multi-fandom imagines for ewan mcgregor

“Goin’ somewhere, Marko?” you said, clenching your jaw to keep in a yawn. You got your elbows under you and sat up to have a look around. True to form, he’d never joined you on the bed last night and had instead wrapped himself in the quilt on your couch. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes over the gentlemanly gesture.

“Yeah, sorry, I got a train I need to catch,” he was saying, and you could see him edging towards the door.

He always did this, you found yourself thinking. He came over and crashed with you when he was too fucked to get home. Took the couch in spite of your bed being big enough for two of him to fit in beside you, and tried to run as soon as he could, like he was afraid of being underfoot, or he was trying to get out before you could kick him out yourself.

Not that you ever would. Even high eight ways from Sunday on the skag, you’d never kick him out.

“It’s not even half six, Marko, can’t you catch a later one?” You sat up in bed and stretched, closing your eyes and completely unaware of the way his eyes lingered on you. You gave him a smile when you dropped your arms. “I could make you some breakfast at least. Got some black pudding.”

He was on a “sober” kick, so you knew he had to be hungry. You could see the temptation in his eyes, but you knew in that same moment he wouldn’t take it.

In three strides he crossed the room again and wrapped an arm around you for a quick and bony hug, dropping the lightest kiss on the top of your head.

“I ‘preciate it, luv, but I do have to get back. Got a benefits round to do this mornin’,” he said, and you sighed.

“Promise me you’ll get somethin’ to eat at the station?” You looked up at him as he shrugged into his jacket and you could see his eyes twinkling faintly in the morning light.

“I promise. You go back to bed, I’ll see you in a few days.” He said it like a promise, but you knew that it could be significantly longer than that before he was in your neck of the woods again. You got the distinct feeling that it would be the case—he’d been “sober” for a good while now, and you knew he had to be getting bored. He tended to steer clear of your place when he was fucked on more than alcohol. Your heart clenched in your chest and you gave him a tight smile.

“Don’t be a stranger, Marko,” you told him, and he smiled, hand raised in a half wave as he walked out the door.

You waited until you could hear his footsteps fading away before you drew your knees up to your chest and cried.

-

As you predicted, it was longer than a few days before you saw him again. It was more like a couple months. You were used to it by now; the radio silence, peppered by the occasional call from his mother and the very strong urge to drive into Edinburgh yourself when you’d had too much wine and not enough dinner. You knew that Mark needed his space, though, and the last time you’d talked about it he’d vehemently protested you going to Mother Superior’s to try to find him.

So you waited. You played by the rules of his game, even when he made it so vastly unfair, and you counted a hundred and twelve days before he showed up at your door once more.

He looked different this time, you thought. Brighter in the eyes, skinnier in the frame, with a clarity in his expression that you hadn’t seen in a while.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft and eyes beseeching. “You wanna go for a walk w’me?”

No apology—yet—but you couldn’t deny him when he looked at you like that.

“Lemme grab my coat,” you said.

It was a long walk, meandering, past the station and into the hills. He puffed a bit, but so did you. It was just chill enough that you didn’t start sweating, thank God. The story came out in bits and pieces. He’d gotten caught shoplifting. He’d been put in rehab. The stupid, silly, daft bastard had underestimated his tolerance and almost fucking died.

“And that bint never thought to fuckin’ tell me!” You were seething—Mark’s mother was calling round at least once a fuckin’ week to check and see if you’d seen him, but heaven forbid she let you know when your best friend was dying. No wonder the last few weeks had been suspiciously quiet.

“Well I’m sure she had a bit more on her mind, installin’ a lock on my door and all,” he said, managing to sound only a little bitter.

He went into more detail, how they’d made him go cold turkey, and how he’d almost wished the overdose had killed him as he went through the withdrawal. Chills, fever, hallucinations, the whole works.

“Christ, Marko,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t imagine how difficult it had been—on any of them. You were still processing the retroactive horror of finding out he’d nearly died. “I cannae even think how you managed it.”

“Well, it wasn’t fuckin’ easy,” he said with a snort. He looked over at you, something unreadable in his eyes, and you felt something brush your hand. You looked down and saw that he was reaching out almost tentatively to curl his fingers with yours. “But I had some help. Thinkin’ bout coming back to see you.”

Your heart jumped up in your throat and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. “W-what?”

“Look, I’m—“ He cut himself off, and he squeezed your fingers. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I am. I shouldn’t’ve just up and vanished on you, but—you know I wanted to keep you away from all this shite. But you...thought of you, thought of comin’ back here to see you... God, it helped. It really fuckin’ helped. I dunno if I would’ve made it if I hadn’t had you on my mind.”

“Come on, now, Marko, you don’t mean that...” you said, pushing out a disbelieving scoff in spite of how breathless you felt. “You’d’a been fine.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. His eyes were bright on yours, intense. “Thought about you when I was sinkin’ into that overdose, too. Thought, ‘what am I gonna do, I promised I’d be back.’”

“In a few days! Been a bit longer than a few, you cunt,” you said, though there was little acid in your tone. “Would you just stop it, alrigh’? You don’t need to do—whatever this is.” He tried to cut in, but you wouldn’t let him. “I forgive you, you don’t have to do this song and dance. I’m just happy to see you again, you daft bastard. Specially if it means you’re off that fuckin’ poison.”

He said your name, trying to interrupt, but you were on a true ramble now.

