Archive of Our Own ^beta

in steven’s defense, he was exhausted. don’t get him wrong - he enjoyed his new job as a library assistant, but the roster of staff there was much shorter than that of the museum, which had him working long hours of customer service and stocking shelves. his muscles ached, his mind was hazy and his social battery was running on empty, so it was understandable that he didn’t pay any mind to the drops of rain beginning to come down on him as he dragged himself into his flat and decided that marc could finish up their nightly duties before tucking into bed. as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, steven allowed himself to drift away from the front, tiredness rolling over him like a tsunami.

marc blinked into focus, feeling disoriented and heavy. the first thing he noticed was that steven’s work clothes were damp. with a furrowed brow, he tugged at the cloth resting coldly against his chest, looking down to see dark spots of water along the surface. he ran a hand through his hair, observing the wetness of his curls as they dragged along his fingers.

the second thing marc noticed was that they were back in their apartment. steven must have just gotten home from work, and pushed marc to the front to finish off the evening. marc had no problem with that; they had fallen into a routine on nights where steven had a long shift. marc would take over, shower, make some food, feed the fish, and watch whatever was on television until he fell asleep. if feeling up to it, sometimes steven and jake would join him in reflected surfaces for some much needed down time.

after slipping off steven’s shoes and setting his bag down by the door, marc noticed a third thing.

it was raining. hard.

water crashed against the apartment window like someone was holding a pressure washer up to the glass, begging to crack through and pour onto the hardwood floor. the sound of the howling wind stuck in his ears like a ring after a gunshot. surrounding apartment buildings were barely visible, covered in a thick grey fog. marc was frozen in place, eyes fixed on the trees as they shook in the wind.

a flash of light, and a loud rumble.

“help!”

marc let out a grunt, shutting his eyes tightly and covering his ears. he was not going to do this right now. he needed someone else to take over and ride this out. in his mind, he reached out for steven, but received no response. he must’ve been pretty wiped out from the day, and marc decided to leave him be. he could call on jake, but there wasn’t any immediate threat or need for protection. he didn't want to burden the man with something as simple as this.

another frustrated grunt left marc’s lips as he forced his hands into fists, bringing them down to his side. he could do this, they lived in london, of course it was going to storm sometimes. he was going to face this alone.

marc shakily got dressed into comfier clothes, dropping steven’s outfit into the hamper. distracting himself from the anger outside by running through their nightly routine would be good for him. he ran down the list in his mind.

shower.

water pouring down his body while he tried to focus on anything but water pouring down his body? no bueno. he’d shower in the morning.

eat.

he wasn’t hungry, and the thought of putting anything in his stomach at that moment made him nauseous. he’d leave that for later.

feed the fish.

he could do that. no way was he going to let the fish die again because of some rain.

it took a moment or two for marc to convince his legs to move. he found them threatening to buckle under his weight. once he reached the tank, he gripped the fish food tightly in his hands, tapping it slowly over the top and watching the two little goldfish swim up to the surface, bobbing at the little pellets.

randall’s head bobbing in and out of the water, gasping for air and crying out for help as marc struggled to keep himself above the surface, blindly reaching out for him, begging him to swim closer-

another flash of light. another rumble.

marc physically recoiled from the tank, fumbling with the open food container and spilling it across the floor.

“fuck, fuck-“ he sputtered out, crouching down to clean up his mess. he shut his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, harshly knocking on his forehead with the side of his closed fist. “fucking- get it together.” he hissed at himself, slowly scooping up the pellets and dumping them back into the container. it took him longer than he wanted to admit to finish the job; his head was spinning and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

one task out of his list, and he couldn’t even do that one right.

he was going to bed.

