Christmas Present Fics
7 Christmas Related Fanfics for Good Omens, Merlin, Doctor Who, Whitechapel.
Christmas Sun for sadera992
Good Omens. Crowley and Aziraphale an an unusual situation
“All I'm saying Crowley, my good man, is that I was expecting to spend Christmas in London.”
Crowley smiled, dragging his sunglasses lower down his nose so that his amber eyes glistened in the declining light. He drew his wineglass to his lips and tasted the aroma on his tongue, before drinking deeply.
“And what, exactly, is wrong with Victoria Falls?”
Aziraphale flustered, passing his own glass from hand to hand, before reminding it that it was a mug of calming tea. Crowley grinned, wickedly and reminded the confused tea that it had a large infusion of brandy in it.
“Well, nothing I suppose my dear. It reminds me of the Garden somewhat, just the peace and tranquillity, but, there's something strange about not being at home.”
Crowley snorted.
“You've become too attached to London angel, what about Spain, or Mexico, I've heard they're never good this time of year. And anyway, is there a direct issue with Victoria Falls that I should know about angel?”
Aziraphale coughed.
“Well, it's can't be very good for the ducks, all that rushing water.”
Crowley looked from the rushing curtain of water back to the angel.
“There are no ducks Aziraphale, herons certainly, eagles, I don't doubt it, but there aren't any ducks.”
Aziaphale gestured emphatically with his mug.
“Exactly my point Crowley, there are no ducks. And this water does damage my books something terrible.”
Crowley snorted, and glared at his wineglass until it refilled itself out of fear.
“Oh, you and your books angel, you're reading the Da Vinici Code that you bought in the airport, why you'd care about that at all. Oh if you're so upright about it I'll buy you a replacement. Not out of an act of charity or kindness, as long as you understand that.”
Aziraphale was smiling at him, and he could hear the words 'Happy Christmas' forming in the angels brain.
“Now, a dip in the Devil's Pool?”
“Don't push it my dear man.”
Arrow for babydracky
Mordred, Arrow
Magic was a subtle art. It took years of practice to be able to manipulate the interwoven nature of the universe. And yet Morderd was able to spin the winds of the old religion with a slow blink of his wide wide eyes. He could cast away the thoughts of man without considering the sun's location in the sky. His voice was a small whisper, that had the power of a roaring ocean. And when he spoke with it, he was listened to. Just once, he'd described the power that he had at his disposal. He'd said that it was like stringing an arrow, knocking it into shot and then focusing where you wished it to fly. And the arrow did fly, like the words from Morderd's mind. The magic of danger.
Family Christmas for bardingtide
UNIT, Mace/Price
Alan had never in his life regretted becoming a soldier. He loved his job, the fact that he got to experience so many new idea, the fact that he was one of a select few, the distance that he was able to travel, that fact that he had met Marion.
But parading in the Mid-Bleak Winter, with the snow falling from the sky like bullets. That was less enjoyable.
He'd thought that he'd got used to it when he was in Vancouver, but relocated back to Britain in November, he'd never have expected this.
The snow was creeping down into his collar. He resisted the shudder. The parade was being dismissed by the top brass and then the short break for Christmas. He'd drew the lots of getting Christmas off, for once and even luckier Marion did as well.
There were snowflakes battering his cheeks.
It was starting to hurt.
However, it was almost on automatic that he dismissed the troops. UNIT very rarely got time off, and it was unusual for there not to be a job of some description on.
Marion was waiting for him in the carpark after the parade was finished, she laughed and brushed the snow out of his hair.
“Home for the holiday's soldier?”
She was much different when she was out of uniform, when she wasn't part of the armed service her humour shone through.
“Come on then Captain Price.”
She smiled and started up the car engine. Rubbing her hand over her stomach lightly. The car revved.
“Not too much dear, we don't want another Christmas birth.”
And she laughed again.
Hold Hard for totaldrwhofreak
merlin/arthur
As Camelot progressed from Autumn to Winter, and the brown leaves turned into falling snow, and the rich vegetables to winter plums, Merlin could feel something changing. The arm that Arthur would throw mockingly over his shoulder after he'd forced him into practice, grew heavier and held on longer. It was as though, in the winter months, Arthur regressed into a bear, seeking heat and warmth.
