Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money from the use of characters and associated story lines.

A/N: Just something that hit me one night just as I was drifting off to sleep. This will be the final chapter of NCO: M/L resolution, but I'm working on the sequel to New CO, (or rather, I intend to start- any day now) and there will be more M/L hidden in there somewhere. For now, enjoy!

New CO: M/L resolution

Chapter 2: The shirt

When I wake, she's not beside me, not occupying the side of the bed that more and more frequently is becoming hers.

I worry for a millisecond until I see her through the open door, standing in the living room and staring out the window.

She's wearing my shirt.

We've come so far in only a few short months. Together we have taken on the last strains of Manticore, and struggled to figure out the multitude of mysteries that they left us as a parting gift. We've faced 'the year that wasn't' as I so joyfully call the year we denied each other, and ourselves. We've faced that year, talked through it, and revealed to each other deeply hidden insecurities that I sometimes think should have stayed deeply hidden.

I see new differences in her every day, smiles come to her face more quickly, her laughs last a little longer, she's loosening up and relaxing, and slowly learning to stop looking over her shoulder.

It's hard to fathom, Manticore being gone. A few nights a week I wake up and panic, thinking that we couldn't have done it, that they're still out there, hunting her, watching and waiting. It's nights like those that lead me to her apartment, sitting outside in my car without needing to go up, simply relieved that there isn't a military convoy blocking my view. Or I circle the space needle, trying to catch a glimpse of her from below. Hell, she's even taken to unplugging the phone some nights, for the sake of Original Cindy's sanity.

These are the nights I love the best. When she's here, with me. The first night I tried to stay awake with her, and she laughed at my lack of concentration over a four o'clock in the morning chess game, and eventually found me nodding off in the kitchen, the spoon I'd used to make coffee still in my hand. Now when she stays, she waits until I'm asleep before climbing out of the bed, wandering around my apartment until dawn, acquainting herself with my computer system, playing chess against herself or skipping out to ride through the broken streets of Seattle on her motorcycle.

Tonight, she's wearing my shirt. It means so much to see her in it, a sign of the distance we've travelled, how far we've come. We've beaten her ghosts, as much as is possible. We've beaten our own ghosts too, our insecurities, we somehow managed to swallow our respective prides and get through this, get to this point.

It feels great, to have her wear my shirt. Max is free; she can never, and will never, belong to anyone. She exists only as herself, but there's something about her wearing my shirt that makes me feel as though she belongs to me, as much as any person can belong to another.

She turns, as though she feels my eyes on her, and gives me a small smile before joining me in the bed once more. I'm glad that mind reading isn't a skill she possesses, or surely I'd be slapped for thinking such ridiculous thoughts.

Ridiculous, yes. But here she is, cuddled close to me and wearing my shirt.

I've never been happier.