An ineffable Christmas Carol

Aziraphale could not remember how he had returned to his bed. Nor did he realise how he had fallen asleep again. All he knew when a cheerful laugh and music roused him from sleep was that he wished he hadn't woken up. It had been a long time since he had felt so abandoned when he woke up. He had been waking up alone for fourteen years now, and over time he had got used to it. But now, at this moment, he felt lonelier than he had for a long time.

Despite this, he wanted to know where the laughter and the unbearable music were coming from. He suspected that someone was having a party that was far too loud. Sleepy and disorientated, he trudged into the hallway and immediately noticed a soft, golden glow emanating from his own little kitchen. Unwillingly, he went to investigate the source, his curiosity stronger than the heaviness in his heart. When he opened the kitchen door, he stood frozen. A young woman stood in the centre of the room, looking at him with a radiant smile. She was wearing a red and black rockabilly dress, her blonde hair was pinned up artfully and she radiated an almost infectious cheerfulness. The warm light that filled the room seemed to emanate directly from her. The room was festively decorated and a small Christmas tree in the corner was lavishly hung with colourful baubles.

"Maggie?" Aziraphale wavered between surprise and annoyance. Had his new neighbour really barged into his flat in the middle of the night to shower him with her cheerfulness? Maggie ran the record shop opposite, which had previously been the plant shop 'Crowleys Starlight blossoms'. Every time Aziraphale saw the shop through the window of his bookshop, he felt a pang of pain. He had nothing against Maggie in principle; in fact, he was sure he would have liked her very much in another life. But he had never quite got over the fact that Crowley had moved his business to the other side of the Thames. Objectively, they were only separated by a 15-minute Tube journey, but to Aziraphale it felt like an insurmountable distance.

"Aziraphale Fell, I see you're in desperate need of some Christmas cheer!" she said with a mischievous smile as she leaned elegantly against the kitchen worktop. Aziraphale looked at her seriously and sucked air through his nose, visibly annoyed at the word "Christmas", while he replied, still doubting, "Maggie, that's not you, is it?"

"Well recognised! I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present, but you can call me Maggie. I took on her appearance this year because, around here at least, she's the one most looking forward to Christmas." She paused for a moment, pranced over to him and put her arm on his shoulder. "Maggie also organised this year's Whickber Street Christmas party. But apparently that's a event you've been avoiding for years." She looked at him reproachfully.

"One thing I've learnt in my life," Aziraphale clarified as he released himself from the unwanted embrace, "everything beautiful in life has the power to plunge you into an abyss, and Christmas.... Christmas is nonsense!" He was about to turn to walk towards his bed when the Ghost of Christmas Present suddenly stood right in front of him, blocking his path. "And I'm here to show you what you're missing," she declared emphatically. Before Aziraphale could protest, she clapped her hands and suddenly he was no longer in his kitchen. Instead, he was standing in a small, lovingly decorated living room in front of a Christmas tree decorated in red, green and white. The room smelled of freshly baked biscuits and an instrumental version of "Deck the Halls" was playing from a speaker next to the television.

Aziraphale didn't know this place and looked visibly irritated. But his gaze fell on a small, dark curly-haired boy of about eleven lying on the sofa, wrapped up thickly in blankets. His eyes looked tired and a faint smile adorned his face. Just as the confused bookseller was about to demand an explanation from his ghost, he heard a familiar voice: "I've brought you another hot apple juice, Adam," it sounded from the kitchen. The voice belonged to Muriel, Aziraphale's young assistant. As soon as he heard her, she came into the living room with a tray full of biscuits, a mulled wine and the promised apple juice. She sat down next to the boy and helped him to sit up. They looked happy together.

Aziraphale still couldn't make sense of the situation and looked at the sprite questioningly.

"This is Adam, Muriel's little brother," Maggie explained quietly. "He's very ill. He was always a happy boy, but in the last few months he's been struggling more and more. At first he was just exhausted all the time and his skin was getting paler. The doctors said it was nothing unusual. But slowly they noticed that his appetite was decreasing and his legs sometimes swelled up. His kidneys were failing."

