Archive of Our Own

Christmastime was here.

Oh, was it ever. The season always barreled into town with guns blazing, but this year, everything seemed just a little too soon, a smidgen too loud, a tad too jolly. Multi-colored lights blinked and flashed and glittered from nearly every available window, awning, and lamp-post; shop window displays were stacked higher and wider than usual. Posable elves and reindeer cavorted in and amongst all the creatively arranged wares, tempting passersby with the promise of purchased happiness, their wide plastic smiles fixed firmly in place. In any direction one looked, the shrill message of good cheer and peace on earth came through with direct, focused, and unrelenting singularity.

All of it gave Geoffrey Marks a pounding headache. Even now, on Christmas Eve. Especially now.

With the day itself less than a sleep away, and after over a month of an increasing variety and number of gigs at party after party, with work at the Romper Room a grinding constant throughout it all, the young musician was more than ready for the festivities to be over and the new year to begin. Even the grey slog through January was preferable to all this commercialized conviviality and forced, frantic gaiety.

He trudged wearily through the late night—or was it very early morning? Oh, hell, that would mean it was actually Christmas Day, damnit—crowd of Christmas revelers, all out simply searching for good will and a good time in the clubs and theaters and pubs. As much as possible, he tried to avoid bumping those he passed with the hard, rounded corners of his trombone case, grateful he wasn’t toting a giant string bass like Aaron. Honestly, he didn’t know how his colleague managed to wrangle the damn thing there and back again from work and home every day without causing constant interpersonal conflict or having the instrument turned into matchsticks. And then there was Edmund with his numerous trumpet cases. The man needed another set of hands, at least, but he always seemed to get by alright.

A particularly soused lady with her equally inebriated companion cut across his path, giggling and wobbling, and Geoff had to pull up short in order to avoid running into both of them. He cursed beneath his breath and cut around, swerving again immediately as another set of overly jovial merrymakers impeded his way. Their loud hilarity grated against his ears, tangled up with the noisy rumble of automobiles, cabs, and delivery lorries passing in the road, punctured by the piercing Christmas lights stabbing his vision: it all seemed too much for this hour of the night. Squinting, he forced himself to breathe harshly through his nose for a few minutes, gritting his teeth against the sudden, overwhelming squall of discordant sound and light. He tightened his grip on the handle of his case, reminding himself that Shaftsebury Avenue ended eventually and the station was just ahead. He could make it.

It took him only a few more minutes of pushing past and through and around more knots of carelessly tipsy partiers, their braying laughter scraping at the inside of his head, before he discovered he could not, in fact, make it. If he didn’t find someplace quiet right then and there, Geoff was pretty sure an unsuspecting passerby was going to get a trombone case upside the head before he himself broke down in a heap on the sidewalk.

Sitting in a jail cell facing charges of assault on Christmas morning didn’t sound any more appealing than shoving through the crowded streets, so Geoff grabbed desperately for the remnants of his rapidly eroding self control and cast about for an escape.

There, there just ahead, the black mouth of an alleyway yawned like a portal to sanity, and the young man made directly for it, not caring in the least who he trampled on his way. Ducking into the shadows, he let his instrument case thump to the ground and bent, his hands on his knees, taking deep gulps of air. Eyes screwed shut, he pushed hard at the panic threatening to crowd past every defense he threw up and just breathed. “Oh, God,” he managed, moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Please…”

He didn’t know how long he stayed that way, but it seemed like an interminable amount of time. Weakness sank its clammy fingers into his legs, and he wobbled as he straightened, leaning back into the cold, unyielding bricks of the wall next to him. Thankfully, the alleyway was indeed dark and mostly quiet, cloaked in murky shadows that obscured anything deeper in than the few feet nearest the chaos found on the street.

Geoff began slowly to gather his self-possession and his wits as he calmed, though he felt completely wrung dry. Shame also reared its ugly head, and he ran a hand wearily down his face. He didn’t often have such spells and usually wasn’t as easily overwhelmed, but it was still damned inconvenient whenever it happened and embarrassing at that. Good thing the alley had been so close by.

Then his head snapped up, and he jolted upright and away from the wall. His subconscious had picked up on it right away, he knew, a leftover from his service in Malaya. He had already noticed, though not really heard, the fact that someone else was speaking.

Someone was there in the alley, further in darkness, and speaking.

Adrenaline spiked, and his breath quickened again, his heart rate accelerating in his ears.

