Room For One More

A week before Christmas there was a knock on the front door of the cottage Crowley and Aziraphale shared in the South Downs.

Aziraphale glanced up from the stove top to peer through the frosty panes of the kitchen window. One of Crowley's enormous rose bushes blocked the majority of his view, but as far as he could tell there were no strange cars in the drive that might forewarn of visitors. Shaking it off, he turned his attention back to the pot on the stove, stirring and seasoning liberally until another knock sounded, unmistakable this time. Aziraphale hastily licked the wooden spoon clean before dashing out of the kitchen to answer it, wiping his hands on his apron as he went.

"Crowley? Is that you?"

The door shouldn't have been locked to Crowley, though he couldn't imagine who else it might have been. Grasping the handle, the angel pulled open the heavy wooden door just as a gust of cold air blew in, pushing a few snow flurries into his pink face.

"Happy Christmas, angel," Crowley announced.

The demon stood just outside the door frame, stomping snow crust off his boots and onto the red and green welcome mat. His long arms were piled with gifts that Aziraphale had to crane his neck to see the top of, oddly shaped packages in all sorts of bright, festive colors. Crowley sneezed and one of the parcels toppled off the pile.

"Crowley! It's freezing, come inside at once," Aziraphale cried, leaping aside to make room for the demon to squeeze past him. Crowley obeyed, ducking through the doorway and trailing fallen packages as he journeyed down the short hall to the sitting room. Aziraphale knelt and gathered them up in his wake, simultaneously scrutinizing the demon's bundled up appearance from behind. Along with a puffy black jacket Crowley had donned a scarf, earmuffs, hat and gloves for his journey, all of which belonged to Aziraphale, judging by their telltale tartan pattern.

"You won't believe the day I've had," Crowley was saying, side-stepping a fallen Christmas ornament with a little less grace than usual. Crowley had insisted upon decorating the cottage for the holiday season, and a mishmash of festive decorations cluttered the room: Christmas tree, menorah, specially selected yule log, and a few bits and bobs from traditions long passed. "The crowds! I never would h-h-ha-CHOO!"

Aziraphale refrained from blessing him. Crowley had made it to the sitting area, and just in time, too, as the force of his sneeze sent the armload of presents cascading into the first available armchair. A few of the smaller ones fell to the floor. Apparently satisfied with this, Crowley tossed his borrowed gloves onto a nearby table and unwound his scarf just as Aziraphale arrived with the remaining packages. The angel was slightly more careful in setting his armload of gifts aside.

"Are these all for me?" Aziraphale asked fretfully. The two small gifts he'd had in mind for Crowley suddenly seemed small in comparison, even the one that had seemed so perfect when he'd spotted it through that shop window just a few days ago.

"Every last one," Crowley replied happily.

With his arms now free, Aziraphale moved to stand on tiptoe behind the demon to assist in removing the earmuffs and hat from his head. Crowley sniffed the air.

"What are you cooking?"

"Hungarian goulash."

"Smells nice," Crowley said appreciatively, flicking out his tongue to gather the scent further. Setting aside Crowley's outer-things, Aziraphale guided him toward the worn leather sofa and Crowley sprawled out across its cushions before letting out another ear-splitting sneeze.

Aziraphale frowned. It wasn't like Crowley to sneeze like that. Having preternatural control of his corporation meant embarrassing bodily functions were typically kept to a minimum. For a demon, sneezing twice in a decade might be considered curious — sneezing thrice in five minutes was downright suspicious.