Not like I do

Michael stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocused. He could hear the sounds around him, but they didn't seem to have any meaning. He was thinking, and at the same time, he wasn't. He was a blank slate, empty and black. Nothing written.

A loud bang snapped him back out of his not-thoughts, and he shook his head. His eyes focused on a frustrated looking middle aged woman, with neat brown hair and too-thin eyebrows, and he remembered he was supposed to be having a therapy session.

"Do I have your attention now?" His therapist, Doctor Kay Parker, asked. She picked up a large encyclopedia from off the floor beside her desk, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sorry," Michael mumbled, shifting around in his chair. "I just...I was thinking."

"Anything you'd like to share?" Kay asked.

Michael sighed, and leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. "I just...I just don't know how to handle it, you know? I mean I try, but he's so all over the place-"

"We're talking about Marcel?" She asked, making a small note on a pad of paper in front of her. Michael raised his eyebrows, giving her a look that blatantly said "duh," and she rolled her eyes. "Right, of course we are."

He nodded, and shook his head a little. "It's like, everything he does- the flirting with other guys, the mood swings, the panic attacks- it's all stuff I can handle, you know? It's just part of the package. Shit happened to him, and now he has to deal with it. And I wanna be there for him, and help him and stuff..." He put his head in his hands. "But what he's doing now..."

"What's he doing?"

"That's the thing, I don't know!" Michael cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "I don't have a fucking clue- it's like he's messing with me." He shut his eyes tightly. "No that's- that's not fair, I know he's not doing it on purpose- no, I don't know." He seethed, opening his eyes and feeling a familiar anger tighten his jaw.

"Michael-" Kay said, raising her thin eyebrows. "Breath."

Michael took a deep breath as instructed, and counted to three, calming himself down. "It's just, for the first time, I have no idea what's going on in his head. It's like he's shutting me out. He won't talk to me, he'll avoid me...but then at the end of the day, he'll still come and cuddle with me on the couch." He said miserably. "But then the next day, he's back to avoiding me and I just don't get it. I just don't."

Kay nodded, and made a few more notes on her pad before looking back up at him. "Have you tried talking to him about it? Asking him what's going on?"

"...No."

She nodded again. "Well, that's definitely the first step. Communication is extremely important in every relationship, and in one like yours and Marcel's, it's going to be key in staying together. If something's bothering you, let him know. Talk to him about it- and make sure he does the same in the reverse."

"But what if I ask him about it, and he won't tell me?" Michael worried. "What if he says he doesn't know what I'm talking about, or he doesn't want to talk about it- or what if-"

"Michael," His therapist cut in. "You can only deal with the things that do happen, not the things that might happen."

Michael nodded slowly, chewing on his lip. He hated worrying like this, second guessing himself all the time, feeling self-conscious. He wrung his hands together. "I just want things to be ok between us again."

Marcel lay on his floor, with his legs up on the bed, staring at his ceiling and flipping back and forth between thinking about his Dad, and worrying about Ace and the rest of them. Wondering about the one who was still out there.

There was a knock at his door, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Marcel?" Michael's voice asked, coming through the door. "Marcel, I know you're in there. I need to talk to you."

Marcel squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He'd been dreading this, but he'd known it was coming.

Slowly, Marcel got to his feet and opened the door. Michael looked somber, and he walked in without a word.

Hugging his arms tightly around himself, Marcel sat down on his bed and looked up at his boyfriend, waiting for him to speak.

Michael kept his hands firmly shoved into his pockets, seemingly struggling with what he wanted to say. After a moment, he let out a long sigh, and looked at Marcel with tired eyes. "Marcel, what's going on?" He asked.

Marcel lowered his eyes. "I don't know what you mean..."

"Oh, bullshit!" Michael cried, swinging his arm out and knocking a book off of Marcel's bedside table. "Shit, sorry," He mumbled, bending down immediately and picking it up. He turned back to him, upset. "You can't do this to me, Marcel. You can't just avoid me all day, and then try to cuddle on the couch like everything's fine. I'm not just this thing that's there for your convenience- I'm a person, right?" He said, crossing and uncrossing his arms nervously.

Marcel drew his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm sorry..." He said quietly, eyes still downcast.

Michael sighed again, and sat down on the bed. "Well, I mean I forgive you." He said, as though it were obvious. "But just- just tell me what's going on? Please?"

Marcel continued to look at his knees, and he felt Michael place a hand on his shoulder. "Please?" He repeated, his voice softer.

Marcel looked away, wishing he couldn't feel Michael's unflinching stare. "It's nothing. I'm sorry if I haven't been spending as much time with you..."

Michael made a pained noise, and put his head in his hands. Marcel risked a glance at him, and his throat closed up. He looked so miserable...Marcel hated that. He hated that he was making him miserable. He'd never wanted to...

"Marcel, don't do this..." Michael said, his fingers clawing through his hair as he struggled to remain clam. He looked up suddenly, and Marcel found himself caught in Michael's gaze, looking dead into his blue eyes and unable to look away again. "Please I- I can't handle this," He begged. "Anything else- everything else, I can deal with it. I know you feel bad or guilty about the way you are, but you don't have to because I get it, I do-"

"No, you don't." Marcel said, his words sounding crueler than he'd intended. "There's no way you could understand."

"Right, exactly," Michael agreed. "That's what I understand...I understand that there's no way I could understand what you went through, so I'm not gonna hold it against you or judge you, see?"

Marcel shook his head. "You can't put up with it forever. You shouldn't have to..."

"The only thing I can't deal with is what your doing now." Michael said. "Everything else I accept, alright? It's who you are, it's what's happened to you, it's what you have to deal with. So I can deal with it, all of it, with you. Because I know that anything about what's happening that's hard for me, is 10 times harder for you. And I don't want that, I want things to be good for you. But this- shutting me out like this, not talking to me...this I cannot handle. Being treated like I'm nothing to you..." He put his hand back on his head. "I can't handle being nothing to you."

