She kept seeing a briefcase. It was a handsome briefcase, but a briefcase nonetheless; she saw its faintly transparent outline where the light changed between buildings, in the crack between a door and the frame, in the shadows under tables and chairs.

And you have not been sleeping, she told herself sternly, flipping the rag over and scrubbing at the countertop. Her elbow sawed back and forth in the air and under the loose collar of her dress, the ring bounced against her breastbone.

"What can I get for you, sir?" she asked a man wearing a grey felt hat, his collar flipped up against the spring chill in the air, his fingers stubby as they grasped a traveling salesman's briefcase. She took his order and her throat felt thick, even as she turned smartly on her heel and scooped up the coffeepot. The radio sounded dreamy in the corner, the honey-sweet croon of a man who had lost his love.

It was all Mrs. Nickerson's fault. The last image she had seen at that house, during her most recent visit, was the quilt in the window, the large, single blue star. The quilt, all the other quilts on that tree-lined street, they all blurred, and all she felt now was the slightly shocked realization, like a suddenly sensitive tooth. Blue and gold stars everywhere. Their novelty worn off, they were practically invisible to her now. And then, Edith had told her, her tired and somehow frenetic gaze touching each spotless corner of the room, one by one and over again, then the long black car would come down the street and a man would give her the news, and when he had come to Mrs. Jacobs's, he had been carrying a small tan briefcase, so smart that she had mistaken him for something else, anything other than what he was. Death at her door. It had come to her in a terrible dream.

But the tired, pink-rimmed eyes of her customer gave away no world weariness any different from her own, and Nancy poured him his coffee with a nod and the pretense of a smile as he returned to his newspaper. The broad sheets crackled under his palms as he smoothed them out, blanketing the whole surface of the table; even columns in black on grey-white. She automatically sought the list of the dead, shivering a little when she turned away.

Briefcases. Edith had her worried for nothing.

On the other side of the plate glass there was a strange fog, come rising from the pavement, damping the sounds of the night, and the honey-sweet singer's voice faltered in the static for a few seconds before the orchestra rose to play him away. Hamburger sandwiches cut neatly in half on white bread waited for Nancy on the split counter, and through the narrow window she could see the greasy smears on the cook's apron, smoke swirling and eddying from his lit cigarette, rising through the sublimated grease, the hiss and crackle of browning meat.

There will be a time when all this is over.

Mrs. Cauley and her little boy John sat quietly at their table, straining a little to hear the radio over the quiet, the hushed silence from without. Johnny was kicking at the rungs of his chair, but the smile he turned on her was brilliant in its sincerity. A night out, a true night out, even if it was the same diner they went to every month.

"Johnny!" Mrs. Cauley swiped at his face with a napkin, and Nancy hid her smile as he squirmed. "What would your father think of you?"

But Johnny's father was a blue star in a window, Nancy thought, remembering her own mother and how she was just a cipher now too, just a terse entry on a family tree that culminated with her name and the finality of the dash behind the year of her birth.

She glanced out at the fog, blaming it for her morose thoughts, before turning to Johnny and, leaning in conspiratorially, whispering, "You know, I think the cook has one of his outlandishly unspeakably wonderful blueberry pies in the kitchen. Do you think your mom would like a slice?"

Johnny nodded eagerly, his eyes wide, biting his lower lip a little and glancing over at his mother, who had a tired version of the same. Tired. There will be a time, Nancy thought again, glancing over her shoulder as the bell over the door rang again, announcing another customer, but for now all the happiness in the world could come with just a slice of perfect pie, topped with a dollop of whipped sweet cream.

She brought the coffeepot and an empty cup and saucer peremptorily, once Johnny was tucking gleefully into the pie and his mother was taking her own slow, obviously reluctantly considered bite. The salesman drummed his fingers next to his nearly empty cup and she swooped down on it, filling it deftly while she sized up the new customer. A pair of crutches were propped next to him, against the wall, but that wasn't so unusual anymore, and his pants leg was faded from battlefield washing and the elements.

She put the cup and saucer down next to his elbow and poised the coffeepot just so over it, as he glanced up. "What wo—"

The words died on her lips, and her fingers started shaking, when Ned's eyes met hers. They widened, brilliantly, and it wasn't so much surprise on his face, he had to know from her descriptions in her letters that this was where she worked, but maybe his surprise at finding her here, maybe his surprise at how much she had changed, at how she didn't look anything like herself anymore.

"Ned," she gasped out, loud and ugly and shocked as a bleat from her, private as a sob. The coffeepot slipped from her weakening grasp and fell onto the coffee cup and saucer, smashing that neatly into shards, before cracking on the edge of the counter and exploding with a tremendous crash at Nancy's feet. She knew there was mildly hot coffee bathing her from knee to ankle. She couldn't stop staring at him.

