Keyron Tein
"A match is a precious thing, Marcus."
Seven year old Marcus follows his mother's slightly wistful eyes to the couple holding hands in the next line. Marcus is very hungry and just wants the line to move faster so he can get his lunch and yet… He can't stop looking. He's not the only one staring. A lot of people are staring.
The couple doesn't seem to care though. They're lost in their own universe.
Matches are a rare thing on the Ark, which explains why people are so fascinated by it.
There is an old word for it, from before the Ark, when humans were still on theGround. Soulmates. Marcus likes the word better somehow. He loves stories. And he loves it when his mother includes Matches in them. The moment someone discovers their loved one's scars disappear when they kiss them is always a good one. He likes the idea that someone can heal the one they love most. He likes the idea that there is someone out there for everyone, it is just a matter of finding them. He likes the idea of a love so big it is meant to be. He wishes with all his heart his someone is somewhere on the Ark.
But then he grows up.
And he forgets.
He becomes pragmatic and hard because he has to be, because he wants to serve their people and their people need – deserve – leaders who won't let their judgment be clouded by sentiment.
Matches have been studied in the past but they have no practical use to everyday life. Making scars disappear is of no tactical advantage, it doesn't heal wounds and it doesn't cure sickness. It is believed to be only a genetic defect, a biological anomaly. There is no proof it is fate and he's not sure he believes in souls at all anymore so he is content to ignore the whole concept and to forget what he once found so fascinating about it. They are so rare anyway that it isn't such a hard thing to do.
It is only when they hit the Ground and he sees Octavia and Lincoln together for the first time that he remembers why he used to be so in awe. It's in the way they look at each other, in the way they move and talk, in the way they light up when they're around each other as if they can sense the other's presence even before they see them… It's the little things and the big things and the way there is no denying they are simply meant to be.
He discovers a lot in the months they spend on the Ground and despite the trials and the pain, he grows.
Grounders call it keyron tein. It means twin souls and is probably closer to the original idea of soulmates. The first time he calls it Matches in front of Indra, she frowns so hard he's almost afraid she will stay stuck that way. Keyron tein is something almost sacred in the Grounder culture and she finds offense to the clinical Match.
To be honest, Marcus starts getting offended too. The word is cold for something so beautiful.
He doesn't believe soulmates are the be all, break all. Love can be just as powerful when fate isn't that clear from the start.
He loves Abby.
He's known for a while but it is only when she presses a kiss on his cheek and talks of hope that he acknowledges it to himself. Because for the first time he hopes it isn't one sided.
Then he is sentenced to death and one of the things he can only think about sitting in that cell is that he is glad they're not Matched. He can't imagine the pain of losing something so precious. It will be hard for her but she will survive. He knows it deep down, it is a quiet certainty that gives him comfort.
At least, until she sobs that she can't do it again, because he reads the truth of that statement in her eyes and it kills him to see her like that. Because of him.
He knows she wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss her.
He can't. He is going to his death and he needs to stay strong, to look strong. He can't do that knowing what he is leaving behind. He can't march toward death with her taste on his lips. It can't be a one time thing. It will open doors and he can't bear to get only a peek of what could have been when he desperately wants to explore it.
He's not as surprised as he is supposed to be when the rescue comes and he is definitely not surprised she is part of it.
Kissing her as he flees, however…
He doesn't know why he does it. Maybe as a hope of better times to come. She's so firm when she promises they will meet again that he believes her. But then again, his faith in her is unwavering. He is more certain of Abby Griffin than he is of the sun rising up in the morning. He feels it in his chest, her, his love for her… He's in too deep but he can't bring himself to regret it.
Watching Lincoln die… Watching Octavia lose him…
Matches aren't so fascinating anymore. It's horrible. The pain… The hollowness in the girl's eyes…
There are no words he can offer and there is an unspoken blame hanging between them so he keeps quiet. He offers her a silent company as they stand watch shoulder to shoulder but he doesn't talk.
What can he say anyway? She just lost a part of herself and he, stupidly, feels like he has gained one instead.
The kiss haunts him.
