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She storms out of the dungeon with tears burning her eyes, gasping through quiet sobs that harden into a low growl when she spots Victor sitting on the bench, watching her with disapproval. How dare he? That poor creature, she's thinking — that poor baby, made to sleep in the damp cold, in chains, without a single comfort.
"You should not go near —"
"Give me the key," she demands.
"Elizabeth..." He begins to stand, sighing. "I —"
She strikes him with the back of her hand, with enough force to knock him back down onto the bench. He stares up at her with eyes round and shocked.
"The key," she repeats, her voice cold steel, her hand outstretched. She is single-minded in this mission, left her candle and the leaf and the baby to hunt Victor down and retrieve the key from his dead body if necessary.
Wordlessly he reaches into his pocket and drops it into her palm, his shocked eyes never leaving her face. On his face, a vivid red mark forms in the shape of her hand. He deserves far worse.
She whirls to return to the baby, pauses only to slap his hand away when he tries to grab at her nightgown.
"Elizabeth, wait!" He follows her, his frantic, slightly stumbling footsteps. She's moving quickly through the dark toward the dungeon, her damp eyes fixed straight ahead. If Satan himself rose from Hell at this moment, he could not stop her. "You mustn't do that, it's — Elizabeth, it's a monster! It's a danger to itself, not to mention to you —"
"He," Elizabeth spits, whirling to face Victor, with his bruise and his begging expression, "is not a monster, nor a danger to anyone. I've looked into his eyes and seen that he's as sweet and innocent as a newborn, and I'm going to look after him from now on. I'm taking him away from this place." She's already chosen.
"Elizabeth!" Victor's voice rises with a note of hysteria. "It could break your neck with one strike, it's that strong! It could kill you as an accident. I won't let you do this, I won't let you be alone with —"
"Then come with us," Elizabeth says, cold and resolved. She's already chosen this as well. The baby might need some form of maintenance from his creator eventually, and she would be lying to say she despises Victor even now. She sees in his eyes that he loves her, in his odd, heartless way; she's seen in him a seed of what could, if encouraged, become a good man. "I'll be your wife if you'll be his father. We'll live together on your family's estate. You can watch over him. You'll have everything you claim to want. William will be heartbroken, of course, but what do you care?" She doesn't, either, if she's cruelly honest; at this moment she finds it difficult to care for anyone but the baby. "And don't you dare deny me, Victor Frankenstein."
She doesn't wait for his answer, leaves him there spluttering like a fool and rushes back into the dungeon, back to the baby's side. He's sitting dejected by the water, but shoots up with a gasp to greet her, his eyes bright and delighted by her return.
Good; she intends to never leave him again.
"I'm back, my darling, I've come to take you away from all this." She takes his pale scarred wrists and unlocks the shackles one at a time. As soon as he's freed his hands find her waist, clinging very gently. She frees his ankle, then lets the shackles and the key drop to the floor, discarded forever. "There we are, I have you. Everything's alright now." She hugs him close to her side with one arm and begins to walk him out of the dungeon, steadying him when he stumbles, his gait like that of a newborn fawn.
Victor steps into the doorway, red-faced, blocking them from leaving. The baby cringes against Elizabeth, tugs at her dress with trembling hands, trying his best to shrink back despite being so large.
"Victor," he whimpers fearfully.
"You're safe, my love," she says, her voice soft and soothing for the baby, her eyes hard and vicious on Victor. "Victor won't ever harm you again. He's going to be good to you from now on, I'll make sure of it."
She sees on Victor's face that he will bend for her. This was the first thing she ever saw in him, his weakness for her. If she ever loved him, if she ever will love him, it will be for this.
He lowers his gaze and steps aside.
Their first night together as a family on the Frankenstein estate, Elizabeth cradles the baby, for whom she has chosen the name Beckett — it means beehive in old English; he's made up of many intermingling parts, and there's much more to him than meets the eye — in her arms under warm blankets. She chose the largest bedroom for the two of them, leaving Victor to sleep alone in one of the other rooms. She's not sure which one he's chosen; she didn't care to ask. All of her attention has been fixed on Beckett.
This is all for him, of course. Since first sight she's loved him more than any man she's ever known, and in an entirely different way. A pure, marvelous way. That's how she knows he was meant to be hers. God placed him in Victor's foolish fumbling hands only so that he could later be passed into Elizabeth's cradle. If only she'd found him sooner, been there to hold him upon his first breath.
