“This is everything we’ve got?” Matt asked flatly, gazing at a breakfast shelf bearing one box of bran flakes and the ends of a loaf of seed bread. Over at the table Jonas grunted, not looking up from his phone.

Ding-dong

“One-two-three-not-it.”

“One-two-th- goddamnit.” Matt swung the door of the disappointing pantry closed and began trudging down the hallway with weary resignation.

A doorbell ringing at eight on a Sunday morning, he mused, was never a good sign. It was usually the police coming to inform you that someone was dead, or Jehovah’s Witnesses coming to inform you that you were being alive wrong.

Although this morning it was neither.

“Mr Callaghan,” said Cross, the minute he opened the door, her black pantsuit staggeringly unchanged, “I hope I find you well.”

“Partially,” Matt replied warily, unsure if he’d imagined the emphasis on the word ‘find’. He moved slowly outside onto the porch, closing the door behind him. His parents were still upstairs in bed, and Matt had a feeling he’d rather keep this conversation discrete. “What can I help you with?”

It had been two weeks since Thanksgiving break and two weeks since he’d last set foot in Morningstar. Two weeks, it seemed, was the point after which the Ashes cared about your absence.

The squat woman spread her hands wide and placating, the gesture making Matt secretly wonder what she could do with her powers. He’d never seen anyone change sound to light. “I’m simply here to inquire after your wellbeing, and to lock in the date when we can expect you back at the Academy.” Her professional smile showed no sign of wavering. “For housekeeping and administrative purposes.”

She’s smooth, thought Matt. But so was he.

“Thank you so much for your concern,” he smiled, manoeuvring his features into an expression of submissive gratitude, “And I’m really sorry. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Matt tried to make himself look pained. “It’s just that we’ve been having… well, there’s been some family matters. Unexpected. And I hate to take time off, but-” he sighed, “-I really just need to be here right now.”

He clasped his hands together and kept going before the Ashes woman could speak. “I’m really hoping it’ll be resolved by Christmas. I promise, I’ll be back right after that.” Of course, his family was fine, but post-Christmas was the latest he could imagine they’d let him stay away.

Cross opened her mouth, possibly to argue, but caught herself, albeit with some visible struggle. Another fortnight or so, he could see her thinking, was not long enough to be called out as unacceptable – not in light of a family crisis – even though all up it would mean more than a month’s absence. And it was partially over Christmas, which was when a lot of Acolytes would be away anyway – it was a difficult proposition to argue against. That was the trick, Matt had found; using reasonable steps to achieve unreasonable outcomes. He looked at her, doe-eyed.

“Excellent,” she said eventually, and only Matt’s lifetime of reading faces revealed her smile as forced, “We’ll look forward to seeing you on the twenty-sixth.” She inclined her head towards him and turned on her heel.

“Thank you again just so much,” Matt reiterated, slowly moving back inside, prostrating so low it was almost a bow, “Your support is really appreciated in this difficult time.” He closed the door, still throwing gracious glances at the woman’s retreating figure right until the door was shut, at which point he straightened up immediately and rolled his eyes.

“Who was that?” demanded Jonas, wandering into the hallway, his hand clutched around the last blackened Pop-Tart, “Your girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t know, some girl from your year,” Matt replied, brushing past his deodorant-deficient sibling, “Something about movie tickets? Anyway doesn’t matter, I told her you had swine flu.”

“What?!” shouted Jonas, thoroughly incensed and now following his brother back into the living room, baited hard.

“Yeah, because you practice kissing on pigs. Don’t play games with me Jonas, we all know.”

*****

“Only you can know your destiny.”

It was three-thirty in the morning, the end of their third session in as many weeks. Jane panted softly, tired and flushed despite the cold and the company – Dawn his usual quiet, flawless, unshakable self. For over three hours they’d worked, Jane flowing from form to form, power to power, an endless stream of combinations and patterns. Training with Captain Dawn was like… like nothing she’d ever experienced. There was no harshness, no violence, no pain – only movement, rhythm, an endless trance-like focus, engulfment in the moment. Their meetings were not drill sessions but dance lessons; private, intimate. Him leading with words, her following with form. There was no true fighting – the Captain did not fight, had not once unleashed the power of Dawn in ten years, and barely ever before that – so all that was there of him was his presence. And still, it was exhilarating.

And now they were done and sitting side by side in the grandstands together, alone – Dawn staring into the dark, Jane staring at Dawn, dwarfed as ever by the momentous shining figure beside her. As he spoke, she listened, drinking in his words in the cold night air.

