A/N: Bit late, I know. At this rate maybe I'll write the Valentine's Day fic I meant to in time for next Christmas.

Tis The Season

I.

"What do you reckon?" Franky asked, smiling proudly as she indicated the Christmas tree (of sorts) she'd just dragged into the living room.

Bridget, who was stood in the kitchen, dousing the Christmas Pudding she had been preparing for months with brandy, looked up. Her eyebrows raised quizzically. "It's a Bush," Bridget stated. Wondering what had happened to the pine tree she'd placed on order from Four Season's Garden Centre back in October that Franky was supposed to have picked-up on her way home from work.

"It's a native tree of these here backwaters - Christmas Aussie style. Embrace it Gidge," Doyle enthused.

"What happened to the pine tree?"

"I thought you of all people would appreciate a good bush," Franky teased.

Bridget rolled her eyes.

It's their first proper Christmas together. Last year Gidge had spent Xmas in Queensland with her brother (organised long before they were officially 'together') and Franky had spent Christmas drowning her sorrows in a dive bar singing karaoke with a biker gang, all the while pinning for Gidge. So this year – Franky was pulling out all the stops. She wanted to make this holiday memorable, wanted them to start their own traditions – beginning with the tree.

Bridget gazed at it; the cream coloured flowers adorning the bush were pretty but she preferred the traditional tree her family got every year but the hopeful look on Franky's face melted her resolve. Franky asked for so few concessions, she felt unable to refuse.

"Fine – it can stay," Bridget sighed reluctantly.

Franky grinned. "Great! Let's get a-decorating," she said jovially.

They found a nice spot for the bush by the window, then Doyle tore into a box marked 'Xmas Ornaments' which Bridget had hauled out of the attic earlier. They proceeded to unpack various decorations.

As Franky unravelled gold tinsel, she couldn't resist. "I've always wanted a bush I could - "

"If you finish that sentence - I swear I'm sending it back!" the blonde warned as she untangled a string of fairy lights.

Franky held up her hands, an innocent expression plastered across her face, then stepped in close behind her girlfriend and wrapped her arms around Bridget's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. "You won't regret this."

"I already do!" Bridget groaned.

Franky placed several soft kisses against the base of Gidge's neck, then leaned down and retrieved a beautiful berry wreath from the ornaments box. She headed to the front door and hung it proudly.

Together they decorated the house and yard with lights and tinsel. Franky never noticed how homely Christmas decorations could make a place feel. They were throwing baubles, tinsel and fairy lights at the Christmas bush when there was a knock at the door.

Franky pulled it open and her eyes landed on a school choir – who erupted into heavenly song. They sang a Christmas carol she recognised and looked so angelic she wanted to donate her entire month's pay cheque to their collection box.

She shook herself mentally – this whole Christmas malarkey was starting to get to her. Franky didn't believe in Santa or goodwill to mankind – that was Gidge's bag. But for some reason she found a lump forming in her throat; found her heart swell with... what the fuck was that? Christmas cheer? She wanted to kick herself. How the fuck had Bridget convinced her that Christmas was wonderful? That all her shitty Xmases as a kid could be made-up for? That this Christmas would be different?

Franky had always hated Christmas – that's what happy families did – but Gidge had infected her with the Christmas spirit. Suddenly she was excited about spending the holidays with her girlfriend, exchanging presents, watching sappy Christmas movies, drinking mulled wine, eating mince pies and listening to carols. It was a first. But Gidge had opened her eyes to so many things she'd written off, made her want things she'd long supressed, made her feel safe enough to want them again.

As the carol singers launched enthusiastically into a new song, Bridget moved beside her, slipped her arm about Franky's waist and leaned into her. Franky smiled as the 20 strong carol singers hit the high notes of "Silent Night" and suddenly felt overcome. Her fingers grazed Bridget's hip and she felt the warmth of Gidge's body press into her, felt the heat of Gidget's breath against her neck. Everything felt right. Like this was how it was meant to be. She finally had her happy ever after.

