The young Librarian snuggled up to the Caretaker as they sat on the large velvet-upholstered sofa. A single candle sat on a nearby sandalwood table and flickered romantically in its stand. Before them was a large floor to ceiling window giving them a breathtaking view of the nighttime skyline of Portland, Oregon. At this time of year, the landscape was also dotted with brightly-colored spots of Christmas lights, adding a festive touch to the view.

Cassandra and Jenkins had come up here to their secret "love nest", as Cassandra liked to call it, to relax and get away from the busy-ness of the Library and the general hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Here it was quiet and tranquil, with only each other for company, and no worries about being interrupted or disturbed by anyone else until they were ready to leave and rejoin "the real world".

The two were mostly silent this evening, content to merely be in each other's company. Cassandra sipped from a glass of merlot as they took in the scenery, while her husband nursed a cup of green tea with peppermint. With her head resting on his upper arm, the Librarian closed her eyes and sighed quietly with contentment. She loved these stolen moments with Jenkins, loved the warmth of his body that seeped through their clothes to touch her skin, loved the smell of him—usually a combination of wool, cologne and his own individual musk. She loved to listen to his quiet breathing, loved even more to listen the sound of his heart beating, steadily and slowly. She always felt loved and safe and cherished whenever she was with Jenkins.

For his part, Jenkins also treasured these quiet moments with his young wife. He could hardly believe that they had been Sealed and married for almost a year now, still couldn't believe that this beautiful, vivacious, intelligent woman had chosen him out of all other potential mates in the world. She had had her pick of anyone else, but she had fallen in love with him. He knew that she loved him more than anything or anyone else, she made him feel wanted, gave his life new purpose and direction and meaning. He no longer felt like some ill-begotten freak of Nature that had no right to be in this world; Cassandra made him feel as though he actually belonged here now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy to be alive.

Jenkins took a deep breath and began to sing. He used to sing a great deal when he was a young man, a young knight at Camelot. It was part of his ancient Celtic heritage, the love of music. He'd lost touch with that part of himself over the long centuries, not that he really had anything to sing about then. But that was something else that Cassandra had changed.

She smiled as she listened to her husband's smooth, warm baritone. It always sent a wonderful thrill through her body to hear him sing. Now he sang an ancient-sounding song in his native tongue, an extinct dialect of Welsh that had been the lingua franca of Arthur's kingdom. The song had a sad sound to it, but she also heard a hint of joy in the melody, like the first light of dawn hiding just below the horizon of a particularly bleak and oppressive night. She lost herself in the quicksilver notes so characteristic of Celtic music, and marveled at how easy Jenkins made them seem. He had tried one time to teach her a simple children's song from his own childhood, but her clumsy modern tongue tripped and stumbled over the birdsong-like tune. They had both laughed like children that day, with not a care in the world.

Jenkins finished his song and fell silent. He gently tightened his arm around his wife briefly in a quick hug, but said nothing. She, too, was quiet for a few moments before she spoke softly.

"That was beautiful, sweetheart; what was it about?" Jenkins smiled in the darkness.

"It's an old Christmas carol from my younger days," he replied, his voice so low and soft that it was almost a whisper. "About another old man and his lovely young wife."

"Really? Who?" she asked, turning her face to look up at him.

"The song is about how the Blessed Virgin asks Saint Joseph to pick cherries for her from a tree while they rest on their flight into Egypt. But he rather grumpily refuses, so the Holy Child causes the tree to bend its branches down to her so she can pick the fruit herself."

"I hope you're not comparing me to the Virgin Mary!" she exclaimed in alarm. Jenkins shook his head and chuckled.

"No," he answered. "Nor am I comparing myself to good Saint Joseph, either, except in that it took both us a while before we realized just how truly fortunate we were to have such wonderful women come into our lives when they did."

He said nothing more and cuddled her closer to himself. Outside it had begun to snow while Jenkins was singing, making the distant lights of the city soft and glowing. Cassandra blinked away the tears she felt prickling in her eyes as she snuggled herself against her husband's body.

"Would you pick cherries for me if I asked you to?" she asked teasingly, seeking to lighten the mood a bit. She felt Jenkins raise his head as he took in a deep breath.

"My dear, I would cut down the entire orchard if you so wished!" he immediately declared brashly, and Cassandra giggled.

"I love you, Galahad," she whispered, closing her eyes again.

"And, I love you, too, my beautiful Cassandra."