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Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas
damien jamming
b>Title:</b> Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas
Rating: R
Prompt: #8—Damien/Hanna and happy ending.
Spoilers: Minor throughout season 1.
Disclaimers: The toys are not mine but the idea is.
Dedication: To the mind behind prompt #8—clearly a likeminded soul, we’ll see this out to its proper conclusion.

“How miserable have you made this holiday season for other Los Angeles law firms?”

Damien Karp leaned to his right to peer between precariously teetering stacks of case files. Hanna Linden looked uncommonly amused and, as nearly always, perfectly put together. He shrugged, as he stood and stretched his back muscles. “I filed thirty seven motions today. Two less than last year,” he admitted but, still, Damien was satisfied. All of his current litigation opponents will have to work over the holidays or return after the New Year to find themselves behind more than one eight ball. Bringing this particular brand of bah humbug into others’ lives made a fine ending to 2011 to his mind.

“You couldn’t come up with three more?” Hanna asked, sauntering further into his office and uncharacteristically leaving the door open behind her.

Wondering why she might want a witness or two, he said, “An even forty was my goal, but they don’t count if they’re dismissed as frivolous.”

She smiled, slowing her pace as she reached his desk. “I never realized there were rules to this game of yours.”

Laughing, he said, “There aren’t many.” He glanced at his watch, stunned that it was nearly 7:00 pm on Friday December 23rd. “What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Hanna said, arriving at Damien’s side. “Getting tired of waiting for you to be more precise. What else do you hope to accomplish today?”

“I’m trying to put this in some semblance of order,” he said, jerking his thumb toward his desk. “Otherwise, Ingrid will kill me.”

Hanna took his hand and tugged him away from the mess he’d made. “I’ve never met anyone more afraid of his assistant than you, except maybe Franklin and Bash.”

“I’m not afraid of her exactly.”

“Yes, you are.”

Her tone brooked no argument, so he took a different tack. “They’re really afraid of … um …”

“Damien!” Hanna narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms before her, looking as stern as he’d ever seen her.

“Carmen Phillips,” he supplied with alacrity. “I know her name. Sometimes, I just … pretend not to … because it … um …”

“It suits the hard ass image,” she supplied, eyes softening somewhat indulgently.

“Something like that.” They shared predatory smiles, something Damien enjoyed and not only because it was one of the only things that seemed to give Franklin and Bash pause and one of many that sent Pindar diving for cover. “Why are you waiting on me?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t anything like Hanna to hover on a Friday, particularly one so close to Christmas.

“Stanton wants me to come to his gathering tonight and I’m not going alone.”

“Hanna,” he whined, “I have to go over there tomorrow and the next day or my aunts will have my head served on the platter next to the holiday roast. You’d condemn me to hear Stanton Infeld’s Christmas toasts three days running?” He shook his head and stalked over to the windows in order to stare at his reflection. “You’re many interesting and intimidating things, but I’ve never figured you for cruel.”

He listened to the click of Hanna’s heels and met her eyes in the glass when she joined him at the window. “Marc Brennan will be there,” she whispered.

Damien knew enough to tread lightly with regard to the man who’d replaced him in Hanna’s life back when they’d tired of fighting in order to justify make up sex, even if his uncle didn’t. Other people’s feelings didn’t factor into Stanton’s calculations. “Why?” he asked. “What’s Stanton’s angle?”

“He wants the Brennan Boating work,” Hanna said.

“Miller and Mallory have that sewn up. Have for years.”

“True,” Hanna murmured, shivering and hugging herself.

Refusing to believe he’d seen her brush back a tear, he silently declared it a trick of the light and said, “Are you cold?” He unbuttoned his suit jacket. “If you are, take my—.”

“I think Stanton expects differently after tonight.”

He aborted the removal of his jacket and tried to decide whether her words constituted a warning or a plea. “Meaning?” he said, voice low and gentle, taking a chance on allowing his hand coming to rest on the small of her back.

She tugged at the strip of silk draped over her right shoulder as she spun to face him. “Would these neck and hem lines persuade you to … well, do anything that might be against your better judgment?”

His gaze meandered along her collarbone over the perfect skin of her bare left shoulder and back to the temptation embodied by her throat before Damien made himself stop. “Maybe,” he said.

“I wish,” she muttered.

“No, you don’t. Not really.”

“Don’t tell me what I wish, Damien.”

The ferocity in her expression called to him, as it always had. He’d taken a half step toward her before catching himself. Of course, Hanna had noted both lapses in self-control.

“This is the time of year when wishes come true, isn’t it?” she said, her small sigh nearly wistful.

Pain lanced through Damien. “Or turn to dust before your eyes.”

“My God,” Hanna murmured, swaying slightly on her stiletto heels. “Damien, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend—”

“To dredge up our bitterly festive, early Christmas present to each other of breaking things off?” he muttered, even as he slid his hand to her hip to steady her.

“Eight years ago today,” she said, placing her hand over his.

“You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing her icy hand between both of his, hoping the friction helped. When Hanna shivered again, Damien took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. He took her tentative smile as thanks. “Sorry,” he said, even though he wasn’t completely clear in his mind why.

“I haven’t even seen Marc in over a year,” she said.

They’d never discussed Marc Brennan and Damien didn’t want to start now, but he couldn’t see a way around it. “You two were on again off again for a long time.”

“Mostly off again.”

“Really?” Unsettled, he released her hand and said, “I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

Not sure what to do with that information, Damien said, “Stanton invited both you and Brennan, so you can … ah … persuade him into switching law firms. That’s your theory?”

“He said Marc’s ripe for the plucking and that I’m the right woman to do the deed.” She pulled his jacket a little tighter around her. “I’m not sure how else to interpret that.”

Damien wasn’t either, so he stalled for time. “Stanton’s a lot of things, I’ll grant you that, but a pimp isn’t one of them.”

“Really,” she said, spearing his eyes with hers. “You’re an odd one to assert that.”

He struggled under the weight of several bits of his history he’d confessed to her in a largely unsuccessful effort to explain his odd relationship with his uncle. Women liked him. They always had. Older women, younger, those his own age—it didn’t seem to matter, and Stanton played the Damien card in amazingly varied ways to achieve goals ranging from clearly noble to borderline nefarious. For his part, Damien had gone along with much of it simply to please his uncle or to avoid arguing with him, until he’d discovered how much the rest of the family enjoyed such machinations. His mother’s inventiveness had scared him straight.

