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Till death do we part. He said, six months ago, in the antiseptic smelling medbay. “This is implying I wouldn’t find a way to deify death, I much prefer: Till death and never do we part.” The man in front of him chuckled as he placed down a chess piece. Heavy had known this man for years already yet he was still so unpredictable. A man treading between the line of unorthodox science and romance. What a man he was.
Back in the New Mexico desert, how he wished he had more time.
There Medic was, lying on the dirt floor, red crimson pooling out under him. Two cypress vines from the smoking pistol held in the classic’s hand tainted the white lab coat. Blood seeped into the ridges of the soles of his shoes, Heavy could scrub and scrape until his hands became sore but the faint red stain would be there yet again to mock him. A constant grim reminder of a failure he couldn’t undo, how he had been too late to save his beloved. Eyes full of passion, rage, and life stared into blank, empty, dead ones.
Medic, the man of science, kept his promise.
The violent and bloody tango amidst the desert quickly devolved into a cheater’s game as Chevy implanted the life extender into himself. Right as Heavy felt his vision go dark, he heard a loud ‘ahem’ right behind the brute. At first he thought the lack of air was making him hallucinate, until he peered over the large body and saw him again. No matter the cracked and off-kilter glasses, drooping cowlick and still bloodstained doctor’s uniform. He recognized it was him.
Till death and never do we part. Medic said, black leather hitting the church floor marking the start of a new page. In his most stunning suit, stood Heavy, in front of him. Oh how he desired to understand that man in his native language! His vows were spoken in Russian, as Heavy had requested that his declaration of love not be restricted by the limitations of his English. In exchange, Medic would do his in his mother tongue. As their lips connected and they melded into each other, so did their souls. Behind the spectacles, Medic envisioned an endless field of white tulips and a small cabin just almost out of his vision.
Till death and never do we part. They kept repeating, like it was an oath. Yet it was fate that held that decision over their heads.
It was ironic, he thought. As he clutched onto the cold, lifeless body of him. He yelled at the skies above to give him back his other half, begging to those merciless deities to bring him back. His intelligent, beautiful, strong Misha. He’d do anything to hear him, see him, have him back. He had been hurt, tortured and killed but nothing would come close to the stinging pain in his heart. Wounds can be healed easily, but ones of the heart would take years to recover, that is, if he even could.
In the silent living room, with nothing to accompany him than his own erratic breathing, how he wished he had less time.
The ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room got louder, and louder, until he couldn’t bear it as he shut his eyes and tried blocking out the sound, his mind bringing no comfort as chrysanthemums now surrounded him, eulogizing his Misha.
Tick, tick, tick, as time went on. He was barely recognizable, stubble unshaven, as he donned the suit he wore on their special day. Days became months, then to years. Now, the people who remembered who he himself was, who Misha was, were dead. Even if the world decided to move on from him, Medic wouldn’t. Even as his memory became worse and his brain kept deteriorating, he wouldn’t forget him. He wouldn’t.
He felt his breathing get slower, each breath a struggle on his poor heart. There he laid, next to the tombstone of his beloved, even if he was decades too late. His heartbeat rested, and so did his soul.
Then, he woke up.
There he was, in the familiar flower field again, the white tulips parted way for the Medic, as a path cleared that led to that cabin again, but just outside, he saw a familiar face, one he had longed- no yearned for. He ran and ran, with renewed vigor as he leaped into his Heavy’s arms. Floodgates opened when he wept loudly in his lover’s arms. I missed you. He kept repeating, even when snot ran and his throat was sore he couldn’t stop. “Gott, I missed you so much Misha, never has there been a day I haven’t been missing you.” He sobbed. “I missed you too, is good to have you back doctor.” Heavy’s own tears landed on his shoulder as Medic gripped onto his shirt tightly, except he no longer had to be afraid of losing Heavy again.
Till death and never do we part, and it was fate that solidified that ending.