A sigh escaped Barlow’s lips as he set the poker back in its place. He looked like he wanted to object but could find no reason. “Then, I’ll sleep on the bedroom floor.”
“Because it’ll look more natural if I die in my own bed?”
Barlow blenched, keeping his gaze low. “No, because it’s rude to demand your bed as a guest. I’d much rather one of us have a good night’s sleep. Bed or floor, I’m not going to sleep well, anyway.”
Corking the rum, Felipe silently sighed. God, he was an ass sometimes. He knew he should apologize, but he didn’t want to. He was angry. Angry that he was dead. Angry that he was alive. Angry that he had no control over any of this, and Oliver Barlow could decide at a moment’s notice his life was over. Tossing his jacket over the back of the armchair, Felipe pulled off his tie and turned to face Barlow. Despite everything, his colorless features and the pale pink of his lips still called to him. The other man watched him, caught between fascination and confusion as Felipe unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt to check his side. When he showered before dinner, his ribs had been covered in blooms of half-healed yellow bruises, though he didn’t know if they were from Barlow pushing on his chest or the assailant trying to rip his lungs out. Now, his skin had returned to its usual warm tan, and apart from the lingering, barely-there ache of a healing wound, there was no evidence of violence.
Hesitantly stepping closer, Oliver’s grey gaze flickered between Felipe’s stern expression and his open shirt. “May I?” he asked, reaching but not touching.
“Yeah, let’s get it over with.”
Felipe stared at the stain on the rug as Oliver’s hands skimmed along the flesh of his sides, gently probing for breaks, bruises, or sloughing skin. Catching Felipe’s wrist, he held it between his calloused fingers and closed his eyes to count the beats that pumped past. The pulse in Felipe’s throat leapt at the other man’s touch. Oliver’s brows furrowed as he counted, lips parted in a way that made Felipe think of marble sculptures. Satisfied, Barlow let his hand drop and moved on to checking Felipe’s eyes and vision.
“Sometimes the dead can’t see well,” he said by way of explanation. “It’s the lack of blood flow to the eyes. Yours still look clear. Do you feel any different?”
“I told you, no.”
Jabbing Felipe hard in the ribs, Oliver nodded at the hiss that followed. “Is this your normal healing speed? It doesn’t seem very efficient.”
“It’s much slower than normal. Usually, if I broke my ribs, they’d be healed within the hour, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m dead or if the killer did a hell of a lot more damage than I thought. It felt like they tried to turn me inside out.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Oliver retrieved a stethoscope from his bag. He slipped it on and put the cold funnel over Felipe’s heart. Frowning, he moved it closer to his spine and then to the other side before putting it back over his heart. Watching Barlow listen to his heartbeat made its tattoo even more obvious in Felipe’s ears. If he closed his eyes, he could practically feel the cord of energy threading through his bones holding them together. It was all at once comforting and unnerving.
“Well?” Felipe asked to break his thoughts.
“Your lungs sound a little crunchy. I think that’s inflammation from the healing process. Does it hurt to breathe?”
“Hurt is a strong word, but I notice I’m breathing, if that makes sense.”
“It does. Your heart sounds strong, though elevated. Once again, probably due to your body healing itself.”
Or because you’re touching me, Galvan’s traitorous mind whispered back.
“But your skin looks good. No sign of livor mortis or decomposition. It’s rather amazing, actually. You look healthier than I do.”
“See? Perfectly fine,” Felipe retorted as he buttoned up his shirt. “No need to cut me loose yet.”
***
The smile dropped offOliver’s face as he watched Felipe snap shut. He had no other way to describe the way Felipe changed from the man who showed him how to use chopsticks at the noodle house to the man who buttoned his shirt with shaking hands. Oliver knew he did it, too. Sometimes he didn’t notice when he changed from alone-Oliver to with-people-Oliver, but when it happened in front of people he liked and felt comfortable with, it felt like a cage dropping over him. All at once protective and limiting. He shouldn’t have examined him, but he wanted to confirm that what he saw with his own eyes was true and that he wasn’t wishing Felipe Galvan still looked alive.
“I wouldn’t cut you loose without telling you,” Oliver said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Felipe. If it happens by accident, I can’t control that, but I don’twantto do it.”
A frenetic laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Really? Because before you were pretty clear that my time is limited, even more limited if I start to fall apart.”
“But you aren’t right now. Right now, you’re fine.”
“But I might not be in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll even wake up.”
“None of us know, but if that happens, Iwillfind out who did this. I will avenge you and make it right.”
“What’s the point of vengeance and justice if I’m still dead?”
The last word shattered out, and Felipe’s eyes reddened as he turned back to the window with his arms crossed. What was the point? Revenge and justice felt like a distraction to stave off grief for the person lost, but what should you do when the victim is grieving themselves? Sister Mary Agnes was dead, and Felipe would be soon. Usually, Oliver got the information he needed and tried not to get personal. Mostly because at least half of the people who made it into his lab brought it upon themselves by dabbling in the occult, but the others he avoided because they made him feel his own mortality so keenly. He could be struck down on the street. He could accidentally mix the wrong chemicals and turn his laboratory into an inferno. He could fall for a man who should be dead and be killed for his own hubris. Oliver swallowed hard.
“You’re right. You are absolutely right, but that’s why we went to the Tam Noodle House, isn’t it? Because it’s something you love and you love the people who work there.” At the burning in his eyes, Oliver silently cursed his misguided sense of compassion. “You still have time, Felipe. You can still do things. If it’s finishing this case, we can do that, but if it’s doing things you want until next Saturday, we can do that, too.”
Galvan turned backed to him with something written across his features that Oliver couldn’t wholly parse out. “You would do that for me?”