with slow, panicked breaths, marc crawled from his spot in front of the tank to the bed, pulling himself onto the mattress and burying himself underneath the covers. after what felt like hours of shifting uncomfortably and trying to calm himself down, the sound of the storm gently started to distance from him. he took a deep breath in, drifting into darkness, floating comfortably between consciousness-

a flash of a skull in his vision. a decaying, lifeless beak, paired with empty eye sockets wrapping marc in a feeling of dread and discomfort. he was falling towards it. he tried to resist, but gravity made that impossible as he drew closer. the dark, heavy soullessness of the bird’s eyes enveloped him in a thick haze as he dropped into it, falling, thrashing, begging for it to stop-

sand on his back.

marc gripped at the grains underneath him, eyes fixated on the night sky as the stars seemed to shift quickly across his vision and blur into long, thin lines of white, like someone turning a dial. he watched the sky shift for an eternity.

a thump.

marc tore his gaze away from the sky and towards the sound. he inhaled roughly as his eyes gazed over a seemingly endless sea of corpses along the sand, many with blood leaking into the desert. he could make out a few.

dr. el-faouly, just as marc had seen him last, cold and lifeless with layla’s handmade scarf wrapped around his neck.

young randall, pale and soaked from head to toe, eyes unseeing.

layla.

unfocused gaze staring blankly into him, only a few feet away from his outstretched legs. curls dirtied with sand and blood dripping from her parted lips.

directly to his left, himself, in a pair of dress pants and a knitted green sweater. a dark red stain covering the left side of his head and down his cheek, the colour fresh in the sand underneath his hair.

directly to his right, himself, in a long leather jacket, a flat cap discarded nearby. two bullet holes to the chest, fresh and ruining the light brown shirt underneath the jacket.

steven and jake.

both flat on their backs, eyes open and towards the moving sky, just like his were a few moments ago.

he tried to scream. he couldn’t find his voice.

the sound of a gun cocking grabbed his attention. he had seen this sort of destruction before.

the dig site.

the archaeologists.

bushman.

turning to face the man behind the trigger, he was met with the eyes of his mother, burning with hatred and despair.

“look at the pain you’ve caused,” she spoke, voice unnaturally calm. marc couldn’t look away from her. “the people you’ve hurt.”

silence. neither of them looked away from each other. wendy gave him a false smile.

“all because you chose yourself that day. all because you left your brother for dead. you were selfish.” she let out a dark chuckle. “and you continue to be selfish - convincing people to care for you with your little sob story, then destroying them when they overtake your own fucking self-importance.”

wendy was yelling, now, yet her face hadn’t changed from the horrifying grin. numbness began to creep up his limbs. he quickly glanced down as stone began to run up his body, stopping the blood flow to his arms and legs. he couldn’t move. he couldn’t breathe.

“all these wonderful, luminary souls, ripped from their bodies and buried six feet underground, because you believed that you were worth something more. it should be you, down there.” she stated, voice coming back down to that agonizing calmness. stone stretched across marc’s torso, threatening to roll over his chest. “you won’t ruin any more lives, marc spector.”

marc watched, helpless, as wendy stepped closer to him, pressing the barrel of the gun in her hand right between his eyes. the stone crawled up his neck, locking his head in place.

“i should’ve done this years ago.”

wendy’s index finger pushed down on the trigger.

jake opened his eyes with a sharp breath of air, hazy gaze fixed on the ceiling. he held that breath for a moment, blinking his bleary eyes and trying to clear the fog from them. he had no idea where he was, but there must have been some sort of threat to the three of them if he was pulled to the front so suddenly. he wracked his mind for any recollection of events that led up to this switch. was marc in a fight? did steven get threatened on the walk home from work? nothing came clear to him. he couldn’t focus on anything.

slowly, he gained feeling in his hands and closed them into fists, wrapping around something soft. sheets. it was then that he felt the pillow under his head. he was in bed. was he in their bed? had someone broken in?

his movements felt sloth-like and unfamiliar as he pushed himself into a sitting position, eyes seeing but unfocused. everything in the room seemed so familiar, yet so unfamiliar. he couldn’t connect his sight to his memory, leaving him disoriented and feeling lost. he un-flexed and flexed his fists around the blankets once more, releasing them and smoothing his palms along them as his eyes drifted aimlessly along the room, trying to attach to something to ground him. his limbs felt too long and his head felt too empty, like he was floating somewhere between his body and the ceiling.

