Immortality

Chapter Eight - World Enough and Time

Chapter Eight - Author's note: Let me know if you like this chapter! Also the chapter title is from "To His Coy Mistress", a poem I reference often because I love it. I've included a link on the side to Tom Hiddleston reading it because it is a lovely version and I think it's really important to hear poetry read aloud...

Michael paused for a moment, evidently at least somewhat taken aback by either Nightingale's tone or the ferocious look on her face.

"Yeah," he said, his quiet, high voice at its most shy and sweet. His warm eyes stared imploringly at Nightingale but had absolutely no effect in calming her or placating her. 

"You dosed yourself," she repeated, her tone still low and predatory. And, to clarify his decision, as if he had not understood the magnitude of what it was he had done, she went on. "You made yourself immortal."

"You're one to talk," he replied, and a tiny bit of peevishness in his voice did little to sour the bright excitement that had returned to his face. "You already are!"

"You'll remember I didn't choose that. And in already being this way I understand what it means. How could you-" she said.

But Michael cut her off with a cry of pure supplication. Throwing his head back and clasping his hands before him, he entreated her:

"Nightingale, please! I did this for you."

Nightingale felt the bile rising in her throat. Turning away, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and tried very hard not to be sick. She shuddered in the effort as her stomach seemed to twist herself in knots, leaving her whole body heaving his spasms.

"What the hell do you mean?" she managed.

"No, not like that. Not like that, Nightingale, not anymore, not for a long time," he said, evidently trying to assure her that it was no misplaced love that had had driven him to this discovery. His assurance soothed her only insofar as it took away her disgust. She still fought against the overwhelming tide of grief and astonishment and sorrow that threatened to swallow her up. "I did so much wrong by anyone the Corporation created. I caused so much misery. I am the sorriest for what I did to you, and that's why I did this."

"Did what, told me that you've now-" she began, but he overrode her.

"Nightingale, listen, listen to me," he begged. "Just listen. I made this drug for you, to atone. You are immortal and I was one of the ones who made you that way.  That is the worst thing you can do to someone, to make them live on when all those they love have died."

"Not the worst thing," murmured Nightingale. She could think of much worse things. But Michael chattered on, either completely fucking oblivious to her misery or under some misapprehension that he had cured that misery.

"And so I fixed it for you. Those you love don't have to die. They can live on with you. Robin - Robin doesn't have to die. You fear that, I know you do," he said, and gave her a knowing look. "So this is my gift to you, to atone for all your suffering. Immortal happiness."

Nightingale wasn't sure that was what Michael had done. She was not entirely sure of anything. A few hours ago she had not thought she would ever have to be an Inamorata again, nor had she thought herself immortal.

So she stood in silence as Michael went on. "Besides, this is only a temporary fix. The original human test subjects got a dose of virus that rendered the modification permanent. The one I dosed myself with becomes degraded over time," he said, and gave her a pleading look. "For me to remain immortal I have to re-dose myself once every year."

That gave Nightingale some pause. "And..."

"I'm not planning on living forever, Gale," he told her. "But I am going to give myself a bit of a taste of what the Corporation has done to you."