"Are you all right?"

The question is met with silence.

"Steven?" It's been years since she's said his name so gently. Years since she's reached out and touched his hand the way she does now. Years since Alena has offered any sort of tenderness towards him. At first, Steven isn't sure how to react.

"Just…just give me a minute…" He mutters, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Alena nods slowly, gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and lets the silence engulf them once again. The graveyard is empty save for their little group. All cameras and reporters were ducked. With them gone, it's like a layer of Hawkins has been pulled away and left in the freshly lain dirt. Whenever there's a lens directed at him there's an easy smile directed at the lens. Now it's as though his countenance is something real. Something tangible. There's pain and sorrow. But also…something more.

Alena looks over at Captain Price. He's smoking passively, eyes fixed at the same point Steven's are. But his are void of that pain, that sorrow. It's something he's experienced so many times it doesn't surface easily. However, Alena can see that…whatever it is in Steven's eyes reflected in the Captain's. It's more intense and prominent and it sends chills through her. There's a determination to it. A strong will that won't be shaken.

There are tears in Yuri's eyes. He and Gadget had been friends, Alena knows. She didn't realize how significant she was to him, though. It never added up. To the woman's knowledge, Gadget and Yuri's relationship had been professional. An exchange of words, maybe a smile, all business, all focus. Trust had been in question. Yuri turns his back. Places his face in his hands. Heaves a sigh. And she realizes; this isn't about Gadget to him. It's another life wrecked, another light extinguished because he failed. The urge to reach out and comfort him is strong.

"She would not want us to linger so long." Nikolai says lowly.

"It's not exactly up to her now, is it?" Derek lights a cigarette. He didn't used to smoke.

Shit changes.

Alena gives Steven's hand a squeeze when he stiffens defensively. "Nikolai is right. There are things you must do to prepare." She reminds him.

There is a collective agreement.

"Goodbye my friend," Nikolai reverently places his hand on top of the headstone.

Price does the same after Nikolai turns and walks away, drawing Yuri and Derek along after him. He sighs heavily and reads the inscription. "She would've hated this, y'know. Sounds too much like something that bastard Shepherd would say."

"It's not all that bad." Steven laughs weakly. His voice cracks slightly and he clears his throat. "'scuse me…" He follows the others, releasing Alena's hand.

The two stand in silence for several moments. "I think that she would be very proud of all of you." Alena says kindly. "I did not know her well, Captain. But she seemed like someone who would not wish for you to linger on thoughts of her."

Another moment of silence. The captain lets his hand fall away from the stone and he nods. "She wanted us to finish it.

"And we're going to."

Derek falls behind the others. "Are you coming, my friend?" Nikolai calls back.

Frost nods tersely. "Yeah…just…go ahead. I'll catch up."

"Right."

The walk is long. Gadget was buried on the opposite end of the graveyard. That's ok though. Derek capitalizes on the time. Figuring out what he should say. Whether or not he should say anything. Debating whether he should even go see. Of course he should. Shouldn't he?

But it's too late to turn back, because he's there.

William Fichtner. Sandman. Idris Elba. Truck. Timothy Olyphant. Grinch. The bodies were never recovered from beneath the rubble of the mine. It's probably better that way though. They never would've wanted so much time, energy, and resources to be wasted on an effort like that.

Especially not Sandman.

"I…"

Suddenly all the words Frost had to say are gone. There's nothing to say. They're dead and gone and free. He's here. That's about the extent of it.

"I…"

He tries again anyways, but the words are lost again. It's like scrabbling at thin air. Trying to grab something that's not there. Like reaching out in hopes of catching a bubble in your palm, only to have it pop. So instead, Frost swears and falls to his knees in the dirt and rests his forehead against warm rock.

He could've sat there for ten minutes. An hour. A heartbeat. Frost's not sure and, frankly, doesn't care.

A hand rests on his shoulder and his instincts snap into defense mode. Grabbing the person's wrist, he whirls around. Alena takes a frightened step back. A moment of silence, of understanding. They both know that there's nothing to say.

Frost stands up, casts one last look at the memorial, and allows Alena to lead him along.

Ghost is granted release.

One objective.

One goal.

One thing on Ghost's mind.

Kill Makarov.

"It is good to have you back, my friend."

"Good to be back." Ghost shakes Nikolai's hand, tone flat. He's got his mask on. He's untouchable. Similar condolences are exchanged with Yuri, Price, and Steven, all with equally monotonous similarity.

They all notice.

They all say nothing.

