Chapter Text
"I feel like I'm pretty easy-going, but- it's an awful thing to say, but it just feels like such a chore this year, I don't know."
Michael sat with his knees tucked up to his chest in the chair opposite the only desk in artifact storage. Rather, the only definitely-not-haunted desk. The other chair was occupied by Elias Bouchard who had kicked his own legs onto said table.
Elias opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Michael hurriedly added, "Goodness, sorry, I shouldn't complain, it's just... no, never mind, I- I mean your family are-" he paused, searching for the... polite way of voicing his thoughts, before frowning, and breathed a frustrated sigh, "and here I am whining about how dull it is at Christmas with my parents." Until this point he had been fidgeting with a piece of string he'd found, but now he looked up at Elias and winced, "Sorry."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I don't like to spend Christmas with my family?" he challenged.
Michael's jaw dropped, and stammered out what could have been called an apology, before Elias' face twisted into a wry smile, "It's fine, darling." The smile cracked into a grin and Michael couldn't help but return it as he added, "They fucking suck."
"… A-and you have to go, I suppose?"
"On pain of disownment, apparently," he replied, but at Michael's worried expression, he hurried to assure him, "They wouldn't actually do it, they just want to make sure I do what I'm told. And at least they're under no illusions that I'm only going for the inheritance."
They sat in a weighty silence for a few moments before he swung his legs off the desk and back to the floor, scooting his chair closer to Michael.
"Go on then," Elias leaned in, "get it all off your chest, don't let me and my family drama stop you."
Michael frowned again, chewing the inside of his lip, "Yeah, I don't know, I-" he paused and looked up again for a moment, "no, never mind."
"No, come on, what is it?" If he didn't know better, Michael might have said the expression on his friend's face was concern.
"I was going to ask if you wanted to come over, but-"
"I'm not so sure your parents would take too kindly to you bringing a boy home, darling," Elias cut in, not unkindly.
"Yes, I'm not an idiot, Elias," he rolled his eyes. "They're not that sort though, they're- I mean, look at me," he planted his feet on the ground and gestured vaguely towards himself, "it's not like they don't know."
"But you haven't said anything?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but Elias interrupted again, "It's one thing for them to suspect, and even for you to have told them, but another entirely for you to actually, you know, do something about it." He sighed and Michael ground his teeth, "And besides, there's still the issue of me being cut off, which-"
But that was enough, Michael stood abruptly, pushing his chair back, "God, Elias, if you didn't want to come you just had to say." He wouldn't have called what he did then 'storming off', but Elias certainly did. He might have also added 'in a strop, without even taking your lunch with you', but Michael would never concede that.
The archives were busy when Elias very kindly went down to return Michael’s lunch, or at least busier than usual; he hadn’t had the foresight to wait until later in the evening for Gertrude Robinson to go home. She didn’t like him. Nor did Emma Harvey for that matter, although he suspected it was because he was a bad influence on Michael, rather than any professional reasons.
“You’re welcome,” he said as he placed the box on Michael’s desk.
“Thank you,” Michael replied tersely.
“You left it earlier,” he added.
“Evidently.”
“Listen, I-”
“I’m working, Elias, can this wait?”
He took a step back, it wasn’t like Michael to be so blunt with him, and it left him feeling a little off-balanced. “Yes, sure, I’ll just… I’ll come back lat-”
“I’m actually pretty busy this week, maybe it’s for the best if you leave it.”
Michael hadn’t looked up from his work the entire time, but Elias could tell there were eyes on him. He glanced over to Emma who caught his attention, and was shot a distinctly unimpressed look. Elias rolled his eyes and made to walk out back to artifact storage, but his irritation bubbled over and he couldn’t help but call back, “Enjoy your fucking Christmas then, give your family my best.”
Someone—probably Emma—shouted “Language!” after him, which he ignored, and a thud which sounded a bit like something solid hitting a desk, but he didn’t turn to check what that was either.
It was almost a relief that Elias was enough of an arse to hold a grudge, because Michael certainly didn’t have it in him; he knew he would have come crawling back, no doubt with an entirely undeserved apology on his lips, within a couple of days if Bouchard hadn’t been avoiding him.
They finished work on the 23rd, since Mr Wright had decided letting the Institute staff leave on the Friday before Christmas would be too early. He felt a twinge at that, the memory of him and Elias taking a childish joy in all the Ebenezer jokes. And he felt a bit rubbish for being rude, he knew Elias had a bad go of it at home even if he didn’t know the details. He could imagine it though, someone from his background, and his… background… He didn’t even know if Elias was out to his parents, and wondered if he’d been speaking from experience when he brought it up the last time they talked. Michael felt another guilty twinge at that, and at the thought that now he might not get to find out, because that really shouldn’t be his priority right now, he chastised himself.
