Chapter Text
Marvin was tired.
He was always tired- he was born tired. But this was a different tired. The tired of a man who’s out of luck. But it wasn't his fault! It couldn't have been- not when it was Trina's idea for him to work here in the first place! So, the situations this: Marvin Games had it all. He was a well-meaning lighting and sound technician for a well-respected news program with a well-paid high-school dance-teacher for a wife. He kept to himself, did his job and went home to Trina and their son at the end of it all.
Until Trina's meltdown
Jason had gone to bed for the night, tucked away in the safety of his warm, calm bedroom. Marvin was sat on the sofa with a newspaper swinging lazily from one hand and a Dr Pepper can gripped firmly by the other, resting on the edge of his bottom lip as he eagerly watched the most entertaining and stupid thing he could find on the glowing box before him. This is how all nights had gone- as they should have always gone. It was perfect, peaceful and quiet- Until Trina burst in in a flood of tears. Until Trina collapsed like a ragdoll onto Marvin's unguarded form. Until Trina told him that work was too stressful for her to go on alone. Until Marvin told Trina that he wouldn't let her go on alone. See? It wasn't his fault! It was hers.
She was the reason he was stuck in this godforsaken school. The “New Lighting Guy” as the kids called him. It was annoying. Disrespectful. Demeaning- Though he did suppose it was better than being known as sharing a last name with Trina after the… the accident.
It was an accident. Marvin never meant for any of this to happen, let alone spiral this far out of his control. It wasn't his fault! It was hers…
And his.
He didn't even want to meet Whizzer. He was told to fetch some files from a “Mr Brown” in B008 -his classroom- a music classroom. Marvin had always hated music. He couldn't stand it. From the irritating screech of a violin to the violent racket of a drum kit. He found it pointless as a child and annoying as an adult. He hated music. So while he did expect this Mr Brown guy to be a self absorbed arrogant prick he never expected him to be so hot… charming. Their first conversation was brief yet impactful- especially to Marvin...
So they talked once
Then twice
Then for a whole week
Then a month
Then three months
Then nine
And at some point throughout it all the “talking” got a lot more physical- But that was not Marvin's fault either. It wasn't his fault Whizzer made him think the unthinkable or do the undoable. It wasn't his fault Whizzer tricked him into all of this- manipulated him into it. Yes, that was what happened- Whizzer had manipulated him into it.
...And it wasn't Marvin's fault when the students (who are way too nosey for their own good) found out. Or when the other teachers did. Or when Jason did. Or when Trina did. Afterall- how could it be if he wasn't the one to tell them?
See? None of it was Marvin's fault!
And that is what he was desperately trying to convey to the bewildered man at the desk before him.
“...Wow.” Mendel said when he finally paused for a breath.
“Wow?”
…
“Wow.”
Marvin dropped his head into his hands, sighing loudly- both in frustration and for dramatic effect. The history teacher he’d been rambling at was sipping at a mug of coffee with wide eyes and his legs stretched out and crossed atop his desk at the front of the classroom. He hadn't expected to get much insightful commentary from a history teacher, he always preferred geography, but he expected more than just “Wow.” Given this fact, he glared expectantly at Mendel over the tips of his fingers.
“Well, I mean it’s quite the story you've curated, huh?” The (somehow even) shorter man replied with an awkward chuckle and confused smile. “ And- uh… why are you telling me this exactly?”
Marvin sighed louder. “Listen, apparently my son told you that me and my wife had issues, and apparently you told him that you had a psychiatry degree and could help his mom out.” He watched as Mendel's face slowly dropped in realization. “But Jason decided I need more help than her- so after months of pestering combined with the events that I just listed…” He leaned back on his chair and did the world's most unenthusiastic jazz hands “... Here I am.”
“...Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
The history teachers face was as white as a sheet and held a guilty expression.
“Then you must be Mrs Games’ Husband.”
Marvin looked deadpan at the lanyard hanging from his neck that stated “Marvin Games” before glaring back at Mendel and firmly nodding.
