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Hot milk bubbled merrily on the Aga, chunks of almost-black dark chocolate dissolving in grainy, moving swirls.
'Damn it,' Julia muttered, wrapping a tea-towel around her hand and lifting it off the heat. She pushed her hair back with her wrist and gave the chocolate a tentative stir with a wooden spoon. It seemed OK.
Tom hooked an arm around her waist, tugging her back into his hard, warm chest, and stole the spoon out of her hand for a lick.
'Mmm, tastes good,' he said.
'Stop that,' she laughed, pushing at his imprisoning arm. 'I don't want to waste the chocolate.'
He held the spoon out of her reach and nuzzled her neck, nibbling at the soft spot under her ear. 'Not as good as you, though.'
Ignoring her only a little in earnest protests – proper chocolate was hard to come by – Tom spun her away from the stove and waltzed her around the kitchen. After three steps, she gave in to the moment. It was rare for Tom – for either of them if she was being honest – to be...silly..these days. He had even doffed his uniform, wearing jeans and white shirt with his sleeves rolled up instead. Her Tom did have nice forearms, she noticed appreciatively.
Of course, every silver lining had a dark cloud.
'I have to ride out tomorrow,' Tom said.
Julia twisted her fingers in his shirt and protested, 'Already?'
Tom's mouth twisted ruefully and he shrugged. 'Rebel activity outside Chicago,' he said. 'But we have tonight.' He dipped her back over his arm until her hair nearly brushed the floor. 'And hot chocolate.'
She sighed and caught his face in her hands, pulling him down for a kiss. 'You are lucky I love you, Captain Neville.'
He smiled against her mouth. 'I know.'
Someone knocked the door. Tom lifted Julia back to her feet and glanced around, weighing the urgency of the knock.
'Ignore it,' she suggested, catching his chin in her fingers and turning his face back to her. For a second she thought he might, then whoever had been knocking started to hammer. Tom went to step back and she grabbed his shirt, pulling him back and levelling a finger at his nose. 'You make me my hot chocolate. I'll get it.'
She strode out of the kitchen, leaning back in to add. 'And I don't care if its Monroe himself, if it isn't important I'm sending him away with a flea in his ear.'
Tom laughed and kept stirring the chocolate. He thought she was kidding, well, Julia sniffed to herself, she wasn't. Monroe didn't scare her, and she had enough political capital tucked away that she could spend a little being... She ran down her options, starting with insulting and settling on curt, as she strode down the hall. Curt was good, she could definitely get away with curt.
Whoever it was still hammering on the door when she got there, hard enough to rattle the sturdy wooden door in its frame.
'Hold on,' Julia said, starting work on the deadbolts.
The few times Monroe had visited their house – back when he did that sort of thing – he always told her to take them off. 'It sets a bad example,' he'd argue. 'If even my top men's families don't feel safe here.' Julia had always made vague promises to see to it, somehow never getting around to it. The locks were a relic, and reminder, of a time when Philadelphia hadn't been quite so peaceful, and she would rather be safe than sorry if history ever repeated itself.
Besides, since Monroe had gone all Alexander in India on them all – he had no idea what her front door was like.
She finally got the last lock undone and yanked the door open, 'What!'
If it had been Monroe, that might have been more rude than curt. It was Jeremy leaning on her door frame instead. He waved a bottle of whiskey at her.
'Happy New Year, Julia!'
She crossed her arms and frowned at him. 'Yes, it is. I'm spending it with my husband.'
'And me,' Jeremy said, bussing her cheek and squeezing past her into the house. 'We'll all see it again together, like the old days.'
Julia huffed and went after him tugging his sleeve till he deigned to stop. 'Jeremy, if this isn't import – if this isn't official business, Tom and I are-'
'Please, Jules?' Jeremy said, scrubbing his hand through his hair and looking plaintive. 'I would really appreciate an evening pretending to be normal? Just get drunk with me and sing 'Auld Lang Syne'. Please?'
There was real desperation in his voice. Julia hesitated. 'Do you want to talk about it?'
He grimaced and shook his head. 'Fuck no.'
Julia sighed and patted his chest. 'I'll go and tell Tom to make up a third cup of hot chocolate.'
'Hot chocolate? Real hot chocolate?' Jeremy said, brightening up. 'Do you have marshmallows?'
Julia rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen. 'And whipped cream,' he called after her. 'And cinnamon, do you have cinnamon? Or sprinkles.'