“you alright?”

someone called out to him. he squinted his eyes as his brain sluggishly registered the voice, his reaction delayed by a few seconds before turning to the source of the voice.

his eyes locked onto the mirror, onto steven, who sat on the side of their bed and looked at him in concern. their bed. their room. the fog around him began to clear away just a bit, enough for him to focus.

“jake?”

“yeah… yeah.” jake let out a breath, rubbing his hands over his face and removing them with a scowl, shoulders straightening as he became more alert. “s’thrown front and centre. had to get my bearings. what’s goin’ on? something happening?”

“not that i’m aware of. everything seems normal.”

“then why am i here?” jake furrowed his eyebrows, glancing around for any danger. “must’ve been…” he trailed off with a frustrated grunt. words were hard right now. he couldn’t shake the clouds from his brain. he tried to reach out for marc, to no avail. “i’m frontin’.”

“well, we’re alone, and marc’s gone off. nightmare, possibly?”

jake’s eyes went unfocused again, staring at nothing as he absentmindedly turned his gaze away from the mirror. his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, keeping up with steven’s conversation despite no longer looking at him. “this is your thing, no? the… comfort stuff.” jake murmured, keeping his vision locked ahead of him. steven usually took over after one of marc’s rough nights, providing emotional protection when needed. jake was the physical protector. the sudden switch wasn’t making any sense to him.

“must’ve been a right terror then.”

a pause. jake could feel steven’s concern.

“take a few minutes if you need, yeah? switches can be jarring.”

jake let out a hum in response, sitting in silence as he tried to regain his focus. he couldn’t tell how long it took him to be able to feel himself in his body again, but steven hadn’t left him yet, watching him carefully. once jake felt like he was as in-tune as he could be, he shifted his legs under the covers.

“, i’m starving.” he grumbled. he had never woken up this hungry. when was the last time the other two ate?

“want me to take over? i can cook someth-“

“nah, nah.” jake waved steven off, shaking his head as he stretched his legs and pulled the covers away. he looked up at steven in the mirror. “i’m frontin’ for a reason, i should stick around. make sure nothin’s comin’.” he paused, pulling his frown into a smirk. “plus, i want meat. , eh?” he teased the man. steven made a face.

“yeah, yeah. you blokes and your bacon. i better not be able to taste it later. i’m gonna go check on marc. call if you need.”

jake hummed in acknowledgement at steven’s exit, taking a few more moments in bed to try and fully push away this haze he was in, yet it was hopeless. he still felt a little outside of himself. shaking his head in a final attempt, he blinked a few times and pulled himself off the mattress.

a scan of their room left jake feeling unfamiliar in his surroundings once again. it looked like their apartment, sure, but almost as if it was an exact replica, with a few things missing, backwards, out of place. jake’s shoulders raised protectively, scanning the room once more for anything harmful. all clear. what was he doing again?

his stomach rumbled. right, food.

his body moved on autopilot as he dragged himself into the kitchen, digging through cabinets and the fridge as he pulled out his ingredients to make himself an omelette. it was like he was watching someone else do it for him. what had gotten into him? was it pure exhaustion? had the body finally hit its' limit? did marc take something before bed, leaving jake to wake up with the side-effects of a comedown? did someone do this to them?

jake was pulled from his thoughts to the sound of chopping. he was back in his body, then. his eyes focused down on his hands, cutting tomatoes against a cutting board.

knife. red. red as he pulled it from the chest of a man who had marc pinned to the floor 30 seconds before.

his movements halted as he glanced up from the board, eyes fixating on the cabinets in front of him.

