Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marvin sits alone in a head-achingly familiar and particularly uncomfortable chair, with multiple identical ones encircling him. It feels like their emptiness taunts him. He can’t sit still; toying at his hair, bouncing his leg incessantly as he sits. 

He pictures his lover in the hospital bed he’d laid in for weeks, looking half-dead but “still kicking,” as he’d said. 

He prays that stands now more than ever. 

He turns around anxiously to see Charlotte standing inside the door of his room, looking from the window with a blank expression on her face. Marvin, though closer with her now than any time before, could never tell what the doctor was thinking; she’d always had a good poker face, kept herself stern no matter the situation, but this was… different somehow.

Marvin’s head begins to spin as she catches his gaze.

She steps out of the room, silently closing the door behind her. As she slowly makes her way in the direction of his seat, he thinks about standing, but instantly feels his stomach drop to his feet just at the idea. He instead sits staring at the tile, leg still thumping, vision blurring and the shrill whine of the lights overhead growing louder and louder. 

Charlotte began to speak solemnly, but he didn’t hear a thing. He didn’t have to because he knew. 

He feels his entire body buzzing, and the lump in his throat began to taste of bile. Marvin can’t look up at his friend, can’t say a thing, can’t feel his hands as they curl into a singular tight fist, can’t feel her hand gently placed on his back in pity, can’t breathe. 

Marvin wants to sob, to cry, to scream, to break down like he used to. 

But he can’t breathe.

“God, you worry too much, Marv. Sure, I’m sick, but I’m still kicking.”

Marvin had chuckled ruefully, scolding himself silently for recognizing the irony of the phrase. “Geez, alright, I get it. You’re not dead yet. I’ll stop being all mopey, but I’m staying right here. Whether you want me to or not,” he’d said, turning to look into the man’s clouded eyes, poking carefully but teasingly at his arm. “Because I need some company too, y’know. Could you imagine me now,” he’d spoke in a false gravelly voice, “Your old, shriveled lover, slouching around our home, all sad, and lonely, and… horny.”

He grinned widely, childishly, praying to himself it would get one in return out of the boy next to him, who’d looked so painfully miserable for so long. 

Marvin sighed softly in relief as a smile creeped onto his lips, even if it were just for a moment. It was all Marvin needed to see.

He’d begun to chuckle, which turned into a quick series of pitiful coughs. “Please, Marv, just go home.  You don’t need to sit and be scared for me, I’ll be fine for a day. I promise.”

Marvin sat up from the bed, a little defensively. “I’m not… I’m not scared.” He brushed his hair from his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes in the same motion. “What good am I to you if I’m scared, huh? I said I’d be there for you for anything. Which is why I’m staying. Got it?” He said finally, but not harshly. More of a suggestion than a decision. 

With no answer given other than a short nod and sigh of surrender, Marvin crawled into the chair next to the bed. He put his hand palm up on the mattress, his lover taking the invitation and placing his own upon it.

He looked at their hands interlaced, tighter than ever before, and couldn’t bring himself to look at anything else. He couldn’t bear the idea of them separating for the last time, the idea that it could be at any waking moment. He wanted to stay in this forever, this tiny sliver of peace where they could just pretend that nothing was awful.

“Hey,” the other said, carefully adjusting himself around to Marvin’s eye level and looking deeply into them. “I love you. It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

Marvin sighed in response before meeting his gaze, smiling wanly. “I know. I love you too.”

Marvin takes one final, painful glance at the now empty room, a reusable bag digging into his palm containing the few items that had been brought along to keep things a little less dull. A few novels from the living room (very well used), Jason’s old chessboard (nearly untouched), and a wrapped “fake” bouquet of bright yellow gardenia, which had long wilted.

“I swear, it said ‘fake’ when I bought them. Look, they’re not shriveled, it’s these damn lights. D‘make anything look dead.”

He feels Charlotte’s hand on his back now. His face goes hot. He didn’t want her pity. He doesn’t think he can handle hearing her say “I’m so sorry, Marv,” one more time. It felt like a sick joke. 

He just wants to leave, to walk out of the building and see the man he loves sitting impatient and bored in the passenger seat of his car.

His shoes on the dash would be quickly shifted to the floor, and expression changed to practically scream “I told you so” the moment he saw Marvin’s exhausted face, after what was supposed to be a quick check up with Charlotte turned into nearly half an hour past the appointment’s end being cornered by Cordelia, always lingering in the lobby and begging for a “small” chat.

This time, though, as Marvin steps out of the hospital, he’s only greeted by the blinding sunlight. Strange in comparison to the dull flickering artificial lights he’d seen for days on end. He’d nearly forgotten how the sun felt on his face.

