Author's Note: I don't own these characters and I'm not being paid, but I really love them anyway. I wanted to write some V/V fluff, and so I did. I couldn't come up with a good full-length story, so these are just vignettes. I'll keep updating as I have ideas. Ignore all my previous stories, these don't necessarily fit in. They're just for fluffy fun, because there really isn't enough V/V romance out there. Enjoy!

Love Stories

1

When the last of the butterflies had disappeared, and the last of the people in the church had filtered out around them, Victor and Victoria began to walk back toward the village. They went slowly, taking their time.

Above all, Victor felt a profound sense of peace. Melancholy, too, and loss, but mostly his heart felt full. Warmth and contentment flooded him. Victoria was solid and warm at his side, her arm threaded through his. The scent of dry dead flowers wafted up from the bouquet she held.

When they got to the middle of the bridge over the river, they paused. Victor wasn't quite ready to pass back through the village gates. It was as if a spell would be broken. Better to stand out here, enjoying the moonlight and the night air, and Victoria's companionship.

He watched as she pulled the wedding ring from her finger. The ring that villain had put there. The place where the brute had kicked him throbbed a bit. The memory of Victoria's face, above a sword to her throat, flashed in his mind and he swallowed hard as he shooed the memory away. He managed to return her smile when she looked up at him.

"This belongs to you," she said, sounding almost shy. "Or was to belong to you. We couldn't get another on short notice, and I wanted something to…Anyway. This is yours, if you still want it."

She held up the ring, her eyes warm and kind. Victor could look into those eyes forever. To think how close he'd come to never seeing them again. After a moment, he took the matching ring from his jacket pocket. That ring, which had been through so much, started so much. Meant so much.

"And this is yours," he said, holding it out. The ring caught the moonlight and glinted. "I'm sorry it took so long to return to you. If you still—that is, if you don't mind that—well. If you still want it."

"I do," Victoria said, and held out her left hand. Gently, solemnly, Victor slid the wedding band onto its rightful finger.

"I'd like mine, too," said Victor, putting out his own hand. With a smile that lit up her face, Victoria put the matching ring on his wedding finger. Yesterday he'd worried that it would feel like a manacle being clamped shut. But here, in the moonlight with Victoria, it felt like a loving promise.

"I feel as if we've just been married," Victoria said, the ghost of a laugh in her voice. Victor grinned.

"I feel the same," he said. "I think we have."

And he bent down just as Victoria tilted her face upward. Their lips met, gently, a sealing of their pact. Pastor Galswells, their parents, the village might not see this as binding, but the two of them did. They were united at last.

It was time to go back home.

2

Victoria flat-out refused to go back to her parents' house after the night of the dead.

"I shall do as I please," she'd said to Victor as they'd walked home that night. "I've done more than enough for my parents, I think."

And, surprising even herself, she'd moved right into the Van Dort house. Victor led her up the steps, through the front door, and into the parlor to wait for his parents to return. After they did, safe and sound, she simply didn't leave.

The arrangement was easy enough. All of her things had already been moved there in advance of the wedding. Of course, for propriety's sake, Victoria took a room in the same wing as Mrs. Van Dort, while Victor kept his old room at the top of the house. They certainly couldn't use the rooms set aside for them, not without being properly married. But they still spent nearly all of every day together. After nearly losing one another for good, neither of them wanted to be apart for too long.

On her third night at Victor's, Victoria sat at the small desk in her room. She'd already changed into her nightgown and robe, and had let her hair down, intending to braid it just before she retired. She was trying to write a short note to her parents. Nothing she could think of sounded correct. The effort was making her cross and sad.

Three days, and not a word from them. Hildegarde had come by to give her news of them. Apparently both Mother and Father were taking their time to recover from witnessing the wave of the dead in their hall.

"And what about the news of what happened to me? Of Barkis?" Victoria had asked. Hildegarde had looked away awkwardly, remaining silent until changing the subject to whether Victoria had all she needed. Victoria had set her jaw, hurt but not surprised. Hildegarde had left shortly thereafter.

Why did her parents deserve a note? Victoria crumpled her latest attempt, which had devolved into telling her father and mother just precisely what she thought of them, and threw it into the wastebasket. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and stared at it.

She glanced at the bouquet of dead flowers on the dresser. She'd put them in a vase for now, despite the fact that they no longer needed water. Sometime soon she'd have to put them away carefully, to keep them safe. Victoria was not one to take such a gift lightly or carelessly.

