A Family Recipe
A Romelza Holiday One Shot

Ross Poldark knew rain. One was not born and raised in Cornwall without becoming quickly acquainted with wet weather, especially during the winter months. But this? The nonstop, heavy, unrelenting, and unforgiving downpour that had been his near constant companion for weeks on end… and still was… was something else entirely.

The good news was that, probably because not even the most deranged pyro could spark a blaze in such conditions, he and his crew had not been called out to a house fire that holiday season. It was never pleasant - to witness the terrified devastation a family suffered when they lost their home, but it was that much worse to see such displacement and loss at Christmas. As long as no lives were lost, Ross and his fellow firefighters would consider the call a win, but after too many sad and miserable holidays growing up himself, there was a part of Ross that didn't just want to rescue people's lives; he also wanted to save their happiness.

So, no loss of home due to a faulty string of lights or a tree placed too close to a candle was a really good thing, but that didn't mean that Ross' last week of work had been uneventful. In fact, it was the exact opposite. It had been harrowing and exhausting… but for different reasons. Instead of fires to put out, there had been wreck after wreck, each one seemingly worse than the last. Just like him, most residents of Cornwall were conditioned to just accept rain as a natural part of their near-daily lives, and they were well-versed in driving through showers, wind, and low visibility. But the deluge that was whipping around outside of his stone cottage was anything but natural or typical: the rain was so heavy that it sounded more like a low-flying plane hovering over his house rather than drops splattering against the slate roof; the pervasive damp was so chilling that Ross doubted he would ever be warm again… even if he crawled inside of the library's man-sized fireplace; the moisture and fog was so thick that it was a physical weight against one's shoulders; and the wind didn't just gust but swirl, seemingly assaulting all of Cornwall from every possible direction all at once.

At least the dog was dry. Ross didn't go so far as to consider the dog his , but the dog didn't seem to share his lack of possessiveness. So, if he was going to insist upon squatting at Nampara, Ross appreciated the fact that, whenever the mutt had snuck back inside - coming and going as he pleased, it had been early enough that he'd had a chance to dry off before Ross, exhausted, and weary, and experiencing very mixed feelings about having Christmas off from work - a forced vacation, came trudging home after a shift that felt longer than its actual twelve hours. That's what a week of never ending calls did to a man, though.

During the mere seconds it took him to rush across the threshold of his kitchen door and slam it shut behind him, a small puddle of rainwater had already formed on his relatively clean floors. Or maybe it was from him, the water running and not dripping from his clothes. After briefly weighing his options, Ross decided that he'd rather risk hypothermia by stripping naked then and there versus tracking the mud and moisture all through the house and upstairs to his bedroom. Prudie, the housekeeper he'd inherited right along with his debt ridden family home, was at best a serviceable cleaner, barely managing to keep up with the everyday dirt and detritus of a single guy who spent more time at the fire station than he did his house, so Ross didn't fancy spending his first vacation in some time scrubbing floors or testing Prudie's lack of ambition with what felt like half of Cornwall being dragged along with him on his clothes.

Twenty minutes later and freshly showered, Ross was toweling his hair dry while thundering down the stairs in search of something to eat that didn't come from a tin or a box when there was a knock on the door. The sound, not to mention the person who made it, was so unexpected that he missed the last step entirely, his bare foot slipping out from underneath him and making Ross crash knee first into the opposite door jamb. He was still swearing under his breath when, with a slight limp, he made it to the offending interruption, yanking the door open with slightly more force than what was necessary.

Thankfully, the dog did not and could not gamble, because Ross would have put money on his cousin being outside and demanding entrance into his home… had there been anyone around to wager with him, that is. He might have left most of his bad habits behind on that winding, cliffside road in the heap of twisted metal that had been a car prior to the accident that, besides scarring his face, had left him utterly unscathed and yet completely unrecognizable, but Verity was the only person who ever braved the trip to see him - the road leading to the cottage which had been in his family for hundreds of years nearly impassible even in the best of weather, and the prospect of his company not nearly incentive enough to risk a blown tire or cracked axle. Plus, Verity somehow always knew his schedule, and even years later, she was determined to seal and repair the cracks which had splintered their small family apart.

So, when he found Demelza Carne resembling a drowned tabby cat more than the attractive woman he knew her to be, Ross said the very first thing that popped into his head. "Bloody hell." She glared in return, and he just continued to stare, and all the while, with the door open between them, the rain continued to beat down on her and, at the same time, resoak Ross. In a matter of seconds, it was as though the last half an hour of his life had not even happened. If it wasn't for the joggers he had tossed on after his shower - joggers that were now soaked through and molded to his body underneath, he'd think the few minutes he had spent actually feeling dry for the first time in days had been a fantasy.

Or maybe the fantasy was having Demelza on his doorstep.

However, like the ass he and everyone else, but especially Demelza Carne, knew him to be, Ross opted for the antagonistic rather than the altruistic when it came to the woman standing before him. "Don't just stand there. Come inside before my bloody kitchen resembles a swimming pool." The door had barely snicked shut behind her and Demelza had yet to push the ineffective hood of her mac down onto her tense and yet still somehow stooped shoulders when he was already launching his next salvo. "And what do you think you're doing, being out in this weather? You of all people should know better! The Fire and Rescue Service is already stretched thin enough because of the rain. The last thing the station needs is to get a call about some irresponsible woman traipsing around the countryside and getting herself into trouble because… what? She has a loose shutter that needs fixing?"

"I'm looking for my dog, you arse," Demelza gritted out through her teeth. She was also shivering, but Ross was suddenly too annoyed by what he viewed as her putting herself in harm's way to notice let alone offer her a way to take the chill off.

"You have a dog?"

"I do. But he's missing. And as you so… kindly pointed out, this weather is atrocious, so I'd really like to find him - enough so that I risked having to deal with you to do it!"

Folding his arms across his bare chest, Ross decreed, "you're not allowed to have a dog, Miss Carne."

She mimicked his stance, though she was, regrettably, fully clothed. "And you don't get a say in what I can and cannot do, Mr. Poldark."

"As your landlord…"

Before he could finish his thought, Demelza cut him off. "There is absolutely nothing in my lease which states that I cannot have a dog."

"An oversight I'll be sure to rectify as soon as possible."

"Oh, come on," she yelled at him, twin blue flames catching and flaring in her eyes. "Garrick's never done anything to warrant that! You didn't even know he existed until… wait," Demelza stopped talking and hitched her ear towards the deeper recesses of Ross' house from where, seconds before, a single, acknowledging bark had sounded, immediately followed by the unmistakable sound, at least to Ross, of the dog's nails scrambling against the stone floor. When the animal burst into the room and came to a skidding, slobbering halt between them, Demelza gasped, eyeing Ross, if it was even possible, with more venom and disgust than before. "You stole my dog!"

Pointing to the mutt in question and raising his brow in challenge, Ross asked, " that dog?!"

"Yes." Demelza's hands migrated to her hips in a haughty gesture. " That dog; this dog. His name is Garrick. He heard me say his name, and that's why he came running."

"Or he just heard voices in the kitchen and thought he'd be able to weasel out some extra biscuits."

"You better not be feeding him table scraps!"

"Well, considering the fact that the dog lives here under my roof with me, I'd wager that I can feed him whatever the hell I want," Ross countered. He decided to leave out the part that not only did he shelter and feed the animal, but there was also an entire basket of toys he had picked up for the beast as well.

