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Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Day of Christmas

Eighth Day of Christmas

The following day Crowley sat on his couch and sulked. And sulked. And sulked some more. And when he wasn't sulking the demon was glaring at the painting that he'd left propped up against the wall he was facing. The painting facing the wall so that he wouldn't have to look at the image of their park bench and the view they had from it. The presumably decoy painting he'd come home to yesterday after his meeting with Aziraphale in the park just so happened to feature two parent swans with three baby swans on the water...and a white and black swan on the other side of the painting, swimming companionably side by side together.

The oil had been beautifully rendered, the artist quite skilled in Crowley's opinion. It was the perfect present for Aziraphale to have given him, really. And that was one of the reasons it made Crowley so damn irritable.

Why hadn't the angel just given him the painting for Christmas and called it quits? It would have been perfect for the occasion, a nice if very angelic gesture, and it wouldn't have been that hard for him to conjure up something that Aziraphale would love in return and that would have been that. Maybe they'd start a holiday tradition of giving each other gifts, maybe not, but it would have been straightforward and expected and he'd know how the hell he was supposed to react to all of this.

The blinding anger was dimming, thankfully, but now Crowley was left feeling confused and out of sorts. Very out of sorts.

And curious as to just how the hell Aziraphale was going to pull off 'Eight maids a milking'.

Was he going to get eight cartons of milk? Did they even sell milk in glass bottles like they once had? Another picture? T-shirt? Decorative bowl?

It better not be a collection of figurines like you saw in the homes of old women who seemed determined to fill their homes to the brim with useless knickknacks. Often hideous knickknacks in the shape of animals and children smiling in demonic ways that made Crowley shudder every time he saw them.

Those Precious Moment figurines alone...Crowley cursed the demon who had put the idea of those things into that stupid mortal's head.

Please G-GAH. Nevermind.

Crowley shuddered over what he'd almost thought. Curse Aziraphale for doing things that made him tempted to mention She Who Should Not-well not actually curse Aziraphale. He'd end anyone who tried to actually curse his angel.

The sound of a knock at his door was a welcome relief.

"Let's get this over with, then."

Hopping to his feet Crowley forced himself to saunter towards the door like everyone was watching. He knew how to swagger, dammit. And he was not going to let anyone see how thoroughly one little angel had messed with his head.

Opening the door Crowley opened his mouth, but was given no chance to say anything as the frazzled man in a postal service uniform interrupted him.

"Mr. Crowley?"

"Yes."

"Here."

Taking the package thrust into his face Crowley snatched it before contact was made, eyes flashing behind his glasses at the insult of it.

"Happy Christmas." The man said in a toneless sort of voice that said he was saying it on autopilot and because it was expected. Then turning on his heels he headed off, Crowley allowing it only because-well because he'd probably do a Hell of a lot worse in the other man's shoes.

And he wanted to see what was in the box.

Going back inside Crowley retook his seat and then clawed a finger so that he could easily slice through the tape keeping the box closed. Opening the lid Crowley found himself looking at another piece of clothing that had been folded up to fit, though when he pulled this article out he found it made of silky material...and smaller. And intended for his lower half.

Briefs. Boxer briefs.

His angel had bought him PANTS.

Bright blue pants with...with milkmaids on them.

Aziraphale had sent him pants with eight women dressed as milkmaids, sitting on stools, while pulling on the udders of cows. And all the 'maids' were winking out at their 'audience'.

Did Aziraphale not get the underlining joke of these things?

Of course he didn't. This was Aziraphale he was thinking about. The angel had probably thought them adorable. Bought some for himself.

The mental images that brought to mind wiped Crowley's brain clean for a good two minutes at least before it restarted enough for him the go back to his main train of thought.

What the Hell was going on in his crazy angel's mind?!

)

Ninth Day of Christmas

The following day Crowley stood in front of his door and waited. And waited and waited. He had done the few chores he needed to do-scaring the shite out of his plants-aside from the pear tree-didn't take long-and now he was waiting for his next present with folded arms and a stoic façade reminiscent of a man being led to the gallows. He might not actually be British, but he'd lived in the country long enough to learn the whole 'stiff upper lip' mentality. Not that he normally employed it of course. He in fact took perverse pleasure in messing with the British and making them lose their cool completely.

But today Crowley had decided that he was going to be cool as a cucumber and then, after he saw whatever it was Aziraphale had gotten for him for 'nine ladies dancing' he was going to put it away and then-then he was going to devote the rest of his day to insuring that a number of people had a very unhappy Christmas. How he was going to do that Crowley wasn't entirely sure, but once he didn't have to worry about the latest present he was sure to think of something. A bunch of somethings. Some really creative, Grinch level somethings.

