft, of snow moving under a foot, then another. Then silence before it came again.

They were speeding up. Why was this?

Why had they thought that there would be –?

Oh. His footsteps. Obviously.

Well, then, it was a trail they would rue following, especially if –

“Angel, are you up here?”

Aziraphale froze and felt as though he’d rewound a couple of steps mentally at that voice.

That so very familiar voice. It was – it was –

Oh, he didn’t have words for it. Didn’t have the feelings for it. Or rather, he had too many feelings all cascading down at him at once, much like the snow would off the mountains around him. Which was rather why he didn’t have the words for it.

He was choked by too many feelings for words to have a chance.

Still, though, something in him caught him and held him by the scruff of the neck.

It might be Crowley’s nickname – the idea that it was simply him calling him by what he was…it was a fiction that they upheld between them more for tradition and old comfort’s sake at this point – for him and it most certainly sounded like his voice.

That wasn’t to say that it was. It wasn’t to say that there wasn’t something else fishy going on here.

Why would he call like that? Surely, he would know that – if Aziraphale was here, he would be able to sense it and if he thought he wasn’t, then he would have no need to ask in the first place. That was beside the point about the footsteps in the snow.

Though it was snowing, it was decidedly not snowing enough to be able to obscure his footsteps that easily. Not yet.

Crowley’s voice did sound unhurried and unworried, too, but that was…that was about as much an indicator as seeing him part his lips in what might, just might be a smile or might be something else altogether.

Why was he here?

It might have a wholly innocuous reason, though, there was no need to go in sword blazing, as it were, to find Crowley had just –

But what if something had happened and they were using him as bait?

Then wouldn’t it be for the best for them to bring him closer to Aziraphale still? Best for him to see him and see what state he was in. Then he could do something about it if that was what was needed.

Do something and keep Crowley from further harm.

Yes. Of course. Obviously.

“Up here, my dear!” he therefore called. His voice ought to be enough to carry, and he could therefore stay where he was.

Stay where he might yet extract the other without the ones who’d taken him being able to do anything in turn.

He found he was stretching and flexing his muscles more than a little, especially those on his back.

Especially those that had been forced to…fold themselves away, as it were.

It had been a long time since he’d had to use his wings, but that did not mean that he wasn’t prepared to use them, nor that he had any doubt as to their ability.

Which was just as well, really, since he might have to move very fast indeed, should the worst come to the worst.

Nobody was going to hurt his demon. Nobody at –

Crowley came round the corner of the building and he was entirely alone.

What was more, he was entirely unharmed as well. At most, you could say that his hair looked redder than normal, but that could well be the light that illuminated the whole of the little town on this night and got reflected by the snow.

Alright, so there was the argument that he didn’t quite look like himself either for other reasons. But that was merely because he was in an attire that Aziraphale did not recognise; not only did he have a black, rather modern – by Aziraphale’s standards, mind – down jacket on that made him seem ever so oddly bulky compared to his normal sleek, but he had a large white scarf around his neck that puffed him up further.

In a way, it gave him quite a bird-settling-down-on-a-nest-puffing-up-its-feathers look that was…not only was it strangely endearing, but it was also even more oddly enticing.

Such thoughts were fleeting and, in any case, buried under other thoughts and feelings almost immediately.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped.

He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help it at all as the relief and the joy and the…the everything, more or less or so it seemed, flowed through him and made him weak, not merely in the knees but just about all over. Just about…

Oh, goodness him, he couldn’t…he wasn’t –

Oh, joy of joys!

“Hello, angel,” said Crowley, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Though of course, with Crowley, he had said ‘hello, angel’ as his opening greeting on just about every, or if not every then so close as to make it seem so in his memory, occasion that they’d bumped into each other over the centuries and millennia.

Even at the gathering of the animals or the…

And that was a mental photo-album that he would rather not open right now.

He thought he had enough on his plate as it were, and he was getting rather full.

Crowley, you are here.”

That earned him a quizzical look. As well it might, really, when you came to think of it. When you didn’t have Aziraphale’s worry and train of thought to fall back on.

Of course, I am,” said the demon, puzzled but not miffed when he didn’t get an explanation. “Why shouldn’t I be? I promised I would be, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Aziraphale agreed. Then, because when the tension breaks, sometimes something spills out with the thaw that should’ve stayed inside, he added, “But you weren’t here when I got here. The cabbie assured me that I was at the right house, but this was – you weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere. Which you promised you would be. Where have you been?”

It wasn’t meant to be said, let alone out loud, and so he was grateful that it came out sounding as worried as he’d felt rather than having that worry transmogrify itself into anger of some description and make the words an accusation.

