This story is a part of the Proboards 2015 holiday gift exchange, written for charleybec, one of the most brilliant, terrifyingly prolific, inspired, inspiring writers I know, who is also incredibly kind and generous with her time. xoxo.

Special thanks to lemacd, who gave this story a look-over with a very encouraging eye.

Happy holidays, everyone!

* Slight A/U: References to the real Von Trapp family's escape by train, with an altered timeline to suit my purposes.

For Somebody Special

Stress, Maria told herself, gritting her teeth as she watched Georg's back disappear behind closed bathroom doors. It was late in the evening, and he had just returned from a meeting with their investor. She was already dressed for bed, sorting through a pile of freshly laundered clothing. Georg had proceeded to casually inform her he would be leaving for Vienna tomorrow, before adding he desperately needed a shower and blowing her a kiss from across the room. As an afterthought. Maria had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle a growl of exasperation and demand that he come right back and at least kiss her properly.

It's the stress. We're all under a lot of stress.

It's just stress that's made Georg distant of late. She knew better than anyone her husband was conflicted and more than a little devastated to leave Austria. And of course, he was under enormous pressure to get their affairs in order and make arrangements for their departure in the new year. It was necessity that had Georg departing for Vienna every few days – although, Maria allowed herself, it did not preclude him from frequently forgetting to tell her until the night before.

It's just stress that's making the children louder and more boisterous this week before Christmas. Maria knew that deep down, every one of the children were frightened. How could they not be, having to say goodbye to their beloved Salzburg in exchange for a long journey and uncertain destination, knowing they might never return? But did Friedrich really have to break that antique lamp after knocking into the stand playing hide-and-go-seek? And couldn't Kurt and Brigitta see she was busy sorting the never-ending pile of mail, and couldn't go outside to help build a snowman? And where was Liesl? Surely she was old enough to be helping with the preparations.

Maria remembered the huge eyes of the children when she told them as much, awed and confused by her sharp tone, and sighed heavily. She shouldn't have snapped at them, the poor darlings. What was the matter with her, these days?

Stress. It was just the stress. She was worn and overworked from cleaning, packing, and trying to maintain some semblance of a normal Christmas for the sake of the children – although she'd never felt less like celebrating. And while she wouldn't admit it to Georg – he was dealing with enough – the very thought of having to soon leave the only place she had ever called home made her want to fling her arms over his nice mahogany desk and have a good cry. America sounded very well on paper, and she knew Georg's resistance to fight for the Third Reich put them all in a dangerous position, but she hated the though of leaving her fields and her trees and her mountains. And could she really leave this place, where she had met and married the man she loved more than life itself, where she had become mother to seven beloved children?

Maria sank into a chair, exhaling sharply with a little 'oh!' She listened to the running water of Georg's shower, and hummed a little under her breath, hoping it would calm her. Instead, it only drew her attention back to the innocuous piece of paper she held in her hands. She glared at the small folded square, the latest of her worries, resenting it. Resenting Georg for having it. Resenting herself for wondering about it.

For it was surely the stress and the nerves making her question it; the incidental telegram she had found in the Captain's breast pocket while going through the laundry.

Dear G.

Astoundingly beautiful. Please meet shortly.

HH.

Maria had the short message memorized, despite having made a valiant effort not to think about it. She sighed. Sister Berthe's voice crept unbidden into her mind. Seek and ye shall find (said usually in a tone of exasperation after the Mistress of Novices stumbled upon Maria doing something she heartily disapproved of). But despite her bitter mood, Maria hadn't been snooping (who else was going to sort the laundry?) She respected Georg's right to privacy. There wasn't much he kept from her, and if it was serious, she knew he would tell her in his own time.

But now that she'd found it, she desperately wanted to know. What was astoundingly beautiful? Or was it a who?

Maria was not a suspicious person by nature, and she had no specific right or reason to suspect Georg of the thing she was thinking, but this telegraph reminded her unpleasantly of another very similar sort of message delivered to the villa several weeks ago. It had been addressed to Georg, but Franz had delivered it to her as Georg had been away in Vienna. Honestly, that man had been spending more time in Vienna these last few months than in his own home.

Dear G.

She is certainly special. You chose well.

HH.

