Work Text:
“Why are you here?” Roz asked, arms akimbo. Behind her, Jack took advantage of the pause in her march to rearrange the clipboard, travel mug, top hat, and spool of ribbon he’d accumulated along the way into a slightly more reasonable pile. Roz continued to glare at the man lounging on the green couch in the hallway.
He blinked slowly, pulling himself into a slightly more upright position. “I dreamed Mal tried to stab me… Somebody named Zap talked him out of it?”
“No, that actually happened,” Roz informed him. “I was there. Now why are you here ?”
Marshal grinned and hopped nimbly to his feet, drowsiness banished. “I’m here to help out, of course!” he replied, hand over his heart. “You guys open in two weeks, after all.”
Roz tapped her foot. “Yes, we do,” she snapped. “And I have a lead to talk out of an anxiety attack, a techie hanging off the catwalks, June still hasn’t finished the costumes and Why. Are. You. Really. Here.”
Marshal sighed, getting up. “I brought Vee a jacket because it’s getting cold, then I fell asleep on the couch. I’ll leave if you want me to, Miss Stage Manager Boss Lady Ma’am.”
Roz eyed him suspiciously for a minute, then resumed her stride to the workroom. “Go help Cat with the set,” she called over her shoulder. “Be useful and I’ll tell Vee the coffee Cat brought her was from you.”
“I don’t need a fifteen-year-old micromanaging my love life!” Marshal called after the duo, but all he got in response was the workroom door slamming closed. He sighed and headed to the workshop.
The sounds of buzzsaws assaulted his ears as soon as the door opened. A giant sign proclaiming “SAFTEY FIRST” was on the wall, right next to headphones to muffle the noise and safety goggles. Marshal kitted himself out before stepping into the workshop proper.
Cat was reigning supreme, as per usual, bright pink hair spiked with sawdust and a white tank top showing off bright tattoos on her formidable biceps. Thick gloves encased her hands as she helped a student wrestle with a large piece of plywood. Marshall had seen the girl in the workshop before—her mess of blonde hair reminded him of Ellie—but he couldn’t recall her name. Sally? Scully? Something.
Cat waved for a moment but didn’t speak until they’d finished making their cut on the tablesaw. Once the blade was off and covered, she handed the boards to her minion and turned to Marshal. “Hey bruh. Here to paint?”
“Sure, why not?” Marshal said with a shrug. “Gotta wait until rehearsal is over to take my Vee-yootiful girlfriend out on the town.” He grinned. “It’s our anniversary, you know. Two years.”
“I know,” Cat said with an eye roll. “You won’t shut up about it. Besides, I was with you two on your first date, remember? Still don’t know why, by the way.”
“Because Vee thought she might need backup if I turned out to be a criminal?” Marshal guessed.
Cat snorted. “Whatever. Grab a roller and go paint the stage black.”
Shrugging, Marshal did as he was told, whistling tunelessly and swinging a (covered, thankfully) can of paint back and forth as he walked through the hallway, dodging an angry girl holding a pile of fabric that may once have been a costume, shouting, “I’m busy, hit on me later!” at a boy festooned with glitter and lighting cables following behind her, then Roz and Jack again, this time headed toward the stage, and his visibly seething half-brother stalking to the dressing rooms.
As he passed Mal, Marshal heard something along the lines of “—absurd that we would even need an understudy. Ernest has never been sick a day in his life. My talents would be far better used elsewhere...” Marshal snickered and kept going.
It was astounding how many teenagers could fit into one theater, Marshal reflected. Finally, finally, he managed to dodge all the adolescent thespians and emerge onto the empty stage. Wait a second. He squinted against the harsh glare of the lights which flickered up and down as technicians attempted to find correct levels for various scenes. There was a lone figure downstage center, stumbling his way through Henry V’s “St. Crispin’s Day” speech. At least that’s what Marshal assumed it was. Something about a band of brothers anyway.
