WREN

One step in front of the other. Wren’s mantra sounds louder than ever, these days, with new crises making themselves known while the world continues to spin. They want to stop and breathe, lean their elbows on their knees and inhale-exhale, just that and nothing more, for a while. But Wren continues to show up to the office, half-expecting to get fired at any point for a reason they can’t quite explain, and tries to do their best.

Breathers are found in the bathrooms and kitchens of the Tower. They try not to let what-ifs eat at them in these moments, but it’s hard to when they’re so easy. Because what if they had managed to unlatch the car door on time? What if they would start looking at them for blame, no matter how laughable the idea? What if a car had ran into them, in the middle of that tunnel?

They abandon their desk, in search for tea, find their way into the kitchen where a familiar figure already stands. Wren would turn around and slip away, but he’s already been noticed. They remain standing there, in the door opening, like a deer in headlights, then say, “Oh. Yes,” before turning and locking it. Marcus says he’s not locking them in and Wren gains another worry, looking at their freshly promoted Seraphim for a moment. They move towards the kettle, take it off its stand and move toward the sink to fill it. “I’m um —” Don’t fucking falter, they tell themselves. They watch the water run for a moment. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of this number crunching thing, really has my brain going everywhere. But I’m holding up.” They’re decidedly not. There’s the grief for Thomas, unrelenting, not growing any less. There’s the worry about Cat + Mouse and their newfound distaste for Kitty. There’s their absent Horseman, gone under their usual watchful eye. “I keep going over what happened in the car. I don’t know.” To feel responsible is to claim that there’s something they could have done, and Wren does not think that is true: they’re too weak to stop someone capable of this. But still. “Lots on my mind.” They close the kettle’s lid, turn off the faucet, plop it on its stand and turn it on. “Are you alright?”

there has always been a barrier between them, whether it be status, money, or bloodlust, but today that gap feels wider. marcus is careful not to watch wren too intently, as if catching their eyes would scare off the stray. dark eyes follow the tendrils of steam that rise from his cup as he uses his index finger to disrupt the smooth pale grey wisps. but every few moments, marcus glances at him and wonders, what does the inside of your brain sound like? is it loud and constant, or is it silent?

marcus hums with a smile as he brings the mug to his lips, sipping on the still piping hot liquid. “mm, that's a good thing about HR. not much in the way of maths,” it's not that he was ever bad with numbers, but it had never quite managed to pique his interest, “but good, i'm glad.” marcus finds he's not exactly lying, but perhaps his reasons for wanting wren in good shape are self serving. in times like these, an unassuming pair of watching eyes and ears is a game changer. then comes mention of the car, the day some part of marcus' heart was stolen from him, and he drops eye contact, picking up his mug again for another sip before carefully setting it back done next to his phone. “well, we can't change the past, only the future. don't waste your time with what ifs, they'll drive you crazy,” he says, gentler than usual. “we'll get him back,” marcus meets their eyes now, but there's isn't enough conviction in his voice, “and you keeping your eyes peeled and ears sharp will be a great asset in finding him.”

marcus inhales deeply. “yeah, i'm holding up,” he lies. what he means to say is, i'm hiding it well enough, and that's all that matters to me. but perhaps a little more truth will open up their relationship to new possibilities, maybe wren can be the little bird whispering secrets in his ear. “well, maybe i'm too busy trying to make sure everyone else is okay to feel much of anything.” marcus shrugs as the kettle begins to boil, eyes lingering on the steam whistling from the spout. “has kitty spoken to you about future cat + mouse games?”

KITTY

drugs cw

Her name on his lips slices sharply and efficiently through the noise, even amongst the clamour and celebration of the party. It makes her feel like they’re ten years younger and she’s drunk on youth, pushing an argument too far, letting her anger spread like an oil slick. Only Marcus had been capable of reigning her in at that age, and he succeeds even now, the weight of his tone enough to slow her down. She can’t quite meet his line of sight though, accepting her abandoned clutch wordlessly as his fingers curl around her arm and ignite a simmering feeling of dread that lurks restlessly in the pit of her stomach. There was no escaping this. Even on a good day — uncompromised and unintoxicated and unafraid that she might have just ruined the love of her life’s very existence — she’d struggle to slip her way out of this one. Silence reigns and she shivers despite the warm night air, ensnared by the unblinking gaze he sets on her, irises so dark they look black in the low light. 

