A/N: This is the result of a thought experiment I couldn't unsee after it popped into my head. We'll see if I can make it really work. The rating will change, so if it interests you in the slightest, get your notification bells on, please.

Where the End Begins

"She met him far away, walking in a park one summer's day
They talked because they could, excited 'cause the other understood
Then, one night, he was nowhere to be found
Under the starlight, vanishing without a sound

Imaginary friend: too good to be true, gone before she knew
Imaginary friend: she can't see his face, nothing left—no trace
Imaginary friend: no one will believe, was she so naïve
Imaginary friend: was he standing there, disappeared into thin air?"

—excerpt from "Imaginary Friend" by Freezepop (primarily transcribed by ear)

Prologue: A New Life

Vermont, May 1939

Her face was buried in her husband's chest as she woke beneath the sheets and quilt of their bed, as she often did. Maria took a deep breath, the coarse hairs peeking from under the top of his shirt tickling her nose. It itched, a sneeze welling high up in her nostrils, but she held her breath against it before turning away to gulp down a mouthful of fresh air. The top of her nose pinched as she clenched her eyes, but the pressure lessened and she lifted one of her hands to scratch the last of it away. And then she was back again. Back to him. Where she belonged.

If she didn't squirm away from Georg in the middle of the night—restless as she often was and eager to roam the new hills surrounding them in ways he wouldn't allow her to nowadays—his arm always lay across her waist to keep her tight against him, no matter how warm the night grew. Are you wondering about what might have been after all those years? "I think you missed me," she whispered, her fingers running along his shoulder. She loved the feel of him beneath her hand, something that she couldn't imagine being without in this new life they had suddenly found. "Even if neither of us thought you did at first." Maria didn't even need to look at him to remember everything of him: the muscles beneath his skin, the gentle lines on his cheeks, his sharp nose, the little smile he wore more often now that an ocean lay between the nine of them and the unhappiness tearing Austria and the whole of Europe apart. The Anschluss, the annexation...I know you miss it—we all do. But at least we're safe here. The children are safe—

The sharpness was rising in her chest again and Maria swallowed, turning onto her back even as Georg's hand tightened around her. Some days, especially after the trains and steamers and immigration officers curious as to why a non-Jewish Austrian family was desperate to flee the Nazis, he seemed scarcely able to let her out of his sight, always wanting to pull her into his arms, kiss her, hold her...Occasionally, her cheeks still glowed red when she thought on everything that sometimes still passed between them during the nights when the children were happily asleep, leaving them to seek solace in each other whenever her stomach—

Stronger now, burning and rank, rising up into the very back of her nose. It's happening again, Maria thought as she opened her eyes. The early morning promise of dawn and day was already drifting through the window panes, the patches of sunlight broken by the shadows of the scratched wooden moulding between the glass panels. Huddling in the trees that surrounded their worn farmhouse, a few of the tiny birds were already chirping, singing in their own little language, caught in their own private world. But anymore, she hardly had a second to enjoy their quiet songs, more concerned with rebuilding her family's lives.

Maria pushed the bedclothes aside with one hand, slowly sliding one leg—then the other—from beneath the sheets as she gently pushed her husband's arm away, hoping he didn't pull her back to him on instinct. Sometimes, at even the gentlest movement, he drew her to him, as though he worried he would awaken and not see her beside him. Just like...Well, that wasn't my fault, was it? But anymore, she didn't care. Everything was just a little too wonderful to wonder about what might have been.

At least sitting upright, the acid no longer burned right at the back of her throat. Some days, if she stood too quickly, at least without Georg to steady her, the world refused to stay still. Earlier this week—happily after he had already left the house—her legs had given way beneath her after a short return to their bed desperate for rest, suddenly worn raw by the morning. It had all gone half grey for a short moment as she tumbled to the floor with a thud, already feeling the bruise on one thigh blossoming. She had managed to find her feet on her own, giving herself a few seconds perched on the edge of the bed before one of the children knocked on the door. Louisa refused to be turned away even as Maria protested time and again that nothing was wrong, there was nothing to worry about, she didn't need anything but time to sort herself out. He'd wrapped himself around her that night, whispering that she needed to be more careful now.