pulling the trigger on a man who begged to be spared, who promised he’d do better. khonshu didn’t care. what was done was done. hands wrapped around the throat of a man in a back alley until he stopped breathing, a young woman just behind jake watching in both fear and relief. coming to in spurts of steven’s run through the alps, dropping harrow’s followers like flies in the streets with his bare hands, putting a bullet through the head of a man covered in cupcake icing, forcing cars off their trail. harrow’s cane against their chest, then, harrow’s cane in jake’s hands, coming down against the gash in harrow’s head. putting two bullets into harrow’s chest, trying to aim for the same spots harrow shot them in alexander the great’s tomb.

each life taken, each memory burned into jake’s brain for the rest of his life. not once was he satisfied with his actions, but he learned early on how to mask his emotions. he had to be strong, for marc and steven. he was the protector, after all. any person who was left bloody, unconscious, cold to the touch, was a threat to marc and steven. no way was he going to stand by and let them get hurt.

the memories seemed to loop, starting from the beginning. jake couldn’t stop them. he just stood, motionless, breaths quick, knuckles white around the handle of his knife, eyes glazed over as he watched himself kill. and kill. and kill. mercilessly. without hesitation. with a forced, yet dangerous grin playing at his lips.

pulling the trigger on a man who begged to be spared, who promised-

“marc needs some ti- jake?”

hands wrapped around the throat of a man in a back alley until-

“are you taking the piss out of me? ‘cause it’s not funny. you’re scaring me.”

dropping harrow’s followers like flies-

“come on, mate, snap out of it, yeah?”

harrow’s cane in jake’s hands-

“jake!”

putting two bullets into harrow’s-

“jake lockley!”

jake swung, blindly. his fist was tightly wrapped around the handle of his knife, pointing it shakily out into the open as his glazed-over eyes darted around the room.

“!” jake threatened angrily, voice loud and assertive.

“jake-“

“i said get the fuck back!” he yelled, trying to find the source of his name being called.

his eyes caught sight of steven in the reflection of the microwave door, eyebrows pulled together in worry. he scowled, lowering the knife before turning away from the microwave and staring back down at the half-chopped tomatoes, left discarded on the counter. jake let out a shaky sigh.

“jesus christ, steven. the fuck are you yellin’ at me for?” jake grumbled bitterly, closing his eyes as he tried to ease his heart hammering in his chest.

“wha- mate, you’ve been staring at the cupboards for the past five minutes. i’ve been calling you. sorry if i was a bit loud, but i had to get your attention, yeah?”

a pause.

“not sure what you're so cheesed off about, you’re the one threatening to stab me.”

jake could hear the teasing tone in steven's voice, but he was too overwhelmed with the memories of his actions burning hot in his mind, and the fact that steven was making a light joke about something that had left him so shaken like this, made him visibly upset. he scowled, gripping the counter with his palms.

“just- fuck off, steven.” he spat.

he could feel steven’s surprise to his response.

“i’m just trying to help, jake.”

“i don’t need your fuckin’ help!” jake raised his voice, whipping around to face steven in the appliance’s reflection. “you are not my protector. i can handle this shit myself, i don’t need you.”

steven looked hurt. jake couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. steven’s shoulders raised defensively, letting out a bitter chuckle.

“well clearly not, mate; you’re two ingredients into your omelette, and it’s been fifteen bloody minutes. let’s just calm-“

“you shut your fucking mouth, or i’ll rip out your teeth,” jake growled, chest heaving as he pointed a stern finger at steven. “makin’ me out to be incapable. real big talk, from someone who can’t take a punch, . who steps in when that happens, eh?” jake took a step back, clenching his jaw. “you have no fucking idea what it’s like.”

“no idea- lockley, you know when you strike, the blood’s on my fucking hands too! and marc’s, not just yours!”

“you have any memory of taking a fucking life?” jake asked darkly. steven faltered.

“well, not-“

“then stop talking.” jake grumbled, turning away from the microwave. “,” he finished, shoulders raised high as he shakily reached back out for the knife to continue cutting up his tomatoes.

“yeah, yeah. you’re right, jake. sorry i haven’t murdered people. poor you, right? obviously, you’re the bloody victim in this situation.”

jake’s blood boiled.

