Happy Holidays, miscellanny!
Title: A River Runs Through Them
Gift for: miscellanny
Author: rroselavy
Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley (with hints of mutual attraction), River Tam, Shepherd Book
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves working together far into the future and far away from Earth. A Good Omens/Firefly crossover (with a dash of Dr. Who).
Author’s Notes: Thank you, dear requestor, for the fantastic prompt. I only hope I did it justice. Happy Holidays!
A River Runs Through Them
The rain hissed off Crowley’s well-oiled Mackintosh. It dripped from the brim of his hat and the ends of the hair that grew past his collar.
He absolutely loathed this place -- a frontier town vaguely masquerading as a United States Western town circa the Gold Rush. It was replete with a dusty main street, now turned to a river of mud, along which a General Store, Hotel and Saloon, and Post Office snugged up against each other. Across the wide, empty expanse of the road stood a row of nondescript two-storey buildings that could have been a movie-set facade.
The walk from the stagecoach station (inexplicably located on the outskirts of the town) had been a miserable slog, with the aforementioned mud threatening to suck Crowley’s boots off his feet. Fortunately, he’d forgone the snakeskin for a pair of Wellies, a fashion statement he normally wouldn’t be caught dead in.
However, he’d been here before, and high fashion was wasted on the locals anyway.
Crowley stepped onto the wood-boarded sidewalk and stamped his feet to shake off the clots of mud that caked his boots before going inside the saloon.
It was a raucous place, smoke-filled and warm with body heat. Crowley picked his way through the crowd, who seemed to miraculously part in front of him, creating an open path to a table in the corner, next to a fireplace. It was presently occupied, but as Crowley approached, they got up to leave, casting furtive glances his way. The anemic fire flared robustly, causing steam to rise off Crowley’s coat.
It wasn’t until he was seated with a snifter of cognac in hand that he noticed a familiar tingling at his nape. There was only one entity in all of creation who had that effect on him. Crowley glanced around the packed room casually and came up empty. He craned his neck, and there at the table next to him, he spotted a familiar mop of blond curls peeking out from under an extravagantly brimmed brown felt hat. The man’s chin tilted upward and their eyes met.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened briefly before the corners crinkled into a toothy smile. Crowley couldn’t help but return the gesture, even as his eyes flickered to the impossibly long striped scarf that was secured around Aziraphale’s neck under which he was wearing a brown frock coat and a burgundy cravat.
“Four, Angel?” Crowley leaned across his table. “I should think Six was more your style.”
Aziraphale scooched his chair closer and bobbed his head.
“I agree, but upon reflection, I thought I might stick out like a sore thumb in that outfit.” He fiddled with the fringe on one of the ends of his scarf. “What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Cognac. Remy Martin, Louis the thirteenth.”
Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, one brow arched suspiciously.
Crowley clenched his teeth. “Surely you don’t expect me to drink the swill they serve in this establishment.”
Aziraphale stared stonily.
“You can have some, too,” Crowley offered.
“You know how I feel about that.” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest.
“Oh, come off it, Angel! I didn’t hear you complain when we shared that bottle of Pétrus--”
“That was on Earth. And I wasn’t working.”
Crowley’s eyes widened briefly behind his aviators. “I see. So, you aren’t here for pleasure?”
“Of course not. He expanded my territory.” Aziraphale sighed dramatically.
Crowley inched a snifter of cognac that had materialized toward Aziraphale.
“I really shouldn’t,” he said uncertainly.
“It takes the chill out of your bones quite nicely,” Crowley pressed, pleased with himself when Aziraphale reached for the glass. The pleasure turned to radiance when Aziraphale decided to join him at his table.
“I don’t suppose you’re on holiday, either.” Crowley didn’t miss the hint of hopefulness in Aziraphale’s voice.
“No, not really, I have a little side proj--” Crowley clamped down on the rest of his sentence, his eyes narrowing. “Just when did The Man Upstairs become interested in the future and in extraterrestrial territories?”
“Probably about the time He got wind of your Home Office venturing abroad,” Aziraphale parried, quite artfully. He picked up his glass and inspected it before bringing it to his lips, his eyelids fluttering shut in reverie. For a heavenly creature, Aziraphale made the most decadent hedonistic expressions.
