#Loren Sears | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crystxlclear · 4 years ago

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sudden desire

chapter nine: how to run from the mess you’ve made!

part ten of sudden desire

synopsis: marcus meets the parents.

word count: you’re crying. this is long. this is so damn long. this is 12.2k words and you’re crying.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of periods, alcohol consumption, strong language, angst, the briefest and barely noticeable references to sexy times

author’s note: i have nothing to say except jesus christ it’s so long (also i got hit with that text block limit, so couldn’t even add a gif???? don’t think anything got deleted but i can’t be sure! hopefully we’re okay!) also not beta’d because it’s so long and i’m lazy

“My parents are in town and they want to meet you.”

She breaks it to him over coffee in the early morning. It’s become practice for him to wake before her - her apartment or his, any day, any time - and have a mug of coffee waiting for her whenever she drags herself from the bed, seemingly too sprightly for 7:30, to greet him. It’s become their ritual, over the weeks, stealing moments over sunrise and coffee. Quiet mornings where caffeine and the quiet hum of the city lull them away from the precipice of dreamy delirium. Coraline hides herself behind the familiar mug like he hasn’t seen every part of her soul stripped bare.

Judging by the look on Marcus’ face, it would have seemed as if Coraline had just told him one of them was dying. The colour has drained from his cheeks, pale, ghost-white and wide-eyed. He coughs, trying to play off his shock and utter bewilderment, and hide the way his jaw drops a little at the notion. “Erm... what?” His eyebrows raise in that almost playful, questioning way, like, reclining back on the sofa and trying to seem nonchalant about the entire situation, attempting to pull at some of his usually-cool demeanour to cover his worry.

He knows Coraline can read him far too well to fall for it.

“I said-” There’s a small smirk that curves the corner of her lips. She can’t help it. “-my parents are in town-” Coraline leans forward and places her half-drunk mug of coffee on the cluttered coffee table. “-and they want to meet you.”

“They want to meet me? Why not Loren? You’ve known her longer.”

“They’ve known Loren for years and she dated my brother. You, on the other hand, they’ve never met.” Coraline chuckles and cocks her head to the side. She raises an eyebrow at him when his expression remains dumbfounded; or shocked or bewildered. Whatever it is, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. It’s unusual seeing him like this, without his usual air of confidence and poise. “Besides, you’re my best friend, dumbass.”

“I am?” There’s a swell of pride in his expression, now; it flickers there for a moment, before the uncertainty creeps back in.

“Of course you are!” She tilts her head. Her hair falls over her shoulder, brushing against her collarbone and the skin of her shoulder where her sleep shirt has slipped down. “You already know that.”

He watches her for a moment. Warm eyes capture her gaze and she can’t tear herself away from him as he searches for something behind her eyes; she’s not sure what he’s looking for, and she’s not sure if she even offers up the answers. “Do they know about-” He motions between the two of them. He can’t find the right words to describe whatever it is between them. He’s not even sure there is a word to describe it. “-the agreement?”

“The baby stuff?” She questions, though she already knows what he means. Sometimes she has to remind herself, out loud, to assure herself that it’s not some kind of strange dream. “No, no. I don’t even know where to start with that.”

“What happens when you do get pregnant?”

“If I get pregnant-” she insists. She’s learnt not to get her hopes up; she’s part of a fickle industry, inevitable disappointment is familiar enough to her, now. “As far as they’re concerned, it was an accident. A very happy, not-entirely-accidental-or-unwelcome accident. That’s all they need to know.”

He exhales sharply and runs his hand over the stubble that covers his jaw. “And if they hate me?”

Coraline has to stifle a laugh against her coffee mug. Her lipstick leaves a half-moon of red against the ceramic. She’s sure she looks ridiculous; half dressed up, makeup done in only half an hour, in the dim morning light of her bedroom, hair still a tangled, pillow-tousled mess and in her pyjamas - or solely Marcus’ shirt and her underwear - from the night before. Still, when she’d entered the kitchen in search of caffeine, he’d looked at her like she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Sometimes, he makes her believe that she is. “Are you scared?” She smirks, wiggling her eyebrows. His expression is wavering and it just makes her grin even wider. “Like they could ever hate you.” She thinks that might be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said. Besides, she’s pretty sure her father would like anyone who made Coraline happy. And, God knows, Marcus makes her the happiest she’s ever been. “You’re pretty damn great, aren’t you?”

He hums out a laugh at her reply. “I try.”

“Look, if they don’t like you- but they will, I guarantee they will- then that’s their loss, and it won’t change my mind about how much I adore you.” She almost cringes at her choice of words; perhaps saying that you adored your best friend - your best friend who you were committed to having a child with, wasn’t the most articulate of choices. Adore was spared for lovers, which they definitely were not. “But, if you really don’t want to meet them, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you. But I just think that- maybe- it would be nice if they knew you before- well, y’know-”

“And you would introduce me as…?”

“Marcus, stop deflecting.” She prods him in the side and his face breaks out into a great beaming smile. “My best friend, hopeful future father of my child, Agent Marcus James Pike.” She clarifies, half-jokingly, with amusement in her voice.

“I’m not sure how well that would go over, Cora.”

She raises her eyebrows quickly then drops them with a resigned sigh. “Best to leave out the baby stuff for now, huh?”

Her father is her oldest friend. They’ve always been close, a true daddy’s girl since she was two-years-old. He was so damn supportive of her dreams, the one who believed in her all those years ago when it seemed like no one else did. He’s part of the industry; behind the scenes, more into the music that soundtracked her performances than being in front of the camera, and preferring to stick around in not-so-sunny Michigan than move his entire family to California, where the highest demand was. Rather than persuading her against acting, pushing her away from the fickle world that was Hollywood, he wanted her to succeed. He never gave her a leg up or helped, just watched in adoration as she carved her own path.

But this, this was one thing she wasn’t entirely sure he would support. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d catch him in a good mood. Maybe they’d be able to bring him around to the idea.

She figured, however, that it was better just to call it all an accident and pretend that a pregnancy wasn’t meant to happen.

“Can you help me with the food? I can’t cook.”

“You can’t cook?”

Coraline hits him on the arm with the back of her hand, lightly, pouting at him as he chuckles at her half-hearted fake offence. “Shut up, Pike.” Her hand clasps over her heart. “Oh, I’m wounded, I’m wounded.”

He leans forward and drops a quick, fleeting kiss to her cheekbone. His plush lips barely brush gently over the bone yet it still sends coils of searing heat through her chest. A smile blooms across her lips like a flower unfurling its petals. “Sorry, Sunshine.” He grins again as he stands and maneuvers over towards the kitchen. “As much as I would love to watch your attempts at achieving culinary excellence, I’ve got to work all week,” he tells her as he drops his half-empty coffee mug into the sink. He checks the time on his watch - 8:35, just enough time to pull himself together and make it into work - and rolls down his pushed-up sleeves.

“Take the day off today. Call in sick or something.” She pouts, peeking out over the sofa as he fixes his tie and tugs on his suit jacket. “Help me shop and then prep things and cook and-”

Marcus stops dead as he moves to pull on his suit jacket. “They’re coming today?”

“Did I not mention that?” She squeaks.

“It slipped your mind, Sunshine.”

Coraline sighs and slides back into the thick sofa cushions, letting them swallow her whole. “They’ll be here at six.”

He leans against the wooden kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest, and smiles at her with that soft smile that inspires so much comfort within her. “I’ll be here at five.”

“You will?” Her face lights up and she practically leaps from the couch. In Marcus’ eyes, she radiates sunshine. “I’m so, so sorry about this, it was all so last minute because my dad’s been ill, and they were meant to go to Daniel’s instead, but he has to work late and-”

“It’s no problem, Cora.”

She pauses, measuring his expression. “That’s a lie, but I appreciate the support and optimism.”

“Well, there has to be one optimist in this relationship.”

Relationship. Only a friendship.

“Thank you, again,” she exhales tightly, watching as he scoops up his briefcase and keys. After the first month, they’d had the foresight to leave their stuff at each other’s houses; there are three of Marcus’ shirts hung at the edge of her closet and a couple of Coraline’s dresses tucked inside his; spare toothbrushes by the bathroom sink, deodorant on the dresser, shampoo by the shower. There’s no need for a mad, early-morning dash across town, now. Just relaxed mornings with coffee that slowly lure them awake. Marcus is dressed and ready to go, looking as handsome as ever as he checks he’s ready, before he steps out for the day.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, flashing her a dazzling, heartstopping smile. He drops a second fleeting and breathless kiss to her cheekbone before sweeping out of the front door.

Thank God for Marcus Pike.

...

