Title: Permission to Flourish

Author: gldngrl7

Date Started: February 12, 2017

Rating: T for Teen (I know! I can't believe it either!)

Author's Notes:

This story is the sequel to Bulletproof. Please read that one-shot before diving into this one.

FINAL CHAPTER! Looks like we made it.

I'm toying with the idea of writing some one-shot "interludes" of stories that took place during the missing six years. Because I definitely thought there was going to be more Clark in this story. There just didn't seem to be much room for him with everything going on. If those plot bunnies are still in my head after I finish the next HOLG story then I might. On the other hand, it's highly likely that new show canon could kick off the need to write something else. I JUST DON'T KNOW!

Comments are welcomed, flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

I'm so in love with you

And I hope you know

Darling your love is more than worth its weight in gold

We've come so far my dear

Look how we've grown

And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old

Just say you won't let go

-James Arthur – "Say You Won't Let Go"

Chapter 11/11

Messages from Belinda informed him that Amelia was improving by the hour and had even been moved to a private room. She'd texted 'PRIVATE ROOM!' in all caps with what seemed to Mike like a preponderance of exclamation points.

He'd planned to visit his star student as soon as school let out Monday, so after speed-grading their verb-tense homework, he rushed over there (by car), exchanging yet another light-hearted text with Kara before leaving the school. They'd been texting like teenagers in love since he'd had to peel himself away from her on Sunday night and fly back to Philadelphia.

"But this is good," he said aloud, to the solitude of his Honda Civic. "We're getting to know it each other again, without all that pesky physical attraction constantly distracting us." Physical attraction which, as it turned out, was not-unexpectedly explosive…and dangerous to furniture.

Sunday morning had dawned like his entire life had decided to turn over a new leaf. He'd opened his eyes to find Kara leaning over him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, as she gazed down at him wistfully. She hadn't expected him to wake, and yanked her hand away like a child caught elbow-deep in a cookie jar. "I'm sorry," she'd rushed, her blood lighting a fire beneath her cheeks.

"I'm a much lighter sleeper than you are," he had yawned.

"I see that now."

Mike had reached for her hand and taken hold of it. "And I thought we said no more apologies."

"About old stuff," she'd nodded, as he tossed off the blanket and stood up. That close to her, he could smell the minty-fresh flavor of her toothpaste. He'd salivated at the thought of tasting her. "Not about new stuff."

It had been on the tip of his tongue to compliment her on her apologizing skill, apparently honed to a razor sharp edge in the six years they were parted. But needling her about her stubborn inability to apologize in their previous acquaintance fell into a grey area of the 'no reminders' policy. "Just out of curiosity," he'd said instead, "were you sorry about touching me, or sorry about getting caught? Because those are two very different things."

Squinting her eyes Kara had smiled slyly. "Sorry about waking you up," she'd said, choosing option 'C'.

Mike had laughed at her diplomatic answer. Diplomacy must have been a recently gained trait as well. The Kara he remembered had barreled through people without bothering to see whose feelings she was stepping on, especially if she thought a cause was just. "Is your curiosity assuaged?" he asked. "That I'm real, and not some figment conjured by a dream?"

Her eyes had widened to huge blue pools he could happily swim in, as though he had plucked the thoughts directly from her mind. "How did you know?"

Mike had smiled in a way he hoped came of as enigmatic. "I believe I promised you breakfast?" he tested.

"You did?"

She'd remembered nothing about being put to bed the night before. "Uh-huh. When I tucked you in and you asked me stay."

"I did?" His words had stoked the fire in her cheeks to a high burn and she'd covered her flaming cheeks with both hands. He'd been slammed with the need to kiss away the deep crinkle between her eyebrows.

"You were afraid you'd wake up to find it had all been a dream."

"I said that?"

"More or less." In a moment of courage he can only blame on sleepiness and head full of romantic movies, he had grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest, slightly to the right of center, over his rapidly beating heart. "So tell me…can you feel this? Does this feel real to you?"

She'd gulped visibly and he'd heard her own heart's rhythm kick into high gear, which in turn had his stomach flip-flopping like an Olympic gymnast on steroids. "Y-yes," she's stuttered, before biting her juicy red lip to stop it from trembling.