Geoff felt his stance sliding open and his shoulders squaring towards the potential threat in the darkness, his back to the whirling lights and discordant streams of people passing out on the sidewalk. As he listened, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, he began to register the voice, and further shock flooded his system.

It was Edmund.

Edmund Pevensie, his former commanding officer, his colleague, and—Geoff was still rather amazed by this—his friend. It had to be him, and as Geoff listened further, he became certain. He knew that hoarse baritone, the clipped, sophisticated cadence to the words, as well as the barest hint of something else, a measured lilt certain soldiers in Malaya had derisively labeled ‘posh’. It was stronger now, strangely enough, saturating his tone. Geoff had heard that voice snap out orders under fire, give no-nonsense directives, withering dressing-downs, and reasonable explanations, as well as banter with bandmates, discuss their setlist, and slip in the occasional, sneaky, and cleverly suggestive joke. It was definitely him, and he seemed not to have noticed the other new occupant of the alleyway.

Geoff tried to get a handle on his confusion and surprise, his entire body drawn with tension. As he continued to process, he began slowly to realize that Edmund was speaking, conversationally and with good humor, somewhere overhead.

What…?

No, couldn’t be. He had to be hearing things, a weird trick of sound in the narrow alley. Was it?

The more he understood, however, the more disoriented he became.

Edmund was definitely above him. Rooftop level at least.

What the actual hell. Astonishment rendered him mute.

“…at least you’ve decent weather for once,” his friend was saying, “—much better than that one year with the absolutely rotten blizzard. No, no, stop. I don’t have any carrots this time; I’ve been at work. Sorry, old chap.”

There was a faint jingling, something like myriad tiny bells, an inexplicable bestial sneeze, and then there came a resonant chuckle from a voice Geoff had never heard before in his life, but yet somehow was more familiar even than Edmund’s. Every hair on the back of his neck and along his arms rose as gooseflesh pimpled, and a thrill with the crackling intensity of electricity sang along his spine. He sucked in a breath, his eyes widening as he canted his head back, searching blindly along the eaves of the buildings surrounding him.

“You must forgive him,” the deep voice said fondly, and inexplicably, Geoff found a smile of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth. The quiet joy and gaiety in the stranger’s tone was infectious and seemed to prompt a wellspring of the same in any listeners. “He has given much of himself this night; worthy beast. They all have.”

“Too right,” Edmund said, and the musical chiming came again, in multiple waves of clear, tinkling harmonies, along with another chuckle. “I assume you’ve looked in on Peter already, then?”

“Ah,” the stranger responded, “Yes, his majesty was waiting for me, as is his custom, and offered me refreshment and the hospitality of his house. It was gratefully received.”

“Don’t tell me he gave you some of his 25 year old Scotch,” Edmund said, and the note of offended disbelief made Geoff’s smile widen.

“Very well, then,” the deeper voice said, clearly amused. “I will not, nor will I mention I left him another. I will also not mention the exceedingly toothsome pudding with brandy sauce her majesty served. It was most welcome.”

“Damn.” Edmund’s imprecation was heart-felt and emphatic. “Well, I suppose you do earn it.”

The laughter came again, full of mirth, and Geoff’s heart contracted painfully with the pure happiness it exuded. His perplexity was beginning to morph into something much closer to awed wonder, for the picture assembling itself in his mind of the other conversant was so fantastical, he hardly dared believe it. What else could it be, though? No other explanation made sense, and Sherlock Holmes’s age-old dictum about remaining improbability being truth marched through his mind.

How was this even possible, especially in this modern day and age?

More pressing, and much more importantly, how did Edmund Pevensie know…

Geoff hesitated, not even able to admit the name to himself.

As he stood there, caught in the spell of the extraordinary, the inky black of the alley began to graduate into a startling variety of shadow as his eyes adjusted, and the lights of the city illuminated the skyline enough for him to make out the darker architectural details towering over him. He still had no glimpse of either Edmund or the person with him, though their amicable, witty conversation had meandered onward as he had been lost in his own incredulity. At this point, however, Geoff really didn’t want to disturb either man.

In fact, the abrupt realization he was eavesdropping, something his sainted grandmother had always railed against, prompted a rush of guilt. He needed to leave. Stooping, he bent down for his trombone case, wrapped his fingers around the smooth, cold handle, and lifted it as quietly as possible. When he looked up, a startled exclamation burst from his lips, and he very nearly dropped his instrument.

“Bloody hell!”