"He can't live here with you when he lives with me." He was already opening his mouth to argue another point when Demelza, suddenly brightening, played what she obviously believed to be the high card. "And it's my address on all of his vet records, because I'm the one who takes him to and pays for all of his vaccinations and grooming appointments!"

"Technically, seeing as how you rent your cottage from me, it's my address on his paperwork."

Glowering up at him, Demelza practically seethed. "My point was that because I'm the one who takes care of Garrick, he's my dog."

"I grew up on a farm, Miss Carne. Do you really think I need to pay a vet an exorbitant amount of money to stick a few needles in a dog's arse?"

Demelza blanched, looking down at the mutt in question. "For how long have you been double vaccinating him?"

"He's been hanging around Nampara for almost a year. Obviously, I wasn't about to let him into my house until I knew he was clean and safe, so you do the maths." He watched as, with shaking fingers, she pulled out her mobile. Ross wasn't sure if she was googling the matter or calling the animal's vet, but for the first time since he had met her, he reached out and touched her, taking the phone from her hands and placing it on the large, wooden table beside them. It was just a fleeting moment, but it was long enough that Ross knew he'd need to find another excuse to feel her skin against his. And another. And another. And another. "He's fine," he tried to reassure her. Although his voice came out rougher than he intended, Ross blamed that on his physical reaction to the maddening woman. "I mean, look at him." The dog in question had laid down, rolled over onto his back, presented his belly for rubs, and was toggling his head back and forth between them whenever they talked.

But, of course, Demelza didn't take any comfort from his words. "Oh, so now you also have x-ray vision and can judge Garrick's health with nothing more than just your eyes?" She snatched her phone back up, though she put it away in her pocket rather than use it. "Thanks for dismissing my fears, Captain Poldark, but I would prefer to hear that Garrick is alright from a licensed professional all the same."

He shrugged, affecting an uncaring manner. "It's your money."

"That's right. It is my money… just like Garrick is my dog. So, if you would please refrain from stealing him in the future, that'd be great."

Pushing himself up so that he was sitting on the table - legs dangling and arms outstretched behind him so as to lean back against them, Ross challenged her further. He knew he was poking the bear, so to speak, but he couldn't resist. This was the most time Demelza had ever spent alone with him in the more than three years that he'd known her. She might have been pissed at him, but he'd take any emotion over the cool indifference he usually received from his tennant. "If he's really your dog, where's his collar? I looked for a tag when he first started showing up here, but there wasn't one."

"That's because he chews them off." That explanation actually tracked. A few months back, the Council held a fundraiser, selling Fire and Rescue Service merchandise to the community - t-shirts, hats, and the like, and Ross, feeling like a right tosser, had picked up a bandana for the dog. It had lasted less time on the mutt's neck than it had taken Ross to actually get it onto him. "He is microchipped, however - something you would have found out if you weren't such a hypocrite and had taken him to the vet like any responsible, respectful adult would rather than just… assuming you knew better!"

Of all the things she could accuse him of being - sullen, bitter, stubborn, proud, gloomy, recalcitrant, and, apparently, unlovable and undeserving of loyalty, Ross had not been expecting Demelza to call him a hypocrite. "Oh, really? And how's that?"

"You go around, preaching fire safety in the schools…"

"I do believe you asked me to come and speak with your class, Miss Carne," he interrupted her smugly.

But Demelza was undeterred. "Stop, drop, and roll. Make sure your parents test your smoke detectors and check the batteries. Don't play with matches, kids! But, yet, then I see you smoking ?!"

"Don't worry, I use a lighter, not matches."

"That's not the point, Ross!," she yelled at him. And she could scream at him as much and as often as she wanted if she would always call him by his first name. It was always Mr. Poldark this or Captain Poldark that, and, worse, early on during their association - when she first leased one of his rental properties from him, it had been Sir.

"No, the point is that I was out at the pub with some mates at the time. If your year three students saw me there, I think we'd have a bigger issue than me occasionally enjoying a smoke when I'm out having a pint or two."

Reaching behind her to lift her still soaked hood back on top of her head, Demelza declared, "it's just another example of a pattern, Captain Poldark. You're all do what I say, yet you don't listen to your own rules. It's always a double standard with you. I'm supposed to practically tattoo my ownership of Garrick onto his skin, yet you shouldn't be expected to even do the bare minimum of due diligence to see if he's somebody else's dog before you just assume you know what's right."

Before thinking through what he was about to say, Ross fired back at her with, "well, maybe if you were a better pet owner, he wouldn't constantly run away and look for somebody else to take care of him."

"Right," she sniffled. But just once. Then she rolled her shoulders back so far and at such an uncomfortable looking angle that her back bowed, her chin tilting up in a haughty, aloof manner. "Well, you won't have to worry about that for much longer, will you - seeing as how you're going to change my lease to forbid pets anyway. I'll be out of the cottage as soon as I can find somewhere else - anywhere else - to live."

After her announcement, Demelza turned her back on him and started making her way towards the door, while Ross leapt down from the table and stalked after her. "Oh, come on, don't be like that, Miss Carne!"

She ignored him. "Let's go, Garrick."

"You don't need to take him out in this. He can stay until the storm passes." If it ever passed. "And you don't need to move. I was… I was an ass earlier. I am an ass. But he's fine. I obviously don't mind that he comes around, seeing as how I've been encouraging him to do so by taking care of him for months now."

"Your assistance in Garrick's wellbeing is not needed or wanted, and neither is your charity. You said you do not want your tenants to own pets, so I'll no longer be your tenant, Mr. Poldark." Demelza punctuated her announcement by ripping open the kitchen door.

The strength of the wind and the rain caused her to stumble back a step before she righted herself and made to leave… only for Ross to call out in an attempt to stop her. "Wait, you shouldn't be out driving in this either. Just… stay here. With Garrick. At least until this lets up enough that you're not a danger to yourself and others on the road. I mean, what kind of Fire and Rescue captain would I be if I let you leave under these conditions?"

"One whose permission I do not require to do anything," she answered him tartly before disappearing out into the stormy night, the dog following obediently at her heels.

Ross took a second to bite off a few particularly blistering oaths before shoving his feet into a pair of wellies - they'd be a bitch to get off his bare, wet feet later, shrugging on another, for the moment, dry mac, and then trudging out after the impossible, infuriating woman. She already had Garrick in the back seat of her Mini hatchback and was climbing into the driver's seat herself when Ross ran outside. He immediately started to slip and slide in the mud - almost went down a time or two before he made it to the passenger side of the small, compact car. Really, it was amazing that she had made it from her cottage further up the road down to Nampara in the first place. He highly doubted she'd be able to complete the return trip, however, and the last thing he needed was for her to blame him when she ditched the vehicle. Or worse.

"Demelza, wait," he yelled across the roof towards her. "I'm sorry! I've handled this all wrong, and you have reason to be mad at me, but this is insane! You're going to get yourself killed just to prove a point and get away from me?" But his words were swallowed up by the torrential, howling wind and overshadowed by the waterfall of rain falling from the pitch black sky.

The next thing he knew, the engine of the Mini roared to life, and he was scrambling to climb inside of the tiny, ridiculous car before she could drive away. The wind caught the passenger door and practically ripped it open, but then it took Ross pulling with both arms to yank it closed again. It had only just caught when he felt Demelza round on him, demanding to know, "what the hell are you doing? Get out of my car! I don't need your help, and I certainly don't need your charity. Unlike you, I happen to have a spotless driving record, and my house is just down the road. I highly doubt I'll even encounter another vehicle on my drive back home, because everybody knows you do all of your entertaining in town."

