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Shirley knew as soon as she heard the shot that Marcus was dead.
She felt it somewhere deep in her soul, somewhere she had never allowed herself to feel before.
She just knew.
Shirley hoped it was Marcus who took the shot and that he would come knocking on the door to tell them the threat was over. She hoped–God, she fucking hoped–but she knew. She knew he was gone. She knew she would never see the sanctimonious prick alive again.
And she fucking hated him for it.
Why couldn’t he just have given her the fucking gun?
Shirley was a better shot than him, had saved his arse months ago in the bunker. She knew it. He knew it. This was one guy attacking Slough House when they had taken out a storm of Chieftain men. This was one fucking guy. Marcus should’ve just given her the fucking gun.
Then maybe he would be alive. She might be dead, but he would be alive and she wouldn’t have to live with his fucking ghost.
When Marcus joined Slough House–she hadn’t even liked him.
To be fair, Shirley didn’t like most people. There was nothing Marcus had done particularly wrong other than having the dubious distinction of landing at Slough House a week after she did. Shirley wasn’t sure exactly what happened with Lamb, River, Louisa and Min saving that kidnapped student’s life, but she knew two of their co-workers had died and another was permanently reassigned–whatever the fuck that meant.
Nobody trusted the pair of them, assuming they were Diana Taverner plants.
Shirley couldn’t entirely blame them; she didn’t trust them either. But slowly, she realised they weren’t all total twats–other than Ho, at least. He was definitely a twat. When Louisa moved into River’s office, she took the least shit option for roommates and ended up with Marcus. He grew on her. A bit like a tumour at first and then like, well, like something you wanted to grow on you, whatever that was.
He was a twat sometimes and could be annoying as all fuck when it came to her eating habits and extracurricular activities, but he meant well, even if he sometimes did it in the most condescending way possible.
“He loved you.”
Fuck JK Coe for not letting her kill the arsehole that killed Marcus.
She dreamt of the night he died often since then. Every dream always ended the same, though, with Marcus dead. Sometimes, Shirley died with him. Sometimes she killed the fucker who murdered him. Sometimes, even with her bare hands, her fingers wrapped tightly around his neck while she watched the light distinguish from his eyes. His dead body stared back at her with the same blank expression Marcus stared at the ceiling with from outside Lamb’s office.
Those were the dreams she liked the most.
Those were also the ones she woke up crying from.
“Give me the gun. I’m a better shot than you. I saved your arse before–I can do it again.”
That was the last thing she said to him. Not, I love you, too. Not, be safe. Not, kill the fucker. No, the last thing anyone ever said to Marcus was the equivalent of you can’t do this.
She dreamt about that more than his death. The last friendly face Marcus saw before he was killed, and she told him he couldn’t save them. But Marcus had saved their lives that night.
If he hadn’t gotten the gun, then the French prick would’ve picked them off like sitting ducks, no matter how many kettles and knives they threw at him. She had three bullets against him and Lamb’s gun. Three bullets were nothing against the fucking Terminator.
Shirley thought she was dead when he burst into Lamb’s office and pointed his gun at her. Was that what Marcus felt? Did he have time to think about what was happening? Or did the bullet take any thought process out of the equation?
She dreamt about that, too, about Marcus begging for his life and his pleas being met with an execution. It didn’t happen. It was too fast. She would have heard if he had begged; she would’ve done something. Marcus hadn’t pleaded for his life. Marcus knew what he was doing when he shut the door behind him. Sweet Marcus, who wanted to be a Dog until he realised the type of person it took to be one.
Marcus was prepared to give his life to protect them, and that’s precisely what he did.
“Shirley, I got this.”
The biggest regret of Shirley’s life was believing him.
The biggest regret of Shirley’s life was letting him leave.
She should have stopped him. She should have told him she loved him, that even if she couldn’t love herself–she loved him.
She would love him for the rest of her life. And she would spend the rest of the same life trying to love herself–for Marcus.