“yeah, maybe i haven’t taken a fucking life, but i’ve had the aftermath. the blood, the fear, the fight. and maybe, just maybe, i wouldn’t be so scared of what happens when i’m not in control, if you’d stop going on a bloody killing spree!”

“i was protecting you!!” jake screamed, dropping the knife and throwing his fist into the microwave door, directly at steven’s reflection. the surface cracked slightly at his impact. “that’s my only fuckin’ job in this life, grant. keeping your dumbass and the fucking bastard safe. think it’s some lavish way to fuckin’ live?” he threw another hit against the microwave. “takin’ beatin’ after beatin’ from that you call your mama, fuckin’ up kids in high school after they try to kick marc’s ass, slicing the throats of these cult motherfuckers who try and stop us in our tracks? i take the blows, i knock ‘em down, then i leave, and i hurt. physically and mentally. that’s all i am. that’s all i’m needed for. i was made up, steven. you were too. you and i, we ain’t real people. somehow, you got past that- that barrier. he sees you as a person. me? i’m just his fuckin’ punching bag!” jake’s voice boomed through the kitchen, eyes hot with fire, throwing his fist into the microwave door with angry grunts, teeth clenched as he busted his fist directly through the surface.

his fingers bled. he didn’t notice.

“not even a fucking thank you,” he laughed bitterly towards the shattered microwave, no longer being able to see steven and his stupid little scowl. he could still feel him close-by. “sacrificin’ my life so you two selfish pricks could live one, together. you know what? maybe the next time you can’t fight back, i’ll just watch from the sidelines! see how fuckin’ well you do without me then, eh? f-fuck you, steven.”

steven’s silence rolled over jake like a wave. jake took a step back, eyes fixed on the shattered door. his vision began to blur as he stared, and his body was vibrating as his knuckles dripped blood to the floor. when had he gotten so light-headed? his chest felt like his lungs had been ripped out of him.

jake’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, blood from his hand smearing onto the kitchen tiles and along his shirt as he tried to tug it away from his chest. he was dying, in the middle of their kitchen floor; his actions were finally catching up to him. someone was killing him. . it was over, for the three of them, because jake couldn’t pull his punches. or, because steven got mixed up in all this. or, because marc made a shitty deal with a dead bird. or, because wendy spector needed someone to blame. or, because it decided to rain that day in the cave.

jake ran his hands across his face and they came back wet- was he crying? was it blood leaking from his eyes? he didn’t know. he couldn’t see anything but blinding fear and the burning pain in his chest as he gasped for air, as if a tight hand was wrapped around his throat. this was coming eventually, right? they didn’t serve khonshu anymore. jake was no longer needed. he no longer had a purpose. he was meaningless. this was the universe’s cruel way of having his consciousness ripped from the body, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“jake, mate, you gotta breathe-“

breathe (verb)

take air into the lungs and then expel it, especially as a regular physiological process.

jake couldn't figure out how to do that.

“get out!!” he forced out a scream, his voice sounding distorted and in agony through his suffering. his arms, holding him on all fours on the floor, shook violently underneath him and gave away, leaving him curled in on himself against the tiles, hands covering his ears. “get out, please, i want you gone!! get the fuck out!!”

steven tried to get through to jake a few more times, but jake didn’t want to hear it. the last thing he wanted in his head while he lost everything was the sound of steven’s annoying accent telling him how much of a fucking monster, how much of a burden, how much of a danger to them, he was to have around. whether he spoke it out loud or in his head, jake couldn’t tell, but he hoped his continuous strings of get out, never speak to me again, i fucking hate you, you’re a fucking asshole steven grant, leave me alone, i want to die in peace got the message across.

his breaths became ragged. a splitting pain flashed across his head, a scream, then nothing.

nothing.

nothing.

floating, somewhere. everywhere. nowhere.

peaceful, really. tranquil. no worry in the world. finally, marc and steven could live the happy little domestic brotherly life they want, without dirty old jake getting in the way.