It hadn't come as a surprise for Merlin then, when, once morning, when the snow was thick on the castle walls, that Arthur was burrowed into his bedsheets. The normal ways of raising the Prince had failed, and Uther's face that last time that Arthur had been late wasn't one that Merlin wanted to repeat. He had the faintest fear that Arthur could have been enchanted, for wasn't that always the way, when Arthur groaned. He was just being lazy, as Princes are want to do.
Merlin's hands were cold, not freezing, he wasn't foolish enough to stick his hands into the snow, but he still grinned when he placed a hand on Arthur's bare shoulder. It was his own fault for sleeping half naked. But Arthur, proving that he could always surprise Merlin, caught Merlin's hand and likewise his arm, and held it.
It was as though Merlin were a child's stuffed pillow, decorated as a comforter. It was endearing, certainly. He was smiling when Arthur opened his eyes, eyes which looked delighted for a fraction of a moment. Merlin swallowed and tugged at his arm. Arthur refused to let it go, his eyes then flashed with recognition.
“You will never tell anyone about this Merlin, you hear me?”
“Of course sire.”
The Holly And The Ivy for emptyheaven
Good Omens.
Soho wasn't a picturesque Christmas scene, not even though the angel's rose-tinted glasses. The snow was dropping down onto littered crisp packets and upturned trolleys. Normal that didn't concern Crowley, he could just remind his body that he wasn't cold. But when he was on his own his cold blooded instincts seemed to kick in. He needed a nice sunny rock to stretch out over, or a heater to wrap himself around.
The angel seemed to emanate such a warming holy glow. When he'd first known Aziraphale, back when they'd been banished from the Garden and set up in their inter-galactic ever lasting game of chess with the souls of man, that glow had hurt him. Where Crowley had fought Azriaphale with teeth and claws, Azriaphale would shine holy love. He just loved everything, and every time he had hurt the angel it had hurt him, to hurt such love. But now, now, after the Arrangement had capitalised their time so that they exchanged barbs over glasses of wine rather than flaming arrows, that holy glow was better than any central heating. Although the baths at Pompeii were a close second.
But the angel wasn't there.
It wasn't like Aziraphale not to be in London for Christmas.
They'd not met up as much as they'd come to expect after the events of the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, but Crowley could always feels the angel's presence. Pottering about London as ever, drinking tea and talking people out of buying his books. It had been, a good few months since he'd last seen Aziraphale. The Angel always had a fine supply of wine around the Christmas season, and Crowley had been contemplating a visiting since late July, although he could remind whatever homebrew he was drinking that it had come straight out of the cellar of the Holy Roman Emperors, there was always something special about wine that the angel had touched. He tried not to think of the religious significance, but the burn was so good down his throat. When the Angel's presence dropped off the radar on the 19th of December, Crowley wouldn't say that he was worried. It wasn't unusual for them to spend large amounts of time apart, and he hadn't verbalised his intension to make the most of Aziraphale's generosity. But that didn't stop him breaking into the oh so empty, book shop.
He genuinely didn't notice the time go past, as the shop still had the residual holy glow that Crowley associated with the angel, and it was so soothing. He didn't sit on the angel's chair, not only because it was filled with books that made his serpentine blood run cold, but because it would have felt wrong somehow.
The alcohol in his system, that he felt no need to purge meant that his wakening was muddled by drowsiness.
There was a faint popping, and Crowley batted a hand casually towards the disturbance.
“'lemme alone. Is Christmas.”
There was a laugh. And the alcohol began to trickle out of his blood stream.
“Not for another few minutes my dear.”
“Angel!”
He shook his head, like a dog splattering water everywhere and bathed in Aziraphale's warmth. It was brighter than normal, sharper, as if he'd been-
“Angel, have you been Upstairs?”
Azriaphale shuddered slightly and cocked his head to his chair.
“Ah, well, that, may I sit down Crowley?”
Why the Angel had to ask in his own house was beyond him, but Crowley waved him to the seat regardless.