Ross was still stuck on the fact that, despite all of the years that had gone by, evidently, his sordid past was still the gossip of choice around town, and he was incapable of fully absorbing and comprehending what Demelza was intimating about his present. It was bad enough that the whole mess with Francis and Elizabeth still held Ross back and, in his embarrassment and distrust, made him not know how to act around Demelza, always falling back on his tried, and true, and disastrous cold antagonism. But to know that what had happened also informed how Demelza saw and treated him stung. And, now, on top of all of that , she was also, apparently, operating under some heavy misconceptions about his current attachments as well? Ross' defenses were immediately back up and in place once again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But all of the wrath seemed to leave Demelza at once on a sigh. Before his eyes, Ross watched her practically deflate. Rather than answer him, she simply said, "will you please just let me go? I'm cold, and I'm tired, and I just want to go home, plug in my tree, run myself a bath, and drown myself in cheap wine and Christmas carols."

Finally, it was her weariness that softened him up once and for all. "And I'm not trying to stop you, Miss Carne." At her quirked eyebrow, Ross admitted, "well, I'm not now ."

"Then what are you still doing in my car?"

"Look, I'm cold and tired, too, but I won't be able to relax if I'm worried that you… and the dog… are stranded somewhere between Nampara and your cottage. So, let me ride with you and make sure you get home safely, and then I'll walk back afterwards." He could tell she was about to protest, so he quickly added, "I should probably check on the rest of the property anyway… while I'm already out - make sure the other cottages are holding up in this storm and that all of the animals are in the barn."

"Fine." To emphasize her relenting, Demelza put the car in gear and slowly started to pull away from his house. "But don't blame me when you catch your death of pneumonia, because you decided to roam the Cornish countryside in nothing more than a thin pair of trackie bottoms and a mac."

He said the very first thing that popped into his mind. "Are you worried about me, Miss Carne? In your temper, I didn't think you'd even notice what I was wearing." And not wearing, as the case may be.

Demelza snorted. In her voice, he could hear that she wanted to roll her eyes, but she was too intent upon her driving to glance away from the road for even a millisecond. "With all that preening and posturing you did back there in the kitchen, it was hard… I mean, difficult not to." Ross didn't need the overhead light to be on to tell him that the blush staining her cheeks rivaled the deep richness of her fiery hair. When she next groaned out loud, exclaiming, "oh god!," it took him a moment to realize that it wasn't her embarrassment speaking but her horror in reaction to the scene before them.

The road away from Nampara and back towards not only her cottage but also town was completely washed away, the little valley where the brook bisected his property flooded and the bridge that normally spanned it gone.

With a shaking voice, Demelza stated, "I guess I'll just have to park my car at your place and then walk home. I can pay you extra this month… for the inconvenience."

"Are you out of your mind, woman," Ross exploded, staring at her in disbelief and frustration. "You can't walk through… this," he gestured out of the windscreen not only towards the now nonexistent road but also just at the general weather raging around them.

"Five minutes ago, you told me you were going to walk through it, so here we go again with your double standards!"

"That was before I knew about the flooding, Demelza! We have no idea how deep that water is, and the brook cuts through my entire property. Until this rain stops and the water goes back down again, neither of us are going anywhere!"

He heard the panic finally enter her voice. "What am I supposed to do, then? I can't just stay in my car. I'll run out of petrol eventually, and then I won't be able to run the heater any longer! And what about Garrick?! I don't have his food, or his blanket, and he'll go stir crazy cooped up inside of here for hours… maybe even days on end!"

She really was the most impossible, infuriating, intractable woman, and Ross was totally and completely infatuated with her. So, of course, what came out of his mouth was, "you'll just have to stay with me, I guess. At least the place is big enough so that, if we didn't know better, we wouldn't realize the other person is even there. And, obviously, seeing as how I've been taking care of him for months now, I have all of the supplies the dog could possibly need."

Putting the car in reverse, Demelza carefully executed a three point turn, making sure that her tires never came into contact with the shoulder. If she went off the road even just slightly, the rain softened earth and thick, cloying mud would swallow the tiny car and, depending upon how long the storm lasted, maybe never let it go again. If they got caught in a slide or a fast moving current, they would be lost right along with the Mini. But true to her word, she was a good driver, and she had them turned around and headed back towards Nampara within moments.

Without a remote, Ross had to climb out of the car and manually open the empty bay's garage door, Demelza pulling inside while he waited for her and the dog out in the elements. Over top of the practically solid wall of rain and the barreling train that was the wind, he yelled for her to head inside while he checked what he could of his property. Surprisingly, she didn't argue with him, though as she scrambled away, Ross did hear her cry out into the night, "worst Christmas ever!"

In contrast, he couldn't help but grin, because, at the same time, he was wondering what exactly he had done right to earn such an unexpected and unwarranted present, for he was about to spend the holidays with the first and only woman who, in the seven years since his best friend and cousin had betrayed him by sleeping, getting pregnant, and eventually eloping with his fiancee, actually made Ross want to take that leap of faith and maybe fall in love again.

!

Ross was still mentally recovering from and physically suppressing his reaction to the fact that, just like him, Demelza had removed her sodden and soiled clothes in the kitchen before making her way through the house and upstairs to the bathroom when he crested the top of the risers and came face to… well, not just Demelza's face but a whole hell of a lot more of her than he was prepared for. He was lucky that he didn't just tumble right back down the stairs in his shock and appreciation, and that was before she spoke.

Arms lifted and outstretched to gesture around the landing and towards the various closed doors, she asked, "where do you want me?"

But, yeah, at least for the moment, he couldn't even think about answering her question, because if he did, he'd probably say something boorish like 'underneath me' or 'everywhere, but for now, right here up against this wall will do.' So, instead, Ross inelegantly and slightly rudely barked, "what are you wearing?"

"It's a robe."

"It's my robe," he corrected her. And it was ridiculously large on her lithe frame. Demelza had the sash tied as securely around her tiny waist as possible, but the neckline still gaped, revealing a generous view of her clavicle, sternum, and cleavage, and whenever she shifted, the bottom of the long robe parted to hint at the long, shapely legs underneath.

"Well, I didn't think it was Garrick's, but I also didn't think you'd want me rifling through your things for something to wear. This was hanging on the back of the door, and it seemed like the safer option than wrapping myself in nothing but a towel."

Really, any (or none) of those options would have worked for Ross, but mentioning his things brought the reality of their situation crashing back down on top of him. Nampara might be a large home, especially for a bachelor with only a part time dog in residence, but it wasn't exactly ready for a houseguest either. It wasn't like he had extra rooms set up just in case someone decided to stay overnight. In fact, the spare bedrooms were more storage than sleeping quarters. They contained beds, but they certainly weren't made, and it would take some rearranging of boxes and furniture to even reach the no doubt in need of an airing out mattresses. His father had never been able to part with anything that had belonged to Ross' mother and brother even years after their tragic, young deaths, and when Ross inherited the family property after his father's passing several years prior, he had just shoved everything - his dad, his mum's, and Claude Anthony's things into all of the rooms he had no use for - out of sight and, more importantly, out of mind.

