Many thanks to BeaconHill for betareading.

Dawn 14.7

My eyes opened to the soft sunlight filtering in through my window. The grey dawn cast long shadows across my old bedroom.

I hadn't slept here very often over the past several months. Dad had been comatose—I had left him comatose—for a lot of that time, and even after that the place had been choked with unpleasant memories. I remembered feverish nights spent torturing myself over tearstained journals, documenting every cruelty, from cutting remarks to elbows in the ribs, from stolen assignments to ruined books. This was the room where I had desperately tried to think about any way out of the prison of my life—any way except for the obvious.

Unbidden, as I lay there in the gloom, my thoughts drifted back towards Mark Anglin—the name the Witch-King had chosen. I couldn't know firsthand what it was like for a mortal to have his soul extended over millennia, but I had seen the results more than once. I had watched as my Nazgûl gradually faded away, any spark leaving them as their lifespans lengthened. Curiosity had been one of the first things to go, followed by any interest in the future. Hope quickly faded—not in the sense that they grew hopeless, but in the sense that the shape of the future lost any lustre for them. They did not hope because there was nothing to hope for.

By the time of the second War of the Ring, the Ringwraiths had been scarcely more than automata. They could string together thoughts, but there was no creative spark left in them to form original ideas. They could put together plans, but they had no desires left to motivate them to seek objectives. All that was human in them had been sapped away by time.

Or so I had thought.

I had imagined that the human essence, the Gift of the Second-born that was endemic to them, was gradually passing out of the vessels even as I kept them animate. I had never tested it—just assumed that, since the Nazgûl had stopped acting like autonomous human beings, they no longer were, just shells I could control.

I had been wrong. In my absence, the core of the man who became the Witch-King had endured. The profound horror of his circumstance, the inescapability of it, had never ceased to torture him. He lingered in a world that had forgotten him, unable to muster grief, unable to feel anything but an abject melancholy for the man he had once been.

And I knew, with cold certainty, that back then I would not have changed a single thing. Every indignity I had heaped upon him, I still would have, even knowing exactly what it would do to him.

The blankets moved beside me. I startled, turning my head in surprise, but before I could say or do any more I felt lips on my forehead. Sophia wrapped herself gently around me, the blankets rustling between us, and I leaned into her, allowing myself to melt into her arms.

She held me there, stroking my hair and pressing slow, soft kisses against my face for a few minutes. I wasn't crying, but in her arms I could feel how I was shuddering. Slowly I grew still, clinging to her like a limpet to a rock.

"I forgot you were here," I admitted at last, once I felt I could speak without my voice shaking.

She ran the fingers of her left hand through my hair. I felt the ridge of Cenya against the back of my scalp momentarily. "Well, I am," she said. "And I'm not leaving anytime soon."

"I'm glad," I said, burying my face in her shoulder. She was wearing simple cotton pajamas, wonderfully casual, and I breathed deep of the banal scent of her shampoo.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

I hesitated. I didn't want to think about it. Not now, not here in her arms, wrapped up in her like a bird in its nest. And I could ignore it, here and now. I could distract myself with the wonderful softness of her, and the beautifully light feeling of being in love, and being loved in return.

But that couldn't last forever, much as I, eternal, might wish it could. And if there were anyone to whom I could bare myself, she was here beside me now. I didn't fear her judgement, and that alone made her unique and precious beyond any other treasure.

So I told her. I told her about the Nazgûl. I told her in painful detail about what Mark had gone through, about what I had damned him to suffer in my absence.

And I told her, too, about how it had felt to watch him try to flee the moment he had realized who he was facing. I told her about the sick feeling in my belly when the Black Speech had passed my lips unbidden. I told her about the way my mind had flickered back to Valefor, to Nikos Vasil, to the little Master-children I had run down not two months ago. I told her about the way my traitorous heart had flared in satisfaction at being, once more, feared.

She listened to me. She held me as I poured out my pain, my fear, my self-hate. Her breathing was even and gentle, and I felt the rhythm of it in my whole body, calming and centering me. She didn't interrupt, and when I finally subsided, she spoke.

"You can't just stop being affected by the things you used to do," she said kindly. "You can't just flick a switch and turn off the parts of you that reacted in a certain way to things. When I made Emma trigger on the roof of Winslow, part of me was happy about it—happy to be inflicting pain instead of receiving it. That was who I was for years. Even though I knew better by then, it was still a part of me. It still is now. It always will be. But I think that's okay, because there's another part of me that wants to make people stop hurting, that wants to help people feel better, and be better, whether they're my enemies or not. It's not consistent, and it doesn't have to be. People are contradictory, and so am I. And so are you."

I buried my face in her hair. "If I get it wrong even once," I said softly, "I could hurt a lot of people."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But every time you get it right, you help someone. Look—maybe you sometimes like seeing people scared of you. But you also like to see them trust you, and you like repaying that trust in kind. You like to see them happy, and to know that you're the one who made them happy. It's all part of you, Taylor, and nothing you feel is wrong. What can be wrong is what you do, and you're doing your best. That's all anyone can ask."

"Is it enough?" I found myself asking.

"It has to be," she says instantly. "Otherwise, 'enough' is meaningless."

I snuggled closer. "I love you when you get all wise."

She laughed and kissed me, and we didn't talk again for some time.

The farewell party was a joyous affair. Though we were all aware that it would be the last time we all saw one another in the same place for some time—possibly forever—none of us let that hamper our celebration. I caught even Emma smiling as she listened to Jess and Alec swap stories of some of their sillier escapades as villains.

