ellie

the air felt different now. it was funny; you and marc had been apart hundreds, if not thousands of times, but he had never felt your absence. not like this. no, never like this. it was different now because he knew he could look for you everywhere and you would still be in that room, not breathing, not living.

he could see it all so clearly now. all of what? all of it. everything; life, your life, his life, where everything went wrong, what he should have done, should have said, how he could have saved you.

there was nothing you could have done, marc.

“that’s easy for you to say.” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. “you’re not the one who was halfway through a fucking argument when harrow took her. and if you can remember, harrow took her because of me.”

steven sighed, and went quiet.

“i should’ve died on that fucking alter.”

marc said it over and over, like a prayer, to go back in time and pull the trigger. he was fuck knows where, it looked like the middle of the desert but marc didn’t care enough to question it.

he had walked out of that pyramid and kept on walking - for hours. the hot egyptian sun had began to set, casting a rosy hue on everything. the humidity make marc’s head ache.

steven had gone silent - a small hum of anger in the back of marc’s head. it usually would have surprised marc, for steven to be the angry one. but he wasn’t sure he would never feel surprised again.

are you going to wallow here forever?

marc looked up, low sun glinting in his eyes, making him squint. but he could tell exactly who it was - crescent staff in his peripheral.

“fuck off.”

khonshu laughed. that’s one way to talk to a god.

“fuck off.” he repeated.

and why should i, mortal? why should i listen to you?

“you did this.” it was stiff, cold, a definite statement. “you did this to us.”

khonshu groaned, moving to block the sun from marc’s eyes so he could see him properly. aren’t you going to question how i am here?

“no.”

perhaps you should.

marc could never cope with khonshu’s riddles. they had always infuriated him - never getting a straight answer. but this one, he could tolerate.

“fuck does that mean?” he was looking directly into khonshu’s eyes now - something he had readily avoided for years. “and don’t give me any of your goddamn riddles.”

if you must be so blunt, it would seem like osiris has taken a liking to your poor lady wife. hathor isn’t half fond of her, either. maybe you ought to go back to the pyramid, something tells me your needed.

and he was gone. disappeared with a gust of wind, leaving marc alone in the saharan sunset, shaking and still covered in his wife’s blood.

she’s alive?

“i-” marc looked around. “i don’t-”

his eyes slipped into the back of his head.

steven took a deep breath, swallowing hard. he set off in a run - towards the pyramid.

-

“this feels so fucking weird.”

you were pressed flat against the wall, peeking around every few seconds to make sure one of harrow’s followers wasn’t coming your way.

i must admit, it’s been a while since i’ve had an avatar.

you let out a breathy laugh. was that your first ever laugh since being revived? you supposed it must be. oh, you wished it was one of steven’s jokes you were laughing at instead.

you didn’t think you’d ever find one of his jokes unfunny again.

“where is he?”

it’s hard to tell. i can’t check, unless i’d like ammit to spot me.

humming, you looked around the corner once again, breath hitching when you saw a shadow come closer.

what made your breath stop completely, however, was the slow, melodic tapping of a cane, following every footstep the person took.

harrow was less than two feet away from you.

swallowing hard, you pushed yourself against the wall even harder, back cold against the concrete. you hoped - prayed with your newfound faith in osiris and his mercy - that harrow would turn back the other way, not hearing your thumping heart.

but your luck had ran out for this lifetime.

the tapping of the cane became louder, until you could see the tip of it in your peripheral, crunching glass finally becoming audible. he was about to come around the corner, and see you. you would be impossible to miss, even the bright red of your new outfit making you stand out.

it seemed like it was impossible to escape harrow, and the tapping of his cane. he had killed you once, what would stop him from doing it again?

apparently, a guardian angel. someone spoke, making harrow turn to look behind him.

this was your chance - to slip away and turn the opposite corner, escape harrow in your new life as you couldn’t in your last.

his voice made you flinch. cool, charming, low. like a snake - exactly like a snake, now you thought about it. the way he slid through life, from the bar all those years ago, to now, awakening a centuries old god, aiming to destroy the world.

you could slither away too, though.

still holding your breath, you sidestepped along the wall, making sure to watch your step over any lose stones, until the wall fell away behind you and led you into another corridor.

as soon as the light from the hall had faded, you let out your breath, hands coming to your forehead and rubbing your eyes.

we have to keep moving. ammit is almost ready to begin.

nodding - although it felt like your brain was rattling around your skull - you looked back up and saw hathor, still looking as beautiful as ever.

this hallway was much dimmer than the last. colder, too. it was like all the light had been blocked, the only thing keeping your vision was the small, fading candles lining the walls every meter or so.

perhaps it was your natural instinct, or a new given sense as an avatar, but you could tell - something wasn’t right. something in the air had shifted, on top of the hot, sticky, egyptian heat, there was something sinister.

your years as a mercenary had taught you to recognise something - blood in the air. and there was certainly blood in the air around you.

“what is harrow’s plan?”

he wants to judge people. through ammit, he believes he can rid the world of everyone bad, even if they aren’t already bad.

“so he’s playing god?” the corridor seemed to go on forever.

he would never admit it, but yes. and ammit is the perfect enabler for him, she’ll know exactly what he’s up to, but because he can give her her power back, she’ll play along.

you scoffed lightly. “harrow isn’t stupid either. he’ll know what she thinks.”

hathor shrugged, a few paces in front of you. only time will tell, my dear.

for a few minutes, the walk along the corridor was silent. the tap of your shoes echoed down the hall, breeze from your passing flickering the candles on the wall.

why did you marry him?

it stopped you in your tracks, hathor stopping too.

“what?”

marc. why did you marry him?

you stuttered for a moment, looking around as if someone would come and help you.

i don’t mean it in a rude way. i’m the goddess of love, it’s natural for me to want to know.

“well,” you paused for a moment and began walking again, slower this time. “we were young when we met, i was coming up for 18 and he was 19.”

and?

“and i knew what i had done to him.” you swallowed. “i felt fucking awful, i thought, maybe if i get to know the guy, and he’s not as much of an ass as everyone makes him out to be, it’ll make it easier for me to forgive myself.”

the corridor kept on, as if it were never ending.

“as you can tell, it didn’t work.”

he wasn’t as much of an asshole as everyone thought?

“no, he was,” you gave a dry smile. “it just so happened that assholes are my type, and i think he worked it out pretty quickly. so after only about two months of knowing each other, he asked me on a date. a real date. it was my first ever date too, god knows anton never took me out. but god, he was such a gentleman.

he picked me up, gave me flowers, wore a fucking tie. and he payed for everything, too. dinner at a four star restaurant, a movie, then out to a bar for drinks.

i knew i had fucked up when he kissed me that night.”

you regret it?

“not for a day. and that’s my mistake- i mean, i was supposed to hate him. i told myself i would hate him. so i wouldn’t feel bad about telling someone to kill him. i didn’t even know how he got out alive- he didn’t tell me about the khonshu shit until after we got married.

oh, our wedding,” you smiled again, a real one. “it was perfect. i was twenty one, marc was twenty three. we were so young. it was a small wedding, just some friends, neither of us invited our family. it was the best night of my life.

it was the night i met steven, too. i think the stress of the day must have triggered it. and that was it- there was marc, and there was steven.”

didn’t it take a while to get used to?

the corridor began to open up, getting slightly wider by the meter. still - there was no end to it in sight.

