A/N: Inspired by "London 3 (Live)". It's written a bit dramatically, I hope that isn't too off-putting. Enjoy!

He is soft and gentle. "My lady," he bids, with a gentlemanly bow, "shall we dance?"

She is delicate and dying. "If you'll have me." She stands.

She is radiant.

He smiles, heartbroken already, and takes her hand as though she is made of the most sensitive glass, ready to shatter at the first hard breath. She slides into his arms, content, fitting, his other half. Her movements are as fluid and elegant as the day they met-Death cannot take that from her. He places his hands on her, and is suddenly filled with desperate sorrow. He cradles her, pressing her to him as though that can stop time from claiming her. He can feel hot tears gathering in his eyes and squeezes them shut, shaking from the effort of containing his own heart.

She smiles, sad but knowing, and lays a hand against his cheek, wiping away the traitorous droplets that escaped his tight control.

"Once last dance, Hershel," she murmurs. He looks into her eyes and can barely stop an anguished sob. He forces himself to smile at her, and takes a deep breath. He grabs her hand, twining their fingers together while placing his other hand upon her waist.

"Yes," he answers simply, and steps into the flow of the song.

They are instantly engulfed, wrapped in the invisible river of music, swept away on its silver current. Their eyes are locked together, each afraid that looking away will mean losing the other forever. They glide more than they step, graceful figurines lost in a carousel of emotion and violins. The world spins around them, but they are blind to it, knowing only the hot, bittersweet touch of their embrace.

They know it cannot last forever, and it does not. But the moment is treasured and savored and perfectly preserved in their memories for eternity, ever ready to be dusted off and relived in their minds as their love cannot in life. Every soft breath, each faint brush of fabric against fabric, every subtle movement and sound carefully noted and cherished.

It cannot last forever, but it ends gradually. Their movements slow as the music dwindles, and finally they are forced to stop once the last echoes of sound disappear. All is silent. Absolutely silent.

He breaks the spell. "I love you, Claire," he whispers, forehead pressed against hers, knowing that it would be over very soon. Already she is fading away.

"I love you too, Hershel…" she answers, but her voice is faint, and she is ghostly in his arms. He stares, and watches her go, and finally he cannot stop himself, he lunges for her after-image with a desperate cry and tears in his eyes-

"Wait…!"

But she is gone, and the world goes with her. He is left in darkness, with naught but his tears for companionship.

Hershel awoke with a sudden jolt. There were tears in his eyes and a name on his lips, but both faded quickly from memory, like dew droplets in the wake of the sun.

He was a logical man, and logic had no place for ghosts of the past.