She slid into the kitchen, letting the door creak shut behind her. Tom was already pouring a third cup.
'Sorry,' she mouthed.
He picked up two cups and kissed her forehead on the way past. 'We'll have other New Years, my love,' he said. 'All of them.'
A smile stretched Julia's mouth as she grabbed her own hot chocolate. Oh, she did love that man.
********
'Why do you have holes in your socks?' Julia demanded.
Jeremy was sprawled out in a chair, boots kicked off and olive-green sock clad feet propped on her coffee table and toes sticking out. He wriggled them at her.
'I have very sharp toe-nails,' he told her. 'And very long toes. It's a terrible combination.'
She rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of wine (she had tasted Jeremy's whiskey, the only explanation for the men continuing to drink it was some sort of figurative penis measuring competition). Sitting back she swung her legs up into Tom's lap.
'I mean,' she said. 'Why don't you just requisition new socks. You're one of the founding members of the militia.'
He choked on his whiskey, she was only surprised he hadn't earlier. 'That's a big claim, let's not make that sort of claim,' he said. 'I'm more of an “early recruit”, I think. Muuuch safer right now.'
Julia raised an eyebrow at him. 'Is he still irate over the fake Matheson uprising?'
'Pissed,' Jeremy said precisely. 'Pissed in all the many and varied meanings of the word. I think he was genuinely considering bringing back crucifixion.'
Tom stirred uncomfortably. 'We shouldn't talk about General Monroe,' he said. 'It's disrespectful.'
'It's only us,' Julia protested. 'We can be trusted.'
He squeezed her toes gently. 'Julia.'
She sighed and subsided with a pout. While Tom wasn't looking, Jeremy winked and mouthed 'later' at her. Sometimes she loved him too, particularly after a few glasses of wine.
They drank some more and toasted the new year in at approximately the right time. Julie dozed off around one and woke up in the middle of an argument about whether Miles or Monroe would be Scott Summers from the X-Men.
'Miles is definitely Wolverine,' Tom was saying, in that pedantic and carefully enunciated voice he used when drunk.
Jeremy snorted at him. 'You're just saying that because he's hairy.'
'No. No,' Tom said. 'Look at the whole Utopia arc, with the betrayal of the X-Men right at the end.'
Julia opened one eye, 'And Scott was always his favourite,' she said. 'He used to argue with his five year old son about it. Jason always liked...umm...the blue one.'
Both men gave her terribly disappointed looks. Tom sighed and leaned over towards Jeremy, 'She means Nightcrawler.'
'I'm him,' Jeremy said.
'You're Deadpool,' Tom corrected.
'...Yeah,' Jeremy agreed. 'I can see that.'
Julia sighed and sat up, repositioning herself with her head on Tom's shoulder. 'And you're my Scott Summers,' she said, with slightly tipsy affection.
'Emma Frost,' Jeremy said, pointing at her. 'I can totally see that, if she was wearing white stockings and a corset-'
He stopped and coughed into his hand. 'I took it into a bad place, didn't I?' he asked sheepishly.
'Yes,' Tom said, giving him a hard look.
'But I would look amazing,' Julia said loftily, wobbling to her feet and going to get more wine.
Tom woke her up in the morning as he tucked a blanket over her shoulders. He was already back in his uniform, smelling of starch and leather.
'I have to go,' he said, stroking her hair back from her face.
She kissed him, even though she must have foul morning breath, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
'You have to come back,' she reminded him. The same way she reminded him every time, and so far it had worked.
'Always,' he promised.
She got up, tidying her hair and face quickly, and went to the door to wave him off. When she went back into the living room Jeremy had woken up and was looking stricken.
'Shit, Jules,' he said. 'I didn't know Tom was being deployed this morning. You should have told me to piss off.'
'I did try,' she pointed out dryly. He looked so guilty that she relented – without even taking advantage a little – and went over to wrap her arms around his neck in a clumsy hug. 'You're always welcome, Jeremy. It was a good night.'
He sighed. 'Yeah, it was. I think they're going to be in short supply for a while, Julia.'
She straightened up and patted his shoulder in mute sympathy. 'Do you want some breakfast.'
'No,' he sighed, standing up and sniffing under his arms. 'I should go and freshen up before I have to report.'
He caught her shoulders and surprised her with a quick, hard kiss, bruising her lips. 'Happy New Year, Julia,' he said, stepping back. 'You take care of yourself.'