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Dim light from the hall cast shadows over every sharp edge and crevice of the room. Mark clung onto it like it was the very oxygen filling his lungs as his chest heaved and his heart thrummed in his ears.
He wasn’t sure what time it was. Or if time was anything more than a man-made concept that had no actual meaning. Or where he was. Or why he was here. Why he hadn’t died out there in space.
It should’ve been him in the coma, not Oliver. Not his baby brother.
He should’ve been here for Eve. He should’ve. But if he had, Thragg surely would’ve killed her and everyone else on Earth by then.
That’s not enough, something in his mind told him. Something clawing at the corners of his mind as it whirled viciously, the edges and crevices blurring around him.
Was this real? Was he real?
Mark wasn’t sure. Not anymore. Not since he woke up on that ship with the man he once called his father, and his baby brother unconscious and barely stable. Since then, Thragg had haunted his every moment, lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting for the right moment to pounce. He couldn’t exhale without his presence pressing in, reminding him that everything he loved—his home, his family, his people, his planet—were all at stake.
And he didn’t know what to do about it. There was nothing he could do, not in this state at least.
He’d never been such a mess in his life, not the way he was now. But the truth was that this had been building for a while, boiling beneath the surface quietly, getting louder and hotter and messier and more painful until he couldn’t keep shoving it down anymore.
And yet, when he did open up about things, then there came the thing he hated possibly the most: the looks. The sympathetic, pitiful smiles.
It meant they thought he wasn’t strong enough. That he couldn’t handle the war, that he couldn’t handle being thrown around a little. That he couldn’t resist his Viltrumite side. That one day he was going to become just like Thragg, and just like his father. And how much more would it take? How much more blood, how many more lives, before he snapped? Or maybe this was it and he was snapping now, slowly becoming the thing he feared most.
He didn’t know. Wasn’t sure of anything except the thumping of his heartbeat and the way his surroundings would focus and unfocus, as if his eyes were two little camera lenses that just couldn’t quite figure out what to focus on.
Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes, Mark groaned, his head pounding. Every inhale was sharp and painful, every exhale felt like the air was being punched out of him—the former reminding him of the first time his dad had punched him.
Which… wasn’t helping, Jesus. He needed… He wasn’t sure. Fuck.
Are you sure of anything? his mind hissed.
No, he wanted to say. Instead, he pulled himself to his feet, grabbing the edge of the bed to balance. He could hardly breathe, let alone stand. His fingers trembled as they gripped the nightstand, then the doorframe.
The light that was spilling down the hallway was coming from downstairs, and although dim, Mark followed it like it was his lifeline.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner, a glimpse of orange hair, fiery under the warm lighting, made his heartbeat slow down just a fraction.
“Eve,” he murmured, sounding way more pathetic than he would’ve liked.
At the sound of her name, she turned, eyes full of emotion he couldn’t really place at the moment.
“Mark,” she said, with a small smile tugging at her lips. It was brief, and then a concerned frown spread across her face instead. “Why are you up? Couldn’t sleep?”
Mark slumped against the counter, setting his head in his hands. “Dunno,” was the only answer he offered, unsure what else to say.
In an instant, she was at his side, a gentle hand rubbing at his back. It was nice. Gentle. Comforting.
It reminded him that she was real. That this was all real. Not Thragg, not the destruction that lay behind his eyelids. Not the blood he saw his hands soaked in.
Just this. Just Eve. Just the two of them, in his childhood home, the home he’d known all his life, and the smell of his girlfriend’s flowery shampoo.
His breath hitched as he studied Eve’s expression, searching her eyes for answers he hadn’t even spoken into the universe yet.
Something inside him gave, some small strand of resolve that had been holding on for dear life. His eyes filled with tears before he could stop it, his frame still trembling.
“Oh, Mark,” Eve whispered, pulling him into a hug.
“I’m so tired,” he choked out, tasting the salt of his own tears. “I- can’t keep doing this, Eve.”
