He knew he was awake. He knew he was, but it was like no other wakefulness he could recall. There was a substance to it, a quality of concreteness that made all his other combined wakeful moments seem nothing more than specters. Mere illusory oases in a desert, as if they had been teasing his senses, testing them. And now his senses were heightened without a single iota of apprehension, or even expectancy. It was simply an exhilaration.

When he looked about him everything made sense and nothing at all. There were sound like water falling over pure energy, and the air held a scent he knew yet couldn't name. There were colors he'd never seen before and he knew that one was pliel and that one was erreta, yet he had no idea how he'd come to know that. He laughed for the pure joy of it, and he remembered it all because he knew he was awake as he'd never been awake before. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, propped his chin on top and let wakefulness take him.

It seemed he'd been sitting only a moment or forever when he finally spoke. He didn't address anyone in particular, although he could sense someone nearby.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

"There's no death," a soft voice replied, "merely an exchange of journeys."

"But... to them I'm dead."

"Yes." The woman sat beside him, copying his position, her knees pulled to her chest. "Are you sad about that?"

"Yes," he said and paused. "I'm sad for them." He paused again. "But somehow it seems a sacrilege to feel sadness here, in all this..." He waved his arms around, with a look of wonder on his face.

She chuckled lightly. "There's no sacrilege here except perhaps against yourself. The only sacred thing is you, your feelings, your knowledge - and what you do with that."

He furrowed his brow in thought, finally nodding his understanding. "So... he was the face of god," he said with a wide grin and a raise of his eyebrows.

She snorted lightly and took his hand, pulling him up with her as she stood. "Come with me?"

For the first time he turned and looked her, this being whose name seemed unimportant, as if learning it would limit the knowing of her in some way. But she was lovely. There was a softness to her hand in his that felt oddly familiar, as if he should know that touch, as well. But he knew he didn't. Her saffron hair fell in soft curls around her face and shoulders, her eyes standing out against her café latte complexion, a brilliant blue speckled with brown, like a robin's egg. He somehow knew that she didn't look like this, but was only allowing him to see her this way. And he somehow knew it was important that he understand why.

So he went with her.

"Where are we going?"

"Just walking. With you being new in town" - she laughed and squeezed his fingers - "you should at least see the sights."

"My own personal tour guide to the afterlife," he joked.

Her smile was engaging. "I suppose one could think of it that way, but there is no ‘after'. There is only life."

She led him past mountains and oceans and formations of land peppered with other people, with interesting faces he'd only dreamed of painting one day. There was no sun beaming but the very air around them seemed to radiate its light, then in the blink of an eye he could see galaxies and vast expanses of space teeming with life and bursting with energy.

"I should feel overwhelmed, shouldn't I?" he asked as he absorbed everything around him. "But it feels so right, as if everything before was a preparation. I've been here only a few moments it seems, yet it seems forever at the same time."

She laughed at his enthusiasm. "It's different for everyone, the experience. And time, place... those are concepts, not reality. Corporeal beings are responsive to the rhythms of what they can see, hear, feel... They qualify and quantify so things will make sense to them, because they've forgotten how to see, hear and feel beyond those rhythms. Some" - she smiled slightly in his direction, with a little nod - "sense the truth beyond that tautology and stir great emotion among those less willing to do so."

"So I've been here before." He knew he had, somehow knew this wakefulness was more the resumption of a journey briefly interrupted than a new one undertaken.

"You have."

They continued to walk, through small cities and grand fields, past magnificent works of art and the simplicity of children playing tag. Everything in a moment, so familiar and so fresh.

"Is that why I feel I should know you? Because we've met here before?"

Her laughter at his words was gloriously happy and he smiled widely, not really even knowing why. "Not quite. You feel that sense of knowing me because we will share a special bond, but we haven't met... yet."

The woman's words gave him the first feeling of confusion he'd had since he'd awakened. Or returned. He knew her because they were going to meet? He'd sensed that who she appeared to be was not who, or how, she really was, but he struggled to understand the puzzle. "I so completely don't understand."

"Because you haven't experienced it yet. Our bond is not a memory, but a promise to come." She squeezed his fingers gently to emphasize that promise. "You said I was your personal tour guide, but really, you'll be mine." She watched the puzzle try to work itself out in his head but knew that it couldn't... yet. His sadness was still too great for those he loved behind to completely look forward. "They mourn and grieve because they are still responding to those rhythms around them. My new journey is to help them sense beyond that."

"Their guardian angel."

"No, just someone who needs them as much as they need me." She touched his face and felt comfort in the warmth his skin held, the tireless glimmer in his eye, the unconditional love he seemed to exude. "Welcome back, Tin. I'm sorry I won't really remember all this when we do meet."

:: 

The moment her image left him he heard the protesting cry of a newborn child and a host of new understandings flooded him. She was... he was... Oh, god! In that instant he laughed with such frantic joy, closed his eyes and he was there, watching his daughter being presented to the world. The anticipation and unconditional love on Daphne's face as she saw her child for the first time would have brought him to his knees if it had been possible.

But it was Brian, pacing the hospital corridor, his hands wrecking his hair, his glance bouncing between the clock on the wall and the double doors leading to the delivery room, that wrenched Justin's heart. He could feel the apprehension and excitement that underscored every breath the man drew in and let out. This was the Brian so few saw, this bundle of nervous energy, this caring man who agonized over the pain of others. This man who held more love in his little finger than most nations could contain within their borders.  

He watched as Brian finally rushed through the doors and into the room, then almost fearfully lifted the little bundle of squirming noise in his arms. There was the look - the look that made Justin fall in love with this oft times insufferable man. The look a father bestows on a beloved child.

"Welcome to the world, little firefly."

With those few words, Justin knew Brian would be okay eventually. Knew they all would. Justin looked over Brian's shoulder at this new little being who held so many hearts in her tiny hands and whispered, just past Brian's ear.

"Hey, little firefly. Guess this is where we finally meet. I'm your Tin. Just Tin." He could swear there was a flash of recognition on that lovely little face and he knew she could sense him, knew he was there. "You've got a big job to pull off here, little girl, taking care of your new mom and dad. I can almost guarantee it won't be easy, but I'll be right there with you, your own personal tour guide."

He turned and saw Brian lay his forehead lovingly against Daphne's, saw her cup his face and kiss him sweetly on the cheek with a ‘Congratulations, dad," and he knew everything was just as it should be. He opened his eyes and heard the gentle sound of water running across pure energy, and thought he should paint his daughter in tones of cadmium, pliel and eretta.

Brian he would paint in agapó.