Aziraphale felt a stab in his heart. The warmth and love in this room was palpable, even though the family was facing terrible things. He himself had lost his parents at a very young age and was still not completely over it. He could only imagine what it must feel like to experience this with a child. He thought of Michael, whom he had been pushing away for years for fear of losing her. But Muriel, she was perhaps facing exactly that, and yet she seemed to be cheerful every day. Aziraphale cocked his head a little to one side. "She's enjoying her time with Adam, even though she'll probably lose him," he whispered thoughtfully.

"Correctly identified, my dear," the spirit replied in a tone as if she were praising a primary school child. "It's important that we have people in our lives who we love and who love us. And we may lose these people again, but our heart will only die if we then banish the beautiful memories from our heart. If we keep the joy we had in our hearts, the people will stay with us forever."

Aziraphale became quiet and visibly thought about the spirit's words. A wrinkle of worry appeared on his forehead before he said firmly: "I can help her. Muriel can spend more time with Adam if I give her books to restore at home... home office, you know?" He looked questioningly at the ghost before continuing, "And it just so happens that the best nephrologist in town is my sister. The boy won't die of kidney failure. Not on Christmas or any other day." Aziraphale looked at the blonde ghost challengingly. But he just smoothed out the dress for a moment and replied: "That's not all you need to see," and clapped his hands again.

This time they found themselves in a lively place, full of colours, smells and people. All around them were stalls selling fresh produce and fragrant treats that filled the air. The colourful hustle and bustle of traders and visitors conveyed a feeling of excitement that reminded Aziraphale for a moment back to the time when he used to visit Crowley's stand here at Borough Market, which he had opened as a second mainstay to his flower shop. For a moment he savoured this memory and with it the vibrant energy and warmth of the market.

Before Aziraphale could ask himself why the spirit had teleported him here he spotted Michael among the hurried passers-by, hurrying through the crowd carrying bags. Her face showed fatigue, but that didn't take the lustre out of her eyes. The ghost pushed Aziraphale after her through the crowd. "What ever happened to flying? Haven't you earned your wings yet, and you have to bully me like this?" he asked indignantly. The ghost didn't lose his smile and just said, "Shh... we'll be right there."

Arriving at a stand that Aziraphale knew far too well, the ghost let go of him. Aziraphale's first impulse was to leave, but he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the golden yellow logo of Crowley's Starlight blossoms on the wooden stand on wheels.

Michael reached the stand, and she had almost hurried past it when she heard a familiar voice that she hadn't heard for a long time: "Mica?" She turned on her heel and suddenly found herself standing in front of a slightly older but still handsome Crowley. The man she had always wanted as a brother-in-law. His hair was shorter, making his snake tattoo on his temple stand out even more. He was wearing a black and white Christmas jumper with Christmas trees on the chest and large, leaping deer at stomach level.

"Mica?" Michael repeated when she reached the stand. "No one's called me that for years." Michael let out a deep breath. "Only you and Zira called me that. It was a long time ago." She gave her counterpart a smile and added, "but it's nice to see you again for once." Crowley's eyes narrowed with concern. "And... what about him? You and Aziraphale always had such a close bond." Michael sighed and looked into the distance for a moment, as if she were searching for the right words. "Zira... has become very isolated. He lives almost like a hermit. We rarely see each other any more. Sometimes I talk to him, but it feels like he lives in another world." Crowley's face hardened and sadness crept into his voice. "I miss him, Mica. I know I turned my back on him that time, but I... I miss him so much. I always thought that if he changed his mind, he'd contact me."

Michael looked at Crowley urgently. "He probably has, but he thinks he's already lost you for good. You know him, you were a couple for 16 years after all. Before he risks getting hurt again, he'd rather back off."