And then he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, burying his face against her belly, and she slid her fingers into his hair and cried, because from the day she had stopped hearing from him, from the day his letters had stopped again, she had been waiting every single hour, with every single car that passed and every telephone ring, for the news that he had been lost.

"Nancy?"

They were all staring at her. The man in the grey felt hat, Mrs. Cauley and Johnny, and Barry, his thick glasses fogged from the grill, stubby fingers absently running over the barrel-curve of his rounded belly and yellowed apron, had come out of the kitchen to see what was wrong, to see why she had suddenly lost her mind.

"He's come home," she said, smiling, the tears making her eyelashes sharp and stubborn.

She was still on shift for another hour, really, even though she took her apron off and sat down at the table in the back corner with Ned, and Barry put the other pot of coffee on the counter so that the salesman could get his refills as he slowly made his way through the newspaper, reading every story, every caption, every advertisement.

"I can't believe you're here," she said quietly, squeezing the crumpled apron in her fist, her legs still streaked brown from the coffee. She couldn't take her eyes off him long enough to go back to the washroom.

"I can't believe you're here," he returned, searching her face again, searching her eyes. Everything they said was gentle, cautious. The person she had been while writing her letters seemed like someone else entirely, a much bolder, much more careless girl. Their hands were touching, between them on the table, and his thumb kept stroking her index finger, over and over, just barely.

"Are you out? Free?"

He glanced down at his leg before answering. "Yes. I'm free."

"You—"

She glanced down at his leg and met his eyes again, and when he saw the fear there his face softened. "Oh, no. No, the shrapnel's out, I just have to keep my weight off it for a few more weeks and then I'll be good as new."

She almost laughed out loud with relief, even as guilty as she felt. So many men had come home irreparably damaged, or not at all, and she had sworn that if he came back, as long as he still had eyes to stare into and a mouth to kiss, as long as he still knew her, that was all she wanted. Even crutches were enough to make her feel like a hypocrite.

"Shrapnel?"

He shrugged. "I got off lucky," he said gruffly.

She squeezed his hand. "I did too," she said.

He glanced around. "I never really saw you as a waitress," he admitted. "It was hard to imagine. When I was..." he waved his hand, vaguely, "I had such strange dreams, and this just feels like another one, seeing you like this..."

"I think I know what you mean," she said, her eyes sparkling, and he laughed for the first time, and the sound warmed her all the way up her spine, into that cold grainy place where she had been seeing briefcases and gold stars, black veils and fresh earth.

"Have you been home yet?"

He shook his head. "Walked from the train station," he said. "Everything looks so far away in the fog, and I wanted you with me."

"You're lucky I had plans this weekend and I can drive you. Otherwise I wouldn't have had any gas saved."

He nodded and she saw that look again. Plans for the weekend. Plans that, of course, were not meant to involve him. She had already chosen a yellow and white gown Hannah had recycled from one of her older dresses, and she had fully planned to remember the songs she danced to, so that in her next letter to oblivion she could tell him how it was.

"Did you want to go now?"

Johnny and his mother had long since finished their pie, but she could see the look of wistful longing on the older woman's face even from across the room. She was seeing Ned and thinking of her own husband. The sharp, fluttering tones of a female singer sounded unhushed from the kitchen, all the hamburger sandwiches made, all the bacon fried and ham browned. Barry would be on the back steps, watching the smoke from the tip of his cigarette drift lazily over his head, the fog creeping into his clothes.

Ned shook his head. "I just want to look at you," he murmured. "I want to sleep for four days and when I wake up I want to see you, really you, not some picture I've worn out from looking at it so many times. I could draw that smile with my eyes closed, I know it so well," he said, and touched her cheek when she replied with a smile of her own.

"I..."

He silenced her with the brush of his thumb over her lips, and she watched, still and quiet, as he pushed his chair back, as he with some difficulty and visible pain got to his feet unaided, then dropped to his knees, clutching the chair on either side of her skirt. He gazed up at her and her heart was pounding.

"I love you," he said, and she couldn't stop herself. She started crying again, silently, shaking with quiet sobs. "I've loved you since the day we met and no one else, no one, is as important as you are, as this, is to me. I love you, Nancy Drew."

Dimly she could hear Mrs. Cauley clapping from across the room as she knelt down, touching her forehead to his, one of his arms sliding around her. "I love you too," she whispered, brushing the backs of her fingers over the strong line of his jaw, her thumb stroking his temple. "I love you so much and thank God you came back to me, Ned..."