Day and night, it haunts him.
The memory of it is vivid. Every detail is clear.
He's almost happy on the way to Polis with the Grounders and a tied up Pike. He knows they will probably kill the man – although he will try to negotiate for his life, he doesn't think it will work, it is too late for that now – and he knows nothing is settled but he is almost happy because he has good hopes of being allowed to go home after this is done. He misses Abby. Badly. It's like an ache in his chest.
Of course, Jaha has to put a wrench in the plan.
Torture isn't the worst thing.
The worst thing is pleading for Abby to come back and only meeting an empty gaze. There is a flicker of lucidity sometimes but it hardly ever lasts more than a second, it is gone in a flash and he fails to reach her.
They nail him to a cross and he gives up everything he is in exchange for her life.
He doesn't think he would have done it for anyone else.
But losing her? Forever?
That is the single most frightening prospect he has ever faced.
It's a couple of days before they head back to Arkadia once everything is done. Polis is in ruins and it takes Abby and the local healers hours to treat everyone's wounds, it takes him almost as long to help establish some sort of order in the city. It's a couple of days before Abby suggests he gives the word to pack up and leave.
It isn't until she says it that he realizes people have been calling him Chancellor.
So he gives the order.
Clarke and a few of the heavily wounded go ahead in the rover. Marcus leads the long procession that will take his people home, Abby stubbornly staying by his side every step of the way. It's slow going. People are hurt and disoriented even days after leaving the City of Light. After being cut off from memories and pain, getting everything back at once is almost overwhelming. So they walk slowly, they make regular stops for resting, and they don't particularly care because aside from natural predators there are no more enemies to be wary of.
Sometimes it feels to Marcus as if they will stay on the road forever.
Octavia is sullen and resentful about not being allowed to remain in Polis. Indra sent her with them and it is the only reason she is there at all. He tries to reach her. About Pike and Lincoln but she shuts him out. And the pain he can read in her eyes… He doesn't know how to help.
"Give her time." Abby advises quietly, almost hesitantly one night as he watches the girl staring at the surrounding wilderness, perched on a rock, her sword and the sharpening stone forgotten on her lap.
He nods and focuses back on getting their campfire ready.
He and Abby don't really talk about what happened. Neither the kiss nor the torture. They walk together, they lead together – he hasn't protested when someone has referred to her as Chancellor, it spread, and so it seems they are both Chancellors now, which is more than alright with him – they share a campfire and they sleep back to back for warmth as well as for comfort. She treats his wounds every night and every night she silently begs with her eyes for a forgiveness he is only too happy to grant.
On the fourth night, when she looks at him with that pleading glance, he brushes her tangled hair back and draws her in a hug. He realizes, too late, that she has been the one offering comfort ever since he woke up and that nobody has bothered to comfort her. He feels guilty about it, selfish for taking and not giving.
She shatters in his arms.
She's not the only one sobbing and falling apart that night – there are always people randomly bursting into tears or screaming in their sleep now – but she's the most important to him. She crawls on his lap and clings to him as if he's about to be ripped away from her. So he holds her, he pets her hair, he presses kisses on every patch of skin he can find, he whispers soft words in her ear and he swears they will be fine until she stops trembling. She's so exhausted when she has no more tears to cry that she falls asleep right there. He lies down, careful not to wake her up, and he doesn't quite mind the weight on his chest even if it hurts his bruised ribs.
For the first time, he doesn't have trouble falling asleep.
They're amongst the last to wake up the next morning, the camp is already alive and packing up when he stirs. They shifted during the night. She's not on his chest anymore but neatly tucked against his side, her head on his shoulder, her leg hooked around his and her arm casually thrown over his torso like they've been doing this every night of their lives.
He slowly rolls on his side, careful to keep his arm under her head so it doesn't end up on the rocky ground, trapping her leg between his.
"Abby." he whispers.
Her eyelashes flutter and he finds the sight riveting. She let out a long hum of protest and tries to burrow against him, seeking his warmth. The fire died down long ago and it isn't exactly summer anymore.
