Chapter Text
“Look at me, man, LOOK at me---”
He threw up, heaving every vile splash of bay water from his stomach onto the deck.
“Stay with me, Marcus, BREATHE---”
“Fuckin’… SHIT…”
“God, that’s it; keep cursing you old bastard.” Someone’s hand slapped his back. “Crow!!! Get the car---”
“Fine, I’m FINE---” He heaved again, trying to lock his elbows. He didn’t need a broken nose on top of everything else that had gone wrong on this hell of a shitty night. “Pete, no hospital, no… no docs…”
“I don’t think so,” the second voice growled, and it was steel; all Hood, no Jason. “You’re on the fucking clock, Durelio. I call the shots.”
“Where do you want him, boss?”
“Thompkins’. Make Sharpie drive; do not crash. I don’t need all three of you in the hospital tonight.”
“Where’re you going?”
“To piss off Batman.”
Almost twenty-four hours earlier…
The third floorboard in the dining room from the direction of the kitchen creaked when you stepped on it. Marcus took this into consideration as he crept, silent, through his own apartment. It was storming like hell outside, so his hearing wasn’t doin’ too great, but he could still make out a telltale rustling in the front hall.
He pressed his hand over his mouth, muffling his own breathing as he rounded the corner. Closer… and closer… and cloooooser…
The living room curtain giggled, squirming. Two little pink-socked feet peeked out from underneath. Actually, one of those socks was missing.
Marcus reached out… and yanked the curtain. “RAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
“Rahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” she screamed back, diving clumsily between his legs. Her newfound ability to walk quickly failed her as he lunged in slow motion, brushing her low-hanging diaper; she rolled to the floor, squeaking, and scampered away on all fours.
Not to be outdone (for the third time in one day), Marcus stomped after her, scooping the naked baby up with another dramatic roar. “Gotcha, you little stinker!!! Fuck, that’s NASTY; you smell like a troll, not a princess.”
“Marc,” Catherine called sharply from the bedroom.
Marcus held the squirmy creature at arm’s length, grimacing as she giggled. “Your mom says that’s a bad word.”
“It is a bad word, Marcus---” She leaned on the doorway, sighing heavily. “It’s also two in the morning.”
Marcus propped the stinky baby against his shoulder, frowning. Whoops. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah, just like Wednesday, right? And Monday and Sunday and God forbid Friday---”
“I didn’t realize it was that… Are you keepin’ a damn log?”
“MARCUS.”
“I’m sorry, okay? You were awake ten minutes ago; I didn’t think you’d be asleep yet.”
“So you decided to wake our neighbors, right?” Her nose wrinkled. “Is that you?”
Marcus stuffed his annoyance down into a pressurized box beneath his ribs, glaring at the grinning toothless wonder in his arms instead of at his wife. “No.”
“It’s your shift. Go change her. I’ll make her food.”
He thought about arguing the point, he really did. Just go back to bed or I’ve got this or We’ll stop making so much noise while we’re having FUN. God forbid some shred of light pull him out of whatever twisted nightmares were grasping at the straws of his sanity tonight. Themes varied from moment to moment.
He hadn’t realized it happened that often.
Grumbling under his breath instead of poking the bear, he padded back into the bedroom, plunking the unrepentant menace onto the changing table. He practically had to hold his breath the entire way through, and he also only had one free hand to work with, because she rolled, but he’d streamlined the process by now. Wipes, trash, new diaper, aaaaaand done. He exhaled in a rush, setting her down in her crib to wash his hands. He had to be fast about that, too, because she was learning to climb.
He was pretty sure five-month-old babies were not supposed to climb. Carmen, apparently, had not heard about that.
“YOU,” he growled, plucking her from the top of the bars before she could somersault over the edge, “are gonna give me a heart attack one day. Who’ll save you from bashing your brains in then? Not Mommy; Mommy just wants t’ be sleepin’.”
She pulled on his five-days-old stubble, cooing, and he winced. If nothing else, at least his precious baby girl had been born happy.
“Peter is here,” Cathy called from the kitchen, deadpan, as the front door ever so quietly shut.
The twenty-year-old scowled from the shadows, shucking his duffel. (Now with zippers, because Carmen could grab.) “What are you doing up? I was trying not to wake anybody.”
“At least SOMEONE was,” came the grumble from the other room.
Marcus handed Carmen over, sighing. “Just couldn’t sleep. What are you doin’ up?”
Jason’s eyebrows climbed. “Uh, I’m nocturnal. You have a fuckin’ BABY.”
“Pete…….” Cathy sighed loudly.
Jason took a seat in the saggy recliner, wincing, and supported Carmen as she climbed up his shoulder to investigate his hair. “Sorry Cath.”
Marcus rolled his eyes in solidarity. “Said baby is the reason we’re not sleeping. She doesn’t know what nighttime is.”
“Is that why we get along so well?” Jason tilted his head up, pulling his hair (a favorite plaything) out of Carmen’s grippy paws in order to bump noses with her. “Is that why?”
Marcus’ smirk felt a little softer around the edges this time. “So what brings you here?”
“I have a key.”
“I know; you’re allowed. Were you just gonna crash or raid the fridge?”
“I was gonna try getting some sleep, I guess. My place isn’t really vibing.”
“Mmm. Neighbors?”
“A bad feeling.” Jason smiled thinly, bouncing Carmen as she started to fuss. “I left the yucky vibes at the door, don’t worry. It’s just that we’ve got a big job tomorrow night, y’know? I wouldn’t care about the shitty rest on any other--- Sorry Cathy.”
“She’s pretty hungry,” Cath said quietly, shaking a warmed bottle as she entered the room. “Here.”
“Is that what you were looking for up there?” Jason shook his fluffy hair in Carmen’s face as he rearranged her in his arms, magically transforming her pout into a reluctant giggle. “Is that all you wanted, y’ little toot?”