He’s far more relaxed than he’d expected when he steps into Coraline’s apartment. His feet are aching and his back is rigid and tight with the weight of the day’s workload, but the comfort of her apartment is indescribable. The air in D.C. had been uncharacteristically hot; the city was thick with the cloying humidity of late-spring, the kind that sticks your clothes to your skin with an uncomfortable insistency. But Coraline’s apartment is a breath of fresh air; the AC is cranked up to ten and he sinks into comfort the moment he steps over the threshold. Perhaps it’s the low hum of music, whispering and slow and crackling gently as the vinyl spins in it’s customary circles, or the homely smell of the citrus and cotton candles she burns. Or, perhaps, it’s just her and the way she hums along to the crooning melody of Jeff Buckley. He wouldn’t mind returning home to this every day. The sight of her, living her life enraptured in bliss, carefree and happy, for the eyes of everyone else.

He knows this record is her favourite - a mismatch of songs that seem to have no reason to be on the same record, but somehow seem so utterly Coraline that he can’t help but think of her any time one graces the radio - but that she only plays it when she’s anxious. It’s one of her tells. And he wonders how long it’s taken for her to relax, how long it’s been since the tense set of her shoulders had finally relaxed and she’d melted into the mindless swaying of her body.

“Welcome home, honey,” her lilting voice calls over the music, in a mock sultry voice. It’s tipped with a carefree giggle and, though he can’t see his face, he knows she’s struggling to smother a wide smile. “Have a good day at work?” She asks without turning to look at him. She’s paying far more attention to what’s in front of her, meticulously chopping vegetables like doing it wrong would spell the end of the world.

“It was fine. Lot of paperwork.” Marcus shrugs off his suit jacket, rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and meanders through towards the kitchen where Coraline is. “What are we making?”

“Erm- well- chicken, I guess?” She can feel the weight of his amused gaze upon her face. “Don’t look at me like that. I bought chicken, I just don’t know what to make with it.”

“One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to cook. Save you from living on takeout and cold food.”

“At least I eat vegetables. Things could be a lot worse.”

He glances over at her, skeptical, as he takes over, surveying the groceries Coraline has lined up along the countertop. She’d bought stuff blindly at the store; stuff she knew Marcus liked, knew her parents liked, knew her nephews would actually eat, and had somehow ended up with two full bags of groceries, half of which she has no idea how to cook. The other half, she has no clue whether Marcus has any use for. Hindsight was a wonderful thing and she’d wished she’d called him at the office to ask what the hell she needed to buy at the store. It’s useful, she assumed, because at least she’s prepared. But there’s definitely such a thing as being over prepared, and it’s almost embarrassing to see the result of her panic buying.

“Cooking’s pretty easy,” he explains, cherry-picking ingredients from the far-too-neatly and meticulously stacked pile and examining them. “Just try not to burn anything.”

“Okay, okay, Gordon Ramsay. What are we eating for dinner?”

...

Coraline has no idea what he’s made. She knows what’s in it, but what they make, what they taste like together, she’s hopelessly clueless. She’d helped out as much as she could, chopping vegetables, tucking away the things he didn’t need, but he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. He’s always proclaimed he isn’t a cook - at least, he’s never claimed to be a bad one, or, at least, not as terrible as Coraline seems to be - and they always tend to settle on takeout and quick breakfasts, whenever they’re together, but the way he’d navigated things seems second nature to him. Still, whatever he’s made, it smells good - amazing, in fact - as it cooks slowly in the oven beside them.

Coraline sits atop the counter, legs swinging idly in front of her. She sips at her glass of merlot, restraining herself, wishing she could just down the damn thing and pour another, and another, and another. “Hmm, liquid courage,” she hums as she takes a sip of the crimson liquid. It’s more to herself than to Marcus, though he seems to hear and chuckle to himself, rolling his pushed-up shirt sleeves back down over his wrists and retying his tie that had been neatly folded over the back of a barstool since he came in.

She feels a little guilty for drinking, though she’d just finished her period, their efforts of trying for a baby seemingly unsuccessful. But the cramps in her stomach are still overwhelming and her eyelids still feel endlessly heavy. Wine seems to be the best - and the only - solution to her situation. Wine and ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. “Want some?” She offers out the half-empty bottle for him when he notices her watching her, settling his tie against the hollow of his throat, neat and proper.

“I’m good for now.” He refuses, crossing his arms over his chest. His shirt pulls over his back and shoulders when he moves and the curve of his muscles are visible beneath the white cotton of his shirt. “I’d rather be sober when I meet your parents.”

He’d laughed earlier, laughed at him being so strung up over meeting them. That it wasn’t as if they were getting married, and they were his soon-to-be-in-laws. They weren’t the bearers of brutal bad news or the rulers of Coraline’s life, either. And he knows her well enough that she’s sure she’ll never forget him because her parents don’t like him. And that, if they don’t like him, it isn’t entirely the end of the world. At least, that’s what he’d told her. But it would be the end of the world, to him; she means the world to him, more than she even realises, and they would be the grandparents of their child, after all. They’d be important to them and to Coraline and, if they were anything like Marcus’ parents, they’d love that baby more than the air that they breathed, more than anything else in the world, and more than they ever thought possible. He’s an only child and the bearer of all that love and adoration they had to offer for so long. And he has no doubt that Coraline’s parents feel the same way about her.

“They’ll love you, Marcus,” she insists. Coraline sets her wineglass down beside her on the countertop and leans forward, hands braced either side of her thighs as she glares at him over the rim of her glasses. She wears them whenever she’s stressed; she rubs her eyes a lot - something about fidgeting and idle hands, an unconscious distraction - and contact lenses don’t tend to fare too well when the days drag on and the night arrives. She’s had sore eyes by 6pm far too many times. “You don’t have to worry about it. Just be the same brilliant man you always are and I’m sure you’ll all be best friends in no time.”

He snorts out a breathy laugh through his nose. “Maybe you’ll be bumped down to second place.”

“Hey!” She jabs a finger in his direction playfully and tilts her head, cocking an eyebrow as he smirks at her. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“No one could ever replace you, Sunshine.” His smirk melts into a fond smile, the kind that practically melts her whenever she sees the way his warm eyes revere her, as if she’s a long-thought-lost painting he’s laying eyes on for the first time. She’s quite fond of the way he makes her feel as if she actually means something in the world.

“They better not.” She fakes a pointed glare in his direction. “Good luck getting rid of me now.” She grins, beaming.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he insists, pushing off the counter opposite her to check the time on the oven. He settles back against the counter again, beside her this time. An embarrassing groan almost slips from her lips, involuntarily and likely painfully loud, when she smells his cologne. It blooms out in front of him when he moves, that gentle and familiar scent that she could recognise a mile away. It’s warm spice mixes with the soft scent of his shampoo and Coraline feels the last trickles of anxiety bleed from her as she takes it in. It relieves the terrible tension that holds stoic and unwavering in her shoulders.

“Used to play this song with my band.” He snaps her from her reverie with another revelation, the warmth of his voice only serving to help the winding down of the tension within her. At least with him here, things feel fine again. She’s sure that things will be fine. But she isn’t entirely sure her parents liked Scott too much - not right for her, too unenthusiastic and seemingly full of himself - but Marcus? Marcus is the opposite. There’s no reason why they won’t like him; he’s sweet and kind and considerate and wonderful, cares about her and everything that she does, cares about her happiness and sits to listen without complaint to all her problems and fears. He asks her how her day has been, unprompted. Her dad has only ever wanted that for her, even if this was only in the form of a friend, not in a lover.

“You did?” She raises an eyebrow. Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears plays quietly over the speakers. She doesn’t know what kind of music she’d expected Marcus to make in college, but somehow this isn’t it. When he’d told her about the short-lived tongue piercing and his self-proclaimed ‘punk’ phase, she’d pictured the Sex Pistols and the Ramones, not this soft pop rock that soundtracked her teenage years. It’s a sight she longs to see. now; she can’t imagine anything but sweet, gentlemanly Marcus and his suits, when the edgiest she’d seen him dress being a leather jacket and jeans on his days off.

Marcus has never been one to shy away from that part of his life - he jokes about it all more than she does, the edgy phase of college rebellion, those first years away from home - but she’s yet to see photographic evidence of such escapades. Every time she asks, pleads, eve, batting her eyelashes and smiling as sweetly as she can muster, his cheeks flush and he ducks his head, and brushes off her request with a joke or a second, more appealing suggestion. He has no reason to be embarrassed, though; he’s seen the worst of her, even her ‘goth’ phase in high school, which was really nothing more than her wearing black lipstick everyday for a couple of months. There’s a playful glint in her eyes as she reminds him of the lack of proof. “I’m still waiting on those videos, y’know.”

“I have to prepare before I show you them.”

“Oh, please. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve seen that old horror movie I was in,” she reminds him. The horror movie in question, which ended in her soaked in blood and limping around with an axe trailing behind her, was not the cinematic masterpiece the director hoped it would be. It’s a shame, really, because Coraline watches far too many horror films in her spare time, even the cheesy ones that it’s fun to poke fun at. She’d at least like to be in a good one.