He tilted his head and kissed her once, gently, the press of his lips firm but brief, and the blush climbed up her cheeks as she grabbed him and kissed him soundly, her hand buried in his hair. Somewhere in her rushing ears she thought she heard Johnny wolf-whistle, only to be shushed by his mother.

"My blood pulled you home," she whispered against his mouth, and he nodded, his head moving under her hand. "You came home to me, you brought my home back to me, and don't you dare ever leave me again."

"I won't, I swear I won't," he whispered, sliding his arms around her waist. "I won't ever leave you again."


Nancy had called ahead, because she considered it impolite to do otherwise, but she had only told Edith that she and a friend would be in Mapleton late that afternoon. Edith said that if Nancy didn't have any other plans, she and James would be delighted to have them both over.

Ned held her hand as often as he could during the drive to his parents' house. "I missed you so much," he murmured, and when Nancy turned to look at him, very quickly, she saw such an expression of awe on his face. "Home. I can't believe how different everything looks. And you..."

Just before they had left the diner, Nancy had gone to the washroom and rinsed out her coffee-stained stockings; her legs were cold, but she had left a few sets of clothes at the Nickersons' house, and she would be fully dressed soon. Wearing her diner-waitress outfit in front of him felt so strange, but then the intersection of their lives had been in San Francisco, so distant from what their lives had become after he was drafted. She could well imagine that seeing him on the battlefield would have been as much of a shock.

"I missed you so much," she murmured, and squeezed his hand. "But it's all right. Oh, Ned, I can't believe it..."

"Me either," he replied. "Like waiting for a dawn I wasn't sure I would ever see. It was so dark..."

When they reached his parents' house, although Ned protested, Nancy hefted his duffel onto her own shoulder anyway. "You have your crutches," she told him. "Let me do this. Besides, as soon as your mother sees you, you would have had to drop it anyway."

Edith answered the door dressed as impeccably as ever, her apron and hands spotless. "Nancy," she said warmly, and she had just opened her mouth to speak again when her gaze went to the figure standing behind Nancy, to her son's brown eyes.

Edith's eyes immediately filled with tears. "Oh, Ned," she gasped, and Nancy moved aside so she wouldn't block the older woman's path to her son. Edith flung her arms around him and Ned held her in return, his head bowed. She trembled faintly and Nancy looked away; she ached to hold him that way too and never let him go again.

"Leave? On leave again?" Edith asked once she had partially recovered, gently patting at her tear-streaked cheeks with her handkerchief. She just kept gazing at him like she couldn't believe he was real, and Nancy fully understood that feeling.

Ned shook his head. "No. I'm back for good."

Finally Edith noticed the crutches, and gasped as she gestured for them both to come inside, out of the spring chill. "And you're hurt!"

"I'll be all right," Ned dismissed his injury. "I'm okay."

When Ned's father came home for dinner a short time later, he wasn't surprised to see Nancy there, but Ned had pulled himself to his feet as soon as he heard his father's car pull up. Seeing the expression on Ned's father's face when he caught sight of the son he hadn't seen in three years was enough to bring tears to Nancy's own eyes. They embraced each other, and when Nancy heard Edith sniffle, she looked over at her mother-in-law and exchanged a smile with her.

"Ned. Oh, thank God you're safe, thank God you're home again."

During the meal, Ned was undeniably the center of conversation and all their attention. Edith caught him up with the news about their close family friends, and she declared that they would absolutely have to have a party in his honor. Ned shook his head, clearly dismayed at the idea of being the center of attention; besides, he pointed out to his parents, Nancy's hand joined to his out of sight between their seats, that soon enough they would be inviting those same friends to a wedding. And that, being the center of that celebration, Ned absolutely seemed to prefer.

James smiled at his son. "Nancy told us about your plans, last summer," he said. "We were glad to hear it. We've practically adopted her in your absence."

Nancy nodded solemnly, her blue eyes sparkling. "It will be difficult, not to be the favored child anymore, but I'll manage somehow," she told Ned with a smile.

It felt like Christmas, but that didn't surprise her, not at all. His parents were clearly overjoyed to have their son home again, and his mother especially offered to fetch anything he might want or need. His glass and plate were never empty, not as long as she could help it. Nancy would have waited on him too, but Ned kept his hand in hers and only rarely, reluctantly, released it.

It felt like a dream, one she had been so sad to wake from a hundred times. That he could be home and safe and with them again, that their lives could begin, that he was with her again.

The only day she had ever felt happier was the day she had married him.


Three years. Ned couldn't believe it had been close to three years since he had lived in this house. Everything looked much as he remembered it, but a blue star flag hung in the window. Blue star. He was that hand-stitched blue star.