We had commandeered one of the large conference rooms in the upper floors of PRT HQ for the purpose. Several small tables were scattered around the space, littered with food and drink, and all around were couches, seats, and two or three televisions. One wall was paneled in glass, allowing a view of the Bay lit dimly by the sunset. A glass door opened into a balcony with metal tables and dark green umbrellas. Someone had set up a dartboard in one corner, and a few of the PRT members were doing their best to compete with Miss Militia and the luminous green dart in her hand. Across the room, Brian and Marissa were playing against Alec and Jess at the pool table someone dragged in from the break room.

The party was loud, rambunctious, and lively. Wards, Protectorate members, PRT officers, and former villains all mingled, and somehow no one was uncomfortable with it.

I did, in the end, order pizza. It seemed fitting.

"Hey," said Carlos, lowering himself into an armchair beside my seat on the sofa. He held a slice of Hawaiian pizza in one hand and a paper plate in the other.

"Hey," I replied softly, my eyes on Dennis and Sam playing table tennis, their eyes alight with laughter.

"You doing all right?" Carlos reached out and gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder. "You've been awfully quiet since you got back."

I turned to him, showing him the genuine smile on my face. "I know," I said. "I had a rough night, but I'm doing better now." My thoughts drifted back to the morning, to waking up with Sophia beside me. "I'm good, Carlos. There's nowhere I'd rather be, and nothing I'd rather be doing."

He smiled slowly. "Good to hear," he said. Then his face fell somewhat. "Listen, Taylor, I know most of us weren't really… what you needed, after your second trigger."

"It wasn't your fault," I said immediately, my smile fading. "Something like that was going to happen, Carlos. It's who I am—who I was. I'm just sorry you were all caught up in it."

"That's what I'm talking about." Carlos looked unhappy. "It feels like you don't trust us anymore—and I get it. We let you down. We should have been there for you—like Sophia was. We should have seen what was happening and done something about it. I just…" He sighed in frustration, and in a flash of insight I understood.

"Oh, Carlos," I said gently. "I promise, I didn't want this. Splitting up the team wasn't my idea, and I wasn't in favor of it at first. Alexandria had to talk me around to it. I don't want you all to leave, and I don't want to leave all of you. You're my friends. And you were there for me—I don't blame you for not knowing intuitively exactly what I needed. No one would have."

"Sophia did," Carlos said dryly.

"Sophia did," I agreed with a wide smile that probably came out rather goofy. "But she's different."

Carlos chuckled. "Fair enough," he said. "Have to admit, I was surprised you wanted Oracle along for your little field trip."

"Emma," I corrected him. "And—it seemed right. The fear that I would do exactly this, but for the wrong reasons, is what drove her to the Empire in the first place. She deserves to be there, to see for herself that it goes right."

"Mm-hm. And it also gives you a convenient chaperone."

It was an effort to let myself flush red, to resist the urge to clamp down on such a blatant display of emotion. "She wasn't our chaperone," I said. My lips twitched. "Or if she was, she wasn't a very good one."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like there's a story there."

"Not all that much of one." Sophia's voice came from behind me as she passed by the couch. I leaned up, and she leaned down, and there in full view of Carlos and the rest of the team, our lips met. Sophia smiled down at me for a moment, then winked at Carlos. "Emma gave us our space, that's all." Then, with a happy bounce in her step, she continued on.

I looked back at Carlos and saw that not only had his jaw dropped, so had several of the others who were nearby. Missy's eyes looked like they were about to fall out, and Alec looked like he might fall over laughing at any moment. Dragon's eyes were on me with an odd, almost wistful smile on her face. When I caught her eye, she gave me a tiny nod and then turned back to her conversation with Colin.

"Well," said Carlos, sounding strangled. "Um. Congratulations?"

"Thank you," I said gracefully. "If I'm honest with myself, it's been a long time coming."

"Sure, yeah," he agreed absently, his eyes darting over to Sophia across the room, then back to me. "Not really what I expected when you said Emma would be coming with you."

"I didn't expect it either," I admitted, "but that needed to happen. Sophia, Emma and I go back to the very beginning. Each of us caused the others a lot of pain, most of it intentional. We needed to close the circle, all three of us, if we wanted to move forward. Emma needed closure so that she can live her life without orbiting me and Sophia anymore, so she can find her own path."

"No mention of you and Sophia finding your own paths, though."

I raised my eyebrows at him, ignoring the warmth in my cheeks. "What an oddly specific thing to point out," I said blandly.

Carlos laughed. "You'll be all right," he said. "Take care of yourself, okay, Taylor? And take care of Sophia while you're at it."

"I will. You too, Carlos." I watched as he stood and rejoined the rest of the party. I let my eyes drift over the others.

We might not be together in the flesh for much longer, but we were bound together by more than Rings, now. These were my friends, and so they would remain no matter what changed around us.

My smile widened as the first of many fireworks exploded over the bay outside the window. I let Sophia pull me to my feet and followed her out onto the balcony. The bursts of color in the dusky twilight illuminated the city that had become my home, the people who had become my friends and family.

I had built these fireworks with Dragon's help, and asked some of Dad's friends to set them off once night fell. I remembered designing some of them long ago, in simpler, younger times, with someone who might have become a friend had things been different. But as I watched Sophia's eyes widen in delight as a sparkling dragon soared over the Bay, I couldn't be too upset about lost opportunities or doors left unopened.

There was, right now, nowhere I would rather be.

End Arc 14: Dawn