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The day seemed to be rather lovely. Sun was shining through the frosted window panes of the bookshop windows - it had been a touch nippy last evening, but now that the day dawned, it revealed London dressed in the uncharacteristic dusting of snow.
Aziraphale smiled to himself as he stood up from his reading to make some cocoa. Never before had he had the opportunity to simply relax at this time of the year. Early December had always been a time of stress, numerous and close-to-contradictory (but simply close - Heaven would never contradict itself, Heaven forbid) orders, and pointed remarks about Heaven's agent on Earth not quite meeting the expected standards.
It had been such a wonderful change of pace to realise, sometime in November, that there would be no expectations or countess errands anymore. He was free now. Free to enjoy this time however he pleased. Which, as it happened, involved two weeks of light reading and experimenting with mulled wine recipes in the company of a certain demon.
He had been having a rather lovely time, all things considered, but looking through his window, Aziraphale was thinking that perhaps this would be a good time to go out and explore the Christmas Market in Covent Garden. All the lights and the little stalls sounded rather lovely and he was very much looking forward to experiencing the celebratory atmosphere without any pressure of expectations.
One phone call later, Aziraphale was closing his door behind him, rearranging the frost slightly to make the opening hours harder to discern. Crowley had picked up on the fourth ring, and met Aziraphale’s meandering attempt to ask if it was something he’d be interested in with a laconic “Yeah, okay.” Only, then Aziraphale had felt as though he was pressuring Crowley into something he might not actually want to do – it was, after all, a religious holiday – and after several “You don’t have to, of course”s and a flustered, slapdash goodbye, Aziraphale was left with no actual idea whether they had plans, and too much embarrassment to call back and ask again.
The brisk air outside was quite refreshing after the time he had spent inside, and if there was a statistically improbable number of suddenly cured colds, twenty pound notes fortuitously found by families struggling with holiday expenses, and toddlers stopping mid-wail to giggle happily along his path to Covent Garden, well, it wasn’t like anyone would be commenting on frivolity of his miracles any longer, would they?
As he reached his destination the angel noted with satisfaction that the light decorations seemed as impressive as he imagined they would be. (A few strings of solar-powered LED lights, which had been giving everyone trouble since day one, illuminated brightly as if they suddenly wanted to do their best – and, perhaps, had located a power source other than the pale sunlight straining around the thin cloud cover.) There were also evergreen decorations strewn everywhere, giving the place an enchantingly picturesque look.
It was a pity Crowley wasn’t there, of course, but Aziraphale would never expect him to participate in any celebration he wasn’t comfortable with. Aziraphale resolved not to dwell on it too much, and found himself a nice spot in a cafe. A nice tea and some pastries would be just the thing.
He was just taking the last sip of tea after finishing his pastry when the ambient music playing overhead changed.
Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly singing o'er the plains
And the mountains in reply
Echoing their joyous strains
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Aziraphale froze, which was perhaps fortunate as it removed other options such as choking conspicuously, which would be decidedly unbefitting an angel regardless of his retirement status. It was bad enough to be suddenly reminded how angels were supposed to be graceful and otherworldly and generally as far removed from mingling with humans and eating pastries as possible.
The song ended, allowing Aziraphale a few seconds to take a deep breath and try to calm down when another song started.
Have you heard the sound
of the angel voices
ringing out so sweetly,
ringing out so clear?
The angel at the table tried to shake off the feeling that the music was aimed directly at him.
Finally, after reaching ‘Hear the angels singing: Peace on earth', he shifted nervously, stood up, paid for his food and stepped out of the cafe, fumbling with his coat. That was when the singers reached their last repeat of ‘gloria’. There was a brief moment of silence before another melody started.
The angel Gabriel from heaven came,
his wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame…
Aziraphale fled, hardly aware of his surroundings anymore. It was just too much.
Thankfully, finding his way out in the crowds wasn’t as difficult as it might have seemed. Humans have an innate intuition insisting they get out of the way of an angel, especially when that angel is rather less than calm. While it might not work without fail, and it did necessitate that a disproportionate number of angels, who didn’t know to suppress their energy, had to use ‘be not afraid’ as a conversation opener, it did come in handy in situations like this.
Of course, this particular effect in no way applied to demons. Which was how Aziraphale, distressed as he was, ended up walking directly into one.
“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked after a soft oomph . “What’s wrong?”
For a second, the angel stared blankly at the demon holding him to help him regain his balance, before blinking and stepping back in hopes of salvaging the last shreds of his decorum.
“Crowley?” he managed, joy and relief shining through his voice where it wasn’t completely shrouded in earlier distress. “You came after all!”
“Yeah, sorry about the delay, angel. Some people thought the Bentley was some kind of holiday attraction, can you believe it? Wouldn’t leave her alone, insisting on taking pictures and not letting me park properly.”
“Sounds dreadful.”
“Hopefully suddenly realising they only had three percent of their phone batteries left ought to teach them a lesson. But you haven’t told me what was wrong.”
