Twelve Months - December
Title: Twelve Months
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG-13
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November
Gabriel showed up on Crowley's doorstep on Christmas Eve with a bottle of Pinot Grigio in one hand and a vibrant red poinsettia in the other. "I thought you'd like some company this evening," was his explanation and the demon certainly wasn't complaining, though he eyed the plant with mistrust. "This is just for some colour. It's from Mexico."
Crowley accepted the decorative plant with surprising grace and placed it on the ultramodern coffee table in the lounge without so much as a dirty look. There'd be time enough for that later... He then went to fetch some wine glasses as Gabriel looked around the flat.
"It looks much the same," the angel commented. It had been almost exactly a year since he'd been there last and then not under the best of circumstances. He tried to put that from his mind. Duty. He'd only been following orders. But so much had changed since then. Would he truly have been able to go through with it then? Could he now, orders or no? Did he want to? He remembered how he'd felt looking at Sariel's painting, but he still hadn't made any sense of the turmoil. The angel had hoped that coming here would help ease his confusion. It hadn't yet.
"Yes. I must have forgotten to hang my 'Up, Jesus' banner again this year," called out Crowley as sarcastically as he could manage, which wasn't very, considering that Gabriel had thought to come on what was usually the most dreary night of the year, when the most he could look forward to was a nice fire and curling up with the new Tom Clancy book while all the rest of the world rejoiced together. But the archangel made him think of something suddenly. "It must have been, what, July when you visited her, right? Was it like they say?"
"Visited... oh." Gabriel blinked, not wary of the new subject matter, but suddenly more focused; it wasn't that this was something he felt he couldn't talk about. It was just rarely broached, even among his peers, and never before had Crowley brought up such a prominent aspect of Heaven's work on Earth as the Mother of God.
It did, however, save him from having to pursue the 'Up, Jesus' sign, which was surely much more dangerous territory.
"I'm not sure what exactly they say about it anymore, but the basic story has always been fairly accurate," Gabriel replied, his voice raised to carry into the other room.
Coming in from the kitchen, Crowley expertly popped open the bottle and poured out two glasses. He handed one to Gabriel. "I've always wondered about that. So you showed up in the ol' blaze of glory and said 'Look, you're knocked up with the Son of the Lord,' and she said, 'Oh, all right then. But the old guy I'm engaged to won't be half chuffed.' And that was it? See, I'd have thought she'd panic a bit. What with it never happening to anyone before in the history of the world and all. There had to be some doubt there..."
The Messenger's eyes fell to the goblet in his hand as he called forth the details of the story. "She wasn't pregnant at the time. It was her choice whether or not to go through with it in the end, although I doubt very much that she felt that way. She was scared half out of her wits, as I recall. I didn't help much, of course," he added, smiling without really knowing why. "I don't always appear to them in my true form, you know. It's not always necessary. But this time... well, she had every right to be scared either way, and I didn't want to risk her doubting who I was. So they've got that part right, I suppose - the whole 'blaze of glory,' as you so eloquently put it.
"There's always a certain amount of fear there, as I'm sure you've noticed: that moment they first encounter something beyond their understanding. And they want to run, most of them, but they can't. They never do. Like some piece of who they are still knows, still remembers the truth, and binds them there." Crowley nodded. Oh, he knew.
Gabriel still couldn't quite handle looking Crowley in the eyes as he spoke those things closest to his nature, so he sat on the sleek couch and continued in a soft voice. "She was the most stoic I've seen, I think. Oh, her hands were trembling, and there was fear in her eyes. But she never argued, never whined. Never once said, 'Oh, why me?' or 'I can't do this.' She just listened while I told her she had been chosen to carry the Son of God. I mean, can you imagine? Her child would bring about changes in Heaven and Hell, and everywhere in between, and she was barely more than a child herself. I know she had her doubts. How could she not? She was virtually alone, in the beginning, from her perspective. Had to convince everyone that she'd seen an angel of the Lord..."
He trailed off gradually, gripped by a sort of nostalgia that could only come from watching the world change and grow for six thousand years. And then, snapped suddenly from his reverie, the angel raised his head. "Was that what you were wondering, or was there something else...?"
As Gabriel told the story, Crowley watched the angel's expressive hands. "I've only seen you in your true form once since the world began," he murmured, thinking of the far distant past and fire and brimstone raining from the Heavens. "It was rather terrifying, to be honest. I don't blame her. Besides, pregnancy back then was frightening enough. Add in His direct gaze, social stigma, an angry bridegroom, and not much of a life for herself or her child, it doesn't promise much other than a free pass to Heaven. I wonder, though, if it was really Free Will. If she really had a choice. He'd know her answer, of course, and why would He send you if He knew she'd say no?" Crowley shook his head. This conversation always got him tied in knots and the wine didn't help. It was the same when he thought about Eve. "I guess I just wondered what you thought of it all. How it made you feel. Were you at the birth? Or ever go see the child whose coming you announced? Does Christmas mean anything special to you, angel?"
