Hot Flash Girl Summer

— ⟡ —

Marshall College

A knock comes at your office door. Thinking it’s a student dropping by, of course you welcome them inside.

Instead a handsome ghost pops his head in.

Although you work on the same campus, you’ve actively been trying not to run into Dr. Pike. It helps that you know his schedule and avoid his wing of the campus, even avoid his lecture hall across from yours.

He’s in the same studious glasses, sharp suit and bow tie he wears for class.

Except now Marcus sports faint traces of a beard and mustache.

You’ve seen days where he hasn’t shaved and how handsomely rugged he’s looked. Now this change of appearance is utterly devastating on the studious professor.

“The facial hair...” You greet with a dry tease, achingly fond.

As attractive this new look is, you already miss his clean shaven face. Or maybe a part of you just misses him.

“Uh yeah, just trying something new.” He laughs nervously fixing his glasses.

“It looks good.” You truthfully nod.

The softest gleam glazes over his eyes, and the weight of it makes you look away.

“So…you must have a reason why you’re here, Dr Pike.” Clearing your throat you try to refocus.

“I do indeed, Dr Pike.” Marcus replies swiftly.

“Unless… you’re going by your last name again.” Until he rapidly and politely corrects himself.

Always so damn polite and considerate, even during this mess of a monster known as marital separation.

You wave him off.

Some days you go by your last name, others you find it hard to let his go. The papers haven’t been officially filed after all.

Like he’s done days before, Marcus slides into the seat across your desk. It’s been so long since he’s been here.

You can still remember the first time he arrived at your office ready to greet you, the new Iconography and Symbolist professor.

“Guess we’re campus neighbors! My lecture hall is right across from yours.” His charming sweet smile and earnest welcome you swear won your heart over that very moment.

Now Marcus being here again feels habitual, like part of your heart returned seeing him place his weathered leather briefcase on your desk. Almost out of habit you want to lean across the table to kiss him like you’ve done before.

Instead you patiently sit while he scrambles and searches his briefcase. Readjusting his glasses, Dr Pike then slides a torn book page towards you.

The painting is one you recognize instantly.

“Raphael’s Crucified Christ,” you nod at the familiar work.

The distinct style and angel poses were topics you and Marcus both have discussed at length.

He points at the nails keeping Christ on the cross.

Confusion bubbles up as you glance back to Marcus.

His rich soil of the earth twinkle with an eagerness you recognize. The same one you’ve seen when he’s got something up his sleeve.

“I may have found a lead…” He eagerly begins.

“To what?” You narrow your eyes suspicious.

Dr Pike taps the page again.

“Wait…To the crucifix?” You question unconvinced.

Marcus is good, but he’s not that good. There’s no way he could have found the actual wood.

“No, the nails.” He clarifies quiet.

That equally makes your mind get stuck in a tangled web. There was no way.

“Need I remind you the Vatican already claims they’ve been found.” You politely offer a rebuttal.

“The lead I got says otherwise.” Marcus shrugs his shoulders, incredibly boyish and casual.

“And you wanted to tell me why?” The familiar cautious tone turns your words to stone.

You already hated where this was going.

“Because I know your thoughts on the matter of the current nail's authenticity.” He starts.

“And… you’re the one I know who can help me.” His voice then dips drenched in earnest.

Those beautiful eyes of his pierce your soul.

You exhale already feeling exhausted.

Just from his composed stare, you understand this means he’s going to leave no matter what you say. You can’t even get upset with him anymore. After all, you're signatures away from legally not being his wife anymore.

“You can drop by the house after class.” You sigh defeated.

Marcus’s hand immediately reaches out to rest over yours. His larger warm hand squeezes yours tight and fond.

The touch lingers with you the rest of the day. Even heading home his warmth prickles your skin. Has it been that long since you’ve touched Marcus?

An ache of longing swirls in your chest as if your body begs to have his return to yours. You shove all those thoughts away and step into your home.

The hushed stillness of moving boxes greet you.

Marcus, ever the gentleman, has been staying at a friend’s house while you pack your things as you and him try to rearrange this situation. Your neighbors have started asking more questions. You can’t even bring yourself to answer them.

But you press on.

The night settles in. Marcus is late. Must have gotten caught up at the university.

You now start heating a kettle, ready to make his favorite chamomile tea to unwind, grateful you didn’t throw these tea leaves out. There’s actually a lot of Marcus’s things still lingering, unable to bring yourself to pack them up or dispose of them.

It’s like your mind is split in two, wanting to leave fast as you can while also feeling snagged on the floorboards.

A knock arrives, and your heart jumps ready to greet Marcus.

Except he isn’t there when you open the door.

A sleek and dashing stranger instead grins at you. His piercing blue eyes stare unflinching.

“Good evening….Dr. Pike, I presume?” He greets you.

This time you correct him sharply with your maiden name.

“Ah yes, my apologies.” He nods.

The stranger introduces himself as William Musgrave, who apparently is a Vatican official. He even holds up a badge with the familiar papal key symbol.