She hadn't thought much of it at the time, and when she handed it to Georg, he had barely spared it a glance. But now Maria couldn't stop thinking about either of them, and it was doing nothing to help her mood. Two suggestive messages? Could that be coincidence?

Don't. Maria told herself sternly. Don't think this way. Georg has never given you reason to doubt him. You're doing him a disservice, even thinking about this.

But didn't you say yourself that he's been distant lately? Maybe this is the one thing he's not planning to tell you. The nasty part of her mind refused to let her give up.

No. It's not him. It's the stress…

But now that she thought back, how did she not catch that there was something off about that message? It was clear as day the telegram had mentioned a woman.

It was too late. Maria's imagination had already taken off, flying through scenes of Georg with a mysterious, seductive someone in the dark recesses of a Viennese ballroom.

Maria shuddered, trying to banish her wild thoughts. In their two years of marriage, she had never doubted him. Doubted them. Ever the gentleman, Georg had always been the first to reassure her he was completely hers. But she never needed his words – it was in the way he looked at her. A look that swept her off her feet the same time it steadied her. A look across the ballroom during those early months of marriage, that gave her the confidence to be Baroness Von Trapp. A look across the dinner table, his glance a hand-hold. His gaze was the first thing she saw each morning, and his look was a promise. And when they made love, he would look at her with half-lidded eyes, and she would know that he was completely hers, as she was his.

But Georg had barely looked at her all this week, and the last time they had made love – why, it must have been over a month ago. Maria thought he had seemed distracted, even then. While he remained ever attentive to her needs, she could tell his mind was elsewhere. Maria knew how difficult a time this was for him - friends and old memories alike had to be temporarily pushed aside for Georg to get his family safely out of the country. But for the first time, she wondered whether perhaps there was something else.

Someone else.

At that unfortunate moment, she remembered the telephone call she had received just the other day. Why she was even surprised, she didn't know. Sister Berthe always used to tell her (usually during her third transgression of the day), with a roll of her eyes, that bad luck came in threes. Maria had answered the phone because she had been the only one home at the time. It had been a woman's demure purr on the line, asking for Georg. When she offered to take a message, the voice had hesitated. "Oh, Baroness! Err… perhaps tell him…if he can come to Vienna at his earliest convenience, for – " Maria had been wondering whether she could find something to write it down, and missed the rest of the message.

Now the conversation came rushing back, and the caller's evasive tone only added to her own uncertainty.

The sound of the bathroom door opening drew Maria's attention back to the present. She turned, and saw her husband emerge with a towel around his waist. In his hands he held a matching towel, which he now used to dry his hair. Maria inhaled sharply, feeling the familiar flutter just below her navel. Even after two years of marriage, the effect he had on her was instantaneous. As much as she loved the handsome and distinguished Georg in a dinner jacket he presented to the world, she would exchange that in a heartbeat for the Georg standing before her, his chiseled body softened by an intimate, careless grace reserved just for her. With his damp hair falling in unruly waves, piercing deep blue eyes and sensual lips moist from the shower, droplets of water highlighting the unbroken, taunt lines of his body, Maria thought he looked very much like the Adonis in Brigitta's mythology books. An Adonis of the sea.

She thought idly that she really couldn't blame the women who looked twice at him (and it seemed to her most did).

"Maria?" Georg's voice cut through her daydream. "You're staring at me."

There were times, Maria knew, when this very situation resulted in them tumbling onto the bed, swept up in the most primal of desires, tangled in a mess of limbs, wet towel, and half discarded pieces of her clothing.

But now Georg looked at her with nothing more than polite curiosity, and his words had the tone Maria associated with idle comments about the weather. And suddenly, she was reminded of those mysterious telegrams from someone who addressed her husband as "dear G".

It was no use, she thought. She was going to have to ask him.

Wordlessly, Maria handed him the telegram. She watched him carefully, but Georg took it without hesitation. There was nothing on his face to suggest he was even remotely concerned.

"I – I found this while going through the laundry, and I was wondering – " Maria paused, casting around helplessly for words that sounded neutral. She didn't want to start a fight, when in all likelihood he would laugh and tell her it was some business associate with a flair for the dramatic. But good Heavens, she was underprepared for this sort of discussion.

"Mm, thanks." Georg set the paper down absentmindedly on the edge of the vanity, before turning to step into the large closet. "You could have thrown it out, darling."