Ned hadn't truly considered that he and his wife would likely be sleeping apart until their public ceremony. He couldn't bear the thought of letting her go at the end of the night. He wanted her in his arms. He needed her.

Then his mother said that of course it was late and Nancy wouldn't want to drive back into the city at such an hour, that she was of course welcome to stay with them. After a glance at Ned and a faint protest, Nancy accepted with a smile.

Ned's father was the first to retire, but not before giving Ned another hug and telling him again how glad he was to have him home again. Then Nancy went upstairs, but not before telling Ned she would come back down to help him with his crutches and his bag.

Ned's mother turned to him when they were alone, patting his hand and giving him a smile. "She is a lovely girl," she said. "A lovely young woman. I'm so glad she finally realized how she felt about you."

Ned smiled. "I will ask Dad tomorrow, but since you already know... I would like to give her the family ring, instead of that cheap gold band I bought for her in San Francisco. I'll wait until the ceremony..."

His mother nodded. "Of course. But don't devalue that first ring too much, Ned. Nancy showed me the pictures from that day. Maybe it wasn't quite the way you had imagined it, but I saw the happiness on both your faces. When there isn't love, even the most expensive, most elaborate ceremony on earth couldn't buy it."

Ned gave her another swift smile. "I could not love her more than I already do," he murmured. "And now I truly can be her husband. I can be here to love and cherish and support her just the way I always wanted."

His mother patted his shoulder. "I'm so happy for you," she murmured. "So happy for you both. And of course, if it's acceptable to you, the two of you will live here with us until you have your feet under you and can support your family by yourself."

Ned looked ruefully down at his injured legs. "Then I'm sure you'll pray for a speedy recovery."

His mother smiled. "I always do," she said. "But not for that reason. I would cheerfully have you and Nancy stay here with us forever, but I know you'll need your own space."

Ned nodded. "Thank you," he murmured. "I missed both of you so much. All of you."

His mother's eyes were shining again. "Oh, Ned. I still can't believe it's real, that you're here with us again. I woke up just this morning praying that you were safe..."

Ned hugged her. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Nancy came downstairs then, her blue eyes shining as she gazed at him. She wore a black and gold robe and matching slippers, and she looked poised and so very beautiful to him. "Do you need some help?" she asked him softly.

Edith glanced between the two of them. "I think I'll retire for the evening. Nancy, the spare bedroom is ready for you, if you need it."

Nancy nodded her thanks, and Ned found himself wishing vehemently that it wasn't some signal between them. He resolved to have Nancy help him all the way to his bed, and then to hold her and keep her there with him—if she wanted to be, anyway.

Making his way upstairs on his crutches was laborious, and he hated that he didn't have his full strength. Remembering the circumstance—he tried to put it out of his head, to keep his mood from becoming dark, but it was difficult. By the time they reached his room, Ned needed her. He had needed her for so long, and to have her so close to him...

He sat down heavily at the foot of the bed, sighing with frustration. His old room. Walking back into it was like walking back in time, as though it had only been a few days since he had packed his bag and headed off to training—save for the woman who had followed him in. Nancy took his crutches and propped them up so he would be able to reach them easily from the bed, then tucked her golden hair behind her ears. She brought her gaze up to his, and though her lips parted, she didn't speak at first.

Her black robe. It made him think of black velvet and dreams he had never thought would ever be realized.

"Do you need to be alone now?" she murmured.

Ned shook his head, holding out his hand. She came toward him, letting him take her own hand in his. With her other she cupped his cheek, gazing down at him until tears brimmed in her bright blue eyes.

"My husband," she whispered.

"My wife," he murmured, and he took her into his arms, holding her tight. She clung to him too, and kissed the crown of his head. "My beloved. I've missed you so much, Nancy."

"And I've missed you. When I didn't hear from you, I was so afraid you had been lost..." Nancy sniffled. "You promised you'd write. You promised..."

"I know." Ned closed his eyes. "I did promise. I'm so sorry, love."

"I can't believe it's real. I can't believe you're really here."

"Neither can I."

Feeling the warmth of her skin through her robe and pajamas was definitely giving Ned ideas, and it had been close to a year since they had been together. He had felt every single second of it.

Nancy took a step back, and her cheeks were a little flushed. "Let me help you prepare for bed," she suggested.

A part of him disliked needing her help at all, but he wouldn't turn down any opportunity to feel her touch against his skin, and she kept casting shy glances at him. He had been distracted by her and his desire for her for the entirety of their too-short honeymoon, and in all the time after, with her every letter and his every dream about her, that desire had only grown.

But he was reminded again, strongly, that the woman he had married was far different, far better, than the pale shade of her that had come to him in his dreams. Imagining her had been fine when they were apart, but now, he never intended on depending on those fancies again.