“I’m here on behalf of your ex husband…” he begins, and your face falls.

“No, I'm sorry,” you cut him off. “But whatever Marcus is involved in I don’t want to be a part of it.”

His face, which has kept a polite smile, now twitches as if this mask could crack.

“Professor, please understand-”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I need you to leave. Now please excuse me.” You shut the door on the stranger.

Rushing to the house phone you immediately call the school, hoping maybe Marcus is still there and you can catch him before he leaves.

Then the door to your home is forcibly kicked in.

Immediately men rush in to grab you. Slapping a hand over your mouth, someone muffles your screams. Thrashing hard trying to fight back, the last thing you hear is the kettle screeching in the kitchen.

Then the world goes dark.

— ⟡ —

Now you’re here tied to a bed post somewhere in Italy.

Of course, the mercenaries and treasure hunters must have caught onto the same rumor Marcus heard.

They need you to decipher something from the location.

A polite knock comes at the door, almost mocking. William Musgrave shows himself in.

Some fake Vatican officer he was.

“Sorry for the unfortunate hospitality, can’t have you running away.” He frowns as if he cares.

You simply glare back.

“I know you think I’m the villain here, but I’m not the only one who has secrets.”

Musgrave holds out photographs.

In their black and white shading Marcus sits at an outdoor restaurant, one you recognize instantly. He took you there on your first date.

Except this time he’s sitting across from a sleek and gorgeous mystery woman. The two are caught mid laugh, like the picture of effortless charm.

“The woman he is with is an associate of ours,” Musgrave explains. “She was the one who gave Dr. Pike the lead and he apparently got wrapped around her finger. Even tried to convince her to help him instead of us.”

Something inside you drops.

“But she turned him down.” Musgrave tuts.

If Marcus refused to work with them, suppose you’re the next best option. And these photographs along with this story feel like attempts to sway you to willingly help Musgrave instead.

Anger bubbles in, and you flicker your gaze back to William.

“Looks like you were stalking him.” You hate that even feeling this hurt you’re still bitterly protective of Marcus.

Musgrave sighs seeing your refusal.

“Guess we have to do this the hard way.”

The knife happily pointed at you speaks of a deadly response if you refuse to cooperate.

A voice in your head sounding so much like Marcus urges you not to fight back.

Marcus.

As frustrated as you are with him, you can’t even hate him.

Even now.

“Well, I heard you were smart, had a strong spirit. Glad to confirm the rumors are true... I can see why a man like Dr. Marcus Pike fell for you.” The man’s tone is fond, faintly flirtatious.

It doesn’t settle you one bit.

“I’ll be back with dinner later.” Musgrave says cheerfully shutting the door behind him, and you blink back tears.

Suppose this is what love is. Even in the face of heartache and frustration, and of course impending divorce, there might always be a piece of you that achingly adores Marcus. Even knowing he’s moving on.

You close your eyes and simply try to pass this solitude.

Feels like minutes have passed and you check the clock on the fireplace.

A little past midnight.

Musgrave is late.

Normally a guard even comes to let you walk around, use the facilities or even get water. They need you alive after all. This night has been relatively quiet. Even the guard at the door seems to have maybe forgotten you.

Closing your eyes again, you quietly hope this will all settle down soon.

Until the door gets yanked violently open, striking panic into your heart as you snap awake.

Barging in with the force of a hurricane, Marcus emerges.

Yet the sight is not of your scholarly Dr. Pike.

Ditching his glasses, dressed in a dusty rustic jacket and wearing a dark hat that accentuates his eyes, the studious sweet professor is instead replaced by a danger seeking excavator and adventurer.

You remember the first time you saw him like this. You had stayed late one night at the college and ran into him by accident.

You almost didn’t recognize him in the new outfit.

“Going to a costume party, Dr. Pike?” You had even jokingly asked him that.

To which Marcus lied and said yes.

Then, after a few more dates, he showed up to your apartment late one night.

After narrowly escaping a trip from Cairo, Marcus didn’t even allow himself time to change. He simply just appeared at your doorstep exhausted looking like this different man.

A part of him you would come to know and love.

Now that same man kneels before you. A deep hint of a 5 o'clock shadow lingers on his jaw and his mustache is coming in stronger.

Glistening in sweat, slightly covered in soot, you’re grateful he’s okay.

Sobbing your name, Marcus’s hoarse voice sounds caught in his throat as he rushes to you.

You almost don’t feel like he’s real.

But his steady hands cut through the rope. Then tenderly he checks you for any cuts or bruising and the truth settles in.

This is him. He’s here.

“You came for me.” Now your muttered words escape thick with tears tired from the fright but filled by a shaken relief.

Those stunning rich bourbon eyes of his immediately widen. A large warm calloused hand cups your face.

“I’ll always come for you.” Marcus breathes out with something akin to devotion.

You can’t even stop yourself or remind yourself that you’re possibly divorcing this man. Instead you throw your arms around him.

Instantly Marcus draws you into his embrace squeezing you tight.