Crowley took a sip of cognac and paused for a moment to enjoy it. The honey-colored liquid burned a delightful trail as he swirled it over his tongue.
They were silent for the moment, each waiting for the other to address the elephant in the room. Just when it was ready to become an uncomfortable silence, Aziraphale broke the ice:
“Why didn’t you tell me--” he started.
Crowley hmphed. “I didn’t think the Arrangement extended to other galaxies,” he said lamely.
“I see,” Aziraphale said in the same tone one’s wife would say ‘fine.’ “So this is what you were up to while you were ‘sleeping’ through the 19th Century?”
Crowley shrugged and took another sip. “I was making the best of a bad situation, especially after the whole War of Independence debacle.”
“You’d had a string of successes up until that point! One little slip-up and you’re sent well into the future and into to the far corners of the universe?”
“Who are we talking about here? Besides, the word was that I’d gone soft on humanity.”
“They don’t give me any credit, do they?”
“It’s best that you fly under the radar, dear,” Crowley said with a shudder, suddenly cold. The fire roared in the hearth.
Aziraphale made a face that could have been interpreted several ways and took another sip of cognac.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked Crowley suddenly.
Now that they’d cleared the air a bit, Crowley was more comfortable talking about this venture. Relieved, even, because he really didn’t like to have secrets from Aziraphale, not in the least because, without Aziraphale, there wasn’t anyone he remotely felt like talking to. Not about things that were important, anyway.
“Not what, who. A young girl by the name of River Tam.”
“Oh, what a coincidence, I’m waiting for someone, too!” Aziraphale said, a little too brightly.
Crowley appraised Aziraphale over the rims of his aviators. “Don’t tell me--”
“Shepherd Book!” he said triumphantly.
Crowley rolled his eyes. That Book had the stink of Heaven all over him had been obvious enough and, he’d thought, too obvious for an angel to actually be involved with the preacher. Besides, he’d had a past …
“That’s rather clichéd, isn’t it?” he asked, covering for his momentary surprise.
“And a young girl neurally transformed into the perfect assassin isn’t?” Aziraphale replied, as if he’d been rehearsing his observation.
“Touché.”
“What were you thinking, Crowley?”
“You believe I had a hand in that?”
“You didn’t?”
“I’m flattered you think so, but I was busy with Other Things when River was at the Academy.”
Aziraphale scowled and Crowley shrank a little from the heat of his stare.
“I don’t have any reason to lie about it,” he reasoned in a soothing tone, the kind used to calm angry bears or rabid dogs. “And, you can’t really say I lied about this, it’s more a sssin of omissssssion.”
Aziraphale’s expression remained unchanged; things were becoming Uncomfortable again.
“And, anyway, you’ve not been so forthcoming with me, either,” Crowley noted.
Aziraphale’s scowl softened; Crowley felt his pulse slowing down to its normal rate.
The doors to the saloon swung open, and the energy of the smoky room changed dramatically. A hush fell as a little slip of a woman, clad in a flowing, diaphanous gown and sporting a parasol that was better used as protection from the sun than rain traipsed through the crowd. Her eyes found Crowley, and a huge grin split her face.
“Anthony!” she exclaimed breathlessly as she approached them. She stopped short, eyeing them warily, when she noticed Aziraphale. Her head tilted to the side as she appraised the angel.
“Anthony?” Aziraphale huffed under his breath.
“It’s more friendly than ‘Crowley,’” Crowley replied from the side of his mouth.
“How much more friendly?” Aziraphale asked, with a hint of possessiveness that made Crowley’s stomach flutter pleasantly.
“It’s alright, River,” he said standing up. “This is my friend Aziraphale, he’s an Angel.” Aziraphale stood awkwardly and held out his hand.
The ‘Angel’ caused River to hiccup a laugh as she closed the parasol. “Kaylee lent this to me yesterday, I need to be careful with it,” she explained, setting it gingerly on the table.
“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?” Crowley asked.
“Of course not. You said, ‘Come alone, dear.’”
“Dear?” Aziraphale mouthed as they all sat down.