Maria scrutinized him, trying to see if he was making an effort to sound offhanded, but he was turned away from her, slipping on a dressing robe.

"Actually darling (did that sound sarcastic?) – I couldn't help but wonder… Er…" She hesitated again, struggling to keep the tone of interrogation out of her voice.

Georg finally straightened and looked at her, alerted to her distress. "What were you wondering?" He prompted quietly.

Maria looked back at him, defeated. "Georg, what's beautiful?"

"What?" His eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"The telegram. What's beautiful?"

"Oh-h, that." The corner of his lips twitched, but he appeared thoughtful. "It's nothing. Just some business I have to attend to in Vienna."

"Beautiful business?" It slipped out before Maria knew what she was saying, and she clenched her hands to keep them from rushing to cover her mouth.

"What?" Georg asked again, puzzled. He stared at her, trying to figure her out. Maria had been tense lately, but there was a note of accusation in her voice he had never heard from his openhearted wife. "No… if you must know, it's just something I have to pick up."

"Hmm." It's nothing. It's something. Why on earth was Georg being so evasive? Maria had been certain he would give her an easy answer, chide her for worrying, and let her put this out-of-control train of thought aside. Instead, she found herself growing more anxious.

"Maria, what's the matter?" Georg moved toward her.

"But – but the other one. It said someone was special." From his growing expression of concern, she wasn't making sense. Now he was close enough she could smell his musky scent mixed with the sharp fragrance of his aftershave, and it was doing nothing to help her thoughts, except perhaps make her feel a bit lightheaded.

"The other telegram," she explained feebly. "The one I gave you the other day." Maria recited the contents for him, and looked him in the eye. "Who's special, Georg?"

"Oh! Darling, it's not a 'who'," Georg said, beginning to understand, "it's more of a, er…"

"A what?!" Maria exclaimed, baffled by his hesitation. "The telegram specifically said 'she' – do you mean to tell me that's now a figure of speech?"

She could see comprehension dawn across his face in the incredulous widening of his eyes the same moment he exhaled her name. She took a deep breath and mustered the courage to ask, "Is there another woman, Georg?"

"No! Good Heavens, no Maria. There's no other woman." He shook his head and reached for her, but she batted his arms away. She was in no mood to be distracted. "How could you even think that about me?" He sounded hurt and a little bit angry.

Maria's eyebrows shot up her forehead.

He sighed, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, I can see how those messages could be misinterpreted that way. But I can assure you this is a simple misunderstanding."

"A simple misunderstanding?"

"Well, it's certainly not what you're thinking!"

"Well, you're certainly doing a fine job of clearing it up for me!" Maria retorted angrily. Georg was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, and it was making her feel like a child.

"No, I know, I know. It's just, I bought – " he stopped abruptly, looked hunted.

There was a brief moment of silence, before Georg tried to backpedal the same moment Maria gasped out, the contents of both telegrams suddenly clear to her, "did you buy something beautiful for this special woman?"

A low sound of frustration escaped his throat. "No! This is getting out of hand. There is no other woman! As for what I bought, it's not at all related –"

"Is it jewelry?" Maria interrupted. She wasn't sure at this point if she was trying to torture him or herself. "You never buy me jewelry, Georg."

He stared, taken aback by this new line of attack. "No, I don't, you always refuse when I…" He started.

"That doesn't mean you can go about giving diamonds to somebody else!"

Georg gave a bark of furious, helpless laughter. He turned abruptly toward the door, driven to the end of his tether.

"Georg! I am not finished with you – "

"Oh, yes you are – "

They both froze, very much aware the last time they had used those very words was also the last time Georg had tried to walk away.

"Maria, I refuse to talk about this," Georg ground out. "Your accusations are driving me crazy,* not to mention complete and utter nonsense. You're jealous, and –"

"I am not jealous," Maria felt angry tears press at the corner of her eyes and struggled to contain them. "I'm – I'm stressed. While you're off in Vienna doing Heavens knows what – "

"Whatever it is I'm doing, Baroness Pry, I'm doing it for us, for our family, while you've been sitting around all day questioning your husband's faithfulness!"

Maria inhaled sharply. That was unfair, and they both knew it. In the sudden softening of his gaze and the brief drop of his head, she knew his regret was genuine, even if his apology was brusque. "That was out of line. I'm sorry."