“Oh, nothing much,” Aziraphale responded and was surprised to realise that he did, indeed, feel a little better now he was in Crowley’s company. Not enough to go back to actually enjoying himself, but it was still a notable improvement. “I’m afraid I was just being a bit fanciful.”
“Seemed more like something seriously upset you.”
“It was nothing, I assure you.”
“Do you still want to do the thing?” Crowley gestured vaguely at the festive decorations. Aziraphale hesitated briefly, which was apparently enough of an answer. “Right. We’re going back to yours then.”
“There’s no need to give up our plans just because of me.”
“Are you kidding? Seeing you happy was at least half of the appeal. Come on, I didn’t park far from here.”
The Bentley was, indeed, not far off, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel some relief at getting in, even if the act did come with a promise of enjoying Crowley’s driving style. As soon as the demon started the engine, the car’s speakers went on.
Thank God it's Christmas
Can it be Christmas?
Let it be Christmas
Every day
A small, involuntary whimper escaped Aziraphale before he could stop it. Crowley’s eyes were on him in an instant, and after a short, fierce growl, the music cut off immediately. The Bentley clearly wasn’t used to her owner talking to her like that.
“Angel?” the demon tried softly, in a stark contrast to the sound he emitted earlier. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wish he could erase the anxiety painted in the demon’s face. “Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”
Oh dear, this was really terribly awkward. “Nothing’s wrong, truly. It’s just that some of the, ah, festive repertoire, didn’t much agree with me. And I was just reminded of that.”
Crowley winced. “Sorry about her.” He jerked a thumb at the Bentley’s dashboard. “She usually knows not to play things like that to me. Honestly, I think she was trying to suck up to you, angel.”
“Really now,” Aziraphale fussed, flustered. “That’s certainly not necessary but it’s also nothing to apologise for. I feel like I made undue fuss over the whole affair.”
“You were upset. You have the right to be upset. Now we’re going back to the bookshop and we absolutely won’t have any Christmas music playing on the way. That okay?”
For a moment, Aziraphale felt like he should protest that Crowley was still making a big deal of the issue. Then he gave in and simply nodded.
“That would be lovely. Thank you, my dear.”
Instead of acknowledging the thanks - he was still getting used to the idea of doing that, after all - the demon rolled into traffic. After a moment of radiating uncertainty, the Bentley started quietly playing Tom Lehrer’s I’m Spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica . Aziraphale found he didn’t mind too much, and out of Crowley’s sight, caressed the car’s door to let her know all was forgiven.
III
Crowley decidedly wasn’t fussing. He was just making sure the angel was comfortable once they returned. If he went as far as adding a ‘terminal out of order - no card payments’ sign on the door to make the angel scoff at him, it was his business and a proper demonic act on top of that.
Not that it was anybody's business. He was a free demon able to do as he pleased and he had an angel to fus- care abo- make sure was alright . Which currently involved soundproofing the building with a quick miracle to prevent the intrusion of any errant Christmas music, making sure the angel was sitting comfortably in his armchair and summoning a cup of cocoa into his hand, taking stock of Aziraphale’s fussy frown, setting the cup on the table and going to make the cocoa the right way.
Once a properly handmade cocoa was ready, he topped it with chocolate and entirely superfluous sprinkles that nevertheless made the whole thing look more festive and presented it to the angel. Aziraphale carefully studied it for a moment before taking in a cautious sip. He seemed to relax slightly.
“Feeling a bit better, angel?”
Aziraphale took another, contemplative sip before answering.
“I think so. Thank you, my dear. I’m afraid it got a bit too much for me. I just wasn’t prepared for how all the carols would make me feel. I’m an angel, I shouldn’t react like this.”
“What you shouldn’t do is force yourself to do something that disturbs you this much.”
“But they are part of the celebrating,” Aziraphale protested. “I was looking forward to being able to enjoy this season without all the tasks and obligations for once.”
“And so you should. On your own terms. You don’t have to do the whole thing. Not sure the music isn’t so wide-spread that even a miracle wouldn’t help much when we go out but we don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay in, listen to whatever you like that isn’t Christmas music. And you like the seasonal food, yeah? We can order some.”
Aziraphale smiled faintly. “I suppose it might be nice to get some Christmas pudding,” he allowed.
“We’re definitely ordering a large pudding then. And I know you have all those Victorian baubles that you bought that you never got to use because you were always so busy around this time. I could steal a tree from some forest so you can finally hang them.”
“You’re not stealing a tree!”
“Fine. I can legally buy the most overpriced potted tree I find, fuelling someone’s greed, and then illegally plant it in some forest.”
The angel’s smile grew a touch wider. “In that case, I suppose I will be in no position to stop you. Can’t interfere with people’s choices, and there are so many forests I couldn't possibly catch you in time.”
The demon grinned back. “And then we could go see a panto on Boxing Day. You always liked those when you had time and weren’t too tired to move after the workload Heaven left you with.”
“That sounds wonderful, my dear.”