Chapter Text
Obedience.
That was the difference between Nolan and Mark. Nolan could change direction without a moment’s notice, do whatever he saw fit. Of course, Cecil had power over him. But, not truly. And Nolan knew that. Mark, however, was a completely different case. Especially after what had happened in Chicago.
Mark lay in the GDA’s hospital wing, bandaged and unconscious. His facial structure had to be largely reconstructed, and many of his ribs had been broken. He should consider himself lucky that none of those fractured ribs decided to stab into any vital organs. For once, he lived up to the name Invincible, even if it was through some twisted sense of irony.
It was nearing two weeks of hospitalization. Eve had been allowed limited visitation, but aside from that, Mark’s room remained empty, save for a nurse or two.
His mother, Debbie, would’ve been there. She would’ve sat by Mark’s side for as long as it took for him to wake up. But Debbie wasn’t there. Instead, her body, or what remained of it, was in a casket, in the wing of the Pentagon right next to where Mark lay. Maybe it was better that she never lived long enough to witness the destruction done to their city, done to her son .
After another few days of drifting in and out of consciousness, Mark awoke. The room was completely empty, and the harshness of the white walls and fluorescent lights tempted Mark to fall back asleep again. But the gnawing fear of what had happened to the city he’d been used as a punching bag to destroy kept him up.
Mark attempted to rub the blurriness from his eyes and sat up. Nobody was here. He seemed to have been out a long time, given that his injuries were mostly healed. His mom had probably gone home by now; however out of character it would be for her. It would be hard to deal with the fact that your husband of 20 years was sent to hail a dictatorship over your planet.
The door to his room slid open, and rather than his mom, Cecil walked in. His expression was solemn, a far cry from the stone-cold resolve he usually carried. Who could blame him, the state of things? But, there was something else. An emotion Mark couldn’t quite place. Grief?
“Cecil?” Mark called out, croaky and dry from not having used his voice. “How- how long has it been?” He asked, frowning as Cecil sat worldlessly beside him.
“Glad you’re awake, kid. You’ve been out for around half a month.” Cecil paused, seemingly thinking of what he was going to say next. He opened his mouth, before closing it. Was there something he wanted to say? “Reconstruction’s going well. The Guardians helped get a good chunk of it done.”
Mark nodded, furrowing his brows. Something was troubling Cecil. “Okay,” Mark responded. “Um. Is everybody okay?” He asked tentatively. “I mean… well, y’know.” He stared down at his hands, feeling a knot in his stomach. He quieted down after that.
“There’s… something you need to know.” Cecil started, clearing his throat. “Your mother, Debbie…” He trailed off, watching Mark’s eyes widen. He gripped the bed railing with such strength that it cracked under the pressure.
“Mom. What- what happened to her?” He asked urgently, unable to hide the half-rage, half-worry in his voice. “Is she okay?”
Cecil paused. And, a second too long, at that, because Mark took that as a no. He buried his head in his hands and began to shake. “No, no no…” He muttered breathlessly. How had he managed to lose both his mom and dad in a single day? What had happened to her? Was it him ? The person, no, thing who’d caused all this destruction in the first place?
Cecil sighed, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Listen, kid… your mom…” Cecil cut himself off with another sigh. He really wasn’t well equipped to deal with situations like this, despite how often they occurred in his line of work. “We were planning to hold the service when you woke up. Just… let us know when you’re ready.” He tried to speak as softly as he could, but couldn’t help the professional edge to his tone.
Mark only nodded, sobs tearing from his throat, as he curled further into himself. Cecil pitied the kid. After all, that was all he was. Just a kid.
–
The service for Debbie went on two days later. Mark had been discharged from the hospital and had a day to settle into his newly repaired house. Although, the only thing he did was sit on his parents’ bed. He hadn’t spoken a word since Cecil had broken the news.