“Yes, very bureaucratic it is too. But they just wanted to talk, about, well, the Arrangement. Us. Earth. Everything. But never mind about that my dear. It's a shame that I've missed the evening service, but Merry Christmas Crowley.”
Crowley shuddered, only half mockingly, at the word.
“Don't make me say it in return angel, you know it burns my mouth. Drink?”
“Oh, I do think so my dear.”
Their glasses chinked together, and Crowley felt warm.
Gifts for grlgoddess
Morgana
The first present that Arthur had given Morgana hadn't been anything special. Morgana could tell, it lacked the passion that Arthur gave to thinks that interested him, and it wouldn't have surprised her if he'd impetuously ordered his manservant to buy something “a girl would like.” As it transpired, that was exactly what Arthur had done.
She'd left the embroidery on her bedsheets, and Gwen had obviously tidied it away out of her sight.
Gwen, Gwen was a different matter. She'd been so shy when she'd first entered her employment, that it had taken weeks for her to address her as anything other than ma'am. Morgana hadn't had the heart to correct her until the girl had always burst into tears after dropping her laundry. After that they'd become, what could be called friends. Gwen had started to leave her flowers in the mornings, beautiful bunches of the local flowers, that never looked as beautiful as when they did in her room. One day the flowers had been wrapped in a silk ribbon. Gwen had clearly bought it out of her own money, and the name “Morgana” had been carefully sown into the silk. Gwen hadn't made a big thing of it, and Morgana knew that her maidservant didn't want a fuss. So she merely smiled the next time that Gwen entered her room, and offered her the evening off.
Uther provided her with dresses, dresses and jewellery, and anything that she could think of requiring. He was like a doting father towards her, or like a beneficiary uncle providing her with what she needed, but not what she wanted. For although they were certainly pretty, they didn't resonate with her, like she thought they should have done. So she smiled and kissed his cheek, hating that she could smell the fires ingrained into his skin
The quarters of Gaius' rooms were almost always smokey, but it always seemed that Gaius could preempt when she was coming and opened a window. He always greeted her with a kind word, and more often than not a potions of some kind. She was always grateful, he had such a way with medicines. She didn't know how Camelot would cope without him, how she'd cope.
Merlin used to splutter when he walked in on her speaking with Gauis. He wasn't what she would expect of a servant, and so it came as no shock to her that once he'd become used to seeing the King's Ward in his chambers at all times of the day and night, that he treated her like an equal. He'd give her stones that he found that shined, or scraps of material tied into bracelets. There wasn't anything that he wouldn't do for her. It made her feel secondary, that she couldn't be as good a person as him.
When Morgana gave herself presents, she'd practice her gift.
Snow Nights for 4492
Whitechapel, Chandler/Kent snuggling on the sofa.
The snow was approaching ten inches deep in places, and Chandler couldn’t be more grateful that whether it was the cold, or the lack of people on the streets. That it was turning into a very peaceful winter. Following on from the Kray’s and everything that had happened that year, a Christmas that wasn’t focussed on work would be perfect.
He considered the small artificial Christmas tree that Kent had insisted that he’d put up. It wasn’t that he didn’t celebrate Christmas, but it wasn’t a time of year that gave him that much excitement. He supposed that it was a time to socialise with people, and it was strange to be alone in a time like that. Although he’d spent time with Anderson and his family he’d not had his own Christmas for years.
Kent had bundled the knee-high Christmas tree back to Chandler’s on the back of his Vespa’s in late November. It wasn’t a real tree, Chandler wouldn’t have allowed that into his flat, all those pines dropping down, all that mess, but Kent had dumped the plastic tree in his hallway with a wry grin. “Christmas spirit sir.” And Chandler couldn’t refuse him.
In contrast to Chandler, this was Kent’s first Christmas with someone who wasn’t family. Chandler only knew this because of the comments that he’d overhear between Mansell, Miles and Kent. Kent hadn’t said that he’d be spending Christmas with Chandler, but the fact that he’d looked to Chandler’s office and then back at the floor made Mansell laugh violently. The amount that they spoke without him in the room still alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t really a member of the team. He was the boss, but not one of their friends. But he could be.