"Uh… let me just grab some stuff from my room, and then you can take it for the night." She was already opening her mouth - to protest or to query, Ross wasn't sure, but he decided to cut off either option. "I usually sleep down in the library, anyway." Which was true enough… or, at least, that's usually where he fell asleep - the telly on in the background with some game or other playing on mute, but Ross almost always woke up at some point during the early morning hours and made the climb up the stairs. He got enough poor sleep at the station when on shift or on call, electing to bunk in town rather than make the drive back out to Nampara and risk a slow response time to an emergency call; he didn't need to also subject his back to nights on a leather sofa or, worse, sitting up in his favorite chair when there was a perfectly comfortable bed just waiting for him. But he also wasn't going to make a reluctant to stay with him Demelza miserable either.

"Alright, so for as long as I'm here, I'll consider the library your space, and I'll stay up here as much as I can. What about the bathroom? Should we make a schedule?"

"No, there's another one downstairs." It was cramped and often had a strange smell, because it wasn't ventilated properly seeing as how it was added centuries after the original house had been constructed, but Ross spent the majority of his week sharing a bathroom with the other five men on his crew, so the downstairs add-on would still feel quite luxurious to him. "You don't need to worry about sharing a shower with me."

"Or you me."

If only he could be so honored.

"And feel free to use the kitchen as much as you want. I'm not much of a cook, and I know you are."

With narrowed eyes, she observed him closely. "How do you know that?"

Coughing uncomfortably, Ross admitted, "Dwight might have mentioned something once or twice."

Actually, his friend, tenant, and coworker, though Dwight was with the Ambulance Service rather than Fire and Rescue, liked to repeatedly taunt him with the fact that, unlike Ross, Demelza liked Dwight. They weren't just neighbors - both renting cottages from Ross - but also friends, and they spent time together with mutual acquaintances, particularly Caroline, Dwight's girlfriend and Demelza's former flatmate at uni. Not only had Dwight raved about the dishes Demelza brought to dinners and picnics they'd both been in attendance at, but she also gifted him with baked goods whenever she had extra which was often, for Demelza loved to bake but couldn't possibly eat everything herself that she made. Knowing of Ross' fondness for and juvenile attentions towards Demelza, Dwight particularly enjoyed pointing out Ross' idiocy and tormenting him with his completely innocent yet no less enviable closeness with Demelza, especially in comparison to Ross' absolute lack of anything resembling a relationship, even neighborly, with the beautiful and sweet teacher.

"Oh. Yes. That makes sense." After an awkward, silent moment between them, Demelza asked, "but what about you? You'll need to eat, too."

He shrugged away her concerns. "I'll grab food when I know you're not in there."

She just nodded, accepting his plan. For the next several seconds, neither of them said anything or moved, though Demelza did shift nervously on her bare feet. Finally, breaking the tension, she reminded him, "weren't you going to get some of your things?"

"Right. Yes. Of course." Ross went into his bedroom first. After a quick visual sweep of the space to make sure nothing was going to embarrass him too badly, he randomly selected several changes of clothes. His phone was still downstairs in the kitchen where he had dropped all of his things earlier, and there was a laptop in the library, so he consciously left his iPad behind for Demelza to use. He also had a spare charger in his desk, so the one he kept on his bedside table could remain for her as well. Quietly slipping back out of the room, around Demelza, and into the bathroom, Ross grabbed some towels, his basic toiletries, and his toothbrush, unsure of what supplies he might have in the downstairs washroom.

Pausing beside her on the landing, Ross left her for the night with a parting, "there's an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet." Thankfully, it was cheaper to buy the two-pack, and it hadn't yet been three months since he purchased them, so one was still available, because, otherwise, they would have been forced to share. "Also, the wi-fi password is already saved in the tablet I left for you. Just look it up from there for your phone."

"Thank you… for everything," Demelza offered him, though the twist of her lips and the pinched expression she wore told him that her gratitude was a complicated thing. It went unsaid, but he could imagine it came with a caveat somewhere along the lines of 'though, if you hadn't stolen my dog, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place,' but she was gracious enough not to retread their earlier argument. "I'm sure in the morning, even if the storm hasn't passed yet, with a good night's sleep and the light of day, I'll be able to figure something out to get home."

It grated - knowing how desperate she was to get away from him. "No, you'll stay here until it's safe," Ross decreed, unwilling to even entertain the idea of Demelza putting herself in harm's way simply because the prospect of his company was so distasteful. "I'm not allowing you to jeopardize someone else's safety or put undue stress upon my men when they have more important things to worry about. Is that understood?"

Stomping by him, she snapped, "it's your inconvenience, so don't get stroppy with me when your back starts to hurt from sleeping on the settee or you tire of sharing your space with someone so selfish that she'd do just about anything to spend Christmas in the peace and warmth of her own home."

Ross wasn't sure what rang louder: Demelza's parting shot of, "you're such a bloody knob," or her slamming of his bedroom door as she retreated as far away from him as Nampara Cottage would allow.

!

Ross woke the next morning with a neck so stiff he wasn't sure if it would ever go back into its normal position; an even more pronounced limp than the night before, so obviously his near header down the stairs did more damage than a mere bruised knee; and to singing - bright, warm, effortless, and absolutely bloody depressing singing. So, of course Ross followed it like Demelza was the pied piper, and he was under the spell of her music.

Maybe he was.

Strings of lights above the bed
Curtains drawn and a glass of red
All I ever get for Christmas is blue

Saxophone on the radio
Recorded forty years ago
All I ever get for Christmas is blue

When you play my song
Play it slowly
Play it like I'm sad and lonely

Maybe you can solve my mystery
Wrap me in…

"What are you doing?"

His query cut her off mid-lyric, and in response, Demelza screamed in fright, actually toppling off the dryer on top of which she had been sitting prior to his sudden appearance startling her. Ross sprang forward to try and catch her, but gravity worked faster than his legs, apparently, and she landed quite jarringly against the cold, unforgiving stone floor. For a moment, he worried that she might have broken something, but as soon as Demelza pushed herself up into a sitting position and scowled at him, he knew that the only things that had been shattered were the moment and her mood.

"I know we didn't discuss the division of the laundry room, but surely you didn't expect me to spend the next however many days parading around this drafty old house in nothing more than your flimsy robe?"

Expecting? No. Wanting? Most definitely yes.

"I figured you would've just helped yourself to my clothes."

"I'd swim in them. Besides, unless there's something you have to tell me, there are certain… types of garments we do not have in common." Self-consciously, Demelza folded her arms across her chest, unintentionally emphasizing her point. "I'll just feel more comfortable in my own things."

"Right. I guess that makes sense." She still seemed unconvinced, so he offered further, "and I don't care that you're using the laundry room. It's just that you," he waved in her general direction, "woke me up."

"Between the stone and the thick beams, I didn't think sound would travel well through this place. I guess the acoustics are better than they look." The noise he made that was supposed to be of agreement, instead, came off much more like a grunt of annoyance. "But the idea was that Nampara was big enough so that we wouldn't have to see each other, so I'm assuming the same goes for hearing one another as well. I'll keep that in mind moving forward."

"I didn't say it was unpleasant - waking up like that," Ross argued, frowning at her response. "I just… I didn't know that you could sing."

"Everyone can sing, Captain Poldark. Just not everyone does it well."

Smirking, he admitted, "that sounds like something my mother would have said." Demelza softly gasped - perhaps taken aback by his personal admission, but Ross ignored it, for he simply wanted to have a conversation with her and not somehow create yet another misunderstanding between them. "She was quite musical herself. She sang, played the piano, and somewhere around here is an impressive collection of old vinyl records."