It was such a small admission, but it felt huge nonetheless. He was so hesitant to open up about how he was doing—considering that before, Eve felt like she couldn’t tell him she was pregnant—but he couldn’t keep it in anymore.
Eve knew, in part. At least that he was seeing things, having these episodes where he couldn’t breathe, waking up screaming in the middle of the night. But he hadn’t told her why, or what he was seeing. Or that the image of her skull being crushed in by Thragg was ingrained beneath his eyelids.
A sob slipped from his lips before he could even think to stop it, then another, and another. And then he couldn’t stop, the torrent of fear and exhaustion spilling out right then and there in the dim kitchen light of the place he called home. In the arms of the only person who had ever seen each and every one of his fears and flaws and faced them head on. More than that, she understood what it was like. The lives that constantly slipped through their fingers. The weight they carried on their shoulders. The exhausting, soul-crushing weight.
He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into the crook of her neck, clinging onto her like if he let go she’d crumble to dust. He held on as if gravity had finally found him again, as if she was the one thing keeping him from being swept away by the overwhelming currents that insisted on crashing over him. Like letting go might send him drifting somewhere he’d never find his way back from.
Eve’s arms remained around him, unyielding; an anchor in the storm. Time warped as the hurricane raged on and on until it eventually began to burn itself out. Several more moments passed as the sobs subsided into shaky breaths. Sniffling, he pulled back, eyes watery and body still quivering.
Eve rubbed her thumb gently back and forth across the nape of Mark’s neck, her breathing calming and heartbeat steadying. “Mark, you know I’m here if you need to talk about it. But… I think you should call Cecil and ask about seeing someone. A professional. Someone who can help you with this.”
Finally catching his breath for a moment, he nodded weakly. “I know. Just… in the morning.” He let out a shaky exhale, scrubbing at his tear-streaked cheeks.
Placing a gentle kiss to Mark’s forehead, Eve took his hand, grasping it firmly as if to ensure he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
“You don’t have to be okay,” she told him quietly, her eyes studying his. “You’ve suffered so much. You didn’t deserve this. You haven’t deserved any of this, Mark. And yet you still face it head on every time.”
Shoulders hunched, Mark exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You make me sound so brave. I’m not brave at all. I’m not invincible. I was stupid for ever thinking that. Just a stupid kid who had no idea what he was getting into. And now everything is tailspinning out of control and I’m just… spiraling right along with it.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a huff of disbelief.
“Hey,” Eve said, her tone an odd mixture of soft concern and firm reassurance. “You’re doing your best with what you’ve got, okay? You’ve gone through more in nineteen years than most people do in several lifetimes. Give yourself some grace.”
Mark stared at her for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the very notion of giving himself grace. He didn’t deserve it. Not one bit.
A tilt of her head and a raise of her eyebrow told him she knew what he was thinking. “Listen, we’ll revisit this in the morning. Or in a therapy session, or something. But you have to start believing that you don’t deserve all this, Mark. All of humanity’s pain and suffering is not something you alone can carry,” she insisted, brushing her finger against his cheek. “At the very least, you have me.”
He let himself melt into another hug, exhaling softly. “Okay.” A small pause. “I love you, Eve. You know that?”
She pulled back from the embrace, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I’d be an idiot if I didn’t. Now,” she added, dipping her head in emphasis, “it’s time to get you back to bed. Do you need some chamomile tea?”
Mark managed a smile, threading his fingers with hers. “What would I do without you?”
Eve pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling up at him, eyes gleaming. “Crash and burn, baby. Crash and burn.”
Then she pulled him towards the stairs, and Mark let himself be dragged back upstairs, back to bed, where the shadows were waiting. But beside Eve, they didn’t seem so daunting anymore.
Even with the darkness awaiting him, her hand in his—and the quiet, stubborn promise that he wouldn’t face the shadows alone—was enough.
And for now, the looming presence in his mind finally, blessedly, fell silent.