This thought makes her restless, as well as the fact that poor Beckett is resisting sleep tonight. He had a warm bath, a hearty dinner and a generous dessert to fill his stomach, she made sure of that, and she read him a few chapters of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland to help settle him into bed. But he can't seem to settle.
"Oh, love," she tuts, as he squirms against her. He slept long and deep last night, curled close beside her in the carriage, as far from Victor as he could fit. It was as though he'd never slept before; perhaps he hadn't. "What troubles you, hm? Tell me and I'll make it go away."
He squirms some more, frees an arm from the blankets and waves toward the door. He whimpers, "Victor."
"Vic —" She pauses and scrubs the venom from her voice. It's not for poor sweet Beckett. She'll spit it at Victor tomorrow. She says gently, "Listen to me, darling. Victor would need a far bigger death wish than he has to come in here tonight. He'll never harm you again."
Beckett seems unsure. He shoves his face against her chest and whines, curled up as small as he can get, his bony knees poking her hip.
"We're going to be happy here," she says, speaking partially to reassure herself, squeezing him gently. "You'll see. We'll make the most of this, and we'll be together, whatever happens."
The wedding is to take place in two days. She demanded a small, quiet ceremony with as few guests as possible, for Beckett's sake. Victor didn't argue.
"Elizabeth," Beckett mumbles, nuzzling at her chest.
“I'm right here, darling.” She strokes gently over the scars on his scalp. "You know, you can call me Mother if you'd like. That's what I'm going to be to you, my love." She sighs, kisses his forehead. "Victor is supposed to be Father, albeit an inept one."
"Victor," Beckett repeats worriedly, looking to the door again. Elizabeth shushes him, rubs his back.
"Victor didn't mean to hurt you, I truly believe that," she soothes. "That absolutely does not excuse the fact that he did hurt you, mind, but it helps us understand. He's just... Well." She considers for a moment, clicks her tongue. "There's something wrong with him, a darkness in him. I think his own father put it there. But the important thing is that he didn't put it in you. There isn't a single spot of darkness in you, I'm certain." She puts her lips to Beckett's cheek and blows a gentle raspberry there, grins at the breathy laugh that pushes out his mouth.
In him, there's only light.
“Isn't she just beautiful?” Elizabeth says softly, as she holds her hand over Beckett's and allows the beetle to pass from her palm into his. He sits patiently on the sofa, his eyes wide with awe as he watches. “They're called goliaths, because they're so amazingly large. Females are a bit smaller, of course, and lack the horns and wings that males have.”
Once the beetle is in his palm, almost managing to fill the broad expanse of scarred skin, Beckett holds her close to his face and stares hard at her, studying all the strange, gorgeous lines of her.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth stares hard at all the strange, gorgeous lines of Beckett. He's dressed in the largest clothes Elizabeth could find him, has been since they arrived here, and he seems to be getting used to being clothed; to being unchained. She's taken measurements and sent out orders for custom clothing to be delivered to the estate within the week.
“Elizabeth,” Beckett mumbles, and strokes his finger very gently over the beetle's shell. She settles in his hand, doesn't hiss or run at his touch, no doubt able to sense his kindness. The smallest of creatures, Elizabeth has learned, are sensitive to the smallest of things; like the pure divine light that shines in Beckett's eyes.
“You’re naming her Elizabeth? After me?” Elizabeth grins. “Thank you, my darling, I'm honored!” She turns to her row of terrariums, buzzing with excitement. “I have so much more to show you! Wait until you see my African millipede, all his cute little legs!”
They marry. It's an uneventful, obligatory, largely soulless event, and Elizabeth barely meets Victor's eyes. William is not in attendance. Only a few people are, most notably the estate's small staff of servants who were sworn to secrecy regarding Beckett and a minister chosen solely for the fact that he is blind. Victor has no best man. Elizabeth has no maids of honor. Beckett sits alone in the front row and cradles a goliath beetle Elizabeth gave him to keep him entertained and prevent him from pulling at his tie during the ceremony; he's dressed in a large custom suit and looks rather dashing in it, scars and all.
She's thinking that she should take him out for an insect hunt in the yard once they're finished here as she dutifully, absently recites her vows. Victor's voice shakes with meaning as he recites his own, but she is unmoved. He's hardly even looked at Beckett since they got here.