The funeral was short and sweet. Debbie’s official cause of death was a car accident with her husband. Mark was documented as the only survivor. A handful of her coworkers, some of Mark’s friends, and Cecil attended the service. Mark didn’t dare go within a 10-foot radius of the casket. The thought of seeing his mom’s face, pale and lifeless, even if it was only a reconstructed version of it, made him want to vomit.
The moment he got home, he broke down. It was almost childlike, the way he ran up to his parents’, no, his mother’s bed (he couldn’t view Nolan as his father anymore, not after what he’d done), and hid under the covers while he cried. Watching the surveillance tapes proved to be hard for everybody in the GDA for those next few weeks.
–
Another two weeks passed and Mark still hadn’t spoken a word, let alone leave his house. Cecil had taken to dropping off groceries (which consisted of microwave dinners for both his and Mark’s convenience) at his house in an attempt to get Mark to eat. Cecil wasn’t sure how long viltrumites could last without food, but two weeks would most definitely be stretching it for a human.
Like clockwork, Cecil teleported to Mark’s doorstep with a bag of microwave dinners in hand. This time, when he rang the doorbell, Mark answered. He looked horrible, like he hadn’t slept or eaten in ages. Judging by the GDA’s surveillance footage of Mark’s room, he hadn’t. But the fact that he was here to answer the door this time proved that progress was at least possible.
“Mark.” Cecil greeted him with a small smile, albeit strained. “How are you?” He wondered why he even bothered asking at all. He and his team already knew the answer. Maybe it was because a small part of Cecil cared for the kid and wanted to hear the answer from Mark himself.
Mark barely responded, the only evidence he registered Cecil’s words at all being the slight shrug of his shoulders in response. So, not good , Cecil thought. It was to be expected. The kid had lost both of his parents, after all. But he couldn’t stay shut inside this house forever, and Cecil was determined to get him out. After all, he was one of the strongest heroes on the planet, which was now threatened with a Viltrumite attack at any moment. They needed Mark.
Cecil’s thoughts were interrupted by a small, raspy voice coming from the kid across from him. It surprised him, firstly because Mark hadn’t spoken since Cecil broke the news to him, and secondly because of what he said.
“Cecil. I wanna be back on the field.” Despite the weakness of his voice, there was a strange finality to the statement. Mark was a smart kid and knew that even if he clearly wasn’t ready for it, the GDA was ready and willing to get him back fighting crime again. Or, at least, they should be. Cecil hesitated, and he wasn’t sure why. He’d have hooked onto the idea if it were anybody else, but it felt… wrong when it was Mark.
Cecil cleared his throat, attempting to sound as professional as possible. “Mark,” He started. “You’re certain you’re ready?” He very obviously eyed Mark, gesturing to the state of… well, everything. Mark only stared back, eyes wide, almost uncannily so.
Cecil sighed. “Can I come in?” Mark moved aside, allowing Cecil entrance as he carried the bags of food inside the house. He’d seen the place through the cameras, but actually being inside was almost entirely different. There was a thick sense of dread that blanketed the whole area, and the entire living room looked as if it hadn’t been touched since they’d rebuilt it.
He made his way to the kitchen and opened the freezer. Empty, as expected. He slid the whole bag inside, save for two microwave mac-and-cheese cups. Mark trailed behind him like a lost puppy. It was as if he no longer knew what to do with himself. Cecil felt a pang in his chest at the thought.
“Here. I’ll heat these up for us, and we can… talk .” Cecil spoke, his words sounding too gentle to be coming from his mouth. He partially peeled back the film covering the container and popped it into the microwave. It was still unplugged, and Cecil had to wonder how Mark had been heating up his meals at all. The thought of him eating them cold was unsavory, but likely given his mental state.
Mark stared blankly at the spinning dish inside the microwave before speaking. “M’ not hungry.” He muttered quietly. If it wasn’t for the eerily silent atmosphere of Mark’s house, Cecil doubted he would’ve heard him at all.
