Dave (hearts) Rose: fantasy AU where rose is a necromancer and Dave, her companion, has not been made entirely away he's a construct she raised from the dead
It was hard, to look at him up there, in his coffin. To look at him when he was dead, and cold to the touch of your fingertips when he should have been warm and inviting and above all alive! Dave should have been alive. And the worst thing was that it was her fault that he was dead. Hers, and hers alone.
He'd taken a rapier to the heart for her, good brother that he was. He's laid there, blood blooming from the red epicenter of a gruesome flower, and smiled at her. He'd touched her face with a shaking hand, trailing his lifeblood on her cheek with his fingertips, and smiled. And now he was gone. She was alone in the world, the lonely half of a matched pair.
But not for much longer, even if Dave had been dead for nearly a week, there were things that could be done. The necromantic arts held the possibility of renewed life for her beloved brother, one that would hold until her passing (as was only befitting for her own twin). But getting her hands on the body would be difficult, but not so difficult that it would stop her.
She merely waited until Dave's coffin had been lowered into the hole and covered with dirt, waited for the sun to set and the late-night mourners to vacate the area. And then she dug. It took her a while, for she was not the one known for strength (no, that was always Dave), but she managed it before the stars of night faded into the blue pre-dawn glow of morning.
A quickly muttered spell gave the corpse movement, so that it would follow her of its own volition. Her eyes grew watery to see Dave's form stumbling behind her, so like when they were little. Thank all the dark ones that granted her power, but they were off the graveyard grounds and safely ensconced inside her home a little after the break of dawn.
She so longed to kiss Dave, but he wasn't himself just yet. Removing his fancy shirt to inspect the hole the sword pierced in him, she ran her fingers over the ripple that stitched skin and muscle produced over his heart. A black spark of magic from her fingertips worked its wretched miracle over the torn and punctured tissues, and soon the skin was again as flawless as it had been in life.
More inspections of his body allowed her to trace constellations over his moles and freckles, fix other imperfections that she had hated, and tangle her hands in his hair before stealing a violent, desperate kiss. She pulled back though, because while it was Dave's body, his soul was still stuck in the afterlife.
One more wave of magic, and she was sure his body was ready. It was time to prepare for stealing his soul back for him. It was time to steal her lover, her brother, back from Death itself. Drawing the appropriate diagrams on the floor took hours. The sweat of her brow would smear the chalk, and she would have to start over. She finished the last rune by midnight and fell into a wearied sleep, lulled into peacefulness by the knowledge that the body of Dave would watch over her until she woke.
She began the incantation at dusk the next day, dressed in her robes and cowl. The five hours it took to summon Dave's soul were worth it; the next seven it took to remove the memories of death and bind him to his body were exultant and blurred together with hope and fear.
The last spell to give the newly rejoined body and soul a heartbeat and true life exhausted her of her last drop of magic. Dave gasped, as his body kicked itself back into a living biorhythm. Hyperventilation slowed to the gentle rate of the deeply asleep, and Rose beamed with pride. Tired, and drained, she shed the robes of ritual and climbed onto the couch Dave slept on. Despite her nudity, she curled around him, tension she didn't know she was carrying melted away as she drowsily drank in the warmth of his newly alive body.
He could never know. He would never know.