"Is it? Well, it certainly isn't my intention to be terrifying. That works for some of the angels, but not usually for me. I think it might just be too much, sometimes, for people to process..." Gabriel took a breath, one that felt truly necessary, and let it out slowly, relaxing as the warmth of the wine began to spread through his chest. "I wasn't at the birth itself, no. Aziraphale was. I don't know if he's told you. Most everyone on our side who could spare the time was there. I was a bit busy that night, as you may imagine. While shepherds watched their flocks by night, and all. But I did check in on her before that, from time to time, and I saw the child on several occasions... remarkable child, really. I mean, of course he was, I don't think he could have been anything less, but... You always knew, even at a young age, that he outranked you. That he was privy to some understanding the rest of us can't even imagine. Hardly more than a glance, and he'd know exactly who you were and why you'd come... a bit like Adam in that respect, really."
Crowley shook his head. "No, I never asked Aziraphale about it. Didn't matter that much, I guess. But I know what you mean about the kid. Adam was the same way. He could do that when he was eleven, sure, but he did it when he was just hours old, too. I don't know how much preparation went on Down Below, but when I had him in my car, there was nothing else in the world."
Gabriel wondered why it was so much easier to discuss the Antichrist than his counterpart, and realized it was because Lucifer's son had made of himself much more neutral subject matter. The Christ child was something he'd always shied away from, and it was rather new territory for them.
"It was a good time for our side," he continued. "Busy, of course. It took as much planning and was as long a time coming as I'm sure Adam was for yours. But the celebration of it now... well, he wasn't even born on this day, was he? It's more a pagan holiday than anything else. Winter solstice. I almost suspect your side's taken it over, sometimes, what with the distressed shoppers breaking out in fights in the aisles, and the emphasis on material possessions."
He paused then to glance up at Crowley, letting him know there was no offense meant. "It's hard sometimes, to watch the meaning of it shift and change, when you were there at the very moment it all began. I mean, to see the trials she suffered after I appeared to her... and she bore it all so admirably, right up to the end. Honestly, I don't know how much of it was her choice anymore than you do. But she had every reason to give up, to crumble under those circumstances, and she didn't. Mortals so often surprise you." The angel let his eyes close, even though he knew Crowley couldn't see what shone in them.
"And you can still find that grace, from time to time, during this season. Even among all the chaos and feuding relatives and fifty-percent off sales. Moments of astounding generosity and selflessness and love. And that makes it special, to see her sacrifices remembered in those acts."
The demon smiled. "Well if it was our holiday to begin with, you could say that your lot corrupted it and we're just reclaiming it... Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. You can have Easter and we'll keep Christmas," he teased lightly.
"I'm not sure I'm in a position to make that kind of deal, actually. In fact, I'm not even sure you're in a position to make that kind of deal," Gabriel laughed, feeling strangely comfortable despite the topic of conversation.
"Perhaps not," Crowley joked back, sitting on the couch next to the archangel. He liked these unguarded moments. Even with their increasing level of intimacy, there was still a barrier there most times that came from them working on opposite sides. But in quiet, playful, wine-enhanced, timeless moments like these, sometimes he was able to forget and live entirely in the present.
And in the present, he was suddenly much too close to Gabriel.
He'd reached for the wine bottle to refill the angel's glass at the same time as said angel leaned forward to place his glass on the table. When Crowley turned back, he ended up a mere inch or so from Gabriel's lips. The demon stopped breathing and the angel went pale. After the briefest eternity, Crowley stood, careful not to brush against the Messenger as he rose.
"I'm, uh, I'm sure I've got an electric wine chiller in here somewhere," he said, nearly bolting for the kitchen. "I'll just be a minute."
"No," Gabriel objected, standing abruptly as well. "No, that's quite all right. I should be getting back, I expect. Lots of work tonight. I'm sure you can imagine..."
Crowley nodded. "Sure. Busy night for your side. Lots of work... Well, stay warm out there, angel."
The archangel gave him an impassive look. "Happy Christmas, Crowley," he said and walked out.
***
Christmas morning dawned clear and cold. Aziraphale tinkered about putting the kettle on and adjusting the position of the angel in his nativity set. Then he stepped outside to get his daily newspaper. Instead of the paper, however, he found a bright poinsettia sitting on the step. He blinked and lifted it up. The attached card read 'Take damn good care of this' in a familiar spiky hand. Well, of course he would. But there was surely no reason that Crowley had to steal his newspaper while dropping off the plants that he wanted to treat well...