Crowley lowered his eyes as if he really wanted to grasp the meaning of her words. "I shouldn't have left him. I never wanted to let him go. I just thought... he wanted me to."

"He never really let you go either, Crowley. He may claim he did, but I don't even think he believes it himself." Crowley exhaled deeply, his eyes lost in the distance. "Nothing would make me happier than to see him again, Mica. But... I can't take the first step. I don't know if he even wants me anymore, and I'm afraid I'll only hurt him further if I try."

Aziraphale felt his throat choke up. The love he had tried to repress for so long seemed to catch up with him with full force, mixed with the feeling of having lost years of his life. "But I want you, my starlight," he pressed out as tears filled his eyes.

But Crowley could not hear him. Only the Ghost of Christmas Present gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's not too late, Aziraphale," she whispered as the scene before them slowly but inexorably faded. "All you need is a little bravery, even at the risk of losing something again."

Back in Aziraphale's bedroom, it was still deep night. The Ghost of Christmas Present was still with him as the darkness enveloped him again. But something was beginning to change. Slowly, the vibrant glow around Maggie faded, the colours of her dress began to fade, and she seemed to age in seconds. A soft glitter emanated from the ghost, which shortly afterwards dissolved like fine dust in the air.

Alone in the darkness, with a heavy heart, Aziraphale sat on the bed. The tears he had held back for so long began to flow and he wept quietly into the stillness of the night. The loneliness pressed heavily on his chest, and in his heart he felt the painful loss - not only of Crowley, but also of himself. Slowly, overcome by exhaustion, he finally fell asleep, the tears dried, but the emptiness remained.

*****

The memory didn't let him sleep for long; after a short and restless sleep, he woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. He lay awake thinking about what he had experienced when he felt the atmosphere in his bedroom change. The darkness surrounding him became colder, thicker - almost palpable. Uneasily, he sat up in bed and switched on the bedside lamp. Just as he was hoping the night might end quietly after all, he heard a soft knock.

"Who ... who's there?" he asked hesitantly and got out of his bed.

The door to his bedroom creaked open slowly without an answer. Aziraphale stared tensely into the darkness as a slim, small figure stepped into the room. She was dressed in black, wearing fingerless gloves, and two small crowns appeared to be pinned to her jacket. She was also wearing what appeared to be a hat - or was it a grotesque fly shape? Aziraphale squinted, not sure exactly what he was looking at. Her face remained hidden in shadow, but her demeanour radiated unmistakable confidence.

"Ah, Mr Fell," the shape began to speak, her voice slightly amused. "It gives me great pleasure to accompany you tonight."

Aziraphale frowned, his gaze travelling critically over the figure. "I assume you are the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" His voice trembled slightly. The figure tilted its head and a strip of light fell on its face. Aziraphale stared in disbelief. "Belle? Belle Zebub? You're not serious, are you?"

Was Gabriel's partner really standing there? Aziraphale hadn't seen her often - only at a few book fairs, where she liked to accompany Gabriel. However, her somewhat bizarre fascination with houseflies had stayed in his mind. But the thought of her death made him sad. He had heard about the car accident that had killed both her and Gabriel, but he hadn't gone to the funeral. A strange mixture of guilt and sadness filled him, for the second time that night, at the thought.

"Normally ... that would be correct," she began theatrically, obviously enjoying herself. "But the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is pretty busy this year. The thing is, if the other two spirits don't do their job properly, he has to do all the work. Overtime is pre-programmed."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Overtime? I didn't read that in Dickens' Christmas Carol."

Belle raised her index finger sarcastically. "Oh, Aziraphale, don't believe everything you read in books! Although, admittedly, the book in point does have some truth in it. Perhaps you've noticed tonight?"

Aziraphale blinked in confusion. "This night ... spare me this night. So it's really you?"

The woman made a gesture as if tipping her hat in greeting. "Of course it is. My beloved Gabriel was so worried that you wouldn't get your full dose of Christmas spirits that he asked me to stand in for the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

"Gabriel wanted that?" asked Aziraphale, visibly confused.

