A/N: Hello, everyone, and a very Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you! This story was inspired by a picture I found online while Googling Christmas stuff to put on cards :P. Hooray, fluff! This one probably isn't that great... hahaha. I tried, though. Feedback, as always, is welcome. Enjoy! :)

- ACH

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Sad day.

Of Winter Snow and Mistletoe: A Christmas Tale

Christmas Eve, 19— London

A light snow fell from the dark London sky as Bert walked leisurely home from his evening as a lamplighter, pole leaned against his shoulder. He liked this job, despite having to be out in the cold. It gave him the chance to see London from the ground, rather than from his beloved rooftops, and he relished the change. His thoughts drifted from the snowy scene before him and to the return of his lovely wife, Mary. She had been away for a few months on assignment, and she was to return home tonight, just in time for Christmas. It was their first holiday season as a married couple, and he had something special in mind for her.

He smiled idly and reached into his pocket, bringing out his watch. His smile faltered and he started when he realised what time it was, and almost frantically quickened his pace, hoping he would still have time to finish his work and put his plan into motion.

***

Mary Poppins—she was Mary Alfred now, but she used her former name when on a job—descended from the London skies gracefully and happily. She was finally returning after a time away working with a new set of children. These particular children had certainly been a handful, but she had worked her magic, both literally and figuratively, and they had shaped up in no time. She smiled cheerfully to herself; she was excited to be going home and returning to her wonderful husband, Bert. Though they had known and loved one another for a very long time, they'd only recently been married, and so far their marriage had been exactly what she'd dreamed it would be: perfect.

She landed with practised ease a few blocks from their home; she was in the mood to take a relaxed stroll the remaining distance. She set her customary carpetbag down on the ground briefly while she folded up her umbrella. She held it firmly in one hand, grasped her bag in the other, and walked the rest of the way home, snow crunching softly beneath her boots. Mary enjoyed walking in the winter. She liked looking at the snow-covered trees and the icicles that clung to the roofs of buildings; the sparkle of the snow in the soft glow of the gaslights, and the frost that wound its way up around the lamp posts. Her face shone with happiness in the night as she continued her silent walk to their abode in the heart of the city.

She soon reached their front door, where a lush wreath with a velvety red ribbon hung on a nail. Her smile grew wider as she ran her hand across the fragrant pine sprays and holly, the love that had been poured into the wreath's making evident to her mind at first touch. Umbrella now under her arm, she withdrew the house key with her free hand from deep within her bag; it was ornate, with flowing designs twisting and curving about the head, and an elegantly formed M in the center. Bert's key was very much the same, except with a B instead of an M; he had gotten them made by a locksmith friend of his as a housewarming gift when they first moved in together after their wedding. Her cheeks tinged pink in fond memory when she thought of that day… or rather, that night. Her blush deepened, though no one was there to discern her thoughts. Shaking her head, she turned the key in the lock and lightly pushed open the door, the house's light and warmth immediately rushing out into the cold winter night.

***

Mary quickly closed the door behind her, so as not to let out too much heat. She stood in the front hallway, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, taking in the long-missed feel of home, mixed with the scents of the holiday. A fire crackled in the fireplace in the next room, spreading its warmth and light throughout the house. The earthy scent of the burning wood assaulted her senses, as did the intense and familiar smell of gingerbread. Though he was not there, she could feel Bert's presence all around her. The combination of sensations had a calming effect, and she released her breath on a contended sigh. She opened her eyes and entered the main room, where she set her bag and umbrella down on a nearby table and took off her gloves, placing them on it, as well. She returned to the entryway and slipped off her long red coat, hanging it, her hat, and her scarf on the stand in the hall. Mary went back to the drawing room and sat down on the sofa, leaning back into its soft cushions, as she was wont to do after returning home from a many long days' work. Her gaze surveyed the room; she glanced at the photographs that were on the mantle, the scarlet curtains that draped across the window, the rug covering the floor that looked like it had been made from the same carpet as her bag. Everything was as she remembered it, with the exception of the deep green Christmas tree in the corner that was nearly coated with gold tinsel and ornaments of every kind, all made by Bert's gentle hand. Her eyes rested on the golden star at the top, and she smiled in complete happiness and relaxation. She allowed the warmth of the fire to wash over her, and she soon closed her eyes in respite.

Something unusual had caught her attention, however, and she quickly opened them again, shifting her eyes to the ceiling. A folded piece of cream-coloured paper was tacked to the wooden boards with her name written across it in elegant script. She stared at it curiously, wondering who had put it there and why. She stood, still glancing at the folded page and, seemingly without much effort at all, rose into the air to retrieve it. She pulled the tack out carefully and, note in hand, floated back to the floor and inquisitively stared at the paper in her grasp. Upon further inspection, she realised that the handwriting was Bert's, and she unfolded the note swiftly and, with much interest, read it quietly aloud.

