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Manola doesn't know what to get her girlfriend for Christmas. "I don't want anything," she said. "I have you."Manola blushed. "You're so sweet," kissing her girlfriend's forehead. Kisa tended to do this thing when she ducks down, whenever Manola does that, like she's shy. Kisa's the fiercest person she's even known but she's shy, of all the things. "But I'm getting you something. It's tradition!"Tradition was a weird word for Manola; something she implicitly rejected, but still held on to and craves, regardless of where she's at right now. "Tradition?" Kisa arched an eyebrow. “You know, like a white Christmas?”Kisa made a tsk noise. “We’re in Texas.”“It snows in Texas,” she protested. Up by the panhandle, nowhere near them, sure, but that was still Texas. Her girlfriend gave a throaty laugh, the kind that was almost hot enough to distract her from the point. “I don't do well in snow,” Kisa said, “so you may want to rethink your traditions.”Truthfully, Manola didn't miss the Idaho winters. Or Idaho, save for a few people left behind. She liked the hot balmy summers here and the cooler but still warm winters, give or take the random thunder and hailstorm. Not a traditional Christmas but they weren't traditional. “Okay but you have to want something for Christmas.”Kisa shrugged. “World peace, maybe.”Manola laughed for real then. “Then what would you do with yourself?”She shrugged. “I’d take peace, in general,” she said softly. So would Manola.She decided to take Kisa figure skating. There's an outdoor ice rink that's set up every year in the park and Manola took Kisa’s hands in hers, helping her balance on ice, skating backwards with her. Not that she needed a lesson. It turned out Kisa was a natural, a dancer and warrior’s grace making her a fast learner. Of course she was. “I thought you didn't like the cold,” Manola asked as they skated beside each other. Kisa shrugged. “I have you to keep me warm,” she said, a rueful smile on her face. They skated together for a while, backwards and forwards, gloved hands in each other's. Eventually, Manola cut herself loose, and started doing laps around the rink. Manola liked the rush, the adrenaline, the wind in her hair as she skated past everyone, including Kisa. Kisa tsk’ed at her. “You shouldn't do this. You're so fragile.”Manola stopped on a twist, spinning herself around, laughing herself breathless. “You worry too much. I'm not so fragile.”Outside the rink, some men try to start a fight, saying something vicious about the two dykes in hearing range. Manola was ready to throw a punch, a kick, always ready for a fight, but Kisa took care it befor she could move. She grabbed one man by the threat, raised him high in the way like he weighed nothing and snarled, fangs out. Manola thought she would kill him, but she dropped him on his ass instead and his friends scuttled away in fear. “You didn't have to do that,” she said on the way back. “I know.”“I got you something,” Manola said on Christmas Eve, handing Kisa a small, wrapping paper covered box. Kisa took the package delicately, eying it with suspicion. “It won't bite,” Manola reassured her. “I didn't get you anything,” Kisa said, toying with the ribbon bow on the package. “Are you sure you want to give me anything?”Manola would laugh but for some reason the comment made her unbearably sad. Kisa doesn't talk about her past much; that's alright with Manola, if Kisa doesn't want tell her, she shouldn't have to, but then she'd say things like this, like that, that make her heart all seize up. “I know you're ancient−”“I'm not that old,” Kisa said, suddenly self conscious, protesting. “−but the point of Christmas is giving and goodwill, and all those songs, not...expecting something in return.”Manola leaned down and kissed her, softly, gently on the lips. Kisa gasped, like it surprised her, like affection is still unexpected. “I give this to you because I love you,” she said. She watched Kisa open it, tearing the wrapping paper apart slowly, like she wasn't sure how to do it. She pulls out a box and out of that box, a small, silver locket, with two photos inside, Manola’s face and Kisa’s face lining it. “I didn't have a photo of us both, not yet but−”“It's beautiful,” Kisa said, voice choked. Very quickly, too fast for Manola to see, she set the photo aside and pulled her into her lap. For a kiss, Manola thought, but all Kisa does is look her in the eye, hands cupping her face. “You're beautiful,” she said and kissed her until the sun rose.