"So you slept here," he murmured, moving his legs onto the mattress and under the covers. He pushed himself backward so he was propped up on the cushions. After so much exercise, exertion, and motion, being forced to stay still was an irritation, and while he was tired he was far too keyed up to sleep. Not when he could be looking into her eyes, talking to her.

Nancy nodded, biting her lip for a moment. "Do you need anything else? A glass of water, something to read? More pillows?"

Ned shook his head and held his hand out to her. "I need you," he breathed, his gaze fixed on her face.

She took another step toward the bed. "I don't wish to hurt you," she murmured.

Ned smiled. "So long as you don't stand directly on my shins, I think I will survive," he told her. "Please, love."

He turned on the bedside lamp when she went to turn off the overhead light, then took off her robe and draped it over his desk chair. Her pajamas were quite modest, much like the red and white-striped ones she had worn the night before their wedding day.

She looked down at them, then up at him with an apology in her eyes. "I don't keep any gowns here," she said softly. "I didn't know you would be coming home..."

He shook his head. "You could be dressed in a torn burlap sack and you would still be beautiful underneath," he told her. "As it is, you look like a dream, Nancy."

She smiled, then moved to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the covers. He propped up the pillow beside his and she sat up with him, then turned to gaze at him again.

"You must be tired," he commented, reaching up to brush a stray hair from her forehead. "I remember that from your letters. After being on your feet all day."

She closed her eyes as he cupped her cheek. "Normally I would be," she murmured. "But it—truly, it does feel like Christmas, to have you back at last. Like a hundred Christmases. I can't give up a moment of it easily."

"And yet you were willing to leave me here alone and go elsewhere to sleep?"

She opened her eyes, her expression grieved, but he was giving her a gentle smile. "I would have been awake all night," she murmured. "And after I thought you were asleep I probably would have come in here just to look at you. Afraid that if I took my eyes off you, I would blink and wake up in my room back in my apartment... and weep in unabashed disappointment."

"I couldn't have that," Ned told her. "I hate the thought of you crying."

She gave him a smile, and he could see something in her expression, some struggle there. When he leaned forward, she tipped her head, parting her lips a little, waiting for his kiss.

He made it light and soft, shorter than he wanted. "When I slept here," he murmured, "I dreamed of you. I suppose truly it didn't matter where I slept; I found you waiting for me as soon as I was able to drift away. I wanted you so much that absolutely everything else was infuriating."

She nodded. "As did I," she breathed.

Ned touched her cheek again, stroking his crooked finger down the curve of her jaw, the graceful line of her neck, gazing at her parted lips. "Oh, love," he murmured. "My dearest. So many nights, so many times I thought I would never see you again... and I know you said you would marry me because you thought it might be all the time we would ever have..."

Her blue eyes were shimmering with tears when she took a trembling breath. "You have always done this," she whispered, shaking her head, and a tear streaked down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. "I suppose I only have myself to blame for it. From the moment you drew that knife down my wrist," she said, showing him the faint pale line of her scar, "from the moment you held your bleeding arm to mine and kissed me that first time, Ned, and before that... how I've loved you. I told you: a week or eighty years with you, and all that is in between. I give you all of it, love. You have my devotion. You have my heart. If only I had realized it, before..." She shook her head again.

He couldn't imagine ever tiring of it, he had longed for it so. "Tell me," he whispered.

She moved onto her knees and knelt at his side, gazing into his face, and brought her palms up to cup his face. "Did you really think it could be so fleeting?" she murmured. "I know so much has changed, that I am not the same girl you left behind, that you are not the same man... but it took realizing what I could lose to show me how much I treasured what I had, and how much more it could be. The week we spent together... if you had given me a child, a sign of our love that I could hold and treasure even if I lost you, I would have been pleased—but I wanted to share it with you, too. It was just the first, Ned. It was just the beginning. And now that you're here with me, we can have everything. Can't we?"

Ned took a deep breath, then nodded. "I'll finish at Emerson," he told her. "I don't have much coursework left. And then I'll find a way to support us..."

She smiled at him. "Which you'll do easily," she said. "You're a hero, Ned, and very talented, at everything you've ever tried."

He leaned forward and kissed her. "I wish that were true," he said against her lips. "Nancy... oh, love..."

He reached for her and she let him maneuver her so she was seated on his lap, facing him, straddling his waist. He touched his forehead to hers, his palms against the small of her back, focusing on the warmth of her, the soft movement of her breath. She put her arms around him, up over his shoulders.

