She rises groggily from the depths of sleep, their bedroom filled with blue winter light as the sun rises outside their window. Yawning, Sarah rolls over and slides her arms around Elsie, tugging until the other woman is tucked into the curve of her body and her face is pressed into Elsie's neck.

"Merry Christmas, m'darlin' girl." She mumbles, and she nuzzles her nose against the nape of her neck. She is rewarded with a sleepy chuckle and a stretch of the back that has Elsie's lovely round arse pressing into her. Sarah's teeth close over the slope of a bared shoulder, which does not earn her a moan as she was hoping for, but rather a swat across the snout.

"None of that jus' now." Elise yawns; she turns over, drapes an arm over Sarah's waist, and the younger woman rolls her eyes. She keeps quiet, though, mostly because Elise's decided kissing isn't out of the question.

"And a merry Christmas to you as well, by the by."

The earliest bit of their Christmas morning passes slowly, the pair of them occupied with the exchange of familiar, cherished touches; here one suckles lazily at the hollow of an unguarded throat, and here the other nips at an earlobe, hides her face against a shoulder. It is a morning ritual they can't often indulge in, and for now they intend to savor the simple joy of holding and being held.

In time, though, Sarah tugs Elsie's hair, gentle-like, and playfully licks at the shell of her ear, muttering,

"Time for breakfast, don't you think?"

Elsie grumbles, pinches the plump flesh at the front of Sarah's belly, but eventually obliges.

"Fancy you of all people wanting to rise early." She says, shrugging into her dressing gown. Sarah smiles in her sly way and saunters after her, alight with anticipation despite the early hour. She makes sure Elsie can see her when she makes her way to the cabinet where she keeps the pots and pans, and she glances over her shoulder to see if she's watching as she takes out the package she secreted there. Elsie makes a noise of outrage.

"Sarah O'Brien, we said we wouldn't bother exchanging gifts!" Elsie cries indignantly, though Sarah can tell without looking that she's already settling down in the loveseat, feet tucked beneath her body for warmth.

"You said; I never agreed to it." Sarah sniffs, but she's smiling in triumph as she bustles back with the box balanced in her hands- it was a devil trying to hide it from her, the blasted woman being such a nutter about the cleaning and all.

"You spent too much." The Scot protests, and Sarah lays the present in her lap without ceremony.

"Oh, shut your mouth and be grateful," She says fondly, settling down beside Elsie on their sofa. "Besides, I made this meself- cuts out the cost of labor."

Elsie offers a few more token complaints as she carefully tears into the wrapping, and Sarah's breath catches in her chest as she lifts the lid and folds aside layers of tissue paper. Elsie glances down- gasps, presses her hand to her lips as she stares with wide eyes.

"Oh, Sarah."

Elsie lifts out the dress and the morning light catches the cloth, revealing velvet of a deep and noble blue, trimmed with delicate lace at the neckline and cuffs and cut to flatter. Elsie runs hesitant fingers over the vines embroidered in a softer blue on the bodice, fingers the silken underskirt. Sarah watches and waits, prickly with nerves, as Elsie slowly raises the sleeve to her cheek and rubs the cloth against her skin.

Sarah notices that her eyes are a little glassy.

"Sarah, it's beautiful. I can't imagine how long this took you…how hard you must have…" she trails off, worrying at her bottom lip, and Sarah worriedly leans forward to touch her cheek.

"Darlin', I was glad to do it, every stitch of it. Anythin' to see you out of those tired old funeral rags from Downton." She murmurs. Elsie smiles, hides it under a stern look.

"They aren't rags, they're perfectly serviceable."

"You deserve better'n serviceable." She whispers, cupping Elsie's chin in her palm. Those sad, fathomless eyes widen, and soft lips part, just a little. She looks almost fragile now, caught off guard with the gift and Sarah's words, what they imply (you're as good as any lady, better, you ought to have the best but this is the closest I can give you).

It's gone in the next moment when Elsie blinks and clears her throat, sitting straighter on the loveseat. She curls her hands around Sarah's wrists, smiles fondly.

"Well, thank you, Miss O'Brien. And thank you for not dressing me like one of those little Bolshevixens that are running around these days."

Sarah feels strangely sad as she folds her gift with care and rises- distance, even now?- but puts it from her mind. Breakfast will put everything to rights, she's sure.

Except Elsie isn't heading for the kitchen; she pads to their tree and reaches in among the branches, comes out with a tiny box wrapped in silvery paper balanced in her palm. There's a flutter in Sarah's belly, and she swallows.

"Look at you, you deceitful thing."

Elsie only smiles- a good one, the one that makes her eyes crease at the corners, her teeth flashing- and comes back. She takes Sarah's hand, presses the little box into her palm.

"It's not quite a new dress." She says, a little shyly. Sarah's heart kicks double-time against her ribs as she pulls the ribbon apart, lifts the lid. Her throat goes tight when she sees the locket nestled within; a silver oval, plain save for the elegant fern design etched onto the surface. There's a chain too, fine as gossamer, and Sarah almost doesn't want to touch it with her rough red hands.

"Oh."

There is a stinging in Sarah's eyes that she desperately tries to ignore as she glances up at her own Elsie, corner of her mouth lifting.

"S'lovely. Too lovely for me."

Elsie presses her fingertips to Sarah's lips, comfort and admonishment in one.

"No." is all she says, and Sarah shivers as a worn hand touches just beneath her jaw and caresses down the curve of her neck.

"It's a poor trinket when compared to you, my heart, but such a lovely neck needs some decoration."

Sarah bites the inside of her cheek against a smile, tongue-tied as a schoolgirl as she looks down at the locket again.

"Sit. I know just what I'll put in it."

She makes Elsie sit perfectly still as she retrieves a hairbrush, her own sewing scissors. She unbraids Elsie's hair, lets the lovely soft stuff run through her fingers as she draws the brush through again and again. Black as the good fertile earth it is, shot through with strands of white, and it smells so sweetly. Elsie sits patiently, running her fingers over the lines of her new dress like a child petting a kitten, and raises no objections when Sarah cuts a perfect curl from the rest.

Sarah opens her locket and tucks the curl between its doors. It stands stark against the silver, more precious by far.

"Thank you, Elsie."

The sight of her, black hair falling like water around her shoulders and smiling that smile, was enough to weaken Sarah's knees. Tenderly the older woman takes the locket from her, stands and moves behind her to clasp it around her neck.

Tenderly, she leans down and kisses the soft place where Sarah's pulse thunders.

"You are welcome, my love."