#shitship

"And if I do the rest you'll come over?" Merchant (that's what he went by, back then) smirked, reaching up to brush Mari's fingers as she tucked a towel around his shoulders.

"Haha, gross!" Marianne responded with a smile. "C'mon, put that sleazy ass in the salon chair so I can get you out before my regulars come." She not-so-subtly wiped her hand on the cloth of her skirt as Merchant pulled himself from the washing station and headed towards Marianne's salon chair. It was early morning, early enough that Susan and Amy hadn't arrived yet. It was pretty obvious why; Merchant's personality sucked more dick than a gay porn star, and Marianne's salon had a decent reputation. In fact, Merchant wasn't entirely sure why Marianne kept associating with him when she made it pretty obvious that she was disgusted by him, but hey, she fucked good.

Marianne went back to humming as she set up her station, clipping the poncho around Merchant's freshly-bruised (Lorraine was a biter) neck. Her slender fingers ghosted over the almost-black hickey. "Good time last night?"

Merchant gave her a sleazy grin into the mirror. "You know it, doll."

"Disgusting," Marianne replied cheerily as she picked up the towel and ruffled Merchant's hair with it. Thick and black, it was a pain in the ass to make decent but somehow Marianne made it behave. (Merchant suspected there was magic involved.) The unlikely pair lapsed into silence once more as Marianne snipped odds and ends, layering here and thinning there, all the while humming that tune.

It was a simple, singsong-y tune that repeated over and over, like a child's nursery rhyme, but it didn't sound like any of the ones Merchant knew. It went on, and on, and on, as Marianne tended to his hair and muttered in between about split ends, until Merchant caught himself humming it too.

Marianne noticed right away and snorted, amused. "Do you like my song about elephants in a spider web?"

"What?"

Marianne put the scissors down and picked up the mousse, squirting a dollop of foam into her palm. "Los Elefantes," she explained, rubbing her hands together and burying her fingers deep into Merchant's hair. "One of those songs you learn as a kid, you know? It's about elephants getting on a spider's web."

Merchant closed his eyes and leaned into Mari's hands, letting out a sound of satisfaction. "Elephants on spiderwebs? You're fuckin' with me, doll.""Nope," Marianne said, working her fingers (and the mousse) deeper and giving a coy smile at Merchant's reaction. "It's aaaaaaaall about how many elephants can fit on a spiderweb. Catchy, isn't it?"

"...mmm..." Merchant closed his eyes and relaxed into the chair. Marianne massaged his scalp a little more and then slid out her hands all at once. "Heeeeeeey," Merchant whined.

"Time to blow dry!" Marianne cheered, plugging in the hairdryer. "Aww, Merchy, were you getting into it?"

"Mmm, kinda." Merchant tilted so he could grin at her directly instead of through the mirror. "Sure you don't wanna miss a few hours of your shift?"

Marianne smiled at him and blasted hot air in his face. "I'll sleep with you when some soap touches that putrid flesh of yours."

"In the regular not-magick world, someone passing out is bad."

The sky was clouded over, with soot or water Merchant couldn't tell. One eye was blinded by blood, the other stung with sweat and tears he didn't regret shedding.

Marianne was alive. Marianne was alive and not dead and that was all that mattered in that moment.

"I thought--" He stopped himself. But judging from her faintly shocked expression, he didn't need to finish that sentence. "Just - just - I'll get you food later, alright? Maybe the next town over didn't burn yet and we can split some takeout."

Marianne's words were filled with too much sugar, too much sweet chatter trying to cover up the bitter truth. He knew it, she knew it, but she embraced him anyway.

The skies opened up and rain (not a blessing from the world, but rather a miracle made of magicks) poured down, putting out fires, washing away the black stains put upon the city by that girl and that dragon.

And while she held him, Marianne began to hum.

"With Xander?" Merchant slammed down the empty beer bottle, rage filling his words. "He's GAY, what the FUCK."

