Disclaimer: Everyone in here belongs to Phillip Pullman. Erm, sorry if this is a bit incoherent. It's a little over the top, even for a stream of conscience-esque fic, but it's been sitting in my mind and nagging me for the longest time…

***

"Does it take a whole lifetime to learn?"

"It takes long practice, yes. You have to work. Did you think you could snap your fingers, and have it as a gift? What is worth having is worth working for…" – The Amber Spyglass.

***

If one had caught the image with a specially prepared emulsion, it would have been golden.

As it was, the scene was quite faded, an old woman on a park bench, marten daemon nestling at her throat. Her hair was gray and faded, her face wrinkled with age and worry, her hands folded demurely in her lap, but no, a closer look showed that those hands were tense. And he… his little claws here latched into her gown, his little face screwed tight and focused. If one had caught the image with that emulsion, these things would have showed up bright and clear and illuminated in a shower of falling light.

"Do you remember, long ago…?"

"Yes."

And she opened her eyes.

If one had caught the image with that emulsion, they would have shown the brightest, fierce blue amid the gold as they searched for something that could not be seen.

***

When he saw her, of course, he didn't see the wrinkles, or the gray. When he saw her, he saw her tawny and wild as she'd been all those years ago. When he saw her, she was full of life, and vibrant, like a hummingbird flitting amongst the flowers. When he saw her, he saw her golden.

Fifty-eight years, three months, and fifteen days. It was a number they knew off the tops of their heads and, given a moment, they could have reasoned out the hours or minutes or seconds, because each moment had burned and cut like a knife through the heart. He had thought, once, was that this burning was a shard of the knife left in his flesh like a small, sharp barb, the knife that had been broken fifty-eight years, three months, and fifteen days ago, and had settled in his heart when he saw her for the last time.

And now he saw her again.

They were like ghosts, overlapping like a fine, pale mist, just tangible enough to see, just real enough to touch, their daemons curled up together between their humans' frail, old bodies.

And they kissed.

All in a rush, they were taken back fifty-eight years, three months, and fifteen days. All in a rush, they were transported back, and it was as though they'd never been apart, and everything came rushing back: the smell of his hair, the feel of her skin, the warmth of each other's lips. This was their heaven, their reward for all those years of solitary penance, all alone. This was their heaven, their reward for study and effort and pain. This was their heaven, the heaven they had made, and it was here, and now, and real.

Oh, they knew where they were going, and that it was a long way to go, but that afterwards they could drift away free, and ride the wind and mingle under the stars and sing and dance invisible beneath the tress and – It had been a very long time indeed, and they both longed to go, and they found that there wasn't holding them anything back any longer and– Like balloons or feathers or smoke they lifted up, free, and — They were fading away together, all particles and molecules and atoms and pieces and spirit and soul, off and away and —

And they were golden.

***

Eh~~ *falls down* Drop a review, please; I haven't written anything but D.N. Angel fanfic in forever in a day.