Welcome to my new oneshot series! This series will be made up of one-shots about Rust x Marty from True Detective. I've never written them before, so I'm starting off with a short one to ease myself in. Each chapter will be linked, but not to the point where you have to read them in order.
This is from a prompt I recieved on Tumblr, requesting Marty fixing the flowerbeds. Enjoy!
"I can't believe you still ain't fixed that brake light," Marty called over to Rust as he watched the man step out of the truck he'd reversed into the drive.
"You broke it," was Rust's response, as it had been every time Marty had asked over the past 22 years. "Your responsi- what're you doin'?"
Marty looked up to see Rust stood over him, hands propped on his hips.
"What's it look like, Rust?" Marty retorted and set the trowel down. "Front yard looks like shit. I'm fixin' it up a bit."
They'd lived in that tiny house for a little over three years now, their cohabitation being a silent decision between them. They hadn't quite put a lable on the nature of their relationship, mainly because Marty was far too stubborn to admit that he had feelings towards the colleague he'd once detested so much.
Rust had been the first to admit it, in one of his stupid cryptic ways which took Marty three whole days to figure out. When the penny had finally dropped, he'd responded with a grunt which had apparently sealed it for them.
It had been a further year before Marty had given in and kissed him, completely out of the blue as they sat on the couch drinking beer one Saturday night. Rust had looked at him strangely before making some comments about how it was lucky they didn't work together anymore, as relationships with colleagues were a sackable offence. Marty had just silenced him with another more forceful kiss.
The beers they'd been drinking were forgotten about that night.
"We've lived here three years, Marty," Rust couldn't help but roll his eyes. "This place has looked like shit for every single day of that."
"Well if you got a proper job instead of gettin' involved in dead cases, we could afford to move," Marty argued for the umpteenth time in their relationship.
"I prefer it that way," Rust said in response, and Marty wasn't going to argue with that. Yes, he was the sole breadwinner in their household, but he was too much of a giver to care. He had enough for Rust and he had enough for his kids. Anything else would just be an added bonus.
"And what if one day ya get involved in somethin' that gets ya hurt again?" Marty questioned with a raised eyebrow, the images of Carcosa flashing in his mind. "I'd rather ya stayed at home drinkin' beer all damn day than risk yer damn life."
"Didn't have ya down as someone who cared so much," Rust teased just to piss him off, turning and walking in the direction of the house.
When he reached the porch, he turned back to Marty.
"Plant somethin' else. Fuckin' hate marigolds."