“it did and it didn’t. i knew for a while there was something happening to him, he would disappear, look confused all the time. i knew it was a matter of time until something changed. and then came steven, perfect steven.

he changed so much- it was like dating all over again. he was even more perfect than marc, stupid english accent included. but, naturally, abuthing that’s perfect must come to an end.”

hathor sighed. and it gave you the impression, just for a moment, that she already knew the whole story. that she was humouring you by letting you tell it. her sigh, sad and resigned, almost confirmed that she knew what was coming.

“the-” you stopped. your voice had broken, and your feet no longer moved. hathor continued for a few paces before looking back at you.

i understand, but if there’s any time you need to tell this, it’s now.

“you know?” you voiced your suspicions.

take into account which god i am, my dear. there is no one else i could chose, but you.

you swallowed. “what’s the point of talking about it if you already know?”

you have been born again. revived. would you like to carry this, this horrible vendetta against someone who has done nothing but love you, for the rest of your new life?

“no.”

then voice it. i can take this pain from you, if you only ask me too. i can help you.

you bit your tongue, looking down at your feet and kicking around a few of the loose rocks. hathor waited.

“the baby was supposed to be born just after my twenty-third birthday.”

a beat. hathor didn’t reply.

“but he didn’t live past twelve weeks.”

you looked back up at hathor, anxious for a reply. she didn’t give you one, only nodding.

“i don’t- i don’t know what i did. i was waiting until i could get a scan, tell marc, have it done properly, you know? but when i went to my appointment, i knew. she didn’t say anything, she just looked. then she left, got the doctor to come in.

he said that the baby had died, that they weren’t sure of the cause, but it was a boy. that my baby boy had died.”

tears threatened your eyes. never - never - had you spoken about this before. not even with marc.

“i went home, with a hatred in my heart. the next few days were the worst. i was grieving a child no one knew i even had. the blood was horrible, it hurt so badly. i told marc i was on my period. fuck, for all he knew i was.

and then my baby was gone. and i hated marc.”

why did you hate him?

you shrugged. “i have no idea. i needed someone to blame and marc was the easiest. that’s when it all went downhill, you know? i wanted him to be there for me, for something he didn’t even know happened. and when he wasn’t, i blew up at him. and he blew up at me.

and that was it, for three years. this horrible hatred towards each other, me hating marc for something he knew nothing about, and marc hating me for every other reason.

he hated me the most for making him stay a mercenary. he wanted out, he wanted a normal life in the suburbs with a dog and a big house and maybe, one day, a child.

but i can’t have that. i don’t want that kind of normal - not when i was so close to it and lost it. so i pushed him into this world. i made him take jobs and work himself to death, even when i found out about khonshu. i made him do it.

and that’s why we’re here. because i told him to follow khonshu here. and now look what i’ve done.”

hathor took two, wide steps towards you, and cradled your face in her hands.

you have done nothing that makes you inhumane. none of this mess is you fault. khonshu would have gotten marc here one way or another. anyone in your shoes would be the same.

her hands were warm. you felt a tear fall, running underneath her fingers. “but i’ve been so horrible. i’m a monster - if not for this, for everything else.”

hathor shook her head. you are a human being.

there was silence as you cried and hathor wiped your tears. at least two minutes passed - but it didn’t matter to you. harrow could come running around the corner and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

hathor took a deep breath, looking to her left along the corridor. she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another figure appeared.

is now a bad time, human?

you flinched at the rough edge in khonshu’s voice. “what do you want?”

what do i want? there’s a long list.

even through your tears, your patience thinned. “seriously?”

hathor took her hands from your face, turning to look at khonshu. enough of your riddles. just tell her.

the unmistakable sound of footsteps, running, drew your attention. they were getting closer.

i don’t think i have to say a word, actually.

just as khonshu had finished, a figure appeared, coming around the twists and turns of the corridor.

your heart stopped.

marc looked around in a daze, eyes falling first on khonshu, then on hathor, then…

“y/n!”

just as he had stopped running, he started again, coming towards you like a lion out of his cage, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off of your feet.

“oh baby,” he mumbled into your neck.

you had just reached - wrapping your arms around him in equal tightness, hands flying into his hair. oh, god. his hair - his curls, his skin - you’d never take it for granted again.

he pulled back, hands on your cheeks in a mirror image to hathor. his eyes locked into yours, brown irises melting into his pupils, filling with tears.

marc stuttered, trying to get several sentences out at once, before you hushed him.

“please, marc, we don’t have much time. harrow is gonna-”

“i know,” he nodded, eyes still not breaking from yours. “i know- baby, i know. please- please, just give me a minute. i never- i thought i’d never- oh, baby.”

he leaned in, moving his hands out of the way to rest his forehead against yours. he was hot - sticky with sweat and dirt and, although you didnt want to think about it, your blood.

“i know,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “marc, i know.”

barely having finished your sentence, he leaned in and kissed you.

it was like the first kiss all over again, and you supposed it was. hot, needy, passionate, desperate. you could live in this moment.

but the unmistakable sound of khonshu clearing his throat broke your kiss.

if you wouldn’t mind, harrow is about to release ammit. i’m sure your couples catch-up can wait another hour.

“yeah,” you nodded, breaking away, but marc was far more hesitant to let go.

“i can’t-” he looked around, paranoid. “i can’t do this, y/n. i just lost you, i can’t run the risk of losing you again, i’ve never- y/n, i can’t let you go, you’re everything to me, and if harrow- oh god, what did harrow do to you? i swear to god, the minute i see him, i’m gonna-”

he blinked. a beat.

“paranoid git never did know when to be quiet, did he?”

“oh, steven,” you threw your arms around him again. “fucking hell.”

steven, unlike marc, seemed far more willing to let you go. “love, i know, but if we don’t go now, we’re all gonna end up dead. please, we can do this all after, yeah?”

he took your hands in his, stilling your shaking fingers. he was so warm - always so warm.

“okay,” you nodded, looking between him and the gods beside you. “okay.”

-

you had severely underestimated how far harrow was willing to go. it had been what felt like hours, an unrelenting fight. you weren’t even sure when layla showed up, hoping to help you in any way she could.

but her attempts were futile; ammit was huge. really - huge, bigger than the pyramid behind her. khonshu had, as usual, gotten involved too, so that meant he was the same size, almost trampling you with every step he took.

you had tried. really, you had. you’d tried to use your new found avatar abilities to at least land something on harrow, but truth be told, you were failing. he’d hit you far more times that you’d even aimed for him, you were covered in cuts and rapidly forming bruises, you were sure your shoulder was dislocated.

but worst of all? your head wasn’t right. you weren’t sure what was wrong with it - it seemed fine every time you focused on identifying the issue, but every time you weren’t paying attention, it was there again. dizzy, a ringing in your eyes, everything a second or two behind; your vision lagging and cloudy. but just as you’d notice it, it was gone.

it was getting worse, too. you could see marc out of the corner of your eye; he was one to one with harrow. it would have made you anxious if you could properly focus on what was going on. but you couldn’t - your thought were scattered, a ringing back tenfold in your ears, the world had gone distant and hazy.

the doctors told you it was a concussion the next morning. layla had actually came in very handy, able to translate the man’s arabic into english for you.

he had told you that you’d sustained a massive head injury - you figured it would have been investigated, if you hadn’t been one of the people there last night.

