Lyrics to See You on the Other Side by Ozzy Osbourne (1995)

We can pretend.

Strong arms circled her from behind, and warm lips brushed the side of her neck. "Good morning," he said and kissed her, his hands lacing over her stomach.

Humming, she leaned her head back into the crook of his neck and melted against him; sick, feverish heat radiated off of him in waves. "Good morning," she said and turned her head to face him; his eyes were soft and brown, dancing with light and love, his lips turned up in a fleeting smile hinted with sadness. She ignored it and forced a smile of her own. "How'd you sleep?"

They stood in the sun washed kitchenette off the stairs, Lynn at the gas stove, dressed in a red and white jersey that reached halfway to her knees and socks pulled up her calves; Lincoln wore jeans and nothing else, his chest and feet bare.

A pot of corn beef hash cooked over an open flame, its scent seasoning the stagnant air. On the counter next to the range, two MRE pouches labeled BREAKFAST, HASHBROWN W/ BACON, PEPPERS, ONIONS lay at the ready next to a can of instant coffee she'd found in a pantry.

She'd been awake since just after dawn, sitting up in bed and watching Lincoln sleep, alternating between tears of grief and tears of rage - rage at God, rage at the dead, and rage at herself. When she could stand it no longer, she came in here, cracked yellow linoleum popping under her bare feet, and sat at the table, her hands folded at her eyes pointed at the window over the sink, resembling a shell-shocked woman sitting among the ruins of her bomb blasted everything.

We have now, he told her last night after they made love, and that's good enough. Tears leaked from her eyes and she wiped them away with the heel of her palms. Let's just enjoy the time we have.

At first she ached so badly she could barely breathe. How could she enjoy the time they had when it was so short? Two days, three at the most. That wasn't long enough...it wasn't long enough at all.

But, she decided, she would make the most of it. We can pretend. Dazed, she got up and went off to make breakfast. Like playing house. Just for a little while.

"Good," he said presently and kissed her lips. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, her tongue darting out and swirling gently around his. She cupped the backs of his hands in her palms and gave herself over to the moment, existing not in the past or the future but in the present only. Turning in his arms, she took his face in her hands and deepened the kiss, lifting up on her tippy toes to better reach his mouth; he had a growth spurt on the road and was just taller than her now.

He put his hands on her hips and drew her body flush with his, his hands sliding down and pushing the hem of her shirt up over her thighs; she threw her arms around his neck, tilted her head, and sighed into his mouth when his fingertips grazed across her silky lips, her heart kicking into overdrive and her knees trembling.

Over the smell of his breath, she caught a whiff of burning. Shit. She pushed away and turned, grabbing the pot and slapping it onto one of the other burners; white smoke poured into the air. "Damn it," she she hissed. She snatched a wooden spoon from the drying rack and stirred the contents, Lincoln grabbing her hips and watching, his chin resting on her shoulder. "I burned breakfast."

You killed that too.

Suddenly she was crying, her hand pressed to her face and her head bowed. "Hey," Lincoln said softly and wrapped his arms around her; his embrace was warm, comforting, more and better than she deserved. She tried to pull away, to deny herself, but he held fast. "Lynn...it's fine, look, it's just a little at the bottom. Really, it's no big deal."

"Yes it is," she sobbed, "I wanted to make you a nice breakfast and i ruined it." Just like I ruined everything else, she thought but was weeping too hard to add.

Lincoln hugged her to his chest and rocked her gently back and forth, his lips placing tender kisses along the side of her neck. "You didn't ruin it," he said patiently, and, as though he'd read her mind, "and you haven't ruined anything else."

Her blurry gaze fell on his hand, on the wound...the one he got coming after her. She fucked everything up...she wasn't going to fuck this up too. They were going to have a nice rest of their lives together, and she wasn't going to spoil it by being an emotional wreck. "I'm sorry," she said thickly, and rubbed her eyes. "I just…"

"Shhh," he said and kissed her shoulder. "I want some of that cornbeef. It looks really good."

"Yeah?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah," he said, "just like you."

That made her giggle despite the tears still standing in her eyes. "You're a dork," she said fondly, her voice threatening to break.

"I know," Lincoln said, "I've made peace with that."

While he sat at the table with a cup of coffee, Lynn made two plates, taking great pains to ensure that his looked perfect. Done, she sat it before him, bent, and kissed his forehead, then sat across from him with her own food. The smell turned her stomach, but she forced herself to eat anyway, to keep up the illusion. She crossed her legs, propped her elbow on the table, and watched him, her lips creeping up into a smile. We have right now...let's make the most of it.