"You are," she said softly. "I missed you and every day without you broke my heart all over again, but I was proud of you when you went to training, when you left, for what you did. I loved you for it, and I wished that I'd been able to do some good too..."

Then she moved back and smiled at him, cupping his cheek. "I can tell you now," she said. "I couldn't tell you in my letters."

Ned raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" He could tell from her excitement that it had been a mystery or something similar.

"An agent who works for the government contacted me," she said, his voice soft, conspiratorial. "I've been translating codes. Enemy messages. Oh, Ned, it's been so exciting."

"Was this—after?"

She nodded. "After San Francisco, after we were married. Otherwise I would have told you then."

"I'm surprised it wasn't earlier," he told her, and she smiled again. "I'm sure you're brilliant at it, beloved. No wonder they've been telling us that the war will be over soon."

She shook her head, the color rising in her cheeks a little. "Now you're just teasing me," she said softly.

"Never," Ned protested, shaking his head. "No. I've long thought that you were the most intelligent, most fascinating, most wonderful," he punctuated each phrase with another soft kiss, "girl I've ever known. Woman, now. I'm proud of you... and I'm so glad that you were able to help without putting yourself in danger. Because if you had, I would have been by your side, Nancy. No matter what."

She smiled again. "I was glad to be able to help," she said. "To bring you home faster. When you said it felt like I was your guardian angel, I hoped that maybe I could be, in some small way."

"Oh, you were, love."

She gave him a smaller smile. "I'm just so heartbroken you were hurt again. Is it very painful? Am I hurting you now?"

He shook his head. "You aren't hurting me. It's nice to have you so close... but it did hurt when it happened."

She stroked his cheek. "Do you... you can tell me about it," she murmured. "Although we have no staircase, at least not one where we wouldn't be overheard... oh, I had never felt like that before. Listening to your voice in the dark, and you kissed me so many times..."

His lips turned up in a bittersweet smile as he thought of it. "I had never felt so close to anyone before," he murmured. "I have never felt for anyone, with anyone, what I feel for you."

"And sometimes it's easier in the dark," she whispered. "When it's only your voice, your fingertips, and we might as well be on the moon..."

"But then I couldn't look into your beautiful eyes, love," he murmured, and brushed a soft kiss against her lips. "And as much as I loved our house on the moon, my wife, it was only a dream, and I'd much rather feel the warmth of your skin. I don't want to think about it, not tonight. I don't want to talk about it tonight. I just want to be with you."

She sighed when Ned kissed her again, just as softly, then brought his hands up and unfastened the first button of her pajama top. She didn't protest or move away from him, and he took it slowly; when he had fully unfastened the top and took the collar in his hands to part it and push it down her shoulders, she glanced at the door, then down, but didn't say anything. His bedroom door was unlocked, but he couldn't imagine that his parents would want to look in on him while he was asleep. Especially not his mother, who probably knew that Nancy would be with him.

Nancy brought her chin up. "I'll be right back," she murmured, and gently pushed herself off him, crossing to his bedroom door. She locked it and returned to him, and he watched the soft golden light play over her, catching on the ring hanging on the necklace around her neck.

She reached behind her neck, unfastening the chain, then returned her wedding band to her left ring finger. Ned had put his own on as well.

"It will be so nice," she said softly.

"The day I'm able to put that ring back on your finger, and see it there always," Ned finished the thought. "I... is it all right? Do you wish to wait, until then?"

Nancy shook her head slowly. He could see that she was still self-conscious around him.

He could hardly blame her. They had barely grown fully comfortable around each other before their time together had been over, and now, he had been gone so long...

He had dreamed of this, in this very bed. Dreamed of holding her tight, dreamed of hearing her whisper how she loved him, how she was his. And now she was. It was enough to take his breath away.

"My only one," he whispered against her lips. "I love you so much."

"And I love you," she whispered. "Oh, I have missed this so much..."

Ned couldn't help it; his lips curved up in a smile. "As have I, darling."

The feel of her skin beneath his fingertips was so silky and smooth, and holding her in his arms was so sweet. It had been so long, so long that remembering their week together really had felt like a dream.

After they made love they clung tightly to each other, and Ned dropped a kiss on her smooth shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin as he breathed her name. She shivered, her cheek resting against his own shoulder.

She had been so quiet in the lull after that Ned had thought she had drifted off to sleep, but when he moved to gently stroke his palm over her hair, she made a soft noise and nuzzled against him. "Let it be like this always," she whispered.

"Like what?" he murmured, and she shifted against him, moving back to look into his eyes.

"As I never dreamed it could be," she replied softly, the golden light catching in her eyes, her long tousled curls. "I know how it is to share a bed with you. Now I want to know the rest."

