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Charlie stared out of the green-paned window of the castle, the Emerald City sweeping over the hills and turning to fields filled with poppies red as blood beyond them. Despite everything she’d done these past months, it was still hard for her to believe that she was really here, in Oz, with fucking Dorothy.Three years ago, she could hardly believe in magic outside of the pages of her books or the LARP weekends, and now she was a Woman of Letters living in the fucking Emerald Palace with fucking Dorothy.The ‘fucking Dorothy’ part was probably the one she had the hardest time wrapping her head around.The woman in question was busy day in and day out now, the war being over for weeks now, but that didn’t mean that she had any more free time than she had when they were fighting against the witch. The aftermath of it all would take years to heal from, and it was purely up to Dorothy and the Wizard to make sure that everything went as smoothly as possible, which was quite a task, as Munchkins apparently were a lot crabbier in real life.Charlie heaved a deep sigh and frowned, staring past her jade reflection to see…“Snow.” She said, barely above a whisper.“I thought you read the books,” Dorothy said with a small smile, glancing up from her work sparingly. “We do have snow in Oz.”“I know, I just… Haven’t seen any,” Charlie watched the little flakes float down from the sky, almost impossible to see against the rest of the world through the bottle-green glass, “It reminds me of home. You know, winter weather and Christmastime and all that.”In the corner of her eye, Dorothy leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She sported what Charlie had come to call her “thinking face”, which had a habit of appearing whenever they’d made battle plans.“Do you want to do Christmas?” she asked with a grin.“Really?” Charlie’s mind started to go wild with thoughts of a Christmas tree set up in some corner of the castle and a marathon of old Christmas movies spent curled up on the couch, hot cocoa in one hand as she leaned her head on Dorothy’s shoulder.“They don’t have it in Oz, but… I’m sure I could take a few days off,” Dorothy tried to seem nonchalant about it, shrugging loosely as she spoke. “We could get out of the city for a few days. Just the two of us.”Images of a warm fire at her feet and hands intertwined made Charlie’s smile grow wider.“It sounds perfect!” One snowy week later, Charlie and Dorothy were off, leaving the towering spires of the Emerald City for the woods beyond it, where the Tin Man apparently had a cabin that he was allowing them to borrow for their ‘Christmas vacation’. Charlie was almost giddy with excitement, eager to celebrate the holiday she’d loved as a child. Christmas had been her mother’s favorite holiday and had quickly grown to be her favorite as well, the days of spending the chilly Decembers snuggled up by the fire as her mother read aloud bringing pleasant memories for years to come. She’d also gotten some of her favorite books as Christmas presents. Battered second-hand copies of The Two Towers or The Adventures of Tom Bombadil making their way into her stockings and under the tree.It was with those memories in mind that she’d managed to find a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, a book she’d soon found that Dorothy had never been able to read, having been trapped in the jar with the witch only a few years before it was published. Charlie planned to give it to the woman as a Christmas present and, if Dorothy wanted, she would read it aloud as her mother had, recreating fond memories with the one she loved. She didn’t care if Dorothy had a gift for her or not, because this trip itself was enough for her. The chance to take some time, just the two of them, and not have to worry about a Wicked Witch or Lollipop Guild uprisings was a relief.When they arrived at the cabin, Dorothy insisted that they find a tree first thing, and so the two spent the next several hours hunting the immediate woods for the closest thing to a Christmas tree they could find. It was harder than expected, as they had to take care to avoid any trees that spoke, but eventually they found one. It was short and it smelled nothing like the trees back home, but it was perfect.By that night, they were sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire, tree decorated with the few ornaments they’d been able to find and make, cocoa heating up on the stove. Charlie sat between Dorothy’s legs, her back to the other woman’s chest as Dorothy absentmindedly ran her fingers through Charlie’s scarlet hair, eyes watching the fire lazily.“I got something for you,” Charlie told her, leaning back into the soft touch.“You got me a Christmas present?” Dorothy asked in almost disbelief. “I haven’t gotten one in years.”“It’s not much, but…” Charlie sat up and crossed the room, digging the wrapped gift out of her yet-to-be unpacked bag. “It’s just something I thought you’d like.”Dorothy took it from her carefully, expression soft as she undid the wrapping paper. “Tolkien,” she noted with a smile. “Your favorite.”Charlie couldn’t help but smile and nodded eagerly. “You said you hadn’t read past The Hobbit, so I thought you’d like to have to next one.”“I can’t wait,” Dorothy set the book aside and reached down beside her to where her own bag sat, rummaging around as she started to speak again, “I actually have something for you too.”“Really?” She practically lit up at the words, as most people did when someone said they had a gift. When Dorothy drew a small, simple knife out of her bag, Charlie was honestly a little confused.“It was my first knife, from when I came to Oz as a little girl,” Dorothy explained, handing the blade to her. It was fairly clean for such an old weapon, though the worn grip on the handle showed how often it had been used over the years. “I know you’ve got your own defenses, but… I figured an extra knife never hurt anyone.” Charlie laughed at the joke and ran a careful finger over the curve of the blade. She’d heard plenty of stories of Dorothy’s early days in Oz, much bloodier than any book could ever say, and she knew how much this knife to meant to her. It had been left behind by her father before he’d returned to their world and had protected Dorothy as long as she’d been fighting.Much like Charlie’s books, this knife was a memory of family, of the people Dorothy had loved and lost at far too young an age, and much like her books, Dorothy giving her this knife meant so much more than just protection.It meant that Dorothy loved her.“Thank you,” Charlie told her with a smile, setting the knife aside as she leaned forward and kissed her.“Do you want to read?” Dorothy asked, expression softer than her usual hardened demeanor.“Of course.”