A/N: Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas season and have a happy New Year! This is just a little one shot that came into my head while I celebrated Christmas. Total nod to Madame Alexandra for Chapter 2 of "Flavors". It ended up heavily influencing this – I will forever associate peppermint with Jethro and Jenny.
It was past 20:00, and Gibbs sat at his desk thinking of any reason not to go home to his empty house. It was Christmas Eve, and the holidays somehow made it feel even lonelier than usual.
He had dismissed his team for the night twenty minutes ago, after they completed their latest grueling case. They had all rushed out, enthusiasm etched on their faces, ready to put their holiday plans in motion. He almost felt jealous of their excitement.
Gibbs glared at his desk, accepting the fact that there was nothing else for him to do at the office. The team was guaranteed the next three days off – due to Christmas, and due to how long and stressful the case had been. Gibbs didn't like the idea of so much time off. Sure, he could get a lot of work done on his boat – but three days of confinement in the hollowness of his home seemed more like a punishment than a reward.
"Considering your desk is an inanimate object, I don't think it can feel the power of your 'oh so mighty Gibbs glare'."
Gibbs looked up to see Jenny on the catwalk, looking down at him with a smug grin. He didn't respond, and watched as she started to make her way down the stairs.
He wasn't surprised that she was still at the office either, it often was just the two of them left. In a way, it made him feel relaxed to know that she didn't have anyone to go home to either. He'd be lying if he said the thought of her being with another man didn't bother him. He knew it was selfish, but despite their six years apart, despite the way she had left him – his feelings hadn't faded as much as he would have liked.
It had made the last few months of them working together again feel a little torturous and distracting, he was always having to see her. Sometimes he even found himself having to ignore the irrational urge to storm into her office and feel her lips on his again.
"I would make small talk and ask if you have any holiday plans for the next few days, but I already know the answer," Jenny said as she rounded the bullpen.
She walked up to his desk and gave him a knowing look, while he tried to look as blank and indifferent as possible.
"Things never change," she voiced, glancing around. "I recall you and me both working late at night on Christmas Eve years ago as well."
Gibbs thought for a minute, thinking about the holidays he and Jen had experienced together.
"Oh," he said, recalling a memory, "you mean that time we both had to hide under your desk from Morrow? 'Cause he came back in late and almost caught us—"
"No, Jethro," Jenny interrupted, her face blushing. "I meant the one before...when I was still your lowly probie. When we hadn't yet shattered all ethical and professional boundaries."
He gave her a mischievous grin, knowing full well what she had meant.
"Bastard," she muttered, shaking her head, an amused smirk playing on her face. "Also, you are incorrect. I believe the time you are talking about was Halloween night, not Christmas Eve. You stole the candy bar I brought to work, saying you'd give it back in exchange for..." she trailed off, glancing around.
"Think I might need a refresher on that one; in exchange for…?" He questioned, raising his eyebrow and smirking at her.
"You know, if you insist on talking about the more…'scandalous' aspects of our past, I'd suggest doing it in a more private environment," she said in a low voice. She leaned towards him, "The walls around this office have ears, you know," she said in a conspiratorial whisper.
He found himself staring far too intently at her lips.
"Hopefully the walls covered their ears some of those nights you and I were here then," he quipped.
She arched an eyebrow at him.
"You could get rather loud sometimes," she deadpanned.
He couldn't help but snort.
"Think your memory is faulty, Jen, you're gettin' us mixed up."
"Don't know," she said with a shrug, "you are getting older these days. I'm sure your memory isn't as good as it used to be, old man." She gave him a victorious look, and he tried to glare at her.
He was enjoying this. It wasn't often these days that he and Jenny experienced the kind of teasing banter that used to be a staple in their relationship. He liked being with "Jenny" again, he liked it when she dropped the "Director" shield that she masked herself with.
Her amused expression faded, and she seemed to be contemplating something.
"I was planning to let my security detail take me home and send them off to their families, with the assurance I'd stay home. Then I was planning to sneak out to get some peppermint hot chocolate," she confessed, giving him a wary look. "I wouldn't mind having some company."
He felt blindsided for a moment and stared at her, trying to decipher what exactly she was asking.
"I was just thinking, that way I could send my security detail home now, since I'd be with another capable Agent. I wouldn't have to go behind their backs. We could get hot chocolate, talk, then you could drop me off at home."