“If it weren’t for Anthony, Simon would never have found me,” River said to Aziraphale, her eyes shining brightly. Crowley raised his to the ceiling. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do to bring Aziraphale up to speed.
“Simon loves you very much,” Aziraphale said.
Or maybe not as much explaining as he originally thought. Crowley gritted his teeth.
“You know Simon?” River asked, her eyes widening with wonder.
“Of--I know of Simon. Through my friend, Shepherd Book,” Aziraphale said quickly.
“The shepherd’s never mentioned you,” River replied, her expression changing to one of confusion.
“I’m sure it was just an oversight,” Crowley interjected.
River turned her attention back to him. “Inara will be so mad when she finds out I saw you and didn’t tell her.”
“If dear, not when.”
“Who’s Inara?”
“Nobody,” Crowley hissed.
Unfortunately, River spoke at the same time. “A Companion. She really likes Anthony.”
More unfortunate was that Aziraphale chose to listen to her.
“What is a Companion?”
“We’re really getting side-tracked here. River doesn’t have a lot of time, do you?” Crowley pressed.
“You’ll explain this Inara-person-who-is-a-companion to me later, then,” Aziraphale ordered, rather than asked.
Crowley nodded in surrender. River laughed again.
“You’re funny, Aziraphale!”
Aziraphale’s cheeks took on the hint of a blush.
“Is everything alright on Serenity, River?” Crowley prodded.
“They think I’m crazy and dangerous. At least, Jayne does. But Shepherd Book likes me,” she added, giving Aziraphale a sidelong glance. “Even after I fixed his Bible.”
“It is quite inaccurate,” Crowley agreed smugly.
“I beg to differ,” a melodious voice chimed in from above.
“Shepherd!” Azirphale and River exclaimed in unison.
River slid her chair over, making room for the older man at the table.
“River, you know better than to run off on your own,” Shepherd admonished gently. “The others will be worried.”
“But I’m with you now,” River observed.
The Shepherd sat down stiffly.
“I’m glad you came,” Aziraphale said warmly. “This is my … associate, Crowley,” he added as a way of introduction.
Crowley offered an icy stare, attenuated by his tinted lenses, and most likely ineffectual since it failed to intimidate the preacher.
“And Anthony is my friend,” River added.
Shepherd returned Crowley’s glare, but didn’t contradict River. Crowley made a mental note to drop a few hints about the preacher’s past the next time he got a chance.
“River, we should be getting back to the ship before you’re missed,” Shepherd said.
Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances.
“Yes, well, just so we’re on the same page …” Aziraphale began tentatively, waiting for Crowley to chime in.
“River, you need to stay with the crew of Serenity; they'll keep you safe from the Alliance,” Crowley instructed, almost in a fatherly way.
“But, you’ll come back to visit me?” she pouted.
“Yes, of course, haven’t I always?”
“Soon?”
The Shepherd cleared his throat.
“How is your work going, Shepherd?” Aziraphale asked.
Shepherd sighed. “Not one seems interested in being Saved, honestly.”
Crowley stifled a chuckle.
“Well, keep up the Good Work, you never know when something will rub off.”
“Because that strategy always works,” Crowley said under his breath.
“Is there something you’d like to add, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked pointedly.
Crowley finished his cognac. “No, I’m fine.”
“River? We should take our leave of these gentlemen.” The Shepherd stood up expectantly.
River leaned across the table and wrapped her arms around Crowley’s neck. She brushed a kiss on his cheek.
“It was good seeing you too, River,” he stammered.
“Next time, I’ll come with Inara.” It was Crowley’s turn to blush.
“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale said unconvincingly.
Shepherd book nodded his head before they departed. He spared the pleasantries -- not that Crowley had expected any from a man of the cloth.
Aziraphale drained his glass.
“Would you like another, Angel?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale folded his hands and brought them to his lips. Crowley could see the gears spinning, which meant trouble for him.
“Yes, dear. And then you can tell me about this Inara person.”
For a moment, Crowley was torn; jealous Aziraphale was always a treat. Still, Crowley didn’t want to fall out of his good graces, at least just yet. He refilled their snifters and settled back.
“Let me start by saying it isn’t what you think,” he began.