Defiance is hard to muster when she knows where his rage can lead him — until he opens a closed fist, revealing a familiar piece of jewellry. It’s enough to remind Kitty of what she needs to fight for. Of who she needs to fight for. Quick to snatch the chain from his grasp, she cradles the ring to her chest protectively. Adoringly. “You already know what this is about. Deep down. I can see it on your face.” Marcus isn’t an idiot. Far from it. She’d be defending herself valiantly if the message and the ring were anything less than what they are, typically keen to put on a show of just how much she supposedly loathes the youngest Warden. Raising her chin, she stares at her cousin through tendrils of cigarette smoke. “I hate keeping shit from you and the others, I really fucking do. But this wasn’t about you guys. It wasn’t about me, either. It was about him and what his family would do if they found out.” 

Despite everything, she exhales a laugh. Relief clings to the sound. She wasn’t made to hide her feelings, not when they burned so spectatculalry for someone. Honesty has always come naturally to her, speaking her mind regardless of consequences, so she’d glad — despite the risk of conseuqneuces — to finally tell the truth. “We got back together in March. He only hurt me to push me away. To keep me off War’s radar.” Kitty leans against the balcony edge, smiling softly to herself, but in the back of her mind a question will later linger: would she have told Marcus all this if that tiny red cupid hadn’t slipped down her throat? “I’m not even sure if I can really explain how I feel about him, not in a way that properly sums it up. I just— I really fucking love him.” She glances at the man beside her who had entered the world first and made a promise to himself to carve a safe path for his family to follow, begging him to let her venture out and choose her own. “Please don’t tell anyone.” 

drugs cw.

this is not the explanation he was bracing himself for, but it's the story that makes the most sense. in an instant, marcus sobers up, gathering up every functional neuron in his brain left to give her his undivided attention. he's silent, inhaling and exhaling cloud after cloud of smoke, and his eyes don't quite meet hers as more details unfold, piecing together her story and how it fits into how they live their lives. kitty has never been a liar, that's where she and him differ the most. that in itself is a striking declaration of love, to love someone all on her own, without even a whisper to family. marcus looks out at the city below them, recalling his last conversation with saint and how the warden’s eyes lingererd. he laughs now, light and accompanied by a gentle head shake. “you two are putting on quite the show,” he huffs with thoughtful amusement, inhaling the last few drags left of his cigarette before flicking the butt into the night sky.

he meets her eyes now. his smile is hardily beaming, but it’s warm. she speaks of how anyone knowing could ruin saint, and marcus finds himself apathetic to the notion. what makes this decision so easy, is her. he hears her panic, he hears her love and her devotion. who is he to take that from her? maybe this is exactly what he needed, a chance at knowing the things that could ruin her, and protecting it, instead of exploiting. “if you're in love, i'm not going to be the one that destroys it.” a chilled hand finds the place where kitty's neck meets her shoulder as his gaze fuses to hers. “it'll die with me if that's what you want.” he drops his hand from her shoulder, taking a step closer as he fishes out a second cigarette to keep his hands busy. “believe it or not, i want you to be happy.” saint warden is shone under a completely different light now, and the absence in his eyes is the result of a mind spinning with new thoughts and perspectives. perhaps the youngest warden is the better option to take over war. marcus knows, if it was him, if it was ravi in kitty’s position, he wouldn’t risk anything that would turn the love ravi gives him sour.

“so what is he?” marcus nods at the ring, “that's from him, right? it's why that beautiful ring is on a chain in your bag instead of on your finger?” did they even marry in secret? the thought leaves him deflated, to think of a chapel with only the two of them, of kitty celebrating without family around her. “and no one else knows?”

Cracks are where the light gets in.

RAFAEL

drugs & addiction cw.

Only a stone’s throw away, Rafael abandons the prospect of a frosty dinner for his father’s study within the Femenias’ Estate. The sturdiness of the mahogany desk and the timelessness of vintage furnishings reveal the energy of a man who is no longer present. A sense of comfort, that cannot currently be found in his and Ikki’s own space. Not without accusations. Some fair (how can you go back to texting Fazal Khan?) and some unduly cruel (how could you let this happen to papa?) The end result is a well-placed distance, with Rafael’s own growing number of tasks keeping him busy. Famine’s Horseman would not want the world to stop, even if its center is no longer present. So, he keeps to the task - an operational eye for Famine’s enterprises, and an investigative focus on the filth behind Fletcher Gray’s easy smile.

The afternoon gets away from him, lost in his father’s journals and hard drives. A great many things to get done, and unlike his technology-savvy Seraphim’s, Rafael Senior liked putting pen to paper. He is halfway through gleaning the operational expenses for July (too rich for our blood, his father would say) and makes note of coordinating with his respective Virtue’s to pull the cost down.