The sentimentality of the moment lasted another carol and then a high pitched screech perforated the air. It was the fire alarm. Franky and Bridget turned to see their Christmas bush on fire. Bridget froze in shock. The choir halted singing and Franky rushed forward. She grabbed the antique patch-work quilt from the back of the sofa and threw it over the burning bush – knocked it to the ground and stomped out the flames.

She turned to see Gidge surrounded by a sea of children staring open mouthed at the charred remains of the Christmas bush, billowing smoke coming from the molten mess of tinsel, melted fairy lights and charcoal baubles.

Franky smiled nervously at her girlfriend. "I'll just go get that pine tree, pick-up some ornaments, maybe a fire extinguisher…" she glanced at the scorch marks on the floor. "And a rug."

She kissed Bridget's cheek, ignoring the rigid tension in the blonde's body. "See you later," she said and quickly exited.

II.

Franky tugged at her collar. The green elf suit was itchy, the hat was too tight and the pointy ears pinched.

She was trying to remember how Bridget had roped her into playing an elf for Santa's grotto at the local Children's hospice; then an image of Bridget joining her in the shower flashed through her mind. Damn she had to stop letting Bridget talk her into things during sex. It put her at a distinct disadvantage.

Just then Gidge breezed past, scantily clad in a Mother Christmas outfit. All sleek velvet, fluffy white hem and a criminal expanse of leg. She looked glorious and as Bridget glanced at Franky, a mischievous sparkle in her eye, Franky tried to remember to breathe. She licked her lips nervously, heart pounding.

"Just two more wards to go," Bridget assured her, voice low and sultry, then ran her hand lightly down Franky's back. "Thanks for doing this."

Franky shivered and narrowed her eyes; oh Bridget knew what she was doing alright. Well, two can play at that game.

Franky glanced around, making sure they couldn't be overheard, then leaned close to Bridget. "I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to get on Santa's good side. I've been a very, very bad girl," she whispered.

Bridget's breath caught, her tongue darted out and wetted her lips. Franky grinned. Their eyes met; Franky's simmered with desire and Bridget's immediately darkened in response. Franky bit down on her bottom lip, then said as suggestively as she could; "I've been incredibly naughty. I deserve to be punished."

Bridget smirked, her finger nails digging into Franky's back. "Oh, I'm sure we can find a suitable punishment when we get home. Breaking-in bad girls is my speciality."

Franky gulped and her pulse skyrocketed. She had long-ago given up the urge to fight the effect Gidge had on her... there was something so potent about this attraction. Something irresistible and reverent.

Their eyes meet and for a moment, the world stilled. Nothing existed but them.

Franky tilted her head, her lips precariously close to Bridget's. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

"And you're highly kissable," Gidge retorted breathlessly.

Franky raised her eyebrows and matched her flirty tone. "I'll bet you say that to all the elves."

Bridget winked and sauntered off, leaving Franky a helpless, stuttering mess.

Little did she know it would take six hours of being stuck in a lift with two disgruntled nurses, three hyper-active kids and a sloshed Santa desperate for the loo before she could ravage Bridget. Once the emergency services prised the lift doors open and freed them, Franky grabbed Bridget's hand and yanked her towards the nearest exit.

She'd had sex on the brain all day and the ache between her legs couldn't wait any longer.

As soon as they reached the car, Franky, unable to fend off her desire anymore, pushed Bridget against the leather of the backseat, her hand buried between Bridget's legs, shoving aside underwear, sliding into her, fingers driving hard, stretching and burning. Making Bridget scream into Franky's shoulder as her orgasm overtook her.

When they got home they barely made it through the front door before Bridget backed Franky into the wall and took her against the bookshelf… the wood pressed into her spine as Bridget dropped to her knees, tugged Franky's trousers down and her hot mouth worked her into a frenzy, tongue thrusting relentlessly into her. Franky's head falling back with a thud as her eyes fluttered shut and a series of uncontrolled gasps escaped her clenched lips.

They hit every wall, every surface, on their way to the bedroom, in a lust-filled haze.

As she lay in bed, sated and sweaty, Bridget's arm resting possessive across her stomach, Franky seriously considered volunteering to be Santa's helper next year too. Just fleetingly.

III.

Bridget and Franky were seated in the Emergency Department of Geelong Hospital. Bridget's shirt was covered in blood and her back was stiff from sitting in the unforgiving chairs of the waiting room.