“Thought I lost you.” His voice continues to wave through tears. “Went by the house and saw… a nightmare. Couldn’t find you anywhere.”

You couldn’t imagine the type of panic he must have experienced.

But a harsher realization does arrive.

“Guess you need me to make sure I’d sign the divorce papers, huh.” You joke lightly.

He chuckles quickly, yet it sounds uncomfortable as he pulls away. Footsteps stamped down the hallway breaking the moment and igniting a sense of fear.

Scrambling up, your hand finds his or maybe he finds yours first.

This pocket of peace shatters as commotion unfolds fast and blurred.

Marcus keeps you behind him while fighting off the remaining guards, throwing punches when he can. But more henchmen arrive to ambush him.

Then one of the mercenaries yanks you away.

A sharp crack electrifies the air. Suddenly the man cries out in pain, releasing you.

Immediately you rush to Marcus and that’s when you see the snake-like whip effortlessly flutter back to him.

You’ve seen the weapon before. Once you begged him to show you a demonstration. It was absolutely sinful at how well he maneuvered it.

Now Marcus rapidly takes down another guard with the bull whip. He stands a Sir Galahad brought to life, his whip powerful as any ancient sword.

Extending his hand out, you grab it and rush out.

Running past mercenaries, peering around corners with your heart racing, Marcus never once lets go of your hand. Whenever gunfire starts he immediately flings himself over you, a firm shield.

Unfortunately, one bullet does graze him.

He yells in pain, and you scream frantically if he’s alright. Stubbornly, he ignores you and rushes out of the rundown old mansion.

After managing to steal a motorcar you command him to sit in the passenger seat, and you drive away fast as you can into the darkness.

— ⟡ —

The inn you stumble upon is quaint, a bit rustic but perfect to hide out for the night.

“Is that signore your husband? He is one lucky man to have you caring for him,” the sweet elderly inn keeper says with a longing sigh when you return to grab more alcohol from the bar.

You don’t even have the heart to correct him.

Entering your shared room, you stumble upon Marcus, shirtless now, messing with the gash on his arm.

“Stop,” you order, and he blinks like a guilty puppy caught red handed.

Sighing you plant yourself on the bed with him.

The routine comes effortlessly, soaking the clean rag with the distilled liquor to disinfect the wound. You miss the first air kit you kept at your office for times like this.

“Can’t believe he gave you more liquor.” Marcus mutters a bit amused while you work.

“Yeah well… had to flirt with him a little so this didn’t come cheap." You half joke, and he chuckles.

“I can do it-”

“The wound is in an awkward spot, I got it.” You cut him off sharp.

Marcus stays quiet.

He seems broader, bulkier, like he’s been exercising more, or maybe going out on these exhibitions more. Or maybe it’s the sweat glistening on his skin and being so close to him that intensifies everything.

Your heart races as if it's the first time you’re doing this.

“Remember when you first patched me up?” Marcus, ever the intuitive mind reader, speaks first.

“I was worried you were going to bleed out in the middle of my kitchen.” You lightly snort.

“Yeah, you kept running around like a scared barn cat.” He chuckles.

“Hey, I like to think I did pretty well.” You huff back.

Dabbing the alcohol soaked rag to the wound, Marcus hisses.

“I know, this always is the worst part,” you comfort him soft.

“Suppose this is payback for me getting you wrapped up in all this huh? I really am a bad husband.” Marcus tries to slip in a bit of self depreciating jest.

Yet you find no humor.

The silence suffocates the room. You continue tending to his wound, winding the extra spare cloth as a makeshift way to stop the bleeding.

“I’m sorry…” Marcus apologizes sincerely, somber and serious.

“I promise you won’t have to deal with me or any of this anymore once we get the divorce finalized. I know you’ve always hated this.” His voice comes sharp as a knife, and his gaze won’t even meet you.

“I never hated you doing this… I hated worrying if I would ever see you again.” You answer back low and serious.

“I hated wondering if my husband was safe and why…” the words get caught in your throat.

“Why? Why, what?” Suddenly Marcus asks, turning to finally catch your gaze.

You swallow hard, shaking your head.

“It’s nothing.” You dismiss.

“No please, I want to know.” Marcus pleads, his eyes glistening.

You give yourself a moment.

“I used to wonder why you wanted to be out on these adventures instead of wanting to make some with me.” Your voice cracks as you feel like an exposed nerve.

The first few years of your marriage, he rarely left on any excursions. Of course during the times he did you welcomed him home with open arms grateful he came back safe. But when the problems started to trickle in, he slipped away more and more. Until his absence greeted you home more than he did.

His face falls, stunned. You blink away, averting your gaze now.

“It's silly, I know.” You laugh hollow.

You always loved and adored Marcus’s sense of adventure, how much he enjoyed being among antiquity.

“You’re allowed to enjoy your own time. I never wanted to be possessive or always keep you by my side, but I always felt….”

Your voice trails off as you realize you’re rambling.