He glances up, far too quickly than is usual. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. The unexpected but not unwelcome appearance of Marcus is a curious one. He tightens his grip on the paper, wondering what’s happened next. A Seraphim missing? Death revealing themselves as the mastermind’s of the loss? Yet Marcus is warm and seemingly pleasant - though it does not reach his eyes. “Hey,” he echoes, continuing to stare back down at the budget. The question is innocuous enough, and Rafael shrugs nonchalantly. “Following up on a lead. All my old buddies couldn’t shut up about this new Cupid drug hitting the nightclub scene.” the very ones that fostered Rafael’s ten long years of reckless usage.Fletcher’s all bark and no bite, but he seemed especially keen on this one.” “My buddies keep saying it’s the next big thing since Pest’s cocaine. Cleanest powder in London, fastest activation in the damn market.” Without missing a beat, he drops the paper back on the table. “It could make them millions if it’s global by now. Would sure put them back in the green after their shitty deals with Death.”

Finally, he catches that look. At that, he can only pause with a furrowed brow. “Why?”

drugs & addiction cw.

for a fleeting moment, it feels like his uncle isn't gone at all. marcus looks down at rafael sorting through budgets and other things his eyes won't focus on, and it's as if his uncle is right there with him. then sadness seeps in, making his muscles feel weak. ever since the disappearance, marcus has thought of a million ways in which he could have prevented their current situation, it keeps him up at night, or babbling nonsense and moving uncontrollably whenever he does will his mind to shut off. all that built up tension releases in an audible sigh as rafael explains himself. marcus likes to think he can read family like an open and willing book, and there are no signs of dishonesty anywhere on his cousin. “cupid, right, yeah. tried it at jess' party, can't knock it really. fuck michaela and all her little snakes, but they make good shit.”

marcus sighs, pulling out his phone to search for the photo that triggered his concern. “well, speaking of fletcher, he posted a cute picture,” sarcasm drips from his words as marcus finds the evidence and hands rafael his phone. “this is the first thing i'm hearing about you looking into cupid so, i... was expecting the worst, i guess.” am i bad brother? “i'm glad it's not that,” marcus pauses, one last scour of rafael's eyes for something hidden, “but it's not a good look for you regardless.” a hand finds raf's shoulder, hoping his concern won't be taken as an attack. “i just want to make sure you're alright going back there, with tío missing. if you are, good, and you let me know what i can do to support you. but that picture is a problem unless we find a way to use it, or get rid of it.”

KITTY

drugs cw

All is well as the tiny cupid silhouette printed onto a pill by one of their rivals vanishes into Marcus’ mouth, devoured by Famine as all things should be. Kitty leans back, satisfied, bright eyes flitting over the cacophony of colour that is Jessica’s party. Feathers and glitter. Fur and flames. The scent of popcorn and gasoline and earth hanging in the sky-high conservatory’s warm air. Alive and alert, she soaks it all in, drumming her fingers gently against her cousin’s shoulder to keep some form of connection with him. She wants him close. Needs to cling on to the bond between them, however frayed, because who is she without her family? “I’ll fight Monica for you,” she declares, resting her head against the top of the sofa back, gazing up at the intricate pipework and lights above them. “I will. Jess will understand because, like, she knows, deep down. You can’t invite people from other gangs and not expect a fight, right? And technically, technically, I don’t think it can even count as truce-breaking if it’s not to do with all that shit and is just a few punches thrown at a birthday party.” With a grin, she turns her head to see if Marcus is agreeing with her — instead, she’s met with an expression and a question that makes the heat of her body flush cold. 

She glances at the phone in his hand, the notification still on screen. Her stomach lurches, panic fluttering through her chest. “What?” she blinks, laughing shakily. Every thought feels scattered, unable to conjure up an adequate lie quick enough. A terrible one leaves her lips instead. “Who?” Fuck. “I— He—” Her own heartbeat drums in her ears, nervously bouncing her knee as she searches for something to say that will turn his attention elsewhere. Anywhere. So long as it’s away from Saint, whose life Marcus could destroy with a simple sentence to Gabrielle Warden if he were to learn the truth. Hers too, should Saint find himself unable to forgive her for being the spark to ignite that flaming inferno of a shitshow. She wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t. “My mouth’s fucking dry, is your mouth dry?” she asks abruptly, standing up, already attempting to move away from the sofa and this conversation, abandoning both phone and clutch for the sake of an exit. “I’ll get us a drink.Tequila? Vodka? Glass of water? You know what, I’ll just guess when I get to the bar.” And make a run for it with the hope that he’ll forget any of this happened by the morning.