No, better than that. The Grinch had totally flaked at the end.

His heart would remain three sizes too small, Crowley assured himself. No golden haired sweetheart with a heart of gold was going to do him in. No siree. Never.

"Damn but I miss Jim Carrey's brilliance."

Mourning that loss, the man hadn't demonstrated his true comedic genius in years, Crowley took a moment to smile as he recalled some of his favorite works by the man before reminding himself that he needed to remain stony faced and prepared for anything.

Surely the angel wouldn't send him more underwear.

Oh please, oh please let him not send him more.

Once this was all over he and Aziraphale were going to have a long talk about how inappropriate it was to send someone pants like that. And pants in general. That was the sort of thing you gave your children or your lover. Or a mate as a joke which was probably why Aziraphale had sent him those particular briefs. They'd fit the eight milkmaids requirement and probably seemed funny to the innocent little angel who wouldn't have realized what the images were meant to insinuate and imply.

Aziraphale needed a keeper. He was too much for one demon to handle.

"Angel, My Arse. He could out bedevil anyone I know."

Ruminating over that for a while Crowley was ready to open the door as soon as the knock came, the woman on the other side looking just as worn down as the last one, though she worked up a smile for him as she held out a package for him.

"Well that was fast. Last minute gift you've been waiting for?"

"You could say that." Crowley drawled out as he took the package from her.

"Well glad it got here in time. Happy Christmas."

Nodding absently Crowley completely forgot all about the lovely insults and snide comments he'd had planned for the next delivery person as part of his Grinch mentality. And he'd come up with some good ones if he did say so himself.

But the name printed all over the package he'd just received had shocked him into silence.

The Disney Store.

Aziraphale had sent him something from DISNEY.

"That's just Evil."

Shuddering a little with the evilness of it all Crowley slowly made his way back into the safety of his home, the box tucked absently under his arm.

The question of what precisely was in the box naturally nagged at Crowley. Particularly since it wasn't that big of a box and surely not even Aziraphale would be foolish enough to think Crowley would ever desire a box containing nine Disney princesses...though maybe not. The man did love Disney movies after all. Really, he should have expected this.

It was tempting to throw the box onto the couch in a fit of pique, his fingers just itched to do it, but the box had also said fragile so Crowley forced himself to set it down on the table in front of the couch instead. Then taking a seat glared at it for a good three minutes before finally going to work ripping off the tape and then tossing all the packing peanuts and flyers out of his way until he could grab the wooden box that rested inside.

The lidded box, which was about the size of a rugby ball, was made with good quality wood and inlaid with carvings of tropical flowers. Strange.

Bracing himself for whatever horror might lie inside Crowley opened the hinged lid and then stared at the sight in front of him.

The scene depicted a stage, the curtain behind it yellow. There were ten figurines standing on that stage, five women in the back and then four girls in the front. Four little girls with one blue alien amongst the children to even out the rows. All wore grass skirts with more green stuff on their heads and ankles, the latter drawing Crowley's attention to the fact that odds were...they moved.

Having already noted the dial at the side Crowley prayed for strength and then turned the dial around and around before letting go.

Elvis Presley's 'Burning Love' began to play as the hula girls and alien began to turn around in circles.

A 'Lilo and Stitch' music box.

Aziraphale had gotten him a Disney 'Lilo and Stitch' music box with nine hula girls and Stitch. One of the very few Disney characters Crowley found at all tolerable.

A fact that his angel had not found at all surprising the last time they'd discussed the pros and cons of the Disney corporation and its hold on the world.

Dropping his face into his hands...Crowley was only somewhat successful at drowning out his chuckles as his shoulders shook with mirth.

He couldn't help it.

That angel.

)

Tenth Day of Christmas

Crowley hung the painting on his wall two days before Christmas. He watered his pear tree and considered wearing either of the two items of clothing Aziraphale had sent him before sanity prevailed. Both items were hidden away in drawers and would stay there for the time being. With the ring box. Which he was managing, for the most part, not to think about as he waited to see what Aziraphale had planned for his next present.

Currently Crowley's money was on another shirt. He'd gone online and it seemed to be that or a ridiculous puzzle from Amazon. That seemed to be it when it came to merchandise celebrating that particular day in the poem.

If Aziraphale were more devilish in nature Crowley might have hoped that members of the House of Lords would suddenly start leaping around like frogs. A little divine miracle of the decidedly un angelic sort.

