The dress lay on the floor in a puddle of cream and golden hued shadows. The uniform was near by in it's own heap of folds. Their eyes had looked upon the form of the other as if for the first time. It may also be the last. That was the way of things. The quite sounds of their love making were not so softly echoing that they could not be heard through out the apartment. Occasionally a louder moan or intense cry did escape one of them to peak the music of their song. The sheets rustled like the skirt of a dress during a dance.

The great obelisk of his man hood thrust slowly in and out of her body. Her hips followed the withdraw, begging for his return into her. She felt tight around him. Her heat warmed all of him to his core. The wetness was more than it had ever been leaving a growing stain on his... their sheets. He cradled her beneath him, feeling the white strands of her hair slip through his fingers when she arched into him with a gasping moan. He wasn't just having sex with a beautiful woman, he was making love to his wife. He was more than lucky to have her as his own. He was blessed by whatever powers that be. As he touched her, caressed her curves and messaged her pleasure, the gravity of their union made him vulnerable. To have her back after two years so suddenly, in his arms and in his bed, was a reality that had rushed at him like a tsunami. Not only was she back and alive, but she was his wife. It was almost as if none of it had happened. she had never died... almost. The emotion that swelled in his chest was almost as painful as the loss. He pressed his face against her neck and along her shoulder, smelling her, feeling her quiver beneath and around him. His tears were bitter sweet with sorrow and joy as they fell from his eyes to wet her hair like dew on a flower petal in the early morning. He caressed her cheek with one smoother thumb and found her own overwhelming emotions in liquid form there. He found her lips and kissed her with loving passion that he hope comforted as much as it roused. She gasped when he rolled his hips deep into her.

"Oh! David..." She panted. "I love you so much."

She wrapped her arms around him even as he thrust into her again and again. His answer came as another kiss, his tongue slide over hers so familiar and yet new. He didn't want to loose her again, but he had to let her go. She was the only one who could save them all. The thought humbled him.

He reached his orgasm in time with hers, leaving his seed deep inside her. She moaned his name and dug her fingers into the flesh of his back as her body gripped him, milking his body of it's climatic fluid. He could not hold back his own moans as he filled her, feeling her quake under him in ecstacy that matched his own. The thought latter occurred to him that she may never be able to have children. He would wonder if Cerberus had been able to repair or replace that organ. He would love her until he died regardless, but it was a concern that weighed heavily in the back of his mind. It seemed the things he wanted and loved were continuously being taken away from him. As he collapsed on the bed beside her, panting and out of breath, he wondered what the future held for them. If there was to be any future for any of them. Then he turned to Sonya, her chest rising and falling in labored breaths, and brushed the hair from her face. She turned to look at him, a smile on her lips and in her eyes. Gently, he took her chin in his thumb and forefinger and kissed her coral lips with a tenderness that spoke of his love for her.

"I love you."

It was all he could say. He couldn't ask her to come back to him. It was too painful a subject. He could never tell her how much it had hurt, though he knew she knew. But she did not know about the drinking or the hours spent in the company of dancers or consorts. These where injuries she did not need to be affected upon her. The past was best left in the shadows.

He held her in his arms one last time next to the docking hall. There was no need to hide now. The Normandy waited, ready to take on the Collectors or any other foe that would dare to engage her in battle. He made Garrus swear to look after her, though he knew the turian would have done so without oath.

"I want to tour this new ship of yours someday, Captain." He teased her. It was his way of saying what he couldn't bring himself to utter.

"Don't worry. You will."

Again a subtle promise that he worried she may not be able to keep. The last kiss was long and sweet. Their arms warped around the other in a tight embrace, tears caught in their throats and brows furrowed. He was sure his heart would break again as her finger tips finally left his. She gave him a final glance and offered a smile before she disappeared down the hall and into the Normandy. He watched the Normandy leave port once more. He couldn't help feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu. Glancing down at his finger, and at the ring present there, helped ease the sensation. But it did not calm his fear. He rubbed a thumb over the inscription, 'inamorato'; a Latin, and later adapted Italian, phrase meaning a man who loves or is loved. The word was the hope that held his heart together and the faith that she would return.