Cecil groaned internally. He could’ve said that before he’d begun heating up food. Not that it would stop him from trying to get Mark to eat, even if it was pasta and synthetic cheese. “When’s the last time you ate?” Cecil knew the answer, and it was approximately two days ago. Mark simply shrugged in response.
“You can’t be sent out to fight if you’re just going to pass out after a single punch,” Cecil stated bluntly. Mark simply nodded glumly. Despite Cecil’s annoyance with working with mouthy teens, it gave him a strange sense of discomfort at seeing Mark this quiet. Docile, even.
They stood there in silence for the full three minutes until the food was done. Donald used this time to try and coach Cecil on how to properly approach Mark through his earpiece. Cecil doubted he’d be able to sincerely say half of the phrases Donald had recommended, so he decided he’d do this his way.
Cecil set the lukewarm food on the dining table, which was coated in a thin layer of dust he’d had to wipe away with a paper towel. He hoped his eating would encourage Mark to do so as well. Supposedly, it’d make him more comfortable, according to Donald. …Even if it didn’t look particularly appetizing.
Surprisingly, Donald’s tactic worked. After a few bites, Cecil noticed Mark eating as well. It wasn’t much, but it was something. If Mark was serious about getting back on the field, he’d have to have his nutrition monitored until he was back at a healthy weight. Viltrumites were shown to have a fast metabolism, even if this particular viltrumite spent his entire day in bed.
“I’m serious about… going back,” Mark said between bites. Cecil raised an eyebrow. His body language told a different story. Mark seemed shrunk into himself, all nervous glances and fidgeting hands. He was in no shape to go back.
Still, Cecil had to choose between the world and Mark. And he would choose the world. Always. “The GDA can help get you back in shape. You’ll need to be on a strict schedule, build up muscle again.” He explained, only a hint of reluctance in his tone. “We can have a room set up for you in the Pentagon.”
Mark lit up at the idea, a telltale sign that he was itching to get out of this house. “I’ll pack.” Like an overexcited child, he shot up from his chair without finishing his meal. At Cecil’s glare, Mark sat back down again and quickly shoveled the remainder of mac and cheese into his mouth before continuing upstairs. There was a normalcy to the scene that both Mark and Cecil seemed to be desperate for.
Cecil rubbed his temples after finishing his own meal. Mark was talking, and more importantly, eating again. But there was still work to be done. They’d need to set up a training regime, a nutrition guide, and an optimal schedule for a Viltrumite, and more importantly, a grieving child. The GDA had their work cut out for them. But he’d make it work. He always did.
–
Mark followed Cecil down the sterile halls of the Pentagon. It was like a labyrinth, donned with fluorescent lights and bright white walls. A part of him was starting to regret agreeing to room here. Still, anything was better than that house. It was hardly his anymore, simply a reconstructed shell of what used to be. And, it wasn’t a home without his mom.
Mark was snapped out of his thoughts by Cecil’s voice as they stopped abruptly at a strangely non-metal looking door. “All yours, kid.” Cecil opened the door to a surprisingly normal-looking room. It was sparsely furnished and akin to the dorms he’d seen at Upstate University. Hardwood floors and warm lighting were a stark contrast to the cold, indifferent atmosphere of the rest of the building.
“Donald helped make it look more… home-y,” Cecil added, glancing curiously around the room himself. Judging by Mark’s reaction, whatever he’d picked had worked. For someone more robot than human, Donald was certainly good at the psychological part of this job. Cecil was glad he had him by his side.
Mark set down his suitcase full of things and turned back to look at Cecil. For the first time in what felt like forever, things felt… okay. Not good, but okay. And that was something considering he’d been living in what he considered his own personal purgatory for the past few weeks. “Um. Tell Donald I said thank you.” Mark paused, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Thank you, too.”
Cecil nodded stiffly. He wasn’t good at this part of the job. “Yeah. Get settled in, you start training tomorrow.” And with that, Cecil left Mark to his own devices.