He gave her a smile, but it was brief. "When I look back..." He shook his head. "It feels so distant, now."

Her smile was soft. "We were children then," she said. "I was, at any rate. I prayed every night that I would have the chance to truly be with you... and oh, Ned... I was afraid to let myself want it too much." She leaned forward and kissed him. "To live with you, to build my life with you..."

He kissed her gently in return. "I know," he murmured. "Here. You must be cold."

They dressed again, and then she cuddled up to him as he reclined on the bed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion and relaxation. Just the memory of the scent of her hair had been enough to provoke a visceral longing for her, and now she was in his arms. He craned his neck to drop a kiss on the crown of her head, and she released a soft happy sigh.

"I love you," she whispered.

"And I love you," he murmured. "More than all the stars in the sky, love."


On their wedding day, three weeks later, she wore her mother's wedding dress and a veil Ned's mother gave her. He approached the altar without a limp or any faltering, and when he stood there, in front of their gathered relatives and guests, tall and handsome in his uniform, his dark eyes glowed when he saw her.

She approached him without faltering either. He was already her husband. A hundred butterflies might flutter in her stomach, but it wasn't from nervousness or doubt, just the awareness of everyone around them. They had all come to the church today to see her marry the man she loved.

She carried a small bouquet of roses, and while the veil she wore—maybe she was no longer untouched, but she had remained pure until her first wedding day, so she didn't think God would mind her wearing the veil now—it obscured all around her, casting everything into a soft haze, Ned was in a pool of warm light. Nancy walked carefully on her low heels, feeling the bare skin on her left ring finger, perpetually aware of it.

Her arm was linked through her father's. She and Ned had maintained the illusion of their engagement, and Nancy's father had been pleased when Ned had come to him, had told him that he was utterly devoted to his daughter and wished to marry her as soon as possible. Carson had been happy to grant his blessing. They had set the date, booked the church, and he had come to his daughter, asking if she was sure she wanted to marry so soon; he had offered to ask the Nickersons to slow things down if she wished.

Nancy had been touched by the offer and by his protectiveness. He definitely approved of Ned, and had practically been teasing her about Ned offering Nancy a diamond since they had begun seeing each other socially, but he had told her that if she wanted to move back home for a while and put off her marriage, he definitely wouldn't object.

George had put in her own opinion, too, when she had asked about their plans. Ned would be going to Emerson to finish his coursework, and George had said, a note of hope in her voice, that she and Nancy could continue living together while Ned was in Emersonville.

While Nancy understood, while she was sorry to tell George she couldn't, she still had to turn down the offer. She and Ned would live together in Emersonville while he finished his coursework, and then they would move back to Mapleton and live with his parents while they were settling into their marriage. The morning after Ned had returned to his parents' house, the planned renovations had begun in earnest.

The soft music of the wedding march was distant to her, as distant as everything that wasn't her husband. Ned's gaze was locked to hers, and she couldn't stop smiling.

They had been sorry that the people they loved couldn't be there during their initial vows. Being able to share this with their parents and friends was priceless.

Nancy's father touched her hand before they slowed to a stop before the altar and the minister. When the minister asked who gave her in marriage, her father said gravely that he did, then stepped back.

Then the minister began to speak about how marriage was sacred and holy, how important it was, and their responsibilities to each other. Ned was to love her as Christ loved his church. Nancy listened, trying very hard to appear solemn and grave, but it was hard to keep herself from grinning at Ned. They had reached the day that, in her darkest, weakest moments, she had despaired of ever sharing with him.

Even knowing what she did now, she couldn't regret that they hadn't waited. Her love for him had only grown, and she thought that it would grow with each day that passed. He had said they would be reunited on this side or the other, and how she had loved him in anticipation of that day, in anticipation of this day.

Deciding on her vows to her husband had been both easy and difficult. She had made her vows several times over, in person and in their letters, in her heart and with her voice. They had always been private, though, and shared only with Ned. Today, though, her hands gripped tight in his, she was ready to share it. She wasn't ashamed of what she had with him, by any means. While she was still convinced that what was between them was something only they understood, she didn't want to hide it anymore.

She loved him. She loved him to the depths of her soul and beyond.

When the minister said it was time for Ned to make his vows, instead of saying them for Ned to repeat, he looked at Ned expectantly, and Ned took a deep breath and then looked into Nancy's eyes. He had done the same thing she had. He had written his own vows, too.

For an absurd second Nancy was glad for the veil. She was glad that no one in the audience would be able to see the tears pricking in her eyes when Ned looked into them.

