Adam and Eve stand atop a building near Eve's flat in Tangier, embracing until there's no space between them, swaying like they're rocking to some unheard melody. And maybe they are. After all, the blood of two slain lovers sings like angels in their veins, the weight of impending dawn adding rhythm to the melody.
Everything is music when Eve is with Adam. She wouldn't have it any other way.
Eve sighs and curls her fingers closer around Adam. It almost doesn't seem fair to her that she's had such happiness...at all, really, but for so long, for sure. If Eve hadn't seen centuries of death and destruction, Kit's passing would make the moment hurt more. But a bad batch could come at any time. Their resources are still thin and need to be built back up again. Another rough day could wipe it all away. Happiness now is all that matters.
It reaches a peak when Adam murmurs into her hair, "Marry me again."
She gasps happily. It's been so long since their last wedding. "You're sure?"
"Of course I will," she says quietly, but no less happily. "Of course I do."
A month sees them more solid. They've had to kill more than is Eve's usual style to survive, and she isn't sure how much longer Tangier will hold them, but her contacts aren't entirely gone. She can buy them time - literally and figuratively - until they find a new place.
"Where sounds good?" Eve asks Adam as they're tangled in bed together. Adam's playing the lute she bought him, taking time occasionally to fiddle with one of the twelve pegs and drag a hand across the bowl, and strumming quietly enough that it almost sounds like his breath...if he breathed, that is. "Maybe north? I like it warm, but there are a lot of countries up there we haven't done in some time. Russia. Canada."
"Wherever's easiest to forge the passport, I suppose." He's moody. Still mourning his lost trove in Detroit, no doubt. His house had been beautiful, so Eve can hardly blame him. "Whichever zombies are the highest in quality."
Eve sighs. "There's more to it than that. Where would you be happy?"
"If I had an answer for that, I probably would have done it by now." He is sitting up higher in bed than she is, propped up by pillows, and he kisses the top of her head. "Suppose it's wherever you are, so maybe you should pick this time."
"What a lovely thing to say." She kisses one of his hands, which he's moved from his instrument to her side. Even with Eva's visit, it does seem like he's perked up ever since Eve's flown out to Detroit. It's nice to know it wasn't wasted effort. "I can't say I have anywhere in mind yet. I might consult a map."
"A globe? Spin it and land a finger in one place."
Eve smiles. She would be more likely to open one of the apps on her phone and go from there. "Tokyo? Lovely views from the skyscrapers there."
Adam doesn't entirely suppress a disgusted sound.
"Seoul has a wonderful music scene."
"Pop music." This he doesn't say with disgust, but general disinterest. Eve knows there is definitely a manufactured element to the dominant music scene there, but there's also a great affection in South Korea for music. Probably not unlike the States.
"You know, I read an interesting article recently." Eve brushes some of her hair out of her face. "Cuba, apparently, has a thriving metal culture."
Adam takes the instrument off his lap and rests it on a pile of books by the bed. Eve loves how much her flat smells of old books. "You know, for someone who loves technology, you have an awful lot of paper. Can't you read on your phone?"
Eve hums. "My library is intact even if I can't take my books with me. But I hope I don't have to leave that quickly this time."
"I'm sorry about your guitars, my love."
"Yes, well." Adam shifts down on the bed again until they're level with each other. "What do you like in a wedding these days?"
A thrill passes through Eve. He hasn't asked her in a long time...but then, they haven't been engaged in some time.
"Water," she says. "We haven't gotten married on water yet, have we? All that black ahead, and the golden city behind."
She could picture it, actually. When Adam had first proposed, she'd had it in her head that they would marry in their next place as a sort of welcoming gesture, and she'd told him as much. But now she likes this idea. They could even hop to the south of Spain for a change of scene if they fancied. It was just a short ferry ride away, after all.
"What sounds better to you?" she asked. "Spain or Morocco?"
"Spain? Where did that come from?"
"Proximity." She hummed. "Seville might be a nice move. Or there's a ferry that goes to Genova. It's been a long time since Italy."
"Could do another European tour," Adam said. They hadn't focused on that area, either together or apart, in many, many years. Eve could remember just how many different empires there had been in those days, and how the old ones were gone now. She didn't much miss those days, but the logistics of blood had been a bit simpler. "Spend a few years on the continent."
Eve rolled onto her back. "And what sounds good to you in a wedding, darling? What do you like?"
Adam lolled his head to look at her, a tiny smile on his lips.
"Music," he said.
They marry on the beach. Eve looks into chartering boats for a wedding, and she looks at a ceremony in Tangier itself, and she decides the compromise suits them better.
"Are you the beach and I the sea?" Adam had asked when she'd told him of her plans, both of them coming out of a blood high.
"I think we take turns, darling," she said in response.
Their weddings are always small, and this one is no different: they have a man named Aamir to perform the ceremony, a friend of Aamir's named Hamal as a witness, and another man named Jamal is on hand from the Orchestra of Tangier.
It's so different from their last wedding. Their last wedding had been in English - they'd done it in America - but their officiant reads a Christian ceremony in French. (It isn't because Adam and Eve are particularly Christian, but because it would be expected for two who looked and sounded like they did to have a Christian wedding.) Adam doesn't wear a tuxedo, and she doesn't wear a dress. They do honour more modern tradition by wearing black and white, but it was the outfits they always wore, their sunglasses perched atop their noses. She carries a single white lily because it feels wrong to get married without holding a flower.
The light on the beach is golden from candles on their small altar and from the street lights on the road. The sea beyond is dark, and Eve walks toward it and the altar as she comes down from the road, flower in hand. Adam waits at the altar, a small smile on his lips. Eve isn't sure anyone else would notice it.
When Eve joins him in front of their officiant on the sand and they lace their hands together, she says, "You look like an angel."
He kisses her knuckles. "I believe that's my line."
Their vows are ones of their own making, and simple. Adam speaks succinctly of how she is his reason for being. Eve uses lines from one of Christopher's late poems to cap off a longer speech about their centuries together. When their officiant shoots her a confused look, she says, "Metaphor."
What Eve likes best is how they don't say "I do". Adam uses their substitute first. "I choose."
Eve beams. "I choose."
They kiss, and right on time, Jamal plays his violin. The air rings with the music, and Adam brightens like fifty years fell off him.
"Music," he says, like he'd forgotten he'd asked for it.
Eve kisses him. "Always."
The air on the ferry is warm and moist. Eve closes her eyes and lets it brush past her face, feeling solid with Adam in her arms.
"You both look like you're having fun."
They turn as one to see who's speaking behind them.
"Magda," a touristy-looking person says brightly. "Are you doing anything special?"
Adam looks at Eve in a can-we-get-rid-of-her way. But Eve's good mood can't be dimmed.
"Honeymoon," she says. "Seeing the sights."
Magda's mouth turns into a circle. "Oh, how lovely! Congratulations to you both! I hope your holiday's everything you dreamed."
Eve rests her head against Adam. "It has been so far," she says. And she expects it to continue that way.