A/N: This prompt comes from an alternative list I found, and isn't for one of the official Flufftober prompts. This one is also disgustingly sweet. I don't even know what else to say. Brace yourself, book dental appointments, monitor blood sugar where necessary. Feel like I need to go and write something terrible just to make up for it.

Their first Christmas together in their new home was quiet, understated, and just the two of them. Recalling their wedding 'feast' of bread and cheese, in nightclothes on the floor before the hearth, as well as their 'courting' around campfires on Tortuga's beaches, just the two of them removed from the din of the settlement. Theo wondered fondly if this wasn't their tradition. There had been offers from well-meaning neighbours, of course, all of whom seemed to find it absolutely devastating that they wouldn't be spending Christmas day surrounded by countless family members – with James' parents being deceased, and Theo's family (the blood kind and the found kind both) being back in Ireland, but they'd politely – but firmly – turned them down.

One had come from a couple who compensated for their dislike of one another by having endless droves of children. That fact didn't cover the dislike much, because they felt the need to make everybody around them painfully aware of it thanks to their constant 'jokes' at the expense of one another. The other, an older couple, did like one another…but nobody else. The wife made constant comments at Theo's expense – of how she was too skinny, how a lack of womanly curves would fail to keep her husband's attention overly long, quickly followed by warnings that she shouldn't leap too far in the other direction, either, the moment she saw her take a bite of, well, anything. James reported that the husband was much the same with him, fond of endless grumblings of how men today hardly knew a thing – insisting that success was found thanks to luck, by most these days, rather than shrewdness.

They were all good enough people, at heart, but accepting their invitations would make their first Christmas here – their first proper Christmas together, one that would set the benchmark for the dozens upon dozens of others that would hopefully follow here in due course – a matter of grinning and bearing it, rather than enjoyment. They'd be much happier simply together, without worrying about eyes or opinions or anything beyond the four walls around them, and only them.

If they didn't look out, they were going to become right little unsociable recluses. But, for now, it was bliss.

Having not yet hired a cook, and not being in much of a rush to do so, their Christmas dinner was an act of improvisation. They'd gone ice fishing first thing in the morning, and roasted their spoils along with generous helpings of vegetables above a fire they built in the great massive hearth that their stony kitchen boasted. Dessert was trickier, but Theo remembered most of what went into making her nan's famous no-bake cheesecake, had cobbled it together the night before, and left it buried (and tightly sealed) under heaps of snow.

The result ended up being surprisingly good. Once it thawed out a bit.

Rather than standing on ceremony, she and her husband ended up absconding to the sitting room, curled together on their new sofa under heaps of blankets, the entire cake on Theo's lap, and Theo in James' lap, eating spoonfuls of the edges as each new section became a bit less solid. As they did, they chatted about this and that between moments in which they turned their attention to the house around them as though checking that it was still there, and still real.

The most important bits had been done. The pressing repairs, and the walls and roofing of the extensions they'd seen fit to add all now in place. There were no longer any leaks, nor structurally unsound patches of floor, and minimal drafts. It was a bit empty, but time would take care of that, and neither of them were in a rush. What was the point, when they'd already reached the destination they'd been racing towards ever since falling for one another?

What remained of the cake was eventually set aside on the coffee table - perhaps their most decorative piece of furniture so far, and something Theo had to design and commission herself from a very confused carpenter, because apparently they weren't a thing just yet – and they soon lay reclined on the sofa, James on his back and Theo all but atop him.

"May I?" he asked quietly, his fingers finding the ribbon keeping her hair bound back in a plait behind her.

She hummed her assent, sighing contentedly as he undid the ribbon and then began coming out her hair with his fingers until it fanned around her and she looked like some very decadent, very opium-ed up woman from a painting. Although, given that none of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood had been born yet, she was a bit early for that trend.

"Return the favour?" she asked once he was satisfied, looking at her with a level of admiration that never failed to make her cheeks match her hair.