"Merch, babe," Teresa said, raising an eyebrow, "that's your third beer. Are you okay--?"

"How could she go on a date with Xander, Reese, he's gay as balls," Merchant hissed. "That makes - that makes NO sense!"

Teresa frowned. "Why are you wasting so much time 'n energy on this girl? You usually drop chicks that give you trouble, like Marissa did."

"Marissa didn't give me trouble." Merchant cracked open a fourth beer. "Her boyfriend did."

Teresa snorted. "That's one hell of an understatement. But seriously, Merch, why are you doing this to yourself?" She sipped at her own drink - something fruity with a splash of vodka. "Just stop seein' her if she's pissing you off this bad. Though usually you don't get mad when your fuckbuds go on dates."

"Usually my fuckbuds don't go on dates with GAY TATTOO ARTISTS. Am I the only one seeing the problem here?" They also don't go on dates just to spite me, Merchant added silently, but he was pretty sure Teresa would just call him out as being paranoid.

Reese rolled her eyes. "Look, I fuckin' hate Xander more'n anyone, everyone knows that. But you're avoiding my question. Why are you so upset? I've never seen you so damn attached to someone before."

"I'm not attached," Merchant replied immediately, taking a swig. "Look at me, Reese. Worse than garbage. I'm the shit nobody wants to touch in the bottom of a dumpster. I don't deserve to get attached to anyone, and I'm certainly not attached to hairstylists with jobs in law enforcement."

"Oooh, that's her second job," Reese murmured, and then she stood up and gently pried the bottle from Merchant's grasp. "Well, if she's gettin' you so hot under the collar, I think you need to relax for a bit." Her hands slid under his shirt before he could stop them. "C'mon, Merch, lemme let you forget. I'm better for your liver than a buncha beers anyway."

Merchant thought about Marianne's expression as she pulled him into a Turtle, holding him longer than she had to as his home went up in flames. He thought of the faint shock in the tone of her voice, the "You thought I was dead?" that sent the blood rushing to his cheeks. He thought of the song she always hummed, a silly song about elephants and spiders that was ridiculous and childish and so very, very fitting.

"Yeah," he decided, standing up, avoiding the sick twist of guilt in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah. Help me forget."

Merchant woke up with Marianne's pleasured cries still ringing in his ears.

It was morning, the day after the two gangs had converged and nearly made mincemeat out of him. Marianne had stayed over, she was here, somewhere, but the bed was empty. Merchant, too lazy to find underwear, rolled out of bed, tucked a sheet around his waist, and ventured to the kitchen.

There she was, wearing one of his clean shirts (a rare find) that barely covered her torso, humming a tune and frying some eggs. (Merchant didn't even know he HAD eggs.) He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and the humming faltered for a second before starting up again, somehow sounding warmer this time.

"Mornin'," he mumbled into her ear, voice raspy with drowsiness.

"Morning," Marianne replied lovingly, leaning back a little into him. "I made eggs."

"I see that."

"You gonna get off me?"

"Nah."

Marianne chuckled, and the sound made Merchant's heart skip a beat. But there was still something bothering him, something Marianne had cried out last night, and his grip tightened a little.

"...when did you find out?"

"Find out what?"

"Simon."

Marianne stilled, and Merchant could feel the tension rush to her shoulders. "...Tyler calls you Si," she finally said, quietly, "so... I took a guess."

"Mm, well..." Merchant kissed her head, just over her ear. "You guessed correctly."

Marianne smiled at the eggs.

As Wales shrank in the distance, the guilt in Merchant's stomach grew.

She was mad. She was so, so, so mad. Merchant could see it in her eyes in the slightly blurred photo he had, the one that depicted Marianne flipping him off with anger and hurt and confusion burning in her eyes, behind those dark lenses. And the funny thing was, he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be furious. He wanted her to hate him. He wanted her to curse him out from the bottom of her soul, to never want anything to do with him again.

