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The next morning, Tide whipped up some scrambled eggs and bacon. They sat across from each other to eat. There was an awkward moment where Tide stared at his coffee, seemingly expecting it to mix itself, but he blinked back to awareness and grabbed a spoon. Mark politely looked away.
They lapsed into comfortable conversation. The table was too small and Tide was the sort to stretch out his legs, so their knees kept bumping into each other. It all felt sickeningly domestic. Despite the shitshow that was still happening in his life, Mark allowed himself this moment of peace. The eggs were good. The bacon was crispy. For a split-second, a vision overtook his mind: waking up to the smell of cooking, to someone else in the house, to the prospect of never having to go through life alone. It brought an unexpected pang to his chest.
Last night, Tide had offered all sorts of promises and Mark had accepted. But the sceptical, more realistic part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Actions were what counted. Good things didn’t come without strings attached. He’d see what happened after breakfast.
(A minute later, Mark would realise that he had jinxed himself.)
“So, Mark,” said Tide, stirring the sugar into his coffee, “I’ve got a question for you.”
Mark glanced up. “What is it?"
There was an oddly intense look on Tide’s face. Mark had only been on the receiving end of that look when he was younger and still in the dating scene. He didn’t blush (when you’ve witnessed atrocities and committed a fair few, nothing flustered you anymore), but he did silently reassess his opinion of Tide. He was more forward than expected. Mark didn’t mind that. What he did mind, however, was how his back had been hurting more often than not, so maybe they shouldn’t—
“Marry me,” said Tide.
Mark dropped his fork. It clattered against his plate. “Huh?”
Tide got out of his seat. He crossed the distance, got onto his knee, and took Mark’s hand in his. His eyes were too earnest; the emotional equivalent of an exposed artery. If Mark were a worse man, he’d pry at it until it bled. Instead, he found himself incapable of doing anything other than staring.
“What the fuck?” he said very eloquently.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Mark.”
So, it turned out he could still get flustered. “You heroes really can’t do anything by halves, can’t you?”
“I’m not—”
“Shut up.” He took a gulp of coffee. Tide was still there, painfully sincere, staring up at him with a resoluteness that was attractive as it was irritating. “God, why’re you still—get up, get up.”
Tide moved back into his seat. “I’m not hearing an answer.”
“This is insane,” said Mark. “You’re being insane."
A smile flitted at the corner of Tide’s mouth. “That’s still not an answer.”
“This isn’t what—” normal people do. Mark bit back the words. They weren’t normal people. In fact, they were the furthest thing from normal. Normality included: meeting, going on dates, and maybe discussing the option of greater commitment down the line. Normality didn’t include: breaking out of jail, reuniting with your somewhat-crush-mostly-enemy in a grubby bar, exchanging a few words, drunkenly kissing against his door, and getting proposed to the next day.
“I’ll sign whatever prenup you like,” said Tide, as if that was the pressing issue here. “I don’t want you to worry over your finances.”
Mark stared. “Sure. Okay. Finances. Can’t forget about those finances.”
Tide leaned forward in his chair. The intensity in his gaze brightened by a few degrees. “You’d also get absolved of all your crimes.”
Now, Mark was paying attention. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. There’s a clause in the law that’s like—okay, it sounds a little bad when I put it into words.” Tide cleared his throat. “It’s similar to a guardianship clause. The hero takes on legal responsibility for a villain in exchange for their sentence to be commuted. Basically, the hero keeps the villain in check, the villain stops doing evil, and society is kept safer. It’s usually for active professional heroes, but they accept former heroes too.”
There were very little things in the world that could render Mark speechless. Today, he discovered a new one.
“Who the hell came up with that?” was all he managed.
Tide shrugged. “I don’t know the details, but… it was made a few years ago. A villain fell in love with a hero and publicly proposed.” He winced. “The secondhand embarrassment was really something. Anyway, the hero accepted. It turned out they’d been having a secret relationship for ages. The whole thing garnered so much public support, there was nothing the W.A.T.C.H could do except let it happen. That’s how they made a new law.”
“A law that puts all the power in the hero’s position?” Mark said incredulously.
Tide gave him a wry smile. “They knew what they were doing.”
“Then why isn’t every villain flashing a diamond on their hand?”
“Because this isn’t common knowledge. If it was, everyone would be trying to commit marriage fraud.”
“Yeah. Like you.”
“Getting the police off your trail is a bonus,” said Tide. He rested a chin in his hand. His gaze was warm and dangerously fond. “My feelings are genuine.”
Tact was not Mark’s strongest suit, so he said: “We’ve only had one proper conversation and you didn’t even realise you liked me until last night. What’s wrong with you?”
Luckily, Tide didn’t seem to take offence. He raised an eyebrow. “You were the one who offered me his house in the first place.”
“First of all, that was a metaphor—”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“Second of all,” Mark said through gritted teeth, “if you’re just trying to fulfil some sort of—heroic duty, then I don’t want it.”
“Well, I did say I’d find some way to get the police off your back.”
“I fucking knew it—”
“Mark.” Tide didn’t raise his voice, but there was a severity to it that made Mark fall silent. His eyes were still painfully earnest. He reached across the table and put a palm over Mark’s hand, not dropping his gaze for a moment. “I haven’t got a good track record of keeping people around. I always tell myself that this time, it’ll be different—but it never is. I’m tired of making empty promises. So, will you marry me?”
Eye contact was too overwhelming right now, so Mark broke it. Instead, he looked to where Tide’s hand rested over his. The analogue clock on the kitchen wall ticked serenely. The tap was dripping. Tide’s hand was warm.
“I'll never find another job for as long as I live,” Mark said. “I don’t even know if my house is under my name. My son’s possessed by a demon. I—I’ve got scales.”
Mark wanted him to push back. To come to his senses. To realise that a hero was a hero, depowered or not, and he didn’t deserve to get entangled with Mark’s bullshit. But Tide kept silent. The lack of an answer was more revealing than anything he could’ve said; he was being perfectly serious, and he was waiting for Mark to realise it.
“How would this even work?” Mark asked, knowing that he’d stepped across some invisible threshold. Knowing that he’d arrived at his answer.
“Like you told me,” Tide said, “we’ll work it out together.”
Mark’s heart thumped. It was reflexive, helpless—something limbic that hadn’t been wrung out of him like so many of his other reactions.
He took a deep breath.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s get married.”
That was easier said than done. Before they could apply for a marriage certificate, their union had to be approved by another professional hero, ‘evidence’ had to be submitted, and they had to sit through an interview.
“An interview about what?” said Mark, laughing. “Each other?”
Tide looked him in the eye with zero amusement. “Yes.”
