Authors Note: Just a very cheesy one-shot featuring our favorite Colonel and Marianne. :) Enjoy! Don't forget to review. I love them almost as much as Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. ;)

Colonel Brandon realized very quickly that there were many sides to Marianne Dashwood, and there was not a side that he did not love. She was fiery, honest, intelligent, and passionate. Despite her first thoughts in regards to him, they did share many interests; books, music, and so on. Their personalities were well aligned. He was able to hide his passionate nature in an attempt to be the respectable Army man that society demanded that he be. But, that side was still there and present, and Marianne had been happy to find that side of him. They fit well together, and he hoped-and prayed-that Marianne felt the same way about him. But out of all of her sides, her unique traits, the one that he was seeing now was quite possibly his favorite of them all.

Marianne sat on the bed-his bed, the miracle of it!-wrapped in his banyan, keeping warm as the fire continued crackling, shielding them against the cold air seeping through the walls of the mansion. Her hair was down, curls tangled and tousled, falling down her back. He was used to her hair being put up in tight curls, each tendril carefully placed upon her head. He was used to her in gowns, although not as fine as some of the women that society had attempted to place him with, looking every bit of a proper lady. She had looked lovely everywhere she had gone- when she had attended his parties at Delaford, at the picnics at Barton, in Mrs. Dashwood's cottage when he had visited, but this was far, far better than any fashionable version of Marianne that he had seen. She held one of his books in her hand, his favorite, proven by the worn out covers and wrinkled pages. She was sitting cross legged, completely focused on the words that she was reading, and all he could do was watch her. They had been married for an entire day. Twenty four hours of her being his wife. Mrs. Brandon. It still felt like a dream. The day that they had spent together, the wedding, seeing her in a gown, standing at an alter with him, of all people, of all the men that she could have had, and vowing to love him, to cherish him, to be with him until death parted them, had been the best day of his life, rivaled only by the night that they had spent together. She was perfect, the perfect human being, perfect for him, he was sure of it. He was certain that when God had made Marianne Dashwood, He had Colonel Brandon in mind. When He gave her the love for John Donne, Mozart, Bach, all of the things that he loved and she loved, too, He must have had something very incredible in mind.

And he was entirely unworthy, but he was determined to pay this fact no mind, and to soak up every bit of her that he could.

"Christopher," She started, and he felt his heart skip a bit just because of that. They were on first name basis, she no longer had to call him by "Colonel" and he did not have to call her Miss Dashwood, or Miss Marianne. She raised a brow before speaking up again, eyes still trained on his book. "If you want to stare at me, I'd prefer that you at least do so while standing closer than the doorway. Come sit with me, at the very least."

And he did. He took the seat behind her, his back propped against the pillows, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders before pulling her gently towards him until her back was against his chest, book abandoned by her side in exchange for his hands, both of which now being held by her much smaller ones. She stroked his palms mindlessly, resting her head on his collarbone and resting her eyes. "I like being married." She murmured, turning her head slightly to place a kiss on his chest, covered by his thin shirt, still tucked into his breeches. They had gone out that evening, placing a visit with Elinor and Edward Ferrars, and he had never been so happy to be home. To be alone with her. "I'm happy you've enjoyed the experience thus far." He replied.

"One of my favorite life experiences yet."

"I have to say, it's high on my list of favorites, as well." Marianne chuckled, now drawing shapes into his palm with a finger. "And what else is on your list?"

"Not many things, I admit."

"And how high is this, then? Top? Bottom?" Christopher hummed, snatching a hand away from her grip to run it through her hair, brushing through a tangle. "Middle, I suppose." He teased.

Marianne gasped playfully, throwing a hand to her face and covering her mouth in feigned shock, laughing. Then, she got silent, and a minute passed, then two. He was opening his mouth, ready to ask if she was okay, to assure her that he was teasing her, before she spoke up. "I love you, Colonel Brandon." And his heart was suddenly in his throat. Hearing those words would never get old, he knew. "You know that, don't you? That I love you?"

"I had hoped." His tone was dry, sarcastic, and he wanted to cringe at himself, his awkwardness. He was not used to this, not used to a wife curled up with him, not used to a woman telling him how much she loved him. Not used to anyone telling him that they loved him. "Christopher." She chided.

"I love you, too. More than anything."

"I didn't ask you that. I know that, Christopher. You've shown me that love...countless times. I asked you if you-if you know how much I love you." Once again, his brain failed him, and he could not find the words needed. Did he believe her? He'd seen her try her best to display her love. She'd married him, for goodness sake. But still, he had to admit that he doubted it occasionally. It seemed far too good to be true. She had married him, a man nearly twenty years her senior, a man who lived a quiet life, who wore flannel coats, who was dull and boring in public eye, apparently. And she had chosen him, and she loved him. He couldn't imagine having her near him like this without thinking it was some sort of dream that, eventually, he'd have to wake up from.

He was quiet, apparently for too long, because she started talking again. "You don't." She commented. She turned around to face him, curling her legs beneath her as she sat between his legs. "I suppose I'll have to try harder, then."

"Try harder?"

"To show you. To prove it to you."

"You don't need to prove anything to me. I'm simply an old man who acknowledges how lucky he is to be married to such an amazing woman, and I suppose I find it hard to believe at times." Her eyes rolled, and she kissed him quickly. "You think far too highly of me."

"And you love it. It means you'll be spoiled."

"I do." She sang. "Almost as much as I love you."