She glanced at Franky, who has fallen asleep, her head resting on Bridget's shoulder. The blonde sighed; completely drained. She hadn't thought this was how they'd round-off the evening when she'd first agreed to attend Franky's office Christmas party.

It had all started out so well.

When Bridget arrived at Legal Relief, the party was in full swing. They'd closed-up shop; everyone was swigging cheap wine and wearing paper hats. Full of cheer and a little too much vino. Music played in the background, some colleagues danced in a space created by desks pushed back against the wall.

Franky was stood by the noticeboard, chatting to Howard about criminal jurisdiction when Bridget approached. Howard was fresh out of law school and had only started at Legal Relief last week. He was eager and shinning with idealism; Franky had a lot of time for him.

"Hey baby," she greeted Gidge as the blonde approached. She reached out her hand, linked their fingers and drew her close.

Franky was a sight for sore eyes after a long day at Wentworth and a stack of paperwork that could rival Mount Everest. As Franky beamed at her girlfriend and snaked an arm around Bridget's waist, kissing her temple. Bridget felt the tension leave her.

"Howard, this is my better half," Franky introduced. Her thumb brushing Bridget's lower back.

Howard shook her hand enthusiastically. "Nice to finally be able to put a face to the name. I've heard a lot about you," he declared.

Bridget smiled disarmingly. "I can only imagine."

He barked a laugh. "Only good, I assure you."

Ms Fessler, Franky's boss, moved towards them. She held a glass of wine out to Bridget and offered a warm smile. Despite her gruff exterior, she had a heart as wide as the ocean. Bridget smiled back appreciatively.

"Thanks," the blonde said, taking the proffered glass.

"I've got Bridget on speed dial - she's the only one who can rein our Franky in," Fessler said good-humouredly.

Bridget beamed. "Franky's a law unto herself."

Franky gave a small wave, mock insulted. "Standing right here, guys. I have a problem with authority, not my hearing."

Howard laughed.

Bridget took a gulp of wine; damned if she'd be the only sober one here.

Just then, Lowan and Jasmine walked past, exchanging furtive looks. Jasmine ran a hand through her mussed hair as they parted company.

"Nice couple," Howard observed.

The women turned to him, puzzled.

"They're not a couple," Fessler exclaimed.

"Sure they are," Howard said adamantly. "I saw them kissing and holding hands in the car park."

Franky's eyes widened with alarm.

Two important things Howard hadn't realised: 1) Lowan and Jasmine were married – to other people. They'd been having an affair for six months and thus far had managed to keep it a secret. 2) Jasmine's husband, Tyler, just happened to be standing behind Howard when he made this statement and had heard every word.

The rest happened so fast, it was a blur.

Tyler grabbed Howard by the throat and pinned him against the wall. He threw a robust punch. Yelling that anyone that talked shit about his wife got what they deserved.

The crack of bone reverberated through the office. Blood spurted from Howard's nose and Bridget launched at Tyler – trying to pull him off.

Alerted to her husband's outburst, Jasmine rushed forward to help separate the two men. Franky jumped into the mix when Tyler grabbed hold of Bridget's arm. Somehow – Franky managed to push him off. Jasmine wrapped her arms around her enraged husband and whispered soothingly into his ear in an attempt to calm him down.

Howard clutched his nose, howling in pain. Bridget inspected his injury, getting coated in blood in the process. The bone was broken and protruding, he needed immediate medical attention. She didn't want to send him alone in a taxi to the hospital and since she was the only sober one at the party, she would have to drive.

Fessler grabbed a tea towel from the kitchenette to stem the bleeding. Then they bustled Howard out of the building. Franky piled him into the back of Bridget's car and they set off for the nearest hospital, leaving Fessler to defuse the situation with Tyler.

Three hours later and they were still waiting for Howard to be treated by a doctor. He'd already seen the triage nurse, been given pain medication and sent for an x-ray. They were just awaiting an expert opinion.

Bridget sipped her now cold coffee and winced. Her eyes skimmed across the waiting room again. She glanced at the clock. Time seemed to be going backwards. She stifled a yawn and Franky stirred.