It would take place in some government facility that was armed to the teeth with police and heroes alike. If the results of the interview came out unsatisfactory, the villain would be cuffed faster than you could blink.
Before Mark could start making contingency plans, Tide said: “First things first. We need someone’s approval.”
“Do you think your pro-hero brothers’ll be happy with this?”
“Oh, I’m not asking for their input,” said Tide cheerfully. “I’m aiming higher.”
He was scrolling through his contacts. Mark watched with great trepidation as he scrolled past Magma and Seismic and settled on Shade .
“Hey, hold on—”
“Harlem,” said Tide, “I’ve got a favour to ask.”
A short conversation later, Harlem melted out of the shadows to steal a sip from Mark’s coffee mug. Mark made a manly exclamation that was nowhere near the pitch of a scream—stop fucking laughing, Silhouette, this isn’t a joke!
“Ah, true love,” said Harlem, placing a hand on his heart, “the downfall of many a supervillain.”
“I’m gonna supercharge your cells until you’re fried.”
“You can certainly try.”
Being in the presence of the second-most powerful hero was… a little underwhelming. Mark had interacted with him in the past, but that’d been with a battlefield between them. He’d never liked the way Silhouette fought—he thought it was too underhanded, too cowardly. Real heroes should face their enemies head-on. Mark had expected that sneakiness to extend to real-life. He expected someone as sinister as the shadows he wrapped himself with.
Instead, he got a young thirty-something with pink hair, sunglasses, and a leather jacket that was studded with too many pride pins to count. Harlem slouched onto the third seat at the table.
“I’m glad you can help us out,” said Tide, getting down to business.
Harlem gave him a smile. Mark couldn’t see his eyes through those obnoxious sunglasses, but he thought Harlem looked a little sad.
“Of course,” Harlem said, his insufferable voice growing subdued. “It’s the least we can do.”
“We?” Tide repeated.
“Me and Ms G, of course.”
“I thought she was—”
“Recovering? Yes. Weakened? Also, yes. But not so much that she’d miss the opportunity to do a favour for a friend.”
Tide’s expression grew strained. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore, Harlem.”
“Ah. Right.” Harlem drummed his hands on the table. Mark noticed that his fingernails weren’t matte black; they were actually very, very dark purple. “At any rate, having our approval would expedite the process. You can forgo the whole ‘evidence’ thing—the verbal testimony of Hexpert and Silhouette will be more than enough. But you’ll still have the interview to contend with.”
“That’s fi—”
“It is not fine,” Harlem interrupted. “I shall get some sample questions so you can both prepare.”
“Huh,” said Mark, surprised. “You’re a decent guy.”
Harlem lowered his sunglasses enough to wink at Mark. “I know.”
All of his goodwill disappeared. “Nevermind.”
“Harlem, knock it off,” said Tide. Was Mark imagining it, or was there a stern edge to his voice?
Harlem adjusted his sunglasses. “Worry not, Tide, for the darkness loves nothing but solitude.”
Mark squinted at his pins. “Isn’t that the bisexual flag?"
“It’s exactly as I said.” A single tear traced its way down Harlem’s face. “Solitude.”
Mark and Tide made eye contact and simultaneously decided to not ask further.
As the day progressed, it became clear that Harlem’s laconic air didn’t extend to his work ethic. He made some phone calls—all of which were conducted at a great volume—and emerged with clearance for a transcript of every single question asked in the interview. Then, he proceeded to fire those questions at Mark and Tide like his life was depending on it.
“When did you two meet?”
Mark frowned. “Uh.”
“Bzzt! Wrong! The answer is not ‘uh,’ the answer is ‘three years ago.’”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I don’t!” said Harlem confidently. “But neither do the people asking you! You just have to maintain an air of certainty! Oh, and match your answers. You’ll be quizzed separately.”
“It was actually two years ago,” corrected Tide. “I remember you throwing me into a bus with a movie poster on the side. There was a date on it.”
“Shit, time flies.”
“What made you like me, anyway? Couldn’t have been my fighting prowess. I was a mess back then.”
“Your face."
“You’re kidding.”
“Yeah, I am. You remember when you had to stay at my house for a bit? When your idiot kids brought you back from hell?” Mark cleared his throat. “Ashe said he liked you.”
Tide kept silent,expectant. He was shit out of luck because Mark wasn’t about to reveal anything else. He wasn’t about to go down the list of features he liked about Tide—some of which included his face, okay, Mark’s only human—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start waxing poetic about the man. The reason he started liking Tide was partly because of Ashe’s approval, but it was also the realisation that Tide was just as human as him. Just as unprepared for the challenges of parenting a bunch of idiot boys. Just as afraid of losing them. Once he saw that, it was like a fog had lifted. All of a sudden, he couldn’t stop seeing Tide. He was an irritating presence at the edge of Mark’s awareness. He was there, at Mark’s back, defending Prime from a parasitic planet. He was wiping blood from his upper lip, his eyes aglow with power. He was—
“That’s not the whole answer, is it?” said Tide, smirking.
Mark wrenched his expression back into neutrality. His face must’ve been doing something embarrassing. “Last time I checked, waterboy, your power wasn’t telekinesis.”
“There’s your answer for the ‘pet names’ question,” said Harlem, jotting something down.
Tide frowned. “There’s a question for that too?”
“You will have to abandon shame,” said Harlem, “because these questions get even more personal.”
Easy, thought Mark, who’d been interrogated too many times to count. If he could survive literal torture, he could survive a few toe-curlingly invasive questions. Tide would also be fine; he was a hero. Mark would never say it out loud, but if heroes were good at something, it was keeping their composure. It was all going to be okay.
It was not okay.
“How do you tell if your partner’s in the mood? Really? Really? Who gives them the right to know?”
Mark, who was trying to sleep, sighed enormously. Tide had been going on about it all day. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. It’s your lot that made the laws, after all.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Tide said furiously. “Remember that question about positions—?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“There’s no way we can answer those unless we really coordinate our responses.” Tide paused, as if just realising where they were: aka, the bed. “Or unless we start having sex.”
Mark cracked open an eye. “I mean, we could.”
“We really can’t,” said Tide without even stopping to think. Mark tried not to let that wound his pride too much. “Not now, at any rate. I’ll be thinking about Harlem and his stupid list the whole time. Did you know he made us flashcards?” There was a brief silence. “Also, I think I’m… well, I don’t know if I’m really interested in it.”
Mark made more of an effort to rouse himself for this conversation. He racked his brain, carding through the terms that Ashe had tried out. “Are you asexual? Or something?”
Tide’s surprise was palpable. “How did you—?”
“Ashe,” said Mark, and half-hoped that Tide would ask. He didn’t.
