"Soon." He patted the flat plane.
In the shower, he let the hot water cascade over him, washing away the lingering traces of fever sweat. He stood under the spray for a long time, savoring the pleasure of warm water on his body, and of being clean, upright, and alive.
Alive forever. Immortal. He was still struggling to internalize that it was really happening.
A knock on the bathroom door startled him out of his reverie.
"Tony?" Shira's voice was muffled by the door. "I brought you fresh clothes. I'm leaving them by the door."
"Thanks," he called back. "Can you come in and leave them on the counter?"
"Sure."
He heard the bathroom door open and then close a moment later.
He was still stunned by how she'd taken care of him. She'd been by his side through this entire ordeal, sitting with him during his fever dreams, holding his hand when he surfaced briefly into consciousness, and making sure he had everything he needed.
He was so thankful for her. It would have sucked to go through the transition without a partner, someone who gave a damn about him and sat by his bed and brought him fresh clothes.
It should have been Tula.
The thought came unbidden, and Tony forcefully shoved it away. He shouldn't indulge in should-haves and could-haves. He should be thankful for what he had.
Shira was wonderful.
Shira was here.
Shira had chosen to be with him, and that meant something.
But was he in love with her?
Tony turned off the water and stood dripping in the shower stall, confronting the uncomfortable question. Did he love Shira? Or was she just fun and convenient? A stand-in to fill the space that Tula had left behind?
The truth was that he didn't know. There was this huge Tula-shaped shadow looming over him, blocking the sunlight and not allowing him to fully commit to someone else.
It wasn't fair to Shira. She deserved better.
But it was all he had to give right now, and she seemed satisfied with that, probably because that was all she had to give as well. She cared for him, but she had never said she loved him.
Who had hurt her, that she guarded her heart so fiercely?
Maybe both of them needed therapy.
He toweled off and checked the clothes Shira had brought for him. A pair of soft cotton pants he'd gotten to hang around the house and a long-sleeve shirt that didn't require too much coordination to put on. He dressed carefully, his movements still clumsy from days of inactivity, and examined himself in the mirror one more time.
Better. He still looked thin and pale, but at least he looked clean.
He started to reach for his shoes, then stopped. Julian had said the ceremony would be performed while he was in bed because that was how everyone else had done it, and tradition was tradition. No point in putting on shoes just to take them off again.
In fact, shouldn't he do that while wearing a hospital gown? It would look more authentic that way, more ceremonial. Something to show his children someday.
His son.
His and Tula's son.
There it was again, that sharp twist of pain, like poking at an open wound. Tony had resigned himself to the fact that Tula was with someone else now, that Esag would be the third partner in raising their child. He understood it intellectually. He accepted it, or at least he was trying to accept it.
But on some level, his mind and his heart refused to let go of the dream of a family with Tula. The dream of waking up next to her every morning, of raising their son together, of having a life together.
