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It was difficult at times, for both of them. Trying to find a balance to avoid shutting the other out of the world, especially after reeling from the events of Cairo. While they have found a type of acceptance with each other, it did not mean coexisting was easy, especially after returning to London. Marc did what he felt was right when it came to making amends, managing to get Steven his job back at the gift shop at the National Art Gallery. How he managed to pull that off, Steven wasn't sure, but the surprise was pleasant and made his heart swell. It didn't stop either of them from looking for another job, however, for neither of them wished to deal with Donna nor to be stucking hearing her when co-fronting.
For now they created a schedule that worked for them both, with Steven fronting for mornings, throughout work, and for an extra hour afterwards while Marc decided to front all day during the weekends and the remaining time. Despite this, Steven noticed that Marc seemed to prefer staying in the backseat, even during his time. He tried bringing this up, his fear of Marc retreating within himself growing, yet was turned down everytime.
He was still worried though.
When the divorce papers were finalized it hit both of them, but Steven knew that it hit Marc the hardest. While Steven was saddened, he understood her perspective. So much had changed and so much was revealed, at the end they were two different people on two different paths. The lies and secrets had cut too deep to be fixed. Despite her promise of them remaining friends, his heart still stung in pain.
Marc, however, disappeared. For over a month it was as if Steven was back to his old life. The life with Gus and his phone calls to his mum. The silence was far louder and harsher when Marc vanished, as if he never existed in the first place. It worried and unsettled him more than he would admit, terrified him to his very core.
He came back without a hint or sign, acting as if nothing ever happened. Steven tried to breach the topic, he was worried for him after all, yet Marc refused. Instead he denied and shut him down rather quickly and was bullheaded to stay like that so Steven relented. Though he made sure to keep a closer eye on him, to make sure he knew that he was there for him if and when he was ready to talk.
They lived their life in a routine, something that brought comfort in their life. The only oddity being the occasional odd bruises and sore muscles that Steven and Marc would wake up too. Then there would be times were minor injuries that had occured throughout the day would be absent the next morning, leading to both men to wonder if they even existed in the first place. For a brief moment their minds would flash back to Cairo, the random blackouts they both claimed to experience at the same time, but Steven would shake it off. He never lost track of the days, not like with Marc, so it surely was just a restless sleep. He could tell Marc believed more was to it, the wary look in his eyes whenever Steven caught him in a reflection, yet he said nothing. If he was suspicious then he kept his ideas to himself.
His routine at work, however, was disrupted suddenly on Monday. It was that morning when billionaire philanthropist, scientist, and inventor: Sir. Percival Beaumont passed away, something that Steven seemed unable to escape from. It was covered on the news, every single news channel, as well as the radio. For a man of such well renowned, neither him nor Marc heard of him. Even his work wasn't safe from the news, however it made some sense as it seemed he was a rather large donor to the gallery.
A tragedy was what people were saying, a bright soul gone too soon. Steven couldn't argue against that, dying from heart failure at sixty five did seem sudden. Not out of the ordinary, but shocking.
"His poor family," he had muttered under his breath as he listened to the broadcast once again discussing it, briefly catching the mention of his adoptive children.
Yeah Marc agreed.
On Wednesday it was decided that the Gallery was going to put on a display in honor of the man. Despite the mournful reason for this, Steven did feel a bubble of excitement as it meant the Egyptian section will be front and center once again. Apparently Mr. Beaumont was also a lover of Ancient Egypt.
He had offered his help to Donna, only on the chance that she may relent. She did not, in fact she was as rude and dismissive as usual.
It reminded him to place job hunting higher on his priority list.
That was how he found himself sitting alone on some bench at the park (another area that benefited from Mr. Beaumont's gracious donations), eating a vegan wrap all while occasionally muttering his irritation to his one constant companion during his lunch break.
" 'Stick behind the counter Stevie', 'Just focus on the job you had lost once before Stevie' Oh bollocks. Rich coming from someone who didn't even know the correct number of the Enneads."