He could tell she was nervous, and knew it was taking a lot for her to ask. He was wary of the way she said "talk" though, feeling like it could be some trap. He didn't want it to be another confrontation between the two of them, like many of their "talks" seemed to end these days. Then again, she seemed to be in a good mood, and he didn't recall doing anything to piss her off today.
"I mean, not that you need to feel obligated to. I'm perfectly capable of getting hot chocolate on my own...it's understandable if you want to go home and get some rest, it's been a long few days—"
"Sure, Jen. I'll take ya," he finally cut in.
Spending time with Jenny seemed a much more welcome option than going home right now anyway. It would be something to occupy his mind and time for a bit, a nice distraction from the emptiness the holiday season seemed to bring about.
He also didn't like the idea of her being out and about without her security detail. If he were to go home and work on his boat, he'd just be distracted by the thought that she was unprotected. If something were to go wrong...he didn't want that on his conscious.
She looked taken aback, and he suspected she genuinely hadn't been expecting him to accept.
"I'll go down and alert my security detail," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Hold on," he said, turning his attention to his desk, putting things away.
"I do believe I'm adept enough to handle riding the elevator on my own," she said as she watched him.
"Don't know about that," he replied as he stood up and grabbed his things. "Could be an ax-murderer waitin', you might need protectin'," he deadpanned, slipping his coat on.
"Oh? And you don't think I could handle a situation like that on my own?" She asked.
He smirked and just shrugged as he walked over to her.
"Chauvinist," she said, reprimanding him with a slap on the arm. "I carry a gun too, you know. I've also followed 'Rule 9' ever since I was your probie. Personally, I think you should be scared to be in the elevator with me."
He smirked and put his hand on the small of her back, leading her to the elevator.
Gibbs held his truck door open for her, and supported her elbow as she stepped in. He received a glare and some mumbled insult about "chauvinism" and "men" in response. He simply rolled his eyes at the reaction.
"This is the same truck you had six years ago, right?" Jenny asked as Gibbs pulled out of the parking garage.
He grunted affirmatively.
"It's been strange, coming back to DC. So many different people are at NCIS now, so many that used to be here have moved or died. Last I had been in the building, Morrow was our boss, and now I'm the Director. It's surreal." She took a breath and thought for a few more seconds. "Despite all the differences, so many things are still the same. I'm living in my childhood home again, working in the same building again, working with you again. You still live in the same house, drive the same truck, have the same haircut, wear the same outfits, and still mainline coffee. Different boat, though, and an additional ex-wife," she added with a smirk.
He shot a glare at her.
"It's all just strangely comforting and confusing at the same exact time," she admitted softly.
He didn't really know why she was suddenly opening up, and didn't know what to say. He hadn't really considered how difficult some of the changes might be for her.
He did understand the feeling of her being back in DC as being "strangely confusing and comforting at the same exact time," though. He felt the same way. It was comforting because it brought back a lot of good memories, and didn't make the past feel so dead and disappointing. It was confusing because they were suddenly in each others lives again, and it seemed like second nature that they should just be together again. Yet – the end of their relationship had been brutal, and years had passed since then.
Silence passed between them as he drove, and it wasn't until they neared the little cafe she liked that she spoke up again.
"Remember when we were between missions that one winter? Morrow had us back in DC for about a week, and I drug you outside that one night to look at Christmas lights?" She asked.
"I remember," he responded, flashes of the memory going through his head. He glanced over at her for a second. She was looking out the windshield, a soft smile on her face.
He was feeling unprepared for how she was acting tonight. Every time he had brought up their past over the last few months, she had essentially shut him down or didn't respond. Yet, tonight, she was the one who was being nostalgic. She seemed more relaxed.
He parked by the cafe and shut the engine off, reaching for his door handle.
"Am I allowed to open the door on my own, or will it hurt your manly, gentlemanly pride to witness such a travesty?" She questioned mockingly.
He looked over at her, faced with a gleeful looking smirk.
He snorted.
"Go ahead, Jen," he replied, turning away and opening up his door.
"Hmm," she said loudly, making him turn his attention back to her. "Since I'm your boss and all now, that makes you my slave. Therefore, since my hands are cold, I demand that my slave open my door for me."
"Your slave?" He questioned, glaring at the wicked grin on her face.