Elizabeth is not here to be Victor's wife. She's here to be Beckett's mother.
Victor leaves for London the next day, thankfully, to wreak havoc at some conference or other. The Royal Medical Society. Elizabeth doesn't care, but parts from Beckett briefly to see Victor out the door. She has another set of vows to recite, more profound ones that she prepared herself.
"Victor, dear," she begins, and scoffs at the raw hope on his face, as if he expects a kiss. If that's the case, he's going to be disappointed. She speaks from her heart. "I say this to you both because I have always resolved to say this to my future husband and because you have given me reason to feel I need to say it." She clears her throat, narrows her eyes at him. "If you ever, ever, raise a hand to my child, you will lose all my love. And one morning you will wake to the smell of gasoline and the sound of a striking match as I burn you alive in your bed. Do I make myself clear?"
Victor balks at this, but she sees the flash of fear in his eyes, knows that he knows that she's serious. "That thing is not your child, Elizabeth, it's no one's child. It was not born, it was made." Before Elizabeth can tear into this nonsense, he continues, "Speaking of which, could you call him here? You understand I'll need to bring him to London with me. I can't exactly present my research without him, I would be a laughing stock."
Elizabeth laughs at him. "You're not taking Beckett anywhere. You're not telling anyone that he's here, either."
Victor frowns. "Elizabeth —"
"I won't have him paraded before those people like a laboratory animal or a circus freak." Elizabeth lowers her voice to a deadly pitch. "He is to live as a man, a normal man with every opportunity modern society can offer, and revealing the truth of his birth would ruin that."
She's certain that he will be able to live as a man in time; an unusually tall man with an unusual amount of scars, but a man nonetheless.
"But, Elizabeth," Victor argues. "I made him for —"
"Enough!" she snaps. He clamps his mouth shut. "Never think that I can't see straight through you, Victor, because I do. You didn't make him for the good of humanity or for the progression of science. You made him only for yourself, to prove that you're the best, that you could act as God for one brief moment in your mortal life. Well, congratulations, you did it. Now I won't hear another word of this."
Victor takes a breath, and his eyes drift to the side. Elizabeth turns in time to see Beckett peering around the corner at the top of the staircase. He gasps when he realizes that Victor has spotted him and draws back behind the corner with a flinch. Poor darling. Elizabeth expects he'll come completely out of his shell — and have a much easier time falling asleep — once Victor is gone.
"What are you going to do with him while I'm away?" Victor asks stiffly. "Just keep feeding him candies and showing him insects and talking to him as if he understands a single word you're saying? He has the intelligence of a dog, Elizabeth. A beast."
"Actually, I'm going to teach him to speak," she says defiantly, lifting her chin. "I'm sure he'll be much more confident once he's able to express himself."
Victor scoffs and leaves the estate in a huff. As far as Elizabeth is concerned, good riddance. He can use his time away to come to his senses and think on her words. She can use the time to prove him wrong.
"Beckett, darling!" she calls, turning toward the stairs with a grin. "He's gone now, you can come down!"
Free of his fear, Beckett thrives.
He's still nervous about new things, but given a moment to get his bearings his nerves turn to wonder. His awe is contagious, and Elizabeth feels like a child again watching him explore the world — or at least the estate, for now.
Elizabeth explores with him, and side-by-side they map out every nook and cranny of the Frankenstein estate, every long hallway and tall ballroom, every crawlspace and pantry. The colossal library is their favorite, though it doesn't contain nearly enough books on entomology for Elizabeth's liking. Beckett is wary of being in the basement, perhaps afraid that he might be slapped into shackles and left alone in the dark, so they steer clear of those rooms, but other than that, the estate is their playground. They spend every perfect moment of every perfect day together, Elizabeth leading and Beckett following, Elizabeth speaking and Beckett listening. She hopes to reverse these roles soon, but for now Beckett is still just a baby, blinking starry-eyed at what must seem to him like a vast untamed frontier.
To Elizabeth, it's a moderately impressive garden. She plans to fill it with all manner of beautiful flowers and insects eventually, with Beckett's help.