Even after two months—or was it three?—in an old farmhouse in Vermont that occasionally threatened to fall down around them, particularly after a harsh winter storm a few weeks after they moved in, Maria still sometimes stumbled into the walls. I suppose Sister Berthe wouldn't be surprised. She always thought I was about to fall and scrape myself open. But perhaps it was because she rarely reached for the switch in the hallway. Most evenings, even on a calm night, the lights flickered—teased them—before faintly crackling to life. Sometimes, half of them didn't even do that and it was often easier for her to find her way in the hallway by feel. When her feet were bare, she knew the knots in the rough floorboards, how far apart they lay, and where to dart around the thorniest planks that liked to plant slivers in the soles of her feet. But how many steps to the washroom…

Georg had asked after more than one mark on her hip whenever he had her stripped naked beneath him those first weeks living here, concern overtaking his hunger for her at least to start. Whenever they made love now, though—less often than when they were first married and the children hadn't even been spoken of, though not by much—he pulled her atop him, his eyes clearly as starved for her as his body, like they always had been. She missed his weight crushing her into their bed, almost an anchor she could cling to in a world that had tossed them about endlessly for the last year. But since the beginning of this year—or maybe since February, if she really thought back—he had been so much more protective than she wished, like she was a reed that would break between his finger and thumb, or be torn apart by the faintest gust of wind. Really, it's getting a bit silly, Georg. Isn't it all perfectly normal? And you should know that better than most, she thought, carefully pulling their door on its unhappy hinges closed behind her.

Her hand running along the wall, Maria had to stop, one of her knees trembling as everything burned at the back of her mouth again. It's just a few more steps, that's all. Stand still a minute...It was only a few seconds until her knee steadied itself, but now it wasn't just the burning in her throat, but the sick that wanted to leave her mouth. I'm just warm, she thought. Just some water on my face will be enough.

As the overhead light roared to life, Maria squinted. Like most of the rooms upstairs—their own larger bedroom and the children's shared rooms—the washroom had been painted in short order after the cracks had been spackled and a few gaps around the window over the western garden sealed. The leak beneath from the basin had been more difficult to solve, Georg struggling to remember anything he had seen all those decades before when an imperfection in pipes and valves could mean the difference between life and death. In the end, after the leak only grew stronger and he mumbled more than a few curses that had her almost laughing despite her mortification at his coarseness, she had finally persuaded him to call a plumber, reminding him that he needn't do everything himself. "At least there's no more water dripping into the kitchen," she muttered as she turned the tap on. One morning, she had gone downstairs ready to prepare breakfast for her husband and all the children to find the sink already filled to the brim and a puddle on the tile as a steady stream of water dripped from the ceiling. Though, really, they should be grateful to have a home at all, a foreclosure bought at auction far from any city where landlords might be interested in acquiring more properties to carve up into smaller units. And with all the repairs needed—the plumbing and electricity were only the first worries—it had been something they could afford for a growing family with a plan to address one problem after another. Thank you again, Father.

Cupping her palms beneath a stream of cold water, Maria leaned forward, just splashing her face once—twice—three times before she gulped down a mouthful. She shuddered as it dripped over her chin and down her neck, the chill calming the heat beneath her skin and the burn in her throat. With a rub her at her eyes, she let out a deep breath as she bent down, her elbows catching on the porcelain—but she didn't care about the surge of numbness running through her arms. Please, not now. It's bad enough in the morning. But with another handful of water across her face, the burn and nausea finally faded, now leaving her chilly instead of hot.

Snapping the light off again, the darkness of the hall was suddenly overwhelming, nearly velvety as it consumed her. But her steps were steadier after the cold water had calmed her, the wall was sturdier beneath her palm, and her feet were finding their own way around the squeakiest floorboards. Brigitta and Marta—the lightest sleepers amongst the children—shouldn't be awakened. Even with her more peaceful stomach, her pace was slow as she followed the wall, the plaster rough and bubbled under her skin. But at least the interior corridors never sounded quite ready to be blown to the ground, unlike the outer walls.

Her knuckles bumped into the door frame of the bedroom she shared with Georg, and after the last few minutes of her knees shaking, Maria grasped at the wood, not sure if she would need to right herself. But everything remained the same, even in her now lightly rounded belly, and so she pushed the door open slowly, mindful of the noisy hinge that still needed oil. At least one of us should have a good night's sleep.