"What kind of music did she like?"

As much as Ross had mined the depths of his memories for such recollections, he couldn't bring up anything more than just a general sense of her musicality. Shaking his head, he denied, "I don't rightly remember."

"And you've never thought to just look through her albums?"

"My father boxed them away almost immediately after she died, and he forbade me from playing music loud enough for him to hear afterwards, so I wasn't about to ask him."

"And since his death?"

Joshua Poldark's death seemed to happen gradually - like he had been dying since the moment his beloved Grace was lowered into the ground - and then, at the same time, all at once. When it happened, Ross had been living in the US. Following his accident, he suddenly knew what he wanted to do with his life - save others like he had been saved that night, but he didn't want to do it in Cornwall. There was too much baggage in the place where he had been born and raised, too much history and hurt, too many ghosts, so he'd enrolled in a fire academy in the states, cleaned up his act, got a job, and then even did a correspondence course in fire science while working full time.

Ross would have been perfectly content to stay in Richmond, but he had felt duty and honor bound to return home to Cornwall and see to his father's burial and attend the reading of the will. And he might have just sold the entire estate off and returned to the US had his uncle not pressured him to do just that - the same uncle who had insisted upon pressing charges against Ross when, in a fit of rage and heartbreak, he had jumped in the first available vehicle and driven away from his uncle's home, and his ex-fiancee, and the cousin who had allowed his jealousy and lust to destroy not only Ross' place in their family but also more than two decades of friendship that verged on brotherhood. Of course, Ross ended up totalling that car, Charles accused him of theft, and Ross left Cornwall under a cloud of shame and scandal.

By the time he returned to bury his father, the last thing Ross wanted was to rehash the past. Obstinate pride wouldn't allow him to sell Nampara to his uncle, but that didn't mean that he had any particular interest in his childhood home either. Rather than unpacking what Joshua had boxed away, Ross merely added to the piles of clutter and junk, giving his father's things the same treatment Joshua himself had given to, first, Grace's belongings and, then, to Claude Anthony's. For all Ross knew, there could be valuable jewelry and antiques rotting away in the rooms upstairs, but between his fire captain salary and the rent money he earned on the smaller cottages, he had enough to live on and to continue paying off his father's debts, which was all he aspired to, nothing more.

But he didn't know how to say any of that to Demelza. Even if he could, Ross wasn't sure if he wanted her to carry even the smallest shred of his burden. So, he simply settled for mumbling, "it was all a long time ago."

"Well, I'm jealous," Demelza gracefully accepted his non-answer, moving them away from the topic of his family. "Mr. and Mrs. Gimlett, my foster parents, were lovely people. And kind. But they were also quite staid. Theirs was not a musical house. By the time I went to university, it felt like I would never be able to discover my own musical taste. I was just too far behind. Prior to leaving home, I just listened to whatever was available to me whenever I had the chance. But I'm slowly catching up now, I think. I just… try anything I can get my hands on. A lot of it is rubbish, but you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette, right?"

As she waited for him to reply, Demelza offered him a kind smile, and it was that, along with the washer coming to the rumbling end of its cycle, that reminded Ross of who they were, and what they were doing, and that Demelza was still sitting below him on the floor. Embarrassed by his reaction to her singing and shying away from the thawing between them - it was exactly what he wanted but also what he feared, because if he started to let her in, would he ever be able to stop, and what would happen when she inevitably left whether of her own inclination or because he chased her away?, Ross started to back out of the room, tossing a careless, "I'm going back to bed," over his shoulder, though what he really meant was that he would lock himself back into the library and not come out again until he knew there was no chance of encountering her once more.

!

Up until the point when Ross tripped over the Christmas decorations, he had been feeling guilty… for all of it: for lying to Demelza and telling her that the dog was not allowed to sleep at the foot of his bed, guaranteeing that the mutt would stay with him in the library instead; for avoiding her and being rude and cantankerous when all he really wanted was to be as close to her as possible; for feeling sorry for himself because his father disappeared inside of his grief after losing the wife and younger son he had loved so dearly, while unsuspecting that Demelza - sunny, wonderful Demelza's own family history could have been even more depressing than his own; for insisting that she absolutely had to stay with him and not trying everything possible to help her get home - like getting his boat out or calling around to his neighbors to see if any of them had an ATV they could use to ford the flooded brook.

But then the dog woke up at 2:24 A.M., needing to go outside despite the downpour, and Ross, believing that he knew the inside of Nampara like the back of his own hand, never bothered to turn on a single light. Instead, still half asleep, he just stumbled his way towards the front door… or, at least, he tried to only to end up tripping on the swag of evergreens Demelza had hung around the library's doorway and then went sprawling ass over teakettle. That's exactly how she found him seconds later when she came running - a lamp in hand as if to use it as some sort of weapon, believing they were being robbed, apparently, and all of his guilt evaporated in the blink of a groggy, sleep-crusted eye.

Ross had just enough time to make sure nothing had shifted and was hanging out of his boxer-briefs after his fall before Demelza had the overhead light flipped on and blazing above them, her hand clutching at her chest where, once more, she was wearing his robe. Apparently, she felt comfortable enough going through his things to locate and then set up his mother's old holiday decor, yet she still refused to rifle through his wardrobe to find some appropriate sleeping attire. In the back of his mind, Ross still liked the idea of her wearing his robe, and he had absolutely no plans on washing it ever again should it now smell anything like her, but, in that moment, his discomfort and embarrassment, his emotions, were too close to the surface and overpowering his baser instincts.

"Oh, thank god," Demelza sighed with relief. "The tree's okay! With all that noise you made, I thought maybe you had knocked it over."

"I'm fine, Miss Carne. Thank you for asking. Your concern for my well being is heartwarming. I nearly cracked my head open, and I'm still not sure that I don't have a concussion given as to how I'm seeing Christmas decorations hanging up in my own house when I didn't put them there myself, nor did I ask or allow you to do so either."

Speaking slowly… like what she was about to say was completely obvious and he was the one who was mistaken, not her, Demelza responded, "you gave me free reign of the kitchen."

"Oh, so all this greenery and the baubles are edible, then?"

"Well, no, of course not," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "But it was all just sitting there in the pantry, so I assumed you got everything out to set up but my… sudden and unexpected appearance prevented you from doing so, and I decided that I would do it for you. I didn't sing at all while I was working, but I thought for sure you would have heard me dragging things around all afternoon and putting things up."

He had heard her moving about all through the downstairs of Nampara, but Ross didn't even grant himself a glimpse of her through the cracked library door. He kept himself shut in and the rest of the world, including Demelza, as shut out as possible, picking at the junk food he had grabbed from the kitchen that morning and only venturing into the bathroom through the door that connected it to the study. The dog had been with her throughout the day until she retired upstairs to his room, so Ross had believed the movement to be the two of them trying to work off some of the very same energy that was making him stir crazy in his self-imposed isolation.

"I didn't know it was there… in the pantry," he confessed. "I told you I'm not much of a cook." Before she could comment, he continued, "and why would my father keep my mother's old decorations in the pantry of all places? I don't remember them being there when I was a child after she died."

"You mean, you didn't put them up after she passed away?"

"This is the first time I've seen any of this stuff since I was eleven years old."