‘there’ was all people could talk about. first the sky had gone backwards (you’d missed that part, thanks to being dead), then, out of nowhere, two ancient egyptian gods had appeared, destroying all the buildings in their wake, pyramids too.

it wasn’t that you couldn’t remember it. you could - it was clear in every aspect. it just didn’t feel like you’d been there at all. even the build up to it, every moment from when you’d stepped out of that pyramid, hand in hand with steven, hot air hitting your face;

it wasn’t you.

well, obviously it was you. but it wasn’t the same you. everything felt different, you didn’t have the same emotions you did before. the same key ones, yes, like how you felt about marc, and steven, and who you are as a person, but basic thing, like fear, and compassion? it was gone.

you’d have voiced this to a doctor if you could put ‘i died and got brought back to like by an ancient god, but not the same one who destroyed half of your city last night, sorry about that, by the way’ into layman’s terms.

trauma induced dissociation was enough of a label for you. it fit - everything just felt a little hazy, was all. not that you’d asked your doctor, a google search (excluding the resurrection part) had taken you to pages and pages about dissociation and how it’s normal to feel it after a traumatic event. you were pretty sure dying was a traumatic event.

and yes, you could bring it up to your doctor, he was payed to help you, after all. but there was a strange gnawing in the back of your head: that if you voiced this feeling, it would only get worse, and the happy ending you and your husband currently had would be shred in two because you couldn’t feel properly.

so instead, you listened to his professional diagnosis; a severe concussion, fractured rib, dislocated shoulder, several cosmetic wounds, and mental trauma that would be discovered at a later point, if you ever got around to voicing it to a doctor.

what a lovely shopping list, you thought.

-

it was three days before they let you out, and marc wasn’t getting out for another two after that. you’d had to beg him to even go to the hospital in the first place, but now he was getting the medical attention he’d needed for years, he seemed content in his hospital bed. not that he’d ever admit it.

with two days to yourself (not nights, you’d go back to the hospital and stay with marc), you decided to have the egyptian holiday you had come for.

the first stop was obvious; buy clothes. all of the ones you had were either covered in blood or halfway shredded. once you’d achieved this, in a new white linen sundress (cut below the knees to hide the still raw scars), you felt just slightly lost.

of course, you weren’t lost, you were always quick to get your bearings in new places - mercenary years had left you with a few skills, after all - and you kept yourself in a fairly small area, close to the hospital in case you got an emergency call.

no - the feeling of being lost came from deep down. ever since you’d come back to life it was the same, a strange longing for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. something you felt you just had to have, maybe not right now, but in the near future. the hazy feeling had already begun to pass, you were sure google had served you well. but it left behind this in its wake, a new, even stranger feeling.

a breeze blew your hair lightly as you looked down the street in front of you. it was picturesque, all kinds of small shops and cafes as far as you could see. you could hear kids playing somewhere, a baby crying in the distance.

the lost-longing feeling piqued at this.

“oh.” you breathed. “oh.”

beside you, hathor, dressed in a golden, floor length dress and looking beautiful as ever, laughed.

the glass series

part one -> pieces

you argued, you made up. you argued, you made up. it was never ending - you thought it would never change. and then it did.

part two -> picking up the pieces

the serenity after the storm, as some would say. as per usual, your husbands gentler half helps mend you after the most recent argument.

part three -> glass and glue

marc swore it would be the last time. who knows, maybe it would be.

part four -> the cracks

all good things must come to an end finally made sense, after all the devil works hard, but a certain someone works harder.

part five -> champagne glasses

visiting your ex-boyfriend is never pleasant. especially when he’s anton mogart, and you’re being hunted.

part six -> unbreakable

there’s a reason wedding vows include “til death do us part”. want to find out why?

part seven -> window pains

taking a walk down memory lane isn’t always by choice, and is never your ideal afternoon.

part eight -> shattered

have you ever felt so angry you’ve wished death upon someone? well, marc spector, be careful what you wish for. it might just come true.

part nine -> rose coloured glasses

welcome back to the land of the living. are you ready to fight for your life?

part ten -> shards and splinters

apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

drabbles / oneshots

the glass series

part one -> pieces

you argued, you made up. you argued, you made up. it was never ending - you thought it would never change. and then it did.

part two -> picking up the pieces

the serenity after the storm, as some would say. as per usual, your husbands gentler half helps mend you after the most recent argument.

part three -> glass and glue

marc swore it would be the last time. who knows, maybe it would be.

part four -> the cracks

all good things must come to an end finally made sense, after all the devil works hard, but a certain someone works harder.

part five -> champagne glasses

visiting your ex-boyfriend is never pleasant. especially when he’s anton mogart, and you’re being hunted.

part six -> unbreakable

there’s a reason wedding vows include “til death do us part”. want to find out why?

part seven -> window pains

taking a walk down memory lane isn’t always by choice, and is never your ideal afternoon.

part eight -> shattered

have you ever felt so angry you’ve wished death upon someone? well, marc spector, be careful what you wish for. it might just come true.

part nine -> rose coloured glasses

welcome back to the land of the living. are you ready to fight for your life?

part ten -> shards and splinters

apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

drabbles / oneshots

you knew it wasn’t right. you knew, deep down, you and marc were not good for each other. fuck, it didn’t wasn’t even that far down. it was on the back of your mind permanently - how you had married a monster, and how marc had married a monster as well.

since the day you had said “i do”, the beast within both you and marc had began rearing its ugly head, coming out with every argument (followed with rough, hard makeup sex), every night marc had took the couch, every time your wedding ring seemed less of a promise and more of a shiny rock stuck on your finger for display. marc didn’t even wear his ring anymore.

it took you years to realise that maybe, just maybe you weren’t right for each other. nine years, nine billion tears, what felt like a million arguments, nine years you had been married to marc. for the last nine years you had felt him change, night by night, until you didn’t even recognise the man in your bed most nights.

not even marc recognised himself these days, with someone else living inside his body. steven, who was admittedly a better husband than marc could ever have been, was always the one who would run to pick up the pieces of you after every argument, for as long as you could remember. sure, it had taken him a while to get used to everything, but he took his vows much more seriously than marc did. whenever steven had control, he always wore his wedding ring. always.

for better and worse seemed almost comedic when you compared the two. marc would start fires and steven would be left to put them out - always getting burned in the process.

the fires marc started were hot, but never as hot as the blood running through your veins right now. you could almost feel the liquid boiling and bubbling under your skin.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, throwing your travel bag onto the bed.

“it means, i don’t want you here. i told you not to come. doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius.” marc rebutted, tone even harsher than yours.

you could already smell the argument, like it was hanging in the air. a bitter, sour spice that consumed the entire room, blocking out the scents of the street below.

“what the fuck, marc? i told you already, wherever you go, i’m coming with you.”

he scoffed. “you’re like a little lapdog, following me around everywhere. take the fucking hint and leave.”

your jaw hung for a moment. all you wanted to do was surprise him, but no. he just had to be fucking difficult.

“yeah, real mature there. you want me to leave? fine. i’ll take the first plane back, but you can keep this.” you slipped your wedding ring off and threw it at marc.

the ring fell to the floor beside him, landing with a small clatter. he didn’t need to look at it to know what it was.

“you want a divorce?” he spat, looking round at you. “that’s what you fucking want?”

you shook your head. “seems like the only thing that would make you happy, right about now.”

marc pushed himself up, his frame towering over you as he came closer. “sounds about right.”

looking at him, you could see his pupils were blown. normally, you’d think it was love. but you weren’t stupid. you could see “love” in a bottle beside where he was sat on the floor, leaning against the bed.