"It can be our private project," she says excitedly, sitting with Beckett in the shade of a tall old tree, stroking the shell of a small black beetle that sits on her skirt. Beckett sits very close beside her, always, everywhere, their shoulders touching, his fingers curled sweetly into the fabric of her dress. "Butterflies will be the most important inhabitants, of course. Every spring here will be absolutely magical, an explosion of life, a hurricane of painted wings, and its brevity will only make it more beautiful."
Beckett hums, soft and questioning and shining. He's nothing short of ethereal in the sun.
"You see, most species of butterfly only live for a few weeks," she explains, smiling. "Some find the thought of so short a life unsettling, but not me, my darling. Butterflies know their purpose from the moment of their creation, and they crawl then fly toward it with single-minded determination. They can travel only one possible path. There's peace in that kind of simplicity, that lack of indecision. They may not have choice as you and I do, but they have that. Wouldn't you say so, love?"
"Elizabeth," Beckett says slowly, nuzzling at Elizabeth's shoulder. There's dark peach fuzz forming on his scalp like soft new grass. Elizabeth enjoys running her fingers over it, imagining how handsome he'll be once his hair grows in properly. She strokes it gently now, presses a kiss to his scarred temple.
"Take my life, for instance," she says. "Even in the convent, I knew I wanted to be a mother someday. Not because it's what society asks of women, to bear children, but because I wanted to love someone instantly and without condition, and to be loved that way in return. Immediate and all-consuming. This is the purest sort of love there is, between us."
Beckett presses closer to her, gives a pleased hum when she kisses his face again. He likes to be kissed, she's found. He likes to be held and stroked and spoken softly to. And for the first few weeks of his life he was subjected to nothing but mistreatment.
But never again.
"I love you," she whispers to him, like a secret that's not a secret at all. "You are marvelously beautiful. You are a miracle alive, my son."
"M-Mother," he says, the word clumsy and halting and perfect.
Later, once they've eaten ham sandwiches and drunk sweet lemonade for lunch, once Elizabeth has held Beckett for a peaceful while on a loveseat in the sitting room, it's time for his lessons. Elizabeth has been trying to fit a few hours of study into their days, teaching Beckett basic words and concepts with toys and tools meant for small children, picture books and cards and puzzles. Today she holds up colorful cards with drawings of people and objects on their faces and carefully tells him what they are, in the hopes that later, some other day, he'll be able to repeat them back to her.
"This is a flower," she says softly, and hands him the card, watches him turn it over slowly in his hands. He sits half in her lap on the loveseat, as far in her lap as he can fit, his long legs drawn up and curled over her skirt. "There are flowers in the garden, remember? Flowers come in all shapes and sizes and colors. That one there is a little white flower, perhaps a daisy."
"Mother," Beckett mumbles. He brings the card to his face and sniffs, the way she's taught him to sniff the flowers in the garden.
She grins and claps for him, watches his sweet crooked smile curve across his face like the most beautiful scar of all. "Very good, darling! Flowers are for smelling, that's right. Of course, that one is only a picture, so it can't have a smell. But we can imagine it has one, can't we? We can pretend."
Beckett hums and hands Elizabeth back the card. She gives it a long, deep sniff that makes Beckett laugh.
"Mmm!" She giggles. "Why, this flower smells like sunshine and honey!"
"Mother." Beckett holds his hands out, wanting the card again, and gives it a long, deep sniff of his own when Elizabeth surrenders it. He can't tell her yet what he's pretending to smell, but it must be wonderful, because he gasps and grins and hugs the card to his chest like it's a new friend. Elizabeth watches adoringly.
One night when it feels as if only the two of them exist in all the world, Elizabeth leads Beckett by the hand out into the garden and lays him down on the soft trimmed grass. She's instructed the servants to stop trimming it, to let it grow long and wild so as to become a home for all the wonderful tiny creatures she plans to introduce soon. It's going to be so beautiful.
Their life together is going to be so beautiful, so stubbornly beautiful despite its ugly beginning.
“Look at the stars,” she whispers, as she lies down beside Beckett and drapes the blanket she brought over them. He curls up close to her side, rests his head on her chest, over her heartbeat, as he does every night. “Aren’t they enchanting? I realized today that I've yet to tell you about the constellations.”
“Mother…” Beckett yawns and nuzzles her, humming contentedly as she rubs his back under the blanket. He glances up at the sky, smiles with sweet wonder, but can't seem to keep his eyes all the way open.
