#this blip came to me like a oracle getting bonked over the head by their god with prophesy

[mockiery]

ok but Steven's attempts at a Time Out mid-fight has gotta work eventually right?

.

Steven is talking. He's talking a lot, hands up and open, he and his bright white suit and mask a confusing vision to the armed infiltrators before him.

Marc is in a reflection of a pane of protective display glass, trying not to force himself to the front.

"When has this ever worked?" he tries, talking over Steven where only he can hear.

Between sentences about taking 'a minute to get on the same page, yeah?', Steven, under his breath, says "It's always worth a shot, innit? I've got this," and continues his somewhat meandering attempt at convincing these would-be-thieves to thieve elsewhere.

Marc groans. "Fine. But I'm not stepping in when you get stabbed this time."

(Steven knows he will, he has every other time. Even since Steven has learned to fight properly, Marc still won't let him take the brunt of the damage.)

Then, miraculously, it actually works. At Steven's explanation of what exactly it is they're trying to steal for their boss: valuable cultural artifacts, to be kept for status, for a personal, private collection, not even to /sell/? They step down, put away their weapons, and leave, not interested in putting their lives on the line for their bosses' self-aggrandizing colonialist decor that won't even earn them any money.

Steven's unsullied white suit, glowing eyes, and infectious energy juxtaposed against the unconscious, tied-up bodies of their rival gang's guards helped too, Marc figures, but he wasn't going to bring that up to Steven.

Once they're out of the warehouse, leaving Marc and Steven to themselves, Marc takes the front, dissolving the suit away. He refuses to look at the reflection of Steven in the display glass.

Steven doesn't wait for him to. "Told you it would work, didn't I?" He is radiating when Marc finally looks to him, pumping both his fists in victory. "All it takes is a little chatting to sort shit out sometimes, y'know?"

Marc sighs, rolling his eyes. He sets his jaw, maintaining his unamused expression as best he can. He's annoyed that Steven's right, but he's also holding back a smile at Steven's winning lap, moving from glass pane to glass pane, pacing in excitement.

"Kid's got a point." The not-yet-familiar voice comes out of nowhere, and Marc flinches hard, swearing as his shoulders seize up to his ears. He finds Jake opposite Steven in another reflection.

Marc barely hears Steven's, "Kid?" as he's recovering from the shock, exhaling all the breath and forcing (some of) the tension out of his body.

"I told you not to do that," Marc half-grumbles, through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly with one hand at his newly acquainted alter.

Jake's flat expression shifts minutely, a suggestion of a shrug.

Marc exhales and stares. "What?"

"He said I have a point." Steven beams, seemingly over the "kid" thing for now.

"Yeah?" Marc side-eyes Jake, skeptical.

"Sometimes talking shit out is the best way to go." He shrugs fully this time, hands finding their way to the pockets of their jacket.

Marc makes a sound in his throat. "Thought you were more about bashing heads."

Jake scoffs, and if Marc didn't know better, he'd think Jake was offended. "I'll bash heads, sure, but I'm gonna fucking get out of a shit situation whatever way I can."

"So time-outs have worked for you?! More than once?"

"'Course. Everybody wants something. A little sweet-talk goes a long way." Another shrug. A small smirk, Marc thinks. He is still so un-used to seeing their face be used by another person, with his own range of microexpressions. "Cash too."

"Huh."

"That's aces, mate. Next time, you should step in and show us how you do it!"

"Uh. Maybe." Jake's sharp eyes land on Marc for a second, before jutting his head slightly to him for Steven. "If el jefe is good with it."

Marc pauses, turning in full to Jake's image in the glass.

"How come I'm 'kid' and you're 'the boss'?" Marc can hear Steven say over his shoulder, but he's focused on Jake.

It's still not easy to read him. Marc had never found it easy to read anyone, much less the brick wall of a man he'd only recently learned was living inside his head too. But as he eyes Jake, he thinks he sees it, what it means. He's reaching for Steven's outstretched hand, but asking for Marc's before he takes it.

The furrow of Marc's brow lessens and he stands a little looser. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

Jake nods curtly, and there's a shift in his eyes, a loosening of his expression. A softening, even. Marc gives a nod back.

Steven's reflection pokes into the pane next to Jake's, his soft grin turning down as he eyes the unconscious men on the floor. "Lovely. Now, what exactly are we doing with these blokes again?"