Victor would be in his room by now, surely. Victoria wondered what he was doing, how he spent the time between the drawing room after dinner and bed. She didn't want to be alone with angry thoughts just now. After a last glance at her empty sheet of stationery, Victoria got up. She put out all the lamps, stepped into her slippers, and left the room as quietly as she could.

Victor had shown her his room briefly on her tour of the mansion. It was easy enough to find again. Top of the house, facing the square. When she got to his door, she knocked softly.

"Victoria," he said when he opened the door. Was he pleased or surprised? Both? He'd put on his nightclothes, as well—striped pajamas and a frayed old green dressing gown.

"I wanted to see you," she told him. She held her robe together a little self-consciously, very aware of how little she was wearing.

"Is everything all right?" Victor asked. He looked her up and down, his gaze worried when he met her eyes again.

"I'm not a bother, am I?" she asked in return, deliberately not answering his question. He grinned at her, making her smile, too.

"No! Not at all, no. Do come in, please," he said, stepping aside.

They sat together on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Very close. Their sides touched. Victoria glanced around. It was a spare sort of room. Only the necessary furniture. Lots of books stacked around the desk by the window. The desk very well-used. A globe. Some photographs. A scholar's room.

"What happened to the drawings you had on the wall?" Victoria asked, noticing how newly bare the space looked. She remembered all the sketches of different butterflies he'd had up. They weren't there anymore.

"Oh," he said. "I was organizing. Preparing for—well, there are a few I should frame properly, I thought. To put in our room."

Our room. Was she the only one who felt a little spark in the air as the thought of it passed between them?

"When do you suppose that will be?" she asked.

"As soon as possible, I hope," he replied.

"Suppose—suppose our parents refuse to permit it," said Victoria, giving full voice to what had been weighing on her all day. Mother and Father hadn't ever liked the idea of a match with Victor. They were sure to like it even less now. Not that she should care, given how they'd behaved. A swell of anger rose up her chest and throat.

"Then we'll marry anyway," said Victor stoutly. "We'll go somewhere else if we have to. Elope."

He put his arm around her waist and held her gently. Victoria looked up at him, taken by his tone. It was strong and sure. Like the other night, in the church. So different from the way he'd been at their wedding rehearsal. She liked him like this. Confident and determined. It was rather like seeing the man instead of the boy.

Knowing it was for her, for them, made it even better.

They sat together quietly for a moment. A cloud settled over her, the same one that had been following her today, one of worry and stress. So much had happened over the past few days, and so much was still uncertain. She leaned into Victor, hoping his warmth would help dispel it. It didn't work.

"I can't help thinking," she began. Her throat suddenly went dry. She tried to swallow to no avail. She tried again. "I keep on thinking, what if-"

What if. What if her parents pulled off some new trick to keep her away from Victor? What if Victor's parents changed their minds? How could they build a life after eloping? What if Barkis had succeeded in dragging her away? What if Victor had died? What if he'd chosen his dead bride instead? What if everything had gone wrong?

But Victoria couldn't bring herself to say any of this out loud. It all sounded too ungrateful. Too mean-spirited. She was here, wasn't she? Not wanting to cry, Victoria bit the inside of her lip, hard, and stared at one of the empty places on the wall.

Clumsily Victor grasped for her hand. When he caught it, he held it tightly, and pulled her even closer. She felt him rest his cheek against her head. And she felt it when he sighed a little into her hair.

"Never mind," she murmured.

"Are you certain you're all right?" Victor asked.

"Yes," she lied. "It's simply been...a long few days."

"Indeed," he said.

They were quiet again. Sitting here, in Victor's arms, his breath on her hair and his heart beating such that she could feel it against her shoulder, she felt a little better. They were here. They were alive. They were together.

"Would you like..." Victor began, but let his sentence trail off. When she looked up and met his eyes, her heart melted for him all over again. That affectionate, kind, loving look. She still couldn't quite believe how close she'd come to never seeing that look ever again. How could she ever have lived without it?

"Yes?" she prompted, hoping he could see her feelings in her eyes just as easily.

"Would you like to stay?" he asked. "Here? With me, I mean. Tonight."

Victoria couldn't help smiling a little. Here was the Victor she remembered from their first meeting. Shy, unsure, just a little bumbling. She loved him this way, too. She'd loved that bit of him first. The boy was still in there, too.