She reaches down to pour herself a second, probably unwise and ill-thought-out glass of wine. Some nights, it only takes a couple of glasses before she’s tipsy and talking shit she can’t seem to control. Marcus sideeyes her, cocking an eyebrow in silent question, but he doesn’t seem to stop her. He doesn’t blame her, and he’ll steal away the wine the second he notices the tell-tale blush of intoxication that blooms across her cheeks.

“I’m not worried about being embarrassed,” he remarks, “I’m worried about you having your mind blown. Have to think of a way to lessen the blow.”

“Oh, is that so?” She chuckles, tipping her head back against the kitchen cupboard behind her head. “Well, I look forward to having my mind blown.” Her face lights up in realisation; her head snaps towards Marcus and she grins. “Can you still play?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He hums. “

“I’m not worried about being embarrassed. I’m worried about you having your mind blown. Have to think of a way to lessen the blow.”

“Is that so?” She chuckles, tipping her head back against the kitchen cupboard behind her head. “Well, I look forward to it.” Her face lights up in realisation; her head snaps towards Marcus and she grins. “Can you still play?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He hums.

There’s a moment of pleasant silence when the music fills the sweet air. The song lulls to a close and the next begins, slow and melodic and easy. It’s one of Coraline’s favourites - Songbird by Fleetwood Mac - and her eyes pull closed as she listens to the mellow chorus of the piano. It tangles with the silence, dancing between the quiet, empty moments. “I love this song.” She sighs, eyes slipping closed.

“Dance with me.”

Coraline snorts out a jolt of laughter. “What?”

“Dance with me, Sunshine,” he repeats.

“Why?” She giggles. Her eyes are still closed as she hums along quietly to the lyrics.

“Because-” She feels him push away from the counter and settle in front of her. One hand curves around her knee, his thumb brushing short, small circles to the inside. “-it’ll take your mind off things,” he insists.

Coraline cracks an eye open. He’s inches from her, brown eyes almost irresistible, so difficult to refuse when he looks at her like this. The candlelight flickers and turns his irises to pools of amber and gold. “I can’t dance.”

“I’ll teach you.” He states simply.

She searches his expression for an ulterior motive. Not that she expects there to be one; there never is with Marcus. He never expects anything back in return for favours or good deeds, is just content with his acts of kindness as long as they make someone smile. He holds his hand out for her in expectation.

She takes it.

“Fine. But only one song.”

His face lights up. Like sunshine. “That’s all I want.”

His hands are gentle when they curve around her waist. He holds her close so gently, fingers pressing soft into the plush flesh of her hips, feather-light. Her heart almost stops when she feels his breath against her neck and she can’t help the sharp inhale that rips through her chest. She hopes he doesn’t hear, but she doesn’t think she’ll be that lucky. Her arms slip around his neck; she wants to hold him close, impossibly close, until the cold that always seems to plague her and all of her fear floats away, until they simply don’t exist anymore.

“What do I do?” She whispers.

“You’ve never been slow dancing before?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“I did at my wedding but-” She chews on her lip as she ducks her head. His hands hold her hips a little tighter. “-I don’t think his heart was really in it.

Marcus watches her until she finally lifts her head again. Deft fingers the brush the brunette stands of her hair back from her forehead, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. The intoxicating scent of his cologne consumes her again; it’s rich and brilliant and she really isn’t sure why today, of all days, it’s inspiring some kind of wonderful delirium inside her. She figures it’s the alcohol, already too much before her parents arrived, just like she’d feared.

“Well, that’s his loss, Sunshine. Everyone should slow dance at least once in their life.”

He starts to sway along to the music, steady, in time to the dreamlike rhythm of Fleetwood Mac. She tries her best to follow his movements but she still feels like, somehow, she’s doing it wrong. She’s never been a good dancer, even despite the ballet lessons her mom had signed her up for when she was young, but it turns out she’s even worse than she’d thought. She’s not sure how she’s possibly able to get something as simple as slow dancing wrong. Her feet just don’t work in time with the rest of her body.

“Like this?” Her voice is small, almost a squeak.

Marcus’ hand slides into the small of her back, gently pushing her hips closer into him. It’s easier like this, with him closer, to keep in time with his movements. “Just like that.” He whispers against her ear. “You’ve got it.”

She can feel her heart beating at a mile a minute. It’s hammering right behind her ribcage and she’s sure that Marcus is close enough to feel its rapid thumping against his own chest. Still, she melts into his embrace and their movements become second nature. It’s lovely and it’s comfortable and, he’s right, it does take her mind off of her anxious jitters. The sporadic flickers of the candlelight illuminate the contours of his face when she finally drags her eyes up from their feet - she’d been watching their measured movements so she doesn’t put a foot wrong - and they highlight the fondness in his expression.

“What?” She murmurs quietly, through the melodic silence. He doesn’t answer; his gaze maps out every curve of her face.

The intoxicating scent of his cologne consumes her; it’s rich and brilliant and she isn’t sure why today, of all days, it’s inspiring some kind of wonderful delirium inside her. She figures it’s the alcohol, already too much before her parents have even arrived, just like she’d feared. She fights against the fluttering of her own eyelids.

“I like this dress,” he whispers, running his fingers over the soft silk material of her summer dress. He holds the strap between his thumb and forefinger and smiles. She’s pretty sure that this is his veiled attempt at trying to distract them both away from their fixed stares. “Is it new?” The soft pad of his thumb brushes against her collarbone; she has half the mind to pull away, step back from where he’s pressed flush against her, but every single shred of rational thought leaves her whenever he gets close enough. Coraline has to keep reminding herself that this isn’t how you’re meant to feel about your best friend, and she can usually manage to push those thoughts aside and remind herself how he feels about her; that he sees her as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

She can only nod, words catching in her throat. It feels as if every inch of her body is closing in on itself, wrapping itself in thick tension that claws relentlessly from inside her chest. “Bought it last week.” She shakes her head clear the best that she can. Goddamn alcohol. Her throat is screaming out for water. Marcus continues running the thin strap of her dress though his fingers, digits unintentionally brushing against her skin. It’s entirely innocent, and he means nothing by it. She isn’t even sure he realises what he’s doing; his gaze is firmly set on her again, brown eyes almost transfixed by her bottle green stare.

Coraline swallows through the thick lump that labours her breathing. “I-”

She has to admit that she’s more than a little relieved when there’s an insistent knock on the door. Half an hour earlier than there’s meant to be.

Coraline takes advantage of the distraction and untagles herself from Marcus’ featherlight grip, right as the song ends and bleeds into the next, feeling utterly pathetic for the feeling that has poured over her. “Buckle up!” She tries to sound enthusiastic, clapping her hands together, but it almost certainly falls flat. Marcus watches her as she drifts towards the door, like she’s floating on air, despite the awkward shuffling of her feet against the hardwood floors. She turns to flash him a sunshine smile as she reaches for the doorknob - a smile that calms his endlessly restless soul - before she pulls open her front door with an exaggerated grin to let her parents in.

“Dad!” Her sweet voice rings out in joy at the sight of her father, looking surprisingly healthy now and, finally, back on his feet. She’s been calling him everyday, since he’d first been in hospital, months and months of phone calls just to check that he was still okay. She’s immeasurably relieved to see him okay, and smiling back at her.

“Corrie.” He returns her grin - their resemblance is startling when they smile, Marcus notes - and they’re hugging each other tightly. They haven’t seen each other in six months, her parents too busy to visit her and Daniel in D.C. Marcus knows it’s difficult for Coraline, given how close she is to her dad - and her mom, too - and how long she’d battled with herself all those years ago before she’d even moved to California. “Oh, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she insists as he releases her from his embrace, and she moves to greet her mom with an equally bright smile. “I missed you both, so much.”

The whole time Marcus is standing there, unsure what to do with his hands. He feels like a teenager again. With that near-debilitating awkwardness that came with meeting his first girlfriend’s parents all those years ago, it’s not too different, now. Sure, he’s much more confident than he was then and he’d grown into himself, much more practiced in meeting new people, talking to people. Hell, part of his job even included intimidating suspects, on occasion. But he feels as if he’d been reduced to the same love-sick, acne-ridden teen, sure that the girl he’d been dating for a week was the one for him.

(They’d broken up two weeks later).

“Marcus-” Her voice calling him - always like a song when she calls his name - lures him back to reality. “-this is my dad, Robert, and my mom, Celine. But- but you already know that.” She tells him so much about her childhood, high school, growing up, everything, that she’s sure it seems like he already knows them. He can tell she’s flustered and hiding it behind a vibrant smile. “-mom, dad, this is Marcus.”