“i can’t believe this. you are so fucking selfish, you know that?” you looked away from him, only to feel his hand pull your jaw back towards him.

“selfish? i’m the selfish one?” he hissed, grip tight enough to bruise. “i have killed for you and yet, i’m the selfish one?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. ever.” you pulled back, his grip releasing.

he shook his head. “look at you, huh? always playing the victim. don’t you fucking dare come here and act all holy with me.”

“no, you see that’s the difference between us marc. you do shitty things and blame it on everyone around you, but me? sure. i’ve done my share of bad things but never, never would i pretend like it’s not my fault.”

marc bit the inside of his cheek. he’s about to yell.

“you are fucking pathetic, you know that!?” there it was. “you take and take and never give anything back - why? in the name of love? such fucking bullshit, y/n.”

“love? are you kidding me,” you raised your eyebrows, not even flinching to his sudden outburst. “this was never love, marc. the day i took your last name, it all went to shit. so you can take that “name of love” bullshit and stick it up your ass.”

“oh so that’s the problem then?” his voice was still slightly rained. “my last name? that’s what ruined us?”

you nodded spitefully. “yeah, must be. all spector’s must be hard fucking work.”

“she’s not wrong there, mate.”

marc turned and walked to pick up the bottle, ignoring steven’s comment. “if you hate it so fucking much,” he took a swig. “then leave. never talk to me again and sign some divorce papers, it’s that easy.”

biting your lip, you stared at him, the silence almost deafening.

well, silence to you. marc could hear something far different.

“you are a fucking nightmare, marc.” steven shook his head, watching him from the mirror. all is seemed to do was make marc even angrier, though.

marc looked back at you, tilting his head slightly. “no, that wouldn’t work though, would it? you hate easy. never letting anyone around you have a fucking day off.”

scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “says the man who runs away for days at a time because he’s too lazy to do the right thing.”

that seemed to really get him going. “what?” he walked towards you, strides full of anger. “what the fuck did you just call me?”

the space between you was so small you could see yourself reflected in the star of david handing from his neck. making eye contact with him, you could feel his hot breath fanning down on you.

“lazy.” you hissed.

hands coming to your neck, marc pushed you back until you hit the closest wall, which happened to be the mirror. he must have been shoving you harder than you realised, because you felt the glass crack against your head.

“you have some balls, you know? coming here, when i told you not to, and calling me lazy? me, who would burn the world if you asked me to?”

you laughed, bitter and fake. “that’s the problem, marc. i don’t think you would. fuck, i don’t think you would do anything for me.”

the vein in his neck grew more and more prominent. in any other setting it would’ve scared you, but right now it only made you proud. you were affecting him.

“shut your mouth,” he sneered, hands still firmly around your neck, but he wasn’t applying any pressure. “shut your pretty little mouth or i swear to god i’ll-”

“what?” you asked. “you’ll what, marc? you’ll hit me, like you hit everyone else? be my fucking guest.”

his hands fell from your neck straight away, and went to his hair instead. “i’m not that type of man. you know it, for christ’ sake.”

“sometimes i’m not sure i know you at all, actually. you’ve changed, marc. you’re not the man i fell in love with and i can’t love this version of you.”

for a spilt second, marc looked hurt. if you weren’t looking you never would have caught the pain in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. he shook his head, taking another swig from the bottle.

“i’ve changed? turn around and take a look in that mirror and tell me you’re the same person i married.”

“this is my point, marc!” you yelled, finally losing your temper. “we are fucking destroying each other! what happened to us being happy?”

he looked at you, wordlessly. a stare so intense, so hateful, you felt as if you were shrinking where you stood.

finally looking away, marc took yet another drink, making you scoff.

“can’t do this sober, then?”

as soon as you said it, he turned around and launched the bottle. you didn’t even realise he had thrown it until it hit the mirror behind you - it couldn’t have been more than an inch away from your head. you flinched, feeling little shards of glass fly into your skin, blood mixing with the dark rum that poured down your skin.

“fucking hell.” you whispered, looking at your arm. you could see the little pieces of glass lodged in the flesh - but you didn’t feel it enough to care. the pain, the blood, the smashing bottles - it was all normal. it only made you angrier, more eager to rile him up.

“you’re sick in the head, marc. you wonder why i don’t put it past you to hit me?”

he looked at your arm, noticing the blood that poured down. “i’m sorry, i-”

“no,” you shook your head, dodging the broken glass on the floor to walk towards him. “i don’t want your fucking apologies, we both know you don’t mean it. i just want you to do better.”

“better?” marc walked away from you, across to the mirror where you stood before. he stared into it, and you knew he was looking at someone else. “like him?”

pointing at his own reflection, you imagined what steven would have been saying right now. in fact, you thought, he never would have gotten in this mess.

“you want me to be more like him, yeah? weak, afraid, can’t string a fuckin’ sentence together?”

“no need, mate.”

“maybe i do.” you whispered, not meeting marc’s eye. you looked down at his body, only wearing his boxers - he was a beautiful sight.

perhaps that’s why you did this every time, the screaming matches and the thrown objects. because there’s was a thrill, a carnal lust between the hunter and the prey. you swallowed, eyes on his bare back.

he looked at you in the mirror, then back at steven. he raised his eyebrows. “well? you gonna fix this?”

marc took a deep breath, looking back at you. his blood had reached boiling point, and before he even knew what he was doing, his hand went through the glass of the mirror, the reflection of steven shattering into a million pieces.

the smash was loud, louder than the bottle. you knew it would have hurt, but you didn’t rush to help him. you didn’t come to his aid. why would you? he did this to himself.

“fuckin’ hell.” steven’s head fell to his hands and he rubbed his eyes.

marc could feel the glass shift in his knuckles, but like you, he didn’t care about the pain. the blood dripped onto the floor as he walked to the side of the bed, where another bottle was sat. you thought he might have poured it onto his hand, but no. he took one long swig before turning back to you.

“if you really want me to be like steven, then,” he flatlined. “you’ll have no one to protect you.”

“maybe it’s you i need protected from.” you retorted.

he scoffed. “yeah, because i’m the bad guy, as always.”

“there seems to be a theme here, marc! look around. what the fuck are we? was this ever- i mean, really, did you ever love me?”

“of course i loved you, y/n,” he muttered. “but i’m trying to change the fuckin’ world here.”

the sadness hit you like a wave.

“i never needed you to change the world,” you took a breath. “all i ever needed was for you to love me.”

marc didn’t reply, only walking to the edge of the bed, in front of the window, and slumping down.

a minute of silence passed. the air was still thick with the smell of anger, but this time the iron of blood seeped it’s way into the mix.

“i did love you. i do, love you.” marc almost whispered, his voice still laced with anger. “but look what we’ve done to each other, y/n. we fuck each other up.”

you shook your head. “no,” looking down at him, you reached down and picked up the bottle. “you did this. you ruined me.”

taking a swig, you felt the alcohol burn it’s way down your throat. unlike marc, you didn’t stop there. bringing the bottle to your arm, you poured it out. it burned and seared, but you didn’t feel it - not really. your head was clouded and there was a ringing in your ears.

walking back over to marc, you placed the bottle next to where your wedding ring lay, the sun coming through the curtains to make the diamond shimmer and gleam. he stared at you, not taking his eyes off of your face.

sighing, you picked up your bag off of the bed and turned to the mirror once more.

although you could only see yourself, white dress stained red and amber, you knew there was someone else watching. “find me.” you mumbled, taking one last look at marc before walking to the door.

you were already half out when he called back to you.;

“you talk about me ruining you,” he stared straight ahead. “as if you didn’t fucking enjoy it.”