Kent had said something about having to deliver a letter, and had left about an hour and a half ago. Chandler had contemplated making reference to writing a letter to Father Christmas, but be doubted that his tone would be able to portray the humorous comment for what it was supposed to be.
“Be careful. It’s icy out.”
Chandler was starting to get a little worried with Kent’s absence; the younger man had left his mobile by the side of the bed and it was snowing heavier.
The television was playing one of the stereotypical Christmas films that ITV broadcast, he couldn’t tell exactly what it was that he was watching, there were romances and a cornucopia of different stories.
A key turned in the doorway, and Chandler was just getting to his feet when Kent walked in. Kent looked as far from impressed as Chandler could imagine. There was snow in his eyebrows and he was shivering. He had a lot of snow on him, more than he should have done.
Chandler reached out and took the coat that Kent was shrugging off, folding it so that the snow wouldn’t melt onto the floor. He couldn’t abide it if the snow was brought inside. Kent passed him his helmet as well, and Chandler placed both in the bathroom before following Kent into the living room.
“I’m out there freezing my bollocks off and you’re watching Love Actually?!”
Kent was curled up on the sofa, tucking his feet under his body.
“Oh, is that what it’s called? I was wondering. What happened to you? You were a long time, I was starting to worry Kent.”
Chandler sat down next to Kent, placing one hand against Kent’s curls.
“You’re freezing.”
Kent nodded and lent into Chandler’s warmth.
“Had to abandon the Vespa. I just couldn’t carry on. Been walking for the last hour.”
Chandler could now understand the petulant tone in Kent’s voice; he loved that bike like it was his own child. It was very distinctive, that bright orange Vespa, and Chandler didn’t want to be the one to tell Kent it had gone missing.
Chandler wrapped his arm around Kent’s shoulder, and pulled him back into him, as the TV glared out about “if you really love Christmas, come on and let it snow.”
“We’ll go and try and find it tomorrow.”
Kent nodded, and buried his face into Chandler’s chest. He could feel the cold permeating through his shirt. Kent had spoken about Christmas jumpers jokingly a few days before, Chandler would have to look into them.
Christmas Sun for sadera992
Good Omens. Crowley and Aziraphale an an unusual situation
“All I'm saying Crowley, my good man, is that I was expecting to spend Christmas in London.”
Crowley smiled, dragging his sunglasses lower down his nose so that his amber eyes glistened in the declining light. He drew his wineglass to his lips and tasted the aroma on his tongue, before drinking deeply.
“And what, exactly, is wrong with Victoria Falls?”
Aziraphale flustered, passing his own glass from hand to hand, before reminding it that it was a mug of calming tea. Crowley grinned, wickedly and reminded the confused tea that it had a large infusion of brandy in it.
“Well, nothing I suppose my dear. It reminds me of the Garden somewhat, just the peace and tranquillity, but, there's something strange about not being at home.”
Crowley snorted.
“You've become too attached to London angel, what about Spain, or Mexico, I've heard they're never good this time of year. And anyway, is there a direct issue with Victoria Falls that I should know about angel?”
Aziraphale coughed.
“Well, it's can't be very good for the ducks, all that rushing water.”
Crowley looked from the rushing curtain of water back to the angel.
“There are no ducks Aziraphale, herons certainly, eagles, I don't doubt it, but there aren't any ducks.”
Aziaphale gestured emphatically with his mug.
“Exactly my point Crowley, there are no ducks. And this water does damage my books something terrible.”
Crowley snorted, and glared at his wineglass until it refilled itself out of fear.
“Oh, you and your books angel, you're reading the Da Vinici Code that you bought in the airport, why you'd care about that at all. Oh if you're so upright about it I'll buy you a replacement. Not out of an act of charity or kindness, as long as you understand that.”
Aziraphale was smiling at him, and he could hear the words 'Happy Christmas' forming in the angels brain.
“Now, a dip in the Devil's Pool?”
“Don't push it my dear man.”
