A fierce elation exploded in my heart and I gasped, “I love you the same way, Dancer.”
Then the only sounds in the street were the ones a man and woman make when they live out loud and in every color of the rainbow.
I woke up a little after noon the next day to sun slanting across our bed and lay curled on my side, wondering if Queen Mac had anything to do with the sultry clime drifting in the open window.
I trusted she knew she couldn’t turn Dublin permanently into southern Georgia without seriously screwing up our rainy, verdant isle. But I’d happily take a few days of this weather, knowing how much Dancer loved it. He needed some long lazy hours in the sunshine to recuperate from the pace of recent events.
“It’s the day, Shazam,” I whispered, glowing inside. That one. The one I’d been waiting for forever. Today, Ryodan and Barrons were going to start stacking Silvers to rescue my beloved friend. And life would be perfect. Me, Shazam, and Dancer. What more could I ask? My heart was so full of happiness it felt like it might explode.
We’d had sex three times last night. I’d bowed out the fourth, pretending I was sore (like that could even happen), achingly aware of how exhausted he’d been. “We have all the time in the world,” I’d told him, hoping it was true. Pacing ourselves was the key to getting a long life with him.
Going to sleep next to him every night. Waking up with him every morning, feeling the warmth of his body next to—
I went still.
So still I might have been made of stone.
Warily, I opened all my senses to their fullest.
I sleep on my side, one arm under the pillow, backside pressed up to him. Dancer sleeps flat on his back, arms usually over his head. He breathes easier that way.
He was behind me, his hand grazing my hip.
His cool hand.
I pondered that. He might have gotten up to get a glass of milk or something and his hand was still cool from holding the glass. Or maybe he’d had one of the grape Popsicles we’d made a couple nights ago from grape juice and a couple of bottles of iced wine we’d found. I’d roll over and find his lips were purple from sucking on one. Everything would be fine.
“Dancer?” I whispered.
Nothing.
“Dancer?” I said.
Silence.
Loudly, brightly, “Dancer, wake up. It’s the day. We’re going through to Shazam today. You two are going to love each other. We’re going to be a family.” And we were doing it together; he was coming off world to Planet X with me, we’d decided last night. Even though I was worried about his heart, I’d agreed to not cage him and he wanted to be there with me, to celebrate a joyful reunion. Or comfort me if it didn’t go as we hoped.
I have super senses. Super smell, sight, strength, speed.
And hearing.
There was only one person breathing in our bed.
I exploded up, spun midair and slammed my hands down on his chest. “Dancer!” I snarled. “Wake up!”
He was still, eyes closed.
Pump, pump, pump.
I read about this. Never did it. Learned in case I needed to. Thirty pumps at the rate of 100 to 120 per minute. Tilt head, lift chin, pinch nose, breathe. Two breaths. Each lasting a second.
Pump, pump, pump. Breathe.
I kicked up into the slipstream so I could do it faster and straddled him, envisioning the heart inside his body, that lovely, unfairly penalized muscle, and pretended I was wrapping my hands around it, massaging it back to life as I worked.
Pump, pump, pump. Breathe.
I vibrated as intensely as I could because Mac told me that Ryodan said (and how he knows is beyond me) that I give off a subtle electrical charge when I do. I hit full intensity, pumping at the same time.
No breath. Not a twitch or even a flicker of eyes behind his lids.
Pump, pump pump, breathe.
Pump, pump, pump, breathe.
The tears came long before I stopped trying to bludgeon and breathe and vibrate his body back to life.
Burning, hurting, scarring so motherfucking deep.
My head whipped back and I snarled at the ceiling with grief and fury and white-hot rage. “Why?” I shook my fist. “Give me one good reason! Tell me WHY you son of a bitch! Why not me? Do you take everyone away and leave me here just to torture me?”
I don’t know how long I wept and raged up at the ceiling, or when I changed tactics and began begging. Offering anything.
Everything. All my superpowers. Whatever made me special. Just let me have Dancer back. One more day.
One more hour.
Even just long enough to get to say goodbye.
Hands dropping uselessly at my sides.
Brain going numb: reject reject reject.
His body temperature told the story well enough.
He’d slipped away shortly after I’d fallen asleep.
Hours ago.
While I’d slumbered ignorantly on.
Dancer had died, alone, and I’d been lying beside him, having happy dreams, oblivious to his suffering, his need.
This had been my fear: I wouldn’t be there when he died. Worse yet, I’d been right there, yet not. I’d wanted to be holding his hand. I’d wanted him to not be alone.
But no, I’d slept through it.