Work Text:
When Merle got a call from the hospital, he was nervous. When he was told, “It’s your husband,” he was worried. When he saw Davenport, still and bloody, in a too-large bed for his small frame, he was anxious. When Davenport woke up many, many hours later and was able to only say his name, Merle was frantic.
“Dav, please, ” he said, terrified, over and over again, and the only response he received, over and over again, was a simple, weak, “Davenport.”
The doctors said he had suffered some severe head trauma in the accident. They had done all they could for him. They said he could recover eventually; amnesiac patients sometimes regained their memories after they healed. But they also warned Merle that his memory loss could be permanent, and to consider this when making choices for the future.
Merle didn’t like the way that sounded.
At length, Davenport was allowed to be released. Merle signed the papers and helped his husband to the car (he was still so small and fragile, no longer a commanding presence, and Merle’s heart ached). “Davenport,” he said, grinning at Merle. “Davenport!”
Merle shook his head and smiled sadly, climbing into the driver’s seat and taking them home. Davenport looked happily out the window, smiling at the trees and the buildings as they passed. When they reached their house, a pretty brick thing surrounded by various flowering, bushing, and climbing plants, Davenport grew excited, tapping Merle’s arm and pointing.
“Yeah,” Merle told him, smiling, “that's our house. That's where we live.”
Davenport's face at that news, so bright and happy, was almost enough to bring Merle to tears. He didn't even remember their home.
Merle helped Davenport out of the car and up the walk to the door, on which there hung a little sign that said “God made you special, but don’t get a big head about it”. Pushing open the door, he called, “Taako, we’re back!”
The young man was at the door and helping Davenport in before Merle could finish his sentence. “You--you all good there, Dav?” he asked, his grin shaky.
“Davenport,” Davenport said, smiling at Taako with a sort of dazed look.
Taako’s hand went up to his mouth. “God,” he whispered. “God, fuck, shit, it’s--I thought it would be--”
“Davenport.” His hand reached for Taako’s wrist, pulled his hand down from his mouth, clasped it gently in his. “Davenport,” he added. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Taako’s ribs, hugged him close--
Taako let out a strangled noise somewhere between a sob and a yelp and wrenched himself out of Davenport’s grasp, turning and running upstairs to his room.
“Taako--” Merle said, but Davenport put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a look that said, “Let him go.”
Merle nodded. “Yeah. C’mon, Dav, let’s get you sitting down,” and he led his husband to the living room and sat with him on the couch.
And so passed the day.
And then, so passed a week. Merle woke up in the morning to “Davenport!”. He spent the day listening to the chattering of his husband, who said nothing but his own name. He fell asleep to a sleepy “Davenport.” And every day, although Davenport was nothing but happy, everything felt… sad.
Taako barely emerged from his room except to go to work and, sometimes, to go shopping. He avoided Davenport under all circumstances, and did his best to avoid Merle as well, although with less success. He was irritable and cranky, more so than usual.
And so passed a month.
People came by to visit Davenport, to bring them dinners because Taako refused to cook for them lately. Magnus, Magnus’s girlfriend Julia, Lucretia. They stayed for a few hours, chatting and laughing and trying to lift spirits, and it worked, for a bit. But as soon as they left Merle was left to struggle with all this bullshit again, by himself, and goddamnit, why didn’t Davenport just get better? He’d sit there, a glassy smile on his face, and sometimes he’d just stare at the wall even though there was nobody and nothing there.
Merle rarely lost his temper. He liked to think of himself as a relaxed man, someone who had control over his emotions and never really expressed them in explosive ways. But there was so much stress on him, and sometimes, there’s only so much you can do when there are so many emotions boiling inside of you.
Merle only lost his temper at Taako once, but it was the ugliest he’s seen himself since Hecuba.
“Hey, Taaks, haven’t seen you in a while,” Merle said with a smile, upon hearing the front door open. “How was work?”
“Fuckin’--terrible,” Taako snapped, “like fuckin’ always. Gotta find myself a better fuckin’ job.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Merle said. “You used to like working there.”
