#mark lore

The next morning Otto walked down the stairs stiffly from his room. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to see Mark still on his computer in the chair beside his couch, which he had been sleeping on, and said he was going to head upstairs to his bed. Mark insisted on shoving more pills and “grape”-flavored cough syrup into his mouth while making him promise if he needed anything to call down.

The clockmaker’s head felt heavy and clouded as he continued to make his way to the first level of his house. He wasn’t sure if it was the medication or the illness that had settled into his ears and sinuses that made his brain feel so swimmy. Regardless, he didn’t enjoy the sensation at all. The shower he took hadn’t helped much except to make him cough and sneeze more and he held his robe tighter around him at the chill his wet hair was giving him, his body having completely given up on regulating his temperature. His head was pounding as well.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw Mark through the living room in the kitchen. He frowned. The man was in sweats and a white shirt studying something very hard. As Otto squinted, he realized with surprise that it was his Chemex.

It was quite possible, Otto realized, that he was hallucinating due to fever. Surely Mark couldn’t be attempting to make coffee. But as he crept closer, he noticed Mark’s open laptop on the counter with step-by-step instructions on how to make pour over coffee using a Chemex. Mark kept glancing from the computer screen to the glass vessel as he poured hot water into the filter at the top and stared at it as the water seeped through the coffee grounds.

Otto stopped at the threshold of the kitchen and huddled the robe closer to him curling his toes inside his house-slippers and leaned against the side of the entrance to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” he finally asked, annoyed at how hoarse his voice was and his inability to make it any clearer. He coughed a little into his shoulder as speaking encouraged more phlegm to dislodge.

Mark started a little but then smiled one of his very achieved looking smiles at Otto.

“Making coffee!” he replied, enthusiastically.

Otto gave a long-suffering sigh, wincing at the wheeze he felt in his chest as he expelled the air.

“No—I see that—what are you doing here,” he emphasized. And while he hadn’t intended on his tone being confrontational, it’d come out that way a little with his tired exasperation and current mood.

Mark scoffed with some humor, though some of the glow from earlier left his face.

“Okay, um, well,” Mark said and took a breath, “I’m here because I’m on-call the rest of this week. So...I thought I’d wake up and make coffee because I knew you probably weren’t going to feel up to it so...but y’know, if you’d rather I wasn’t here, I can do that, too!”

“No! I! Ugh,” Otto leaned his head on the frame of the threshold and closed his eyes with a deep breath he could only take through his mouth. He swallowed at the dryness of his throat and groaned as he whined, “My head hurts...my throat hurts...I don’t—I didn’t mean to sound so...uh…”

“Grumpy?” Mark prompted.

When Otto opened his eyes, Mark was giving him a bemused smirk and Otto sighed again, coughed a little, and nodded in agreement to Mark’s word choice.

“Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Grumpy. I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for making coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said. Then he frowned and glanced at the taller man for a moment until Otto frowned back at him.

“You really don’t do well with people taking care of you, do you?” Mark finally said.

Otto groaned again and rubbed his head as he forced himself straight from leaning.

“Can we...not do the whole...profiling your housemate bit today? I’m really not feeling up for it,” Otto admitted.

“Yeah, sure,” Mark said sheepishly. “Sorry bout that. Hey! What’re you doing?”

Otto had just opened the refrigerator to pull out eggs and stopped mid-bend. He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m...making scrambled eggs? My stomach feels a little iffy so I thought I’d make something simple. Is...that okay?” Otto asked.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” Mark said, crossing the distance to grab the eggs from in front of Otto. “I’ll make us both some. And toast, if you want.”

Otto slowly rose with confusion.

“Okay…” he said slowly. Then he hissed and shook his hand as his palm brushed against the fibers of his robe. He’d forgotten he’d taken the bandage off to shower.

“But first,” Mark said as he noticed, “I’m gonna bandage that hand up again.”

Otto hummed, still scowling a little. Then he began to feel a little light-headed. His heart started thumping harder in his chest. Mark, of course, noticed the change.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, dark blue eyes tracking Otto’s brown ones with concern.

Otto swallowed hard before speaking, “Mark...even when you’re on-call you usually don’t hang around here. Or you’re upstairs doing...something. Are you really here just to take care of me because I’m sick?”