"We have to get up." he insists, amused despite himself.
"Do you have coffee?" she grumbles, keeping her eyes shut.
"No." he admits.
"Then, five more minutes." she counters.
"Abby." he sighs, a little too aware that, while they are at the edge of the campsite, they are still in open sight. He doesn't intend to hide whatever is going on between them but he has never been one to flaunt his private life for everyone to see. Rumors are flying as it is.
"Marcus." she rebukes, finally opening her eyes to glare at him.
It's so normal that for a second his breath catches in his throat. She's so close, it wouldn't take much to lean in and capture her mouth. Suddenly he wants to kiss her until her lips are bruised, their audience be damned. There is a spark in her eyes and he knows she knows just where his thoughts went.
He's too aware of their bodies pressed together all of a sudden. Her warmth, the thigh pressed against parts of him that are rapidly waking up too, how tiny she is, how perfectly they would fit if he were to…
Her gaze flicker to his mouth with a mix of longing and regret.
"We should get going." she says.
It's his turn to hum in protest but when she extricates herself from him, he doesn't stop her.
He feels a lot more anchored to reality that day though, as if he has finally woken up for good. And after they've set up camp that night, he doesn't resist the temptation of suggesting she helps him grab some more firewood for their fire when she comes back from visiting her patients. She glances at the perfectly good fire with the trigs piled up right beside it for later use and lifts a challenging eyebrow. Still, she follows him in the darkness of the woods.
He doesn't hold on for long before grabbing her around the waist and pinning her to a tree.
She kisses him before he can make the first move. It's raw and almost desperate and his hands are under her shirt before he can stop himself, one ends up splayed wide at the small of her back, and the other flat between her breasts. The kiss slows down by itself when he doesn't do anything else but feel her heartbeat thumping under his palm.
She's alive.
Her fingers are tangled in his hair and she guides his head until their foreheads are pressed together. They're both panting hard as if they just did something a lot less innocent than just kissing. Her shirt is riding high, the fabric stretched over his forearm almost to the point of tearing. The wind leaves goosebumps on her skin.
He knows it's not possible but he could swear their heartbeats are in synch.
"We'll be okay." she promises.
And he believes her.
Because as long as they are together, he doesn't fear anything.
It's the thought of losing her that…
She kisses him again.
Her lips barely brushes against his… Once… Twice… Her gaze seeks his… One of her hands leaves his hair to rest on the side of his neck… He answers her unspoken question by gently pressing his mouth against hers. It is a caress at first, tender like they never had time to share until now, then she tilts her head to the side in an invitation to deepen the kiss he is only too happy to accept. It is slow and it feels meaningful and he can almost taste the feelings they're both trying to pour in there.
The kiss turns into another and another until he feels her shiver too hard in the night breeze and he steps back, allowing her shirt to cover her properly once more, feeling bad for exposing her to cold like that. She tries to protest when he shrugs off his jacket and forces it around her shoulders but he won't hear of it. She does look glad about the extra layer of fabric so he doesn't mind if it's his turn to freeze.
They sleep curled up around each other that night.
The next day, they reach Arkadia.
If Clarke's and the others' worried looks are to be believed, they are a sad sight. The endless line of survivors trickles past the camp's gates under Marcus' watchful eyes. He loses track of time a little, answering questions, offering encouragements to the tired faces… Abby has disappeared with Clarke when the last person steps inside and he orders the Gates shut. His guards are just as exhausted as he feels and he is glad for Bellamy who seems to pop up out of nowhere with suggestions that everyone go straight to their quarters for some proper rest.
He assures Marcus he can mend the fence with Miller, Clarke and Harper while everyone else get the sleep they deserve.
Marcus nods his assent.
It is chaos in the yard for a little while. People trying to orient themselves, gathering in small groups not to have to face the loneliness of their own room… He wanders around at random for a while until he stumbles on what unmistakably has been used as funeral pyres. Octavia is staring at one of them with that same hollow look on her face she has been wearing since Lincoln died – and he stops himself from thinking about who the second was for because he can't quite process the number of friends they have lost yet.
