Work Text:
for Best Fluff
In 240 years, Angel had seen a lot, experienced more things than he could begin to recount. He had seen humanity at its worst and at its best. He had been to hell and back - literally. Sometimes it felt like nothing in the world could faze him.
That was, until one winter evening when he walked into Angel Investigations and stopped dead in his tracks.
“What the…?”
It looked like a snowglobe had exploded in the office. There was glitter and paper snowflakes and tinsel everywhere. A truly gaudy wreath hung on the front door. Three cheap-looking stockings had been nailed to the wall behind Cordelia’s desk. Which, come to think of it, would explain the pounding he’d heard earlier. He had not bothered to find out what it was because he figured he probably didn’t want to know.
He’d been right.
And in the middle of it all stood Cordelia and Doyle. They hadn’t seen him yet - Doyle held in his arms what appeared to be the world’s longest tinsel garland while Cordy surveyed her handiwork, debating out loud where it would look best. Doyle looked up, saw Angel staring at them, and flicked Cordelia with one end of the garland.
Cordelia looked around at him. “Oh, hey Angel! What do you think?”
Angel’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment as he tried to find the most diplomatic way of saying what he was thinking. “It looks, well, you certainly put a lot of...time and effort -” and money, Angel’s money - “into it….”
Cordelia’s eyes narrowed. “You hate it.”
“I don’t...I don’t hate it. I just...wasn’t expecting….”
Cordelia grabbed part of the garland out of Doyle’s hands and marched over to Angel, causing Doyle to spin slightly, as the garland had been partially wound around his shoulders. “Oh, come on! Even Giles used to put up a stocking and some lights in the library. Are you telling me you’re even stuffier than Giles?”
Angel shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He and Giles may have come to something of an understanding before Angel left Sunnydale, but it was all still a bit of a sensitive subject. “It’s nothing to do with stuffiness, just...you know, as a business, we have to...think of all of our clients. Some of them might not celebrate, you know.”
Cordelia scoffed. “Don’t make this about being all politically correct, mister. You’re just being a Scrooge.”
“I am not!” Angel looked at Doyle, begging silently for support, even though he knew it was a lost cause. Doyle would follow Cordelia to the ends of Christmas Hell if need be. “I’m just...you know, um - “
“A curmudgeon,” Doyle supplied.
“Which is just another word for Scrooge, thanks a lot Doyle,” Angel said.
“Anythin’ to help you, my friend,” Doyle said.
“I think this would look perfect framing the door to Angel’s office,” Cordelia announced. She sounded like she was talking to Doyle but she was staring Angel in the eye, as though defying him to argue.
But Angel was nothing if not smart. He knew when he was outmanoeuvred and outmanned. He may not have known how to bow gracefully to defeat when faced with a dozen unbeatable demons, but when it came to Cordelia Chase…. “Sounds perfect.”
The smile that lit up her face was totally worth it. “Great! Here you go! Since you’re the tallest, and Doyle and I have been working our asses off all day.” She shoved her handful of garland into Angel’s arms, causing Doyle - who was still hopelessly entangled in the great lengths of tinsel - to stumble towards them. “Have fun.”
“Wait, you want me…?” But she was already through the door to his living area and fast disappearing from sight. “Hey, what are you...Where are you going?” Angel called after her.
“Sorry, man,” Doyle said in an undertone. “I tried to talk her out of it.”
“Yeah? Exactly how hard did you try?” Angel asked, helping Doyle struggle free of the garland.
“Okay, maybe not that hard, but think of it from her perspective. It’s her first Christmas away from home and her parents didn’t even send her so much as a card.”
Angel hadn’t realised that. He’d taken it for granted that Cordy would be spending Christmas with the agency. She talked about her family so rarely that it was hard to remember sometimes that they were her parents and not some distant aunt and uncle. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have wigged out.”
Now completely de-garlanded, Doyle stepped forward to clap a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “All is forgiven as long as you promise me you’ll never say ‘wigged out’ again.”
~*~
By the time Angel and Doyle had the garland completely strung up around the office door, Cordelia still had not reappeared. They went down in the elevator together, trying to pull all the stray pieces of tinsel from their clothes. They’d be finding the stuff for months, Angel had a feeling.
Angel’s apartment had not been subjected to quite the same transformation as upstairs, but it had certainly been changed. The lights were dimmed, there was a fire in the fireplace (and how the hell had Cordy managed to sneak all that wood downstairs without them noticing and didn’t she realise it was nearly 60 degrees outside right now?) and a few strands of fairy lights had been strung up in the kitchen. It all looked so -
“Cozy,” Doyle murmured. Cordelia herself was dozing on Angel’s couch in front of the fire, a large bowl of popcorn on her lap and three mugs on the coffee table in front of her. She sat up when they approached.
“I made eggnog. Well, I poured it out of a carton, anyway.” She pointed to the one on the right. “That one is Angel’s.”
Doyle dropped down next to her, swiped his own eggnog, and took a large gulp. His eyes widened. “That’s a lot of rum, princess,” he said.
“Too much?”
“Nah. Just how I like it.” He took another large drink.
Angel picked up his own mug, started to take a sip, but paused. “Mine looks funny.”
“It has blood in it. Hurry up and drink it before it curdles.”
Angel took a sip. It actually wasn’t that bad. Cordelia patted the cushion beside her. “Have a seat. I promise I won’t bite.”
Angel smiled and sat down. Doyle draped his arm along the back of the couch, so that when Cordelia leaned back, her neck brushed up against it. Angel took another drink of his bloodnog. This should feel strange, he thought, but it doesn’t. It almost felt right. He thought ‘I wish Buffy were here’ automatically, and was surprised to find it wasn’t exactly the truth. Having Buffy there would have been nice, but different. It would have thrown the balance off. Buffy was Buffy was Sunnydale was love, yes, but she was not Angel Investigations. She was not this improbable, beautiful friendship that gave Angel hope that everything would be okay. She was not this sense of peace and contentment that Angel felt for the first time in centuries, if ever. She was not….
Angel relaxed into the couch, feeling the warmth of the fire and his friends so close. He draped his arm along Doyle’s, between the two of them cradling Cordy’s head and reaching toward each other for...something. If Angel were a better person, in that moment he would have feared for his soul because this….this was pure happiness. But he couldn’t bring himself to ruin the moment with silly things like worry and doubt and questions about what this could mean. He was just beginning to doze off himself, when a thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through whatever passed for his nervous system.
“Cordy...you didn’t hang up any mistletoe, did you?” he asked apprehensively.
Cordelia chuckled softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”