“Tell me.” Marcus urges again, moving in closer, his voice begging soft.

“You grew bored of me and didn’t want to be around me anymore.” You reveal.

Because why wouldn’t he? When he can enjoy being whisked away on these adventures or meet gorgeous women instead of being at home with you…

He breathes your name, scared and trembling.

“You…” Marcus stares at you like he’s witnessing a heartbreak. You regret saying anything now.

“I could never… would never get tired of you.” He shakes his head.

“You’re the adventure I waited my entire life for.” Marcus breathes those words out like they could be his last, and tears spill from your eyes.

Like the sun and the moon simply orbiting, you don’t know who moved first or maybe it’s simply two souls moving as one, reuniting.

But the kiss steals your breath.

Marcus kisses you desperate, drenched in a hunger you greedily surge to meet. He shifts in the bed drawing you fully onto his lap, straddling him, as he licks into your mouth.

Feverishly you quickly yank off your blouse and brassiere wanting to let yourself melt into him again.

Seeing your exposed skin Marcus groans and immediately dives his face against your chest to breathe you in.

Effortlessly his hands go to your hips and guide you in a fluid rhythm, letting you grind down onto him.

The rut is delicious, torturous and beautiful. A whimper escapes you when you grind harder against his bulge, and you see stars.

You think of the days when you rode him like in his office after hours, and a louder moan escapes you.

“More, wanna hear you more.” Marcus growls deeper.

His hips ground up into you letting you feel his hardened cock against your soaked core.

Even with all the clothes separating you two, the friction is mind melting, addictive.

Your hands move to his shoulders to steady yourself and simply touch more of him.

Immediately Marcus hisses in pain. You snap your hands away.

“Oh Marcus, your arm,” you sob worried and apologize rapidly.

“S’fine, honey. Don’t care. Not when you’re here. You’re the only medicine I need.” He mutters, returning to kiss your jaw.

When he nips gently at your neck your resolve wavers.

“You need to rest,” you mutter that responsible thought out. “Can’t strain your wound.”

Marcus grumbles your name, trying to get you to reconsider.

“Honey please,” he sounds like sin, pure temptation.

A part of you wants to give in, to fully ignore his wound and embrace the desire clawing its way out of you.

The energy in you buzzes like a gleeful frenzy, yet also tangled in worry.

It’s like a piece of you is afraid this might be the last and only chance you’ll have with Marcus before the dream disappears and you wake up to find yourself divorced.

You wonder if he’s feeling the same way.

So wearily opening your eyes, you run your hand up to his rugged unshaven face and draw his gaze to you. Those dark eyes of his open, star dazed pools you could swim in forever.

You lean forward to kiss him soft, gentle.

“We have all the time in the world Marcus,” you reassure him, softly saying the words against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, not without you.”

“Besides, you speak Italian so you’re my ticket back.” You add grinning and teasing.

“Sweetheart,” he sobs half an awed laugh, looking at you teary and heartfelt.

Once you and Marcus settle, you stay curled against his side, blanketed across him like you’re the one protecting him now. His hands stay touching you, running his fingers against your soft back.

“I’m afraid… I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.” Marcus reveals among the dimming candle light and soft bed sheets.

“Me too,” you admit and press a kiss to his bare shoulder.

His eyes never leave you while his hand traces across your face.

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?” Marcus mutters.

Bashful your burrow your face against his uninjured shoulder.

“What? Don’t hide from me.” He teases now.

“Now I’m really going to divorce you.” You joke back.

“Hey,” his voice drops dejected.

“Sorry too soon, too soon,” you reassure Marcus, rubbing a hand against his warm broad chest.

He picks up your hand and kisses your palm.

“So… can we talk about how it took me getting kidnapped for us to face our marital problems?” You ask, humored by this truth.

“Hey, saved us on the expensive lawyer fees.” Marcus teases again with a shrug.

You bust out into a bright laugh.

“God I missed this, misses that sound. Missed you.” Marcus, ever the romantic, draws you even closer into his embrace.

“I missed you too, more than you know.” You admit, closing your eyes in peace.

Then an image flashes into your mind.

The photos, him and that woman…

Suddenly you stiffen and sit up from his warmth.

“Darling, you alright?” Marcus asks.

You inhale, then shakily exhale.

“Are you sure you want to do this… with me?” You keep your voice as level as possible.

“What? Of course I do. You’re the love of my life.” He urges sitting up gently without straining his arm.

“Those men that took me… they showed me photos of you and another woman.”

Your words silence him.

It wasn’t the yelling or arguing that rattled the foundation of your marriage, but the silence. The fearful hollow silence, the quiet acceptance, ate away at so much. It continues to make its presence known here.

This moment felt so gilded. Now it melts away like fool's gold.

“She… was an associate I thought I could trust. But I was proven wrong.” He answers collected and level.

So Musgrave wasn’t fully lying.

“You took her to our spot.” You mutter not even able to look at him.

“I… I wanted it to be a fresh start, a way to get over you.” He admits freely, ashamed.

