Chapter 10

Blake woke up this time in layers, like swimming up through oceans: deep heavy lightless water, then a sense of some weight lifted, more buoyancy. Then shafts of gold like veils, filtering through haze in lacy light. Warmth in his toes, his fingertips. Brightness against his closed eyelids, hinting at daybreak.

He wiggled his toes, tentatively. They moved.

His fingers moved, too. All his extremities felt pink and fluffy, like feathers on a hat, or clouds over the Alps when the sun turned snow to roses.

A long stretched-out weight occupied the bed beside him, making a dip in the mattress. A small presence—a hand—lay atop Blake's chest. He knew that hand.

He opened his eyes, with some trepidation.

He was in the spare bedroom in Ash's luxurious home; he recognized that dove-grey damask paper and the canary-yellow rug. The fire lay lit but low, simmering. The clouds had cleared; sun striped the floorboards and rug in merry topaz. More medical supplies, herbs, tinctures, tumbled across the nearest table.

He had the uneasy feeling he'd been more ill than he'd thought, or maybe exactly as ill as he'd thought. He didn't remember much. Heaviness. Sinking.

He felt the weight beside him shift, not waking. He knew that was Ash; he knew it without looking, the way he knew his heart was beating, and his bones were whole.

He turned his head, instead, to look at the chair. Cam jerked more upright just as Blake's gaze fell on him; he was unshaven, one sleeve splashed with an unidentifiable stain, face drawn. The silver in his hair caught the light, for an instant more pronounced.

He saw Blake's open eyes. His whole face transformed with joy.

Blake held out his own hand on that side. Cam plunged or fell or dove toward the bed, physician's triumph colliding with visible wrenching emotion. He grabbed Blake's arm, tested his pulse, touched Blake's throat with a shaking hand. "You—you—I thought—ah, lad, I thought—"

"I know." Talking was possible. Nothing hurt. He did feel as if the marrow'd been wrung out of his bones, but he felt alive, in a way he was too foggy to articulate. Present. Anchored. "You saved me. Both of you."

"I'd not meant to fall asleep—only sat down for a second—"

"You're here." Blake laced his fingers through Cam's; Cam commanded, "Stop that, I'm getting your pulse," a joyous scolding. "Hold still."

Blake did. But glanced at Ashley, bundled into a thick plush robe, blankets, layers, there at his side.

Cam understood. As ever. "He's much recovered, only exhausted, poor thing. He tried to stay awake with you. He'll be weak for a time, and we'll be keeping an eye on his lungs, but he's on the way to mending. You, though…ah, you scared us."

Blake tugged at his hand. Cam bent down closer. Blake inquired, "Am I well enough to kiss you?"

Cam laughed unsteadily. Blake told him, "I mean it."

"Half-dead and you want to flirt with me," Cam said, "I see where the reputation comes in."

"I know what I want." He did. He knew, now. Waking up. Cleansed, pulled through fire, stripped of everything but truth. "I knew when—when you were talking to me. I couldn't answer. I wanted to."

"Did you?" Cam lifted Blake's hand in his, brushed a kiss across the back of it: airy as a Highland breeze. "There's one kiss for you. A promise, if you'd like."

"I want you," Blake said. "I do. And I want him. I—I love you, I think. Both of you. I'm not sure how that works, but it does. It's what…feels right. I don't know if you—I know what you said, but if you—I mean, I don't know how to—if this can even—if the two of you…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ash said, shoving himself up in a tangle of robe. When he blinked his eyelashes were long, dawn-fair, precious. "We want you. And also each other. We talked about it. Also—Blake. You're alive. You're here." The tears hung in his voice; he wriggled closer, fit himself up against Blake in the bed. "You heard us. You came back."

"How long has it been?" He eased his arm on that side around Ash. "And—wait. You talked about this? About…what…how…"

"Three days." Cam had sat down on the side of the bed, and slid his hand down to Blake's wrist, thumb over that pulse-point, not necessarily checking—though not not doing that—but simply rubbing, small reassuring circles. "And aye, we did."

"About—"

"About a lot." Ash leaned in, shyly; Blake knew what he was about to do, understood it, and yet felt the touch of Ash's lips at the corner of his mouth with pure surprise, as if he'd been kissed by a butterfly, a star, an angel. So right, so natural—part of the world—and yet magic.

"We talked," Ash said, "and—and the thing is…" He coughed, briefly; waved away concern. "Much better. The thing is…I want you, I love you, I always have, you know that, I told you. And I think…you want me too? I heard you, just now. You love us both. We know you do. And, well…" He even blushed. "Cam's so…er, that is, I see what you see, why you would…I don't know him as well but I saw him trying so hard to save you—and me—and he's the sort of person who tries to rescue people, and he sees people—he saw you, maybe even better than I did, and I think—I think I could love someone like that. That sort of person."

"And," Cam rumbled quietly, "I like you, too, lad—Ash. Liked you from the start, when you wouldn't give up, being so sick and fighting…and when you looked at our Blake and you saw how much he was worth, and I saw that too, you fighting for him…ah, well, kinda ended up in love with you myself, if you want to call it that, this soon. Thinking it might be, though. You and that hair and that stubborn heart."

"Starlight hair," Blake said weakly. "I've always thought so."

Ash's smile was magnificent. "God—I love you so much."

"And I love you." Cam bent to kiss Blake as well, a quick but dominant claiming, easy and unhurried. "So we'll figure this out, the three of us. All together."

Around them the sun came out more, sidling up onto the bed; it draped light across all three of them, present and recovering and alive.