Well, at least the rest of the stage was clear. Marshal grabbed two chairs from backstage, set them a bit behind Ernest to spike his place, and began painting upstage. Pour paint into the tray, soak the roller, go up and down across the meticulously swept stage. From far upstage to downstage, then back up a little to stage left, back upstage, and do it all again. It was pleasant, really—Ernest wasn’t difficult to listen to once he forgot people were watching, so Marshal fell into a sort of trance as he smoothed glossy color onto the stage.
Wait a second.
Fuck. This was supposed to be matte, not glossy. Marshal grabbed the paint can to double check, cursing his colorblindness. Sure enough, the label said “Glossy Eggplant.”
Eggplant?
Fuck.
Casually, completely nonchalant, Marshal quietly gathered up his roller, bucket, and tray. Maybe if he was lucky, Vee wouldn’t notice that half her stage was purple, and later tonight he could come back and re—
“Marshal Micah Underwood, don’t think I don’t see you there!”
Dammit all to fuck.
He turned around and grinned brilliantly at his girlfriend where she stood at the very front of the house, bundled up in the cardigan he’d brought her earlier in the afternoon. It seemed she’d tired of torturing Ernest and sent him off to go get fitted for his costume. “Hey there, Miz Kim. Looking wonderful, as always!”
Vee crossed her arms and frowned her special “I’m trying not to smile at you because I am a serious educator ” frown. “Did you think you could paint the stage without me noticing? You’re not very sneaky, Marshal.”
Marshal shrugged. “I was just trying to do something nice…” he wheedled.
Startling him, Vee smiled, radiant. “I know you did. And I really do appreciate it. We’ll get to dinner soon, okay?”
She must not be able to see the stage from where she’s standing. “Okay, gorgeous! I’ll go ahead and put all these supplies up then, yeah? I’ll come back tomorrow morning and finish painting.” Marshal added to himself, I’ll have to to fix the mess I made. He bent down and leaned over the edge of the stage to give Vee a kiss right as the lights went out.
Marshal paused, hunched over, his lips an inch from Vee’s. “Was that supposed to happen?”
Vee was already moving away, pulling out her phone and flicking to the flashlight app. “No, it wasn’t. It’s a good thing rehearsal was nearly over.”
Marshal dropped the painting equipment on the stage—it wouldn’t hurt anything—and followed Vee out the side door of the house and back to the classrooms. It wasn’t just the theater that had gone dark; the whole building was pitch black, the only light coming from the windows and from electronics.
By the time Marshal got to the classrooms where the students had been working, the building was awash in an eerie blue-green glow. His question was answered before he even asked it when the thin curly-haired boy he’d seen earlier handed him a large glow stick, already snapped. He had a whole backpack full of them.
“I was going to a rave tonight after rehearsal,” the boy explained cheerfully. “I’m always prepared for max imum fun!”
“Huh,” is all Marshal could find to say. “Where’s Ms. Kim?”
The boy pointed helpfully, bending his arm at an extreme angle instead of turning around, before vanishing into the shop. Marshal watched him go, bemused. All of Vee’s kids were weird.
He walked into the classroom the boy had indicated and lounged in a chair near the door as Vee debriefed her actors, then her techies, and finally had a long, quiet discussion with Roz, while her minion with the curly hair fluttered here and there, somehow always managing to hand her the correct paper right as she reached for it.
Marshal played a little game on his phone until the candy cascading down the screen got to be too much and he tucked it away, stomach growling loud enough to echo in the dim, near-empty room.
Vee startled and looked up, smiling apologetically before turning back to her stage manager. A few more words, and the last two kids were out the door. Marshal stood and stretched before he kissed his girlfriend hello. “Anything else you need to do before dinner?” he asked.
Vee shook her head. “It can wait. You’re all mine for the next couple hours.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Marshal grinned. He grabbed Vee’s bag and held open the door for her, silently thanking whatever spirit of good fortune that finally decided to throw him a bone that there wasn’t any last-minute business to do on the stage.
------
Even a fuckup of that magnitude couldn’t distract Marshal for too long, though. It wasn’t until after their date, when he and Vee were settling in for bed, that he suddenly remembered the big purple mess he’d made.
“Fuck,” he said, sitting bolt upright.
“What?” Vee asked muzzily.