Mike, still holding her hand over his heart, had wrapped his other hand around her waist and tugged her hips flush against his. "And that?" he'd asked. "Does that feel real to you?" His body had stirred even before he woke this morning, and her presence above him had served only to enflame him further.

"Yes," she'd breathed, nodding vigorously, her pelvis settling deeper into his as though hoping they could merge. "Mon-El?" she asked, using his true name. He hadn't corrected her, but felt a thrill go through him at his name on her lips. Though he'd been Mike Matthews for a long time now—had finally made his peace with the concept of becoming Mike Matthews—he could be Mon-El for her. For her and no one else.

"Yes?" he'd responded, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips.

"I'm not afraid anymore." Her courage had taken over then as she'd seen within her grasp the culmination of six years of agonizing fantasy a heart's beat from fulfillment. She had reached up with her free hand and cupped the back of his neck pulling his mouth down to hers, making her declaration on where she'd wanted their actions to lead.

If he could have taken a breath in that moment, he would have breathed a sigh of relief, because he hadn't been sure if he was pushing too far, too fast. If the actions of her tongue had been anything to guess by, he hadn't been moving fast enough.

When he'd pulled away, he'd rested his forehead against hers, their heavy breathing mingling together. "Definitely not a dream," he'd pronounced.

"Definitely not," she'd agreed, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as her arms wrapped securely around his neck.

What had followed had been a flurry of clothing removal, of heated couplings that splintered furniture, knocked pictures from walls, shattered shower tiles and had more than one neighbor concerned for the safety of sweet, innocent neighborly neighbor, Kara Danvers. And once started, it was like they couldn't stop, their bodies drawn together like magnets—magnets all the more heated for having been kept apart for so long.

But for all of its urgency and passion, it had still been at its heart…lovemaking—soul-binding and heart-affirming lovemaking. Even though neither had yet to find the courage to actually say the words, it had been clear as the diamonds sparkling in her comet-like eyes. And he had never in his life worshipped someone with his touch the way he had Kara. It was seared into his brain like a brand to the skin, and he had replayed it all over and over since leaving her naked, on the remains of her mattress, less than twenty-four hours ago.

As he traversed the hallways of the hospital, he juggled his phone, laptop bag, and the giant get-well soon card made from poster board by the entire second grade roster of classes, until he found the elevator that would take him to the 7th floor, where Amelia was now located. Stepping inside the elevator with a crowd of other people all headed to different floors, Mike shot another text to her.

"Just leave the mattress on the floor. Safer maybe?" He hit send after navigating to and choosing the deep thought emoji.

"Safer for who?" she shot back.

"Whom," he corrected, adding a wink emoji.

"Grammar Nazi!" she accused, frowny face emoji.

"Teacher," he replied, shrug emoji.

"Safer for WHOM?" she asked again.

"For the people in the apartment below you. Whatever. If you do decide to get a new bed, steel reinforced…?"

"It would have to be custom built…"

"Get an estimate. I'll pay half."

"Bet your rock-hard ass you will," she replied, blush emoji.

He laughed out loud, happier than he'd been in…ever, well aware that the people getting on the elevator were staring as he exited at the top floor. Mike checked his direction, looking for the yellow line on the wall that would lead him to "Yellow Station" and to Amelia's room. He wondered if there would be a wizard at the end of this yellow brick road. He wondered if Frank Baum was appropriate reading material at story time for second graders.

Tucking his phone into the back pocket of his slacks as he neared Amelia's room, he came perilously close to running into a man in a dark suit exiting the door. The man held up a brown leather briefcase to ward off Mike's near collision.

"Excuse me," they said in unison. The man in the suit nodded courteously before walking away.

"Knock, knock," Mike announced as he entered the room.

Pink roses.

They were everywhere. On every flat surface, in every type of arrangement, in every shape of vase imaginable, pink roses had taken over the room. The smell, though pleasant, was unmistakable.

"Mr. Matthews!" he heard a recognizable shout. It was music to his ears, but still he held his finger up to his lips in their customary sign language for her to lower her voice. Obeying his command, she lowered her volume to library voice. "Mr. Matthews!" Yet, she still managed to imbue his name with the exact amount of enthusiasm, despite the lowered volume.