He's afraid for her, not sure what happens to a Match after they lost their other half. Indra didn't seem to think it would be anything good.
He wants to tell Octavia he understands but how can he? The thought of losing Abby… It was worse than death. It was worse than anything. The hole it would leave in his life, the void… But Abby's soul isn't the twin of his. And he knows it's the first thing the girl will throw at his face. He doesn't feel like it makes a difference, Matches or not, because love is love and he can't imagine feeling anything more for anyone else.
When he thinks about it, what he feels is almost enough to terrorize him. Because it is big and bright and has no boundaries.
A hand slips in his and he stops staring at Octavia to look down at Abby. She's sporting a knowing look and he sighs. "Can you try talking to her?"
"She lost him and you're here." Abby winces. "I don't think I'm the one she wants to hear from right now."
"But you went through that once." He wouldn't normally argue because that particular subject is best left alone but it's Octavia and he can't bear to see her in pain. "You lost… Jake was… He was your Match, wasn't he?"
Matches aren't always vocal about their bond, some don't advocate it. He always assumed… Everyone more or less always assumed that the Griffins were Matched.
Pain flashes on her face for a second and then she shakes her head. "Matches are just genes mutations, you know. It's not…" Her voice trails off and he can tell she doesn't quite believe herself what she's saying. "It never mattered to us that we weren't Matched. We loved each other. We chose each other." Her eyes softens and she squeezes his hand. "And I don't mind that we're not Matched either but I'm starting to mind the filth."
She lifts her eyebrows and gives him a pointed look and his lips twitch with amusement.
"I could use a shower." he admits.
"A hot shower and a real bed." she sighs, rolling her left shoulder back and forth a few times. "I'm so tired my whole body hurts."
"Maybe you need a massage." he suggests. He tries to sound casual and he fails.
"Are you volunteering, Chancellor Kane?" she teases, stepping back and pulling on his hand to make sure he follows. He tosses a last glance at Octavia and Abby grows serious once more. "You have to give her space. She's not ready to listen right now."
She's right and he knows it but it's difficult to leave the kid to suffer on her own.
Still, he lets Abby drag him inside the station's wreckage and along the familiar corridors he has honestly thought at some points he wouldn't see again.
It's been more than a week since the fall down in Polis but he reads the same exhaustion he feels on the faces of the people they pass by. Days mediating the diplomatic fiasco and helping trying to restore some order in the city followed by days of walking have done nothing to help with the physical and mental exhaustion. He doesn't even realize they're still holding hands until they're standing right in the middle of his quarters and she lets go to close the door.
She heads for his bathroom and he automatically follows only to back away when he sees her grabbing the hem of her shirt.
"Sorry." he mumbled, awkwardly averting his eyes and taking two steps back.
"A lot of people are going to shower at the same time." she counters and it sounds factual, detached, but there's something underneath. "Do you really want to wait until I'm done and risk not getting to shower at all?"
He could ask why she isn't washing herself in her own quarters but he finds himself smiling instead. "Not showering would be bad."
"Very bad." she approves. She slips her shirt off without further ado and he licks his lips at the newly uncovered skin. There are stretch marks on her stomach that he immediately feels the compulsion to kiss and learn, his eyes retrace the curve of her hipbones, learn, and then wander up to the bra that used to be white but is now a pale faded yellow. She wrinkles her nose and awkwardly shuffles on her feet. "I'm going to burn those clothes."
"They're going to fall apart." he jokes, tugging on his own shirt with a disgusted face. He doesn't remember how long he has been wearing it but he thinks it is since the day he was sentenced to death. Too long in any case.
She's smiling when she comes closer and grabs a hold of the tattered fabric encrusted with sweat, blood and filth. He doesn't resist, simply lifts his arms and lets her undress him like a child because he is too tired to protest. Once his shirt has joined hers on the floor, he runs his palms on the small of her back and then up, holding her gaze all the while, before unclasping her bra.
She's tired too and she makes no move to push it down when it falls a bit down her shoulders so he slides it off for her and tosses it aside.
