The call was received a little past four in the morning. I met Eadlyn in the strategy room and found her already crying.

"What? What is it?" The guard sent to America and I's bedroom had only said we were needed for an incoming call, then rushed off to gather other personnel. Eadlyn's teary face was like a hook tearing a hole in my heart.

"General Hanley from the base in Francisco is on the line," She stammered, then grasped my hand, reaching to hold America's too. "He says—he says that," She gasps, and then "It's Uncle Aspen."

His hands fitted themselves to her waist, fingers brushing her back with long strokes.

She hadn't touched him, hadn't reached for him. She fell into herself with a slow collapse, like she was crumpling from the center out.

I pictured the bloom of a daffodil shriveling between the pressure of two fingers.

"Luce, I'm sorry." His face disappeared against her neck, his head shaking back and forth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry—"

"You came back to me." She cried.

His shirt was twisted like two pin wheels in her hands where she tightly grasped the fabric.

As I stood, taking America's hand and vacating the room, I watched them sway together, ebbing and flowing slowly, like reeds moving in the wind.

Aspen had not died in the ambush of the Loyalist base. He had run from the explosions just like his men and was just nearing the safety of the tree line when he'd tripped over a small body. It had been a little boy, dressed in threadbare Loyalist gear, with the fallen beams of a shack pinning him to the dirt. He was crying. The beams had been dislodged by an explosive blast, landing the boy on his stomach and the beams over his back.

He'd cried to Aspen for help.

In his effort to rescue the boy, Aspen fell under fire. Gun shots blew out his radio and injured his upper thigh. With a painful limp and the boy released from the obstruction, the two made a run for it in the woods, too far behind and too injured to rendezvous with the squadron.

The bullet in Aspen's thigh forced him to seek a doctor first, not his men, and he moved for the nearby town instead of waiting for the troops to discover him in a search. The few spared Loyalists that may have survived were sure to be close behind, and he feared being an easy target with the added impediment of the young Loyalist boy.

A quick surgery removed the bullet from his leg, but left him hobbling unsteadily. His blown radio had been on a secure channel, and he feared using a non-military issued phone so deep in Loyalist territory. The possibility that his call might be monitored by some very angry, very vengeful Loyalists kept him silent and in hiding, moving slowly nearer towards home, towards Angeles.

It had been only two weeks in of this sluggish passage home when the boy grew sick. They were only two towns away from the destroyed base with a long way to go. Aspen sought medical help in the town, but the doctor required payment he didn't have, and Aspen set to work doing labor for the man in exchange for the boy's treatment. A week of this passed with the boy growing stronger when Aspen's healing leg wound was infected.

The doctor had booted Aspen and the boy when it became clear no further labor would be possible, and Aspen grew weaker with no medicine to aid him. The boy was recovering, but at only seven years old, he was a scared shell.

Aspen had been mostly unconscious and near death on the grass behind a church, the boy sitting by his feet, when a woman had approached him. Upon waking, he found her redressing his wound.

She introduced herself as Aileen. She and four other women of the town were nuns of the church, and under their care Aspen and the boy were nursed back to health.

It took a month. The infection of Aspen's wound was belligerent, and though the boy was quicker to heal, he slept little and woke most nights from nightmares. When they finally left the town and the nuns behind, it was still a long trek back to Angeles with next to no resources. He did not contact the palace until he reached the closest military base three weeks later.

"His name is Carrick." Aspen smiled. "He does not speak much, and I am still learning about his past, but he is a brilliant boy. He was orphaned, and the Loyalists began to pull some of the older kids from the local orphanage in hopes that they could be trained into soldiers. The boy is haunted by nightmares still, he was so scared."

I nodded, amazed.

Aspen's call from the base in Francisco had been received thirty-two hours ago. I had been called to the same room where I'd last conferenced with him before the mission, finding the friend I believed dead on the other side of the phone. An armed transport brought him and Carrick to the palace. Now he sat across from me with Lucy at his side.

The reunion between Aspen and America, whom he'd last seen in a coma, was only beat by the reuniting of Aspen and Lucy.

And then Lucy met Carrick.

The boy had been shy. His overgrown red curls hung down over his eyes, making it easy to hide. Lucy had knelt before him upon Aspen's introduction and spoken so softly I could not hear her words. Carrick had shuffled his dirty boots, looking unsure and as frightened as might be expected of a boy brought to the palace after being claimed by the men trying to overthrow the monarchy.

Lucy whispered something else, smiling softly in her gentle way, and then brushed his curls lightly with her fingers. Carrick had flinched, but after Aspen smoothed a hand over his shoulder, he rushed forward and clung to Lucy. She looked up at Aspen wide-eyed, holding the small boy to her chest. It looked unquestionably natural when she pressed a kiss to his messy hair and he'd murmured back that she smelled nice.

"I want," Aspen began, then stopped and squeezed Lucy's hand, "I want to adopt him."

"Yes." I said, awed. "Yes, I want that for you, my friend."

Lucy was crying. Aspen kissed her cheek and thumbed away her tears, smiling grandly. It reminded me of the joy I knew the first time I held each of my children. I supposed, in a way, it was that same moment for Aspen—the moment he could become a father.

"I know it's a process. Adoption, that is. I understand that normally the process might take months or longer. I am not one to ask for special favors, but Maxon, do you think as the King that you might—"

"Oh no," I said, before I realized my mistake.

Aspen's grin slipped away, looking betrayed. Lucy made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

"No, no, I didn't mean no. I meant yes! Just not me. I'm no longer King. I forgot—I didn't realize. Yes, yes, you can. Eadlyn will be perfectly willing, I'm sure."