"I thought you were supposed to be trying to be quiet, per the doctor's orders." Mike took note of Belinda in corner, reading something, her eyes widening, a freshly torn open envelope in her other hand. He thought now might be the time for him to distract Amelia while Belinda finished doing whatever it was she was doing.

"It's so hard," she whined.

"I know," he chuckled.

"Aren't they pretty, Mr. Matthews?" she asked, referring to the sea of pink roses.

"Yes they are," he agreed. "Where did they come from?"

Amelia shrugged. "Mommy says they are from someone named Amomynissly. That's a silly name."

"I think what Mommy means is that you have a secret admirer."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What's that?" she inquired, pointing to the poster board in his hand.

"Well this is a card signed by the whole second grade," he informed her. "Everyone wants you to get well fast so you can come back to school."

"Did Ricky Prescott sign it?" she asked, her eyes squinting suspiciously. She and Ricky were not exactly bosom buddies.

"I don't know," Mike responded. "Maybe you'd like to read it and find out." He relinquished the handmade card to her grasping right hand, noticing that her left hand had very little to do with the process. "While you do that, I'm going to see what's got your mother's attention."

Whatever it was, Mike couldn't tell if it was good news or bad news based simply on her facial expression. Even after six years he could still read every one of Kara's 'crinkles' but Belinda's micro-expressions were a mystery to him. "Everything all right, Belinda?" he asked, tilting his head a little to see if he could get her look up at him. "What is it?"

Belinda lifted her eyes to meet his, confusion in their depths. "That man who just left…he's a lawyer for something called The Fairchild Foundation. He had some papers for me to sign and gave me this letter."

"What does it say?" he wondered. Something about the name Fairchild Foundation sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

"Here," she replied, handing him the letter. "It seems so impossible, I still can't believe what it says, even after reading it a dozen times. At least."

Mike read through the letter. The wording was clear and concise, like his college acceptance letter. "It says here that an application for financial assistance has been accepted on your behalf with The Fairchild Foundation and that all of Amelia's medical expenses both present and future until she reaches the age of 26 will be paid in full."

"I don't know how this…what application? What's The Fairchild Foundation? Do you know anything about this?"

"I don't know anything about an application. Maybe someone from the hospital submitted it? A doctor or co-worker? Five days in ICU," he suggested. "That can't be cheap."

"It's not," she confirmed. "We have insurance—decent insurance—but I would have been paying down the out-of-pocket for those five days for the rest of my life. I was trying not to think about it, but I would be lying if I said I couldn't hear the bills piling up."

"Looks like you can put those thoughts to rest and just worry about that miracle in the bed over there."

"Yeah," she nodded, looking around the room at the sea of pink blooms. "I guess so. And then there's these flowers…."

"Belinda," he interrupted before she could get too far with her concerns. "Someone wanted to help you out, maybe in the only way they knew how, or the only way they could. Sometimes accepting their gift is the best way to say 'thank you'."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Mike watched Amelia scouring the get well card for messages from friends and other names she recognized. Mr. Snuggles was stuffed unceremoniously under her left arm. "What's that about?" Mike asked, worried.

"She has some left side paralysis," Belinda nodded. "She came out of the coma mentally intact, for which I am very thankful, but the injury wasn't without consequences."

"What does the doctor say?"

"Dr. Dagmar doesn't see any reason why, without physical therapy she can't regain full mobility. But it's going to take time and effort on her part. I'm going to have to find a way to keep her motivated."

Mike's phone 'blooped' and he tugged it out of his pants, shooting off a quick response to the equally quick message he received. "I might have a few ideas about how to do that."

"Well, I'm all ears."

"I have a little surprise I know she's going to like."

"What is it?"

"Well it's kind of a surprise for you too. Won't be long now."

"I don't know if I can handle any more surprises today," Belinda cringed. "I'm expecting to wake up any minute now and find that I'm still sitting in that uncomfortable chair in the ICU."

Mike nodded in understanding. "I've had a similar experience myself recently. I found that sometimes it pays off to let yourself believe that good things can happen." Leaving it at that, Mike sat down on the end of Amelia's bed and asked her if she liked the card. She nodded a resounding yes.

"So…do you remember what happened, Amelia? Why you ended up in the hospital?"

Amelia's smile slipped and she shook her head. "Mommy says I fell."