“So you and Mr Brown…?”
Another nod
“And Jason told you…”
A third nod
“... Shit”
“Yeah. Shit”
Mendel got up and started pacing, mumbling swears and excuses to himself, rubbing his face, fidgeting- basically being a world champion nervous wreck.
After about a minute of failing to run in circles away from the consequences of his actions he came to a sudden and determined halt.
“I'm not a psychiatrist.”
Marvin squinted at him with a half-amused half-bored look on his face. He opened his mouth to reply to the stupidly truthful comment but was stopped in his tracks as the frantic man continued to ramble.
“I didn't know you worked here and I didn't know Jason would say that- I mean he's a good kid! Good kids shouldn’t gossip! And about Mrs Games I promise I in no way lied about my credentials to take advantage of her she's just really attractive and talented and well put together and inspiring and i just thought it couldn't hurt and that maybe she would consider-”
“Mr Weisenbachfeld!”
When Marvin realized he'd finally snapped Mendel out of his manic trance he rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head, irritably kicking his legs around their mid-air position
“Of course you're not a psychiatrist- no shit. I knew you were lying to get to Trina, that's why i kept telling Jason I wouldn’t come to you.” He took a long, sharp breath. “But despite what you said, Jason personally claimed you were a good listener, and I thought it was best to at least try and find help before i tipped too far over the edge.”
There was a thick cloud of silence over them for a moment until-
“Have you talked?”
Marvin stared at him incredulously. “What?”
“You and Mr Brown I mean- well, and Mrs Games I suppose. And of course Jason…”
…
“I suppose not.”
Mendel practically gleamed at the technicians quiet response, all the while nodding expectantly for him to continue.
“I suppose I distanced myself from Trina the moment I met Whizzer. And Jason-” Marvin shuffled uncomfortably, tipping his seat forward again to lean on the desk. “I never really knew how to be a good father to him, I barely know the kid…”
“Well.” Mendel began, stepping closer to the desk Marvin was sat at and giving him a sympathetic smile. “I’ve only taught him for the past few months and I can say for sure that the kid has talent. Jason is an incredible writer and no doubt an amazing thinker overall- so you definitely did something right.”
An almost amused huff escaped Marvin's lip as the “psychiatrist” continued.
“...But I suppose I don't have much to say for Mrs Games.”
The disheveled man at the desk snarled. “Could you please stop calling her that?”
Mendel looked slightly smug at the response, but for the worn mans sanity he hid his pride.
“Ok then, Trina.” The history teacher dragged a chair to the opposite side of his companions desk and clumsily set himself down. “Now, I have a few… queries-” Marvin groaned loud enough for the next corridor to hear, yet Mendel continued. Now, I hate to pry, but people say she's very flexible-”
It was at this moment that the electronic buzzing of a phone interrupted the conversation.
The technician reached for his device, finding the source of the interruption to be a request for his presence in an extremely formal setting. Marvin snorted.
“What a shame,” he announced dramatically with a sly grin as he stood from his seat. “Seems I am needed elsewhere.” He sauntered over to the door with flare and passion-
“Wait..!”
He turned to find Mendel half-stood, hovering above his chair with an arm reaching out to the other man.
“... What about your diagnosis?”
“Excuse you?”
The teacher wore a sheepish grin as he responded.
“If I’m your psychiatrist then I meant to figure out what your problem is!” He tapped a finger to his forehead, “And I think I may have already found the issue…”
Marvin's eyes tracked Mendel's movements cautiously. “... Humor me, Doc.”
The “doctors” grin widened into something borderline threatening as he replied-
“Giddy seizures.”
He continued before the technician could voice his confusion.
“Your prescriptions are; 1- Time, it can help heal any wound or sickness; 2- Communication, you need all sides of the story to tell it with pride; and 3-”
He paused and approached the now both tense and confused man at his door, lightly grasping at his wrist-
“Accountability”
…
“Goodbye, Mr Weisenbachfeld.”
“Good luck, Marvin.”
And he left.