A/N: I really sympathized with Hubb and Cher throughout the series because their love was just so perfect yet so tragic. Hence this one-shot was born, because really, the wolves shouldn't be the only ones who get a happy ending.

This is only my second WR fic, so I'd appreciate any comments you can give me.

Have a safe and fun holiday, everyone! -MeeLee

After the Fall

BEGIN

He had been watching her for a long time, ever since she first walked into the restaurant. He had been sitting at the bar with a bottle of vodka—odd, that he had developed a sudden taste for it. He had never liked vodka; in fact, he'd never been much of a drinker to begin with.

And then she had arrived. Tall, slim, dressed in a neat blouse and a skirt. And for some reason, she struck him as surprisingly familiar: long, straight blonde hair that framed her face like the halo of an angel; deep expressive blue eyes lined with sultry long lashes; thin red lips and just enough makeup on her face to make her stunning in appearance.

He might have dismissed her as just a looker then; some eye candy who walked by you long enough to excite your imagination before—poof!—she's gone and you're stuck there sitting on the barstool, feeling warm in your cheeks and in other places, and then you take a good swig from the half-empty glass of vodka in your hand and it's all done and forgotten.

But not this woman, because the instant she stepped into the restaurant, he could feel something about her, some sort of aura that radiated from her body and wrapped comfortably around him, penetrating his very soul and and blending so perfectly with his being. And the funny thing was, he could remember things. He could close his eyes and feel those long golden locks sliding through his fingers; he could see himself reflected in those blue eyes; he could remember the sensual touch of those lips. But it was also strange, because there was always a certain amount of pain accompanying those memories; a slight hesitation or an aversion of touch that he could not understand. And every time he saw his reflection in her eyes, he was crying. And then her eyes would suddenly close and he would know that it was the end.

She had…died. But that didn't make sense, because why was she now sitting at a small table in the corner of the restaurant, quietly reading a book?

"Hey." He waved to the bartender. "Check, please." He paid quickly and rose, the barstool making an irritating screeching noise as it slid back along the tiled floor. He watched the woman. One second. Five. Ten.

Taking a deep breath, he walked forward and soon found himself standing beside her table. "Um, excuse me."

She looked up, and he saw instantly that he was not the only one—her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and the slight frown that furrowed her brows betrayed the same sort of confused recognition that he was feeling.

"Do I…know you?" she asked, and he nearly jumped. Her voice, too, was strikingly familiar, and all of a sudden a million different conversations flooded his mind.

"I was about to ask you the same question," he said. "May I sit here?"

She nodded, and he took a seat opposite her own. For a moment they only sat there, staring at each other, before finally she broke the quiet. "I…" She paused. "I've dreamt about you…I mean, I know it sounds stupid since we've never met before, but I have." He raised an eyebrow as an indication for her to continue, and so she did. "They're vivid dreams," she said. "There's snow…always a whole bunch of snow, and ice. White all around…and then there's you. You're looking down at me, and you're crying and I don't know why, and I want to ask you but then everything fades to black and I wake up."

He nodded slowly. "I see myself in your eyes," he said. "I'm crying too, and I don't know why either."

She hesitated for a moment. "I'm not sure if this is even relevant," she said, "but every time I dream of you, there are also the—"

"Wolves?" She looked up, startled, and nodded. He sighed, plucking off his hat and scratching his head. "I dream about them too. And this girl…"

"With red eyes." She smiled softly. "She's there too. But I don't know who she is."

They locked eyes for a moment before averting their gazes, and he found himself staring at her hand. So slim, yet calloused with writing and typing, and long, delicate fingers…he could remember…

"It was gold, wasn't it?" he asked suddenly, almost to himself.

He didn't expect an answer, but it came anyway. "With three diamonds," she said.

They looked up, and this time neither turned away. He extended his hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "Hubb Lebowski. Pleased to meet you."

She took it. "Cher Degre."

"Could I maybe buy you a drink?"

They were married in the summer. The chapel's long arching windows curled to the sky, and the sunlight filtering in cast a deep honey-gold glow on all the witnesses. There were candles everywhere, tiny flames dancing merrily to announce the happy event. The ring was gold, set with three diamonds.

And just before the kiss, he turned to her and said—repeated—three simple words.

"You…are beautiful."

She smiled, and they started over.

FINI