A few more drops of the approaching dawn had already broken through the dark across the wooden floor and the lingering darkness, her path back to her husband and their bed brighter than when she had fled as her stomach refused to cease its now nearly constant complaints. She could just see the outline of his chest beneath the bedclothes, still on his side as he had been when she peeled herself away from him. In a few minutes, she might have been able to see the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, always slow and steady against her breasts when he had her against him—

Maria winced: closing their bedroom door had not been nearly as quiet as when she opened it, that bottom hinge screeching through the grime and rust. But he didn't move, didn't turn toward the sound.

Sighing, she leaned back against the door. As her eyes adjusted to the low light of the early morning, his arm over top the quilt appeared, still where it would be laying over her pregnant stomach if she hadn't needed to pull herself from his grasp. She shivered, already missing the warmth of his embrace, but she couldn't quite move, needing to just stand and look at him. To see him.

It wasn't until the last few months that Maria had many chances to watch her husband sleep, their soon to be youngest child waking her in the middle of many, many nights. He was rather the same as he always was when he was awake: quiet and calm, still an air of control and order clinging to him. But sometimes, she nearly laughed when he turned into merely a man, the retired and decorated submarine captain disappearing into thin air. His hair tousled, mouth occasionally agape with a faint snore, sometimes a small drop of spit on his pillow ready to dry as the night wore on. "You're not always so perfectly dignified are you, Georg?"

A yawn broke from her mouth and Maria buried it behind the back of her hand. You'll be asleep all day if you don't get a little more sleep now. She pushed herself away from the door, stepping here and there around the loudest wooden floorboards, making her way around to her side of their bed, finally raised off of the floor after these two months. So much closer to him, she could see the outline of his jaw and nose, that wild hair she adored as they were tangled together in one another's arms. And always that gentle pace of his chest, holding her steady and still.

You did so much for all of us, she thought, gently sitting on the edge of the mattress. The weeks of planning, deciding where we should go—how to go to leave Austria behind—whether Switzerland or Italy—where we should find ourselves in the end...She reached for his hand, twisting her fingers into his. I can't think what would have happened if I hadn't gone back to you that day. Lifting all the layers, Maria slid back beneath the sheet just as she had left, one leg after another—

Georg's arm was already around her, dragging her against him as she squealed with surprise. His breathing was warm, already tickling the back of her neck as he pressed a kiss to her skin and she pushed her body back into his, all of him strong and hard, just the way she had come to expect him to be. "Don't scare me like that," she whispered, folding her hands over his.

The hum of his breath transformed into a quiet laugh. "I didn't think that was possible these days."

"I wasn't ready—"

"Everything all right, Maria?" he asked, turning her onto her back beside him, the growing spring dawn spilling through the window with its thin curtain. Oh, I can just see you, now.

She nodded, twisting around to him like she had been before she had left him, her face crushed into his chest again. "Yes. I was just warm."

He ran one of his hands through her hair, uncut since their wedding, a happier day than the first with all the children around them in their small parish church. He remembered it from before, long and thick, and after the struggle to escape Austria, it hadn't been a thing to worry about and she hadn't concerned herself with anything like that; none of them had. Now it wound its way just past her shoulders. Whenever he could, Georg wove his fingers through it, inhaling the scent of it—her skin—sometimes in large, desperate gulps, as though it was the first months after they met, those first days..."Was that all?"

"My stomach was bothering me."

He let out a sigh, clutching her shoulder, kneading it as he often did these months. "It's a part of it, you know that."

"Yes, but..."

"What?"

Maria swallowed again, a touch of the acid in her throat once more. "I just thought it might be done with by now."

"It usually is, but Agathe was bothered almost to the end with Marta."

She scowled into his chest. "If you had told me that, I might not have been quite so happy once I got used to the idea of it."

He laughed again, louder than before, and it rumbled against her face. "I very much doubt that."

"Well, yes, but—"

"You haven't been having a good time with any of it, I know that." Georg reached down for her face, pulling it up to his and leaving her with a soft kiss—once, then again. She pressed herself into him, searching for another touch that he gave her immediately. "If I could do something, I would."

"I know."

You've already done so much for all of us. Maria breathed deeply, the unique smell that was simply Georg flooding her nostrils. It all could have gone so wrong so long ago. She shuddered: a life without him—the children—the child she would give birth to in a matter of months...And it could have happened so easily. Even as she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, a few tears escaped, running cold down her cheeks, no doubt onto Georg's neck. It was only a matter of seconds—

"Really, Maria, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered as she wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pushing her face harder into his skin. "Just...I love you. And everyone. And everything now."

