Disclaimer: I own nothing except Graziella's brother, Fred. And even then, HedgehogQuill and I have joint custody there. And also, kudos to SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, who came up with a very brilliant idea which I will tell you more about at the end of the story. :)

Note: So I know that this is way early for a Christmas fic, but as I have eight more chapters planned, I figure that if I start posting now, I can finish around Christmas. I hope. Anyway, each chapter takes its title and theme from a Christmas song, be it traditional, popular, or carol, and focuses on a different Jet couple. And also, I make no pretensions about this fic: it is going to be nine chapters of fluff, pure and simple. Any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957. I hope you enjoy it; more info at the end. :)

Note the Second: So I totally lied; this morphed into something other than what I expected and is not simply fluff anymore. Rather, it's an examination of nine different kinds of love, because really, in the end, that's what Christmas is all about.

For: some very lovely people I know: HedgehogQuill, SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx, and Megfly, all of whom are very special and amazing. But this chapter in particular is dedicated to cookies, who is just about the biggest fan of this pairing ever, and writes the most adorable fluff about them. I heart you, cookies. :)

—viennacantabile

merry christmas with love

one : santa baby

...in which Graziella gets the gimmes.

.

Well, Mr. Claus, I feel as though I know ya
So you won't mind if I should get familiar, will ya?

.

Christmas Eve, 1956

.

"Baby," said Graziella flirtatiously as she climbed onto Riff's lap, "what're ya gettin' me for Christmas?"

It was the day before Christmas, and Graziella had asked her boyfriend the same question every day since Thanksgiving. And unless Riff felt like being creative, he always gave her the same answer—"I ain't tellin' ya, so quit askin'." Today, though, was apparently one of those creative days:

"How d'ya know I'm gettin' ya anythin'?" he teased, leaning against the headboard of her bed and winding his forefinger through a strand of her hair.

Graziella's lips turned down into a pout. "Aww, Riff, ya wouldn' do that to me, would ya?" she whined.

Riff smirked. "I might, if ya don't stop askin' about it."

The redhead huffed. "It's just a question, Riffy-baby; I can ask a question, can't I?" Of course, Graziella knew that she didn't really want to know what Riff was going to give her for Christmas. And if he had actually started to tell her, she probably would have whacked him across the face with her purse to shut him up, because Graziella loved nothing better than surprises—at least, as long as they were good surprises.

No, thought Graziella wistfully, what she really wanted was the reassurance that Riff was thinking about her present, that he was going to get her something, and that he wasn't going to forget, just like he had for her her half-birthday and her nameday and their one-week anniversary and all those other terribly important occasions. She hated to admit it, but, looking at the less-than-serious grin currently plastered across her boyfriend's face, Graziella wasn't exactly sure that he would remember Christmas all by himself.

Riff snorted. "Well, maybe," he allowed, taking advantage of her spot on his lap to settle his hands around her waist, "but I ain't promisin' ya I'll answer it."

Graziella arched an eyebrow. "I bet ya haven' even thought about it," she accused half-seriously. "D'ya even know what I'd want?"

"A'course," nodded Riff, very seriously. "Ya want a hippopotamus, just like that damn song."

"Riff!" Graziella scolded in exasperation, hitting him on the shoulder. Riff was such a little boy that if she let him run with that lousy joke, she'd end up with the Jets depositing a stolen hippopotamus on her fire escape, two very unamused parents, and an annoyed Krupke at the front door, she thought, rolling her eyes. "A'course not!"

"Okay, okay," Riff said, lifting his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "Whaddaya want?"

Graziella grinned. Finally. But as all the Jet girls knew, it was never advisable to make things too easy for boys, and she certainly wasn't about to do that now. "Nothin'," she said sweetly. "Just you."

Riff's mouth dropped open. "But ya just—"

"Oh, well, if you insist," interrupted Graziella quickly, happily putting her arms around him as Riff goggled at her. It had been half-true, anyway. "I wouldn' mind a nice warm mink coat, or some diamonds, or even a really nice car," she mused innocently.

Riff rolled his eyes. "Quit playin', Graz."

Graziella giggled. "I ain't playin'," she protested, pretending to be hurt. "Can't a girl like a little luxury?"

"Yeah," Riff grumbled, "when she's payin' for it."

Drawing back, Graziella frowned. "When've ya ever paid for my luxury?" she demanded, half-playfully but half-seriously, too. "Or even anythin'? We always sneak into movies an' dances an' anythin' that needs more'n a nickel, Riff!"