That would’ve just put the tin lid on it, would it not? On top of everything else – and this supposed to be Christmas Eve, at that!

It was Christmas Eve. Whatever happened, it would still be Christmas Eve right now. Until the clock struck midnight.

Crowley looked at him. No, he stared at him, if he was to be honest, not merely nonplussed but entirely bewildered, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He did not look angry, though, which had to count for something.

Which had to count for a victory, even if it was only miniscule.

Any victory Aziraphale would happily take right now.

This was not how he’d envisioned his evening to go, to say the least.

For a moment, it looked as though Crowley was going to try to defend himself or at the very least, that he would sputter and splutter for a moment.

Instead, he merely stood looking at the angel, his bewilderment slowly fading away. In its place was something growing, something akin to…

To understanding but more than understanding. To sympathy.

Pity?

Oh, no, not that. Whatever else it might be, not that.

“You were scared for me?” he asked, then, very softly indeed. Nevertheless, it carried.

It carried the very olive branch that they needed.

“I’ve been terrified,” Aziraphale admitted, taking it both verbally and figuratively, “that something had happened to you. That they had…that someone had got to you before I had arrived here and nobody knew. Nobody could know. I was afraid and I could not contact you and – “

He cut himself off, hearing not only the emotion in his voice, but the tears and worst of all, the sniffles.

Enough. He was not going to cry on a night like this.

Hadn’t he cried earlier?

What did that have to do with the price of fish?

That was day, on a flight, and he was on his own. Well, more or less on his own. The point still stood.

This was very much different, and so the rules were changed as well.

He couldn’t cry in front of Crowley, not after something like this. That would be – oh, it would be too much. It was quite enough to confessing to just how frightened he had been that something had indeed happened to him.

That he would never see him again.

Or if he would, then it would be…

A hand came up and laid itself on his cheek. Without hesitation or much thought at all, he leaned into it and felt his eyelids tremble at the sheer warmth and most important of all, the solid reality of Crowley’s touch. Of Crowley’s hand.

He was there. Truly, he was there. He was there, and he wouldn’t vanish like a mirage into the falling snow at any minute.

“Angel…”

“I know I was being silly but – “

“No. Not at all. You were merely being early, that’s all.”

“If it’s premature, then – “

"That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you. Were. Early.”

That made Aziraphale open his eyes – just when had he closed them again? – and stare at Crowley, his eyes widening rapidly.

Early? But he had – the flight had been – he’d taken the right flight. He knew he had. It had his name on the ticket and they’d let him on the plane. They wouldn’t do that unless it was the right ticket for the right plane at the right time.

There hadn’t been any delays, of course, at any point during all of this, despite the hustle and bustle of it. But surely, Crowley would’ve planned for that? For goodness’ sake, he might even have arranged it so specifically.

They hadn’t gone directly to the house from the airport, the cabbie and he, though. Had they not dawdled enough? But the man had seemed in no particular hurry to get rid of him, so it couldn’t be something like that, either. He couldn’t quite make any of it make sense in the context of being early.

"I did as I was instructed,” he said, quite meekly, though with the merest soupcon of reproach in his voice as well, which was likely not in the least bit fair, but…but he couldn’t help it in the least if he’d tried.

Thankfully, it seemed that Crowley was not put out by it, if he heard it.

“I know you did. To the letter, probably, because that’s what you’d do. That’s not a critique, either, just an observation, and I wouldn’t have you any other way, to be certain.”

That’s just as well, because I only come in me. What are you snickering about?”

It hardly seemed the right time for such a thing.

"Sorry, sorry,” Crowley snickered, unable to stop just yet. “Being less than my years, that’s all. Don’t mind me at all.”

"I always mind you, my dear. I can’t seem to help it at this point.” He smiled and felt the relief, of both having found Crowley and things working themselves out well and the fact that he could smile. “Not that I do mind, mind.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley said, and only he could imbue that phrase with so much fondness that it creaked at the seams.”

“I think I should rather not, if it’s all the same to you. Especially as I – I am rather concerned that things have – oh.”

"Oh, what?”

"Oh, I think I might have – we didn’t take the time difference into account, did we?”

"Time difference?” Crowley asked. “They’re the same time.”

“No. Not compared to London. Or the UK in general. It’s plus one here – and no, before you start, it has absolutely nothing to do with invitations.”

“I know. I just like to wind you up, angel. You know that I do.”

“I do, and I for some fathomless reason put up with you doing it.” He gave the other a fondly exasperated look that earned him raised eyebrows and quirking of lips into an almost-smile. “But getting back to the point, there is an hour’s time difference between us and the continent – I forgot to set my watch when we landed. Did you?”