“Wish I’d’a actually been there to fuckin’ help, but that’s your mam for you. I’m a bad influence cos I don’t nag your ear off about your drinkin’, but not too low’s she can’t call round to ask about you—“

You were finally cut off when Mark dropped your fingers to grab you by the head with both hands and pull your face up to his. You let out the most undignified sound as he kissed you, and he drew back to chuckle against your lips for a moment before he slotted them again. He nipped your bottom lip and surprised a little whine out of you before you managed to pull yourself away to give him an incredulous look.

“I meant it,” he said simply. His thumbs stroked over your cheeks. “You kept me alive, well long before I overdosed. I can’t—I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or I won’t make you cry again—“ your face heated when you realized he heard you those months ago “—but I want to try. Don’t you?”

“This’ll be the third night this week I’ve found you out here,” came a voice from above your head.

You tilted your head back from where you lay on the roof to find that Mark was clambering out your bedroom window, and your heart stopped in your chest for a moment as you watched him, quite gracefully, swing his legs over the sill.

“Can’t blame me for wantin a bit of stargazing when light pollutions so shit back in London,” you said, giving him a grin as he crouched low and shuffled down to lay on his back beside you.

Third night this week and it was only Wednesday, you knew. It was just hard, still, to get used to the quiet. To get used to sharing your space with someone. To get used to the idea of someone wanting to share space to begin with.

For a long, long few moments it was just silence between you. He had his hands on his own abdomen and you could see out the corner of your eye that he was almost completely focused on the sky above. There was a bit of wonder in his eyes that made your heart ache and for just a moment you let your mind wander, opening up those pathways you’d long closed off out of self preservation.

What if, you thought, with a kind of wistfulness that had sharp edges. What if, what if, what if...

He caught you off guard when he turned to look at you and for a moment you could still see the stars reflected in his eyes, before he saw the look on your face and his brow furrowed. He turned towards you and tucked his elbow beneath his head, reaching out with his free hand to twine his cold fingers with yours.

“What’s that look for, then...?” he asked, voice soft and low with concern. You realized then that he’d caught your look of wistfulness and you tried to school your expression. He squeezed your fingers. “None of that, now, come on. You can tell me.”

I was wondering what it would be like if you looked at me with the same kind of wonder as you did the stars, you didn’t say. The words pushed at your lips but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually put them to voice.

Instead, you said, “...why did you invite me to come with you?”

“What?” he said, eyebrows lifting and surprise overtaking confusion. You looked down at your joined fingers and took a breath.

“When you left London. When you decided to move out here after everything with your—your old friends. Why did you ask me to come with you?” Now that you’d finally asked, you couldn’t stop yourself from adding to it. “I—I love getting to spend time with you, honestly, and I’m so happy you did, but I can’t figure out—I don’t understand why. Why me. Out of everyone you could’ve asked...”

He said your name, soft but intense, and you finally looked back up at him. His eyes were bright and so focused on yours and you swallowed.

“There wasn’t a single other person I wanted to call that night. Not a one.” His thumb stroked over your hand and you had to suppress a shiver. “And when I realized I’d have to leave, I knew I couldn’t without you. Without at least asking you to come. I thought it was a fuckin long shot that you’d agree...”

“Mark,” you tried to start, tone admonishing, but he shook his head.

“I did. Even with a sack full of cash, what kinda cunt would agree to run off with a former junkie?” He gave you one of his completely mad grins and shuffled a bit closer, getting in your space. “But you did. And here we are. Does it matter so much why now that we’re here?”

“S’pose not,” you said, voice a bit weak when you were faced with one of those blinding grins. That wistful feeling was curling around your heart, sharp and painful and bright.

His eyes bored into yours for a long, long moment. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, and you could swear you saw the stars reflected back at you from the depths. He said your name again, softer, and in the space of a blink he was closer than ever, so much so you could count each of his eyelashes.

“Mark...?” You didn’t know what exactly you were going to ask him, and in the end it didn’t matter. You felt his breath on your lips for a fleeting moment and then—then he was kissing you, rolling so he could lean over you with his elbow beside your head. His lips slotted with yours, his other hand curling into your hair, noses brushing and breath mingling between soft, connecting pecks. A tiny sound escaped you when he pulled back for a moment, a whimper or a whine, and he shushed you with a smile.

When you looked up at him you could still see that look of reverence and admiration and wonder despite the fact that you could see the universe spread out above his back from where you lay. You could still see the stars in his eyes.

“Just a bit of somethin’, had some time on my hands while I take calls at work and all that,” you said, and you watched him as he reached up to tug on his earlobe, fiddling with his little hoop. “Go on, open it. Can’t stand around here all day.”

He looked up at you through his lashes and grinned, a smaller one than you were used to but bright nonetheless. He fumbled with the twine, fingers cold and just a bit stiff, and when he finally peeled the brown paper away and you could see the red wool peeping through his face went a bit slack.

“I didn’t, like, board it or anything cos I don’t have room at my flat, but I figured you didn’t really care anyway,” you found yourself rambling as he tucked the paper under one arm to better inspect his gift. The scarf unfurled, bright red and soft and textured with slightly wonky stitch patterns. “And I’m pretty sure I fucked up the pattern, but I didn’t drop any stitches—“

“Would you stop bloody talkin’ for a second and let me thank you, ya daft bint?” he finally said, and he sounded a bit choked. When you looked in his eyes you could see they were a bit wet and he was smiling so much wider. “When did you even find the fuckin’ time...?”

“Well, you know, between calls at work...” you said, a bit flustered by his reaction. “You said you missed your mums scarves and mittens, so I thought—I mean the mittens are giving me trouble, but—“

“I cannae believe you,” he scoffed, and he shook his head before he reached out to pull you into a tight hug.