"You were climbing on the jungle gym," he reminded her. "Way higher than you were supposed to go. And when you fell, you hit your head on the monkey bars on the way down."

"I did?"

"You did," he confirmed. Mike chucked her on the chin with his finger. "How about you don't do that again, huh?"

Amelia nodded. "I'm sorry."

"I know. But there's a good part of this story too."

"There is?"

"You were hurt pretty badly, and we needed to get you to the doctors fast. Faster than the ambulances can go. And just when we thought that wasn't going to happen, guess who showed up?"

"Who?"

Mike leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Supergirl."

Amelia gasped, her eyes widening to a nearly impossible size, her tiny body practically seizing with excitement. "Supergirl?!"

"Supergirl," he confirmed with a grin. The expression on her face was every bit as awestruck as he had imagined it would be. "She scooped you up in her arms and flew you all the way here in about two seconds."

"I flew with Supergirl?" Check that. Her eyes could in fact widen further.

"You did."

Her face fell, the beautiful sun-struck smile melting from her face which seemed to literally dim the room. "But I don't remember."

"I know," he pulled a frown as though commiserating with her. "But I made a few inquiries, worked a little of my 'magic', called in a few favors, and guess what?"

"What?" Amelia asked, her excitement rebuilding.

At her cue, Supergirl stepped into the room, arms akimbo in her trademark stance and asked, "And how is the patient today?"

Mike kept his eyes on Amelia the whole time as her entire being lit up like a tiny atomic bomb had detonated inside of her. She gasped, almost choking on her excitement, nearly coming apart at the seams in the face of her fangirl bliss. Mike held his finger up to his lips. "Remember you're supposed to be quiet. Whispers only. Can you do it?"

He would not have thought it possible that someone could scream and whisper with the same breath, but apparently it was Amelia's superpower. "Supergirl!" she vocalized, every muscle in her body seizing with joy.

Neither was Belinda immune to the presence of Supergirl. "Oh my gosh!" she gasped, barely able to gather the air in her lungs to do so. Unable to properly express the full breadth of her feelings in words, she threw her arms around Supergirl's neck and proceeded to babble. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much. You saved my baby's life."

"Oh, okay," Supergirl chuckled, accepting the Belinda's attack-hug, and gently, if a little awkwardly, returning it. When Belinda tore herself away from the superhero, embarrassed by her outburst, Supergirl said, "I was just the ambulance service; the doctor's saved her life. I'm just glad I was in the right place at the right time."

"Why were you there?" Belinda wondered, covering her embarrassment over getting a little too familiar with a perfect stranger. Even if that perfect stranger saved her daughter's life.

"Visiting an old friend," she replied without hesitating.

"I can't thank you enough," Belinda said, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You just did," Supergirl assured, her empathy on full display as she stroked the other woman's upper back to soothe her. "But I thought I'd come and hang out for a while. Maybe get to know Amelia while she's awake."

"I don't know if you noticed…but I think she'd be okay with that." Both Supergirl and Belinda turned to Amelia who sat on her knees on the bed, right hand clutching Mr. Snuggles for dear life, practically panting at the opportunity to hang out with her idol.

Mike grasped Supergirl's forearm before she could get to the bed and whispered, "How long were you in the hallway?"

"Long enough," she nodded. "I know what to do."

He threw her a wink and she responded in kind. It felt so good to be partners again. Real partners this time, on equal footing. 'Okay," he said, "I need to step outside for a few minutes and make a phone call."

But before he could do that, Belinda grabbed his arm, preventing him from leaving. "How?" she asked. "How did you pull this off? This was the surprise you were talking about, right?"

"It was more her, really," he downplayed his involvement, unable to clarify how the entire surprise really came into being. How could he explain that he and Supergirl had concocted the whole plan while taking a shower together after sweating up the sheets of the latter's demolished bed? "She tracked me down. She has her ways. After that…it was just about figuring out the timing. She wanted to see for herself how Amelia was doing."

"Thank you," she said.

"It really was all her." Mike spared a glance for the alter ego of the woman he loved, finding that she had climbed aboard the bed with Amelia. Supergirl lay back on one elbow, her legs crossed at the ankles, and her cape wrapped around the little girl like a blanket, while the two chatted like they were old friends. With a smile and a nod at Belinda he excused himself from the room.