“Sorry,” Edmund said, a stark black shape looming against the paler darkness of the building. He stood on the lowest platform of one of the buildings’ fire escapes, when Geoff knew without a doubt he hadn’t been there just before. Without much trouble, he easily swung a leg over the railing, balanced, and then dropped down from it, landing on light feet with a gentle flex of his knees. Anyone else would have twisted their ankle. Edmund made it look effortless, the tosser.

“Holy Mary,” Geoff rasped, working to calm his furiously racing heart and wondering if after what he’d just heard it would be the height of bad manners to murder his friend. “No you’re not. Wanker.”

Edmund snickered and bent down to reach underneath the fire escape. With a scrape of gravel, he pulled out three instrument cases, all smaller and more compact than Geoff’s much longer trombone, and, after arranging them satisfactorily and getting a secure grip, he straightened and pivoted. “You’re right,” he said, laughter still in his voice, “I’m not. That was quite satisfactory.”

“Good for you, you bugger. Care to explain why we’re both standing in a dank alleyway on Christmas morning? Sir?” Geoff said crossly, the question bursting from him before he could stop it. Edmund paused and cocked his head, almost as if he were examining Geoff head to toe, though Geoff couldn’t see his expression at all.

“Are you ready to go?” Edmund asked instead, more serious now and completely ignoring the query. “Feeling up for it?”

“What?” Geoff asked, nonplussed, before he remembered the reason he himself was standing in a dank alleyway on Christmas morning. Ye gods and little fishes, how on earth had Edmund figured it out, in less than a minute, while completely in the dark? Was he that pathetically obvious? Heat suffused his cheeks, but he figured there wasn’t much point in denying it. In the end, he was with perhaps the one person who really understood, and so he sighed and said, “Oh. Oh, yes, yes, I suppose. Don’t think I want to bash an innocent over the head with my case anymore, so that’s an improvement.”

“Most excellent; I’m gratified to hear it,” Edmund said, stepping forward and prompting Geoff to turn with him. “Shall we?”

Geoff almost fell for it and took one step before the memory of that resonant chuckle drifted through his mind and brought him to a screeching halt. “Sir,” he said, and his friend stopped also, just at the mouth of the alley. The bright lights behind him limned his head and shoulders in shining gold and silver as he looked back.

“What was that, back there?”

Edmund went very still. The crowds flowed by on the street outside, noisy and overly festive, the sounds tinny and harsh in the quietude of their hiding place. Geoff swallowed, slightly unnerved by his friend’s focused, almost predatory silence—he’d seen it before, after all, though it had rarely been directed at him. He now understood the previous scrutiny Edmund had given him a few minutes ago had been nothing more than simple, friendly concern; this felt uncomfortably like being pinned in the crosshairs of a rifle held by a master sniper.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight but refused to yield, remembering, too, if someone had reason to disagree with his former lieutenant, the best approach was staying calm and reasonable, while at the same time not backing down. Edmund had no use for weak knees or soft spines, and he respected those who maintained their position with clarity and remained resolute in the face of opposition. Here he no longer held any sort of rank giving him authority to make and enforce a final decision, but Geoff didn’t think that mattered in the slightest. The man himself hadn’t changed; while he would always carry the air of command, the natural leadership that made others defer to him without even noticing they did so, he also still highly regarded someone who could go toe to toe with him.

“I needed quiet,” Geoff said, feeling chagrin brush against him again, though he was able to ignore it a bit easier this time. “I didn’t choose this particular alley for any reason other than it was the first, closest place I saw to get away. You, you were already here—I had no idea, trust me—and you were speaking…” he hesitated. Edmund hadn’t moved; in fact, the shimmer of the holiday lights behind threw him in shadow so deep he almost seemed as though he had been turned to stone.

“…speaking with…” Geoff tightened his lips, his jaw working. To give voice to his suspicion still felt too unbelievable. Had he heard what he’d thought? Perhaps he’d been completely mistaken. “…with someone,” he finished, somewhat lamely. “And I’ve got to tell you, sir, I don’t know who it was, and my guess seems too fantastic to be true, so I won’t guess. I can’t really believe it, and now I don’t even know if it was just me going a little bit crazy. So that’s why I’m asking, to clarify so there aren’t misunderstandings, in my mind or yours. What was that, back there?”

After more than a few harrowing minutes, Edmund finally tilted his head a few degrees, but he still did not respond, and the weight of his keen scrutiny was an unwavering pressure. Geoff tightened his grip on his trombone case with a long exhale and stood his ground, wondering with some uncertainty how long he should wait before waving the white flag in surrender. They couldn’t stay here til dawn, after all, even if dawn wasn’t that far off.

