Disclaimer: I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

Dedication: To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

Pairing: IkeMarth
Genre: romance
Part: 12/12
Rating: PG-13
Words: 900
Warnings: AU, homosexuality, language, un-beta'd

A/N: It's finally done! I was busier today than I thought I'd be; I wanted to get this up around afternoon, but that clearly didn't happen.

Thank you to anyone who stuck through to the end of this writing experiment; I hope it wasn't all too horrible and there were moments here and there where I could bring a smile to your face. If not… well, you can rest assured that I won't be trying this again!

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Merry Christmas, everyone!


Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas
Part 12: Twelve Drummers Drumming

Christmas morning with Ike was an unexpectedly quiet event. All the festivities, music, and decorating that filled the days leading up to the official holiday never managed to spill over after midnight. Instead, they went to bed at a normal time on Christmas Eve after turning off the lights on the Christmas tree one last time for the year.

They always woke up early to start a pot of spiced steel-cut oats, so that after they took Lacey on her usual morning walk, they would return to a warm apartment smelling of spice and comfort. That smell of cinnamon and nutmeg was actually Marth's favorite thing about Christmas—more than the presents, the decorations, and even the day off from work. Bailey appeared to share his sentiment because she could always be found lounging on the kitchen counter staring at the pot, but that was actually because she expected it to erupt in a volcano of feathers. Ike was to blame for forever misleading their poor cat; Marth had told him not to pack a pot full of feathers for Bailey's present one year, but of course his spouse ignored his ever-pragmatic advice.

After breakfast, they always settled down around the tree with a notepad and pen to open presents—they needed to keep track of who gave what for the thank you cards, after all. They opened gifts received from friends and family first, saving their gifts to each other for last.

Lacey was always locked away in the bedroom during this time because she couldn't help but snarf all of the chocolates and cookies they received immediately, and an emergency clinic visit was the last thing they wanted to give her for Christmas. The rhythmic scritch scratch as she clawed at the bedroom door was guaranteed to tear at Ike's heartstrings until he gave in and bought her forgiveness with bacon-flavored treats galore (despite knowing she was overweight). But even Marth couldn't fault Lacey for wanting to be included, especially when she could hear Bailey gleefully meowing outside.

See, after the pot of oatmeal inevitably disappointed her, Bailey could then be found stalking around the Christmas tree and awaiting her own present—the pile of boxes, bags, gift wrap, and ribbons that inevitably grew through the gift-opening process. She would jump into and pounce on everything she possibly could, sending wrapping paper flying across the room as she played like a kitten. They always had their work cut out for them ensuring that she didn't tear into the unopened presents, too.

The winter sun was sleepily creeping in through the open blinds, casting a vaguely blue tint over their living room. All the gifts had been opened except for the two final presents, sitting under the very base of the tree and half-covered in pine needles for it. Ike had already cracked open one of the many boxes of holiday cookies they had received and was happily stuffing one chocolate-covered cookie after another into his mouth with glee. Marth opted to abstain; the maple syrup in the oatmeal was more than enough sugar for one morning.

"Open mine first!" Ike requested between bites of cookies, the words garbled around the crumbs. Marth had to refrain from telling his resident man-child to not speak with his mouth full, instead reaching for the small box covered in snowman wrapping paper and curled blue ribbon.

He shook the gift to dislodge any remaining tree bits and found that it was surprisingly heavy for something so small. Tearing into the paper (he used to carefully undo gift wrap at the corners until he realized it was a moot point with Bailey around) revealed a plain cardboard carton, which was holding what appeared to be an antique, green-lacquered music box.

Marth lifted the metal lid of the box, revealing not the expected ballerina or dancing couple, but a small figurine of a young boy with a drum strapped around his neck. Winding up the gear on the bottom of the box resulted in a chiming instrumental rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy," which actually happened to be Marth's favorite Christmas carol. It was an unusual gift but one that demonstrated a lot of thought and affection—something that wasn't lost on him.

"Thank you," Marth said quietly over the music, watching as the figure of the drummer boy spun in a lazy circle from his pedestal.

"I thought of you immediately when I saw this," Ike happily explained across from him. Then his face split into the tell-tale grin he always wore when he was about to tell either a bad joke or pun of some sort (no poker face whatsoever, that husband of his). "Because you always know how to beat my drum."

"… Did you get me this gift just so you could make that joke?"

"Maybe." The shit-eating grin answered in a definitive "yes."

Marth had to strongly resist the urge to face palm. "You're an idiot."

"I know. Merry Christmas, Marth."

The small music box continued to play the carol in his hand, keeping time as his husband leaned in to press a soft kiss against his cheek. He rolled his eyes as a smile crept unbidden onto his face, leaning in and wrapping his free arm around the one person he was happy to spend the rest of his life with (horrible jokes and all).

"Merry Christmas, Ike."

-fin-