"You're beautiful." he murmurs, brushing his hand against one of her breasts. Be it the cool air or his touch, her nipples harden and he can't help but lick his lips. "Are you sure showering together is a good idea, Abby? Because…"
He's tired. But he's not sure he's that tired and he doesn't want to impose things on her that she doesn't want – although when has she ever let him do that?
"Shut up, Marcus." she orders with a hint of amusement.
"Yes, Ma'am." he chuckles, letting her cradle his left forearm in her hands. She's careful when she runs the tips of her fingers over the wounds. The stitches fell away that very morning and as far as he can tell, he's healing fine. She checks the other arm too and seems satisfied there is no danger in getting them wet because then her hands fly to her own belt.
There is nothing very romantic or sexy to the way they undress next. He bends down to untie his boots and sneaks hungry glances at her legs and everything else she uncovers with every new layer she takes off.
Finally getting under the streaming water is a relief. The cubicle is small though, not quite made for two people to share, but he's quite happy with her solution to that problem. For a while, they just hug and let the water roll over them and all is good in the world. He tries not to notice the water pooling around their feet is brown with dirt.
He's the first one to reach for the soap. It takes two coats before the water clears enough that they don't feel like they're covered in grime anymore. He's careful when he rubs the soap into her skin, mindful of the fading bruises, and she touches him with the same amount of caution because the contusions on his ribs are still dark and yellow.
The touches are both innocent and loaded, they're not purposeful, but feeling her hands on him… It unravels him in ways that are difficult to explain. They kiss when she rubs shampoo in his hair, half laughing because she's much better at doing that than he is – her hair is so tangled, it takes his comb and almost twenty minutes to sort it out but he doesn't mind, because once wet it looks darker and he is fascinated by every little detail of her body.
A voice at the back of his mind – the voice that belongs to the responsible Chancellor he is supposed to be – tells him they're wasting water and they should be more sensible with their stock. He can't quite care. Not when Abby's naked body is pressed against his and they're both so clean and warm. His arms wraps around her and she leans her weight against his chest.
He's half hard.
He's exhausted and he thinks if he drops on a bed he will sleep like the dead but there is no scenario in which being naked with Abby Griffin doesn't get him at least half hard. He's been happy to follow her lead and ignore it but the way she wriggles now is purposeful and he groans, letting his forehead fall against her shoulder. He's a bit short of breath but he manages a soft "Abby…".
She turns around in his arms and he kisses the fading rope marks on her neck, his hands roam on her back, brushing along her shoulder blades.
"I need you." she whispers and it sounds so desperate he doesn't even stop to think.
Suddenly they're kissing and the tender care they just showed each other flies right out the window. The kiss is hungry and for a second his mind flashes back to Polis and the way she threw herself at him. It's gone before he can linger on it. That wasn't Abby. This is Abby. And he's loving it.
He loves the way she bites down on his bottom lip – not to hurt but just enough that he will open his mouth – so her tongue can do the rest. He loves how her hands seem to instinctively know how to touch him and he hisses when her fingers close around him because it's almost too much. Pretending he hasn't been thinking about this for a while would be a lie. He's been picturing it, he's been fantasizing about it and he's been taking numerous cold showers with just that very idea in mind.
His brain freezes at some point. All he can do is react in a very primitive way to her touch. He groans and he nips at her flesh, sometimes licking the water that's still raining down on them from her skin. His own hand finds its way to her thighs. She tosses her head back when he reaches between her legs, which gives him room to close his lips around a nipple. He sucks and nibbles and she whimpers and he is ready to swear it is the hottest sound he has heard in his life.
In an ideal universe, they would take their time. It wouldn't be as frantic as it is now, as uncoordinated, but they've almost lost each other so many times in the last couple of weeks that he thinks slow and sweet can wait. He will definitely worship her next time – because there would be a next time – for now it is all about… feeling.
He does falter when she sinks to her knees because here it is again, this pleading look on her face, the guilt, and he doesn't want this to happen for the wrong reasons. He doesn't have time to say anything though, when her mouth closes on him, he's gone. It's a done deal. All he can do is lean against the slippery wall and listen to the loud thumping of his heart.
