Months later...

New York never remembers.

The city goes on with life. It doesn't recall faces or voices or moments. It stands strong, unburdened by the demons of the past. As I walk through the streets of Hell's Kitchen with my messenger bag bouncing against my hip, I find myself envious. No matter how much I distract myself with H2 or school, every step I take reminds me of the reality I'll never escape.

I'm limping like always. It's become harder and harder to hide it, especially from Joel. Even if all that remains is a puckered pink scar on my thigh, I can feel the echoes of the agonizing gunshot. Every once in a while, my muscles seize up and my nerves are set on fire. The pain is enough to break me, to stop me mid-step and send me collapsing until it stops.

Every time I have to wait for the episode to pass, I'm forced to think about Stan, and about how the worst night of my life will always follow me around.

As I hobble down the final stretch of sidewalk, I try to remind myself to calm down. Not that it does much to help me. I get into the lobby of my apartment building with shaking hands. I'd like to say I'm trembling from the cold, but my gloves take care of that. The truth is, I'm on edge, just like I've been for a long time.

"How're you doing, Vi?" Angus, the doorman, asks when I enter the elevator.

"I'm good," I say. It's a lie, but, these days, half of the things that come out of my mouth are usually lies, so it comes easily to me.

He says something else, but I don't quite hear him. I keep looking ahead of me, waiting for us to reach the floor our apartment is on so I can disappear into my room. I feel a little guilty about ignoring him, but I hobble out of the elevator as fast I can and hurry to my front door.

My hands are still quivering, making it difficult to get the key into the lock, but I manage to do it. When I get the front door open, I hear the sound of music playing softly and the smell of Joel's signature potato soup floods my senses.

He pokes his head out of the kitchen, grinning at me. "Hey, sweetheart."

I fumble for the buttons on my coat, trying to keep my fingers as steady as possible. "Hey, Joel."

My voice is flat, but I hope he doesn't notice. I hang my jacket up in the small closet in the hall and face him.

He sets something down on the counter and walks to me, taking me in his arms. He lets out a breath so deep it sounds he's been holding it in until the moment I got home. Instead of kissing me, he hugs me, holding on like he knows I need him.

I bury my face in his chest, dreading the moment he lets go.

"You okay?" he asks.

I shrug. "I'm fine."

"Chief said you seemed off when you got into the office earlier today," he says. "Are you sure?"

"I said I was fine, Joel."

"I know you did. I just don't believe you."

I pull back, looking him in the eyes. He looks right back at me, green eyes so soft they cut right through me.

"How was your class?"

"Nothing special," I say evasively.

"Any visions today?" he asks. It sounds so casual I can almost pretend this is the sort of thing people talk about often.

"No," I say after a second or two. "It's a good thing winter means I can bundle up. I haven't had one in a while."

"I'm glad."

He reaches down, gently pushing up my sleeves and reaching for the edge of one of them. Like he does most nights, he slides the first glove off my hand, then the other, and sets them down on the small table beside us next to my keys. His finger thread through mine, skin to skin, and nothing happens.

It's the most relieving thing on the planet.

Every time he touches me, I worry I'll have a vision of his death. Since the last one didn't come true, I keep waiting for a new one to surface, but it hasn't happened. I'm lucky. Hell, we both are. This moment is a miracle.

"Where are you, Vi?" he asks.

"Here. I'm here," I assure him.

He's always had a knack for sensing when I'm caught up in my thoughts. The scary thing about Joel is how much he knows about me. He can see right through my lies, my walls, my everything. There isn't a secret I've kept from him and he knows everything there is to know about me. Somehow, he loves me anyway.

He looks back at the kitchen as if he doesn't want to leave me yet but knows he has to.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I say. "I'll be back out in a few minutes."

He nods, kissing my forehead gently. "Alright, sweetheart."

I have to sit in the shower. I have so much trouble standing for too long, so I let the water roll over me as I collapse into a heap under the stream. From here, I shave my legs, run a bar of soap across my skin, and lather my hair in shampoo. It's been a long day, and the idea of leaving the shower is one I don't want to consider.

Here it's safe.

I stay until the water runs cold, keeping myself in my safe place as long as I can before I have to get out.

Eventually, I drag myself out of the bathroom, change into something warm, and meet Joel in the kitchen.

I don't realize he's watching me as he sets the table, not until he says, "You're limping."

I correct my walk as best as I can. "I'm not."

A fork clatters against the wood. He must've dropped the silverware and is now giving me his undivided attention. "Please don't lie to me."

"Joel, don't start this right now."

"Should I schedule a time?" he asks, his voice holding an edge. "You act like I don't see how much pain you're in."

"I barely feel it," I insist.

He scoffs. "Yeah. Sure."

"What do you want me to say? Of course, I'm having a hard time, I got shot in the leg a few months ago."

"Like you need to remind me," he says. "I was there, Vi. I held you in my arms as you nearly bled to death. Every time I see you grit your teeth, I hold my breath. If I could take the pain from you in an instant, I would."

"It's not that bad," I try to say.

He tears a hand through his hair. "That's what you say. You said the same thing about your nightmare last week—"

"Because it wasn't that bad!"

"You woke up screaming!"

I feel the confession bubbling up just before I say it. The words are becoming too hard to keep locked away, and so I admit them out loud.