"Nancy, my only love," Ned began, holding her hands. "I have loved you for so long, and when we first met, I dreamed of the day I could call you mine. It has taken me so long to understand that I don't possess you, not on this day, not on any day for the rest of our lives; nor should I want to. You are no item to be won or kept. But you, beloved, have captured my heart. I hold you dear above all others, and I vow to you today what I have longed to promise you for a long time. I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife, to hold and honor, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, to cherish and adore and protect, to keep safe in the shelter of my heart, for as long as we both shall live. I swear that from this day on, my love, I will not willingly part from you; I will share with you all the happiness and joy that our life together can bring, my dearest one. Heart of my heart."

By the time he finished speaking his vows, a pair of tears had streaked down Nancy's cheeks. She sniffled, reaching for her handkerchief; she had the one he had given her those years earlier with her as well, but she had kept it stained with their mingled blood and otherwise untouched.

"Ned," she murmured, once he took her hands again. "My one and only love. You are the only person I could ever imagine as my husband, and I do truly believe that you hold the other half of my heart. I have felt every second of our separation so keenly, and seeing you standing here before me, I am more thankful than I could ever possibly say. I didn't realize until you were gone how incomplete I felt without you, and promising to spend the rest of my life by your side—it is no burden, my love; it brings me only joy. And so I am grateful that I am able to take you as my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, to cherish and obey, for all the days of my life, until death do us part. I give you everything I am, my love, with the knowledge that my most precious possession is your heart—just as you have always had mine. From this day on, I promise to be by your side. I love you so much, Ned Nickerson."

"And I love you," he told her, his dark eyes intent on hers even as she blinked another pair of tears down her cheeks. "I love you more than words could ever say."

The minister asked if they hd the rings, and Ned reached into his pocket. Ned had asked for her wedding band so he could put it back on her finger for their marriage ceremony, and so had Nancy. She had been saving her money and had spoken to a jeweler in River Heights she had helped recover some stolen merchandise a few years earlier, and he had given her an excellent price on a wedding band. He hadn't asked why she had requested an inscription on the inner curve of the band which included a date the previous July, and for that she had been grateful.

While he had kept her wedding band these past few weeks, she had kept his—and, she had to admit, she had liked holding onto it. He had worn it while they were apart, and keeping it on the necklace and against her skin was another small way to feel close to him even when they had to sleep apart. Since she was replacing his band, though, she wondered if he would mind terribly if she kept wearing his old one on the chain around her neck.

"Ned, do you take Nancy to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only to her forevermore?"

"I do," Ned said, his voice grave.

"Nancy, do you take Ned to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and obey him, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?"

"I do," Nancy replied, her heart beating so hard that her voice trembled faintly.

"Ned, please place the ring on Nancy's finger and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."

Ned's hand was faintly damp with sweat, and Nancy gave him a smile, her heart skipping a beat as he took her hand and slipped the band onto her ring finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," he said to her, gazing into her eyes. "Again."

He said the last word so very quietly that he was mouthing it, but it brought another quick smile to her lips, another wave of tears to her eyes.

"Nancy, please place the ring on Ned's finger and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."

Only then did Nancy notice that the band he had put on her finger wasn't the same one he had given her during their wedding ceremony in San Francisco. She swallowed hard, taking his large, warm hand in hers. "With this ring, I thee wed," she murmured, sliding the band onto his ring finger before looking into his eyes. She took a breath. "Again," she whispered.

After a prayer blessing their union, the minister looked between the two of them. "As you have made your vows to each other and exchanged rings in the sight of God and this congregation, as you have pledged your fidelity and commitment to each other, I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined, let no man put asunder. Ned, you may now kiss your bride."

Ned released her hands to find the edges of her veil and draw it up over her head to reveal her face, and she gazed at him with her view unobstructed for the first time in the whole ceremony. He was so handsome that she wondered the sight of him didn't stop her heart, and when he leaned down and planted a gentle, soft kiss against her lips, her lashes fluttered down.

Even though she had never doubted their marriage or felt cheated by the small ceremony, the momentary witnesses, the haste of it—when she saw the smiles of their guests, her father and his parents, her friends and his, she couldn't stop herself from giving them all a less than demure grin.

Three years. For three years she had been falling in love with him, over and over, with every word he had written her, every word she had written him in return, every kiss they had shared and every embrace she had longed to share with him.

"May I present Mr. and Mrs. Ned Nickerson."

As the wedding recessional began to play and the audience stood, smiling and crying out their congratulations, Ned took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

"You asked me for forever," he told her softly. "Here it is, my love."

She stood on her tiptoes, tipping her chin up to present herself for a kiss, and Ned obliged her with the soft brush of his lips against hers. "Forever," she whispered when he pulled back.

And then they walked out together, into the sunlight and laughter, her arm linked through his.