He's almost ready to burst by the time he remembers this isn't about him but them and he pulls her up to brutally kiss her. If it was frantic before, now it is just plain madness. He's desperate for release in a way he can't remember having felt a lot over the years. Still, he resists the urge to just lift her up and he reaches between her legs again. There's a dull thump when her head falls against the glass wall of the shower.
"Marcus…" she gasps and it is too much. His name on her lips, like that… It is too much.
"I love you." The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think them, he's beyond proper understanding of what he's even saying. He's high on exhaustion and on her. "I love you. I love you." She grabs his face in her hands and forces him to look at her and it's like the eye in the middle of a hurricane, it's the calm before the storm. Suddenly his heartbeat slows and everything calms down and all that is left is her. And he's sure, he's never been so sure in all his life. "I love you, Abby."
Tears spring to her eyes but she blinks them away.
"I love you." she answers.
Something clicks into place. He feels it in chest, in his heart, in his very soul.
And then the storm crashes on them again. Desire is too overwhelming to be pushed aside again. He lifts her up, not even minding the strain on his wrists, and he slides home.
The noises she makes… The sweet nothings she whispers in his ear… Everything… Everything is perfect.
When they finally wash over them, their climaxes could have been better but first times are rarely mind-blowing and it was great - it was perfect.
The water has long grown cold when they stagger out of the shower and to the main room. When she lets her towel fall to the floor and crawls on the bed, he wants to offer her a shirt but the dresser is far and he is literally about to drop from exhaustion so he just slips between the sheets with her and curls up tight around her.
He closes his eyes and the next second, he's asleep.
He feels hangover when he wakes up, his head a bit fuzzy from too much sleep. They've moved away from each other during the night and Abby's sprawled on her stomach next to him. He feels around the table next to the bed for the clock and startles a bit when he realizes they've been in for almost a turn of the clock.
"They don't need us." Abby mumbles. "We can stay in bed."
He places the clock back down and frowns. "How do you know?"
"I've checked in with Clarke a couple of hours ago." she hums, still sounding sleepy.
He lifts his eyebrows and rolls on his side, trailing his knuckles down her very naked shoulder. "Did you get dressed to do that or…"
"I borrowed a shirt and some pants." she explains "Jackson has Medical under control and most of the camp is still resting. Clarke wants to talk to the Council at some point today but not now, so you can go back to sleep."
He takes all that in stride. "You should have woken me up."
"No point." she shrugs without turning around to face him or even opening her eyes. "You need your rest. You still owe me a massage, Chancellor Kane." She's teasing in that very same way that used to drive him mad on the Ark. Now he simply chuckles and presses a kiss against her shoulder before slipping out of bed. She does open her eyes then, propping herself on her elbow to look at him. "Don't get up."
She sounds almost disappointed and he's not exactly the kind to look smug but he knows, right at this second, he is.
"Bathroom." he says as way of an explanation. "Don't worry, Chancellor Griffin. You will get your massage."
Her lips twitch and there is something absolutely dirty about her grin. "I like you calling me that."
He's not surprised. She likes giving him orders.
The trip to the bathroom and back doesn't take him long and he's relieved to be able to crawl back under the blankets because there is a chill in the air.
"Where were we…" he hums, brushing her hair to the side. She braided it at some point, probably when she wandered out earlier. He's sorry he missed her wearing his clothes. That must have been a sight.
"You were about to give me a massage." she replies, laughter in her voice.
It's good to hear her sound like that. Not haunted, not feeling guilty but just… happy.
How can he refuse her?
It appears very clear, very fast, that he's not quite that gifted with massages. Instead of relaxing, she laughs. That's how bad he is.
He lets her mock him for a while and then decides enough is enough. He pushes the sheets away from her skin, completely uncovering her body and he places his lips at the base of her nape before going down slowly, following the bumps of her spine.