Riff shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. "Well, ya never complained about it before," he muttered. "'Sides," he went on defensively, "that's what all us Jets do. Ya really think we wanna throw our cash at those dumb places?"

"Hmph, well," huffed Graziella severely, crossing her arms, "you shoulda seen the bracelet Ice gave Vel, 'just 'cause,' he said. An' they ain't even been goin' together half a year! Some Jets don' mind treatin' their girls like they deserve.Includin' ponyin' up the greenbacks."

Riff rolled his eyes. "Jesus, y'know, sometimes I wish I hadna set 'em up," he groused, "'f all he's ever gonna do now is moon around like some lost puppy an' make me look bad."

Graziella pouted. "Wasn' bein' alone with me worth it, though?" she asked coquettishly, pressing up against him and batting her eyelashes. "She coulda just kept comin' along on all our dates, y'know. I wouldna minded."

Riff heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I guess it was worth it, then," he said mock-reluctantly.

Graziella stuck her tongue out at him and hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Riffy-pie, if ya ain't good, I might not give ya your Christmas present," she warned testily.

Riff snorted. "Oh, anythin' but missin' out on another one'a them framed pictures of ya," he cracked. He paused. "Not that I don' like 'em, or anythin'," he added belatedly.

Graziella flushed. "No, way better'n that," she insisted. Damn, she thought, what in the world was she going to give him now?

Riff raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Is it…?" He let his sentence trail off, winking suggestively at her.

Graziella shook her head, trying to hide her sudden uncertainty. "If ya ain't tellin' me, I ain't tellin' you," she said primly, making a mental note to figure out what in the world he was talking about and add two of those to his Christmas present. She'd probably have to call Velma, and the twins, and Pauline, and maybe even Minnie for ideas…. "'Sides, if ya ain't good, you ain't never gonna know," she smirked. "So you'd just better behave, Riff Lorton!"

Grinning back at her, Riff pinched her in a spot that made her squeal. "Oh, you betcha I will, Graz."

.

Graziella sighed. Ten o'clock at night on Christmas day, and Riff still wasn't here.

"Where's Riff?" whined Fred for the thirtieth time, bouncing around the living room. "Why ain't he here yet?"

Graziella glared at her brother. "Gee, I dunno, Fred," she huffed. "Ya think I'd be sittin' out here waitin' for him if I knew that?"

Fred pouted. "But I wanna give him his Christmas present," he complained, waving a lumpy green and red package around.

"Well, so do I!" Graziella snapped, crossing her arms. "An' don't you stick around when he gets here! He's myboyfriend, not your buddy!"

Fred's mouth dropped open. "But Graz—"

Graziella scowled. "Go play with Chris an' Liesl. I'm goin' to my room," she announced, getting up and stalking away. As she entered her room and locked the door behind her, Graziella's heart leapt at the sight of a dark shape on her bed. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness, though, she frowned. It was Riff, all right, but the wrong Riff.

"Meow," protested her cat as she turned on her bedside lamp and slumped onto her bed.

"Hiya, Riff," Graziella sighed, picking him and sulkily petting him. "You love me, don't ya? At least you're here," she cooed to the cat, who merely stared grumpily back at her, apparently annoyed that she had woken it up. "Youwouldn' let me down on Christmas, would ya, Riffy-poo? You wouldn' forget to even come get the Christmas present I spent ages figurin' out for ya, would ya?" Graziella sighed. "I bet you'd even have one for me."

As if in answer, the cat gave a bored hiss and swiped lazily at her hand.

"Oh, fine, be like that!" she snapped, pushing him off her lap and onto the floor in disgust. Cat-Riff landed, as all cats did, on his feet, and just gave her a baleful glare before sauntering into her closet and settling in for the night.

Graziella rubbed at her prickling eyes. Even the cat didn't love her. What a lousy Christmas, she thought bitterly. Thanks for nothing, Santa. With a sigh, she lay down on top of her comforter, hugging a pillow. "Fine, just don'tshow up, Riff Lorton, it ain't as if I give a damn," she grumbled. "Even if ya showed up, I wouldn' let ya in, anyhow!"

"Uh…so ya want me to leave, then?" a bemused voice asked.

Graziella sat up straight. "Riff?" she squeaked. Then, after she'd gotten some control over her voice, she settled back and glared through the dim light at the boy who had just climbed through her open window. "You're late."

"Aww, c'mon, Graziella," cajoled Riff, bounding over and plopping down next to her with an irresistible grin, "don' be mad. I'm here, ain't I?"