“I know, my love, I know you're tired.” She chuckles. “I am, too.”
Beckett helped her to plant some petunias out here this morning, then they spent a few hours reading in the library, then Elizabeth chased Beckett through the estate's long winding halls until he was breathless from laughter and her from exertion, then they spoiled their dinner with colorful taffy but ate the roast venison the servants prepared anyway. They were nervous of Beckett at first, but they dote on him now, give him candies and gentle touches and watch over him while Elizabeth uses the bathroom. That's the only reason she ever parts from him.
“You just fall asleep, and I'll teach you while you dream. That's probably the best time to learn anyway, I think,” she says through a yawn of her own. She kisses the top of Beckett’s head, then his temple, then between his closed eyes. “We’ll start with Orion, of course. Orion lived long, long ago. He was the son of a god, and the world's greatest hunter…”
It's nearly a month before Victor returns to them.
Elizabeth doesn't bother with the tradition of gathering all the servants and greeting the master of the house at the door. Instead, she sets about making the most of her and Beckett's remaining time alone together. She told him in the garden this morning, reluctantly, apologetically, that Victor would be home by suppertime, but Beckett isn't upset. He doesn't seem to entirely understand. His mind is occupied by other, more important things.
"We...need...little — hats," Beckett says in his halting, marvelous way. His speech was an explosion that went off last week. One day he couldn't say a single word aside from Mother, Elizabeth and the occasion Victor; the next he couldn't stop talking. "Hats — and...seeds."
"Yes, of course, you're right." Elizabeth sits close beside him on the floor of the sitting room, watching him play with his mice. As it turns out, he's as fond of them as he is of insects; he found a house mouse in the kitchen two weeks ago, and loved it so much that Elizabeth had no choice but to buy him a fancy mouse as well, which is now extremely pregnant. "I can't wait! Oh, and I can't wait to see the babies, I wonder if they'll be brown like their father or white like their mother. Or maybe they'll have spots, wouldn't that be pretty?"
"Pretty," Beckett agrees. He has his fancy mouse — Flower — resting in his lap, while his house mouse — Cheese — scurries around him on the carpet. He lifts Cheese carefully and sets him beside Flower on Beckett's thigh. Cheese gives her a sniff and a nuzzle. "Love," Beckett says, watching with a wide smile.
"Aw, your mice love each other?" Elizabeth coos. "That's so sweet! And they're going to love their babies very much, aren't they?"
Beckett hums and gives Flower's head a very gentle pet with the pad of his thumb. "I...love — you," he tells her, soft and earnest.
Elizabeth sighs fondly. Beckett loves his mice so much that he hates to leave them in their cage — though Elizabeth had such a large one made for him, a repurposed dog crate — and has them out with him almost always, riding along on his shoulders or in his pockets. His kindness is radiant, warming Elizabeth's heart, extending even to the smallest of creatures. He's kind to everyone, though presently he's only ever exposed to her and the servants, for his own safety.
His seams are healing well, the scars beginning to fade, and he looks so handsome in his large suits with his burgeoning dark hair neatly combed. Someday, there will be nothing in the way of him living as a man.
But for now, he's still only a child in his developing mind.
Elizabeth sits and watches him dote on his mice for a while longer. And then Victor comes home.
"Oh, Elizabeth!" he calls with a mocking tone, as he bursts into the sitting room with his hair wild and his coat whipping around him.
Beckett whimpers and hides behind Elizabeth, as well as he can fit. She hugs him to her.
"Victor," she says cooly. She watches Victor approach with narrow eyes, scowls up at him as he smiles bitterly down at them. "I hear your theory was not well-received. How tragic."
"Mm." Victor's smile takes on an edge of viciousness. "And what of your mission to teach my defective creation to speak?" he asks. "More impossible, I daresay, than my mission to prove my method without the physical proof of its semi-success. Oh, the Royal Medical Society has denounced my research, by the way, if you care."
"I don't particularly," Elizabeth says lightly. She turns and kisses Beckett's cheek, rubs his back to soothe the tension that's appeared there. Poor angel. "My love," she coaxes, "can you please tell Victor what we're doing? I'm sure he'll be very excited to hear the happy news!"
Beckett whines, but finally lifts his face from her sleeve. He looks at Victor's knees while he says, slow and reluctant, "Victor. We're...making...a — mouse... circus."