“Marcus!” Robert grins at him and his resemblance to his daughter is even more apparent, beyond their smile; the same eyes, the same little creases at the corners when their faces light up, even down to the way their noses jut out a little at the ends, curving upwards, ever-so-slightly. “Glad to see Corrie hasn’t scared you away, yet.” He jibes lightheartedly.

“Hey!” Coraline calls out in protest as she hugs her mom, swaying side-to-side a little as they greet each other for the first time in months.

“My darling,” she coos as she holds Coraline close. “I missed you more than you know.”

“I missed you too, mom.”

Robert reaches out to shake Marcus’ hand, with a glint in his eyes at his playful jab at Coraline, and he gratefully accepts. “Glad you could come tonight, I know it was very last minute.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Sir,” he insists. He turns to Coraline’s mom as she approaches with an outstretched hand. She’s never been one for the ‘one-kiss-on-each-cheek’ kind of greeting with anyone but her kids. “Ma’am.” He nods her head a little in both of their directions. His Texan accent comes out far stronger than usual when he greets them. She wonders if it’s a nervous tick he has; she’s never seen him nervous before, he’s never had a reason to be nervous around her, not really.

“Call me Robert,” he insists.

Coraline watches on fondly as the three of them — Marcus, and her mother and father —melt into conversation. It comes so easy to him, conversation. He’s a natural with people. She doesn’t know why either of them were ever worried about their meeting; Marcus is great, as always, but sometimes her parents seem to come on a little too strong after a while (she knows Kimmy had been more than a little intimidated by them when she’d first met them).

They’re already laughing and joking, her father’s hand on his shoulder fondly, like they’ve known each other for longer than a couple of minutes. Maybe it seems like they have; Cora is always annoyingly aware of how much time she spends talking about each of them, especially Marcus, to the other that it wouldn’t be surprising if they could each fill a book with stories she’s recounted to them with delight and fondness.

“So, Corrie-“ Her father claps her hands together and it almost startles her. She’s been gazing at the three of them chatting for so long that it almost seems weird. She’s glad that it draws her out of it and back to reality. “-what delights are you serving us tonight?” Amusement glints in his eyes.

“Oh, I see how it is.” She quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head and grins. Her hair falls over her shoulder, a waterfall of waves that brush soft against the curve of her neck. “Tell me, dad, whenever will the wonders of 2001’s Christmas casserole grace our tables again?”

“She’s feisty tonight.” He chuckles, stepping forward to kiss his daughter on the head.

“Actually-” Coraline glances fondly over at Marcus. He and her mom are half in conversation, half watching Cora and her dad’s playful little jabs towards each other. “-Marcus cooked.”

“Oh, thank God. Celine, we don’t have to order in at the hotel tonight,” he calls back over her shoulder and his wife grins at him in amusement, then over at her daughter with such a palpable fondness that it practically radiates from her.

Coraline pokes her dad sharply in the arm with the tip of her nail. “Hey!” She protests, shuffling off into the kitchen, but she can never bring herself to be mad at him. And she can quip back just as easy. “Don’t be rude, we have guests.”

Marcus’ heart almost stops when she throws a bright smile over her shoulder, curls bouncing against her shoulders and down her back. It lights up the room in its sunshine glory. Though her smile mirrors that of her mother and father, there’s something about hers that reaches her eyes and is utterly brilliant.

He’s sure that it’s the favourite of all the smiles he’s ever seen.

Coraline reaches up to draw the plates from the cabinets. She knows that they have more than enough time to spare before the food is ready, but if she doesn’t keep her hands busy, she worries that she’ll end up panicking again. She’s only just shaken the worries, she’d hate for them to return and for her thoughts to carry on their racing, at a mile a minute.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” Her father’s voice is low though it’s not like Marcus and her mom are listening; they’re laughing, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in that way that Coraline loves. She wouldn’t mind if either of them heard, though. She has nothing to hide.

“Better.” She sighs, a gentle blissful smile. She tries to stop herself from looking too manic, but she can feel a grin threatening to pull at her cheeks. “Much better, now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” There’s relief in his eyes. It’s soft and endearing, and it seems as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders when he sees her smile so dazzling, so genuine. His voice drops a little, almost to a whisper. “Marcus seems nice.”

“He’s great, isn’t he?” She sighs. “He’s really great.”

...

Daniel, Kimmy and the kids arrive right on time.

Not that they needed them there.

Marcus Pike is a natural. If even half of him was even the slightest bit nervous when he’d stepped into her apartment that evening, she can’t tell.

He’d eased his way into conversation with everyone around him, like he’d known them all for years. He’d answered all their questions without issue, made them laugh with his stories and laughed at their jokes, even those of her father’s that made Daniel and Coraline roll their eyes.

Cora’s apartment isn’t small, but it’s barely big enough to hold all of them, and chaos reigns as Elliot and Finley race around the apartment, tailed closely by their Grandfather. It’s great to see how close they are, close for two boys who see their grandparents over FaceTime more than they do in person. Celine keeps telling him to slow down as she sits with a sleeping and incredibly content Piper in her arms - he’s just got out of hospital, and his lungs weren’t exactly up to scratch before then - but even she can’t help but smile as the boys giggle gleefully when he grabs them and hauls them into his arms.

They’re all still smiling when they sit down to eat, the boys bouncing in their seats just being around their grandparents for the first time in months. Coraline thinks their delight sets Marcus at ease more than he already is; it dissolves any awkward tension, the kind that comes as custom with any first meeting, that may be lingering in the air, and it’s as if everyone around the table are family or old friends, not unfamiliar with the man sat next to her, and, If it weren’t for the worry stirring in the pit of her stomach, making her feel so sick that she feels like she might just throw up all over the floor of her dining room, she’d be smiling just as wide, too.

But every time her father sees Marcus smile at her or brush past her with the smallest of whispered and sincere apologies, and a large hand splayed gentle across her small of her back, she knows he’s just itching to ask her for every single little detail about their relationship; if they’re more than friends, if they’re together, if anything ever could come of their friendship beyond that. He means well and he just wants her to be happy. But she’s been warning him off asking with his eyes - even insisted in between one quiet moment when Marcus was using the bathroom that they were just that, very close friends and nothing more - but the notion of their agreement has been hanging heavy within her chest. It’s been weighing her down and anxiety has been churning wild inside her stomach. Even the wine isn’t helping; that age-old idiom of ‘liquid courage’ turning out to be a fallacy. If anything, it was only stirring the worry up into a veritable cyclone of terror.

Attention turns back to Coraline, eventually. They’ve drawn all they can from Marcus - what he does for work, where he lives and where he grew up - and Daniel and Kimmy - how the art gallery is going, how the kids are finding their new school (both far too distracted to answer for themselves), how they’re finding their new home now they have Piper - so that left Coraline and the extremely tender and previously untouched topic of her personal life. She knows there’s certain questions that they won’t ask out loud, at least, not with Marcus and the kids around, but she can feel the terrible urge to spill all her secrets growing stronger with each well-meaning but incredibly loaded question that they ask. She smiles through it, answers casually, but eventually the tether snaps and her words come tumbling out before she has a chance to stop them.

“We’re having a baby,” Coraline blurts out. “Me and Marcus,” she adds, like it isn’t obvious who she means. Her words are quick and jumbled but obvious enough that the room falls into a stunned, stifling silence. Everyone seems to drop their cutlery, a chorus of metal against porcelain, to stare at her. “Well- I mean- not yet, we’re- I’m not pregnant, yet- but, I-” She rambles. She’s well aware that her face is burning the brightest red, raspberry flushed across her cheekbones.

Marcus can tell that she’s been practically bursting at the seams since they’d sat down. She’d been shifting uncomfortably, feet bushing along the old rug beneath their feet, bumping haphazardly into his, and he could hear her hands brushing over the soft material of her dress awkwardly. She’s been smiling the entire time, laughing at every joke and embarrassing story her mom tells, though he can tell that smile was beginning to wear thin after a while. When attention turned to her and away from him and Daniel, Kimmy and the kids. The revelation had finally burst out but - despite the momentary look of relief that had flashed upon her expression - she looks even more tense at the reaction of her parents.

“You’re what?” Her father questions, eyebrows raising, words coming out in some sort of awkward splutter. His green eyes dart between the pair of them, sitting across from him, side-by-side and frozen like deers in headlights, Coraline can’t help but notice the way his smile had dropped, immediately, the moment the words had left her lips. His indecisive scowl was stark, in comparison to how he’d seemed before.

“I just-” Coraline takes in a sharp breath. The force of it almost hurts her lungs. “-we’re having a baby together and I don’t know when but we are and I just want you to love Marcus like I do because he’s my best friend and he actually wanted to do this for me- for us- and how often would you find someone who would agree to this kind of thing-”

“Cora, you’re rambling,” Daniel cuts in, voice soothing and low, willing to help her as she panics and panics and panics.