“After I saw Dr. Freeman getting friendly with you and hearing around campus that he apparently was interested in you…”

His voice trails off.

He assumed you were the one moving on.

“Doug did ask me out, but I politely told him no.” You truthfully tell Marcus. You couldn’t bring yourself to date, even someone as charming and smart as Dr Freeman. Your heart stayed tied to a certain archeology and art history professor.

Softly Marcus leans forward and rests his head on your back. Faintly his tears trickle against your naked shoulder.

“I think about you, everyday. And I wished it was you the entire time. I know you might not believe me, but it was.. so hard knowing I was there without you.” His voice wavers.

A jealous and pained part of you hisses that he still took this woman there. But the ache inside your heart weighs more knowing you don’t want to imagine another day where he could be dating someone else.

You turn to embrace him and let his face burrow into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

“I won't ever lie to you, won’t hide anything from you. Never again.” Marcus vows, and you believe him.

In the silence now you and him find solace in each other's arms allowing the night to gentle greet you.

— ⟡ —

The nails supposedly used to crucify Jesus Christ are known as the holy nails. They’re a part of significant artifacts known as the Arma Christi or the instruments of the Passion.

Considered some of the holiest artifacts, the Catholic Church deemed their existence to be undeniable reliquaries of Christ’s existence. Yet their credibility still holds some discussion.

Many have claimed to house the true nails, but their authenticity has been debated for centuries.

Saint Helena, the mother of Roman Emperor Constantine, is said to be the one who first discovered the current relics.

“You’ve never believed she brought the real things back.” Marcus notes as you look over the journals beside him in the car ride.

“Always had my doubts.” You mutter going over the notes.

As the mother of the Emperor who changed a national faith, you believed Helena needed to solidify the holiness compared to the nation's old pagan faith. In theory, it made sense for the Empress Dowager to so conveniently find the holy relics to further justify her son’s new conversion.

“Where do you think they are?” Marcus's voice dips while staying close beside you.

“Honestly? Here.” You say nudging out the window.

The beautiful Vatican streets roll by the window. An ache squirms in your chest thinking about how you and Marcus had always dreamed of coming to Italy.

“On our tenth anniversary I’m making it happen,” he had once grinned telling you that.

“Reached our fifth anniversary last year and finally made it here… I think we’re on the right track, baby.” He now jokes holding the taxi door open for you.

Rolling your eyes, amusement still tugs at your lips.

Normally, you would have begged Marcus to simply book a flight back to the states and come home with you.

But now you hate curiosity has sunken its claws into you. You want to see if this lead here holds any truth.

You take this time during the day to truly scope out the Vatican Museum.

Saint Helena’s sarcophagus is a sight.

A deep crimson red, covered in etching of Roman soldiers, the piece draws attention. Your eyes try absorbing every detail you can from the distance.

The lions on top of the tomb catch your eye.

Strange that one sleeps while the other lion is simply lying down.

If only you could inspect the burial piece closer, try to see if there’s any hidden religious iconography hidden.

“You notice something?” Marcus questions keeping a hand against your lower back, soft and protective.

“It’s lovely finally getting to meet your wife I’ve heard so much about.” A new voice, crisp and achingly saccharine, interrupts the moment.

Off to the side stands the woman, the one from the photos.

“Margaret,” Marcus curtly nods to her.

She grins at you wicked and sweet.

“Good to see you again, Dr. Pike,” she purrs, and Marcus stiffens beside you.

“See anything good, gorgeous?” Then the familiar voice of William Musgrave arrives.

You glance around and find even in the crowded space, it’s obvious you’re surrounded by their goons.

“I always knew you were the brains between the two Pikes,” Musgrave grins at you.

Your husband’s hand tightens into a fist against your back, angered.

“Now we can do this the easy way, or the not easy way.” Musgrave explains politely.

Either you and Marcus would both accompany them to the spot you believe the nails could be at, or they’d take you by force.

“The sarcophagus is the only clue we had. I’m sure you figured out something, Dr. Pike. Marcus always did praise your intellect.” Margaret coos at you faux adoringly, and your blood boils.

“No. This supposedly great lead was unsuccessful.” You snap back.

Musgrave sneers unconvinced. But glancing around he also notices this isn’t the time or place to be having such a conversation in the broad daylight among other visitors.

“Guess we can just return here later, once things have settled down.” He suggests.

“Now, don’t make this harder and come with us.” Margaret smiles.

True to their word, they bring you and Marcus back to the exhibition sneaking in under the cover of nightfall.

At any other time you’d be over the moon getting to examine such a rare and ancient artifact with Marcus by your side.

Now a horrible distaste rots in you.

“So… what plans do you all have for the nails? Are they really that expensive? Don’t you think the Catholic Church will find you first before you even get to sell them?” You suddenly speak up, momentarily lionhearted.

Marcus under the hood of his weathered hat shoots you a sharp cautionary look to tread lightly.

“Well, the money is nice,” Margaret begins.

But the truth was that the sacred nails apparently hold the dried sacred blood of Christ. Legend says the blood could heal any wound.