Marcus watched him feed her, trying not to make like ice cream an’ melt. Fuck, but they were good for this kid. He’d doubted his ability at first. His inherent value; his hope of bringing anything useful to the table. Of course it was family. Damn the ability to bust a trafficking ring or shoot a murderous asshole between the eyes. Jason didn’t want Marcus’ skills. Just his family.
The kid rocked the smaller kid quietly for a few minutes as Cathy left for the kitchen, watching Carmie settle in his arms. She grabbed the bottle with all fours when she suckled now. Cathy was trying to wean her early. Babies, apparently especially this one, liked to get a real firm grip on things.
“You seem drawn,” Jason finally murmured, eyes on Carmen.
Marcus’ brain lagged. “Me?”
“Tired… washed out…”
“I know what ‘drawn’ means; I told you. Baby.”
Jason finally made eye contact, worried. It was a little bit disarming. Marcus didn’t usually see those furrowed eyebrows directed his way. “That’s not it, man.”
Marcus flung his arm over the back of the couch, smirking. “Nothin’ a little journaling can’t fix, kid.”
“I’m not questioning…”
“Look… do me a favor, okay? Just drop it.” Marcus scrubbed a hand down his grizzled face. “I’ve been doin’ this life thing for longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Jason stressed lowly, adjusting Carmen. “You’ve had ten more years to get more radically fucked up than me, and I am at the top of my personal list when it comes to still-slightly-good guys. Something’s eating you, been eating you; you’re off your game at work.”
Marcus’ fingers curled into fists. “I’ll do better.”
“No, I’m not… I’m not saying this right. I don’t care about your performance, Marcus.”
“You seem pretty damn concerned.”
“You snapped at Sharpie. You never snap at Sharpie.”
“His feet were on the table.”
“That’s not an excuse to yell like someone’s insulted your whole fuckin’ family.” Jason’s eyes flashed. “NOT on my team.”
“Boys,” Cathy stressed dangerously, appearing like a wraith in the doorway. “Watch. Your. LANGUAGE.”
Marcus bit his tongue as the box in his chest started to strain. He waited until her glare had disappeared, until Jason’s eyes had dimmed sheepishly, before he dared trying to speak. His tone was oddly flat. He couldn’t do anything about that. “You said you’re worried about tomorrow’s job. Walk me through it.”
Jason knocked his head back against the chair, obviously frustrated. “Don’t change the fffffreaking subject, Marcus.”
“I’m not.” Marcus flexed his hands in the couch cushions, chewing on every word to make sure it came out placidly. “You came to my house because you can’t sleep. You mentioned work. So let’s talk about work.”
Jason adjusted his armful of sleeping baby, sighed, and started talking.
His heartbeat monitor was annoying. Fast… and annoying.
“Don’t even think about ripping that off again,” the doc snapped briskly, catching his glare as she adjusted his bedding.
Marcus eyed her, trying to breathe around the wet weight in his lungs. The memories were slow to trickle back, half’a one for each racing heartbeat. Job. Drowning. Thompkins’. Bedrest. Nightmares.
“You’re very lucky,” she reminded him for what felt like the millionth time.
He squeezed his burning eyes shut. “I… ripped it out… before?”
“In your sleep, yes. I had to assure you for twenty minutes that you were not shooting up or being roofied.”
His neck burned with shame. “Sorry.”
“There is no judgment in this clinic, Mr. Durelio; only disappointment. I heard you jumped after a dead body.”
“He was drowning.”
“Hood says he’d been shot before he hit the water. I hear he was also not on your side.”
“Wh’ever happen’ t’… plausible… deniability?”
“Bravo, Mr. Durelio; very big words considering your state of health. You also tried to rescue a perfectly capable vigilante, which is where, I think, the disappointment comes in. He told me, and I quote, ‘I’ve known how to swim since I was reborn in poisonous Mountain Dew’. Ring a bell?”
“Hardly.” Marcus struggled to sit up, wheezing. “What day’s it? Why’m I not… breathing?”
“You have walking pneumonia.” She pushed him back down onto the raised cot with surprising ease. “Among other things. DO stay put. Your wife has been informed that you are confined to the clinic. She’s waiting to see you, but you haven’t been awake for very long during the past three days. I told her I would call when you surfaced.”
Marcus pushed the panic down, trying to lock it in that overly stuffed box so he could breathe. “Y’… listenin’ t’… ev’ry nightmare, ‘r jus’ th’ one?”
“Enough to call ME,” a new voice snapped, and Pete himself shoved the door open, striding furiously into the room. “Normally your demons would be none of my fucking business, but when you try to save a dead man, almost kill your boss, and drown in the process, I think I’m inclined to hear about what makes you whimper at night.”
Marcus threw a token glare between them. He was too fuzzy to make it mean anything. “That’s my fuckin’… privacy…”
“You had to be RESTRAINED, Marcus!!!” Jason snapped loudly, looming over Marcus’ personal space. His eyes glowed. “LOOK at me. You DIED. You proceeded to try an’ rip all these wires out of you every single SECOND you were awake. Your kid is teething and Cathy’s cried her eyes out on my shoulder and I can PROMISE you, Marcus, there is NOTHING you can say that will make that better for me.”
Marcus slumped back against his pillow, furious tears welling in his eyes. He was too fuckin’ high for this shit. Fuck hospitals and medicine and doctors that squealed especially. “What do you want from me, kid?”
“Physically? Nothing. I’ve got a vetted professional waiting on retainer; I didn’t wanna do this, but you’ve left me no choice. We have passed the point of a manly crying session over a couple of beers.” Jason’s fingers tightened on the arms of the cot, making it creak. “You’re getting therapy.”