Title: Pulse
Garry had not seen the doppelganger of himself or Ib's mother. But the sight had acutely affected the young girl. The fake Garry and mother had been identical to the originals. They had looked the same, acted the same. When she couldn't tell they were fake she very nearly ended up stuck in the gallery forever. Before she realized it, she had developed a habit. It was subtle and not noticeable at all unless someone was specifically looking for it. She made sure people were real each time she greeted them.
She knew from experience that inanimate objects could pretend to be real—pretend to be alive—convincingly. They could pull off emotion. They could make up stories of a human life. They could even fake breathing. But what they couldn't do was force the heart they didn't have to beat.
"Ib!"
She looked up at the sound of her name being called, smile automatically adorning her face. Then, imperceptibly, it wavered before returning. The smile remained, the quiet child's greeting to the young man, but it had lost warmth. Hopeful but uncertain, the smile remained as she came to a stop in front of the man. He grinned down at her, happily greeting her and inquiring about her day. He dropped to one knee and outstretched his arms. Instead, she grasped his right hand with hers and wrapped the fingers of her left hand against his wrist. With both hands she brought his hand up to caress her cheek.
There. Real. Tangible. The warmth from his hand was unmistakeable. His hand, like all real breathing human beings, was far from perfect as the false Garry's hands had been. She could feel the roughness of hard work, the little bump on his ring finger that had been made from resting his pencil against it when he sketched, and the frayed ends of his worn jacket that was impossible to imitate. She nuzzled his hand, feeling the loose strings from his jacket tickling her face. But most importantly, she could feel the soft pulse underneath her fingertips that still remained curled around his wrist. And she finally relaxed.
Finally, she moved closer to him, allowing him to envelop her in his arms. Even down on one knee he was taller. She was grateful for that. It put her in a position that strengthened her certainty that he was really, truly her Garry. Hands splayed out on his abdomen that radiated heat and ear pressed firmly against his chest. Here she couldn't just feel the heartbeat, she could hear it. As strong as she wanted Garry to remain. When Mary had stolen his rose, it had been reduced to a state so weak that it had been merely a soft, intermittent brush against her hand before he fell unconscious. Ib had been on her own until she had been able to retrieve it.
Ib had a reputation for being a strong and quiet girl. She liked it that way. While everyone she held dear had been a bit confused when she her little habit started, they just assumed it was another way she silently showed her affection. They thought it was normal, endearing. And besides, kids were always eccentric. She didn't want to let them see how weak she could be. She remembered how Garry had looked when she admitted that she had had a nightmare. He had looked surprised, pitying, and pained. Pained that he didn't—couldn't—help her. That he had overestimated her strength. It was the same look that she had received from her parents when she was forced to change schools after her father was transferred. She had always been compliant and understanding, ready to do what needed to be done. But that one time she had not been able to stop the tears that ran down her face as she thought of leaving her friends behind. It was obvious her parents had thought she would take it well. She didn't like to disappoint them, or anyone for that matter. She felt like she needed to be immovable.
She remembered how she had pulled Garry from the grips of insanity by pure willpower. By simply refusing to show that she was scared. Acting strong was the only thing that enabled him to leave with her. But she wanted to be strong.
At the core of it all, however, she was still just a girl. She was still a child. Tiny and insecure. No matter how strong she was—regardless of the fact she wouldn't believe it—a child needs to be reassured. And she found this assurance in the rhythmic beat of a heart.
A/N: Well friendlies, here's the third one. It was a doozy. But I'm proud of it! I always thought Ib was strong. She got through the first part of it just fine on her own. She seems like the type to take care of others. I mean, she led Garry through the gallery on her own! But as a human, and especially as a child, I thought she would need reassurance.