Calhoun/Shelby. Set after Restoration. This is the sappy one.
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She never thought she'd marry.
It just didn't seem practical. She had known all her life what she wanted to do when she grew up: become a Starfleet officer, preferably on the command track. There was never any doubt about that. And she had witnessed first hand, growing up the Fleet brat daughter of two admirals, the difficulties of maintaining both a family and home life as well as a career.
It just wouldn't be fair, if she were to marry one day, to try to balance her career with a family. Something would have to give, and if she were perfectly honest, that something would be probably end up being her home life. Starfleet had been a huge part of her life for so long, after all, and demanded so much energy and time from her that it would be hard not to give it precedence. It wouldn't be fair to anyone concerned.
That was what she had decided long ago. And it had seemed like a good, reasonable idea at the time.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" she asks Mac after dinner. She's clearing the dishes, recycling them, and Mac's stretched out her couch, eyes closed, looking thoroughly contented. They'd had a very nice meal-- it had been nothing fancy, just pasta and some salad, but she had enjoyed herself immensely, and it looked like he hadn't had a bad time, either.
"What's going to work?"
She picks up the forks and knives, and says, "You and me. Marrying each other." She wishes a little that she hadn't brought it up, but it's too late now, and she keeps her tone light and casual. She feels slightly stupid bringing it up again, after days and days of rehashing their previous relationship and discussing what went wrong and how to prevent something like that from happening again-- it was all good stuff, really, but she feels like she needs to ask again. She needs to hear it again, hear it from him.
"As long as we promise not to kill each before the honeymoon ends," Mac says, opening his eyes, smiling at her. "I figure, if we make it through two weeks with just each other for company, we'll be fine."
He looks sweet, lying on the couch and smiling, and she feels guilty for doubting him. Them. His intentions. It's not that she doesn't trust him, she would-- no, she has-- trusted him with her life. And she trusts him now. It's just-- hard sometimes, after so long. And she wants this marriage, she really, really does. But at the same time, she worries about them, how they'll make it now if they couldn't back then.
"Eppy?"
"Hmm?" She moves toward the replicator, clearing the last of the silverware.
"Is everything all right?"
She puts the knives and forks on the replicator pad, and recycles them with the push of a button. "Yes, fine. I'm sorry, I just--"
She goes to him, walks over to the couch and sits on the arm, next to where Mac's feet rest. "I just think sometimes," she says. "About us. And I want things to work, this time."
"I do too," he says.
He's looking at her now, and she can't think of anything else to say, because that's pretty much it, and so instead she moves to sit next to him on the couch, pushing his feet to the side. "I'll miss serving with you."
He looks surprised. "Really?"
"Yes," she says, half-laughing. She wonders if she should be offended at the incredulity in his voice. "It wasn't all bad, those three years."
He nods, acknowledging this. "I suppose I must have been doing something right." He draws himself up from the couch, shifting to the side to make room for her beside him.
Elizabeth moves herself up the couch, closer to Mac, and falls back on the couch, letting her head rest onto his shoulder. "You were just being yourself."
"Go with what works, that's what I've always thought."
"Yeah," she says. "And it worked."
It definitely worked. She'd never seriously considered marriage before him, before he asked her that day in front of her senior staff, in front of everyone on the Excalibur bridge. At which point, the only answer she could come up with was "yes."
"Hey." Mac's voice is soft in her ear. "Are you having second thoughts?"
She turns her head as best she can to look at him. And the angle's awkward, and it's uncomfortable, but now she can look at him in the face. "No," she says, and she means it. Because she knows they'll find a way, they always have. If he could return from the dead for her, there's nothing-- absolutely nothing-- to stop them from creating something strong, and lasting, and real between them. He said earlier, a little thing like two different ships won't stop them from being together if they want to be.
She leans in and touches her lips to his, to emphasize the point. "No second thoughts," she says. "After all, like you said... we just promise to not kill each other on the honeymoon, and it should be fine from there."
He laughs. "It'll be a good start, at least."
"Exactly," she says, and lies back down beside him, curling up close, content to relax with him for a while. She plans on enjoying it-- after all, they're got the rest of their wedded lives together to spend trying not to kill each other.