It's been too long since Ghost has had a gun in his hands, he decides. Too long since he's allowed his mind to become so distant and so focused. So long since he's let go. Since he's been Ghost.

The feelings aren't all together pleasant.

And yet, they're all welcome.

There's planning and there's preparation. Days of tracking and calculating and wracking their brains for clues. A week goes by. Then two.

It's all a blur to Ghost. None of it matters.

Only one thing matters.

Kill Makarov.

One goal.

One objective.

The mirror is a liar.

Gadget smiles at Ghost. He blinks rapidly. She laughs even though it doesn't make a sound, nodding her head as if confirming his suspicions. Yes, it's only his imagination. The mirror is, as always, lying to him. He's alone in the bathroom. Gadget's not standing behind him, smiling over his shoulder, a cigarette burning between her fingers. She's dead.

He knows it's a lie because when he looks back, the only thing there is the shower curtain.

She's dead.

She's gone.

There's nothing he can do to change that.

Dragging his eyes off of her lying smile and forces himself out of the bathroom. Leaves false hope behind. Survives and hunts for Makarov and nothing more.

"Got him! I got him!" Steven suddenly cries, practically leaping from his chair with jubilation. "He tripped up."

January 21st

The date sticks in Ghost's warped and blurred mind.

January 21st

Finally.

Finally.

Makarov made a mistake. "It'll be his last," Ghost whispers. He feels a hand slip into his and give a light squeeze. A chin rests on his shoulder. But she's not there. The feeling's not real. He looks and there's no one standing next to him. Ghost's hand closes into a fist and he steels his heart. "His last."

They are deployed quickly and without error. The small team of four men are dropped into the Arabian Peninsula, one objective on their minds.

Kill Makarov.

As they sit in the armored vehicle and strap on their gear, a thick sensation takes hold of the air. Ghost wets his lips and shifts from sitting up straight to leaning into his knees. "I feel exposed." He murmurs to Steven.

"That's what this is for." Hawkins taps the Juggernaut gear on his chest, smirking slightly. There's been a change in the young man since Ghost met him. He used to smile constantly, charmingly. Used to make jokes and flirt with every woman who passed. Used to. Now there's a sage-like wisdom to the way he carries himself. It's like he feels the unbearable weight of their mission at last. Steven gets it, Ghost realizes.

Ghost looks away. That's not what he meant by exposed.

"You are sure this armor will protect us?" Yuri asks, looking to the younger man next to him.

A grim expression takes over Steven's face. "It'll buy us time."

"Brilliant." Ghost mutters, pulling his helmet on.

Price, who has been silent for the whole trip, keys in to their radio that connects them with each other. "Nikolai, are you patched into their system?"

"Working on it. My arming is a little rusty."

Ghost laughs at something no one else heard.

They all pretend they don't hear him.

Steven swallows thickly.

The sound of guns firing, bullets against metal, distorted shouting voices all bombard the men at once. "Holy shit…" Steven secures his helmet.

"Looks like they know we are here." Yuri says, shaking his head.

Again, the radio comes to life, bringing Nikolai's voice. "I've tapped into their security feed. Makarov's in the atrium at the top floor."

Their plan is simple. Get in any way they can. Kill Makarov. Get out if they can. A three step process with a goal that can be reached by any of them. Derek and Nikolai may be able to, by some miracle, get close enough to wipe out the bastard without even getting out of their helicopter. Or, the ground team compiled of Ghost, Price, Yuri, and Hawkins could beat them to it. Either way; the job will get done.

Ghost prays he gets to Makarov first.

"This is it. Makarov doesn't leave here alive." Price's words sound very nearly prophetic as the armored car screeches to a halt. Immediately, they're all on their feet, moving a bit slow due to their cumbersome juggernaut armor.

The gun is heavy in Steven's hands. Despite the planning and the training and the preparation, it still feels foreign there. Too large. Too powerful. The largest weapon he'd carried previous to this day was a little handgun that he'd use for personal protection only. Even then, he hadn't had to shoot it very often. An automatic machine gun like the one he's got now—the one he's about to kill people with—makes it seem childish.

Yuri throws all of his weight against the back doors. They smash open, revealing the road filled with security guards armed to the teeth in front of the building's entrance. It's a long walk. But they're not complaining.

Four sets of legs are pushing forward. They are walking as immortals through the throngs of guards. Raining down death upon their enemies' heads. The first wave lasts only seconds before they're all dead. None of the four immortals are scratched.