Getting up, she went over to him, and he looked quizzically up, then grinned when she sat on his lap, one arm slipping around his shoulder. He hooked his around her waist, and she kissed him, then took the fork from his hand. She forked a piece of hash and held it to his lips; staring into her eyes, he flicked his tongue obscenely out and drew it into his mouth. She laughed. "You eat like a pedophile."

She held out another bite. "Come here, little girl," he said and wrapped his lips around the fork.

"Dweeb." She forked a piece of potato, held it to his mouth, then took it away at the last minute and ate it herself. His brows shot up, and she laughed again, spraying bits of food into his face; he winced and she covered her mouth. "Sorry."

He brushed his hand across his features and favored her with a faux stern expression that made Lynn's heart palpitate. He was so freaking cute. "I didn't mean to," she said and pinched his cheek.

"You just did it again!"

Whoops. She did. She swallowed. "Sorry."

Lynn pulled the Bronco around the building and onto the sidewalk, inching past a streetlamp and parking across the front door, blocking it. Lincoln stood guard, then went to the hatch and opened it, his brow crinkling with every step he took; his joints were killing him and she insisted he stay inside, but he wouldn't listen.

They had many things in common. One of them was stubbornness.

Killing the engine, she pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out, slamming the door behind her; the sound echoed through the empty town. At the hatch, Lincoln lifted a box of MREs, his jaw clenched, then he cried out and dropped it. "Fuck," he moaned, and the pain in his voice jammed into Lynn's heart like an icepick.

"You okay?" she worried, her hand going to his back; he was bent, hands splayed on the bumper and head bowed.

Slowly, he nodded. "I'm fine," he said, his voice strained. "My elbows just locked up."

Lynn rubbed a comforting circle between his shoulder blades and fought back the urge to cry.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up straight. "Let's get this stuff upstairs."

"I got it," Lynn said, "just stand watch, okay?"

He started to protest, but stopped himself and nodded. "Alright." Of the two of them, he was the least stubborn, and would admit his limit; that was something else she'd always admired about him.

If he was in charge, she thought, no one would have died.

Shoving that thought aside, she picked the box up from the sidewalk and carried it upstairs, then came back for their bags - all the worldly possessions that they were able to save before leaving Royal Woods so, so, so long ago. Throwing hers over one shoulder and Lincoln's over the other, she started to turn, but stopped when she spotted something between a box and a clear plastic tote. Brows furrowing, she leaned in and pulled it out, a black leather bag with gold handles. She opened it, and pill bottles greeted her.

Lisa.

She swallowed hard, closed it, and brought it with her, slamming the hatch; Lincoln stood at the mouth of the alleyway between the hardware store and the adjacent bank, his face ashen. "Ready?" he asked.

Lynn glanced at the storefront: It was a simple brick building with a plate glass window, POTOMAC HARDWARE stenciled across the pane in gold tinged red. This was it, she thought, home...or the closest she and Lincoln would ever come to having a home. Beyond this place, beyond him, there was nothing. If life was a plain of existence, this place was the final outpost.

"Yeah," she said, the finality of her own words striking her heart like a hammer, "that's everything."

Lincoln turned and started around back, and as Lynn followed, she threw the keys into a storm drain.

Inside, she sat their bags on the bed and unpacked them while Lincoln brought more lanterns up from downstairs. She pulled a shirt from hers, and froze when she saw a framed photo at the very bottom. She reached in, took it out, and held it in her hands Her and her siblings clustered on the front porch steps, all of them smiling, all of them alive. She darted her eyes from one face to another, remembering how they died, their last words, the sound of death rattling in their throats. When Lincoln put his hands on her hips from behind, she jumped. "What's that?" he asked, then saw, his body stiffening ever so slightly.

"I…" Lynn started, but broke off. She carried it over to the nightstand and sat it down. "There," she said, turning away from the staring eyes of her sisters. Even still, she could feel them boring into her back.

Lincoln took her in his arms and hugged her. She squeezed her eyes closed and staved off a fresh storm of tears. Why did he love her so much? Why was he so tender and gentle and sweet? She killed all of their sisters, she killed him, yet here he was, whispering into her ear and stroking her hair. She didn't deserve him...but she had him and she thanked God. "I'm fine," she said, and looked up at him, her hand going to his face. For a moment, they gazed into each other's eyes, then they kissed, Lincoln's fingers slipping through her hair and Lynn's palms flat on his chest.