"Only three hours late," she reminded him. In spite of herself, though, Graziella was beginning to soften; one thing about Riff was that it was so difficult to stay mad at him, even if she really wanted to be. Which she did. It was just hard to remember when he smiled at her like that. "Where were ya, anyway? Out playin' with the Jets? Don't any'a them know it's Christmas?"

"Well, actually, uh—" He coughed. Graziella peered at him; was Riff actually blushing? "I was, um—aww, here," he said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. He thrust a flat, square box at her. "Merry Christmas, Graz."

Graziella stared at him. "Riff?"

The Jet avoided her gaze. "So, ya gonna open it, or what?"

Graziella tore her eyes away from the very unfamiliar sight of Riff at loss for words and looked at the gift in her hands. "So's this why I put up with ya?" she asked, the playfulness returning to her voice. "'Cause every now an' then, ya do somethin' that proves ya maybe ain't so bad, after all?"

Riff grinned, at ease again. "Huh, maybe, but I'm thinkin' it's 'cause I'm so cute."

Graziella giggled, hitting him lightly on the shoulder as a small, surprised smile came to her lips. "Well, ya got that right," she conceded as she slipped the lid from the box. "An' don' forget the se—oh, Riff," she breathed, awestruck. "Ya got this for me?"

It wasn't a car, or a mink, or even diamonds, but the gently curving gold bracelet nestled inside the box was hers, and Graziella was touched, all the same.

"Well, yeah," Riff shrugged, ducking his head. "Saw it an' thought'a you." He glanced up, grinning. "Ya like it?"

Graziella mentally scolded herself—it didn't do to let him know how happy he'd made her—and pasted a nonchalant expression on her face. "It ain't bad," she allowed. "I mean, I know ya prob'ly just took it outta the window…"

"Actually, I bought it up front," Riff admitted sheepishly. He grinned. "I mean, I hadda nab the money off a coupla drunks to get it with, but I did buy it."

Graziella's mouth dropped open. "Oh, Riff!" she squealed, tossing all coyness to the wind and throwing her arms around him, "ya do love me!"

"Well, um—I might," Riff choked out, a tinge of desperation coloring his voice, "but—Graz, um, don'tcha wanna try it on?"

"Oh, right!" said Graziella happily, instantly letting go of him. She held out her wrist. "Put it on, okay?"

As Riff complied, darting wary looks at her the whole time, Graziella couldn't keep the smile off her face. It was, she decided happily as she admired the way the light flickered off the gold of the bracelet, the best Christmas ever. And Riff was the best boyfriend ever, too, and he was definitely going to love his—

"Oh!" she exclaimed, hand flying to her mouth, "Riff, baby, I ain't given ya your present yet!" Hopping off of her bed, Graziella crouched down on the floor and began rooting around underneath the bedskirt. "You're gonna love it, ya really will," she called, her voice slightly muffled.

Riff laughed nervously. "Y'know, Graz, it's really okay, I don't really need another scrapboo—"

"Here it is," said Graziella triumphantly, fishing out a small mauve shopping bag with the letters "MM" written in black script on both sides.

"Ya got me somethin' from Madame Mouchoir's Boudoir?" asked Riff tentatively, staring at the bag.

Graziella tittered. "So, ya gonna open it, or what?"

Riff glanced from her to the bag. "I guess I'm gonna," he muttered, still looking bemused. Rooting around through layers of tissue paper, he pulled out a tiny slip of paper. "What's this?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"Read it, Riffy-puddin'," said Graziella sweetly, licking her lips.

Riff's eyebrows shot up as he reached the end of the scribbled writing. "You're jokin'!" he yelped, eyes wide as he shot her an incredulous glance.

Graziella smirked, already reaching for his belt. "Only if ya think it's funny."

And, as Pauline had promised over the phone the previous evening, Graziella found that the kind of Christmas present Riff liked the most was, indeed, best given—and received—in private.

.

.end.

I hope you enjoyed it, as it's probably the happiest thing I'll ever write about Graziella. :) And SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x's amazing contribution was Graziella's cat, also named Riff. Because, as she so accurately pointed out, that is just something that Graziella would do.

Music: Besides the "Santa Baby" recorded by Cynthia Basinet (she's the one who sounds like Marilyn Monroe), I listened to Emilie-Claire Barlow's fantastic version from her 2006 album Winter Wonderland, which is where I got the two-line lyric intro used at the beginning of the fic. She is absolutely incredible, please go listen to her. :)

Hint: Next up: Action+Pauline. :)