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It had been a -- tumultuous meeting with Miriam, to say the least. The dreams that had been plaguing Reanna Marshall were starting to become clearer: to wit, they were real. They were real. Two people now lived within her as one person, wound around each other like ivy. She'd told Eve about them. And Eve had said: someone's trying to tell you something? as though aliens or God were trying to reach Reanna's ear specially. She didn't think she was some kind of prophet from God --

-- just a priest --

Just a princeless priest.

Helios.

Charys didn't understand. Charys was like that; both she and Miriam could have burst out into stigmata and the most you could have hoped was that she would raise her phone and take a pic of it for her Flickr account. Her big dark brown eyes were half-closed, lazy, a little indolent. She and Miriam had been stark and alive. Miriam Jacobs was someone who had an electric glance, a look that went right through you. Kunzite. She was Kunzite. And there was the memory:

a tall, dark-haired man with very blue eyes, reaching forward to kiss him on both cheeks, in ritual --

Memories sucked.

Charys seemed a little off-kilter now. The snow was falling, lightly, and the sidewalk was mostly abandoned of people -- it wasn't a built-up area, not really, around Destiny City Memorial. She perched herself up a lamppost, one unmittened hand wrapped around it, leaning out into the road halfway. The snow was falling.

"Rea, Rea," she said. "I know it's late. I know you're lonely. I know your plans don't include me -- what'd you think of her, I gotta know."

"Yep," said Charys. "It. Her."

A couple were coming out of the hospital, heading towards the carpark. They were both Sidra Winters. There was an ambulance being unloaded. Everyone was Sidra Winters. Every face in the window was Sidra Winters, everyone walking around in their white gowns had been Sidra Winters. Only Rea's face remained, teal-eyed, somber. Even in Miriam Jacob's face, she'd seen the violet flash and dark hair that meant that she was Nova, stuck in a world of howevermany ******** people and all of them wearing her skin. One long hit of ecstasy, a terrible trip.

None of this meant anything to Rea. Charys simply kept leaning back against the lamppost, stretching one arm out like an extra in a musical. She burst out, "Laaaa~aaaa," a long assonant note. She swapped hands. Her fingers were blue with cold.

"Looks like the game's changed," she said, jumping down from the perch and brushing off her thighs. "With Miriam running around. Seriously, she can be a team fortress all by herself. And then there's you. You're a magical, ... thing. Congrats. Cool story, bro." Charys reached forward and ruffled Rea's hair. "I mean, seriously, that's the gist of what I got. Magical ponydom. No s**t."

Suddenly the bluenette reached out and -- despite Rea's every effort, nerves pulled tight, reaction time -- pressed at the small of her back and dipped her down like they were both in a movie from the nineteen-forties, and she kissed her. Another two people passed to get to the radiology building. Nobody said a word.

When Charys finally got enough, having thoroughly, sincerely and gratifyingly swapped Reanna her lipgloss (blueberry; Smackers) she righted her, left Rea with flaming cheeks brushing herself off, and she took a step back.

"That's it from me, Slim," she said. "I'm out. It's over. I'm out of the senshi gig. I'm done. Leaving the Force."

Charys was laughing. Laughing, like Rea had told her a really funny joke, a little self-effacingly as though she'd done it at Charys' expense. "Holy s**t," she said, still laughing. "God, I'm not anyone's Obi-Wan, seriously. I'm not even anyone's Jar Jar Binx. Or like. Insert a nerdcore Star Wars reference in here, you have your pick of them."

She leant back against the pole, reaching out her arms expansively to the universe. "Nope. I quit," she said. "I've worked out that if you put in some earbuds and crank up the Arnel Pineda tours with Journey it completely blocks out those creepy dreams you get?" Probably not for Helios. "With the stalkery longing? I mean, I'm also trying a cocktail of prescription drugs. Baby tylenol hits the spot. No shitting you. It is delicious."

Now her hands were down, stretching out her fingers in front of her. Her eyes had not left Rea's. "I'm out," she said. "Danke schoen, darling. It was fun, except for, like, most of the time, when it wasn't. I'm so out of the Power Rangers. Here's my advice: this job sucks."

Rea had, in fact, hit upon the cusp of the problem. The tip of it, anyway, the rest of it was a boiling mass of pus that she had no idea existed. All Charys did was take one of her hands and peel off some nailpolish that had existed, leftover, in tiny little flakes that were whisked away by the wind. It was snowing. It was uncomfortable. This was her first real crisis as captain: how do I stop my men from leaving?

Well, the rest of her men weren't Charys.

Women.

Girls.

"You know, it was kind of thirty percent novelty," she said, agreeing, unresisting. "Okay. Sixty per cent. I was like -- look, when someone tells you 'so hi put on your superhero shoes' and you find out that you're on the magical equivalent of a dolphin, doin' flips and s**t, you do it." She breathed out in a wet white puff. "Only now the novelty is... gone. Hey, it's not boring." Another breath. "It's just hard."

And that was left between them: I don't do hard.

"I don't quit because of anyone, R.M." Examining the fingers. This was a lie. "I'm quitting because it sucks and I'm sick of it and I'm thinking of moving to Florida with my bee eff eff Charlie Boyle." As though Chaz would go. Another easy smile. "I'm just quitting."

YOU suck.

It was so Sidra that it could have been said by her, her ghost forcing open Rea Marshall's throat to make her gasp out old dust. It made her stop for a moment, and everything else said faded a little into the background: something something captain, something something priest, something something --

And Charys was still, trying to puzzle out language, though it mainly looked as though she were leaning back against the pole and giving around thirteen per cent of a damn as Rea exploded at her. She was right. She'd never wanted captaincy. She'd never wanted Helios, even: that was just something that was, and would be, and endured yea verily unto the end of time. Helios could offer up nothing. She could offer up nothing.

"Look," she said. "I never promised you roses." Or loyalty. Or endurance. Or an attempt. Or. Actually. Anything. Charys Murphy: chronic disappointment. "I'd be the first one to agree, in fact, that I'm preoccupied with me." So keep your head, kid. Rea did not look as though this were melting her heart.

So.

Best to wind it up.

"I'll send you a text some time." She was walking away. "From Florida."

And she just walked away, she just walked away -- just. Like. That.