“He’d never pimp you, my lady,” Damien whispered, giving Hanna a one armed hug and hoping she didn’t mind him using the endearment he’d always reserved for her. “Stanton loves you like a daughter.” Under his breath he added, “More or less,” before pitching his voice more normally. “He always has.”

She slid between him and the window and rested her palms on his chest, as if she were framing a shot of his tie. Her perfume tantalized his nostrils, when she said, “Damien, he wants Brennan Boating and I need you to help me ensure that doesn’t inure somehow to my detriment.”

“We could always feed Marc into the conversational wood chipper that is Franklin and Bash.” Gratified at the tiny smile he’d inspired, he said, “I assume they’ll be there. They’ve never met a party they didn’t like.” He grinned at the thought of the attention span challenged duo at a Christmas party likely to be replete with poetry readings, impromptu speeches and lengthy and increasingly incomprehensible toasts. “Before tonight, anyway.”

“Will you help?” Hanna persisted.

Acutely aware of each of her fingertips and of the myriad dangers inherent in falling for Hanna again—unaccustomed and uncomfortable vulnerability, impropriety in the workplace and the pain of the inevitable rejection to name only a few, Damien said, “I doubt you’ll need any.”

“Please, Damien.”

Those words on those lips did very dangerous things to one Damien Karp. “Of course.”

* * *

“Damien, what a pleasant surprise!” Stanton Infeld deftly stepped between his nephew and Hanna Linden, gripping Damien’s bicep hard. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow, but I am very glad you’re here.” After kissing Hanna’s hand in a courtly gesture Damien had never been able to match, he asked, “May I borrow my nephew for a few moments, please?”

“Sure,” she said, tone calm and collected, large brown eyes seeking Damien, who nodded in understanding of the unspoken, “Make it quick.”

Seeing no help for it, Damien allowed Stanton to steer him away from the large, aggressively decorated room. “What’s the matter, Stanton?”

“It will be vastly simpler to show you the … ah … cause for concern.” Stanton ducked into a small study and looked around, his expression comically confused. “Now where have you gotten yourself off to, you extremely naughty girl?”

Someone, Damien could only assume it was the naughty girl in question, giggled. The sound emanated from the vicinity of the antique oak desk that weighed a half a ton. Damien had helped the movers shoehorn it into this room when he was in high school, amid much swearing and a number of beer breaks. Nodding to Stanton, he walked around the desk and turned the high backed leather chair to face them. Finding it empty, Damien crouched to peer under the desk. His eyes widened. “Kristen?”

“Hi, Damien!” His fourteen year old cousin’s giggles and enthusiasm stemmed, in part at least, from the bottle of brandy resting on the floor next to her.

He straightened. “Claire will murder you in cold blood, Stanton.”

“If she discovers this lapse in supervision, yes. Let’s see that she doesn’t, shall we?”

Damien glanced at the study door. “Where is Claire?” he asked.

“In the kitchen,” Stanton said, rolling his eyes. “Sampling the appetizers, no doubt.”

Despite the dire situation, Damien grinned, oddly pleased that Stanton didn’t. “Is she still using the to be sure they aren’t poisoned excuse?”


Barely resisting the temptation to make a remark about Stanton being generally tolerant of prodigious appetites, Damien said, “Check to see if the coast is clear. I’ll help Kristen to her room.”

“And then?”

“I’ll lock her in there with the brandy.” As Damien expected, Stanton immediately grasped the wisdom of that. To deprive an inebriated young girl of her bottle would likely occasion a loud argument, something they could ill afford. Leaving her with it would undoubtedly have her sleeping it off very shortly, a vastly preferable scenario.

Hand on the door knob, Stanton asked, “If Kristen balks?”

Gesturing for Stanton to get on with his look out duties, Damien said, “I’ve got this.” He crouched again. “Come out from there before your mother sees you,” he said, offering his hand to his cousin.

“You won’t tell?” she asked.

He snapped his fingers impatiently but pitched his voice so only she could hear it. “I never said word one about Kyle.”

Satisfied as to his bona fides, she took his hand and he helped her up. “You know how Claire gets when anyone related to her acts undignified,” Damien said.

Speaking nearly in unison, Damien and Kristen said, “You’ve called unbecoming attention to yourself and brought disgrace upon this family.” She giggled and Damien retrieved the brandy. After a glance at the label, he said, “At least you had the sense to nab the good stuff.”

“Learned from you.”

“I’ll deny that convincingly, if you try to drag me into this any further.” She took a halfhearted swing at him. He laughed and handed the bottle to Kristen. “Hold onto it with both hands,” he advised, as he took her elbow and headed for the door. With a nod to Damien and a stern glance at Kristen, Stanton headed in the direction of the kitchen, whether to tattle or run interference Damien didn’t know.

“Mother said you weren’t coming over tonight,” Kristen said. She cursed impressively when she tripped on the bottom step.

Damien steadied her. “A friend asked me to come with her.”

“Your girlfriend or a friend who’s a girl?” He sighed and strongly considered carrying Kristen the rest of the way. “Answer the question, Damien,” she said in that cajoling way all of his female relatives could bring to bear.

“Neither and both,” he said.

They made it to the top of the stairs and most of the way down the hall while she considered. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she finally decreed.

“It’s complicated, Kristen,” he said, ushering the girl and her liquor into the bedroom she used when visiting Stanton. “Stay here. I’ll have some dinner sent up.”

“I don’t want dinner. I want popcorn and ice cream.”

“What flavor?”


One thing life had taught him was never to argue with a drunk female. “Consider it done.”

* * *
Where is Hanna, Damien Karp wondered, as he strutted into what Stanton always referred to as the throne room, despite the lack of a throne—a piece of furniture Damien didn’t miss as an adult. As a boy, he’d often wondered where the throne was—in storage, sold during the Great Depression—he’d had a number of theories.

The hand descending on his shoulder was masculine and larger than his uncle’s. A passing familiar voice said, “Tis the season, eh?” In the time it took to face the man, Damien had placed it. Unsure what Marc Brennan meant or wanted with him, Damien agreed and shook the hand the slightly younger man offered. Marc gestured with his champagne flute at the room in general. “Is Stanton always this … ah … well … um …?”

“Overt?” Damien suggested, deeming twelve Christmas trees with virtually every needle bedecked more than excessive.

“That’s a less than charitable word for it,” Marc said, regarding Damien as though reassessing him.

“You weren’t talking about the decorations?” he asked, wishing he’d had the foresight to get a drink before wading into the party proper.

