We'll Share A Last Cigarette
By Cortexikid
Disclaimer: This is a fic about the fictionalised versions of characters within the film "Pride" as they are portrayed. Neither they nor the plot are in any way a reflection of or in connection to any of the real people the film is based on.
"How long have you known?"
"Mike—"
"How long?" his best friend cut across him, a steel edge to his tone that Mark had never heard before as he dragged a hand down his weary face.
Mark bit his lip, dark eyes glistening in the dim light of the lamp posts.
The street outside Gay's The Word was starting to quieten down after the boisterous energy that the successful Pride march (featuring a significant amount of Welsh miners as well as their LGSM group) had caused.
"A while…" Mark forced himself to murmur, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying and failing to catch his eye.
Mike let out a sudden laugh, yet it held none of his usual mirth, instead it was steeped with an intense hollowness as he struggled with shaking hands to light his cigarette.
As that awful sound rang in his ears, Mark felt compelled to make him understand, to explain, the words tumbling from his lips.
"You know me better than anyone, Mike. You know I'm no good. Not for anyone. Especially you…you deserve better. I couldn't—"
"So this is you puttin' me outta my misery then, eh? Takin' me out back and puttin' me down like Old Yeller? Like the spaniel I am?" Mike spat bitterly, bleary eyed and swaying dangerously, lit cigarette cradled in his fingers.
"Old Yeller was a mastador," the Irishman responded before he could stop himself.
There was a beat of silence where Mike finally raised his head to catch his eye.
The air was knocked from Mark's lungs at the look on his face. It was one of pain, anger, but worst of all…resignation. As if he never expected this to go any other way.
Knowing that he was the one that put it on that face, the same face that was usually so open, caring and gracious, even when Mark was being his most difficult…a sharp pain panged in his chest.
"You better get back in there. Everyone will be wonderin' where ye are…" Mike muttered, his voice tinged with dejection as he pushed against the wall, propelling himself forward, stumbling past him and down the street.
"Where are you goin'? Mike? Mike!" Mark yelled after him, his pulse racing his veins, his heart hammering against his rib cage.
A sinking sensation swooped in his stomach as he watched his best friend retreat into the darkness, flicking the cigarette away from him, it landing in the middle of the road, the embers struggling to remain aglow until finally they were extinguished, the last of the smoke rising into the night air…
A chorus of cheering and laughter from inside the shop erupted, startling Mark as he stared at it.
As if on autopilot, his legs carried him several feet towards it, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he bent down to pick it up, rolling it between his fingers, the ash falling onto his palm as a weight descended on him, seeping into his bones.
It was then, right there as he stood alone in the middle of the road, his best friend long gone from his sight, that it occurred to him. That was the first time in a long while that Mike hadn't shared his cigarette with him…
A/N: I wrote this in between writing my behemoth of a Marmike fic. Thinking of making a Marmike series and/or accepting prompts. Sorry for the angst. Also posted on ao3 and Tumblr under the username octoberobserver.