drugs cw.

a hearty, high pitched laugh shakes his chest, leaving an extra twinkle in his eyes. “now that would be something,” he drawls with a cheshire cat grin. but her next words do not meet his ears, swooping right past him as eyes bore into the phone screen, tapping it with his thumb when it threatens to go dark. at first, marcus thought maybe this was a move from the wardens against famine, hoping to pull on kitty's heartstrings until something war can use against them is exposed. but there panic in her eyes. that's not the face of someone being harassed by an ex, this is the face of someone hiding something. “who? how many french cunts called saint do you know, kitty? ‘cause i only know one—” the more she deflects, the more marcus' head spins with possibility.

he reaches for her but she's already left her seat, leaving behind her phone, and knocking her clutch to the floor. marcus huffs, grabbing the phone and sweeping her belongings back into her bag. his finger catches on a chain, and when his eyes trace the delicate line, he finds a ring. the black gem swallows the light while two smaller, clear ones reflect it, and marcus wonders, why is something so beautiful here and not on her finger? marcus looks up at the back of her as he gets to his feet, ring and clutch in hand. “kitty.” this time when he says her name, it's an order. he closes the distance between them, lowering the volume of his voice. “here, your bag. now, walk with me.”

he leads her with a hand on her arm through the crowd to a quiet corner of the balcony as he fishes out a cigarette, filling his lungs to the brim before he meets her eyes. as he exhales, he holds out the bunched up chain and ring in his palm for her to take back. “this is where you tell me what the hell you're so prang about, and what it has to do with him, so i don't jump to the wrong conclusion.” he's said saint's name one too many times for one night.

KITTY

drugs cw

Between tension with Marcus over Gwen and the click of an empty barrel aimed at Saint’s temple, the past few days have left her yearning for tonight. The freedom of a party and the chance to forget, for a few hours, about the world around them has always been something of a siren call to the Femenias family. Love lies at the heart of celebrations like this, free to feast on gluttonously until they’re full with it. Vices are easier to indulge in too, alcohol and narcotics flowing. It’s warm here, high above the city skyline, a garden paradise hidden from the gaze of mere mortals. The tulle of her tutu sticks to her thighs, skin glowing in the heat. Kitty’s attention fixed to her phone, she feels a presence arrive beside her. She knows it’s Marcus before she’s glanced up, pupils dark and wide, and when she does it’s to greet him with a flash of a smile. Without thought, she leans against him affectionately, Gwen forgotten for now under the haze of her own intoxication. A single bark of laughter is expelled at his question, tearing her attention away from her phone. “She didn’t tell me about the tigers. If one of those things comes near me I’ll turn it into a fucking coat.” A long, wary stare is shot in the direction of the nearest big cat but the Pestilence-produced pill currently steeping through her bloodstream is enough to keep fear at bay. 

His request is responded to both willingly and obediently, feeling herself walk with him towards the sofa and sit down while her wired focus plunges into the pixels of her phone screen. Deep down, she knows she shouldn’t be messaging Saint from this phone — but a few Instagram DMs weren’t going to hurt, unable to shake the hollow feeling of wanting him here. With her. “What?” Kitty lifts her chin swiftly, Marcus’ question unanswered but the firm authority in his tone enough to snap her presence back to the current. The look of interest on his expression is met with the same on her own, temptation lingering towards his offer. She reaches to pat him affectionately on the cheek. “I do— I do but I shouldn’t. So no. But, but— I have something, hold on—” She sets her phone down on the sofa cushion between them, retrieving the clutch purse tucked under her arm. The metal clasp is pulled open and she plucks a baggie with a single solitary pill within from the silk-lined interior. “Cupid. It’s Pestilence’s new shit. Have you tried it? It’s like, fuck, Marcy, it’s good. This might be the only fucking benefit of having some of those fuckers here tonight. Did you know it wasn’t going to be just us?”

his heart might be beating too fast, nostrils and gums numb thanks to fletcher's never ending pockets, but at least everything feels right. she does not fight him, she doesn't even watch him too closely, trying to dodge having her heart broken by family. again. “i said,” he drawls, grinning from ear to ear, “what the hell is so interesting?” but she's fucked, and so is he, so he hardily notices when his question is left unanswered and a hand meets his cheek. marcus raises his brows when she declines, never knowing her to turn down a little fun, or any fun. it's one of the many things he loves so dearly about her, how freely she lives her life. but of course she counters him, and a chuckle vibrates in his throat as she searches through her bag. she holds out the baggie, and marcus scoots a little closer to look before snatching it from between her fingers. nimble fingers dip inside and marcus presses the small pill onto his tongue. “well, now i've tried it, i'll give you my review in the morning.”