Out in the corridor, he scanned through the contacts on his phone until he located the one he sought. Surprisingly, the phone only rang twice this time before he picked up on the other end – as if he'd been waiting.

"Wayne." His gravel voice was like a command, as though 'Wayne' was verb and he fully expected Mike to perform it. But Mike didn't play that game, and he wasn't intimidated by the billionaire.

"Pink roses?" he asked.

"It seemed the right choice for an eight-year-old girl."

"Seven-going-on-eight," he replied automatically.

"I stand corrected. Did she like them?"

"Of course," Mike chuckled. "Her room is filled with pink flowers from a secret admirer. She feels very special. I assume you're responsible for the private room as well?"

"How else was there going to be space enough for 1200 pink roses?" he asked, as if this should be obvious. "About the roses…I paid extra for the Baby's Breath. Was there plenty of Baby's Breath?"

"I don't know what that is."

"Dilettante," Wayne shot back. "I'm told she's doing well. We're setting her up with a private physical therapist. She'll get her left side back in no time."

"How can you know that?"

"Wayne Enterprises has access to her medical records now."

"So that was you?" he confirmed. Mike had suspected as much, but wasn't certain. "I knew I'd heard of The Fairchild Foundation but I couldn't remember where."

"You must have seen some paperwork in the Manor when you were training with me."

"Must have."

"At any rate, Ms. Connor's signature give us access to Amelia's medical records until she's eighteen and she can decide for herself if she wants to continue the program. We'll be collecting data on her head injury, as well as any medications and treatments she's subjected to. The hope is that the medical R&D arm of Wayne Enterprises can find a way to completely reverse Traumatic Brain Injury or mitigate its damage. The fact that she's a child is an important part of why she's needed in this study. Sadly, few children her age survive a trauma like that, or come out of it with so few ill effects. Had it not been for the quick actions of you and Supergirl, they'd likely be taking her off the ventilator right about now and donating her organs. She's going to help save the world, Matthews."

Mike shuddered at the thought of Amelia's situation turning out any other way than it had. "Careful, Wayne…your empathy is showing."

"You're right. I should go hit something," he deadpanned.

"Well, they don't know who to thank, but I do. So…thank you, Bruce."

"It was my pleasure," Bruce groused, clearly uncomfortable with receiving thanks either for heroic deeds or acts of charity. "So…if that's all…?"

"Actually there's one more thing. I wanted to say…about that other thing…"

"The thing you were so mad at me about?"

"That's the one. I wanted to say thanks for that too."

"So everything worked out after all?"

"You could say that. I flew to National City and we talked things out. And then we worked through it in ways that didn't involve talking."

"Okay, we'll keep that between us. You don't want that getting back to Clark. Or maybe I do….could be fun."

"I know where you live, you overgrown bat," he threw out the empty threat as though he'd used it a hundred times.

"How's this going to work between you?" Wayne wondered. "A bi-coastal life?"

"It's a 31 minute commute at hypersonic speed from Philadelphia to National City. Slightly less than the average rush hour commute in Philly. And there's always weekends and summer break." They'd discussed the matter between them during one of their few breaks from Sunday lovemaking, recognizing that they could not be parted for long.

Inescapable.

"Just be careful," Wayne cautioned.

"Careful about what?"

"Hashtag SupergirlInPhilly is already trending on Twitter. That's twice in less than two weeks. If ValorInNC starts trending…how long do you think it's going to take the tabloids to crunch those numbers? Or CatCo? Or the Daily Planet! Lois might put it on the front page just for giggles."

"I'll be careful," he chuckled, seeing Wayne's point.

"Don't screw this up, Matthews," Wayne grumbled. "I might not be on your side next time."

"This was you being on my side? You sold me out, as I recall!"

"I was giving you what you needed. I was tired of looking at your sad sack face. It doesn't become you. I'm supposed to be the tortured one."

"Yes, I suppose 'sad sack' looks much better on you."

"Watch it, Matthews," he warned, his voice deepening ever lower than its usual gravel baritone.

"You walked right into that one."

"You were more fun when you didn't sass me."

"I bet I was."

"This girl of yours gives you spirit."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Don't lose her," Wayne said, a distinct tinge of sadness in his tone. "Don't let anything happen to her."