Marcus’ hand finds her underneath the table. She grasps his tight in both hands, tugging it into her lap and clinging to his digits for dear life. His thumb runs those slow, reassuring circles across her skin - the ones that are so gentle they’re but a tickle against the back of her hand - and she finds herself easing into his touch. “Breathe.” His voice is just as comforting as the circles he brushes into her skin.

Neither of her parents talk, just stare, stunned, and the entire table falls back into that awkward, thickened and suffocating silence. Elliot and Finley blink around at them all, confused and not entirely registering what Coraline had said, now what any of this meant. For two boys usually so rambunctious, loud and exuberant, their silence has come at the most uncomfortable of times. Daniel seems to be searching for the right words to say but nothing seems to come close to being the right thing to say in this situation.

She’s not sure what anyone can say in this situation.

She should have stuck to the whole ‘accidental pregnancy’ excuse, instead.

“It’s just-” Coraline looks over at Marcus for reassurance, though even his warm eyes don’t seem to offer much in the way of comfort. “I want a baby. I really want a baby. Even before the divorce,” she continues, “I just- I want to be a mom and I want a family of my own, so bad. So, me and Marcus are trying.”

“But you’re not together?” Robert Meyer’s finger draws an invisible string between the pair of them.

“I- no?” Her voice rises high and she sounds ridiculous. She knows that isn’t what he wants to hear. “He’s my best friend-” She clarifies, “-but we’re not together, not like that.”

Marcus has no clue what to say, every word dies heavy on his tongue and nothing seems right. Everything he can think to say would surely only serve to make this a thousand times worse than they already are. The exchange is happening so fast, too, that he wouldn’t even be able to get a word in, otherwise.

“Well, that sounds… lovely,” Celine proclaims and claps her hands together. Coraline is sure that she doesn’t mean to sound insincere, but it still comes out sounding that way. A little sarcastic, almost. If she didn’t know her mother, she would surely be offended, but at least she understands that it was never intended that way.

But Marcus doesn’t know her well enough to know that.

“And what do you think about this?” Robert’s questioning turns to Daniel. His eyebrows raise and he glowers at him expectantly.

He takes a deep breath, takes in a sharp breath through his nose and leans back in his seat. He manages a smile despite the tension that has settled thick throughout the room. Coraline’s hand tightens around Marcus’ - almost enough to be painful, but he doesn’t care, at this point - when Daniel smiles at his father. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You do?”

Marcus hears Coraline sigh at the sound of her father’s incredulity. It’s a resigned sigh, one of those truly gut wrenching and downtrodden sighs that breaks his heart. “I should go,” Marcus leans into her to whisper. “I think I might be making things worse-”

“No, please,” Coraline insists, tugging her hand into her lap so that he can’t leave. He knows, maybe, he should, because her father probably hates him by now. But he’s not sure he could leave her. That, if he were to leave, he’d just end up coming straight back, staying by her side for as long as she needs, until she’s smiling again.

He loves to see her smile.

“She’s great with kids, why is it an issue?” Daniel questions.

“And she won’t be doing this alone, I’m in this for the long haul,” Marcus insists. He notices Celine smile at her out of the corner of his eye. Coraline’s hand squeezes his and her breathing levels out, just ever so slightly.

“I have thought about this, dad. I haven’t just rushed into it-”

“We should go.”

“No, dad, wait, please-“

“I’m not sitting around listening to you try and justify your ridiculous decisions, Cora,” he snaps and she flinches. She’s not sure she’s ever heard him angry before; she’s always been one of those stereotypical ‘daddy’s girls’, could never do anything wrong in her life in his eyes, but now he’s looking at her with so much disappointment and dismay that she just wants to curl up into herself and cry until she’s so exhausted she falls asleep. She hates it, she hates this.

Though she can’t bring herself to regret the decision she’s made with Marcus.

“I could talk to him.” Marcus proposes. It’s quiet in her ear so that only she can here, but no one else is paying attention; Robert is talking to Celine, trying to keep his voice level as she reprimands him for raising his voice in front of ‘a guest’, and Daniel is talking to Kimmy, though he can’t hear what they’re talking about. Coraline leans back into him a little, feeling comfortable with the weight of his shoulder pressed against hers, sturdy and steady and present, but shakes her head in refusal.

He doesn’t want to put his foot in it. He wants them to like him. He wants Coraline to like him.

“I-”

“Dad, come on,” Daniel insists, “Let’s talk about this.”

“Did you know about this? Before tonight?”

“Robert.”

“Yes, I knew. And I’ll support her. I don’t see what the big deal is-”

“Wow, it’s 8pm already?” He glances up at the clock that ticks monotonous and regular on the wall. He formulates his excuse to leave; Coraline can see it click, it’s obvious in his eyes. “Celine, we have to go,” Robert grumbles as he stands. “Thank you for the meal, Marcus. It was nice to meet you.” Her father may not sound overly sincere - his voice is stiff and his face is unreadable - but at least she knows that he’s polite enough not to take his frustrations out on Marcus. Cora knows, in his eyes, he’s done nothing wrong, and that Coraline is surely the only one he’s mad at because he cares about her and the decisions that she makes that might be terrible for her.

“Boys-” Kimmy turns to her sons. “-why don’t we go and watch some TV, huh?”

They both spring from their seats immediately, charging towards Coraline’s couch, so fast that it’s as if they’re running for their lives. She doesn’t think they were even paying attention to the conversation; when Coraline was younger, she’d never paid much attention to what her parents and family and their friends were saying around the dinner table, more interested in her brothers than their conversations. Finley and Elliot always seemed to be in their own little worlds, too, unless they had questions for someone. In which case, there was no way to get a word in without them shouting their enquiries over you. Thankfully for them all, they’d seemed more interested in whatever they’d been ferociously giggling about than Coraline and Marcus’ agreement, and their grandfather’s sudden and stoic disapproval. They’re probably too young to understand, anyway, beyond the notion of what a baby is.

“Come on, dad. Don’t be ridiculous,” Daniel speaks up.

“Dad, please.” Coraline stands to face her father but her hands shake and she shuffles uncomfortably. She’s not sure what to say or how to say it, or how the hell to make him stop hating her.

“I should probably be the one to leave.” Marcus pushes his chair back, gently, in resignation. “You can talk, then-”

“Oh, don’t leave on my behalf, Marcus.” Robert claps his hand on Marcus’ shoulder like he’s an old friend. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave, anyway.” He turns and smiles at his wife. He holds out his hand to help her up; she takes his hand but drops his hand to cross her arms and quirk an eyebrow at him sceptically.

“Robert, I think that we should stay and talk about this, rather than running away.”

He gives a long, sharp exhale of breath. “I can’t. Not tonight. I just- I need to think about this.”

“Dad- I’m sorry.”

“Goodnight, Dan-” He nods at his eldest son. “Goodnight, Coraline, Marcus.”

No Corrie. No nickname. Just Coraline. He hasn’t called her that in a long time. Her full name, when it comes from him, always spells trouble. She’s heard so many jokes about how she can do no wrong in her father’s eyes - it was the same case with her mother and her brothers - but she’d never really believed anyone when they’d said that. Until now. It’s glaringly obvious when he calls out her full name, without the bright smile and sparkle in his eyes.

Her heart sinks to her stomach and she’s not sure that she’ll ever be able to pick it back up again.

He’s gone in a hurry. He ruffles his grandson’s hair and bids farewell to Kimmy, all the usual smiles he hadn’t wasted on Coraline and Daniel aimed at them, instead, and heads for his shoes and jacket, and then the door, with such haste it’s as if there’s a fire in the building and he needs to find his way out. The smile he turns to give them all before he opens the front door is barely a whisper of his usual and there’s an ice cold bolt of terrifying lightning that shoots through her, only alleviated by Marcus’ hand on her back.

“Are you okay?” His lips drop close to her ear. His breath stirs the hair by her neck and cheek, and she can feel the brush of his stubble against her neck and behind her ear. She’s so close that it feels strange when there are so many people around, even if it feels so normal for him to be beside her, like this. She shudders a little at the tickle. She can’t help it. It’s like she’s intoxicated, lost in that haze of worry and fear and the comfort of Marcus as he stands so close behind her.

“I don’t know,” Cora admits. Her voice trembles, even as she tries to keep it steady. Marcus wants to take her into his arms and hold her tight until she’s okay again. He knows he can’t do anything to fix this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t want to at least try.

“My darling, Coraline.” Her mother’s voice comes soft and soothing and, as she hurries towards her daughter, Coraline has to step away from Marcus. It comes reluctantly, and the cold flash of worry that had spilt over her - like being doused in a bucket of ice - finds its way back to her skin. “He will be okay, I promise you. You will be okay,” she insists. Her delicate hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing over her face reassuringly. “Think this through, talk it over with Marcus, and I will talk to your father tonight. Do not worry, darling, we will sort this out.”

