Learning to Dance

He could feel her watching his laboured movements, and
his shame, his constant shame, grew a little more. He
sought a distraction. “How did your training go today?”
Taz was silent for a moment. “It’s going well,” she said.
“I’m at eighty percent of my normal range of movement.”
“That’s great, Taz,” he said weakly. “That means they’ll
discharge you soon. Space-Claw’s eager to get one of his
war heroes back on the field for the clean-up effort.”
She made a non-committal noise. “Space-Claw is a
sucio, perro lamiendo científico loco.”
“Yes he is,” said Up, tracing designs in the water with
his left hand. “But he saved my life.”
Something in her eyes softened. “He did,” she
whispered.
A sharp pain shot through Up’s chest. He closed his eyes
and doubled over, easing his breath slowly out through his
mouth, then inhaling again through his nose. He felt Taz’s
small hands on his back and shoulder, rubbing reassuringly
as he repeated the exercise until the pain subsided.
“Dead – goddamn – nanobots -” he said, hating his
weakness, hating that she was there to see it. “Heart – still
getting used to them.” Space-Claw had said this particular
side-effect should fade over time. Up couldn’t wait.
She looked at him the way she always looked at him
now, with pain, with pity, as if he was a sick child, a hurt
puppy, a useless, wasted old war hero. What he wouldn’t
give for her to look at him, just once, the way she used to –
with admiration, with trust, with what he had begun to hope
might even have been love.
But who could love half a man?
He didn’t want to meet her eyes, but she gently turned
his chin. Her hair was uneven and choppy, framing her face
with the beginnings of dark curls - her beloved red
headband had been incinerated with the rest of her uniform.