Belle sighed dramatically. "My goodness, Aziraphale, you're really lucky I'm taking this on. If you'd got the boss instead... let's just say there would have been a lot fewer answers and a lot more silences and pointing at things."

Before Aziraphale could say anything else, the temporary Ghost snapped his fingers. An icy gust of wind swept through the room and the walls began to blur before his eyes. Aziraphale wanted to protest, but the feeling of losing the ground under his feet swallowed up his words.

Just before Aziraphale's stomach began to churn from this journey through time, a room materialised around them. They were standing in a plain living room with worn furniture and a flickering television in the corner. The room radiated a bleak, oppressive atmosphere, as if it had lost all life before it had ever really begun.

Sitting in an equally bleak armchair was a man, perhaps in his early to mid-60s, but he looked much older. Aziraphale winced when he saw him in this strange form - it was Crowley. Or at least a version of him. The man in front of him had aged - differently than Aziraphale had always imagined. The sharp facial features were softer, the once fiery eyes tired and lifeless. His red hair was partially greyed and tied up carelessly, very different from the way he used to wear it. The clothes were simple, almost unremarkable - a stark contrast to Crowley's earlier style.
In the same room, on a green sofa, sat a man of the same age who appeared both stern and disinterested. He was well dressed, but his demeanour and expression were forbidding and cold. The two of them didn't speak, they looked as if they didn't have much to say to each other anyway. The other man stared at the television as if Crowley wasn't even there. But Crowley didn't seem to mind the silence. He sat motionless, his hands closed around a cup of tea, staring absently and sadly into space. Aziraphale felt his heart constrict as he looked at the lost, broken creature in front of him.

"That's... Crowley?" whispered Aziraphale in disbelief. His Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come nodded and added in an unusually serious tone, "This is Crowley in a future that could be. Married, yes. But not happy. Not even close."

Aziraphale swallowed as he continued to watch the scene.

The man on the sofa - Crowley's husband, Aziraphale now knew - suddenly turned to Crowley. "Don't you even go into the garden any more? The weeds are growing up again," he said gruffly, without any warmth in his voice. But Crowley didn't even flinch. He sipped his tea and replied quietly, "Maybe I'll do it later." His partner snorted, rose and left the room, leaving the depressed-looking Crowley alone.

"Why ... why is he living like this? The two of them are obviously not good for each other! And what happened to his love of plants? That always made him so happy," Aziraphale asked desperately. Belle Zebub crossed her arms and gave him a penetrating look. "He thinks there's nothing better for him. He's resigned himself to a life that doesn't fulfil him because he's convinced he's rejected his one true love and lost him." Aziraphale felt a pang in his chest. He inhaled deeply, almost feeling like he had to gasp for air because it was constricting his chest. "He thinks... he thinks that I..." he stammered out. Belle raised an eyebrow and her voice was calm, almost gentle. "That you were his one true love? Oh, Aziraphale, he doesn't just believe it - he knows it. And he regrets very much that he left that day, but since you didn't stop him, he resigned himself to being unhappy at some point... probably until the end of his days."

Tears welled up in Aziraphale's eyes. But he couldn't stop staring at Crowley. He had always told himself that the red-haired man led a more fulfilling life without him. But the fiery temper seemed completely extinguished. There was no anger, not even sadness - just a dull resignation that surrounded him like a shadow.

"Will it stay that way?" Aziraphale finally asked, though he was afraid of the answer, his voice little more than a whisper. His companion turned to him, and there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes. "If the present doesn't change, then yes. Lonely. Unnoticed. Without joy. And believing that he was never truly loved."

The words hit Aziraphale like a punch. He had loved him so much, how could Crowley not have known? He wiped a tear from his cheek and unconsciously stretched out his right hand towards his former partner. But before Aziraphale could delve any further into the vision, the surroundings changed again. The room they had been standing in dissipated like smoke and instead he was now standing in the middle of a cemetery. Grey clouds hung low in the sky and an icy wind blew through the sparse trees.

