Bob landed on the front lawn and did so slowly, breathing deeply and rhythmically as he went. Streaks of light zigzagged across the spade-black sky, outliers of cityborn light pollution about which Bob was told he should care.

He eased down to the deck. When his right foot—he always flew with the left leg bent closer in—touched the bricks in the walkway, the landing was soft and his cape fluttered down to hang about his shoulders, and kept swaying in the morning breeze. He turned around slowly, hearing the slow gurgle of a garden hose, and stared into the Healey's front lawn. There was Daniel Walter keying into his car, fishing out some damn thing he needed for some damn reason at 2 in the morning. And there was Bob staring back at him with a face that Bob hadn't worn since…

Since you punched Dr Doom in the face and ripped his mask off, which served the doubly amusing purpose of emasculating the poor bastard in front of fucking Spider-Woman of all people. Way to go, Sentry.

That was true, Bob supposed. Things were a little different now. The morning breeze made the cape swing lazily as it hung from his shoulders, his hair was slicked back in its Sentry way and Bob held his head down, which made his forehead look bigger and his eyes only a little more foreboding. It was his way of being menacing without really being menacing. That's how he looked at Daniel Walter Healey, the obstinate and now completely befuddled neighbor.

With his Sentry scowl.

Daniel Walter's sagging features quivered. "Bob?"

Bob rolled his eyes and turned back toward the house.

He pushed the front door open quietly and shut it with the same minimal effort. He had one foot on the first step upstairs, and his hand on the banister, and looked to the left, toward the den, when he felt something wasn't right. The green-shaded banker's lamp on the desk gave off minimal light, and the fireplace against the far wall was crackling gently.

Sarah was standing by the mantle, with one hand held out toward the flames to feel the warmth, and Bob couldn't tell if she was staring at herself in the mirror, or at him, or at the urn in the center of the shelf.

She turned around slowly. She was wearing a Darthmouth hoodie, even though she'd never been, and khaki shorts that sat high on her hips. Her arms were slung low in the hoodie's stomach pouch, her hair was pulled back simply, her glasses barely hung on her nose, and she looked overall as if she'd just woken up. Or hadn't slept.

Bob stared at her nervously, and then looked around the rest of the room. His jaw clenched and his head bobbed nervously. He felt slightly stupid still wearing the Sentry suit.

"You gave me a key," she said, and turned away from the mantle. "I'm sorry."

He folded his arms over his chest. "You came back."

"Yeah."

"What is this supposed to be?" he asked and felt slightly sociopathic at having asked it.

She locked sad and deep eyes on him. "I'm sorry I left. I came back to apologise."

Immediately, Bob started in: "I told you because I loved you, Sarah. You left because you didn't take me seriously. So do you want me to prove to you just how powerful I am? Or how much I care about you that I would risk bringing you into a life that's only ever brought me pain and trouble?"

"No," she said. "You never lied before, Bob, so it would be stupid not to believe this one thing. You never had to prove anything to me, and you don't have to prove anything now. You don't have to blow up a planet or whatever it is you do just to get me to understand this."

He sighed quickly, annoyed, and his eyes glanced around the room as he collected his thoughts. Then he looked at her and was civil. "I told you…what I told you was in confidence and you ran away. You didn't even say anything. You just up and left. And you had no right to." It was a remarkable moment of strength for Bob. Six months ago he probably would not have had the willpower to stand up to someone like that.

Her head lifted slowly as she looked from the fire to Bob. Her eyes narrowed and Bob saw her jaw clench. He'd pissed her off with the 'no right' bit.

He shook his head and his muscles, all over, tightened again. He took a deep breath, and said, "I've loved you since I met you. That's the way I've always been, my whole life. There's only ever been one other person in my life who I love as much as I love you, and what's left of her is sitting inside that urn on the mantle."