Coraline sniffles, wrinkles her nose and brushes the freshly-fallen tears away from her damp cheeks. She hadn’t even realised she was crying until her mom brushed them away. “Thanks, mom.” She smiles the best she can but it’s weak and pathetic. At least she knows that her mom won’t judge her for her shaky half-smile and watery eyes. She’d been there for all her high school heartbreaks and then her divorce over FaceTime, but she’d also seen her cry over Hot Cheetos and mud on her shirt. Her mom could never make her feel embarrassed for crying over anything.

“Now, come here.” Celine holds her daughter close, brushes her fingers through her hair as it drops over her forehead and kisses her temple, delicate. “You’ll always be my little girl, you know that?” She taps her nose, inspiring a smile. “Think this through, really think all of this through, okay? I will call you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, please.”

Celine turns to Marcus and smiles a bright smile. “Thank you, Marcus. It was so lovely to meet you.”

“It was lovely to meet you, too, ma’am. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name in Cora’s stories.”

She smiles and squeezes his arm gently. “Please, call me Celine. I’m sorry for tonight, things aren’t usually so tense.”

“Don’t apologise,” he insists. “I’ll look out for her tonight.”

“I know you will.” Her smile is so genuine and sympathetic, thankful and relieved. “Goodnight, my darling.” She hums as she kisses Coraline’s forehead, with the intention of comfort. It seems to work; the rigid set of her shoulders gives way for just a moment, until she watches her leave with about as enthusiastic goodbye as she can muster for her grandkids; even Piper, who’d managed to sleep in her travel seat almost the entire time. Coraline sinks back into him the moment her mom’s figure disappears behind the front door.

She turns to him the moment the door clicks closed. She can’t seem to face looking him in the eyes. Her cheeks feel hot, bright red, and her eyes burn with a thousand unshed tears that she’d stoically been holding in until her mom had taken her in her arms and brushed a hand over her cheek. “I- I- fuck, Marcus- I’m so sorry. This is not how I wanted things to work out-”

“Hey, hey, hey-” She settles into his arms like she belongs there. His arms pull around her tight, keeping her close to his chest. Something about the measured, rhythmic set of his breathing helps to settle her running mind. “-you have nothing to apologise for, Sunshine.”

She practically crumbles when he holds her. Her hands clutch at him tightly and she tries to stop her shoulders from shuddering. His hand runs up and down her back, fingers brushing delicate against the silk fabric of her dress, soothing the terrible cold that shoots through her at her father’s hostility and the aching weakness that tugs at her chest. He almost kisses the shell of her ear as he whispers his comforting words, but stops himself once he remembers they have an audience.

Anyone else might misinterpret their actions as more than they are. As more than purely platonic.

“You’re trembling,” Marcus whispers. He can feel her shoulders shaking against him. It comes and goes, as if she’s trying to hold it in.

“I am?” She whispers but it’s muffled by his shirt.

She can only tell that he nods when his chin brushes against the top of head a couple of times.

“‘m sorry.”

Truth is, she’s freezing cold again. Has been since her father’s disapproval. She hasn’t felt a cold like it since her divorce, the night she and Scott had said their goodbyes for good, and she’d known that it was well and truly over. It had lingered upon her, like a taunting spectre. And it’s a chill that clings to her, holding on for dear life, with the ferocity of a blizzard, and just as unforgiving. His arms hold her close and inspire warmth within her, even for the few moments that he keeps her close.

...

The night seemed to stretch on for longer than it surely was. Minutes turned into hours, darkness had consumed the streets and everyone had left Coraline’s apartment, save for Marcus and Daniel.

Celine had texted Daniel to ask if everyone was okay once she and her husband had reached their hotel and delivered the reassuring news that Robert wasn’t really angry, just wasn’t sure where to place his emotions, in response to hearing his daughter was having a child with a man he’d only just met. He didn’t entirely blame him. He’s not sure he would be best pleased, either. Kimmy had left with the boys and Piper a little while later; the kids had somehow worn themselves out watching the TV, so they’d bundled them all down the stairs and into the car as best they could, as they grumbled and groaned out tired protests.

Daniel had stayed behind a little while to make sure that his sister was okay.

Marcus was an only child; he’d always wanted siblings growing up, but his parents never wanted more kids. He’d never felt lonely, when he was a kid - he had great friends, and his mom and dad were his heroes; he owed a lot to them for making him the man he was today - though he’d always wished he had someone to chase around the garden, to complain about the petty things his parents did that no one else would understand. To have someone to look out for, someone to look out for him. He wonders what it would feel like to have someone like that, someone always on his side. He’s always wanted a big family because he never wants his kids to miss out on something that they might want.

He thinks it gives her comfort to know that someone close to her actually supports her, rather than thinking it’s wrong that she’s even considering it. Even as she shuffles, trembling, into her bathroom, to try and wash away the chill, there’s no longer a ten tonne weight on her shoulders, bearing down angry on top of her.

It won’t help, the hot water. Not in the long run, at least. A temporary solution to a persistent problem.

She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to shake it.

“You think she’ll be okay?” Daniel questions as he leans back against the sofa, arms crossed tight over his chest, brows furrowed.

Marcus hums. There’s a wistful smile on his face. “I hope so.” He sighs and runs a hand over his jaw, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. “This is my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault, Marcus. My dad just worries, but he’ll calm down sooner or later.” Daniel tells him. “Did she ever tell you about her first boyfriend?” Marcus vaguely remembers her mentioning him over takeout one night; Kevin or Kyle, some name like that. That they’d dated for barely two months and that he was an asshole, and she’d never really found him attractive. She’d never really given him a reason as to why she’d even dated him in the first place, though. Daniel continues at the sight of Marcus’ acknowledgement. “Our dad hated him. Wouldn’t even let him in the house, said he was trouble and would lead her astray. She was in her rebellious phase so, of course, stubborn as she is, she didn’t listen.”

“Huh, sounds like Cora.” It made a lot of sense. He’s surprised he never even put two and two together when she’d told him the first time.

“He was right though- guy was a total asshole.” He chuckles, short and indistinct. It still doesn’t seem like the time to be laughing, not with the weight of Coraline’s sorrow looming over them. “My dad got over it the next day. But Cora? Found her crying in her bedroom at 3am, worried he’d hate her for the rest of her life. But this- this seems bigger.” It’s like he’s struck down with the realisation. “Maybe she should sleep at ours tonight.” He wonders out loud.

“I’ll stay on the couch tonight, make sure she’s okay,” Marcus insists.

“Are you sure?” Daniel raises his eyebrows, surprised. And it almost surprises Marcus just how ready he is to sleep on the sofa, for Coraline’s sake - albeit, a very plush and snug sofa that he’d napped on before (and, ultimately, faced the butt of Coraline’s ‘old man’ jokes when he woke) - but then, when he really thinks about it, it’s not entirely a shock to anyone that he would be willing to do this. He’s done far more for her in the past. He’s not even sure just how far he’ll go just to make sure that Coraline is okay. Daniel glances back at the sofa he’s leant against and offers Marcus an out. “She can take the guest room at our place, it’s no problem.”

Marcus shakes his head and smiles. He’s never been so sure of himself. “It’s fine, I’m here for her.”

Daniel tilts his head the same way Coraline does when she’s thinking. The corners of his mouth pick up. “I’m glad she has you.” He sighs and pushes himself up from the sofa. “Thank you for this, Marcus. I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this. We’re not usually so… argumentative.” He huffs out a laugh and holds his hand out for Marcus to shake.

He shakes his head. Families are hard, sometimes. He’s witnessed that himself, first hand. “It’s no problem,” he insists. Marcus reaches for the blanket Coraline keeps folded over the back of the couch, ready to tuck himself under when she’s okay, again. “She needs someone tonight.”

He smiles gratefully. “Well, I best get going. Kim won’t forgive me if she has to do bedtime alone.” He chuckles and reaches out to shake Marcus’ hand again. “Nice to see you again, Marcus. Sorry about all of this.”

He bids Daniel farewell and locks the door. He finishes the last of the washing up, tucking each plate and piece of cutlery away into their designated place, so familiar with Coraline’s kitchen that he doesn’t even need to ask anymore.

He hears the shower shut off and, a little while later, the shuffling of slippered feet against the tiled floor. Coraline emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped tight around her frame, catching the drips of water that cascade down her back and shoulders, far too exhausted to care about him seeing her half-naked, wet-haired and fresh out of the shower. It makes her head spin to realise that he’s already seen more than that, anyway. The blush that creeps up at the thought almost burns her cheeks. She ducks into her bedroom and emerges a few seconds later in her stripey sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt with ‘Radiohead’ emblazoned across the chest. “You should get going,” she reminds him. Even her voice is exhausted and he wouldn’t be surprised if the second she tucked herself up in bed, she’d be asleep and dead to the world until morning.. “It’s getting late and I’m sure you have work early tomorrow.”

