Hi! While I continue writing my multi-chapter fic, "Love is a Song," I'm going to write and publish some one-shots. These one-shots will almost always be linked to a song, which will usually be their title. While the one-shots are numbered, they may or may not be related. I'll let you know if a one-shot takes place in the same timeline as another one.

This one-shot takes place the day after the gazebo scene.

Please leave a review if you enjoyed (or didn't like it, I understand. This was a super different story for me to write)


"She's Got a Way" is track number 1 on Billy Joel's debut album, Cold Spring Harbor. I actually don't listen to this version of the song. I prefer the live recording from his album "Songs In the Attic (Live)." From Wikipedia, "The lyrics to 'She's Got a Way' have the singer describing how various characteristics of a particular woman, such as her laugh, make him love her, even though he can't understand why. To music critic Mark Bego, it's a song about a woman who has 'mesmerized' him. Joel biographer Fred Schruers describes the lyrics as a 'plainspoken, never-quite-corny adoration of a loved one.'"


He wakes with the rising of the sun, as always. He stills for a moment, praying that last night wasn't a dream. That Maria wasn't a dream. He throws on his usual formal attire (the suit he knows she likes best), and heads downstairs.

He enters the dining room and his children greet him cheerfully. What he isn't prepared for, however, is Maria's (angelic, beautiful) face at the opposite end of the table. He knows that he must have the most stupid grin on his face. He knows his children are staring, wondering where the Baroness went and why their father is eyeing their governess that way. He knows Maria feels the same way, the smile in her (shining, bewitching) eyes saying I love you.

One of his children clears their throat (Brigitta, perhaps, for she notices everything), and he takes a seat. His heart hammers in his chest, and he finds himself without an appetite. He stares at the Kaiserschmarrn on his plate, knowing that if he locks eyes with Maria he won't be able to look away. Like a teenager with a crush, he blushes furiously. He drums his finger against the table, the rhythm not unlike his racing heart. One of his children (he's entirely too dazed to even recognize who) asks if he's okay (he isn't just okay, he's ecstatic), and he nods. The back of his hand swipes across his forehead (is it hot in here, or is it just him?), and he pushes his (now cold) breakfast around on his plate. The painful sound of chairs pushing away from the table alerts him to the fact that he daydreamed away breakfast. His children look at him worriedly before leaving, and he assures them that he's fine (he isn't just fine, he's wonderful).

Now, they're alone. All that sits between them is a plate full of Kaiserschmarrn. He shoves himself away from the table, tossing down his napkin without so much as a second glance. Maria (incredible, loving Maria) mirrors his actions, albeit more graceful than he.

Now, they're standing. He faces her for the first time in the light of day, and she doesn't disappoint (not that she ever did, anyway). The sunlight streams through the windows, highlighting the (unbelievably soft) blonde mop atop his beloved's head. Slowly, they approach each other. He's nervous (she can tell by the way his hands shake as they land on her shoulders). She's nervous (he can tell by the way she trembles when his hands land on her shoulders). Somewhere, in the midst of all the nervousness, her (soft, pink) lips meet his in a loving kiss.

The kiss deepens; their hands explore. Her hand raises to his neck, slender fingers lightly rest on his pulse. She whispers (in that melodic voice of hers) something about feeling his heart racing. He whispers (in that charming baritone voice of his) back something about how she's going to have to deal with it often. She laughs against his lips, and he knows she's meant for him.

She's got a way about her

I don't know what it is

But I know that I can't live without her


They tell the children during lunch. He can't wait any longer, and he assures her that the children will approve. She's hesitant, but she agrees.

He's never heard of such a racket in his entire life. He watches as his children tackle his fiancé, showering her with hugs and kisses. He meets her (teary, cerulean) eyes with an I told you so. As a tear rolls down her cheek, she gives him a tiny smile and a barely perceptible nod as if to say thank you. Finally, she extricates herself from his (their) children, promising to discuss wedding plans later. He practically shoves them out of the room, telling them to go play while he kisses their future mother.

They can't keep their eyes (and hands) off of each other. Her smile is bright (and so are her eyes). Tears continue to tumble down her freckled cheeks. She tells him that she's afraid she won't stop crying because of how elated she is.

Later, he'll tell her he was right about the children's approval, and she'll tell him not to get used to it. Her (perfect, wide) smile will nearly bring him to his knees.

She's got a smile that heals me

I don't know why it is

But I have to laugh when she reveals me


They walk the grounds that night. She rambles, he (kind of) listens. She talks of everything and nothing (in that adorable little way of hers), and he focuses on the way her lips move. She stops and asks if he's been listening to a single word she said (he hasn't really). Now, she's a bit angry (he can tell because her nose is all scrunched up). He (sort of) listens to her frustrated tangent.

Later, they'll walk hand-in-hand, silently – save for the croaks of nearby frogs. She'll sing quietly, and her perfect pitch and diction will leave him entranced.

Her voice, like the magnificent song of the lark, calls to him. He'll spend the rest of his life cherishing the sound of her voice.

She's got a way of talkin'

I don't know what it is

But it lifts me up when we are walkin'

Anywhere


She (a nature-loving free spirit) guides the children along the riverbank, all of them holding hands in a line. He (a previously stoic sea captain) marches along at the back of the line, a weathered picnic basket swinging in his hand. She points out her favorite spot, a bit further ahead. Without another word, she runs off in that direction. He watches his (their) children (Maria's loyal followers) as they do their best to catch up to their future mother.

The family reunites atop the grassy knoll, and the children and Maria collapse in a pile of love and laughter. He watches, feeling a bit like an intruder in his own family. She rolls away from the group, her hair blowing freely in the (crisp, delicious) alpine breeze. Gretl crawls over, plants a sloppy kiss on her head, and calls her Mother. He catches her eyes over Friedrich's shoulder, noting the fresh tears trickling gently down her cheeks.

Later, his eyes will meet hers beneath the setting sun, and he'll watch the ethereal red-orange glow as it encircles her like a halo.

She's got a light around her

And everywhere she goes

A million dreams of love surround her

Everywhere


He rolls over and stares at his (adoring, extraordinary, immensely talented) wife. He runs his hand down her naked backside and listens to her stir.

They make love (for the millionth time, it seems), and he jokes that she's most definitely carrying his eighth child by this point. She bursts into tears, and he holds her while she frets about mothering a child of her own.

He holds her and smoothes down her bedhead while she cries. He kisses her and calls her Baroness, knowing it makes her laugh.

She sits up, clutching the sheets to her chest as if he hasn't seen everything already. He yanks the sheets away, whistles at her naked form (this earns an eye roll and a light shove), and tells her to get ready for their first full day in Paris.


Nearly a year later, he'll watch from the doorway as she nurses their newborn son. He'll watch as his (blond-haired, blue-eyed) son curls a tiny finger around his wife's hand. Her eyes will meet his, unshed tears forming in both pairs of eyes. She'll stroke their son's downy hair and whisper he's beautiful. He'll agree, because of course their son is beautiful. He'll tell her you're a wonderful mother. Of course, she'll cry her eyes out, and he won't be ashamed to admit that he's about to cry, too.


Many years later, their son will wake with the rising of the sun (not unlike his father). He'll head outside and run into the (open, welcoming) waiting arms of his father. They'll go for a short walk. Soon, he'll stop and ask his father how he met his mother, and he'll respond with a condensed half-truth. He'll ask his how father knew he loved her, and he'll respond with a vague I just knew.

And truthfully, he did just know. She was and always will be a delightfully magical enigma.

And so, he tells his son, she's got a way about her.

She's got a way about her

I don't know what it is

But I know that I can't live without her

Anyway