Small thing I wrote after reading The Slab, meant to post it earlier and forgot. I may go back and edit / add at a later date. Contains spoilers. EDITED 11/02/13
It's been a shitty week and as a result he's drunk, very drunk. Sitting on a barstool he knocks back the liquor shot after shot, everything's fuzzy but at least it keeps out the world for a few precious hours. He tilts the bottle of moonshine in his hand, only four shots left he reckons, he might as well finish it off. Everyone else in the bar leaves him alone; no one wants to fuck with a Gear who looks like he carries the weight of the world on his massive shoulders. Everyone but the barman that is, who keeps staring at him, maybe he can't quite believe anyone could finish off a bottle alone – he can barely believe it himself. Maybe he recognizes him, shit he does recognize him, he can tell from that 'eureka' moment that's now plastered all over his face. He hates moments like this.
Pouring himself another glass the barman walks over to his spot at the counter "You know, I've never met a hero who drinks the way you do .You want another one?" He taps on the nearly empty bottle with a scrawny finger and smiles "On the house."
Marcus fixes him with his cold blue stare that stops the barman in his tracks "I'm not a hero" he mutters and knocks the shot back. He realizes he can't even taste it now, somewhere in the back of his mind he muses he probably won't be able to taste anything for a week- after the amount of poor-quality liquor he has drunk tonight. Slowly he pours more into his glass and spills some over the bar, his motor skills are way off and he's not looking forward to standing up. He wonders how much high end stuff his Dad has stashed back at the estate, maybe he could take a bottle next time he visits. Dom would appreciate it. Last time he went down to the cellar he must have counted nearly a hundred bottles of expensive crystal-bottled spirits that his Dad rarely touched.
The brass bell rings and the barman calls out last orders to the few remaining patrons.
How long has he been here?
As the last few drunks leave he knocks back the final shot. "Times up buddy, I gotta close" the barman takes the empty bottle and glass away and begins wiping the spilt liquor off the counter. As he stands he's surprised at his ability to be upright, but wobbles slightly as he puts on his jacket; he groans at the prospect of walking back to his quarters.
Once outside he leans on the doorway and spends longer than necessary trying to read the time on his watch- 02.47 it's late and he starts walking in no particular direction. He doesn't want more alcohol, or any food and he's too drunk to kill grubs – which is what he really wants to do.
No. What he really wants is her. He needs her.
He can visualize it; she's lying beneath him with her legs wrapped around his waist and tipping her head back in ecstasy, fisting his hair as he pleasures her. The image is so vivid he can practically feel her breathing against the skin on his neck.
He stumbles onwards towards her room, adamant to burn the sexual desire that is now warming his lower body.
The streets of Jacinto are eerily still and much to his relief he doesn't pass anyone he knows en route to the lieutenant's home. As he makes his way up to her 3rd floor apartment he holds onto the banister and walks as quietly as a drunken man of his size can. He taps on the door and waits, no answer. He knocks again louder than required, no answer. He's about to turn back when he hears movement.
"Who is it?" Anya's voice sounds from behind the door.
"Marcus" he says and after a fraction the door opens, she regards him wide eyed and speechless "I wanted to-see-you" he slurs.
"God, Marcus, how much have you had to drink?" she can smell the alcohol radiating off him from a few feet away. He slowly pushes past her and navigates his way into her room so he's standing by her couch. "I'll get you some water, or coffee – would you prefer coffee?"
"I'm drunk" he notes aloud forgetting her question "…water, please". He sits down on the edge of her settee as she heads for the connecting kitchen. Now that he's sitting still the room is starting to spin around him. He pulls off his jacket, struggling to free an arm from the sleeve.
"You ok?" Anya asks from the kitchen, he can hear the ghost of a smile on her lips as she speaks. She pokes her head around the doorway; she's never seen him this drunk and watching such a powerful man struggle with the easiest of tasks is amusing.
"I got-it" he pulls his arm free and tosses the jacket onto a chair.
Anya fills a glass with water, what was he expecting to do when he decided to come here, he can barely stand up let alone- perform? She smiles to herself, this is about the most chivalrous Marcus had ever got. "You want something to eat?" She waits for a response "…Marcus?"
When Anya returns with his water he's laying on his front, one arm stretched across the narrow width of the couch, his feet hanging off the end and he's in a deep sleep. She places the water down and watches him for a while. She's never seen him asleep- not properly asleep- she has seen nothing more than him doze sleepily in that 'after sex glow' they shared during their years together. Dom had told her once that since Carlos' death Marcus suffered from "pretty fucked-up nightmares" so that's why he never stayed, he told her she shouldn't worry about it; but she did.
She didn't doubt it, but he looked so peaceful when he slept.
She gently unties his boots and bandana and stacks them neatly with his jacket on the chair. She sighs, her shift starts in an hour and she needs to get ready.
After showering and dressing for work Anya places a pack of aspirin down on the chair with his things. She leans down and kisses his temple making him shift slightly, part of her doesn't want to leave him alone, this is the first time he has ever stayed the night. She wonders what the chances are of him staying when he's not intoxicated, or what would happen if she didn't go into work and lay down beside him until he woke up He'd probably be so embarrassed and disorientated when he woke up he wouldn't look you in the eye, or throw up on you! Her subconscious yells.
She finds a bucket in the kitchen and leaves it at the foot of the couch. She stokes her fingertips though his hair and exits silently back to control before taking one last peek at her sleeping giant.
A/N inspiration taken from the conversation Dom and Anya have on the bike whilst on the search for Maria. Where Anya recalls the only time Marcus ever stayed the night.
Thanks for reading and reviewing - Dv