"And I love you"—his arm tightened around her back for a moment, until he seemed to remember her swelling belly and their newest child between them, loosening his hold on her just slightly—"...and whomever we'll meet soon."

As the possibility of her pregnancy had first grown in her mind, Maria tried to ignore it; the time wasn't right. Nothing was right, not quite yet. She told herself that her bleeding would begin the next day, then the next, and again the next. That it was only the worries she and Georg hid from the children as best they could, sometimes so wearisome that she couldn't quite sleep through the night. (And how exhausted he must have been...and still be!) How anxious she was in a new country as their native land wallowed beneath the Nazis' wrath and all of Europe threatened to devour itself with another war. But the first morning she found herself in the washroom of the tiny flat they had let for the moment, clinging to the toilet—the fact that her stomach was empty apparently didn't matter—there was no more denying it, no mistaking it this time. No more pretending he or she didn't exist, this new baby they had created after those first weeks—and now nearly two years!—so many nights knitted together in a mess of arms and legs and lust and love.

Even in their initial short weeks together, Maria would have been happy to have a child with him, despite the fact that he had been right the afternoon they met: she was hardly more than a child herself. (What he told her all those years later, it was almost terrifying, both then and now as she thought back over these last happy years.) But that morning, shivering on the floor...she had only been afraid of what lay ahead of them. They didn't have a home: money was almost nonexistent whilst Georg searched for employment in a country none of them understood quite yet—the profit from their concerts they had begun to give, much to Georg's horror, was just enough to supplement what they had been able to bring from Austria. She and most of the children were struggling to learn a new language that was just strange enough—just different enough to their native German—to drive them mad with frustration. This was no time for another child, she had known that as she pulled herself to her feet and tugged her nightgown back down around her legs, trembling as she opened the door. She wondered what to say, how to ask his forgiveness for her body's betrayal of him and the children they already had...only to find him already standing outside the washroom, waiting for her. Half-dressed, arms crossed, and smiling as he pulled her into his embrace, a knowing and experienced hand cupped against her stomach.

"I don't think I've ever seen you that happy," she whispered, now running her fingers across his cheek. The warmth of him was always so delightful, able to drive the cold and the darkest night away in just a moment. "Not even that day I came back to you."

"You told me yourself, I could have missed all of it, if it had happened then. You...him...her..."

"But you didn't, and it doesn't matter now. Just like you said." She pulled her face from his neck, crushing her mouth against his for another kiss, a desperate moan escaping her throat. How could I have ever lived through life and the world without you in it? "Never leave me again?" His hand beneath her chin, Georg gently pulled her lips from his, smiling almost sadly at her. His eyes were half-open, glassy, and in the thin light, she thought she saw tears glistening in the corners. A life without you and the children, not knowing that you were halfway around the world, always wondering what happened to you after I fell asleep beside you..."Never?"

They were tears, a few trickling down his cheeks into the faint beard that had sprouted through the night as it always did. "I don't think I can beg for your forgiveness often enough. An apology isn't enough—it wasn't ever enough."

Maria felt more of her own tears burning at the edges of her eyes, quickly vanishing as she pushed her face into his nightshirt. She didn't care about the growing day or the young children that would soon be scampering through the farmhouse's ancient halls, arguing and playing and always asking questions about everything. Marta and Gretl still eagerly inquired after their newest sibling, Gretl happy to finally have a younger brother or sister, someone to tease as her older siblings had teased her. I just need you. "Don't ever let me go, Georg. Please?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Never again, love. Twice is enough for a lifetime."

Public Service Announcement: I am very music oriented. There will be a lot of music referenced, and not all of it is going to be easy to find. And it could easily disappear from YouTube. Sorry. I'll do my best to get around FF's link censors if I feel it's necessary. A number have been provided by the artists—like the one above—so if I don't attempt to avoid the censorship, it's easily searchable. It's also going to all over the place, my taste in music is extremely eclectic. It includes Rammstein, classical, Soviet, Broadway, Disney, general soundtracks, pop, folk, sixties hippie music, eighties hair bands, synthpop (see above), video game soundtracks, anime soundtracks...there's clearly a theme with the soundtracks. Musical stories.