Title: The True Meaning of Christmas - or Killing Plastic Sheep is Good For the Soul Author: Saone (saone@yahoo.com) Summary: How do two exiled angels spend Christmas? Pairing: Bartleby/Loki Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Bartleby and Loki belong to Kevin Smith. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred. ========================================================================================================= Loki grimaced as the head of a wiseman went skittering down the street. "Do you think you could keep it down a little?" he hissed, glancing furtively around him. "Why?" Bartleby snorted. "It's not like anyone's here." He kicked a shepherd boy, and stomped on a plastic sheep. "I mean, it's only midnight on Christmas Eve, why the hell would anyone be at church?!" He yelled, head back, arms outstretched, sheep stuck on one booted foot. Somewhere in the suburban night a dog began to bark. "Oh for..." Loki rubbed a hand across his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, they would be somewhere other than Wisconsin, and he would see something other than his enraged mate trying to shake a day-glo plastic lawn ornament free from his foot. It didn't work. "Every year..." He sighed. "What?" "Every year,” Loki said again, louder this time. "Every fucking year, it's the same damn thing. ‘Mortals don't appreciate the birth of their savior. There's no piety anymore. Everything’s too commercialized. Let's go vandalize a church.' Every. Single. Fucking. Year." "Well, they don't, there isn't, and it is." Bartleby finally succeeded in loosing the sheep. "And I'm not vandalizing a church, I'm vandalizing the crap the church has the avarice to put on their front lawn." “You’re vandalizing church property.” Loki pointed out. “Tacky church property!” “That doesn’t matter!" Loki said exasperatedly. "It’s the principle of the thing.” “Exactly! The principle." Bartleby's eyes grew wide as he began to expound on one of his favorite subjects--the utter unworthiness of humanity. "These hairless apes are taking the most important time in their pathetic little history--the birth of their savior--and-" “Wait,” Loki interrupted. "Isn’t the resurrection the most important event in the life of a Christian?” “What? I don’t know.” “Yeah, yeah, I think it is.” Loki nodded firmly. “The resurrection is more important than the birth.” “Whatever! The point is-" "And, you know, this isn't really when Jesus was born. The early Christians just chose December to try and co-opt the Pagans' Winter Solstice celebrations." "Yes, professor, I did know that, thank you." Bartleby rolled his eyes. "But most of those worthless fleshbags... Ah, screw it. Talk is cheap.” Bartleby gazed around at the destruction he had wrought, and realized he had overlooked one key member of the manger party. Determination blazed in his eyes as he reached towards the pink, plastic infant. Loki grabbed his arm. “No.” “What?” “Just, no.” “Why-” “Look, I am not going to let you dropkick the baby Jesus, all right?” Loki shoved Bartleby away from the remaining pitiable decoration. “Are you kidding me?! Or..." Bartleby sneered condescendingly. “Are you trying to suck up?” “Excuse me?” “To the big guy? Do you think that maybe He’s watching us right now, and that protecting a cheap, and vulgar representation of His one and only son might put you back in His good graces?” Bartleby looked pityingly at him. “That's just sad, Loki." “Hey, fuck you, all right!” Loki scrubbed his hands through his hair and began to pace through the plastic carnage. “You think this time of year is hard on just you?” Bartleby frowned. “No, of course not.” “It’s hard on me too.” “I know that.” Loki stopped pacing and glared at the other angel. “Then why do you insist on making it even worse?” “I don’t.” Bartleby said defensively. “Yes, you do. If it’s not destroying a nativity scene, it’s assaulting a Salvation Army bell ringer. If it’s not assaulting a bell ringer, it’s telling the kids at the mall waiting to see Santa that they’re going to hell. This time of year is very stressful, but you always manage to make it a thousand times worse.” “I... I..." Loki crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "It's always about you, isn't it?" "No! It's about them!" Bartleby gestured towards the empty church. “Oh, of course, them.” Loki shook his head. "Well, for once, do you think it could be just about me?" For the first time in thousands of years, Bartleby was at a loss. "I’m sorry, Loki." He finally said. "I didn’t realize...” "That your actions are upsetting and if I was human I'd have gotten ulcers years ago?" "I don't think-" “That I have feelings?" Loki was starting to get wound up. "Because I was the Angel of Death, I’m supposed to be some kind of automaton?” “Well, no, but-” “Just because I used to bring death and destruction, and carry a flaming sword of retribution, I can’t be sensitive to the emotions and mindset of mortals during one of their most sacred seasons?” Bartleby blinked. “You’re just fucking with me now, aren’t you?” “A little bit." Loki grinned. "We good?” Bartleby sighed, and slumped, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, we’re good." "Want to see if we can find someplace still selling eggnog?" "I guess." Bartleby lightly kicked at the ground. He brightened for a moment and stared longingly at the still whole baby Jesus. "So, can I-” “No.” "Dammit."