Work Text:
Death never had the habit of discriminating.
But sometimes, it wished it did.
A zombie was Madame Marie Curie in the days following the funeral. Though certainly physically alive, there was a part of her remains buried. In the ground, where Albert once was.
Haunting was she by the ghost of what she felt when she found out that Albert died.
Shock gave way to denial.
No.
No.
No.
There was no way this could be.
This cannot happen.
No.
No.
This isn’t true.
I just saw him earlier.
WHY?
WHY?
WHY?
This MUSTN’T BE.
This CANNOT BE.
And then there was the funeral.
She could only remember howling like a deranged woman, desperately trying to charge towards the god damned box, wanting nothing more than to open it and let Albert breathe. Grief had seemingly engineered her to overpower those holding her back. Death had taken her dear friend away from her, and it seemed like the world itself was its unwitting enablers.
The other teammates tried to console her, adding that since she was closest to him, she would have the most memories to comfort her.
But that was not the same.
It could never have been the same.
Because to her, yes, she did have the most memories among all of them. But a gaping hole was where Albert used to be.
Perhaps, that is why, she turned to the most unlikely source of comfort.
Georges Lemaître.
27 years her junior, with round glasses framing an equally round face, Georges Lemaître was an unlikely choice for her to share her grief with. Where one was religious, the other was agnostic. Where one was jovial and lighthearted, like the sun, the other was quiet and serious, like the moon. But they were united in the aspect that they knew Albert well.
“…I’m sorry, Monsignor. I’m sure you’re not used to see me a wailing, blubbering mess. Bóg, Albert would be thinking I’m a fool for crying so much.”
“I don’t blame you, Madame. Albert was our dear friend. He would have been touched to know that you cared for him so much.”
“…I know. This is just so difficult.”
“…I know. I know.”
While others mourned for Albert like they mourned for a stranger, they could never do that.
While the rest of the team mourned for Albert like a memory they were far too eager to forget, they could never do that.
They never could mourn Albert like it was a distant memory or a foggy stranger. No, they never had that luxury, like so many others. For what they have lost, what they had buried, was far, far too real.