Chapter 44

Ten hours later, soft lips brushed against her neck and shoulders, a strong hand caressing her stomach as Abigail's eyes slowly opened, her vision blurry at first. The last time she'd woken up after passing out had been in a bedroom at Dean's place. This wasn't Dean's place and she instantly recognized it as Mark's tower. Looking down at the heavily tattooed sleeved arm told her it WAS Mark she was with.

"Mmm, I wanna sleep…" His deep chuckle in her ear made her shift, his tongue tracing her ear. "You took everything out of me, Mark…" Her voice was soft and lethargic, nuzzling her face into the pillow, sighing in contentment.

"Almost everything." He agreed, chuckling, running his lips down the column of her throat, leaning over her. "You have to get up, Abigail… you've slept the day away."

In her defense, he had put her through her paces and then some. Pushing aside her raven locks, Taker surveyed the bite he had left on her, nodding his satisfaction. He had tended to it while she slept, making sure to prevent any uncomfortable stiffness or swelling. Marked was one thing he wanted, but never did Taker want to actually hurt her.

The mark was a purple and blue bruise marring her skin on the spot between her shoulder and neck. Abigail gingerly sat up in bed, groaning at how sore her body was, and didn't realize she was also marked in other areas of her body. Inner thighs and breasts, for instance, all areas that were easily covered up, thankfully.

"Okay – okay." She mumbled, softly kissing him, and felt him pull her to where she straddled his lap, caressing his scarred face.

Lifting her, Abigail clung to him, not expecting him to stand and let him guide her wherever he wanted her to go, which was the bathroom. Time for a hot shower that would hopefully loosen her stiff, sore body a little. So far, there was no animosity or anger from either of them, which was a good thing, but something told Abigail, if she brought up magic, they would be back to square one. Malcolm would help her, she wouldn't ask for Mark's help with this unless Malcolm wanted to be the one to bring it up.

He had been mulling the magic thing over in his mind, along with her defiance and lack of respect for anyone but herself. The way he saw it, he was going to have to work with his father, not her. He would never work with Abigail because he didn't trust her to do what was best based on experience, fact, and reason. She went by instinct and her assumptions, something he simply couldn't do. However, in the tower, when it was just them, it was just them. Magic, and all the rest had to stay outside that door.

"Shit, my stuff is still at…" Abigail blinked when her bag floated into the bathroom to land in her lap, while she sat on the sink to wait for the water to warm up in the shower. "Thanks." She unzipped her bag, pulled out what she needed, and set the bag aside on the floor, trying to fully wake up. So many different emotions flowed through her at once, it was a little overwhelming and she felt him lift her chin to meet his eyes, accepting another soft kiss from him. "We need to talk." Another kiss. "Mark, we really need to…" Another kiss, this time more fervent and breathtaking. "S-Stop, damn it!" He wasn't listening to her and Abigail felt powerless, pressing her hands against his chest to grip the material of his shirt tightly in her fists.

"If it's about magic, or what happened, or any of your little plans, Abbie, I don't want to hear it right now." He said quietly and firmly. "I will speak with Malcolm later about Wyatt, but not with you." They had said way too many hurtful things last night and she had made her opinion of him quite clear. If he had to hear it again, he'd probably show her a real dictator and execute her with his bare hands.

Better that than the hurtful poison that she had spewed.

"No, we ARE going to talk about it! I don't want you to…do something you're obviously against. That's not what I was trying to do. You hate magic, for some reason, which I still don't understand. You use it for CERTAIN reasons, but claim you're against it and that confuses the hell out of me. Don't do the Mythril shit, if that's what you want. I give up." Abigail hopped off the sink, hissing out, and snatched her bag, limping into the bedroom. "I'll talk to Malcolm about it, but not you." She mocked scathingly, shoving into a pair of panties and shorts, feeling as though she wanted to rip her hair out. "Do what YOU feel is best since it's not magic! Even though Bray is invincible right now, can't be killed, can't even be SCRATCHED, but go ahead with your non-magic beliefs, Mark!" Slipping her bra and tank top on, Abigail hissed out again when another shot of pain zipped through her lower extremities, knowing it was from the intense sex they'd had. "Son of a bitch!"