Which is why I'm telling you to apply for that University job Steven
"But what if I'm under qualified? Blimey what am I saying, of course I'm bloody under qualified."
Marc scoffed, rolling his eyes in the reflection of the cup of water resting on the arm rest of the bench. You are just as knowledgeable, fuck even more knowledgeable than anyone else with a degree. Just try.
Steven sighed, taking another bite of the wrap. Perhaps Marc had a point, but it doesn't mean that they would see it the same way.
He glanced at the dreary grey sky, the cool wind dancing across his skin. As he went to take a sip of his water, his eyes were quickly drawn to a figure standing several meters away. How could he not, as she seemed to be a beacon of color in the grey afternoon. Even from where he sat, he could see the vibrant coloring of her clothes, making her stick out like a sore thumb in their surroundings. He was not the only one staring, for it was an odd scene to be met with. While some would call the outfit attention seeking, Steven felt that the bright warm colors were a welcoming sight to behold, a break from the dreary London scene that he was presented with today. Her attention seemed to focus on the statue that he had passed several times while walking through this park on different days. It was a gift from the city to Mr. Beaumont, a formal thank you for his donation. Though the bust of his head was now frequent with bouquets of flowers.
The strangely dressed woman seemed to tense up, her head tilting to the side before turning around. Her eyes met his, causing him to quickly avert his gaze back to his water and to be greeted with Marc smirking at him while shaking his head.
Nice one
He glared at his cup, his face burning slightly. He didn't mean to stare, god what if that poor woman thought he was a creep? Not that he could blame her.
"Hello," a voice spoke out. Hesitantly he glanced up, mortified to see the strangely dressed woman now standing in front of him. Her hair was a mass of wild curls ranging from ringlets to loose waves, appearing tangled and windblown. Dark bags rested under her slightly bloodshot eyes, the darkness popping in comparison to the vibrant pink and reds she wore.
"Hullo," he said, "I uh," quickly he cleared his throat, "I didn't mean to stare at you. It is just…"
She waved off his concern, "It's fine," she took a drink of her smoothie, a bright orange color, "Can I sit here?"
Steven gaped at her before nodding his head, moving over slightly to give her more personal space.
The stranger sat next to him, the smell of roses greeting him. He blinked as he took in the smell. Something about it, that and her alto voice seemed familiar. Like an itch in his brain trying to remind him of something.
He glanced down at Marc, wondering if he was feeling the same only to be greeted with Marc's pointed stare being directed at the stranger. His body tensed in the reflection, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Have we met before?" The question left his mouth before he could register it. The stranger glanced at him, tilting her head slightly with raised eyebrows.
"I'm sorry," he continued, flustered, "It's just…I could've sworn I saw you before. Well, it feels like I have."
The stranger shrugged, "Maybe. I sometimes travel for the odd job Erik gives me every so often. Or maybe I have one of those faces."
He found himself disagreeing with her statement. He couldn't imagine mixing her up with someone else, something about her just screamed at him. Like light to a moth.
He thought of asking if she had ever been to Chicago, something that Marc was demanding. It wouldn't be too outlandish, considering her American accent.
Instead he let out a nervous chuckle, "Yeah perhaps," he decided to agree with her, "Sometimes I'm surprised my head's on straight, though at times I think it is screwed on wrong. Sorry about that."
"Crowded mind?"
He blinked, his throat feeling dry, "Huh?" Did she know? No, how could she?
The stranger gave him a tiny smile. "Y'know, lot of thoughts." She tapped her head to make a point.
Steven let out a sigh of relief and nodded, "Yeah, something like that." He glanced over her, now noticing the strong smell of alcohol that was nearly covered by the smell of roses.
She hummed, "Why I have two jobs. Easier to stay out of your head when you're too busy to get stuck."
Steven looked at her wide eyes, ignoring the paranoia coming from Marc, his once again repeated demand to leave. Why he was so incessant he wasn't sure, she seemed like a perfectly fine person and his lunch break wasn't up yet.
"Two jobs? Blimey I can't imagine juggling that," he almost mentioned that had a hard enough time keeping one nevermind two but decided not to. "Is that why you left the states?"