“what, you think jess really wasn't gonna invite all her pest buddies now that we're all playing nice again? honestly, i'm just fuckin’ glad i haven't seen monica,” he laughs, but it's a very real concern. a flash catches marcus' eyes, and he looks down at kitty's phone laying between them. he doesn't make the conscious decision to read it, but it's in his nature to stick his nose in every dark corner.

instagram message from saint warden: what are you wearing?

it takes a second too long for it to click, and when it does, marcus snaps his gaze from the room back to the phone, picking it up to read the message letter by letter. what the fuck? “kit—” confusion is what is most prominent now, tugging his brows into a frown. “‘what are you wearing?’ why the fuck is saint warden asking you what you're wearing?” it's not yet a possibility that this could be wanted, that she still wants him. kitty isn't the kind of person to crawl back to someone who's hurt her. or is she? marcus searches her expression for something, anything, that will help him piece this together.

outgoing call: marcus ⟶ gwen

There is distant satisfaction at causing family strife in the otherwise so tightly-knit Femenias family. Something born from envy, maybe. But mostly, Gwen clenches her jaws. Feels her stomach grow tight. Things between her and Marcus were nearing a stage of irrepairability.

GWEN: Weren't you?

She asks to provoke. But also because she thinks it's true. She'd like it to be.

GWEN: I was pushing buttons. She was pushing mine. Fucking verbal cat fight, that's all it was, and Jessica? No offence, Marcus, but she's the easiest button to press. With her, with you.

GWEN: It was empty. We're in a fucking truce, and if we weren't, Jessica would hardly be our priority.

Debatable. There is something to be said about Jessica Reyes, so deeply beloved, so adored ... but no, Gwen won't go there. There's a history there. Holding her hand as they played hide and seek. Protecting her from the seeker. (How long can she let these things coexist?)

GWEN: I've no interest in going after her. I was just talking shit. Really.

---

MARCUS: i distinctly remember telling you that i can't protect you, actually.

MARCUS: i did say i'd keep your name out of my mouth, but i guess you've saved me the trouble now.

marcus takes a slow, loud breath as gwen explains herself so predictably. sometimes he wonders how her and kitty didn't end up tearing down the world together. he wishes he could return to that moment, where gwen was as much one of them as she was ever going to be, where she wasn't an enemy.

MARCUS: good. because i also meant it when i said i don't want to hurt you. so for the love of fuck, please stop trying to give me reasons.

he pauses, reigning in his anger.

MARCUS: do me a favour, next time you see kitty, just walk away. for all our sakes.

—  JULY 8TH,  FEMENIAS ESTATE,  WITH RAFAEL FEMENIAS JR.  ( @rfjofficial​ )

drugs & addiction cw.

the picture is burned into his brain. marcus sees it when he's eating lunch at his desk, alone, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, forcing his mind to focus on anything but the void that his uncle's absence leaves in his chest. posted by fletcher grey. it was just a harmless photograph at first glance, and then marcus catches the eyes of someone too familiar. rafael? what's he doing in PEST? fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

he makes plans to meet his brother at the estate after work, but it doesn't ease the worry that makes his head spin. in the car ride from london to surrey, marcus considers his options. his instinct is to go in guns blazing, stop the problem before it becomes more of one, send raf to rehab if they have to. but that would be assuming the worst, and not giving rafael the credit he's due. when ravi calls to ask why he hasn't yet returned home, marcus skips over the details, not wanting to trigger worry in anyone else. after all, it could be nothing. more than anything, marcus hopes it's nothing.

when marcus arrives, he freezes over. fear grips him. not only fear for his cousin's mental state, but for his own image. kidnapped uncle, a relapsed cousin, it all works out rather well for a man who's never shied away from wanting power. but when he finds rafael in his father's study, marcus forces a warmth to return to his features, even if he doesn't quite smile. “hey,” he greets, walking slowly over to the desk and perching on the edge. marcus inhales deeply, clearly burdened by something as he massges his knee. “i'm gonna get right to the point, man, i—” he sighs, hoping his words don't leave his mouth sounding accusatory, “what were you doing at PEST? last night.” please, brother, tell me this isn’t what i fear it is.

