"Oh, Everleigh Jane."

Everleigh turned around. Smiled. If the whole world stopped in that moment, and she got to look at Maverick for the rest of eternity, she would do it with her last heartbeat.

"You're really making me go?" Maverick asked, voice soft. "While you're wearing that?"

Everleigh had worked with Indy on this dress, the one time in her life she ever wanted control. She was always one to keep her promises. With a slit in the thigh—a little ambitious for her, but she was trying—the dress hugged her body nicely. The fabric crossed like a stylized toga across her chest, the bodice below translucent with small opaque lines accentuating her stomach before the skirt of the dress draped around her. Peeking out from just below her breast was the small tattoo she'd drunkenly gotten one night but ultimately decided to keep—a spoon that was smaller than her pinky finger. (Maverick had a matching one along his pinky finger, the same hand that had Stevie and the L train.)

She never thought she'd step out of the house in a dress that she felt good in. There was not one moment growing up where she thought she wanted to be stared at by the world. Part of her still worried about the bumps and the curves and the unfortunate bruise on her knee from bumping it at work. But then there was Maverick. Maverick who picked her up and spun her around when she told him she'd gained five pounds and kissed her because she meant the damn world to him.

Indy hadn't given her pockets this time around—rather, Maverick had larger pockets on the inside of his coat so he could carry Everleigh's phone—but she had picked out the prettiest emerald green fabric Everleigh had ever seen. Tied it in well with the green accents she'd given Maverick for his tuxedo.

"I made you a promise," Everleigh said. "Green dress for the Oscars if you got nominated."

"And you expected me to survive?"

"I expect you to win." Everleigh took the folded piece of paper from the hotel counter, walking over to Maverick and tucking it inside his jacket pocket.

Maverick's hands trailed along her ribs, only the mesh bodice between his fingers and her skin. "What's that?"

"A speech, you spoon," Everleigh said. "Make it easier to fit the time limit when you start crying."

"I don't plan on winning."

Right. Mister Two-Songs-Nominated-For-His-First-Time didn't think he'd win. That's why they'd flown from their flat in Windsor to Los Angeles a month before when he won his Golden Globe, and then landed the night before for the Oscars ceremony and they were there for another week for the Grammys—he was up for nine, two for You Can't Kill Rock and Roll alone. How could she forget? Maverick wasn't on a streak or anything, he didn't know a thing about music. The fucking spoon.

"Hold onto it," Everleigh said. "Please?"

Maverick pressed his lips together and nodded. If she could wear that dress in public, he could fight the imposter syndrome. Everleigh tried her best to kiss his nerves away anyway. Try not to ruin her makeup while she did so.

"Are you ready to go?"

Maverick shrugged.

"What does that mean?" Everleigh took his untied tie in her hands, gently looping it through itself. "And don't say something horny."

Maverick laughed and motioned to his ears. Severely lacking their aids.

"You—" Everleigh took a deep breath instead of reacting the way she wanted to. She had told him to put them where he would remember, but maybe the nerves were taking over. Finished tying his tie and tapped his chest a couple times as she smoothed it out. "You've misplaced them or you haven't put them in?"

"I checked my shoe..."

"Okay. Well." Everleigh stepped away. "Let's get looking. We can be a little late, but as long as you get there before your performance..."

The opening fucking number was going to be a medley of his two nominated songs, Icarus and Achilles' Heel, but that was fine. They were fine. Everything was fine.

(Where the fuck did he put his hearing aids?)

"Everleigh."

Everleigh was already in the loo, on her hands and knees, checking under the sink cabinet. Ignoring him purely because being late made her want to vomit. (Even after the party at the MARS house a year before, they had made it on time for their flight.) (Everleigh didn't go late to things.) (But if he needed her not to panic, she wasn't going to panic.)

"Everleigh."

"They're not in the loo." Everleigh rubbed her hands together to dust them off after pushing herself off the floor. She walked out, looking at Maverick. Hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. "Thank you so much for the help, Kingston."

"Now I feel bad." Maverick's eyes trailed over her dress. Over her. "Dress got dusty."

"They're not there to see me, it doesn't matter," Everleigh said. She placed her hands on her hips. "Did you check the bedroom?"

"Everleigh."

"What?"
Maverick turned his head a little. Hearing aids in his damn ears.

Everleigh raised an eyebrow.

"I just..." Maverick looked like he wanted to laugh. "I wanted to see what you would do."

"You—"

"I love you."

"Goddamn—"

"At least I have them!"