Carefully, he laid her back on the bed and Lynn spread her legs for him, shaking as his fingertips crept up the outside of her thigh. When he entered her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight, moving her body in slow, sweet rhythm with his. He grunted in pain, and she grazed her nails over his scalp. "Don't hurt yourself," she whispered, each thrust kicking showers of embers into her soul.

"I'm fine," he said and kissed her chin.

As their climax approached, she wrapped her legs around his hips and bit her heels into his butt, drawing him as close as she possibly could, her hands clutching the back of his shirt. When his warm, living essence flooded her, she arched her back to take it all and bit her bottom lip, her own orgasm hitting her like a train and tiny exclamations quavering from her lips. Lincoln buried his face into the crook of her neck and pumped his hips, filling her to the brim, his lips pressing to her throbbing pulse and a moan vibrating against her skin.

After, he held her in a bar of afternoon sunlight, his arm around her shoulder and her head resting on his chest. She felt empty without him in her, cold, and she kept her sticky thighs firmly closed to trap as much of his seed inside as she could. Drowsiness lay over her like a thick blanket, but she didn't want to sleep; if she was asleep, she would miss time with Lincoln, and time wasn't something they had a whole lot of.

When Lincoln spoke, she flinched at the sudden shattering of tranquility. "Do you remember that time you got a black eye playing softball?" he asked. "And you thought you were terrible?"

Laying her hand over his beating heart, Lynn nodded. "Yeah."

She was eleven then, and just started playing. During practice one day, she missed a swing and the ball clocked her in the right eye. She was already down because she was the worst one on the team, and that hit sent her over the edge: She ran home in tears and vowed to never play that stupid sport ever again. She was sitting on the porch step and crying into her hands when Lincoln found her. He dragged the story from her, and now, five years later, she smiled at the memory of his bewildered expression. But you're the best ball player ever, he said with sincere wonderment.

"I came really close to kissing you that day," he said now.

Lynn looked up at him, her forehead pinching. "What?"

He smiled sleepily. "Yeah. You were so sad and hurt. I wanted to make you better." He ran his fingers through her hair, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. "I love you," he said, "and I want you to know how happy you make me. I-I want to make you that happy."

"You do," she said quickly. "You make me happier than anything in the world.

"Good," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Together, they slept.

Evening. Lynn lit a lantern and sat it on the counter; cold white light flickered across the walls and sent shadows scurrying into the corners. She lit another and sat it on the dining room table, where Lincoln sat with his head in his hands. "How're you feeling?" she asked and touched his shoulder.

"I hurt," he admitted, and those two words tore through Lynn's chest like a hollow-tipped bullet. She drew up a chair and sat next to him, squeezing his shoulder gently. He looked up at her, and the light shone on the sweat sheening his forehead; his eyes were pooled with misery and his lips quivered.

That should be me, she thought.

He held out one shaky hand, and she took it, carefully twinning their fingers. "It's not terrible, though," he said.

Lynn frowned because she knew he was lying, or at least not telling her the whole truth. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and offered her a wan smile that she returned. "Do you want dinner?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, "I-I could eat."

She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, then got up and went to the pantry, where she rummaged through a line of cans. "Chicken noodle, clam chowder, or split pea?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Uhhh...split pea."

Plucking the can up, she crossed to the stove, grabbed the pot from the drying rack, and turned on the range. "You should go sit on the couch," she said, "you'll be more comfortable."

"I'm okay here," he said and leaned back in his chair. "The headache's worst part."

"There're painkillers in Lisa's bag, I think," she said and opened the can, then dumped it in. "Do you want me to get you one?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he said.

Leaving the soup, she went into the bedroom, running her hand affectionately over Lincoln's shoulder as she passed. She got the bag from its spot by the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, then opened it, sifting through the many bottles before finding one labeled NOVRIL. Didn't Lisa have a notebook in here too? With information on each medication? She looked for and found it, sitting the bag aside. "Can you stir the soup?" she called.

"Yeah," Lincoln replied.

Turning the lantern on the nightstand up, she flipped through page after page of her sister's handwriting before coming across one headed NOVRIL. Codeine based analgesic painkiller. Take one 200mg tablet by every twelve hours as needed. DO NOT EXCEED 200MG. FATAL.