jake drifted. it could’ve been days. years. minutes. weeks. he had no idea. everything felt okay. he didn’t have to hurt anyone anymore. he didn’t have to hurt himself anymore.

a blink. light.

fuck. he was alive.

adjusting to his surroundings, jake noticed he was sitting against the headboard of their bed, tucked into the sheets comfortably. a faint noise from the television finally registered in his ears- a cooking competition show playing softly in front of him. jake did enjoy a good cooking show; he was more likely to stick around on marc’s nightly downtime routine - scoff at the chefs when they did something wrong, claiming he could win in a heartbeat - if one was playing. a glance to his left revealed a bowl of barbecue chips, an opened, however untouched beer bottle (fresh out of the fridge, too - condensation dripped down the sides), and his packet of marlboro reds with the lighter sitting neatly on top.

when did he do all this? last he checked, he was dead. plus, there was no way steven or marc would’ve set this up for him. his gaze fell down to his hands, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“how are you feeling?”

jake startled at marc’s voice coming from his left. he glanced over to the mirror, seeing marc in the same exact position steven was in the last time he had woken up so disoriented. he frowned.

“should be askin’ you the same thing.” he stated plainly. marc chuckled at that, waving jake off.

“needed some time to myself. rough night.”

jake knew that marc wouldn’t get into it any further, so he let the subject drop.

“sorry about that, by the way. i kinda tossed you in without warning. and it’s been a while since you fronted last, so. probably a bit messy.”

it was messy. jake couldn’t feel anything. couldn’t keep a grasp on where he was for longer than five minutes. easily slipped into the memories he tried desperately to lock away. took it out on steven. the fucker kinda deserved it anyway, with the shit he said to him, but maybe jake could’ve been less harsh.

“you never answered my question.”

“don’t need to," jake deadpanned.

“jake, come on buddy. you had a pretty nasty panic attack. i think it’s fair that i’m worried about you.”

panic (noun)

sudden uncontrollable fear or anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior.

jake looked away from the mirror and towards the kitchen with a confused glare. a panic attack? jake lockley didn’t panic. jake lockley took hits, laid out threats, and left the body. he didn’t have the time to sit around and panic. that was marc’s job. or steven’s, even. not his. he looked back to marc. “that ain’t possible.”

“it sure is. maybe it hasn’t been to that extent before, but it happens, lockley. you can’t just hold onto all that shit forever, y’know. it forces its’ way out. like that.”

silence. jake didn’t know how to argue with that. instead, “thought i was dying.”

“yeah. they feel like that sometimes.”

there was tension, jake could feel it. he didn't speak up, encouraging marc to continue.

“look, i don’t know what happened between you and steven, but he told me he was sorry.”

“doesn’t matter.” jake grumbled.

“jake- shut up and let me finish.”

the comment was light-hearted. jake let him finish.

“steven shoved you out of the front so hard that it caught my attention. i went to check on him, and he was coming down from a- your... panic attack. he’s done this before, so he worked the body back down on his own. he said you were spacing out, snapped at him, he snapped back, and it spiralled down from there. after that, i kept an eye on him. he showered, grabbed you your chips, a beer, and your smokes. turned on food network. we know you like that kind of stuff.”

jake absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair as marc spoke, noticing the wet strands. steven really did shower for him.

“he got into bed, told me to apologize to you for being a jerk for him, and that’s when you dropped in. i haven’t heard from him since, but he looked so tired and… guilty, so. i’m assuming he’s sleeping this off, and set this all up for you as an apology. i mean, he must feel pretty bad, considering he’s laying out your nicotine for you like he encourages it.”

steven hated that jake smoked. marc had a few every once in a while after particularly stressful days. steven wouldn't even look at them. he’d actively hide them in the apartment, or take the last few and toss them out when jake neared the end of his pack, leaving him thinking marc had finished them off and forgot to buy more.

fuck, steven was so sorry. and jake was so mean to him.