James smiled a little, turning his head so she could take the tie from his own hair, although she struggled with the angle as she combed it down and freed it from its confines with her fingers.

"This reminds me of Tortuga," he murmured as she did so.

"Who would've ever thought you'd speak of Tortuga fondly?"

"I speak of you fondly, in spite of the setting in which the memories take place," his hand smoothed up and down her back as he regarded her, more bashful than he probably liked to betray at her open admiration of him, dark hair down about his shoulders. "You are a strange woman."

"You're not the first to say that."

"You prefer me bearded, hair unkempt, clothes in disarray," she wasn't the first to think that, either. "I'm beginning to sense the approach of a day where you ban clothing outright-"

"Not a bad idea. Once the weather heats up a bit."

"-and expect us to live in the wilderness, positively feral."

"That was what I was really doing in Port Royal's jungles – priming you for the idea, so that when this day came you'd be more inclined to go with it."

"My wife is a schemer, you're telling me?"

"No, I'm just a dog chasing cars."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Her ability to keep her own silly references to herself waned when she'd been at the wine. Unhelped by the fact that she never really tried to keep them to herself anymore, either. Not with him. Although she suspected none would believe her if she told them he found it funny.

"Well, when the day comes and we forsake clothing for good, there is one thing I would rather like you to wear."

"A smile?"

He chuckled – something she felt, from where she was pressed against his chest, more than she heard. Then, with the hand not still tangled in her hair, he dug into the pocket of his breeches and pulled forth something she could not see, thanks to how her body shielded it from any of the light the hearth and the candles dotted about the room offered.

Theo sat up and he followed her, his hand soon cast in golden light. A necklace dangled from his long fingers – a damn fine necklace, too, a gold chain bearing a gold pendant, around an inch in diameter, in the shape of a compass rose. The edges were round, smooth, and a warm brilliant shade of gold, but the compass-star shape that it bore was made up of deep, vivid green emeralds set into the pendant.

"I knew it would suit you perfectly, the moment I saw it," he spoke – still watching her reaction carefully. "Not that I know much of jewellery. You still touch the space where your other one, the silver one from your homeland, used to sit. I don't know whether you noticed. I thought I might…well, not replace it, but offer something else."

She hadn't – noticed, that was. But she wasn't surprised that he had. Not much ever escaped his notice.

"It's…it's beautiful, James, I can't believe…"

They'd already exchanged gifts earlier in the day. First thing in the morning, in fact. She'd gifted him a state-of-the-art (by today's standards, anyway) rifle that he'd openly admired in town before setting it down to turn his mind to more practical matters, like home-building and things that might benefit them both. Selfless bastard.

Although her gift to him made her laugh when she opened the box that housed what he had gotten her. A finely carved and polished recurve bow, along with a gorgeous leather quiver full of arrows, for she'd expressed an interest in learning archery. James had shared her amusement – given how they'd traded weapons over the breakfast table, anybody might think they were preparing for another war. Not the stereotypical sort of romantic newlyweds. Relatively newlyweds, she supposed. But given that this was still the first of the time they'd been able to spend together, live together, under circumstances that weren't strange, fantastical, and downright deadly, everything still felt marvellously new.

Still, she couldn't protest that he'd already given her a gift…because she had another stashed for him beneath the sofa they sat on now, so they – as was becoming their habit – had proven to be of one mind.

"It's too much," she said doubtfully. "I can't get over it."

She wasn't sure she'd ever been so amazed at a piece of jewellery. It looked like something that belonged on an elf in a fantasy movie, and he gave her it because it reminded him of her. Holding it up to the light of the hearth, she watched as the firelight caught the emeralds.

"Nonsense. It's not enough. I mean to shower you in jewels by the time we're old and grey. Tis my duty as your husband, is it not?"

Handing it back to him, she reached behind her and bundled her hair up into her hands, and he understood immediately, moving so he could loop the necklace about her throat, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he fixed it in place.

When he did, she let her hair fall back down again and turned. "Well?"