Arrow for babydracky
Mordred, Arrow
Magic was a subtle art. It took years of practice to be able to manipulate the interwoven nature of the universe. And yet Morderd was able to spin the winds of the old religion with a slow blink of his wide wide eyes. He could cast away the thoughts of man without considering the sun's location in the sky. His voice was a small whisper, that had the power of a roaring ocean. And when he spoke with it, he was listened to. Just once, he'd described the power that he had at his disposal. He'd said that it was like stringing an arrow, knocking it into shot and then focusing where you wished it to fly. And the arrow did fly, like the words from Morderd's mind. The magic of danger.
Family Christmas for bardingtide
UNIT, Mace/Price
Alan had never in his life regretted becoming a soldier. He loved his job, the fact that he got to experience so many new idea, the fact that he was one of a select few, the distance that he was able to travel, that fact that he had met Marion.
But parading in the Mid-Bleak Winter, with the snow falling from the sky like bullets. That was less enjoyable.
He'd thought that he'd got used to it when he was in Vancouver, but relocated back to Britain in November, he'd never have expected this.
The snow was creeping down into his collar. He resisted the shudder. The parade was being dismissed by the top brass and then the short break for Christmas. He'd drew the lots of getting Christmas off, for once and even luckier Marion did as well.
There were snowflakes battering his cheeks.
It was starting to hurt.
However, it was almost on automatic that he dismissed the troops. UNIT very rarely got time off, and it was unusual for there not to be a job of some description on.
Marion was waiting for him in the carpark after the parade was finished, she laughed and brushed the snow out of his hair.
“Home for the holiday's soldier?”
She was much different when she was out of uniform, when she wasn't part of the armed service her humour shone through.
“Come on then Captain Price.”
She smiled and started up the car engine. Rubbing her hand over her stomach lightly. The car revved.
“Not too much dear, we don't want another Christmas birth.”
And she laughed again.
Hold Hard for totaldrwhofreak
merlin/arthur
As Camelot progressed from Autumn to Winter, and the brown leaves turned into falling snow, and the rich vegetables to winter plums, Merlin could feel something changing. The arm that Arthur would throw mockingly over his shoulder after he'd forced him into practice, grew heavier and held on longer. It was as though, in the winter months, Arthur regressed into a bear, seeking heat and warmth.
It hadn't come as a surprise for Merlin then, when, once morning, when the snow was thick on the castle walls, that Arthur was burrowed into his bedsheets. The normal ways of raising the Prince had failed, and Uther's face that last time that Arthur had been late wasn't one that Merlin wanted to repeat. He had the faintest fear that Arthur could have been enchanted, for wasn't that always the way, when Arthur groaned. He was just being lazy, as Princes are want to do.
Merlin's hands were cold, not freezing, he wasn't foolish enough to stick his hands into the snow, but he still grinned when he placed a hand on Arthur's bare shoulder. It was his own fault for sleeping half naked. But Arthur, proving that he could always surprise Merlin, caught Merlin's hand and likewise his arm, and held it.
It was as though Merlin were a child's stuffed pillow, decorated as a comforter. It was endearing, certainly. He was smiling when Arthur opened his eyes, eyes which looked delighted for a fraction of a moment. Merlin swallowed and tugged at his arm. Arthur refused to let it go, his eyes then flashed with recognition.
“You will never tell anyone about this Merlin, you hear me?”
“Of course sire.”
The Holly And The Ivy for emptyheaven
Good Omens.
Soho wasn't a picturesque Christmas scene, not even though the angel's rose-tinted glasses. The snow was dropping down onto littered crisp packets and upturned trolleys. Normal that didn't concern Crowley, he could just remind his body that he wasn't cold. But when he was on his own his cold blooded instincts seemed to kick in. He needed a nice sunny rock to stretch out over, or a heater to wrap himself around.
The angel seemed to emanate such a warming holy glow. When he'd first known Aziraphale, back when they'd been banished from the Garden and set up in their inter-galactic ever lasting game of chess with the souls of man, that glow had hurt him. Where Crowley had fought Azriaphale with teeth and claws, Azriaphale would shine holy love. He just loved everything, and every time he had hurt the angel it had hurt him, to hurt such love. But now, now, after the Arrangement had capitalised their time so that they exchanged barbs over glasses of wine rather than flaming arrows, that holy glow was better than any central heating. Although the baths at Pompeii were a close second.