——————————————————————————

after seven hours, you weren’t sure if steven was ever going to find you. maybe, you thought, he hadn’t even heard you - perhaps he wasn’t standing on the other side of the mirror.

although seven hours doesn’t sound like a long time, since leaving marc in the hotel you had managed to temporarily bandage your arm (although you knew there was still glass inside), find a hotel for yourself, get changed and find a small cafe.

sighing, you looked around you once more, sunglasses obscuring your vision slightly. yes, the sun was setting, but you didn’t need to block out light - your red, puffy eyes would be a telltale sign that you had been crying.

you had almost given up all hope of steven finding you, so when the chair opposite you scraped along the floor, you were surprised to say the least.

“you came.” you smiled, steven’s presence almost instantly soothing you.

he smiled back at you. “how could i not?”

“i’m surprised he let you take control.”

“well,” steven sighed. “he seemed to remember that he can disappear for a while, so that convinced him. along with my fantastic persuasion skills, of course.”

you nodded. “fuck knows what you could have said to him, though.”

steven laughed. “a lot of swearing. and i told him that if he didn’t let me take control you would most likely actually divorce him, so.”

“like he gives a shit.”

“no, love-” steven reached across the table and took your hand in his. “he does. we both do, he’s just an ignorant, arrogant, stupid sod.”

you smiled, although it faded as you looked down at his hands. although less bloody, his knuckles were still covered in cuts, big and small - although there didn’t seem to be any glass in them. as always, steven was wearing his wedding ring, the metal cool against your skin.

“what has he done to you, eh?” you mumbled, lifting up his hand and pulling it closer to your face.

pushing your sunglasses up, the change in hue took a few blinks to get used to. but as your eyes adjusted, you could see the bright red gashes along his fingers. you brought his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles.

“m’sorry, steven,” you mumbled. “it’s just, me and marc, we- well, you know. we do this to each other, and somehow you’re left to fix it all.”

steven smiled, moving his hand to cup your face. “i don’t mind, love. i’d rather put my hand through a million mirrors than lose you, marc too. he does this.. i can’t explain why he does it, but i know it’s so he doesn’t do anything stupid, not to you.”

“you mean so he doesn’t hit me?” you said sadly, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

steven’s eyes widened. “he wouldn’t hit you, darlin’. he’s just… angry.”

“stevie,” you sighed. “there’s no point in pretending; marc and i aren’t good people. not when we’re with each other.”

he ran an hand through his hair. “but that’s the thing! i’ve seen you two, you are good with each other! it’s when you’re angry, that’s when you turn into bad people. i mean, marc’s anger… marc’s anger is terrifying.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and mine isn’t?”

“no, i didn’t mean- i- that’s- no, of course yours is, i just mean-”

“i’m kidding, stevie,” you smiled. “but i know what you mean. fuck, you think throwing a bottle is the worst he’s done to me? this-” you pointed to your arm. “this is tame.”

steven’s eyes looked at the bandage on your arm, softening as the patches of red caught his eye.

“he hurt you.”

“no,” you shook your head. “he didn’t. he threw a bottle, which hurt me. not him. never him, you know? it’s never by his hand.”

he chewed his lip. “but it’s his fault, love.”

“and it’s my fault you’re dealing with that,” you looked at his hand.

shaking his head, steven took your hands again. “it’s probably more my fault, actually. i was talking to him.”

“i know,” squeezing his hands, you met his eye. “it’s weird, i can always tell when you’re around. marc gets angrier, but it’s like.. this self-destructive rage. he’s not angry at me anymore, but himself.”

“me, more like.” steven mumbled.

“and i hate him for it, you know.” you said. “fucking hate him for it, always doing this with me and never bothering to fix it himself. don’t get me wrong, i love seeing you, but when i’ve just had a screaming match with marc… fucking hell, it’s torture.”

“but it’s not your fault, y/n.”

you smiled, a self pitying kind. “it is, really. it’s just as much my fault as marc’s. you see, we love like this - it’s just how we are. some people love gently but us? we’re violent, we’re unhealthy. it’s just how we are.”

steven nodded. “i know.”

looking back at the sunset, you wondered if steven would ever turn into that kind of lover. violent, angered, intense. you didn’t put it past him, but for the time you’ve spent with him, steven has always been the kinder lover. he would hold you, make you coffee, comfort you - something marc only did before your marriage went south.

your marriage; it reminded you.

“im not gonna divorce him, by the way.” you looked back at steven, who seemed instantly relieved.

“i was hoping you’d say that.” he smiled, pulling your ring out of his pocket.

he slid the ring onto your finger, and interlocked your fingers. his hands were warm - another difference between him and marc.

“i have something to say, but i don’t know how to say it.” you thought out loud, staring at your hands.

“go on, darlin’. i’m listening.”

you took a breath; “i know that technically, i did marry you. but fuck, stevie, i wish it was only you.”

as you met his eye, he smiled softly - he understood what you meant.

“i can get why, but marc does love you as well. he’s just not good at showing it.”

“but that’s the difference,” you breathed. “his love is conditional, it’s about sex and heat and boiling each other’s blood but… but yours isn’t, you don’t pick at me for everything i do, fuck, you don’t throw half empty bottles of rum at me!”

sure, you and steven had fucked - but it was different. with marc it was rough, makeup sex that ran on anger, but with steven it was personal. slow, loving and gentle, everything you wished marc could have been.

“but you said it yourself,” steven said. “you and marc love differently. sure, you’re toxic for each other and fucking can only get you so far, but you do love each other. why else would you still be married, hm? if deep down, you didn’t love each other?”

he was right, you thought. the love was there, but it was much deeper down. deeper down than the hate, the anger, the awareness of the toxicity. albeit there - it was buried under nine years worth of boiled blood and broken glass.

steven seemed to notice your quietness, squeezing your hands in his own. “come on, then. we’ll get you cleaned up.”

nodding, you stood up, not letting go of his hand.

“you have a hotel? i’m not sure either of us want to go back there yet. the rooms a bit of a state.”

“mhm,” you pointed down the street. “just down here.”

“alright, love,” he breathed. “and i’ll tell you what.”

