Consciousness came to Jack very slowly the next morning; a heavy weight across his chest and hair tickling against his mouth were his first thought, but he was too comfortable to shift away. Instead he lay perfectly still, cataloging the sensations as he woke—the gentle hew of Phryne's snoring, wafts of soap and sex causing a previously sated hunger to stir. He luxuriated in the warm familiarity for some time.

Eventually he opened his eyes, finding the scene exactly as he knew it would be. Her head against his shoulder, mouth opened slightly, limbs sprawled and pinning him to the bed. It did not matter how she fell asleep, he always woke beneath her. He had teased her, early on, that she was clearly attempting to evict him from the bed.

"Don't joke, Jack," she had chided, biting her bottom lip uncertainly. "If it's bothersome, there is a guest room. I know you need to sleep."

"Would you prefer that? " was his offer in reply.

She had shaken her head, and that had been the end of it. She had no intention of evicting him and he had no intention of being evicted, so he'd resigned himself to being used as a mattress instead. Though he was loath to admit it, he'd actually grown fond of the whole thing—it gave him an excellent view of her freckles, if nothing else, and it was worth it for that alone. Even if it did occasionally put his arm to sleep.

Watching her in sleepy contentment was not helping the matter at hand, and he attempted to extract himself to attend to his morning needs.

"Fuck off, Jack," she muttered, tightening her grip.

Jack chuckled in reply. "You kiss all your lovers with that mouth?"

She stiffened at the same moment he did, both of them suddenly remembering the previous night's discussion and waiting for the other to react. After a moment she relaxed her grip, and Jack brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Only the ones who piss me off," Phryne mumbled, still mostly asleep. She had a filthy mouth some days; it always made him smile to see her with the guard of propriety down.

"A badge of honour, then."

She opened one eye to look at him, lips twitching slightly. "Fuck. Off. Jack. You had me up until four in the morning. Now it's time to sleep."

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time, love," he replied cheekily, smoothing her silky hair with his free hand. "And we have to get up. It's Christmas."

"Not yet, surely?"

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It had just gone half seven.

"Not just yet," he agreed, settling into a slightly more comfortable position.

"Good," she exhaled against his chest, nestling closer.

Jack glanced down, catching sight of his hand spanning across her hip. It was large and brown against her skin; it was easy to forget how small she was, her presence usually enough to fill an entire room. But in these sleepy morning moments, when she was soft and warm and not quite awake….

"I love you," he said quietly.

He felt her smile against him.

"I love you too," she replied. "And that is just for you."

He'd been an idiot.

"You don't—"

She pressed a finger to his lips, looking up at him.

"None of that. Sleep. Pretty words later."

His tongue darted out to flick the pad of her finger, and she let out a breathy moan.

"Too early," she objected, moving up to kiss him gently even as she complained.

"Absolutely," Jack agreed as he laced his fingers through her hair and pulled her close.

"We should be sleeping."

Her hand trailed down his chest, then his stomach, coming to rest on his cock.

"Of course."

Another slow kiss, and a stroke of her hand.

"On the other hand… it is Christmas."

"It is," he agreed.

"And I've been very good all year."

"You have."

He rolled onto his side to face her properly, and she gave him a sleepy smile. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against the column of her neck, smirking as her head lolled back to give him better access. He followed the line down to her clavicle, scraping his teeth gently across it before moving lower still.

"Good behaviour should always be rewarded," she purred.

He paused in his ministrations just above her navel to look at her, moving back to her lips when he liked what he saw.

"It should," he agreed when he pulled away.

"So what do you say?"

He slid his hand from her hip and stroked her, finding her already wet; she pushed against his hand lightly in response, and he tried to stifle a groan. Lifting her leg over his, he sank into her slowly and they began to move together, languid and full of promise. When she came it was nothing more than a sigh and a flutter of her muscles around his cock; he followed her over the edge with a stutter of his hips.

"Oh, darling," she breathed, kissing him once more. "You really ought to wake me this way more often."

"I try," he said dryly, smiling fondly at the contented picture of her sleepy eyes and flushed face. "You keep telling me to fuck off."

An hour later, they were both downstairs and greeting the rest of the household—Jack in a shirt and trousers, Phryne still firmly in pyjamas and a robe in protest of the time of day. Breakfast was eaten in the dining room, Phryne insisting that even Mr. Butler join them for the meal. The conversation was lively; Jane was speculating about a particularly large gift she had seen by the tree—it was a bicycle, to assist her around the city once she moved to the flat for school, and Jack suspected she knew it full well—and his mother relating a particularly embarrassing anecdote from Jack's childhood that had Phryne nearly in stitches. A moment later she leaned in close, caressing his thigh beneath the table as the conversation continued around them.

"Mmm, Jack…." She murmured into his ear.

"Absolutely not, Miss Fisher," he replied neatly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "We will both pretend that you never heard of the young Jackie's budding career in arson and petty vandalism."

"You were five!" she laughed. "And you did mean well."

"I'm sure that was of great comfort to Mrs. McInally."

"Well, your mother seems to have survived the incident unscathed, at least."

"You didn't see her face at the time—I thought she'd tan my hide for leather."

"You know—"

"You cannot possibly be about to relate a story about a previous lover in full view of our butler, my mother, and two children."

The deliberately naughty biting of her lip and the look of mischief in her eyes told him that was exactly what she intended to do. Distraction was his only hope; he leaned in close, as if to whisper in her ear furthest from the table, and nipped the lobe instead.

"Later, love," he chided, smirking as the hand on his thigh tensed. Then he turned back to the table, seamlessly transitioning back into the conversation at hand; beside him Phryne smiled and followed suit.