"I don't know if you noticed, but my girl is pretty good at taking care of herself. But don't worry, I'll always have her back."

Mike ended the call a moment later when he heard the door open and saw Supergirl slip out, turning back for one last wave to the little girl in the room. She wore a crown woven from pink roses on her head.

"How did it go in there?" he asked, reaching up to touch her flower crown.

"I promised her I'd take her flying when she gets her left side working."

'That should do the trick." It was no less than what he expected from her.

"Were you talking about me?" she whispered, she nods, motioning to her phone.

"Among other things," he teased, the dimples on his cheeks deepening. He adjusted his glasses, like they were the touchstone that reminded him that this was his life now.

"Was that Clark?"

"Uh…Bruce, actually. I called him to thank him for the…." Mike waved his hand to indicate the room.

"He did all that?" she asked, incredulously. Her brow furrowed. "He doesn't seem like the type."

"Still waters run deep with that guy. He has his moments…apparently." Mike wanted to reach out and touch her, but even in this private wing of the hospital there were still people to see. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and she mirrored him by clasping her hands behind her back. "I…uh…also called him to uh…." He cleared his throat, "to thank him for giving you my location."

"You did?" she grinned, sway back and forth so that her cape spun gently around the back of her legs.

"I did. Credit where credit is due, I guess."

She pinned him with a sultry gaze he was beginning to recognize. "I want to get out of here. Can we get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

He said his goodbyes to Belinda and Amelia, promising to see them soon, and bring her homework next time (much to Amelia's chagrin) before grabbing his things. Mike and Kara separated at the elevator and he made his way out to the car, while she ducked into a supply room and changed back into Kara Danvers. She met him in the parking lot and slipped into the passenger side of his Civic, pouting that it would me much faster to fly.

He drove her home to his garage apartment, holding her hand the entire way. Mike introduced her to the indomitable Mrs. Scheinbaum, who took one look at her and knew instantly who Kara was, as if seeing beyond masks was her superpower. To her credit, she said nothing, only revealing her knowledge with a sly wink in his direction. The three of them shared a pot of tea before Mike and Kara retreated to his apartment.

They spent the night there, managing not to break a single piece of furniture or wake a single neighbor. Although, to be fair, Mrs. Scheinbaum had made quite a lot of noise about taking her hearing aids out before going to bed. Sometimes she didn't like to do that.

The next morning, Supergirl made a "surprise" visit to Fox Chase Elementary, where she shook hands and answered questions, accepted innumerable kisses on the cheek (some more sloppy than others) and gave a firm but good-natured lecture on playing it safe around playground equipment as well as the importance of following the rules set forth by adults.

Every few minutes she glanced up to find Mon-El gazing at her, his eyes sparkling, his lips quirked up on one side as he watched her with a mixture of pride and joy. They were here together, and he was hers at last, after years of unanswered yearning. Together they had laid out a plan (because Mon-El was big fan of plans and strategies) on how they would make this work.

He wasn't ready to leave Philadelphia, it was his city and more his home than National City or Metropolis ever had been. Citizens embraced him here, proud to have a superhero of their very own. The city limits even had signs that proudly proclaimed, 'Welcome to Philadelphia: City of Brotherly Love and Home to Valor.' They'd added that last bit just a few months ago.

And likewise, National City was Kara's home, where her sister and sister-in-law lived, where her work was headquartered, her contacts, her cultivated sources, and her growing reputation as a hard-hitting crime journalist. Though she'd confessed to him while lying curled together atop a dangerously cracked kitchen table that she had once applied for a job with the Philadelphia Inquirer, he had quickly declared that he didn't want that for her. He didn't want her to give up her hard earned reputation just so they could be closer to one another. They could make it work this way—at least for now.

And there was an unspoken truth there as well. Their lives would be long; longer than the human existence by several centuries if Dr. Danvers' estimates were to be believed. There was no reason to rush this towards some undetermined finish line, whatever that was. Because for them, there would be no finish until, one day in the far distant future, death would part them. For now, by mutual decree, they would enjoy each other to the fullest as well as this second chance they had resolved to take for themselves.

Only one thing was for certain; with transgressions forgiven, and hearts on the mend, the future before them held endless possibilities.

THE END.