"I know," he said to Belle, almost a little petulantly. "I'm a bookseller, you remember. I know Dickens by heart." But the ghost wordlessly pushed him forward and finally did what she was supposed to do - stand in for the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. She pointed to a grave.

But it was not an abandoned grave, not a tombstone covered in snow under which Aziraphale thought he would find his name. In front of him lay an open grave with a closed coffin - plain and beige, surrounded by countless flowers, their colours almost blocking out the gloom of the December weather.

This was not a forgotten grave that nobody cared about, this was a funeral that had actually happened.

Aziraphale stared in disbelief at the many people who had come to pay their last respects.
People he knew, loved and liked, but whom he had pushed away for years because the past had once teached him how painful it is to lose people who mean a lot to you.

"This... this is my funeral," he whispered. His companion nodded silently and gave him time to take in the scene. Aziraphale stepped closer and scrutinised the people who had come to mourn him.There was Michael, who seemed stoic at first, but her eyes were reddened as if she had just been crying. Her husband Eric stood next to her and held her hand comfortingly. The twins Uriel and Dagon, who were already grown up, both had tears running down their cheeks.

Maggie and Nina were also there. Maggie had placed a protective hand on Nina's shoulder and her grief was almost palpable. Aziraphale felt a lump in his throat as he realised how much his loss had affected her, even though they had hardly been in contact for years.

Muriel, his ever so lively and cheerful assistant, seemed smaller than usual, almost lost in the crowd. She was holding a black book that Aziraphale recognised immediately - one that he had once given her for Christmas. He remembered exactly, it was the first Christmas she had been employed in the bookshop. The Christmas that Aziraphale had longed for, but also the Christmas on which he had lost the love of his life.

A few rows back, he caught sight of the Mutts. Aziraphale remembered well how he used to go to Mr Mutts' shop to talk about magic tricks or to buy something new for his hobby, performing magic. At some point, he had become friends with the owner of the magic shop and his wife. Aziraphale put a hand on his chest. It had all been ages ago, and yet here they were, visibly saddened by his loss.

Even people he only knew in passing were there. The owner of the pub, where he and Crowley often stayed until the last round, Mrs Sandwich, who he was never really sure what she actually did for a living - everyone was there. Even old friends like Anathema and Newt had travelled all the way from Tadfield, even though they had no longer met. But more importantly, everyone wished Aziraphale was still there. He could feel it. Each of them wished they'd had more time with him. Aziraphale realised that more time together would not have eased the sadness, but that the memory of more beautiful moments together was always better than the sadness of missed time.

His companion just nodded, as if she could read his mind, and actually he was sure she could. He was about to say something, just to make sure that Gabriel's wife would tell his old colleague that he had finally understood, but then he saw him...

Crowley was standing slightly apart from the group, a black umbrella in his hand, which kept the light raindrops away from him, but also hid him from the other guests. He held a pair of dark sunglasses in his hand. His face was expressionless, but there was a sadness in his eyes that Aziraphale had never seen before. He looked lost, lonely, as if the hopelessness in his soul had now reached its peak. Aziraphale swallowed hard. He watched as Crowley hesitantly approached the coffin, his umbrella close over his head, his dark sunglasses now on. In his hands he held a single red chrysanthemum - a flower full of symbolism. The vibrant colour stood for deep, undying love, but its presence at Aziraphale's funeral revealed a pain in Crowley so strong that it could probably never be put into words. Aziraphale had spent the best part of his life with the plant-loving Crowley, and he knew this flower was a promise that the memory of that time would not fade. A silent confession that Crowley whispered to Aziraphale without words: "I will always love you, even when I have lost you."