"Yes, my 'slave', my 'servant', my 'subordinate', my 'underling'," she listed off, "whatever term you prefer."
He stared at her, feeling perplexed by her silly mood.
"If you need a dictionary I can get you one. Honestly, Jethro, they're simple enough," she teased.
"I know what they all mean," he snapped.
She smirked at him and tilted her head towards her door, giving him an expectant look.
He glared at her before opening his door, the winter chill hitting his face as he trudged to the other side of the car, grumbling under his breath. He made a show of opening her door, flinging his arm out dramatically towards the cafe as she stepped out.
She stumbled a little on her heel as she stepped down, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. He reacted immediately, instinctively reaching forward to steady her by placing his hands on her waist. Her hands flew to his shoulders, bracing herself.
They looked into each others eyes, and he felt a surge of familiarity, his hands on her, her green eyes locked on his. It didn't occur to him that he could take his hands off of her and let her get down on her own again. Instead, he gripped her waist and swept her down onto the ground. He made sure she had her footing before he released his hands.
Her eyes widened in surprise at him, and she seemed at a loss for words. He was surprised she didn't make some sarcastic remark.
"Should've warned ya, the slush makes the step slippery sometimes, harder to get down in heels," he explained. He was trying to ignore the desire to put his hands on her waist again and pull her into a kiss. Her hands still gripping his shoulders wasn't making it any easier to ignore the feeling, nor the limited space between them.
"Oh," she said, blushing as she took her hands off of his shoulders and backed up a little. "I should have realized, should have been more careful..." she trailed off. "Thank you," she said gratefully, looking back up at him, "I guess it's good I have such a dedicated slave. Wouldn't have wanted to fall and ruin my pretty face."
She gave him an amused smirk, and he was silently grateful that she was lightening the mood. He was glad she hadn't face planted onto the hard concrete as well. She could have broken her nose or sustained a bad head injury, which was not an ideal way to end the night. The thought also occurred to him that her security detail would have been pissed if she had gotten injured on his watch.
"You should stop wearin' those things," he said, looking down at her heels warily.
"My heels aren't to blame, they didn't forcibly trip me. It's not like my footwear has a murderous agenda. I just wasn't being careful enough," she reasoned, turning towards the cafe.
He'd seen her chase down suspects in heels countless times, so he didn't doubt her. Hell, he found her heels sexy – regardless, they still seemed like impractical and dangerous footwear.
They both went inside, and despite his intention to buy himself a coffee, Jenny ordered them both peppermint hot chocolate before he could say anything, shooting him a triumphant look after she did so.
As they walked back out to the truck, their piping hot chocolate containers in hand, he finally protested the action.
"Didn't want peppermint cocoa," he whined.
"Tis the season, Jethro. You have coffee all the time, this is a perfect opportunity to broaden your horizons for a change. It won't kill you," she replied, taking a careful sip of her cocoa.
"I don't like peppermint, and I don't like cocoa, and I definitely don't like them together. It's too sweet," he complained.
"I distinctly remember you moaning about how good peppermint was years ago," she commented.
"Only cause you had your peppermint flavored tongue down my throat. Hard not to enjoy the taste in situations like that," he remarked.
She laughed.
"Fine, but you still need to drink it. It's tradition, and as you are my slave companion you are required to enjoy it with me," she said.
He decided to hold in his comment about how he would willingly enjoy it with her if it involved her tongue down his throat.
He made sure to keep a hand on her back as she got into the truck, making sure she was safely settled before he shut her door and went to his side.
After he sat down, he took a sip of his drink, wincing at the sickly sweet flavor that invaded his mouth.
"Can't believe you requested extra peppermint in yours," he choked out, not wanting to imagine just how disgustingly sweet, minty, and sugary hers must taste compared to his. The stronger smell drifting over from hers alone was almost enough to give him a headache.
He may have gotten her hooked on bourbon as her preferred choice of alcohol years ago, but other beverages like coffee were a different story. While he liked his coffee black and bitter, she preferred hers with cream and sugar – a blasphemous excuse for coffee in his mind.
"We had peppermint cocoa, that night," he mused, images flashing through his mind again.
"What?"
He turned to look at her.
"That night, that you were talkin' about earlier. When ya had us walk around out in the cold and look at Christmas lights. You made peppermint cocoa and put it in a thermos, made me drink some of it with you," he reflected.