Ghost smiles, pushing forward beneath the weight of his gear. "C'mon then."

"We've got their attention! Second wave of responders coming any second." Price shouts.

They waste no time pressing on. Time is valuable. Makarov will undoubtedly hear about their arrival and rabbit out of here. Slip away again. Disappear.

They can't let that happen. They won't let that happen. They will kill him this time.

Whatever the cost.

Steven can feel his heart in his throat. He can feel every ounce of blood in his veins. Every breath he takes seems to resound through him. Every shift of his muscles, every step, every blink seems immense and important and so very, very there. He's so alive. So in tune with everything. Because he knows one slip up, one mistake, one instant of carelessness could be the end.

It's scary as hell.

It's exhilarating.

The group makes it about ten yards before a careening car flies into view. "Here they come, right on schedule." Yuri says.

"Shoot the cars!" Price orders.

Another feeling of immortality washes through Ghost as he fires at the vehicles. They go screeching out of control, destroyed because he wants them to be. And nothing can hurt him because he's the one behind the biggest gun, he's the one who is protected with nearly impenetrable armor. Not those who sit behind the wheel.

Even with nearly endless waves of guards and the burden of their gear slowing them all down, it doesn't take long to reach the doors of the 'Oasis'. And all Steven can think about is how this is not a place for war. How the doors had once opened to soft music and peaceful air. Now they bring with them automatic weapons and indestructible determination. Yes, this is no place for war. However, it has made a home here anyways.

"Makarov's got a small army in there." Frost reports.

Ghost thinks only a moment before responding. "It won't help him. Take control of the lifts so he can't escape."

"On it."

Steven lifts his gun to mow down another line of guards, gritting his teeth against the wave of revulsion to it. "Woah! Woah! Woah! Civilians! Watch your fire!" Ghost shouts at him.

Blinking, it registers to Steven that he's got his gun pointed at innocence. He averts his aim quickly. "Thanks."

A grunt is his only reply.

They enter the building without hesitation, letting the throngs of screaming civilians pour out past them. "Nikolai, where's Makarov?" Price demands.

"Still in the atrium, but he's on the move."

"Don't lose him! We're almost there."

Almost there. It's almost over. Ghost keeps repeating it to himself. He wants to believe that. Wants to know that they can do this and they can kill him and that they will kill him. But, they've always been 'almost there'. Time and time again it's seemed as though that maniac would finally be dead. And he'd always slip away. Always escape. Always win.

How can Ghost believe any different?

Yuri shouts, "Hostiles! On the escalator!"

The fight through the foyer is just as fast and short lived as the fight outside. Steven dares to hope. He hasn't been struggling as long as the others, hasn't been this close before. He can feel that this is it; they're going to make it. Even with the heavy knowledge that they've still got a ways to go Steven is starting to believe that they're going to kill him. They're going to win.

His innocence hasn't been peeled away so completely. Not yet.

They make it up the escalator. Alarms and screaming and gunfire echo all around them. And yet, Ghost feels like all he can hear is his own breathing. The beating of his own heart.

The immortals walk among mere men, wiping them out with little effort. Little fear.

"Ok, I've got control of the elevators. Sending them to your floor." Frost finally reports.

'Gadget would've had it done sooner.' Ghost thinks bitterly.

Can't think like that now. Push forward. Focus. One objective. Kill Makarov.

Civilians scamper out of the elevator as the doors open and the four let them run past passively, backing in the lift themselves, shooting at anyone who opposes them. Mercy is given sparingly.

"Makarov's moved to the restaurant. Same floor. He's got a large security detail with him. Hold on to your balls, boys." Frost says over the radio.

The lift starts upwards. "What kind of opposition's waiting for us?" Price asks.

"Forty plus foot mobiles. SMGs and assault rifles. Like I said, hold on to your balls."

Yuri looks up at the sound of helicopter blades, frowning. "Choppers."

"One of them is heading for the roof. Probably going for Makarov." Ghost says reaching over to Steven and wordlessly showing him the proper way to reload.

"Orders, sir—" Yuri's question is cut off when one of the helicopters hones in on their position, firing at them. The glass walls of the elevator shatter and Steven is knocked backwards, grunting softly. There's no time to be sure the youngest man is all right. The three others all turn their guns on the enemy chopper and fire away.

It's sent reeling through the night sky; a flaming bird knocked from the air.

But something's wrong. The pilot, clearly willing to see his job through to the end, steers the falling helicopter right for them!