Slowly, she shook her head, trying to buy herself time to calm down. "Alright, maybe I am a little suspicious. But you're hiding something. Just like that woman on the telephone."

"There was a woman on the telephone?" Georg repeated, bewildered.

"The woman, that one who wanted you in Vienna as soon as possible –"

Georg groaned, cutting her off. "Maria, you never even told me about that call," Resignation had replaced most of the anger in his voice.

"Oh. Well, perhaps I forgot, but – "

"And I'll have you know that if you had remembered, there wouldn't be a need for all those telegrams. Yes, I know the woman you're talking about – "

"I knew it!" Maria exclaimed in dark triumph.

" – and she's the secretary of the man I'm scheduled to meet tomorrow," Georg continued, refusing to rise to her bait. "His name is Herman, and he's the one who's been sending these telegrams. Because my wife forgot to tell me I had to make the appointment, he's had to personally send a correspondence."

Maria paused, trying to gauge this new information. Her brief fit of temper was passing, as it had all day, and she was beginning to sense she'd made herself quite ridiculous. She glanced at her reflection in the vanity – hair askew, eyes wide, her cheeks stained with a hectic flush. Like a crazy person, Maria chided, feeling increasingly wretched at her loss of control and how it had led to a fight with Georg. His explanation sounded plausible, but more then that, deep down Maria knew he would never do the thing she was accusing him of. Georg took advantage of her silence and approached her cautiously.

"Maria…" She could see him come up behind her in the mirror, and looked down, embarrassed and miserable. Gingerly, he placed both hands on her shoulders, and when she didn't move away, began rubbing them in small circles through the thin cotton of her robe. Maria could hear his controlled, even breathing, and feel the comforting warmth and presence of his body next to hers. Before she knew it, the tension she had been holding onto for weeks began to dissipate.

She let Georg draw her against his chest, her body relaxing into his. She allowed her eyes to close, and he held her gently for a long time. Then, his fingers trailed lightly from her shoulders down her arms, until he found her hands. "Let's not talk about this again, hm?" His thumbs caressed the soft fluttering pulse at her wrists, his voice low and warm against her ears. "It's always been you. Only you."

"Georg – " She tried to turn in his arms, her cheek brushing against him, meeting the slight roughness of a five o'clock shadow. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me, lately…"

He guided her to the bed and made her sit facing away from him. His hands deftly undid the belt of her dressing gown, so he could slide the robe from her shoulders. Tenderly, he massaged the tense muscles along the base of her neck. "You're tired my love," he murmured, "and you've been working too hard."

He moved to the spot between her shoulder blades, sliding his fingers under her camisole, and she exhaled at the sensation of his hands against her skin. "It's because of you the children are even remotely okay with the thought of leaving… You've been a rock for them, through all this… for us…" His hands slide down her spine to work on her lower back, and she gave a small sigh of appreciation. He pressed light trailing kisses against her neck, lingering against the soft spot behind her ear, and she shivered. "It's I who should apologize for not being here enough."

"No Georg, you've done so much," Maria whispered, her voice a little shaky from his skillful ministrations. "It's just, you've been so distant lately, and I thought maybe, with everything changing… you stopped caring as much – "

"Stopped caring?" He growled against her ear. "There is nothing, nothing in the world that could ever change how I feel about you. Do you understand?"

His voice was passionate, almost violent, but his touch was slow and languid. His fingers brushed the sides of her hips as he brought his hands around her waist to rest on her thighs, and her breath escaped in a hiss. She arched against him, craving his touch, feeling the familiar ache of desire spreading through her core.

"I know I've been distant," he whispered. She could feel his heart thrumming in a racing tempo that matched her own. "My mind's been a jumble of train schedules, hotels, investment holdings…" His fingers slid against the fabric of her robe, searching out the part in the material. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he finally found the warmth of her bare skin. "And I've been worried – not only about Austria, but about us. About our future. What we'll need. Not being able to give you what you deserve – "

His voice trembled. Her body pulsed with need for him – she couldn't find the words to object. She could only shake her head.

" – not being able to provide for you and the children –"

She twisted to kiss him, to taste him, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair. Just before their lips met, she heard him murmur, " – and our children to come."

She moaned against his mouth. His lips parted as he deepened the kiss, sliding his hands under her robe and across her lower back. Involuntarily, she pressed her hips against him.