“I’m probably somewhere on the spectrum,” said Tide. “I thought it was a clone thing at first, but after talking with my brothers, I think it’s just a me thing. I’m not… opposed to the idea. But it’s not something I feel the need to actively seek out.” He shifted to make eye contact with Mark. “Does that make sense?”
“No,” Mark answered honestly. “But it doesn’t matter if I don’t get it. The important thing is that it makes sense to you.”
Tide smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled with it. “Did you get that from a brochure or something?”
“Oh, shut up, I can be wise when I feel like it.” The cogs in Mark’s head started to turn. “Wait, can’t we just tell the interviewer you’re asexual?”
There was a pause.
“I’m an idiot,” Tide said.
Harlem showed up again the next day armed with legal papers. Mark expected him to leave afterwards, his delivery completed, but he stayed to help them read through it all. Well, ‘help’ would be too altruistic of a term for how much gloating Harlem was doing. He was taking a great deal of pleasure in showing off the remnants of his half-finished law degree.
“Wait, you wanted to become a lawyer?” said Mark.
“Of course not,” sniffed Harlem. “I wanted to get a Master’s in criminal justice, land a research gig at a university to continue studying, become a lecturer if I felt like it, and publish books on the side.”
“That’s not a bad plan,” Mark said begrudgingly. The guy had a good head on his shoulders. Who would’ve thought?
“I know,” said Harlem. “I’d already thought of a title: A Darker Shade of the Human Psyche. It would be a part-memoir.” He smiled, as if revelling in his own genius, but it faded quickly. “Well, that was before—all this happened.”
He was still wearing those annoying sunglasses, but Mark could tell he was frowning down at the papers.
He understood how it felt. The resurgence of superpowers meant that some people had to uproot their whole lives. And others, like Mark, had to take the path of least resistance.
It was fine at first. His powers were a miracle; no one had to spend a cent on electricity bills ever again. But not all miracles were good. Not all miracles came from a place of divine power. Mark learnt that very keenly when a demon burst to life from the pages of Ashe’s book and gouged out his wife’s beating heart.
He remembered sitting at the back of an ambulance, his crying son in his arms, answering the officer’s questions: “We don’t know what happened. No, we found her like this. Yes, must’ve been someone with powers. Yes, it’s terrible.” He would never, ever tell anyone that it was Ashe who did it. That the demon’s power broke the constraints of an ordinary human body. That his son turned into a monster before his eyes.
After that, he didn’t see the point of going back to work. Not after what he’d witnessed. He couldn’t even bear to leave Ashe alone. When Overlord approached him with the promise of a paycheque, security, and a way to harness his powers, it was easy to accept.
“At least you’re still studying some sort of criminal justice,” Mark offered. “My PhD in biochemical engineering’s just scrap paper at this point.”
“Your what?” Tide and Harlem said in unison.
Mark snorted. “What? Didn’t think a villain could also be a doctor?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Tide at the same time as Harlem’s “yes.”
“Alright, maybe it wasn’t completely useless,” said Mark, staring pointedly at Harlem. “Overlord sometimes had me look over the experiments for cell reproduction. For, y’know. The amalgamations.”
Harlem was spectacularly unmoved. “Scrap paper would’ve been better than the suffering of countless animal and human lives, but that’s just my opinion.”
“I was a villain!” snapped Mark. “I did villainous things! This is an established fact!”
“Are you technically Doctor Winters?” Tide asked, a sense of wonder creeping into his tone. Of course Mark’s academic history would seem impressive to him, who was made for one purpose, and one purpose only.
Mark wondered if he’d ever entertained the idea of another path. He wondered, if, in the moments between the firing of synapses and the connection of nerves into pre-planned memories, Tide’s nascent consciousness had dreamt.
“Yes, but don’t call me that,” he said. “I haven’t done anything doctor-worthy in years.”
Tide leaned forward. “Did you have to write a thesis and everything?”
“Absolutely. It was… argh, it’s hard to remember the details now. I was working on coal. Something about gasifying the impure ones for an efficient fuel source. I came home every night smelling like smoke.” Tide seemed interested, so Mark said, “I might still have my thesis. You could look at it, if you want.”
“I—”
Harlem interrupted, “How the fuck did you get from coal to human experimentation?”
“Human experimentation was higher in demand than studying efficient fuel sources,” said Mark, deadpan.
“I think that’s a really good metaphor for capitalism,” said Tide.
Mark grinned at him. “Hey, maybe you could’ve been an English major.”
A strange look stole over Tide’s face. Like a sudden awakening. Like a splash of water to the face after a very, very long dream. “Oh, I don’t—I could never.”
“Anything’s possible now,” said Mark, indicating the spread of papers on the dinner table, the preparations for their wedding, the sheer improbability of it all.
Tide seemed to catch on. He glanced around for a brief moment, his expression clearing. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess you’re right.”
“Don’t forget, you’re the one who proposed.”
Tide was giving him the same look of intensity that’d preceded the proposal. “And you accepted.”
“Will you two please get back to reading?” Harlem said.
Later, Mark ducked out of the kitchen to use the toilet. While he was in the middle of drying his hands, he heard, through the wall, something that sounded distinctly like his name. He froze. With careful movements, he opened the door a crack so the noise could filter through clearly.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Tide was saying. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“You thought I’d try to stop you?”
“I thought you’d lecture me. Or at least put up a show of resistance before giving in.”
Harlem sighed. “Ms G and I… we’re truly sorry. You have to know that.”
“Tell me what you think about this,” said Tide. “I don’t care if you say it’s a stupid idea or if you wouldn’t be helping me if I wasn’t depowered—just tell me.”
“I don’t think it’s a stupid idea,” Harlem began, his words an olive branch. “I would’ve been more hesitant if you were an active hero. But I still would’ve allowed it. For people like us, we have to take the good as it comes.” He paused. “I’ll admit, I thought it was a marriage of convenience when you first called me. I thought you and Mark might’ve come to an—understanding of sorts. Maybe he sought refuge with you after escaping from prison. Leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. It’s not the first time that enemies have banded together out of desperation.” There came the sound of papers being shuffled; Harlem’s restless motions. “In that case, I still would’ve helped you masquerade a marriage.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a lot easier when you two actually like each other.” A smile crept into the edges of Harlem’s tone. “I’m happy for you, Tide. I’m glad you could find sanctuary in someone.”
“I’m hearing a ‘but.’”
“... But I wish it happened under kinder circumstances. I wish it wasn’t because I’d failed you.”
Being depowered, drinking alone in a bar, bearing a fresh wound in his heart—if none of that happened, none of this could’ve happened either.