He always did this. He always, always did this. Destroy his relationships before they could get started. He didn't want to get attached to anyone - he couldn't afford to.

She'll be fine, Merchant tried to convince himself, looking out the window as the ocean passed below them. She'll find someone else who's cleaner, who doesn't only shower when she asks them to. Someone with a decent job and a clearer future.

Someone who exists.

The very thought of Marianne finding someone else to love twisted Merchant's stomach so badly that he had to physically stop himself from vomiting. And it was fortunate he did, as the seatbelt light came on and the pilot reported some turbulence. Merchant secured himself and slipped in headphones, looking for a distraction, anything to pass the time, to take his mind off the hairstylist burned into his memory.

Merchant hit shuffle. A song started up, one in another language, untouched by the debarrier.

One that had a familiar tune.

Un elefante se balanceaba sobre la tela de una araña.Y como vieron que resistíaFueron a buscar otro elefante.

Merchant closed his eyes. "Fuck," he breathed out. "Fuck."

Dos elefantes se balanceaban sobre la tela de una araña.Y como vieron que resistíaFueron a buscar otro elefante.

Tres elefantes...

He shaped up, he got better, he came back.

He got punched, but he deserved it. He got interrogated, but he understood. He let her be angry. He let her hate him.

(It killed him more than he wanted to admit, but that was okay.)

Yet, she couldn't stay away any more than he could. Somewhere between "You know, I kind of hate you" and "Merchant please don't leave m--" Merchant had fallen head over heels again, and he didn't feel like lying to himself about it. A drink or two with Xander revealed she'd resisted seeing anyone else, and somehow it reminded him of himself, how women cooed over him because he was well-traveled and how he'd brushed off their advances. Xander's eyebrow had arched rather dramatically when he'd insisted it was only because he didn't have the time in his life then to start a relationship.

"I dunno, bro," he replied. "Sounds more to me you're hung up as fuck."

"I am not hung up as fuck," Merchant snapped back.

"Mhmm," Xander said, not looking convinced. He shrugged. "Well, it's aight. I mean, after all..." He took a swig. "Not like she isn't in the same boat."

Merchant didn't have an answer to that. He said his goodbyes and went back to his cart, took the kid's earnings for the day and gave him the profits.

And then he went to sleep and dreamed of elephants balancing on spiderwebs, seeing how many of them could fit before it gave way under their feet.

Merchant gasped for air as Michael finally let up. Gisa studied his expression with cold eyes.

"You're only doing this to yourself, you know," she said calmly. "If you simply gave up what you know, we'd let you go much faster."

Merchant knew that was a lie. He was dead either way. Either he'd die from torture or they'd kill him after he talked. Talking was a more painless death, less drawn out.

"The Elfslayer," Gisa pressed. "What do you know of them? You had to be on the case, Simon, it's the only explanation that makes sense."

Merchant flinched at the sound of his name. It was rough, ugly, it sounded... wrong. Bad. It would be so easy, so simple, to lie and give her false information, or to give up Marianne. It would be so easy. He'd die quickly and leave the heavy work to those that still had a chance.

Un elefante se balanceaba...

Merchant gritted his teeth. If a bunch of elephants could stand on a spiderweb, then he could walk this razor's edge and come out alive. He just had to trust in Marianne, and he had to hold on.

Gisa's eyes narrowed a fraction at Merchant's defiant glare. "...I see," she said quietly, standing up. "Michael, don't stop until he passes out."

"Roger!" Michael said cheerfully, and Merchant felt the air shift as his oxygen was taken away from him. Darkness ate at the corners of his vision.

Dos elefantes...

Marianne refused to leave his side while he recovered.

The first night, Merchant was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Visions of Leah's merciless smile, Michael's cheerful grin as he sucked the air from Merchant's lungs, Tyme's indifferent expression as they guarded him, Gisa's cool gaze and relentless interrogating, Acwel's irritated tone as he complained this was pointless, Thor's unreadable expression as he forced god-knew-what down Merchant's throat.

