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It starts so slowly, it was noticed, but swiftly ignored. This wasn't why they were here. They couldn't be gentle, trusting only as far as a throw. Barely that. They didn't allow it, and yet.
It was like staring at a dissection. All the pieces separated in a clear this goes here, this needs this to function – it was like staring down the barrel of a gun, with bullets you weren't sure were in the chamber, and you didn't have the opportunity to check. Was this his fault? Don't turn the gun. Don't push the chamber. You're never so lucky twice.
Silco's eyes were clearer, if only because of the adrenaline. It was a build up through the day, he saw a good chunk of it, but there was no beginning to comfort. Marcus understood his position next to him, it conveniently left the concept of gentle off the table; a package never even opened, sitting somewhere else far away. Marcus admitted to himself only once, sometime ago, that he did want to care. Silco so obviously needed it, needed that abstract idea of kindness. He pressed that button only once, and tonight, it looks tempting again.
Marcus made a decision, not any more precise than an incision with his non-dominant. It took his shaking hands, from the fear of what if. It took looking at Silco looking at someone else when they met eyes. Marcus knew a trauma response when he saw one. He gets them less and less now, but that far over look was one he used to wear when he dressed himself in the mornings. The final thing to rearrange his face to focus on the day ahead, was the shiny new badge, and he hated that the department only had a small amount of them. It was Grayson's.
The room was still. The drinks left at their places, cigars and cigarettes burning ash lines over holders. Marcus now realizes how big he is in comparison to Silco. Maybe he didn't cause this, but he certainly wasn't helping it go away. The closer he got, it seemed Silco shrunk just that bit more. He made a decision. Wind him up, watch him go. Marcus was used to Silco's scare tactics that seemed to deflate his morale everytime he refused to fall for them. Silco was regaining some of his composure, just to lose it in a different way. He wound Marcus up often, and watched him go. He side-stepped it this time. Marcus was holding his own key to wind.
So he wound himself. He let himself go. Whatever would come after, he knew he'd pay for, just as dearly as a failed roulette, just as costly as a neglected plate at the table they didn't clear out of convenience. He was a gun, Silco was his own pawn. He hated the man in front of him, but never more than that man hated himself. He pointed his knife, down to Marcus' boots, saying, "I'll sever your tendons, boy. Come closer and you will never walk again." But he meant, come closer and you'll see how poorly I'm being held together. Marcus was never really good at having a sense of survival.
Scarring rough, against his hand, it felt cold. Silco's face was in stasis. Shocked and eye filling with tears, the other twitching back and forth. Marcus knew what this was, he had his rules memorized a long time ago. Silco was someone who scarred him for life, even if it was more internally than externally. He played puppeteer with Marcus' life, and even enjoyed it sometimes. They couldn't be gentle, at least not with each other, but that didn't stop Marcus from being gentle with him. He was always a giver. No matter what the price was. He gave, because that's what got him the best treatment. Cutting off important pieces, even, just to be needed and not just wanted. He cut out his most important piece for this man. It never felt worth it, but that didn't mean he would stop trying to whittle the square to fit the circle. There was no other way he knew how to live.
His other hand went to the back of Silco's head, not very careful of the pommade holding most of his hair. Leaning Silco into his chest, not quite trapping, but lightly shielding the bomb. He was shaking like he was covered in water, the ghost of his becoming never truly letting him dry off. Marcus could understand that. He could understand it, but never truly know. They stood there, where the absence of a blade and the absence of preservation spoke for themselves. He knew that this was opening that package past expiration and getting what he was warned of, but he was a giver. Adolescence shaped by being used, and tossed out when done, adult life shaped by being used, but put back together to be used some more. With Silco, he was starting to become apathetic to his own hatred.
No. Marcus corrected himself, I'm getting used to the man, not the masks he's made. There was no sigh in annoyance at doing this, maybe there should have been. If Silco doesn't let something out, he becomes a much more festering cut to Marcus’ hand, and that was hard to defuse. He should be doing this out of convenience to his future self, he should be doing this because no one else will. It's a sobering thought, do this, because no one's this close. He holds Silco through the shaking, then holding him on the floor as he hits and shouts (and Marcus is aware that no one would dare check on him now.) – he holds him even through the sobbing.
Embracing the man whose empire made Marcus' life hell, it felt like this was the only way to redeem some of the effort put in. If he couldn't change this from the outside, then he'd dig into the grounds until he displaced the foundations. He'd hold onto Silco, even if it would cost him the dock he was on. He'd let him drown him, if only to understand. Dragging him off the edge to feel the water envelope, just so Silco wasn't alone, and so maybe he'd be taken care of too. Sobs turned to shutters, back to screaming, then to hitting, again and again. Marcus took it all, surprised that this was the easiest thing he's ever done with Silco. Eventually, Silco quieted. He sat, held in Marcus' lap, and didn't say a word.
Marcus could feel his eyes get heavy, back now warm against the end of the couch. Blinking slowly, he felt Silco readjust.
"I'll kill you." He said. It sounded a decade old, maybe more, a very true but worn promise. A promise meant for anyone this close. A promise Vander received.
Marcus went back to sealing that package, unwrapping himself from Silco, becoming useful once again, self made firearm returned. He straightens himself and picks his cigarette back up, lighting it for a much needed drag, exhaling as Silco stared at him.
He looked at the mask being slipped back on, and he said, "I know."
You've got me with you until then.