Work Text:
Another year, another successful island Christmas.
Mary Ann hummed a familiar carol as she adjusted the improvised garland draped along the doorway of her hut — palm fronds, shells, and a few bright scraps Ginger had sacrificed from an old costume. Nearby, Gilligan fussed happily over the camp, proudly showing off the coconut lanterns he’d managed to hang without setting anything on fire. The Professor hovered close, checking the flames, adjusting wicks, and quietly making sure Gilligan’s enthusiasm didn’t outpace physics.
The Skipper presided over the radio and phonograph as their DJ, announcing each crackly holiday tune with gusto, while the Howells regaled tales of Christmas galas, charity balls, and the very important people who would deeply regret their absence for another year. All of it culminated, inevitably, in Ginger’s dramatic retelling of A Christmas Carol — complete with at least three accents, sweeping gestures, and Gilligan gamely stepping into whatever role she pointed him toward.
Mary Ann and the Professor sat back, watching it all with quiet amusement. They talked easily — about nothing important. Recipes. Science. Christmases past. Family traditions. The sort of comfortable conversation that didn’t need direction and never quite ran out. She laughed at Ginger and Gilligan’s antics, danced with every gentleman in turn, and never noticed how often the Professor’s gaze found her again — or how he never seemed to drift far, content simply to watch as the evening unfolded.
Eventually, the party softened. Coconut torches were extinguished one by one. Music faded. Together, Mary Ann and the Professor gathered the last remnants of their tropical Christmas — cups, ribbons, stray bits of greenery.
“That was really nice,” Mary Ann said softly.
“Yes,” the Professor agreed. “It was.”
One by one, the others said goodnight and disappeared into their huts, until only the two of them remained.
At the doorway of her hut, Mary Ann turned to him.
“Good night, Professor. And thank you for your help. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mary Ann.”
She turned to go.
He stopped her. Not with a word, but with movement. His hand closed gently around her elbow, just enough to make her turn back. Before he could reconsider, he leaned in and pressed a careful kiss to her cheek. Light. Tentative. Almost as though he were testing the idea rather than acting on it.
They both froze.
He straightened at once, clearly flustered. Neither of them moved. The silence stretched — not awkward, just new.
He cleared his throat. “Mistletoe,” he said.
Mary Ann glanced up.
There it was — Ginger’s improvised mistletoe hanging above the doorway. She smiled, remembering how Ginger kissed each of the single men beneath it earlier that evening, flirting, and moving on without a second thought.
This was different.
Her smile softened, slow and warm. “Oh,” she said quietly.
For the Professor, it wasn’t like Ginger’s kisses — playful, dazzling, surface-bright. This felt steadier. More real. More risk than he was used to taking.
They stood there another moment, suddenly aware of the sand beneath their feet and the quiet night around them.
Then Mary Ann smiled again, just a little brighter.
“Good night,” she said.
“Good night.”
She stepped inside.
The Professor lingered, staring at the closed door longer than necessary, his heart doing something no equation could quite explain. At last, he turned and headed back toward camp — quietly pleased, quietly shaken, and thinking about New Year’s Eve more than he had expected to.