Chapter Text
He found himself reminded of the strike that had brought him to life again, in its sheer unwieldy strength and power as compared with the tanning bed, which had felt more like a gentle and targeted tingle. Electricity on this scale coursing through his body was disorienting, painful, held little of the kindness he had come to feel the more man-made device imparted in bringing about change in his form. Had he not been so single-mindedly focused on his mission, he might have forgotten it altogether, but as his eyes regained their focus, he was able to see that he had not been the only thing struck: Lisa’s headstone had been hit by the same strike, and he needed to act now to help her. Where his death had not impacted his body as much as hers had, the length of time he had spent decaying had impacted the amount of effort required to dig himself out of his grave. He did not wish her to suffer in crawling back to the surface, he wanted only to hold her in his arms once more, and so he hastened to his task.
Grabbing a shovel he had purloined from the groundskeeper’s shed, he began to dig. The persistent wet weather and wind whipped his hair into his eyes, but it did not matter. His purpose was stronger than the odds he needed to overcome, and her grave still being among the more recently dug in the cemetery made for easier work. He threw dirt somewhat carelessly to the side, knowing the rain would make it easier to hide his actions later. He could worry about making it look as though nothing had happened once his Lisa was with him aboveground.
As he dug deeper, he traded his shovel for more gentle tools, climbing down into the pit he was digging. He did not want to harm her in his urgency, should she be working to meet him halfway. He did not know if she would be able to break out of the coffin by herself, what with it being much newer than his own. Any number of things were possible at this point, and it was best he be ready for any eventuality. His mind hardly wandered from his task: rescue Lisa. Bring her home. Keep her safe. Such was his inner mantra, constantly repeating itself in his thoughts, that he did not notice his own heart pounding, his hands shaking as he dug further and further into the soil. He did not notice that he was sweating, or the way his lungs expanded and contracted as his diaphragm worked to bring air in. He did not notice that he could not feel the familiar hum and scuttle of insects under his skin and within his body anymore.
Working with his trowel and bucket, he could have jumped with joy when he finally uncovered a section of her coffin. The storm had quieted down just enough that he thought he could hear a tapping coming from within, a scratching at the interior. Moving faster than he had thought possible, he dug and dug and dug, shifting earth until he could reach the clasps at the side of her coffin. Lifting them up, he rushed to pull the lid up, nearly stumbling in the process as he forgot to move his own weight out of the way.
And there she was. Her eyes, open, unseeing, hands raised as she had tried in vain to let herself out. Her expression one of relief, as her hand made contact first with air instead of the sealed interior of her coffin, then with the fully saturated fabric of his shirt as he leaned over her.
“Li-sa. Li-sa. ‘M hhhere,” he murmured, hoping she understood, that she would know him even though she had never heard his voice in life. He had been working for weeks to get to this point, to be able to comfort her with his presence, his words. Her hands scrambled over his chest, frantically looking for something. He offered her his hands, grasping her cold, damaged flesh gently in his own, squeezing her fingers as tightly as he dared. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a whimper, shoulders releasing a tension he could only imagine had been due to the fear being trapped had inspired. She knew him still, and she knew that with him she would be safe.
Leaning in closer, he let go of her hands to wrap his arms around her in as delicate an embrace as he could manage in his excitement: he did not want to hurt her, he could see that she had suffered extensive burns in the tanning bed, but he needed to get her out of the grave and somewhere more comfortable, more protected than the middle of a cemetery. Then he could return and put things back to rights so that no one would be aware of what had transpired there. They could go on about their lives, he could begin to help her as she had helped him. They could love each other in peace.
It was easier said than done, carrying his wife from her temporary resting place, with the rain having made everything slicker and harder to maintain traction. But he did so, holding her close to him in an echo of the bridal carry he had performed on their wedding night, her hands clutching at his shoulder once more. He moved quickly, settling her on the sheltered bench outside the shed, stepping inside the shed only to grab and wrap his still-dry coat around her to try to shelter her from the elements long enough for him to return to her grave.
She had yet to say a word; he did not know if it was because she could not physically form words due to decay or if it was more related to the trauma of death and rebirth. She had told him before that after her mother’s death, she had struggled with speech, he could not imagine that one’s own death would be any easier to overcome. It did seem a cruel twist of fate, that as he began to speak, she should lose her voice again, but having known the delight of hearing it with his own ears (old and new), he would gladly wait as long as it took for her to be able to tell him everything on her mind and in her heart again.
Moving as swiftly as his limbs and the dirt would allow, he re-sealed her coffin and began the work of reburial, keeping his eye on her at the shed all the while. He knew she could not see him, which was likely terrifying in and of itself, but he did not want to risk anything happening to her that was in his power to prevent. He had never had anything so precious to him as she had become in such a relatively short time, and he wanted her second chance at life to be lived to the fullest, not cut short by someone stumbling upon her in her present vulnerable state.
Thoughts of where they would go, how he would carefully wrap her in bandages to protect her fragile skin from the world as he sought ways to heal her from the damage the fire had done, and eventual happiness kept him company as he finished replacing the soil he had disturbed, tamping it all down with his shovel once more before returning to her side. She remained as he had left her, eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall of the shed, hands folded carefully in her lap. The feelings of happiness to see her once more battled with the nervousness he felt at her uncharacteristic stillness: even in sleep, she had tended more towards wildness than peace, and he could only hope that she would be back to her normal self with enough time and care.
She perked up hearing his approach, eyes opening once more seemingly out of reflex, reaching out to him with both hands, nearly dropping his coat on the ground. Dropping his tools somewhat carelessly, he ran the last few steps to join her on the bench.
“Li-sa.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Li-sa. To-ge-ther. We-we’ll go. B-b-be safe. W-w-warm. Hhhelp you,” he said, rubbing her hands between his own. She nodded, slowly, leaning into him further. It was strange, almost, how even though she was cold to the touch, she still managed to warm him from within with such small gestures of trust. God, how he had missed her. He could hardly wait to go, to step out into the rest of their lives together.
Before they could leave, however, there was one final thing he needed to do. He turned to face her more fully, taking in the paleness of her skin, the scars criss-crossing her arms, the swelling where decay had set in. Even in such a state, she was still so beautiful to him, so lovely in being herself, being his wife, his Lisa. She had saved him as much as she claimed he had saved her, and she had waited long enough to hear the words spoken to ensure she knew of his devotion. He leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to her lips, then her cheek.
“Li-sa. I. I l-love you,” he whispered, his lips pressed against her ear, heartbeat pounding in his own ears with the rush of finally being able to say it back. He felt more than saw her smile, as her hand came up to press him in closer to her still. “I l-love you. I love you. I love you. My Lisa,” he practically sobbed, wrapping her in his arms tenderly, trying not to be entirely overcome with all the love he had yearned to express. Gingerly, she placed her arms around him, returning the embrace.
If they sat there until the sun rose in the sky above, holding onto one another for dear life and basking in his newly rediscovered voice, that was between them and the tombstones.