Elizabeth watches all expression drop off Victor's face, his mouth hanging open. And then he's on his knees with them on the floor, grinning at Beckett with eyes wide and rapt.
"Is that so?" Victor whispers, clearly awestruck. Elizabeth tries not to feel too smug, but indulges in pride, squeezing Beckett close against her.
"Flower..." Beckett points to her where she's still dozing in his lap. "Flower's...gonna...have — babies. Soon."
"Babies?" Victor sounds thrilled, a manic grin taking his face. "My god, you are impressive after all. I made you well, didn't I?"
"He's always been impressive, and intelligent," Elizabeth says firmly, while Beckett just shies and pets his mouse. "His development was limited before because he was an infant. Now he's more like a toddler."
"Fascinating," Victor breathes, his brightened gaze fixed on Beckett. "I think I'll fetch a journal and observe you for a while, if that's alright, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth strokes Beckett's hair. "Would that be alright, Beckett? Can Victor stay and watch?" she asks, because it's not her choice.
Beckett doesn't hesitate. "No!" he whimpers and clutches at Elizabeth's skirt, hides his face in the puff of her sleeve so that his voice is muffled. But his meaning is clear. "No Victor! I...only — want...Mother."
"Well —" Elizabeth returns her eyes to Victor, only to falter and soften at the true hurt she finds in his expression. Hurt and something else, something like horror. She's never seen such a look on his usually so controlled face. "Perhaps another time," she says gently.
Victor nods and stands and walks quickly out of the sitting room, all but fleeing, not looking back or saying a word. Elizabeth watches his retreating back, baffled.
Beckett slumps against her with relief. "No Victor," he says firmly.
Elizabeth tuts, but doesn't speak her disapproval. Beckett, after all, has a right to be angry.
"I fear I've been a fool," Victor admits, when Elizabeth comes to visit his bedroom later that night, after Beckett has fallen asleep in the bed he still shares with Elizabeth.
"I know you've been a fool," she says mildly, sitting beside him on the mattress, her hand on his shoulder. "And a madman. And a devil. But that's not what you are, Victor. I've always known you to be decent deep down. Very deep." She means this as a joke, but his expression darkens. He hangs his head. "Victor," she says more gently, "I must know, what's brought on this change? Was it just realizing that Beckett has the intelligence of a man, not an animal?" When Victor is silent, she continues, "Or is it the fact that he still fears you, that he remembers and understands that you mistreated him?"
"I suppose both," Victor says finally, his voice rough. "And something else, something...more personal."
Elizabeth strokes Victor's back. "I'm listening."
Victor draws a slow breath. "When I was a boy, when my mother was alive," he begins, "I loved her and feared my father. Hated him, really, as did she. We were only happy when he was away, and we lived in a sort of shared prison when he was home. When he entered the room, he killed laughter. He gave me my first medical lessons, but his methods were...harsh. I dreaded them. He wanted me to be as expert a surgeon as he was, and he had no patience for my mistakes, though I was only a boy. All I ever wanted was to be with my mother."
Elizabeth nods. This is a very different account of Leopold Frankenstein than she heard from William.
"Today I saw a reflection of those days," Victor says, and shudders under her hand. "Only, I was my father."
"Oh, dear." Elizabeth sighs, understands so much now. "But you're not your father, Victor. You're your own man, and you've certainly made mistakes, but it's not too late to atone."
"How?" Victor croaks. "He is terrified of me, as he should be, after the way I... You said you think he had the mind of an infant, in the beginning?"
"I do," Elizabeth says. "He may have a mature body, but he has a new soul."
"I didn't — I never considered that." Victor swallows harshly. "I wanted him to be a genius immediately, as my father wanted me to be a genius immediately, and I had no patience for… He was so innocent and I — I couldn't see…”
"Tell him," Elizabeth urges. "Victor, as relieved as I am that you've accepted the truth of it, you can do nothing to change the past. What you can change is now."
Victor shakes his head. "Perhaps I should just do what I always wished my father would do and leave permanently."
"Nonsense. Beckett needs you," Elizabeth says firmly. "You're his father. You were his whole world once. If you could make amends with him, apologize and earn his forgiveness, you would fill a hole in his heart that's been there since the beginning."