"You're not nothing." Marcel said, his eyes eyes wide. "How could you think that? Michael-" He took Michael's hand in his. "Michael Eisenberg you are the textbook definition of a something to me."

Michael stared at him, his blue eyes round and vulnerable. "Then tell me what's been going on. Tell me what I did. Please."

Marcel took his hand away, and breathed out through his nose. He knew he needed to tell him, knew that he hadn't been fair to him at all over the last few days. He wanted to tell him too, he did. He could see what he'd been doing was killing Michael, and that was the last thing he wanted. Still, it didn't mean it was easy.

Marcel closed his eyes, and forced himself to speak. "I- the last...the last people who told me they loved me," Marcel sighed, and opened his eyes, looking miserably into Michael's. "You don't know what they did to me." He whispered. "I don't even know what they did to me I just...I know it hurt." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting back against tears. "It hurt so much and I can't do it again," He said, shaking his head. "I can't."

"Marcel, listen to me," Michael said. He lifted his hand up and cupped Marcel's chin. "Those people didn't love you. Not like I do."

Marcel squared his shoulders against the sting of Michael's comment. "You weren't there. You don't know that-"

"Yeah, I do."

"How?"

"Because I would have died before I hurt you like that." Michael said, reaching down and gripping Marcel's hands in his. "And I would die if anyone ever hurt you like that again. I may not know a hell of a lot about love, but I know that when you love someone you don't do what those guys did to you. And I know that I love you, and I wanna be with you, no matter what."

Marcel blinked, trying to focus his eyes through the tears. "I'm sorry," He said, his voice thick and sticking in his throat. Without even thinking about it he moved into Michael's arms and lay down against his chest. Michael put his arms around and held him tight, and he cried harder. He'd hated avoiding him, hating being scared to see him. "I w-was just scared, I didn't know what to do..."

Michael kissed him on the top of his head, and gave him a tight squeeze. "Already forgiven, remember?" He said. Marcel gave a relieved sob, and pressed his face tightly against Michael's shoulder. "I'm sorry too though," Michael said. "I should have found a better way to tell you, I should have known it would be hard to hear...I should have waited."

Marcel shook his head. "I doubt it would have made a difference," He said. "The problem's me, not you."

"The problem was both of us, 'cause we weren't communicating." Michael said. "Communication is the most important thing for a healthy relationship."

Marcel snorted. "You sound like ."

Michael brushed a finger along Marcel's cheek, and he looked up and saw Michael was grinning at him. "Dr. Kay, actually. But close." He leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. Marcel closed his eyes, trying to wish away the last few days and all his fears. He'd been so stupid, so stupid. He hoped that no matter what happened in the future, he would never be that stupid again.

Marcel broke the kiss, and edged his tongue out along his bottom lip, biting down on it lightly. "I missed you," He said, looking up into Michael's safe navy eyes. He'd missed those eyes, their light and their warmth.

Michael smiled at him, the kind of smile that made his stomach drop to his knees and his heart do a drum beat in his chest. "I missed you too, Mars." He said quietly.

Marcel felt his cheeks heat up. "The only one who ever calls me that is my Dad," He said, looking up at him through his lashes.

"Sorry, I kinda thought it was cute..."

Marcel smiled. "I mean...you can call me that, if you want." He whispered. "I always liked that a lot better than 'Marcey.'" Michael raised an eyebrow. "That was what my friends called me...and it's what they called me, too." Marcel looked down. "I've always hated that nickname."

Michael nodded, and they lay together quietly for a moment. Marcel felt tired, and as usual lying in Michael's arms made sleep seem all the more enticing, but he fought against it. They'd spent such little time together over the past few days, he didn't want to waste any more by sleeping. "My Dad...he told me that my friends might come visit me soon." Marcel said.

"Yeah?" Michael asked, looking down at him.. "That good or bad?"

Marcel gave a one shouldered shrug. "I dunno...good, I guess. I think I miss them...but I'm not sure what to do...I mean, I'm not sure how they'd react-"

"To finding out they have no idea who you are?" Michael finished.

"Exactly," Marcel said. "But...But I do want to tell them."

Michael nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

Marcel felt his eyebrows knit together. "But what if they don't like me?" He worried. "What if they think I'm a weirdo, or they get pissed because I lied to them and they don't wanna be my friend anymore? What if-"

"Mars," Michael said gently. "You can only deal with the stuff that does happen, not the stuff that might happen."

Marcel shut his eyes. How could he respond to that? He practically spent all his time thinking about what might happen; dreading it, and at the same time...praying for it.

"Michael..." He said, a quiet tremor in his voice.

Michael tightened his arms around him, holding him close and tight. "Yeah?"

"I'm scared." Marcel whispered. He wasn't thinking about his friends anymore. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking about.

"You don't have to be." Michael murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips close to his ear as he spoke. "I'm right here, and I'll never let anything hurt you again. I promise."

Marcel kept his eyes closed, and allowed his head to rest against Michael's chest. He tried to tell himself he was safe, and it was alright to drift off to sleep now...but the dark knot in his chest held him awake. The dark knot that twisted itself inside him, filling him with the overwhelming notion that Michael wouldn't be able to keep that promise.

A/N: I've sort of got the idea to do a few stories about the "Recovery OC's," about what their lives would have been like if they hadn't had to deal with their mental illness, or trauma. As usual, most of my ideas are for Marcel- what would have happened if he'd never gotten kidnapped. Same for Michael, if he'd never had IED, never gone to the bin.

I've also got a vague for Paige and George, because I also love them.