When Maggie opened her eyes again, there was no chaos or disorder, no flashes of white or explosions of pain. Instead, she found herself surrounded by a steady stream of beeps and a faint snoring, her body free of aches and exhaustion. It felt heavenly, and had it not been for the fact that she was currently standing in a hospital room, she would've enjoyed it.

She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her. This isn't real, she thought, staring at the brunette lying in the bed in front of her. She'd been through the wars. Her skin was covered in hues of purple and blue and she was dependent on a machine to breathe for her, with her torso wrapped in bandages. However, the trauma itself wasn't what struck her; it was who it belonged to. She was staring at the body of Special Agent Maggie Bell. Herself. Or, at least, a shell of herself.

Bizarre would be an understatement. She supposed this was some sort of coping mechanism. She'd been hurt, and this was her brain was trying to make sense of the situation. Though, she wished it hadn't chosen to render her a ghost devoid of feelings of pain and discomfort. Judging by the state of her body, she ought to feel some. It couldn't be a good sign that physical sensations evaded her.

It's just the painkillers, she reassured herself. No reason to think that she'd suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury from the fight. She was fine. Painkillers were a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why she wasn't sensing any pain, even though she didn't feel groggy, either. She wasn't really feeling anything, aside from a comforting warmth surrounding her hand.

She let her gaze drop, only now realizing someone was holding her physical-self's hand. Turning her head, she also solved the mystery of the quiet snoring. OA. Of course. Even asleep he looked exhausted; his eyes accented by dark rings. Had she been awake for real, she would've made a jab at his looks. She imagined that it would lighten his mood a little, if she teased him about his wrinkled shirt or the mess that was his hair. That it would let him know it wasn't that serious, that everything would be okay.

But she wasn't awake. She wasn't okay, and neither was he. Judging from the half-dozen coffee cups on the floor, he'd been here for a while. And again, she wished she'd been awake, if only to tell him that he didn't needto stay. What he needed was sleep — someplace other than upright in a dimly-lit hospital room recovering from a caffeine-crash. By now, his bones must be aching, desperate for movement (or the very least, a surface kinder than an old chair). Yet, a small part of her — a selfish part of her — was relieved she wasn't as alone as when she'd been left to die.

She instinctively reached for her chest at the memory, fingers grazing the area where the bullet had torn through her. It was staggering how something so small could cause so much damage. Between that and the beating she'd endured; it was a miracle backup had found her in time for her to still be alive (if only barely).

"I know undercover has its dangers" a familiar voice said, making her freeze, "but I still can't believe the informant sold you out."

It's only a manifestation of your brain trying to cope, she told herself. Seeking comfort in the form of safe person made perfect sense, even if that person happened to be your dead husband. Still, she was taken aback by just how real he looked when she turned her head.

"Hi." He sounded real, too.

A symphony of emotions hit her all at once; a flicker of yearning here, a splash of heartbreak there. God, how she still missed him.

She steadied her breath. "Jason?"

"Thought you might want some company."

He wasn't wrong; limbo had been terribly lonely. Is, she corrected herself. He wasn't really there, after all. But if he had been, there would be so many things to say, so much to get off her chest. And in the end, what was the harm in pretending? To allow herself to entertain the possibility, if only for a little while?

"I got Keller."

The words plopped out of her. Of all the things she wanted to say, that's somehow the first thing to escape her throat. She needed him to know that she'd gotten justice for him and closure for herself, that his death had led to Keller being arrested. He hadn't died for nothing. That had to mean something.

"I know," he said. "I'm proud of you, Maggie."

Proud. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth in her chest. She was proud of him, too. He'd changed the world in his own way. She wished she'd told him that more. She wished she'd done a lot of things different. And the warmth faded away, surrendering to pain and regret.

"I'm sorry," she paused, taking a moment to control her breath. "I'm sorry we didn't get to have a family."

He frowned. "It's not your fault."

"I wanted to wait."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Maggie," he said gently, "you couldn't know." He stepped closer to her. "I'm just glad we got the time together we did, kids or no kids," he continued. "I don't have any regrets."

"You don't?" Because she did. Many of them. They had so many lost moments, so many if onlys. And he was the one with a lifetime of unlived stories; she'd just been left behind. She could still try to make the most out of life. Well, up until now, at least.

He shook his head. "I don't." Then he smiled. "And for the record, you're allowed to be happy. You shouldn't feel guilty about healing."

Oh. He knew about her attempts to move on, then. Of course he did. He was part of her subconsciousness. Still, hearing him say it made her feel somewhat lighter. Funny how guilt worked.