“It wasn’t solely your fault,” Tide said.
A scoff of laughter from Harlem’s end. “Wasn’t it? The W.A.T.C.H division, the laws pertaining to heroism, even the ghastly technology to de-power someone—Ms G and I watched those things develop. We were there, every step of the way. Foresight isn’t my power, but I keep wondering anyway: what if I’d paid closer attention? What if I read the fine print? What if I spent more time being a hero rather than a TA who’d gained power but lost everything else?” There was a choked inhale; the sound of a muffled sob.
Tide must’ve moved to hug him, because all Mark heard next was fabric rustling and subdued voices in conversation; one voice steady, the other fractured. He couldn’t make out the words, but the sentiment was clear enough.
Mark waited until they’d more or less calmed down, then made a big production of re-opening the door, making sure the sound echoed through the hallway. He slowly walked back to the kitchen. When he got there, Harlem and Tide were separated. Harlem’s sunglasses were back on. His eyes were concealed, but the strained line of his mouth gave him away. Tide, on the other hand, just looked tired.
Mark took a seat. “What’d I miss?”
Harlem and Tide exchanged a look.
“Nothing much,” said Tide, and Mark didn’t push it.
There was a strange irony to the situation. When Tide’s only path in life—his entire self— was stripped away, every other door of opportunity opened. If Tide’s powers hadn’t been stolen away, he would’ve never met Mark in that bar. He would’ve never known how Mark felt. He would’ve never reciprocated.
If he was still an active hero, would anything have happened? Probably not. The divide between them was too great; their respective duties too heavy.
Would Mark have been content with letting Tide go? It was hard to say. ‘Content’ implied that he’d be fine with it. He wouldn’t be; he always had a nasty habit of setting his sights on someone and pining over them until they died, or he died. Whichever came first. If Ashe and the three stooges were still present, if Tide was still in charge of them, Mark would’ve settled with being friendly with him, but not friends. He would’ve never bridged the gap in fear of whatever hell the heroes—and Overlord—might inflict upon him and his son.
Mark mulled over those thoughts as he watched Tide cook. Tide was fussy about his cooking process; it was either him or Mark that cooked, never both at the same time. Mark had found out when he reached for a carrot peeler and got it bodily slapped out of his hand. The memory brought him a warm thrill of amusement.
There was probably a point to be made about how human spirits could still create beauty in dark times. Could make the best out of a tragic situation. It didn’t address the question of why those tragedies happened in the first place, though.
“Have you ever thought about the future?” Mark asked.
Tide gave him a strange look. “I’d say I’m giving plenty of thought”—he gestured between them—“for the future."
“No, I meant the far future. After the wedding’s over. Maybe even after our idiot kids are safe again.” Mark recalled a piece of their earlier conversation. “I wasn’t really kidding about the English major part. Besides being a hero—yes, that includes taking care of the boys—was there anything else you wanted?”
Tide stirred the pot on the stove. He seemed deep in thought. “It was never something I needed to consider.”
“Well, it is now.”
A flash of pain passed over Tide’s face. “I suppose you’re right.”
The sprawling roads of the future, its possibilities and impossibilities alike—that was a fear that linked every human, clone or not. Once upon a time, Mark had also gone through a period of decision-paralysis. Only, he was a teenager. He couldn’t imagine what Tide was going through right now. There was something to be said about distilling fundamental human experiences into a test tube, injecting it into clones, and expecting those clones to be fine with it. And that something was: Dr Lambert was a sick son of a bitch.
“You don’t need to have an answer right now,” said Mark. “Just—think about it, yeah?”
Tide’s response was quiet. “Yeah.”
Mark thought that was that. He wasn’t expecting Tide to bring it up again halfway through dinner.
“I wanted a family of my own,” he said, contemplative, “but I guess I’m already doing that.”
Mark hid a smile. “You sure are.”
“This is probably the most selfish thing I’ve done in my life.”
“It’s not selfish if I’m happy with it.”
“Selfish isn’t the right word. Self-serving, maybe.”
“No one can live for the sake of others forever,” said Mark. “If you can’t look out for yourself first, one day, you’re gonna be bleeding out in an alleyway because you turned your back to the new recruit for a moment and they turned out to be a double-agent.”
Tide winced. “Speaking from experience?”
“No,” Mark lied. “Besides, you’ve more than earned the right to be selfish.”
There was a gleam in Tide’s eye that probably meant he was gearing up to say something inadvisable.
“If I’ve earned the right to be selfish,” he said, “where does that leave you?”
Mark didn’t mean to laugh. It startled out too quickly for him to snatch it back, and by the time he did, Tide looked half-wary, half-amused, like he wanted to join in but wasn’t sure what was so funny. He didn’t look like he regretted saying it.
Mark liked his kindness, his integrity, but he loved his meaner moments.
If Tide was still an active hero, would Mark have seen this side of him?
For a heartbeat, Mark was overcome with a wave of relief. Thank goodness for hero society’s decision to depower Tide. Thank goodness for their messed-up politics, their web of rules, their horrific technology. They would’ve never appreciated him enough. Not in the way that Mark could.
“It means I’ve gotta be a saint for the rest of my life,” he said, “or I’ll die trying.”
It was an insultingly beautiful day when Mark and Tide were driven up to a W.A.T.C.H facility, hustled from the car by an entourage—ahem, squadron —of superheroes, and marched down to two interview rooms.
“Tide on the left, Wavelength on the right,” said a hero with a particularly punchable face. The way he spoke Tide’s name was the vocal equivalent of a caress. On the other hand, ‘Wavelength’ was spat out like a glob of phlegm.
With the way the other heroes were staring daggers at Mark, he knew that the animosity was shared. He also knew that if the interview failed, he wouldn’t make it out of here a free man.
“Hey,” said Tide, drawing his attention, “there’s nothing to be scared of.”
Mark scoffed. “Who says I’m scared?”
“I’m not gonna let them do anything to you.”
“You can’t guarantee that."
Tide yanked him into a hug. “Yes, I can.”
Mark was tense, all too aware of the heroes watching him, but he forced himself to relax. The more convincingly in-love they acted, the better.
“Just remember the flashcards,” whispered Tide, and Mark bit down the inappropriate urge to laugh.
“Flashcards? Really?”
“Yes, I’ve seen you looking over those when you think I’m asleep.”
“Fuck off,” said Mark, who was definitely looking at the flashcards when he thought Tide was asleep.
“Hey, it’s not a bad thing. I’m glad you’re just as committed to this marriage as I am.”
“What can I say? I’m a villain with integrity.” Mark lowered his voice for the next part. “And you’re my free ticket out of jail.”
He could feel Tide’s laugh rumbling against his chest. God, he really didn’t want to do this.