Mark took to exploring the rest of the room. It was more like an apartment, given that it was equipped with multiple rooms. A bathroom, bedroom, and living room, plus a kitchen. The change of scenery was admittedly a lot to get used to, but Mark was happy for it. The bedroom looked eerily similar to his room at home, and he could only assume that it was because the GDA had surveillance in his house. He wouldn’t mind it as much if it didn’t mean they had people watch him wallow in grief for hours on end. Even so, the gesture was encouraging, at the very least. The GDA was trying to consider his feelings, and that was more than most could ask for.
Mark didn’t bother unpacking his things, making a beeline for his bed. He frowned as he lay down, realizing the bed even felt the same. He couldn’t tell if the familiarity felt comforting or suffocating. The exhaustion of moving seemed to have caught up to him, as he was asleep before he could finish the thought.
–
Mark awoke the next morning to the sound of a gentle but droning alarm. He groggily opened his eyes, taking a second to process where he was. The synthetic light filtering through the fake window positioned above his bed was just barely too bright, to the point of making his head hurt. He had hardly woken up, and he was already overstimulated. He doubted he’d be far off to assume this was a part of his training.
Ignoring the ache in his stomach, he trudged to the bathroom, which had been fully stocked for his convenience. He brushed his teeth, acknowledging that it was even the same brand of toothpaste his mom had bought. The thought made his already growing headache worsen, so he forced it out of his mind.
Just as he finished getting ready, he heard a knock on his door. Mark opened it, surprised to see Donald instead of Cecil. He’d interacted with the man significantly less, but he exuded much more of an approachable aura. Somehow, his presence made Mark feel more at ease.
“Hi, Mark.” Donald greeted him, tone soft with a slight undercurrent of nervousness. “How are you holding up? The room is good?” Mark gave Donald a tired smile. It was clear he was trying to make sure he was comfortable, which was understandable considering the complete change in setting. He appreciated the casual nature of the question.
“Yeah, it’s good.” Mark paused, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the sound of his own voice. Had he always sounded that… frail? “Thanks, Donald.” He paused, unsure what to say next. “Um. I’m ready to start… training. If that’s what you’re here for.” He added awkwardly.
Donald quickly shook his head. “Breakfast, first.” He had a growing concern regarding Mark’s eating habits. He doubted he’d even considered breakfast in a long time, and it showed. It didn’t even seem to cross his mind that he’d need to eat before straining his muscles. “Cecil sent me to take you. It’s a bit of a maze here, so we figured you’d need help.” He laughed, the sound clunky and awkward.
“Oh. Right, breakfast.” Food had completely slipped Mark’s mind, but the thought of it now made his stomach grumble. The food he’d eaten yesterday was likely all he was running on, which explained why he still felt tired. He followed Donald through the winding halls, the whiplash from exiting his room into the sterile halls of the Pentagon intensifying the throbbing behind his eyes. They eventually reached a food court, which Mark had no idea they even had. It was a surprisingly domestic side of the GDA’s facilities that he’d never had the opportunity to see. Before today, he hadn’t even thought about the fact that most GDA workers actually lived here.
Mark followed Donald to a somewhat secluded table, something he was silently grateful for. The bustling atmosphere did little to appease the nervousness that had begun to bubble up in his stomach. Suddenly, the idea of food didn’t sound so appealing anymore.
Donald disappeared for a bit before returning with Mark’s food. It wasn’t the typical worker’s lunch that members of the GDA had been served. Eggs, turkey bacon, toast, yoghurt, and some sort of fruity smoothie. It was overall, a hefty meal and vastly different than his previous diet of… well, nothing.
“See how much you can finish, yeah?” Donald spoke gently. Mark responded with a half-hearted nod.