"Eadlyn? Eadlyn is the Queen?" Aspen asked with evident surprise.

I gave a proud smile. "Indeed, old friend. I've retired."

"I have missed much," He murmured, giving a soft look to Lucy that spoke of longing.

I felt the sudden need to be elsewhere. "Where has Carrick gone? I can watch over the boy while you two..." Catch up? Reconnect? I wasn't sure what to say, but Lucy smiled at me gratefully as Aspen kissed her hand.

"The little guy was falling asleep standing up. Aspen took him to a room to nap it off." There was already such strong tones of affection in Lucy's voice when she spoke of the boy.

If I had not known it to be true, I would struggle to believe she's not known of his existence until that day. But then, I always believed she would make a loving mother. It was a joyful day indeed, to see that injustice of circumstances remedied. I placed a hand on Aspen's shoulder.

"I am so glad you have returned, Commander."

"I did not know I would find you here."

After leaving Aspen and Lucy to each other, I went out in search of young Carrick after promising the two that I'd make sure he was looked after for a few hours. The most natural guess as to where he'd been placed brought me to the door of Aspen's old room. Behind it, I had found a humming America seated beside Carrick's bed in the glow of a single lamp. Her hands were occupied mending a patch in what must have been the boy's jacket. She looked up as I entered and closed the door quietly behind me.

"A pleasant surprise, I hope," America whisper-spoke. Carrick appeared safe from waking easily if the mild snores he emitted were any indication.

"That depends." I shuffled closer over the carpet. It absorbed sound well.

America stilled her weaving fingers, laying down the needle, and cast a raised eyebrow my way. "Depends on what?"

"Depends on if you're willing to share a chair with the King."

"Hmph. You forget, Maxon, you gave up that crown."

I lifted her, arms under her knees and around her lower back, and took a seat in the room's only chair. She was right, though. I was a former king now, sticking to an advising role to help Eadlyn and Kile and aiding her on particularly complex issues. Much of my work was now ceremonial.

I pressed a hand to America's hip, bringing her closer to my chest. "Did I lose my title of Your Husbandness, as well? I had thought that one might last a bit longer."

"I'll concede it." She kissed my cheek. It was chaste, more soothing than sensuous, but just the closeness of her was satisfying. The memory of almost losing her had loosened its grip on me and the constant fear I had born for three months had weakened, but I doubted it would ever disappear completely. In a way, I was glad. I had no desire for the pain, but I did not wish to forget. Gratefulness was not something that should fade.

When I looked down again, there was a glassiness to her eyes. The limited lighting made me question it, yet I was almost positive. "Are you crying, Ames?

She laughed softly. "Don't be alarmed. I'm just happy. For Aspen and Lucy, I mean. I'm so glad he returned."

She had wept for him often in the months after she awoke and the burden it placed on her heart was evident. We mad mourned together. I had just gotten my wife back, but lost a most trusted friend. We bore the weight of grief together.

I realized then that she was likely unaware of the news I had received. "They want to adopt Carrick."

"Oh!" America gasped, then grinned. "Oh Max, oh that is wonderful. So wonderful."

"Aspen will be the best of fathers, and Lucy will turn him into a momma's boy for sure. Carrick will never feel unloved or unwanted." As I spoke, I looked to my right where the boy slept. The covers were pulled over his shoulders and I wondered if it had been America or Aspen who had tucked him in. He was small with his red hair standing out brightly against the navy bedding.

"They are so adorable at that age," Ames murmured. She reached out a hand, not touching his back turned to us, but running her fingers along the coverlet. "Remember when Ahren and Eadlyn were seven and I was pregnant with Osten, and they came to us with a list of baby names?"

"Oh God." I stifled a laugh on her shoulder. "I remember Ahren advocating fervently for his little brother to be named Blueberry."

"His favorite fruit," She said matter-of-factly, then sighed. "I miss it. Even Osten is already eleven. The twins are married. Maxon, our babies aren't babies anymore." She looked away from Carrick, touching her warm fingers to my face and smoothing over my cheekbone.

"I miss it too," I thought of holding a newborn in my hands, how I could encompass the little one's whole head in my palm. How I felt I would tear down the sea and sky before I allowed my child to be harmed. "But then I remember that with two kids already wed, we are not too far from having sweet grandchildren to hold."

America kissed the spot on my cheek she'd been caressing and nestled down under my chin. "We're going to be the best grandparents, Maxon." She whispered with a sleepy drawl to her words. "It is a competition, and I want to be better than all the others. They'll want to have sleepovers with us because we stay up late and watch movies in the theater. And we can teach them to bake strawberry tarts. They can play tag in the gardens like our kids did, and you and I can join in since we won't have to be in meetings. I'll set up days to visit the stables..."

"And will our children ever take care of these grandbabies or are we sequestering them permanently?" I joked. Her list was expanding faster than I could imagine the scenarios.

"Oh, of course they will care for them. I need some alone time with my dashing husband, after all."

I ruffled around, finding the best fit for my cheek over the crown of her head. "I like this plan very much."

Her fingers splayed over the buttons of my shirt, weaving through the gaps of the fabric. "It's settled then." And then she began to sing. A lullaby, naturally, and I absently wondered if Carrick had ever been sung to sleep.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper I love you

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

Aaaand scene! That's it, that's a wrap. I had considered stretching this final plot point into multiple chapters with some small scenes in-between, but decided it would be better to post this than risk stretching out the story another year with my slow writing schedule. You all have been amazing with leaving reviews and following/favoriting the story. Thank you so much for reading my words. I hope you have enjoyed the story. God bless, my friends.

~SpaceNut