“I’m staying right here tonight.” He tells her. “If that’s okay?”

“You don’t have to,” she urges. “Not for me. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have to be alone when you’re upset. I’m half of this, too”

There’s a beat of silence. It’s a lot heavier when it isn’t filled with quiet music. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice breaks when she speaks and he can tell that she’s close to tears again.

“Hey, hey-” He takes the few steps closer over to Coraline and takes her face in his hands. He tilts her head back a little, ever so gentle, and smiles at her. “-stop apologising. Not your fault.”

“I- fuck-” She tips her cheek into one of his hands and sinks into his embrace. She closes her eyes and the breath she takes is deep and rattling. “Dinner was great,” she whispers and they’re both grinning at the sudden burst of compliment she utters.

“My mom’s recipe.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to thank her someday.”

His smile is blissful. “You want to meet her?”

Her head tilts back as she laughs, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. “I need to meet the woman who raised such a wonderful human being. She must be pretty great.” She can’t help the yawn that crawls out of her mouth; she tries to smother it with her hands.

“You need to sleep.”

“Oh, pfft, I’m fine.” She brushes off his concern.

He raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Don’t make me call your mom.”

“Is that a threat?”

“As an FBI agent, I’m required to say no because threatening civilians is frowned upon.”

Coraline scoffs and rolls her eyes, and finally surrenders to Marcus’ suggestion. “Fine.”

Marcus trails her when she wanders into her bedroom. She sets herself down on the edge of her comforter and her shoulders slump again, sinking into herself. He can see that she’s exhausted, tears tearing away at the last saps of her energy, and the shower she’d had does nothing to lessen the puffiness that has settled beneath her eyes. The flush that decorates her cheeks whenever she’s embarrassed paints her eyes, now.

“I’m sorry again,” she whispers, quiet.

“Goodnight, Sunshine.” He turns to leave, feet stuttering across the floor and he pauses the moment she calls out for him again. It’s quiet, but in the silence of her apartment, he can’t help but hear her welcoming voice.

“Marcus-” Her voice is thick in her throat and she struggles to find her words. They seem to die in her throat. “-will you stay?” She manages to ask, finally.

He nods, smooths back her dishevelled hair from her face and leans down to kiss her forehead, a sweet and simple gesture that she appreciates beyond belief. “I am. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

“No. Marcus.” She reaches for him. His arms, his wrist, his fingers. She finds purchase at his fingers and entwines the digits together. She’s peering up at him through her lashes, looking at him with expectation. “I mean- will you stay, please? Here- I need you here-” Coraline’s voice is small and quiet, timid and unsure. It’s a request that seems to terrify her, but all she wants is him to be here and to hold her, and to make her feel like things might actually be okay, even if right now she’s struggling to see how anything positive could come out of her dad - the first person to ever make her believe she could do anything she set her heart on - likely hating her, right now.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers as she presses her and Marcus’ clasped hands against her cheek. He feels the gentle curve of her nose brush against the inside of his wrist when she nuzzles herself closer into his touch. “Please.”

He moves to unlace their fingers and her hand drops into her lap. She’s about ready to cry, convinced that - after hearing her father’s reaction to their agreement - he’d been scared away, well and truly. She can feel the tears burning behind her eyes, threatening to spill over her lashes and down her face, and she’s sure she’d look utterly pathetic, with hot tears carving a scorching path down her cheeks. But his hand finds her cheek again, soft and tender and without the obstruction of her hand, this time. Brown eyes gaze down at her and warm her soul. His thumb brushes delicate over her cheekbone; she only realises she’s crying, then, when the rough pad of his thumb swipes wet across her skin.

“I could never leave you.” His voice is low, smooth like honey. He leans down again, to press the most fleeting of kisses to her forehead, before he’s holding her close. Marcus lays her down beside him, chests pressed firm together. He can feel each shaky breath she exhales as her hands bunch into his shirt. She tugs him closer, somehow.

Coraline tilts her head up towards him. “Thank you,” she whispers, unbunching one fist from his shirt to reach up for this cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. They spend a moment gazing at each other; merely a heartbeat that seems to stretch on for a lifetime. But, in reality, it doesn’t last long before she ducks her head again, presses her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt - surely terribly uncomfortable to sleep in, though, at least he doesn’t have his tie on - and thanks God that he’s here, holding her so close and so gently. She’s not sure she could deal with this alone, without him here to hold her. She feels the lingering couple of kisses that he leaves against the top of her head.

Her breathing evens out and she settles comfortable against him, and her dreams have taken over before she can hear the ‘I love you’ that he can’t contain any longer. He’s never said that out loud, never even admitted to himself that maybe that’s how he feels. And he knows he’s in too deep, deeper than he ever thought he would be again, deeper than he ever thought he’d let himself get again, and he reconciles his feelings as he lets sleep and the gentle tangle of her limbs around his consume him.

#marcus pike x female character #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x original female character #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #coraline meyer #original character #oc #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x reader

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aiorevelations · 4 years ago

Text

A Name, Not a Number: Part 8!

It’s double feature Monday! (At least this Monday. Lol) Hope you all enjoy! @btv-grace @theannecordeliashirley

Chapter 8: Gathering Clouds

Three months before:

Milena stared down at her father’s coffin in the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks and holding a handkerchief to her mouth as she struggled to hold back her sobs. She stood there frozen, completely enveloped in grief, almost unaware of the people gathered to mourn Norvan and the commital service being delivered by the pastor. Lorenzo’s arm was around her as he tried to give her whatever comfort he could provide, wishing he could do anything to take away just a fraction of the pain she was experiencing.

The afternoon sky was cloudy overhead and as time passed the clouds darkened, threatening to rain. The service ended and Norvan’s friends and acquaintances came over to Milena to offer their condolences. Milena could make out their lips moving yet couldn’t discern their words as she was still caught in a daze. Soon everyone had left the cemetery leaving Milena and Lorenzo alone by Norvan’s grave. Milena walked closer to the grave pit and knelt along the edge.

“Oh Daddy. I really wish you were here with me right now” she sobbed. “Why? Why did you have to leave me too.” She lowered her head and wept. Lorenzo knelt down beside her and wrapped her in his arms. Milena held onto his arm and leaned her head on his chest. They stayed there for a moment and then she loosened her grip on Lorenzo. She sniffed, “Thank you, Loren. If you don’t mind I’d like to be alone, just for a minute to say goodbye.”

“Of course. You can have as much time as you need Lena. I’ll be waiting by the car.”

Milena nodded her head. Lorenzo stood up and began walking to the car. She gently wiped her tears and stood up from the ground. She took a deep breath and spoke. “You taught me a lot Daddy...we had wonderful memories that I’ll treasure forever. Thank you for believing in me and for being by my side. No matter what you could always make me feel better” she sniffed and looked away to the side at the rose bushes in the distance. “Roses. I remember when you told me how they were Mom’s favorite flower and how every Friday you would give her a bouquet of red roses. Out of all them, she loved red the most since they represented love.” Her voice quivered and she took another breath to steady herself. “And you...you taught me what all the colors represented just like she taught you. Yellow for joy. Pink for admiration. Orange for desire. Burgundy for beauty within. Green for peace. Lavender for enchantment...peach for appreciation. Blue for the impossible…” she wept. “And your favorite...white.” She looked down at the single white rose she was clutching to her heart. “You said you loved it because it stood for innocence and eternal loyalty and love. And that’s all you wanted for me…” she sniffed. “But you never told me that it also stood for the beauty and frailty of life...death.” She wiped her eyes again “And now I’m trying to accept that you’re not here anymore...and I don’t if can or if I’ll ever will. What I do know is that I’ll never forget your love or how you made me feel. I love you...Goodbye Daddy.”

Milena brought the rose to her lips and kissed it. She then dropped it over the grave pit and it landed softly on top of the mahogany coffin. Milena took one last glance at her father’s final resting place and then walked away. Her thoughts drifted over the overwhelming events and images of the last week. The sight of her father’s lifeless and burned body lying on a metal table in the morgue was constantly etched in her mind. Try as she might to get that nightmarish sight out of her mind she couldn’t forget it. Her hours were filled with nothing but pure sadness and anger. She couldn’t imagine who would murder her father but she was determined someway, somehow to find out who was behind it. In all of this, she was grateful to have Lorenzo by her side. He was her only sense of comfort in her darkest moment, her only support. It shouldn’t be that way. Liana should be here with me burying our father. Instead, I’m here carrying this burden alone.

Milena reached Lorenzo who was holding open the rear right passenger door for her. She entered the car and he shut the door. He climbed in the other back passenger seat and their chauffeur started off for the Blagueur-Ohanyan estate.