—  JULY 9TH,  FEMENIAS ENERGY TOWER,  WITH WREN LIGHTFOOT.  ( @oflightfeet​ )

three days, and nothing. not a trace or a clue as to where his uncle might be, or whether or not he's still alive. he can't concentrate. the lines of text on his computer monitor blur into blocks and his thoughts don't stay organised for long. theories, plausible or not, hit him from every angle, HR claims the last thing on his list of priorities. marcus has been sat at his desk for nearly two hours, with nothing to show for it. with a huff, he stands, rubbing his unfocused eyes with his index finger and thumb. 

he purposefully goes to a kitchen on a different floor of the building to stretch his legs, taking his time with the stairs to avoid being shut in a lift with people who will ask him questions. marcus finds relief when he walks into the empty kitchen, taking a moment to take the weight off his left knee in private, before he moves to the countertop to make himself a coffee.

the door slides open behind him, and he almost orders them to get out without looking, but he's glad he gives the intruder a glance. “oh, wren, good morning,” he manages to smile before his eyes find the door. “you mind locking that? i don't want people asking me why i'm on this floor.” marcus turns back to his coffee as the liquid fills the cup from the machine. “i’m not locking you in with me, just to be clear,” he calls over his shoulder. with his drink ready, marcus takes a seat at the closest table. “how are you holding up?” he asks lightly, as his eyes catch incoming notifications on his phone screen. marcus flips it, screen meeting the tabletop. as much as marcus would like to have someone to blame for his uncle’s kidnapping, he can’t find that person in wren, he can barely find it in ikki either, and for those he’s sure couldn’t be responsible, he knows he needs to keep close.

—  JULY 1ST,  JESSICA’S BIRTHDAY PARTY,  WITH KITTY MALLICK.  ( @kittym​​​ )

family birthdays have always been (and he hopes will always be) a life saver. the north star to marcus' stress laden days. parties hosted by a femenias have a deafening warmth about them that forces marcus to set down his armour and all the things that keep him up at night, allowing himself to have fun. except this time, there are fucking tigers. the dancers and flames left him with enough unease to begin with, knowing full well who he's partying with and the feats that can be achieved by an intoxicated femenias. one of them living right beneath his skin, having long lost track of how many shots and lines saturate his blood. a bet begins to form on the tip of his tongue, rafael will find a way to set himself on fire at least once tonight, but there’s no one at his side to hear it.

when he settles at kitty's side, he greets her with a huff he's certain will be returned. “did she tell you about the god damn tigers?” marcus' eyes narrow on one of the wild animals before a passing waiter catches his attention, dropping off his empty glass with a smile on their tray as they pass. perhaps this is exactly why jess mentioned no such thing, knowing fully well the eldest of the cousins would have too many protests. “sit with me? my knee is playing up.” there's almost no use for his cane now, but his knee is still easy to aggravate, especially when cocaine makes him feel invincible, moving around the sky garden like a man who isn't in recovery. marcus falls back into a sofa with a groan, stretching his left leg absently as he turns to face her. she is not quite with him, it seems, more interested in the sight of her phone screen. curiosity tingles under his skull, gently tapping for answers, drawing his brows into a light frown as he watches her smile be illuminated by the cold blue light of her phone, a stark contrast to the warmth of the party. “hey, what the hell is so interesting about that thing, hm? you are at a party,” he says with an authority only an older brother would dare wear, “you want a bump?”

MERLIN | 5x01 “Arthur’s Bane: Part One”

outgoing call: marcus ⟶ gwen

His caller-ID leaves her with a feeling of dread and she takes a while to enter, moving to a backroom of the pub where there's more privacy. There's a tremor to the hand that doesn't hold the phone, but she keeps her voice steady.

GWEN: I don't know, I wasn't fucking playing at anything. She cornered me, I bit back. Wasn't thinking much, really.

There's truth to it; she's a firecracker, rather than a calculating snake. Always has been. She creases her brows, then, trying to recall the conversation.

GWEN: Threaten Jessica? I barely did that. No, really, I hardly fucking did that. She's overreacting.

---

hearing her voice has always had the possibility of bringing him calm, and he hates that his heart still pulls him in her direction. marcus huffs.

MARCUS: yeah, well, good job with that one. kitty thinks i'm fucking protecting you.

he's lucky it's kitty, he's lucky she's family. a seraphim, and a newly promoted one at that, holding back information from the rest of famine was a poor look.

MARCUS: see, that's the problem, gwen. "barely." why did jessica's name leave your mouth to begin with?

MARCUS: that threat better have been as empty as your brain was on friday night, cause i'm the one who's gonna have to clean it up.

📱 KM ⟷ MR

The tension held in his jaw audible. Her apology is echoed back and curls up in the centre of her ribcage like a stray desperate for shelter. Kitty draws her knees towards her chest and stares at a wall that isn't hers, sat on a bed that isn't hers, and swallows a sense of bruised trust that she wishes wasn't hers.