Chuckling, Brennan said, “I was referring to his play for my company’s legal work. It came completely out of the blue. I can’t help but wonder why and why now.”

“Stanton hasn’t shared his rationale with me,” Damien said.

“Speculate,” Marc challenged.

The chain of logic that leaped to Damien’s mind couldn’t be shared, although it made devious sense and, if he was right, Hanna might well have Stanton’s balls for breakfast before all was said and done. “I’d guess he’s caught wind of something he feels Infeld Daniels might be better suited to handle than your current counsel and hopes to use that as a lever to oust them.”

Marc looked away, making Damien wonder if there was such a piece of litigation looming on the horizon. If so, he hoped, for Brennan’s sake despite there being no love lost between them, that it wasn’t anything right up Franklin and Bash alley. “Did I hit a nerve?” Damien needed to ask.

Marc looked over Damien’s left shoulder and muttered, “Lord have mercy.”

Praying Franklin and Bash were both still fully clothed and relatively subdued, Damien turned to see what occasioned Marc’s comment. Hanna Linden sauntered across the room, seemingly in no particular hurry, small smile insinuating she knew things other people didn’t. From the sway of her hips to the set of her shoulders—one bare, the other nearly so—to arresting eyes and full pouty lips, she demanded attention. Damien’s mouth ran dry and his heart attempted to pound free of his chest, when her eyes latched onto him and her smile became decidedly sexual. He instructed himself not to panic. This was nothing new. Hanna enjoyed tempting him and she certainly wasn’t above flaunting her femininity and the power imbued in it. She usually didn’t do it in public and had never tested the strength of his convictions where anyone from Infeld Daniels might lay eyes on the two of them, though. She’d always left a crystal clear path of retreat for him to take, allowing him to release the tension she created however he saw fit. Damien didn’t understand this behavioral change and had learned the hard way not to trust what he didn’t understand.

When she joined them, Hanna gestured toward a lovely young woman who’d accompanied her before taking Damien’s arm. His palms began to sweat, when her silk clad breast pressed against his upper arm and shifted enticingly with her every breath. This is nothing like what we’ve been playing at—what the hell is going on?

“Sir,” said the girl he’d barely noticed and already forgotten, as she extended a tray upon which rested a single drink that looked blessedly like a Manhattan. Ok, Hanna, he muttered to himself, you get points for the alcohol, but what else do you have in store for me? Keep in mind, my lady, I’m a man and far from a saint.

“Thank you,” Damien said, nodding to the girl and accepting the beverage—proud that he didn’t down it in one gulp. Hoping his damp hand was up to the task of holding the glass, he turned slightly into Hanna, “And thank you.”

“Cheers,” she murmured. While Hanna’s eyes made extremely intriguing promises, they touched the rims of their glasses and drank. Damien’s peripheral vision ceased to function. Hanna Linden loomed far too large to allow anyone or anything else to garner even a modicum of his attention.

“Hello, Hanna,” Marc said, mildly startling Damien. “It’s as lovely to see you as you look this evening.”

Hanna held Damien’s gaze for several heartbeats before deigning to glance at the other man. “Marc,” she said, “it’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Marc had the unmitigated gall to assert. His eyes darted to Damien for an instant. “I sense quite a bit has happened since we last laid eyes on one another.”

“I’ve kept busy,” Hanna asserted. Posture relaxed and confident, tone upbeat and pleasant, smile wry, she exuded control and confidence, making Damien oddly grateful that she’d shared her unease and concern with him earlier.

“Busy enough to stay out of trouble?” Marc asked.

Hanna gave Damien a long lingering once over and said, “Absolutely not.”

Refusing to blush, Damien said, “Hanna makes far more trouble than she attracts.”

“As it should be,” she said. Leaning even closer, she whispered, “Don’t you agree?” directly into Damien’s ear but likely loud enough for Marc to overhear.

“You know I do,” Damien murmured, resting his forehead against Hanna’s briefly. “You’ve always known.” He’d surprised her and he reveled in it. “Hanna, what are you doing?” he asked, voice pitched for her ears alone.

She barely breathed, “Trust me.”

Professionally, he’d come to trust Hanna implicitly once again. Personally, he’d done so to his detriment once and he wasn’t sure he was ready to test those waters a second time.

“Aren’t they just the most precious non-couple ever?” Jared Franklin’s voice dynamited Damien out of his introspection.

“It’s not precious; it’s titillating,” Peter Bash insinuated, “and kind of hot in a we’re-really-controlled-and-not-given-to-spontaneity sort of way.”

“Go find some ludicrous case to win,” Damien snarled, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Hanna.

“Can’t, Mr. President,” Franklin said. “We have a job to do.” Marc Brennan’s laughter didn’t improve Damien’s rapidly plummeting mood.

“Please go away,” Hanna murmured, even as she slid her arm around Damien’s waist.

“No can do, beautiful lady with suspect taste in men,” Bash said. “We’re in charge of the romance this evening and, as such, we can’t in good conscience give the two of you a miss.”

“Get lost, Bash,” Hanna said, glare threatening castration and Damien knew full well there was no worse punishment in the land of Bashville.

Franklin and Bash looked up. With reluctance, Hanna followed suit and smiled in a way that ignited Damien’s flight or fight instinct. A glance in the upward direction revealed mistletoe. “No,” he said, emphatic and forceful. “Find someone else to put on a show for you.”

“Damien.” Hanna said his name in a way she hadn’t since they’d last been together—the way that meant she wanted sex right now. “Please.”

He had no defense against those words spoken by this woman in that tone. He lowered his head and Hanna met him with a sensual form of malice aforethought. The kiss was intoxicating and devastating, reverent and frantic, light and dark, the beginning and the end all entwined together. When they parted, Damien had one hand entangled in Hanna’s hair and the other resting on her hip and hankering to wander over her ass. Panting, he forced his hands to drop and backed up a step. She had him dead to rights. He couldn’t deny he wanted her. Here, now, in front of Franklin and fucking Bash, Hanna had it in her power to deal a death blow to his pride. Emotions raw, carefully erected barriers swept away, Damien faced her, because that was the only option. If humiliation was forthcoming, it was clearly best to get it over with and have it in the past, even if Franklin and Bash would never let it stay there. Damien hated nothing as much as being made to look a fool and Hanna knew that about him, which only made matters worse.

Hanna smiled—a simple, happy and pleased expression. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Not able to leave well enough alone, he asked, “For what?”

“Your trust.”

“Trust?” Franklin said. “Rhymes with trust, maybe.”