January
By: musegaarid & _serpensortia
Rating: PG-13
Notes: The previous chapters are here... February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November
Gabriel showed up on Crowley's doorstep on Christmas Eve with a bottle of Pinot Grigio in one hand and a vibrant red poinsettia in the other. "I thought you'd like some company this evening," was his explanation and the demon certainly wasn't complaining, though he eyed the plant with mistrust. "This is just for some colour. It's from Mexico."
Crowley accepted the decorative plant with surprising grace and placed it on the ultramodern coffee table in the lounge without so much as a dirty look. There'd be time enough for that later... He then went to fetch some wine glasses as Gabriel looked around the flat.
"It looks much the same," the angel commented. It had been almost exactly a year since he'd been there last and then not under the best of circumstances. He tried to put that from his mind. Duty. He'd only been following orders. But so much had changed since then. Would he truly have been able to go through with it then? Could he now, orders or no? Did he want to? He remembered how he'd felt looking at Sariel's painting, but he still hadn't made any sense of the turmoil. The angel had hoped that coming here would help ease his confusion. It hadn't yet.
"Yes. I must have forgotten to hang my 'Up, Jesus' banner again this year," called out Crowley as sarcastically as he could manage, which wasn't very, considering that Gabriel had thought to come on what was usually the most dreary night of the year, when the most he could look forward to was a nice fire and curling up with the new Tom Clancy book while all the rest of the world rejoiced together. But the archangel made him think of something suddenly. "It must have been, what, July when you visited her, right? Was it like they say?"
"Visited... oh." Gabriel blinked, not wary of the new subject matter, but suddenly more focused; it wasn't that this was something he felt he couldn't talk about. It was just rarely broached, even among his peers, and never before had Crowley brought up such a prominent aspect of Heaven's work on Earth as the Mother of God.
It did, however, save him from having to pursue the 'Up, Jesus' sign, which was surely much more dangerous territory.
"I'm not sure what exactly they say about it anymore, but the basic story has always been fairly accurate," Gabriel replied, his voice raised to carry into the other room.
Coming in from the kitchen, Crowley expertly popped open the bottle and poured out two glasses. He handed one to Gabriel. "I've always wondered about that. So you showed up in the ol' blaze of glory and said 'Look, you're knocked up with the Son of the Lord,' and she said, 'Oh, all right then. But the old guy I'm engaged to won't be half chuffed.' And that was it? See, I'd have thought she'd panic a bit. What with it never happening to anyone before in the history of the world and all. There had to be some doubt there..."
The Messenger's eyes fell to the goblet in his hand as he called forth the details of the story. "She wasn't pregnant at the time. It was her choice whether or not to go through with it in the end, although I doubt very much that she felt that way. She was scared half out of her wits, as I recall. I didn't help much, of course," he added, smiling without really knowing why. "I don't always appear to them in my true form, you know. It's not always necessary. But this time... well, she had every right to be scared either way, and I didn't want to risk her doubting who I was. So they've got that part right, I suppose - the whole 'blaze of glory,' as you so eloquently put it.
"There's always a certain amount of fear there, as I'm sure you've noticed: that moment they first encounter something beyond their understanding. And they want to run, most of them, but they can't. They never do. Like some piece of who they are still knows, still remembers the truth, and binds them there." Crowley nodded. Oh, he knew.
Gabriel still couldn't quite handle looking Crowley in the eyes as he spoke those things closest to his nature, so he sat on the sleek couch and continued in a soft voice. "She was the most stoic I've seen, I think. Oh, her hands were trembling, and there was fear in her eyes. But she never argued, never whined. Never once said, 'Oh, why me?' or 'I can't do this.' She just listened while I told her she had been chosen to carry the Son of God. I mean, can you imagine? Her child would bring about changes in Heaven and Hell, and everywhere in between, and she was barely more than a child herself. I know she had her doubts. How could she not? She was virtually alone, in the beginning, from her perspective. Had to convince everyone that she'd seen an angel of the Lord..."
He trailed off gradually, gripped by a sort of nostalgia that could only come from watching the world change and grow for six thousand years. And then, snapped suddenly from his reverie, the angel raised his head. "Was that what you were wondering, or was there something else...?"
As Gabriel told the story, Crowley watched the angel's expressive hands. "I've only seen you in your true form once since the world began," he murmured, thinking of the far distant past and fire and brimstone raining from the Heavens. "It was rather terrifying, to be honest. I don't blame her. Besides, pregnancy back then was frightening enough. Add in His direct gaze, social stigma, an angry bridegroom, and not much of a life for herself or her child, it doesn't promise much other than a free pass to Heaven. I wonder, though, if it was really Free Will. If she really had a choice. He'd know her answer, of course, and why would He send you if He knew she'd say no?" Crowley shook his head. This conversation always got him tied in knots and the wine didn't help. It was the same when he thought about Eve. "I guess I just wondered what you thought of it all. How it made you feel. Were you at the birth? Or ever go see the child whose coming you announced? Does Christmas mean anything special to you, angel?"