"Fucking—"

"You are the love of my life."

"Spoon—"

"I feel like I need to tell you that more often." Maverick took a step forward, reaching a hand out to her. Fighting laughter. "Love of my damn life."

"You're a wanker." Everleigh threw a hand up in the air. "You know that?"

"I'm sorry."

"I was worried."

"Everleigh—"

"Why?"

"You can't be serious."

"Why?"

Maverick motioned to the loo. "The bathroom... it's behind you."

"And—" Everleigh stopped herself, half-turned to the door when she finally clued in. "You horny little shit—"

Maverick laughed. Took her wrist in his, pulled her close quickly enough the small K pendant on her necklace hung in the air for a moment before returning to her heart. The soft hitch in her breath was enough to earn a wicked grin from him.

"Oh, you better not—"

Maverick trailed a couple kisses down her jaw, neck, shoulder. "Maybe Jonathan Larson did have it right."

"If you think we're having sex after you pulled that bullshit—"

"Green, green dress..."

"Kingston."

"What a pleasure to unwrap..."

A kiss before Everleigh could protest again.

"What the green green dress does to me on you..."

One track mind. Even when he looked damn good in his tuxedo. She ran a hand down his chest.

Maybe they had five minutes to spare.

*

"How are you feeling tonight?"

"Little nervous."

"You've cleaned up the film soundtrack categories for the last couple awards. Think you're coming for the sweep?"

"I think—" Maverick laughed nervously. "You know Elton John's here, right?"

*

"And the Oscar goes to..."

Everleigh was pretty sure she passed out during the reading of the nominees. And every performance, including Maverick's. Seeing musicians live was still awe-inspiring. Seeing Maverick fall in love with music all over again was something she would never get sick of.

When he first proposed the songs to Keira, she fell in love with them. There was never any doubt. He'd poured his heart into them and they became songs of the summer, the autumn, and the winter. Everleigh heard Achilles' Heel on the radio more often than she'd heard anything else. People listened to the You Can't Kill Rock and Roll album while they were in MRIs. To say that Maverick had, quite literally, taken over the world almost felt like an understatement.

Falling in love with Maverick meant that she was there for the good and the bad. That her fingers were there to be numbed because Maverick squeezed her hand so goddamn hard, they both lost feeling. Even at the Golden Globes, Maverick had nearly severed nerves in her hand with how hard he'd squeezed.

When Superhero broke records, Maverick had cried. His first full album—featuring a cheeky shoutout to Everleigh on the cover, that damn photo he'd taken before they'd gone to The Final Grill in London—since being with Everleigh and it was met with raving reviews. No doubt in Everleigh's mind, but he'd needed that. Kingston Maverick was his own worst enemy, always having to prove himself. It was no surprise that his newest and final album, Curtain Call, did even better. Earned him even more nominations after Superhero lost song and record of the year the year before. 

"Maverick with Achilles' Heel!"

"No fucking way." Maverick adjusted his hearing aids as the crowd clapped for him. Attention on Everleigh, who buried him in a hug. "I heard that wrong, right?"

The instrumental to Achilles' Heel ringing through the venue said otherwise.

"You absolutely didn't."

As Maverick returned her hug, kissed her on the cheek, Everleigh could feel his phone vibrating through his jacket pocket. Stevie Kealoha, his soulmate for life. When he pulled away, he was already in tears. Ready to disappear into a puddle on the floor, but he pulled himself together enough to stand up, button up his jacket, and walk up to the stage. Everleigh placed her hand on her chest, not wanting to blink and miss a moment.

Statue in hand, Maverick looked down for a moment before stepping up to the microphone. A deep breath in. Nothing came out.

He stepped back, pressed his knuckle to the bottom of his nose. Tried to keep himself from floating away. When he raised his head again, he found Everleigh in the crowd. Like he always would.

I love you.

Maverick smiled softly. Chuckled a little wetly.

The crowd whistled, cheered, a couple scattered claps. This was his moment, he had the stage.

"Sorry," Maverick said. Placed his damn Oscar on the floor so he could sign along to his speech. "I was told by someone I really care about that I'm a terrible actor, and that I'd never win an Oscar for it. Guess that's still true because I can't seem to stop crying and she's probably at home laughing. Maybe crying with me."

He laughed again. Tapped his chest a couple times. More cheers.

"Oh my God, Elton John..." Maverick said. "I mean..."

More cheers. Come on, Maverick. It's all yours. Bring it home.