Just an empty car, he notices grimly, and he sees as he climbs into the driver’s side with a strained groan that dust had already begun collecting on the seat. 

He sighs softly before dusting it away with a hand and placing the tote carefully on the floor. He takes a longer breath as he places his hand on the wheel, hot to the touch from sitting unused in the sun. It burns a bit, but he doesn’t really mind. It’s nice to feel something warm.

Marvin takes one more deep inhale, closing his eyes and letting his entire body tense up. 

When he finally releases and opens his eyes, he notices something has changed. He wasn’t looking at the hospital doors anymore. Instead, he’s parked along the curb in front of a rather large townhouse.

Trina’s house.

He doesn’t remember the drive, shifting the vehicle out of park; Hell, he doesn’t remember putting on his seatbelt. Still, he moves reflexively to release it, grumbles something morbidly to himself about getting his head checked next, and reaches for the tote before heaving himself from the car and closing the door. Slamming it, more accurately, finally frightening himself out of the daze he hadn’t even caught himself going into. 

Marvin trudges carefully up the stairs to the door, considering a knock but remembering the buzzer Trina had insisted on installing once the house was officially hers. 

Before he can decide to press it, he hears a lock click and the door quickly opens as far as the chain can allow. 

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

Expecting Mendel, he’s surprised to have to look down to see the source of the small voice that had greeted him.

Marvin freezes. His gaze is set on Jason, whose confusion was slowly but clearly turning to worry.  He’s young, but too smart for his own good. He doesn’t even have to ask to know what’s wrong. Out of pure courtesy, Marvin can tell,—God, this poor kid—he hears Jason speak again.

“What happened?”

He doesn’t even want to try to reply. He knows that it’ll end in him a disaster on these very stairs, sobbing into the stone for what would feel like hours.

Instead, he’s startled from the idea by Trina’s face appearing behind Jason. She quickly closes the door to release the chain before reopening it again, Jason stepping back to let Marvin in the doorway. 

“Marvin, what’s going on? It’s late, we’re playing games, can’t it wait until…” she trails off as she catches his gaze, then the sight of the reusable bag in his hand. He tightens his grip on it slightly as he feels his head begin to sway. 

Trina looks stunned into silence, but quickly turns to lower herself to Jason. “Honey could you… go help Mendel clean up the living room, would you?” she asks softly, before planting a quick kiss onto his curly hair and rubbing her hand gently along his shoulder as he walks off. 

He takes a quick last glance at his father; a knowing, pitied expression,—Jesus, I don’t think I can handle any more pity—and retreats back into the house. 

Trina sighs, nods quickly, and steps forward to close the door slightly behind her, a futile effort to keep the conversation from escaping the two of them. They just look sadly at each other for a moment, knowing and wishing for something to say that would make it all better. The lump in Marvin’s throat grows, and tears finally sting the corners of his eyes. Then comes those dreaded fucking words again.

“God, Marvin, I’m so sorry, I—“

“Could I stay here tonight?”

Chapter Text

He stood at the open door, failing to hide both his sheepish grin, and the man standing awkwardly behind him. Trina just stared at him, wide eyed in utter disbelief.

“Marvin,” she spoke carefully, a fake smile plastered across her face. “What are you doing here?” She very obviously glanced around his shoulder, attempting to catch a look at the other man, but before she could say a word of his presence, he stepped forward to introduce himself.

Seemingly at Marvin’s surprise as much as her own—Marvin stammered as the other pushed ahead and pat him reassuringly on the arm, and quickly drowned out his protests to “let me do the talking” in greeting her.

“Trina, right?” He took her hand to shake before she had the chance to react. “Great to finally meet you—y’know, under… normal circumstances,” he mumbled, and Marvin scoffed and rubbed his hand down his face.

“I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I already know you,” he said with a sheepish smile, his too-bright voice causing her to wince a little.

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard… so much about you, too,” Trina replied politely, trying desperately to mask her exasperation. She gave Marvin a hurried, sharp glance as she released the man’s grasp, attempting to convey You talk to him about me?? with her eyes, but he seemed—unsurprisingly—clueless.

Instead, he stammered and grabbed the man by his shoulders, pulling him back a step as he glanced back in protest. “I, uh… remember how we talked about dinner? As a family?”

Marvin looked at her pathetically and nodded his head back, motioning to who was standing behind him now, practically begging Trina to understand.

She took a deep breath, considering, and sighed almost defeatedly. “Look, Marvin, I- Jason’s been snacking all day, and I’m…” She hesitated. “…not feeling well. I just don’t think it’s the best time, and it’s a little late for dinner, I’m-“

“I can cook,” the man interrupted. He made a face, like he felt he shouldn’t have spoken up, and Marvin put a hand up to stop him, but it was too late. “Oh, you don’t have to…” Trina started, but trailed off.