“There’s an element of trust to lust,” Bash observed.

“Lust is unto itself,” Franklin asserted and, amazingly, the debate faded into the babble of a myriad other conversations.

“I don’t know that I do trust you, Hanna,” Damien said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“Will you give me the opportunity to earn it?” she asked, stepping closer and taking his arm again.

“I don’t know if I can.” Pain flared behind Hanna’s eyes and Damien wanted the words back, not because they weren’t true but because they’d hurt her. A second, “I’m sorry,” seemed woefully inadequate. She lowered her eyes, but Damien cupped her chin in his hand and raised them. Not sure of this next move, Damien whispered, “I’m willing to try, though.”

Hanna hugged him hard and Damien returned the embrace.

“They’re not only steam heat beneath the mistletoe; they’re amazing together in a courtroom,” Franklin said, voice dripping enthusiasm and destroying any illusion of privacy. “Mr. Tightass with the … um … tight ass and perfectly fitting, albeit uber conservative suits and Madam Loosenhimup wearing just about anything. God, they’re gorgeous.”

“It’s not just appearances,” Bash added. Damien hoped the sound he heard was Bash slapping Franklin upside the head. Regardless, he’d always choose to remember it as such. “It’s just as much or more the way they communicate without speaking. Few can resist the elicit thrill of getting a window into the personal lives of attractive people they don’t know. Juries respond to it and so do judges. Amazing chemistry wins, particularly in situations where the facts of the case and the law governing those facts don’t adequately reflect complex human relationships.” Bash clapped Damien on the shoulder, deftly maneuvering him closer to Hanna which was the only thing that kept him from losing teeth. Well, that and the suspicion that Stanton had locked and loaded him and his partner in an effort to persuade Marc Brennan to choose Infeld Daniels. “These two,” Bash kissed first Hanna and then Damien on the cheek, “have chemistry that won’t quit.”

“Not like ours, you understand,” Franklin said, gesturing from himself to Bash, glaring at Bash.

For kissing Hanna, me or anyone else, Damien wondered.

“The heterosexual vibe is definitely different,” Hanna commented. She and Damien shared a laugh with Marc Brennan.

“C’mon, Hanna,” Franklin said, “admit it. You love the bromance.” Elbowing Bash in the side, he added, “Am I right?”

“Two times the charm,” Bash added, winning smile firmly in place, eyes laughing as he draped an arm across Franklin’s shoulders.

“One and a half,” Damien corrected, smirking at Franklin, noting with interest that Bash didn’t comment.

“Be fair, Damien,” Hanna said. “One and two thirds.”

“You think?”

“Duty calls, Mr. Bash,” Franklin announced, waving the mistletoe about with unseemly abandon.

“Awesome,” Damien said, not bothering to sound anything other than elated. “Don’t let us keep you.”

“As if you could.” Bash saluted jauntily and moved off with his partner in search of other victims.

“They seem quite … ah …”

“Idiotic?” Damien suggested at the same time Hanna supplied, “ebullient.”

“Idiotically ebullient,” Damien amended, enjoying Hanna’s laughter and tolerating Marc’s.

The conversation ranged across topics other than Franklin and Bash but never veered toward Marc’s legal work. Damien couldn’t fathom a non-obvious way to steer things in that direction and Hanna didn’t appear to be trying.

When Marc turned to greet Stanton, Hanna murmured, “Take me home.” Her sultry tone had Damien nodding before he’d consciously decided to comply.

“Wait,” Marc said. They did, partly because Damien retained a vestigial aspect of his pride. “There’s a legal matter I’d like to talk with the two of you about. Could we find some time to sit down early in the New Year?”

Wordlessly, Hanna handed Marc her card before taking Damien’s hand and tugging him toward the door. Hoping he wasn’t making a horrible decision, Damien followed.

* * *
The smell of fresh brewed coffee tempted Damien Karp out of a deep sleep. Narrowing his eyes against the sunlight streaming into his bedroom, he rolled over and frowned when he realized he’d turned away from the tempting aroma.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Hanna Linden said, poking him in the back. “It’s nearly noon.”

“It’s Saturday,” he protested.

“It’s also Christmas Eve. Do you really want to sleep through it?” With a soft sigh, he grudgingly pushed himself into a seated position, mildly discomfited to see that Hanna wore his discarded dress shirt, determinedly not thinking about the charged ride home and the bouts of amazing sex throughout the night. She gave him a cup of coffee and tugged lightly at the sheet draped over his lower body. “When did you become modest?”

“When I hit 30,” he mumbled, fully acknowledging the flat out lie. He wasn’t and might never be ready to tell Hanna that she’d caused that particular change. After taking a sip, Damien gestured toward Hanna with his coffee cup. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome and you certainly don’t need to worry,” she said, smiling big. “You look good.”

“Not half as good as you.”

Shaking her head, Hanna said, “You always make flattery sound sincere.”

“Because it is.” He laughed. “In this case, anyway.”

Hanna settled in next to him, her head adjacent his against the headboard, thigh pressed full length against his. “Where are we, Damien?”

The car ride home had been silent. The sex hadn’t, ranging from the frantic and desperate to something quite beautifully intimate and slowly developing. “Where do you want us to be?” he asked.

She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You know the answer to that question.”

“No, I don’t.” Her skeptical look prompted him. “You’ve wanted sex. Hell, you’ve made that abundantly clear. Is … ?” He took a deep breath. “Is that all you want?”

She framed his face with the palms of her hands and shook her head. “I want to be with you in every possible way for as long as you’ll have me.”

Stunned, he managed, “Oh.” Not wanting to think of how lame Franklin and Bash would deem that response, Damien chose to call her bluff instead. “Then marry me.”

Hanna looked shocked but only for a moment. “All right,” she murmured before giving him a more serious kiss. “When?”


“Today?” she very nearly squeaked, bringing a smile to his lips.

“Haven’t we lost enough time? Look, between the two of us, we know enough judges,” Damien countered, warming to the idea and slipping an arm around Hanna’s shoulders. “Someone has to be around and willing, even if it is Christmas Eve.”

“Your family will put out a hit on me, if we elope.”

“He’ll be a polite and proper British hit man, though.” Taking the light punch to his abdomen, Damien said, “Ok, but I want the deed done in the first quarter of next year.”


Her agreement was as heady as it was incredible. “I’ll be right back,” Damien said, climbing out of bed, deliberately not reaching for the silk robe hanging over the reading chair situated not far from the bed. “Stay where you are.” He sighed at the sight of Hanna in his shirt sitting on his bed with her long legs crossed before her. “Exactly like that.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not far. Downstairs. To my office.”

Hanna looked at him as if he’d lost the last of his marbles. “I’ve just accepted a proposal of marriage and you’re going to check your email?”

“No. Trust me.”

“You know I do.”

“I hoped so. There’s a difference.” He grinned as she waved him away majestically, understanding her once again unspoken demand for speed. Damien took the stairs two at a time and ducked into the office to complete his task. When he returned to the bedroom, he held his closed fists before him. “Pick a hand.”

“The right,” Hanna said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts—a sure sign of growing impatience.

“Pick the other one,” Damien said, enjoying her exasperated laugh as he plopped back on the bed next to her. Hanna tapped his left and he opened it. She gasped. “Take it,” he encouraged. Hanna accepted the small box. “Open it,” he urged when she made no move to do so. She lifted the lid and stared down at the ring for what struck Damien as a long time. Heart pounding in his chest, Damien removed the ring from the box, took Hanna’s left hand and looked her in the eye. She nodded, nearly imperceptibly, but she did nod. He slipped it onto her ring finger. “Hanna, please say something.” She stared at her hand. “If you hate it, I’ll buy you something else. Anything you want. More diamonds. Less. A platinum setting, maybe. We could go and look—”

She took his mouth by force, leaving him breathless. “I love it,” Hanna whispered against his lips, “and I love you.” After examining her hand again, she said, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s one of a kind,” he said, “like you.”

“And you.”

Shrugging, he said, “Maybe every other Thursday or quarter moon I might inadvertently say or do something unusual.”

“That kind of thinking ends today or I’m going to very reluctantly give you this ring back.”

He didn’t want that to happen. “Years of indoctrination can’t be wiped out in the blink of an eye.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re going to be together for a very long time.”

They smiled at each other and Damien realized his must’ve been a little sad, because Hanna gave him the gentlest kiss he’d ever received from a woman not related to him. “Where do you want to get married?” he asked.

“Where do you?” she asked, as she wrapped her arms around him.

“There’s a reason all the wedding magazines are bridal,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “You said yes, took the ring without registering much of a complaint and I’m going to get laid on a fairly regular basis. That’s all I need out of the deal, other than a couple of chubby brown eyed babies, maybe, possibly, in the future. When you’re ready.” Hanna’s silence demanded more. “My family will want a cathedral and a massive number of attendants and guests, but I can certainly give that a miss, if that’s not to your liking.”

“I have only one requirement,” Hanna said. “Destination. Somewhere warm where drinks generally have umbrellas in them. We’ll say I do wearing sunglasses and maybe slightly drunk and rent a house somewhere on the water yet suitably secluded for our honeymoon.”

“Why secluded?” he asked, unable to suppress a smirk. “Is there going to be noise?”

“Bet on it.” After they shared a laugh and an open mouthed kiss, she shifted so her head rested comfortably on his shoulder. “Kelli will be my maid of honor. Will you ask Stanton to stand up for you?”

“And have him take credit for the whole thing? I don’t think so.”

“Who then? Drake?” He shook his head. “Carter?” He shrugged. “Damien, they’re your best friends.”

“Were.” Back in day of our first romantic interlude, he thought.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. We just don’t have all that much in common anymore. Besides, I was thinking of someone completely different.”

Damien wondered what his expression revealed, because Hanna suddenly looked alert and fierce. She poked his chest with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “If you say Franklin or Bash, I’ll know you’ve been putting me on this entire time. I’ll slap your face hard enough to leave imprints of my fingers, storm out and never speak to you again.”

“No,” he whispered, gripping her shoulders tightly. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Never to you.” She didn’t look mollified so he added, “If I say Franklin or Bash, you’re free to shoot to kill.”

Finally seemingly satisfied that he hadn’t taken complete leave of his senses or her for a hateful ride, Hanna said, “Who then?”


“Damien, did you forget that I want a destination wedding?”

“No, but I think it’s high time he got out of that house for more than a couple of hours. I’m pretty sure he’d at least consider it, if I told him you’d be devastated if he refused and at risk of ruining your mascara with a tear or three.”

“Who do you think you’re fooling, captain my captain?” Damien smiled at the memory of Pindar calling him just that. “Pindy would do it for you and that would throw Franklin and Bash for a loop.”

“You may be right.”

“I’m surprised you want to invite them,” Hanna said.

“Stanton will insist we invite everyone from the firm, at least to the reception we’ll have to have locally. Some things aren’t worth crossing swords with him over.”

“That certainly isn’t.” Hanna hugged him fiercely and Damien suspected she was admiring her engagement ring over his shoulder. “We’re really going to do this.”

“Looks like it.”

“I’m going to have to get my game face on, if I’m going to confront your family as your fiancée tonight and tomorrow,” Hanna said, shifting back but allowing Damien to pull her in for a series of increasingly demanding kisses.

“I’d like to put that off a little longer,” Damien said, as he slid his hand underneath his shirt to cup Hanna’s breast and nuzzled her throat. “So I’ll skip the family festivities this year. It doesn’t matter, really. My presents for everyone are already under one of Stanton’s trees.”

“But Stanton and the rest of your family expect—.”

“I’ll call and tell them I’m sick,” he said. “They think sniffling is common and don’t get them started on what they think of people who cough in mixed company.” Damien basked in Hanna’s laughter. “If tonight and tomorrow are anything like the night before the night before Christmas, we’ll be establishing some exhausting traditions.”

Hanna reached for her coffee and gestured for Damien to do the same. She raised the Infeld Daniels mug. “To exhausting traditions,” she said.

“It’s perversely appropriate to drink to that with caffeine,” Damien said.

“I thought so.”

“I love you, Hanna.”

“Only because I say perversely appropriate things.”

“It’s not what you say that counts, Ms. Linden.”

“I’ll be sure to commit perverse acts on your person on a regular basis, then.”

“I’ll reciprocate.” He smirked. “It’s only fair.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

* * *
“Are you sure?” Damien Karp asked, tugging on Hanna Linden’s hand—the one bearing the engagement ring—as they approached the house in Silver Lake that engendered any number of bad memories.

“Positive,” she said. “Carmen has been talking up this Christmas bash, if you will pardon the play on words, for weeks. I know for a fact Stanton agreed to come around later, after his own gathering, so this is the perfect venue.”