The clockmaker said this with a tone of disbelief. His head swam a little harder and he gripped the counter as Mark took his elbow.

“Whoa, hey! Let’s get you to the couch first,” Mark said and led Otto with a hand to his back to the couch so he could sit down. He could feel the warmth emitting from him through the robe.

Mark sat next to Otto and gripped his shoulder.

“You good?” Mark asked, those worried blue eyes sparkling again. When Otto nodded lightly Mark sighed, “Dude, you really thought I was gonna just leave you here alone when you were feeling like crap? I mean, I know I’m not exactly...well...the most intuitive roommate, but I’m not just gonna abandon you like this.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said softly as he nodded a little. Though part of him really didn’t understand it. And another part of him didn’t get why he didn’t understand it. Was someone taking care of him that foreign a concept to him? His heart continued to feel hard in his chest.

Then Mark gave him a look that he wished he hadn’t seen. It wasn’t pity, exactly, but there was some sadness there after a gleam of understanding. Otto looked away and tried desperately not to think about the implication of the look. But then Mark had to say the quiet part out loud.

“Otto, you really aren’t used to this, are you?” Mark said.

Otto felt a very frustrating and stubborn knot in his throat as his eyes squinted and shined. He gave Mark a glance at his side, only being able to look at the sympathetic face for a second. He didn’t say anything but shook his head. No. No, he really wasn’t used to being taken care of like this.

The realization of it was almost sadder than it being true. Was he really this broken? And why had it taken him so long to realize it? If nothing else, he certainly had a topic to talk to his therapist about at his next appointment. He swallowed hard.

“Okay,” Mark said softly. “That’s okay. Before I was with Jana?”

Otto cautioned a look at him and met his eyes, nodding for him to continue and in understanding.

“I was kind of the same way,” Mark continued. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I actually got really angry because I didn’t understand why she was treating me like a kid. That was when I realized that even though my aunt loved me and tried to give me the best life she could after my parents died, she just didn’t know how to take care of anyone else. And Jana was just...caring for me. I saw that as something insulting, but Jana helped me realize what it really was.”

Mark sighed then, a look of sadness coming in his face.

“I hate...I really hate that we didn’t work out. I hate...ugh, I dunno. I hate that addiction exists and changes people and...that it took her away from me. And I hate that she couldn’t be with me because—because…” Mark stopped for a minute and bit his lip.

Otto put a hand on his shoulder then.

“Because,” Otto said, voice hoarse with illness and emotion, “she needed to work on her shit alone. That had nothing to do with you, Mark. Jana knew she couldn’t be where she needed to be in her recovery with the pressure of a relationship, especially one with so much baggage. She made the choice that was best for her and her recovery. And I know for a fact that wasn’t an easy decision to make. The last thing she ever wanted to do was to hurt you. She assumed this was the best way to avoid that. And...I agree with her.”

Mark looked like he had something to respond to that, but he clamped it down, pressing his lips together momentarily.

“I know,” he responded, instead. He nodded. Then he took a breath. “Um, lemme get the first aid kit and bandage that hand and I’ll work on the eggs. The coffee’s probably ready if you feel like you want any with your stomach?

Otto was recovering himself from the emotional toll of their conversation when he nodded.

“Yeah, man. If a doctor told me coffee was the thing that was gonna kill me, I’d make the best cup of coffee with the most expensive beans I could find and write my will while drinking it. That being said...might not hurt to take an antacid, too. Think I had a whole bunch of postnasal drippage last night. I’m gassy as hell this morning. You ever try coughing, sneezing, and belching at the same time? I don’t recommend it, man. Thank gawd the shower has a drain is all I gotta say,” Otto said rubbing his chest.

Mark snorted a laugh.

“Well, that is certainly a visual!” he said with a smile.

Despite himself, Otto smiled as well.

After Mark had wrapped Otto’s hand, handed him a coffee (which Otto had to admit wasn’t terrible), fed him eggs, and (to the clockmaker’s chagrin) gave him more meds, they both sat side by side on the couch sitting in the heaviness of their prior conversation but also in the lightness of having broken through some sort of barrier neither one of them realized had existed before in their relationship.

