Page 50 of Night in a Waste Land

She pictured herself in Beck’s library, the lovely-smelled stacks of old, paper books heaped around her. Remembered turning pages, and studying reprints of oil paintings. Raphael – the angel of healing. As John the conduit, hehadhealed. He’d also brainwashed, and ruled.

She sighed and finally shut off the water when it began to cool.

When she was dry and dressed, she left the dressing cubicle and went out into the locker room to put her soap and shampoo away.

Gallo was sitting on a bench in front of their section of lockers, pulling on socks, shirtless, the light playing down the gleaming black metal of his new arm. He was humming under his breath, smiling to himself, and she didn’t think the faint pink stain on his cheeks was solely from the heat of the shower.

“What song is that?” she asked.

“Something old. My sister used to sing it.” He continued, a few low bars; even without knowing it, Rose thought it sounded soft and romantic.

She stowed her things and turned to lean back against the locker fronts, facing him. “A love song?” she teased.

He grinned, and his blush deepened. “Maybe.” He sat back and braced his hands on the bench, meeting her gaze unselfconsciously. Blush or no, he wasn’t embarrassed; he’d always been sweeter and more honest than any of them deserved.

Rose smiled. “You look happy.”

“I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.” He breathed a disbelieving laugh, and reached to scrub his new hand through his damp hair. “That sounds dumb, doesn’t it? With this.” He lifted his hand and regarded it. “And with everything that’s going on.”

“The world’s been shit my whole life,” she said. “You’ve got to find happiness where you can.”

“Guess so.”

“Is he good to you?” she asked, going serious. “I’m so glad you’re happy, but he didn’t seem to know you existed before you got hurt.” She hated even saying it, but if Tris was indulging Gallo out of guilt, if he wasn’t sincere, he was going to have to reckon with her.

Gallo didn’t seem bothered. His smile was soft, and fond, and reflective. “No, it’s not just guilt. He’s – well, I wear my heart on my sleeve, everybody knows that. But Tris is more guarded. He knew I existed.” He sounded sure, and she supposed she had to take his word for it. “But he’s buried a lot of people in his career. I think he was afraid of getting too close, and then…” His metal fingers tapped along the bench, eloquent of all that could happen when you got too close in this line of work.

“He’s a secret romantic, huh?”

“He’s…God, Rose.” His sigh was positively lovestruck. “You have no idea. He’s so…so.”

She could feel the bitter edges of her smile. “I know the feeling.”

His brows drew together, concerned. She’d told him about Beck, a little. He at least knew that she mourned him.

But then his expression cleared. “Speaking offeeling…andsecret romantics…”

Her face heated immediately. She knew, from the sly twist of his smirk, exactly where this was headed. “Oh, Frankie, don’t.”

“Don’t deny it! Hecarriedyou. It was straight out of a movie, I swear.”

“Stop.” But she was chuckling, his glee infectious.

“Carried you in his big, strong arms. How were his pecs?” He pantomimed resting his face on them, cheek cupped in his own hand. “The stuff of dreams?”

“Francis.”

“He’s totally in love with you.” He looked shocked after he’d said it, his brows shooting up. “Shit. I didn’t mean–”

“He is, isn’t he?” Rose wasn’t shocked, not at all. She’d known for a while, even if she was only just now acknowledging it.

Gallo winced. “I know he doesn’t try to be obvious. But tonight was…”

“Yeah.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

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