She looked down at her cocoa thoughtfully.
"I remember," she responded with a smile, throwing his short reply from earlier back at him.
He turned the engine on and let it warm up while they sat in silence and sipped on their hot cocoa. Every sip made him grimace from the flavor, but he continued to drink it anyways – to distract himself from the memories.
"You were really easy to convince to do things back then, you know," she commented suddenly.
He snorted in disbelief.
"No, really," she insisted. "All I ever had to do was promise you that you'd get lucky, and you'd pretty much do anything I asked. That was how I got you to go out in snowy, ten degree weather and look at Christmas lights with me," she said, giving him a pointed look.
He shrugged, not bothering to deny it.
He could remember how she had snuggled up into his side as they walked in that bitter cold, and how her excitement over some of the lights and displays made the cold worth it. He could remember hating the taste of the peppermint cocoa back then too, but drinking it anyway just for the sheer warmth of it. He could remember the sex that night had been as good as it always was with them, and how comfortable it felt to be wrapped up in each others arms, warm against the other.
He shook his head a little and pulled his attention to the truck, deciding to distract himself with driving before his memories assaulted his physical senses.
A few minutes into the drive Jenny spoke up again.
"You know, we were pretty reckless back then. It's surprising we didn't get caught outright several times. I mean, honestly. It was understandable when we were alone in your house, or mine – but then you consider this truck, various places of the NCIS building, several areas in Europe—"
"You okay?" He shot out suddenly, glancing over at her in concern.
She shot a look of confusion at him.
"What do you mean? Do I not seem 'okay' to you? If anyone in this vehicle is not 'okay' it is probably y—"
"Jen, somethin' is up with you, you're actin' different," he insisted, trying to pay attention to the road and gauge her emotions and reactions at the same time.
"Acting different?" She questioned, sounding irritated.
"Yeah, different. You're bein' nostalgic, you're bringin' up the past, you're laughin', not actin' as pent up as you've been the last few months," he explained.
"I am not 'pent up'," she fired back in frustration. "And heaven forbid I laugh or think about memories—"
"Every time I've brought up our past, you've shot me down," he pointed out.
"Maybe because you keep doing so in places we could be overheard! MTAC, the bullpen, the catwalk, hell, when we had that public standoff on the catwalk stairs right after I started. I'm the Director of a federal agency, Jethro. If you bring up our romantic past in a place where anyone else could possibly overhear, I can't acknowledge it. It could hurt my position, damage my credibility, or ruin peoples trust in me," she vented indignantly. "As a woman, as the first female Director of NCIS, I already have to deal with a load of chauvinistic, hypocritical men who think I only got where I am because I slept my way to the top. If people were to find out that I had been sleeping with my boss years ago, and now I'm his boss, that would just be fuel to the fire—"
"That isn't why you're the Director tho—"
"I know that!" She snapped. "I worked damn hard to get where I am. You are the only man I worked with that I ever slept with, and hell knows that wasn't just to earn favor or rank, that was because I actually lov—" she stopped abruptly, her voice catching.
He turned to look at her, surprised by what she had almost said. She was staring down into her lap, looking frustrated and flustered.
He turned his eyes to the road again.
"I know," he stated.
He did know. He knew she had loved him, she'd said it all those years ago. He had certainly questioned it after she left him the way she did, but he was the one who never said it back. He also knew she didn't get where she was because of any special favors, she was a damn good agent.
They were both just silent for a minute, until she took a deep breath as they approached her street.
"While it may be something I can't acknowledge in public, where others could overhear – our past is something I'll never forget. It's a part of who I am...and I never regretted being with you, Jethro," she admitted heavily. "The way I ended things...it's been one of the few choices in my life that has never stopped plaguing me with some regret."
"Why'd you do it, Jen?" He asked quietly.
He knew her letter had said, that it had some list of jumbled vague excuses. He couldn't remember exactly what she had written, just how it had made him feel. He remembered reading it several times over a period of weeks, trying to find some kind of understanding or answers. All he had found in that damn letter was emptiness and a load of questions. It had been tossed unceremoniously into his fireplace a couple of months later, when he was in a bourbon induced haze. That was the night he had sworn he wasn't going to dwell on her anymore, that he wasn't going to feel depressed anymore, that he was moving on and erasing her from his memory. That didn't end up being true. Then he made the mistake of marrying Stephanie, thinking somehow that would fix the problem, thinking he could replace his feelings with her. That didn't work at all.