"Each other," she managed when they broke for air, her words slurring together. "We need each other."

His answer was not in words. It was in the pressure of his body against hers as they sank onto the bed, the low groan that escaped him as he rained desperate kisses between her breasts, the jerk of his head as he pulled back to look at her in the moment he made them one. It was a look that said he desired her, wanted her, needed her, with everything he had.

And then he buried his head against her shoulder, letting the urgent rhythm overtake them both, culminating in a single moment of ecstasy that began with a shudder from him and ended with a cry from her.

Afterward, as they relaxed together in bed, he whispered, "feeling better, Maria?"

"No stress at all," she confirmed.

His eyes twinkled. "Do I still need to buy jewelry?"

"Georg!" She swatted him lightly on the arm as he chuckled, "you're never going to let me live this down, are you?" In answer to the devilish shake of his head, she added earnestly, "I promise, I'm never going to be so ridiculous again."

He drew her in for a last kiss goodnight. "I love you, Maria."

Maria smiled as she curled into him. "I know, Georg. I love you."

The next day Georg left for Vienna before dawn. Maria was still half-asleep as he kissed her good morning and promised to be home in the evening.

She spent the day enjoying the winter wonderland with the children, who were plainly happy to see her good mood restored. They built snow forts, and made snow angels and snowmen. They had hot cocoa, and, struck by the delectable smell wafting through the house, snuck some freshly made gingerbread cookies from under Frau Schmidt's very nose. They fought over which team would get Maria for ice-hockey, and, with Liesl refereeing, she marshaled her team to a spectacular loss. As they trooped inside for supper, Maria thought happily that she couldn't remember the last time her meal tasted so flavorful.

After supper, Maria was leading the children into the sitting room when she overheard them discussing how best to roast marshmallows in the fireplace.

"…. Long twigs," Kurt was saying.

"… And set them all on fire?" Friedrich scoffed. "We'd better use something else…"

"How about the poker stick?" Louisa suggested.

Maria turned quickly, an unwelcome image of the sitting room going up in flames flashing through her mind. "Now children, do you really think that's a good – "

"That's an absolutely dreadful idea, actually." She heard his mock serious voice even as she walked headlong into him. Georg's arm slipped around her waist as she tried to whirl around. She had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the twinkle in his eye, his cheeks flushed with cold – and were those snowflakes on his eyelashes? – before he bent her back and kissed her thoroughly. The next moment they were surrounded by whooping and the excited arms of seven children.

Georg laughed, letting her go to hug them all, a light dusting of snow still covering his coat. Maria noticed Franz's retreating back on the stairs, and supposed Georg had just come in from supervising the unloading of his car. Finally, he straightened and looked severely at his children. "No, you may not roast marshmallows in the fireplace."

"Awww, father…"

"But Frau Schmidt bought us a great big bag…"

He looked over at her, and Maria caught the playful sparkle in his eyes. "However, you may go outside to roast them." He raised his voice over the shouts of glee from the children. "You might even find some branches to build a bonfire. And Marta," he caught his second youngest by the shoulder as they all scrambled past him to fetch their outdoor clothes, and winked when she looked up. "Do keep an eye on things, hmm?"

Maria watched indulgently as the children raced into the foyer, then turned to her husband with raised eyebrows. "Really Georg? Right before bed? I believe somebody once said that bedtime was to be strictly observed."

Georg shrugged, unabashed. "I need them to occupy themselves for awhile, while I borrow their mother." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and dropped his voice, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to her ear. "Come upstairs with me, love. I have something for you."

Maria's heart thumped at his tone as she let him lead her upstairs to their room. She was about to reply with a coy response of her own, when she stopped short at the sight of a large package on the bed, wrapped in heavy brown paper. She looked at him quizzically. "Georg, I thought we discussed no gifts this Christmas."

"It's not for Christmas, darling," he said, leaning against the doorframe as Maria approached the oddly shaped parcel. "It's a… keepsake, of sorts."

Still puzzled, she found the corners of the packaging and slid her fingers under the edges, carefully prying apart the layers of paper. She inhaled the clean, sharp scent of bound leather as the wrapping fell apart around an instrument case.

"Oh Georg," she breathed.