Fatal.

Lynn shivered.

Returning the bag, she got up and went into the kitchen; Lincoln stood at the stove stirring the soup, a vision of domestic normalcy that was both comforting and grotesque at the same time. Her step faltered, then she went to him, her hand going to the small of his back. "Smells good," she said with a smile.

"Just like grandma used to make." He glanced at the empty can, then at Lynn. "Grandma was a lazy cook."

She chuckled at his joke and pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. "You're still a dork."

"And I'm still okay with that."

She hummed. "So am I."

She went over to the sink, twisted the cap off, and sat it aside, shaking one pill into her hand and grabbing a bottle of water. "I'll take over," she said as she handed them to Lincoln.

"Get outta here," he said and gulped the tablet, chasing it with water. "I'm doing it."

She grinned. "You think?"

Staring her defiantly in the eye, he swirled the wooden spoon through the soup. "You're asking for it, mister," she said playfully. She took the handle of the spoon and shoved in front of him, her butt grinding against his crotch. She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled smugly. When he put his hands on her hips, she jumped and cried out. "Oh, no, you're not making me burn dinner like you made me burn breakfast."

"Yes I am," he said and kissed her neck.

"I will hit you with this spoon."

His hands crept over her stomach and his lips grazed her ear, the hot puff of his breath against her skin turning her on.

"Do it," he said, "I like being beaten."

They looked at each other...then burst out laughing. When Lincoln's face crinkled in pain, Lynn's spirits dropped, and cold reality swept in. They weren't a happy couple living in their own apartment and waiting to start a family, they were a brother and sister hiding above a hardware store and waiting to die.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, just my knee." He shuffled over to the table and sat down, sucking a sharp intake of breath through his teeth.

Lynn turned away and blinked back tears. She'd seen two of her sisters slowly succumb to the plague, and she knew enough to tell that in two days, tops, Lincoln would where Lisa was the day they stopped at Fatboy's: Delirious, dying, and shivering with the cold of the coming night.

She didn't think she could stand seeing that happen again.

Not to Lincoln.

She looked around, at the walls and furniture; she wanted to live a lie, to make believe that everything was okay and that she and Lincoln had all the time in the world to live and to love, but the end was hurting at her like an extinction-causing asteroid.

She liked cooking for him and lazily cuddling him in bed, sitting with him on the couch and staring at him from across the table as he ate. She didn't want it to end...she wanted to be his wife and having his children and grow old with him. She wanted them to have a life together.

But none of those things would come to pass. Death nestled in his bones like a slumbering bat coming slowly but irreversibly awake, and sooner or later, it would overtake him, overtake them.

Drawing a heavy sigh, she stirred the soup and tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot.

It was done.

They ate in silence, Lynn sitting on Lincoln's lap and feeding him like a baby, a tender smile on her face. Affection burned in her chest, and she stopped often to kiss him and run her fingers through his hair. Afterwards, they snuggled on the couch, Lynn's head and hand resting on his sizzling chest. "I really like this," she said.

"So do I," he replied.

"I wish we had longer."

He kissed her forehead. "Me too."

For a long time neither of them spoke, then Lincoln pulled away and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "I'm really hot," he said cumbersomely. "I-I need some air."

"Alright," Lynn said. She got up, took him by the hand, and led him to the roof: The night was cool, the moon shining against the hazy sky. An outcropping jutted from the parapet, and they sat together, her hand creeping into his. In the moonlight, his face was drawn, gray, and his eyes were liquid black. Looking at him, it was easy to believe that he was dead already; a shudder went though her, and she whined miserably in the back of her throat.

Lincoln looked at her and darted his eyes to his lap. "I really wish you wouldn't do this," he said. "I-I wish you'd go. Find someone else, start a family - "

"I don't want someone else," she said. "And I don't want a family without you." She squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes. "I love you and I wanted us to have a life together. And babies." Her face screwed up and more tears, hateful tears, spilled down her cheeks. "But we can't have it and I don't want it with anyone else."

Lincoln frowned deeply and slipped his arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lynn," he said, "I'm so sorry."

For a long time, they held each other and listened to the night - the wind in the trees, the distant moaning of the living dead, the near inaudible hiss of the Potomac. "We should do it tonight," she said, and didn't have to elaborate. It was unspoken between them, and had been since the night before. The words came hard, and were bitter on her lips. The unfairness of their situation struck her full force, and her lips puckered.

