Archive of Our Own

It was the first day of Christmas, at least according to Gabriel, the CEO of Divine Inc. Apparently, no one had told him that the first day of Christmas was Christmas day itself. Instead, they were starting twelve days before. The only reason it mattered this year was that it was the theme of the annual Secret Santa exchange. Gabriel clearly seemed to think that record company profits meant the employees would have more money to spend on their coworkers despite the fact that they had only received 2% “Cost of Living” raises this year. At least Aziraphale didn’t really have anyone else to buy for this year. 

He’d drawn the name of Newton Pulsifer, a shy young man in the IT department. Today’s gift was a keychain with a computer charm on it. He hoped Newt hadn’t thought it too cheesy.

Aziraphale’s own gift had been sitting on his desk when he’d arrived this morning, a steaming hot beverage from the little cafe down the street. For all that Aziraphale usually drank tea, he always loved indulging in the sweet coffee treats they made around the holidays; when he could fit them into his budget, at least. He hummed as he took a sip, letting the creamy warmth of the white chocolate balance the chill of the peppermint on his tongue. It was a common special this time of year, but it was also one of his favorites. His ‘Santa’ had made an extremely lucky guess.

A flash of red darted past his door.

“Mr Crowley!” Aziraphale said quickly, getting up from his chair. 

The black-clad marketing assistant swung into his doorway, one hand hanging on the frame. 

“Aziraphale!” He said with a grin. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to see how the advertising conference went.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.

Aziraphale sighed. “I was hoping to get your expense reports.”

Crowley grinned again. “There it is! You usually do those for me.”

“Well, at the very least, I need your receipts,” Aziraphale pleaded. “However, you can always submit them yourself through the online portal.”

“Wouldn’t want to put you out of a job. And I’ve got two weeks, don’t I?”

His flippant, cocksure attitude was going to drive Aziraphale out of his mind one of these days. He didn’t want to rely on stereotypes, but Crowley had always seemed every bit the self-assured alpha type. At least his scent was pleasant, and Aziraphale didn’t mind at all the subtle spiciness filling his office.

“As soon as possible is better.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to make his point any clearer. “Two weeks would put them due next Friday, which is Christmas Eve,” he added extra emphasis, “and I’d rather not have to work late because you didn’t give me your receipts until 4:59.”

“Big plans, angel?”

The nickname grated on Aziraphale’s nerves. “Do I need to have plans to not want to work late on a holiday?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just curious. I'll get you those receipts. No later than Christmas Eve at 4:58.”

With a wink and a flash of teeth, Crowley was gone. Aziraphale barely had time to finish his deep breathing before Anathema walked in. 

“Good morning, my dear,” Aziraphale said, trying not to let his irritation bleed over onto her. 

“Morning. Was that Crowley in here just now?” The scent of dried herbs swooshed alongside her skirt. That had more to do with her occultist hobby, however, than it did with her beta designation.

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. I swear that man has been put on the Earth with the sole purpose of vexing me.”

Anathema laughed, setting a folder on his desk. “I mean, yeah, he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s harmless. Usually.”

“Hmph.” 

“What did you get from your Secret Santa?”

Lifting the cup, Aziraphale smiled. “A latte from that lovely cafe down the street. What about you?”

“I wish mine had caffeine,” she mumbled, stifling a very timely yawn. “I’m dragging today. I got a lavender sachet.”

“Oh, I bet that smells nice.”

“Definitely. I think I’ll keep it in one of my desk drawers. Pull it out when I’m feeling stressed.”

Aziraphale could practically feel the tension emanating from her. 

“Well, chin up, dear. The holidays are nearly here.”

“Afternoon, Angel.”

Crowley sauntered into Aziraphale’s office, plucking one of his cherub figurines –the source of the mocking nickname– off his desk and tossing it between his hands. Aziraphale did his level best not to wince. It would only feed the alpha’s needling behaviour.

“I suppose it’s too early to hope you’ve got all your receipts for me.”

“Not yet,” Crowley answered, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Been a bit busy with other projects.”

“It’s the holidays, Crowley,” Aziraphale snipped. “We’re all busy.”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear him. “What’d you get from your Secret Santa today?”

Despite his irritation, Aziraphale couldn’t hide his excitement. “I got this lovely silver snuff box! Though I’m certain that it cost more than the twenty-pound limit.”

Crowley gave him a dubious look. “That piece of junk? Looks like they picked it up at a flea market for half a quid.”

“It’s a very thoughtful gift,” Aziraphale defended.

“If you say so,” Crowley replied, finally setting the little angel back amongst its brethren. 

“Did you need something?” Aziraphale asked, feeling his patience growing thin.