"I was naive," Jenny answered. "I was scared by how much I loved you, scared it would somehow jeopardize my future, my 'five point plan'," she said with a snort. "And then there was you. I was scared that you didn't feel the same way, that you couldn't even say 'I love you' back. I was intimidated by whatever it was that seemed to haunt you, and the things you didn't open up about. Of course, I never opened up either, and I had my own demons." She sighed. "I let all that fear consume me, and rather than try to discuss it with you like any normal adult should have, I ran – and I'm sorry, Jethro."
She sounded genuinely sorry, and almost tired. He realized she had probably been analyzing what happened between them even more than he had, she had seemed almost prepared for the question. Her answer had certainly given him a lot to think about. He felt guilty for putting so much blame on her for the end of their relationship. Clearly, his hesitancy with her, his lack of commitment, had been a huge factor in her decision. He'd hadn't realized until now just how unfair he had been.
They had reached her house, and Jethro parked the truck along the curb. He rubbed a hand across his chin, feeling annoyed with himself, trying to figure out what to say.
"I'm sorry, Jen," he finally said, looking over at her apologetically.
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth gaped open.
"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she whispered, looking to both of her sides suspiciously before she leaned a little closer to him, "Did you just break rule six?" She questioned mockingly, a smile creeping on her lips. "One of your most solid, unbreakable rules? The almighty rule number six?"
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"Not a sign of weakness if it's between friends," he grunted, looking back at her again.
"Friends? Is that what we're calling ourselves now?" Jenny replied, snorting in amusement.
"Listen, I'm bein' serious. I'm sorry," he insisted.
He didn't like talking, he didn't like having serious conversations like this – but he knew after everything she'd said, he owed her an explanation too.
"Didn't realize what an ass I was. Never was good at at talkin' things out...feelings. Should've opened up to you. Didn't want to get too close too soon, didn't want to rush things, didn't want to repeat what I'd done with my failed marriages." He sighed. "Didn't realize just how close I'd gotten 'til ya left. I didn't mean to hurt you."
She pursed her lips and just stared at him. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"This is probably the most serious conversation we've ever had," she said with a snort, looking away from him and out the windshield. "We were both always so good at ignoring any kind of confrontation."
Silence hung around the car again for a minute.
"I never regretted bein' with you either," he admitted, echoing her earlier statement.
"Of course you wouldn't," she replied, sounding amused. "You were an old 40 year old man, practically on deaths door step, and yet you were getting laid with your hot, redheaded, young probie," she teased dramatically. "Honestly, how could you regret that?"
He shot her a glare, and she merely smirked at him.
Once again tonight, he was finding himself silently grateful that Jenny was choosing to lighten the mood, as opposed to this becoming some sort of long, tense, and emotional conversation. He had reached his limit as far as that kind of conversation went.
"Well, I suppose I should head into my warm house now, follow through with the promises to my security detail," she said airily. "Come along slave," she said, slapping his shoulder playfully. "Time for you to open the truck door again, and gallantly walk me to my front door."
"Was plannin' on it anyway, don't trust you to get down in those heels without face plantin'," he replied, earning another smack on the shoulder from her.
After he got out and opened her door, he reached out and grabbed her hand, wanting to make sure she was steady as she stepped out this time. He followed her to her front door, watching as she unlocked and opened it up.
She turned to face him.
"Thank you for getting peppermint hot chocolate with me, and taking me home. It was nice to have some company, nice to reminisce, talk." She paused, and bit her lip, looking as if she was contemplating something.
"It's been a long time...us, together, outside of the office," she said warily.
He smirked, memories of them together flashing through his mind.
"Paris," he replied, remembering the last time they had been alone together outside of the office – not doing anything even remotely work related.
"I suppose it's like that line in Casablanca; 'We'll always have Paris'," she quoted, chuckling under her breath.
He smiled, enjoying the sight of her laugh, enjoying the moment, like it was old times again.
"Night, Jen," he said, turning around to head to his truck – turning around before he did anything stupid.
He felt her hand fly to his shoulder, gripping lightly, stopping him in his tracks.
"I want you to stay," she pleaded softly.