Lincoln took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I-If you want to."

"I don't," she said and squeezed his hand.

"Neither do I."

In the bedroom, Lincoln pulled out of his shirt and tossed it aside; ugly purple splotches covered his back, and Lynn looked pointedly away as she crossed to the bed and sat, a bottle of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. She stared numbly down at them, her eyes going from one to the other and her stomach knotting with dread.

This was it.

She looked at the photo on the nightstand, her and all of her siblings smiling at the camera. She had Lincoln in a headlock, her balled fist hovering inches above his scalp. Luna watched them from the corner of her eye with a sly grin, and Luan leaned forward, hands clasped on her knees. The latter died in a field in Virginia a lifetime ago, and the former died in a grocery store in Ohio in another century.

Almost everyone in that picture died because of her.

Shaking, she untwisted the cap and sat it aside. Lincoln sat behind her, his hand on her back,, his touch limp, cold. She shook the bottle, and white capsules flooded her hand, some spilling over and littering the floor. She looked at him over her shoulder. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lincoln shook his head. "No."

He held out his hand.

She dropped a dozen pills, maybe more, into his palm, then tossed a dozen more into her mouth. She unscrewed the water bottle and took a drink, then handed it to him. He did the same.

Voices, a thousand, thousand voices

Whispering, the time has passed for choices

Golden days are passing over,

Lynn splayed her hand on Lincoln's chest and pushed him gently back against the pillow; the light scattered shadows across his face and pooled darkness in his eyes. He swallowed hard and watched as she straddled him, his breath catching slightly when his tip raked across her silken lower lips.

Outside the window, the first faint strands of dawn colored the eastern sky pale orange, and the sound of early birdsong drifted through the open window. Lincoln stared up at her with muted longing, and she returned his gaze, a single tear spilling from the corner of her eye and dribbling down her cheek. She laid her hands on his shoulders and ran them down over his chest, her palms tracing the outline of his developing pecs and her fingertips kissing his warm flesh. He lifted his hands to her hips and stroked them up her flanks, his nails grazing her skin and sending electric shivers into her center.

I can't seem to see you baby

Although my eyes are open wide

But I know I'll see you once more

When I see you, I'll see you on the other side

Another tear joined the first, twinkling like diamonds in moonlight. She caressed his cheek and gazed into his watery eyes, a sad frown touching her lips. She shifted and guided him to her opening, then settled slowly, taking his length with the unhurried leisure of a woman approaching the gallows. Her cheeks started to burn hot as he scraped along her walls, her body molding around him like a glove to a hand, his body fitting perfectly into hers, two puzzle pieces locking together with a breathy sigh. Lincoln cupped her breasts in his hands and made circles against her nipples with his thumbs, the delicate heat of his touch sending goosebumps up and down her arms. She threw her head back, swallowed thickly, and closed her eyes, trying to focus on now, on being here with him alive and whole, on their shared celebration of life and love, but the knowledge that his time was short, and hers too, lay heavy upon her, and more tears tracked down her face, splashing onto his hands and her breast.

Leaving, I hate to see you cry

Grieving, I hate to say goodbye

Dust and ash forever

Fluttering her hands to his and pressing, her heart throbbing sickly against his palm, she lifted herself up, her breathing coming faster as his rod massaged her aching walls, then brought herself back down, their pelvises pushing together as she took him all the way to the opening of her womb. She lowered her head and met his eyes, then lifted his hand to her lips and placed a tender kiss on his wound. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and kissed it again. Tears blurred her vision and she bowed her head in sorrow.

Lincoln pulled away and touched her cheek, his touch soft and affectionate. She rolled her eyes up to look at him like a shame-faced little girl; he frowned deeply and moved his thumb lazily over her chin. "It's not your fault," he said, "none of it's your fault. You did all you could…"

"I didn't do good enough," she said and glanced down at his stomach. "I got everyone killed." She squeezed her eyes closed and fought back the coming storm, her body clamping painfully around him. "I was stupid and careless. I killed our family, Linc. I killed them all." Her bottom lip quivered. "I killed you."