“Does this qualify as later?” he said, dragging his feet as they approached the front door. “I don’t want to be accused of quote-unquote telling anyone prior to Stanton.”

“Yes.” Also in reply, Hanna wrapped herself around him and lured his tongue out to play. “Relax, please.”

“I’m a little … nervous.”

“Join the club.” She lifted their clasped hands to her lips. “We’ll take this one step at a time. All right?” He nodded and knocked to be polite before opening the door and ushering Hanna inside. A young brunette dressed all in black offered drinks that were alarming shades of red and green. Hanna took a red one, so Damien took green.

“What do you suppose this is?” Damien asked.

“Food coloring mixed in a clear alcohol,” she replied, smiling and lifting her beverage to Jared Franklin.

Damien sipped and glanced at his glass in approval. “Straight vodka.”

“Trade with me, if mine’s gin?” Hanna asked, eyes cutting to Damien, mouth formed into a moue of extreme distaste.

“Sure,” he agreed, smiling at one of the little things that brought her down from the pedestal he always put her on—she detested gin and brandy. After one sip, she held out her drink and they switched.

“He’s definitely the brake to your gas pedal, Hanna,” Franklin said, beaming at her. “Merry Christmas.” She let the midget kiss her cheek and Damien tolerated it better than Peter Bash clapping him on the shoulder with exaggerated vigor.

“Didn’t expect to see you, Karp,” Bash said, “but we don’t turn anyone away on Christmas.”

“Lucky me,” Damien muttered.

“You’re feeling better, I trust.” Stanton Infeld appeared behind the couple. “You have no idea how much grief I endured for your failure to appear yesterday and today or how many presents for you I’ve collected beneath my thirteenth Christmas tree.”

Damien made a show of clearing his throat before he said, “Sorry to have put you out, Stanton.”

“No trouble at all, other than trying to explain your absence to Kaitlin, Christine and Carrie. I’ve never quite understood your affinity for those three or theirs for you.”

Smiling slightly at various memories of his much younger cousins, Damien summarized, “I keep their secrets, Stanton.”

“Do they keep yours, I wonder,” Stanton said, glancing down at Hanna’s hand held in Damien’s.

“They don’t know mine,” he said.

“As it should be,” Stanton said. Placing a gentle hand on Hanna’s shoulder, he added, “Excellent work with Marc Brennan the other day.” His eyes cut to Damien. “Both of you.”

“What about us?” Franklin asked. “We’re the ones who pointed out that unresolved sexual tension works in a courtroom.”

“What’s your view on resolved sexual tension, Jared?” Carmen Phillips asked. Franklin blinked, head cocked in puzzlement.

“An active sexual relationship would work in a whole different way,” Peter Bash said. He frowned in concentration. “Differently for a judge versus a jury too, but that electricity could …” Bash looked from Carmen to Damien and Hanna and finally to Jared. “Be awesomely effective,” he concluded.

Gazing at a guest with an impressive cleavage that Damien would never admit to having noticed, Pindar tripped over one of those robotic vacuums and his beer headed for Stanton’s cashmere sweater. Damien released Hanna’s hand and caught it.

“I see you retain goaltender’s instincts,” Stanton observed.

“Not to mention the hands,” Bash said.

Damien shrugged off the praise and handed Pindar’s beer back to him.

“Speaking of hands,” Carmen said, smiling and grasping Hanna’s left by the wrist and lifting it slightly. “A magnificent ring has taken up residence on this one.” She clasped Hanna’s hand in both of hers. “Congratulations.” Hanna had barely thanked her, when Carmen hugged Damien and muttered, “It’s about damn time,” in his ear.

“I know,” he replied, wondering why Pindar was peering at the ring so closely, seeming to forget that the ring or, more likely, Hanna’s hand sported germs of various ilks.

Franklin and Bash high fived. “The miracle of the mistletoe brought to you by none other than Franklin and Bash,” said Franklin.

“I told you all they needed was a push,” Bash said.

“Yeah, but you didn’t anticipate the brand of tonsil hockey they’d willingly play in public just because we positioned a plant over their heads,” Franklin said. “No one could’ve. Not even me.”

“That was just love in all its infinite mysteries bursting from behind a barrier of over the top propriety and out and out pissedoffedness.”

“That’s so not a word, dude,” Franklin muttered.

“What else would you call Ms. Linden’s former attitude to he-of-the-long-stride-that-you-can’t-keep-up-with-without-jogging?” Bash asked.

Unable to endure not knowing and hoping to call a halt to Franklin and Bashian analysis and self-congratulation, Damien asked, “Pindar, what are you doing?”

“The center diamond is cut differently than the two flanking it and yet the settings mesh perfectly,” Pindar said, eyes landing on Damien with respect and what looked remarkably like approval. “This is a custom made ring of very fine quality. Did you have it designed specifically for Hanna? How long did it take to have it made?”

Damien now understood what it was like to live a Southwest Airlines commercial. He desperately wanted to get away.

“Damien?” Hanna prompted, eyes searching his for answers he’d rather not give. “You gave it to me right after I accepted your proposal Saturday morning. How is that possible?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “I’ll explain later.”

“C’mon, Damien, you’re among … coworkers, relatives and your fiancée,” Bash said. “There shouldn’t be any secrets here.”

“There’re plenty of secrets everywhere,” Damien muttered. “It’s not as though the two of you have any right to know.

Stanton bent over Hanna’s hand. “Did Charles make this?” he asked. Damien nodded. Stanton merely said, “I see.”

Stanton’s decision somehow freed Damien to not give a damn what anyone other than Hanna thought about this. “I had it made eight years ago. I was going to ask you to marry me on Christmas Eve, just like I did this time. Only … I didn’t get the chance.”

Hanna spun to face him. “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you let me treat you that way? On … on … what did you call it?” she spat, “the night before the night before Christmas. Damn it Damien. Damn you!”

“Um,” Franklin said, raising his hand as if he was in elementary school. “Confused here.” At least he was smart enough to retreat from Hanna’s glare.

“Two days before Christmas, eight years ago, I told Damien I had to move on because I didn’t see a future for us,” Hanna said, brushing away a tear—she often cried when angry. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to marry me? That you damn well intended to, if I said yes.”

“Because you made it sound like you were bored,” he snarled, fighting to keep his fists unclenched. “Because you acted like you didn’t care, like you’d just been passing the time until someone better came along. A man has his pride for Christ’s sake.”

“So does a woman.” Damien and Hanna faced each other, the implications of the past whirling around them like a tempest.

