Michael's Back

She's biting her lip as she watches me and it's almost nice to see she still has that old nervous habit. She carefully slides next to me on the bed and tucks the loose strands of chocolate hair behind her ear with a sigh. It's hard not to smile; she looks so young without the robes of state and ceremonial vestments of her office. I don't think I've seen her this way since our assault on the Capital. That was, what? Two years ago? Three?

Damn. Where the hell'd the time go?

She's talking to me softly, apologizing, but she shouldn't be sorry. I'm actually really proud of her – being Queen doesn't allow her much time in the Training Rings, but I'm there every day. I'm ranked pretty damn high on the standings list, and the fact that she managed to get the drop on me is something worth being proud of.

She's moved on to outlining Larek and Isabel's plan, but I'm not really paying attention. As she watches me with those wide, searching eyes of hers, it finally hits me: This woman is going to be my wife.

I never thought I'd marry anyone. Maria and I loved one another, but we would've killed each other in a year. When she announced she was staying on Earth with Billy, I was actually relieved. From what I understand, they're happily settled with a couple of kids. I'm glad. Family and stability were all Maria ever wanted, and I could never give her that. There was never anyone serious after her, but it's not like I've been a monk. Hell, it's been fifteen years! I just never found anyone I'd even considered building a life with.

Until now.

I'm shocked as hell to realize how right the thought of Liz as my wife feels. We haven't seen each other much in the last few years, but for most of the decade before that we were a team. Isabel handled negotiations, Max did the overall planning and politicking, but Liz and I? We were the war. Battlefield strategy, leading attacks and training the troops, supplies, transport – we handled it all together. Not bad for a couple of kids who used to work a greasy spoon, huh?

The bottom line is, that partnership we shared tells me everything I need to know about what being married to her will be like. We'll butt heads like we always do, but she'll let me blow a few things up to calm down before forcing me to sit down and look at the options with her. I'll ensure she remembers to eat when she's caught up in her latest project and make her calm down when she's worried herself into a panic. There's an ebb and flow to our dynamic, and the give and take is what made us effective. It's what will make our marriage work.

She's still talking, going over the salient points and the pros versus the cons of various permeations of the plan, but all I can concentrate on is the fact that she's sitting so close to me that I can smell the warm, almost vanilla orchid, smell of the local perfume she prefers. The heat of her body is seeping through the thin cloth of my shirt and I'm consciously aware for the first time of how beautiful she is.

From as far back as I can remember, Liz has belonged to Max. Before she even knew who he was, in my eyes she was his because she was all he talked about. I put her in a box labeled with his name in the back of my mind and never stopped to examine it too closely. This may be the first time in my life that I've looked at her with clear, unclouded eyes and actually seen her without any preconceptions.

She's lovely.

I don't know why this is such an epiphany. It's not like I didn't think she was pretty before, but now it hits me like a ton of bricks. Elizabeth Evans is lovely. Waist length espresso hair flows around smooth honeyed skin and bright cinnamon brown eyes. The line of her nose and the swell of her cheekbones entrance me. Her plump lips draw my eyes, and she's broken off what she was saying under the weight of my stare.

"Michael?" She asks almost tentatively, and I watch spellbound as her mouth and tongue wrap themselves around my name.

It's too soon, I shouldn't be thinking this way, but I can't help but fixate on the thought that very soon those lips will belong to me. If she could read my mind, Liz'd give me hell for my caveman thinking, but I've realized there's a part of me that wants her to be mine. That deep down has always wanted it, and out of loyalty to Max hid that traitorous yearning behind a wall of indifference. I'd done such a good job ignoring my desire that I'd fooled myself too, but the time for such self-deception is long past.

"The Council's going to push for us to have kids as soon as possible," I say finally in answer to her query. She gasps as she realizes the implications of what I'm saying. We both know it's too dangerous to have the Antarian crown sit without an heir, but to make ours a real marriage? Especially so soon after the loss of Max. It's one thing to contemplate a partnership in caring for our people, but to actually have her as my wife and me as her husband in every sense of the words is something outside of what either of us had considered. Of course there are other options, especially in an advanced society like ours, but would artificially producing an heir really be preferable in her mind to building a real life with me? I feel a little sick at the thought of my child being born like I was, a sterile processing of cells and genetics to produce an end result. There's no love in that, no family. I'd never really thought about kids before, but I know instinctively that I want better for my children.

I shouldn't push this now, but I have to know. The softening in her dark eyes as she turns to me tells me she understands what I'm really saying, even if I can't say the words aloud:

Do you want all of me?

What I'm asking isn't fair, and it isn't right, coming so soon on the heels of her husband's death. But I need to know as much as I want it. And I'm surprised by how badly I want her answer to be yes. For once in my life, I want someone to choose me. No, not someone. I want Liz to choose me. Not because she has to, not because there are no other options, but because she wants to. Because she wants me.

God, I though Hank beat the urge to hope out of me years ago, but apparently I was wrong because despite all rational expectation I can't shake the feeling that she won't let me down. That Liz will rise to my unspoken challenge and meet me head on like she always does. It would take a miracle in this particular case, but I can't stand to be wrong.

I want the miracle.

Liz Decides

He's not listening to me. I can always tell when he gets that glossy look in his eyes that he's a million miles away. Normally, I'd snap his attention back on target, but right now I'm actually glad he's zoning because I'm babbling.