“A very dear friend of mine from long, long ago,” his friend said at last, breaking the impasse with a suddenness that nearly made Geoff jump, “said to me more than once there are no such things as coincidences. That what we see as happenstance is in actuality our steps being directed and ordered by the One who holds us all in His hands. We are often unwilling to admit this and so label such things as ‘luck’ or ‘chance’, at our peril.”

He paused, and Geoff shifted. “Yessir,” he said, “You know I believe in His providence, both for and against us. Seen too much not to.”

Edmund nodded. “I know you do,” he said, “and I was saying all of that to myself more than to you, because some things, some secrets, some things I carry, are heavy and…” He blew out a breath and sat his instrument cases back down with a thud, straightening and taking off his hat to run his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. He laughed a little, breathlessly. “…and more than a little unbelievable.” He looked directly back at Geoff, who suddenly had a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

“I’ve not told anyone here, ever, save one. But now, it seems as though you coming along right at this moment, in what could be labeled a remarkable twist of fate, means I must widen the circle. We’ve known one another long enough now and been through a bit together—I know you, Geoffrey Marks, and you are more than worthy. I trust you.”

“Sir,” Geoff said, abruptly feeling as though he had stepped into one of the invisible, yet deadly, traps set by the CT insurgents in Malaya and was now dangling by his ankle fifteen feet in the air, disoriented and muddled by all the blood rushing to his head. “I just… I…”

“That back there,” Edmund said quietly, “was someone I first knew many years ago and only see occasionally these days. He’s not here often.”

“Ah,” Geoff responded, still trying to find his footing. He blinked, deciding to take the plunge into the surreal and accept the unacceptable, even, and most especially, about his friend. “Not often, eh? Like, only once a year? December 24th, actually?”

Edmund grinned then, a sharp, brilliant smile that Geoff couldn't help mirroring, even as amazement thrilled through him. “Something like that,” he said, “He’s quite busy, rushed off his feet, in fact, and I’m quite lucky he makes time for me. Every year, which is more than I deserve.”

“Lucky, sir?” Geoff asked wryly, and Edmund threw his head back with a bark of laughter.

“Touché,” his friend said and bent down to gather up his cases again, standing, and setting his shoulders. “Well done, Marks. You ready? Did that answer your question?”

“Yessir,” Geoff said as they stepped from the alleyway together and merged into the flow of high-spirited partygoers and pedestrians. No one gave them a second glance, something for which he was grateful. “Can’t hardly believe it, but yes. Now…now I want to know how. Bloody hell.”

Edmund laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you; that and more. The stories are all true, Geoff. Just so you know. Do you have plans for the day?”

“Not really,” Geoff said, his mind catching on the tantalizing hint of further disclosure and stuttering with incredulity. What could be more amazing than the revelation of a long-standing friendship with Father bloody Christmas? “My mum and sister and brother are getting together, but it’s a little too far to go in the time we have, more’s the pity. I was just going to go home and sleep. God, that sounds depressing.”

Edmund frowned, neatly sidestepping a couple kissing beneath a streetlamp without even giving them a second glance. “Well, we can’t have that. There’s room on our couch for a quick kip before festivities start, but you’ll be expected to pull your weight with everything else. No slackers or Scrooges allowed.”

“I couldn’t intrude, Ed,” Geoff said, shaking his head, “That would be too much of an imposition. It’s Christmas!”

“Exactly,” Edmund responded, “and that’s why you’re coming with me. I’ll make it an order if I have to, but I’d rather not. Please. Maureen will be delighted, and you’ll make Ian’s day, you know that. We’re going to Peter’s later, and he and Meg are always glad to see you.”

“Well,” Geoff rubbed the side of his nose. “I guess I’ll take you up on it, then, with gratitude. But only if there’s pudding with brandy sauce,” he added slyly, unable to resist, “and a 25 year old Scotch.”

His friend groaned. “Oh, Aslan, there’d better be, if Pete knows what’s good for him. See, there’s another reason this whole meeting was more than just fortunate. You heard it, too.” He sighed with satisfaction. “Two against one, and I like those odds.”

Geoff chuckled, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. He was still exhausted, still ground down, but the prospect of facing the holiday with friends and the promise of warm, nourishing food made everything so much more bearable. Worthwhile. The gaiety and cheer bubbling all around them no longer seemed quite as forced, and the twinkling lights and sparkling tinsel spoke of joyful celebration instead of fakery. He would take the respite offered and relish it, before the new year began the long march towards Spring.

Christmastime was here.