“Oh, just was wondering if Uber rides were covered.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. How many times had Crowley given him Uber receipts before, and now he had to ask? “Yes, Crowley. All travel-related expenses are covered by the company, including Uber rides.”

“Brilliant,” Crowley replied. “Well, enjoy your old junk, angel.”

“Please, get me the receipts,” Aziraphale said, not caring how desperate he sounded.

“I’ll get them soon,” Crowley replied in a patronizing tone. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Ciao!”

“And you don’t have any idea who it is?” Anathema asked. “Did you check it for a scent you recognize?”

“Yes! And there’s nothing!” Aziraphale replied. “Whoever it is either has very little scent, or they are working very hard to conceal it.”

“It is supposed to be a secret,” Anathema said. She turned the journal over in her hands, looking for any clues of who it could have come from.

“Well, yes, but I don’t think most people have been going to extreme lengths to keep their identities hidden,” Aziraphale said, feeling more like a journalist than an accountant at the moment. “It’s just a silly office game, not an undercover operation.”

“Maybe they like you,” Anathema said with a shrug. She handed it back to him with a smile.

“Gosh.” Aziraphale hadn’t thought of that possibility. But what were the odds of that, really? It was a random drawing. Even if someone in the office did have a pash on him, the chance they had also drawn his name was quite slim. 

“Shit, I’ve got a meeting to get to,” Anathema said quickly. “We can talk more later!”

She was out the door before he could even say goodbye, which left him chuckling. He wasn’t quite sure of her Secret Admirer hypothesis, but it was fun to think about. He wondered who it could be.

“Morning, Aziraphale.”

The alpha walked right in like he owned the place and sat down on the corner of Aziraphale’s desk. His scent wafted after him. It was smoky and spicy, which always reminded Aziraphale of the Dragon’s Blood incense they burned at his favorite Chinese restaurant. Crowley picked up a candy cane from the candy dish and started twirling it in his fingers. 

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, willing himself to have patience. “Do you have those receipts for me?”

“Almost.”

“If you don’t have them, then why are you here?”

“Can’t I pop in and chat with my friends?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “We’re not friends.”

“Of course, we are!”

What on Earth was he blathering on about? Friends?

“I don’t even like you!”

Crowley just grinned. “You do.”

Aziraphale huffed at him, not sure what else to say to someone so, so infuriating.

“Get any more junk from your Secret Santa?” Crowley asked, peering over Aziraphale’s computer, searching for the gift.

“If you must know, I received a very beautiful leather-bound journal,” Aziraphale said, holding up the item.

Crowley plucked the gift from his hands, flipping through the pages, while Aziraphale bit his lip to keep from snapping at him. The absolute audacity of this man!

“Wahoo, this is nice, Angel,” Crowley said. “Definitely over the pound limit again. Feel how thick this paper is!”

“It’s lovely.”

“Whoever your Santa is must fancy you,” Crowley said, waggling his eyebrows.

Aziraphale nearly growled at him. “Just because someone is generous and good at picking gifts doesn’t mean that they have a romantic interest.”

“Oh, no. Gift like this? They’re definitely looking to shag you.” Crowley was undeterred. “Question is, will you let them, Angel?”

This was a highly inappropriate conversation for an office, but Aziraphale knew from experience that getting Crowley to drop something was nearly impossible once he’d sunk his teeth into it. Oh dear, that visual was a bit distracting. Aziraphale cleared his throat, feeling his face turn red.

“Perhaps I would,” Aziraphale said bitchily.

“Naughty angel.” A sly smile spread on Crowley’s face. “And what if it was me?”

Aziraphale laughed. Honest-to-goodness laughed, harder than he had in some time.

“What’s so funny?” Crowley asked.

“Crowley, you’re not my Secret Santa.”

The alpha straightened up. “You don’t know who it is. It could be.”

Aziraphale wiped mirthful tears from his eyes. “No, it couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Crowley challenged. 

“Well,” Aziraphale hesitated a moment, trying to decide how to answer such an absurd question. “Because every gift I’ve gotten has been incredibly thoughtful, and you are the most thoughtless person I know.”

“Rude.”

“Only honest,” Aziraphale continued. “A thoughtful person wouldn’t be intentionally putting off their job in order to make mine more difficult!” It felt good to vent some of his frustration. “If you remembered to get the person you drew anything it’s probably been a stack of gift cards and paperweights.”

Crowley stood from Aziraphale’s desk, chewing at his lip. The fight had completely gone out of him. Aziraphale had won. Why did it feel so wrong?

“You’re right,” Crowley said, nodding. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

It should have been a relief when Crowley stepped out the door, leaving him in peace. Instead, Aziraphale just felt disappointed. 