One of the heroes cleared her throat.
“If it all goes south, I want you to remember this was your stupid idea,” muttered Mark. His hands were fisted in the fabric of Tide’s jacket. He couldn’t seem to remember how to let go.
Tide drew back enough for Mark to look him in the eye. Sometimes, when the light slanted just right, they seemed to be blue and gunmetal grey, the colour of the ocean at its deadliest, the snare of a riptide disguised by calm waters. Then he blinked, and they were brown again. A quirk of clone technology, he’d once said. Really fucking hot, Mark had corrected him.
“I’ll remember,” said Tide, solemn.
They eventually pried apart from each other. Tide gave him one last smile and disappeared into the room waiting for him, the door sliding between them with a decisive click. Mark was left with a group of heroes who were all trying to kill him with their eyes. When he entered his own room, he had a split-second to feel relieved before he realised who his interviewer was.
“You’re two minutes late,” said Magma, who was the headmaster of Centurion high and Tide’s older brother. His hands were steepled on the desk in front of him. His foot tapped impatiently. His eyes, which glowed faintly like coals in a furnace, were glaring into Mark’s soul.
Mark was already sweating. “Sorry.”
“Sit down, Wavelength. You’d better not waste more of my time than you already have.”
He sat down.
“Did you know,” said Magma, “that Tide hadn’t told any of us about this?”
Mark didn’t answer. It seemed like a rhetorical question. He was right, as Magma kept talking without waiting for his input.
“Imagine my surprise when I was called in to interview a villain.” Was the temperature in the room rising, or was it Mark’s imagination? “Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be a villain who wanted to marry my brother.”
For his personal health, Mark decided not to mention that it was Tide who proposed. “Yep, I’m imagining.”
“Tide is very important to me,” said Magma, “so if this turns out to be a sham, I’ll personally make sure you never see the light of day again.”
Mark didn’t know what to say to that. He settled for nodding.
Then, the interview began.
An hour later, when the room had started to feel like a sauna, when Mark was seriously considering the pros and cons of faking a heart attack to get out, the door opened.
A rush of cool air flooded in. Tide stood in the doorway, his eyes wide. Behind him were the rest of the heroes. Mark waved hoped he didn’t look too pathetic.
“Magma, it’s boiling in here,” said Tide, sounding appalled.
“Oh, is it?” his brother replied. “I didn’t notice.”
“Are we done yet?” said Mark, who could only assume that Tide’s appearance signalled the end of the interview.
“I don’t think so,” said Tide. “My interviewer said ‘mostly’ and then told me to come here.”
His interviewer appeared at his shoulder. “There’s just one last thing we need to confirm. Let’s all sit down.”
The group of four made themselves comfortable in the room. Well, as comfortable as possible considering the heat. The two interviewers started muttering together, so Tide took it as an invitation to talk too.
“How was it?” he murmured to Mark.
“Fine,” Mark said. The questions were things they’d gone over already. Harlem’s flashcards had actually come in handy. “What about you?”
“I’m fine too. I think my interviewer, Wordsmith, was going easy on me.”
“Fucking typical.”
“At least it’s almost over, right?” Tide dropped his hand in Mark’s lap, fingers splayed in invitation. Mark took hold of it. His hand was sweaty and he squeezed too tightly, but Tide didn’t complain.
This was it. Time to find out if he’d be getting married or getting slammed in jail.
Finally, Wordsmith and Magma seemed to have finished speaking. Wordsmith leaned forward, peering at Mark over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. It gave Mark the impression of being studied under a microscope. Like he was a specimen rather than a human. After the configurations made to his face, it was a feeling he’d grown familiar with. He glared right back at Wordsmith. The glare’s effect was probably ruined by the fact that one eye was hidden, but he didn’t care.
“How much of your reptilian characteristics are cosmetic, and how much are functional?” Wordsmith asked.
“Huh?” said Mark.
“He just wants to know if the eye works,” said Magma with the long-suffering air of someone who was accustomed to deciphering Wordsmith’s, uh, words.
“Yeah, it works. I can see through it. I just—don’t like other people seeing it.”
“Does it respond to the same stimuli as a normal lizard eye would?” asked Wordsmith. “Do they shrink in light, dilate in darkness…?”
“Pretty much.”
“So, would it dilate when you’re excited? Focusing on prey? Or, perhaps, the object of your affections?”
“Where the hell are you going with this?”
“I’d like you to take off the bandages and look at Tide,” said Wordsmith. “We need to see some visible dilation.”
Mark would rather die than unwrap the bandages in front of Wordsmith and Magma. He didn’t want to subject himself to further scrutiny. It was already written all over Magma’s face: you are not good enough for my brother. Mark couldn’t give him more reason to feel that way. And Wordsmith saw him as something sub-human—wasn’t this giving him confirmation?
Tide squeezed his hand in comfort. There was an apology in his gaze, but also a plea. Just one more thing. Just a glance, and it’ll be over.
Mark sighed. He released Tide’s hand. He untied the bandages and let them fall into his lap.
Mark knew what it looked like; it was an amber iris, a pitch-black slitted pupil, and a smattering of green scales around it. He didn’t dislike how it looked, but he disliked the circumstances that led to him having it. He also disliked people staring. There was only so much whispering and muffled laughter you could take before you lost your mind.
Magma didn’t visibly react, but he looked away. Either he found it too uncomfortable to look at or he was uninterested. Wordsmith, on the other hand, seemed like he was itching for a magnifying glass.
Mark turned to face Tide. Wordsmith made a couple of “hmmm” noises.
“I think I see a bit of it—Magma, what do you think?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”
“Honestly, Magma.”
Tide kept holding Mark’s gaze. It was excruciatingly awkward. It was also nerve-wracking, since Wordsmith kept wondering aloud how much dilation was ‘enough’ dilation. If Mark ended up returning to jail because of Wordsmith’s shoddy eyesight, he didn’t know what he’d do. Scream, probably. Pull a Le Frog, most likely. Mass murder was a reasonable response to an unjust sentence, right?
“There is some visible dilation,” admitted Wordsmith. “But I’d like to be certain. So, could you two…” He made a ‘go on’ hand gesture.
“What?” said Tide.
Magma pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s asking you to kiss each other.”
“No,” said Mark without hesitation.
Wordsmith, the asshole, tried to justify it. “It would release a suitable amount of dopamine to—”
“Nice try, but I’m not feeding into your voyeurism kink.”
“I don’t—! How dare you—!”
“I’m not going to lie, Magma,” said Tide. His expression had been neutral the whole time, but frustration was beginning to show. “This is bullshit.”
Magma raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, blame Wordsmith, not me.”
