Holly reveled in Peter’s warmth. Lifetimes of trauma melted away, lost in the fullness of their moonlit kiss. For the first time since she was five years old, she felt utterly at ease. A dim part of her (the part that was privy to all that she’d done and all that she’d do) smiled faintly, then disappeared into her incomplete self. Blessed relief coursed through her; she wasn’t ready to face the entirety of her being.
Not yet, anyway.
But Peter was. He kissed the hell out of her as they shot across the Bay Area night, aglow with the promise of the coming dawn. Just like Holly, he felt relief, but resolution as well. He accepted all he’d done and took full responsibility. A great weight fell from his mind, and he touched the truest peace a conscious entity could ever know. A rind of sunlight crested the horizon, splashing the clouds with blazing gold and searing pink.
She palmed his cheeks and kissed him again.