He didn’t want to make it an accusation.

That was…well, no, it was not the last thing he wanted, but it was most certainly on the list.

Tonight, there should be no more discord of any kind, no matter how unintentional it might have been. not if he could help it at least.

Crowley paused, then looked as though he would claim that he had, only for him to pause again, open his mouth and draw in a breath, letting it out slowly.

"No,” he said at the end of it, brow knitted. “I thought my phone did it for me. That does explain it – I mentioned a specific time to the driver, who came at the right time, when the plane landed and everything. Checked with the time table and everything when I called him, but that was back home.”

He made a grimace, his face scrunching up in the most adorable manner. “I just…I must’ve got things mixed up at some during all this preparation. Thought it was…yeah, about an hour earlier than it is. Shit!”

Aziraphale would have reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder or arm but for two things; the one, his hands being full, he could remedy, but the other, Crowley holding a cup of coffee in one of those cardboard cups or whatever they were, was not so easily remedies, unfortunately.

He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t unintentionally slap it out of his hand, spilling the contents just about everywhere.

Including on him. On his coat.

He could get it off, of course, and so could Crowley. But that was not the point. It was the principle of the thing if it was anything at all.

That and he didn’t’ want to have anything else that interfered with his time with Crowley.

It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen –

Again, that was not the point. It could be no longer than a few hours and it would still feel too long. Especially with all the tension and worry and – and it was Christmas, for goodness’ sake!

So, he instead moved a little closer, caught the other’s eyes and smiled.

“It’s alright, my dear, you don’t have to worry. It all worked out just fine, did it not?”

But in the meantime, you were scared, and all because I had my head up my arse about such a stupid thing as – I even checked it. Can you believe that? Before I got here, I checked it. Several times. Only to – fuck’s sake!”

The important part is that you are here, my dearest, and that you are alright. That is all the Christmas present I could wish for, so all that I have already received, this beautiful trip included, is more than I could ever have thought of, and I’m very grateful.”

Crowley stood there, blinking in the onslaught of sheer love and delight and light pouring from the angel. It might be that he couldn’t sense love in general but he was getting fairly good and accurate on such specifics as the love from one particular Principality.

"You haven’t even seen the decorations I put up,” he muttered, and it was evident that he was trying to grasp at anything to keep himself afloat.

“I shall look forward to seeing them most particularly, and the Christmas Tree in all its glory when it’s not a dark shape against the glass.” He paused, hesitating on whether to ask, then said. “Perhaps we could postpone that for a moment, though? Postpone it to stay here for a little while. Enjoying the sights.”

And the fact that we are here, together, safe and sound and just as we ought to be.

He didn’t say this out loud but then, it seemed to be floating in the air enough for him not to need it.

“Seeing as we’ve gained an hour and everything,” he added, though it was quite superfluous, and he knew it, too.”

Crowley pursed his lips and considered it as he looked skywards. Pretended to, that was. Then he grinned and turned his head down to look at the angel.

There was a snowflake caught not just on his brow, but on his nose and one, just before it melted, in his lashes.

Aziraphale stared, transfixed and full of the love for this one being in the world.

He felt something at his back.

Before he could start or startle, though, he recognised it as Crowley’s free hand, pulling him as close as possible. The result was that the wine bottle, still incongruously and perplexingly in his hand, was caught between them.

Aziraphale couldn’t say that he minded, though. Nor that there was a coffee cup very close to him and his coat.

How could he mind when he had Crowley there in front of him, holding him close in that way?

Everything was just right.

Crowley’s grin softened to something more akin to a small beam of a smile, but it was no less significant for that, in Aziraphale’s book.

“Think we can arrange that, yeah,” said the demon as he leaned their foreheads and noses together gently. “Fuck, but I’ve missed you, angel. I’ve only been away a day or so, and I’ve missed you so much.”

If it’s any consolation, I’ve been in a similar or worse state myself, and that’s without the worry about your well-being,” Aziraphale confessed softly.

Crowley’s eyes went wide, then crinkled in that same beam of a smile, so full of love and warmth and…and everything that he would never admit to feeling.

Well, perhaps tonight of all nights.

They turned, still close, to look out at the snow-bedecked landscape, at the snow falling down and the lights turning it into something beautiful if just the tiniest bit tacky, too.

Just as it should be.

“Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Merry Christmas, my dear. This was a wonderful idea.”

“And it’s nowhere close to being finished, either.”

It wasn't, at that, and Aziraphale had to admit that it became a Christmas to remember, in a way that was almost exclusively positive, the negative only serving to enhance the positive more.

As to what happened, precisely...well, that's a story in its own right and something of theirs.

Whether or not it deserved a repeat...