“Allow me be the first to welcome you to the family, my dear,” Stanton said, stepping half way in between the two. “I couldn’t be more pleased with Damien’s choice.”

“I wonder if Damien is,” Hanna hissed.

“I’ve loved you for ten years,” Damien whispered. “I don’t know what more I can do or say.”

“Really?” Hanna said. “What about Miranda, Claire, Elizabeth, Deborah—.”

“I wasn’t going to be celibate for most of a decade. Not even for you.”

“My ears are burning,” Franklin said.

“Would you be celibate for Scarlett Johansson for,” Bashed glanced at Damien, “eight years?” Not believing he’d been drawn into that side conversation even slightly, Damien nodded.

“For Scarlett?” Franklin repeated, voice low and tentative. Bash nodded. With obvious reluctance, Franklin shook his head.

“Not even if she rode you wild before and after?” Bash asked.

If Franklin responded, Damien didn’t hear it. His focus was Hanna. “I screwed up, all right,” he said. “I thought you didn’t want what I wanted and I couldn’t take the ego hit of a refusal back then. I risked it now and you’ve agreed to marry me somewhere tropical. Isn’t that enough?”

“A destination wedding?” Pindar sounded disappointed. Hanna nodded.

“Will you stand up for me, Pindar?” Damien asked.

“Somewhere tropical?” he asked, voice laced with horror. “Do you have any idea how many diseases abound in those places?”

“We’ll make sure you have all of your shots,” Damien offered.

“The inoculations are the least of it. There’re—. Hanna?”

She had turned away and her voice seemed very small when she said, “We were hoping you’d make an exception for our wedding.”

“Don’t you have anyone else?” Pindar asked, wild eyes focusing on Damien.

“Plenty, but no one that has a real connection to Hanna as well.” He pulled his fiancee into his embrace. “If it’s too much for you—.”

“I’ll do it!” Pindar said. “I will be honored. I may be physically sick, but I’ll be honored nonetheless.”

“He’s not kidding about the physically sick,” Carmen interjected.

“Thank you, Pindar,” Damien said, amazed to find out that he actually meant it.

“A toast,” Stanton said. “Pick up a glass and raise it with me.” When everyone had, he said, “To Damien and Hanna, we wish them health, wealth, happiness and a slew of attractive babies.” Everyone drank. To Damien’s mild surprise, Hanna neither hesitated nor balked.

“How many is a slew?” she whispered for his ears alone, proving she had heard Stanton clearly.

“Four or five, I’d guess, but I’d settle for a couple or a few.”

“Do twins run in your family?” Hanna inquired.

“They skip a generation.”

“What about your generation?” she persisted.

“A couple of my cousins have had twins,” he admitted.

“You didn’t disclose that prior to proposing marriage,” she said, trying hard to look stern and hard assed.

“You didn’t do your due diligence, Ms. Linden.”

“Maybe I just like surprises.” Her slow sultry smile made him a little lightheaded.

“Let’s go back to my place and I’ll surprise you some more.” Hanna took his hand and led him toward the door. Damien wondered if he’d ever admit how much he liked to follow her before he began to contemplate what might surprise his gorgeous fiancee.


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*flails* MY FIC! IT IS HERE! *FLAILS WILDLY* Okay, so I don't actually have time right this second to read it (alas, I am slightly behind and have one more fic to finish writing up and I am withholding on replying to comments or reading other people's fic until I'm done...), but consider this a pre-comment for the expected squeeing and flailing of hands that is soon to come!


Flailing wildly is a good thing!

I don't mind waiting. Take your time and savor.

HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL FIC! I missed you! I'm so sorry that we've been separated by real life! It's okay, I'm here now! * blows kisses *

Also, I am live blogging/reviewing, so I suspect this comment may get dangerously long...

Also, I am totes a like-minded soul. ♥

Hee! Only you, Damien would be such a workaholic/pain for others... you make my heart happy in your evilness. Also, Hanna is so pretty when she saunters.

Ahhhhhhhhh! Of course, they would. Gah! Of course, they would break up right before Christmas... I ...* flails * This is just so annoyingly in character for the both of them...

Your Stanton is somewhat evil... I strongly dislike your Stanton, yes, I do...

as if she were framing a shot of his tie

*flails* Oh gosh, that is a beautiful, beautiful word image... *getting her English nerd on*

...I take back most of what I just said about strongly disliking Stanton.... I totally, totally want to go to one of his parties now.... with F&B in attendance.... ohmygosh, the bored squirming, ohmygosh...

GAH, Damien! Could you fall any harder?!?! I'm less than a thousand words in and your little heart is falling, falling, fallen!

LIES AND BALDERDASH! I feel like “courtly gestures” should be Damien's middle name! ...of course, now, I really want a Damien/Hanna ballroom scene.

….Ahahahahahahaha! I...ohmygosh....how is this not canon?! This is totally canon. Stanton's terrible babysitting skills are canon now. Done.

Ahhhhh! Disgrace upon the family! DETAILS! I needs them! *flails*

….I...of course, Stanton would have a throne room...I...yes, this is also canon now.

TWELVE CHRISTMAS TREES! I'm sorry, the little details here are killing me.

Asdlkjaskljdaslkjd!!!!!! Hanna! Al;edkjadlfkasdflk!


KISSING! *flails*

And F&B are still commenting! And Damien hates them! And...*flails* Gahhh! Df;dakfldkaf! I may not survive this fic... Death by flailing and squeeing....

Peter kissed Damien! He stared death in the face and kissed it! *flails*

Hanna! Damien's shirt! Not a morning person! Snuggly-domestic talk! ACTUAL SNUGGLING!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MARRIAGE PROPOSAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh! Is going downstairs to get the ring?! That he already bought because he's a hopeless romantic?????????

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am possibly making dying noises over here!!!!!!!!! You can probably here them from your house if you step outside right now...... When you here about a death from eeeeeeeeeeeeeeing on the news, you'll know it was me!

CHUBBY BROWN-EYED BABIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, yes, yes, yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! * flails *

…..PINDAR?!!!! Pahahahahahahahhahahaha! Yessssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the midget!!!!! ILU, Damien Karp and you hatred of all things Franklin. Never, never change.

I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GAH!!!!! I KNEW THAT ENGAGEMENT RING WAS CUSTOM-MADE! GAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! *flails* MY HEART!!!!!! I CANNOT TAKE MUCH MORE SQUEEING!!!!! Must...finish...fic.... Can't....stop....smiling.....Must...not...die....