That wasn’t frustration in Tide’s gaze anymore—that was anger.
“I’m sick and tired of heroes mishandling their responsibilities,” he retorted. “Leaving the matter of a former villain’s incarceration to someone hemming and hawing over pupil dilation? That’s ridiculous. I expected better— much better—from both of you. Wordsmith, your conduct is nowhere near good enough for a veteran hero. And Magma, if you don’t file a complaint to Wordsmith’s superior on my behalf, you’re not invited to the wedding. I’d say both of your licences should be suspended, but we all know that’ll never happen, because who would take the word of a former, useless, powerless hero?”
Wordsmith’s mouth actually fell open. Magma’s eyes were almost bugging out of his head. Mark didn’t know what kind of expression he was pulling; he only hoped he didn’t look too besotted. He needed to curb his thing for Tide being mean before it became embarrassing.
Tide, merciless, capped off his spiel with, “I always thought hero society was held together with a piece of string and a prayer. And you two have just confirmed it. Do better.”
After a period of fraught silence, Wordsmith said, “You’re free to go.”
It took a moment for Mark’s brain to catch up. “Huh?”
“I said you can go now.” Wordsmith cleared his throat. He seemed embarrassed. “I’ve realised that… I was being unfair. Magma and I will take some time to review the interviews, but I think you’ve both cleared up any doubts we have.”
Was it that easy? Really?
“Thank you for your time,” said Tide in a tone that couldn’t be further from thankful.
Mark didn’t say anything. The walk back to the car, the journey back to Tide’s apartment—it all passed in a haze. The only thing he could remember was gripping Tide’s hand too tightly in his.
He was free.
He was free.
They got their marriage licence the next day, scheduled for the day after tomorrow. It wasn’t enough time for the traditional trappings of a marriage—ceremony, rings, flowers, etc—but Mark didn’t mind. He’d had a traditional wedding once. It was a happy but extremely, extremely busy event. He didn’t think he’d be able to take that level of noise and activity again.
“Who’s on the invite list so far?” he asked.
Tide was scanning through a list of names. There were already a few that’d been written on but crossed out just as quickly. Former hero friends, maybe? Mark looked closer, caught sight of a name that might’ve been ‘Dakota,’ and stopped looking.
“My brothers, except for Magma,” said Tide. “He hasn’t gotten back to me on that complaint yet. And there’s Harlem. Ms G might show up too. What about you?”
“No family to invite,” was all Mark said.
Tide gave him a look that was filled with—not sympathy, exactly, but something that suggested he shared the hurt. “We need a witness from both sides.”
“I know. I have someone in mind.”
“Who is it?”
Mark wondered how to put it delicately. “A mutual friend.”
“Don’t invite an active villain to our wedding, please.”
“I wouldn’t call him an active villain,” said Mark, and refused to elaborate.
Time passed without incident. Invites were sent. Calls were had. Occasionally, Mark would look up, see Tide just doing Tide things—walking around the apartment, or humming at the stovetop, or just muffling a yawn into his fist—and wonder what he did to deserve this. Wonder when everything would fall apart. Wonder if Tide would see right through him, pry at the cracks to the ugliness beneath, and call the whole thing off.
But he didn’t. If anything, the more time he spent around Mark, the surer he seemed in his decision.
Tide was so anxious to be punctual to their wedding appointment, they turned up at New Haven city hall half an hour early. They were directed to the wait in the foyer, which was already half-filled with people. Mark, jittery with nerves, had the irrational urge to snap at them. Why are all of you here? Are you all getting married? No? I didn’t think so.
“This is really happening,” said Tide.
“Sure is.”
“Is it weird to be anxious?” Tide held out a hand. It was slightly shaking. “I’m not second-guessing myself or anything, it’s just—it’s a big change.”
“It is,” Mark agreed. “But you won’t be facing it alone.” After a moment’s hesitation, he reached over to interlace their fingers. No better time to be cheesy than on his wedding day. “You won’t be facing anything alone again.”
A smile broke over Tide like the dawn, bright and adoring, and he leaned in to—
“Holy shit!” someone exclaimed.
Moment ruined, Mark turned to glare at the interruptor, only to stop short. It was Seismic and Whirlwind, two of Tide’s brothers. They were staring at him with undisguised shock. Seismic, the one who’d spoken, was looking rapidly between Mark and Tide, his expression contorting like he was waiting for a cue to laugh.
When the punchline never came, he deflated. “Oh, so it wasn’t a joke.”
“Why would I joke about this?” said Tide.
“I don’t know! Why would you marry a villain?”
“Former villain,” Mark corrected. And because he was feeling petty, he added, “Soon enough, I’ll even be your brother-in-law."
Seismic opened his mouth. No words came out.
“I think it’s cool, dude,” said Whirlwind. “Love who you love. Is there gonna be an afterparty?”
Tide shook his head. “Probably n—”
“Probably yes is what he meant to say!” another voice interrupted.
When Mark turned to the sound, his eyes were assaulted by a riot of sparkles. He eventually blinked the spots out of his eyes. It was Harlem, except he was dressed in the loudest and brightest sequined shirt that Mark had ever seen.
“Hello, all,” he greeted, striking a pose. “Harlem Shade is unavailable today, for I am… Harlem Shake.”
“What the fuck?” Mark said softly.
“He does that sometimes,” Tide explained, as if that meant anything at all.
“Sir, please keep it down,” said the man at the reception table. He didn’t seem to recognise the sparkly man in the foyer as Silhouette, one of the biggest heroes in Prime. And why would he? Silhouette would never be making a scene of himself in public. Harlem Shake, on the other hand, seemed to eat scenes for breakfast.
“My apologies,” said Harlem, and moonwalked himself into the nearest seat.
Magma showed up next. He came with his bookcase, which contained physical copies of the complaints he submitted to Wordsmith’s bosses. Tide read over them with visible glee. Seismic and Whirlwind wanted to know the context, so Tide started recounting the whole thing while Magma looked more and more embarrassed.
Out of nowhere, Seismic blurted, “Shockwave should’ve been here.”
A heavy silence descended over the group.
“He would’ve loved to see this,” agreed Whirlwind. “He was always a sucker for romance.”
“Well,” said Magma. “I don’t know if this is enough, but…”
He pulled something rectangular out of his bookcase. It was a photo of Shockwave. It was the portrait he’d probably used for his hero profile; he was wearing his hero suit, facing straight at the camera, and smiling tight-lipped. He looked terribly young.
Tide brought an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Magma.”
“You told me I had to be better,” Magma said simply.
Tide laughed. It sounded fragile; watery. “I reckon you’re on the right track.”