Crowley stopped in front of the coffin. He held the flower for a moment, as if he could convey all that had remained unspoken through this gesture. Then, before any of the other people mourning could recognise him, he gently placed the flower on the pale surface of the coffin. His thin fingers lingered on it a moment too long, as if he were leaving a piece of his heart there - hoping that Aziraphale could somehow feel it wherever he was now. At that, he straightened, turned and left - without looking back again.

"Look closely, Aziraphale," Belle said softly. "This is the legacy you've left behind. People who love and need you, even though you've withdrawn from them." Aziraphale averted his eyes, the scene too painful to contemplate any longer. His heart felt heavy and he couldn't hold back the tears.

"And this... this will stay if you don't change. If you keep believing that pushing everyone away from you just for fear of losing them is the right way." Belles' voice was harsh, her words like a cold blade. "There are so many people who love you, Aziraphale. Yet you shut them all out."

Aziraphale sank to her knees, unable to look any further. "Stop it, I get it. I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt anyone," he whispered brokenly. Belle stepped in front of him again, as if she still didn't believe he understood. Her words remained adamant: "And yet you do. With every step you take away from them. With every opportunity you let pass."

Aziraphale just wanted to get away from this place. Back to the present, back to his bed, or better still, back to his family, to his friends... to Crowley!

The graveyard faded, the voices fell silent, and the surroundings faded into mist. Aziraphale sat back on the cold floor of his bedroom, shivering, but also relieved, relieved that it didn't seem too late. Relieved that he had been shaken awake in a way he had never thought possible - at a time of year he had always associated with pain and loss since childhood. The images he had seen were still too close, but he could almost feel something like joy. Joy that it wasn't too late.

"That's it for me then," Belle Zebub snapped him out of his thoughts. Her voice sounded a little more relaxed again. "I hope that was impressive enough for you to finally realise what's important." Aziraphale straightened up quickly, his gaze searching hers. "Thank you," he said, his voice low but full of sincerity. "I assure you, this future will not become reality!"

Belle smiled - a warm and relieved smile. "I know," she replied, turning and heading for the door. But before she disappeared, she gave him one last look. "Oh, and one more thing: your parents will be happy if you take this seriously. Believe me, they've gone to a lot of hard work to get you on the Christmas spirit list for this year."

Aziraphale's breath caught, but after all that had happened that night, he wasn't surprised for long. His eyes sparkled with emotion and happiness. His parents had always been with him, even when he couldn't see them. He shook his head with an amused grin, partly in disbelief, partly in bewilderment. "Christmas Ghosts... With all the crazy adaptations of Dickens' Christmas Carol... who could have guessed that Christmas Ghosts actually exist?"

*****

The morning of 25 December was fresh and clear, the first rays of sunlight were already shining through the window, bathing Aziraphale's room in a soft light. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly with excitement. It was a strange feeling - a feeling of security and joy, as if a long, painful journey had finally come to an end.

He didn't want to waste any more time, so he got dressed quickly. He chose a light brown, elegant yet comfortable suit, a blue shirt and completed the outfit with a tartan bow tie. He took one last look at the empty room, from which the feeling of loss seemed to have just disappeared. Then he hurried down the stairs, through the bookshop and out into the cold London morning air. Today he wanted to change things, to get closer to people again. But above all, he wanted to take a first step back towards Crowley.

Just as Aziraphale stood on the doorstep, he heard the soft ring of the coffee shop opposite. A familiar figure emerged, clutching countless bags of freshly baked goods. It was Nina, who had just come out of Give me coffee or give me death, carrying the warm aroma of Eccles Cakes.

"Merry Christmas, neighbour!" Aziraphale called out with a cheerful smile as Nina approached. "Hey, Aziraphale! Merry Christmas????," she replied, visibly irritated.
Aziraphale took a few steps towards her. "Ah, so you forgot that it's Christmas Day, that explains why you're here. Did you want to work?" he asked cheekily.
"Aziraphale Fell!" Nina replied with mock indignation. "You've forgotten WHAT Christmas is for the last 14 years!" Nina lifted the bag and grinned broadly. "Eccles Cakes, I left them here yesterday, and Maggie's family is here for a visit."