~fin~
Happy Holidays, miscellanny, from your Secret Writer!
Gift for: miscellanny
Author: rroselavy
Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley (with hints of mutual attraction), River Tam, Shepherd Book
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves working together far into the future and far away from Earth. A Good Omens/Firefly crossover (with a dash of Dr. Who).
Author’s Notes: Thank you, dear requestor, for the fantastic prompt. I only hope I did it justice. Happy Holidays!
A River Runs Through Them
The rain hissed off Crowley’s well-oiled Mackintosh. It dripped from the brim of his hat and the ends of the hair that grew past his collar.
He absolutely loathed this place -- a frontier town vaguely masquerading as a United States Western town circa the Gold Rush. It was replete with a dusty main street, now turned to a river of mud, along which a General Store, Hotel and Saloon, and Post Office snugged up against each other. Across the wide, empty expanse of the road stood a row of nondescript two-storey buildings that could have been a movie-set facade.
The walk from the stagecoach station (inexplicably located on the outskirts of the town) had been a miserable slog, with the aforementioned mud threatening to suck Crowley’s boots off his feet. Fortunately, he’d forgone the snakeskin for a pair of Wellies, a fashion statement he normally wouldn’t be caught dead in.
However, he’d been here before, and high fashion was wasted on the locals anyway.
Crowley stepped onto the wood-boarded sidewalk and stamped his feet to shake off the clots of mud that caked his boots before going inside the saloon.
It was a raucous place, smoke-filled and warm with body heat. Crowley picked his way through the crowd, who seemed to miraculously part in front of him, creating an open path to a table in the corner, next to a fireplace. It was presently occupied, but as Crowley approached, they got up to leave, casting furtive glances his way. The anemic fire flared robustly, causing steam to rise off Crowley’s coat.
It wasn’t until he was seated with a snifter of cognac in hand that he noticed a familiar tingling at his nape. There was only one entity in all of creation who had that effect on him. Crowley glanced around the packed room casually and came up empty. He craned his neck, and there at the table next to him, he spotted a familiar mop of blond curls peeking out from under an extravagantly brimmed brown felt hat. The man’s chin tilted upward and their eyes met.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened briefly before the corners crinkled into a toothy smile. Crowley couldn’t help but return the gesture, even as his eyes flickered to the impossibly long striped scarf that was secured around Aziraphale’s neck under which he was wearing a brown frock coat and a burgundy cravat.
“Four, Angel?” Crowley leaned across his table. “I should think Six was more your style.”
Aziraphale scooched his chair closer and bobbed his head.
“I agree, but upon reflection, I thought I might stick out like a sore thumb in that outfit.” He fiddled with the fringe on one of the ends of his scarf. “What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Cognac. Remy Martin, Louis the thirteenth.”
Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, one brow arched suspiciously.
Crowley clenched his teeth. “Surely you don’t expect me to drink the swill they serve in this establishment.”
Aziraphale stared stonily.
“You can have some, too,” Crowley offered.
“You know how I feel about that.” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest.
“Oh, come off it, Angel! I didn’t hear you complain when we shared that bottle of Pétrus--”
“That was on Earth. And I wasn’t working.”
Crowley’s eyes widened briefly behind his aviators. “I see. So, you aren’t here for pleasure?”
“Of course not. He expanded my territory.” Aziraphale sighed dramatically.
Crowley inched a snifter of cognac that had materialized toward Aziraphale.
“I really shouldn’t,” he said uncertainly.
“It takes the chill out of your bones quite nicely,” Crowley pressed, pleased with himself when Aziraphale reached for the glass. The pleasure turned to radiance when Aziraphale decided to join him at his table.
“I don’t suppose you’re on holiday, either.” Crowley didn’t miss the hint of hopefulness in Aziraphale’s voice.
“No, not really, I have a little side proj--” Crowley clamped down on the rest of his sentence, his eyes narrowing. “Just when did The Man Upstairs become interested in the future and in extraterrestrial territories?”
“Probably about the time He got wind of your Home Office venturing abroad,” Aziraphale parried, quite artfully. He picked up his glass and inspected it before bringing it to his lips, his eyelids fluttering shut in reverie. For a heavenly creature, Aziraphale made the most decadent hedonistic expressions.