But the angel wasn't there.
It wasn't like Aziraphale not to be in London for Christmas.
They'd not met up as much as they'd come to expect after the events of the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, but Crowley could always feels the angel's presence. Pottering about London as ever, drinking tea and talking people out of buying his books. It had been, a good few months since he'd last seen Aziraphale. The Angel always had a fine supply of wine around the Christmas season, and Crowley had been contemplating a visiting since late July, although he could remind whatever homebrew he was drinking that it had come straight out of the cellar of the Holy Roman Emperors, there was always something special about wine that the angel had touched. He tried not to think of the religious significance, but the burn was so good down his throat. When the Angel's presence dropped off the radar on the 19th of December, Crowley wouldn't say that he was worried. It wasn't unusual for them to spend large amounts of time apart, and he hadn't verbalised his intension to make the most of Aziraphale's generosity. But that didn't stop him breaking into the oh so empty, book shop.
He genuinely didn't notice the time go past, as the shop still had the residual holy glow that Crowley associated with the angel, and it was so soothing. He didn't sit on the angel's chair, not only because it was filled with books that made his serpentine blood run cold, but because it would have felt wrong somehow.
The alcohol in his system, that he felt no need to purge meant that his wakening was muddled by drowsiness.
There was a faint popping, and Crowley batted a hand casually towards the disturbance.
“'lemme alone. Is Christmas.”
There was a laugh. And the alcohol began to trickle out of his blood stream.
“Not for another few minutes my dear.”
“Angel!”
He shook his head, like a dog splattering water everywhere and bathed in Aziraphale's warmth. It was brighter than normal, sharper, as if he'd been-
“Angel, have you been Upstairs?”
Azriaphale shuddered slightly and cocked his head to his chair.
“Ah, well, that, may I sit down Crowley?”
Why the Angel had to ask in his own house was beyond him, but Crowley waved him to the seat regardless.
“Yes, very bureaucratic it is too. But they just wanted to talk, about, well, the Arrangement. Us. Earth. Everything. But never mind about that my dear. It's a shame that I've missed the evening service, but Merry Christmas Crowley.”
Crowley shuddered, only half mockingly, at the word.
“Don't make me say it in return angel, you know it burns my mouth. Drink?”
“Oh, I do think so my dear.”
Their glasses chinked together, and Crowley felt warm.
Gifts for grlgoddess
Morgana
The first present that Arthur had given Morgana hadn't been anything special. Morgana could tell, it lacked the passion that Arthur gave to thinks that interested him, and it wouldn't have surprised her if he'd impetuously ordered his manservant to buy something “a girl would like.” As it transpired, that was exactly what Arthur had done.
She'd left the embroidery on her bedsheets, and Gwen had obviously tidied it away out of her sight.
Gwen, Gwen was a different matter. She'd been so shy when she'd first entered her employment, that it had taken weeks for her to address her as anything other than ma'am. Morgana hadn't had the heart to correct her until the girl had always burst into tears after dropping her laundry. After that they'd become, what could be called friends. Gwen had started to leave her flowers in the mornings, beautiful bunches of the local flowers, that never looked as beautiful as when they did in her room. One day the flowers had been wrapped in a silk ribbon. Gwen had clearly bought it out of her own money, and the name “Morgana” had been carefully sown into the silk. Gwen hadn't made a big thing of it, and Morgana knew that her maidservant didn't want a fuss. So she merely smiled the next time that Gwen entered her room, and offered her the evening off.
Uther provided her with dresses, dresses and jewellery, and anything that she could think of requiring. He was like a doting father towards her, or like a beneficiary uncle providing her with what she needed, but not what she wanted. For although they were certainly pretty, they didn't resonate with her, like she thought they should have done. So she smiled and kissed his cheek, hating that she could smell the fires ingrained into his skin
The quarters of Gaius' rooms were almost always smokey, but it always seemed that Gaius could preempt when she was coming and opened a window. He always greeted her with a kind word, and more often than not a potions of some kind. She was always grateful, he had such a way with medicines. She didn't know how Camelot would cope without him, how she'd cope.