Regardless, Elias’ gift had already been bought before their falling-out, a sunny yellow orchid, because although he’d never been to his flat, Michael knew him enough to know it could use brightening up a bit. The problem was, he couldn’t very well leave it waiting for him in artifact storage, but he was too much of a coward to entertain the thought of speaking to him in person. It felt silly now, he thought to himself as he got ready for work that morning, and with it on his lap on the tube, and entering the Institute, he could have just kept it for himself or at least waited for Elias’ birthday, or just about anything else, it wasn’t like Elias would have got him anything.
But no, he opened the door to the courtyard with one hand, the other clutching the plant close to his chest, and awkwardly pushed his way out and towards the picnic table which sat empty in the bitter December air. As he positioned the orchid on the table with the envelope securely taped to it facing the optimal position for being noticed by anyone nipping out for a cigarette break and muttered an apology for the cold it was being left in. Only Elias would be out here at this time of year, as the only smoker in the building who worked with rare and dangerous artifacts which could be easily damaged by smoke. Or the only one who couldn’t get away with just doing it anyway, since Michael was fairly certain some of the library staff just cracked a window if they wanted to, sources of ignition in a room full of highly flammable materials be damned. He hoped the poor plant wouldn’t be stuck outside for too long at any rate.
There was a plant. Elias saw it the moment he walked outside, and it had his name on. He didn’t know what type it was, except that it had maybe a dozen rather ugly-looking yellow flowers that looked out of place in the grey concrete courtyard. It was the wrong time of year for daffodils, he was fairly certain, but that was all he could tell. He wondered if maybe he was losing his mind, if one of those damned artifacts had finally got him, but he peeled off the envelope that had been incredibly securely attached to the pot with several pieces of sellotape, and recognised Michael’s best attempt at neat handwriting, likely drummed into him for his entire school career, and he knew it didn’t come naturally. Inside was an unobtrusive card, dark blue with a white tree silhouetted among others in varying shades of blue, and he smiled imagining Michael fretting over picking a card which was sufficiently masculine as not to draw attention. It read:
‘To Elias,’
Not ‘dear’ then. He wondered if that too had been deliberated over.
‘Have a wonderful Christmas, and all the best for the New Year.
Michael’
Below it was a phone number and a note scrawled in the postscript, as if as an afterthought, and Elias knew it was anything but,
I hope your folks don’t get you down, but if they do, you know where I am. Here’s the number for my parents’ place if you need anything while I’m there.
This is an orchid, by the way. It likes warm, humid places, but not too much sun (no fear in your flat, I’m sure), and water every few days if the pot feels light.’
He chuckled, and found the sound came out more wet than he expected—not that he’d ever admit to tearing up over some flowers. The note had hit somewhere deep within his chest though, he had to put a hand over his heart for a minute. If only his father could see him now.
Whatever that feeling was was soon replaced by guilt when he realised he hadn’t bought Michael anything, and then that he wasn’t going to be able to spend his last lunch break of the year with him if he wanted to. He ended up leaving for lunch a few minutes early to avoid some of the rush, and positively sprinted around all the nearest shops. He deliberated over some attractive-looking books which probably would have been a very thoughtful gift, if he’d had any idea what sort of things Michael liked to read, and then contemplated chocolates and a bottle of wine, which felt discomfortingly impersonal, until he came across a market stall selling knitwear, the sort that’s beautifully soft, he found, as he stroked his fingers across the nearest item. The colours were nice too, some bright and some muted, and his eyes caught on a scarf with an intricate pattern in a pretty shade of greenish-blue he couldn’t name. There were gloves and a hat to match, the woman at the stall told him when she saw him staring.
He passed over the money without a second thought, and it was only when he reached the institute that he wondered if maybe they were not quite of an equivalent price to the orchid, and would Michael be uncomfortable about the amount he’d spent? Eventually, he took the hat and gloves out of the bag and put them in the bottom drawer of his desk, and snuck down to the archives while it was still empty and put the bag with the scarf in on Michael’s own desk, along with a scrawled note which was still neater than the card he’d received, and then he left as quickly as he could.
‘Dear Michael,
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being such an arse, as I fear Mr Wright’s good friends will be here to haunt me should I not change my ways.
Merry Christmas, here’s to 1992 and another year of knowing you.
E.B.’