"Elton John." Maverick wiped at the tears on his cheeks. Took another deep breath. "Um. Thank you to the Academy. To my mom, my sister. To my director, Keira, to the cast and crew of You Can't Kill Rock and Roll. Thank you for letting me write these songs. Thank you for believing in this... this deaf kid from Canada and letting him live his dreams. For giving a kid who never thought he could make it the time of day.

"To my best friend, Stevie, I—" Maverick laughed. "I think you're actually video calling me right now, but I can't pick up, I'm busy this time. First time I've ever not picked up. You—You're the first and last person who gets to hear these songs. And there are few people I want to walk through the rest of this... insane life with. Thank you for being the moment.

"I know I need to wrap this up, but I've never been too good with timing," Maverick continued. They were going to play his own music to see him off soon. He fiddled with his hearing aids. Probably turned them off like the petty kind of person he was. Couldn't kick him off the stage if he couldn't hear the music. (Everleigh knew as well as he did that he might still be able to hear them.) (That was something the Academy never needed to know.) "My Everleigh—"

Two words directed at her and she was in tears.

"Thank you for sticking with me and for your endless patience. Like I said, I've never been good with timing but somehow it worked out for us, huh?" Maverick smiled. "Thank you for always putting up with the two o'clock writing sprints. For telling me that maybe I should've written a speech. For being the muse and, occasionally, the notepad—"

Maverick had taken a sharpie to her arm and she'd spent a 12 hour shift with unreleased lyrics scribbled on her arm faster than he could think them up. His handwriting only got worse the quicker he wrote, but that didn't mean she wasn't happy to sit beside him when she got home while he read her like she was sheet music. She'd fallen asleep to the sweet, sweet sound of a song Maverick titled last night in soho.

"Thank you for loving me—" Maverick was looking right at her. Like there was no one else in the room. "—even with all my terrible timing. But, hey, at least I was present for this announcement, right?"

Maverick signed that he loved her as the music started.

"And for the record," Maverick said, always late, "abortion has always been healthcare. Do better. Keep your laws out of people's organs."

*

"You didn't even read the speech I gave you."

"I'm not sure I'm alive right now. Elton John blew me a kiss and I blacked out."

Everleigh kissed his cheek as he reached into his breast pocket, unfolding the paper.

In neat, printed letters was: Told you so. –E

*

Trading dresses for scrubs, no matter if they were designed by Indy Yamaguchi or not, was always a choice Everleigh would make. When they made it back to Windsor, a place Everleigh never thought she would live, but she would go anywhere with Maverick, she was right back to work.

That night she'd killed her phone, held a patient's hand while they found out about treatment options, and stayed an extra hour because they were understaffed. By the time she was off, Everleigh drove home with practically one eye open. If she didn't live close to the hospital, she might've ended up back in emergency for a car accident.

Fidgeting with her keys as she walked up the stairs to their flat, Everleigh leaned against the wall. Half asleep. Sometimes when it was past two, Maverick was awake when she got home. Usually writing. He was in the final writing stages of an album he was calling Curtain Call. He avoided talking about it with Everleigh; neither of them wanted to admit that it was probably his last hurrah. Late nights came with slow music each time Everleigh opened the door.

When she got the door open, that night was different.

There were no guitar strums or hums from a keyboard. Everleigh didn't even have time to put her keys down before there were arms wrapped around her and paws dancing at her feet.

"Hey," Everleigh said.

"You need to check your damn phone."

"Are you okay?" Everleigh asked. "Did something—"

"An hour."

"What?" Everleigh squeezed him a little tighter. Maybe she was bleary, but there wasn't any context to what Maverick was saying.

"It's been an hour since I thought you were getting home. I thought—"

"Are you okay?"

"Promise me you're fine," No matter her answer, Maverick pulled away from her and started examining her. Eyes raked over her body to make sure she hadn't been in an accident or something.

"I promise."

He hugged her again. Tightly. Afraid he was dreaming. "Scared the hell out of me, Everleigh."

"I'm sorry."

"You better be."

"I'm okay."

"You better be."

Everleigh kissed his shoulder. "Who's worried about someone being late now?"

Maverick might have had a thing with timing, but it always seemed to stop whenever she was in his arms.

There would always be time for them. Their spinning top on a counter. Not once looking to see if it had fallen—if it was a dream, neither of them wanted to wake up.

"Oh, don't even," Maverick said. "This makes up for every single time I've ever been late to anything."

"Want to bet?"

*