“I mean, I don’t mind cooking. If you’d like. I’m not the best, but it’s… I can cook.” He gave a sheepish smile, and caught Marvin’s gaze. He couldn’t tell if he was furious or pleased, and frankly Marvin couldn’t decide himself. If anything, he was confused.

So he turned to Trina, shrugged and gave her a quizzical look. She didn’t look at Marvin, but rather past both of them, blankly into the distance.

After an awkward moment, she shook herself slightly, as if clearing a thought, and pulled her face back into the fake smile. “You know what? I would love that.” She grabbed the boy’s hands into both of her own, shook them in affirmation—for a little too long—and stepped back into the den, welcoming.

“Please, make yourself at home.”

Though her…unusual behavior had thoroughly creeped Marvin out, he quickly noticed the boy next to him wearing a slight grin of relief, a glint of triumph in his eyes.

Marvin decided he’d just let it happen. What could go wrong? He sighed and relaxed his shoulders, which he’d barely realized were tensed in the first place.

He leaned over as they entered the home, whispering into the man’s ear. “If I recall, you once told me you couldn’t boil water. What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckled sourly in return. “No, actually. When we met, I told you I bet you couldn’t boil water. For your sake, you should probably figure it out, and fast.” He smirked. “I’m making linguine, and you bet your ass you’re helping.”

Marvin wakes up before the rest of the house. 7:53, the clock reads. The sound of the guest room door creaking seems to echo through the home. As he makes his way down the stairs, he recalls grimly that he can’t remember the last time the house was this quiet while he was still in it.

Setting the tote bag down as softly as he can onto the kitchen tile, Marvin begins to shuffle through the drawers and cabinets. Nearly completely rearranged, he notes to himself as he struggles to find a notepad and pen. Nothing exactly as it used to be.

“I heard you talking to mom last night.”

Marvin whirls around at the voice, wincing as he slams his forearm into a drawer that didn’t quite shut. His face falls, and he tugs slightly on his sleeves as the silhouette of Jason makes its way downstairs.

He walks with purpose to the final cabinet Marvin hadn’t quite made his way to yet, and pulls out a small pad of sticky notes and a pencil. Of course he knew.

“Was kinda hoping to see him. Y’know, one more time.” He places them on the kitchen island in front of Marvin, and slides himself stiffly onto a stool.

“Mom said we could go today, if I wanted. I was gonna make him like, cookies or something. Mendel said that wasn’t a good idea. Then mom got all mad at him, I guess,” he mumbles. “ ‘Dunno if she thought we should bring him what’s in the fridge or something. Cordelia gave us a lot. Like, a lot.”

Marvin feels a smile tug at his face at this, and brings the bag up onto the counter before placing himself onto the stool next to Jason, clearing his throat awkwardly.

He doesn’t speak; Neither of them do. They just sit there for a moment, glancing aimlessly around the room. Marvin notices a new crack in the tile. Jason sees a pattern of black and white through the side of the bag. He follows his son’s gaze and adjusts himself.

“I uh… I thought you might want it back,” Marvin starts as he stands, surprising himself with the roughness of his voice; like an old storage closet, hinges stuck from misuse, finally being pried open by someone too innocent to know why it was locked for so long in the first place.

He pulls the folded chess board from the bag, and Jason climbs out of the chair carefully as he does. “I mean, I dunno if he ever really-“

He’s stopped short and stumbles back as he’s pulled into an unexpected embrace, stronger than he thinks is possible from the boy in front of him. Strong like he wasn’t a boy anymore.

Marvin breathes for the first time in days.

After what feels like hours, he crouches down to Jason and places the board in his hands, then using his own, brushes softly through his hair.

“Take care of him for me, yeah?”

He nods frantically, and Marvin ruffles his curls around once more with a soft chuckle.

He scribbles a quick thanks onto the notepad and sticks it onto the fridge before heaving the bag into his arms once more with a groan, and finally slips out of the house with a final look to Jason, a soft smile. It’s returned, a pained but hopeful expression on the boy’s face as the door isolates them both.

Strangely, Marvin feels a bit of that hope too. As he starts his car to return to his apartment for the first time in—God, has it really been a month?—he clicks on the radio.

‘-only right that you should

play the way you feel it.

But listen carefully

to the sound of your loneliness,

like a heartbeat– drives you mad,

in the stillness of remembering what you had,

and what you lost.’

Marvin finds himself on a different route home than usual. He isn’t exactly sure where he’s going at first, but the practiced, memorized path from Trina’s home very quickly becomes familiar enough.