“Nothing,” he said instantly. “I just forgot to finish something. I’ll be back in a minute.” Marshal kissed her on the cheek and slid out of bed, Vee protesting the loss of her bedwarmer.
It was the work of a few moments for Marshal to put on his work clothes and shoes and slip out the front door without too much noise. Vee was a heavy sleeper. The knocked over lamp wouldn’t have disturbed her. Probably.
Congratulating himself on his stealth, Marshal didn’t notice the light in their apartment window flicker on as he slipped into his car and called Cat.
“—so I need to get into the building so I can repaint the stage and Cat, you haven’t taken a breath in like five minutes. That can’t be healthy.”
On the other end of the line, Cat cut off her chuckles and heaved a wheezing breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just—” She sucked in another shaking breath. “You painted the stage purple and you didn’t even notice.” That started her off again.
Marshal waited for the worst of the giggles to abate before he responded. “Yeah, yeah, colorblindness is hilarious. Are you gonna give me the key or do I have to break in again?”
“Again?” Suddenly every trace of laughter was gone from Cat’s voice, and Marshal remembered with a wince that she and Vee had originally met at police academy.
“I didn’t say again ,” Marshal protested. “I said then. Not that I actually would break into the theater. Or could. I couldn’t do that, because that’s not a thing I even know how to do.”
“Mmm-hm.” Cat seemed convinced. “Well, you can drive over and pick up the key, fuck you if you think I’m going out this late. And you owe me.”
“I owe you,” Marshal agreed. On the way to his best friend’s apartment, he stopped at a Starbucks and picked up a salted caramel mocha frap (venti, extra whip, extra drizzle, with cinnamon), a pumpkin spice latte (venti), and three spiced cake pops. When he got there, there was still one cake pop left, and he greeted Cat with it when she opened the door, scowling.
“It’s midnight-thirty, Marshal,” she informed him, like the chilly night wasn’t enough to let him know. After accepting her cake pop, Cat saw the latte and made grabby hands. “If I’m up, I deserve caffeination. I accept your bribe, gimme gimme.”
Marshal exchanged the cup for a ring of keys and left Cat to her beauty sleep. If he had been listening, he’d have heard the opening strains of Little Mix’s “Wings” from behind the apartment door and wondered who was calling Cat this late at night. Since paying attention was for other people, he cranked up the TSwift and zipped over to the theater without sparing another thought.
-------
It took ten minutes and three near-concussions, but Marshal emerged from the paint room with a can of matte black in each hand. He’d checked this time to make sure it was the right color. Twice.
He stopped at the sound booth to connect his phone to the sound system and start up his workout playlist, then strolled down to the stage, waved at Cat and Vee where they were sitting in the house, and grabbed his keys to pry open the paint can.
The lid was off and the roller pan was full before the correct neuron fired in his brain.
“Vee? Cat?” In the house, Vee smirked at him from within her unreasonably plush lavender blanket, a huge mug of coffee clenched in both hands. Next to her, Cat waved cheerfully as he hissed “ traitor.” She had a large box on her lap that smelled like grease and sugar. “Wait, I take it all back, you’re not a traitor, give me a donut.”
“Donuts are for people who didn’t paint my stage purple,” Vee said, giving Marshal a Look.
“Eggplant, technically.” He grinned his best most charming grin, then sagged when it had no effect. “I wanted to fix it before you found out I fucked up. Sorry, babe.”
Vee broke character and laughed, finally smiling up at her hapless boyfriend. “It’s sweet that you wanted to help by painting the stage. That’s why we’re here.”
“To help me paint it?” Marshal said hopefully. “I can do go another roller from the—”
He was cut off by Cat’s snort. “Not a chance,” she said. “You broke it, you bought it, buddy.”
“We’re making sure you’re doing it correctly this time,” Vee added, opening the box on Cat’s lap. “You can have a donut when you make it to center stage.”
“Ma’am yes ma’am, miz director, ma’am!” Marshal saluted and started painting over his mistakes to the familiar sound of Cat singing along to Kesha’s “Tik Tok” and Vee grumbling that neither of them had any culture.
“Hey babe?” he called.
“What?” Vee and Cat asked in unison.
He grinned at them both. “Happy anniversary.”