"No." Michael Oversteegen's voice was firm and unyielding, the voice of command. "No, Abby. I can't - I can't. 'My lord and husband'? 'T' love, honor, and obey?' This is supposed t' be a partnership, darlin', not…"

The young woman in his arms wasn't flustered. "Michael," Abigail Hearns said gently, pulling away a little to look into his eyes, "you're waiting to sleep with me until we're married, aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" Abigail had to stifle her amusement at the indignation in his tone. "It's a fundamental part of your religion, darlin', of course I -"

"And so is this," she insisted, taking his face in her hands. "This is no different to me, Michael. We Graysons live our whole lives in surrender - to the Sword, to the Tester, to our own planet! For me it was my father, then my Navy - now it's you. This is a part of me, my love. I know that you may well never use the authority I surrender to you. But that's not the point! The point is that it's there. Because the truth is," she said seriously, holding the eye contact, "you are my lord and husband. Or you will be. Let me be yours, Michael. Please. I've been waiting for so long."

"Abby," he whispered, wonderingly. "Abby, I - you - Abby." And he kissed her, drawing her snugly against him as she melted into his arms and into his mouth on hers. She clung, so in love, and let herself curl into the warm wonderful strength of his embrace.

He sighed when she pulled away, but not in sadness. Never that. She curled into his lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her eyes closed in peace, and he smiled a little dreamily as he stroked the waterfall of her unbound hair, the silky brown strands twining around his fingers as a lover might. Like she will, soon enough, he thought, and crushed the thought almost before he could finish thinking it. Whatever regrets he didn't have about waiting, there was no denying how much he wanted her. Especially, he thought, in moments like these. God, she's still so young!

But young or not, Abigail Hearns was nobody's fool, and Michael hadn't tried to resist when he realised he was falling head over heels in love with Grayson's first native female officer. It wasn't as though resisting would have helped matters; by the time sheer terror had closed his throat as he realised a young midshipwoman was stranded on Refuge, it had been far too late. Not that'd he'd woken up to the fact until years later, which was probably a blessing, all things considered.

No, his falling in love with Miss Owens wasn't the strange thing. The strange thing was that Miss Owens, against all reason, had also fallen in love with him.

He'd been absolutely stunned when he realised what she, in her Grayson way, was trying to tell him. But the smile of relief on her face when he stammered out the simple truth of his feelings - "I'm very much afraid, Miss Owens, that I seem t' have fallen quite madly in love with you" - had let him take her hand and give his heart, and that, as they say, had been that.

And whatever madness led us here, thought Michael, as Abby's breathing deepened and slowed, I intend to stay in it - for as long as we both shall live.

"You should stop thinking," Abby murmured sleepily, without so much as fluttering her eyes open.

"You really want me t' stop thinkin' about how much I love you?" Amusement colored his voice, and Abby laughed soundlessly against his chest, only the shaking of her shoulders betraying her.

"No, I want you to stop worrying, Michael. We're going to be just fine. Trust me." As sleepy as she was, her Grayson accent was even thicker, and Michael couldn't stop the shivers down his spine as her voice caressed his ears.

"Where did I ever get the idea that I might possibly be in charge in this relationship?" he asked whimsically, and then Abby did laugh outright.

"Not from me, that's for sure," she said, and he was slammed with such a rush of sheer, stark affection for her that his arms tightened convulsively around her and he kissed her hair with a fervency that should have startled him.

Should have, but didn't. Oh, Abby had surrendered to him, alright - Honor Harrington's protege in his arms was proof enough of that - but this particular surrender was most certainly mutual.

And that, thought Michael with a contented smile as the breath came out of him in a gust and Abby snuggled closer against him, suits us both right down to the ground.

She was nearly asleep as he stroked her hair, studying the curves of her face and the long lashes fanned out on her cheekbones, and he was struck, suddenly, by how right it felt to have her here in his arms. Wonderful, yes, but it was something more than that - as if, in fact, seeing her in this intensely private moment had given him a glimpse of the future.

Suddenly, it was a future he very much wished he could have begun yesterday.

She arched like a Terran cat as she shook the mists from her eyes, and before he even knew what he was saying, Michael had taken her face in his hands and blurted, "Stay."

Just that one word - but it was enough to have his eyes flying open in horror. Not that he was asking the woman he loved to stay with him - Manticore might be far more stodgy than Beowulf, but it was hardly Sphinx - but that he was asking a Grayson girl to do so, and a Steadholder's daughter, no less. Whatever his own religion might have been (Second Reformation Catholic, thank you), the Church of Humanity Unchained frowned quite severely on any suggestion of impropriety before marriage, and he loved Abigail Hearns far too much to go against the faith that remained an intrinsic part of her.

But before he could so much as open his mouth to apologize, she had risen from his lap, taken one of his hands in hers, and kissed his knuckles gently, and whatever he might have said flowed away like water as he stared at her in mingled confusion and breathless adoration.

"Okay," she agreed softly, and he stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Abby. I didn't mean t' -"

"Yes, you did," she said gently. "Your mind may not have, Michael, but your heart did. And how can I blame you for that, when I want it just as much as you do?" She laughed softly, taking both of his hands in hers now. "Yes, I'm a daughter of Grayson, and no, I'd never truly violate the articles of my faith. We both know that. But the line we're crossing here isn't a spiritual one - it's a purely human one, and it's one I don't particularly care about any longer. We're going to be married, and I may be a Grayson, but I'm also a naval officer. One who knows that time with her husband is going to be shorter and less frequent than we'd both like even after we're married in truth. And don't you think for a minute, Michael Oversteegen, that I don't want to spend the night - as many nights as we can manage - in your arms just as badly as you want me there."