"So," he looked at the bed, "how are you feeling about all of this?"

She returned her attention to her physical self, still struck by how utterly lifeless she looked, skin pale and body unmoving. It was eerie, how quickly things could change. One second, one mistake — one scared informant selling you out — and your life would crumble around you.

It had happened before. After Jason, everything changed, and she'd fully immersed herself into the role of the workaholic widow. The almost-year between his death and her being partnered with OA had been the loneliest of her life. She'd forever be grateful for his efforts to befriend her. She hadn't realized how much she missed having that in her life until he'd become one of the most important parts of her life.

"He really cares about you too, you know."

She just nodded, too distracted by the feeling settling in her chest to say anything; she didn't want to leave OA. She didn't want to leave her life behind. Not now, not after clawing her way back to some resemblance of happiness.

A morbid curiosity overwhelmed her then, picturing the world without herself. Her friends and family would still grow old. Evil and virtuosity would still exist, the sun would still rise and set, and wars would still be won and lost. Nothing that truly mattered would really change. Life would go on, regardless of whether she was there to experience it. She just wouldn't be there to experience it. And in the end, someone else would take her place in the world, moving into her house, be given her desk. Somehow, that's the image that made her lose her breath. She didn't want to be gone.

Her surroundings blurred together as her breaths grew uncontrollably rapid. Breathe in, breathe out. It was a simple concept, but one she failed at nevertheless. She took a step backwards, attempting to regain her balance. Breathe in, breathe out. A frantic beeping cut through the silence, and she was suddenly very aware of how hard her heart was working, the thumpthumthump quickly drowning out yells for help and the commotion it precipitated.

She took another unsteady step backwards, and another, before her shaking hand found the wall, grateful that ghost physics didn't entail her unwillingly falling through walls. At least she had that going for her. And if not for the crushing feeling in her chest, the absurdity of that thought might've elicited a chuckle.

Breathe in, breathe out. She closed her eyes as her cheeks dampened. Just breathe. She rested against the wall, not trusting her legs to support her anymore, and let herself sink to the floor.

"Is she okay? What's happening?"

"She's just having a nightmare. I'm administering a sedative."

Just a nightmare. It didn't really feel like just anything, but at least she wasn't dying. That was something. She held onto that, wrapping her arms around her knees as she tuned out everything aside from her breaths and heartbeat. Breathe in, breathe out. She got this.

Eventually, her heartbeat returned to normal, leaving room for exhaustion to set in her bones. She had no idea whether it was her breathing techniques or the sedatives that finally calmed her, and frankly, she didn't care. Right now, she was just grateful it was over.

"You feeling better?" Jason asked.

"Yeah," she croaked.

She opened her eyes again, finding the room bathing in sunlight. It caused a frown, but she quickly surrendered her attempts at comprehending time. Sure, it had been dark outside a moment ago, but she was also a living ghost whose only company was a dead ghost.

"You could be stuck with worse company, you know."

She smiled, but it quickly faltered. "You're not really here," she said and looked up at him, having to squint to make him out through the rays of light. "Not really." Her brain had done one hell of a job with him, though.

"I don't think there's much I can say to convince you otherwise," he said.

"I wish there was."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Me too."

The scene changed again as the sun grew brighter. OA was still there, though in a fresh set of clothes. A vase of roses had taken residence on the bedside table, a get well soon card tucked between the flowers. What really caught her attention, however, was that her physical self was no longer breathing through a tube. Filled with a childlike curiosity, she pushed herself off the floor and stepped closer, noticing how her bruises had begun turning green.

"How long?" She asked, only half-expecting an answer.

"Five days."

It didn't feel like five days. Though, she supposed her brain was too busy healing to continuously indulge her escapism. And it must be doing something right if she was able to breathe on her own again. At least she hoped so.

She turned toward Jason, realizing she could only barely make him out through the sunlight. She drew her eyebrows together; since when had the sun gotten this bright? The stories she'd heard of near-death experiences hit her then, making her step away from the windows.

"You're not dying, Maggie," Jason said. "You're waking up."

Oh. She let out a breath; she wasn't stepping into that bright light.

"It's not your time yet."

Time. She smiled. There was time for her to experience the rest of her life, to seek justice against evil and watch the sun rise and set. She would be alive to celebrate milestones; she wouldn't be gone.

"Goodbye, Maggie." And though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was smiling back at her.

"Goodbye, Jason."

A/N: I am in the process of writing a part two to this. So, fingers crossed I actually manage to finish it. No promises, though.

Thank you for reading :)