She shook her head, "Nah. I just do research at the New York's Natural History Museum plus some work at a school for gifted children somewhat nearby. Gotta pay the rent somehow."
"Bloody hell. I have always wanted to visit the Natural History Museum," he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice, "What research do you conduct there? Must be a lot of options huh?"
"Biological anthropology, but sometimes I help out in the archaeology sections if needed. Though the biggest disappointment is the fact the exhibits actually do not come to life at night."
Steven felt his smile grow, "Disappointing innit. Can't believe Night of the Museum would lie."
The woman snorted, "I know right. Complete false advertisement," she took another sip from her smoothie, "What about you Steven? Where do you work?"
Steven paused, his smiling quickly morphing into a frown. "How did you know my name?" He didn't tell his name did he? He glanced at his reflection in his cup of water, the worried and unsettled expression Marc wore gave him the confirmation he needed.
She looked at him, pointing to his chest. He followed her finger, his face burning when his eyes met the metal name tag pinned to his shirt.
"Ah," he rubbed the back of his head, "Yeah that would do it huh?"
She nodded her head, a teasing smile on her face.
He cleared his throat once again and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I, uh, actually work at the National Art Gallery. Funny innit, the two of us in similar areas eh?"
The woman beamed at him, her eyes lighting up. "Are you a tour guide?"
The feeling of embarrassment crept within him. Slowly he shook his head, deflating when she watched the light leave her eyes as if she was disappointed in the news. "Uh, I actually work in the gift shop. A professional gift shopist y'know."
She hummed, glancing away from him. "Do you enjoy it?"
Steven could only shrug, not sure exactly what to say. "It's…fine," he decided. It wasn't like he wanted to spill his irritation about his job to a complete stranger. Especially to someone who seemed to be going through something on her own, judging by the dark bags under her eyes and the smell of alcohol that was almost neatly covered by the scent of roses. "Though we are holding a new exhibit theme for that bloke who just died. Apparently he was a big donor for the arts."
It seemed his words caught her attention as she stared at him with a new found intensity, her attention fully on him. It was an almost suffocating feeling, and for a brief moment he felt the urge to listen to Marc and to leave as quickly as he could.
"Percival Beaumont? He donated to the Gallery?"
Slowly he nodded his head, "Uh yup. Big donor. Big fan of Ancient Egypt. Must've been an interesting bloke."
She continued to stare at him, it was almost as if he could see the gears turning in her mind. A frown grew on her lips as her face remained puzzled. Slowly she turned away from him, sipping her drink before stretching her arms and legs. He watched in silence as she started to itch the back of her arm, never speaking a word.
Something isn't right Marc said again, his voice nearly fading away. Give me control or leave.
Steven shook his head, deciding to shove Marc away from his mind. They would talk later, right now he couldn't handle his constant interjections.
"Is…everything alright?"
His words seemed to pull the woman out of his thoughts. She forced a smile, a smile that Steven easily recognized in Marc, and nodded her head.
"Yeah, just realizing my stay here may end up being longer than I expected."
"What did bring you across the pond?" She raised her eyebrows at his abrupt question.
"Not that it's a bad thing or anything," he quickly added, "It is just. It seems you are dressed for a celebration?"
She wore a sour smile, "Close. A funeral."
Steven paled, his eyes widening in horror at her words. A funeral? Oh bloody hell he mucked it up now. Quickly he wiped her sweaty palms on his pants.
"I am so sorry," he sputtered, "I didn't mean to-"
She shook her head and let out a harsh laugh, "Don't be, he was a piece of shit. Shit human and shittier father-adoptive…whatever."
Despite the causality in her tone, he could see the tension growing in her hands. The narrowing of her eyes as she glared at the statue in front of them.
"Are you alright?" He asked gently, "You look like…" he trailed off. How does one tell a stranger that they looked like death?
Her smile grew, "like shit?"
He winced at her words but nodded nonetheless.
When she sobered up she shrugged. "I'm not sure anymore. Never have been that great with discussing and identifying emotions more complex than the basics."