"LOOK OUT!" Ghost yells. He grabs at the back of Price's armor and drags him backwards, sending both himself and the older man to the floor beside Steven.

There's a heart-stopping jolt as the flaming chopper crashes into the building just above them. Yuri screams and falls against the back wall, his body aflame.

Flames dance in Ghost's vision and suddenly, he sees a face flickering in them. Roach's. "No…No…No!" The man writhes and screams and reaches for him. Ghost snatches at air, trying desperately to save his friend. He can't reach him. He can't reach him! Then, there's a new face. Gadget. She's reaching for Ghost, hands burning, cheeks tearstained and eyes pitiful. Contorted with pain. Gritting her teeth. Pulling him out. Onto his feet.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!" Steven shouts, forcing Ghost against the wall. They're both aflame, armor shredded and burning. He shakes the other man, who is staring at him blankly. "GHOST! GHOST SNAP OUT OF IT!"

Yuri rips the burning armor off of himself and throws it away, joining Steven and doing the same for both of the other men. "Ghost! We have to go!"

Ghost blinks and nods and seems to resurface, though still distant. "Right. Price?"

Without their armor, they are no longer immortal. They are men. Men against impossible odds. Again.

"Nikolai, we need another lift!" Price orders.

"Copy, on its way."

He looks to the others. "Stick to the plan. This doesn't change anything."

Ghost grins and pulls his balaclava from his Kevlar. He puts it on. "Let's do this."

The elevator gives a dangerous lurch and Steven sprawls forward slightly, just barely catching his balance. "This won't hold much longer, gentlemen!"

"Jump!" Yuri shouts.

They do.

No one ever makes the first jump. As the floor of the elevator gives another shudder and falls out from beneath him, Hawkins doesn't get as much momentum as the others. He falters. Leaps. The others land securely. The wind is knocked from his lungs as he manages to get his upper torso onto the other lift.

The floor is polished marble he realizes as he slips along it. A scream. A scrabble. And he's falling. Howling.

He's falling!

…for an instant.

Two hands close around his wrists and the scream is cut short. A smiling skull balaclava looks down at him, sunglasses hiding the eyes. A thousand feet below Steven's legs, his gun hits the ground, shattering.

With a pained grunt and Yuri's help, Ghost gets Steven back onto solid ground.

"Thank you…" The actor says breathlessly, heart still hammering from the ordeal.

Ghost doesn't respond.

One thing is on his mind. Kill Makarov.

"Makarov's chopper just touched down. He's heading there now!" Frost informs them. "Keep moving. You've got approximately four minutes."

"He's not getting away!" Price says concretely.

Nikolai's voice returns. "Be careful! They are setting up barricades."

Steven launches himself forward the moment the doors open, only to be dragged back forcefully by Yuri. "Watch yourself, Hawkins. Your armor is gone!" He reminds him sternly.

The fighting takes longer now that the playing field is empty of immortals. They have to tread carefully, check their corners, and watch for civilians. It's not what Steven was used to. There's fear now. Fear of death. Fear of failure.

Time is slipping away; time they can't afford to lose.

Even with encouragement from the others, Steven is beginning to slow down, breathing unevenly.

But then, "I CAN SEE HIM!" Steven roars, bursting forward with renewed strength.

"Hawkins, wait-!"

Price's warning comes a moment too late. Steven lets out a shout, tumbling to the ground, hands at his side. Yuri immediately starts after him, but another unforeseen danger greets him.

Another helicopter flies into view, spotlight directed straight towards the Russian.

His mouth opens to warn the others.

But again, it's a moment too soon.

A rocket explodes not four feet from their position and sends them all to the ground in heaps. Another takes out the nearby column. Debris and chairs fly. Another rocket.

The floor gives out.

Falling. Shouting. Price scrabbles at the ground, trying to gain hold of something as he slides towards the now shattered windows. His hands close around a metal rod just as his legs slip over the edge, dangling dangerously over the concrete thousands of feet below. He bellows and drags himself forward.

Then he sees it, his blood going cold.

Yuri lies a few feet away from him, a piece of jagged metal stuck through him like a pin, keeping him stuck in place. He groans in pain. Seeing Price, a weak little smile crosses his face.

"Yuri…" Price scrambles to his feet and starting over to help him.

"Leave me!" The man insists. "Don't let him get away!"

It isn't easy. But Price obeys.

Ghost moans in pain, rolling over and forcing the debris off of himself. Steven is lying face down. He's not moving. He's not breathing. "Sorry, mate." Ghost whispers, turning his back and taking off.