Obviously, Abigail had mental issues. Last night she had called him a dictator, comparing him to Bray Wyatt. Today, he was trying to compromise with her on some level, but he couldn't actually work with her because he wanted peace between them, which wouldn't happen if they had a working relationship. Yet here she was again, raging as if someone had pulled her strings and made every little thing a personal slight.

"Just tell me what you want, Abigail. Because I'm not a mind reader. One second you're raging at me for not doing what you want, and the next you're raging because I am. So pick a side and stick with it." She was draining him.

"I want Bray gone. I want the DOV destroyed. And I want to be with YOU, stubbornness and all, you ass!" Abigail admitted, feeling exhausted all over again and rubbed her temples, tears filling her eyes. "I was just trying to do the right thing. I thought by rescuing Malcolm, it would weaken the DOV, which it did. Taking his only source of magic from him will damn near cripple him, but I had no idea about that stupid spell he forced Malcolm to put on him. He never told me that, and it caught me off-guard. I also thought…using the magical properties of the Mythril would help Wonderful instead of you having to go out on those dangerous journeys to hospitals for medicine. I know what magic has done to this world, but it also has its benefits and you don't agree with that. You hate magic, even though you use it, you claim to hate it. I asked you to save Malcolm and you denied me, you said it wasn't worth it because you wanted to take the DOV out if you went. And I didn't agree with you. I didn't press you on the issue either, and found another way to save him, but yet I somehow defied you?" Wiping tears away from her eyes, Abigail clenched her fists tightly in her lap. "If you would've gone to the DOV, you would've been killed, Mark. Do you realize that? And then what? Wonderful would've died along with you – that's how important you are to everyone here, even ones that don't like you. I was just trying to help…and I fucked it all up and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, or defy you, or disrespect you by saving him…"

"As for my hatred of magic, I've seen it used for good, bad, and in between. Using it to disguise myself here in the city, vanity, and an abuse. These scars… they were a lot worse, and even now they should be terrible. But Glen's magic has… changed me." He had felt it when he removed it and he could feel it now. "But there will always be people like Bray Wyatt who abuse it, and the power with it, but there are so few people like you, willing to stand up to him at whatever cost." She was a rare gem in a harsh world of cold realism.

"You shouldn't disguise yourself because those scars are part of who you are. They show you've been through hell and came out the other side." Abigail stood up and walked up to him, reaching up to touch the side of his face right over the scars, her eyes not showing a hint of repulse. "Not that I don't enjoy some of your disguises…"

What did Stephanie call the one with the black beard again? Lord of Darkness? Yes, she did enjoy that look immensely and leaned up to kiss him, pressing her body against his.

"And I'm only standing up to him because of you...because you're helping me do it. I should've listened to you instead of jumping the gun and going off on my own with Dean. And…I'm sorry for what I said to you last night. I don't think you're a dictator and I don't think you're like Bray at all. You've treated me like gold since I came here, even AFTER you found out who I really was, and…I didn't take that into consideration. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing, and I still don't regret saving Malcolm, but…I could've gone about it another way instead of being sneaky."

Dean had helped her with that and encouraged some of her nastier thoughts. She hadn't said anything Ambrose hadn't thrown in his face before. Eventually, he was going to beat Ambrose down like the little punk bitch that he was.

"I'm sorry too, darlin'." He pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her, and began chuckling when both their stomachs rumbled. "Dinner?" Hopefully, the common house was still open, or else he'd have to find them something else to eat.

She smiled at him, nodding, and could feel the tension leaving both of their bodies, rubbing her nose gently against his. "Why don't you go get us some food while I take a shower? I really – REALLY need one after what we did this morning." Blushing at his chuckle, she smacked his chest playfully and moaned as he captured her mouth in another heart-stopping kiss. "Or I can meet you…down there, after I clean up?"

When he agreed to that, Abigail pecked his mouth again and gingerly stood up from his lap to head back into the bathroom, grabbing her bag on the way. Within a few minutes, she was under the sprays and let the hot water soothe away the aches in her body. Though, she couldn't stop smiling and hoped there were no more arguments with Mark.


