Chapter Text
Steven was bent over an open guidebook, though the pages kept trying to lift from his fingers as if even paper wanted to escape into the ocean breeze. His sunglasses sat crooked on his nose, sometimes he looked to his right. Ilsa sat beside him, her knees drawn up and her feet buried in the sand, eyes fixed on the sea beyond stretched out in a horizon that never ended. Steven tried not to watch her too closely. It wasn’t easy.
“You know,” Ilsa said, tipping her head toward him, “you haven’t looked at the water once. You’ve flown across the Atlantic for a beach holiday, Steven, and you’re reading.”
He blinked up, startled like a schoolboy caught daydreaming, then grinned sheepishly. “Right, yes, point taken. Just thought I’d learn a bit about the reef before we dive in, yeah? Did you know there are over seven hundred islands in the Bahamas? That’s… well, a lot of sand to get lost in.”
Ilsa laughed, a low, melodic sound that the wind carried off before it could linger. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Knowledge is comforting,” he admitted, closing the book and setting it carefully between them. But then, without meaning to, his gaze lingered on her. Ilsa caught him staring. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Then, with a softer tone in his voice, “just… I’m glad you’re here.” Her expression softened, a rare crack in her usual poise. “I’m glad you’re here too, Steven.”
She rested her hand on his knee. Steven looked down and thought of Marc. His other half, his darker half. The man she loved. The man who would never hesitate to reach for her hand or would have kissed her cheek, claimed a space that Steven knew wasn’t his. Marc was hers. She was Marc’s. That line was carved deep, and Steven would never, could never cross it.
Steven let the silence stretch, listening to the hiss of waves swallowing the shore. He thought about Marc, his other half, his darker half. The man she loved. The man who would have reached for her hand without hesitation, who would have kissed her cheek, claimed a space that Steven knew wasn’t his.
He could never cross that line. He wouldn’t. But it hurt, sometimes, to know just how close he stood to something he’d never touch.
Still, there was a strange comfort in it. Being her friend, her best friend, meant everything. It meant she trusted him. It meant he had a place in her life that wasn’t defined by longing, but by loyalty. Steven knew Ilsa’s past and how she had trouble in belonging. She’d tell him about her time at the IMF. How she’d befriended a fellow Brit like them and how dangerous the missions were she put her life at risk for.
“Ilsa?” he said quietly. She hummed, eyes still on the water. She always responded in the most sincere way, Steven didn’t know how she kept this strength after all those years. “Thanks. For… seeing me. Just me.” Ilsa turned, catching his gaze.
There was a warmth between them, the kind that had nothing to do with the tropical sun. It was easy, unshakable. Best friends. That’s all and yet it was enough to feel like more. “You silly old bird, of course.” She laughed at his response. “That’s what friends do and besides… I’m kind of stuck with you.” She laughed.
Steven joined in her laughter, awkwardly. “So, you and Marc? Is everything alright?” He asked. She looked at him. “Everything’s great.” She nodded slightly unsecure, Steven noticed. “But-”
“But,” Ilsa swallowed a lump in her throat. “Last night, during dinner, he um- he asked me.”
Steven waited impatiently not getting the hint. “He asked you… what?”
Ilsa laughed softly at his ignorance. “My hand in marriage, Steven... He asked me to marry him.”
Steven blinked several times, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Blimey. That’s… that’s huge, innit? Marriage! Proper big deal.” He rubbed the back of his neck, searching her eyes for any sign of excitement, but all he found was that subtle hesitation again.
“It is a big deal. Bigger than anything I’ve ever been asked before. And yet,” she let the words trail, sipping her coffee as though it might give her the courage to finish.
“And yet what?” Steven pressed gently, leaning forward.
Her eyes met his, soft but guarded. “And yet, I’m not sure I’m ready to live a life of secrets… again. I’ve left my life of mi6 and the imf behind me and Marc is- he’s extraordinary, truly. Brave, relentless. But he carries shadows, Steven. And he got you and Jake. I don’t know what to do.” Steven, better than anyone, knew the strain Marc’s dual existence carried.
Before he could find words, a familiar voice stirred inside him, sharp and insistent. ‘You don’t need to get involved in this, Steven. This is between me and her.’
Steven stiffened. He looked down at the water that splashed against his feet, Marc’s reflection stared at him from below. ‘Well, maybe she needs someone to talk to, yeah? Someone who’s not you.’
‘Careful,’ Marc warned, his tone edged. ‘You’re not helping.’
Ilsa tilted her head, studying Steven’s expression as if she could see the tug-of-war happening behind his eyes. “He’s here, isn’t he?” she asked quietly. Steven hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. He splashed Marc’s way and the reflection was gone temporarily.
“So, marriage, yeah?” he said again, softer this time. “It’s… a bit like walking into the sea, innit? At first it’s gentle, nice, but the deeper you go, the harder it is to keep your balance or breathe.”
Ilsa gave him a look, half amusement, half disbelief. “Really? That’s your analogy for marriage?”
He shrugged bashfully. “Well, I’m not exactly the expert, am I?”
She crouched down, scooping water into her palms, then letting it escape through her fingers. For a moment, she saw her own reflection shimmer in the waves, oblivious of Marc’s. His eyes in the water followed her movements. He didn’t speak, not that she could hear him or see him, but he was there, watching over her.
“Steven,” she said softly, still staring at the water, indirectly to Marc. “Do you ever feel… that he’s asking too much of you? That he’ll ask too much of me?” Marc shook his head, hoping Steven would have caught his attention. Steven followed her gaze, and his breath caught when he saw Marc’s face ripple in the tide.
“Marc’s a lot,” Steven admitted, rubbing his arm. “He’s stubborn, moody, likes to think he’s carrying the world on his shoulders. But he… he’s not cruel. Never to you- or to me. Really he just looks out over everyone,” he rambled on and got off topic until Ilsa snapped him back into reality. “Oh, sorry where was I? He wants to love you right, he just doesn’t always know how.”
Ilsa smiled softly. She knew how much she meant to him, but considering her past, she was insecure for her future. Even when everything seemed alright. Marc’s heart pained to see her doubt out loud. She wasn't like this when she was with him, only with Steven. He had rarely seen her with Jake as he really didn’t check up with him and left him in peace.
“You still have time to think, right? It’s not like he is waiting for an answer right away?” Steven asked.
Ilsa nodded, though her heart fluttered at Steven’s question. She looked away, eyes tracing the dance of sunset light across the room. “I know,” she said. “I’m just scared, perhaps. Scared of saying yes and wondering if I’m ready, or saying no and regretting it.” Her fingers curled in her lap. “Marc… he’s worth the risk, Steven. It’s just that sometimes I worry I’ll mess it up.”
Steven reached out, placing a hand over hers. “You won’t,” he promised quietly. His voice was steady, full of certainty. “He loves you. He trusts you. And you deserve to feel safe—always, not just sometimes. Whatever you decide, Ilsa, I’ve got your back.”
Ilsa drew in a breath, letting it out slow and steady. The weight of past hurts, of doubts she’d carried alone, pressed on her—but feeling Steven’s presence, seeing Marc’s honest struggle to be better, she realized this could be different. She could be different.
“Sometimes I wonder how life would be without all the what-ifs.” she murmured.
Steven squeezed her hand. “Then don’t look at the what-ifs. Look at what is.”