“Imagine the payout we could get if it’s true?” Musgrave greedily grins at the thought.

“Even if it’s true, those belong in a museum," Marcus snaps now.

One of the many qualities you loved about Marcus was his resolve, his integrity and steadfast determination.

Marcus championed artifacts being returned to their cultures, or for certain relics being restored within the safety of a museum. He would never think about seeking any artifacts out for his own gain.

Hearing him speak so firm and in his dusty leather jacket, even in this stressful moment, you’ve never been more in love.

Margaret makes a gagging noise and mockingly laughs.

“Oh you’re such a wet blanket, Dr Pike. No wonder why you were a disappointment in bed.” Her words slice through you.

Immediately your gaze snaps to find Marcus, almost accusatory. He already looks back at you, eyes shining in unshakable clarity.

“She’s lying. I never slept with her.” His words ring firm and true.

“So says the desperate lonely soon to be divorced man. I don’t know how you stayed with him for so long, you poor thing.” Margaret frowns staring at you.

“There’s nothing here.” You now declare fierce ignoring Margaret and her venomous words. “I’ve looked at every inch of this thing but found nothing.”

Musgrave sighs now.

“A shame… that’s all we had to go on.” He mutters.

Was this it? Was this finally over?

Marcus even seems to exhale a bit relieved.

Until Musgrave pulls out a pistol and points it to you.

“No!” Marcus screams and tries to reach you until another gun gets drawn stopping him.

“Now we can’t have you two love birds coming after us can we?” Margaret grins.

“We wouldn’t dare, just let us go.” Marcus urges and tries to negotiate saying he can lead them to other artifacts.

“Sorry Dr. Pike, we were set on those nails. It’s unfortunate that you or your pretty spouse couldn’t find anything.” Musgrave whistles disheartened.

“Wait.” You suddenly blurt out.

“I think… there might be another spot we can try.” You mutter.

“Now that’s the type of talk I like to hear.” Musgrave beams at you.

Marcus mutters your name petrified but confused, wondering where you’re heading with this.

“We can maybe try Helena’s original burial site.” You explain.

Your favorite professor blinks, processing what you’re saying.

“I remember… There was a mausoleum Constantine had commissioned for his mother,” Marcus mutters thinking out loud.

The original burial ground where Saint Helena rested is at another location.

This was your final attempt at finding something, or until you and Marcus figured out a way to escape this band of devils.

It pains you knowing you’re seeing this sacred site under awful circumstances. The mausoleum sits towering within the night and looms with the grace of an ancient world.

Musgrave’s men keep watch as everyone sneaks into the ancient site.

Among the beautiful old stones, listening to the softness of the wind, all you can think about is the sarcophagus.

And the image of those two lions.

One resting and the other sleeping. Two distinct forms that seem connected.

You finally take notice of the mausoleum’s peculiar build with two particular layers.

A thought strikes you. When you turn to Marcus he already stares at you, and you wonder if he arrived at the same conclusion.

“Some nails are up top,” he whispers.

“The other is buried below.” You finish.

“Don’t get brave and try anything silly now,” Musgrave reminds you and Marcus.

There’s still hope to escape this. But now you’re on a mission trying to search for some sort of clue.

Marcus however goes to stand in the center of the gravesite. Muttering to himself his eyes scan the walls while he holds the lantern up.

Then he scurries to a side of the wall.

Immediately Marcus kneels down and begins swiping at the stone wall edge with his hands, a makeshift attempt at trying to preserve the stone

You rush to his side.

“I figured we’d try for the sleeping lion first. Biblical prophecy and all. Just had to remember what direction the lions were in.” He grins boyish.

This smart, incredible man.

The stone wiggles under Marcus’s delicate touch.

Musgrave hisses something to his men while more of his men approach.

Neither you or Marcus care about the mercenary now. Everything in you simply focuses on the dig.

“I need something to move the brick blocking the others.” Marcus huffs a bit frustrated at himself for not having his dig site tool kit on hand.

“Not if we do this.” You grab a nearby discarded stone and start using it to knock away the brick.

“Hey!” Marcus cries a bit horrified at your actions, and Musgrave laughs.

“It’s fine,” you reassure Marcus. “Don’t you remember Helena desecrated and destroyed a pagan temple dedicated to the goddess Venus. This was bound to come back to her.”

Now you hear a breathlessly laugh come from Marcus. The jagged stone wall scrapes your hand, and you flinch in pain. He grabs the rock and instead takes over for you.

Further and further he digs into the rock wall’s edge that meets the floor.

His dusty hat unfortunately covers your eyesight when Marcus leans down closer to the ground.

Reaching into the stone gingerly he then pulls something out.

Ancient and aged cloth, almost delicate enough to be paper, is wrapped around something.

The air stills.

Delicately Marcus unfolds the wrapping. His eyes meet yours.

Inside sits a large rusted ancient nail.

Your breathing stops.

Stunned, you glance to Marcus who stares at this artifact trying to process the sight before him.