SLEW OF BABIES!!!!!!!!!!

Oh gosh, so much happines... So much squeeing... So much flailing.... Can't breathe.... *iz deded*

In other words, I really, really liked it! Thanks for filling my prompt! :D

I wrote you a massive reply and live journal ate it. Sigh. I will try to recreate it after I have some dinner.

For now, suffice to say that I'm pleased to have met your expectations and thoroughly enjoyed the live blogging style of commenting. This was amazingly easy to write and it was fun to give them their happy ending.

However, Damien wasn't supposed to ask her to marry him. However, my Damien Muse insisted. He whined, moaned and sulked, stating that nothing less would do. Needless to say, he won that one.

Hoping not to hear of any deaths by eeeeing.:)

Let's try this again.

I know lawyers who file things at 5:00 pm on Friday before a long weekend just to be pains in the behind, so I decided to let Damien go whole hog right before Christmas.

I wanted the breakup to mirror the getting back together and I agree--it is so them (as is arguing about the breakup when they're engaged).

Stanton is both good and evil, just not at the same time. I suspect the man is bipolar and maybe a little bit sociopathic, but he is a horrible babysitter. I would never let Stanton babysit my kids. He seems to have the attention span of a toddler himself at times. And I can imagine his parties being strange eclectic affairs that could well bore F&B.

Damien's ties are obviously important to him, so seeing something in terms of his tie seemed apt.:)

Damien has already fallen for Hanna when this tale begins. He just doesn't know it yet.

Maybe Damien does have courtly gestures down. I could see that.:)

Disgrace upon the family might be a much longer story.

The details just seemed to right themselves in this story. The flow was there from the very beginning. I'm glad they were appreciated!

Franklin and Bash had to man the mistletoe. They just did. No alternative.

I adore Vulnerable!Damien. When he was doing that interview in episode 9 (I think), he said, "I don't really care what other people think." Yeah, right. Since when.

I cannot tell you why Bash kissed Damien too. He just did. Maybe got caught up in the spirit of the thing. And I think Damien was too stunned to say anything.

I think Damien was just tired from the night they had. I imagined he mostly gets up early on Saturdays and goes to the gym. Snuggling is always fun.

I liked that Damien couched a proposal in his mind as calling Hanna's bluff. You called it re going to get the ring. Cool! Damien would surely get Hanna a custom made ring. I think Charles (the guy who made it) has passed, so Stanton knew Damien had had it for a while (but didn't tell, for once).

There must be babies who won't make Hanna ordinary.

I think Damien and Pindar have sort of bonded (more than Damien has with Carmen, Franklin or Bash, certainly). We just have to hope he isn't sick on Hanna's shoes (or sandals?).

Only Stanton would say slew.

Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to blog your comment and I'm very glad you enjoyed the story.

Damien does not love Jared. That much is abundantly clear.

Ha! You go, Damien!muse, you go! *waves pompoms encouragingly* You turn this into a marriage fic!

Pssssh! Damien's been head-over-heels for Hanna since he met her. He's just in denial. :P Good of you to break it for him.

I suspect the Damien in my head is slightly more romantic than the versions in other people's head.... I totally see him doing the whole noble knight in shining armor thing when it comes to courtship/dating/relationships/etc. See: the overdramatic V-Day fic I wrote a couple of months back.

Ahahahahahahahaha! Yessssss! I could see them taking charge and forcing kisses on everyone. ...and providing commentary...

Ha! Please, Damien is the biggest ball of insecurity known to man. I think it was that same episode when he went off on the whole rant against nepotism and I was like, "ooooh, someone's got a sore spot!" If I were Hanna and I were super mad at him one day, I would totally punch him there, just to watch him crumple..... which is semi-terrible and very angst filled and totally a plot for another fic.... ahem.

Also, he had an arm filled with happy Hanna! Be mad at Bash and let go of Hanna or twitch it off and keep hold? Decisions, decisions...

I could see that! In my head, Hanna's always the late sleeper (with the dark curtains and the thick blankets) and Damien just doesn't sleep (late to bed, early to rise, makes a man...grumpy and wise?), which causes friction....unless he's worn out... as demonstrated. :P

*giggles* It was my prompt and I felt it was only fair. :) There a very, very limited number of D/H fics in this community and an even smaller number of writers (me and you...?), so we must band together in squee! :D

Although, fortunately, it appears we have pretty much identical, er, kinks for lack of a better term.... My personal head canon is that they broke up because Hanna wasn't ready for marriage (and expressed poorly) and Damien was VERY ready for marriage (and expressed it worse) and thus drama, drama, drama. Also, I have a fic that will (hopefully) get finished involving a scene with Hanna in Damien's shirt...

Great minds, my friend! :D

Aww... this was a lovely insight into the Karp/Infeld family dynamics, and so very festively romantic!

I loved Peter and Jared as the irrepressible double act and the way that they, along with Carmen and Pindar become part of the extended family.

And boy would Damien and Hanna have beautiful babies!

Getting to a happy ending took more words than I imagined!

I just think Damien and Stanton probably have a lot of family stuff going on and hope we see more on the show next season. I just kind of like giving them female relatives. Not exactly sure why.

Peter and Jared came off reasonably well, I thought. Once I just relax and let them talk and talk and talk, things seem to work. If I try to plan it falls flat. I like to pull Carmen and Pindar in too, although Carmen is more difficult for me to write.

Beautiful babies indeed!

Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment. Happy New Year!

Yay! Damien/Hanna fic is always welcome, especially when it ends up in marrige :)

I am so sick of LJ eating my replies. Sigh. Trying again.

This was not supposed to end in marriage. My idea was that they'd get back together. But Damien was so vulnerable and mistrustful, it seemed he should call her "bluff" and that Hanna should prove definitively that she wasn't bluffing.

I'm glad this pairing is welcome. There's so little of it out and about, so far.

Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment!

(Deleted comment)
Thank you so very much for the kind words and enthusiasm!

I liked that they nearly had a fight after telling everyone they were getting married. Somehow struck me as soooooo them.

Hanna surprised Damien about being seemingly amendable to Stanton's toast re babies. Have to ask what a slew is, though, in order to understand what she might be agreeing to.:)

I really don't know why I think they wouldn't have quiet sex, but I do (at least until some of said babies are old enough to be curious re noise).

I also imagine Damien to have a playful streak buried deep in his psyche somewhere--something that Hanna brings out in him. Thus, he wanted her to pick the correct hand.

Thanks for taking the time to comment. Much appreciated.

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