“what?”

the glass series

part one -> pieces

you argued, you made up. you argued, you made up. it was never ending - you thought it would never change. and then it did.

part two -> picking up the pieces

the serenity after the storm, as some would say. as per usual, your husbands gentler half helps mend you after the most recent argument.

part three -> glass and glue

marc swore it would be the last time. who knows, maybe it would be.

part four -> the cracks

all good things must come to an end finally made sense, after all the devil works hard, but a certain someone works harder.

part five -> champagne glasses

visiting your ex-boyfriend is never pleasant. especially when he’s anton mogart, and you’re being hunted.

part six -> unbreakable

there’s a reason wedding vows include “til death do us part”. want to find out why?

part seven -> window pains

taking a walk down memory lane isn’t always by choice, and is never your ideal afternoon.

part eight -> shattered

have you ever felt so angry you’ve wished death upon someone? well, marc spector, be careful what you wish for. it might just come true.

part nine -> rose coloured glasses

welcome back to the land of the living. are you ready to fight for your life?

part ten -> shards and splinters

apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

drabbles / oneshots

you knew it wasn’t right. you knew, deep down, you and marc were not good for each other. fuck, it didn’t wasn’t even that far down. it was on the back of your mind permanently - how you had married a monster, and how marc had married a monster as well.

since the day you had said “i do”, the beast within both you and marc had began rearing its ugly head, coming out with every argument (followed with rough, hard makeup sex), every night marc had took the couch, every time your wedding ring seemed less of a promise and more of a shiny rock stuck on your finger for display. marc didn’t even wear his ring anymore.

it took you years to realise that maybe, just maybe you weren’t right for each other. nine years, nine billion tears, what felt like a million arguments, nine years you had been married to marc. for the last nine years you had felt him change, night by night, until you didn’t even recognise the man in your bed most nights.

not even marc recognised himself these days, with someone else living inside his body. steven, who was admittedly a better husband than marc could ever have been, was always the one who would run to pick up the pieces of you after every argument, for as long as you could remember. sure, it had taken him a while to get used to everything, but he took his vows much more seriously than marc did. whenever steven had control, he always wore his wedding ring. always.

for better and worse seemed almost comedic when you compared the two. marc would start fires and steven would be left to put them out - always getting burned in the process.

the fires marc started were hot, but never as hot as the blood running through your veins right now. you could almost feel the liquid boiling and bubbling under your skin.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, throwing your travel bag onto the bed.

“it means, i don’t want you here. i told you not to come. doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius.” marc rebutted, tone even harsher than yours.

you could already smell the argument, like it was hanging in the air. a bitter, sour spice that consumed the entire room, blocking out the scents of the street below.

“what the fuck, marc? i told you already, wherever you go, i’m coming with you.”

he scoffed. “you’re like a little lapdog, following me around everywhere. take the fucking hint and leave.”

your jaw hung for a moment. all you wanted to do was surprise him, but no. he just had to be fucking difficult.

“yeah, real mature there. you want me to leave? fine. i’ll take the first plane back, but you can keep this.” you slipped your wedding ring off and threw it at marc.

the ring fell to the floor beside him, landing with a small clatter. he didn’t need to look at it to know what it was.

“you want a divorce?” he spat, looking round at you. “that’s what you fucking want?”

you shook your head. “seems like the only thing that would make you happy, right about now.”

marc pushed himself up, his frame towering over you as he came closer. “sounds about right.”

looking at him, you could see his pupils were blown. normally, you’d think it was love. but you weren’t stupid. you could see “love” in a bottle beside where he was sat on the floor, leaning against the bed.

“i can’t believe this. you are so fucking selfish, you know that?” you looked away from him, only to feel his hand pull your jaw back towards him.

“selfish? i’m the selfish one?” he hissed, grip tight enough to bruise. “i have killed for you and yet, i’m the selfish one?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. ever.” you pulled back, his grip releasing.

he shook his head. “look at you, huh? always playing the victim. don’t you fucking dare come here and act all holy with me.”

“no, you see that’s the difference between us marc. you do shitty things and blame it on everyone around you, but me? sure. i’ve done my share of bad things but never, never would i pretend like it’s not my fault.”

marc bit the inside of his cheek. he’s about to yell.

“you are fucking pathetic, you know that!?” there it was. “you take and take and never give anything back - why? in the name of love? such fucking bullshit, y/n.”

“love? are you kidding me,” you raised your eyebrows, not even flinching to his sudden outburst. “this was never love, marc. the day i took your last name, it all went to shit. so you can take that “name of love” bullshit and stick it up your ass.”

“oh so that’s the problem then?” his voice was still slightly rained. “my last name? that’s what ruined us?”

you nodded spitefully. “yeah, must be. all spector’s must be hard fucking work.”

“she’s not wrong there, mate.”

marc turned and walked to pick up the bottle, ignoring steven’s comment. “if you hate it so fucking much,” he took a swig. “then leave. never talk to me again and sign some divorce papers, it’s that easy.”

biting your lip, you stared at him, the silence almost deafening.

well, silence to you. marc could hear something far different.

“you are a fucking nightmare, marc.” steven shook his head, watching him from the mirror. all is seemed to do was make marc even angrier, though.

marc looked back at you, tilting his head slightly. “no, that wouldn’t work though, would it? you hate easy. never letting anyone around you have a fucking day off.”

scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “says the man who runs away for days at a time because he’s too lazy to do the right thing.”

that seemed to really get him going. “what?” he walked towards you, strides full of anger. “what the fuck did you just call me?”

the space between you was so small you could see yourself reflected in the star of david handing from his neck. making eye contact with him, you could feel his hot breath fanning down on you.

“lazy.” you hissed.

hands coming to your neck, marc pushed you back until you hit the closest wall, which happened to be the mirror. he must have been shoving you harder than you realised, because you felt the glass crack against your head.

“you have some balls, you know? coming here, when i told you not to, and calling me lazy? me, who would burn the world if you asked me to?”

you laughed, bitter and fake. “that’s the problem, marc. i don’t think you would. fuck, i don’t think you would do anything for me.”

the vein in his neck grew more and more prominent. in any other setting it would’ve scared you, but right now it only made you proud. you were affecting him.

“shut your mouth,” he sneered, hands still firmly around your neck, but he wasn’t applying any pressure. “shut your pretty little mouth or i swear to god i’ll-”

“what?” you asked. “you’ll what, marc? you’ll hit me, like you hit everyone else? be my fucking guest.”

his hands fell from your neck straight away, and went to his hair instead. “i’m not that type of man. you know it, for christ’ sake.”

“sometimes i’m not sure i know you at all, actually. you’ve changed, marc. you’re not the man i fell in love with and i can’t love this version of you.”

for a spilt second, marc looked hurt. if you weren’t looking you never would have caught the pain in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. he shook his head, taking another swig from the bottle.

“i’ve changed? turn around and take a look in that mirror and tell me you’re the same person i married.”

“this is my point, marc!” you yelled, finally losing your temper. “we are fucking destroying each other! what happened to us being happy?”

he looked at you, wordlessly. a stare so intense, so hateful, you felt as if you were shrinking where you stood.

finally looking away, marc took yet another drink, making you scoff.

“can’t do this sober, then?”

as soon as you said it, he turned around and launched the bottle. you didn’t even realise he had thrown it until it hit the mirror behind you - it couldn’t have been more than an inch away from your head. you flinched, feeling little shards of glass fly into your skin, blood mixing with the dark rum that poured down your skin.

“fucking hell.” you whispered, looking at your arm. you could see the little pieces of glass lodged in the flesh - but you didn’t feel it enough to care. the pain, the blood, the smashing bottles - it was all normal. it only made you angrier, more eager to rile him up.

“you’re sick in the head, marc. you wonder why i don’t put it past you to hit me?”

he looked at your arm, noticing the blood that poured down. “i’m sorry, i-”

“no,” you shook your head, dodging the broken glass on the floor to walk towards him. “i don’t want your fucking apologies, we both know you don’t mean it. i just want you to do better.”

“better?” marc walked away from you, across to the mirror where you stood before. he stared into it, and you knew he was looking at someone else. “like him?”

pointing at his own reflection, you imagined what steven would have been saying right now. in fact, you thought, he never would have gotten in this mess.