He turned back to look at her, surprised by the request, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"Dammit, Jethro, I don't want to spend another another holiday alone. I don't want to wake up alone again in the morning. I don't want to spend the next couple of days isolated in my study working and drowning out my loneliness in bourbon, knowing that you are doing the same thing in your basement. I don't want to spend anymore time disregarding my feelings for you, or wondering if they would even make a difference. I want you to stay," she finished, her expression serious.
His feelings were scattered, and he couldn't quite place them. The thought had crossed his mind that something could happen between them tonight, but he hadn't taken it very seriously, supposing it was probably wishful thinking and nostalgia.
He felt conflicted. They'd had such a passionate relationship before, and it had ended in painful and bitter resentment. It was the worst he had felt since Shannon and Kelly – and he couldn't go through that again.
He also felt relieved, because he felt the same way she did, and the thought of being with her again seemed inviting and comforting.
"Thought you said no 'off the job'," he replied, smirking at her.
"Had that conversation not occured in such a public area of our work environment, you probably would have received a different answer," she said, raising an eyebrow at him suggestively.
"Well, maybe I'm no longer interested," he deadpanned, trying not to smirk at the look on her face.
"Let me rephrase my earlier request, slave," she said, a wry smile on her lips as she stepped closer to him and invaded his personal space. "I want you to stay, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."
He recognized the fiery intensity in her bright green eyes, a sight he'd never thought he would see again.
She grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled him behind her into the warm house, swiftly closing the door before she slammed him up against it. She assaulted his mouth with hers, the strong peppermint flavor in her mouth wreaking havoc on his senses – the familiarity of her peppermint soaked tongue igniting his desire for her like gasoline to a flame.
He peered his eyes open, waking up slowly, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
He felt confused for a few seconds, realizing that he wasn't asleep on his couch or even on his boat at home – aware that he was somewhere vaguely familiar...he'd slept here before.
The smell in the air and the movement to his side brought the memories from last night crashing to his mind, and he couldn't help but grin.
He turned to his side and looked at her peaceful sleeping figure, drinking in a view he'd never thought he would witness again. This was the happiest he had felt waking up in years, and he made a mental note that he should never let her out of his sight again.
He shifted closer to her, spooning his body against hers, his chest pressed into her back, and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his face into her neck, kissing it lightly and breathing in the scent of her hair. Damn, he had missed the way she smelled...the way she felt, hell, he'd missed almost everything about her.
She groaned, protesting that he was disturbing her sleep, and he just pressed more kisses to her neck in response.
She flipped onto her back and turned to him, pressing her face against his neck and squeezing his shoulder.
"Jethro, 'm try'na sleep," she grumbled into his neck groggily.
"Mm, sleep seems like a waste of time to me," he mused.
He scooted down a little, so his face would be by hers. He cupped her cheek with his hand and brushed his lips against hers, lowering a hand to massage her thigh.
She smiled against his mouth, eyes fluttering open tiredly.
"You're not going to let me sleep in after the night I gave you?" She asked, looking into his eyes contentedly.
"Nah, figure we got 'bout six years to make up for," he said with a chuckle, leaning in to kiss her again.
"Who says this isn't just a one night thing? Maybe I was just using you, since you're my slave and all. Maybe I'm done with you for another six years," she teased, grinning wickedly at him.
"Not lettin' you get away that easy again, Jen," he said seriously, pulling her a little closer to him and tightening his hold on her. "Think I'm keepin' ya around for good this time."
"Oh? And if I don't want you around?" She asked, running her hand down his arm.
He growled and nipped her neck gently.
"Not takin' no for an answer," he said, grinning smugly at her.
She laughed, and shook her head.
"I suppose I brought this on myself, considering I'm the one who commanded you into bed with me. I should've known you'd get attached," she said, letting out a dramatic sigh.
She smiled at him and caressed his face, and then she leaned in and began to kiss down his neck.
He made a mental note to get her more peppermint hot cocoa – it was probably just as good as the honey dust they used in Paris years ago.
"Merry Christmas, Jen," he muttered, pulling her face up to his and giving her a gentle kiss.
And they lived happily ever after, because why not? I don't mind living in denial. Considering how angsty and sad my last fic was, it was nice to switch things up a little this time around.
Any reviews are appreciated, and thank you in advance!
-Oreo