“This world will always fear you,” he murmured, his white and gold shimmering in the dark, “No matter your intentions, no matter how you try to save it. There is inherent taboo in doing what others cannot, a fear of potential by those who lack it. But it is wrong to give it credence.”

He paused to look at her. “Does your power make you different?”

Jane hesitated, unsure what answer he wanted. “No,” she said finally, “I’m no better or worse than anyone.”

“Incorrect,” replied Dawn, but it was a gentle rebuke, “You are different. But that is not bad.”

He looked out across the empty hall. “Say there is an eagle, and below, a flock of sheep, jealous and berating him for being able to fly. Should the eagle land, to placate the sheep’s bleating?”

“No,” answered Jane.

“No,” agreed Dawn, “Because even brought low he is still an eagle, and neither he nor the sheep will ever forget it. Nor,” he added, “Will his walking appease the flock. If anything, they will think he mocks them and wish him harm. But if he soars...”

“The sheep stop bleating?”

The Captain gave her a wry smile. “No. The sheep never stop bleating. But now he is too high up to hear their complaints.” His gaze returned to the open, empty space. “Take pride in your gifts. Use them. Never be ashamed.”

He leant back slightly, then continued without looking at her. “An empath’s greatest strength lays not just in their ability to combine and create, but to adapt. To take an enemy’s power and turn it against them fast enough to overcome their advantage. Sadly,” he chuckled, “this is one aspect I cannot help you with.”

Jane laughed. “Yeah, I don’t know how well teaching me to steal powers would go down with the papers.”

“The taking is just the first step,” mused Dawn. The spark of humour had faded and he had reverted to his usual expression – calm and distant. “The true talent is in mastering the acquired skill. Our whole world is a testament to the fact that simply being able to do something does not equate to being able to do that thing well.”

They lapsed into silence. A slight chill was beginning to creep around the edges of Jane’s arms and the tips of her shoulders, but she paid it no heed. Sitting here, listening to his soft, golden voice – she hoped she’d never leave. Even just being next to him, so close, feeling his presence… it was more than she’d ever dreamed of.

“Sir?” she asked eventually.

“Yes Jane.”

“How do you know so much about empaths?”

In the dim light, Captain Dawn laughed. “I have spent a lot of time thinking about them. Years, in fact.” He paused and his green eyes grew distant. “That, and I have had more experience than most with the greatest empath who ever lived. In tragedy, certainly, and in pain. But we do not always get to choose the colour of our lives. All we can do is reflect and learn.”

Once more he fell silent, contemplating. Jane opened her mouth to press on, but then hesitated. She knew what she wanted to ask, but she was afraid to ask it. Her tired mind struggled to find the right words, struggled to decide if there was even a right way to ask what she wanted to know.

A small smile crept over the Captain’s lips. “A question restrained is an opportunity lost young one.”

Jane bowed her head. She swung her thoughts around, trying to phrase what she wanted to say diplomatically, but in the end could only return to the raw truth:

“Were you afraid?”

For a few moments, she thought maybe Captain Dawn wasn’t going to answer – maybe he was offended, maybe this was too personal, maybe she’d been too vague – but before she could try and clumsily retract her words, Dawn spoke.

“More than I’d ever been in my life,” he murmured, and the way his eyes stared into the ether, she knew he was telling the truth; re-living it. “More than I’d let myself believe. Out of all of them, out of everyone I faced, he…” Captain Dawn’s voice grew very quiet, to the point where Jane was almost straining to hear him, “…he was the only one I ever truly feared.”

He shook his golden head as if to chase away the memories. “I thought he was unstoppable,” he told her, talking to her now, his words a bit clearer, a bit louder, “I truly did. How can you face someone like that and still believe? Still think you are enough? So many times, I found myself thinking, ‘this is it, this is the end’; I cannot match this kind of power. But in the end…” he trailed off.

“In the end you did,” Jane finished fervently. Captain Dawn raised his head slightly from where it had sunk down, smiling at her passion, the fiery support in her voice.

“Yes,” he said kindly, “But it was close. So close. And the cost was so great, I swore I’d never let myself feel that fear again, never let myself be caught so unprepared.”

The lines of his face hardened and Jane swore she felt an energy, a breath of static, pass through the air. “Next time – and there will be a next time, Jane, of that have no doubt – I will be ready. Nothing shall fall to chance. When the time comes, I will be ready.”

“And I’ll be right beside you Sir,” she promised, and her heart leapt as he smiled.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way Jane,” he said, and she knew he meant every word.

And for the longest time the hero and the empath simply sat together in silence, before finally, Dawn rose to leave.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured.