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Martyn's excused himself from the little back-together party the Southlanders are having. He can still hear them, loudly talking and laughing, from outside.
“Martyn?” His husband's voice juts out, closer.
“Yeah?” He responds, and hears Mumbo walk closer to where he's sitting— just by the wheat field. Mumbo sits down beside him, something clearly on his mind. “What's up?”
“I—” Mumbo fiddles with his hands. “I want you to tell the truth about why you lost a life.” Oh. Martyn tenses. He'd hoped all the drama with Scar had made everyone forget about his sorry excuse for why he only has three lives.
Martyn clears his throat. “Told you, they cornered me and made me give Cleo a life.”
“Cleo isn't on their team anymore. She joined Scott and Pearl.” Mumbo counters, instantly shutting his defense down.
Well, fine. “It was all a blur, I don't remember who I gave what or who made me do it.” Martyn shrugs.
“Martyn.”
“It's my life! What does it matter what I do with it?”
Mumbo sighs, heavy, like he's at the end of his tether. “I just want to know the truth. I know you'd rather die than let someone else have your life, so who did you give it to?”
Martyn worries his lip, avoiding looking at Mumbo. What point is there in lying, really? He already knows. “Ren.” He confesses.
“Why?”
So that everyone in the shadow alliance would have three lives, is what he'd told himself. So it's all fair and equal. But he knows very well if it were BigB or Lizzie on two lives he wouldn't have been so generous.
“I—” Martyn tries to defend himself, but can't get anything out of his throat besides dry noises.
Mumbo pinches his nose bridge. “I know you and Ren are... friends,” while a true statement, it feels almost like an insult to call the devotion Martyn has to that man friendship. “But I...” Mumbo trails off, lost for words.
“I was okay with you being protective over your lives, I knew you really wanted to win, so you were keeping them all to yourself for the best chance, or something, but—”
He makes a little frustrated noise. “But you just gave one to Ren? And you can't even give me a reason? He's not on this team! If you were willing to give one away, why wouldn't you give it to m— a Southlander?!”
Many bitter things rise to Martyn's mind. The fact most of his team are useless being one of them. He doesn't say that though, staying silent.
“Are you going to even try to defend yourself, or are you just going to stay quiet?” Mumbo snaps. “I can tell everyone else you're going to betray us.”
Mumbo laughs wryly when Martyn's gaze snaps to him. “You thought I didn't know? I sleep in the same bed as you, of course I've noticed you leaving to go hang out with the Fairy Fort lot.”
Martyn internally curses himself. Oh, betray your allies, they said. It'll be fun, they said. “I wasn't going to say anything, because I thought it was just a team thing. I respected that you were looking out for yourself, but I though you wouldn't betray me. Your husband.”
Yeah, keep twisting the knife. “I wasn't betraying you—” Martyn tries.
“You weren't? You gave Ren a life instead of me.”
“Well, because—”
“Because what?” Mumbo looks so pissed at him and it just makes him want to curl in on himself like a kicked dog. “You better give me a really good reason, Martyn.”
He searches the cracks in the cobblestone for an excuse to leave, and groans when he finds none. “Ren has a good chance at winning, and I still feel like I owe him! And I'm stupid without him telling me what to do. Like I'm lost.”
Mumbo stares at him quietly for a few seconds. “Lost,” He repeats, barely any readable tone in his voice. “Do I make you feel lost?”
“You know that's not what I meant—” Mumbo just raises his hand and it makes Martyn stop speaking.
“Why are you still here if you want to be on a team with Ren?”
“You're here,” Martyn answers like it's obvious. Of course, tactically, being with the Shadow Alliance gives him a better chance of actually winning, but he'd never want to stay with them permanently if Mumbo were still here in the South. “I'd never choose Ren over you.”
“You did, though. You gave him a life over me.” He— He did do that, but—
“It's not like that! If I'm gonna give one of my lives to someone else—” Martyn realizes he can't go back on what he was about to say now. “I want... it to go to good use.”
...He's fucked up hasn't he?
Mumbo's face twists sourly. “And I'm not good use.” He agrees, doesn't even have the decency to phrase it like a question, as if he ever thought Martyn thought any higher of him.
Mumbo stands up, groaning as his bones protest. Martyn stares up at his husband pathetically, as if big, wet puppy eyes will get him out of this. “I think I'm going to go to bed now,” Martyn shifts, as if to get up. “Don't follow me.” Mumbo quickly adds, and Martyn sits back on the cobblestone.
He watches Mumbo walk to his bunker, close the door. Well... fine, if Mumbo doesn't want him right now, he knows someone who will.