Roarke :

Morgan's face was over mine, and I realized he'd been giving me CPR. He was drawing away slowly, certain now that I was awake. His graying hair clung to his scalp; his ponytail, thickened by rain, swayed loosely between us.

As those grey eyes grew slowly more distant, I felt an urge to reach out and stop him. The CPR couldn't be over. I was awake, alive. I needed it now more than ever. But my arms felt like they were wrapped in thick sheets of lead, my shoulders stuck to the ground by railroad spikes. I could barely make my fingers twitch.

I coughed weakly, and sputtered "You saved me."

Morgan paused, kneeling over me. He watched me, eyes and expression somber. "Yes."

I knew he would. Even after the chair at Mac's, and the demon that interrupted our night together, I knew Morgan wouldn't leave me to die. Still, I felt my mouth form a question. "But why?"

Our gaze met for the briefest of moments before Morgan turned away. He twisted his body to reach something behind him, and I blankly watched his soaked white shirt sticking to his skin, following the motion of his hard, disciplined warrior's body.

At any other time, I would have enjoyed it deeply, but pain and fatigue threatened to drop me back in the darkness if I got too agitated.

Morgan stood, with his scabbard in one hand and three-and-a-half feet of wet, naked steel in the other. Light and shadow danced on the blade, reflecting the burning sanctuary of the late Victor Sells. He muttered a spell that wiped the blade dry and sheathed it. He took a deep breath, and only then did he turn back to me.

"Because I saw what happened in there. You weren't the killer."

He was lying. I'd already proved to him that I wasn't the killer. Deep down, he knew. So I pressed. "That doesn't mean you had to save me."

He blinked, feigning puzzlement with more skill than I'd have expected of a hard, forthright old man. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that saving me had nothing to do with someone else being the killer. You could have let me die." I could see it in his eyes as I said it. He knew. He'd never admit it aloud, and might never admit it to himself, but I knew.

Morgan loved me. That's all the reason you need to save someone. I wasn't going to ask him to say it. I couldn't disrespect his right to say it in his own time. But I would wait however long it took to hear the words. Wizards live a long, long time.

Morgan buckled the scabbard back to his belt and drew his coat over it, buying himself time to choose his words, like always. If I'd had the breath, I might have laughed. He straightened and focused his gaze on a point just over my eyes. "You weren't guilty. You're a part of the White Council. I had an obligation to preserve your life. It was my duty."

Looks like I had more breath than I thought. Laughter bubbled out of me, mixing with the crackling and groaning of the burning house, the patter of rain, and the rumble of thunder to make the strangest music. Morgan's expression turned grim for an instant, and dissolved into... sadness?

"I will report your conduct to the Council on Monday. They will lift the Doom of Damocles from you."

Lift the... Doom? Wait, no. My battered brain kicked into gear, sprinting for the conclusion at the finish line, with rampant anguish hot on its tail. Lift the Doom. No continuous scrutiny. No immediate execution. No Morgan.

I looked up at the figure standing over me, as if seeing him for the first time. He carried himself like he might have to draw the sword and do battle at any given moment. In the years before, that had frightened me, kept me awake at night, knowing the only reason he would draw the sword would be to kill me. But now, I saw, he looked like a protector. Stern and strong as a castle wall.

Every time I turned my back to the light, Morgan was there. Losing him would be like losing my shadow.

"No," I croaked. I should have just killed Victor Sells and claimed self-defense, like I did my mentor. Better to have died on Morgan's blade than this. "I'm still... a danger... you don't understand, Morgan." I coughed. When I tried forcing my tired body to move, to sit up, to reach him, my hip sent lightning up my spine and forced me back down. "The house... I felt it. The temptation is always there."

Morgan looked down at me with the saddest smile I have ever seen. "I don't believe that of you anymore, Dresden." He stepped back.

"It's true!" I turned my head, trying desperately to catch him in a soulgaze, to convince him in any way I could that I needed him at my back. But Morgan was already looking away, his gray eyes as unreachable as clouds hanging over a distant mountaintop.

"Help will be arriving soon." Morgan began to walk away. "Goodbye, Dresden."

I could hear sirens approaching from the distance to add a crescendo to the night's music. But for me, the show was already over.