KITTY: Ok

It's a quiet syllable. An agreement to lay down her weapons and let this go. Let Marcus deal with it and make it right - whatever that meant.

KITTY: She doesn't care about you. You know that, right?

KITTY: I should finish packing. Don't do anything stupid without me.

---

if he were a religious man, marcus might think god has damned him to a path of constant hurt. but he is not, and all he believes in is himself. all there is to believe is that he will learn. that's what family is for, after all, isn't it? to help shape a person into something lovable? marcus sighs.

MARCUS: yeah. i see it now. loud and clear.

MARCUS: i'm sorry i didn't tell you first.

he inhales deeply, all anger gone, with only a sadness remaining.

MARCUS: yeah, alright. well, you know me. i like to try out new things.

MARCUS: talk soon, kitkat.

END.

—  ANNOUCEMENT TO FAMINE,  MANOR KITCHEN. 

july 17th. written with @rfjofficial.

marcus stands in front famine, meeting each pair of eyes, looking for one of them to look at him like something monstrous. “evening, everyone,” he begins, with a heavy heart, giving one last glance back to rafael, catching his cousin's nervousness as he drags a hurried cigarette to his lips. marcus is calm, collected, despite the snake pit they all find themselves in, but there is still a palpable weight on his shoulders. “some of us might not be bound by blood, but we are all family here. we protect each other. now, more than ever, we need to be able to rely on each other, trust each other.” in reality, he can't trust anyone outside the family, and if he would allow himself, he wouldn't trust the family either, thoughts of being framed for usurping his uncle tickling his consciousness. “keep family close, but keep your connections in the other gangs closer. you hear something strange, see something out of place, someone gives you a bad fuckin’ vibe, i want to hear about it, directly. if you can't get a hold of me, you talk to rafael.” a small, incoherent sneer escapes rafael’s throat. without a word, the famine heir pulls away from marcus’ side. a final, scathing look before walking out of the kitchen altogether. marcus watches his brother leave, feeling the weight of his absence already. with a slow inhale, marcus turns to meet the eyes of each family member that remains, jessica first, and kitty last, eye contact lingering, a silent ‘trust me’. “we're going to bring our horseman back home. alive. as for those responsible,” marcus returns his gaze to the rest of the kitchen, a cruel smile beginning to bloom, “famine will bleed them dry.”

outgoing call: marcus ⟶ gwen

he decided to sleep on it, to not let anger take the wheel. but he wakes up the next day with just as much rage crackling under his skin. calling her feels like betrayal now, but he has a duty to those who love him despite the ugly. unlike gwen.

MARCUS: the fuck did you think you were playing at saying all that shit to kitty?

this version of his anger is hard to come by, almost never resorting to rage first.

MARCUS: threatening jessica? are you for fucking real? you've crossed the fucking line, gwen.

📱 KM ⟷ MR

The truth sinks through her chest like a stone and there's a lump in her throat that she can't quite swallow down. She can feel the heat of her anger rising -- and then it's silenced, abruptly, replaced by shock at Marcus' choice of words. She's been family to me. Her voice cracks around the single she manages to force out.

KITTY: What?

They weren't supposed to need others, not when it's always been her, Marcus, Rafael, and Jessica. Spouses were different, they provided what family couldn't, but Gwen? Gwen who had left her own flesh and blood behind? Gwen who hated everything they stood for? Gwen who had found her impossible to love?

KITTY: Yeah, well, we both know you don't have a fucking problem with hurting family, right?

She winces, quick to lash out but quick to apologise.

KITTY: Sorry. I'm just-- confused. And annoyed.

KITTY: She can do shit, actually. Or did you forget that she's married to May, who's a fucking journalist? Just because they can't touch us doesn't mean they can't destroy Jessica's reputation. Or yours. Or Raf's.

KITTY: Where did she even get her information from, huh? You?

---

her words cut through him like a red hot wire, he doesn't feel the pain until the damage is done. marcus falls silent, the sound of his pacing stopping abruptly. his fingers still shake, but the anger comes from a different source, much deeper rooted. inhale, exhale.

MARCUS: it's okay.

MARCUS: i'm sorry. it's my mistake.

her accusation hurts most of all, his tone turning a degree colder.

MARCUS: i've never said anything incriminating or reputation ruining about any of you to her, if that's what you're asking.

MARCUS: look, i mean it, kit. i'm going to deal with her. she matters to me, but not as much as you. or family. i'll gut her and send the pieces to her fucking wife if i have to.

