Work Text:
Maria spent the better part of an hour making her way across the crowded ballroom, looking for Howard, before trying the rest of the house. She found him in his study, staring out the window, a hand pressed against his mouth, his eyes unfocussed. She moved to his side and touched his arm. He didn't look at her, but a small smile curved his lips.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, though she knew the answer.
"Nothing," he said softly, the way he always did.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and took his hand. "The war."
Howard gave a tired laugh and said, "Which one?"
Maria sighed and squeezed his fingers. "Your war."
He hummed and stroked his thumb against the back of her hand.
"You're thinking about Steve." He always did at times like these.
"A little." He shrugged and finally looked at her. "He'd be so happy for us, Maria. A baby; he'd be thrilled. Proud. He'd—" He swallowed hard and let go of her hand. "Are you happy? Do I make you happy?"
"Of course I am." She smiled and touched her belly. "And of course you do." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Why don't you come back to the party? It's almost midnight."
Howard shook his head. "It's too crowded. It's…" He turned towards her, then, and cupped her face. "I love you. You know that, don't you? You know that I love you."
She wanted to cry, because she knew. Of course, she knew. Howard loved her and Steve was dead. She had spent her childhood chasing the ghost of her mother. How could she begrudge Howard his ghost? "Yes, I know. I love you, too."
He kissed her gently, stepped back, and took a deep breath. "How did a guy like me manage to land a gorgeous dame like you?"
Maria shrugged and gave him a coy smile. "Got me. You're just lucky I didn't mind a fixer-upper."
He laughed and pulled her into a hug; she could feel him trembling.
"If it's a boy, we could name him Steven."
"No, no, he would have hated that. He would have hated that so much." Howard pressed a cheek to her hair. "If it's a boy, we'll name him Anthony. And if it's a girl…"
"Isabella," she said. "After my mother."
"Yes." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling overwarm in his embrace. They stayed like that until the clock chimed twelve.
He pulled away from her and took her hands in his and pressed them to her belly. "Happy New Year."
"Yes," she said, and kissed him three times: once from her, another from the baby, and last from their ghosts.