I hate to babble.

I can't help it though. Having him so unexpectedly appear has thrown me off center, and I'm using the babbling as an opportunity to get myself on track. I'm sure I'm not saying anything that he hasn't already considered, so we can both afford to zone out for a little while. I just didn't expect it to affect me this way. It was so easy, sitting and discussing with Isabel, to consider this plan in an abstract kind of way. Being confronted with the physical actuality of Michael has forced me to look at things from the perspective of something that is happening to me rather than the most expedient solution.

Not to say that I'm taking back any of the things I thought before. I still believe Michael and I will do well together, but sitting here on my bed next to the man who will become my husband lends a visceral reality to what was once a theoretical concept. And the way he keeps focusing on my lips is starting to drive me to distraction.

"Michael?" The weight of his stare is heavy, and it's all I can do to force his name out.

There's a long pause before he speaks. "The Council's going to push for us to have kids as soon as possible," he says eventually in a considering tone as he drags his gaze up to meet my eyes. His amber irises burn with an implicit challenge and I inhale sharply in surprise as I understand their message: He wants me to decide if we'll be married in more than name.

Communication with Michael has always been a dizzying dance of facial interpretation and reading between the lines. For the first time, I almost wish I wasn't quite so good at it. Damn him for putting this ball solely in my court! It's too soon! As if I'm ready to even CONSIDER the ramifications of what he's asking yet! He's watching me intently with a quiet sort of desperation, like his entire world hangs on my answer as I internally rage. It's his silent anxiety that breaks through the panicked haze of my recrimination.

I remind myself that I know Michael. He can be brash and quick to temper, but it's only because he hates dancing around the issue. Lay your cards on the table and let the chips fall, that's Michael's motto. If I say that I want to take a scientific approach to children, then our marriage will be nothing more than a political façade and we'll be two friends that just happen to share genetic material with a couple of kids and rule an interplanetary alliance together. But is that what I really want? Is it what he wants?

There's a fierce hope shining in his eyes as I shift towards him on the bed, and I have my answer. I know I'm not ready for what he wants. I can't be yet, my heart is still broken from Max's death and healing will take time. But as I look up into the warm light of his eyes, I think a day will come when I will be ready. The tenseness leeches out of my muscles and I can feel my gaze soften at the realization. My hand slides up his chest and cups the nape of his neck, tilting his forehead down to press against mine. I find that I like the way his hands instinctively fall to my hips to steady me.

Leaning up slightly, I brush a kiss across his brow before pulling back to meet his eyes. "Someday," I promise solemnly, "you and I are going to make beautiful babies. But Larek and the rest of those Council jackals are just going to have to wait until we decide we're ready."

The smile that blooms across his face is worth all the Council meetings we're going to have to sit through to justify our decision.

Epilogue

It's been a long damn day. Liz is beside me, her hair a tangled halo framing her head. Puffy eyes and blotchy skin highlight how drained she is and it doesn't take a genius to tell that she's cranky and tired and miserable. She'd hit me if I said this out loud, but ironically, in my eyes she's never been more beautiful.

I've apparently broken about sixteen different planetary traditions by being in here, but they can all fuck off. We're a team and I'll be damned if I stand back and leave her to face this battle alone. Birth is such a traumatic bodily event that not even Antarian healers and super drugs can make it entirely pain free. I console myself with the thought that at least it went quicker here than it would have on Earth.

Liz slumps against my shoulder as I give her a one-armed hug. Brushing the matted hair away from her face, I murmur soothingly against her scalp, "You did good, baby. I'm so proud of you…"

"Fuck off, Michael," she grumbles as she buries her face against my neck. "You're never touching me again." Her voice is evening out with every word, a legacy of medicine working its way through her veins with each heartbeat. I chuckle quietly and refrain from pointing out that I'm touching her now. Huh. I guess being married for three years has taught me something after all.

Like the value of keeping comments that would get me castrated by my strung out wife to myself.

A nervous shuffling sound at the foot of the bed draws my attention to the awaiting attendant, shifting uncertainly at the thought of interrupting the King and Queen during what appears to be a tender moment. Look up from the crown of my wife's hair, I wave the girl forward encouragingly. With a smile of thanks, I ease the squirming bundle from her grip. Liz perks up at our daughter's gurgling and I carefully slide my precious cargo into her waiting arms. Our little one is still red, but I can see elements of the two of us written in the lines of her face and the small tuft of dirty blond hair on top of her head. I can't wait to see what color her eyes are. Nudging my wife playfully, Liz looks up at me with a watery smile. "You were right," I tell her as I press a soft kiss against our child's head, "We do make beautiful babies."

Her smile widens as she draws me to her. "Love you, Michael," she whispers against my mouth as I bend to kiss her.

"Ditto," I say with a smirk as I pull back and she laughs. The sound startles Alexia, and Liz soothes her with an old Earth lullaby as I watch the two most precious jewels of my kingdom.

I keep wanting to pinch myself to prove I'm not dreaming, I never would have believed that we'd end up here. There's been so much that life had denied me. So many things that I dreamt about while growing up in Hank's trailer. Things I thought I wanted, that I told myself I had to have in order to be happy. But I was wrong about all of them…

The only miracle I'll ever need is right here.

Fini.