On Christmas Eve, Aziraphale went in to work as usual. It was to be a normal day until 3 pm, when the company Christmas party would be held. There was no gift on his desk today, since the final gift was supposed to be given in person at the party, where the Secret Santas would be revealed. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help wondering who it was. They had quite clearly ignored the price limit that the company had suggested, and he didn’t know what that meant. Perhaps they were just a generous person. Or perhaps, as Anathema and Crowley had suggested, Aziraphale had a secret admirer. 

The thought of Crowley gave Aziraphale a pang of regret. He hadn’t intended to hurt Crowley, and only yesterday morning, he would have thought it an impossible thing to do, but now he could picture the look on Crowley’s face when he’d said he was thoughtless. He shouldn’t feel guilty, it was the truth after all, but he still did. At least he had work to distract him.

He opened his email, and the first thing he saw was the notification that someone had submitted their receipts to the expense portal. It was Anthony J Crowley. 

Aziraphale sighed. At least he didn’t need to worry about being stuck staying late.

The company party was being held in the conference room of a hotel just down the street. It was festively decorated. Everyone was wearing at least something red or green, and many were wearing garish Christmas-themed sweaters. 

A few games had been set up in different areas. Pin the star on the tree, reindeer ring toss, and a spoon/ornament race of some kind. Aziraphale made a mental note to avoid all of them.  

When Gabriel finished his Christmas pep talk, he gave the signal to give the final gifts. Aziraphale eventually located Newt and gave him the mug he’d bought him. Newt laughed at the inscription “Have you tried turning off and on again?” Perhaps not the most creative gift, but Newt seemed to enjoy it anyhow. 

With that finished, Aziraphale began to look for his own Santa, feeling a little thrill of anticipation. Then he saw Gabriel heading straight for him. 

“Merry Christmas, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, handing him an envelope.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of the feeling of disappointment in his gut.

“Merry Christmas, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, smiling politely. “I didn’t realise you were participating as well.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Gabriel replied. “Your Santa said he needed to leave, and I offered to deliver your gift. He said there’s a note inside.”

“I see, well, thank you very much.”

The moment Gabriel turned away, Aziraphale opened the envelope, butterflies flapping wildly in his belly. An elegant red card was inside, with an embossed mistletoe decoration on the front. The contents made his heart skip.

There were two tickets inside for that evening’s Royal Ballet production of The Nutcracker, and a simple note:

Oh, what had he done? 

Aziraphale needed to find him. Perhaps Crowley had gone back to the office. Maybe he could catch him there. He grabbed his coat and hurried to leave. As he passed through the hotel lobby, he spotted a black-clad figure at the bar. He sighed in relief.

“Mind if I join you?”

Crowley seemed startled to see him, his slow movements giving away that the drink in front of him wasn’t his first.

“Sure.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him and ordered a sherry, feeling his heart thumping wildly. Crowley’s scent was stronger now, perhaps because he was more relaxed than he was during work hours. Strangely, it made Aziraphale feel more relaxed as well.

“It seems I owe you an apology,” Aziraphale said, tracing the edge of the paper coaster with his finger. 

“Nah,” Crowley answered, taking a sip of his whiskey. “You were right.”

“And what about your insistence that my ‘Secret Santa’ wanted to shag me?”

“I was just being a pain in the arse.”

“So you don’t?”

The alpha’s cheeks were now fire engine red as he stared into his glass, likely hoping it would give him insight into how to answer that question. The musky flare in his scent gave away the truth. Aziraphale sipped at his drink before deciding to take pity on him. 

“Why do you always drag your feet on the receipts?”

Crowley laughed. “How else am I supposed to get you to talk to me?”

Astounded, Aziraphale stared at him.

“So you’ve been pulling my pigtails in an effort to show you liked me?” Aziraphale nearly shrieked. “Are you a child?”

Wincing, Crowley nodded. “Suppose I am. I just liked how it felt when you paid attention to me. Didn’t really think about how you were viewing it. Thoughtless, like you said.”

“Your gifts said otherwise.”

“I’m just good at spending money,” Crowley said dismissively.

And at knowing what Aziraphale liked. “You did go over the pound limit again,” Aziraphale teased, feeling a flush on his own cheeks.

“Rules are for other people.” A crooked smirk sat on his lips.

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving glare with little seriousness behind it, only because he couldn’t condone rule-breaking even if he did enjoy the outcome.

“And there are two tickets because?”

Crowley looked at him then, shaking his head. “There was no expectation. You can take whoever you want.”

“But you were hoping.”

Crowley laughed bitterly. “That’s always been my problem. Always bloody hoping. But there are reasons I’m alone. My stellar personality chief among them. I’m sure there’s a hundred other people you’d rather go with.”

