Chapter Text
You were going to kill Queenie Goldstein. You were going to kill her, and no one would ever find her body. She had been the instigator of some sort of ridiculous Secret Santa exchange in the office, which wouldn’t have been so bad if you weren’t certain that she’d somehow rigged the drawing of names to give you Percival Graves. You didn’t know how it was possible (other than by subterfuge, of course) for you to have drawn his name out of everyone in the department. Queenie assured you that she had no idea what you were talking about, but you knew better than to believe that. You suspected that it was part of a plot to get the pair of you together (she was well aware of your feelings where Mr. Graves was concerned), but you knew there was no way it could work. The chances of Graves realizing hidden feelings for you were slim to none, in your opinion, even if it was Christmas. That sort of thing just didn’t happen in real life.
So now you were stuck trying to decipher Graves’s interests based mostly on the impeccably written little card Queenie had provided to you when you drew his name. The list was as follows: scarf, self-heating mug, vase of no-wilt flowers. You raised an eyebrow when you read it, wondering if it was possible that Graves somehow knew you would get him and was just trying to screw with you. If it were not for the alleged randomness of the drawing, you might have started to believe it. After thinking it over, you decided you’d knit him a scarf. He’d appreciate that, you’d determined. The only trouble was that you’d never knit anything in your entire life.
You made it to office Christmas party, your best scarf attempt in hand even though it was mediocre at best, and made a beeline for the refreshment table. You’d hoped that there was going to be something a little stronger than giggle water, but no such luck. You drank your glass in one swallow and let out an involuntary laugh that became a shout of surprise as someone tapped you on the shoulder. You whirled around to find Graves standing behind you with a small, silver wrapped package in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“Mr. Graves, you startled me,” you said, letting out an irritated puff of air. His smirk grew.
“I could tell.” He held out the gift. “I know this is meant to be secret, but I expect you’d guess that it was from me without too much trouble.”
You blushed lightly and took the small package from him, trying not to think of how his fingers lingered on yours during the exchange. Of course he’d gotten you.
“Thank you. I think Queenie must have had some ulterior motives.” You held up the parcel containing his scarf. “This is for you.”
He took the gift gingerly, the corner of his mouth quirking up appreciatively.
“It’s a little lumpy, and I think the tassels are uneven, but I hope you like it.”
He tore into the paper and withdrew your creation. He studied it for a moment before looking at you with a smile.
“It’s lovely.” He hung the lopsided dark green scarf around his neck, smiling wider. You hated yourself just a little bit for how your knees went weak when he smiled at you like that, but you couldn’t help but smile back.