The moment seemed too private for Mark to be watching any further, so he averted his eyes. The tragedy of the youngest Elemental had sent ripples through the powered sides of New Haven, hero or not. Though years had passed, the wounds were far from healed. Tide never brought him up, and Mark never asked. But someday, he’d like to visit where Shockwave was buried. He’d like to greet the last brother.
Damn, he was getting teary-eyed. He couldn’t have that. To distract himself, he tried making conversation with Harlem.
“Nice shirt.”
“Thanks, I know,” said Harlem. Instead of his usual sunglasses, he was wearing rainbow shutter glasses. “You’re not looking too shabby yourself.”
Mark glanced down at himself. He and Tide had made an effort to dress up. He was in an olive-green shirt, a dark-coloured blazer, and suit pants. He’d even replaced the face-bandages with an eyepatch. It made him look more professional. The scales still peeked out, but if no one looked too closely, he could pass it off as a skin condition. Tide was wearing a dark blue suit with a wave-patterned tie. He’d tied back his locs into a bun. Mark kept trying not to get distracted by the nape of his neck. He kept failing.
“Thanks,” he said, fiddling with the allium on his lapel, which matched Tide’s. “We’ve got the wedding photos to consider, yeah?”
“Of course, of course.”
“By the way, do you know if Ms G’s coming?”
“Yes,” said Harlem with no hesitation. “She’s running a little late, but she’ll make it.”
Not one, but two of Prime’s biggest heroes at his wedding. The attendance of Ms G had only been a vague concept to him, but now, sharpened to reality, Mark was beginning to sweat under the collar. He elected to not think about it for now.
“You were kidding about the afterparty, right?” he asked Harlem.
“I would never kid about a party. It’s a happy occasion; why not celebrate?”
“Tide and I aren’t interested in having a party.”
Harlem sighed, a bit of his sparkly energy leaving him. “There’s a nice Italian place nearby, if you’d be amenable to having a meal afterwards.”
Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “Sounds like a plan.”
That was when Mark’s invitee decided to show up. He waved as he strode across the foyer, and Mark rose to greet him.
“Glad you could make it.”
“Of course, mon ami!” said Alexander DuBois, more commonly known as Le Frog. “I would not miss ze wedding of my jail-breaking friend for ze world!” He gave Mark a bottle of wine. “Here's a presenté. I walked by a BWS.”
Mark took the bottle of wine, feeling touched. “You shouldn’t have.”
“What’s a little shop-lifting between friends, eh?”
Tide had finally taken notice. A series of emotions crossed his face: shock, horror, bargaining, and finally, acceptance.
“So, this was the mutual friend,” he said.
“Oui!” said Alex. “Without Mark’s assistancé, I would not be alive!"
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, bashful. “You’re giving me way too much credit.”
“Non, I am giving you as much credit as deserved.”
“Isn’t Le Frog supposed to be in prison?” Seismic muttered to Whirlwind, who said, “That’s not Le Frog, that’s Mark’s friend who he invited for his wedding, how dare you.”
“Call me Alex,” said Alex, sticking out his hand. An awkward round of hand-shaking was had.
“Nice outfit,” Whirlwind commented.
“Merci!” Alex did a spin, showing off his dark green tux (worn over his frog suit, of course). “You are looking quite dashing as well.”
“Thank you.” Whirlwind smoothed a hand over his collared shirt. “I wanted to dress up, unlike some people.” This was aimed at Seismic, who was wearing jeans and a leather jacket.
“I didn’t even know if this wedding was real,” he protested.
Magma, who was stiffly formal in a full suit, said, “Seismic, I expected better from you.”
“That’s rich coming from the guy who was almost uninvited!”
Mark decided to ignore their bickering. “Besides Ms G, are all the guests in attendance?”
“Not quite,” said Alex. “I have brought a plus-one.”
Harlem peered at him over the tops of his glasses. “A friend or a romantic plus-one?”
Alex beamed. “Oui.”
Right on cue, the doors burst open. The silhouette of a man stood backlit by the sun, hands poised on his hips.
“ZIP IT, LOCK IT, PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET!” he boomed. “ABSTINENCE BOY IS HERE TO STOP IT!”
All of Mark’s blood drained from his face.
Abstinence Boy, also known as Ross Whiteman, was suitably fitted in a white cassock. His arrival caused a flurry of activity throughout the hall; heads were turning, phones were being pulled out, and more than one starry-eyed fan was fanning themself. Though he wasn’t the young, spritely hero that once graced the covers of every anti-sex brochure in New Haven anymore, Abstinence Boy was still an attractive man. Hot, some would even say. The irony never failed to amuse Mark. Except now, of course. Because his wedding was being crashed.
Seismic stomped his foot so hard it caused a tremor through the floor. “Who the fuck invited Ross?”
“He iz my plus-one!” said Alex. “And an old friend of Mark's!”
Tide looked at Mark incredulously. “You were friends with—?”
Mark, going for an Emmy, said: “I’ve never met this man in my life.”
“Lies!” cried Ross. “But I don’t know what else I expected from a supervillain!”
A headache was starting to form in Mark’s temples. “Alex, how could you do this to me?”
“Ah, when I told him, I said ‘I cannot see you for brunch because of a wedding!’ But he kept insisting that he needed to come along when he found out the ze wedding was yours.”
“I’m here to make sure there’s no premarital sex happening.” Ross paused. “Again.”
“Again?” said Tide.
Mark was pretty sure he was in hell. “Ross, don’t—”
“Do you know,” said Ross, his voice shaking, “what kind of sinful acts Wavelength has participated in?”
Tide looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cringe. “Uh, no? It’s not my business to know.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, just leave it alone—”
“HIS SON”—Ross levelled a finger at Mark—“WAS BORN OUT OF WEDLOCK!”
Wedlock, wedlock, wedlock echoed throughout the hall.
Yep, this was hell.
The receptionist stormed over to them. “Sir, I don’t care if you’re Abstinence Boy or not, but if you keep shouting, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
While Ross gave the receptionist his apologies, Tide asked Mark, “What was that all about?”
Mark massaged his temples. “We were fighting one time, and we stopped for coffee because we got tired—”
“You can just do that?”
“—and while I was paying, he saw the photo in my wallet. It’s a photo of Ashe as the ring bearer at me and Cynthia’s wedding. When I said that to Ross, he got angry.” Mark cringed at the memory. “A Starbucks was destroyed that day.”
“Then why is he here?” said Tide. “We’ve waited until marriage. He’s just being an asshole now.”
“YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO CAREFUL,” Ross hollered, and was promptly silenced by the receptionist.
Tide put his face in his hands. “I can’t believe Abstinence Boy is still allowed to be a hero.”