Unfortunately Aziraphale probably wouldn't even think of that, much less do it. And the House of Lords wasn't in session anyway. If ten of them were leaping around their houses like the stupid nitwits that they were it wasn't like they'd want that fact advertised. Or photographed for Crowley's viewing pleasure.

So what would he get instead?

There was also the possibility of food. Crowley had considered something frog themed. Dress it up in fancy clothes and you could pretend it was a lord. Which would be a bit of a cop out, but Aziraphale had to be running low on ideas at this point.

Come to think of it...just how long could the angel have been planning this out? Wouldn't it have taken some serious planning? Of course the angel could perform miracles, so really, anything was possible.

Shaking his head as he remembered the swans, Crowley mused over the creativity Aziraphale had shown until the knock came again at his door.

Show time.

Squaring his shoulder Crowley marched over to his front door to unlocked and open it. He was not expecting to find himself looking at a familiar face. The man from before. The one who'd brought him the four bottles of wine and now held a single bottle of what looked like a really good brand of whiskey to him.

"He sent me liquor again?"

"Not that I know of." The deliveryman said with a sheepish look. "I'm sorry but-well-I told my missus about your gifts. How your friend was sending you one for each day of that poem and she loved it. Was real impressed when I told her what he'd given you so far." A sigh. "Anyway...she's been driving me barmy, she has, speculating as to what else he gave you. Asking my opinion-not that she ever really wants mine if you ask me. I promised her that if I had a delivery near you I'd stop in, ask if you were still getting the gifts to stop the nagging. And I brought you something strong in case you needed it."

Knowing a bribe when he saw one-he was a demon for fuck sakes-Crowley could nonetheless appreciate a good one. And, he realized, a chance to bitch to someone about just what Aziraphale had been sending to him.

So he jerked his head to the side and said, "Come in."

He even held the door open for the man.

"I'm Davey by the way. David Wayfare."

"Anthony Crowley. But just call me Crowley."

"Fair enough."

Once they were inside Crowley pointed the deliveryman towards the couch, telling him to take a seat and he'd grabbed the presents so that the human could see them for himself. He wasn't worried about the man stealing from him. He had very few things worth stealing in the 'public' areas of his home. The majority of them were kept in his bedroom. And if Davey were stupid enough to steal from him, having no idea what Crowley actually was...well then the man's wife would be far too busy caring for a husband stuck in a full body cast to speculate about just what Crowley was getting for Christmas.

Returning once he'd collected the gifts he'd received since the bottles of wine-save for the rings which he had no intention of showing anyone other than Aziraphale once the angel confessed to this whole scheme- Crowley returned to his living room and set the items he carried down on the table.

Naturally everything he'd piled on top of the music box slid off at that point, Crowley no longer exerting any will over the rest to stay in place.

"Figured some of it had to be clothes. Nice boxers." Davey grinned, nodding in the direction of the boxer briefs.

"They're ridiculous, is what they are. Not to mention the sex joke probably went completely over his innocent little head. Believe me, I know. I've been telling him dirty jokes for our entire acquaintance and can probably count on one hand the times he's gotten it."

Looking amused Davey picked up the shirt next, laughing over it once he got a good look at it. "Bloody brilliant, your friend. I would have never thought of this. Good movie too. Way better than that Johnny Depp version. Definitely no Gene Wilder, that's for sure."

"Too right. They don't make actors like they used to."

"They don't make anything like they used to."

Surprised to find a human that realized that Crowley found himself appreciating the man a little bit more. Especially since Davey found the music box just as ridiculously charming as he had. And agreed that the painting was very well done.

"And no rings...too personal?"

About to answer in the affirmative Crowley belatedly figured out what type of rings Davey was implying. The sort of rings that did go around a body part-but not the finger. "No. They were normal rings. Just...personal."

"Right. Cause I got to say, Mate...these don't seem like gifts between friends. More of the romantic sort with the painting and rings."

"You don't know Aziraphale. He might be one of the cleverest...men I've ever known, which again is saying something, but it took decades just to get him to admit that we were best friends. He's never-would never-think me in the romantic sense. Ever."

Even if it had taken millenniums to get Aziraphale to admit they were friends. And the majority of people who met Aziraphale immediately leapt to the conclusion that he was gayer than Elton John.

"Well you'd know im better than-"

The sound of a knock at the door.

"Looks like number ten has arrived."

Sharing a look the two men made their way over to the front door, retrieved the padded manila envelope from the postal person, then went back inside to see what Aziraphale had sent.

The answer?

A black tie depicting robed members of the House of Lords being forced by a demon with a pitchfork to jump into the fires of Hell.

That angel.