There's one thing on his mind. Kill Makarov.

He's so close. So close. He SAW the bastard. Saw him running. He can't let him get away. Not now. "Price!" Ghost calls, spotting his captain. "Where's Yuri?"

Price doesn't answer. Ghost understands.

They run. They run in spite of all the pain and the fires and the ravaged debris. They run because they know that if they don't get him now, it's all over.

They run.

"He's dead ahead! Keep going!" Frost shouts.

And there he is.

Makarov.

Climbing into his helicopter.

Taking off.

It's over.

They've lost.

He escaped.

He won all over again.

Price starts to slow down, reaching for his gun to fire and discovering it was lost when the rockets knocked him to the floor.

It's over.

They've lost.

Ghost doesn't slow down.

Even as the chopper lifts off, he doesn't stop.

Sprinting full speed, he launches himself from the edge of the building, reaching out and catching the landing skid.

Not this time.

He won't let that bastard win.

Not now.

Ghost grunts and reaches up, grabbing the pilot by the front of his shirt and pulling hard. The man falls, screaming.

"YOU!" Ghost shouts, clambering upwards. He and the co-pilot are face to face. Startled for only an instant at the smiling skull before him, the Russian draws his gun. Ghost, however, fuelled with unhinged rage, grabs the man's wrist and twists, forcing him to fire at the helicopter's controls.

Then, he grabs his knife and embeds it in the bastard's throat before grabbing the stick and forcing it forward.

For a moment, all he can hear is his own breathing. His own heartbeat. His blood rushing through his veins.

And then, the terrible groan of metal bending at the helicopter crashes into the roof of the Oasis.

Darkness.

Price, knocked unconscious from the crash, slowly comes to his senses. He can see Ghost's upper body beneath the wrecked helicopter, blood pooling around him. "Ghost…" He murmurs, trying to lift his head. A dizzy, nauseaous feeling unhinges him and Price has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment.

When he opens them fury runs free.

Makarov staggers from the flames. Coughing and spulltering. Doubled over in pain.

One objective, Price reminds himself. Kill Makarov.

Impossibly, there's a handgun lying on the rooftop not five feet away. In his battered condition, though, Price is forced to drag himself towards it.

And Makarov sees him.

There's a terrible moment of realization as Price drags himself to the gun and Makarov staggers towards Price. One has to reach their goal first. And it looks as though the Russian will once again be the victor.

The moment Price's hand closes around the gun, Makarov stomps on his wrist, sending a wave of fresh pain through the captain.

A thousand thoughts rush through Price's mind as Makarov bends down and takes the gun in his own hand.

He's staring down the barrel.

Bracing himself to die.

Bracing himself for failure.

Bracing himself for absolution.

Merciless and treasuring the moment, Makarov glares at the battered man. "Goodbye, Captain Price."

BANG!

Makarov howls in pain as a bullet tears through his shoulder.

Price lifts his head to see Ghost, blood seeping from his clothing, limping forward, gun aimed at Makarov, firing time and time again.

For a moment, relief.

And then, Makarov turns on Ghost.

With three, impeccably placed shots, Ghost crumples to the ground, groaning.

That's enough.

Fury. White hot. Blinding. It takes hold of Price and he launches forward, grabbing Makarov by the throat. Squeezing. Cutting off the air. There's a scrabble and for a moment, he is forced to let go. Three, impeccably place punches. Stiff, short punches that do not miss. Blood sprays from Makarov's lips and Price wraps his hands around the devil's throat again.

All the lives that this man has extinguished. All the power. All the wealth. All the glory and the fear and the terror. All of it is seeping out of his eyes as Price chokes him. He doesn't let up. Not even as the man below grips his shoulders, punches his chest, cries out in agony. Nothing is stopping Price. Not now. Not after he's come so far.

There's only one thing that exists.

One objective.

Kill Makarov.

And he does.

The man goes limp. He rasps one last time. And he is dead.

Still squeezing, as though he is unable to believe that it is really over, Price blinks, staring at the corpse beneath him. He lets go. Sits back. Gazes in awe of what he's done.

Objective completed.

With awed silence, Captain John Price drags himself off of the dead man and sits back, panting and shaking still. Satisfaction. Unhindered, unfathomable satisfaction flows through him.

He's dead.

Makarov. Is. Dead.

It sinks in.

The cigar he smokes on top of that roof is, without a doubt, the best he has ever had.

JANUARY 30th.

Cameras flash from all angles. Reporters chatter excitedly. Laughter. Peace.