"Oh, how nice! Then please wish Maggie a Merry Christmas from me too. And... ahm... I know I've missed a few of our shopkeepers' Christmas parties, but... hmm, well..." He kneaded his hands a little sheepishly. "If you don't have any plans yet, I'd like to invite you to a post-Christmas party on Saturday."

" I would love to," Nina said with a twinkle in her eye. "I suppose this is your big turnaround, isn't it? I mean, you're going to see Michael now? She came to me yesterday and told me that you didn't want to come to her Christmas dinner again." Nina pressed one of the many bags she had in her arms into Aziraphale's hand. "Is this the Aziraphale we all know and love - or the new, better Aziraphale who's ready for anything?"

"I think I'm more the Aziraphale who's finally realised that he can't live in his safe little bubble forever," he said with a sigh as he gratefully held the bag of Eccles Cakes in his hands. "So yeah, I think I'm the upgraded Aziraphale now." Nina laughed: "That's what I thought. All you need now is Crowley, right?"

Aziraphale froze for a moment and the smile he'd had on his lips the whole time almost disappeared. "You know... So, you knew, huh?"

"Well, I'm a barista, Aziraphale," she said with a smile. "I can pretty much read anything through the coffee grounds. So, get on with it. It's about time."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "You're right. I know what I have to do." With those words, he made his way to nearby Piccadilly Station. But his journey first took him to Michael's house. He had avoided contact with her for years, but today - on this special day - he was ready to heal old wounds. As he stood in front of the door, he knocked briefly, his hand trembling less from uncertainty than from a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

"Zira?" her surprised voice rang out, and she looked in surprise at the early visitor. He intuitively spread his arms, beamed at his sister and gave her a euphoric "Mica! Merry Christmas!" towards her. "It's... it really has been years since you called me that," she marvelled and stood in the doorway for a moment, visibly moved. "Zira, I'm so glad to see you," she continued with a smile that reminded him of all the good years. She stepped aside to let him in. "Come on in. What on earth happened overnight?"

Aziraphale stepped inside and looked around with interest. "You wouldn't believe it, but in the end what counts is that I understood a few things," he said softly, radiating a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. "But, I'm inviting you all to a party at the bookshop on Saturday. Nina and Maggie are coming too and I'm inviting everyone else I know. Anyone can bring someone. It's going to be a big party - for all our friends and family."

"What happened?" Mica asked again, no less astonished. "You've... really changed. The little brother I've been missing." Aziraphale nodded and put his hands on his hips. "Better," he said, tilting his head slightly to one side. Mica nodded. "That sounds great. I wasn't expecting you to turn over such a... new leaf. I'm happy for you, I really am."

"It feels right," Aziraphale replied. Then he lowered his voice, as if to give his next request a special meaning: "Mica, please... I need Crowley's address." Mica tried to stifle a smile, but she barely managed it. "I don't have that either," she pressed out with a grin. "But..." She pressed a black and gold business card labelled "Crowley's Starlight Blossoms" into Aziraphale's hand. "I have this and I know the shop is open this morning because I..." She was interrupted by her brother. "I know," he laughed, which earned him a rightly confused look. "Thank you," he called out cheerfully as he hugged his sister quickly but tightly. Then he pressed a kiss to the business card and hurried out the door.

******

Aziraphale stood in front of the small flower shop on Waterloo Street and took another deep breath. He closed his eyes briefly, smoothed his camel hair coat and entered the shop with trembling hands and a heart beating faster with excitement. The room was exactly as he had imagined it, fitting of the Crowley he knew and to his relief very different from the future scene he had seen the night before. He breathed a sigh of relief, he wasn't too late.