With trembling fingers, Maria opened the case to reveal a guitar. Nestled in its plush velvet lining, it was the most stunning instrument she had ever seen. The rich, luminescent, polished wood of the body shone softly in the lamplight, contrasting with the dark rosewood of the neck. Monogramed against the dark velvet were the initials, 'HH'.

"A Herman Hauser?" Her voice emerged a little strangled. She ran a finger along the smooth wood, riveted. Maria had never seen one, but she had certainly heard of the world's most famous guitar maker. It was said the sound of a Hauser guitar was the finest in the world. Almost tentatively, she struck a chord, and the sound was rich and full and cascading. She closed her eyes in sheer pleasure.

"Made especially for you." Georg had come up behind her. "Do you remember those spruce trees that were cut at the end of summer? You were devastated." Maria nodded silently. After selling that portion of their land, the new owners had requested that particular grove of trees be cut for farming. "I took the wood to Herman, and worked with him to design this guitar."

Her eyes widened, and she stared at the instrument with renewed wonder. "You didn't! Our trees?"

"I certainly did. Of course, Herman did most of the work – I was more the very wayward understudy. My involvement is why this took so long." He explained with a rueful smile. He captured his hands, turning her to face him. "I know how much you're going to miss your trees and your streams and your mountains. It's always been your home, a part of you. I can't move mountains for you, darling, and it was the least I can do so you might always carry a small part of it, wherever we go."

"Oh Georg…" Maria whispered, feeling the light prickle of tears against her eyes. Gently, he cupped her face, brushing over the wetness on her cheeks with a thumb.

"Shh," he murmured, drawing her against him. "I know you've been reluctant to tell me how much you hate having to leave our home. And I also know it's because you didn't want to make it harder for me."

Maria sighed. Was there anything about her he didn't understand? She nuzzled against his shoulder, pressing her lips to his neck, not in a kiss, but in a desperate pressure to have him understand she had no words to describe what this meant to her. What he meant to her. In response, Georg tightened his hold, and they stood there for a long moment.

Eventually, both turned their gazes toward the guitar. "It's beautiful," Maria murmured finally.

"Yes, even Herman says this might be his finest work. He was very proud of it – hence those particular choice words he used in those telegrams, which I must remember to tell him almost got me into a lot of trouble." Georg's eyes twinkled.

Maria breathed incredulously, suddenly understanding. "This! It was this – this is why you were so evasive last night."

He nodded, chuckling. "I must admit, I wasn't sure yesterday I could keep it a secret much longer."

Maria looked down, turning a deep shade of scarlet. Despite their plight, Georg still found the effort to show her how much he loved and cherished her, while she had returned the sentiment with suspicion and anger.

"Maria, no." Georg saw her downcast look and correctly guessed its source. He made her look at him. "I could say that I've given you every reason to doubt my behavior lately. But I won't. I rather have other things on my mind." He traced her lower lip with a thumb, and replaced his touch with a lingering kiss when he reached the corner to show her just what he meant. "We'll just blame Herman's indiscretion in calling the instrument a 'she'."

Maria giggled, and wondered out loud, "is that common? To refer to it as 'she'?"

Georg chuckled again and this time, leaned to nibble lightly at her neck. "Maria, did you know that the design of the guitar was inspired by the female figure?" His voice was a low rumble in his chest.

She shook her head, her breath suddenly uneven, acutely aware of all the places they touched. "Mm-hmm… starting with the waist…" His fingers caressed her hipbones, "the ribs…" his hands moved in time with his voice to the sensitive spot along her sides, and she shivered, "the curves…" he skimmed the sides of her breasts, and she let out a small hum.

As he eased her gently onto the bed, he reached out to push the guitar out of their way. His fingers brushed against a string – the single note resonated clear and melancholic, causing them both to pause. She could feel the low vibration to her core.

"To remind you of home," he whispered.

He met her eyes, and in their depth she saw a degree of love that warmed her, and filled her with a fierce certainly in their future, wherever it may lead. "No, my love," she murmured against his lips, "home can be anywhere, as long as we're together." **

A/N: In case it wasn't clear (sorry charleybec!) - the story was intended to address her partiality for: M/G fight, and make up. ;)

A nod to two of charleybec's incredible stories (if you haven't yet read her work, I highly encourage you to head on over STAT):

* She Drives Me Crazy

** As Long As We're Together

All thoughts and feedback welcome!