“you want me to be more like him, yeah? weak, afraid, can’t string a fuckin’ sentence together?”

“no need, mate.”

“maybe i do.” you whispered, not meeting marc’s eye. you looked down at his body, only wearing his boxers - he was a beautiful sight.

perhaps that’s why you did this every time, the screaming matches and the thrown objects. because there’s was a thrill, a carnal lust between the hunter and the prey. you swallowed, eyes on his bare back.

he looked at you in the mirror, then back at steven. he raised his eyebrows. “well? you gonna fix this?”

marc took a deep breath, looking back at you. his blood had reached boiling point, and before he even knew what he was doing, his hand went through the glass of the mirror, the reflection of steven shattering into a million pieces.

the smash was loud, louder than the bottle. you knew it would have hurt, but you didn’t rush to help him. you didn’t come to his aid. why would you? he did this to himself.

“fuckin’ hell.” steven’s head fell to his hands and he rubbed his eyes.

marc could feel the glass shift in his knuckles, but like you, he didn’t care about the pain. the blood dripped onto the floor as he walked to the side of the bed, where another bottle was sat. you thought he might have poured it onto his hand, but no. he took one long swig before turning back to you.

“if you really want me to be like steven, then,” he flatlined. “you’ll have no one to protect you.”

“maybe it’s you i need protected from.” you retorted.

he scoffed. “yeah, because i’m the bad guy, as always.”

“there seems to be a theme here, marc! look around. what the fuck are we? was this ever- i mean, really, did you ever love me?”

“of course i loved you, y/n,” he muttered. “but i’m trying to change the fuckin’ world here.”

the sadness hit you like a wave.

“i never needed you to change the world,” you took a breath. “all i ever needed was for you to love me.”

marc didn’t reply, only walking to the edge of the bed, in front of the window, and slumping down.

a minute of silence passed. the air was still thick with the smell of anger, but this time the iron of blood seeped it’s way into the mix.

“i did love you. i do, love you.” marc almost whispered, his voice still laced with anger. “but look what we’ve done to each other, y/n. we fuck each other up.”

you shook your head. “no,” looking down at him, you reached down and picked up the bottle. “you did this. you ruined me.”

taking a swig, you felt the alcohol burn it’s way down your throat. unlike marc, you didn’t stop there. bringing the bottle to your arm, you poured it out. it burned and seared, but you didn’t feel it - not really. your head was clouded and there was a ringing in your ears.

walking back over to marc, you placed the bottle next to where your wedding ring lay, the sun coming through the curtains to make the diamond shimmer and gleam. he stared at you, not taking his eyes off of your face.

sighing, you picked up your bag off of the bed and turned to the mirror once more.

although you could only see yourself, white dress stained red and amber, you knew there was someone else watching. “find me.” you mumbled, taking one last look at marc before walking to the door.

you were already half out when he called back to you.;

“you talk about me ruining you,” he stared straight ahead. “as if you didn’t fucking enjoy it.”

——————————————————————————

after seven hours, you weren’t sure if steven was ever going to find you. maybe, you thought, he hadn’t even heard you - perhaps he wasn’t standing on the other side of the mirror.

although seven hours doesn’t sound like a long time, since leaving marc in the hotel you had managed to temporarily bandage your arm (although you knew there was still glass inside), find a hotel for yourself, get changed and find a small cafe.

sighing, you looked around you once more, sunglasses obscuring your vision slightly. yes, the sun was setting, but you didn’t need to block out light - your red, puffy eyes would be a telltale sign that you had been crying.

you had almost given up all hope of steven finding you, so when the chair opposite you scraped along the floor, you were surprised to say the least.

“you came.” you smiled, steven’s presence almost instantly soothing you.

he smiled back at you. “how could i not?”

“i’m surprised he let you take control.”

“well,” steven sighed. “he seemed to remember that he can disappear for a while, so that convinced him. along with my fantastic persuasion skills, of course.”

you nodded. “fuck knows what you could have said to him, though.”

steven laughed. “a lot of swearing. and i told him that if he didn’t let me take control you would most likely actually divorce him, so.”

“like he gives a shit.”

“no, love-” steven reached across the table and took your hand in his. “he does. we both do, he’s just an ignorant, arrogant, stupid sod.”

you smiled, although it faded as you looked down at his hands. although less bloody, his knuckles were still covered in cuts, big and small - although there didn’t seem to be any glass in them. as always, steven was wearing his wedding ring, the metal cool against your skin.

“what has he done to you, eh?” you mumbled, lifting up his hand and pulling it closer to your face.

pushing your sunglasses up, the change in hue took a few blinks to get used to. but as your eyes adjusted, you could see the bright red gashes along his fingers. you brought his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles.

“m’sorry, steven,” you mumbled. “it’s just, me and marc, we- well, you know. we do this to each other, and somehow you’re left to fix it all.”

steven smiled, moving his hand to cup your face. “i don’t mind, love. i’d rather put my hand through a million mirrors than lose you, marc too. he does this.. i can’t explain why he does it, but i know it’s so he doesn’t do anything stupid, not to you.”

“you mean so he doesn’t hit me?” you said sadly, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

steven’s eyes widened. “he wouldn’t hit you, darlin’. he’s just… angry.”

“stevie,” you sighed. “there’s no point in pretending; marc and i aren’t good people. not when we’re with each other.”

he ran an hand through his hair. “but that’s the thing! i’ve seen you two, you are good with each other! it’s when you’re angry, that’s when you turn into bad people. i mean, marc’s anger… marc’s anger is terrifying.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and mine isn’t?”

“no, i didn’t mean- i- that’s- no, of course yours is, i just mean-”

“i’m kidding, stevie,” you smiled. “but i know what you mean. fuck, you think throwing a bottle is the worst he’s done to me? this-” you pointed to your arm. “this is tame.”

steven’s eyes looked at the bandage on your arm, softening as the patches of red caught his eye.

“he hurt you.”

“no,” you shook your head. “he didn’t. he threw a bottle, which hurt me. not him. never him, you know? it’s never by his hand.”

he chewed his lip. “but it’s his fault, love.”

“and it’s my fault you’re dealing with that,” you looked at his hand.

shaking his head, steven took your hands again. “it’s probably more my fault, actually. i was talking to him.”

“i know,” squeezing his hands, you met his eye. “it’s weird, i can always tell when you’re around. marc gets angrier, but it’s like.. this self-destructive rage. he’s not angry at me anymore, but himself.”

“me, more like.” steven mumbled.

“and i hate him for it, you know.” you said. “fucking hate him for it, always doing this with me and never bothering to fix it himself. don’t get me wrong, i love seeing you, but when i’ve just had a screaming match with marc… fucking hell, it’s torture.”

“but it’s not your fault, y/n.”

you smiled, a self pitying kind. “it is, really. it’s just as much my fault as marc’s. you see, we love like this - it’s just how we are. some people love gently but us? we’re violent, we’re unhealthy. it’s just how we are.”

steven nodded. “i know.”

looking back at the sunset, you wondered if steven would ever turn into that kind of lover. violent, angered, intense. you didn’t put it past him, but for the time you’ve spent with him, steven has always been the kinder lover. he would hold you, make you coffee, comfort you - something marc only did before your marriage went south.

your marriage; it reminded you.

“im not gonna divorce him, by the way.” you looked back at steven, who seemed instantly relieved.