He looked around uncertainly, all the plants and flowers standing around him in their bright colours somewhat hiding the small table that stood next to the counter. But Crowley was standing right there. He was standing at the table, tying together a bouquet of red chrysanthemums. Aziraphale felt tears well up in his eyes as he was inevitably reminded of the scene at his grave. Aziraphale stood frozen in the room at first, his throat suddenly dry. Then he plucked up his courage and took a step towards Crowley, whose back was turned to him.

Crowley must have noticed him now, because he turned around and their eyes met. The redhead's breath seemed to catch in his throat. His eyes widened and seemed unable to decide on a single emotion. Surprise, amazement and a deep, overwhelming joy flashed in his eyes. For a moment, he just stood there, as if he could hardly believe that Aziraphale was really standing in front of him. And then, despite the relief that spread through him, the sadness could also be seen in his gaze - as if he thought it was all just a coincidence.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, wanting to say something, maybe an apology, maybe a comment about the shop or just "hello". But when Crowley took a deep look into the blue eyes of the man opposite him, he knew why Aziraphale had come. His eyes lit up and he interrupted Aziraphale before he could say a single syllable, walking towards him with quick steps.

" Finally," Crowley said, his voice full of relief that came from deep within his soul. Before Aziraphale could react, Crowley had pulled him close and kissed him, a kiss that made him forget all the years of deprivation, all the uncertainty and sadness in a single, burning moment. It was a kiss that carried not only love, but also old intimacy and the promise of a future together.

Aziraphale let himself fall into the kiss, feeling all the passion and security, and they both sensed that this was the beginning of something that would never end.

When they finally separated, Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked at Crowley with shining eyes. "I've missed you," he whispered, his voice low and almost shaky.
Crowley smirked, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "I missed you too," he said softly. "I'm sorry I left." Aziraphale shook his head and whispered, "I'm sorry I let you go."

Aziraphale wanted to tell Crowley what had happened to him. But he also wanted to know how Crowley had been in the meantime. But when he looked at the big red clock above the counter and realised what time it was, he decided that could wait. After all, they still had a whole life together ahead of them and, as he now knew first-hand, a whole eternity.

So Aziraphale took a deep breath to clarify the most important things first. "Crowley," he said with a broad grin and bright eyes, "I've got a big party planned at the bookshop on Saturday. I want you to be part of it. You know most of the people, but I want to finally introduce you properly. Not just as my best friend, but as the one and only true love of my life." Crowley raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "Oh? So you want to officially introduce me to the Whickber Street family now? Without any secrets or disguises?" Aziraphale smiled sheepishly, looking up at Crowley from below and scuffing a few pine needles back and forth on the floor with his foot. "'No need at all. I think it's time the world knew how important you are to me. How important you've always have been to me."
Crowley stroked his curls and kissed him gently on the forehead as he heard the words he had always wanted to hear.

But today," Aziraphale continued hesitantly, stepping from one foot to the other, "so, Mica's having her big family Christmas dinner tonight again. Lots of food, few people. Just Eric, Dagon, Uriel and this year ... well, maybe, if you like ... us?"

"I'd love to, Angel," Crowley relieved him of the embarrassment of surprising him with this spontaneous invitation after all these years. Aziraphale was visibly relieved - and even more delighted. But then the blonde hesitated briefly and his expression became more serious. "I have to ask Mica to do something. She should get in contact with Muriel. It's about Adam ... that's her brother, I recently learnt, and his kidneys are failing. He needs the best doctor in town, and that is, without overstatement..." Crowley rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and nodded, interrupting him: "Your sister!". Of course, even after all these years, he hadn't forgotten how proudly Aziraphale used to tell everyone who wanted to know - and those who didn't - about it.

As the two laughed about this old running gag, it felt like they had never been apart. Aziraphale gently pulled Crowley into his arms, and Crowley nuzzled his neck and whispered, "It feels like I've experienced my own little Christmas wonder. I'm looking forward to the rest of our life. Without the ghosts of the past."

Aziraphale smiled and squeezed Crowley a little tighter. "Not all ghosts are bad - some of them even lead us home."