Doyle sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. She took in her girlfriend's dishevelled appearance and looked apologetic. "Sorry," Franky mumbled. "I didn't expect the office party to be quite so eventful."

Bridget offered a tired smile. "It's not your fault."

Franky reached out, placed her hand on Bridget's knee and squeezed gently. "I'll make it up to you, promise."

Just then Howard appeared, his nose reset and bandaged-up, a dopey, morphine smile on his face.

"Thanks for waiting," he said self-consciously.

Franky and Bridget stood up. Doyle patted him on the back. "Let's get you home, eh?"

She took Bridget's hand and they headed towards the exit.

IV.
Bridget raced into the spare room – she didn't hide it here, she knows, but the panic is setting-in and it's the only place she hasn't looked.

She upends furniture, pushes things aside, looks under and over and behind objects – no luck.

She bought Franky's Christmas present two months ago, had wrapped it and hid it but... seems to have mislaid it. She thought she had plenty of time to find it but it's now Christmas Eve and she still has no idea where it is or what she can give Franky if she can't find it.

In her mind, Bridget tried to retrace her steps. She comes-up empty. She's not a careless person. If she thought she put it in a shoebox at the back of the wardrobe - she put it in a shoebox at the back of the wardrobe.

But it's not there.

Maybe Franky found it? This thought occupies her for a moment. Then Bridget discards it. There's no way Franky could keep a secret like that from her for a whole week. Franky is a consummate liar (with others) but she's utterly hopeless with Bridget – the blonde can always winkle the truth out of her.

Bridget moved into the kitchen and scavenged through drawers and cupboards to no avail. She heard a noise and stilled; it's gone 1am and Franky should be asleep. Her heart jumped when she heard footsteps and Franky emerged, sleep ladened, from the bedroom.

Doyle rubbed her eyes. "What you doin' up?" she quizzed.

"Just needed some water," Bridget lied.

Franky nodded sleepily. "Me too," she moved towards the sink, poured herself a glass of water and sipped it greedily. She studied Bridget, eyes half-closed. "You alright?"

"Yep."

"Good," Franky set the glass down on the draining board. "For a moment I thought you were freakin' out about the present you lost."

As Franky strolled back to bed, Bridget's eyes widened and she chased after the brunette.

When Bridget entered the bedroom, Franky had already collapsed back into bed, lying on her front. Bridget leapt onto the mattress and straddled her back. Franky groaned under her weight.

Bridget pounded her palms impatiently against Franky's back. "Where is it?" the blonde demanded.

"What? Leave me alone woman! You're insatiable!" Franky grumbled.

Bridget changed tack – her touch lightened and her long fingers massaged Franky's shoulders encouragingly. "Baby? Where'd you put the gift I bought you?" she purred.

Franky grinned into her pillow. "I sent you a text."

Bridget scooped up her mobile from the bedside table. She flicked the screen into life, her jaw dropping open at the text message and accompanying photos.

Franky had taken a series of selfies with the gift Bridget had bought her. The distinctive red wrapping paper with skiing penguins taunted her. There was Franky and the gift waiting for a bus, sat at a terrace cafe enjoying a coffee, on a rollercoaster ride, sitting on the lounger out in the back yard (the gift wearing sunglasses – a book open before it as if reading and sipping a cocktail).

Bridget flicked through a whole host of photos showing Franky and her Christmas present in various scenarios. Bridget couldn't help but laugh. It had clearly taken a great deal of effort on Franky's part to carry off this prank; Bridget had to admire her gumption and tenacity.

She set down her phone and turned her attention back to her girlfriend. "Where is it now?" said asked, deathly serious.

Franky pointed to Bridget's side of the bed. Bridget pulled back the sheet to reveal the (now slightly battered) gift sitting on her pillow. Bridget snorted with amusement and then bent forward – peppering a fury of kisses across Franky's shoulders.

"That's better," Franky sighed.

"Cheeky!" Bridget exclaimed and slapped Franky's backside.

Franky groaned and then flipped them over, pinning Bridget beneath her. The blonde's hands reached out and gripped Franky's shoulders, pulling her close. Their noses barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling.