When the meal was over, they moved to the parlour where a tree was surrounded by presents. Mairi volunteered to hand the gifts out, so Jack and Phryne sat side by side on the chaise and watched. Along with the bicycle, Jane received a silk scarf, a full set of encyclopedias, a necklace, and some stationery. There was another scarf for Mairi, a selection of chocolates, and a framed photograph of Jack, Phryne, Ivy, and Jane; the woman travelled so frequently that it was difficult to find items that suited her lifestyle, but these were small and personal. Jack and Phryne usually exchanged their gifts to each other in the evening, but there were small presents for them from the rest of the family—new cufflinks for Jack, a hairpiece for Phryne, books for them both. There were even a handful of packages for Anthony; they had not been certain if he would still be at Wardlow, but Jack had selected several books when he'd been in a book shop for other reasons, Mairi had purchased him some socks, and Dot Collins had stitched him a small stuffed koala. Generic, but not unwelcome selections.

"Aye, another one for wee Anthony," Mairi said, producing a gift from beneath the tree. "From… Mims?"

"His attempts at Miss Fisher, as far as I can tell. Not even I am cruel enough to ask him to attempt Phryne," laughed the woman in question.

Mairi nodded, passing the present to Anthony. Jane helped him with the ribbon, and then he methodically pulled the paper away. Inside was a hatbox, and when he lifted the lid he gasped in delight.

It was a grey fedora, perfectly made to fit him.

"Really, Phryne?" Jack said quietly, and she shrugged.

"I had half a hope he'd stop wearing yours before he crushed it. I'm rather attached to it, after all."

She waved a hand dismissively, as if was nothing, but Jack knew better. She had—before this mad idea of keeping the boy had even come up—taken the time to purchase a gift, a very personalised gift, for a child that may or may not have been in the house by Christmas, simply so he did not go without. It was thoughtful; the sort of thoughtfulness that would have surprised him once, but he'd come to expect from her. She loved to give gifts even more than she loved to receive them, pleased to be in a position to be generous.

He looked at Anthony, who had put the hat on and was clapping in delight.

"Da hat! Da hat!"

Jack smiled, allowing himself to really contemplate the possibility it might work out. He didn't know how yet, and he had long ago stopped allowing himself to presume things would. But it was possible; anything was with Phryne. Across the room, Anthony spun in a circle and threw his hands up.

"Tada! Hat!"

"I think he likes it," Jack chuckled.

Phryne nodded.

"It suits him," she said quietly.

Christmas morning passed in a blur of good food and laughter and piles upon piles of paper and packages, along with some very excellent eggnog. Phryne was utterly at ease; she did not always enjoy Christmas—there were too many memories of broken promises from her childhood, too many expectations for filial love and seasonal forgiveness as an adult—but her return to Melbourne and her newfound family had made far more happy memories than bad. Jack seemed to be his usual affectionate, playful self despite the panic of the night before. When Mr. Butler called them to lunch, Jack caught her hand as the others left the room; when they were gone he had glanced upwards, indicating the mistletoe with nothing more than a smirk, and snogged her senseless.

"What was that for?" she teased.

And if she thought the kiss had left her slightly breathless, it was nothing compared to the soft look of adoration in his eyes. The man could make an absolute fool of her; she was also certain he never would. She stood on her tiptoes—the one disadvantage to staying in pyjamas was the lack of heels—and kissed his cheek.

"If we don't head into the dining room for lunch, your mother might mount a search party," she said, giggling as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "You're certainly friendly today, Jack."

"Appreciative," he corrected. "So very, very appreciative."

She moved her hand from his hip to cup his rather divine derrière. "Mmm, I'm definitely appreciating things."

There was a cough at the door, and they both turned to find Mairi watching them with amusement.

"Told you," Phryne hissed at Jack.

"Still better than your Aunt Prudence," he whispered back, and she barked a laugh.

They went to lunch—a smaller spread than the day before, but delicious—then Jane asked to take her bicycle out for the afternoon, promising to be back before tea. Mairi decided that a post-meal walk was in order, offering to take Anthony with her. The boy had refused to remove his hat throughout the morning, which pleased Phryne immensely; it had been a silly indulgence when she had stopped by her milliner, but the look on Squirrel's face when he had seen it had more than convinced her it was a good choice. Mr. Butler chose to go as well, citing a need for fresh air and sunshine, leaving Phryne and Jack alone in the house.

"I swear," Phryne said with a shake of her head. "I am surrounded by psychics."

"Or my mother engineered this before we came downstairs," Jack laughed. "She caught me with the cocoa last night, and is no doubt determined to resolve the problem."

Phryne bit her lip in amusement.

"Perhaps you should drink cocoa more often," she teased. "Give us a whole afternoon for shenanigans."

In the end, their time alone was occupied by nothing more exciting than a nap—between the emotional weight of their discussions and the late night, they were both tired. They were woken an hour later by the sound of the front door open and a wail. Before Phryne could react, Jack had rolled out of bed, replacing his braces on his shoulders, and headed out the door; when she came downstairs, fully dressed for the first time that day, the drama had been resolved and peace reigned once more.

She followed the familiar sound of Jack's voice into the parlour and found him sitting on the chaise beside Anthony, who had clearly scraped his knee quite badly and was sniffling through Jack's reading of a new book. The Magic Pudding or something, she thought it was called—it was as utterly nonsensical as the gumnut babies.

It was quite the scene though: Anthony's hat was still firmly on his head, his clothes dusty from where he had fallen, his little hand clinging tightly onto Jack's arm; Jack leaning in closer as he read, adopting silly voices for the characters until the boy began to smile. His smile was remarkably like Jack's; she'd never noticed before, but it seemed right somehow. It all seemed right, really—no doubt the sentiments of the day were influencing her and there would be all sorts of regrets and worries tomorrow, but for now… for now, she was utterly certain that this was the right thing to do.