Merchant gasped awake in cold sweats over and over, clawing at a limb that wasn't there, torn flesh throbbing as if his arm had just recently been torn apart. His heart threatened to break out of his chest, his breath wouldn't come right, he was convinced that he was strapped in a chair, clinging to a thread of hope, wondering if he really was going to die--

And every time, she was there, blinking sleep from her eyes, telling him he was safe, he was okay, she was here and she would never let something like this happen again. She was there to kiss his tears away and calm his heartbeat with soft words and a gentle tone. Marianne's presence was comforting, and she stayed close, arms draped across him and her legs entangled with his. Every time he woke, she helped him fall asleep.

"You're safe, Simon," she whispered at one point, tracing circles on his back while he clung to her tightly. "I'm here. You're safe."

Merchant - Simon - believed her. Simon trusted her. He pressed closer against her under the covers and inhaled the smell of her shampoo. (Strawberry, his favorite.) He was already drifting off again, her existence made him comfortable enough to allow himself to be drowsy...

Marianne hummed until he fell asleep, and Simon drifted off into dreams of elephants on tightropes and blonde demons in a suit of human flesh.

"Nobody knows where she went?"

Simon's voice was heartbreaking, and he stared hard at the mug of frothy beer in his hands. Two glasses of water sat in front of him, and Xander sat at his side. The Murky Trout was much quieter now that the gang violence had staved off.

Xander shrugged and took a swig. "Asked around. Amy and Susan are stumblin' in the dark as much as you and I are." He swiped through the texts on his phone, where the last sent message to 'Angry Boobs' was a series of question marks and forward slashes.

"Ugh," Simon muttered, picking at his new suit. Training started the next day, and he'd decided gloves to cover his hands would help him get accepted amongst the professors a little faster. It wasn't like they didn't know him - word had already spread among the faculty that a mundane had gotten a teaching job. It was going to be hard enough settling in; he didn't need eyes drawn to a fake hand.

"What next, then?" Xander asked, glancing at his beer before drinking it. "You're not gonna let this go, are ya?"

"Course not," Simon replied. "I've already got my feelers out around the globe."

"Feelers bein' a buncha old business contacts?" Xander sounded amused. "I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to cash in illegal favors, bro."

"If she's out there, I'll find her," Simon replied evenly.

"And then what?"

Simon stopped and looked at Xander. "...what?"

Xander shrugged. "Then what?" he repeated. "You'll find her, and then what? You gotta plan? Gonna fly out to confront her? What are you gonna say?"

Simon stared at the table, fingering the compass chain hanging around his neck. Xander glanced at it, and then he reached out to pat his shoulder. "I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing to look for her, bro, but you gotta think things through a little more before jumping off the cliff." His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, finished off his beer, and slammed the mug down. "I gotta go. Customer needs somethin' done by midnight."

"You started up the enchanting on the side again?"

"Course." Xander gave him a grin. "Gotta give Reese a run for her money, don't I? Gangs might be gone but our beef sure as fuck ain't." He slapped down money on the counter and headed for the door, whistling a familiar tune, a tune that made Simon stiffen and twin sunsets he could drown in flash through his mind.

Un elefante se balanceaba...

"Not fair," he muttered, swirling his mug and watching the beer inside splash against the sides. "Not fair..."

It's three years later.

Simon tells himself he's moved on. The dormitory door is locked and he buried the key in his sock drawer. Pictures on his phone? Shoved in an album titled 'DON'T LOOK'. Left-behind clothes? Tossed out to charity. He fills his life with empty smiles and too many cigarettes and letting Xander and Muna pass him back and forth in an effort to heal a blow he'll never recover from.

He tells himself he doesn't care anymore. He doesn't. He really doesn't.