Aziraphale considered this a moment, then downed the last of his sherry. “Actually, I don’t think there is.”

Crowley raised his brow at him.

“I think I’ve misjudged you,” Aziraphale continued. “And I think I’d like the chance to get to know you. The real you.”

“Really?” Crowley said, hope clear on his face.

“Quite,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Anyone who’s paid that much attention to my interests is certainly worth a second chance.”

Crowley scoffed, though a pleased smirk played subtly on his lips.

“Especially when they're as handsome as you are.”

“You think I’m handsome?” 

Smug satisfaction was a good look on him, Aziraphale had to admit.

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

“Coming from the guy who looks like a literal Heaven-sent angel.”

Aziraphale froze. “Is that why you call me that?”

Crowley looked at him in confusion. “Yes?”

“I thought you were making fun of me!” Aziraphale cried.

“What?”

“Because of my figurines!”

Unexpectedly, Crowley started laughing. “God, I’ve really been mucking this up, haven’t I? No wonder you didn’t seem interested.”

“How long have you been trying to get my attention?” 

Crowley blinked at him. “Since I started here.”

“Oh, be serious.”

“Alright, it was probably three weeks after I started, when I first had to drop off some expense receipts.”

“You’re not joking.”

“Course not,” Crowley insisted. “Though the fact that you couldn’t tell lets you know how dreadfully I was doing.”

“Or how dense I was being.”

They laughed together, and Aziraphale found himself wondering how he’d failed to notice those adorable dimples before. Crowley’s scent was getting stronger, and Aziraphale wanted to explore it further, preferably with his tongue.

“Come to the show with me,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Please.”

Crowley smiled at him crookedly. “I’d love to. I can even drive us, if you want?”

“By all means.”

Aziraphale was getting much too old for sleeping on the sofa. There was a cramp in his neck from where it had lolled against the cushions, and his arm was asleep. Though the latter probably had more to do with the handsome alpha sleeping on it.

When they’d gotten back from the show, which had been absolutely lovely, Aziraphale had invited him in for nibbles and wine. They’d chatted half the night before, apparently, falling asleep right where they’d been.

Now his cheek was smooshed against Aziraphale’s arm, his normally tousled hair flattened in unflattering ways that somehow made him seem more attractive, more real. His scent was as mellow as it was close. The way the spice of it mingled with the sweetness of his own had Aziraphale feeling hungry for more.

As much as Aziraphale hated to disturb him, the tingling in his arm was getting very uncomfortable. He gave him a gentle shake before slowly extricating the limb and sitting up. Crowley grumbled and squinted before wakefulness finally occurred. Aziraphale watched the same moment of confusion before the previous night’s memories returned. 

“Must have fell asleep.”

“Must have,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley looked a bit embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to impose on you like that.”

“It’s no imposition,” Aziraphale said. “I invited you in. And I also fell asleep.”

“I had a nice time last night.”

“So did I.”

“But I’m sure you must have plans you need to get to. It is Christmas after all.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Crowley said with a grin. “Happy Christmas, Angel.”

“Happy Christmas, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, feeling a flush of warmth on his cheeks.

“And yeah, the last few Christmases, I’ve made quite the tradition of drinking Scotch and watching Bond films until my eyes fall out.”

“That doesn’t sound very festive.”

Crowley shrugged. “What about you? Off to see the family?”

“My parents retired in France, so I don’t often see them at Christmas,” Aziraphale said. His heart sped up in his chest. “Mostly I just spend the day baking cookies to bring to the homeless shelter and listen to Christmas songs.”

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“In fact, I tend to bake so much that it’s difficult to transport all on my own.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Well, if you need a hand, I suppose I could put off my marathon til New Year's.”

“How are your baking skills?”

“Nonexistent,” Crowley replied with a cheeky smile. “But I’m very good at following directions. And eager to please.”

The subtle growl in his tone sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. Goodness, if he wasn’t careful, they wouldn’t be getting any baking done. 

“Well then, best get a wiggle on!” Aziraphale said, popping up from the sofa, hoping his scent wasn’t giving him away too much.

“Wiggle on,” Crowley scoffed teasingly. “So, are we going to be in the kitchen all day?”

“Well, once we mix them up, they’ll need to sit in the icebox,” Aziraphale said. “Which gives us about an hour of downtime.” In a fit of boldness, he continued. “Perhaps we can use that time to find out just how ‘eager to please’ you really are.”

A moment of stunned silence passed before Crowley finally replied, “I like the sound of that.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Better get started then.”

Crowley jumped off the sofa and followed him to the kitchen with the enthusiasm of a pup. It was shaping up to be a very happy Christmas indeed.