"Oh, wow. That's such a shame - not only that you and your father didn't celebrate the holidays together but also because she had some truly beautiful pieces - all of these delicate, antique glass ornaments."

"That still doesn't explain what they're now doing in the pantry since they've gone unused for decades."

"Actually, unless your housekeeper cleans your storage areas as well…"

"Prudie?," Ross cut in derisively. "Absolutely not."

"... then these decorations have been displayed within the last few years. The boxes were neatly and recently labeled, there certainly wasn't enough dust to account for decades of disuse, and the tree is relatively new and pre-lit with bulbs that can be both color or just white, that can stay on or blink."

All of which meant that, at some point while Ross was living in the US, his father had started to make an effort. There had been invitations to come home - not just for the holidays but for good, but Ross, at first, didn't think them genuine and, then, believed them to be selfish - his father wanting a caretaker in his slipping health but not necessarily a son. It was a hard pill to swallow to suddenly realize that, after years of not trying, Joshua had attempted to put the pieces of their broken family back together only for Ross to be the one to withhold the glue.

His dismay and devastation manifested themselves in his ever present anger. "It also doesn't explain why you felt you had the right to not only go through my family heirlooms but also to display them?!"

At his ugly tone, Demelza took a step further away from him. "Like I said, I thought it was what you wanted."

"Well, next time, rather than take liberties and make assumptions, acting as if you actually know me, ask for permission, so I can not grant it."

Despite her slight retreat, she didn't back down entirely. "It's not my fault that, after three years, you're still a stranger. Whenever I try to get to know you, you shut me down, rebuff me, act and treat me abominably no doubt in the hopes that I'll give up once and for all."

"There's nothing to know."

"I beg to differ!"

"Alright, fine." Ross made it seem like he was relenting, but really he planned on using whatever was said between them next to push her away even further. "You get one question."

"Why don't you celebrate Christmas?"

"What, by myself?" He barked out a sharp, biting laugh, but there was absolutely no humor behind the gesture. "I cannot think of anything more depressing or embarrassing than that."

"But you're not alone. Maybe I don't know you, Captain Poldark, but even I'm aware that you have a family. You have an uncle and a great aunt, cousins, and there's Geoffrey Charles as well. He's an amazing little boy. I hope to have him in my class next year. And I know his mother, Elizabeth, your cousin-in-law, through her volunteering at the school. She's the one who told me about…"

This time, it was Demelza who cut off her own words, her face once more taking on that telling but also becoming shade of rose as her pretty countenance revealed her sudden mortification. "What, Demelza? What exactly did Elizabeth tell you about me?" Not giving her a chance to respond to his demands for answers, Ross made his own suggestion. "Perhaps she told you about the last time I celebrated Christmas with this so-called family of mine, about how it ended with the accident that gave me this," he pointed disgustedly at his own scarred face, "and a permanent record that, no matter what good works I do in the future, can never be erased."

Obviously confused, Demelza said, "no, she just warned… I mean, she told me about your… friend . Margaret." Blinking rapidly while she absorbed everything he, in his rage, had inadvertently revealed, Demelza confessed, "I didn't know your accident happened on Christmas. Oh, Ross. I'm so sorry!"

It was the second time in as many days that she had called him by his first name, but just like the previous night, Ross couldn't savor this slip then either. "I thought you knew all about my accident?"

"I knew of it, of course," she vaguely gestured towards his face, "but I was just seventeen and oblivious at the time, and I wasn't even living in Cornwall then."

"And since you've moved here, since you've met me, and since you've started renting your cottage from me, you've never sought out the whole story?"

"I didn't realize there was a story beyond what was thankfully not a fatally tragic traffic accident."

All this time, Ross believed Demelza to know all about what had happened between himself, Francis, Elizabeth, and even the rest of the Poldarks. After all, everyone else in Cornwall seemed to know, and Demelza wasn't shy or reclusive. She made friends quickly, and people seemed to easily confide in her. It only made sense that between her job educating and nurturing his friends', neighbors', and even enemies' children and her closeness with people he himself shared a connection with, that, at one point or another, the whole, entire, sordid tale would have been revealed. So, he believed her not only to be aware of his history but also judging him for it, because how could she not?

Yet… that wasn't the case at all, and suddenly Ross just wanted it all out in the open. Because if she didn't know, then he'd suddenly have hope that maybe she could see him as more than just the man who had been cheated on and tossed aside, as more than just the cousin and best friend that hadn't meant enough to warrant loyalty and honor.

So, as dispassionately as possible, he just… told her. "I could not tell you exactly when I met Elizabeth Chynoweth, now Elizabeth Poldark. We grew up together. She was just… always seemingly a part of life - just like my cousins Francis and Verity. At first, she was the annoyingly proper girl who followed us around and tried to get us to behave, and then she was the vexing girl who always scored the highest on all our exams, and then she was suddenly the most beautiful girl in the world… or so my teenage hormones believed. We dated throughout school and then uni. We were nineteen when I won a ring from one of those quarter machines, and when I gave it to her, I told her that I was going to marry her someday. I took that to be a proposal, and when she wore that ring and never took it off, I believed that to be her acceptance.

"Fast forward several years to when we had all - well, except Verity - graduated and were just flapping about, unsure of what we wanted to do and uncaring yet because our parents were still footing the bills. After my mother and brother died, I always spent the holidays at my Uncle Charles' place, while my father hid from the world here alone at Nampara. The Chynoweths were always invited as well - Elizabeth's parents were good friends with my uncle, and Elizabeth was as intrinsically connected to Francis, Verity, and myself as another cousin. Most of that day is a blur, I'll admit. My uncle always had a generous pour. But I'll never forget passing the seafood platter to Elizabeth and watching as her face turned nearly as green as the boughs of holly decorating the center of the table.

"After that, it all came out: how she and Francis had been seeing each other behind my back for months, how they were getting married, and how Elizabeth was pregnant. There wasn't a question of paternity - not because Elizabeth hadn't still been sleeping with me at the same time but because Francis had already asked for a test and, for all of our sakes, the results had been in his favor. I didn't stick around long enough to hear this, though; I just took off, grabbed the first set of keys I could find and drove away as fast as I could in the hopes that no one would be able to catch up with me. I didn't care where I ended up, but I knew that I could not be there any longer, and I couldn't go back to Nampara either, because my dad had never liked Elizabeth. No doubt, his only solace to me would have been an empty 'I told you so' or 'you dodged a bullet there, son.' Not only did I lose what I believed to be a fiancee that day; I also lost my family."

"All because you loved Elizabeth that much."

"Actually, no," Ross argued with Demelza. "It turns out that I really only loved the idea and the constant of Elizabeth. My father was right in that we were not well suited to each other. I wasn't angry with Francis because he had something I wanted, I didn't resent Great Aunt Agatha, Uncle Charles, and Verity for supporting Francis and Elizabeth's relationship because I felt they had chosen him over me, and I even understood why my Uncle Charles insisted upon pressing charges against me for taking off with and then totaling the car - a recent graduation present he'd given to Francis.

"What I couldn't forgive - what I still can't forget - is how someone who wasn't just my cousin but also my best friend, a man I considered my brother, could value our relationship so little as to pursue behind my back the woman I planned on marrying, how he allowed his jealousy to override twenty-two years of loyalty and love, how he picked a passing fancy over his own family. I think, if it would have been a true love match, it would have been easier for me to move beyond everything. But it wasn't. The bloom faded off that rose even before their son was born. On Francis' part, it was a competitive infatuation, and on Elizabeth's part, I rightly do not know. As for the rest of the family, besides Verity, they have made it clear that, if I won't accept and trust Francis again, then they won't accept me, and that's not something I'm prepared to do. Ever."

For several minutes, Demelza was quiet, absorbing his revelations. When she finally did speak, though, it wasn't with pity as he had been expecting but rather with challenge and affront against him and not on his behalf. "Fine. So, your biological family sucks. Trust me, I get that. But what about your found family - Dwight and Caroline, Zacky and Mrs. Martin and their children, Paul and Mark Daniel, William Henshaw, and Jim and Jinny Carter? They're your friends, your neighbors, your crew. Celebrate Christmas with them."

Ross sighed, exhausted and weary. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said."

"No, you're the one who's too busy feeling sorry for himself to hear anything but his own self-pity."

Irritated once again - not because he felt insulted but because there was truth in what she was saying, Ross barked, "I'm going back to bed, and when I get up in the morning, every single thing you put up today better be taken back down and boxed back away."

"Or what, Sir ?"

Goddamn it, she hadn't called him that in years, and on top of Ross' disappointment at the regression in their relationship that evening, he also didn't have an answer for her, because his only options would be to destroy his mother's things or kick Demelza out of Nampara, and they both knew he'd never attempt either. So, instead of answering her taunting question, Ross stomped back into the library and slammed the door behind him.

And, bloody hell, after all of that, the dog never did make it outside to relieve himself. "You're lucky she loves you," he hissed at the animal - like everything that had happened was somehow the mutt's fault and not due to Ross' own pride and idiocy.

!

Sitting bolt upright from a dead sleep, it took Ross a moment to realize that, this time, it was a smell - a scent he had not experienced in nearly twenty years - that was tugging at his heartstrings and plunging him back into the depths of his most cherished but also most feared and avoided childhood memories. However, unlike the night before, he at least paused long enough to throw on some clothes - an old, ratty pair of gym shorts and a TFRS t-shirt. Then Ross charged through his house unmindful of the Christmas decorations that, true to her word, Demelza had refused to remove, and he barged into the kitchen unmindful of their agreement to divide the use of the room… of course at his own obstinate suggestion.

As though the night before had not happened, like they were just friendly neighbors thrown together as unlikely, temporary roommates rather than awkward and uncomfortable acquaintances bogged down by his unvoiced attraction, complicated past, and suppressed feelings, Demelza turned to him with a tentative smile, wishing him, "good morning, Captain Poldark."

Practically begging her, he implored, "you need to stop, Demelza!"

"I actually can't. I'm at a precarious place in the recipe, and if I were to stop stirring the base for the dough or take it off of the heat, it'll be ruined. But I promise I'll just stand here. Grab or make whatever you want. I won't get in your way. I think, just this once, we can share the kitchen, don't you?"

"I don't just mean the gingerbread; I mean all of it! I can't do this with you! I won't! First the singing, then the decorations, and now my mother's family recipe for gingerbread." Ross surfaced from the well of his painful recollections and emotions long enough to wonder, "how did you find it anyway? No one has made this since she died."

"If you're accusing me of snooping again, stop, because just like the decorations, it was practically right in front of your face. There's a recipe box that sits on your sideboard over there." She motioned over her shoulder. "Because you insist that there's no safe way for me to go home, if I want to bake for the holidays, I have to do it here, and there was this gorgeous recipe for gingerbread just sitting there, so I decided to try it."

"You can bake whatever you want. But this. Dump it out. Get rid of it. Now." When she made no move to listen to his demands, Ross yelled, "this isn't a request, Miss Carne! Good god, don't you get it? I can't do this - not with you, not with anyone! It's… too much!"

Turning so that he could see her profile while she continued to stir the pot on the cooker and glance at him out of the corner of her eyes, Demelza challenged, "you act like memories of your mother are evil, Ross. You can't hear, or see, or smell anything that reminds you of her. But by your own admission, she was a wonderful, loving parent, so why are you acting like this?"

"Because thinking about my mother, remembering what my life was like before she died, being around you? It all makes me feel and want things I cannot have. This," he gestured between them and then around them, indicating not only the house but also the gale still assaulting Nampara's stone walls, "isn't going to last, and when it is over and everything goes back to normal, I need my life to have not changed, because it's better to just always have nothing than to have something and lose it."

With a quick flick of her wrist, Demelza turned off the heat. Even as she pivoted to face him, her head tilting to the side in close observation, Ross was already heaving a sigh of relief. It would take hours for the scent of black treacle and spices to dissipate, but it was a start, and if she had finished the recipe and baked the gingerbread, then the house would have been filled with the smells of his childhood Christmases for days, the weather making airing out Nampara impossible.

But Demelza wasn't backing down or even backing away from him. Instead, she seemed to sway closer and closer until her pale, bare feet were tucked between his spread legs - their bodies touching from hip to chest. Of course, Ross reacted to her nearness immediately, his attraction swift and instantaneous, throbbing with the quickening tempo of his pounding heart. Without saying anything, Demelza took his hands which had been gripping the edge of the old, wooden table, pulled his arms around her, and only let go of him once Ross was completely wrapped up in her - one palm gripping a delectably round cheek through the thin fabric of his robe she was wearing once more, the other curled around her dainty waist and desperately clutching the very top of her thigh.

As soon as she laid her own hands upon his chest - those long, elegant fingers gently caressing him through the well-worn and often washed fabric of his t-shirt, she tilted her head back to look up at him. Eyes wide and sincere, cheeks flushed with anticipation and nerves, and mouth as red, and enticing, and potentially just as damning as the famed apple of fairytale lore, she spoke softly but not without conviction. "See, I think the problem is that you're still not feeling enough, and who said you cannot have what you want, Ross? I certainly didn't. In fact, I don't recall you ever even asking. And I think we both know that, if I really wanted to leave, I'd find a way. This is Cornwall, after all. We're surrounded by water, and practically everyone owns a boat. Someone would be willing to get me across the flooded brook. But I'm here. With you. And if you would just stop being so pigheadedly noble and misguidedly selfless, maybe Garrick and I would never leave."

Fiercely, he demanded clarification. "What exactly are you saying, Demelza?"

"I'm saying that there's a reason why Elizabeth told me…"

"Please," he implored her, "when I have my hand on your arse, and I'm hard pressed up against you, never say another person's name but especially not hers!"

Demelza smiled indulgently at him. "Everybody knew, Ross. Including her. I've liked you, I've wanted you, from the moment I first laid eyes on you. It didn't matter if you were surly and refusing to meet my gaze or patiently allowing all nineteen of my third year students to run the fire truck siren, you - a mystery I wanted to solve - fascinated me. I realize now that's why she tried to scare me off with warnings of… other women."

"I won't claim to have been a monk since after my accident, but there haven't been other women in a long time, Demelza - not since, well… let's just say that you fascinate me as well."

"So, what are you going to do about it, Captain Poldark ?" This time, when she called him by his title - grinning coquettishly and running her hands up onto his shoulders, one delving into his thick, unruly hair and tugging just ever-so-slightly, it made his dick twitch. "It might help if you knew that I'm not wearing anything underneath this robe, Ross - haven't since that first night. I've been sleeping in your bed with nothing between my bare skin and your sheets but this thin, barely there piece of…"

With his kiss, Ross stole the very words from Demelza's mouth. Using his hold on her, he lifted and spun her at the same time, setting her down on the table, pushing her legs wide and apart to take his hips between them, and yanked the robe's tie free all seemingly in the same movement. Demelza groaned, and her own grip on him tightened so that he could feel the bite of her nails against his neck, his scalp. The slight sting, though, wasn't meant to discourage but, rather, to incite, and he was more than willing to be further inflamed.

!

With the curtains pulled tight, the only light in the room came from the decorated tree in the corner - one that Ross had ventured out into the storm to cut down himself, Demelza oh so gratefully warming him back up afterwards - and the evergreen boughs draped over every door and window frame. He loved to watch how the glow danced in Demelza's sea-blue gaze and was reflected back to him even brighter through her perspective. Her holiday playlist rang out softly through the house, but Ross preferred the sounds he could pull from Demelza's lips: her soft, decadent sighs; her greedy moans; her needy pleas; his name. There was even a plate of gingerbread on their bedside table, though Ross intentionally kept his face buried in Demelza's neck, or her cleavage, or between her legs so that all of his senses were continually assaulted by her loveliness instead. Outside, the world might be drenched and flooded from the rains, but, inside, Ross was determined that, if he were ever to drown, it would be in the woman he loved.

Laid back against the bower of pillows and extra cushions piled against the mahogany headboard and canopy of the bed, Ross stared up adoringly at the woman currently astride him. Demelza's own head was thrown back, her eyes closed in concentration and pleasure. With his hands, Ross not only held her close but also guided her movements - her hips undulating against his like a gentle wave, while Ross, feet propped against the mattress for extra power, drove his cock deeper and deeper inside of her. God, if he could just burrow inside of Demelza and stay there forever, he would gladly never leave her silken, honeyed, molton body. Perhaps that was why, despite the crazed urgency he felt to bring her to orgasm, he kept his thrusts measured and slow, drawing out and savoring the moment.

The first outside intrusion that Ross became aware of was a rhythmic stomping. For a moment, he dismissed it as the blood from his rapidly beating heart pounding in his ears, but the cadence did not match that of his elevated pulse. The last thing he wanted was for anything to pull him from the moment, however, so he tried to ignore it, to explain it away. Perhaps it was hail against the old, slate roof, or maybe the washer had become unbalanced and was rocking precariously against the stone floor in the laundry room, though Ross had absolutely no recollection of either himself or Demelza wearing any clothes for the past few days that would need cleaned… let alone of leaving their bed for anything more than sustenance or a shower.

But while he could put out of his mind the sound of what he realized too late to properly react and shield Demelza from it to be footsteps, there was no turning a deaf ear to his cousin's voice, scolding him as she obliviously made her way towards the open bedroom door. " … has gone on quite long enough! I'm not saying that you need to start throwing lavish parties or have friends come round to stay every weekend, but you at least need a safe and passable road. I know you fancy yourself a curmudgeonly recluse, Ross, and self-sufficient as well, but what if you were injured - or worse, and no one could get to you for days, because you refuse to do anything about that damnable… oh my!"

"Judas!," Demelza swore while, at the same time, making a headlong dive towards the sheets. Unfortunately, they were still quite intimately attached at that moment, and his dick just did not bend that way.

Groaning painfully as he slipped out of Demelza and, at the same time, reached behind him for a spare cushion, Ross couldn't help but see the humor in the moment… despite Verity's discomfort and Demelza's humiliation. Both women would probably be furious with him for it, but he decided to just embrace the awkwardness, not wanting Demelza to leave their bed or get dressed and pleased that his cousin was the first to learn of their relationship. "Verity, I'd like you to meet Demelza Carne, my girlfriend; Demelza, this is my favorite cousin and my only relative who matters, Verity Poldark."

Cheeks red enough to rival her gorgeous hair, Demelza had not only managed to somehow twist herself up in the sheets so that only her face could be seen, but she had also turned around and was reclined beside him. "We, uh, we've met. Verity's actually my doctor."

"Doctor in training, dear," his cousin corrected, looking anywhere and everywhere but the two of them in bed. But her distraction was probably from more than just embarrassment but also surprise, seeing as how she was gawking at the holiday decor. "And perhaps, given this recent development, I should refer you to one of my colleagues."

"Yes," Demelza nodded in agreement. "That might, um, be best."

In amusement, Ross watched on as, when Verity noticed what was on their bedside table, she charged towards them, and Demelza's eyes widened to the point of what had to be pain. "Is that… is that Aunt Grace's gingerbread?" Before either Ross or Demelza could answer, Verity was already biting into a biscuit and sighing in delight. "It is! How did all of this," Verity vaguely gestured around her with the half eaten sweet in her hand, "come about?"

Sharing a secret, conspiratorial smile with Demelza, Ross hinted towards just how momentous the last several days had been for both of them. "This rain has been… revelatory, I guess you could say."

Still chewing and with an amused, knowing twinkle in her eyes, Verity told them, "you do realize that the rain stopped two days ago."

Simultaneously, Ross and Demelza exclaimed, "what?!"

"And your crew was out here almost immediately afterwards, fixing the road. Well, they rebuilt your bridge, at least. I'm not sure if anything less than dynamite and a newly engineered National Highways project could fix that cowpath you call a road. It's passable again, at least. With an off-road capable SUV."

"I drive a Mini," Demelza said slightly forlornly.

"Well, as it stands now, I'm afraid that you will never leave Nampara, dear."

It was the very same thing she had tempted him with in the kitchen when they first got together, but he knew she had meant it in a more committed, emotional sense rather than physically under lock and key as Verity intended and Ross was all too willing to embrace. Smiling smugly and in satisfaction, he happily proclaimed, "works for me!"

In response Demelza elbowed him in the ribs, but her teasing blow jostled loose the cushion he was using to cover himself. Verity ran screaming from the room; Demelza pulled the comforter up over her head in absolute mortification; Garrick, from where they had him corralled in the living room with its French doors out to the garden cracked for his comings and goings, seemed to realize that someone other than Ross and Demelza was there, and he went wild, barking and howling for attention and freedom; and Ross… well, Ross just slipped under the covers with the woman he loved, took her into his arms, and kissed her. He still had two days remaining of his vacation, and he was absolutely resolved in not allowing anyone or anything - not Verity, or his crew, the improved weather, Garrick, or even Demelza herself - to make him leave Nampara, their bed, or her embrace even a second before he absolutely had to.

It wasn't quite New Year's yet, but seeing as how he was finally celebrating the holidays again, what would it hurt if Ross set his resolution prematurely and got an early start on seeing it through? He was a captain, after all, and it only made good sense to be proactive… in life and, more importantly, in love.

Strings of lights above the bed
Curtains drawn and a glass of red
All I ever get for Christmas is blue

Saxophone on the radio
Recorded forty years ago
All I ever get for Christmas is blue

When you play my song
Play it slowly
Play it like I'm sad and lonely

Maybe you can solve my mystery
Wrap me in your arms and whisper
You miss me

Weatherman says it's miserable
But the snow is so beautiful
All I ever get for Christmas is blue

It would take a miracle
To get me out to a shopping mall
All I really want for Christmas is you

Let them ring the bells
They won't miss us
I'll be drinking down your kisses

Deep into the night we'll go stealing
Underneath a starry ceiling
Revealing

White lights on the Christmas tree
Thank god you are here with me
All I ever get for Christmas is blue

All I ever get for Christmas is blue
All I ever get for Christmas is blue