Sarah flashed a glance back at the urn and then looked at Bob and was really apologetic now. He went on: "In 33 years. My whole life. And I love you enough to let you in on this one secret. This thing about me that's cost me almost everything I am. Before you, there was only one other person who really understood what I am and what it means, and she's dead now because I didn't have enough respect for her." Somewhat more sullen: "I never told you that. And I never told her."

Sarah's eyes darted around the room for a moment. She swallowed and then said, "I, uh…I'm sorry."

Bob said, morosely: "I only gave you the truth." His eyes darkened when he paused. "Was that so god-damned much?"

"Look," she said and was suddenly frank. "It's not every day the man you love pulls you aside in a public place and tells you he's a superhero. Okay? How did you think I was going to react? Give you a hug and say 'oh darling, it's so perfect?'"

Lindy said that. Long ago. Small world, ain't it?

She said, "I love you, Bob. Period, end of story. I'd go anywhere with you. But I don't know what to make of all this. I mean, we came into each other's lives at a—at a providential time, you know? It was great, and I thought we were enjoying each other. And then this comes out of left field and you expect me to be okay with it?"

He said nothing and slowly walked closer to her and held out his hand. Its color was rich and warm and the invitation was an unspoken one for Sarah to take his hand in hers.

"You really don't believe me, do you? You think I picked this up from a Halloween store?"

"I never said that, Bob."

He ran one hand through his hair and slunk into the leather sofa, and Sarah followed suit in a prim way.

She said with sanguinity as Bob stared at the fireplace: "You never told me you had a wife."

Pause.

"Lindy," he said. "We met in college."

"You loved her a lot."

He smiled and supposed that was true. "Once upon a time."

He stood and eased Sarah's hand out of his and looked at the urn, head cocked imperceptibly to the side, and was calm for once in his life.

Replayed that day out on Long Island in his mind.

"How many women have you brought out here, Bob?"

He'd had ten years to think of a good response to that, better than the one he'd given her, that sassy 'I have to show Lindy this' bit, romantic and sappy as it was.

That was a good day…

He eyes went from the urn back to the fireplace and his smile left. His eyes lost the glazed look from the nostalgia. Then he turned to her and spoke clearly and cleanly.

"Sarah," he said and his head dipped forward slightly. "Will you come with me?"

"Where?"

He held out a warm hand, and Sarah took it on instinct. He said, "I want to show you something."

Her lips hung open, but only for a moment. Then he said, "Close your eyes" and she did that too.

Even behind tightly shut lids, she swore the world got very bright for a moment. And then very cold. When Bob told her to open her eyes, she felt the night breeze and shivered. She looked down and her jaw slacked at the lighted latticework of Manhattan At Night.

She gasped and hugged Bob close.

"What…what happened?"

"We're a half-mile above the city," he said calmly. "Try to breathe."

"What did you do, sweetie?"

"I also do teleportation." He looked down: her tennis shoes were resting on his boottops like a young girl balancing on her father's shoes. Bob ran a warm hand up the side of her face and she rested her head against his shoulder. "It's alright."

She loosened a bit and looked at the city beneath her, and then at him, into his beautiful baby blues, and felt horrible for even doubting him.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry."

He merely kissed her forehead and held her closer. "I'll take you down."

He'd left this hellhole with a good god-damned reason, but now he was back. Back to show her a few things. Why he left. Why he'd been here in the first place. Why he was back to find something he wasn't sure he lost in the first place.

He'd been angry. Justifiably angry.

They tried to destroy him.

Maybe they even succeeded a little bit. But he survived, like he always did. He proved them wrong, like he always did. And he didn't buckle under the pressure, not even when they destroyed his city, killed his friends.

Impersonated his wife.

He kissed Sarah again and looked toward the city, surprisingly quiet, shimmering in the dead of night. In the distance, yellow brilliance came to life around the spindly arms of the Watchtower, perched indefinitely above Stark Tower. As if to herald his arrival, it had blinked back into existence.

He narrowed his eyes, took a deep sigh, and started the descent toward Herald Square.

He'd take her past the Baxter Building first…

Concluded...