Mark had put something on TV in order to break some of the tension of the silence. Still, the lack of conversation felt a little heavy after all they’d revealed to each other. Until…

“Hmk!...Hmk!...Hm’mk!-uh...Hrmk!-dammit,” Otto muttered as he put a hand to his chest.

“Do you want some more water?” Mark asked. Mark wasn’t familiar with the ins and outs of Otto’s diaphragm, yet.

Otto sighed, his diaphragm pulling another gulp of air that hit his already sore throat like sandpaper. He swallowed and another gulpy hiccup interrupted the action and he grunted.

“Y—eah, it won’t Huggulp!-uh, stop th—em but Hmgk!-mm, might help m—my throat Hurg’k!-ow,” he said.

Fortunately, the pills and cough syrup Mark had pushed on him had helped most of the pain he’d been in, including his headache. So, he thought drowsily, it could be worse.

Apparently, Mark had gotten up because a second later he felt a glass of water touch his hand. And damn, Otto thought, whatever was in that cough syrup was good stuff. If it wasn’t for the hiccups, he could’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

“Tha-Hingk!-thanks,” Otto said and took a mouthful of water, waited for the next hiccup, and swallowed.

The clockmaker hummed and nodded at the cool sensation on his throat. His head rocked back with another hiccup as he kept the water in his hand between his legs.

“Those seem pretty rough,” Mark said.

“They n-Irgk!-not too bad. Mrgk!-mm, just hur-Urgk!-hurting my thro—oat,” he said.

“Maybe hold your breath?” Mark suggested.

Otto shook his head. He always got people suggesting cures. He really didn’t care about having the hiccups, even if they hurt a little. Besides, not much helped them anyways.

“Naw I ju—ust kinda have to H’murgk! let them Hmgk!-mm, let them go aw—way on their own. Hm’guck! ooh, excu—scuse me!” Otto said as he patted his chest and took another sip of water.

Mark hummed but still glanced over at Otto with some concern.

“I’m fi—ine!” Otto said with a little laugh. “They’re ju-Urgk!-just hiccups, ma—man! They won’t Hulgk! won’t last long. Hrmulgk!-mm.”

A pregnant pause filled only by the soft thumps and sounds of Otto’s hiccups.

“Otto?” Mark asked. When the clockmaker looked up in question the detective doubted himself for a second before continuing, “Look, man, I’m really sorry your mom didn’t—”

“Mm!” Otto vocalized before a muffled hiccup and shook his head firmly. “I don’t H’mulgk! I don’t wa—ant that. Please d-Ulgk!-don’t do that? I kno—ow it’s Hrp! it’s coming fro—om a goo—ood place, but I ca...Huggulp!-uh, I don’t wa—want that. Ple—please?”

Mark nodded.

“Yeah. No, I should’ve—I’m sorry,” Mark said.

“It’s fi—ine,” Otto said with a wince of a smile. After a while he added, “Thanks for, Hugguh! you know, car—ing.”

Otto rolled his eyes upward in response to how lame it sounded. He sniffed a little and swallowed hard against both a hiccup and another rush of emotion. He hated being sick. He took another drink of water like he would’ve taken a gulp of liquor if he still drank.

“Of course,” Mark responded with a quick smile and turned back to whatever was playing on the TV.

After a few minutes Otto’s hiccups quelled on their own. He hadn’t even noticed they were gone at first. When he did, he took a sigh through his mouth and relaxed a little more.

“Your hiccups finally gone?” Mark muttered.

At some point the detective must’ve gotten another cup of coffee, but Otto couldn’t recall when that was.

“Yeah,” Otto confirmed breathily as he closed his eyes and leaned on the back of the couch letting his head hit the cushion heavily.

That was the last thing Otto said for a while. When Mark looked over Otto’s form was completely relaxed and his head lolled with open-mouth congested snores. Slowly Otto’s head lolled over more and more toward Mark until, unconsciously sensing the closeness of something to be propped on, Otto let his head completely drop down on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark let Otto rest on his shoulder. Then, very slowly, he lifted his arm behind the man to let him lie a little more comfortably against him. Mark would never share this, but Otto snuggled into Mark at this movement. And while there was embarrassment when he woke up, it was worth it to Mark for Otto to feel cared for. It was a gift Jana had given to Mark he would cherish always. He was more than happy to pay it forward to a man who he felt deserved it so much.