His hands feel the rugged patches of skin before his mouth reaches them and it sobers him up. He hasn't paid any attention to them last night but now there they were, glaring, and he feels sick to his stomach. He brushes his fingertips against the scars from the shock-lashing, his face growing more somber. She glances at him over her shoulder with a frown, probably sensing the sudden tension, but he can't look at her in the eyes.
"I'm sorry." is all he can say and it's not enough, nowhere near enough. It's not just the shock-lashing, it's everything before that, everything they put to rest a long time ago but he has yet to apologize for.
Her frown deepens. "Don't. You told me…"
"It's different." he cuts her off, knowing where she's going with this. "You weren't yourself. When I did this…"
"You had no choice." she interrupts.
"We always have a choice." he scoffs. "You kept telling me this and I didn't listen."
"But you did in the end." she argues. "And now… Marcus, this was a long time ago. Don't do that to yourself."
He meets her eyes then and they stare at each other for the longest time. Eventually, he lowers his mouth to her spine again, kissing every scar in turn, letting his lips linger on them in a silent apology.
When he straightens up and he can't see them anymore, he thinks it's a trick of the light. He brushes his hand against her back and he only feels smooth skin. He glances at Abby but she rested her head on her folded elbows once more, eyes closed.
His heart beats fast and hard in his chest. He doesn't know if he hopes or if he fears. He doesn't know if he's surprised or if he always knew.
Then, he has a second of blind panic because this is huge.
He rubs the skin and presses with his thumbs but the scars are gone.
"Marcus, I love you but you're really bad at massages." she mocks.
The words give him a thrill. They've been spoken in the rush of the moment the previous night and it feels good to hear them tossed so casually, to know she means them.
It calms him down. So what if she is his Match? It doesn't change anything. It probably explains everything actually. Why they've always gravitated around each other, either tearing themselves apart or putting each other back together… The feeling of rightness when they kissed for the first time… This strange sensation that something has fallen into place the previous night… And…
A match is a precious thing, Marcus…
He peers at her back in the semi darkness, looking for another scar, because he needs to be sure it wasn't a fluke, but he can't find any. He knows where to find one though so he nudges her on her back. Her eyes are twinkling with amusement and he doesn't have it in him to protest when she draws him down for a kiss. He's distracted though and it makes her frown. "What's wrong?"
He licks his lips and awkwardly clears his throat. Because if he's mistaken…
"Nothing's wrong." he promises. "But…"
His voice trails off and he winces.
She averts her eyes and, for a moment, she looks embarrassed. "Do you want me to go? I'm sorry I thought you wanted me to stay, I…"
"No." he's quick to deny. "Of course, I want you to stay, Abby."
She studies him and then cups his cheek, he leans into the caress and presses a kiss on the inside of her wrist. She smiles a little but she doesn't look convinced everything is fine. "Then, what's wrong?"
"I kissed your scars." he hesitates.
"And?" she insists but he can tell she's catching up. He's ready for her to react in a thousand different ways but the only thing that crosses her face is hope.
"And I want to try on another one." he says. "Just to be sure."
He's aiming for the scar on her hip from Mount Weather but she stops him with a hand on his chest.
"How sure are you?" she asks in a whisper.
"All the scars on your back are gone." he answers.
"No." She shakes her head. "How sure are you?"
She's not talking about the scars or even about fate and souls, he realizes suddenly. She's talking about them. There is a choice to make here. They could simply ignore the elephant in the room and go on as they used to. They don't need to know.
Except Marcus already knows.
He's known well before he kissed her for the first time.
It feels as if he's known even before he saw her for the first time.
It's a difficult sort of knowledge to explain. It's buried deep, in the very foundations of his being.
And he loves her – with everything he has and for all eternity.
"One hundred percent." he offers without a hesitation.
She relaxes then.
He doesn't try to stop her when she brings his wrist to her mouth and kisses the still fresh scar. The mark is gone when she draws back. Her eyes are shiny with tears. Erasing scars doesn't erase the actions behind them but it does feel good to be able to repair that much.
He leans in to kiss her. Because he can and because he needs to.
"Keyron tein." he whispers with adoration against her lips.
"I love you." she answers.
And that's all he needs.
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