“i was hoping you’d say that.” he smiled, pulling your ring out of his pocket.

he slid the ring onto your finger, and interlocked your fingers. his hands were warm - another difference between him and marc.

“i have something to say, but i don’t know how to say it.” you thought out loud, staring at your hands.

“go on, darlin’. i’m listening.”

you took a breath; “i know that technically, i did marry you. but fuck, stevie, i wish it was only you.”

as you met his eye, he smiled softly - he understood what you meant.

“i can get why, but marc does love you as well. he’s just not good at showing it.”

“but that’s the difference,” you breathed. “his love is conditional, it’s about sex and heat and boiling each other’s blood but… but yours isn’t, you don’t pick at me for everything i do, fuck, you don’t throw half empty bottles of rum at me!”

sure, you and steven had fucked - but it was different. with marc it was rough, makeup sex that ran on anger, but with steven it was personal. slow, loving and gentle, everything you wished marc could have been.

“but you said it yourself,” steven said. “you and marc love differently. sure, you’re toxic for each other and fucking can only get you so far, but you do love each other. why else would you still be married, hm? if deep down, you didn’t love each other?”

he was right, you thought. the love was there, but it was much deeper down. deeper down than the hate, the anger, the awareness of the toxicity. albeit there - it was buried under nine years worth of boiled blood and broken glass.

steven seemed to notice your quietness, squeezing your hands in his own. “come on, then. we’ll get you cleaned up.”

nodding, you stood up, not letting go of his hand.

“you have a hotel? i’m not sure either of us want to go back there yet. the rooms a bit of a state.”

“mhm,” you pointed down the street. “just down here.”

“alright, love,” he breathed. “and i’ll tell you what.”

“what?”

it wasn’t like it was for lack of trying. it really, really wasn’t. you could count on one hand the amount of days you went between sex, especially around your more fertile days.

but still, at least once a month, a single line stared back at you. it didn’t hurt so much anymore, not after the years of trying, but there was still a lump in your throat when you swallowed.

it had been four years - four whole years of trying for a baby. you had tried everything, all the positions the websites told you to, every time you were fertile according to flo, hell - even changing your diet. four whole years that you and your husbands had been trying for that longed for baby.

every test you took, every three day late period, every time you were sick in the morning, it all added to the disappointment of that single line on the test. not once had you seen even the faintest trace of a second line.

it hurt - it did. but you couldn’t have asked for someone better to go through it with. marc was the one who would hold you when you cried, he himself being the most anxious to become a father.

jake was there in the physical ways, holding your hand at every doctors appointment and driving you to every health centre, every therapy session - everywhere.

steven put in the work. he read the books, researched every website he could find, did all the shopping - he longed to be a father the most. sure, all three of them couldn’t wait, but deep down for steven the thought of a child just completely overtook him, he was in love with this baby before it was even created.

it wasn’t easy for you, even with them. your parents were… eager, to say the least. every month without a pregnancy reveal that passed, they seemed to only get less patient, your mother dropping hints almost every time you saw her, and you tried to ignore her snide comments about your lack of bump.

she even bought maternity dresses for you.

it was irritating, to be short. but you dealt it with - promising yourself that when you were meant to become parents, you would.

about two years into trying, you realised it might be time to get tested. so you did, and it turned out that both you and your husbands were completely healthy, just painfully unlucky.

so you found yourself in the passenger seat next to jake, once again, on the way to the doctors. it had been about eight weeks since your last visit, you’d certainly been trying since then. you hadn’t taken a test, though, partly because you hoped that a doctor would give good news, partly because the thought of staring a single line made you feel like shit.

but the thing was, your period was due. today. normally, you’d wake up with it, blood staining the sheets, but you’d woken up completely clean. to make matters worse, you’d woke up completely nauseous for the last few weeks.

you hated to admit it gave you hope, but the butterflies in your stomach were flying around faster and faster the closer you got to the doctors.

how unlucky did you have to be? to try for four whole years, and not get pregnant even once. it would have made sense, to be infertile, or to have some kind of condition. but no, you were just fucking unlucky.

with every trip, you prepared for bad news. that you couldn’t have kids, you’d miscarry if you did. that might have been easier to take, but every doctor that looked at you in pity and shook their heads broke you a little more.

jake pulled in to a space, parking immaculate as per usual. it went in a blur - the walk from the car to the waiting room feeling more like muscle memory than a conscious action.

the smell of the waiting room always took you by surprise, you never got used to it. plastic, medical, stuffy air filled your lungs as you found an empty seat, feeling jake sit down next to you.

maybe it was stupid to wear a white dress. maybe, you were hoping that, deep down, the period would never come. the fabric would stay white, and the doctor would deliver fantastic news.

maybe it was just the way the washing cycle lined up.

“y/n grant?” the doctor called, snapping you from your thoughts.

you and jake stood up, him letting you walk in front. he followed behind, hand around your waist.

your doctor smiled at you from her chair, you two sitting across from her. she welcomed you, making small talk as you got comfortable.

“so, how long’s it been?” she asked, facing you two.

“um,” you thought for a moment. “about eight weeks, i think.”

she nodded, “and you’ve been trying since then?”

both you and jake nodded.

“y/n, any periods? abnormal discharge?”

“no,” you breathed. “i was just starting my period the last time we were here, so i’m actually due about now.”

“alright,” she wrote something down. “jake, right?”

he nodded. “morning.”

“have you been feeling alright? anything of note?”

“no, not really.”

she wrote something down again.

“we’re past the point of being awkward, so i’ll just ask it - how many times have you had sex since the last time you were here?”

you looked at each other, counting in your head. eight weeks, three or so times a week… “about twenty, give or take.”

writing something again, she hummed. “and you’ve not been using any protection?”

jake shook his head.

“alright, good. y/n, any sickness lately? in the morning, especially?”

“um,” you trailed the syllable. “a little, actually.”

both the doctor and jake looked at you, both as surprised as each other.

“it’s nothing major, just nausea and headaches.”

she tilted her head. “have you had any, like, fluttering sensations? cravings? backache, or anything?”

you hadn’t realised that until now. you really, truly hadn’t. putting it down to stress or period cravings - you genuinely hadn’t realised it.

the doctor seemed to notice your realisation, prompting you to lie on the all-too-familiar bed behind you. jake squeezed your hand and walked over with you, sitting at your side.

you pulled your dress up, the cool air making goosebumps rise on your skin. the coldness wasn’t helped by the gel the doctor spread on your stomach, it was well known to you, but still never got any longer.

the wait for the ultrasound machine to start up felt like a million years. medical processes you didn’t quite understand dragged on and on and on, your hands going clammy, intertwined with jake’s.

the ultrasound moved around your tummy, looking for the right picture.

when it came on screen, you didn’t know how to react.

a little, bean shaped image stared back. something was floating around, tiny little picture visible on the screen. you didn’t believe it.

“is that…?” you couldn’t even say it.

the doctor smiled. “i think, you might be pregnant.”

jake felt marc come forward, happily allowing the switch. marc leaned forward to the screen, not believing his own eyes. this couldn’t be right?

“oh my god, baby, it’s a baby..” he mumbled, turning back to you.

you lay, completely frozen. there was a baby. your baby, a real, actual baby.

looking back at your husband, you could see steven in his eyes. for the first time in four years, there was a spark. the spark that had been there when you first suggested having children.

“it’s a baby,” you repeated back to him.