Chapter Text
Why in the name of all the circles of hell did he insist on putting himself through this torture? Paying Whickber Street a visit in the run up to Christmas was guaranteed to push him into Scrooge mood. Everything he saw reminded him of what he’d lost, everyone he encountered reminded him to a great or small degree of the gaping hole in his heart where a certain, now not spoken of angel used to reside.
This would be the first Christmas without him. There’d be no grumbling over the amount of decorations he insisted on putting up in the bookshop, no complaints muttered when being dragged to buy a tree (which usually ended up being the most sorry looking specimen in creation and he’d have to sort it out), no sitting in the bookshop at night with a glass of mulled wine listening to him read aloud from A Christmas Carol.
With nothing to look forward to he’d fully intended on not celebrating the damn season at all but hibernating until at least March, a plan set on hold by some damned annoying power insisting he come out and see all the happy couples enjoying themselves. “Season of goodwill my ass,” he snarled, breath hitting the cold air, “You just wanted to add an additional layer of pain, eh?”
Lost in his cursing he failed to notice his walk brought him close to a certain establishment, one when it finally registered sparked a “fuck this,” as he turned on his heels and started back towards his flat in Mayfair, an anger laced march brought to a screeching halt when Nina stepped in his way. Great, like he needed her going at him as well.
“So you’ve finally decided to pay us a visit then?”
“Don’t start,” he warned.
“Start? I’m not starting anything, you’re the one who did that by up and leaving.”
He wanted to bite back, toss a vitriol laced reply her way, but he just couldn’t be bothered, so he stepped around her and resumed his walk back home.
“You know,” she called, her tone taking on a softer note which made him feel even worse, “you are welcome to spend Christmas with me and Maggie.”
“Hard pass on that. I’m going back to my flat and ignoring the whole bloody mess.”
“You can’t hide away forever.”
He half turned then tossed a wide grin her way. “Just watch me.”
By the time he reached his flat he was ready to drink himself into oblivion. Nothing mattered anymore, no one would care if he disappeared for good, so why not give it a try? Once the door was secured he ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Talisker and a glass, carrying them into the empty heart of the flat and setting them down on the black and gold coffee table before parking his rear on the couch.
As he reached for the alcohol his focus drifted over to a small box set at the table’s far right, its presence sparking the faintest hint of a glare. Why he’d grabbed it from the bookshop before leaving for the last time he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if what it held carried any great value. That’s a lie and you damn well know it. Fine, so maybe it did, but that didn’t mean he’d remove the contents. Then why bring the box out? You just want to torment yourself further? “Just shut the fuck up will you,” he growled as he filled the glass to the brim. “Screw Christmas,” he spat, raising his glass, “and bring on the new year.”
An hour later and with the bottle two thirds gone he looked at the box again. Numbed by the alcohol flooding his system he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he set it on his lap then eased back the lid. Nested inside on pale blue tissue paper rested an angel, one meant to adorn the top of a tree. It had been brought by “him” as a joke, a gentle poke of fun at himself.
I believe at this time of the year prayers or wishes, if you prefer calling them such, are more likely to be heard and granted if an angel resides within the home.
The words rose up before he could stop them, their arrival sparking a sharp stab of anger laced pain prompting him to slam the lid shut. A move he contemplated following through with by launching the damn thing into a corner, but he couldn’t. As much as he hated the thing, despised the one who’d bought it, he realized he didn’t have it inside him to damage or destroy it. He truly was fucked and there was sod all he could do about it. Well, that might not be completely true. Maybe it really was time for that long nap
With his brain swimming in Talisker and his body unwilling to co-operate a second longer he tumbled sideways onto the couch, enough capacity of thought remaining for a small demonic miracle to be spared, one creating a blanket which draped over his form as he dropped into the arms of sweet oblivion.