The satisfaction hasn't stopped. It hasn't let up. Even in the times of grief following the death of his friends; Price hasn't had a moment without it. He doesn't even mind the irritating interviews and press conferences so much. He let's Steven do all the talking anyways. The war is over. Makarov is dead. Things are finally quiet and…normal again.

Steven, who is confined to a wheelchair for the rest of the foreseeable future, has the press laughing and scribbling in their notebooks as he relays the—completely false—story of how the terrorist was killed. It involved a team of people who didn't exist and a place that no one had heard of. Thanks to his girlfriend's father, President Vorshevsky, the real events had been hushed up completely.

Frost sits passively by, his arms crossed, and his head down. Peace and satisfaction or not; he hates these things. If it weren't for Hawkins delivering a full blown monologue about the valiant efforts of imaginary men, he'd be ripping his own hair out right now.

There's no question, though, that the most on-edge one of the four is Nikolai. He isn't good at dealing with all the cameras and the excitement. He thought that after it was over that…well…it would be over. He'd have time to mourn, time to himself, and time to move on. Instead there's this. Wave after wave of questions and debriefings and more questions. He just wants to go home.

But, as the days wear on, things do quiet down. Life returns to the way it should be.

Eventually, Steven does learn how to walk again. It takes a lot of time and a lot of devotion, but he's gotten much better at commitment. Just ask Alena. She knows.

Price returns to active duty and retains the 141 from the very top, with Nikolai at his right hand, Yuri heading up the team stationed in Russia, and Frost the XO of the 'Prima Donna' squad.

Terrance is released from jail soon after the ending of war. He returns to his practice as a pilot; though legally now. He works for the Red Cross.

Time passes.

Wounds heal.

And things seem a bit brighter than they did the day before.

The End.

…

…

…

…

…

Darkness.

A sort of light, dizzy feeling.

Ghost slowly opens his eyes.

Soft green grass ripples in his vision. Warm breeze seeps over his skin. Sunshine. Birds singing. A strange sort of music floating in the air.

An odd sort of reassurance takes hold of him and, strangely, he knows that he is dead and accepts it in the same moment. So…where is he?

"Thought you'd be joining the club sooner rather than later." The voice is familiar.

Ghost rolls onto his back and looks up at the man next to him. "Alex?"

Gadget's brother Alex, whom Ghost only knew from the time he'd gone with her to visit him on holiday, smiles at the other man and holds out his hand. "The one and only."

It's only now that Ghost realizes that Alex isn't in his wheelchair. He's standing squarely on two legs. As though knowing exactly what Ghost is thinking, Alex smiles and pats his leg. "Nice, isn't it? I'm whole again in every sense."

Ghost is pulled to his feet. He finds it easy to stand. He's unburdened. Weightless. A shimmering sort of feeling taking over his lungs as he breathes. "Where…?"

The question goes unfinished. There's a sudden whoop of excitement and Ghost turns to see Meat, Roach, Scarecrow, Archer, Toad, Ozone…everyone from the 141, his whole team, smiling and completely whole and exactly as he remembered them. They're safe. They're free. They're not in any more pain. The world seems brighter, the warmth intensifies.

Alex puts his arm around Ghost's shoulder, smiling knowingly. "Let's put it this way. You're home."

There's a long span of time as Ghost looks around at the lot of him where he can't speak. They all just smile and laugh and give their own separate form of greeting. A nod from Archer. A salute from Meat. A joking roll of the eyes from Ozone. Toad bows.

All the faces that he'd come to cherish smile back at them and there's no doubt.

"Where's Emily?" He murmurs.

A hand slips into his. It squeezes gently.

He looks over his shoulder.

And there she is.

Scarless and complete and smiling and tearfully laughing. Ghost can't help himself. He breaks down, right there, arms pressing her close. Gadget laughs to, pressing her forehead into the curve of his neck, hands clinging to the front of his shirt. Wordlessly, he pulls back to just look at her.

Suddenly, there's only one thing that matters. Gadget. Emily.

She's so different and so incredibly the same at once. There's no scars. No purple circles of exhaustion beneath her eyes. No bruises. No pain. No tiredness. No fear. No blood. No vengeance. So different. There's life and happiness and overwhelmed joy and she's exactly as he always saw her.

She's complete.

And Simon realizes that now…

Now he is too.

Without needing to say a word, Simon kisses Emily cherishingly, arms around her waist, a smile still on his lips.

And they're whole. They're free.

Finn.