Merlin used to splutter when he walked in on her speaking with Gauis. He wasn't what she would expect of a servant, and so it came as no shock to her that once he'd become used to seeing the King's Ward in his chambers at all times of the day and night, that he treated her like an equal. He'd give her stones that he found that shined, or scraps of material tied into bracelets. There wasn't anything that he wouldn't do for her. It made her feel secondary, that she couldn't be as good a person as him.
When Morgana gave herself presents, she'd practice her gift.
Snow Nights for 4492
Whitechapel, Chandler/Kent snuggling on the sofa.
The snow was approaching ten inches deep in places, and Chandler couldn’t be more grateful that whether it was the cold, or the lack of people on the streets. That it was turning into a very peaceful winter. Following on from the Kray’s and everything that had happened that year, a Christmas that wasn’t focussed on work would be perfect.
He considered the small artificial Christmas tree that Kent had insisted that he’d put up. It wasn’t that he didn’t celebrate Christmas, but it wasn’t a time of year that gave him that much excitement. He supposed that it was a time to socialise with people, and it was strange to be alone in a time like that. Although he’d spent time with Anderson and his family he’d not had his own Christmas for years.
Kent had bundled the knee-high Christmas tree back to Chandler’s on the back of his Vespa’s in late November. It wasn’t a real tree, Chandler wouldn’t have allowed that into his flat, all those pines dropping down, all that mess, but Kent had dumped the plastic tree in his hallway with a wry grin. “Christmas spirit sir.” And Chandler couldn’t refuse him.
In contrast to Chandler, this was Kent’s first Christmas with someone who wasn’t family. Chandler only knew this because of the comments that he’d overhear between Mansell, Miles and Kent. Kent hadn’t said that he’d be spending Christmas with Chandler, but the fact that he’d looked to Chandler’s office and then back at the floor made Mansell laugh violently. The amount that they spoke without him in the room still alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t really a member of the team. He was the boss, but not one of their friends. But he could be.
Kent had said something about having to deliver a letter, and had left about an hour and a half ago. Chandler had contemplated making reference to writing a letter to Father Christmas, but be doubted that his tone would be able to portray the humorous comment for what it was supposed to be.
“Be careful. It’s icy out.”
Chandler was starting to get a little worried with Kent’s absence; the younger man had left his mobile by the side of the bed and it was snowing heavier.
The television was playing one of the stereotypical Christmas films that ITV broadcast, he couldn’t tell exactly what it was that he was watching, there were romances and a cornucopia of different stories.
A key turned in the doorway, and Chandler was just getting to his feet when Kent walked in. Kent looked as far from impressed as Chandler could imagine. There was snow in his eyebrows and he was shivering. He had a lot of snow on him, more than he should have done.
Chandler reached out and took the coat that Kent was shrugging off, folding it so that the snow wouldn’t melt onto the floor. He couldn’t abide it if the snow was brought inside. Kent passed him his helmet as well, and Chandler placed both in the bathroom before following Kent into the living room.
“I’m out there freezing my bollocks off and you’re watching Love Actually?!”
Kent was curled up on the sofa, tucking his feet under his body.
“Oh, is that what it’s called? I was wondering. What happened to you? You were a long time, I was starting to worry Kent.”
Chandler sat down next to Kent, placing one hand against Kent’s curls.
“You’re freezing.”
Kent nodded and lent into Chandler’s warmth.
“Had to abandon the Vespa. I just couldn’t carry on. Been walking for the last hour.”
Chandler could now understand the petulant tone in Kent’s voice; he loved that bike like it was his own child. It was very distinctive, that bright orange Vespa, and Chandler didn’t want to be the one to tell Kent it had gone missing.
Chandler wrapped his arm around Kent’s shoulder, and pulled him back into him, as the TV glared out about “if you really love Christmas, come on and let it snow.”
“We’ll go and try and find it tomorrow.”
Kent nodded, and buried his face into Chandler’s chest. He could feel the cold permeating through his shirt. Kent had spoken about Christmas jumpers jokingly a few days before, Chandler would have to look into them.