"Is it? Well, it certainly isn't my intention to be terrifying. That works for some of the angels, but not usually for me. I think it might just be too much, sometimes, for people to process..." Gabriel took a breath, one that felt truly necessary, and let it out slowly, relaxing as the warmth of the wine began to spread through his chest. "I wasn't at the birth itself, no. Aziraphale was. I don't know if he's told you. Most everyone on our side who could spare the time was there. I was a bit busy that night, as you may imagine. While shepherds watched their flocks by night, and all. But I did check in on her before that, from time to time, and I saw the child on several occasions... remarkable child, really. I mean, of course he was, I don't think he could have been anything less, but... You always knew, even at a young age, that he outranked you. That he was privy to some understanding the rest of us can't even imagine. Hardly more than a glance, and he'd know exactly who you were and why you'd come... a bit like Adam in that respect, really."
Crowley shook his head. "No, I never asked Aziraphale about it. Didn't matter that much, I guess. But I know what you mean about the kid. Adam was the same way. He could do that when he was eleven, sure, but he did it when he was just hours old, too. I don't know how much preparation went on Down Below, but when I had him in my car, there was nothing else in the world."
Gabriel wondered why it was so much easier to discuss the Antichrist than his counterpart, and realized it was because Lucifer's son had made of himself much more neutral subject matter. The Christ child was something he'd always shied away from, and it was rather new territory for them.
"It was a good time for our side," he continued. "Busy, of course. It took as much planning and was as long a time coming as I'm sure Adam was for yours. But the celebration of it now... well, he wasn't even born on this day, was he? It's more a pagan holiday than anything else. Winter solstice. I almost suspect your side's taken it over, sometimes, what with the distressed shoppers breaking out in fights in the aisles, and the emphasis on material possessions."
He paused then to glance up at Crowley, letting him know there was no offense meant. "It's hard sometimes, to watch the meaning of it shift and change, when you were there at the very moment it all began. I mean, to see the trials she suffered after I appeared to her... and she bore it all so admirably, right up to the end. Honestly, I don't know how much of it was her choice anymore than you do. But she had every reason to give up, to crumble under those circumstances, and she didn't. Mortals so often surprise you." The angel let his eyes close, even though he knew Crowley couldn't see what shone in them.
"And you can still find that grace, from time to time, during this season. Even among all the chaos and feuding relatives and fifty-percent off sales. Moments of astounding generosity and selflessness and love. And that makes it special, to see her sacrifices remembered in those acts."
The demon smiled. "Well if it was our holiday to begin with, you could say that your lot corrupted it and we're just reclaiming it... Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. You can have Easter and we'll keep Christmas," he teased lightly.
"I'm not sure I'm in a position to make that kind of deal, actually. In fact, I'm not even sure you're in a position to make that kind of deal," Gabriel laughed, feeling strangely comfortable despite the topic of conversation.
"Perhaps not," Crowley joked back, sitting on the couch next to the archangel. He liked these unguarded moments. Even with their increasing level of intimacy, there was still a barrier there most times that came from them working on opposite sides. But in quiet, playful, wine-enhanced, timeless moments like these, sometimes he was able to forget and live entirely in the present.
And in the present, he was suddenly much too close to Gabriel.
He'd reached for the wine bottle to refill the angel's glass at the same time as said angel leaned forward to place his glass on the table. When Crowley turned back, he ended up a mere inch or so from Gabriel's lips. The demon stopped breathing and the angel went pale. After the briefest eternity, Crowley stood, careful not to brush against the Messenger as he rose.
"I'm, uh, I'm sure I've got an electric wine chiller in here somewhere," he said, nearly bolting for the kitchen. "I'll just be a minute."
"No," Gabriel objected, standing abruptly as well. "No, that's quite all right. I should be getting back, I expect. Lots of work tonight. I'm sure you can imagine..."
Crowley nodded. "Sure. Busy night for your side. Lots of work... Well, stay warm out there, angel."
The archangel gave him an impassive look. "Happy Christmas, Crowley," he said and walked out.
***
Christmas morning dawned clear and cold. Aziraphale tinkered about putting the kettle on and adjusting the position of the angel in his nativity set. Then he stepped outside to get his daily newspaper. Instead of the paper, however, he found a bright poinsettia sitting on the step. He blinked and lifted it up. The attached card read 'Take damn good care of this' in a familiar spiky hand. Well, of course he would. But there was surely no reason that Crowley had to steal his newspaper while dropping off the plants that he wanted to treat well...
January