MARCUS: i'm gonna make this right. okay?

kindness returns to his words, silently pleading that she doesn't continue to fight him.

ASTRID

How’ve you been? It’s an innocuous question, but it’s one that’s been getting difficult to answer again in the past few days. Her thoughts about everything are a jumbled mess, and avoiding those thoughts is the exact reason she’d agreed to lunch with Marcus in the first place. So Astrid skips over the question with a smile, instead focusing on the friendly jab towards her ability to pick out a proper restaurant. “Ooh, somebody gets food poisoning after willingly ingesting undercooked meat one time, years ago, and suddenly I can’t be trusted to pick out where to eat.” She gives an exaggerated eye roll, though her grin stays in place, and glances back down to the menu to determine what to get.

Astrid arches an eyebrow at Marcus’ vague response about Ravi, but doesn’t push; Marcus is probably the least touchy-feely of the Femenias crew, but he’s still a Femenias. If he actually wanted to talk about it, he would. In the meantime, they would sit and talk about anything else, avoiding whatever problems lay in wait on the other side of the restaurant’s walls. The topic moves to the emissaries and Astrid shakes her head. “Weren’t you the one that came up with the whole emissary idea?” she asks. “It makes sense that they would move in with you. I’m pretty sure that I, on the other hand, got roped into all of it purely for Gabrielle’s amusement.”

She frowns at Marcus’ dig at Saint. “Hmm, I don’t know, Marcus. What could’ve happened recently that would make me move out of my lovely home and into Saint Warden’s?” It’s a bitch move, and she knows it, but even in the recent anger she’s been feeling towards the Wardens as a whole, there’s a protectiveness over them that refuses to be squashed down. “Who, by the way, handled all of Kitty’s nonsense with ease.” Marcus doesn’t need to know about all the yelling. “I mean, her antics this time were probably more like an annoying fly than a real inconvenience, considering the last time Kitty decided she needed justice, she broke his nose.” Astrid shrugs.

A server stops by the table and takes their orders, leaving an awkward silence is left in their wake. The topic of family is always a tricky one between the her and Marcus. Because, despite the truce they’d all grown up with, at the end of the day, the Wardens and the Femeniases had always and would always be at war. And Astrid had very distinctly picked a side. She takes a sip of water, just for something to do, before deciding to change the subject altogether. “So I heard you got promoted to Seraphim. Look at you, being a big shot and everything.”

“that's exactly right,” marcus laughs, “don't act like you've only just figured out i'm petty, we established this years ago. and i was under the impression we were on the same page of not pointing out each others flaws?” he teases, grinning wide as he settles into his seat, “that’s what friends do, no? feed into each other’s narcissism?” oh, i've missed this, he thinks. or maybe it's the lightness that comes with talking to someone who doesn't know how low he's sunk this year that makes talking to astrid so effortless. “also i think it’s very brave of me to let you choose again.” 

“yup, you're welcome.” granted, he'd have opted for not sending kitty to the same residence as her cancerous ex boyfriend, but it wasn't his call to make. the comment on gabrielle makes him raise one brow in silent solidarity, hardily the horseman of war's top fan. marcus almost can't comprehend the idea of his uncle or his mother forcing him to take in an enemy while mourning the loss of someone so closely tied as a sister. but better the wardens than them. “well, thank god it's over then, mm? no doubt for the best kitty didn't stay another day longer.”

he raises his hands in defeat, palms facing her. “touche.” if it was him, if it was ravi that they mourn, marcus is sure he'd want to be alone, but he's even more certain that being alone would ruin him. marcus can't help laughing again, but it doesn't have the same kindness when saint is involved. “what, like the yelling? storming out like a brat?” he snorts, more thankful than ever that kitty turns to him to relish in her pettiness, “her nonsense was kitty playing nice. good on her for not breaking his nose a second time.” but he's not surprised, family has always come first for her, kitty has never given any of them reason to doubt it.

marcus takes a slower breath, forcing a smile to mask the irritation that crackles in his fingertips. this is not worth arguing about. marcus smiles at the server and gives his order, watching for a moment too long as they walk away from the table. if only this next topic was one that didn't hold so much weight. “yeah,” he smiles proudly, and he is proud, but he is still hiding from her, “it's been quite the ride. and i’m grateful for it.” to say anything more could lead to self betrayal, when the ground he stands on is so frail and liable to shatter. “by the way, i— you’re probably sick of hearing this, but... i’m sorry for your loss, astrid, really. i can’t— i don’t want to imagine what it’s like. i know i like to talk a lot of shit about them but, well, it’s like i said. and for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re not grieving alone.”