"Just as I thought," he said fondly, his features soft as he regarded her.

"I love it," she said – her hand coming up to trace across the jewels. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Theodora. I meant what I said."

She flushed, but covered it by leaning forward and reaching beneath the sofa, pulling out a gift wrapped in brown paper and wrapped in ribbon.

"And now you can't get annoyed with me for getting you a second gift, too," she teased. "Fools seldom differ, eh?"

"I prefer great minds think alike, myself," he snorted, accepting the gift.

He unwrapped it slowly, by which point her heart had travelled upwards within her chest until it felt like it was rattling beneath her gorgeous new necklace. Finally, a bundle of white fabric was revealed – soft to the touch, and accented here and there by painstakingly placed dark blue stitches. She hesitated to call it embroidery, for that was far too grand a term for what she'd achieved.

"A shirt?" he asked as though checking he was correct – perhaps because she was so visibly nervous.

"I made it," she explained quietly, hands twisting together in her lap. "I know I'm not very good at the, erm, wife-ing…"

Opening his mouth immediately to protest, James was silenced when she took his hand.

"In the sense of the word today, I'm not the conventional sort of wife," she amended. "So I wanted to at least try my hand at some of it. For you. The whole my husband is my lord and master thing will have to wait, though."

"I look forward to it," he said drily, inspecting the shirt. "This is fine work, Theodora. Fine work. Surely this was not your first attempt?"

"Oh, definitely not. I lost count of how many I made before I was happy with that one. All of the attempts that preceded it went to the poor…which was really adding insult to injury, I think, but Mrs Wright insisted they wouldn't mind."

She'd wanted it to be good, damn it. Wanted to give him something she was proud to have made, and that he'd be proud to wear, rather than doing so out of love for her – the way an indulgent grown-up might put a kid's terrible artwork up on the wall. Thankfully, she seemed to have achieved her end, so the hours painstakingly stitching pleats into the cuffs and laces into the collar had paid off.

"I have to confess to one slight trademark," she added, taking up the shirt and turning the cuff of the right sleeve inside out.

Pressing up from underneath the fabric, she exposed the stitching there – revealing three stitches of thread that wouldn't be noticeable unless someone specifically went looking. One green, one white, and one orange.

"Like your shoulder," he chuckled. "I will wear it proudly. It'll have to be wrestled off of me so that it might be washed."

She grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear and feeling very pleased with herself as her nerves dissipated – for he meant it. Not the bit about refusing to wear clean clothes, of course, but he was visibly pleased with it, and not in a way that was just humouring her.

"See? Now we'll be one of those disgusting couples who match. I stole one of your shirts to help with the measurements."

"You've a habit of stealing my clothing," he chuckled. "Although the cause was a much safer one, this time."

He could tell that to her hands, which had been stabbed by needles more times than she could now count.

"Well, help yourself to my skirts anytime. Might be a wee bit short on you, though."

Chuckling, he set the shirt aside but there was a thoughtfulness to his gaze that made her wonder – and then he pulled her closer, the back of his index finger trailing down the side of her face.

"I care not – about the conventional wife matter. You know that, don't you? We discussed it in London, and I thought the matter closed, but if it still weighs on you, it should not."

"It doesn't," she said, and she spoke truthfully.

"Good. I don't wish for a wife, Theodora. Only you. And you are a perfect wife. My perfect wife."

He'd said words to that effect on their wedding night, and they still hadn't lost their lustre.

"And I don't care about the hair – or the beard, or whatever the hell you wear. However I might joke."

"Even when I'm surly, tired, and exasperatingly English?"

"Especially then. Get yourself another one of those abominable wigs, weld it to your head, and you'd still drive me mad. You should know that. I prefer you however you are. Whenever you are. Always."

Judging by the dangerous glint his eyes adopted, if he had not known it beforehand (doubtful), he did now. He soon got his Christmas wish of seeing her in nothing but her beautiful new necklace.

And a smile.