No one moves.

Until Musgrave reaches out and simply grabs the holy nail out from the wrapping.

Then, before you or Marcus can even react, immediately Musgrave begins screaming.

A horrible smell fills the air.

Then you watch as if a mysterious acid starts eating away at Musgrave’s hands. They disintegrate right before your eyes. His men and Margaret scream in confusion as their leader perishes right before them.

Margaret’s terror transforms in anger, and she whips out a gun pointing it at you.

Everything happens so fast.

The gunshot fires into the night, the sound ringing in your ears.

Yet you never feel the impact of a bullet.

All that comes is Marcus’s body barreling into yours as you and him collide falling over onto the ground.

Maybe she missed?

Margaret screams again, but this time it’s in pure agony. Wearily on the stone floor you watch her collapse to her knees. Her hands start disintegrating too. The holy nail she tried to escape with falls to the ground.

Utterly petrified, the rest of the men quickly flee in fear.

“Some mercenaries they are.” You chuckle.

Yet Marcus stays quiet.

Worried, you call his name and sit up more.

Blood stains your clothes.

The source leaks from the bullet wound -

That hit Marcus.

“No… oh please no,” you frantically cry trying to press your hands against the bleeding on his shoulder.

His breathing comes shaky, wheezy.

“Marcus, stay with me!” You snap, ordering him to stay awake.

“Love you, my bossy wife.” His tone is fond, but his slurred speech worries you.

Sliding your coat off, you use it to help put pressure on the wound. But so much blood continues soaking into your coat.

“Darling….” Marcus’s voice trickles out softer, weaker.

“No,” you cry harder trying to think of something, maybe run out into the streets of Rome to find help.

You can’t lose him.

Looking around the ancient site hoping to find anything, frantically you spot the nail on the ground.

Gingerly you move Marcus off your lap.

He coughs out your name.

“What are you doing? Honey?” Marcus speaks up a bit stronger against the pain and blood loss.

Resolved and hoping for a miracle, you gingerly pick up the nail through the wrapping, making sure not to touch the holy artifact. Your hand stings from the scrapes, but it doesn’t matter.

Against the lantern light you delicately shift Marcus to see his shoulder. A soft pained groan leaves him.

“I know, honey,” you hiccup.

This is all you can think of.

You run the tip of the nail against the wound.

Marcus shouts in pain. Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision.

What have you done?

Did you just lose the love of your life?

But then the bullet simply plops out from the wound.

Your eyes go wide.

The bleeding stops.

You beg Marcus to sit up and help slide off his jacket.

The wound is gone.

More sobs overtake you. The paper covered nail drops from your hands, and you fling yourself to embrace Marcus into your arms.

“You dumb man!” You cry hard. “Don’t ever jump in front of a bullet again!”

“I’m sorry, but I’d do it again to keep you safe.” He comforts you.

You shed more tears now simply relieved he’s alive. Marcus moves to draw you into his arms, cradling you.

Suddenly, the screech of police sirens break the air. A rush of police and Vatican officers arrive. A distinguished elderly priest speaking Italian storms in. He must be the main guy in charge.

Managing to steady himself Marcus answers the priest back in Italian.

The priest’s eyes go wide. He nods then returns to ordering the others around. The officers show no sign of arresting you or Marcus, and it confuses you even more.

“I told them what happened.” Marcus explains sensing your confusion.

“But how… why are they even here?” You still question, clinging to Marcus.

“Before we left, I told the innkeeper if we weren’t back by midnight to call the police and send them here,” Marcus reveals.

He already knew you might end up here.

“Kinda figured we’d both come to the same conclusion and check this place out. Guess my hunch was right.” He chuckles.

A watery relieved laugh fills your body, and you clutch onto him.

“I love you so much, you beautiful ridiculous man.” You laugh cry.

“Not as much as I love you,” Marcus exhales, kissing the top of your head while he clutches onto you tight.

“You saved my life.” He says reverently.

“You saved mine.” You argue back.

“Please… don’t ever touch a terrifying artifact again.” His voice wavers heavily with thick emotion.

“I’d do it again to keep you safe.” You repeat his words back to him.

Marcus busts into a watery laughter so love sick you want to hear it over and over.

Under the shadow of the ancient stone, you find anew in his arms.

— ⟡ —

The beautiful Italian sun coats the mausoleum in a soft light. The police and other authorities are still keeping everything off limits.

You’re grateful to finally appreciate the historic site without the stress of mercenaries or Marcus possibly bleeding out in your arms.

“I owe Saint Helena an apology. Guess she did really find the Holy Nails.” You note.

“I’m sure she’d understand your doubt.” Marcus ever reassuring replies.

“But you did break part of her mausoleum. So maybe you should apologize for that.” He adds teasing, and you playfully elbow him.

“You know it’s funny, I just remembered Helena is considered the patron saint of archeologists.” You add feeling a fondness swell in your chest.

“Very fitting,” Marcus squeezes your hand, grinning soft.