Though I know we must be parted

As sure as stars are in the sky

I'm gonna see when it comes to glory

Lincoln's hands slipped through her hair and he pulled her to his chest; she resisted at first, then allowed herself to be guided, wincing as his member shifted inside of her. She hid her face in the crook of his neck and slipped her arm around his neck, holding onto him as if in defiance of the waiting Reaper. He held her close and stroked her naked back, his lips touching her ear and kissing, his warm breath soothing. His flesh burned with fever, and Lynn hugged tighter as though she could absorb his sickness like a sponge. "You kept us alive long after everyone else was dead," he whispered, "you gave me two months I wouldn't have had without you. And -" here his voice hitched with emotion. "And the two most beautiful days I could have ever asked for. I love you so much, and I don't want you to blame yourself. I don't. Luan doesn't. Luna doesn't. If they're...still out there somewhere...watching...they don't blame you. Those things are the end of us. We tried to stand, but we all fell down instead. You did something eight billion other people couldn't, and I thank God for you."

Lynn swallowed her tears and lifted her head; their faces hovered inches apart, their eyes matching shades of mourning. He brushed her bangs from her face held her gaze. "I love you, Lynn."

"I love you too, Lincoln," she said and caressed his cheek.

Never thought I'd feel like this

Strange to be alone

But we'll be together

Carved in stone, carved in stone, carved in stone

Weaving her fingers through his and squeezing, Lynn pressed their foreheads together and began to rock her hips; tears fell from her eyes and landed on his cheeks, mingling with his as surely as their passion mingled below. Their lips touched; she breathed out and he breathed in, their bodies moving faster now, hers stroking, his thrusting. She kissed him deeply, and he kissed her back, taking her face in his hands and arching his back, touching the opening of her womb. She broke away and tilted her head back; tears streamed down her face but she wasn't aware of them, only of the tingling sensations flowing through her. Lincoln kissed her throat, the side of her neck, her shoulder, his hips lifting faster, his pelvis slapping against hers and pushing her closer to the edge.

Lowering her head, she stared down into his eyes, her fingers creeping through his hair. "I love you, Lincoln," she said.

"I love you too, Lynn," he said and took both of her hands. "I wouldn't trade the last two months for anything."

"Neither would I," she admitted and kissed him.

Everything she had in her body was drawn gradually to her center, her orgasm growing and growing, expanding against her stomach until her eyes narrowed and her teeth clamped her lower lip. WIth one final upward jerk, Lincoln wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to his chest, and swelled against her walls. He released,, shooting deep into her core, and the ball in her stomach went supernova; blinding white light filled her world, so hot and intense that her entire body seized and she screamed his name with abandon. He moaned hers as he pumped another volley into her waiting body, and she had never heard it more beautiful in her life.

Falling limp against him, she fought to catch her breath but couldn't; he held her tight as he gasped for air himself, his heart slamming against hers. Vertigo filled her head, and the room turned back and forth, threatening to send her flying. She rolled off and lay on her back, her hand clawing the sheet as panic burst against her chest. When she felt Lincoln's fingers grazing her knuckles, she grabbed on and squeezed.

Hold me, hold me tight, I'm falling

Far away. Distant voices calling

I'm so cold. I need you darling

The throbbing fear in her chest slowly subsided, replaced by warm numbness. She shifted onto her side and threw her arm over his chest, her leg over his; each limb weighed a thousand pounds, and she lifted them only with great, clumsy difficulty. Weariness came upon her, and her eyelids started to droop. She was sinking, she realized with detachment, and once she went under, there would be no coming back. She would disappear into the darkness.

Lincoln put his arm around her and she scooted up just enough to lay her head over his heart; each movement felt as though she were falling.

"It wasn't enough," she said through tingling lips - the urge to cry was there, and strong, but no tears came. "I wanted more time with you."

I was down, but now I'm flying

Straight across the great divide

I know you're crying, but I'll stop you crying

When I see you, I see you on the other side

He didn't speak for what seemed like a long time, and when he did, the sound of his voice pulled her back from the warm, comforting embrace of sleep. "I know." His voice was slurred, barely a mumble. He squeezed her hand - weakly. "But after this...we have forever."

Lynn smiled tiredly. That did sound nice. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too. And I always will."

"I'll find you," she promised.

"Forever," he repeated and slowly, ponderously, stroked his hand up and down her arm. "I won't let you go."

"Please don't."

Darkness stole over her vision, and her brain dipped below the surface like a drowning woman. Her eyes began to ring, and she felt so warm...so safe...

"I-I won't."

Content in the knowledge that she and Lincoln would have forever, Lynn smiled…

...and drifted to sleep.