"I'm scared I'm never gonna get past this," I tell him. "I'm scared that night with Stan is gonna follow me around until I die. I don't want to have nightmares and chronic pain for the rest of my life and I'm tired of being a burden to people I care about and the last thing I want is to be an obligation to you."

He sighs, the breath long and drawn out. "Is that what you really think of yourself? You're not a burden or an obligation. You're my girlfriend. You're so important to me and you have no idea. You'll never be a problem for me. I only push you for answers because I want to help you move on. I can see it in your eyes. It's like a part of you is trapped behind in that night."

I don't know how he keeps going. I don't know how he puts on a front and makes it hard to believe he ever endured something so traumatic.

"And what about you? You make it look so effortless."

"Because I don't let you see it," he says. "There's a lot of it that I won't get past. I have to work hard not to get caught up in the past. I'm here. I'm still here. Sure, I almost died, but I made it."

"You did die," I correct him. "You flatlined. I lost you."

"I'm breathing, aren't I? The point is, I have to keep working and keep doing my job. The only way to get back to normal is to not let it change me."

But it's too late for that, I think to myself. I'm already a new person and I'm not really sure who that is yet.

"Do you still want to be with me?" The question escapes me so fast I hardly register what I'm saying until I've said it.

His eyes widen. "What?"

I repeat myself. He stares at me like he can't believe it.

"Of course I do," he says. "Why would you ask me that?"

I look down at my hands folded in my lap shamefully. "We haven't been the same since Stan."

"How could we be?" His voice almost sounds harsh. "That kind of thing changes people."

I sigh. "Never mind."

He watches me for a second, eyes wary. And then he stands up a little straighter and tugs his shirt up and over his head.

I don't look at him but my cheeks are hot all the same. "What are you doing?"

"I want you to look at me," he says. "You haven't seen the scar."

He's not wrong; I've refused to look at it. I avoid staring anywhere but his face when he's shirtless because the blemish on his smooth skin reminds me of what I'd rather forget.

I look anyway.

The puckered skin is pinker than the rest of him, and it splinters down as an interruption between muscle and skin. He takes my hand, guiding my fingers along the jagged line. With every touch, guilt and shame surge within me. Stan hurt him worst of all, and if Joel knew that I'd been routinely seeing him, he would never forgive me.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, apologizing for so many things all at once. "Joel, I'm so sorry."

"I'm here," he says. He presses my palm flat against his chest so I can feel his pulse thrumming under my touch. "So what if I died for a few minutes? I would take a bullet for you over and over again if I had to. It's just a scar to me. It doesn't have to mean anything unless you let it."

I'm crying now. I tug my hand away, get to my feet, and walk clear across the room. Tears pour down my cheeks, hot against my skin. I'm suddenly aware of my skin and how it feels like it's burning up. I'm suddenly aware of this pain in my chest that won't go away.

"Vi."

My name makes me lift my head and catch his eyes.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Please don't cry."

I push my hands through my hair and step away every time he steps forward. He finally reaches me, backing me into the wall and pulling me against him. I press my cheek against his bare chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," he says. "What am I going to do with you?"

He gently puts a finger under my chin and pushes my face up.

I let him kiss me.

It's easy to be okay with Joel. He's one of those people who comforts you, who carries with him an energy that calms the storm inside your head just long enough for you to breathe again. Before him, my life was always a distraction, always me looking for something to occupy my mind with so that I wouldn't have to think too much about reality.

He pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, and I wonder if it's because he can see that my mind is in all kinds of other places.

His hand finds my stomach, running just along the hem of my long-sleeved shirt. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm never going to leave you, and I'm never going to leave our baby, either. We're in this for the long run."

I'm barely showing by this point, but the bump is still visible to anyone looking for it. It's so weird knowing there's another human being inside me. The pregnancy wasn't planned, but finding out was like having a light in the darkness. I was terrified at first, and admittedly, I still am.

When I see how excellent Joel already is at being a father, my worries fade. He's going to be great, and I know I will be too, so long as I have him.

I'm carrying our little girl. Our daughter. That's crazy to me. I never knew if I wanted to be a mother, but I'm learning to be ready for it. I don't know if she'll be like me, or if she'll be blessed with an existence absent of powers. I don't know what our future holds, but I'm trusting it'll be good.

After we eat, we don't clear the table right away. Instead, I stay sitting beside him and lean against his shoulder. I don't say a word, but I still feel like he knows everything I'm worried about anyway. He's good with me. He's good with both of us.

"Do you want to try and sleep?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I say.

He smiles, just barely tipping the corners of his mouth up, and then he lifts me off my feet and carries me to bed.

I lay on the edge of the mattress closest to the wall. Joel climbs in beside me, guiding me until I'm pressed against him. We curve around each other out of habit. He rests a hand on my belly, over our baby girl, and kisses my forehead.

"We can go to dinner tomorrow," he promises. "I'll get off work on time for you again."

"We don't have to," I say. "You have a case."

"I always have a case," he says. "You're more important."

"It's okay," I insist.

"It's not. I'm gonna be there."

I grin in the darkness. "I love you, Joel Reed."

"And I love you, Vi," he whispers back.

I stop worrying about the future, for now, grateful that I'm with him. Everything we've suffered has come to a close and we can finally start anew. I can't forget that. At present time, nothing else matters. Putting aside superhuman powers and the new, confusing world I've been thrust into, I still have Joel. I have him, I have our family.

And that's more than enough.