"Abby," he said, and bowed his head to press his forehead to her hands. When he looked up at her again she was smiling, and something deep inside him gave way to the sunshine of her smile. "Abby, my love, are you sure?"

"I am. If you promise me one thing."

"Anythin'. Anythin', Abby."

She took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. "Promise me you won't start something we can't finish. Because if you start it - I won't have the willpower to stop. Can you promise me that, Michael? Because Tester knows I want to stay - but I want you too much to say no if you ask."

He was staring at her as though he'd never seen her before, and the reverence on his face took her breath away. "Darlin'," he said, quite seriously, "I could hold you and that alone for the next thousand years if you asked. Don't think I don't want you, because I do, more than I can say. But some things are worth waitin' for, and darlin', makin' love with you is most certainly one of them."

Then he took her hands and kissed them, her fingers and her palms, and she went to her knees in front of him and laid her temple against the inside of his knee, and before he could think again he was pushing a worn threadbare tee-shirt into her hands and nudging her gently toward the small bathroom. "Go," he said gently, "and if that's not big enough t' be a nightgown on you, I'll eat my hat and find you somethin' else."

"I love you," she said, quite unnecessarily, and he smiled.

"I know you do, darlin', and I thank God every day for it. And for what it's worth, I love you, too."

When she came out again, his shirt draping to her knees and half-falling off one shoulder, he was curled on the bed, already in loose shorts and - prudently, she thought - a shirt which bore a remarkable similarity to her own. When he looked up and saw her his eyes darkened briefly, and her cheeks flushed in response, but he only smiled and held out a hand.

She took it, curling beside him, looking curiously over his shoulder. "What's that?"

"Oh," he said, his eyes going back to the pad, though he kept her hand in his, "just a basic update from this mornin'. Apparently, Admiral Hemphill and Admiral Foraker have been havin' quite the time of it. Now that they've had a year or two t' play with our latest R&D, plus whatever Foraker's cooked up at Bolthole, apparently it's really startin' t' pay off. No details yet, but Sonja's doin' nothin' short of rubbin' her hands together in glee, and Shannon seems t' be more than a bit amused by the whole thing." Admiringly, he shook his head. "Before this whole mess started, I wasn't much a fan of the jeune ecole, but I have t' admit, Sonja really has done wonders."

"And from what Admiral Foraker managed to do before we got things straightened out," observed Abigail quietly, "I think we should be a bit thankful she's on our side now. Or rather, that we're both on the same side." Wonderingly, she shook her head. "I can tell you, I never saw that coming. Two years later and it still doesn't feel quite real. And yet - if we have to fight, if people have to die, then I can't help but thank the Tester that we're fighting someone who deserves to be beaten. The People's Republic might have, but the Republic certainly doesn't."

"There now," murmured Michael, gazing at her with admiration and no little wonder as he reached around to gently rub her shoulders, "think of all the lovely toys Sonja and Shannon'll scare up for us t' use. We can't bring back the dead, darlin', but we can make sure that those really responsible for killin' them go down and go down hard. And who knows? Maybe, if the girls are good enough, we'll hardly do any dyin' at all."

She settled back against his chest with a sigh, tilting her head back to rest on his shoulder, and hummed quietly in agreement. "I hope so," she told him softly. "I can't say I relish the idea of any more battles, but some wars need to be fought, and I know I'd rather fight this one at the Republic's side than against it."

"From what I've heard," he answered her just as quietly, "the Republic feels the same way, darlin'. And I can't deny that I'm just as glad of it." Gently, he kissed her cheek. "Abby, darlin', are you all right?"

There was no mistaking his meaning, and she turned fully so he could see her genuine smile before she leaned in to kiss him. There was no heat in the contact, but there was warmth, and more importantly a glowing sense of unity that left his wits just slightly scrambled. "I'm just fine," she assured him, and her eyes were absolutely certain. "There are rules, and rules, and the Tester knows the truth. Believe me, that's more than enough."

"In that case," he said, and something in his tone sent delightful shivers down her back, "why don't we go t' bed?"

Almost as if on cue, the lights clicked off.

As she settled down into the circle of his arms, the warmth of his breath ghosting through her hair, Abigail had to blink the mist from her eyes. Something in the way he held her said forever, and this night, more than anything that had come before, made their impending union seem absolutely real in a way nothing else ever had. She felt, almost to her own surprise, that she could fall asleep like this every night for the rest of her life.

She wouldn't, she knew. That was the reality of a serving naval officer, and exponentially more so when the officer in question was married to an officer in an entirely different navy, however close those navies might be. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to care. Here, tonight, with Michael Oversteegen's arms around her - his hands, she thought with a slight mental sob, scrupulously avoiding the most intimate parts of her even as he held her like he'd never let her go - she felt the full truth of loving this man come down on her in full force. There wouldn't be enough nights like this, not for years, if not decades, to come. But they would have nights like this, however infrequent, and that was worth all the nights they'd spend alone, if they had this to come back to.

'Loving someone is one thing,' her mother had told her years ago, 'but wanting to share your life with that someone is quite another. Make sure you're certain of both, Abby, before you say yes, because there is no going back. Not when we marry.'

Drowsily, half blindly, Michael found her temple in the dark and kissed it, then settled back to sleep. "Love you, darlin'," he murmured, and his voice faded out.

I'm sure, she told that long-ago voice now. Tester believe me, I am absolutely sure.