The Monster is gone. Eliot is back. I'm alive.

Nothing else matters.

There was a battle fought and so much blood but then it's over. Julia isn't speaking but she's back in her body and Eliot is so weak he can barely stand, but he doesn't need to because Margo will carry him herself if she needs to. We make our way back to Marina's apartment, quiet and clinging to each other, trying to accept that we won. It's over. We get to breathe again.

Hours later, I find myself at the kitchen counter alone, nursing a drink long after everyone else has fallen asleep. My thoughts keep circling around Eliot. He's alive. He's here. I don't know if I'm okay, but at least he is. I remember that first glimpse of seeing him instead of the Monster, that moment of realizing he was back. How I launched myself into his arms right as he collapsed to the ground. Clutching him desperately, Margo on his other side, both of us needing to hold him and know that he was okay.

Slow footsteps shuffle down the hall toward me. Eliot appears around the corner, squinting at the light.

"Hey." His voice is rough and tired. He shuffles closer, leaning heavily on the wall and counter until he can slide onto a stool across from me.

"Hey." I say. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"My stomach woke me up." He shifts in his chair with a wince. "I'm starving. Did It eat at all? When It was me?"

I flash back to all of the drugs and alcohol. "Not really. Mostly cheese puffs and churros."

He huffs out what could be a laugh, if it didn't look like the sound physically pained him. "Great. Another reason I feel like death warmed over."

"I'll make you something to eat." I stand up and move around the kitchen, gathering stuff from cupboards and trying to minimize the noise.

He turns as far as his injured body will allow to watch me. "You sure that's a good idea, Coldwater?" he teases gently.

I roll my eyes, even though he can't see that from where he's sitting. "I am perfectly capable of making a grilled cheese, thank you very much."

We sit in silence while I make food. So much to say but neither of us knows where to start. He finally clears his throat.

"How long do you think it'll last?" At my confused look he clarifies. "The peace. The lull before the next apocalypse. How much longer before we gotta save the world again?"

I sigh. "It never seems to last long, does it? Sometimes I wish we could take a break. Put everything on hold for a few days and just breathe."

I slide the sandwich onto a plate and put it in front of him. "Lots of cheese. Hint of garlic." I stop myself before adding just the way you like it. I don't know how much of the Mosaic timeline he remembers.

"I can't remember the last time somebody made me a grilled cheese sandwich." His voice is soft. For the first time since he got back, he looks like something resembling the old Eliot.

He finishes half the sandwich before speaking again. "Where would you go? If you could take a break."

I consider that. So many options between Earth and Fillory and the Neitherlands. For some reason though, only one place feels right.

"California."

His eyebrows raise in surprise. "Really? California?"

I shrug. "It's where my dad grew up. He used to talk about it and his whole face would light up. You know I've never seen the Pacific Ocean? I've been to Fillory but I've never seen the Pacific Ocean."

He looks thoughtful as he finishes eating. He pushes some crumbs around his plate and doesn't look up when he finally says, "Let's go."

"Go?" I ask. "Like, to California?"

He looks up now. "It's like you said. We don't know how long we've got before all hell breaks loose again. But you need a break and I need a moment for life to be normal again, so... let's pack the car and start driving."

I look at him. In some ways he's the man I know inside out, the man I met outside Brakebills so long ago, the man I spent 50 years with in another lifetime. But in other ways he's completely different. Irreversibly changed.

"You really want to spend your moment of peace on a road trip with me?"

"Why the fuck not?" He holds my gaze, eyes certain.

I'm the first to look away. Does he remember that day in the throne room? Does he realize he's using my own words back at me? Either way, a hope that had been snuffed out sparks back to life. Maybe we have a second chance.