He watched with a slack jaw as she popped open the plastic lid of her cup, took out a flask from her purse, and dumped what smelled like vodka into her drink before resealing it.
She took a large sip, her nose scrunching slightly and shaking her head.
Steven felt confident in thinking she was not fine, not at all.
"Uh," she waved her tall cup, "Pregaming the shitshow and nursing a hangover. Our family reunions rarely go well so…Prost!" She took another long sip.
He just stared at her in concern, his mind quickly thinking back to Marc before turning towards her.
"I guess I thought I would be happier, I mean…" she frowned, taking a long sip, "At first I thought it was bullshit, the man didn't seem like he had enough humanity in him to kick the bucket, but…" she sighed, rubbing her cheek, "And now I'm here, procrastinating. Not sure if I have the energy to deal with my siblings bullshit…"
"I would reckon it is okay to feel conflicted over it all," he said slowly, placing a comforting hand over her free palm. "Not one right way to grieve the loss of someone who was supposed to care for you or the lost potential of it." He of all people should know.
She looked at him, a type of stare that made him feel naked. As if she was seeing him, through him, and everything that made him him. The woman placed her drink down and squeezed his hand lightly, "Thank you," she whispered with a weak smile, "Do you always comfort random strangers who bug you?"
"Sometimes we all need an ear to talk to, yeah?"
She nodded her head, releasing her grasp on him. He felt himself frown at the loss of her warmth.
The stranger went to say something but before she could say anything a familiar tune started playing, causing him to straighten his back slightly.
Well, I've been afraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too-
The woman sighed, unlocking her phone when she saw the caller ID. "Yes?"
She gave him an apologetic smile that did not match the irritation in her eyes
"As well as expected. I gotta say I wasn't expecting you to call."
Whatever the person said caused her to stiffen. She stood up, her eyes glancing around the park before her eyes rested on the black limousine that was slowly pulling up across from them. Steven frowned, a nervous feeling settling over him.
"You," she sputtered, "Have you been tracking my phone?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up slightly as she groaned softly.
"What-"
She pulled the phone away from her ear, gaping at it. "I hate this family," she muttered as she put her phone back into her pocket.
"Are you alright?" Safe?
She nodded, "Yeah, just my ride's here. I guess the shitstorm started." She glanced down at him, his heart quickly speeding up when she sent him a warm smile. "Something tells me we'll meet again. You'll be surprised how small the world can be."
"Is that a promise?" A small part of him hoped she would say yes, that this wouldn't be some lone meeting to be forgotten in time.
She nodded, "Maybe I'll need a tour guide," she mused.
He smiled at her words, at the confidence she had in him, a complete no one.
Her eyes widened, "Oh I almost forgot," she held out her hand, "I'm Alessandra, forgive the bad manners."
He shook her hand, enjoying the warmth radiating from her as he tested her name.
"See ya around Steven."
Alessandra left as suddenly as she had come into his life, taking away the colors with her.
He stood up, tossing the half eaten wrap into the bin as he watched her enter the black limousine to be taken away.
With a sigh he made his way back to the Gallery, back to his routine.
Avoid her Steven Marc voice was back, loudly echoing in his mind and disrupting his thoughts.
Steven scoffed, shaking his head. "What do you know, she seemed perfectly kind," he muttered under his breath.
Marc snorted, shaking his head. I saw people like her, knew people like her. She's bad news Steven.
Steven bit his lip, preventing the word vomit from coming out. How he wanted to inform him that she reminded him of someone he knew as well, someone he just happened to share a body with. Yet he didn't, a small part of him felt that Marc already knew that
I'm just looking out for you Steven.
Steven shook his head, a bubble of irritation growing inside him. Of course it would come back to this conversation.
Steven glared at the store window where Marc stood, his back stiff and jaw clenched. "I'm not a child in need of protection. I can make my own decisions Marc," he hissed quietly before stalking back to work, refusing to acknowledge his headmate.
Perhaps they still had some work to do when it comes to cohabitation.