Learning to Dance

between them. “You couldn’t fake an Alabama accent for
beans, Mrs. von Tuppington.”
“Well, at least I could dance,” she said, and then
immediately regretted it. He was trying so hard.
“You really were the most beautiful woman there,” he
said, almost too softly for her to hear.
She stopped moving, one hand on his shoulder, the other
clasping his human hand. His robot hand felt cold on her
waist. Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“Up-” she said.
He dropped his hands. “I think I’ve had enough dancing
for today. I’m- I’m tired.”
She watched him go, trying vainly not to limp, but there
was pain in every step. It wasn’t fair that he was reduced to
this, a man who’d once been so strong, the best goddamn
Ranger in the entire League. She wanted to hit something.
The physio centre didn’t have punching bags, so she
went to the chin-up bar instead. She was almost back to her
pre-Qo’nos strength, and every burning muscle, every rep
felt like a small victory. Relief filled her, relief to be
channelling her energy into something brainless and
physical instead of being positive, being patient, being what
Up needed her to be. She was exhausted. She didn’t stop.
“You look beat, Taz. Why don’t you call it a night?”
Rosie stood there, a clipboard in one hand, the other on
her back. Taz dropped to the floor, circling her shoulders,
and grabbed a towel.
“I should be saying that to you,” she said. “Shouldn’t
that baby be here by now?”
“Tomorrow’s my last day of work,” Rosie said, still
looking at her with concern.
Taz sighed. Doctors. “I’m fine, Rosie, I’ve just been
doing a lot of dancing.”
“And chin-ups, I see,” Rosie said, crossing her arms over