Crowley took a sip of cognac and paused for a moment to enjoy it. The honey-colored liquid burned a delightful trail as he swirled it over his tongue.
They were silent for the moment, each waiting for the other to address the elephant in the room. Just when it was ready to become an uncomfortable silence, Aziraphale broke the ice:
“Why didn’t you tell me--” he started.
Crowley hmphed. “I didn’t think the Arrangement extended to other galaxies,” he said lamely.
“I see,” Aziraphale said in the same tone one’s wife would say ‘fine.’ “So this is what you were up to while you were ‘sleeping’ through the 19th Century?”
Crowley shrugged and took another sip. “I was making the best of a bad situation, especially after the whole War of Independence debacle.”
“You’d had a string of successes up until that point! One little slip-up and you’re sent well into the future and into to the far corners of the universe?”
“Who are we talking about here? Besides, the word was that I’d gone soft on humanity.”
“They don’t give me any credit, do they?”
“It’s best that you fly under the radar, dear,” Crowley said with a shudder, suddenly cold. The fire roared in the hearth.
Aziraphale made a face that could have been interpreted several ways and took another sip of cognac.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked Crowley suddenly.
Now that they’d cleared the air a bit, Crowley was more comfortable talking about this venture. Relieved, even, because he really didn’t like to have secrets from Aziraphale, not in the least because, without Aziraphale, there wasn’t anyone he remotely felt like talking to. Not about things that were important, anyway.
“Not what, who. A young girl by the name of River Tam.”
“Oh, what a coincidence, I’m waiting for someone, too!” Aziraphale said, a little too brightly.
Crowley appraised Aziraphale over the rims of his aviators. “Don’t tell me--”
“Shepherd Book!” he said triumphantly.
Crowley rolled his eyes. That Book had the stink of Heaven all over him had been obvious enough and, he’d thought, too obvious for an angel to actually be involved with the preacher. Besides, he’d had a past …
“That’s rather clichéd, isn’t it?” he asked, covering for his momentary surprise.
“And a young girl neurally transformed into the perfect assassin isn’t?” Aziraphale replied, as if he’d been rehearsing his observation.
“Touché.”
“What were you thinking, Crowley?”
“You believe I had a hand in that?”
“You didn’t?”
“I’m flattered you think so, but I was busy with Other Things when River was at the Academy.”
Aziraphale scowled and Crowley shrank a little from the heat of his stare.
“I don’t have any reason to lie about it,” he reasoned in a soothing tone, the kind used to calm angry bears or rabid dogs. “And, you can’t really say I lied about this, it’s more a sssin of omissssssion.”
Aziraphale’s expression remained unchanged; things were becoming Uncomfortable again.
“And, anyway, you’ve not been so forthcoming with me, either,” Crowley noted.
Aziraphale’s scowl softened; Crowley felt his pulse slowing down to its normal rate.
The doors to the saloon swung open, and the energy of the smoky room changed dramatically. A hush fell as a little slip of a woman, clad in a flowing, diaphanous gown and sporting a parasol that was better used as protection from the sun than rain traipsed through the crowd. Her eyes found Crowley, and a huge grin split her face.
“Anthony!” she exclaimed breathlessly as she approached them. She stopped short, eyeing them warily, when she noticed Aziraphale. Her head tilted to the side as she appraised the angel.
“Anthony?” Aziraphale huffed under his breath.
“It’s more friendly than ‘Crowley,’” Crowley replied from the side of his mouth.
“How much more friendly?” Aziraphale asked, with a hint of possessiveness that made Crowley’s stomach flutter pleasantly.
“It’s alright, River,” he said standing up. “This is my friend Aziraphale, he’s an Angel.” Aziraphale stood awkwardly and held out his hand.
The ‘Angel’ caused River to hiccup a laugh as she closed the parasol. “Kaylee lent this to me yesterday, I need to be careful with it,” she explained, setting it gingerly on the table.
“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?” Crowley asked.
“Of course not. You said, ‘Come alone, dear.’”
“Dear?” Aziraphale mouthed as they all sat down.