Donald sat down beside Mark with his own lunch. Eggs on toast, nothing fancy. He began to eat, slowly and with barely perceptible glances towards Mark. Donald had been reading up on methods to encourage eating, and shared mealtimes seemed to be something that helped. Hopefully, a schedule would bring some of that confidence back.
He watched as Mark began to slowly pick at his food. The boy’s eyes remained downcast, though Donald wasn’t sure whether that was from grogginess or the heavy grief that Mark had been shouldering for the past few weeks.
Feigning ignorance towards the small victory, Donald continued his own breakfast. He couldn’t help but question Mark’s comeback in its entirety. He’d spoken with Cecil about how he felt that this would be a bit much for someone still grieving, and the further they went with this , the more Donald was proven right. Still, he maintained some faith in Cecil’s intentions. For, as hard as the man appeared on the outside, Donald could tell he’d garnered a bit of a soft spot for Mark.
Turning his attention back to the boy in question, Donald noticed that Mark had stopped eating despite barely finishing half the plate. Progress , he told himself. They were making progress.
“I, uh.” Mark let out a nervous laugh that sounded more akin to a sigh. “I don’t think I can finish this.”
Donald’s heart clenched at the shame laced in his words. “It’s okay. Don’t expect you to adjust right away.” He reassured him.
Mark nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. What was left of his appetite quickly dissipated as he stared guiltily down at the half-full plate. His first day here, and he was already making more trouble for the GDA. As if sensing his spiraling, Donald quickly finished the last bit of his own breakfast and stood up, signaling for Mark to follow. He tossed out the remainder of his half-eaten breakfast, scurrying after Donald.
“Cecil wanted to go over your schedule with you,” Donald explained as he led Mark down yet another painfully fluorescent hallway. “Ease you in and all that.”
Mark was almost completely sure Cecil had no intention of “easing him in” to anything. As far as he knew, Cecil’s main concern lay with the fate of humanity and nothing else. Certainly not a grieving half-human, half-public enemy number one. The half-viltrumite felt his chest tighten at the thought of his alien heritage, yet he pushed past it, willing himself to continue walking.
The hall began to transition from sterile and white to grey and enforced. Such changes gave Mark the impression that they were deeper into the Pentagon than most GDA agents were authorized to go. Donald ushered Mark inside what looked like Cecil’s office. He was waiting inside, reviewing what seemed to be a massive spreadsheet. Mark was already beginning to dread this decision.
“Mark.” Cecil looked up from the spreadsheet, attempting to school his expression into one more “approachable” as Donald had advised him to do. “Have you been… settling in okay?” Cecil asked awkwardly, such a casual question coming across as though it physically pained him to ask.
Mark forced himself to meet Cecil’s gaze, forcing as much of a smile as he could manage at the moment. Despite… everything , he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “Uh. Yeah.” He responded, just as awkwardly. “Is that…” He frowned, gesturing to the multi-page spreadsheet laid out across Cecil’s desk.
The man nodded, his conversational demeanor instantly switching to one of business. “Your schedule? Yeah. Should be everything you need to get you back on track.” Cecil slid the schedule over to Mark for him to look over.
Skimming over the sheet, Mark realized that he’d have little to no free time. For that, he was somewhat grateful. After all, keeping himself busy was the reason why he’d wanted to be back on the field in the first place. Giving up his social life (even more so than he already had) was a small sacrifice to make if it’d keep thoughts of his family out of his head. The last few weeks left alone with his thoughts had been torturous enough; at least this time, he’d be benefiting someone with his pent-up frustration.
Speaking of pent-up frustration, his first objective of the day, according to his schedule, would be strength training. It only made sense, considering Mark had lost most of his muscle to days lost to sleep and his lack of proper nutrition. He also had a hunch that this was Cecil’s covert way of scaling his power before getting too deep into his training regimen.
“Looks good to you, kid?” Cecil asked, giving Mark a once-over as if trying to gauge his reaction. Without waiting for a response, Cecil continued. “Good. We start now.”