The priest from last night emerges out from the site and kindly smiles at you and Marcus.

“We appreciate you both keeping watch over these sacred relics,” the priest is earnest in his gratitude but also politely urges to never speak a word of what you saw.

“Safe blessings and travels to you both,” he nods and turns on his heels to return to the site.

“Father,” until Marcus calls out and stops him.

You’re just as confused as the poor priest.

“Can you… maybe do me a favor?” Marcus asks with kind pleading eyes.

Now you’re even more confused.

“Can you marry us? I want to renew our vows.” He asks sincerely.

An unflattering confused noise escapes you.

“Are you serious?!” You continue to squawk.

Marcus turns to you, clean shaven now and more stunning than ever in his blazer.

“Never been more serious in my life.” He reassures you and then turns back to say something in Italian to the priest.

The holy man sleepily grins, almost understanding. He now turns to you, waiting for your decision.

Without hesitation you step to stand beside Marcus before this priest.

The vows are familiar. You remember the officiant who did your first ceremony got emotional when Marcus politely interrupted the vows and declared his own.

Now under the watch of the ancient building, you and your husband declare yourselves to each other again. In your heart you promise to fight any battle with Marcus by your side. You again want your life tied to him in every way.

There’s no rings but you don’t mind.

Until of course Marcus eagerly moves to pull something from his blazer’s breast pocket.

His ring.

“You have it?” You can’t even believe your own words much less the sight of the familiar wedding band.

“Keep it on me for good luck,” bashfully Marcus shrugs.

You truly would love this man for all eternity.

Sliding his ring onto your hand, it feels like coming home.

“You may now kiss,” the priest declares warm.

It’s even better than the first time.

The inn keeper greets you relieved and teary eyed when Marcus and you return back.

This sweet older man is the true hero of this trip and you thank him graciously.

“So, are you ready to leave that signore and stay here with me?” He playfully winks, and you laugh.

“Maybe another time. This guy is my ride back.” You joke.

“Husband,” Marcus politely corrects. “I’m your husband.”

Damn right he is.

Tomorrow you’ll be flying home with your husband.

“Wish we could stay later, maybe see more here in Rome” he admits dreamily placing soft kisses against your shoulder as he gathers up his things.

“We have papers to grade,” you weakly reply back.

“Ugh no talk of school. We’re on our second honeymoon mind you.” Marcus huffs, and you laugh.

When he pulls you down to the bed alongside him, he winces a bit.

“Does your shoulder still hurt?” You ask worried.

“Just sore, it’s fine.” He reassures you. The wound is completely healed still, but you understand how sore he could still be.

Your eyes find the spot where the bullet hit him, where his warm skin now remains unblemished.

Leaning down you place a soft kiss to where the wound was. The soft exhale Marcus gives is music to your ears.

“I’m a bit sore here too honey, might need a kiss,” Marcus mutters moving to point at his lips.

The action makes you laugh, but you happily kiss him all the same. Greedily your husband sweeps you in his arms.

When your hand reaches for his face, the scrapes still fresh against your skin suddenly sting sharp, and you now flinch.

He immediately notices, says your name worried, and pulls away to tend to your hand.

“It’s nothing.” You’re the one reassuring him now. Especially compared to his wound, you had almost completely forgotten about your hand.

Once the tender wrapping is around your scrapes, Marcus lifts your hand to place a soft kiss against it like he’s a beautiful knight pledging his fealty to you.

“You wanna hear my theory on why I think the nail worked, Dr. Pike?” he mutters.

“Tell me, Dr. Pike.” You perk up curious.

“Because you used the nail on someone else, someone you love.” Marcus explains with the most gentle tone.

“I’m just glad it worked.” You agree.

Gentle he gathers you back into his arms, and you melt into blissful peace. He kisses your forehead.

“So… what’s your next adventure, Professor Pike? Want to find the ark of the convent?” You tease.

“Why? Is my beautiful wife thinking of accompanying me?” Those gorgeous eyes of his go wide in surprise.

“Maybe… I don't know. Guess I just now understand why you do this.” You shrug playfully.

Leaning out from his arms, you reach and grab the dusty hat perched on top of the best post.

Turning to Marcus you place his hat on your head.

“What do ya say…Up for another adventure?” You grin wild.

You’re worried he might have taken this as teasing since he intently stares at you.

Marcus doesn’t let you utter another word as he suddenly surges forward to kiss you.

In the beautiful afterglow among the sheets again, dark brown hat fully discarded, you slowly fade in and out of sleep. Your husband’s fingers aimlessly tracing gentle shapes on you.

“I’ve always wondered if Atlantis is real,” you suddenly say dreamy burrowing closer to Marcus. “Can you maybe try to find Atlantis?”

Your favorite professor burst into a wild wonderful laugh, one that brilliantly touches his eyes.

“No, my darling. I think I’ve had enough adventures for a while. Now I want to enjoy the best ones with my wife.” He grins.

Then Marcus kisses you like you’re the most precious treasure he could ever find in the world.