“Well not any fucking more.” Taako rolled his eyes and made for the stairs. “People keep treating me like I’m made of fucking glass, ‘cause this is a small fuckin’ town and everyone knows about Dav now, and I’m sick of people treating me like I’m--like he’s--” Eyes full of anger, Taako whirled, pointed an acrylic-tipped finger at Davenport, who was sitting on the couch. “Look at him! He can’t even say my fucking name! He’s my fucking dad and he can’t do a goddamn thing with me anymore! And you--!” He turned back to Merle. “It’s your fault he’s like this!
“Why can’t you do something? Just--get him admitted, take him go a goddamn therapist--he could get better, he could be like he used to, but you--you like him better like this! You fucking--you just sit there and you watch him! He’s empty, dad! He’s a fucking shell, and you just wanna keep him that way because you’re too fucking afraid to actually try to fix him!”
At the accusation, Merle leapt to his feet. “This has nothing to do with fear, Taako!” he shouted, pointing a finger right back at him. “This has nothing to do with you , either! It’s nobody’s fault he’s like this, things just happen sometimes! I’m doing all I can for you, Taako, it’s your fault you can’t see that I’m trying my best! But I’m the only one trying anymore! Look at you--just hiding away in your fucking room like that’ll help you deal with all of this! How about you actually come out once in a while and fucking talk to me --do you know how lonely it is when you spend all your time with the person you love most in the world and he doesn’t even know who you are?
“I don’t have time to deal with your bullshit, ” he continued, taking a step closer to Taako, who took a step back. “I don’t have the luxury to deal with your attitude right now. So how about you fucking grow up and act like an adult instead of a petulant fucking teenager.”
Taako was staring at him with wide eyes, trembling hands stretched out flat in front of him like he was trying to placate Merle--no, like he was trying to protect himself. And that’s when Merle’s anger dissolved. “Taako--” he said carefully, quietly, trying to approach his son --but Taako took two steps back, and then two more, and he stumbled on the bottom step and fell backward, and he was still trembling, eyes wide, cheeks red, as he sat pressed against the stairs.
“Dad,” he whispered, thin and scared. Scared. Merle made his own son feel scared.
“Shit,” Merle said, and then his knees kind of buckled and he was sitting on the floor and he was crying, shit, he was crying and he’d scared his child and Davenport was sick and empty and everything was wrong. “Shit, Taako, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Merle liked to think he could keep his emotions in check. He liked to think he was cool and collected and could keep a handle on himself and never display huge outbursts of emotion. But when Taako slowly slid off the stairs and sat beside Merle and put a skinny arm around him, Merle leaned his head against his son’s shoulder and he sobbed like the world was ending.
And a month turned into two months, and then two became three.
Taako was cooking again, more than he ever used to--huge five-course meals for Merle and Davenport and Magnus and Julia and Lucretia and whoever else wanted to stop by and have a bite. He took recipes from Pinterest, from Google, altered them, made them better. One day, he took Merle by the arm, pulled him aside, and said, “Dad, I’m going to start taking night classes for culinary school.”
He quit his job at the tiny diner where he worked and instead began doing secretary work for Magnus’s workshop, and used the money from his previous job to pay tuition to learn the trade that he’d begun to love. Merle had never been more proud.
Davenport seemed proud, too, the way his glazed smile softened when he saw Taako energetic and happy in the kitchen, the way he still gave Taako the biggest and warmest of hugs even when he couldn’t remember Taako’s name.
And three became six. And Merle got used to the “Davenport!” in the morning, the “Davenport!” all day, and the sleepy “Davenport,” at night. He got used to blank stares and glazed smiles and an expression that seemed somewhere far away, in a different world.
So when, one morning, six months after the accident, Merle heard a sleepy, “Mmm, g’mornin’ Merle,” Merle thought he was still dreaming, and turned over to go back to sleep.
“Merle?”
Merle’s eyes opened. He sat up. He turned to face his husband, his expression sleepy and lovely and a little confused, and he reached out a hand to cup Davenport’s face, and he said in a wonder and awe, “Dav?”
The tackle-hug Merle received was nothing in comparison to the hug Davenport himself got from Taako minutes later, when Merle had shouted out, “Taako, Taako, he’s back, wake up, come see!”
“I love you,” Davenport said, over and over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
And neither of them even hesitated to reply in kind.