“this isn’t me trying to convince you to forgive him. i’ve got no idea what was said. i just- whenever i fight with him like this, i gotta remind myself that he’s new to this. like.. sure, we’re all a little new to this. but, you and i, we’re used to the pain, the blood, the fear. this is a fresh wound for him. he’s still trying to figure it out, so. i wouldn’t take anything he said to heart.”

“i snapped at him,” jake spoke, finally, after marc had finished. “, he was just tryin’ to help, and i screamed at him. he didn’t like that, obviously, so he fought back. tough little fucker,” marc chuckled at that. jake forced a small smirk. “sure, he talked his shit, but i talked mine. i gotta-“

“you’ll get the chance to make it up to him. you both need to calm down, though. drink your beer, have a smoke, eat some chips. relax, jake. you just had your first bad panic attack.”

relax (verb)

make or become less tense or anxious.

again, relaxing was not on jake lockley’s list of daily tasks. jake was more of a ‘wake up, fuck shit up, go to sleep’ kind of guy. he was lucky if he got to eat (the body ate, of course. it just wasn’t him that got to enjoy the meal).

“relaxin’s not in my job description,” jake mumbled, glancing at marc as he leaned back into the pillows underneath him. “if you want, i can tap out and-“

“this is your body as much as it is ours, lockley. take as much time in bed as you want. i think you’ve earned your downtime, you know. can’t be fun, constantly on the clock, ready to attack.”

marc had no idea how unfun it was. sure, he had his fair share of adrenaline-filled, blood-pouring, someone-is-gonna-end-up-dead-and-it-sure-as-hell-wasn't-gonna-be-him altercations, but he also got to enjoy the smaller things. freshly cooked meals, binge-watching tv shows, getting blissfully drunk, listening to his favourite songs, spending time with his wife. jake didn't get any of that.

marc also had no idea what this meant to jake. albeit small, he gave marc a proper, genuine smile. “thanks, kid,” he nodded. it was disgustingly earnest. marc waved him off.

"drop the theatrics, tough guy. reach out if you need anything."

jake drank his beer, he had his smoke (or two), and he ate his chips, all while watching back-to-back reruns of chopped. marc popped in every once in a while, but gave jake his space to have the day to himself. he ended up finishing the omelette he started, excluding the bacon from the mix so steven wouldn’t taste it later.

when marc had showed up to join jake in watching tv, jake felt another presence, timid and trying to hide. he caught steven’s reflection against the fish tank, barely visible. he offered the man a - hopefully - sympathetic look, nodding at him in reassurance, letting steven know that he wanted him to be here. without saying anything, not wanting to make the moment awkward since marc was in the room (marc definitely had to drag steven up to the front, convincing him that jake really was sorry, and that he also really did forgive him), jake flipped the channel to a nature documentary.

marc gave him a knowing glance. steven looked hopeful, sliding into the reflection next to marc. and sitting down next to him.

“if you compare me to one of those little ocean fuckers with the fuzzy ears, this is off.”

“axolotl.”

“axol-i don’t give a fuck.” jake shot steven a playful glare in the mirror, lips twitching into a smirk. marc let out a quick ‘pfft.’ steven’s eyes were glowing like jake had just purchased (stolen) the great sphinx of giza and dragged it out of egypt, all the way to london, and set it right outside their window so steven could see it when he woke up in the morning.

the three of them fell into a natural silence.

comfortable (adjective)

physically relaxed and free from constraint.

jake felt comfortable, a word that he was still trying to fit into his vocabulary. into his routine.

he could relax now, he reminded himself. he had pulled his weight. sure, it had cost him a lot of time, energy, mental and physical strength, but he did his job and he could take some time to breathe. there was no need to panic. marc and steven were still here, and jake was here with them.

as he watched steven blabber on about the animal being showcased on the television, although the narrator was probably going to get there eventually; as he watched marc nod along with enthusiasm, eyebrows knitting as he watched the screen and looked back to steven every once in a while to show that he was listening; he realized one thing.

he’d do it all again in a heartbeat, if it meant he would never lose this.

"we might need to invest in a new microwave, innit."