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It’s not real. It’s not possible, this. Why can’t you see that?
(Frank to Hugo, The Nevers 1.12)
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Frank’s not sure how long he sits there. Justice feels like nothing. How foolish he was, thinking his life was so empty that there was nothing left for Massen to take.
Then there’s the sputtering gasp of breath, a man coming up from underwater.
Massen. It seems right, somehow. Hugo gone and Mary’s killer still here. Hugo and Mary died bleeding, and that evil fuck is still drawing breath, given a miracle so he can hurt someone else.
Frank picks up his gun and turns the corner, ready to do what needs doing.
“Fucking hell, Frank, not again!”
Hugo stands there: hands up, eyes wide. Bloodsoaked and alive.
Frank drops the gun, and doesn’t hear it hit the ground. A sound like drowning screams in his ears. He sinks to his knees, going numb.
“What’re you–how’re you–” he whispers to the floor.
Hugo’s voice is loud and lively as ever. “I don’t know! I don’t know, now, do I? I just–woke up!”
“You were dead.”
“I got better.”
“You’re not real. You’re not here.”
Hugo gets down on the floor next to him, moving with the thoughtless ease of a younger man. He takes Frank’s bloody hands in his. Hugo’s touch is clammy, but there’s something warm underneath. Something living.
“I’m here,” he promises, pressing his forehead to Frank’s.
“I killed you.”
“Massen killed me.”
“He wouldn’t have if I hadn’t shot him.”
“Sure he would have. Don’t be so hard on yourself, old man. It was an accident. And a fair trade, I’d wager, in exchange for justice.”
Frank shakes his head slightly, the only reply he can muster.
“In exchange for a kiss, then.”
Frank doesn’t look up. “Don’t be daft.”
“I promise I won’t hold my untimely and blessedly brief death against you.”
“Yeah, you will.”
“Maybe in a fight someday.” Hugo sounds like he’s imagined all manner of somedays for them. “But not now. I’m too happy to see you.”
Frank finally looks up. Hugo is smiling softly at him, his face all full of liking. It’s the thing that made Frank recoil at his company for so long.
With a shaking hand, Frank reaches for Hugo’s neck. The skin is still drenched in blood, but beneath it, there’s no wound.
“What the …” Frank pulls his hand back, his fingertips dark with dried blood.
“It’s not even blue, is it?” Hugo huffs. “God, how embarrassing.”
“Not that, you fool.”
“So it is blue?”
Frank opens his mouth to answer, but then he’s stopped short.
A tiny glowing wisp like a colorful snowflake shines on Hugo’s chest, right over his heart. Strange, that Frank didn’t notice it before, for he feels sure somehow that it’s been there this whole time. Hugo’s eyes follow Frank’s down to it. They watch for a moment as it hovers there, then sinks in.
They look back up at each other slowly.
“Funny times we’re living in,” Hugo comments, like it’s about the weather.
“Anything can happen,” Frank agrees.
Hugo perks up. “Anything?”
Frank kisses him for the second time that day. It’s as easy now as it was impossible before. Hugo kisses back with all the hunger Frank remembers, and a gentleness that’s new.
When they break apart, Frank still expects Hugo to vanish. For the dream to end.
Instead, Hugo stays solid and real, and says, beautifully annoying, “Can we continue this not next to the body of your slain nemesis?”
“You fancy folks,” Frank deadpans, pressing his hand to Hugo’s face. “Always so particular.”
“You’re right. Must learn to rough it.”
They keep kissing, and the world feels bright with sparks of mercy, glowing as sweet as Mary’s voice.
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A few weeks later, Hugo decides to make breakfast for Frank in the small garret flat they hide away in when they’re not helping the cause, and slices his finger chopping up an apple. It mends itself in an instant. Because he’s a numbskull, he graduates to holding his hand over a candle flame.
“Stop doing that,” Frank orders when he catches Hugo slamming his own foot in the door. “You’ll get no pity from me if one of these injuries sticks.”
“And here I was, expecting you’d kiss it better.”
“To think some people just wind up with horns. Some prats have all the luck.”
“I do indeed,” Hugo says with flourish, catching Frank’s hand to kiss.
It’s not just Hugo who’s lucky, Frank thinks. Hugo is invincible in a world that wouldn’t hesitate to tear him to shreds. He can’t bleed. He can stay. It feels sometimes like that small spark burrowed into Frank’s own heart, giving him the one thing he’d tried to live without.
In his dreams, Mary tells him how happy she is to see him so well. That she’s happy too, and peaceful. He wakes up glad to be alive for a change, at home in the sound of Hugo’s breathing.