"I never — God." Victor sniffs. "I spent my life preparing to be a creator. I sacrificed years, poured in blood, sweat and tears by the gallon. I wanted it so much, to be a god with an Adam. But I never…" He knuckles tears from his eyes. "I never expected to be a father with a child.”
"Life is the unexpected," Elizabeth says. In this moment, with him peeled back before her, she remembers her love for him. "Rise to the challenge, Victor. Make this family your new mission."
Victor is quiet for a long time. When he nods, it's with his head rested on her shoulder.
"Beckett," Victor begins softly, perched on the stool across from the loveseat where Elizabeth holds Beckett half in her lap. Beckett is tense and wary; Victor is sick with remorse; Elizabeth hopes they can cure each other. "I have something I'd like to say to you, if you're willing to hear it."
"Victor," Beckett mumbles, clutching at Elizabeth's dress. Victor looks hopefully to Elizabeth, as though for a translation.
Elizabeth kisses the top of Beckett's head, rubs his back. He's staring out the nearest window, not looking at Victor. "It's alright, he's listening," she tells Victor. "Speak from your heart."
"I... Beckett, I have been a horror," Victor says plainly but gently. "A fool. A monster. I was so consumed by my work that I lost sight of myself. Science is unfeeling, I was taught to keep emotion out of it... But I was wrong not to view you with emotion —" Victor's voice breaks; he clears it and carries on. "I should have loved you immediately, my perfect creation. I think a part of me did, but the rest of me was too sick and afraid to accept it. I hurt you, and words cannot express how sorry I am. I would do it all so differently now, if I could go back, but one thing I would not change is you."
Beckett stirs and looks at Victor finally, cautious but curious.
"That's right," Victor tells him, smiling with damp eyes. "I would not change you, Beckett. My son."
"Victor," Beckett breathes, soft and surprised and hopeful.
"Yes, that's right, I'm here." Victor leans forward. "Victor's here, Father's here. I'm ready now to give you what I couldn't then, if you'll have me, if..." He falters, hesitates. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
"I..." Beckett trails off and turns to Elizabeth, perhaps wanting her to speak for him. But she can't, won't. She kisses his forehead instead, lays her palm over his strong chest.
"Speak from your heart," she urges.
Beckett is quiet for a while, looking from Elizabeth to Victor and back again, fidgeting with her dress, opening and closing his mouth as if in a desperate search for words. They wait patiently for him, Elizabeth with tear-stung eyes, Victor with a look of such painful anticipation.
"Victor," Beckett says finally, meeting Victor's searching eyes. "I...love…you." And, while Victor sways on his stool as if struck, "Father."
Elizabeth doesn't grouse when she suddenly has two men in her lap, clutching each other and her, straining the limits of the furniture and her heart. She clutches them, too.
She knows, now better than ever, that they're all going to be alright.
Spring comes in all its warm, life-rich glory, and their garden is a beautiful storm of fluttering wings and flourishing flowers, all vibrant color and blurring movement. They're outside almost always, Beckett running and spinning and jumping in a joyous attempt to join the butterflies’ dance; Elizabeth moving back and forth between dancing with him and studying the shades and patterns of the wings that surround them; Victor on his knees in the long healthy grass, taking notes in a journal until either Elizabeth or Beckett yank him to his feet.
He tends to play along these days, his eyes bright like they never were before, his thoughts far from death. Their life together is pure life, with flowers and insects and more mice than they know what to do with, more love than any of them ever thought possible.
They take a break from dancing to catch their breaths, collapsing and panting side-by-side in the grass. Elizabeth watches grinning as Victor tenderly cradles Beckett's cheek in his palm and strokes Beckett's long, mussed but well-tended hair. Victor smiles with beaming warmth when Beckett nuzzles into the touch; he hasn't flinched from Victor in months. Lately he's seemed sutured to Victor's side, following Victor everywhere and squealing delightedly at every hug and kiss and soft word Victor readily gives him.
Though Elizabeth flatters herself to think she's still Beckett's favorite.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, my dear, but I think it's about time to head in for lunch,” Victor tells Beckett, cooing like Elizabeth never would've thought him capable of before, his voice so soft and adoring.
“No!” Beckett whines and turns to Elizabeth, tugs imploringly at her dress. “Mother!”
“Shh, shh, my darling.” She kisses all over his face until his smile returns, wide and radiant and wonderful as always. She smiles at Victor over Beckett's perfect head. “Mind your father.”