“If it weren’t for Anthony, Simon would never have found me,” River said to Aziraphale, her eyes shining brightly. Crowley raised his to the ceiling. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do to bring Aziraphale up to speed.
“Simon loves you very much,” Aziraphale said.
Or maybe not as much explaining as he originally thought. Crowley gritted his teeth.
“You know Simon?” River asked, her eyes widening with wonder.
“Of--I know of Simon. Through my friend, Shepherd Book,” Aziraphale said quickly.
“The shepherd’s never mentioned you,” River replied, her expression changing to one of confusion.
“I’m sure it was just an oversight,” Crowley interjected.
River turned her attention back to him. “Inara will be so mad when she finds out I saw you and didn’t tell her.”
“If dear, not when.”
“Who’s Inara?”
“Nobody,” Crowley hissed.
Unfortunately, River spoke at the same time. “A Companion. She really likes Anthony.”
More unfortunate was that Aziraphale chose to listen to her.
“What is a Companion?”
“We’re really getting side-tracked here. River doesn’t have a lot of time, do you?” Crowley pressed.
“You’ll explain this Inara-person-who-is-a-companion to me later, then,” Aziraphale ordered, rather than asked.
Crowley nodded in surrender. River laughed again.
“You’re funny, Aziraphale!”
Aziraphale’s cheeks took on the hint of a blush.
“Is everything alright on Serenity, River?” Crowley prodded.
“They think I’m crazy and dangerous. At least, Jayne does. But Shepherd Book likes me,” she added, giving Aziraphale a sidelong glance. “Even after I fixed his Bible.”
“It is quite inaccurate,” Crowley agreed smugly.
“I beg to differ,” a melodious voice chimed in from above.
“Shepherd!” Azirphale and River exclaimed in unison.
River slid her chair over, making room for the older man at the table.
“River, you know better than to run off on your own,” Shepherd admonished gently. “The others will be worried.”
“But I’m with you now,” River observed.
The Shepherd sat down stiffly.
“I’m glad you came,” Aziraphale said warmly. “This is my … associate, Crowley,” he added as a way of introduction.
Crowley offered an icy stare, attenuated by his tinted lenses, and most likely ineffectual since it failed to intimidate the preacher.
“And Anthony is my friend,” River added.
Shepherd returned Crowley’s glare, but didn’t contradict River. Crowley made a mental note to drop a few hints about the preacher’s past the next time he got a chance.
“River, we should be getting back to the ship before you’re missed,” Shepherd said.
Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances.
“Yes, well, just so we’re on the same page …” Aziraphale began tentatively, waiting for Crowley to chime in.
“River, you need to stay with the crew of Serenity; they'll keep you safe from the Alliance,” Crowley instructed, almost in a fatherly way.
“But, you’ll come back to visit me?” she pouted.
“Yes, of course, haven’t I always?”
“Soon?”
The Shepherd cleared his throat.
“How is your work going, Shepherd?” Aziraphale asked.
Shepherd sighed. “Not one seems interested in being Saved, honestly.”
Crowley stifled a chuckle.
“Well, keep up the Good Work, you never know when something will rub off.”
“Because that strategy always works,” Crowley said under his breath.
“Is there something you’d like to add, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked pointedly.
Crowley finished his cognac. “No, I’m fine.”
“River? We should take our leave of these gentlemen.” The Shepherd stood up expectantly.
River leaned across the table and wrapped her arms around Crowley’s neck. She brushed a kiss on his cheek.
“It was good seeing you too, River,” he stammered.
“Next time, I’ll come with Inara.” It was Crowley’s turn to blush.
“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale said unconvincingly.
Shepherd book nodded his head before they departed. He spared the pleasantries -- not that Crowley had expected any from a man of the cloth.
Aziraphale drained his glass.
“Would you like another, Angel?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale folded his hands and brought them to his lips. Crowley could see the gears spinning, which meant trouble for him.
“Yes, dear. And then you can tell me about this Inara person.”
For a moment, Crowley was torn; jealous Aziraphale was always a treat. Still, Crowley didn’t want to fall out of his good graces, at least just yet. He refilled their snifters and settled back.
“Let me start by saying it isn’t what you think,” he began.
~fin~
Happy Holidays, miscellanny, from your Secret Writer!