"Oh look who finally decided to grace us with his presence…"

Stephanie laughed when Taker strolled into the relatively quiet common house. They had cleared dinner a while ago, though there was plenty of leftovers. She was overseeing, feeling a lot better now that she had her blood pressure in check. Not that she was working, no. She was sitting in a chair with her feet propped in her man's lap.

"That big flash, that was you, wasn't it?"

Taker just nodded, heading straight for the kitchen to start making plates. Malcolm and Susan should be around here somewhere, he figured.

"Mark, hi!" Susan beamed brightly, bouncing up to him with a grin, and did a twirl, pointing at her hair. "Do you like it? Amy dyed it for me…" She now had lime green streaks throughout her red auburn hair.

"Dear lord, what was that woman thinking?!" Malcolm exclaimed, his eyes wide and groaned when she jutted her lower lip out in a pout. "It's beautiful, sweetheart. You look beautiful, no matter what, you know that." She reminded him so much of his precious Lily, and it made something twinge painfully in his chest. His blue eyes finally landed on the man known as the Undertaker and Malcolm cracked a hesitant smile, clearing his throat. "It's been… a long time, Mark."

"Whoa, back up homie, you know each other?" John blinked, not expecting that, and groaned when Stephanie smacked him upside the head.

"Shut up and keep rubbing, Cena."

Malcolm chuckled, nodding at the younger man with the crew cut. "Of course we do, boy. He's my son."

"And my Uncle," Susan added proudly with a heart-stopping smile that mirrored her late mother's.

Now John was gaping, looking between Taker and Malcolm, immediately noticing the family resemblance. "Holy shit!"

Did everyone honestly think his birth name was Undertaker? That was just grim as hell and Taker couldn't believe people actually thought that was his real name. Even for them. Sitting down, he placed the trays out, eyes on Malcolm. He wasn't entirely sure what to say to the guy.

"You got old." He commented after a moment, snorting when he got a look.

Taker didn't remember an old man. He remembered a guy in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, panicking his ass off and reassuring two boys he'd be back as soon as possible. He remembered Lily crying as she was carried out of the house. Closing his eyes, Taker wished he couldn't remember his dead family.

Stephanie nudged John with her foot when he opened his mouth again, shaking her head.

There was no fixing what he'd done, the choice he'd made by taking Lily away instead of all three of his children. Mark had been 10, Glen 8 and he knew boys like his would survive, unlike Lily, not without protection. Malcolm had wanted to go back for his boys, but that hadn't happened due to him hiding out as long as he did with Lily. At age 16, she was found by the DOV, and along with her, Malcolm had been taken and used for his magic while she was forced to pop out three babies, all girls, before being executed. Bray had forced him to watch the execution, which was public, and Malcolm had never cried so hard in his life, trying to beg the bastard not to kill his only daughter. He was shut down, his hand burned, just like it'd been whenever he dared to defy Bray Wyatt.

"You got tall." Malcolm remarked with a smirk, sitting down at the table, and noticed the two trays. Abigail would be joining them soon, he surmised.

"Uncle Mark, where's Abigail? I haven't seen her, and I miss her." Susan was childlike, due to only being a little over one year old, age-wise. "She's not…mad at me, is she? Or at Papa? Or is she in trouble for…bringing Papa here?" Her eyes lowered, chewing her bottom lip nervously.

Apparently, having Malcolm around had brought Susan out of her shell and she was even now calling him Uncle Mark in public. Lord, his reputation was about to go to hell. "She'll be along, Lil darlin'." He reassured her, a bit curious why a grown woman was acting like a kid and then Stephanie gave him a look, as if reading his mind.

It took him several moments to realize that Susan was only a year old. Physically, she looked older, and obviously, her brain had developed at abnormal speeds, but not enough. That brought along a whole new host of issues.

"Malcolm, the soldiers Wyatt bred… are they… like Susie?"

It still didn't feel right, calling him 'Dad'. Was that what they were fighting? Children in adult bodies? His stomach was curdling.