About a hundred feet or so behind where Milena’s car had been parked a woman stood behind a tree watching the Aston Martin speed off in the distance. Once the car was out of view the woman quickly walked up to Norvan’s grave and removed her sunglasses. “Well, it’s been a while. Can’t say I’m surprised this is your fate. You always did find a way to hurt and betray those closest to you. Especially me.” She cried. “Everything you put me through. How you never saw me for me. How you constantly belittled me. How you blamed me for mom’s death. How you abused me both physically and emotionally” her voice rose with every passing second. “How you saw me as nothing! That I could take!” she screamed. “But when you—“ she sobbed. “When you took the one joy in my life. That I couldn’t take! That I could never forgive.” She looked down at her feet “And I’m sorry it had to be this way but you left me with no other choice.” Liana put her sunglasses back on and left her father’s grave. Seeing her Dad’s resting place had given her a sense of finality. In a way, it captured her past and her future. For better or for worse there was no going back now.

…..

Present-day

After the rally had ended Jason and Tasha began walking back to the entrance of the Izmirlian Square. All around them they were surrounded by throngs of people, most of them discussing and agreeing with Tarek’s words.

“That definitely was enlightening. I didn’t realize that Dalmar had so many followers,” Jason remarked, his mind still focused on the scene he and Tasha had witnessed just minutes earlier.

“Neither did I. The files we read described the KLF more or less as a small radical faction, not a well-known, large, and extremely organized political party” Tasha sighed.

“I can see why you always make it a priority to go ‘sightseeing’ on these trips.”

“You can never be too prepared in this line of work” Tasha replied as she spotted a young boy, no older than twelve, handing out flyers for Dalmar’s upcoming meeting by a stone fountain near the middle of the plaza.

“Come to the Bulin Meeting hall tonight at 8 o’clock. Come to hear the truth. No longer silenced, freedom for Krudia!” he shouted. The boy spotted Tasha coming towards him. “Hello ma’am would you like a flyer?” he asked.

“Yes, I would.”

He handed her a flyer “Here you are. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you. You too” Tasha responded as she walked back to Jason.

“Collecting more evidence.”

“You can never have enough.” Tasha held out the flyer in front of her and Jason. “By the looks of this pamphlet, Dalmar presents himself as a benevolent and understanding candidate. A man of the people. Unbelievable” she rolled her eyes as she stuffed the paper in her purse.

“It definitely doesn’t help that a good deal of the population believes this crap,” Jason muttered.

“No, it certainly doesn’t.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I’m starving, so how about the two of us grab some brunch at The Ledbury. Assuming it actually exits. It does exist right?”

“It does. But what happened to that room service you were so keen on earlier” Tasha teased.

“I’m sure the kitchen staff could use a break, what with all the people staying at the hotel,”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tasha gave a teasing smirk.

“Oh come on you know you want to.”

“All right. I’ll have brunch with you at The Ledbury.”

“Okay, great” Jason replied.

“But you’re picking up the tab” she coyly smiled.

Jason lightly chuckled, “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Why make it easy,” Tasha responded.

“Okay, okay you win. I surrender.” Jason playfully responded as he put his hands in the air, causing Tasha to laugh.

The two of them walked to the street corner. Once there Jason signaled a cab and they headed for The Ledbury. Almost ten minutes passed and the cab pulled in front of the restaurant. The exterior of The Ledbury was covered in exposed brick and dotted with large glass windows. The window frames and entrance door were made of black iron. Parts of the exterior brick were covered with passion vines that hung from trellises. Tasha and Jason exited the cab and walked into the restaurant. They were greeted by a maître d' who escorted them to a table for two by the window. The floor was marble and in all the corners of the restaurant, stone columns stood. The interior walls were covered with various works of surrealism. Swarovski Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and roman candles decorated every table.

“Here are some menus” the maître d' handed one to Tasha and then to Jason. “I’ll give you some time to decide what you’d like and I’ll be right over to take your orders.” The maître d' went to attend to other patrons, leaving Tasha and Jason alone.

Jason and Tasha scanned the menu for a few minutes, looking over the descriptions of the vast assortment of delicious dishes the restaurant served.

“So what are you thinking of ordering?” Jason asked.

“Everything looks quite delicious but I think I’ll take the shrimp risotto.”

“That sounds mouthwatering.”

“Thank you. So what about you?”

“I think I’ll go with a seared steak with asparagus and roasted potatoes.”

“That sounds wonderful as well.”

“Thanks.”

Tasha and Jason smiled. The maître d' then returned with glasses of water. “Here you are,” he said as he placed the glasses on the table.

“Thank you” Tasha replied.

“Thanks” Jason added.

“My pleasure. So are you both ready to order?” he asked.

“We are actually” Jason replied.

“Wonderful,” he retrieved a notepad and pen from his vest pocket. “What would you like to order.”

“After you,” Jason told Tasha.

“Thank you. I’ll take your shrimp risotto with a Caprese salad please.”

“And I’ll have a seared steak with asparagus and roasted potatoes. Thank you.”

“Of course. Your order should be ready in about twenty minutes. If there’s anything else I can do for you please let me know.” he replied as he took the menus from Jason and Tasha.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks” Jason replied.

“No problem.” The maître d' responded before he walked away to the kitchen to put in Tasha and Jason’s order.

…..

“Black Hawk. Any more updates on their position.” a woman’s voice came through the car speaker system.

The man reached for the microphone located in the car. “Negative Red Sparrow. The targets are still inside The Ledbury. The waiter just left with their orders.”

“Understood. If there’s any change in their position or any significant updates. Contact me immediately.”

“Affirmative.”

…..

Professor Zilmer stared nervously at the ground unable to find the courage to look his employer in the eyes. His assistant and wife Francine stood nervously by his side. “Professor Zimler, I must say, I am quite disappointed in you and your wife. I expected your work to have been completed by now.” Dalmar said, taking a puff from his cigar.

“I know Dalmar but so far it has proven difficult to locate this mineral you tasked us to find. We’ve discovered and analyzed several elements but none have been the particular compound that you want. The latest mineral we tested we discovered has a molecular structure and formula is very to the desired mineral. Unfortunately, its differing molecular structure renders it useless to be used in the way you want. However, I think you could perhaps find it to be very useful in other ways and even very valuable.” He picked up a tube containing that certain mineral from off the lab table and held it out to Dalmar.

Dalmar took the vial and threw it to the ground. The tube shattered sending its contents all over the concrete floor. “I don’t care about this darn mineral! I want the one I demanded!” Dalmar uttered a string of profanities under his breath.

Professor Zilmer took a step back from Dalmar. Francine spoke, “If we could just have a bit more time I’m certain that we would be able—”

“That won’t be necessary. Your services are no longer needed.” Dalmar interrupted, a cold calculating look in his eyes.

Professor Zilmer swallowed hard and locked eyes with Francine who then stepped forward toward Dalmar. “Please, Dalmar give us time. I’m sure we will be able to meet your requirements.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot do. I’ve already given you more than enough time and I can’t afford any… loose ends” Dalmar callously replied. “Adrian, Raphael. Please take care of Professor Zilmar and his wife” he ordered as he exited the room. Adrian and Raphael walked towards the two of them from the corners of the lab where they had previously been standing.

“Please don’t do this!” Francine cried.

“No! No! NO!!!” Professor Zilmer shouted.

No response came from either Raphael or Adrian’s lips. Raphael pulled Professor Zilmer’s arms behind his back and held them securely while Adrian grabbed Francine violently by the arm, which caused her to cry out in pain. Hearing his wife’s desperate screams Professor Zilmer gathered all his strength and broke away from Raphael’s grasp. He punched him firmly in the jaw causing Raphael to lose his balance. He fell backward hitting the side of his head against the metal lab table causing him to lose consciousness.

“I need backup! I’m in the bunker. Lab room!” Adrian shouted in his shoulder microphone as Professor Zilmer charged at him. Adrian attempted to grab his gun but before he could remove it from his holster, Zilmer’s fist collided with his face causing him to let go of Francine who scrambled to the side of the room.

“Run Francine! Run!” Professor Zilmer cried as he tried to hold back Adrian. Francine desperately scrambled for the door. Just as she reached the exit a gunshot rang out. Francine could feel blood pouring from her abdomen and quickly placed her hand against the wound. She felt her knees buckle and collapsed to the floor.

“NO!!!!!!!” Professor Zilmer shouted as he saw two more security officers next to the door, one of them still holding his gun out, standing by Francine’s lifeless body. Zilmer wrestled himself from Adrian’s grasp and rushed to Francine’s side. Just as he reached her body he heard another gunshot from behind him, followed almost immediately by the feeling of a bullet ripping through his body. Zilmer staggered forward for a few moments and then fell to the ground beside his wife.

#You may need some tissues #and a minute to recover from some things #Not saying what those things are #hahahaha #Adventures in odyssey #adventuresinodyssey #jason whittaker #tasha forbes #Jason and Tasha #aio fanfic #Aio fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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