"I would love to," she admitted, shy again herself. She felt her cheeks go a little warm. "But what would everyone say?"

Victor and Victoria just looked at each other for a long, long moment.

"Who cares?" they both said at exactly the same time. They laughed a little, then removed their dressing gowns and put out the lamp. Life was far too short for propriety.

It was a snug fit in Victor's narrow bed, but they managed. The covers were lighter than she was used to, the pillow a little softer. She put her nose to it surreptitiously, just to see if it carried his scent, as Victor climbed in beside her. How strangely natural this felt, getting into bed together. As if they'd done it for years. Just as natural as everything else between them had felt so far.

Victoria lay on her side, and Victor spooned himself against her. The closeness was wonderful and thrilling. This was the nearest to each other they'd ever been. His chest was warm against her back, his knees tucked into the back of hers. His arm was curled around her. She took his hand, rather boldly, and pressed it to her chest, twining her fingers between his. She hoped he could feel her heart beating.

"Good night, Victoria," he whispered into the dark.

"Good night, Victor," she whispered back.

3

"Let's just get this over with," grumbled Lord Everglot. After handing Victoria off to Victor in a very perfunctory sort of way, he stood off to the side with Lady Everglot. Victor's parents stood beside them. The atmosphere was subdued.

Well, subdued for everyone else, anyway. Victor was thrilled that this day had come at last. He'd had enough of waiting. Particularly after the night before last, when Victoria had shared his bed. Once his mother had found out about that, she'd forced the marriage question with the Everglots. Victor glanced at his soon to be in-laws. They looked even more sour and gray than usual, glaring in that same way they had at the wedding rehearsal. This time, Victor was not intimidated in the least.

He held out his hand, and Victoria slid hers into his. He liked the way their hands felt together.

They'd gathered in the Van Dort parlor on a rainy morning. No flowers, no fanfare, no breakfast or reception, no other guests. Which suited Victor fine. All he wanted was to be properly married. Victoria had claimed to feel the same, and he hoped that she wasn't too disappointed by the lack of romance.

He'd make it up to her later.

For her part, Victoria truly didn't mind the lack of ceremony and fanfare. As far as she was concerned, she'd married Victor on the bridge that night of the dead. That had been moving and romantic enough. This was just for show. She'd received quite the lecture from her future mother-in-law after spending a night in Victor's room. Funnily enough, news of that lovely night had been what had galvanized her parents into action about allowing the wedding. They were still disapproving, embarrassed, dour, and smelled of sherry, but Victoria didn't care. She was starting a new family. She squeezed Victor's fingers, and he returned the pressure.

Victor had been tempted to wear his spider-mended coat, just as a nod to what had gone before, but ultimately decided against it. Today was about a fresh start, a second chance, a new beginning. So he'd opted for his nice morning suit. Victoria, for much the same reasons, had opted not to wear her white bridal gown. She already felt like a wife, not a bride, so she wore a gown of dove gray silk instead.

They took three steps up to where Pastor Galswells, still a little gray-faced and drawn, stood. Not even a makeshift altar this time. He just stood next to the sideboard, staff in hand for support. No props, no candles or wine, no speeches. Just the vows.

"You first," he told Victor coldly.

Victor raised his hand and began, looking into Victoria's eyes the entire time. With not a stop nor stumble, and meaning every single word, he recited his vows.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

And he pulled the ring from his pocket—he and Victoria had traded them back that morning—and slid it onto Victoria's finger.

"Now you," the pastor said to Victoria.

She raised her own hand, squeezing Victor's fingers with the other. When she spoke there was a husky note to her voice, as if she might be tearing up a little. But she never wavered as she made her own vows, and she never broke eye contact with Victor.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

For convenience, she'd worn the ring on her right hand. She slipped it off, and, holding Victor's fingers tenderly, put the ring onto his finger. They both looked down at their joined ringed hands, then beamed at one another.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Galswells announced, sounding almost bored.

Without being instructed, Victor and Victoria kissed. They ignored the mild harrumphs and sighs of disapproval from their parents.

I'm married, Victoria thought, with none of the profound sadness and disappointment of the first time she'd been pronounced a wife. This time she felt nothing but joy.

I'm married, Victor thought, with nary a panicky jolt. I'm a husband.

It felt just right.