This is just a fluffy little oneshot my mind invented to put off sleep for a few hours. I hope you enjoy it because I kind of love it more than most of the things I've ever written…

And no, the title does not contain a typo.

I own nothing.

Several ripped pieces of paper make their way up from a chimney in London up to the clouds, unnoticed until a gloved hand grabs them. A stern glance from the owner of the glove sets the pieces spinning to reassemble and make themselves presentable and legible.

Bright blue eyes scan the letter and list, as the ripped pieces of paper have revealed themselves to be. The letter is a much more recent document—the list couldn't have been written by anyone over thirteen—but they are both obviously written in by the same person.

Ruby red lips curve into a fond smile. "Oh, Bert," the voice behind the lips sighs, "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

The gloved hands grasp an old umbrella with a parrot for a handle and a threadbare carpet bag. Slowly, their owner descends from the clouds.

0ooo0

The knock on the door startles Bert. He had just about nodded off to sleep when it came, so his mind is a little fuzzy at first. That fuzz is knocked straight out of his mind when he opens the door. "Mary Poppins?"

"Yes," she answers easily. "That is what I am called, though not generally in its interrogative form."

"You're… you're back in London," he stammers. She's back in London, at his door, the very night he… Well, the very night he had torn up a letter addressed to her and thrown it in the fireplace, intending to burn it. "But… but why?"

"Unless you have an unfortunate speech impediment, which, from personal experience, I know you do not, I would thank you to stop stammering."

"Mary Poppins, back in London," he breathes, trying to wrap his head around it. "And at an hour such as this one."

"You might express some emotion other than bewilderment," she points out.

"Mary, you're back!" he exclaims happily. There, now his head's wrapped around it and he can focus on being joyful. Then he notices that she seems to be lacking the one thing Mary Poppins always totes around. "Where are the kids?' he asks.

"I don't believe this conversation direly needs to take place here; inside your apartment shall do nicely, I should think." He lets her in, staring just a little. "But," she continues, "There are no children with me currently."

"You're not on an assignment? Then why are you here in London?"

"One moment," she says, holding up a finger before bending down and opening up the carpet bag and pulling out a sheet of paper. "You are Herbert Alfred, are you not?'

This is the first time Bert has ever had to deal with the purely business side of Mary and he's not sure exactly how to respond, which, he supposes, is probably the point. "Er, um, yes."

The firm set of the line of her mouth stays put, but there's a sparkle in her eyes when she continues. "And you are in want of a wife, are you not?"

"I, um, er… Mary, what's this about?"

She holds out the paper she's holding. "This is your letter, is it not?"

He takes it from her and glances over the paper that reads:

Mary,

Don't stay away too long. I'll miss you. But it's more than that.

I love you, Mary. Come home soon. One day maybe I'll get up the nerve to ask you and I can marry Mary, if you'll pardon the pun. Come home so I can find out. Just come home.

Yours Forever,
Bert

He looks wildly over at the fireplace. "But I… I ripped that up!"

Her lips curl into a small smile. "The letter is addressed to me and so it was delivered, Bert. Now, as for my qualifications for the position…" She starts searching in her carpet bag again. "Where is that?" she mumbles, her entire arm engulfed in the bag. "Ah, here it is!"

She pulls out another reconstructed sheet of paper. "'Ere, what's this?" Bert asks warily.

"I'm afraid this might be a bit out of date, but I think you'll find everything in order," she says, almost apologetically.

"Mary Poppins, what 'ave you…"

"'Dark brown hair, blue eyes,'" she recites. "Well, that seems rather obvious."

He opens his mouth to speak again but she pushes on. "'Can cook.' I won't say that cooking is my specialty, but I certainly know my way around a kitchen. 'Likes to read.' I find reading to be most improving things a person can do and try to do it as often as I can. 'Likes dogs and children.' I've never owned a dog but I should think I'd like to. As for the children, I believe you can ascertain that for yourself. 'Fun.' I enjoy many different games and no one is as insufferable as the adult whose forgotten his inner child. 'Nice.' I have never heard a single complaint against me and have often been described as kind. 'Pretty.' No objections there, I hope?"

She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to answer apparently. He hasn't caught up with her yet but he manages to shake his head. "'ow did you get that? I must 'ave written it when I weren't no bigger'n ten!"

"It was delivered with the letter," she responds. "Now, to continue. 'Funny.' I've been told my jokes are quite diverting, though I've also been warned of a fairly sharp tongue. 'Happy.' I am quite happy. I hardly ever frown and am almost never cross. 'Almost perfect.' I'm not almost perfect, but I am practically perfect, which is nearly the same thing and I have the tape measure to prove it. And finally, 'In love.'" At this point she looks down shyly and looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Which I can assure you, I most surely am."

That last part is the only part that really sinks in, and it's really the only part that matters. "You- you love me."

"Foolishly," she admits. "Madly. With everything I have. It's almost disturbing, really."

Then he starts to grin as he realizes exactly what is going on here. "Mary Poppins, are you proposing to me?"

"Certainly not!" she exclaims. Then she says with a smile, "But I am standing here, waiting for you to ask me."

He grins and starts to get down on one knee, then remembers something crucial. "I don't have a ring!"

"Bert, I don't need a ring," she tries to comforts him, but he's already tearing through his things. He finds a small bit of wire. Further search of his desk reveals a glass bead he had picked up because it was the precise color of Mary Poppins' eyes when the wind begins to blow. He threads the bead onto the wire and twists the wire into a circle.

"It's not much," he says, a little sadly, "An' I'll buy you a right proper ring as soon as possible, but-"

"I love it," she declares. "But you still haven't asked me anything."

"Mary, I… I love you. I love every bit and piece and part o' you, an' if you'll let me, I'll never, ever stop."

"Oh, Bert," she sighs happily, sliding the makeshift ring onto her finger. "That sounds like heaven." Suddenly, her impressive, fast-talking, commanding switch flips back on. "Now, as for the subject of my payment for the position… All I ask is that you love me."

He cups her face with his hands, looking very serious. "What about kisses? Could I pay you in kisses?" He places the makeshift currency on her forehead, nose, and, finally, on her lips.

"I suppose I could accept that in conjunction with your love," she smiles.

"You're practically perfect, Miss Mary Poppins," he replies, placing more kisses on his fiancée's lips.

"That is the soon-to-be Mrs. Bert Alfred to you, Mr. Alfred," she remarks, playfully stern. "And if anyone is perfection in this room, Bert, it's you."

Oh, I so hope you liked it! Because I'm a rather big fan myself.

-Juli-