“A fundamental problem of hero society,” Mark began, “is that people’s prejudices get affirmed. When heroes get put on a pedestal, their beliefs are taken as fact. Do you think they’ll protect everyone equally? Of course not. They’re gonna pick and choose which kinds of people to protect. Villains don’t have the same bullshit; you kill indiscriminately, you get paid. No frills, no abstinence talk.” Upon seeing Tide’s expression of extreme confusion, Mark said, “What’s not to get? Murder is pretty clear-cut.”
“That’s—"
Their names were called, which put an end to the conversation. It was finally time. They were led to an office and told to wait for the officiant. Their guests all filed in.
As Alex and Ross passed, Mark caught the tail-end of a conversation he probably shouldn’t have heard.
Alex was murmuring something in Ross’s ear. The expression on his face could only be described as flirtatious. “You look simply tempational today, mon amour.”
“Kill yourself in the name of Christ,” Ross said serenely.
Tide seemed to have heard it too. He aimed a wild-eyed look at Mark. Mark just shook his head. I don’t want to know.
As everyone was settling in, a minor commotion came from outside the door.
“No, I am perfectly fine with wheeling myself. I appreciate the offer. Sorry, I can’t stop for an autograph, I’m already running late.”
Before Mark had time to brace himself, Ms G was wheeling in through the door. Her wheelchair was made of a dark purple metal, which matched her A-line lilac dress. Her red hair fell in loose curls; she’d probably made an effort to style it. Her face was a little pale, but her smile was brighter than ever. As she wheeled in, nodding hellos to everyone, Mark couldn’t help but notice her hands. They were usually obscured by her enormous gauntlets. They seemed so small now. At the end of the day, even the Hexpert was a human.
“Congratulations,” she said when she approached them. “I would’ve gotten here sooner, but there was an—incident I had to take care of.”
Tide gave her a strained smile. “It’s alright. A hero’s duty always comes first.”
Ms G couldn’t seem to look Tide in the eye. “I wish it didn’t have to.”
Mark didn’t think she was talking about the incident.
Their fraught moment was interrupted by a staff member coming to the door. “I’m so sorry, but the officiant can’t make it today.”
“What?” said Tide. “Why?”
“There was a sudden family emergency, I’m afraid you’ll have to come in another day for—”
“Worry not!” Ross raised his hand. “I would be more than happy to officiate.”
“Fuck no,” was Mark’s immediate response.
For some reason, the staff member didn’t seem to hear him. “Abstinence Boy? Oh, you’re more than qualified to officiate! I’ll leave the papers with you.”
“Thank you,” said Ross, taking the papers. “It’s only fitting for a superhero to officiate another hero’s wedding, isn’t it?”
“Extremely fitting, sir.”
Mark watched the proceedings with the same out-of-body feeling that washed over him during car crashes, spontaneous murders, and swallowing a fish bone. A disaster happening in slow motion.
“Is this karmic retribution?” he wondered aloud to a cruel, uncaring universe. “Is this what happens when you use your hard-earned PhD for evil?”
Tide patted his shoulder. He looked just as shell-shocked as Mark. “Unless there’s another officiant around, I don’t think we have a choice.”
Ross took up position at the front of the room. Mark and Tide stood in front of him.
The ceremony started off normally. Ross read out a few things from the papers, had Mark and Tide sign their names, and asked if they had rings. Their shrugs were enough of an answer. Ross rolled his eyes and moved on.
Mark released an exhale. Weird officiant or not, he was getting married. To Tide. He searched himself for any of the delirious happiness he’d felt at his first wedding, but he didn’t find it. This was a different person. This was a different occasion. Instead, he felt a steady contentment. Like all the sharp, bright edges of joy had been smoothed over. He’d grown too much; lived through too much to experience that kind of reckless emotion again, but that was alright.
He flicked a glance over Tide and the guests in the room. His eyes lingered on the camera that Alex brought. The man gave him a thumbs-up. Mark couldn’t help his reflexive smile, and he knew that Alex had captured it.
This was more than alright.
“Tide and Mark, do you take the other to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Tide smiled at him. “I do.”
“I do,” Mark echoed.
“To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish till death do you part?”
“I—”
“Do you vow to be faithful?” Ross interrupted. “To not engage in sinful relations? To stick to your path, eschewing the advances of a frog-suited man?”
His voice was shaking. He wasn’t looking at Tide and Mark; he was staring right at Alex. The frog-suited man winked.
“I do?” said Tide.
“Y-yeah,” stammered Mark. “Me too.”
“Do you vow to avert your gaze from the moustached villain who attends the same church as you? To stand firm in your beliefs of virtue and piety? To not dream of green fabric and greener eyes?!"
“Is this a good time to say I’m atheist?” muttered Tide.
Mark squeezed his hand in support. “Y’know, I was raised Anglican, but this is just stupid.”
“Abstinence Boy, get ahold of yourself,” Ms G said sharply.
At her reprimand, Ross seemed to come to his senses. He cleared his throat.
“Tide and Mark, you have affirmed your love for each other before your family and friends. You have come from very, very different paths”—he gave Mark a side-eye—“but you shall now walk toward the future together.”
He was visibly gearing up for the end of the speech. Mark caught a glimmer of his own anticipation mirrored in Tide’s expression. This was it. This was really it.
“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married,” said Ross. After an unnecessarily long pause, he finished with, “You may kiss.”
“Fucking finally,” said Mark, but it was Tide who yanked him in.
He expected something brief and perfunctory. Instead, Tide coaxed his mouth open and proceeded to kiss him like he was dying for it. Mark’s flare of surprise was overwhelmed by heat, and he kissed back, forgetting their audience, their scandalised officiant, and even the chaos of a future that awaited them after this.
They’d have each other. And that was enough.
(Later, at the afterparty, when Harlem produced a disco ball from nowhere and started a dance party in the Italian restaurant, when the Elementals tossed themselves into the fray, when Ms G excused herself for work, when Alex and Ross were getting frisky in the men’s bathroom, Tide leaned over to Mark and said, “We should start packing tonight.”
“Packing? For what?”
“Don’t you remember?” said Tide. “You don’t have a target on your back anymore. And you’ve promised me a road trip.”
His eyes had taken on that dangerous hue again. Mark could scent a storm on the horizon. The inevitability of nature’s rage, the determination of a wronged parent.
He realised: powerless or not, Tide would take on the world for those he loved.
He realised: this is what a real hero looks like. This is what his side were too blind to see.
I’m so fucking glad he’s mine.
His heart stuttered in his chest. “You mean—?”
“Yeah,” said Tide, meeting his hope halfway. “We’re gonna find our kids.”)