"Why Gidge, I do believe you enjoyed your Christmas surprise," Franky teased.

Bridget wrapped her legs about Franky's waist and pulled her impossibly closer.

"And now you're going to enjoy yours," promised the blonde as she grazed her fingers down Franky's back and slid them into her underpants.

V.

Franky was the first to admit it was a stupid argument. They hadn't spoken for three hours. Bridget was pissed, Franky guilt-ridden (and seriously considering sleeping on the sofa tonight).

Franky had, accidentally, eaten the Christmas Pudding Gidge had spent months preparing. On paper it didn't sound too bad but Gidge had spent six months religiously preparing the cake for Christmas Day - feeding it regularly with brandy to build the flavour and keep it moist. She'd nurtured that cake, worried about it, checked on it, talked to it… and Franky had unthinkingly demolished it.

Getting back from an early morning run and feeling a bit peckish, Franky had needed a sugar boost and there – right in front of her, on the kitchen counter - was the answer. She'd thought it was just a fruitcake and was therefore perfectly acceptable to eat.

"I can't believe you sometimes!" Bridget had shouted when she'd discovered Franky with a spoon in her hand, crumbs around her mouth and an empty bowl.

Franky looked miffed. "Chill your tits. It's just a cake, Gidge."

"It's not just a cake. It's THE cake! Do you have any idea how much time and devotion went into that pudding? It was supposed to be for Christmas dinner. It's taken six months of pain-staking preparation and you've just ruined it!"

Bridget rarely flipped-out and so Franky paid attention when she did.

"Gidge!" she called helplessly as the blonde stormed off.

Franky sighed and glanced at what was left of the devoured Christmas Pudding, which seemed to stare back at her in judgement.

Great. It was Christmas Day and they weren't talking. Absolutely fuckin' perfect. This was turning into Franky's usual Christmas.

Franky sat sulkily on the sofa trying desperately to think of an 'in'. This was their first Christmas together: she doesn't want to spend it bickering. As she wracked her brains for an ice breaker she heard a deafening crash.

Franky jumped to her feet and raced towards the bathroom; where the crash had emulated.

Bridget was sprawled on the floor, gripping her ankle in agony. She'd taken a shower and had forgotten to put down a mat in her fury and had slipped on the wet tiled floor when getting out.

Franky crouched beside her. "You okay?" she asked, full of concern.

Bridget glared at her. "Do I look okay?" she snapped.

Instinctively Franky rubbed Bridget's back. "No, but a foul temper isn't an indication of broken bones."

Bridget sighed. She wanted to hold onto her anger but the worry and care in Franky's face was beginning to thaw her resolve, and her ankle really did hurt. The throbbing was unbearable.

Franky hurried out of the room and returned a few moments later with a bag of ice wrapped in a kitchen towel and pressed it to Bridget's injured ankle. Gidge winced and Franky looked apologetic.

She pulled Bridget's dressing gown, hanging on the back of the bathroom door, off the hook, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then reached down, scooped Bridget into her arms and carried her to the sofa. She gently placed her down and fetched several cushions, using them to elevate Bridget's injured leg.

Bridget's temper dissipated as Franky fussed and fretted around her. Her hard gaze softened to one of affection.

Gidge reached out and took Franky's hand, feeling repentant. Franky stilled, she met Bridget's eyes, her own filled with hope. Bridget offered a warm smile in return.

"I'm forgiven?" Franky guessed.

Bridget nodded. "You might be an inconsiderate bum at times but you're my inconsiderate bum."

Franky grinned. "You sure know how to boost a girl's morale, Gidge."

"Come here," Bridget ordered and tugged Franky down onto the sofa.

Franky sat alongside her. "I really am sorry about the pudding," she apologised sincerely.

"I know," Bridget murmured, her arms snaking around Franky's neck, her eyes firmly on Franky's lips.

"I'll make one next year and you can eat all - "

Bridget closed the distance between them and kissed Franky fiercely.

Franky wrapped her arms around Gidge and deepened the kiss. She sighed happily against Bridget's mouth; maybe Christmas could be salvaged after all. Well, she had Bridget in her arms - so it was already the best Christmas on record.