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The quiet stretched, comfortable and unhurried. Carol's fingers drifted from Athena's arm to her hand, turning it palm-up. Her gaze caught on the ring again—caught harder this time. She traced the edge of the sapphire with careful reverence, like she was afraid it might disappear if she moved too fast.

"Can I ask you something?" Carol said softly. "Always," Athena replied. Carol swallowed. "What if I'm bad at... the words part? The vows." Athena stilled, giving her full attention. "I can fight aliens, lead teams, blow up ships," Carol went on, a self-deprecating huff of breath escaping her. "But standing in front of everyone and saying how much I love you? That feels... terrifying."

Athena shifted so they were facing each other, knees touching. "You don't have to perform," she said gently. "You just have to be honest." Carol's eyes flickered. "What if honesty sounds... small?" Athena reached for Carol's hand and guided it to the ring again. "It won't." Carol's thumb brushed the sapphire. "Why this?" Athena smiled—soft, private. "Because sapphires don't shatter easily. They're strong, but they don't lose their clarity under pressure." Carol looked up.

"And because," Athena added quietly, "blue felt like you. Not the flashy kind. The steady kind that stays." Carol's breath caught. She nodded once, emotion tightening her throat. "Then my vows won't be long," Carol said after a moment. "But they'll be true." Athena leaned in, foreheads touching. "That's all I want." Carol pressed a kiss to Athena's knuckles, right over the ring. "I choose you," she murmured. "Even when I'm bad with words."

Athena smiled, heart full and unafraid. "You're doing just fine."Later that night, when the compound had settled into its familiar hush, they found themselves back in Athena's room—lights dim, city glow slipping in through the window. Carol lay on her back, hands folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling like she was mapping stars. Athena sat beside her, legs tucked under herself, absently brushing her thumb along Carol's ribs. "Can we talk about something?" Carol asked. Athena didn't tense this time. "Yeah." Carol exhaled. "I don't want distance to be a question mark anymore." Athena paused, then nodded. "Me neither."

Carol turned her head, meeting her eyes. "I can't promise I'll never leave again. You know that. But I can promise I'll always come back." Athena reached for her hand. "Then we pick a place. A home base." Carol smiled faintly. "I was hoping you'd say that." They sat with it for a moment, letting the idea settle—not heavy, not scary. Just real. "Here," Athena said finally. "Or close. Somewhere that's ours. Not temporary." Carol's expression softened, something like relief washing over her. "A place with sunlight. Maybe a porch."

"And room for chaos," Athena added. "Morgan. Visitors. Your boots everywhere." Carol laughed. "I can do that." Athena squeezed her hand. "When you leave, you know where you're coming back to." Carol leaned in, resting her forehead against Athena's shoulder. "I've never had that before." Athena kissed her hair gently. "You do now." Carol closed her eyes, the future no longer a stretch of empty space—but a path that looped back, steady and sure, every single time.