AN: Just a cheesy story, possibly a two-shot, about our favorite Colonel and Marianne.
She had never felt so very loved before.
Marianne Dashwood was very fortunate, despite what had occurred in her life in the last two years. Her father had passed away, and her brother, John, sent them to live away from Norland after he had inherited the land and house along with his wife, Fanny. She missed her father tremendously, and missed her old home as well, and of course, she had struggles with John Willoughby. She had nearly lost her life because of a broken heart, and she thought that she was destined for a lonely life, completely shut off from love and a life with a family of her own. But despite these things, she realized how very fortunate she was. Her mother was so much like her in many ways, and she always treated her daughters with love and respect. Her sisters were her heart and soul, and her father had been a kind man, always so gentle and loving. He had respected her and her sisters just as much as he had respected John Dashwood, his son, his heir. She had felt love before; she had felt it in her mother's arms when she held her throughout the night, not caring about the fever or it being contagious when Colonel Brandon had fetched her. She felt it in Elinor's words when they stayed up late at night, curled up together to keep warm, sharing every thought that they had with one another. She felt it in Margaret's laughs, her humorous and sometimes wild antics that she did just to make her family smile. But she had never felt love like this before.
The room was dark, the only light coming from his-their-window, the moon shining through the curtains that were so white, they were nearly translucent. It had been a pleasant day, but the night had grown cold, and she sighed with happiness, curling deeper into the thick blankets that he had placed over her gently when they were finally ready to sleep. She hadn't had such nice, warm blankets since she was at Norland, and she had grown used to being cold at the cottage during nights like these. But even better than the blankets were the strong arms wrapped around her. Colonel Brandon-no, Christopher-slept behind her soundly, his chin on the top of her head, one of his legs tangled with her own. She turned slowly, careful not to disturb him, until she was now facing him. He adjusted himself as well, so in tune with her, even in his sleep, so that his arms were once again around her, and she just gazed at him. Her eyes scanned his form, and she found herself pushing the blankets off of his shoulders just slightly until she could see more of him. She wanted to drown herself in him, to see every part of him, every imperfection, every scar from India, from playing too rough as a young boy at Delaford, every single part of him that made him into him. She knew who Colonel Brandon was, and oh, how she loved him, but now, she was learning all about Christopher. The man that loved her so gently, the man who laughed with her, carried her over every single threshold in the house, who took her in, Marianne Dashwood, the girl who had made mistake after mistake, who hardly had a penny to her name, who had treated him so unfairly for so long, and made her the mistress of his house, his land. She ran a hand down his shoulder, drawing odd shapes with a finger along his chest; he still looked every bit of a soldier, a proud Colonel from the British army. How she had never noticed how handsome he was until months ago was beyond her.
"Marianne?" Christopher spoke up, his voice rough from sleep but still as rich as velvet to her. "Are you-are you okay?" He asked, suddenly concerned as to why she was awake at such an hour. It had been a long day, with the wedding, the large dinner party afterwards, and, of course, their precious time along together, but when he had finally settled in for the night with her, sleep beckoning him, he thought that she had fallen asleep first. He worried, mind racing on any way that he could have hurt her, or made her uncomfortable so that she could not sleep. His mind still seemed to go to the worst, still wondering if this was a dream that he would soon be forced to wake up from. But Marianne smiled, such a sweet, knowing smile, and his fears rested.
"I'm quite well." She said softly, moving even closer to him until her head was resting in the crook of his neck, arms moving to fold around him tighter, now that he was awake. "And you?"
He laughed, returning her embrace. "I believe this may be the best I've ever been." Brandon looked down at her, a rare smile on his face, a real one, not like the small, polite smiles he gave around other people, but a real smile, one that made his eyes light up, the corners of it crinkling. "I love you, Mrs Brandon." And with his arms around her, his face just barely visible thanks to the light of a full moon, she believed it, she knew it, and she never wanted to move from this place. No love could compete with this. She had once thought that love was powerful, burning, strong, so strong that it would knock her off of her feet, just as Willoughby had. But she knows what love is now. Love is not the thing that knocks you down, it is what picks you up. Colonel Brandon and his patient, calm love had saved her, and she had never been more grateful for love.