Warm Bodies: Awakening

A Heart Made Whole

The clearing had taken a lot longer than any of them had thought it would at the west gate, but they'd finally finished the job. They'd driven the bulldozers back to the holding yard, and Frank had waved goodbye, lit up a smoke and headed off to join the party in the center of town. Mark didn't follow. The work had left him exhausted and just not up for crowds or the noise. He'd have to catch up with Brandon tomorrow, and ask how things had gone with Sarah.

Heading home, he passed a few groups of people celebrating, and echoed their cheers and waves. The whole city was buzzing with hope, and it felt great. It felt amazing, actually, to have played a part in breaking the wall. People were going to be talking about it for generations to come. That made him proud.

He was only about a block from home when he passed a small alleyway and heard a strange sound, something so incongruous to the mood of the night that he stopped and strained to make sure he wasn't just hearing things.

No, it came again, and tugged at him. Someone was crying. A deeply heartbreaking expression of grief, and he found himself drawn to it, into that dark opening. A small voice inside warned that it wasn't exactly safe, but he ignored it. There was something about that sound...

The cries faded as he walked down the passage, his eyes still trying to adjust to the utter darkness, and he figured whoever was crying had probably heard him. Slowly he started to make out the walls of the alleyway, and against the one to his right, a figure seated, legs drawn up close.

He couldn't make out anything else, but he wanted to see if he could help, and asked the person, the young man by the sound of his crying, if they were okay.

Mark was surprised when the kid seemed to want to talk. He hadn't actually expected that, but it made him happy. If he could lift this kid's mood tonight, maybe it would lift his own. Nobody should be stuck in a dark alley crying like that, especially today.

He crouched down to listen, and the kid started to talk. About being dead, and the guilt he was carrying around for what he'd done.

But he found he wasn't really listening to his words. There was something about the young man's voice that made him freeze in place. Something terribly, wonderfully familiar.

And then the kid dropped his head to his arms and said the word that floored him so completely he forgot how to breathe.

The boy said 'dad'. The young man who sounded so much like his son, called him... dad.

Mark's heart trembled in his chest. "S-son?" he said, his voice shaking with hope.

Slowly, the kid's head rose from his arms, and so softly he barely heard it, that incredible word came again.

"Dad?"

Oh my god. The hope in his heart flared into a fire. His son was sitting in front of him. The eldest who'd died in his arms so long ago was here. Dear god. The grief he'd held for so long burst from him suddenly, but he choked it back, and rushed forward, desperate to hold his boy. His son seemed frightened at first, but something changed in him the minute he made contact, and his son's hands closed tightly around his own.

The touch made his heart swell, and pulled his lost boy into his arms and held him close, crying against him. He'd found him. He'd finally found his son. As the young man embraced him back, his son's body shook in deep sobs, releasing something he'd obviously held onto for a very long time.

God, he couldn't imagine what his son had gone through, and from what was coming from him, it was horrible. Holding his boy close, he rocked him gently, letting him know he was here, that he had him. Nodding softly, his son grew slowly quiet in his arms, the sobs turning to deep sighs until finally the tension seemed to melt away, and he felt his boy's arms relax and fall from him.

For a moment, he was back at the airport on that horrible night, and a terrible fear gripped him. But the sound of his son's deep, rhythmic breathing made him realize that incredibly, his boy had simply fallen asleep.

Mark let his son's head relax back against his arm, and gently brushed the hair from his temple. The tears filled his eyes again as the true enormity of what had just happened sank in. His son was alive.

He wanted desperately to see his son's face in the light. Moving slowly, not wanting to wake him, he gathered him up, and stood. A grunt escaped him with the effort, but his boy didn't stir.

As he strode out of the alleyway, the strangeness of the moment was not lost on him. His son was the last person he had carried in this way, the night he had died in his arms. The fear trickled back with the thought, and as he walked he had to keep looking down at his son's face, listening for the soft breath, checking for the bright flush of life in his skin. But it was okay. His son was alive.

His son was alive.

Finally, he reached their building and pushed himself to scale the stairs to the second floor. Every glance down at his son in the pale lights of the hallway made his heart jump. He hasn't changed! He hasn't aged! Dear god! Cradling his boy close, he shouldered open the door to the apartment, and staggered to the back room, his breath coming in hard gasps.

Swinging around to the far side of the room, he gently lowered his son onto his own bed, and switched on the bedside lamp. He settled his boy's head against the pillow and straightened his legs so he lay on his back. Always the tallest in their family, his son's feet dangled over the end, and the sight made him smile.

The night finally caught up with him, and Mark dropped against the bedside, his breath heavy, his heart beating a pounding rhythm against his chest. Closing his eyes he focused on his breathing until the pounding lessened, then looked up at his boy.

His son's face was turned towards him, relaxed in sleep, his eyelashes clumped with tears. The sight stunned him, and he reached out to his boy, sweeping the hair from his forehead, cradling his cheek, and started to cry.

The faint scars of the bus accident were mere shadows of what they'd been when he'd seen his boy last, a haunted specter of a corpse. His boy's skin was flushed, with no trace of the death that had claimed him, outside of a slight tinge under his brow. His boy breathed again, lived again.

He'd come back to him.

He had his miracle. Smiling through the tears, he slowly stood, his joints aching and stiff, and pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. Taking his son's hand in his own, he relaxed back in the chair and wept quietly as he watched him sleep.