Ella's Oneshots

[Ella]

Fandom: - 
Summary: this was for some prompt, but I can't remember what it was
Words: 1240

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

            “We’ll need to do something cool to celebrate.” She sprung up from the couch, her smile wide as she grabbed the bottle of wine from the kitchen table.
            “I’ve never celebrated my birthday. I don’t even know which day it is exactly.”
            “But you know the year.” Even though her boyfriend was looking at her as if she he had just turned into a vampire, her smile didn’t falter. “We could just celebrate the entire year.”
            He took her hands in his, and sat her down on the couch again. “The only reason I know the year is because of the book, and that book isn’t right about everything. I’m sure it got the date completely wrong, as well as the place of birth.”
            “You’re also not as hideous as that book describes you. No bolts to be seen anywhere.”
            He kissed her forehead. “That’s only the film versions, love.”
            “I know, just keeping you sharp.” She took a small sip from her wine before she filled his glass with the dark red drink as well. “Still, I think we should do something. It’s not every year you turn two hundred.” 
            He sighed. “I just don’t want to think about it.” He looked at the young woman sitting next to him. Her eyes were full of light, and her hair full of colour. Compared to her, he was a rotting corpse – quite literally. His body may have been preserved in the ice that froze him that night, but that didn’t mean that aging didn’t have its consequences. Not that he was literally aging, or dying, or anything close to that. After all, he was dead already, so he didn’t get any older, and he certainly didn’t expect he was going to die. Not in the traditional sense. But he was decaying. Sometimes before he went to sleep at night, he found shards of skin he was almost able to peel of, or in the morning he’d find some of his hair on his pillow. He didn’t want to worry Mary without knowing for certain, but he knew he couldn’t hid this from her forever.
            “Why not?” She frowned and set her glass down on the table. “You’re not touchy about your age, are you?” She giggled. “I think Victor meant for you to represent a man of twenty-five, thirty years old at most. I’ve got forty-six behind me already, so if anyone is going to be touchy about their age, it’s going to be me.”
            “But I’m not a twenty-five year old man, Mary. I’m hardly even a man.”
            Mary placed a soft hand on his knee. “You are a man. You’re my man. My husband. Don’t ever forget that.”
            “Mary –”
            “We could celebrate it on the sixth of June, that was the day I found you in the ice. We could call it your fifth birthday, if you will. It’s been four years since we met, and you must have lived at least a year before that. Does that sound better than two hundred?”
            He let himself sink into the couch a little further. “It’s not the number, Mary.”
            “Then what is it? Is it… Is it that you don’t like the idea of a birthday because you weren’t technically born?” She bit her lip. “You know I don’t want to hurt you, right? I just thought to would be nice to –”
            “It’s not that, Mary.” His eyes were serious and while he couldn’t stand looking at her, he couldn’t look away from her either. “It’s – I’m not sure if I’ll still be there next year.”
            She let go of his hands as if he’d burned her. “What do you mean?” Her voice was sharp. “Do you mean to say that you’re going to leave me?”
            He chuckled, and that only made it worse.
            “Have you been cheating on me? Have I been such a fool that I didn’t notice that my own husband –”
            He cut her off with a kiss. “I’m not leaving. I love you, Mary, and you know that. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
            “Then can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”
            His grip on his wine glass strengthened and for a moment he was afraid he’d shatter it, but he managed to put it on the floor before he crushed it into shards. He didn’t know his own strength. It was one of the smaller, less important downsides of consisting of body-parts that belonged to different people – his own limbs would surprise him sometimes, his one finger would be just a tad stronger than the other. The porcelain set Mary had inherited from her grandmother certainly hadn’t been safe in his hands – or whoever those hands had technically belonged to. He flexed his fingers and took a deep breath. “I think I’m dying, Mary.”
            Mary’s mouth opened a little, but no sound came out, and she just held onto his hands. She didn’t allow him to look away, even though he wanted to. Even though he didn’t want to see the pain written in her eyes. “What do you mean, you’re dying? You’ve been dead for almost two centuries, how could you die?”
            He raised one of his arms and let his sleeve slide down to his upper arm, showing the skin on his left arm. It was falling off, and near his elbow the bone was almost visible. “I’m falling apart, Mary,” he said, a sob catching in his throat. “The ice preserved me for a good couple of years, but let’s face it. I’m a dead man walking.”
            “We’ll find something to fix it.”
            “Mary…”
            “We will. You were created by a man, and somewhere out there is a man or woman who has learned even more than Victor has, who will know how to keep you alive.”
            He looked away from her, focusing on the small bunnies on her socks as if all the answers were written there. “Victor may have created me, but he didn’t know how to make me a man. He made me a monster, and if I go back to another scientist, I don’t know if – I don’t know what will happen to me, and I’m afraid.”
            “Society made you a monster. This time will be different.” She smiled. “This time you’ll have me.”
            He smiled too. He couldn’t help it. Somewhere along the way, he’d caught a spark of her optimism. He’d be lost without her.
            “And don’t think this is a way to avoid any birthday planning, because I’m going to get you the best birthday you’ve ever had.”
            “It’ll be my first, so that’s not a very hard record to beat. And besides,” he couldn’t help add, “it might all be for nothing…”
            She rested her head on his shoulder and placed her hand on his chest. “You may be dead, but I can feel your heart beating. You’re alive. And for now, you’re going to stay alive.”
            “Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.”
            “I doubt E. E. Cummings meant that as literally as you’re taking it.” She poked one of her fingers into his chest. “I think he meant that you, old man, need to get up from that couch, and live a little.”
            Tears shone in his eyes. “Even when it may soon be over?”
            “Yes,” she said, their hands entangled. “Especially then.”