"Take a few moments to get ready and meet me upstairs. Dress warmly," she read. Bert had signed his name beside a large heart, and an affectionate smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Just like him to do something like this, she thought. Mary took the note's suggestion and returned to the hall to check herself in the mirror. She looked lovely, as always, and she smiled knowingly at her reflection. It seemed as though she hadn't aged a day since she and Bert first met years ago. "Never judge things by their appearance" was one of her credos, and it applied even to her. Mary was older than she looked, but her age was a well-kept secret to everyone and everything, save for her own mind, and Bert, of course. Time would catch up with her eventually, she knew; she couldn't keep fighting it forever. And now that she had someone she loved… perhaps she wouldn't mind growing old, after all. She smiled mysteriously at that thought and nodded at her reflection. It winked back at her and she turned from the mirror, took her coat from the rack, and slipped into it hurriedly. Wrapping her scarf around her neck, she made her way up the stairs and into their bedroom. The curtains were drawn over the window and the room was lit by the lamp in the far right corner. She walked slowly in and looked around; Bert was nowhere to be seen. Her gaze scanned the room and finally rested on an easel in the left corner, upon which sat a painting of a beautiful, vivid winter scene. A snow-covered gazebo stood in the foreground, lit with the warm glow of numerous candles. Lush green pines and white, leafless birch trees surrounded it, and a pair of bright red cardinals perched on the tree's branches. Mary smiled to herself and took a small step back. They had met many a time within his artwork, and it seemed this time was to be another of such meetings.

"Alright, Bert," she laughed. "I'll play your games."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and with a flash, she was gone.

***

She opened her eyes when she felt cool snow falling against her face, and she glanced at her surroundings. The scene was even more beautiful in person than on canvas, and she took a moment to take in the beauty of Bert's newest creation. The stars had begun to shyly come out and twinkle overhead as she walked along the small path that wound its way up to gazebo, where now she could see a candlelit table for two set up in the center, and none other than Bert smiling cheerfully waiting for her. She smiled lovingly at him as he rose from his seat to meet her. They moved toward one another and, once she was close enough, he drew her into his arms and held her close.

"Welcome home, Mary," he whispered in her ear. She embraced him just as tightly and leaned back to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

"It's good to be home," she said with a smile. "I've missed it."

"And?"

"And I've missed London. The country is nice, but I much prefer the city."

"And…?" he said again slowly, eyebrows raised playfully.

"I think that's it," she said with a teasing smile. "I haven't forgotten anything, have I?" she asked innocently at his mock-dejected look.

"Oh, nothing. Just your husband, is all," he said nonchalantly, with a wave of his hand. She laughed softly and placed her hand against his cheek.

"Yes, I remember now. My loving, handsome, wonderful husband. I missed him dreadfully."

"Good. He missed you, too," he said, tapping her nose lightly with his index finger, both laughing wholeheartedly. He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arm around her waist, leading her up the few steps into the gazebo. They took their seats across the table from one another and Bert poured them both a glass of hot spiced cider. A plate was heaped with gingerbread cookies, all in the shape of stars, which Bert had baked earlier that evening. He raised his glass in a toast, and she raised hers, as well.

"To us," he said with a radiant smile.

"To us," Mary repeated softly, her smile just as brilliant as his.

The clink of their glasses resounded in the comfortable silence of the starry night. The evening passed them by quickly, as good times often do. Their animated conversation floated over the air, loud laughter interspersed throughout, as they caught up with one another's lives over the past few months. Usually they'd see each other during her jobs, but since this particular one had been across the country outside of Bristol, they hadn't been together for quite some time. They'd sent messages back and forth with the wind, of course, but it was hardly sufficient. He had longed to hear her voice, just as she had yearned for his touch. They both had deeply missed the sparks that flew whenever they were together, and now that they were, their bond felt stronger and more tangible than it ever had before.

The half-light of late evening faded into the dark of night; the stars shone with a new vigor, the cookies had dwindled down to a few crumbs, and the candles had slowly burned down to small pools of wax. Their talk had become less animated and more hushed as time passed, until it had diminished altogether and an easy silence fell between them. Bert had reached his arm across the table and was caressing her hand tenderly, and neither could take their eyes from the other. The flame of the final candle illuminating the couple flickered once and finally went out. They took it as their sign to go home, and Bert rose from his chair, took Mary by the hand, and they walked hand in hand together down the snowy stone path away from the gazebo.

As they walked, Bert secretly motioned to the pair of cardinals in the tree while Mary was gazing distantly at the stars. One chirped happily and flew off, quickly and quietly returning a moment later with a small green spray of leaves in its claw. Bert winked at it and it flew silently above their heads and hovered there; Bert bringing Mary to face him. He shifted his eyes upward and she followed his gaze, closing her eyes on a happy sigh.

"Mistletoe," she smiled.

"I couldn't help it," he replied with a laugh. He paused, smoothly raising her face so that it was level with his. "I do believe you owe me a kiss."

"That I do," she said, meeting his eyes with a flirtatious grin. She gently pressed her lips against his, and what she had intended to be a quick, affectionate kiss exploded into one of passion and longing that had been pent up inside them for months. She clung to him and kissed him with a fervor she allowed only him to see. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her close, thanking his lucky stars above that he had her, and that no matter where she went, she would always come back to him and home. They kissed beneath the now brilliantly shining stars, a light snow falling about them, the bright red cardinal and mistletoe forgotten. They soon broke apart, breathless and blissful, and they walked arm in arm back through a curtain of light to the real world beyond the painting and into their bedroom. He smiled down at her and gazed deeply into her eyes.

"Merry Christmas, love," he said against her lips. Her smile grew immensely and their eyes sparkled as he drew her into his arms again.

"Merry Christmas, Bert. A very Merry Christmas, indeed."

The clocks chimed twelve and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, save for the spouse
of Bert Alfred, who, fast asleep in his bed,
didn't realise his wife had risen instead
to look out the window and, bathed in starlight,
whisper "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight."

A/N: Hahaha, I couldn't resist. Thank you for reading, and again, have a lovely holiday!